Four prefectures, twenty-eight cities, hundreds of villages and towns — all gone overnight, without a trace.

The layered emerald mountains slowly gave way to the burning circle of the sun as it climbed. The blazing flames melted away the last of the previous night’s darkness, hurling golden, scorching, furious light down upon this filthy earth.

Inside the main tent of the allied forces’ camp, figures in official robes and armor filled every seat.

At the far end of the tent, raised on a dais, stood an antlered chair draped in soft white tiger hide.

Ivory-white antlers crossed and interlocked to form the chair’s back. At the very top of the backrest, where the antler roots met, a small, round piece of bone was attached.

It was the skull of a deer — a creature that had now been made into a seat, though it should have been running free through the forests.

Before the antlered chair sat a footrest, its base supported by four small deer antlers no longer than a forefinger.

Those slender white antlers reached down from above to meet the dust-covered earth, and above them bore a dark, cold footboard.

On that footboard rested a pair of black boots, immaculate and without a speck of dust. The silver cloud patterns at the toes caught the candlelight with a cold shimmer.

A young soldier, soaking wet and trembling violently, knelt on the ground before those spotless boot tips and “confessed” — that because Li Qia had been too absorbed in battle and refused to retreat, the entire army of four hundred thousand men had been annihilated.

A gentle, unhurried voice descended from the antlered chair.

He said: “The Shangjiang Weir has stood for over five hundred years. The late Emperor once considered having it repaired during his reign, but the matter was put aside when rebel forces caused unrest. That the rebels should today be swallowed by the very waters of the Shangjiang they provoked could be said to be their just deserts.”

“It is only a pity… that so many of our soldiers and innocent civilians of the region were caught up in the disaster alongside them.”

The Military Commissioner of Shu’an, Chen Yu, sat slumped in his chair, his expression distant and vacant. Of the four hundred thousand allied troops destroyed the night before, sixty thousand had come from the Shu’an Army — every last one of his elite forces. Of those who had made it back to camp by daybreak, there were fewer than a hundred.

The four prefectures swallowed by the flood included two that fell under Chen Yu’s jurisdiction.

Fu Xuanmiao’s tone shifted. He spoke in a low, grave voice:

“Hear my orders. Military Commissioner of Zhenchuan, Li Qia, acted without regard for the greater situation and defied military orders — arrest him on sight. Military Commissioner of Shu’an, Chen Yu, engaged in factional conspiracy and dereliction of duty. He turned a blind eye to the problems with the embankments within his own jurisdiction, ultimately resulting in today’s disaster that has dealt devastating blows to both sides—”

Fu Xuanmiao looked at Chen Yu, whose face had gone white as chalk, and spoke slowly. “You delayed the campaign, and by military law you should be executed on the spot. Out of consideration for your years of service to His Majesty, I will for the time being confiscate your dual standards and dual pennants, and place you under confinement in your tent. The matter will be decided after I report to His Majesty. Chen Yu — do you accept?”

Chen Yu’s ashen lips quivered. He knew his cause was lost. If he struggled any further, he wouldn’t merely lose this hollow title — his life, too, would disappear without explanation, just like that ill-fated Li Qia.

He rose from his armchair, and with the resigned dignity of a man who had lost, he clasped his hands together and accepted the order.

Immediately, Fu Xuanmiao’s personal soldiers swarmed forward and escorted him to the tent where he would be confined.

Fu Xuanmiao swept his gaze across the tent. His tone became quiet and soft once more — like the waters that had surged through the four prefectures, pushing people forward with an authority that could not be refused.

“The capital city has now been submerged. The enemy is thrown into confusion. Our reinforcements, delayed by the flood, have at last arrived. This is the moment to strike with full force, to wipe out the rebel faction and avenge the innocent civilians and soldiers who have died.”

The tent fell into complete silence. Only one voice flowed within it.

Li Wu sat in a corner, his gaze fixed without blinking on that man.

Over five hundred years ago, a newly appointed regional governor had been troubled by the floods that ravaged his lands every year. He built a small thatched hut by the Shangjiang River, went everywhere to gather knowledge, studied without ceasing, and over sixteen years, with the full strength of his entire region, raised a great embankment along the Shangjiang. It was named the Shangjiang Weir.

