A wave of dizziness washed over her.
Upon waking from her bed, Lin Yu was immediately assailed by a dizzy spell, a sensation akin to the lingering effects of a heavy night’s drinking.
‘It wasn’t merely a trick of the mind,’ she mused, ‘I *did* have two drinks during hotpot… Could I have been drunk the entire night!?’
Sifting through the throbbing haze of her mind, Lin Yu painstakingly pieced together the events that transpired after her drinks yesterday.
She had delivered food to that fellow, only for him to snatch her canteen and guzzle its contents. Then, she’d returned to wash her lunchbox before heading to Commander Yang’s, followed by a crushing ten-game losing streak at mahjong…
Lin Yu was well aware of her poor tolerance for alcohol, and the unfortunate incidents that often followed overindulgence. To her immense relief, it appeared she hadn’t committed any egregious blunders last night.
A peculiar resentment towards her benefactor seemed to have arisen without cause; no matter, she would simply dismiss these feelings once the last vestiges of alcohol had faded.
‘…Still, I can’t shake the feeling I’ve forgotten something rather intriguing, perhaps involving someone’s love triangle.’
Tossing aside her quilt, Lin Yu rose to find Nangong already engrossed in a book at the table, prompting her to hurry off to wash up as well.
Such was the routine of a medic: in the absence of casualties, they were free to read and further their education. Yet, Lin Yu had no desire to pore over anatomy textbooks; her mind yearned for the escape offered by the popular novels she had borrowed earlier.
After a swift brushing of her teeth and a splash of water to her face, she brewed a cup of tea at the table. Then, settling beside Nangong, she joined her in quiet, absorbed reading.
‘What a blissful tranquility,’ she thought.
Barely two minutes after she had settled, Nangong set her book down, retrieved two envelopes from a drawer, and tossed them onto the table before Lin Yu. “Today’s the day for mass mail delivery,” she announced. “You’ve got two letters.”
“Letters?” Lin Yu echoed, setting her own book aside. With a curious hand, she picked up one of the envelopes. “Whose are they? From Mom and Dad?”
“The sender’s name is right there on the envelope,” Nangong replied, gesturing for her to look.
Turning the envelope over, Lin Yu scrutinized the elegant script on the front, recognizing it as belonging to no one she knew.
Her parents were illiterate, and even the literate villagers didn’t possess such refined penmanship. Furthermore, their level of education would never permit such a formal signature.
Neatly inscribed in the sender’s box were the characters for “Scholar Mo Zhu.” Lin Yu would stake her life on the fact that she had never, in either of her existences, encountered such a person.
‘Tsk, who cares,’ she thought, ‘I’ll just open it and see.’
Tearing open the envelope, Lin Yu shook out a sheet of letter paper and, with a touch of impatience, silently read its contents.
‘To the Esteemed…’
“This isn’t a family letter, it’s a harassment letter,” she declared, having barely skimmed a few lines. With a decisive *slap*, she pushed the offending missive away, her attention now shifting to the second envelope.
The sender of this one was Wang Wen, another unfamiliar name.
Tearing open the second envelope, Lin Yu began to read its contents.
‘The record has been met with great acclaim, and we hope to invite you to participate in the recording of more songs…’
“Nangong,” Lin Yu exclaimed, waving the letter excitedly. “This person says they want to invite me to record an album!” She hoped to capture her companion’s attention.
Nangong’s gaze, however, remained fixed on the letter Lin Yu had so dismissively slapped onto the table. “Do you know,” she began, “this person actually wants to be your pen pal.”
“A pen pal? Not a harassment letter?” Lin Yu blinked, utterly bewildered.
The remarkably niche term left Lin Yu momentarily dumbfounded. It took her a long while to grasp its meaning, recalling that in her previous life, she had only ever encountered such a relationship in the confines of English language essay prompts.
She had merely *heard* of it.
It appeared that pen pals were quite fashionable in this current era.
“They’re trying to make a friend, how can you call that harassment?” Nangong chided gently, setting the letter down and meeting Lin Yu’s gaze. “Look at the postmark; these letters are sent anonymously. Now, what was that you were saying about a record…?”
“Oh, that was part of my earlier plan,” Lin Yu explained. “Commander Yang couldn’t find any Lanfors songs, so she had me record a few on the spot. After I finished those, I even recorded a few of our own songs as extras.”
As she recounted her moment of triumph, Lin Yu’s voice inevitably soared with pride. “My voice must have been so captivating that someone took notice!”
“Alright, alright, no need to gloat,” Nangong interjected, gently deflating Lin Yu’s pride, which had threatened to burst through the tent flap. “Don’t forget you’re an active medic right now. You can’t just abandon the front lines to go record albums or perform. Put such thoughts out of your mind until the war is over.”
