The Panxing River was no prominent feature on the maps of Chu — just a thin line, something one could easily overlook compared to the Chi River further north.

In the several hundred years of Chu’s history, no earth-shaking event had taken place along this river’s course worthy of being recorded in the annals.

Forget Chu’s centuries of rise and fall — even if one counted back to the very beginnings of Central Plains civilization, this river would not merit mention.

Yet in this moment, the battle soon to be fought here would be remembered by posterity, and would leave an enormously significant mark in the historical record.

The area had long since been emptied of people — all had fled the war. The people of northern Jing Province, seeking shelter from the fighting, had mostly chosen to take refuge in Yuzhou. This in turn had replenished Yuzhou, which had lost people to the violence, helping it gradually recover — while Jing Province grew more and more difficult.

The only witnesses to this battle were the soldiers on both sides. Whoever ultimately prevailed, whoever came to write this chapter of history, they would all be the ones to tell the story.

Many of those gathered here would die, becoming a part of the story that survivors would one day tell.

The Prince of Wu, Yang Jiju, had fought for the better part of a lifetime. The common people said that the Emperor was the master of the realm — yet the Emperor had surely never seen the realm as broadly as the Prince of Wu.

The Emperor strove for his realm only in name, while the Prince of Wu had truly sweated and bled in countless corners of it.

What the realm of Chu truly meant, the Prince of Wu understood far more deeply than any Emperor ever could.

Now, on the north bank of the Panxing River, the Prince of Wu had to make a decision.

His beloved general Xie Yao had just fallen in battle. More than ten thousand soldiers had died on the south bank of the Panxing River. But this was not the end — it was only the beginning.

In the battles still to come, to break through the vast Ning encirclement that was forming, the Prince of Wu would witness yet more of his officers and soldiers die.

Decades upon decades of fighting had long since forged in the Prince of Wu a heart of iron and stone.

Life and death — those had long ceased to be matters worth grieving.

“Before us is a river. A river will not stop us. Across the river are enemies. Enemies cannot stop us either.”

The Prince of Wu stood at the head of his troops, his gaze sweeping over his officers and men.

“Across this river, we can fight our way back to Da Xing City. Your families should still be in Da Xing City — your kin, your loved ones, the people who are waiting for your return.”

He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping over them once more.

“We are Chu’s last defenders. Every single one of us deserves to be called a hero.”

He paused again here, because the words that were about to spill from him felt wrong, and so he swallowed them back.

He had wanted to say: we are proud, even great, for we alone still defend Chu. Even if we all die in the end, our names will be branded with glory. Even if our enemies laugh last, they will have to call us heroes.

The words reached his lips but he did not say them.

“We have defeated countless enemies before. Strong ones, weak ones, all kinds.”

The Prince of Wu raised his hand and pointed south: “This is merely one more among the countless enemies we have faced. Their forces number only one-third of ours. Enemies stronger than them, fiercer than them — we have beaten them all. If we cannot win this time, how would we dare call ourselves soldiers of the Left Martial Guard?!”

He turned to look at his general Nie Qitai: “Xie Yao has fallen. You are now vanguard general. If you fall, I will personally be the vanguard general.”

Nie Qitai stood at attention: “This subordinate obeys!”

The Prince of Wu slowly turned to face the opposite bank, raised his hand, and pointed: “Attack!”

Twenty thousand Chu soldiers, led by Nie Qitai, surged toward the Ning defensive positions.

On the south bank.

Tang Pidi sat on a camp stool watching the north bank, watching that old man pacing back and forth before his formation. He knew it was the Prince of Wu rallying the Left Martial Guard.

Cheng Wujie stood behind Tang Pidi, face equally calm as he watched the far shore.

“Every day we look up at the same sun, the same moon. We pass through days that look the same, and nights that look the same.”

Tang Pidi sat there, speaking softly to himself.

“But once, the sun and moon we saw were not ours to look at. Once, the days and nights we lived through were not ours to live.”

“Those things existed before us. They are what heaven made. We are not gods — we cannot swap out the sun and moon… So let us swap out the world of men.”

