Flower Stealing Master

Though it was a jest, the saying spread widely throughout the *wulin*. After all, Guo Jing had obtained Huang Rong and risen from a simple young man to a great hero, holding the Mongol cavalry at bay at Xiangyang and preserving the Southern Song’s remaining territory.

Zhao Min needed no introduction. With a small taste of her abilities, she had thrown the Central Plains *wulin* into bloody turmoil and elevated her father, Prince Ruyang, above countless other Mongol princes to become one of the four most powerful princes in Mongolia.

As for obtaining both Zhao Min and Huang Rong, everyone took it as idle talk. Either of them alone was a once-in-a-generation prodigy. To obtain one would require one’s ancestors’ graves to emit green smoke. Moreover, Huang Rong was already married. With Guo Jing’s upright character, how could there be any connection with Zhao Min?

A person’s reputation preceded them. Seeing that Zhao Min was about to speak, everyone else fell silent.

Zhao Min smiled faintly, her voice soft and crisp. “As a Mongol commander, I of course hope the Golden Serpent Camp will press its advantage and march straight into Lin’an.”

The pro-war faction, hearing her side with them, became excited. They began chattering away, criticizing the peace faction.

“Surnamed Zhao!” Zhou Zhiruo’s willow brows arched. She rose to speak, but Song Qingshu pulled her back down.

“Let her finish,” Song Qingshu said, his expression calm, unreadable.

As if finding a kindred spirit, Zhao Min smiled radiantly—then immediately shifted her tone. “But as Song Qingshu’s friend, I advise you to seek peace with the Southern Song.”

“Why?” The pro-war faction erupted, all speaking at once.

Zhao Min did not answer directly. Instead, she asked, “May I ask, how does the Golden Serpent Camp’s current fighting strength compare to the Mongol cavalry?”

The group exchanged uneasy glances. Finally, someone admitted, “Probably not as good.” In recent years, the Mongol cavalry had swept across the northern desert, the Central Plains, and the Western Regions. No matter how arrogant they were, they would not go so far as to claim superiority.

“But we have the Golden Serpent King,” someone protested weakly.

“Song Qingshu is still flesh and blood.” Zhao Min glanced at him. “Do you expect him to take the enemy commander’s head from amidst thousands of soldiers in every single battle?”

Seeing the group fall silent, Zhao Min continued, “The Song royal house may appear weak, but if actually attacked, they would unleash surprising power. Our Mongol armies have swept across all directions, but the only place where we’ve suffered the most losses is here with the Southern Song. You’ve won a few victories, and it’s gone to your heads. Dreaming of marching into Lin’an—that’s pure fantasy.”

The group was rendered speechless. Many thought, *If we end up with such a formidable mistress, our lives will become difficult.*

Seeing that the moment was right, Song Qingshu spoke. “Besides what the Commander has said, there are two other important reasons. First, the Jianghuai region has just surrendered. Our foundations are unstable. We haven’t even had time to digest our previous gains. To start another war now would be unwise. Second, the Central Plains are in chaos, foreign tribes are rampant. The Southern Song represents the orthodox Han Chinese rule. If we attack them, we risk being despised by Han people everywhere. That’s a risk we cannot take.”

“Therefore,” Song Qingshu stood, his gaze toward the distant south, “I have decided to send an envoy to the Southern Song to negotiate peace and an alliance.”

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