Daxing City, Shiyuan Palace, East Study.

Emperor Yang Jing looked over the military report in his hands, his expression easing somewhat. Prince Wu’s army had annihilated fifteen thousand of Li Xionghu’s troops in a single battle, then swept north, and had now pinned down Yang Xuanji’s forces in the northern part of Jingzhou.

This news lifted some of the oppressive gloom that had been weighing on the Emperor’s heart, and he visibly looked better.

He thought to himself — if his Royal Uncle could hold on for a few more years, perhaps Dachu might truly manage to keep breathing.

With Prince Wu’s capabilities, as long as he defeated Yang Xuanji this time and then turned to finish off Li Xionghu, the lands of Jiangnan could still be stabilized.

As for Li Chi’s side… half the realm was already in his hands. To rally and defeat Li Chi in one fell swoop was utterly impossible.

But as long as Prince Wu triumphed over Yang Xuanji and Li Xionghu, a division of the realm along the river would take shape.

At this moment, if he could truly preserve Jiangnan, the Emperor felt that would already be something — at the very least, it would keep things going.

“Xiaodao, We are in good spirits today. Add an extra dish at dinner.”

The Emperor issued the order.

When the Emperor was in good spirits, Zhen Xiaodao’s mood lifted along with his. He quickly turned to pass along the instruction.

To stockpile provisions and supplies, the Emperor had decreed that beginning with himself, meals were to be limited to two a day, with only one dish per meal.

Li Xionghu had been forced to retreat by Tang Pidi, Li Chi’s great general, and Yang Xuanji had been pinned down by Prince Wu — so the Emperor felt a celebration was in order.

Zhen Xiaodao went personally to relay the instruction to the imperial kitchen, making certain they prepared sweet and sour fish, the dish His Majesty loved most.

His Majesty favored sweet and sour flavors, yet by any reckoning, even something as easily satisfied as this, His Majesty had not tasted in a very long time.

So when that plate of sweet and sour fish was set before the Emperor, his eyes lit up.

“Next time, no such extravagance.”

The Emperor said with a smile.

Zhen Xiaodao quickly agreed, apologizing while still smiling, for it had truly been a long time since he had seen the Emperor this happy.

Picking up his chopsticks, the Emperor felt he ought to be solemn about this.

Just as the chopsticks touched the edge of that dish of fish, from outside, Hui Chunqiu, the Commander of the Imperial Guards, strode in swiftly, a memorial in hand.

“Your Majesty, an urgent report from Prince Wu.”

The Emperor immediately set his chopsticks down, took the military report, and opened it. A moment later, his expression had already darkened.

Prince Wu’s scouts had confirmed it — King Ning Li Chi had seized Jingzhou and destroyed over two hundred thousand of Yang Xuanji’s troops.

“This… this quickly.”

The Emperor glanced at that plate of sweet and sour fish. In that single instant, he had just been craving it desperately — now he had not the slightest appetite, and even the smell of the sweet-sour fragrance turned his stomach.

What did Li Chi taking Jingzhou mean?

It meant that the Emperor’s cherished dream of dividing the realm along the river — North and South — was finished.

Li Chi had planted one foot, heavily, upon the soil of Jiangnan. With Jingzhou secured, Li Chi could strike east into the heartland of Dachu and press straight toward Daxing City, south into Liangzhou, or southwest into Shuzhou.

“Your Majesty?”

Zhen Xiaodao called out softly.

The Emperor came back to himself, looked again at that plate of sweet and sour fish still steaming — his expression slightly blank.

His reaction gave Zhen Xiaodao quite a fright. He had no idea how to offer comfort, and could only fret anxiously.

After a long silence, the Emperor looked toward Zhen Xiaodao: “Go… bring Us a bowl of rice. We are still going to eat — we must eat… otherwise, what a waste.”

Zhen Xiaodao hurriedly brought the rice over. The Emperor picked up a piece of fish and placed it in his mouth. It was the familiar flavor he knew, yet beneath that flavor, he kept sensing something else — a thick, pungent fishiness.

