A group of Left Wuwei soldiers filing out of the Ning army’s main camp all instinctively looked back the moment they passed through the gate. Every one of them wore a heavy expression.

This had never been their camp. That backward glance wasn’t longing — it was searching.

In that moment they were like children who had suddenly lost their parents: adrift, helpless.

General Zhao Chuanliu had been right. The Ning King had not made things difficult for them — the men who had already surrendered. Those willing to shed their uniforms and go home were free to go home.

They had left in a steady trickle, nearly all of them. Some walked quickly; others seemed to be waiting for something. Perhaps to see the Wu Prince off. Perhaps to wait for someone to keep them company, or someone who could make decisions on their behalf.

But word had spread that the Wu Princess Consort had already left with the Wu Prince’s body before daybreak — gone while it was still dark.

The soldiers pulled their gazes back from the Ning camp and quickened their pace.

“Has anyone seen General Zhao?”

One man suddenly asked.

Everyone shook their heads. From the moment of surrender two days ago until now, not a single one of them had laid eyes on Zhao Chuanliu.

“He probably left with the Princess Consort.”

“That man — surrendered just like that, not that you can really blame him, he did it for our sakes — but to vanish without showing his face afterward? That’s a bit disloyal.”

“We all know how it is. Nobody truly blames General Zhao. It’s just that everyone’s looking for someone to lean on, and the man’s nowhere to be found.”

A very young soldier let out a long breath. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I was awake before dawn and I watched the Princess Consort leave the Ning camp with my own eyes. General Zhao wasn’t with her — only her personal guards.”

“Then… could Zhao Chuanliu have stayed behind in the Ning army?”

Someone stopped walking and looked around at the others.

The group understood at once.

“No wonder he hasn’t been seen since the surrender. Didn’t someone say he went straight to meet the Ning army’s Great General Tang Pidi? He probably went to earn himself a reward.”

“That’s right — he delivered the entire Left Wuwei into their hands. That’s a real merit in the Ning army’s eyes. Making him a general wouldn’t be any trouble at all.”

“We get disbanded and sent packing, while he gets to keep eating well and drinking fine wine.”

At that, someone could no longer hold his tongue, and the cursing began — growing uglier with every step.

They walked on like this, talking and cursing, covering perhaps forty or fifty *li*, when they all came to a stop.

Ahead, at the roadside, a crowd had gathered around something. From their clothing, they were all Left Wuwei men.

They broke into a run. Drawing close, they found a body hanging from a tree by the road — the very General Zhao they had been cursing the whole way. He had hanged himself.

The body swayed there, turning, slowly, slowly.

Everyone stared. For a long moment no one spoke.

After some time, an old soldier who looked to be around fifty made his way forward and struggled to lift Zhao Chuanliu’s body, pushing it upward. When the others saw him move, they snapped out of their daze and rushed to help, easing the body down together.

“General Zhao — may you rest in peace through the ages…”

The old soldier bowed low before the body.

Not long after, the men dispersed. Beneath that tree, a mound of fresh yellow earth appeared.

Someone found a wooden plank and pushed it into the dirt at the head of the grave. The characters on it were crooked and uneven, scratched into the wood with a stone.

*The Grave of Zhao Chuanliu, General of the Left Wuwei.*

Most of them had never been to school. They couldn’t carve anything as fine as a proper epitaph. Getting even that one line down was no small feat.

Never mind proper form or standard strokes — leaving a name at all was already something.

Passersby came and went afterward. Some paused before the fresh grave, then moved on with a sigh.

They left, and others came. One young man read the words on the marker and felt rage surge through him at once.

He stepped forward and kicked the plank over. “This treacherous dog is dead? Even in death, what right does he have to a grave marker!”

Had the others not held him back, he would have dug the whole fresh mound up with his hands.

By midday, the Left Wuwei men who had left camp were gone from the road. The steady stream of people had dried up.

Perhaps a quarter-hour later, a column of Ning cavalry came from the distance. At their head was Xiahou Zhuo, riding to join the forward Ning camp, where the army was still holding its position against the Yong Province forces.

Passing the grave mound, Xiahou Zhuo glanced at it without thinking. He saw the wooden plank lying in the dirt some distance away. He reined his horse to a halt.

He dismounted, walked over, picked up the plank, looked at it — then pressed it back into the earth at the head of the mound. He rested his hand against the wood for a moment, and gave it a quiet pat.

—

*Ning Army Forward Camp.*

Tang Pidi knew Li Chi was too deep in grief to be of use, so he had left Li Chi behind at the rear camp and taken command himself.

The Yong Province army had likely already seen that the Left Wuwei was finished — Ning reinforcements had been arriving steadily from the north, massing in great numbers across from them.

And so Han Feibao was forced to reconsider. With the fighting still ahead, was there any real gain to be had? Or only loss?

“Report.”

A scout came in from outside and bowed before Tang Pidi. “Dust is rising at the rear of the Yong Province army. We estimate they may be withdrawing.”

Tang Pidi acknowledged this and led his generals out of the main camp. He needed to see for himself.

He had barely stepped outside when he found Xiahou Zhuo arriving. They walked toward the front lines together, talking as they went.

“How is our lord?”

Tang Pidi asked.

