Yang Dong walked out of the hall and looked at the soldiers standing outside, then drew a slow, deep breath.

Every man has his moment of glory. This was his.

Not the most glorious of circumstances, perhaps — but for a man of his standing, this was nothing less than soaring into the sky.

Settling the army was no great challenge for him. Han Feibao had never held any genuine prestige among the men. Even the personal guard battalion had little true loyalty to him.

The first guard battalion — absolutely loyal, fighters of almost supernatural ability — had been wiped out to the last man during the previous clash with Tang Pidi. The current guard battalion was nothing more than men picked from the new recruits.

Han Feibao had also been far too ruthless, too quick to kill; the men feared him rather than respected him. So when Yang Dong called the whole army together and declared that a group of generals had mutinied and murdered Han Feibao, there were those in the ranks who quietly murmured their approval — the kind that stopped just short of an open cheer, as if one more shred of courage would have made them burst into celebration.

Not to mention that Han Feibao, whatever his ferocity, had led this army on a humiliating flight for so long that the soldiers’ resentment had been building regardless.

Think of it: from Yongzhou to Shuzhou, from Shuzhou to the northwestern Nalan Steppe, then to the northeast of Jizhou, and now to Yunlai Island off Qingzhou. One enormous loop — at least ten thousand li, possibly twenty thousand.

If such a journey, ten thousand li or more, had led somewhere with a bright future ahead, that would have been one thing. Instead it had ended in cowering on an island, and Han Feibao had seemed quite pleased with himself about it.

So Yang Dong took control quickly, and as the soldiers dispersed afterward, many were laughing and talking among themselves. If Han Feibao had still had one breath left to see it, he might have thought there was no greater failure in life than this.

With the army settled, Yang Dong returned to the wooden hall. Yuanzhen was still sitting beside Han Feibao’s body, staring into nothing.

“Master?” Yang Dong called softly.

Yuanzhen seemed to come back to himself, then immediately stood and clasped his hands toward Yang Dong in a formal bow. “I pay my respects to my lord.”

Yang Dong strode forward and caught Yuanzhen’s arm, smiling. “Master is my benefactor. Such a bow is not fitting. From this day forward, you and I stand as equals in this army.”

After Yuanzhen demurred a few times, they turned to the matter of Han Feibao’s remains.

Yang Dong’s instinct was to toss them into the sea for the fish — nothing about it was particularly worth caring over. Han Feibao was the kind of man for whom being fed to the fish was already mercy.

But Yuanzhen disagreed. He asked Yang Dong to come forward personally and give Han Feibao a proper burial.

Yang Dong understood this was for his own benefit, and agreed at once.

The next day Han Feibao’s funeral was held, hastily but ceremonially. Yang Dong personally bore the coffin, which put the minds of those who had been closer to Han Feibao somewhat at ease.

Yang Dong then reorganized the army — just under thirty thousand men split into three divisions, each led by one of the three generals who had helped kill Han Feibao. He also promoted many capable young men within the ranks to lower and mid-level officer positions, which quickly lifted morale.

He announced publicly that because Master Yuanzhen had done the most to bring down the traitors and avenge Han Feibao, his standing in the army was equal to Yang Dong’s own.

After that came the matter of when to leave the island.

Most of the lower-ranking generals still leaned toward staying — Han Feibao was dead, but whether he was dead or alive had nothing to do with whether they went or stayed.

But at the council, Yuanzhen told all of them plainly: within the year, after Prince Ning Li Chi resolved the situation in Shuzhou, the Ning Army’s main force would certainly come here.

Consider this: one Tang Pidi, leading an army of tens of thousands, had hunted Han Feibao’s force of one or two hundred thousand to near annihilation. When the Ning Army assembled a massive fleet of warships, what would become of this island that now seemed like a paradise?

That argument worked quickly. The generals changed their minds and agreed in short order that the island was no place to linger.

Not that they feared Prince Ning Li Chi or Tang Pidi, they said — it was simply that the island was no place to linger.

“We must send men to Yanzhou at once,” Yuanzhen told Yang Dong. “Not many are needed — pick three to five hundred elite soldiers, board ships, and head north along the coast. With a fair wind, Yanzhou can be reached within a month. Once there, gather detailed intelligence on the enemy situation. They must be back within four to five months, because if we wait too long, the Ning Army’s forces may arrive before we have even set out.”

Yang Dong nodded. “Master arranges everything as he sees fit. Master’s decisions are my decisions; Master’s orders are my orders.”

Yuanzhen then proposed holding a grand all-army competition — first to find talent for the Yanzhou mission, and second to promote new men through the ranks.

Three days later, over three hundred outstanding men had been selected from the competition, and were dispatched in groups toward Yanzhou.

Of the realm’s thirteen provinces, by now nine-tenths and more belonged to Prince Ning.

Which meant that the tens of thousands on Yunlai Island were the largest single rebel force remaining anywhere in the Central Plains.

Sometimes it seemed strange, thinking back on it. When the great upheaval of the Chu dynasty had begun, rebel armies had run rampant everywhere. Even a force of a few hundred men had dared to attack a county seat. Now here was a genuine standing army of thirty thousand, hiding on an island.

—

Meanwhile, in Shuzhou.

Another half-year had passed. The siege of the Meishan Grand Camp had now lasted a full year and a half.

It was the longest campaign in all of the Ning Army’s conquest of the realm.

Looking back over the campaigns the Ning Army had fought — the quickest had been the taking of Yuezhou. General Liu Ge had led a hundred thousand troops in what amounted to a ceremonial march. The most demanding thing about it, for the Ning Army, was two tasks: the walking, and the planting of flags once they arrived.

