They looked at me, then glanced away down the corridor, ignoring me.
I settled into the heavy chair and crossed my legs.
"You know I'm quite skilled. If one of you doesn't come in and watch me, I'll jump out this window and escape."
I said it with tears still wet on my cheeks but projected absolute authority.
After enough lies, my face didn't even flush.
The two guards exchanged a look. Though unconvinced, one came in.
I pointed to the photo: "Is this your Regiment Commander?"
The young guard held his head high, resolute in his loyalty to Victor, refusing to answer.
I got up, went to the door, and closed it.
He immediately stepped forward to open it.
I used my body to block the door and yanked open my collar.
He whirled away: "Inappropriate! Inappropriate!"
"Victor is mad at me, but if he finds out you took advantage of me, he'll beat you to death."
I bluffed shamelessly, wielding Victor's authority to intimidate. I held the photo up to him:
"Answer my questions properly, and I'll let you off the hook."
He turned further, nose to the wall, eyes shut tight.
"The former Regiment Commander was a traitor. He borrowed money from the Japanese, couldn't repay it, so he let his subordinates grow opium, run brothels, and rob people. The Young Marshal shot him six times..."
I thought for a moment. This must be the traitor who'd been executed at the Cathay Hotel.
5.
Victor wouldn't need six shots to kill one man.
Those six bullets were payback for the six shots the man had put in Victor's back.
"How did they end up in a photo together? Were they close?"
Hearing this seemed to touch a wound. The guard held his head even higher.
"I came later, I don't know! Please ask someone else!"
"Out. Send the other one in."
The second guard, having heard the commotion inside, absolutely refused to come in.
I leaned against the door, smiling: "If you don't come in, I'll scream right now."
He buried his head in a tragic display of bravery and came in: "The traitor used to follow the Elder General, helped take Sungate, became Regiment Commander. The Elder General was too busy to raise the Young Marshal, so he handed him over to the traitor for training."
"So Victor spent a long time in this military camp, living in this room?"
"The Young Marshal lived here until he went to study in Germany!"
Hearing this, I no longer found the room shabby.
I looked around the dormitory again, realizing this was Victor's real home.
"So why did your Regiment Commander turn traitor?" I asked, curious.
The second guard couldn't answer either.
Seeing I wouldn't get more, I let them off:
"Alright, I know enough. Go get me something to eat. I'm hungry."
The two guards exchanged looks. The younger one, resigned, went to the mess hall.
I turned to the wardrobe. As expected—military uniforms and training gear from childhood to young adulthood, neatly hung.
Leaning close, I could almost feel the soft-featured face of young Victor.
I'd been running half the night without washing. I picked the smallest uniform, guessing it might fit, and entered the cramped bathroom.
This dormitory had been renovated many times over ten years. The plumbing was chaotic.
I fumbled until I found the hot water.
When I turned it on, the flow clattered noisily, filling the bathroom with steam.
I took off my modern clothes and started washing.
But mid-shower, the water suddenly turned icy.
I yelped, nearly leaping out of my skin.
A voice from outside the bathroom door, sounding slightly panicked: "Rose!"
Seeing someone burst in, I screamed louder and hurled everything within reach.
Seeing I was fine, the person slammed the door shut.
His composure restored, his tone went flat:
"The single rooms in military barracks only have five minutes of hot water. Miss Rose, if you don't want a cold shower, come out now."
When had Victor come back?
This hot shower was deeply unsatisfying.
Not wanting to catch a chill, I quickly dried myself with my hoodie, then put on young Victor's military uniform.
Victor sat at the desk, already changed back into his own military uniform—immaculate, not a crease out of place.
German books lay open before him, but the old photograph was gone.
The smell of burning hung in the air.
Looking closely, I saw a small pile of ashes on the desk.
He looked up at me in his decade-old uniform, as if the sight triggered a memory. He said nothing for a long while.
"What? Does it look bad?"
I sat on the room's only remaining seat—his wooden bed.
"I know this place is safe, but the conditions are harsh. I'll take you back to the Estate."
