After that irregular battle on the Red River, the relationship between the Ning Army and the Tianming Army took on a peculiar quality.

On the surface, the Tianming Army was still building its crossing bridge every day, and the Ning Army was still destroying it every day.

But all the actors in this performance had become thoroughly unprofessional.

In his letter to Zhuang Wudi, Shi Fenghui had made himself plain — he simply had no desire to fight, and would merely keep his forces encamped on the southern bank of the Red River without actually crossing.

And in Zhuang Wudi’s reply to Shi Fenghui, he had written a single line:

*If you perform, I’ll perform with you. If you fight for real, I’ll fight for real.*

Perhaps because those words carried a genuine weight of intimidation, Shi Fenghui did not dare to grow careless, and continued to personally oversee the bridge-building progress from the riverbank every day.

Though the manner of that oversight, naturally, was not to urge his men to build faster — by personally watching over the pace, he ensured the pace remained deliberately slow.

The previous engagement — a slaughter plotted by both sides working in concert — had eliminated many of the potential dangers lurking within Shi Fenghui’s ranks, but it didn’t mean all of them had been removed.

Within a force like this, no one could be certain who belonged to whom.

So Shi Fenghui had only two things he could do, and both had to be done. First, personally oversee the bridge-building and maintain the facade — if the Tianming King were to suddenly send someone to inspect, seeing this sight would at least prevent anyone from claiming he had done nothing at all. Second, have his trusted subordinates keep watch over the main camp and allow no one to leave.

With an army of two hundred thousand men, whether some might quietly slip away in secret was something no one could guarantee.

Just keeping these two tasks well in hand was no simple matter — but if they could be managed, he could continue enjoying his leisure on the southern bank of the Red River.

Yet people are complicated creatures, and at any time, in any environment, wherever there are more than three of them, there is no way for everyone to be truly of one mind.

Things on this side of the river seemed set to drag on indefinitely — the Tianming Army didn’t care, and the Ning Army cared even less.

Then, not long after, Shi Fenghui received Zhuang Wudi’s second letter.

And at that point, Shi Fenghui began to care very much.

The letter said: *I’ve kept up the performance alongside you, and I’ve even helped you do your killing — these things I won’t hold against you. After all, our side hasn’t suffered any losses, and even if the body count wasn’t high, it at least counts toward some military merit. So as far as this cooperation goes, we’re even.*

*However — we hired a great many boats, and it’s because of you that we did. Without you coming here, we would never have hired them. So whenever you have a free moment, send someone to bring the boat fees over.*

Zhuang Wudi had been most sincere about it — he noted that the several days before the Tianming Army’s arrival, he would not charge for. Those days would be on his own account.

Starting from the day they arrived, the boat fees should rightfully be borne by the Tianming Army. If Shi Fenghui found this acceptable, he would send a detailed ledger over in the next letter.

Shi Fenghui slammed his fist on the table.

*The absolute nerve of this man.*

But after composing himself, he wrote back to Zhuang Wudi in a most sincere tone, saying: the matter of hiring boats was your own initiative — we knew nothing of it, and it stands to reason that we cannot be made to pay for something we had no knowledge of.

No one quite knew when it had started, but the commanding generals on the Ning Army’s side had developed a fondness for writing letters to the commanding generals on the other side.

The last one to do this had been Tang Pidi.

The one doing it now was someone deeply influenced by Tang Pidi.

So as one might well imagine, when Shi Fenghui sent his sincerely worded letter across, it accomplished absolutely nothing.

Zhuang Wudi’s reply came back, and this time it was very brief — brief enough to consist of just three characters.

*I’m done performing.*

From that day onward, the moment the Tianming Army sent anyone onto the Red River to build a bridge, the Ning Army’s heavy crossbows started firing. And the fire ships coming down from upstream were now replaced with large vessels — the moment Tianming Army men dared to appear on the river, the Ning Army’s equipment rained down on them with overwhelming force.

