Three rounds of wine in.

Tang Pidi glanced at Luo Jing, then at Li Chi.

A man of Li Chi’s sharpness naturally understood what that look meant.

Tang Pidi had originally reasoned that Luo Jing would likely make a move against Yuzhou once spring arrived.

Both Li Chi and Tang Pidi knew this was unwise.

But it made no difference that they knew — Luo Jing didn’t see it that way.

Tang Pidi had also said: Luo Jing now held the most prosperous lands, with ample troops, commanders, and funds. He might not be the type to listen to counsel.

So Tang Pidi intended to move his forces southward when spring came, ready to provide support and reinforcement at any moment.

But this had to be said to Luo Jing.

Even with however good a relationship Luo Jing and Li Chi had, what needed to be said still needed to be said.

From the beginning — contempt, then acknowledgment, then treating Li Chi as a brother — the trajectory was plain enough.

Yet even so, certain lines could not be casually crossed.

For instance: if Tang Pidi moved his forces south without informing Luo Jing in advance, how would Luo Jing take it?

Even between real brothers — one in Jizhou, one in Anyang — if the Jizhou brother suddenly led an army south without notifying the Anyang one, that couldn’t be tolerated.

Tang Pidi’s glance meant: you have to tell Luo Jing.

Li Chi picked up a roasted leg of lamb and began slicing the meat off piece by piece with a knife.

Once he had cut a neat serving, he passed it to Luo Jing: “You’ll definitely launch a campaign against Yuzhou when spring comes, won’t you?”

Luo Jing’s hand, reaching out to take the plate, froze midair.

A moment later, he smiled and accepted it.

“Yes. I’ll move.”

He looked at Li Chi: “No need to try talking me out of it.”

Li Chi said: “Not trying to. Just asking.”

Luo Jing said: “My coming to Jizhou this time — I’m not here to discuss military and state affairs with any of you.”

He glanced at Tang Pidi and smiled: “I’m just here to spend New Year’s with my brothers.”

Li Chi and Tang Pidi both caught a flicker of something behind Luo Jing’s smile.

That something was loneliness.

And then both of them understood at the same moment: Luo Jing truly had no friends.

When his father was still alive, he had been Youzhou’s invincible young general — solitary and proud.

After his father was gone, even more solitary, even more proud.

Even if he wanted to find someone of comparable standing to befriend, where would he look?

For a man like Luo Jing, friendship wasn’t about birth.

It was about ability.

If your ability fell far short of his, even if you came from the house of the Heavenly King himself, he’d still look down on you.

And as misfortune would have it, within all of Youzhou, who could stand at his level?

As fortune would have it, once he left Youzhou, he found two. One was Li Chi. The other was Tang Pidi.

The three of them were, in some ways, remarkably alike — whether in bearing, build, or martial skill, all were of the highest order.

So you see — for a man like Luo Jing, making friends had requirements.

If someone’s background matched his, or exceeded it, but their ability didn’t — he looked down on them.

If their background fell short of his but their ability was notable — yet their face was too ugly — he still looked down on them.

Background comparable or not, ability roughly matching, and looks decent enough — then yes, that person qualified.

And perhaps in Luo Jing’s mind, the finest friends he had found in this entire life were the people sitting before him now.

He’d had no real friends in Youzhou. Far less so in Anyang.

And so it was that at New Year’s, he had traveled all this way to Jizhou.

Luo Jing raised his cup and drank.

He lowered his head.

After a silence, he smiled and said: “It’s the New Year.”

The smile was heavy with something bitter.

He said: “It’s the New Year. Let’s just say what New Year calls for.”

Li Chi had actually intended to press his case a little further — he too thought of Luo Jing as a friend.

Tang Pidi gave a slight shake of his head, signaling Li Chi to let the military matters rest.

Li Chi paused, then smiled: “Lucky for all of you today — I’ve suddenly got the mood for it.”

He called to the guards outside: “Bring me my drum.”

Li Chi stood and stretched, then said: “It’s been a while since I told any stories. Let me give you a tale — and if it’s good, you’d better tip generously.”

Everyone’s spirits lifted at once. It had truly been a long time since Li Chi had performed a storytelling session.

Back in those days at the Yunzhai Teahouse — that young master storyteller had captured all of Jizhou City.

How many young women, how many young wives had been completely enchanted by him, losing their heads the moment they laid eyes on him.

This was no exaggeration — many of those present had seen it with their own eyes.

Him on the stage, singing and telling tales — the audience watched him, every face slack with adoration.

It had also happened, more than once, that a noblewoman who preferred not to reveal her name had been willing to spend a thousand gold coins to make him hers for a night.

That noblewoman had once said: the young master’s every gesture, every movement, every twitch of his robe, every crossing of his legs — all of it was bewitching.

Many times, Li Chi had declined on the grounds that he was still too young.

Young in years, of course.

Now, hearing Li Chi talk about storytelling, everyone’s enthusiasm surged.

Shortly after, the guards carried in the drum — a cowhide war drum, more than five feet in diameter.

Li Chi blinked at it.

Yu Jiuling quickly waved for people to take it away. The drum you used for storytelling was not this sort of drum.

Li Chi laughed: “Just use this one. This has energy.”

Xiahou Yili stood: “Hold on.”

She turned and left, and returned shortly after, carrying a three-stringed lute. She smiled: “I’ll play along for you.”

Li Chi smiled and nodded.

The two of them took position — one standing beside the great drum, one seated a short distance away, the three-stringed lute cradled in her arms.

Lady Xiahou smiled and asked: “What story are we hearing today?”

Li Chi said: “You’ll know when you hear it.”

He looked at Xiahou Yili. Xiahou Yili’s fingers began to move; she found the notes, and the music started to rise.

