You are at the finest hour of your life, and yet your only worthy opponent has already become a fading hero — that feeling must not sit easily either.

And that fading hero — how could he feel easy about it?

The scouts deployed in every direction returned in succession, reporting to the Prince of Wu: Ning Army forces had been detected in every direction.

By now, it seemed that even attempting a breakout might be too late.

“Your Highness.”

General Yang Jingyuan said urgently: “Order me out. I’ll take the vanguard and break through to the southeast. The Ning encirclement isn’t fully formed yet — we still have a chance.”

Nie Qitai added: “Your Highness, I’ll volunteer as vanguard as well. I beg Your Highness to allow me to lead the breakthrough.”

The Prince of Wu looked at these two beloved generals. The weight in his chest was so heavy he could barely speak.

“Your Highness — as long as we can get half our forces out, back in Daxing City we can start again.”

Yang Jingyuan’s voice had gone hoarse with urgency. “Your Highness, give the order!”

The Prince of Wu said: “Yang Jingyuan, hear my command.”

Yang Jingyuan immediately clasped his fists. “Your subordinate is here.”

The Prince of Wu said: “I order you to take command of the rear guard, organize the formation, and wait for the signal to move.”

He looked at Nie Qitai: “Nie Qitai, you hold the central force. I will personally lead the vanguard.”

“No!”

Nie Qitai and Yang Jingyuan cried out simultaneously.

The Prince of Wu said: “I am the commanding general. You dare defy my order?”

Yang Jingyuan said: “We are all Your Highness’s soldiers. From the day we put on these uniforms, we’ve followed Your Highness — never once defying you, not in anything. But not today.”

He looked at Nie Qitai: “You hold the Prince. I’ll take my men and break southeast first.”

Nie Qitai said urgently: “I’ll go — you stay.”

“Stop arguing!” Yang Jingyuan shouted, then turned and ran for the door. “My men, with me!”

The Prince of Wu’s face went almost white. He shouted after Yang Jingyuan to come back — but Yang Jingyuan didn’t listen.

Yang Jingyuan called back as he ran: “Your Highness — it’s always been your call, always. This once, let it be mine.”

The scene made the Prince of Wu’s mind ring like a struck bell.

He had lived through this before.

Yes. He had lived through it. Fifty years ago, at Mao’er Mountain.

His elder brother Yang Jishen had done the same — led those dozen guards and charged out, deliberately drawing away the steppe pursuers.

And just like that, he had turned and called something back to Yang Jijü as he rode away.

That day, the Prince of Wu had felt his heart being torn apart. He knew — his brother’s ride out was almost certainly a ride to his death.

But it would have been better if Yang Jishen had died that day.

The pursuing steppe force that came was initially made up of Iron Crane riders. They caught up to Yang Jishen’s group and were fighting — when, unexpectedly, a Huole force also arrived.

The Iron Crane riders assumed the Huole were coming to rescue the Chu imperial prince. They split off to intercept.

The Huole riders assumed the Iron Crane were coming to rescue the Chu imperial prince. Their orders were to kill on sight.

And so the two sides, in baffling fashion, fell upon each other — and the fighting was savage.

Both sides took devastating losses. In the end, a few dozen Iron Crane riders captured the wounded Yang Jishen and escaped.

They had meant to kill him, but someone argued: if the Huole gave chase, this Chu prince could serve as a hostage.

They were going to kill him eventually regardless — better to use him as a shield first.

And so those few dozen Iron Crane riders took Yang Jishen with them, escorting him all the way back to the Iron Crane camp.

When Iron Crane Khan Multan saw that the captive was not the one who had come to negotiate with him, he thought: if this man is kept, perhaps the other can be lured back. Brothers — if one is captured, the other will certainly try to mount a rescue.

The Iron Crane and Huole then staged an elaborate performance together. But war, once begun, has a way of going beyond anyone’s control — and with genuine bad blood between those two peoples, the fighting spiraled out of hand.

