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The first battle of the Wolf-Ape Battalion was brutal enough to break the heart — yet it was precisely that brutality that cracked open the enemy’s stubbornly defended fortress city.

Mei City was Pei Qi’s last domain. It was the capital of this dynasty called Zhou — a dynasty destined to be as brief as it was brand new.

Since the decision to advance into Shu Province, the Wolf-Ape Battalion had been created for this purpose — elite soldiers drawn from every unit, trained by the most hardened hunters.

Before they ever became hunters, they were already the reapers of the battlefield.

When hunter and reaper merged into one, they became the masters of the battlefield.

The young general Gao Zhen had used this battle to prove himself to the world. He was no longer the Gao Zhen of before — the one who buckled under hardship and couldn’t bear the weight of responsibility.

The moment he stood upright on that wall with his own body shielding the arrows meant for the soldiers behind him, he became, in every true sense of the word, a great commander.

Not yet — but one day, without question.

The Ning main force surged through the breach like a flood tide, pouring swiftly into the city.

Battle quickly spread from the walls into every street.

The founding Emperor of the Zhou Kingdom — who might well prove to be its last Emperor too — Pei Qi, who had believed he could shape the fate of the realm, now stood with a face the color of ash.

He knew that fighting on any further, no matter how desperately, would be meaningless. Once the Ning army was inside the city, his empire’s dream was finished.

In open battle now, was there anyone left in this entire world who could withstand even a single blow from the Ning army?

If the walls couldn’t hold them, the idea of trying to stop them with sheer manpower alone was not worth entertaining.

So Pei Qi chose to flee.

He quietly slipped away from the army and, at the greatest speed he could manage, made his way back to his Imperial Palace.

There, he ordered his palace guards to escort his Madam — no, the Empress and his consorts — to change into commoner’s clothes and leave through a different city gate.

He took his Madam’s hand, his voice trembling slightly: “Once you are out, go back to your home village and lie low for a while. I will stay behind with the guards to cover your retreat. If I cannot catch up with you — there are assets I have put aside for you at your home village, more than enough for you all to live on.”

His Madam wept openly. Pei Qi pushed her toward the carriage and turned to leave.

In this most desperate of moments, she was moved by her husband’s choice. She called out for him to come with her — but his decisive, unyielding stride away from her made her cries feel pitifully small.

Back in the palace, Pei Qi immediately had his guards find him common clothes to change into. With a few dozen of his most capable fighters, he slipped out through the palace’s rear gate in the chaos.

His Madam was still feeling moved. She did not know that Pei Qi had used her and the other women as decoys to draw any Ning pursuit away from himself.

Pei Qi had no children. For a man like him, how could he have truly cared deeply for any of his women?

That none of them had given him a son — that was Pei Qi’s greatest resentment.

Though, if he were willing to sit with the matter calmly and think it through, he might have understood he should look closer to home for the reason.

If his first wife alone couldn’t bear him a child, perhaps it could be attributed to both of them. But with so many women in his household, and not one able to carry on his bloodline — who really bore the fault? Did he truly not have some idea?

After slipping out of the palace, Pei Qi made for the hills behind the city.

Mei City was built against a mountain. The other side of the city gates connected to the mountains, where a path had been carved out — reasonably passable — leading to the far side of the range.

This route was a closely guarded secret. Even so, Pei Qi had not chosen it for himself — he had sent his women that way.

There was another path, far more concealed, known only to a handful of people including Pei Qi himself.

A man like Pei Qi would, of course, have prepared more than one way out.

He was a man of great vision — otherwise he could never have cultivated both Yang Xuanji and Han Feibao. He was also a man of careful maneuvering — otherwise he could never have navigated the treacherous end of the Great Chu dynasty with such ease.

This hidden path into the mountain was his final insurance for his own survival.

Once inside, he had no intention of crossing the mountain to the other side. There were several supply caches in the hills — secret depots his most trusted subordinates had quietly stocked over time.

A few confidants, people he trusted completely, had been carrying supplies into those hills at regular intervals. There was enough stored to last Pei Qi several months.

His plan was to move along the mountain ridge to a point roughly a hundred li from Mei City, then descend.

This route had already been scouted by his men on foot. The mountain terrain was grueling — it would take at least one to two months to traverse.

As long as the supplies held, one or two months was simply a matter of enduring.

A man of Pei Qi’s nature would never have limited himself to just one or two hiding places.

He had prepared dozens of properties throughout the Central Plains, under dozens of different identities. He owned numerous trading businesses, none of them in his own name.

He had even made arrangements overseas. If there was truly no hope of making a comeback in the Central Plains — he could take a ship south to a place called Qiuli. He had purchased a vast tract of mountain forest there, with an estate already fully constructed and waiting.

Even if he let go of his dream of ruling the Central Plains, he could go to some foreign shore and live as a wealthy lord.

Once you release a great ambition, a man becomes more easily satisfied. By the time Pei Qi was making his way into the mountains, the thought filling his mind most was that place called Qiuli — a place he had never visited, had barely ever considered.

