In terms of sheer scale, Jizhou was somewhat larger than Youzhou — but in commercial vitality, Youzhou had the edge.

The greatest difference between the two lay in Youzhou’s population of traders from beyond the northern frontier. Liangzhou was the largest border city in the northwest, through which merchants from the Western Regions moved in great numbers every day. Youzhou served the same role for the pastoral peoples of the northern steppes, for much the same reasons.

During Luo Geng’s tenure in Youzhou, no matter how fierce he was with outsiders, he never harmed merchants without cause. However heavy his taxes, the traders from the north and from the heartland still found a place to ply their trade.

The herders of the northern frontier were different from those of the Nalan Grasslands. In the border region and the territory stretching north from Youzhou, the grazing land was not particularly rich. These people could barely sustain themselves on such meager pasture, and so every year they would venture deep into the mountains to hunt. During the great days of Dachu’s prosperity, the pelts they brought to market could be exchanged with effortless ease for the silver of wealthy buyers. There was no worry then about finding customers — only about whether the price was high enough.

In Dachu’s most flourishing era, the rarer and more unblemished a pelt, the more outrageously it commanded. And so the hunters pushed themselves to take their quarry without damaging the hide, training their archery to the point of shooting through the eye — a clean kill, a perfect skin. Passed through a tailor’s hands, that skin became the thousand-tael fur draped across the shoulders of officials and nobility.

As Li Chi and Gao Xining walked the streets of Youzhou, they encountered many goods that simply did not exist back in Jizhou. Yet they saw none of the vitality one expects of a trading city.

Every person — whether a merchant from beyond the frontier or one from the heartland, whatever their wares — wore the same expression of numbness.

They were there because they felt they ought to be, not because being there might change something about their lives. They sat or stood, as though they were fixtures of this great city, present as a matter of course.

Only present as a matter of course — no different, in the end, from the stone statues standing throughout Youzhou. The more Li Chi and Gao Xining walked and looked, the less they felt the pleasure that walking a lively street ought to bring. The sight of those people left them with an inexplicable heaviness.

And at that very moment, back in his manor, Luo Jing sat alone, still working things through.

At that same moment, at the border between Jingzhou and Liangzhou, on both banks of the Great Han River, Prince Wu’s army and Yang Xuanji’s forces had been locked in a standoff for a considerable time. Both sides had reached an impasse — advancing was nearly impossible; retreating felt unacceptable.

After marching out of Shuzhou and entering Liangzhou, Yang Xuanji had suffered his first engagement against Dachu’s legendary warrior Yang Jiju and lost. But even then, Yang Xuanji had not yet believed himself outmatched by Prince Wu. He counted on the prince’s age. He counted on the prince’s army having inferior supply lines. He counted on the prince lacking the support of prominent noble families. And he counted on Dachu’s national fortune being in its death throes — one aged white-haired man could not prop up a collapsing empire alone.

But after so long a standoff, Yang Xuanji finally understood: Prince Wu’s undefeated reputation was no invented tale.

This old man had fewer soldiers, held no geographic advantage, and commanded less money and resources. He had fewer connections among the people of Liangzhou. Yet with all of these disadvantages, Yang Xuanji could not find even a thread of hope for victory. He had wracked his mind, exhausted every stratagem, worn himself ragged thinking — and still could not devise a plan to crack Prince Wu’s defenses.

The thinking had added no small number of white hairs, but no answer.

When Prince Wu attacked, he was the sharpest spear in the world. When he defended, he became the most impenetrable shield. Yang Xuanji suffered — but Prince Wu suffered more.

Because the world had many men like Yang Xuanji. There was only one like him.

He was the finest craftsman in the realm — wherever something broke, he would mend it; another break, another mend. As long as they broke one at a time, he could keep pace. But when they broke all at once — this crack opening as that one split, and before he could reach the third, a fourth had given way — there was no keeping up.

