The帐帘 (tent flap) swings open with a sudden movement, admitting a draft of cold night air that contrasts sharply with the warmth inside. I look up from where I've been sitting on my cot, my hand instinctively moving to cover the strange, newly formed opening between my legs that shouldn't exist. Jiang Wenhuan stands in the entrance, his silhouette outlined by the torchlight outside, his expression a mixture of irritation and concern.

"The entire camp can hear your... activities," he says, his voice carefully neutral but with an edge that suggests he's barely containing his anger. "What the hell is going on in here, Chong Yingbiao?"

My three centurions stand awkwardly in the background, having been interrupted in their... assistance. The air hangs thick with尴尬 (embarrassment) and unspoken tension. I can feel Su Quanxiao's desperate urging in the back of my mind, a constant reminder of what I need to do. Closing my eyes briefly, I take a deep breath, then meet Jiang Wenhuan's gaze with a defiance that barely masks my own confusion and desperation.

"Mind your own business, Jiang," I growl, but my voice lacks its usual certainty. "This doesn't concern you."