Chapter Fourteen: No, That Is Impossible

"Then who is in charge?" Luo Yunyao asked, a sinking feeling in her heart.

"The Marquis of the State." The cold, detached reply seemed capable of freezing a man to death.

It was him, as expected.

Luo Yunyao finally understood why Qin Jinghao had gone out of his way to warn her. Regarding disaster relief, the Marquis of the State would surely embezzle the funds.

Looking at the Marquis’s bloated physique and the opulent splendor of his estate, it was clear he was a man who grew fat on corruption. Luo Yunyao had previously assumed his wealth came from the offerings of sycophantic officials—though even those officials were merely skimming from the blood and sweat of the people. She had not expected that the Marquis would refuse to spare even these life-saving funds.

Overcome with indignation, Luo Yunyao slammed her fist onto the table. The teacup on the desk jolted, splashing tea everywhere. "Beast!"

Qin Jinghao watched her, his expression deep and unreadable. Even in her fury, Luo Yunyao sensed his displeasure at her outburst.

Forcing herself to regain her composure, she offered him a sheepish, apologetic smile. "My apologies, Brother Qin. I was impolite. Please, forgive me."

Qin Jinghao did not reply, his expression remaining grim. He reached out and opened his palm, signaling for her to place her hand in his.

Luo Yunyao felt a tremor of trepidation at his look. He reminded her of a strict tutor preparing to punish a student who had made a mistake. Though fearful, she obeyed and extended the hand she had used to strike the table.

*A Great General’s strike must be painful,* she thought, closing her eyes in dread.

Her hand, still aching from the impact with the wooden table, was enveloped in his warm, sturdy palm. His hand was large, warm, and deeply calloused. Yet, she found the callouses not abrasive, but strangely comforting.

There was a profound sense of security in being held by such a hand.

As she felt the gentleness with which he treated her, the pain in her palm vanished, replaced by a surging warmth and a flutter in her chest that brought a heat to her cheeks.

Qin Jinghao was unaware of her internal turmoil. He looked at the delicate, fair hand in his, now marked by a patch of red, feeling both heartache and anger. He had intended to treat this person with nothing but gentleness, yet he had still failed to prevent her from being hurt.

"Someone, fetch a fresh, warm egg and some ice," he ordered, showing no concern for whose residence they were in, his instructions to her servants sounding perfectly natural.

"I am a man, I’m not that fragile," Luo Yunyao protested softly. Yet, she felt helpless against his tenderness. She tried to pull her hand away, but Qin Jinghao held it firmly, refusing to let go. She sighed, meeting his gaze in defeat. "It is only a small injury, Brother Qin. There is no need for such concern."

Ignoring her attempt to withdraw, he commanded her with unshakable authority, "Do not do this again. You are not to hurt yourself—not for anyone, not even by your own hand."

The words caused her heart to skip a beat. Luo Yunyao realized she was becoming increasingly abnormal; every word and action of Qin Jinghao’s had a growing influence over her. Trying to regain her composure, she teased, "And what if the hurt comes from you, Brother Qin?"

"That is impossible. And it will never happen."

He said he could not hurt her; he said it was impossible for him to do so.

Qin Jinghao, who usually appeared as cold and aloof as a man carved from jade, was surprisingly adept at such intimate remarks. Luo Yunyao lowered her head, finally identifying the cause of her distress: she had fallen, completely unprepared, into the trap of his earnest, unintended flirtation.

*Perhaps it is merely brotherly affection,* she told herself. *You are currently in the guise of a man; how could he possibly have feelings for you? Do not be so conceited.* Besides, there was always Yue Liuxi, the beautiful childhood friend who stood by his side.

Having rationalized the situation, her spirits drooped once more.

Luo Yunyao fell silent, and the aloof General remained quiet as well. It was not until Qing Zhu returned with the egg and ice that Qin Jinghao began to tend to her hand with meticulous care.

"No... there is no need to trouble yourself, Brother Qin. I can do it myself," she hurried to protest.

Qin Jinghao remained unmoved, focusing entirely on his task.

Luo Yunyao watched him, his head bowed as he massaged her injury with the egg. She could not look away, feeling a mixture of satisfaction and bitterness. *Qin Jinghao, are you this kind to everyone?*

She realized she could not continue like this. She was not yet qualified to taste the sweetness of love; she still had much to accomplish.

"In your opinion, Brother Qin, what do you think of the Marquis of the State being in charge of the disaster relief?"

Qin Jinghao did not look up. "I do not interfere in court politics. I am asking what you intend to do."

Luo Yunyao turned her head away to avoid looking at him, lest her resolve waver. "My ambition in this life is to speak for the people."

Qin Jinghao’s hand paused, and he let out a soft sigh. He truly understood her.

The skin on the back of her hand flushed red under his gentle touch. "Why do you sigh, Brother Qin? Do you disagree with my aspirations?"