The Emperor ate faster and faster, shoveling it in mouthful by mouthful, until the entire plate of sweet and sour fish was clean and every grain of rice had been scraped in.

When he finished, he grinned at Zhen Xiaodao: “Delicious.”

Then he retched and vomited everything up.

After some time had passed, the Emperor suddenly murmured to himself: “We cannot simply wait like this. We cannot leave everything to Royal Uncle alone.”

The Emperor raised his head and looked out the window. It had grown dark. In those eyes of his — the kind that made one’s heart ache — there was a kind of searching, as though he were looking for where the light might be.

“Go. Send people out and inform all members of the Imperial family residing in the capital to come to the Imperial Ancestral Temple at first light tomorrow. We have a great matter to announce.”

Zhen Xiaodao ran out immediately, ordering his subordinates to carry the summons.

The Emperor rose. His stomach still felt deeply unsettled, as though the bones of a fish were stabbing at his insides — a wave after wave of aching pain.

Outside the window there was no moonlight, and so there was no light for him to search for.

—

The following morning, the Emperor did not attend court. He went directly to the Imperial Ancestral Temple.

When he arrived, a great many members of the Imperial family residing within the capital had already gathered — old and young alike, every face grave. At the moment they caught sight of the Emperor, the venerable elders at the front first knelt, and a great wave of people followed them down.

The Emperor hurried forward and helped to his feet the elder standing at the very front — by seniority, this man was of his grandfather’s generation.

After helping the elder up, the Emperor turned and entered the Ancestral Temple. He swept back his robes and knelt.

With this kneel of his, all those who had just risen knelt again.

After roughly half a quarter of an hour, there within the Ancestral Temple, the Emperor announced the decision he had made the night before.

Having stated his intentions, the Emperor asked: “Among the Imperial family members in the capital — if we were to count all who could be mobilized: household guards, servants, retainers, estate guards — all of them included — how many might there be?”

All were calculating in their minds. The Emperor looked at them and said: “Royal Uncle leads the army in the north to resist the enemy, yet we cannot leave everything to Royal Uncle alone. He cannot be everywhere at once… The men of the Yang family ought not simply sit here waiting for news — whether good news or bad news — and when it arrives, either weep or rejoice.”

As each household tallied their available numbers, the count came to nearly ten thousand men.

Even the Emperor was stunned.

With Dachu in such peril and on the verge of ruin, the Imperial families still kept that many servants and retainers — one could well imagine how extravagant their lives remained.

“From last night onward, We have been thinking — who should lead this force of our Yang family into battle against the rebels, to coordinate and support Royal Uncle.”

The Emperor’s gaze settled on a young man — he looked barely past twenty, with a tall, sturdy, well-built figure, full of vigorous spirit.

He was Yang Zhenting, the son of Prince Wu.

Yet very quickly, the Emperor shifted his gaze away from Yang Zhenting — for in looking at Yang Zhenting, he had seen the face of Princess Wu, filled with terror and a fierce anger.

In that moment, the Emperor’s heart softened.

He knew Yang Zhenting was the most suitable. Yang Zhenting had studied military strategy under Prince Wu from childhood, and his martial skill was no small thing. Though he lacked command experience, just like every other young man present, among them all, Yang Zhenting was nonetheless the most experienced.

Yet Princess Wu’s expression, and the unyielding resolve in her eyes, were telling the Emperor clearly: if you dare send my son to fight against the Ning Army, I will turn heaven and earth upside down.

The Emperor also felt, in truth, that this seemed not entirely fair. Prince Wu was already of such age, and still fighting for the nation with his life — to now send his son into battle as well…

So the Emperor’s gaze fell on another young man.

“Yang Zhenshuo, receive the Imperial decree!”

The Emperor looked toward a young man also in his mid-twenties — none other than the beloved grandson of that venerable elder.

So when the Emperor called out this name, the elder’s legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground.