Xiahou Zhuo shook his head. “He looks fine on the surface. Calm, sitting quietly by himself. But I can tell — he just doesn’t want anyone worrying about him. General Luo’s death… he won’t come back from that quickly.”

Tang Pidi said, “When it comes down to it, this is my fault. I knew how much Luo Jing hated the Wu Prince. I never should have transferred him here. I overthought it — I was afraid that not bringing him would make him resent me.”

Xiahou Zhuo shook his head again, but found nothing to say.

When they reached the front, the movement at the Yong Province rear was plain to see. Dust that high meant troops moving in large numbers — there was no other explanation.

“They’re really leaving?”

Xiahou Zhuo looked at Tang Pidi.

“If Han Feibao wants to retreat now, we can’t stop him,” Tang Pidi said. “And he’s actually hoping we’ll pursue — when we’re defending, he has no opening. If we chase him, he gets his chance.”

Xiahou Zhuo said, “Rear units moving first — probably to fall back and establish a defensive line, then the front units withdraw, pull back further, set another line, and the rear follows. They alternate cover and retreat. That Han Feibao — he’s methodical in how he moves troops.”

Tang Pidi nodded. “Han Feibao isn’t confident right now. To be honest, neither are we. We just fought through that nightmare of a battle. Our men are exhausted.”

Xiahou Zhuo sighed. “Han Feibao was just barely unlucky. If the Yong Province army had arrived one day earlier, the consequences would have been unthinkable.”

If Han Feibao’s forces had arrived just as Shen Shanzhu’s troops were engaged with the Princess Consort’s column, even weary from the march, tens of thousands of soldiers surging forward would have scattered both forces completely.

And from there, a hard push north would have broken the Ning encirclement of the Wu Prince wide open.

If things had gone that way — who could say what would have followed?

Han Feibao had missed it by a single day.

Fate is a thing no one can explain.

Some alliances need no prior arrangement. This battle was proof: if Han Feibao had broken through, the Wu Prince — no matter who Han Feibao was — would have thrown everything he had into fighting alongside him. First, break the encirclement. Everything else comes after.

And there was no question that the moment the Wu Prince escaped, he would have allied with Han Feibao on the spot. That was precisely the outcome Han Feibao had been hoping for.

“Let him go.”

Tang Pidi let out a slow breath. “Apply pressure as he retreats — when he falls back, we follow; when he stops, we stop. Mind the distance. Let him march on Da Xing City first. That suits us fine.”

Xiahou Zhuo acknowledged this. “Let me manage this one. You’ve been running on nothing for days — go rest.”

Tang Pidi nodded. “Then I’ll leave it all to you.”

And so the brutal battle that had seemed inevitable never came to pass. Han Feibao was not going to batter himself against the Ning army after the Left Wuwei had been entirely destroyed. He was fighting for the realm — to burn through all his men here and win would still leave him exposed when he turned around to find the Marquis of Guanting waiting to take a swing at him.

The Marquis wouldn’t dare come after the Ning King. But him? That was a different matter.

—

A month and a half later, the Yong Province army had pulled back to within two hundred *li* of Da Xing City, though Han Feibao clearly had no intention of immediately storming it.

He ordered the Yong Province forces to fan out and strip the surrounding countryside of grain and supplies — while the Ning army and the Marquis of Guanting’s forces were still at a distance, better to seize everything they could first.

—

*Da Xing City.*

Emperor Yang Jing sat in the Eastern Study of Shiyuan Palace, looking out at the sun as it sank toward the horizon. Its light fell across his face, staining it a deep red.

His eyes were red too.

“How is the Princess Consort?”

The Emperor asked quietly.

The young eunuch Yuan Ying answered: “The men sent to inquire have returned, Your Majesty. The Princess Consort is occupied with arrangements for the Wu Prince’s funeral rites. They say she looks… much aged. Her spirit is very low. But she insists on managing everything herself and will not allow anyone else to intervene.”

A pang of pain moved through the Emperor’s chest.

After a moment, he exhaled slowly. “Pass the decree — today is the first day our Royal Uncle has returned to the capital. Tonight, We shall go to keep vigil. The civil and military officials of the court — all of them — are to kneel and keep watch.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

Yuan Ying acknowledged with haste and ran out to pass the decree.

The Emperor called for his attendants to help him change, then put on a robe of snow-white mourning and stepped out of the Eastern Study. The moment he passed through the door his body swayed.

He steadied himself. His head was spinning badly. Not wanting anyone below to see, he paused for a moment, then forced himself forward. After three or five steps, his legs gave way and he went down.

The fall sent the eunuchs and guards around him into a panic, all rushing forward at once.

The imperial physician examined him and urged him to rest. The Emperor refused, and ordered that he be supported to the Wu Prince’s residence.

He said: *After this, We may have a very long time to rest. Not today.*

He boarded the imperial carriage. Sitting there, he watched the common people walking along the great avenue outside the window — watching their ashen, grief-hollowed faces. And the Emperor began to laugh. Laughing, he began to cry.

“Great Chu… is finished.”

He drew the carriage curtain shut and sat there with his eyes closed, tears falling without a sound.

He grieved for the Wu Prince’s death. He grieved, even more, for the coming end of Great Chu. Sitting there, the Emperor thought: since the day of his enthronement, how hard had he worked, every single day? And what had any of it amounted to?

Now, at this late hour — what was there left to do?

—