All of Yuezhou — one-third larger than Shuzhou — had fallen in less than half a year.

Next quickest was Qingzhou, where Shen Shancoral and Luo Jing had struck from north and south in a pincer, taking it in seven or eight months.

Shuzhou had proven the most resilient of all. Though in truth, the main reason the campaign had stretched this long was that Li Chi was not willing to accept massive casualties.

Could the Meishan Grand Camp be taken by brute force? Of course it could. But the cost would have been catastrophic.

In Li Chi’s words: a year and a half of siege, consuming enormous quantities of grain and provisions — enough to equal a full year’s harvest from several provinces combined. But not one soldier lost. That was the greater gain.

Standing on a rise at some distance from the Meishan Grand Camp, Li Chi raised his telescope toward the enemy fortifications. The corner of his mouth had begun to curve upward.

A year and a half. By Li Chi’s reckoning, the enemy’s food could last this long at most. Another month or so and there might not even be fresh corpses to find.

Yes, this style of fighting burned through resources. No one in the whole realm, commanding any other army, would have fought this battle this way. But to see his own men suffer no losses — that satisfaction was unlike anything else.

If there was something more satisfying, it was marrying Gao Xining.

But that hadn’t happened yet, so the feeling wasn’t available for comparison.

Though the two of them had managed a few stolen moments of intimacy from time to time — that was only a small satisfaction.

Li Chi had yet to learn a certain truth: small satisfactions refresh; great ones exhaust…

“It may be time to send someone to talk to Pei Jinglun again,” Li Chi said, smiling. “If he still has the strength to talk.”

Xiahou Zhuo burst out laughing. “Leave it to me — I am the best person for it.”

Yu Jiuling said, “I think I can handle it too. Why must it be the Grand General?”

Xiahou Zhuo shook his head. “You won’t do. Only I will.”

Yu Jiuling grew more aggrieved. “Why not?”

Xiahou Zhuo said, “Look at me: tall, broad-shouldered, handsome — a quintessential hero of the upright kind. If our Ning Army were to select a face to represent itself, it would have to be me, without question. As for you, little Ninth Sister…”

He sighed. “If you went to negotiate, you would not only make the enemy doubt that our side was doing well — they might take one look at you and feel their own side was the righteous one. That could actually rouse their fighting spirit.”

Yu Jiuling: “Am I really that ugly?”

Xiahou Zhuo said, “If it were merely a matter of looks, it would be manageable. Some people are not handsome, yet carry themselves with distinction — look at Cheng Wujie: not exactly striking, but the moment you see him you think *general.* You, on the other hand… the ugliness is secondary. Mainly it is that you are a little… unsavory-looking.”

He clapped Yu Jiuling on the shoulder. “I said this sincerely, not as a joke. Imagine the scene: during negotiations, they take one look at you, and suddenly no one wants to surrender — they’d rather die than endure something more humiliating than death. We are in the advantageous position right now, the outcome is in our hands — but then you show up… isn’t that pushing them too far?”

He paused, then recited a line of verse: “If you go up there — it would be as they say: *a dying man jolted suddenly upright.*”

Yu Jiuling: “The only reason I haven’t drawn my sword yet is that I know I can’t beat you.”

Yu Jiuling looked at Li Chi. “My liege, Xiahou has gone too far.”

Li Chi nodded. “Some of what Xiahou said was indeed excessive — that bit about pushing them too far was the most fair-minded part.”

Yu Jiuling: “…”

Yu Jiuling said, “You two really are cut from the same cloth.”

Li Chi shook his head. “I certainly cannot fit into his trousers.”

Xiahou Zhuo said, “I am a bit broader than you, roughly the same height — you’d fit in them just fine.”

Li Chi said, with feeling, “The crotch is too narrow.”

Xiahou Zhuo: “What?!”

Yu Jiuling snorted a laugh.

Xiahou Zhuo: “That is rich coming from a man who couldn’t fit into your trousers either.”

Yu Jiuling: “This is going too far again.”

Li Chi laughed. “Tomorrow morning, have someone go to see Pei Jinglun. Tell them — this is their last chance to surrender. If they are willing to lay down their arms, I will distribute food and supplies to them. If they still will not surrender… then I will simply show them some compassion when I come to bury them.”

Xiahou Zhuo acknowledged the order. “Leave it to me.”

A year and a half. For the Shuzhou troops in the Meishan Grand Camp, the first year had been hard to endure; the three months after that were agony; the three months after that were a slow death.

Their provisions had run out more than half a month ago. The soldiers were truly eating earth now. Every root and tuber in the soil had been dug up and devoured. The trees on the hillside had been stripped bare of bark and branches. Before that, they had cut up their leather armor and leather boots and boiled them.

Not one soldier in that camp still had leather armor.

The only reason Pei Jinglun had not yet sent men down to surrender was that damnable pride.

Every man who commanded troops had his pride. But watching his men in such a state, that pride was also one of the things tormenting him.

At times Pei Jinglun had thought: surely the men must have mutinied by now? If they swarmed him and put a blade through him, he would be free, and the soldiers would be free.

But no mutiny came. So he had thought of taking his own life.

What stopped him from killing himself was not pride, but the fear of death.

And so his suffering was compounded — because he could see that his pride was a contemptible, hollow thing, that he could not even let go of it, and he hated himself for it.

The next morning, not long after dawn, the Shuzhou soldiers lying in the trenches saw a column of Ning Army troops approaching, their armor bright and their bearing sharp.

In that moment, not one of them reached for a weapon. Some of them wept.

—