It had been prepared as a contingency, born of a single idle impulse long ago. After that impulse, he had never thought of it again. Had he not lost everything so completely, he might never have recalled he had it at all.

He did not think, as he entered the mountains, of going to Su Province — even though he had built an enormous estate there.

He did not think of going to Yue Province either — which, in theory, would have made the most logical stepping stone.

He found himself wanting more and more to cross the ocean and leave the Central Plains behind. Let it all go — the ambition, the grand designs. What did any of it mean anymore?

Fifty guards protected him as he moved through the deep mountains in the dark. The shouting, the clamor, the screaming, the weeping — all of it fell away behind them.

When Pei Qi glanced back, even the firelight had vanished, hidden by the dense forest.

They walked through the better part of the night. The men leading the way were the very confidants who had built this escape route — and even they found it surreal. They had never truly believed this path would actually be needed.

Markers had been set along the route so they wouldn’t go astray. The markers were to be erased after passing them, so the Ning army couldn’t follow.

The entrance to the mountain path was hidden behind a large rock. After they passed through, the rock was rolled back into place. There was virtually no chance of it being found.

As long as they didn’t take a wrong turn, nothing should go wrong.

Near dawn, exhaustion set in. Pei Qi was no longer young, and his stamina had limits. He couldn’t take another step. He ordered a brief rest.

Fortunately, hasty as the escape had been, every man had brought water and food.

They found a spot to sit and eat. The guide came over and told Pei Qi: one more day’s march and they would reach the first shelter. There they could resupply with water and rations, and there were fresh clothes and equipment.

Pei Qi nodded — and then, strangely, smiled to himself.

Life — it rises and falls, and none of it is truly in your hands.

When you believe you have mastered your own fate, life delivers a lesson to remind you what it means to have nothing.

He ate something. The edge slowly came off his exhaustion. He sat there and let out a long, heavy breath.

“I was never anything to begin with…”

Pei Qi smiled faintly. No one dared respond — none of them could read what mood he was in.

“Even as a ruined emperor on the run,” he said, “I will still arrive somewhere as a man of considerable means. Compared to my childhood — compared to my youth — that is still a life far better than most. And I can still see all of you generously rewarded.”

He exhaled again.

In the Pei family he had never been a direct heir — everything he had clawed his way up to as a frontier administrator had been through his own scheming and effort. The Pei family had never given him much. Which is also why he had felt the need to invent this fiction of being descended from Zhou Fuzi — the Pei name alone wasn’t enough.

“No matter,” said Pei Qi with a slight smile. “I will take you all overseas. We will go and live as masters. In that place, every one of you will be a lord, every one of you will have your own estate, great numbers of slaves, and more wealth than you can count. You have protected me and brought me this far — I will not forget any of you.”

Everyone thanked him.

For them, when it had come down to this, Pei Qi’s plan seemed like the best option still available.

Go overseas, go be lords among lesser people — when you thought about it, that didn’t sound so bad.

“Your Majesty,” came a voice.

One of the guards spoke up: “May I ask — were you truly descended from Zhou Fuzi?”

Pei Qi looked at him. Then he laughed. “You actually believed it?”

The guard shook his head: “I never truly believed it. I only wanted to hear Your Majesty say, with your own lips, that you are not descended from Zhou Fuzi.”

Pei Qi smiled: “Of course I’m not. As for who is — I have no interest.”

“I am.”

The guard suddenly erupted into motion — a blade punched into Pei Qi’s heart.

The sudden violence caught everyone completely off guard. No one had anticipated that among their own number, someone had come here to kill Pei Qi.

The guard’s blade was buried in Pei Qi’s chest, both hands pressing hard on the hilt.

“You are not a descendant of the sage. Why did you use his name in such a manner?”

“The sage’s reputation — it cannot be tainted by someone like you…”

With the last of his fading breath, Pei Qi asked: “Who… who are you?!”

The guard looked into Pei Qi’s eyes and slowly twisted the blade.

“You should have heard the name — the Sacred Blade Sect.”

He said it one word at a time: “I had left the Sacred Blade Sect long ago. Because even they had begun to desecrate the sage’s name.”

“I came to Shu Province to live in obscurity. I served in your army and never once told anyone I was a descendant of Zhou Fuzi.”

“But I never imagined you would use this means to soil the sage’s reputation. You dared to impersonate the sage’s lineage.”

He pulled the blade free and stepped back.

He looked at the others: “You may act now.”

They looked at him. Then at each other.

No one moved.

After a long silence, one of them spoke: “What’s the point now… he’s dead. Let’s go find where he hid his assets. Split them between us.”

“Right — he’s already dead. No need for any more killing…”

“No one here is going to fight you. Come with us. Going back won’t promise you anything good either.”

The man who had killed Pei Qi stood frozen.

He had been prepared to die. He had genuinely never expected this outcome.

He looked down at Pei Qi, who was already still. Then he looked at the others.

And he found, unexpectedly, that he wanted to laugh.