From that day forward, the Shangjiang Weir had stood for over five hundred years as a guardian of all living things for miles around. Along the banks of the Shangjiang, one prosperous city after another had risen. The Shangjiang, which had irrigated countless fields and sustained countless lives, was given a term of endearment by those who lived beside it: the Mother River.

Five hundred years later, the Shangjiang Weir had collapsed. The nightmare of five hundred years past played out once more. Unstoppable floodwaters swallowed every city in their path and extinguished every flame of civilization they touched.

Outside the tent, the sun blazed high.

The people of the four submerged prefectures and twenty-eight cities had only muddy water above their heads.

Li Wu lounged in his seat, his expression blank, but the right hand hanging between his spread knees was clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.

His gaze remained locked, without wavering, on the man sitting calmly in the antlered chair.

If this was not the work of human hands — why had the Shangjiang Weir collapsed at this precise moment, no sooner and no later, the very moment Li Qia led the main force of the Zhenchuan Army out in full strength?

If this was not the work of human hands — why had Li Qia drawn in his forces and recalled all of his trusted aides to his side, leaving Li Wu as the only Zhenchuan Army officer now sitting in this main tent?

But if it was the work of human hands —

How could the man in the antlered chair sit there with a look of compassion on his face, using a calm and gentle voice to rally the spirits of those assembled?

“This battle concerns the very fate of Great Yan. We must meet the enemy with the resolve of those who have burned their boats and have no path of retreat. This is not only for His Majesty — it is so that those who come after us are not trampled under the iron hooves of the rebels, and so that we may bring justice for the innocent people who have died because of those who would commit treason against the throne.”

“The late Emperor and His Majesty have cultivated each of you over many years. This battle is the moment for all those present to repay that grace. Only by crushing these treacherous subjects before us can we say we have not failed in our duty as subjects, as sons, as fathers!”

Fu Xuanmiao’s words moved more and more of those present. What had been whispers broke into a chorus of indignant, impassioned agreement. Volunteers rose one after another to offer their services, led by one of Fu Xuanmiao’s Army’s most prominent commanders.

The remaining small group who stayed silent were mostly elderly civil officials who had survived by chance. They had seen too many years of court intrigue to be easily swayed. Unlike the younger officials and military men who had been roused so effortlessly, these white-haired men sat in their chairs with darkened expressions, their gazes dropping, almost in unison, to stare at their own feet.

The air inside the tent was suffocating.

Like the algae that had grown for years in Xiangyang County’s drainage channels — filthy, slick, a blend of grime and stagnant water — the smell of something hidden beneath the surface of prosperity and plenty.

When the sun was three poles high, the main tent’s curtain was finally pulled aside.

The night’s pursuit campaign was set to begin. Everyone moved with urgent steps — everyone except Li Wu.

He was the last to walk out of the tent. Behind him came Fu Xuanmiao’s unhurried voice.

“Commissioner Li—”

Li Wu stopped walking and slowly turned around.

“Do you resent me for ordering you to remain at the rear?” the aristocratic young man in the antlered chair asked.

He was immaculately dressed, as radiant as the moon, yet his handsome face was veiled in a shadow of backlight.

Li Wu understood perfectly what lay beneath his words.

This was the most critical — and likely final — major engagement between Great Yan and the false Liao. Win, and there would be promotions and glory, a name carved into the annals of history. Lose — there was no possibility of losing. The rebels had been shattered by the flood and scattered to the winds. Though the allied forces’ main strength had also been devastated by the water, the twelve thousand soldiers of Fu Xuanmiao’s Army had already arrived. The enemy had no reinforcements — only shattered remnants with their courage broken by the flood.

Victory was certain.

Anyone who entered the field could claim a place on the merit report.

By ordering him to remain at the rear, Fu Xuanmiao had cut off his path to advancement through this battle.

A warning, and a test.

“…I would not dare.” Li Wu lowered his head, his gaze settling on a ladybug struggling across the ground just ahead of his feet. “This subordinate is just a rough and simple man. The higher-ups tell me what to do, and I do it. I have no complaints.”

