Chapter 334

When Wang Yang issued the death order against Bao Yue, he never imagined he would one day face such a question.

In fact, the moment he gave the order, it was already sealed—now it was nearly a dead end.

In human interaction, there are two common misunderstandings.

The first is believing sincerity alone can kill—so at critical moments, one reveals all cards, fantasizing that total exposure will deliver a decisive blow.

The second is believing the human heart is unfathomable—so at crucial moments, one becomes suspicious and paranoid, arming oneself entirely with manipulation.

The first believes in exchanging hearts, thinking that if one offers absolute truth, one will receive equal trust and devotion. In essence, this reduces complex emotional interactions to mechanical barter, underestimating the depth and complexity of human feeling, while overestimating humanity's need for and capacity to bear truth.

For example, a girl angrily asks, "Why are you so experienced?!"

Do you honestly recount every affair you've had, then conclude with, "Nothing else, just practice," hoping sincerity will win her heart?

Or do you smile it off, arrogantly say, "I'm just naturally gifted—I can't help it," and then welcome her pillow assault and sweet cuddle?

Or consider a senior who admires you deeply, warmly invites you to a meal, where the atmosphere is joyful and wine loosens inhibitions,

urging you to critique his scholarship openly, to speak without restraint.

Do you truly speak without restraint, listing points one through four, directly exposing his flaws, bitterly detailing where his learning falls short, so he's stunned by your frankness and immediately takes you as a lifelong friend?

Or do you downplay his weaknesses, praise his achievements—not with empty flattery, but with objective scholarly discussion, affirming with evidence, criticizing with restraint, avoiding mention of his shortcomings while instead detailing your own, presenting him with a newly published monograph and asking for his corrections?

What is meant by "sincerity as a killing move" is not the content of sincerity, but the attitude of sincerity.

In many cases, sincerity without choice, without skill, without warmth is not a killing move—it is suicide.

This kind of suicide ultimately stems from having too high an opinion of people, assuming that enough sincerity will make others open their hearts, accept, and forgive you—never realizing that your so-called "heart-to-heart" actually creates distance.

The other extreme of this phenomenon is thinking too poorly of people.

Thinking too poorly of people means believing the human heart is unfathomable, so one builds layer upon layer of defenses, suspects everything, reducing the vast, shifting landscape of human nature to a rigid chessboard of black and white. Once branded black, any sincere kindness is read as a sugar-coated conspiracy; every warm approach is seen as a meticulously laid trap.

This leads to dissecting natural emotion with cold logic, measuring human distance with profit-driven abacus.

Then one refuses to open one's heart, and also refuses to believe others can open theirs—making true friendship nearly impossible and opportunities easy to miss.

Whether Bao Yue's question is an opportunity remains uncertain, but Wang Yang realizes his answer now may become a turning point—even one with far-reaching consequences.

Military strategy says: capturing a city is inferior; capturing the heart is superior. Since Wang Yang tamed the evil dragon, he has always employed heart-capturing tactics. Now the army surrounds him, the gate is about to break—should he answer poorly, all his prior efforts may vanish into thin air.

Since he cannot be overly honest, nor overly suspicious, how should he respond to this question?

Strategy.

Appropriate strategy.

One can be honest, but not honest to the point of having no strategy.

One can be suspicious, but not suspicious to the point of being all strategy.

Only appropriate strategy can deliver the true decisive blow.

"So, do you want to kill me?"

Bao Yue's voice rang out. Wang Yang did not answer immediately, but asked Bao Yue:

"Are you asking about before, or now?"

Bao Yue narrowed her beautiful eyes:

"What about before?"

Wang Yang looked at Bao Yue:

"At first, when you threatened me, of course I wanted to kill you—but it wasn't practical, so I only thought about it. Later, when we switched to cooperation, I stopped thinking about it."

Bao Yue showed no sign of being distracted; her gaze never left Wang Yang as she asked:

"In this battle, do you want to kill me?"

Wang Yang said indifferently:

"Before I launched my troops, I offered a heavy reward for killing any Han men or women in the enemy camp."

That's also why the barbarian troops charged so recklessly! Wang Yang suddenly realized.

Bao Yue's face drained of color, as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown over her. She staggered slightly backward, her bright eyes dimming, her spirit sinking—so it was all—

"Then I told Xiao Shan to save you."

This was why Wang Yang had previously asked Bao Yue about her capture. He wanted to probe the casualties among her guards, and to see whether Chen Chen Chen Qingshan had clashed with her group—if so, how severely.

The barbarian troops were too numerous, and the order was public—hard to conceal. Better to admit it. But with Xiao Shan alone, there was room for maneuver...

Bao Yue, who had been disappointed and despondent, suddenly snapped back as if yanked upright—her dim eyes lit up, a flicker of joy darting across her brows, but that joy lasted only an instant before being replaced by deeper caution.

She was no naive maiden sheltered in her chamber; years of hardship had taught her to pause before hope, to discern truth from falsehood.

"Save?" Bao Yue's gaze sharpened.

Wang Yang feigned embarrassment as he "admitted":

"Capture—or rather, apprehend. It's practically the same as saving."

