At this moment, on the southern side of White Mountain, the Black Wu forces assembling there had already swelled to nearly one hundred thousand men.

Sixty thousand of them were troops Kuoke Diye Lan had brought directly, while the other forty thousand were Black Wu border soldiers stationed along the White Mountain line. A further two hundred thousand soldiers from the Southern Court were still on the march, roughly half a month’s journey away.

Beyond these three hundred thousand Black Wu troops, some two hundred and fifty thousand soldiers from various other tribal factions were also en route.

On top of that, the Iron Crane tribe of the outer grasslands had received orders from the Black Wu Khan to reach the White Mountain line as swiftly as possible.

This time, the Black Wu Khan had fully believed what Yuan Zhen had told him in his heart about the timing to march south. He also had a vague premonition that, in the days ahead, a truly formidable rival might rise in the Central Plains.

This was a rule — one that could not be broken.

When Chu had first been founded, the Chu府兵 who had conquered the entire Central Plains could still meet the Black Wu forces head-on at the northern frontier.

And so it was that Ning Wang Li Chi, who had just unified the Central Plains, commanded Ning forces riding high on the momentum of a hundred victories — for a very long time to come, they would be able to hold their own against the Black Wu.

Yet the Black Wu Khan did not quite believe the other judgment Yuan Zhen had offered: that the Central Plains would be nearly impossible to breach for the next several hundred years.

In Yuan Zhen’s estimation, the Great Ning that Ning Wang Li Chi would build would differ vastly from the Chu dynasty.

Chu had not been defeated by any outside force — Chu had rotted from within.

And Ning Wang Li Chi was actively dismantling every cause of that rot. This meant the Ning that would emerge was destined to be something entirely different.

The Black Wu Khan believed that now was the best moment to march south — but he did not believe Ning would differ from Chu in any meaningful way.

—

White Mountain Camp.

Black Wu Prince Kuoke Diye Lan stood on high ground, gazing southward. From where he stood, the border passes of the Central Plains were not yet visible.

Between White Mountain and the passes still lay hundreds of *li* of the Northern Wasteland — yet those hundreds of *li* gave Kuoke Diye Lan no pause at all.

Just as he was staring into the distance, his mind roaming through visions of riding freely across the Central Plains, Ye Fuzhi returned.

“Your Highness.”

Ye Fuzhi spotted Kuoke Diye Lan and bowed at once.

Kuoke Diye Lan asked, “Well? Has that horse bandit who calls himself Han Sanzhou agreed to serve as the vanguard of our army?”

Ye Fuzhi replied, “Your Highness, Han Sanzhou has put forward conditions.”

“What conditions?”

“He… he said that if the Khan does not grant him the title of king, he will not assist the army’s march south.”

“Oh?”

Kuoke Diye Lan first froze, then burst into laughter. He was not even angry. In his eyes, this was not something worth anger — it was the greatest joke under heaven.

A mere gang of horse bandits, daring to make demands of the Black Wu Khan — and such outrageous demands at that.

“Do you think this man is worth making use of?”

Kuoke Diye Lan asked.

Ye Fuzhi bowed and answered, “This man’s martial prowess is… far above mine. And he can command eight thousand hardened outlaws. That bandit force is enough to pose a real threat to the Ning army.”

Kuoke Diye Lan listened, fell silent for a moment, then raised a doubt: “Even granting that he is skilled in martial arts and commands eight thousand bandits — his forces are utterly useless in siege warfare.”

“If his value can only be realized after we break through the northern border passes and enter the passes — what use is he to me?”

“Are you saying,” Kuoke Diye Lan continued, “that after our iron cavalry enters the Central Plains, we would still be no match for a gang of horse bandits?”

Ye Fuzhi replied, “Your Highness, I have been thinking for some time about how this southward march might be different from the previous ones.”

Kuoke Diye Lan asked, “And what have you concluded?”

“Your Highness, in the previous southward campaigns, the Central Plains people relied on their solid, fortified border passes to hold the line — and our Black Wu forces are, in truth, not well suited to siege warfare.”

Kuoke Diye Lan nodded, signaling Ye Fuzhi to go on.