After enduring this for two hard days, Shi Fenghui concluded that things could not continue this way.

He could certainly withdraw. He could abandon the performance altogether and simply drag things out — as long as his men stayed off the river, even the Ning Army’s most formidable weapons and equipment couldn’t do anything.

But from Shi Fenghui’s perspective, performing was better than not performing.

He could not predict what the future held, and he had not yet made up his mind to truly rebel against Yang Xuanji.

After the killings, he had posted the non-trusted troops in the main camp, keeping them from moving, while the bridge-building performance was handled entirely by his own trusted forces.

So as far as the soldiers in the main camp were concerned, they could at least still believe he was genuinely probing for a way to attack.

And besides — Yang Xuanji’s army truly was not short of money. Shi Fenghui thought it over and decided to haggle.

He wrote back to Zhuang Wudi: while I had no knowledge of the boat-hiring, as a gesture of good faith, I am willing to cover one-third of the fees.

Zhuang Wudi’s reply came quickly: less than half, and there’s no deal.

Shi Fenghui wrote back: half it is — but I hope you’ll honor the agreement and not go back on your word.

Zhuang Wudi replied: the boat fees — once you agree to pay half, we have no further demands. After all, we’re both reasonable people.

*But while we’re at it, let’s calculate some other figures. We’ve been firing quite a lot of arrows these past days — especially in the last two days, with the heavy crossbows, we’ve put out several hundred bolts. I’d trouble you to cover that cost as well.*

*And then there are the large ships we’ve been using these past two days — large ships come at a premium, and that figure needs to be factored in too.*

Shi Fenghui slammed the table again, and immediately shouted: “Then let’s just fight!”

After calming down, he thought to himself — why do I do this to myself?

He had someone bring him paper and brush — not to write a reply, but to write out a few lines he then ordered hung inside his command tent.

*Don’t be angry, don’t be angry. Things are hard enough as they are. Let others grow angry — I will not. Sickness from anger, and who will nurse you? If I died of anger, whose wish would that fulfill? What’s more, it injures the spirit and wastes one’s energy…*

When he finished writing it out, he found it felt… completely useless.

He reached up, tore the paper from where it hung, and shredded it to pieces.

Then he wrote back to Zhuang Wudi — equally brief, just a few characters: *Do not push too far.*

Zhuang Wudi’s reply came that very same day.

The reply had exactly two more characters than Shi Fenghui’s letter: *And what if I do push too far?*

Shi Fenghui took a deep breath, wrote out the verse *Don’t be Angry* one more time — this time hanging it himself with his own hands.

Then, in a spirit of perfect calm, he instructed his men to prepare a quantity of silver, box it up, and transport it to the riverbank.

But they had no boats. They had to send someone to ask Zhuang Wudi to dispatch vessels to collect it. The man sent returned very quickly: *Would you like a large boat or a small boat? Large boats are ten taels per day, small boats are five.*

The moment that message was reported back, Shi Fenghui tore down the *Don’t be Angry* verse he had personally hung — and shredded it with his own hands.

—

Things on this side were simply at a stalemate. The Ning Army had no fear of a stalemate. The Tianming Army, though its supplies and provisions were less plentiful than the Ning Army’s, could still hold out for a while longer.

Meanwhile, in Jizhou City.

Inside the courier house, Changmei the Daoist and Gao Yuanzhang watched with tense expressions as Old Zhang Zhenren performed a divination. After a long silence, Old Zhang Zhenren slowly exhaled.

“The hexagram is unchanged — same as before.”

Old Zhang Zhenren said: “The greatest obstacle has already passed. There will still be some ups and downs, but nothing to worry too much about.”

When those two old men heard this, they finally settled down considerably.

Old Zhang Zhenren, as a Zhenren of Dragon Tiger Mountain, speaking with absolute authority on such matters, said earnestly and with great feeling: “All of you people, you really shouldn’t place so much stock in these superstitious things.”

