Just as Li Chi had predicted, Han Feibao soon ordered the Yong Province Army to counter-attack, their forces sweeping forward like a wave that blanketed the earth.
But by the time the Yong Province Army had finished fighting and came surging back, the Ning Army had already been withdrawing in batches to the north bank. When Han Feibao’s great force arrived, they saw only the last group of Ning Army soldiers departing by boat.
Not only had they all withdrawn—they had taken with them everything that could be carried, and destroyed everything that could not.
Li Chi had been the first to cross over, and he was the last to leave.
He had said it before: he wanted his soldiers to see what a commanding general should be. And he wanted every commanding officer to know what was expected of them.
Sitting aboard the boat and looking back at the Yong Province Army surging forward in fury, Li Chi slowly exhaled.
The purpose of this battle had never been to annihilate the enemy. With hundreds of thousands of battle-hardened troops, a battle of annihilation was simply impossible.
The purpose of this engagement had been to destroy the enemy’s catapults and the sheepskin rafts they needed to cross the river. Without those two things, the Yong Province Army had no choice but to gaze helplessly at the river.
On the return journey, Li Chi removed his armor. When the iron plates came off, the blood trapped within poured down in a rush. The thick stench of blood was so pervasive that even a long, hot soak in a bath might not fully wash it away.
This battle had destroyed all the catapults and secured all the sheepskin rafts. For the Yong Province Army to enter the field now, it seemed only one path remained.
They would have to go around Jing Province through Liang Province, traveling through rugged mountain roads—entering Jing Province far later than originally planned.
And this was precisely what Li Chi wanted Han Feibao to do. Once Han Feibao entered Jing Province from Liang Province, his primary opponents would no longer be the Ning Army.
When Han Feibao would enter the field, who he would face after entering, and how to help Old Tang complete his strategic arrangement in Jing Province—all of this required Li Chi to plan from a position of commanding the entire landscape, surveying all under heaven, before it could be done perfectly.
Old Tang needed only to set his trap in Jing Province. Everything outside Jing Province—the entire world beyond its borders, all enemies—had to be calculated and maneuvered by Li Chi, channeled into the web Old Tang was weaving.
The world knew Tang Pidi as unrivaled under heaven. What the world did not know was how much of that invincibility had been quietly enabled by Li Chi, working from the shadows.
Tang Pidi’s supremacy required a battlefield, and what enemy appeared on that battlefield and when—that was what Li Chi delivered to Old Tang.
Li Chi, who had mastered the art of striking last to gain the upper hand, was exactly where he wanted to be, watching events unfold as he had planned.
Returning to the Ning Army’s camp on the north bank, Gao Xining had long been waiting at the riverbank. Li Chi had already changed his clothes in an attempt to spare her worry, but there was simply no suppressing the overwhelming smell of blood that clung to him.
Gao Xining ordered water to be heated, tested the temperature herself, and had Li Chi soak in a bath.
Just as preparations were underway, Li Chi saw Yu Jiuling walking over with a deeply troubled expression, his whole bearing marked by dejection.
“What’s wrong, Ninth Brother?”
Li Chi asked.
Yu Jiuling handed over a letter. “Master Li has left.”
Li Chi was startled.
Master Li still bore injuries—his left arm had been severed, and it would take months of recuperation before it could fully recover. His departure now clearly meant he intended to continue tracking down those people. But in his current physical condition, if he encountered a formidable enemy, there was little chance he could cope.
Li Chi abandoned the thought of bathing entirely and set out with a group of men to search in different directions.
But Master Li was the sort of person who, when he chose to vanish, could not be easily found. A figure as elusive as a dragon glimpsed only in flashes—evading people when he wished to posed no difficulty whatsoever.
Yu Jiuling wanted to leave camp and keep searching, but Li Chi stopped him, because Li Chi was certain Yu Jiuling would not find him.
Unless Master Li wanted to be found, no one could keep pace with him.
Li Chi patted Yu Jiuling on the shoulder. “The Master has said before—everyone has their own calling. Our calling is to build a new nation and give the people a good life. Master Li has his own calling.”
Yu Jiuling said, “I just worry about him. In his condition, going after those people is far too dangerous.”
Li Chi said, “The Master is not a reckless man. He has more sense than any of us.”
Yu Jiuling could only give a reluctant sound of assent before turning and walking away, forlorn.
Li Chi’s words had been only to comfort Yu Jiuling. Once Yu Jiuling had gone, Li Chi immediately sent for Gui Yuanshu and instructed him to deploy every available operative in the newly established Military Intelligence Bureau to begin searching at once.
The Master did indeed have what he believed to be his calling—but he found no satisfaction in the things he did for its sake.
Each person he killed brought him no triumph. Only grief.
Perhaps only the Master could feel that kind of grief—a form of deep, aching empathy that others could not understand, nor easily share.
Li Chi soaked in the large wooden tub, and because he was utterly exhausted, he fell asleep quickly.
When he woke, not much time had passed. A man like him could not truly sleep through everything and let it all go.
To others, he seemed a relaxed and unhurried lord—one who had delegated nearly every authority that could be delegated, so that while everyone else was frantically busy, he alone appeared idle and carefree.
But in reality, every single matter, every step forward, every decision, every judgment—all of it was under his control.
He changed his clothes, returned to camp, and summoned his commanders for a council, dispatching scouts to closely monitor the Yong Province Army’s movements.
Meanwhile, in Jing Province, Tang Pidi was advancing step by step, feeding Prince Wu pieces of candy.
Prince Wu predicted that after taking Buzhou and discovering several hundred carts of grain left behind in haste, the cities further north would similarly have Ning Army provisions not yet moved—since the Ning Army’s manpower was limited and their reach had its bounds.
And this was precisely what Tang Pidi had hoped Prince Wu would predict.