Previously, Wang Yang had been noncommittal; now it was Bao Yue's turn.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Wang Yang was almost speechless—we were enemies to begin with! The reason you feel we're half-enemy, half-friend, and that you never truly wanted to kill me, is because I've worked hard! I risked my life, repeatedly provoked you, endured painstaking strategy and wit to achieve this!

And crucially, you're in a position of superiority, unmoved and secure—so you can afford to indulge in "girlhood sentiment." Until now, even if I had struck back, the worst I could do was expose your identity or ruin your plan—so you could afford to be poetic.

But from my perspective? I'm a newcomer from a new world, risking my head to play chess with you. One flicker of your killing intent and I tremble. I live with "battle clouds rising for three hours, cold drumbeats echoing through the night." If I had a chance to kill you and didn't take it—do you think I was saving you for New Year's? You're disappointed I said I'd kill you? Disappointed? Don't be so dramatic...

But reason is reason, feeling is feeling. Humans are strange creatures—sometimes they don't care about reason, only feeling. So Wang Yang wisely chose not to argue reason with Bao Yue, but to seek feeling.

"Why did your command to the barbarian troops differ from your command to your beautiful guard?"

Bao Yue's expression remained calm as she studied Wang Yang's face closely.

Wang Yang raised his eyebrows:

"I didn't know how many men you brought. On the battlefield, morale is like a taut string—no room for slack. The barbarians are a rabble; if I didn't offer heavy rewards to spur their courage, when they saw your troops, they'd hesitate and let you push back—wouldn't that lead to total collapse?"

Watching Wang Yang's eyebrow raise as he spoke of tactics, Bao Yue recalled her earlier defeat at his hands—some hidden part of her stirred, sending a faint tremor through her chest; her heartbeat quickened unbidden. Wang Yang continued:

"... but you must have had a horse, and wouldn't be foolish enough to fight in the chaos. I guessed your direction, so I ordered Xiao Shan to intercept you..."

Bao Yue turned her head slightly, her eyes softening with a subtle tenderness barely visible.

"Why didn't you kill me?"

Wang Yang continued his strategic "honesty":

"First, we were already cooperating. If you stop threatening me, there's no need to kill you. Second, I still need you to handle the Ministry of Personnel's household registers. Third, you're powerful—aristocratic, imperial blood—I dare not provoke you. Fourth, killing you serves no purpose. You've probably already told others about my false Langye surname—killing you won't stop them from controlling me. Fifth, to kill you, I'd have to kill everyone with you, but I don't know how many you brought. If even one escaped, it'd be my death sentence—why invite trouble? Sixth..."

Wang Yang looked at Bao Yue and fell silent.

For some reason, Bao Yue's heartbeat, which had just steadied, quickened again. She couldn't help pressing:

"What's the sixth?"

Wang Yang smiled: "The sixth... I don't want to say."

"You!"

Bao Yue was about to snap—but her gaze flickered, the rising anger on her brows vanished, replaced by a faint, knowing smile. She looked at Wang Yang, lips curved in a light, teasing smirk—her expression now utterly unlike when she first heard the death order.

"You thought about it so thoroughly—you still considered killing me."

This was the flaw Wang Yang deliberately left. Bao Yue was clever—if she had doubts, better to let her seize a flaw herself. This too was part of strategic "honesty."

Wang Yang's gaze was clear, his voice steady:

"On the battlefield, variables abound. Heaven's will is myriad—how can one fully calculate? Even with a thousand plans, one cannot guard against a single twist of fate. Though your chance of death is slim, as commander of this army, how could I not consider even this remote possibility?"

"What if I had been killed?"

Bao Yue watched Wang Yang calmly, her face showing no joy or sorrow.

Wang Yang paused slightly, then said carelessly:

"Then I could do nothing."

Bao Yue's eyes held no anger—only a spark of interest. She continued:

"Aren't you afraid my father will retaliate? Or the court will hunt you down?"

Wang Yang lifted his brow, his voice low but each word ringing clear:

"War determines life and death. One must act without fear, determined to win. If you fear aristocratic houses, if you fear imperial law—then why fight at all? Just surrender. If I didn't fight, fine. But since I chose to fight, I seek only victory! If I win, all consequences—I bear them myself."

Bao Yue's eyes sparkled!

Had Wang Yang just now flattered her with soft words, or shown hesitation on the battlefield, she would have looked down on him. Now she saw only his masculine spirit, his heroic nature!

This is the subtlety of human nature: had Wang Yang, without prior buildup, simply declared he wanted to kill Bao Yue, she might have thought him cruel and heartless—believing she spared him, yet he sought to kill her, and thus felt betrayed, etc., etc., launching a melodrama. But after this circuitous path, she accepted it without reservation. And this principle also applied to Wang Yang's original decision to kill Bao Yue at the war's outset.

Bao Yue, being clever, naturally made connections—but there was no need to probe further. First, she couldn't prove it. Second, even if it were true, she no longer cared much—because she knew it wasn't born of personal malice, but of clear-headed resolve. And crucially, deep down, she preferred to believe Wang Yang never truly intended to kill her. Whether this was self-deception or genuine belief—that only Bao Yue herself knew.

Bao Yue internally accepted Wang Yang, yet feigned mild anger, saying:

"What a heartless fellow!"

Yet she didn't realize—though her lips held a hint of reproach, more than that was a soft, alluring charm...