Chapter 423 Venison

Chapter 423: Venison

Cui Ji sat in the host's seat, directly across from Cheng Ge. His left arm had been re-bandaged, leaving only his right hand usable.

The food before him was barely touched—he only absently poked at the soup in his bowl with his chopsticks, while his gaze lay heavy and unblinking on Cheng Ge's face—

Or more precisely, on the subtly bobbing Adam's apple caused by Cheng Ge's rapid swallowing, and the corner of his mouth that had caught a faint sheen of oil.

That look was profoundly complex—the treasuring of something recovered, the fear that hadn't yet faded, intense possessiveness, and a faint, hard-to-read irritability from the other two being there.

Yun Xunyu sat to Cheng Ge's left.

He had changed out of that flashy getup, now wearing a simple, well-fitted robe in plain fabric. His ink-black hair was half loose, loosely pinned up with a wooden hairpin.

He lounged back in his chair, his fingertips lazily tapping the tabletop.

Yet his gaze was like a hook, sweeping lazily over the pale sliver of Cheng Ge's neck exposed as he bent to eat, and the lines of his shoulders and back that rose and fell as he chewed.

The bowl and chopsticks before him were clean as new, as if they were just for show.

A faint, inscrutable smile played at the corner of his lips, as though he were appreciating some entertaining view.

Lin Nanshu sat to Cheng Ge's right.

He sat upright, his bearing carrying the cultured grace of a noble son, bred into his bones.

He'd only taken a single small bite before setting down his chopsticks.

His gaze settled warmly on Cheng Ge's profile, occasionally drifting to the well-boned hands gripping his chopsticks as he reached for food.

Three men, three entirely different auras, yet all silent—directing all their focus—

Whether worry, possessiveness, scrutiny, or concern—all silently projected onto the one person in their midst too busy eating to notice.

The tent was filled with nothing but the crackle of charcoal, the sounds of Cheng Ge chewing and swallowing, and an almost suffocating, wordless tension.

Cheng Ge was totally clueless.

He polished off a bowl of rice in a whirlwind, let out a contented breath, and was just reaching for the mutton—

Swish.

Swish.

Swish.

Three pairs of chopsticks, almost simultaneously, from three different directions, landed with pinpoint accuracy in his bowl.

Cheng Ge's hand froze in mid-air toward the dish, with a mouthful of rice still in his mouth.

He blinked blankly, his gaze moving dully between the three hands gripping chopsticks and the three unreadable faces.

"???"

A string of question marks popped into his head.

Cheng Ge looked down at his empty bowl, now stacked into a little "mountain" by three pieces of mutton, sauce dripping, meat aroma hitting his nose.

Three pairs of chopsticks withdrew at once, setting back down onto their respective dishes.

Then, gazes fixed back on Cheng Ge's face, waiting in silence, as if observing which piece of meat he would choose first.

Cheng Ge looked at that "heart-shaped (?) meat mountain" in his bowl and swallowed the rice in his mouth with difficulty.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was... surrounded by something weird.

In that hair-raising silence, Cui Ji moved again.

With his uninjured right hand, he picked up the small copper kettle that was keeping warm on the table and poured tea into the three empty cups in front of him.

The trickle of water broke the stillness.

He filled one cup, then slid it over to Yun Xunyu with his fingertips.

Filled another, and slid it to Lin Nanshu.

His own was left empty.

The brief silence in the tent was broken by the sound of water, then settled into an even stranger atmosphere.

Cui Ji pushed the teacup to Yun Xunyu without looking at him, his tone flat but each word crisp:

"The Third Prince has come from afar. Our camp is rough around the edges, and we haven't hosted you properly. I hope you'll forgive us."

The words couldn't be faulted—the courtesy of a host to a guest—yet they carried a quiet aloofness.

The message was subtle but unmistakable: this camp was his territory, not a place for a foreign prince to tread.

The curve of Yun Xunyu's lips deepened, his phoenix eyes narrowing slightly.

He did not touch the tea. Instead, with his fingertip—extremely lightly, extremely slowly—he eased the cup before him a hair's breadth to the side.

The rim tilted, and a small stream of amber tea silently spilled out, spreading a small wet stain on the rough wooden table.

His fingertip didn't pull back, but instead landed on the wet spot, idly drawing two lines through it.

He lifted his eyes, gaze passing over the stain to land directly on Cui Ji, his voice still carrying that lazy, teasing drawl.

"The general is too kind. I'm nothing but a lazy good-for-nothing now, just looking for an easy, fun life. As for where..."

His gaze drifted, finally landing on the profile of Cheng Ge, who was currently inhaling his food like there was no tomorrow, and his smile deepened. "Wherever my dear is, there I'll be."