The white hairs Yang Xuanji had worried into his head were nothing beside Prince Wu’s head of white that was now complete. If not for Prince Wu, Dachu might have perished ten years ago. Yang Xuanji had assumed this old man could not, by himself, hold back the tide of history — forgetting that this old man had already, by himself, forcibly bought this vast empire another decade.

Outside the command tent, Prince Wu stood and watched the soldiers — soldiers who moved with a dull, wooden quality. His eyes were filled with deep unease.

Yesterday had brought word that the great southern rebel Li Xionghu had captured more than twenty prefectures and counties, and that nearly half of Yangzhou had fallen under his control. The vanguard of Li Xionghu’s rebel army was now less than six hundred li from the capital region.

Also yesterday: the Emperor had been compelled to redirect forces originally bound for Yuzhou back to Yangzhou. The new recruits the Yuwen family had trained were turned around at the midpoint and sent back.

That same Yuwen family — which had once nearly hollowed out Dachu from within — had now become the most critical bulwark to the southeast of the capital.

This Dachu, riddled with ten thousand wounds — how could it be saved.

Not long ago, Prince Wu had received news that the Emperor, Yang Jing, had granted a princely title to the rebel holding Qingzhou. Upon hearing it, Prince Wu had gone pale and immediately dispatched an urgent memorial to the capital by eight-hundred-li express courier, imploring the Emperor to rescind the decree. Yet he also knew: His Majesty was in an impossible position.

What choice did the Emperor have?

In the spring, Prince Wu had received word that the garrison he had left in Jizhou — Pan Nuo — had been defeated and killed by Luo Jing of Youzhou, and that Jizhou had in all likelihood fallen to Luo Jing’s control.

Jizhou gone. Qingzhou under a band of rebels.

Prince Wu’s body was in Jingzhou, but his mind was not.

The capital region sat pressed between Yangzhou, Jingzhou, and Yuzhou. Yangzhou was now largely in Li Xionghu’s hands. Prince Wu was holding Jingzhou with everything he had. The Yuwen family’s younger generation was holding the last line of defense in Yangzhou. Of all the fronts, only Yuzhou offered some small relief — Anyang still had Meng Kedi, a capable fighter, which was the one faint comfort.

“Report!”

A messenger came sprinting forward, clutching a dispatch.

Prince Wu took it and read. Moments later, the color drained from his face. He swayed, and had to catch the tent’s entrance post with one hand to keep from falling.

He breathed deeply, trying to steady himself — but could not hold it back. A mouthful of blood burst from his lips, and he collapsed to the ground.

He awoke to dusk. Looking out past the tent, the sky held a certain beauty — but the earth below did not.

Word had arrived via the Cao family through the fastest possible courier, bearing news of Meng Kedi’s death.

Reading this letter, Prince Wu knew: Anyang was finished.

Given Luo Jing’s boldness, the moment he heard Meng Kedi was dead, he would march south without hesitation. Once Luo Jing held Anyang, he could strike east toward Qingzhou and Xuzhou, or south into Yuzhou. Without Meng Kedi, there was no one in Yuzhou who could stand against Luo Jing.

Li Xionghu pressing in on the capital from Yangzhou, Luo Jing pressing in from Yuzhou — what good was holding Jingzhou?

He could hold Yang Xuanji. He could not hold the tide of the world.

“Your Highness.”

A group of generals crowded around him when they saw he had awakened.

“I’m fine.”

Prince Wu struggled upright, feeling a sharp, grinding pain in his chest and abdomen.

“Your Highness, please lie still. The physician gave strict orders — rest and recuperation.”

“Rest and recuperation?”

Prince Wu shook his head slowly. “I have no time to lie in bed resting. Heaven might give me the time. The rebels will not.”

He extended his hand; his attendants immediately helped him rise.

Prince Wu put on his garments and walked to the map. The light was fading and his eyes were growing dim; he could not make it out clearly.

“Bring a light.”

