When the sun rose again in the east, the air itself seemed to smell cleaner.

After a night of wind, the sharp smell of blood that had blanketed dozens of li of ground had begun to disperse.

The main Left Martial Guard force, still surrounded, received news of Prince Wu’s death at last.

General Zhao Chuanliu heard it and seemed to turn to stone. He stood there for a long time without moving. His men called his name several times. He did not respond. He only stood, staring at nothing.

At last, he drew a long breath and turned to look at the battered, broken soldiers behind him.

“The Prince once told me… if he died in battle, the rest of us could surrender to the Ning forces.”

He spoke with his head low, his voice quiet — and yet somehow every person heard it.

“The Left Martial Guard does not surrender!”

A man who looked about thirty years old shouted it, his voice cracked and raw, his eyes bloodshot.

“That’s right — the Left Martial Guard does not surrender!”

“Every soldier the Prince commanded has iron in their spine — we cannot let the Left Martial Guard wear a coward’s name. General, lead us in one last charge!”

“General — if the Prince finds out we surrendered, he will be devastated. He cannot rest even in death.”

Zhao Chuanliu shook his head. “If the Prince found out the ones who survived surrendered, he would not be angry. It was what he wanted in his heart all along. He simply could not do it while he lived.”

“General, don’t say such things!”

“General — how can you dishonor the Prince like this? The Prince said it himself: the Left Martial Guard dies before it yields!”

Eyes turned on him full of fury, defiance, grief.

“You don’t know,” Zhao Chuanliu said. He raised his head and looked at the men of the Left Martial Guard before him. “Just before the breakout, the Prince told me — if one person had to die, let it be him.

“The Prince said: as long as he was alive, the Left Martial Guard could not surrender — because he was Prince Wu, and how could Prince Wu surrender? Everyone was watching him. He was the banner of the Left Martial Guard. No — the banner of every soldier in Great Chu.

“But if he died, the Prince said — then it would be alright for the Left Martial Guard to surrender. Because they *should* surrender. At least everyone would live.

“He also said — he could not save Great Chu anymore. No one could. You are all blameless. You should not give up another life for it.”

Zhao Chuanliu swept his eyes across all of them. “Do you want to know why the Prince personally went back to relieve the rear guard? Because the Prince wanted to die. He sent me to lead you because he knew that he could never lower his head and surrender to the Ning King. But I, Zhao Chuanliu, can lower that head.”

“General! We can still fight!”

Someone shouted it, eyes red.

“General — lead us to avenge the Prince!”

Zhao Chuanliu shook his head again. “This is the task the Prince gave me. You can kill me right now — choose someone else to lead you, and charge together. But while I still breathe, this battle is over.”

He reached up, took off his iron helmet, and threw it aside. He spread out his arms.

“Come on then. Kill me.”

Every man was looking at him. No one moved. No one spoke.

“I know you hate it. I know you cannot accept it. Do you think I have no hatred? Do you think I can accept it?”

Zhao Chuanliu opened his eyes. “The Prince said: after the surrender, the Ning King will not mistreat us. As long as we make it known that we no longer wish to serve in an army, that we want to go home — the Ning King will let us go. Go home. All of you. This war is over. Go home.”

With those words, he turned and walked toward the Ning lines ahead.

“I — Zhao Chuanliu, general of the Left Martial Guard — surrender on behalf of the Left Martial Guard to the Ning army!”

The soldiers heard Zhao Chuanliu’s shout. They watched as he threw down his saber before them. And that back, walking away — it was a lonely sight.

—

Half an hour later. The Ning army camp.

Zhao Chuanliu came before Grand General Tang Pidi. He walked to him and held out the Left Martial Guard’s battle flag — torn and ravaged, but folded with perfect precision.

Tang Pidi received it with both hands and turned to pass it to his personal guard.

“The Left Martial Guard has surrendered. Please treat them well, Grand General.”

Then Zhao Chuanliu asked: “Is the Princess Consort in the camp? May I see her?”

Tang Pidi gave a single nod.

A short time later, in another tent, Zhao Chuanliu found the Princess Consort.

He entered and immediately sank to his knees, pressing his forehead to the ground.

“Princess Consort — I… I am sorry. I could not protect the Prince. I could not protect the men of the Left Martial Guard.”

He knocked his head against the ground, again and again. Quickly his forehead split open, blood running down his face.

The Princess Consort hurried to her feet and pulled Zhao Chuanliu upright. She was white as paper — not a drop of color in her face.

“Did you… see the Prince at the end?”

Zhao Chuanliu shook his head. “The Prince went to relieve the rear guard. I never saw him again. I only heard afterward that the Prince and the Ning general Luo Jing… died together.”

The Princess Consort swayed on her feet. Zhaoluan and Cainan stepped in and caught her.

“I see… I will go — in a moment — I will ask Grand General Tang to show mercy. To see if he can return Prince Wu’s… return the Prince’s body to me.”

