Han Feibao’s question left Yuan Zhen momentarily without an answer.

To say *no* — Han Feibao would never believe it. To say *yes* — Han Feibao might draw a blade on him right now.

“My lord could be,” Yuan Zhen said, “or could not be.”

That answer produced a subtle shift in Han Feibao’s expression — and it also, at least for the time being, stopped Han Feibao’s killing intent toward him from crystallizing.

“How do I resolve it?”

If Yuan Zhen couldn’t explain his own answer satisfactorily, Han Feibao would probably go back to thinking about killing him.

Yuan Zhen was quiet again, then said: “Because I can no longer go back.”

Han Feibao narrowed his eyes and studied Yuan Zhen’s face, searching for any crack in his honesty.

He found none. Not a single flicker of insincerity in those eyes.

“You killed every Black Wu soldier who came with me,” Yuan Zhen said, his voice level. “On the surface they were my attendants. In practice, they were also my minders.”

Han Feibao understood at once.

With the Black Wu men dead, even if Yuan Zhen went home alive, he had no hope of pardon.

“The Great Khan of the Black Wu Empire admires my abilities,” Yuan Zhen continued, “which is why he sent me to the Central Plains. But in most matters, the Great Khan still has to stand with the Black Wu nobility.”

Han Feibao suddenly laughed.

He said to Yuan Zhen, in a tone that was almost pitying: “So that empire of yours, which looks so powerful — most of its people don’t have a very good life at all, do they.”

Yuan Zhen replied: “The Black Wu Empire’s territory is roughly twice the size of Chu. Its population is proportionally large. Speaking in broad terms — yes, the vast majority of people do not live well, because the Ghost Moon Eight Tribes in aggregate make up perhaps one percent of the population.”

He wasn’t certain of the exact proportion, but he knew this: the wealth, the status, and the power held by the Eight Tribes accounted for about ninety percent of everything in the empire.

“Since you can’t go back,” Han Feibao said, “your plans must have changed. I don’t believe your original goal was simply to help me establish a foothold in Yan Province.”

Yuan Zhen’s answer was unexpectedly candid.

“My original plan was never for you to contest the Central Plains. Because you lost the ability to do that long ago. You were never going to be a match for Prince Ning Li Chi.”

The words were honest — and pointed. Yet Han Feibao, a man of fierce temper and ruthless nature, did not flare with anger.

Perhaps there was a flash of it, somewhere in the first instant. But he pressed it back down.

What Yuan Zhen said was true. He had lost his chance to contest the Central Plains long ago.

It had been gone from the moment Tang Pidi first defeated him. He simply hadn’t accepted it.

And when he marched out of Shu Province a second time — and betrayed Pei Qi in the process — what little, microscopic chance remained had vanished entirely. He hadn’t just thrown away his own chances; he had thrown away Pei Qi’s as well.

Han Feibao glanced at Yuan Zhen, signaling him to continue.

“My original plan,” Yuan Zhen said, “was to have you coordinate with the Iron Crane Tribe cavalry, occupy the northwest of Jizhou — including Yong Province — so that even if you lacked the power to contest the Central Plains, you could partition it. The more fragmented the Central Plains, the more the Great Khan rejoices. If it could shatter into dozens of small kingdoms — that is what the Great Khan dreams of.”

Han Feibao nodded slowly.

The Black Wu’s intentions were vicious. For centuries, Chu had held them back, and they had never managed to push into the Central Plains — precisely because a unified Central Plains power like Chu, even when outmatched in raw strength, could concentrate its national resources and build a barrier, holding the Black Wu at the northern frontier.

Yuan Zhen continued: “But you didn’t listen to me. You insisted on attacking Jizhou — on seizing the rich, flourishing Jizhou that Li Chi had carefully cultivated.”

“Wasn’t that the best opportunity?” Han Feibao said. “Take Jizhou, take the northern frontier. Press forward, hold the entire north, and use it to match Li Chi power for power.”

Yuan Zhen shook his head. “A madman’s dream.”

This time Han Feibao was genuinely angry.

Yet Yuan Zhen seemed not to notice the change in his expression and simply went on.

“A man like Li Chi — he poured his heart and soul into Jizhou to make it what it is. You think he would hand it over to anyone? Anyone who believes Li Chi is easy to outmaneuver gets outmaneuvered by Li Chi instead, thoroughly and completely.”

“Which is why,” Yuan Zhen said, “the moment you insisted on attacking Jizhou, I knew: my lord, your defeat was already certain.”

“So at that point, you changed your plan for the first time,” Han Feibao said, “and wanted me to turn east and strike Yan Province instead.”

Yuan Zhen nodded. “Yes.”

“If I held Yan Province,” Han Feibao said, “I could partition the Central Plains the same way I could from the northwest—”

“No.” Yuan Zhen cut him off. “You cannot hold your ground in Yan Province.”

Han Feibao frowned. “Why not?”

Yuan Zhen said: “My reasoning that you could stand in the northwest was based on the fact that Yong Province was already yours, and with the help of the Iron Crane Tribe’s hundreds of thousands of cavalry, you could at most extend into a small strip of northwestern Jizhou. The greatest advantage, of course, would be gaining the Nalan Steppe.”

Han Feibao’s frown deepened.

*Gaining the Nalan Steppe?*

A moment later it clicked. Control the Nalan Steppe, and you have the foundation for a cavalry force capable of matching the Ning Army. Perhaps not in three to five years — but given a few years, it was achievable.

“But Yan Province belongs entirely to Prince Ning Li Chi,” Yuan Zhen continued. “Every corner of it. There is no foundation for you there. You cannot hold it.”

Han Feibao’s brow drew tighter and tighter.

