Yuanzhen murmured “how dull” to himself, then turned and walked slowly toward the door, each step so light it seemed he was afraid of waking something.

He stopped at the doorway and looked outside. The wooden hall had only just been built — new, and rough. There were no skilled carpenters here; that the building stood at all was an achievement.

Yet for all its roughness and modest height, this hall was the symbol of Han Feibao’s supreme authority on Yunlai Island.

Outside the hall stretched a wide platform. In the parlance of common folk, it might be called a moon terrace. Built of piled stone — with no proper tools for shaping rock, and no lime to pack the joints — it was uneven underfoot.

Several dozen Yongzhou soldiers stood on the platform, all of them Han Feibao’s personal guard.

Yuanzhen looked out at them for a moment, then raised both hands and pulled the two door panels shut.

In that instant, his shoulders rose and fell — a long, deep breath.

Then Yuanzhen turned back.

He looked at the generals in the room and counted. Thirteen in all. None of them had been men of particular renown before reaching the island, because the truly renowned ones had all been killed by Tang Pidi. Han Feibao had earned the nickname “Han the Runner” among the Yongzhou troops behind his back — always managing to escape — and one reason he kept escaping was his readiness to send men to their deaths.

The tactic of “cutting off the wrist to save the arm” was hardly something Yuanzhen had taught him. Every time Tang Pidi pressed close enough, Han Feibao had arranged for subordinates to block or lure the pursuit — and in doing so had fed his most capable generals one by one to Tang Pidi, as though deliberately padding the man’s kill count.

This had not started recently. The last time Tang Pidi had hunted him through Jiangnan, he had done the same — in the end abandoning his last tens of thousands of troops wholesale, slipping away with only a few dozen personal guards in disguise. And those few dozen guards had been executed afterward, because he could not allow word of such a disgrace to spread.

He had always been a suspicious, ruthless man.

So these thirteen generals in the room, in Yuanzhen’s view, were nothing but thirteen useless wineskins.

The most capable and competent among them — the one who had been first to stand and set the tone for Han Feibao — was General Yang Dong. And “most capable,” here, was only relative; the others were simply worse.

When Han Feibao saw Yuanzhen shut the door and turn back, he could not help but smile. “Has Master some secret to share with me, that he felt the need to close the door?”

Yuanzhen paid him no mind. He walked, step by step, back to his place, and looked at the general standing closest to him.

“General Liu — before we reached the island, you were merely a fourth-rank general. Your superior was killed by Tang Pidi, and my lord gave you his position as a temporary measure. You were overjoyed, feeling your luck had finally turned. Do you know why it was you?”

The general named Liu stared at Yuanzhen, his expression shifting slightly.

Yuanzhen said, “Because I told my lord there was no one more capable, and you were the only option — a fourth-rank officer pressed into service. You hold this command because I recommended you.”

General Liu snorted. “My lord saw my worth and promoted me. I don’t see what that has to do with you, Master.”

Yuanzhen said, “With your abilities, you are not fit to hold the post of a general. You cannot remain in this army. A mediocrity like you will ruin everything in the end.”

Then, without turning his head, he asked, “My lord — what do you think?”

Han Feibao laughed aloud. “What is Master doing — telling me a joke before you set off?”

Yuanzhen shook his head. “No. Clearing your army of those whose rank exceeds their ability. Going forward, those who are truly capable will rise through proper selection.”

Han Feibao said, “Master thinks far ahead — but Master might first consider the matter at hand. Master has not yet chosen men for the Yanzhou mission.”

Yuanzhen said, “My lord, I am choosing men right now. Watch carefully.”

He raised one hand and pointed at General Liu. “This one, certainly not. Not only is he without ability — he talks behind people’s backs constantly. No talent, and envious of those who have it. He is a source of ruin.”

General Liu erupted in fury. He had barely opened his mouth to speak when a dagger flashed from Yuanzhen’s sleeve and drove straight into his throat.

The strike came so suddenly, so swiftly, that no one in the room had time to react.

In the same motion, Yuanzhen stepped back. The blood sprayed — and not a single drop touched him.

He pivoted, coming to rest beside another general. That man reached by instinct for his sword hilt, but before his hand had even closed on the grip, Yuanzhen’s dagger had already opened his throat.

“Too slow.”

Yuanzhen stepped away again; the blood arced behind him.

This had all happened in the span of a heartbeat. That general, whatever his failings, was no stranger to martial arts — yet he had not even drawn his blade. That alone spoke to how fast Yuanzhen’s strike had been.

An instant later, Yuanzhen drifted to the back of a general surnamed Zhang, his movement like a shadow’s. General Zhang felt his vision blur for a fraction of a second, and he spun — but by the time he turned, the dagger had entered his neck.