Eventually, the Iron Crane and their allies, and the Huole and their allies, were locked in a war that consumed the steppe — and the fighting lasted three full years.

The Prince of Wu had never imagined his stratagem, designed to relieve pressure on the Chu forces, would ignite three years of continuous war across the steppe. Nor had he imagined that the Iron Crane — victorious in that war — would absorb vast territories and enslaved populations from the defeated Huole, and emerge as the most powerful tribe on the steppe by far.

The Black Wu Emperor, for his part, was not truly furious. He simply sent men to reprimand Multan, then recognized him as lord of both the Iron Crane and Huole peoples.

During those three years, Yang Jishen was held captive. Even Multan forgot about him eventually.

He survived in conditions worse than livestock. Anyone might come and torment him whenever the mood struck. Knowing he was a Chu imperial prince, the ugliest and most distorted impulses in people only swelled further.

Humiliating an imperial prince — many found it thrilling, entertaining, something perversely exciting.

Three years. Most of his hair was torn out by the roots and never grew back — patchy, ugly stretches of bare scalp. All his teeth were knocked out. His nose was shattered. His face was covered in blade-scars. Not a single eyelash or eyebrow remained — all burned off. One of his Achilles tendons was severed. He was kept in a pen with dogs.

When they fed the dogs, they’d toss him a share too — and what the Iron Crane people most enjoyed watching was the spectacle of him fighting the dogs for food. And he had no choice but to fight.

When the Prince of Wu returned to the Central Plains, he believed for years that Yang Jishen was dead.

The old Emperor had even held a funeral for Yang Jishen, erected a cenotaph, and granted him a posthumous princely title.

It was three years later that the Iron Crane Khan Multan suddenly remembered there had been that Chu prince — and sent men to check if he was still alive.

When they brought the man before him, even Multan was shocked. Was this still a human being?

Such a sight was too much even for Multan. He had men wash Yang Jishen and summoned a physician.

For those three years, Yang Jishen had in the beginning counted every single day, waiting and waiting for Yang Jijü to come and rescue him. Later, every single day became nothing but hatred — the kind of hatred that warps and twists the soul.

In that environment, no one’s mind could have remained whole. No one could have held on without bitterness.

By now the Iron Crane had grown unprecedentedly powerful, controlling nearly half the outer steppe, their military force formidable — with eyes that had even begun to turn toward the Central Plains.

So Multan sent emissaries to the Chu court to see the Emperor Jiucheng, telling him: your son is still with us. We have protected him for three years, at great cost. We even went to war with the Huole on his behalf, losing countless of our warriors.

Multan’s men said: if the Great Emperor of Chu is willing to offer suitable recompense, they would be happy to escort the imperial prince safely home.

When Emperor Jiucheng heard his son was still alive, he was, of course, stunned — and overjoyed.

He asked the emissaries what reward they desired. They said it was not a reward but a tribute — and if the Great Emperor truly wished to show sincerity, he should trade Jizhou for the prince’s return.

Emperor Jiucheng was furious. A man of his temperament was simply not the kind who could be threatened — not even to save a son. Would a soft-spirited man have mobilized close to one million troops and personally led an expedition against the Black Wu? Would a soft-spirited man have sent all seven of his sons to defend the northern frontier against foreign enemies?

Whatever mistakes he had made — and there were many, bringing Chu’s strength into steep decline, with rebellions breaking out across the land — his heart had always been iron-hard.

He lacked ability. He was not a coward.

He ordered the emissaries beheaded at the waist. Their attendants had their ears and noses cut off and were expelled.

Emperor Jiucheng told those who were sent back: then fight.

My son may die at the hands of enemies. But he will not become a bargaining chip against Chu.

When he said then fight, it was not a threat — he was already preparing to do exactly that.

And the command of that army was granted to the Prince of Wu — won only after Yang Jijü spent several hours kneeling before his father, pleading.

The moment he learned Yang Jishen was alive, the Prince of Wu’s heart burned with desperation.

