Chapter 085: Lady Zhang's Secret Anxiety

Once the assignments were given, everyone rose to take their leave and set off to make their preparations. Wei Yan was the first to stride out of the tent, vaulting onto his horse and departing swiftly with Wei Feng in tow.

His mood was sour. Not only had Zhuge Liang rejected his plan to advance through the Ziwu Valley, but had also assigned Wu Yi to guard Hanzhong, while ordering him to accompany the main force. Though he would still command ten thousand men, it was under the Chancellor’s central army, nothing compared to Ma Su, who as vanguard commander, led twenty thousand men independently at the front. This made him feel dissatisfied with Ma Su, whom he had previously regarded rather favorably; in his eyes, Ma Su had snatched the very task that should have been his.

“The Chancellor truly shows favoritism,” Wei Yan muttered under his breath as he galloped out from the central camp.

Wei Feng, who always followed closely behind his father, was well accustomed to such moods. Though Wei Yan’s words were ambiguous, he understood them immediately. Yet what could he do with that understanding? Whether to respond or not, either choice seemed wrong, so he remained silent.

Wei Yan glanced sideways at Wei Feng and sighed. Wei Feng was an honest man, not one gifted with words, incapable even of offering comfort. If Wei Ba were here, perhaps he might find a way to cheer him up, but Wei Feng could do nothing but remain silent.

“By the way, have you heard from Ba lately?” Not wanting to embarrass his son, Wei Yan reined in his horse, slowed his pace, and asked the question as if in passing.

“No, the last letter was ten days ago, just idle talk from Anyang.”

Wei Yan raised his brows, suddenly cheered. “Feng, Ba has become much steadier. Having him study under old General Zhao has really paid off. Did he mention whether his martial skills have improved lately?”

Wei Feng scratched his head. “He didn’t say, but from what I see, since he’s with Zhao Guang every day, they must be sparring all the time—surely he’s improving.”

“What use is sparring? One must learn to kill. Only on the battlefield can real skill be forged.” Wei Yan curled his lip with disdain, but then added, more forgivingly, “Of course, he was weak before and never had a chance to fight. I can’t expect too much just yet. Let him build a solid foundation—when he finally does see battle, he’ll have a better chance to survive.”

Wei Feng glanced at his father and suddenly chuckled. “Father, you miss him, don’t you?”

“What would I miss him for?” Wei Yan’s face reddened, and he snapped, “That rascal really thinks he’s some staff officer now. Off in Anyang for so long, never writes to his old man—only thinks of his elder brother. I’m not dead yet, but you’re already thinking of taking charge as the eldest son?”

Wei Feng was awkward, stammering, “Father, how can I respond to that? Besides, every time Ba writes, he sends his regards to you. He doesn’t write to you directly because he fears people will gossip, nothing more.”

Wei Yan was left speechless, and could only grunt unreasonably. Toward Wei Ba, he felt both pride and a measure of discontent. Pride, because he had once written a military report to Zhuge Liang mentioning a certain war-game exercise, which even the Chancellor found useful—he often cited it to teach the generals the need for systematic thinking, not empty talk, but reasoning with evidence. It was said that Ma Su had even traveled to Anyang in person to discuss the method with Wei Ba. That made Wei Yan immensely proud—what other family in Shu-Han had such honor, that a mere game invented by his son had drawn praise from the Chancellor? It pleased him more than the praise he’d once received from the late Emperor and Lord Guan. Yet, throughout, Wei Ba had never once reported any of this to him, leaving him somewhat disappointed amid the pride.

“This boy has less and less regard for his old man. When I return from this northern campaign, I’ll have to give him a good talking to.”

Wei Feng smiled. Having followed his father day in and day out, he knew well how much his brother meant to their father. For all his bluster, when Wei Ba returned, their father would never have the heart to scold him.

Father and son, their conversation drifting from one trivial topic to another, pressed their horses onward and soon reached the main tent. As they arrived at the entrance, they saw a lacquered carriage parked nearby, the side panel marked with their family’s black “Wei” insignia. Wei Yan exchanged a puzzled glance with Wei Feng, dismounted, tossed the reins to a guard, and strode quickly towards the tent.

Just as they reached the entrance, the tent flap lifted and a pretty maid appeared, smiling brightly—it was Huan’er, Lady Zhang’s attendant.

“General, Young General,” Huan’er said, casting a shy glance at Wei Feng before bowing respectfully.

Wei Yan’s face lit up with delight, and he laughed heartily. “Has my lady come?”

Huan’er bit her lip, smiling. “Yes, General, the lady awaits you inside.”