Then his expression changed in an instant. In the space of a heartbeat, killing intent appeared in his eyes.

Yuan Zhen noticed it and nodded. “Yes. My lord — you are that child. Only a much shorter-lived one than the Bohai.”

Han Feibao understood now.

Yuan Zhen’s purpose in sending him to attack Yan Province had nothing to do with helping him take root there.

It was to use the last of Han Feibao’s strength to break open a corridor allowing the Bohai people to re-enter Yan Province.

After that, the Black Wu would find some way to pour through Yan Province into Jizhou — and from there into Yu Province.

That was the worst-case picture. A slightly better version: while Yan Province had few Ning Army forces, the Bohai would seize and hold it.

Han Feibao’s current strength couldn’t fracture Yan Province away. But the Bohai could.

Poor and brutal as they were, the Bohai were also *hard*. After years without major war, they could field another force of hundreds of thousands without much difficulty.

Yan Province’s Ning Army presence was genuinely sparse. And it wasn’t just Yan Province — Jizhou and Yu Province were also short-handed.

So Yuan Zhen’s plan had been to have Han Feibao break open Dragon Head Pass, then strike northeast without pause, all the way to the northern border fortifications.

At which point the Bohai would invade in force, and Han Feibao — the short-lived child — would have served his purpose.

Understanding all of this, Han Feibao’s expression had darkened to its limit.

He had known the Black Wu wouldn’t genuinely help him. But he hadn’t grasped that Yuan Zhen had only ever seen him as a key — a key that would inevitably break the moment the lock was opened.

A long silence passed. Han Feibao let out a heavy breath.

He turned to Yuan Zhen. “You’re telling me all of this now because you’ve already made peace with dying?”

Yuan Zhen replied, “Before, my lord might truly have killed me. Even just an hour ago, you might have moved to kill me at any moment. But now — my lord will not.”

Han Feibao gave a cold laugh. “You always think so highly of yourself?”

Yuan Zhen said, “My lord has very few useful people left around him. A man like me, who cannot go back, who can nonetheless be used — there is only one.”

“And you think I’d dare use someone like you?”

“A moment ago,” Yuan Zhen said, “my lord asked whether my plans changed after those Black Wu soldiers died. I said yes. Does my lord not want to know what my newest plan is?”

Han Feibao only looked at him, and said nothing.

That look told Yuan Zhen: if you need me to ask in order to lay your plans bare, you can die.

Yuan Zhen spoke plainly: “Whatever else, breaking through Dragon Head Pass by any means available is the first step.”

Han Feibao nodded. Still silent.

“After entering Yan Province,” Yuan Zhen said, “my lord need not drive northeast toward the border fortifications. Instead — strike toward the coast.”

“Why?”

“As far as I know, along the southeastern coast of Yan Province, there is extensive activity by Sang Kingdom pirates. These pirates were once slaughtered by the Ning Army and have a deep hatred for them. My lord should contact these pirates as soon as possible.”

Han Feibao’s brow furrowed again.

First he had believed he was simply cooperating with the Bohai. Then the Black Wu. Now he had to consider a third entanglement — with the Sang Kingdom?

Yuan Zhen pressed on: “The Sang Kingdom commands the most formidable ocean-going vessels. Even though the Ning Army broke and killed countless pirates in Yan Province, they have no way to eliminate every last one. When my lord reaches that coast, meet with the Sang pirates immediately. Tell them my lord is an enemy of Prince Ning Li Chi and is seeking Sang Kingdom’s assistance.”

Han Feibao’s eyes went slightly distant. He sighed inwardly. *Of course.*

“The Sang people are pure mercenaries,” Yuan Zhen continued, “cruel and cunning. When they realize there may be a chance to occupy Yan Province, they will mobilize. From what I’ve studied: Sang Kingdom is small, perpetually at war within itself, and fertile land like Yan Province is what they dream of.”

“At that point, my lord forms an alliance with the Sang people, opens the northeastern border of Yan Province, and lets the Bohai in.”

“Loose two wolves at once?” Han Feibao said.

“The Sang cannot be trusted. The Bohai cannot be trusted. Both are stronger than my lord. So—”

Yuan Zhen met Han Feibao’s eyes. “My lord at that point is not their threat. *They* are each other’s threat.”

“Within a year Li Chi could muster enough troops to retake Yan Province,” Han Feibao said. “Do you honestly believe the Sang people and the Bohai can beat Li Chi?”

He didn’t say it aloud, but the implication was clear: *If even I can’t beat him, what makes you think those rabble can?*

“My lord,” Yuan Zhen said, “our target was never Yan Province.”

Han Feibao stopped.

That sentence baffled him entirely. All that effort — drawing in the Bohai, drawing in the Sang — and the goal wasn’t Yan Province?

He looked at Yuan Zhen and waited.

“Our target is the Bohai Kingdom.”

Yuan Zhen said: “If everything goes as I expect — the Bohai people, having suffered greatly at Li Chi’s hands before, will throw everything they have into Yan Province the moment an opening presents itself.”

Han Feibao said, “And we use that moment to strike into the Bohai Kingdom — seal the border behind them, let them fight the Ning Army in Yan Province while we take their territory?”

Yuan Zhen nodded.

Han Feibao snorted. “All that scheming, and the prize is that cold, exhausted wasteland?!”

Yuan Zhen let out a long, slow sigh, and said in a tone of quiet resignation: “My lord… the Central Plains is rich and vast, but it no longer has anything to do with you.”

Han Feibao went very still.

Yuan Zhen held his gaze. “Even Yong Province — poor and rough as it is compared to the Central Plains — even that has nothing to do with you anymore.”

That moment — it was Han Feibao’s turn to sigh.

—