So he'd interrupted his work just to send me back.
I crossed my arms over my chest: "No. I'm staying with you. I can't be too far from you."
He seemed to misunderstand me. He gave a cold laugh: "I won't give anyone another chance to snipe me. I suggest you drop that idea."
I sat cross-legged on the wooden bed, glaring at him: "Whatever you think, I'm staying in this room. Harsh conditions still come with mantou and pickled vegetables, right? Do you know I ran all over creation all night to buy medicine and clothes for you?"
He rubbed his brow, exasperated. I wasn't sure if he believed me.
I didn't want to appease him either—so I struck first: "I'm hungry and I'm tired. If you have work, go do it. I won't drag you down."
We'd arrived after missing lunch.
Victor had been too busy to eat as well.
At least he'd managed a few bites of convenience food. Otherwise, with a body that had just died and rebooted and was still running a fever, he couldn't have kept going.
"The mess hall is strict. They don't serve after hours. I'll find you some canned food."
He was about to leave when the young guard returned carrying a steamed bun and a dish of pickled vegetables.
Seeing Victor, the guard snapped to attention: "General!"
Victor watched me casually accept the bun and pickled vegetables, eating hungrily.
Surprise flickered in his eyes.
He gave a soft snort—"You're easy to feed"—and strode out.
6.
After Victor left, I devoured everything in sight.
I wrapped myself in a thin blanket on the wooden bed and fell into a deep sleep.
I slept until evening.
I propped myself by the south window, looking out at nothing to do.
The flashy convertible sat conspicuously in the courtyard.
It belonged to that Green Gang heir, Harrison Huang.
Victor never drove something so ostentatious. His travel was always simple—just like this room of his.
Outside the door, I heard the two guards whispering:
"You think that woman can really jump out a window? It's been so quiet—should we go check?"
"Are you crazy? That's the Young Marshal's woman. What woman? The Young Marshal locked the door himself—you dare open it? I don't dare."
"I'm nervous. If she jumps out the window and we're guarding an empty room, won't the Young Marshal flay us both?"
"Third floor! Nobody but the Young Marshal could pull that off."
"I heard there were four snipers yesterday. That Huang kid was shot to pieces, but the Young Marshal was fine, and so was the woman inside. You think she doesn't know martial arts?"
The second guard was genuinely worried now, hesitating: "Should we knock and check?"
"You knock. I'll stand behind you."
"You knock!"
Hearing this, I figured I might as well have some fun.
I tiptoed to the window and opened it.
Then I slipped into the wardrobe.
Outside came a cautious knock: "Miss, can you answer?"
"Why isn't she answering?"
"Shall we open the door and look?"
"We're coming in to clear your dishes."
Then the door opened.
Heavy footsteps paused at the threshold, moved to the bathroom, then quickly came back out.
This was a one-room dormitory—everything visible at a glance.
"Where is she?"
I'd left the wardrobe door cracked, watching the two guards dash in and out of the bathroom, then rush to the wide-open window.
Dumbfounded: "She... she really jumped out the window!"
I couldn't help but muffle my laughter behind my hand. They actually believed it.
Jumping from a third-floor window—that would take someone truly extraordinary.
The two guards panicked, didn't check the wardrobe, and ran outside.
Blowing whistles as they went, the sound fading into the distance.
I slipped out after them.
remembering their mention of "four snipers" and "shot to pieces,"
My heart tightened.
I shouldn't be angry with a man who'd just died and resurrected, still running a fever.
I knew I'd be found within half an hour. I just wanted to go for a walk—maybe, if I was lucky, I'd spot Victor.
I wanted to talk to him properly. Even if he didn't believe me, I just wanted to see him, be near him.
The corridor ran both ways. Dressed in a military uniform and cap, I walked with my head down.
Though the uniform was outdated, the color was close enough. Other patrolling soldiers didn't question me at a distance.
I made it to the ground floor.
My triumphant smile hadn't even had time to form before I collided with someone while looking around.
He was tall, his clothes bloodstained, his knuckles injured.
