Meanwhile, Feng Yi received another letter from Yun Zhao. He was already on the road back to the Capital City.
He finished the letter with a grim face, his mood worsening. 'The Empress Dowager is really something else.'
Feng Yi placed Yun Zhao's letter into a small box and stepped out of his tent to gaze up at the starry sky. Tonight, the sky was brilliant, and moonlight bathed the land. The air was cold enough that his breath formed a faint white mist.
The climate of the Northern Land was much harsher than the Capital City's. Winter had not yet arrived in the capital, but here, the mornings were already frosted over.
"Your Majesty, it is time to rest." Meng Jiuchang checked the hour and hurried over to remind him.
'The Emperor is traveling through the night and barely gets any sleep during the day. This can't go on.'
Feng Yi remained silent for a long moment. Meng Jiuchang stood by with his head bowed.