Li Chi said: “In Anyang City, there was once a valiant general — a man who believed himself without equal in the world, a man whom no one could surpass. His surname was Meng, and his given name was Kedi.”

“Hah!”

Luo Jing laughed: “Is this meant to be flattery about yourself?!”

Li Chi smiled and looked at him.

Tang Pidi inwardly sighed. Luo Jing, oh Luo Jing. I hope you understand what Li Chi is trying to tell you.

Why had Meng Kedi been defeated?

Underestimating his enemy.

—

At the same time, on the southern bank of the Nanping River.

In the Dachu army encampment.

Prince Wu’s expression shifted slightly as his attendant placed the meal before him.

He asked: “Why is it so lavish?”

His attendants exchanged glances, unsure how to answer.

They were all afraid Prince Wu would tell them to take it away.

In truth, there was nothing lavish about it — three dishes, two of them vegetables.

It was nearly New Year’s, yet Prince Wu’s table was this sparse. Not because he was genuinely frugal.

Born into wealth, how could he truly be frugal?

It was because the army was running short of grain.

Yuzhou was indeed one of the great grain-producing regions, and it was Prince Wu’s base of operations — but years of continuous campaigning, relying on Yuzhou alone to sustain everything, had grown increasingly difficult.

He marched north against Jizhou, and the supply line ran from Yuzhou to Jizhou. He marched to fight in Jingzhou, and the supply line ran from Yuzhou to Jingzhou. The longer the line, the greater the consumption — a single bushel of grain might lose half of itself just in transit.

His entire army’s grain requirements were borne by Yuzhou alone, and now he had split into two fronts, supplying two theaters simultaneously. Even if Yuzhou were the world’s granary, it could not bear the weight.

Behind Prince Wu stood the Cao family, who spared no effort in their support.

But in times like these, money in abundance did not always translate to grain in sufficient quantities.

Prince Wu looked at his attendants’ strained expressions and shook his head with a sigh: “Forget it. Let’s not make a habit of this.”

He sat down, regarded the three dishes, and after a moment said: “The soldiers eat two meals a day. I sit here with three dishes at one meal. That’s not right.”

His attendants nodded quickly, quietly relieved.

“How much longer before the grain supply arrives?”

Prince Wu asked as he ate.

An attendant said: “Half a month ago, the military supply officer, Officer An, went personally to press for it. He hasn’t returned yet.”

Prince Wu gave a sound of acknowledgment. He had already gone four or five days without eating meat. Today’s meal was genuinely tempting.

But at his attendant’s answer, the appeal of even the meat dishes vanished.

“An Hezhi has already been gone half a month?”

Prince Wu exhaled slowly.

That the military supply officer had to leave the main camp before New Year’s to chase down grain — this was something he dared not let the soldiers find out.

“Prefect Hong in Yuzhou has already sent people three times, saying the grain is being gathered and asking Your Highness to allow a little more time.”

Prince Wu nodded: “He’s having a hard time too.”

After a silence, he said no more, and began eating in earnest.

Knowing how hard it was — and yet even with a heart weighted down with worry, every bite tasted less like food. But he still couldn’t waste it.

Three buns, three dishes, all cleaned up. Even the sauce was wiped clean with bun.

Since the new emperor had taken the throne, Prince Wu had not once returned home. For years now, nothing but wind and rough road.

“Bring me paper and brush. I need to write a memorial.”

Prince Wu breathed out slowly, thinking he had no choice but to ask the Emperor to think of something.

He wrote to Emperor Yang Jing — asking him to see if any grain could be allocated, however little, as the Yuzhou front was truly strained.

He told the Emperor: barring the unexpected, the battle at Anyang would reach a conclusion once spring arrived.

The rebel Luo Jing would certainly attack Yuzhou. He would do everything in his power to stop him at the Nanping River.

When it was written, Prince Wu passed it to his attendant: “Get this to the capital as fast as possible.”

The attendant was just about to acknowledge the order when Prince Wu snatched the memorial back.

He sat in silence for a moment, then threw it into the brazier nearby.

“Your Highness — what is this?”

The attendant asked quickly.

Prince Wu sighed deeply: “I am struggling here — but is the Emperor not struggling just the same? Have you all forgotten? Last month, word came that His Majesty had already issued an edict reducing the palace’s expenditures to a tenth of what they were, and provisions and daily necessities to a twentieth…”

He knew that once this memorial reached the capital, the Emperor Yang Jing would exhaust every means to scrape together a supply of grain for him.

But if that happened, the capital would suffer even more.

To the southeast, the great rebel forces had reached Yangzhou, less than six or seven hundred li from the capital. To the southwest, they had reached Jingzhou, again only a little over a thousand li from there.

From the north, the rebel Luo Jing and his kind were eyeing Yuzhou hungrily.

The capital had perhaps gone a very long time without receiving a single grain of tribute from anywhere.

“His Majesty is already enduring hardship.”

Prince Wu looked at the three empty dishes before him — plates so clean that even the sauce had been wiped up. Looking at them, the guilt on his face deepened.

“How can a loyal subject let the Emperor suffer further?”

Prince Wu shook his head: “His Majesty has never spoken to any of us of his own hardships. We as subjects cannot go to the Emperor with ours — that would be a dereliction of duty. A confession of failure.”

He rose: “We’ll find our own way.”

As Prince Wu walked toward the door, a thought came to him without warning — unbidden, from nowhere — and with it, a sensation as though a blade had plunged into his chest.

The pain seized him so suddenly he couldn’t breathe. His face drained of color instantly.

Word was, in Jizhou — good harvests, taxes reduced, land and grain distributed, the people with food to eat, clothes to wear, silver to spare…

But that place was under the control of the rebel Li Chi.

How could this be right?

The imperial court — worse off than a bandit?

The thought alone, coming from nowhere, felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

—