“Before, the Chu border forces were few in number and poorly supplied with provisions, so they did not dare leave the passes to give battle in the open,” Ye Fuzhi said. He glanced at Kuoke Diye Lan’s expression, then continued: “But Your Highness, right now Ning Wang Li Chi is in his most high-spirited hour — he believes himself invincible.”

At this, Ye Fuzhi turned and pointed to the wasteland stretching behind them. “If we could lure the main force of the Ning army out of the passes and draw them into open battle across this wilderness, breaking into the Central Plains would be far simpler.”

Kuoke Diye Lan’s eyes flickered after he heard this — clearly, he was tempted.

After a moment, Kuoke Diye Lan asked, “So you believe Han Sanzhou is of use — because there is no one who knows this wasteland better than he does.”

“Yes.”

Ye Fuzhi bowed. “That is indeed my thinking.”

Kuoke Diye Lan paused briefly, then turned and ordered, “Summon all the advisors and generals. Have them come here to deliberate.”

His subordinates wasted no time and immediately dispersed to relay the summons.

Before long, the generals and advisors from each camp came hurrying over, arriving one after another at the high ground.

Kuoke Diye Lan had called them together to assess how feasible Ye Fuzhi’s idea might be.

—

Meanwhile, at the Blood Butcher camp.

Han Sanzhou also stood atop a rise, staring far to the south. From where he stood, the border fortress of the Central Plains’ northern frontier was equally out of sight — yet he seemed to be gazing at his own past.

Between his brows, a deep and tangled sorrow had settled.

Military Advisor Xiao Ting walked to Han Sanzhou’s side and stood quietly with him for a while before asking, “General, do you truly wish to go back and take your revenge?”

Han Sanzhou did not answer directly. Instead, he turned the question around: “You should know — how wretched, how humiliated I was when I fled the Central Plains.”

Without waiting for Xiao Ting to speak, Han Sanzhou went on of his own accord.

“If the Black Wu had not come looking for me, I know that even now — even with the Blood Butcher behind me — I would have no way to avenge myself.”

Xiao Ting said, “But General, things are different now. The old Yanzhou Military Governor is likely long dead. Even if we ride back through the passes on the Black Wu’s coattails, there may be no one left to exact revenge on.”

Han Sanzhou sighed, “It was never just the Yanzhou Military Governor.”

He reached out and laid his hand against a nearby tree. Slowly, his fingers dug into the bark.

“The ones who wanted me dead back then — beyond the Yanzhou Governor’s faction, there was also the Youzhou General Luo Geng… Luo Geng is dead, true enough, but he has a son, Luo Jing. I’ve heard he now serves under Ning Wang Li Chi.”

At this, the killing intent in Han Sanzhou’s eyes grew heavier still.

“It was Luo Jing who came to me with honeyed words, pretending he wanted to recommend me for a post — and yet it was also Luo Jing who watched, with his own eyes, as I was humiliated.”

“Every face, every name — I have kept them all in here,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “So no matter what means I have to use — as long as I can go back and settle those scores…” He paused. “Even if I die doing it, I will die without regret.”

Xiao Ting gave a firm nod. “Wherever the General wishes to go, I will go with you. Whatever the General wants to do, I will stand by your side.”

Han Sanzhou unhooked the wine sack hanging from his belt. The one he always carried was unusually large — it held at least ten *jin* of liquor — and hanging there at his side, it was hard to miss.

Xiao Ting watched his general drink again, and his heart ached a little. Back then, when the General had been on the run in the Northern Wasteland, without wine to sustain him through so many wounds — with no one to tend to him — he would surely have died long ago.

When he had first arrived in the Northern Wasteland, a gang of horse bandits had tried to rob him of his horse. Han Sanzhou, mustering the last of his strength, had killed sixteen of them single-handedly and seized their hideout.

He had found no medicine there. In the Northern Wasteland, medicine was worth more than gold. But he had found a very large wine vat, and he had simply climbed inside it, soaking himself in it for a long, long time.

Perhaps he had simply been born lucky. Perhaps it was the fermented mare’s milk that had done the work. Against all odds, he had survived.

“Xiao Ting…”

Han Sanzhou drew his hand back from the tree. The five finger-holes left behind were enough to make one’s scalp tingle.