“Those who know which way the wind blows are the truly capable ones—” the voice from the antlered chair paused. “No wonder you have survived to the last.”

Li Wu pretended not to hear the implication and kept his eyes fixed on the small creature as it marched doggedly toward a dead end.

It was going in the wrong direction. No matter how hard it searched, it would find no way out.

Before heaven and earth, it was too small, too fragile. It could not even spread its wings and fly past the tent flap.

Its end was already sealed.

There was no path forward.

“Of those from the Zhenchuan Army, you are now the only one sitting here who still has any say.” Fu Xuanmiao sat high in his antlered chair, his expression serene. “Let the lesson of your superior’s fate be engraved upon your heart. Only by doing so can you avoid walking the same road.”

Li Wu lifted his gaze from the ladybug and looked directly at the man in the antlered chair.

Compared to this man, his own smallness was plain to see.

…So what?

Even dust, gathered enough of it, can build a mountain.

Li Wu’s gaze returned to the ladybug. He said, one word at a time: “My gratitude for Consultant Fu’s instruction. The lesson of the Battle of Shangzhou… is one Li will never forget for as long as he lives.”

“There is no need to be disheartened.” Fu Xuanmiao said. “Choose the right side, and opportunities to earn merit will come in abundance. There is no need to be in a hurry.”

“…As Consultant Fu says.”

“You may go.”

Li Wu received the dismissal, but instead of turning toward the exit, he stepped forward two paces.

Fu Xuanmiao sat unmoved in his antlered chair, watching without expression as Li Wu bent down, reached toward the ground, and picked up the ladybug — the one that, barring some intervention, would likely die in a corner of the tent within a few days.

He pinched the ladybug between his fingers, turned without a backward glance, and walked out of the main tent.

Fu Xuanmiao watched his retreating figure without moving, until the tent flap fell completely into place.

“My lord, you have been watching this man so closely. Have you noticed something amiss about him?”

Yan Hui, who had been standing at the foot of the dais the whole time as a personal guard, could not help but ask.

Fu Xuanmiao did not answer.

His gaze shifted from the tent’s edge to the place where the ladybug had been crawling.

What sort of person would care whether a small crawling insect lived or died?

Only someone equally small and fragile would fix their attention on something so insignificant.

“Until Yangliu has confirmed his true identity, there is no need to concern ourselves with him. Should he make any unusual moves—” he said, “eliminate him directly.”

Yan Hui clasped his hands and accepted the order. “Understood.”

…

The sun hung high overhead, scorching the open earth.

Li Wu carried the ladybug out of the army camp and found a patch of grass to release it. He crouched before the grass, and the moment he opened his fingers, the ladybug spread its wings and flew off into the dense leaves.

“You’re lucky — today I happen to be in a mood to do a good deed…” Li Wu said to the ladybug sitting on a wild blade of grass. “Next time, I’m charging you.”

He stood, turned, and faced the companions who had followed him all the way from the tent.

Er’hu was being held by Li Que, his hands pinned behind his back, still struggling furiously.

“Let go of me! Let me go, you bunch of cowards!”

“Let you go so you can go throw your life away?” Li Wu said.

“You don’t have the guts to avenge my brothers, but I do! Don’t stop me — I want to kill that beast in human skin!” Er’hu shouted in fury.

“Er’hu brother, calm down. The General is stopping you for your own good. If you’d charged out just now, you’d be a corpse by now.” Niuwang said, his face pained, mixing half Sichuan dialect with the standard tongue. “Don’t they say in all the stories — a gentleman can wait ten years to take his revenge. Why settle for a moment of recklessness?”

“Come talk to me about that after you’ve lost an elder brother and a younger brother!”

Er’hu thrashed violently in Li Que’s grip, kicking and striking, his face contorted. Li Que was nearly unable to hold him. A single glance, and Li Kun stepped in from the side, bringing the situation under control with ease.

“It’s one thing for us brothers to quarrel among ourselves. It’s another thing entirely to be killed by an outsider. The lives of the Three Tigers are not for anyone outside our stronghold to take!”

