The military authority is held by whose hand,
The fate of the empire, held by whose grasp.
Ao Qi felt the taut string in his heart slowly loosen.
No wonder she offered him tea, food, and kind hospitality.
He smiled faintly, his handsome face shadowed by eyes deep as the silent Han Pool.
"Empress, your subject believes this matter is unwise."
At thirty years old, Ao Qi had shed his youth's immaturity; he was no longer reckless or brash.
He had his own judgments to make.
"The battlefield is ever-changing; for the Empress to go there on impulse would not only accomplish little but also divert His Majesty's focus... Especially with winter's chill upon us, the army should be resting and regrouping. What purpose would your journey truly serve?"
"It has a purpose," Feng Yun smiled faintly, "at the very least, to accompany His Majesty."
Ao Qi was left speechless.
After a long silence, he broke into a faint smile, his sharp brows lifting slightly.
"Empress, you must remain calm."