The word "dear" was spoken with an almost lingering tenderness, unusually clear in the silent tent—and unusually jarring.

It was nearly a blatant declaration.

The fingers of Cui Ji's hand gripping the copper kettle handle tightened almost imperceptibly, veins faintly bulging on the back of his hand.

He looked away, as if he hadn't heard the provocation, and picked up the kettle again.

Just then, Lin Nanshu, who had been sitting quietly on Cheng Ge's right, moved.

He hadn't participated in the back-and-forth, but silently picked up the untouched bowl of hot soup before him.

Then he leaned over and calmly topped off Cheng Ge's soup bowl, which had already been emptied from eating too quickly.

The motion was natural and fluid, carrying a quiet, effortless thoughtfulness.

"I hear Nanling is in turmoil these days. Power shifts are the most unpredictable—before you know it, the deer may fall to another's hand."

At these words, the atmosphere in the tent suddenly turned heavy.

Yun Xunyu leaned back, but the smile at the corner of his mouth deepened.

He drew a line through the water stain on the table with his fingertip, then spoke slowly:

"I've heard it said that this roasted venison is exquisitely delicious, unforgettable to those who taste it. Once, a man of Zhou traveled a thousand li just to seek it out..."

He paused deliberately, his gaze sweeping over Cui Ji's grim face before settling on Cheng Ge's throat, which bobbed slightly as he drank his soup, his voice laced with mocking malice.

"But who would have thought—he ate it and couldn't stop vomiting. Afterwards, he told others its taste... was comparable to filth."

The air in the tent turned icy.

Even the crackling of the charcoal fire sounded harsh.

Yun Xunyu savored the subtle changes in Lin Nanshu's and Cui Ji's expressions, then continued:

"...And so, this venison—those who relish it find it sweet as honey; those who loathe it see it as arsenic."

With that, the smile at the corner of Yun Xunyu's lips deepened, yet there was no warmth in his eyes.

He straightened up leisurely, lifting his fingertip from the water stain and tapping lightly on the tabletop.

His words spoke of venison on the surface, but every syllable was aimed squarely at the sickening struggle for imperial authority in Nanling.

"However," he shifted his tone abruptly, his gaze sweeping vaguely over the bandaged arm of the man in the seat of honor, then past the taut profile of the refined young gentleman to the right.

"As I see it, the 'beasts' eager to be thrown onto the fire are not limited to the kind Young Master Lin just mentioned."

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice by half:

"Some 'beasts' are born in the wild, raised in wind and frost, carving out their own territory with tooth and claw, believing themselves masters of their own fate.

Little do they know, an invisible rope has long been tied around their necks—every move watched by eyes from above.

The moment they show signs of fatigue or injury, that rope tightens, and the jackals around them come catching the scent of blood...

Do they keep charging forward under the lash until they're spent and devoured? Or do they seize the chance to break free, fleeing back to the mountains to lick their wounds?

The peril and torment of that choice—I suspect it's no easier than that of the 'deer' in the cage awaiting its slaughter."

Though he named no one, the jab was aimed at Cui Ji.

Then his gaze turned to the other side, his tone carrying even deeper amusement:

"And then there are those... born into wealthy, aristocratic households, residing in grand estates, admired by the world.

The young scions of such clans are all refined and elegant, every move and mannerism exuding grace.

But beneath those lofty gates and deep courtyards, the pillars that hold up the family—aren't they also built on shifting sand?

When the wind turns, yesterday's dependents may become today's grave diggers.

One misstep, and a hundred years of legacy could crumble in an instant."

This vividly captured the glory and peril of the great aristocratic houses, the walking on eggshells at the heart of the power maelstrom.

Yun Xunyu leaned back into his chair, his posture returning to its languid ease, as if the words just spoken were mere idle chatter.

He picked up the cup of tea before him—long gone cold—took a sip, made a face, and set it down again.

"Furthermore," he drawled, his gaze roaming over the faces of the two across from him with an almost pitying mockery, "those who chase the deer may abandon it in the forest and retreat to their high towers."

His tone shifted once more, turning suddenly sharp: "But I fear there are those who, standing in the very cauldron, still worry about whether the butcher is hungry or weary."

He paused deliberately, letting the unspoken implication hang in the air.

"Such foolish benevolence."

He tapped the table, a barely concealed sneer curling at his lips: "Is bound to invite... ridicule."

The last four words he spoke very softly, yet they struck like poison-tipped needles, piercing the frozen air of the tent.

The air inside seemed to freeze, only Yun Xunyu's lingering, mocking echo still hanging in the silence.