She turned away. “You go now. You did not fail anyone. If there is blame to be given, it was Prince Wu who failed everyone. I will offer his apology on his behalf — and ask you to pass on…”

The Princess Consort seemed to have aged decades in an instant. She could no longer hold herself upright, curled forward as if under a great weight, like a candle burned down to its last.

“Go now… all of you, go. Stop being soldiers. Great Chu is not worth it.”

Zhao Chuanliu knelt again and bowed to the floor. “Great Chu is not worth it. Prince Wu was.”

—

At the same time. The rear camp.

When word came that Luo Jing had died, Li Chi came rushing back. He had left Tantai Yaijing to keep watch at the front, and all the way back, as the memory of Luo Jing’s face came to him, his heart beat with pain, each throb like a stone dropping.

He had known Luo Jing — proud, stubborn, refusing to be led by anyone. That was why he had warned Tang Pidi: don’t let Luo Jing go off alone to chase Prince Wu. Pull Luo Jing back and put him under his own command. But it had been just a moment too late.

If it weren’t for the Yong army’s arrival, with both Li Chi and Tang Pidi there, they could have held Luo Jing in place. And if Prince Wu ultimately refused to surrender, then this final battle should have been given to Luo Jing properly — not this reckless chase he had gone off on.

He reached the rear camp, pushed aside the tent flap, and stepped inside. In one glance he saw Luo Jing’s body laid out within.

Tang Pidi reached out a hand to steady him. Li Chi shook his head.

He walked toward Luo Jing’s body. One step at a time, each leg as if it had been filled with lead, each step heavier than the last.

He reached the body and looked down at that face. Without thinking, his hand rose — without thinking, he almost said *get up*.

The tears gave out all at once. They came down his face on their own.

Luo Jing had been cleaned and dressed. Only one wound on him, so unlike the others, he did not look ravaged. He looked almost at rest.

“Why… couldn’t you just listen once.”

Li Chi’s hands braced on the bed frame. He couldn’t hold himself up — his arms were trembling.

“I never told you. I never wanted to tell you. But my desire to join the army — all of it came from you.”

And then Li Chi broke down entirely and wept.

That year — Li Chi and the Long-Browed Daoist had been traveling to Ji Prefecture. On the road they had crossed paths with Luo Jing’s column.

Luo Jing had been not even twenty then. He wore full armor, and he looked so striking — so utterly composed and powerful.

Luo Jing had said that day: *Go home. You cultivators can’t save Great Chu.*

He had also said: *Saving the world is a soldier’s work. If soldiers can’t do it, what can you do?*

It was that single encounter that branded the words on Li Chi’s heart.

*Saving the world is a soldier’s work.*

The people around them stood silent and watched. They knew that no comfort should be offered right now — better to let him cry out loud like this.

He was their lord. He had always had to set an example. He had always had to wear what a lord was supposed to look like. He had never once shown a fragile side to any of them. This was the first time.

Shen Shanhu looked at Tang Pidi, her own eyes red. She thought of that first meeting with Luo Jing in Qing Prefecture — back when she had led forces to take Qing Prefecture, and Luo Jing had come for the same objective. Her men had all said: if that Luo Jing tries to steal credit, we won’t stand for it.

And the next day, Luo Jing had simply said he was withdrawing from Qing Prefecture — that he had only come to escort grain shipments.

At last, Xiahou Zhuo went to Li Chi and held him. His hand moved slowly across Li Chi’s back.

—

An hour later. On a hillside outside the main camp.

Xiahou Zhuo, Tang Pidi, and Li Chi sat together, watching distant smoke still rising on the horizon.

“Was anyone with him… at the end?”

Tang Pidi asked.

Xiahou Zhuo shook his head. “Diudiu once told me — from the time Luo Jing left You Prefecture, the people around him had left him, one by one. Even among the later Tiger-Leopard cavalry, not one was an old soldier from You Prefecture.

“Back when he first left You Prefecture to go south to Ji Prefecture with my father’s forces, they were split apart halfway — and if Luo Jing hadn’t covered the retreat, my father’s defeat in that battle would have been far worse. But in that fight, his Tiger-Leopard cavalry and personal guard both took losses.”

He paused and looked at Li Chi, his voice quiet with suppressed weight: “That man — he didn’t even take much interest in women. Only…”

Tang Pidi exhaled hard.

Luo Jing, in his half-life, had respected only two people: Li Chi, and Tang Pidi.

He had been born a fighter, a god of the battlefield. If he had been less proud, he would not have been Luo Jing.

“If it is possible,” someone said, “his body should be returned to You Prefecture for burial.”

“In this heat, there is no way to get him there safely. If the body were to…”

“Then bury him at Mangdang Mountain… Send his clothing back to You Prefecture. Build a memorial tomb there in his honor…”

Li Chi finished the words — and suddenly broke into a violent cough. Something that had been pressed down in his chest came loose at last, releasing in waves of pain.

In the next moment he raised a hand and wiped his mouth. Then he turned his hand over and quietly pressed it against the cloth at his back, cleaning away the blood.

“It really was because of him that I wanted to be a soldier.”

Li Chi lay back against the hillside and looked up at the sky.