After three months of preparation, a Chu force of one hundred and twenty thousand began its march — through Jingzhou and Yuzhou, through Jizhou, out through the frontier gates, across the vast wasteland, all the way to the steppe itself.

Multan had assumed the Chu Emperor was speaking out of anger and had paid it no mind. He had even been considering launching his own campaign south, infuriated that his emissaries had been killed and his attendants humiliated.

His advisors talked him out of it — steppe warriors were cavalry; attacking the great walled cities of the Central Plains was not something they had experience with. Better to send men to study siege warfare before acting.

While Multan was still pondering how to learn siege techniques, the Prince of Wu personally led one hundred and twenty thousand troops — having traveled for more than a year, from the Jiangnan region all the way to the northern frontier — and arrived.

At first Multan paid no serious attention. On his own ground, with a larger force, how could he possibly back down?

One battle. One hundred and twenty thousand Chu troops, carrying their grief and fury across thousands of li, every man fighting as if death held no meaning. Combined with the Prince of Wu’s transcendent command, three battles — three victories. Sixty to seventy thousand Iron Crane warriors dead; the rest scattered and fled.

Multan was furious. He took personal command and rode out.

And so one of the most celebrated military victories of the last fifty years was written: infantry defeating cavalry — a smaller force defeating a larger one — and emerging triumphant.

To this day, commanders across the Central Plains still studied and referenced this battle.

The Prince of Wu had used a long-spear formation to break the steppe light cavalry.

When the Iron Crane saw that the Prince of Wu’s force was mostly infantry, Multan assumed that with numerical superiority alone, a direct cavalry charge would crush them easily.

Two hundred thousand Iron Crane cavalry struck roughly one hundred and ten thousand Chu infantry — and the loss ratio was seven to one against the Iron Crane.

The Iron Crane lost nearly eighty thousand; the Prince of Wu lost just over ten thousand.

Multan was horrified.

He sent men to drag Yang Jishen out, threatening the Prince of Wu before both armies: if you don’t withdraw, I’ll kill him right here in front of you.

The Prince of Wu, to save his brother, had no choice but to pretend he was made of iron.

He said: I did not come here to rescue my brother. I came to make Chu’s power known to the world. You have dared defy Chu. Until I have driven my forces to your royal court, I will not withdraw.

Multan was at a loss. His advisors counseled him: perhaps use Yang Jishen as a condition — as long as the Prince of Wu retreats, they’ll return the prince. Pay some compensation if needed. Let it end there.

The Prince of Wu accepted Multan’s terms and, in urgent desperation, brought Yang Jishen back.

But what he did not know was that on the battlefield, when he had told Multan those words — I did not come for my brother, I came for Chu — it had been the final hammer blow that shattered the last piece of familial love still left in Yang Jishen’s heart.

The Prince of Wu had said he had not come to save his brother. And Yang Jishen had looked at him, then let out a wild laugh, and vomited blood.

When they returned to Daxing City, Yang Jishen was elevated by the Emperor to the title of Prince De — ranked above the Prince of Wu.

But Yang Jishen by then was a fundamentally different person, and what remained in his heart was nothing but towering, oceanic hatred.

Less than two years later, Yang Jishen made contact with several of his brothers who had served on the northern frontier and conspired with them to rebel. How he convinced those men to join him was unknown — but somehow he did, and they began secretly building their strength.

They stormed the Eastern Palace, seized the Crown Prince, and tried to force the old Emperor to abdicate.

The old Emperor was not the kind who could be threatened. He ordered the Prince of Wu to lead the Imperial Guard and crush the rebellion.

Yang Jishen erupted in fury and commanded his brothers to simply cut the Crown Prince down then and there. In that moment, he was utterly ferocious.

But those brothers lost their nerve. They did not kill the Crown Prince — instead, they took him and surrendered.

Eventually, those imperial princes were stripped of their titles and reduced to commoners. A few years later, the old Emperor’s heart softened, and their ranks were all restored.

As for Yang Jishen… he was executed by slow slicing.

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