Suddenly.

"Burp—" A loud, unmistakable burp shattered the suffocating stillness without warning.

Cheng Ge set down his soup bowl, his gaze sweeping across the three faces before returning to the table.

Then he reached out with his chopsticks and, without a second thought, lifted the last piece of lamb—its sauce already beginning to congeal—from the plate in front of Yun Xunyu and scooped it into his own bowl.

With the final mouthful of rice at the bottom of his bowl, he wolfed it down in three quick bites.

After swallowing the last bite, he picked up the cup of tea beside him, took a big gulp to wash it down, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Only then did he look up at Yun Xunyu, his eyes filled with genuine curiosity, and with his mouth still full, he asked clearly:

"That roasted venison... is it really that good?"

Everyone: "..."

As Cheng Ge's question landed, the tent fell into a silence even more unsettling than before.

After the exchange of veiled barbs and deadly innuendo that had just concluded, Cheng Ge's simple, innocent question felt wildly out of place—almost absurd.

The three gazes, as if on cue, once again converged on Cheng Ge's face.

But this time, the meaning in those looks was far more complex and unreadable than before.

After a long moment, Lin Nanshu was the first to react.

He handed a handkerchief to Cheng Ge, then offered a gentle smile, his eyes clear and warm:

"The Lin family has a hunting ground in Pucheng, where we happen to raise some deer—nothing rare, but plump and fine.

If Muyu is truly curious about the taste of venison, you're welcome to come with me."

"Hunting ground?!" Cheng Ge's eyes lit up instantly—but the brightness lingered only a moment.

Pucheng wasn't far from here, but even so, the round trip would take two or three days.

Add a few days at the hunting ground, and he'd be gone at least seven or eight.

Almost immediately, instinctively, he shot a quick, furtive glance at the silent Cui Ji in the seat of honor.

Cui Ji's left arm was still wrapped in bandages, his face pale in the candlelight, still pale from his unhealed wounds.

The situation in the northern border is delicate now, and Cui Ji, as the Chief Commander, naturally cannot stay away from the camp for too long.

He shook his head somewhat stiffly, his voice dropping as well: "Maybe... let's just forget it."

Seeming to feel he had refused too hastily, he quickly tried to make up for it, his gaze darting toward the howling wind outside the tent, his voice even lower, with a rushed tone that only made his cover-up more obvious:

"Outside... it seems a bit cold. Better inside the camp... warmer."

The excuse was riddled with holes, yet so genuine it made your heart ache.

Lin Nanshu's warm smile faltered, almost imperceptibly.

He slowly withdrew the hand offering the handkerchief, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the soft silk.

He understood the worry and sacrifice in Cheng Ge's glance, and he also heard the true intention beneath the clumsy excuse.

A nameless bitterness quietly seeped into his heart.

He didn't press further; the clear luster in his eyes gradually settled into a stillness as deep as a pool.

He nodded slightly, shifting his gaze to the dancing shadows on the tent wall.

He no longer looked at Cheng Ge, nor at Cui Ji, as if that proposal had been nothing more than idle talk carried off by the wind.

A faint "tap" sounded abruptly. Everyone instinctively looked toward the sound.

They saw that beside Yun Xunyu, the teacup that had gone cold long ago had somehow tipped over.

The amber tea, now lukewarm, dripped unhurriedly down the rough wooden table's edge, spreading into a small dark damp patch on the ground below.

Yet Yun Xunyu seemed utterly oblivious. He just kept his head bowed slightly, his gaze fixed on the fingers that had been tracing the water stain on the table.

The candlelight cast his silhouette against the tent wall, a lock of his half-draped black hair slipping loose, making it impossible to discern his exact expression.

The teacup had tipped over, the tea dripping down. Yet he seemed frozen in place.

...

The situation between Nanling and the Northern Di took a sudden turn, and the Western Rong and Southern barbarians had been caught off guard by Nanling's counterstrike, leaving them still reeling.

The Great Zhou seized the chance to regain its strength, even capturing a city from the Western Rong.

As a result, Cui Ji's military duties grew increasingly heavy. Every day, he would discuss battle plans with his generals, often working late into the night before returning to the main tent.

Afraid of disturbing Cheng Ge's recovery, Cui Ji had him stay in a small tent near the main one.

Cheng Ge had no objection to this, and was even rather pleased with himself.

Every day, besides holing up in his tent, he'd wander around listening to people gossip about Cui Ji.

"Three-way battle royale, flashing blades and clashing words, each wishing they could destroy all their rivals.

Cheng Ge: Is it really that tasty? [drooling]"