He ordered, and his attendants hastened to light an oil lamp and hold it before the map. He had just leaned in to study it when a gust blew in from outside the tent and extinguished the flame.

Prince Wu stood there for a moment, then turned to look out through the tent entrance. The wind was gone.

“I must return to Yuzhou.”

He let out a long, heavy breath. He sat down at the table and turned to survey the generals around him — every one of them a man he had raised, a capable officer — and yet every one of them, for all his valor on the battlefield, fell short of the quality needed to hold an entire front alone. They were all brave commanders; none were the sort of commander who could single-handedly reverse a crumbling situation.

Prince Wu himself was that sort — but even he could feel his grip on the crumbling beginning to fail.

His gaze moved from face to face, and finally came to rest on a middle-aged man.

“Huo Beiting.”

He said the name quietly.

Senior Third-Rank General Huo Beiting stepped forward at once, bowing low. “Your Highness. Your subordinate is here.”

Of all the men in this tent, Huo Beiting was perhaps the weakest in martial skill — but his mind exceeded the others, and he was one of the rare scholar-generals in Prince Wu’s service. He had come to his position first through the civil path, reaching Senior Fourth-Rank Vice Minister of War, before a proposal he submitted for suppressing the rebellion caught Prince Wu’s eye. The prince had had him transferred from the Ministry of War into his own army, and it had now been four years.

Prince Wu breathed deeply — as though his chest perpetually lacked the last breath of air.

“Come closer,” he said to Huo Beiting. “I have matters to entrust to you.”

Huo Beiting came forward at once and bowed. “Your Highness, please give your instructions.”

“Among all the generals here,” Prince Wu said, “you are the most widely read, and your thinking goes deepest. And, if I recall correctly, your home is in Jingzhou — in Pingkou County, less than two hundred li from here.”

“Your Highness recalls correctly. Your subordinate’s home is indeed Pingkou County.”

“I am returning to Yuzhou, and I shall be entrusting the entire Jingzhou line of defense to you. Listen carefully.”

Prince Wu gave his instructions. “I will need five days to organize the troops and put the army’s equipment in order. Five days from now, I will withdraw under cover of night.”

“I am leaving you forty thousand men. Do not take down my command banner. Conduct the daily patrols of the city’s defenses according to my usual habit.”

“As long as Yang Xuanji does not attack, do not provoke him. If he does attack, hold this city to the death — he will not find it easy to breach. Mark this: do not seek merit through aggression. If my estimate is correct, after the new year, when provisions run thin and Yang Xuanji sees no clear path to victory, he will withdraw. If he withdraws, the covering of the withdrawal must be done in rotation, retreating in good order, step by step. You must not lead your troops in pursuit — watch him go.”

Huo Beiting responded immediately. “Your subordinate obeys.”

He looked at Prince Wu. “But Your Highness’s health…”

Every man here worried about Prince Wu. He looked, in truth, quite diminished.

The journey back to Yuzhou — such a long road, and the exhaustion of travel by horse and boat — for a man of his age, it might prove too much.

“I said I am fine.”

Prince Wu turned to the others and gave his orders in a loud voice. “Aside from Huo Beiting’s own unit, I will draw twenty thousand men from my central army to be placed under his command — forty thousand in total to hold this ground to the death. All remaining units: within five days, see to your preparations, and return to Yuzhou with me.”

He steadied himself on the table and rose. As he did, he glanced involuntarily at the tent entrance again.

In the distance, a small whirlwind had risen — spinning fast. He looked again, and it was gone, just as quickly.

“Upon our shoulders rests the fate of Dachu… Gentlemen, accompany me into one more battle.”

He exhaled deeply once more.

“If Yuzhou holds, the capital is secure. If Yuzhou falls — Dachu is in peril.”

When he had spoken those words, he could not suppress a cough. He raised his sleeve to wipe his mouth.

On the sleeve: bloodstains.

He put his hand behind his back — forgetting that at the corner of his mouth, the blood remained.

—