He called softly: “Cheng Wujie.”

Cheng Wujie snapped to attention with a sharp crack: “Subordinate present!”

Tang Pidi said: “Whose land is beneath your feet?”

Cheng Wujie: “Ning Wang’s.”

Tang Pidi: “Whose are the things upon the earth?”

Cheng Wujie: “Ning Wang’s.”

Tang Pidi nodded: “Then go. What is Ning Wang’s, the Ning Army defends.”

“Huh!”

Cheng Wujie let out a great breath, and with large strides walked toward the front.

The Prince of Wu had said he would cross in two days. Throughout all his years, whatever the Prince of Wu had said he would accomplish had come to pass. He said he would take a city — he took it. He said how long it would take — it took that long.

Time itself seemed to bend to his will, serving him.

This time.

No.

The first day, the Chu Army attacked with ferocity. The second day, ferocity again. The third, the same — the fourth, fifth…

For seven straight days, by the Prince of Wu’s reckoning heaven’s favor still lay with them, for still not a drop of rain fell, and the river level had not risen at all.

But they simply could not break the Ning defensive line.

It may have been precisely because the water level in this stretch of the Panxing remained low that the spectacle emerged of corpses so thick they nearly dammed the river.

Chu Army bodies carpeted the river channel — some had been swept away, some remained to bear witness.

Every day the river ran red, and each day’s red was different, for it came from different men.

Seven days, and the bodies on the river had piled up like a new dam, beginning to hold back the waters flowing down from upstream.

The Prince of Wu stood at the bank watching, his eyes somewhat reddened.

Why?

The Ning Army seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of arrows, an inexhaustible supply of provisions, an inexhaustible fighting spirit.

This was, in the truest sense, the first time the Prince of Wu had ever crossed blades with the Ning Army. It was also the first time he had faced Tang Pidi on the field.

Before this, he would only call his own Left Martial Guard an iron army. But now, at this moment, he could not help but admit in his heart: the Ning Army was the same.

If it were any other force being hammered by his Left Martial Guard for seven days — three days would have been enough to break their morale.

The Ning Army was different. The more they fought, the fiercer they became.

The Prince of Wu even sensed that every Ning soldier was fighting for the very ground beneath their feet.

The feeling was: this place where my feet stand — not a single damn person is taking it from me, not a single damn person is making me move.

Eight days, nine days, ten days…

By the morning of the eleventh day, the Chu Army had lost nearly another twenty thousand troops. Though the Ning Army’s losses must also have been considerable, their superior weapons made their kills against the Chu soldiers far more devastating.

Yet the Prince of Wu also knew that both sides had now reached the most critical juncture.

His forces were exhausted. The Ning Army had fewer men — they would be even more exhausted.

He could see it clearly: the Ning Army’s morale held, but their physical strength was failing. That was irreversible.

No matter how unyielding the spirit, a man who no longer had the strength to swing his blade or draw his bow would still lose the battle.

So the Prince of Wu issued the order: on this day, he would personally oversee the battle.

On the south bank.

Tang Pidi stood at the front watching the north bank, where they were once again reorganizing their forces. He let out a slow breath.

Ten days — for a normal force, that truly would have approached the limit. Every man was exhausted to the bone.

“Can you see the Prince of Wu’s banner over there?”

Tang Pidi raised his hand and pointed to where the Prince of Wu’s flag stood.

His tone carried no gravity whatsoever — even a touch of ease, as he said: “The Prince of Wu thinks we’ve hit our limit, that we can’t hold through this day. So he’s coming to take the field himself.”

Tang Pidi asked: “He’s coming. What do we do?”

His men answered in full voice: “Doesn’t matter who comes.”

Tang Pidi said: “They may have thought yesterday we’d hit our limit. And probably the day before too. So let them keep thinking tomorrow, and the day after, the same thing.”

He reached out for a bow: “I’ll loose the first arrow. If I don’t hit the enemy’s left eye, after this battle is done I’ll put on a grass skirt and dance for you all.”