From Buzhou northward, the Left Valiant Guard took three more cities within ten days: Yan County, Xuzhou, and Wuwei County. Each of those three cities had grain stores inside.
Though no single city held much, the combined total—when tallied—was enough to feed Prince Wu’s expeditionary force for over a month.
This eased Prince Wu’s mind considerably. With these provisions, his troops could continue searching for more.
What steadied Prince Wu’s heart further was a report from his scouts: not long ago, Luo Jing—Tang Pidi’s most capable and trusted general—had led a portion of the Ning Army back to Su Province.
Prince Wu surmised that the Marquis of Guanting in Yang Province was moving to attack Su Province, forcing Tang Pidi to send his most battle-hardened commander back.
That being the case, the Ning Army force remaining in Jing Province could not number more than fifty thousand men.
Tang Pidi might command troops with godlike genius, but even a skilled wife cannot cook without rice. With only tens of thousands of men in hand, he simply could not cover so vast a region.
And so Prince Wu continued sweeping northward.
Ning Army camp.
General Cheng Wujie strode in swiftly from outside. The moment he entered, he saw Tang Pidi standing before a map and quickly bowed.
“Commander.”
Cheng Wujie called out.
Tang Pidi did not turn around. He raised one finger and pointed to a location on the map. “How far is Prince Wu’s force from this spot?”
Cheng Wujie was momentarily stunned—he had come precisely to report the movements of Prince Wu’s army, and the spot the Commander was pointing to was exactly where Prince Wu’s forces were now.
“In response to the Commander, the distance from where the Commander is pointing should be less than a hundred li. At Prince Wu’s pace of march, he will arrive very soon.”
Cheng Wujie instinctively looked again at that spot on the map.
Mangdang Mountain.
“Commander, are we going to fight a decisive battle with Prince Wu’s forces at Mangdang Mountain?”
Cheng Wujie could not suppress his curiosity.
Tang Pidi shook his head, and a faint smile crossed his face. “On the contrary—I have prepared a generous gift for Prince Wu at Mangdang Mountain.”
Cheng Wujie was momentarily bewildered. The Ning Army had never gone to Mangdang Mountain. When had a gift been prepared for Prince Wu there?
This gift had not been prepared by Tang Pidi’s own Ning Army force—but rather over a year ago, when Tang Pidi had sent a letter to the military governor of Yu Province, Lord Yan, asking him to dispatch men to Mangdang Mountain and spend a full year preparing it.
Tang Pidi’s gaze left the map and settled on Cheng Wujie. “Have scouts keep close watch, but do not expose themselves. The moment Prince Wu’s forces are confirmed to have entered Mangdang Mountain, come and report to me immediately.”
Cheng Wujie gave his assent and turned at once to go dispatch men.
Two days later. Mangdang Mountain.
When Prince Wu’s great army arrived, they were astounded. His scouts’ investigation revealed that Mangdang Mountain appeared to conceal something significant.
So Prince Wu personally led troops into the mountain—and discovered a large number of craftsmen, hard at work constructing a fortress.
The wooden walls were on a grand scale, nearly three zhang high and of impressive width—enough for six or seven people to walk abreast.
The craftsmen captured inside the mountain by the Left Valiant Guard confessed: Tang Pidi, Commander of the Ning Army, had arranged for them to come here over a year ago, to build a fortified stronghold sufficient to house the Ning Army’s provisions and supplies.
Prince Wu sent men to investigate and found several enormous mountain caverns. Inside them, provisions were piled beyond count.
The caverns could be entered only through a narrow path wide enough for one person. Every other space was occupied by food and supplies, stacked in neat sacks.
The caverns were deep—walking from the entrance to the far end took a considerable time, and the entire way to the back was grain and provisions.
So much food—it would not merely satisfy the needs of Prince Wu’s army. If transported back, it could relieve the immediate crisis in Daxing.
The fortress at Mangdang Mountain was already eighty percent complete.
Prince Wu asked why he saw no Ning Army combat soldiers. The craftsmen replied that the Ning Army’s troops had all been dispatched to transport grain elsewhere.
Prince Wu, suspecting a trap, had the entirety of Mangdang Mountain searched. It was searched thoroughly—no Ning Army force was found.
So Prince Wu ordered the mountain sealed off. A man of his nature would not trouble those craftsmen. He simply had them continue building, and promised that once the work was done, they would be free to return home.
After fully sealing off Mangdang Mountain, Prince Wu dispatched troops to arrange the transport of the grain back to Daxing.
Mangdang Mountain was already fifteen or sixteen hundred li from Daxing. Such a long supply line, with troops assigned to escort the transport—it was not a comfortable situation.
Ning Army camp.
Tang Pidi sat and listened as a scout delivered his report. Hearing that Prince Wu was now busy searching for carts and horses to transport the grain, a faint smile curved the corners of his lips.
He had spent over a year preparing this gift for Prince Wu. It had not been in vain.
His subordinates now finally understood: their Commander had seen the current state of affairs in Jing Province over a year ago.
And thinking further back—if the Commander had begun laying his plans over a year ago, then the moment he first saw what today would look like was not a year ago, but even earlier than that.
From how high a vantage point must a man stand to see two years into the future—and in a situation like the Central Plains, where the landscape of power shifts with every breath?
Before Luo Jing had departed, Tang Pidi had told him: I am digging a great pit for Prince Wu. When the time comes to fill it in, I will naturally call you back.
Now the pit was dug. Prince Wu had stepped into it. And once you stepped in, there was no getting out.
Tang Pidi rose. “Pass the order—all generals of the fifth rank and above are to assemble in my command tent.”
He slowly exhaled. “Two years of planning, riding the great momentum of the world—what reason could there possibly be to lose this battle?”
—