Legend of the Female General

Chapter 76: Qixi Festival

He Yan stared blankly at the mandarin duck pot in her hand.

A voice pulled her thoughts back to the present. "Don’t know how to use it?"

She looked up to see the young man in dark blue robes already seated on the stool by her bed, taking the pot from her hand.

The mandarin duck pot concealed a clever mechanism—it could hold two different liquids, making it an essential tool for poisoning. He tore off a piece of white cloth, poured a little of one, then a little of the other. First came the medicinal liquid, followed by the powdered medicine. A small spoon was embedded beside the pot’s handle. Xiao Jue removed it and slowly mixed the contents.

As he lowered his gaze to focus on the task, his long lashes cast shadows, and the sharp contours of his profile were strikingly handsome, yet still carried traces of youthful delicacy. It was mesmerizing, making it hard to tell whether she was here in Liang Province’s garrison or thousands of miles away in Xianchang Academy.

By the time He Yan snapped out of her daze, he had already finished applying the ointment on the white cloth and tossed it to her, his tone icy. "Do it yourself."

"Oh," she muttered under her breath, having expected as much. "Wasn’t counting on your help anyway."

He heard her and fixed her with an amused yet mocking stare. "Wouldn’t dare delay your noble commitment to preserving your virtue."

"Glad you know," He Yan replied cheerfully. "Still, thank you, Commander. Such precious medicine."

"The garrison is short on supplies—unless you’d prefer to die," he said flatly.

He Yan looked at him solemnly. "Then you’ve saved my life. Who knew the Commander was such a gentleman?"

Xiao Jue scoffed. "Nonsense." With that, he stood and left.

Only when she was certain he was truly gone did He Yan lean back against the headboard and sigh softly. Xiao Jue’s medicine was remarkably effective—cool and soothing, easing the pain almost instantly.

Gazing at the pot, her thoughts drifted far away.

On that snowy night when she was fourteen, Xiao Jue hadn’t been as cold as he was now. Back then, when He Yan had said, "Don’t know how to use it," he had not only opened the mandarin duck pot for her but also applied the medicine himself.

It was strange. The memory had long faded into obscurity, but now, after Xiao Jue’s visit, those forgotten details slowly unfolded before her eyes as if they had just happened—vivid beyond belief.

She had been sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard, and the usually indifferent and lazy youth had, for once, patiently tended to her wounds. His features were like a painting, his profile so close she could almost feel his warm breath. Stripped of his usual sharpness, he radiated a gentle warmth that enveloped her shivering heart.

The mask hid her face, so he couldn’t see her expression—nor could he sense the fluttering in her chest at that moment.

It was hard not to be moved by someone like him, especially when such a cold person showed tenderness. Even the most unfeeling heart would skip a beat. He Yan, young and defenseless, had been utterly overwhelmed in an instant.

Once the medicine was applied, he turned to leave. He Yan called softly after him, "Your medicine."

"Keep it," the youth replied carelessly. "You’re so clumsy, you’ll probably get hurt again. Might as well have it."

His words proved prophetic. In the years that followed, she had indeed been injured countless times. The ointment in the mandarin duck pot had long been used up, and the pot itself had been lost in one of the battles—a regret she still carried.

The next day, when the young scholars arrived at the academy, they discovered their calligraphy practice sheets soaked and ruined, the ink blurred beyond recognition. Chaos ensued."Who did this? Come out and I promise I won’t kill you!" they roared furiously.

"Isn’t it obvious? Just check whose handwriting sheets are clean—search among them, and we’ll find the one who has a grudge against us," someone offered a clever suggestion.

He Yan’s heart tightened, filled with regret. No wonder she was called foolish—she hadn’t even thought of this. Her handwriting sheets were neat and clean, and with a little scrutiny, wouldn’t it be obvious it was her?

Well, what’s done is done. A true man owns up to his actions. Steeling herself, she resigned to her fate and watched as the boys ordered the students in the academy to bring out their handwriting sheets for inspection.

They were almost at her desk now.

Summoning her courage, He Yan was about to step forward and declare, "It was me!" when suddenly, someone entered and slammed a book heavily onto the table.

The noise was so loud that everyone turned to look. There stood a handsome youth in white robes leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his expression lazy and indifferent as he said casually, "It was me."

A wave of murmurs swept through the room.

"Huai... Huai-jin, was it really you?" someone asked cautiously.

Xiao Huaijin was no He Rufei. In the capital, who dared provoke him? Not only was the Xiao family powerful enough to crush anyone, even the tutors protected him—he was personally praised by the Emperor.

"It was me," he answered matter-of-factly.

"But... why?" the person asked, looking miserable.

"No reason," the youth replied coolly, glancing at him. "My hand slipped."

"Pfft—" He Yan couldn’t hold back a laugh. Sensing the stares, she quickly turned away, pretending nothing had happened.

And then?

The matter was dropped just like that. Since it was Xiao Huaijin, no one dared say anything further and could only swallow their grievances.

With a creak, the door opened, and Shen Muxue walked in. She took away the empty medicine bowl and water basin, reminding He Yan not to press on her wound before leaving.

Through the narrow window of the room, a corner of the sky was visible, where a bright moon hung amidst a sea of glittering stars.

She murmured softly, "Today is Qixi Festival…"

A festival she had never celebrated. In the past, she dressed as a man, so such occasions had nothing to do with her. Later, after marrying Xu Zhiheng, she had held some hope at first. No matter how much she pretended to be a man, in her heart, she still wished to be like any ordinary girl—to release flower boats by the river with her beloved, worship the Weaving Maid, steam qiao pastries, and visit the temple fair. She had heard there were even fireflies on the mountain.

Summoning her courage, she made her first request to Xu Zhiheng, who smiled and agreed, "Of course."

But before Qixi arrived, she lost her sight. The matter seemed to fade from memory. Xu Zhiheng never brought it up again, and He Yan didn’t either, thinking perhaps he was too preoccupied with her illness to spare the thought. Until the next day, when He Wanru passed by her door, cheerfully instructing someone to put away the lantern Xu Zhiheng had gifted her the night before.

Only then did she realize that on Qixi, Xu Zhiheng hadn’t been absent from the estate due to official business—he had been accompanying He Wanru to the temple fair.

Life was fleeting as morning dew on white clouds. She didn’t know how well she had played the role of a man, but she knew one thing—she had been a terrible woman.

Lost in thought, Hong Shan walked in from outside and immediately spotted the mandarin-duck flask in her hand. Jokingly, he said, "Oh, so the Commander even gave you a Qixi gift! What fine wine is it? Let your brother have a taste!"

He Yan froze for a moment, then suddenly laughed.Past and present lives—thinking about it now, this Qixi Festival wasn't too bad after all. She shared a horse with the dream man of countless women from Great Wei, touched his waist, rode his steed, traveled mountain paths, gazed at the starry sky, and even got a free jar of spiritual medicine in the end.

Not a wasted life, indeed.

Actually, this is a sweet story about an academic underachiever reborn as a top student who gets a second chance to pursue her campus crush (not really).

(End of Chapter)