Changmei the Daoist nodded and said: “I know these things aren’t to be believed — after all, Diudiu’er and I once relied on precisely this to stay alive, so I understand all the tricks involved. And yet…”

Gao Yuanzhang said: “We might as well treat it as peace of mind. Besides, the Old Zhenren is right here — not making use of him would be a waste.”

Old Zhang Zhenren: “????”

—

Two months after Li Chi led his troops north to the grasslands, word came back from that front.

Had Li Chi not arrived in time, the Borjigin would have faced a catastrophe — quite possibly the annihilation of their entire clan.

On the day in question, after Borjigin’s great victory at the Nalan Royal Court, he had indeed let his guard slip slightly.

He had not anticipated that Iron Crane Khan Lige would personally lead his forces in a wide flanking maneuver around the front lines to come at him directly — and more than that, had not anticipated Lige bringing over one hundred thousand troops, nor that they would be split into two separate columns.

One column of roughly fifty thousand Iron Crane cavalry struck again at the Nalan Royal Court. Borjigin led his forces out to meet them.

While the two sides were locked in fierce combat, Lige personally led his main force in from the flank, striking in conjunction with his other column in a pincer attack.

The Iron Crane forces had superior numbers. Borjigin was defeated, losing tens of thousands of troops. After cutting his way out of the encirclement, he had only a few thousand men left at his side.

The rest of his forces had been scattered during the breakout, fleeing in every direction each man could find.

But Lige had fixed his sights on Borjigin’s unit and pursued without relenting — and when those few thousand Nalan cavalry were on the verge of being surrounded and annihilated a second time, Li Chi and Dantai Yajing arrived with the Ning Army cavalry and the Tingwei Army.

A fierce engagement later, they had pulled Borjigin free from the encirclement.

But at this point, the Ning Army’s main force was composed mostly of infantry, which had not yet arrived — the Iron Crane forces still held an overwhelming advantage in numbers.

Li Chi and Borjigin, while keeping the Iron Crane forces engaged, simultaneously set about gathering the scattered troops back together.

Half a month later, the Iron Crane forces suddenly withdrew of their own accord.

Li Chi knew there had to be trouble at the Iron Crane rear, and so he and Borjigin led all available cavalry to press close behind them.

When they drove northwest across the Nalan Grassland — to the very place where the Iron Crane forces had entered the passes — they learned what had happened: the Liangzhou Army had arrived.

Commander Dantai Qi had personally led his forces there. The Liangzhou iron cavalry was peerless under heaven — a force of only ten thousand — yet they had routed the Iron Crane rear army, sending them fleeing in defeat.

Lige had originally left very few troops to guard his rear. After that defeat at the hands of the Liangzhou iron cavalry, Lige knew his line of retreat might be cut off — unwilling to stake everything on a single throw, he ordered his forces to pull back.

Over the course of the following month, the two sides fought a series of consecutive battles. The Iron Crane forces who had entered the passes — two hundred thousand cavalry — lost more than half their number. They had no choice but to withdraw.

In truth, no one came out of this war a winner.

The Nalan Grassland had taken devastating losses, and would likely need three to five years before it could recover.

The Iron Crane forces had lost more than half their troops — they had come in with two hundred thousand and were going back with sixty thousand — which could hardly be called achieving their aim of revenge. And Lige had also lost two senior generals.

After this great battle, the Nalan needed time to recuperate — and for the Ning Army, they would be losing the Nalan cavalry, their most powerful allied force, for the next several years.

Li Chi ordered a fortress gate to be constructed at Yanshan Gorge, with a garrison force stationed there, then ordered supplies mobilized from across Jizhou and sent to the grasslands to help the Nalan people through their hardships.

After staying on the grasslands for more than half a month, Li Chi and his party set out to return to Jizhou.

Without the Nalan cavalry, and with the Ning Army’s own losses in the northern frontier proving significant, the push southward was once again delayed.

Whether Old Zhang Zhenren could truly glimpse the workings of heaven, or whether all things simply follow their own cause and effect — that was difficult to say.

—