Chapter Eleven: The General is Quite Scheming

It seemed that only after Zhenniang’s teasing did Captain Song recall his true purpose; he had been overly excited and talkative just now. Shaking his head, he waved and said, “If no one wishes to withdraw, then follow me.”

Naturally, no one dared step forward—even Leng Ran, who prided herself on not fearing death, fell silent after hearing what befell Tie Xuan’s wife and daughter. Besides, she considered running entirely normal—what was there to object to?

Thus, ten noble maidens, under Captain Song’s lead and flanked by several soldiers in servant’s garb carrying lanterns, passed through several layers of courtyards and came to a wide open square.

Leng Ran looked around for a long moment. Simple wooden posts stood around the square, each topped with a glass-shaded storm lantern—although such lamps ought to have appeared much later in history, she’d come to accept such anachronisms after seeing the glass mirrors. If history had changed, surely other oddities could be expected. Aside from the posts and lanterns, the square was nothing but packed yellow earth, dotted here and there with tufts of wild grass. A dark, looming barrier encircled the square—she couldn’t tell if it was wood or earth.

Only when the pungent stench of animal dung hit her did she realize this was a riding arena. She recalled that the master of Xun Yun Villa, Liu Yongcheng, was a eunuch in charge of the Imperial Stables. It struck her for the first time that “eunuch” was in fact an official title, likely the highest rank within each imperial bureau, with deputies known as “lesser eunuchs.” Clearly, Liu Yongcheng was quite wealthy—an arena of this size was not something a mere eunuch should possess.

“Today is your first day running, ladies, so I won’t demand too fast a pace. Just follow Ensign Geng—he’ll keep it slow, but no one is allowed to stop. Remember, those who can’t keep up will not eat for the day and will be assigned to empty chamber pots at night!” As Captain Song spoke, a lanky youth jogged to the head of the line and, without a word, began to run.

“Well? Keep up!” Captain Song bellowed, startling the tallest girls—Shen Zhu, Mo Han, and a woman called Li Tangmei—into motion, their legs moving before they realized it.

The whole group set off, but after a short while, Leng Ran sensed something was wrong.

She was running with ease; though her wound still ached faintly, it hardly mattered. The others, however, were already stumbling and staggering after only a few steps. It took her a moment, then the truth dawned: they all had bound feet.

That General Peng had ordered a group of girls with bound feet to run for half an hour! Was he trying to torment them to death? What was the meaning of this?

Captain Song strutted alongside, shouting louder and more fiercely. His cherubic face had lost all trace of cuteness. The girls endured as best they could, but after a few more steps, Biqing suddenly twisted her ankle, collapsing with a scream as she clutched her foot.

At this, Yuan’er too was in such pain she could not move and, like the others, took the chance to halt and watch Biqing.

Leng Ran hurried over to help her. “Are you all right? Is it serious?”

“What are you all stopping for? Keep running!” Captain Song’s eyes flickered with reluctance, but he still waved his hand and shouted, ready to kick Biqing if she didn’t rise.

Leng Ran instinctively stepped forward, spreading her arms to shield Biqing. “What are you doing?”

Captain Song was taken aback, then barked, “Do you want to go hungry and empty chamber pots?”

“Spare me! I’d rather go hungry and empty chamber pots… wuuu…” Biqing sobbed on the ground.

Leng Ran hadn’t spoken yet before the other girls, clearly feeling the same, began to cry as well—Shen Zhu, usually so brash, now wept, “I’d rather go hungry too! Please, have mercy!”

“Please, Captain, have mercy!” Xu Shanquan’s knees buckled and she dropped to the ground. Her example was contagious; nearly all the girls fell to their knees.

The arena was filled with sobbing; it was obvious they couldn’t go on.

Captain Song pondered for a moment, then looked up and said, “If it’s truly impossible, I can let you go have something to eat and follow the female instructors to learn music, chess, singing, and dance. However, since the general has given strict orders, the task must be completed—unless someone is willing to finish it for you all, I can’t answer for it otherwise.”

The girls exchanged glances, and in the end, all eyes settled on Leng Ran.

Who told her to have unbound feet?

“Very well, I’ll run for them. Let them all go,” Leng Ran declared, thumping her chest with heroic resolve.

Captain Song stifled a laugh and forced a stern expression. “Did you hear clearly? Including yourself, that’s ten people, half an hour each—that’s five hours. I’ll allow you a short rest every quarter hour, so it should take you six hours in total. Don’t regret it! By then, going hungry and emptying chamber pots will seem easy in comparison.”

Leng Ran gasped. “Six hours? A full twelve hours?”

“What did you say?” Captain Song looked confused.

“Ahem… I mean, six hours! I’m just surprised.” Leng Ran realized he wouldn’t understand the word “hour”; she’d blurted it out in her excitement and quickly corrected herself. She noticed several girls, including Yuan’er, gazing at her with pleading eyes.

“So, will you do it or not? Say the word—if you’re unwilling, no one will force you. Everyone can just run their own share.”

Leng Ran glanced back. Biqing’s frightened eyes were like those of a wounded kitten—so pitiful that her “maternal instinct” surged. Gritting her teeth, she replied, “I’ll run! For them! But what happens if I can’t finish?”

She truly feared her frail body wouldn’t last so long—twelve hours was enough to run several marathons.

“Our general has brought back a certain insect spirit from Miaojiang, brimming with vitality but only suited to be raised in a body of pure yin. If you cannot complete the full five hours, you’ll serve as the vessel for the insect spirit. Is that acceptable?” Captain Song’s tone was offhand, but the girls all blanched at his words, regardless of their worldliness.

This was clearly sorcery—witchcraft of the darkest kind!

Leng Ran, too, recalled all those novels and TV dramas about the horrors of being poisoned with gu. To become the host of an insect spirit—wasn’t that just a death sentence? Even after experiencing time travel, she felt that death might just be another beginning, but what truly terrified her was the idea of losing control, of becoming a mindless puppet. Death was not the worst fate—living as a walking corpse was.

She also remembered that witchcraft was harshly punished in ancient times. Many empresses and consorts had been accused—truthfully or falsely—of using witchcraft and were deposed. The ruling elite could not tolerate such practices.

With this in mind, she straightened her back and declared loudly, “General Peng is renowned for his valor—does he not fear being found out for practicing witchcraft? If word of this reaches the emperor and the prime minister, what good would it do him?”

A clear, ringing laugh suddenly sounded from behind. A young man with sword-like brows and a radiant presence appeared in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back and a teasing smile on his lips. “Does the lady not know that someone once accused the deposed Empress Wang of cursing Prime Minister Chu with witchcraft? The prime minister replied that there is no such thing as witchcraft in this world, and that anyone who truly mastered it would be hailed as a genius and honored as a celestial master!”

Leng Ran was stunned. This, undoubtedly, was General Peng himself, the resourceful and astute man Yuan’er had spoken of.

“So, you’ll have to run, miss,” Peng Lun said, strolling over. “Otherwise, you’ll serve as the vessel for my insect spirit.”