The Emperor clenched his jaw and steeled his heart, paying him no heed. He looked at the young man and said: “We wish to entrust this force to you. You shall lead them to establish a defensive line along the western front of Jingzhou. The rebel Li Chi has already seized Jingzhou, and it is very likely he will advance east. If he makes his move, the flanks of Prince Wu’s army will be in danger. You shall hold Yumen Pass — as long as Li Chi’s rebel forces do not enter Jingzhou, Prince Wu will have enough time to defeat Yang Xuanji.”

Yang Zhenshuo knelt to the ground: “Your servant — receives the decree!”

The venerable elder who had collapsed to the ground — his already dimming eyes — could not stop the tears from flowing down, yet he said not a word. He followed his great-grandson in kowtowing to the Emperor in gratitude.

—

Roughly ten days later, this force — assembled from the servants, household guards, and retainers of the various Imperial families — departed from Daxing City.

They were to march southwest, to reinforce the Chu troops garrisoned at Yumen Pass. Within Yumen Pass, there were only slightly over three thousand soldiers.

What no one had anticipated was this: before setting out, Yang Zhenshuo had already sold off a great many valuable antiques and curios from his own household, and personally went to each family to appeal to them — each household doing what they could to contribute money.

With these funds, Yang Zhenshuo recruited volunteer soldiers as he marched. From Daxing City to Yumen Pass was over a thousand li, and by the time they arrived, the force had grown to over forty thousand men.

Accompanying him were not only all the capable military officers drawn from the Ministry of War — the Emperor had also dispatched to him a personal guard by the name of Duan Hen.

Duan Hen had not wanted to come. But the Emperor had given him a reason he could not refuse.

The Emperor had conferred upon him the rank of General, received him in private audience, and told him that once this battle was won and he returned to Daxing City, he would formally be enfeoffed as a Marquis.

Duan Hen was a man of the lowest rungs of the jianghu. To be enfeoffed and named a general — this was, for him, truly an irresistible temptation.

Moreover, his task this time was simply to protect Yang Zhenshuo’s safety. There was no need to go into battle himself.

Leading his several hundred disciples and followers, he accompanied Yang Zhenshuo to Yumen Pass. When he too climbed the city wall and looked outward, his expression shifted slightly.

Through the Qianliye lens, one could see far into the distance — out across the earth, a sweeping expanse of red, flowing like clouds.

Roughly thirty li beyond Yumen Pass was the Ning Army’s main encampment. The general said to be commanding them was called Xiahou Zuo.

Yang Zhenshuo knew something of Xiahou Zuo.

He knew that the northern frontier had not fallen, that the Black Wu people had not invaded south despite Dachu being in such turmoil — and it was all because Xiahou Zuo had held them off with his life.

He knew that Xiahou Zuo had beaten even the Black Wu people. He himself might not be able to defeat him — but he had no way to retreat.

He also knew that by seniority, he should call Xiahou Zuo his elder brother.

An elder brother of Imperial blood who had refused to take the surname Yang — and who, at this very moment, was becoming the gravedigger of the Yang Imperial family.

The Ning Army had not yet attacked Yumen Pass, and from appearances had no intention of attacking. Had they wished to strike, before Yang Zhenshuo arrived with his forces, the flags above Yumen Pass would long since have been changed to Ning banners.

They were not attacking because the Ning Army had no desire to enter the Jingzhou conflict so early.

King Ning Li Chi’s thinking was plain to see — let Prince Wu and Yang Xuanji fight it out. And Li Chi surely entertained those thoughts with laughter and contempt.

Because Prince Wu and Yang Xuanji were, after all, both men of the Imperial family.

“Change the flag.”

Yang Zhenshuo gave the order.

The commanding general’s banner atop Yumen Pass was changed — hoisted up was a Yang banner, along with the distinctive flag of the Imperial family, proclaiming the identity of the commander.

Not long after the war banners were changed, Ning Army scouts carried the news to Xiahou Zuo.

Having read it, Xiahou Zuo furrowed his brow and pondered for a moment, wondering — could Prince Wu himself have arrived?

Yet that seemed unlikely. If Prince Wu were here, who was left facing off against Yang Xuanji?

He looked toward Li Chi. Li Chi rose: “Let’s go take a look.”

—