Before she finished speaking, Wei Yan stepped inside. There, behind a desk, sat Lady Zhang, reading through documents. He paused, joy on his face quickly replaced by concern. “My lady, what’s happened—are you unwell?”

Wei Feng, entering behind them, stood stunned as he saw Lady Zhang’s wan face and sunken eyes. He hurried to her side, took her arm, and tears sprang to his eyes before he could speak. “Mother, what’s happened to you? Are you ill? What sickness is this? Have you called for a physician? Taken any remedies?”

Lady Zhang looked at the pair, puzzled. “What’s wrong with you two? I’m not sick, I’m perfectly fine.”

Wei Feng sobbed, “Mother, please don’t hide it from us. You look so unwell—how can you not be ill?”

Wei Yan’s heart pounded with anxiety, his lips dry. In an instant, countless thoughts flashed through his mind. In all their years together, he had never seen Lady Zhang so frail. What else could make her so weak, if not illness? Why else would she travel to the camp, yet refuse to admit she was sick—was she here to see them one last time, not wanting them to worry?

At the thought, his scalp prickled, and his voice trembled. “My lady, what illness afflicts you? Why have you grown so thin?”

At last, Lady Zhang understood. She reached out, drawing the weeping Wei Feng into her arms, her heart warmed by his concern. Lifting her head, she smiled at Wei Yan, even as tears slipped unbidden down her cheeks. Seeing her weep, Wei Yan panicked, heedless of the guards nearby, and half-knelt by her side, soothing her gently. “Don’t be afraid. Whatever it is, tell me and I’ll find a way.”

“I truly am not ill.” Lady Zhang shook her head, a happiness shining through her pallor. Leaning on Wei Yan’s shoulder, she spoke softly, “If I am ill, it’s merely in my heart. I’ve worried too much of late, but otherwise, I am well.”

Wei Yan heaved a long sigh of relief, and Wei Feng, surprised, lifted his head and wiped his tears on his sleeve. “Mother, what could trouble you so much?”

“What else but you two?” Lady Zhang looked from Wei Yan to Wei Feng, unable to hide her joy.

“We—?” Father and son exchanged baffled looks. “We’re perfectly fine, what is there to worry about?”

Lady Zhang sat upright, gently pushing Wei Feng away, her gaze lingering on the tear-stained patch of her robe, recalling how clingy he had been as a child. Her lips curled in a faint smile, and she drifted into thought for a moment before turning to Wei Yan. “General, two months ago, when Ba passed through home on his way to Anyang, he told me something.”

“Ba?” Wei Yan’s brows knitted, his expression darkening. “What trouble has he caused now?”

“He hasn’t upset me. But he made me aware of a potential danger to the Wei family.” Lady Zhang’s manner grew solemn, and both Wei Yan and Wei Feng tensed with unease.

“What danger?” Wei Yan asked, a cold edge in his voice. “Who dares threaten our family?”

“I want to ask you something.” Lady Zhang’s tone was sharp. “Did you once propose a plan to the Chancellor to send troops through the Ziwu Valley, only for him to reject it?”

Wei Yan’s face twitched as he nodded. “Yes, that’s true. But it was only a suggestion. As General Who Guards the North, it’s my right and duty to offer advice; and the Chancellor has every right to accept or refuse it. There’s no danger in that.”

“Then answer me—after the Chancellor rejected your plan, did you raise it again?”

Wei Yan nodded sheepishly, then after a moment tried to explain, “I thought the plan was sound, so I wanted the Chancellor to reconsider.”

Lady Zhang’s expression hardened. “How many times did you bring it up?”

Wei Yan turned his head to exchange a look with Wei Feng, then hesitantly raised his hand, holding up five fingers, then curling two down.

Lady Zhang, seeing this, both exasperated and amused, drew out her words. “I suspect it was even more than that.”

Wei Yan grinned, straightening the two bent fingers, then sheepishly extended his left hand and raised two more fingers.

Lady Zhang sighed in frustration. In just six months, he’d brought it up seven times—once a month on average. That was nothing short of pestering. Without even asking, she was now convinced of Wei Ba’s concern: Wei Yan would bring up the matter at every opportunity, and if not now, he would again in the future.

What a troublemaker, this thoughtless husband of hers. Lady Zhang propped her head on her hand, half laughing, half crying at the absurdity. Through her fingers, she looked at the bewildered Wei Feng, her feelings mixed. Thankfully, with Wei Ba’s timely warning, she had time to consider a plan. But how she wished it was Wei Feng, not Wei Ba, who possessed such insight—then things would be perfect.

—Please recommend and add to your favorites!