“You know.”

“From that day forward,” Han Sanzhou said, “I was no longer Xu Suqing. I became Han Sanzhou.”

Xu Suqing — a name that had vanished from the rivers-and-lakes circles of Jizhou and Yanzhou more than a decade ago. And at the time that name disappeared, Li Chi had still been a wanderer begging for a living in several counties of Jizhou alongside his master.

Now, Xu Suqing closed his eyes. Though more than a decade had passed, whenever he recalled that day, it felt as vivid as if it were right before him.

“General…”

Xiao Ting gently took the wine sack from Xu Suqing’s hands, gesturing that he should drink no more.

That vat of wine had once saved Xu Suqing’s life — but it had also given Xu Suqing his addiction. In the Northern Wasteland, medicine was so hard to come by that when pain flared up, Xu Suqing had nothing to fall back on but alcohol.

As time went on, his tolerance grew vast, yet the wine itself had lost all power over him. Once upon a time, when he was in pain — whether of body or of spirit — drinking himself into a stupor had allowed him to forget everything, if only briefly. Now he could drink ten *jin* of mare’s milk wine in a single day and it would mean nothing. He had not truly been drunk in a very long time.

“Perhaps people in generations to come will curse my name,” Xu Suqing murmured to himself. “But I no longer care. Once I have killed everyone I wish to kill, all that matters is that I die content.”

He reached for the wine sack again. Xiao Ting stepped back a pace. Xu Suqing let out a rueful smile and shook his head, making no further effort to take the sack back.

—

Beishan Pass lay nestled within the Yanshan mountain range. By the time Master Ye and his company arrived with their forces, another year had turned and early spring had come again.

The climate in the northern frontier was still bitterly cold. Snow had fallen just recently, and the whole world was a seamless expanse of white.

They resupplied at Beishan Pass, exchanged their gear for warmer winter clothes, and without lingering long, plunged into the wasteland.

From Beishan Pass, five teams of ten scouts each had been requisitioned to accompany them — in this terrain, these scouts were the eyes of the column.

“Sir.”

Scout Commander Sui Junji rode alongside Master Ye and gave a running account of conditions in the Northern Wasteland.

“From here, passing through the pass and heading north, it is roughly five hundred *li* to White Mountain. In the old days, all five hundred *li* of this land was ours. After the crushing defeat outside White Mountain — when hundreds of thousands of elite soldiers were lost — those five hundred *li* were surrendered as well.”

Sui Junji spurred his horse and continued: “From Beishan Pass to White Mountain is the shortest route between the two. At its widest, the gap reportedly stretches seven or eight hundred *li*, perhaps even a thousand.”

Master Ye asked, “Where is Han Sanzhou’s bandit force?”

Sui Junji drew a rawhide map from inside his coat, unrolled it, and pointed. “Here — one of the few oases in the Northern Wasteland. Since Han Sanzhou claimed it, no one has dared go near.”

“Han Sanzhou even gave the place a name: *Beisheng Shenzhou* — the Northern Sacred Land. They say he built a wooden tower there as well, which he called the *Changle Xinggong* — the Palace of Eternal Joy. He also bestowed upon himself the title of Great General — *Wentian Da Jiangjun*, the General Who Defies Heaven.”

At this, even Sui Junji could not help but smile. “We still don’t know his background. How does he have such thick skin?”

A tiny oasis, named a Sacred Land. A wooden tower, called a Palace. A bandit chieftain, styling himself a Great General. When you put it that way, the audacity was indeed rather breathtaking.

Master Ye, however, did not smile. He asked in earnest: “Have any of our men had contact with Han Sanzhou’s people?”

Sui Junji’s smile faded and he nodded. “Our scouts ran into Han Sanzhou’s bandit unit before. The two sides came to blows. One of our five-man teams killed over twenty bandits — but just as they were nearing the border on their way back, Han Sanzhou himself led his men in pursuit. All five brothers were killed by him.”

Master Ye nodded. “You must know this man fairly well by now. How strong is he — truly?”

Sui Junji was silent for a long moment before he answered.

“Unrivaled in the Northern Wasteland.”

—