"The aspiration is not wrong," Qin Jinghao replied, resuming his ministrations. "But I fear your methods are flawed."

*He is just obsessed with his Doctrine of the Mean,* she thought. "I haven't even acted yet, Brother Qin. How can you know my methods are wrong?"

"Based on my understanding of you."

*As if we are that close,* she thought. She shifted her hand in his, finding herself speechless, and had no choice but to concede. "Do you have any counsel for me, Brother Qin?"

"Nothing specific. Just remember to fulfill the duties of the Minister of War."

*A gentleman stands by his position and performs his duties. Be content, know when to stop. That is the Doctrine of the Mean.*

Qin Jinghao wanted her to be content and compliant, but Luo Yunyao could not agree. The duties of the Minister of War were entirely unrelated to disaster relief; if she were merely content, she could do nothing at all. What would be the point of her holding office? She had chosen the position for the sake of restoring her kingdom, yes, but she also wanted to be a good official.

"Then, according to you, Brother Qin, I should do nothing?" she asked, her temper flaring, all decorum forgotten. "You hold the rank of Great General, and you have contributed greatly to the defense of the nation. But now that we live in peaceful times, you would stand by and watch the people suffer simply because of court politics? How does that justify the people's admiration, or the title of a great hero?"

Qin Jinghao watched her as she argued with him, realizing he had touched a nerve. By the laws of etiquette, he should apologize, but the sight of the young man, face flushed with anger, trying to wake him up, was simply too endearing. He steadied himself. "I did not tell you to do nothing. You must clearly distinguish between what should be done and what should not." He did not mention her accusations or misunderstandings, showing no desire to defend himself.

*A gentleman has things he will do, and things he will not. To be wise is to protect oneself.* The Doctrine of the Mean—it was about prudence, self-preservation, and moving forward or retreating with ease.

Luo Yunyao recalled the texts she had read and felt a profound respect for Qin Jinghao’s philosophy, yet her own state of mind was not so elevated. "I am ignorant, Brother Qin. Please, enlighten me."

Qin Jinghao reached out and lightly tapped her on the head, then placed her bandaged hand back down. "Did you not think yourself clever? Figure it out yourself."

Luo Yunyao looked at her hand, now carefully tended to. The swelling had subsided, leaving only a faint pinkness that looked strangely like an ornament. "My thanks, Brother Qin. Your technique is truly excellent."

Qin Jinghao watched the young man, who looked at his hand with the curiosity of someone who had discovered a treasure. He curled his lips slightly. "Years of warfare have given me experience in treating wounds," he replied dismissively. In his heart, however, he knew he would never care about anyone else's wounds again; he only cared about Luo Yunyao. Even a minor scratch caused him such distress—a sentiment he held for no one else, not even himself.

Luo Yunyao continued to stroke the injured area, still feeling the lingering warmth of his palm. "When did I ever claim to be clever?" she countered innocently, her playful tone returning. "Even if I have a little wit, it is but a trifle compared to yours, Brother Qin."

Qin Jinghao remained expressionless, though his heart had been softened by the boy’s words. He did not answer.

Watching his iron-faced, unmoved expression, Luo Yunyao decided to persevere, batting her long, fan-like eyelashes. "Can you truly rest easy, Brother Qin, letting me grope my way through the political maze alone?"

Qin Jinghao was defeated; he had never been able to handle her. "I will teach you. It cannot be explained in a few words. We shall see when the time comes for action."

Luo Yunyao beamed. "Indeed, paper talk is of no use."

...

At the Prime Minister's estate, Prime Minister Lu found Crown Prince Xiao Limo lounging lazily on a chaise longue. Acting the part of a caring uncle, he inquired, "Is the official business too taxing?"

Xiao Limo did not even lift his eyelids. "What official business is there for me? You know as well as I do that Father insists on balancing power, and lately, he has been shifting some of my duties to Xiao Ming."

The Prime Minister sat down and let out a cold laugh. "Indeed. The Marquis of the State has been acting as if he owns the heavens lately. He seems to have forgotten that the surname of this country is Xiao, not Liu. Let us wait and see how much longer he can remain so arrogant."

Seeing his nephew lounging there, the Prime Minister knew that although Xiao Limo spoke with irritation, he was secretly pleased. After a moment of thought, the old man stroked his beard and asked with a smile, "How did it go with Luo Yao yesterday?"

"How else could it go? Luo Yao may look slender and delicate, like a woman... but he is stubborn as a mule. I did not even bring up the matter of him joining our cause." As Xiao Limo recalled how Luo Yunyao had looked the day before—her long, silken hair cascading down, tipsy and leaning obediently against him—a smile touched his lips.

Seeing that smile, the Prime Minister knew the efforts to win over Luo Yunyao were not going too poorly. "What is wrong with you, child? Am I that old? You have hardly spoken to your uncle properly of late."