“This man,” Yuanzhen said, glancing at the body, “had no ability whatsoever, yet was the most skilled at stealing the credit of those beneath him. When anyone failed to comply, he had them beaten to death with a military rod. My lord — you cannot keep men like this. If you do, the army will only grow more fractured. A general who cannot forge loyalty, but only breeds hatred, must die.”

Han Feibao’s eyes had gone red. “Kill him!”

The remaining men needed no command to draw their blades — but Yuanzhen was too fast, and none of them could keep up.

Han Feibao was the first to draw. His best fighter, Yang Dong, was second.

“Yuanzhen — you are courting death!”

Han Feibao charged.

Yuanzhen turned back suddenly to face him. “My lord, wait a moment — I have something to say.”

Han Feibao instinctively checked himself. “You still want to—”

*Thud.*

A blade punched through Han Feibao’s back, entering at the lower spine. It was a brutal thrust — the full length of the blade buried inside him, the tip emerging through his abdomen.

The next instant the blade began to turn.

Yang Dong had stabbed Han Feibao from behind, then locked his left arm around Han Feibao’s throat.

He pressed close to Han Feibao’s ear and said quietly, “Each time he called you *my lord* — he was not calling you.”

Yang Dong wrenched the blade free and drove it home again, even harder.

Han Feibao’s body convulsed violently — likely the nerves, rather than fear. A man of such ferocity would probably not feel much fear even now, only rage.

But his men knew him too well. They knew how fierce he was, how ruthless, how dangerous even cornered — and so they gave him not the slightest chance to fight back.

A second strike. A third. A fourth…

Yang Dong’s blows came faster and harder with each one.

When he finally released his left arm, Han Feibao sank softly to the ground. Even now, Han Feibao could not have understood why his own men would help an outsider.

Yuanzhen had by this point killed yet another general. He looked at Yang Dong and said, “My lord, this man had an old grievance with you. Left alive, he would be a source of trouble. He must be removed as well.”

Yang Dong smiled. “Master is right.”

Yuanzhen moved through the great hall of the new building like a flickering shadow, the remaining men drawing their blades and still unable to keep pace.

What made it most terrifying was that among those remaining, three were Yang Dong’s own men — and those three each killed a general themselves.

Quickly the smell of new timber in the room was overwhelmed by something else entirely.

Yuanzhen walked to Han Feibao’s side. Han Feibao had one last breath left; he was forcing his eyelids open, staring up at Yuanzhen. If a gaze could kill, Yuanzhen would have been in a thousand pieces.

Yuanzhen crouched beside him and said calmly, “Former lord… did you truly think I could not foresee that reaching out to those lower-ranking officers would arouse your killing intent?”

“But only by doing that could I keep your attention away from the person I truly wanted to speak with — General Yang… and yet you sent him to watch me.”

Yang Dong crouched down as well and smiled at Han Feibao’s slowly clouding, yet still hate-filled eyes.

“Did you really believe most of the men here were still loyal to you? Just now they were shouting outside and not a single man came in to protect you. Why do you think that was?”

Yang Dong said, “You are a stubborn, foolish, self-satisfied man. The soldiers outside — you told me to station them, so of course they are my men.”

He breathed out heavily. “My former general was one of those you sent to his death. When I took his position I thought to myself: I probably will not sit in this seat for long either. Sooner or later you will send me out to die as well.”

“Master Yuanzhen told me — Han Feibao is always saying this person or that person is useless, that they will ruin everything someday. But you are the one who will ruin us. You are the one who would destroy us all.”

Yang Dong rose and looked toward the three generals, giving a command. “Go to the door and stand guard. Do not let anyone in for now.”

The three men answered and took their posts.

He looked back down at Han Feibao — and found that Han Feibao had already breathed his last.

Deeply unsatisfying. There had been so much more to say, so many more grievances to air, and the man he had wanted to shout at was gone.

He looked at Yuanzhen. Yuanzhen shook his head slightly: *let it be.*

But Yang Dong crouched down again anyway, speaking into Han Feibao’s ear: “At least seven or eight out of every ten men in this army have wanted you dead for a long time… I was the one who killed you, and it felt good. Not getting to say that to your face before you died — that feels bad.”

He let out one long breath.

Yuanzhen stood, dragged one of the bodies across the floor, and using the sword still gripped in that dead man’s hand, drove the blade through Han Feibao’s heart.

He looked at Yang Dong. “My lord — it is time to go and settle the army.”

Yang Dong nodded, rose, smoothed his clothes, and walked toward the door. Everything outside was now his.

Yuanzhen looked down at Han Feibao’s body. After a long silence, he said softly, “You died for a worthy purpose. Thank you.”

—