Extra 17. The Protagonist’s Current Life (3)

The Yaoguang Garden bustled with life as autumn gave way to winter, and soon enough, it was the end of the year—another Lunar New Year’s Eve.

In the warm afternoon sun, a long table was set up in the courtyard. Everyone gathered around, rolling out dough skins and chopping fillings.

Last year during the twelfth lunar month, Yuan Ce had been forced to leave for the capital by imperial decree, leaving Jiang Zhiyi to spend the New Year alone in the quiet Yaoguang Garden. Before leaving, he promised her that from then on, he would spend every New Year’s Eve with her. This year marked the fulfillment of that promise.

A few days earlier, Yuan Ce had asked Jiang Zhiyi what she wanted to do for the New Year. She replied, “When I was little, I used to make dumplings with my parents on New Year’s Eve. My father said that if you make the dumplings for the reunion dinner yourself, you can put as much good fortune into them as you like. Even the heavens won’t blame us for being greedy on this day.”

Since last year, Jiang Zhiyi had overcome her fear of dumplings. The first thing she wanted to do to make up for lost time was to personally make dumplings again after so many years. In the afternoon, she invited Baojia and Li Dafeng to join in the festivities.

Yuan Ce stood at the long table, holding a knife in each hand. With swift, precise movements, the meat on the cutting board was quickly reduced to fine mince.

Across from him, Li Dafeng watched Yuan Ce wield his dual knives, his gaze occasionally flicking down to the minced meat. He chuckled while rolling out dough skins.

After catching Yuan Ce glance up for what seemed like the umpteenth time, Yuan Ce exerted a bit more force, causing the blade to emit a sharp thunk as it lodged into the cutting board. “Come now, tell me—what’s so amusing?”

Li Dafeng calmly handed the rolled-out dough skins to Baojia, suppressing his laughter. “Forgive me for losing composure. It’s just that I’m used to seeing the young general wielding a battle sword—I never expected to live to see the day he wields a kitchen knife.”

Throughout the past year, Hexi had enjoyed peace and stability, and Yuan Ce’s sword hadn’t tasted blood in a long time. His use of knives was now mostly for adding flair to Jiang Zhiyi’s meals—slicing fish or carving meat.

At first, Yuan Ce had felt that his hands were meant for a different kind of blade. But Jiang Zhiyi had reassured him: if the general’s hands are slicing fish and meat, it means the land is at peace and the people are thriving. What could be better than that?

“The young general has truly spent over a decade wielding blades. You chop meat swiftly and skillfully—the craftsmanship rivals even the finest chefs,” Li Dafeng added diplomatically.

Yuan Ce shot him a glance, picked up his knives, and resumed his work with both hands. “And Physician Li is no less impressive—a masterful touch, indeed. Every dough skin you roll is perfectly shaped, evenly thick. It’s a shame you don’t set up a stall.”

“The young general flatters me.”

“You two have such silver tongues—why not try praising the dumplings our Zhiyi has made?” Baojia teased, holding up a misshapen dumpling. “Don’t let her cry halfway through because she can’t finish wrapping them.”

Both Yuan Ce and Li Dafeng turned their attention to Jiang Zhiyi.

Jiang Zhiyi quickly cupped her hands protectively over the dumpling, drawing out her words in feigned annoyance. “Sister, don’t mock me like that! I’ve just been out of practice for too many years. After making a few more, I’ll get the hang of it…”

Yuan Ce leaned closer. “Let me see. How can I praise them if I don’t look?”

“You’ll lose your ability to praise once you see them.” Jiang Zhiyi stubbornly kept her hands closed.

“Is there any dumpling in this world I wouldn’t be able to praise?”

Jiang Zhiyi glanced at him sideways and finally opened her palm.

There lay a dumpling with its filling spilling out, the edges unable to seal shut.

Yuan Ce raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with this? It’s perfect. Does the law of Daya require dumplings to be sealed? Different strokes for different folks—I happen to love open-faced dumplings.”

Jiang Zhiyi playfully nudged him. “I still want to send some to the camp. They can’t embarrass me like this.”

“I’m eating your handmade dumplings for the first time today. If the soldiers get to eat them on the same day, they should consider themselves blessed. What else could they possibly complain about?”

As if on cue, a familiar male voice rang out from the corridor: “Dumplings made by the young mistress herself—this is a blessing no amount of prayer could bring! On behalf of the brothers, I thank you, Young Mistress!”

Jiang Zhiyi turned her head to see Mu Xinhong striding toward them, his waist sword strapped securely.

“General Mu is early—the dumplings aren’t ready yet!” she exclaimed.

“Young Mistress, I came early because I was afraid that if I delayed, the young general would find another excuse to skip today’s martial arts match.”

During the six months Yuan Ce spent at home recuperating, Mu Xinhong had repeatedly urged him to return to the army, insisting that the Xuan Ce Army couldn’t function without its core leader.

This past autumn, Yuan Ce returned to the camp under the guise of “Jizhu.” Most of the time, he remained behind the scenes, occasionally appearing on the training grounds to oversee drills.

Jizhu’s first public appearance caused quite a stir in the army. His physique and skills bore an uncanny resemblance to their late young general.

The resemblance was so striking that rumors began to spread—was the face beneath the mask identical to the young general’s? Could it be that the young general hadn’t died at all but had merely recovered from his injuries, returning under the guise of a scout?

However, several veteran soldiers who had seen Jizhu before confirmed that he had always looked like this—he’d grown up within the army. If anything, it was the young general who resembled Jizhu, not the other way around.

