In the darkness, it seemed as though countless invisible things were threading through — living their own lives inside a world no human eye could find.

Less than half a *shichen* ago, soldiers had noticed a black shape suddenly appear on a nearby wall merlon — something crouching there, motionless as stone.

It had appeared from nowhere. The man who spotted it tensed up in an instant.

They brought a torch and weapons over, and the thing suddenly spread its wings and was gone. Only then did they see it had been an enormous eagle owl.

Crouching still, it had been taller than a powerfully built man hunched over. The moment it opened its wings, its full size was revealed — something that could plausibly carry off a mountain goat. It wasn’t hard to believe it could take a person.

Perhaps it had smelled the blood and been drawn here.

In this age of war, these creatures seemed larger than they used to be.

There was no need to think too hard about why. The answer was frightening.

Li Chi watched it beat its wings and disappear, and found himself thinking of his dog.

He hadn’t brought the dog on this campaign — originally it had been with the army, but when they set out in pursuit of Han Feibao, he’d left it behind with Tang Pidi.

The dog was in his prime right now. No comparison to the eagle owl in size, of course.

But in an actual fight — the dog would kill that enormous bird.

The last time Li Chi had taken his dog hunting, a mountain eagle had been killed in midair — the dog’s beak punching through its skull while they were both in flight. The dog’s head was barely bigger than the eagle’s, but what it lacked in size, it made up in ferocity.

Thinking of the dog, Li Chi let out a slow breath.

This battle would be hard. Extremely hard. The enemy’s numbers were simply too overwhelming.

The dog could defeat enemies far larger than itself. Li Chi pressed his hand against the wall parapet. People could too.

But a battlefield was not a hunt.

Ning soldiers were genuinely capable fighters. One against five on the field of battle was no problem. But the math didn’t work the way simple multiplication implied.

One man against five — a Ning soldier would win. Ten against a hundred — still. A thousand against ten thousand — against rabble, still a crushing victory.

But tens of thousands against hundreds of thousands — that was something else entirely. The variables were too many.

“Boss.”

Yu Jiuling jogged over from a distance, slightly out of breath. “Everything’s ready, just like you said.”

Down below the walls, Li Chi had ordered Yu Jiuling to bring up several hundred war horses — veterans of countless battles, every one of them.

“Tomorrow’s battle is the decisive one.”

Li Chi said: “You and the廷尉 Black Riders protect your elder brother. Remember what I told you.”

Yu Jiuling gave a firm nod. “I remember.”

Li Chi had told him earlier — if the Yongzhou Army truly breached the wall, he would try to blunt the assault for a moment. Then Yu Jiuling was to take the 廷尉 Army’s Black Riders, along with the three thousand Nalan elite, and break through the encirclement with Gao Xining.

Li Chi had said: I cannot leave. These tens of thousands of brothers are holding this wall — I stand here with them.

He had also told Yu Jiuling — if he did not make it out, pass a few words to Tang Pidi.

He wanted the old Tang to know: if I am gone, keep fighting for the realm. The old Tang knows how I wanted to govern and restore the heartland — he’ll carry it out well.

These words, Li Chi made Yu Jiuling swear not to tell Gao Xining — not before anything happened. Not to tell anyone.

If the soldiers heard, the blow to morale would be too great.

But Yu Jiuling had his own thoughts. Li Chi had told him not to tell anyone in advance — but Yu Jiuling hadn’t told Li Chi his own decision in advance either.

If it truly came to that moment, he would not leave. Where Li Chi was, he would be.

He had already gone to Han Shanji and told him: on the Ning King’s orders, if the battle turns, he is to take the cavalry and ensure the Chief Censor escapes.

Yu Jiuling didn’t say it out loud. But he had always known it, and always held to it: a world with Boss in it was a world worth living in.

Without Li Chi — he didn’t want to live. What would be the point?

The world was vast and full of life. So much good food, good wine, beautiful women.

But compared to Boss, all of that was drifting smoke.

“Ninth Sister.”

“Mm?”

“Is there any wine left?”

“There is!”

Yu Jiuling spun and ran off. “Wait for me.”

He was back soon, slightly winded, two wine skins in hand.

“Borrowed from the Nalan warriors.”

Yu Jiuling held them up and shook them, quietly pleased with himself.

Those men of the grasslands couldn’t do without wine. Li Chi’s rule for the Ning Army was no drinking before battle — but for those horsemen, riding without wine seemed to rob them of something in the charge itself.

“Ninth Sister. Tell me — what do you want most in this world?”

“To run a wine shop.”

Yu Jiuling broke into a grin. “I’ve had it planned for ages. After Boss wins and founds the realm — Boss becomes Emperor, and I want nothing else. I’ll ask Boss for one special privilege.”

“Allow me to open a wine shop inside the Imperial Palace. Get me a gold plaque for the entrance with four characters: *Wine by Royal Decree*.”