Of course, Lin Yu, her artistic aspirations ignited by the letter, wasn’t one to give up so easily. “I could always switch careers and become an artistic soldier (TL Note: A military role focused on cultural and entertainment activities, which in this context, Nangong views as unsuitable for a ‘good girl’),” she mused, “if Commander Yang would permit it.”
The words had barely left her lips when Nangong shot her a look that could only be described as utterly dumbfounded. “Do you honestly believe,” Nangong retorted, “that our army’s branch of service includes such a role?”
“Huh?”
‘So Diacla doesn’t have artistic soldiers?’
“Similar professions do exist,” Nangong conceded, “but they are absolutely not roles a respectable young woman would ever consider. If you dared to apply, I would personally break both your legs on behalf of your parents.”
Nangong delivered these grave words with an unsettling nonchalance, then explained her rationale for threatening to break Lin Yu’s legs. “Singing and dancing for men is an activity reserved for the military season (TL Note: A specific period, possibly a time of celebration or lull in fighting, within the military’s operational calendar). You should remain here, following my lead, and tending to the wounded.”
“…Understood.”
Her dream of becoming an artistic soldier lay shattered.
Thankfully, she could still serve as a medic; though it was arduous and tiring, it at least allowed her to preserve her dignity—at least, until Commander Yang set her sights on her.
She offered another silent prayer that Commander Yang, upon discovering her true gender, would respect her free will and refrain from coercing her into anything against her wishes.
“Say, has it been too peaceful lately?” Nangong inquired, her tone shifting to critical. “You seem to have developed some bad habits. Your mental state is like you’re on vacation, yet your actual leave is still far off.”
Lin Yu’s smile faded as she silently accepted Nangong’s criticism.
“The Lanfors haven’t been shelling us these past few days not because they’ve suddenly had a change of heart,” Nangong continued, “but because they harbor ulterior motives. You must remain constantly vigilant for potential attacks. If necessary, you can even dust off your rifle.”
Lin Yu, however, found Nangong’s reaction somewhat alarmist. “This is the rear,” she countered. “A rifle won’t ever be needed here.”
To this very day, the rifle she had received from the former quartermaster had only been put to use on two occasions. The first time, it served as a teaching aid for Nangong, demonstrating magic items and temporarily restoring magical energy. The second was to fire a salute in honor of the deceased crown prince, expending a total of two bullets.
Of the remaining three rounds, one rested in the chamber, and two were loaded into the magazine. It seemed unlikely they would ever be needed again.
Pushing both letters aside, determined to banish thoughts unrelated to her current reality, Lin Yu picked up her teacup, took a sip, and resumed perusing her novel.
She would soon come to regret dismissing her rifle as nothing more than “a useless stick for stoking fires.”
“When they eventually attack, you can try to talk them out of firing,” Nangong said, merely shrugging her shoulders. “I, for one, will be picking up my rifle.” She had no intention of trying to convince Lin Yu to hold weapons in higher regard.
On the day the entire army had donned white uniforms, Nangong too had collected a rifle. After the ceremony, the frugal quartermaster hadn’t bothered to reclaim it. Now, with its sling draped over the coat rack and its buttstock resting on the floor, the entire weapon stood beside her bed.
It appeared Nangong intended to become an armed medic, much like the characters in “Field Fighting,” a game Lin Yu had played in her previous life.
Lin Yu merely shrugged in response, deciding against informing Nangong that a medic wielding a rifle was, in her opinion, utterly pointless.
Her tea was quickly drained. She rose to boil another kettle, then brewed herself a fresh cup.
The novel she was engrossed in was already past its halfway point. Remembering Zhao Yanyan’s admonition against folding pages, Lin Yu found a fallen leaf to use as a bookmark, tucking it into the bottom of the book so a sliver of yellowish-green peeked out.
‘The “calm before the storm” I’d envisioned was entirely misplaced,’ she thought, ‘it’s more like “the storm has passed, and the sky is clear.” I worried for nothing.’
Leaning back into the wooden chair, Lin Yu stretched luxuriously, emitting a contented sigh.
“This is truly delightful…”
As if in direct response to her contentment, a flurry of hurried footsteps erupted outside the tent. Moments later, a squad of black-clad disciplinary officers burst into her morning tea scene.
Her eyes darted to the dark muzzles of the guns abruptly aimed her way. Lin Yu’s mind raced through every unscrupulous deed she’d committed in both her lives, her memories quickly settling on that afternoon she had prayed for the uncle and the deceased.
“Are you ever going to be finished!?”