Though doubts lingered privately among the ranks, no one dared question the emperor’s actions. If the young general were alive, it would mean the emperor tacitly approved his return—a silent joy shared by the entire Xuan Ce Army. If it were just a coincidence, Jizhu’s abilities certainly qualified him to lead. Speculation aside, the troops gradually stopped obsessing over the face beneath the mask, focusing instead on the person before them.

“Still sparring on New Year’s Eve? Haven’t you had enough matches this year?” Yuan Ce narrowed his eyes at Mu Xinhong.

Mu Xinhong waved his hands frantically. “Young General, please don’t put it like that! This match was proposed by the young mistress!”

Yuan Ce slowly turned his head to look at Jiang Zhiyi, nodding. “You’re right—they haven’t had enough. I’ve noticed those men have been slacking off lately.”

Jiang Zhiyi smiled faintly. “It’s not a serious martial competition—just games like arrow tossing and hitting markers for fun. It’s just an excuse to give out prizes. Everyone who participates will receive a reward, and the top three will be heavily rewarded.”

Mu Xinhong added, “Young General, last New Year’s Eve, everyone was on edge, and we couldn’t celebrate properly. This year, why don’t you join in the festivities? It’ll help put everyone at ease.”

Yuan Ce tilted his chin upward. “If I go, what’s left for them to do?”

“Look at you, talking like that!” Mu Xinhong laughed. “The young mistress is as wise and far-sighted as they come. She’s already thought of everything and prepared two sets of first-place prizes. You just focus on winning.”

________________________________________

After spending half the day making dumplings with Jiang Zhiyi, Yuan Ce set off for the military camp when it was time for the martial event.

Jiang Zhiyi, still carrying the scent of flour and meat filling on her, bathed and freshened up before heading to the camp a little later. By the time she arrived at the training grounds at dusk, the place was bustling with energy. In the center of the field, Yuan Ce wore a silver mask and wielded a silver spear in his right hand, keeping his left hand behind his back as he sparred with the soldiers.

The crowd in the spectator stands watched intently, clapping and cheering loudly. No one noticed her arrival until Yuan Ce flicked his spear, delivering a decisive blow, and then turned his head to look directly at her.

As Yuan Ce shifted his gaze, the crowd followed, spotting her standing there. They all rose to their feet, ready to bow.

Jiang Zhiyi raised her hand slightly to stop them.

Since Yuan Ce had returned to the army, Jiang Zhiyi had visited the Xuan Ce Army camp a few times, always during festivals to reward the troops.

The soldiers greeted her with a spontaneous “Young Mistress,” but after uttering the words, some hesitated, perhaps recalling the complex relationships involved, unsure whether they should address her this way.

She didn’t offer an answer, simply smiling and saying, “Call me however you wish.”

Seeing that Jiang Zhiyi didn’t want to make a fuss, Mu Xinhong reassured everyone to continue watching the event and called the next group to the field.

Yuan Ce retracted his spear and stepped off the field, taking a seat at the highest point of the spectator stands. He waved at Jiang Zhiyi to beckon her over.

Jiang Zhiyi walked up the steps and sat beside him, whispering, “I thought this was supposed to be arrow tossing and hitting markers. Why are you using spears now?”

“They were itching for a challenge and insisted on testing me.”

“So, did you let them win with one hand tied behind your back?”

“Even if I gave them both hands, I wouldn’t lose. If I could lose under those circumstances, I might as well truly retire and return to farming,” Yuan Ce smirked. “So, where’s my prize? What is it?”

“A kiss.” Jiang Zhiyi leaned close to his ear and whispered.

Yuan Ce immediately turned his face toward her, attempting to kiss her.

Laughing, Jiang Zhiyi pushed his face away, lowering her voice. “There are so many people in front of us. You can afford to be shameless while wearing that mask, but I can’t!”

“Didn’t you say a kiss?”

Jiang Zhiyi pulled a wooden box from her sleeve. “Here, this is the real prize.”

Yuan Ce took the box and opened it, revealing a black jade thumb ring. His eyes flickered slightly.

“You once lent me a jade thumb ring when teaching me archery. I noticed it had cracks all over it, so I got you a new one.”

Yuan Ce, like her, was born in winter, but he never celebrated his birthday because, for him and the Shen family, it wasn’t a day worth commemorating.

Knowing this, Jiang Zhiyi didn’t insist on celebrating his birthday to fulfill her own wishes. Instead of giving him a gift on his actual birthday, she decided to present it on another day.

Recently, she had been pondering what to give Yuan Ce. She remembered the cracked jade thumb ring he had carefully preserved for years and consulted Li Dafeng about its origins. She learned that it was a gift Yuan Ce had painstakingly begged his father for as a child.

“From now on, you won’t have to beg anyone for gifts—I’ll give you one every year,” Jiang Zhiyi said softly, looking at him.

Yuan Ce lifted his head to meet her gaze.

“What is it?”

Yuan Ce shook his head. “I just feel like… I’ve been waiting for this thumb ring for many years.”

Smiling, Jiang Zhiyi gently took his hand and slid the thumb ring onto his thumb.

In the front row, a soldier discreetly turned his head to glance at the two of them, whispering to a fellow soldier who was equally curious about their relationship and no longer focused on the match. “I think calling the young mistress ‘Young Lady’ is never wrong.”

If Jizhu really is the original young general, then the young mistress is naturally their Young Lady.

And if Jizhu isn’t the original young general, then it’s still true—

Generals may change, but the Young Lady remains constant.