“All those court officials — number-one civil minister, number-one general, whatever they want to be — if they don’t buy my wine, I’ll go after them with the gold plaque.”

Li Chi burst out laughing.

Yu Jiuling said: “Come one I stop one, make them buy. They say no — I say, not an option. You heard of *Wine by Royal Decree* or not?”

Li Chi shook his head, laughing. “Modest ambitions.”

Yu Jiuling smiled. “Boss, you know me, this is exactly the size of my ambitions… Actually, at first I was thinking of opening a brothel in the palace, but then I thought — probably not appropriate.”

Li Chi: “You at least know that much?”

Yu Jiuling: “It’s not the other parts that worry me. It’s the sign.”

He looked at Li Chi. “*Wine by Royal Decree* is fine. But *[Girls] by Royal Decree* — that really would not look good. Very, very not good.”

Li Chi gave him a kick.

“Boss, go get some rest.”

Yu Jiuling said: “Dawn means the big fight. Didn’t you just say it yourself — tomorrow is the decisive battle.”

Li Chi made a sound of agreement. “Which is why I want some wine. Can’t sleep when my mind is running.”

“Sleep then.”

Yu Jiuling stood at Li Chi’s side, right hand resting on the hilt of the sabre at his waist. “I’ll keep watch over you.”

When Li Chi woke, the sky was still dark. Yu Jiuling had stood beside him the whole time — he couldn’t fight worth much, but he was happy standing guard.

Yu Jiuling always thought: if someone like him had to die, it would have to be for the Boss.

But then again…

All of them should have died long ago. Li Chi had reached out a hand and pulled them back.

Their lives — Li Chi had protected them. Fighting the living world for a life, wrestling souls back from the god of death.

The Yongzhou Army’s horn sounded in the distance — as if to tell the garrison that dawn was not far, and neither was the fight for their lives.

To the east, a thin line of red appeared. Then, slowly, it turned to gold.

As the horns grew louder, the Yongzhou Army began its charge. After yesterday’s earth-carrying assault, most of them probably understood: those who went up today might not come back.

On the wall, Li Chi rolled his shoulders and stretched out his arms. He clapped Yu Jiuling on the shoulder. “Go down. Protect your elder brother.”

Yu Jiuling made a sound of acknowledgment, no argument, and turned and walked away.

When the Yongzhou forces drew close, the Ning Army’s siege defenses opened up in full.

Large and small, a dense and relentless chorus.

It was a brutal process, and a numbing one.

The men falling in batches. The men rising in batches to replace them.

As the ramp climbed higher, the proportion of corpses relative to sandbags began to tilt — bodies now outnumbering bags.

At this distance, this height, the Ning Army’s kill rate rose dramatically. The Yongzhou soldiers had no shields; as they charged, the best they could manage was to hold the sandbag in front of their vitals.

But the moment a sandbag was dropped — that was the moment they died.

By afternoon, the ramp’s summit was less than one *zhang* from the top of the wall. Half a *zhang* or so.

From this distance, the men on both sides could read each other’s expressions clearly.

Savagery. Terror. Each visible to the other.

Another half a *shichen* passed, and the ramp was less than four chi from the top of the wall — lower than the courtyard wall of an ordinary house.

For men in their prime, a single jump would reach the edge.

But the Ning Army gave them no chance to reach it. The long bamboo poles came into use.

Two- and three-zhang poles stabbed outward in a frenzy, and Yongzhou soldiers went tumbling back down the slope one by one.

Li Chi had given the order earlier: archers and bamboo-pole fighters stood in alternating positions.

By now, arrows were far less effective than the repeating crossbows. The speed of the dying was beyond any words for carnage — and beyond any words for numbness.

One Ning soldier had his bamboo pole grabbed by an enemy. He refused to let go, and was dragged over the edge.

A body falling — and then a storm of blades below.

Yet not one Ning soldier felt fear. Not one took a single step back.

“Time, Brother Zhuang!”

Li Chi called out behind him.

Zhuang Wudi answered immediately and shouted toward the ramp.

War horses were led up. On each horse’s flanks — spears fixed forward, long blades secured laterally.

The horses were led up, a slash made across the hindquarters with a knife, and each horse screamed and bolted down the ramp.

Down the slope they ran — and however far they ran, that many Yongzhou soldiers were knocked flying or crushed underfoot.

“Keep going!”

Li Chi’s voice had already grown hoarse.

Horse after horse was driven down. Yongzhou soldiers were sent tumbling in all directions. The laterally fixed blades cut through several of the enemy. Some of the horses were speared and hacked to death before going far. Others ran all the way to the base of the hill, scattering men who dove out of the path.

Close to three hundred war horses went down the ramp before it was done. They too had been the Ning Army’s companions in conquest.

And yet, those three hundred horses drove the Yongzhou assault back by sheer force.

A horse’s life is a life. A person’s life is a life.

But then — this is the world of men.

—