“Fine — let him go.” Li Wu said.

Li Kun and Li Que released him at once. Er’hu drew his blade without a second thought and charged toward the camp.

“Go ahead,” Li Wu said. “Once you do, your stronghold won’t even have anyone left to collect Da Hu’s and Xiao Hu’s bodies.”

Er’hu’s feet came to an abrupt stop.

“The area that was flooded is vast. I won’t be going around searching for them one by one. I’ll just toss you into the water and call it a joint burial for you all.”

“You—”

Er’hu’s expression changed. His face flushed red with fury as he spun around and lunged at Li Wu with his small blade.

Before Niuwang could even move to help, in a single blink, Er’hu had been pinned to the ground by Li Wu.

“You’re this weak, and you want to avenge someone?” Li Wu said.

Er’hu’s head was pressed to the ground under Li Wu’s single hand. He clenched his teeth, a strained growl working its way up from his throat, struggling with everything he had — and still could not break free of Li Wu’s hold.

“I’ve said before — you pay the entry fee, you’re my brother.”

The wilderness was utterly silent. Li Wu’s voice fell clear and unmistakable on the open ground.

“I will not let any of my brothers die for nothing.” Li Wu said. “If the collapse of the Shangjiang Weir was truly the work of human hands — no matter who was behind it — even if it was the Emperor himself who gave the order, I will make sure that blood is paid for in blood.”

“If you trust me, hold your anger for now. If you insist on going to your death — I won’t stop you again.”

When he finished, Li Wu lifted the hand pressing down on Er’hu’s head. He stepped back, stood upright, and watched in silence as Er’hu pulled himself off the ground.

Er’hu’s eyes were red. He stared at Li Wu without blinking. After a long silence, he opened his mouth.

“…All right.”

He tightened his grip on the small blade, and in a voice that sounded as though he wanted to flay someone alive, he ground out each word through his teeth:

“I’ll trust you once. Whoever harmed my elder brother and younger brother — I swear I will make them pay blood with blood!”

“Who are you cursing as dead?”

A faint, weak voice drifted in from the direction of the open wilderness. Er’hu’s eyes went wide in an instant.

Under the brilliant midday sun, a group of soldiers in soaking wet clothes came walking toward them in a loose cluster. At their head were two figures — none other than Da Hu and Xiao Hu, whom everyone had counted as lost.

“Elder Brother! Little Brother!” Er’hu stared at them, motionless. “You’re… you’re back… you…”

“Could we dare not come back?” Xiao Hu had one arm draped over Da Hu’s shoulder, her tone deliberately light. “If we didn’t come back, wouldn’t Second Brother be heartbroken?”

“You — nonsense! If you’d died, I’d have been overjoyed, not heartbroken!” Er’hu snapped back to his senses in an instant, his face flushing red as he scrambled to his feet.

He scrambled to tuck his small blade away and pulled out his folding fan instead, trying to open it with an air of elegance — but after several attempts, he couldn’t get it to open properly.

“…Useless piece of junk!” He threw it down in embarrassed fury and kicked it aside.

“Second Brother…”

Xiao Hu had barely opened her mouth to tease him when a sudden surge of pain washed over her, draining the last of the strength she had been forcing herself to hold onto.

Her legs gave out beneath her, and the right hand draped over Da Hu’s shoulder slid away.

The last thing she heard was a few voices calling out.

“Xiao Hu!”

Da Hu caught Xiao Hu as she lost consciousness, and called out urgently, “Quickly, go get a military physician!”

“Leave it to Li Que.” Li Wu’s gaze fell on Li Que’s composed face. “You go find her a doctor.”

“…Elder Brother, leave it to me.” Li Que walked toward Xiao Hu.

Li Wu swept his gaze over the rest of them and said:

“The rest of you — wounded aside — anyone who can swim, come with me. Anyone who can’t, get to work building rafts as fast as possible.”

“You’re going to…” Er’hu’s face flooded with shock, equal parts hope and disbelief as he stared at Li Wu.

“Today, I, Li the Great Philanthropist, am in a generous mood—” Li Wu turned and strode away. “So that the woman back home doesn’t end up weeping over some other man again.”