“Wha—!”

“Aaaooo!”

The men erupted in noise.

The Ning soldiers had all seen the Prince of Wu take the field himself — yet what they failed to notice was that today their commander had also taken the field.

For the Prince of Wu had estimated correctly in one sense: a man’s physical limits were real, and the Ning Army were human too.

On the north bank, the Prince of Wu extended his hand forward — the word “attack” was right on the tip of his tongue, not yet released — when a scout came galloping in.

The scout arrived and, with urgency, said: “Your Highness — Ning Army forces have been sighted on the left flank, in great strength, already thirty li away.”

The Prince of Wu asked: “Estimated numbers?”

The scout answered: “At minimum — at minimum seventy to eighty thousand.”

The Prince of Wu’s expression shifted, but he still did not intend to withdraw. He looked to his general Zuo Le: “Take twenty thousand troops. No matter the cost, hold the forces coming from the left flank. You need only buy me three hours. In three hours I will break Tang Pidi’s defensive line, and then I will personally come to relieve you.”

Zuo Le cupped his fist: “Subordinate obeys!”

Seventy to eighty thousand Ning troops arriving on the flank was indeed a serious threat. But having fought to this point, how could he simply withdraw?

The Prince of Wu was confident: he could break Tang Pidi’s exhausted forces within three hours.

Zuo Le had just turned to go lead his troops to block the flanking Ning Army, when another scout came galloping in at speed.

“Report! Your Highness — on the right flank, a large column of Ning forces has appeared, in extremely great numbers, already less than fifty li out.”

The Prince of Wu’s expression changed.

He looked to the scout: “Can you estimate how many Ning troops are approaching?”

The scout hesitated a moment, then answered: “Should be no fewer than a hundred thousand. Everywhere across the plain is their red battle flag.”

The Prince of Wu froze.

This was no longer a question of holding for three hours or not. It was a question of whether, by splitting his forces to hold them, he might end up trapped to his death right here.

“Your Highness…”

Every man around him was watching him.

“Retreat… retreat to Ting’an County.”

The Prince of Wu issued the order with a face of great unease, then turned and walked away with large strides.

The Left Martial Guard soldiers who had steeled themselves for decisive battle were given the order to fall back, and every one of them was bewildered.

Watching the Chu forces withdraw, Tang Pidi’s heart gave a start. Were the reinforcements here?

His scouts had not detected them, and no messengers bearing news of reinforcements had arrived. So the reinforcements must have come from the northwest and northeast, not from the south.

That meant… the Yuzhou Ning forces had arrived from the northwest, and the Qingzhou Ning forces had arrived from the northeast?

But it shouldn’t be so. Tang Pidi’s calculations of the travel time put the Yuzhou and Qingzhou reinforcements forming an encirclement at the start of the seventh month.

Today was the twentieth day of the sixth month. They were more than ten days early?

But with the Chu forces withdrawing and the Prince of Wu having no choice but to march northward, this was good.

Just then a scout came running to report that he had spotted a cavalry force of only a few hundred approaching, flying, of all things, the Ning Wang’s banner.

Tang Pidi was first surprised — then burst out laughing. In an instant he understood.

Shortly after, Tang Pidi went to meet Li Chi. When the two men came face to face, it was a feeling that could not quite be put into words.

Li Chi said with a grin: “Little Tang Tang — was my timing good?”

Tang Pidi smiled: “Those forces that startled the Prince of Wu away — that was your doing, wasn’t it? How many men did you bring? Enough to scare him off with?”

Li Chi laughed: “I came in a rush. The main forces are still behind. I brought up all the cavalry and the men with good stamina — not even forty or fifty thousand combined.”

He looked at Tang Pidi: “To make the Prince of Wu fear being flanked, our men had no choice but to do everything they could to look like more than they were. Anyone wearing red — even red underclothes or red undershorts — contributed them. All just to bluff him.”

Tang Pidi: “Hmm?”

He looked at Li Chi: “Why would anyone have such… unsuitable garments?”

Li Chi: “…”