This person snatched off my cap, releasing a cascade of long hair.
My surprise and docility froze simultaneously on my face: "Victor, I was just coming to find you."
But the words sounded hollow to him.
He didn't say much. He just scooped me up and strode out.
I protested: "Wait, I can walk myself."
He completely ignored me.
My stomach pressed against his shoulder—my head was upside down again.
After a short walk, I was tossed into a car once more.
Soon, Oliver and two bodyguards got into the lead car.
Victor got into our car. The front seat held the same two bodyguards as before.
He'd become more cautious. If we'd had bodyguards last time—someone to report, someone to guard the car—such a disaster wouldn't have happened.
But fundamentally, if I hadn't insisted on going dancing, none of this would have occurred.
My fault he'd died an extra time.
So whatever he did to me, I deserved.
With that in mind, I poked his injured hand: "How did your hand get hurt?"
He shifted his hand away.
I pouted. This man was impossible to appease.
After a long silence, I rebuilt my courage and probed cautiously.
"So where are we going?"
He remained silent.
I looked up at him.
His cold profile was turned toward the window.
It was fully dark outside. I could see his reflection in the glass.
And his eyes, through the reflection, were watching me.
When our gazes met, he looked away. But I was thrilled.
"Taking you back to the General's Estate."
He finally answered, but his breathing was heavy, and he was developing a cold.
"Are you sick?"
I mourned my abandoned antibiotics again.
I grabbed his face with both hands and, taking advantage of the reduced height difference in the car, pressed my forehead against his.
His eyes widened in shock.
I maintained my composure:
"Forehead isn't hot, but your face is a bit warm. You should drink more hot water."
He irritably pulled my hands away.
I stubbornly held onto his arm.
7.
Last time, it was in a car that we were sniped at. He'd used his body to shield me from every bullet.
The helplessness of one man against four elevated snipers, the terror of watching him lose his life—we'd held onto that memory from our last embrace.
Though this time was different—safe roads, an armed escort—my fear remained.
This world had weapons far deadlier than sniper rifles, people far more ruthless than hired guns, and the Su-Zhe war that was less than two years away from crushing him.
Even if I used my hundred-year advantage to avoid that war, there would be more conflicts, more disasters. Only if he was willing to change his name and flee with me to a country untouched by war could we avoid it all.
But I knew he wouldn't agree. If he were the type to listen, he wouldn't be Victor.
The future was both predetermined and unknown. The time we had together was so precious—I couldn't bear to waste a single moment.
"Stop being angry, okay, Victor? Don't keep ignoring me."
I softened my voice, whispering.
Victor, helpless, finally stopped deflecting:
"Go back and stay with my sister. The snipers were foreigners. This involves too much—it won't be resolved quickly."
The lead car with Oliver turned toward the Wusongkou docks at the intersection.
Victor escorted me all the way back to the General's Estate.
Grace had received Oliver's call earlier, confirming that Victor and I were safe, so she'd spent the day without concern.
Seeing me return in a military uniform, she was about to tease me—then saw Victor's thunderous expression.
She mouthed: "Had a fight?"
I nodded and went upstairs to change.
When I came down, Victor had already left. He'd come specifically to bring me back, and now he was returning to join Oliver.
Last night, the General's Estate had received word of a shooting in the west district.
When Oliver arrived, he'd only managed to capture one foreign sniper.
Oliver had just purchased military equipment, and another batch appeared on the market. The timing was too convenient.
Someone had used the Green Gang as a front to assassinate Victor, and tried to frame Oliver. If the real mastermind hadn't been ignorant about firearms—two batches that looked similar but came from different origins—Victor and Oliver might have turned on each other.
Who was behind it? Eliminating suspects one by one and following the trail would eventually reveal the answer.
It would just take time.
A hundred years ago, circumstances changed in an instant. Victor was no longer the invincible Young Marshal.
The General's Estate remained on high alert—somber and quiet.
Grace had always preferred quiet, so she didn't mind.
But I, who'd followed Victor into his world, hadn't seen him for days.
It was infuriating.