This was the first time Yanshan Camp had ever tried to seize a place held by official troops — and a border pass at that. The reason Li Chi had dared to counsel Yu Chaozong to do it was simple: he trusted Yu Chaozong nine parts out of ten. If Yu Chaozong had no ambitions of his own, he never would have let Zhuang Wudi take their troops to accompany Li Chi to Daizhou Pass.

Yu Chaozong simply had too many constraints pulling at him. He hadn’t yet worked out a reason to persuade the rest of Yanshan Camp. The message Li Chi had Zhuang Wudi carry back to him had handed him that reason.

Whatever Bi Datong’s own intentions were, he still had to look out for his own life and make plans for his own future. So on that point, Li Chi had been certain that Bi Datong and Yu Chaozong would reach the same judgment and decision.

In Li Chi’s estimation, Yu Chaozong had everything a hero should have — a man of integrity and righteousness, of faithfulness and honor, of shame and great ambition. But he was only a hero. In terms of temperament, if you gave Yu Chaozong Bi Datong’s ruthlessness and cunning on top of everything else, then Yu Chaozong would be a true overlord in the fullest sense.

So every constraint that weighed on Yu Chaozong’s conscience was a product of who he was — a hero, defined by his own character. But when he could bring himself to be ruthless, would a single Bi Datong really be enough to shake Yu Chaozong’s position in Yanshan Camp?

So when Li Chi thought all of this through, he had also made a decision: if he was ever going to serve someone, that person would be Yu Chaozong.

Yu Chaozong’s flaws of character, Li Chi felt he could help remedy. This was also the first time Li Chi had ever thought about such things of his own volition. He had even carefully considered others — Prince Yu, the regional warlords, every person he’d met who might conceivably contend for the realm — and none of them matched the image in his mind of what a benevolent ruler should be. The only one who came close was Yu Chaozong.

Li Chi had still more to consider. A man like Prince Yu would never look on common people as anything but weeds — worthless, without value. His kind of person relied on others of his own class.

So how could a man like Yu Chaozong compete with someone like Prince Yu?

Only with the hearts of the people.

Prince Yu had the support of every major faction in Jizhou. Those great families would provide him with endless streams of gold and silver, and when the situation became clear, they would do more than just fund him — they would throw themselves directly into his camp.

Yet what did Yu Chaozong have, besides the hearts of the people? There was nothing else that could compare to Prince Yu.

But what is “all under heaven”?

Is it truly ten thousand miles of rivers and mountains?

No. It is the people. Ten thousand times ten thousand of them.

This was the first great life-goal that Li Chi, now fourteen and a half years old, had set for himself: to help Yu Chaozong restore clarity and righteousness to the realm.

Yu Jiuling had stayed at Li Chi’s side through it all, watching the sky shift from deep night to early morning, and watching Li Chi’s expression shift from leaden heaviness to something clearer and lighter. In that moment, Yu Jiuling knew Li Chi had found his way through.

“Come on, let’s eat. Our shift’s about to start.”

Yu Jiuling extended his hand. Li Chi extended his too.

After pulling Li Chi to his feet, Yu Jiuling did his best to smile, keeping his voice easy: “After last night, the Heiwu forces probably won’t bother with another night raid. They’ll switch to open assault. That’s almost an improvement.”

Li Chi nodded. When all the threats from the enemy were out in the open — even if that enemy was formidable — it was somehow more bearable. When an equally formidable enemy used hidden means to threaten you, the weaker side always felt helpless and on edge.

Life and death in plain sight. That’s fine.

After eating, Li Chi and Yu Jiuling took food back up to the wall. Xiahou Zuo had been awake all night and had a faint tracery of red in his eyes. Li Chi handed him the food and said, “General Tan has fallen in battle. General Liu is gravely wounded. We still need to divide into three rotations. Yu Jiuling and I will lead one, you’ll lead one, and let Zhuang Wudi lead the third.”

Xiahou Zuo nodded, answer quick and decisive: “Then I’m going to rest. I have the second watch tonight. Let Zhuang Wudi take first watch tonight. You stay on now.”

Li Chi said, “Unless I call for you, don’t come up no matter what happens. Get a proper sleep.”

A slight smile curved Xiahou Zuo’s mouth. He nodded. “Understood.”

He trusted Li Chi — and the particular quality Li Chi had that made people trust him also had a way of making you forget how young he actually was.

Up on the wall, Li Chi gathered together what remained of Tan Qianshou’s unit. In truth, few of Tan Qianshou’s veteran soldiers were left at this point — most of the group were volunteers.

“I’ll be taking over command from General Tan Qianshou. Some of you may not know me. Some of you may think I’m too young to lead a unit properly. But I have no interest in saying anything to prove I’m capable — pretty words don’t amount to much. So I’ll say only two things.”

Li Chi raised his hand. “First, when the enemy comes, I won’t be standing behind you. Second, after I’m dead, you’re free to run.”

He turned and looked out beyond the wall. After a moment of silence, he said, “My name is Li Chi.”

The enemy really came.

An hour later, an overwhelming tide of Heiwu soldiers pressed forward, packed so tightly they filled the entire mountain valley and the open ground before the pass. Looking out from the wall into the distance, what you saw didn’t seem like a mass of people at all — just a dense swarm of black dots.

Li Chi set his quiver beside him and turned to Yu Jiuling. “A few days ago I had some spiked drop-boards made. They’ll come in handy now. Get them all up here.”

Yu Jiuling immediately led men to haul the drop-boards up. This type of defensive weapon had never been used in the pass’s defenses before. Li Chi had thought of the idea a few days ago and asked Tan Qianshou and Liu Mu’s men to help make them.

Each drop-board was roughly five feet long, made from fresh timber. On one face, many long spikes had been hammered through, protruding three to four inches below the board. Thick ropes tied to both ends of each board allowed them to be hung from the battlements. Over the past several days, about twenty or so had been made.

“Get the water boiling in the cauldrons!”

Li Chi shouted another order.

More than ten large cauldrons had been set up on frames along the wall, filled with packed snow. The firewood beneath them was lit, and the snow began to melt.

“Hold your arrows until my signal!”

Li Chi bellowed, “We have limited arrows! Hang the wooden boards on the outside of the wall!”

In addition to the drop-boards, Li Chi had also ordered countless wooden planks split and hung along the outer face of the wall, with extra planks concentrated around the battlements.

The attack horns sounded from outside the city. The Heiwu forces began pressing forward in disciplined formation. As they neared the wall, they picked up speed, their tight columns dispersing — looking like an ant colony that had suddenly had its hill kicked open.

“Loose arrows!”

Li Chi roared the command.

The arrows on the wall had come with Xiahou Zuo’s reinforcements and weren’t a small supply, but no one knew how long the pass would need to hold, or whether any more reinforcements would arrive — so not a single shaft could be wasted.

They let the enemy come within about sixty feet before the volley began. Where the arrows struck, the front ranks of the Heiwu forces toppled in near-perfect rows, like stalks of grain cut down by a scythe.

The Heiwu arrow barrage began to sweep toward the wall in a covering volley, attempting to pin the defenders down so they couldn’t raise their heads. The density of the incoming shafts was like a locust swarm — hammering into the wall in a slanted, overwhelming curtain.

“Enemy’s at the base of the wall!”

A Chu soldier shouted to Li Chi, voice hoarse: “Drop the spiked boards?!”

Li Chi shook his head. “Wait for my signal!”

They held for perhaps another quarter of an hour. The area below was now packed shoulder-to-shoulder with Heiwu soldiers. Li Chi raised his shield and looked down for a moment, then shouted, “Drop them!”

With a thunderous whoosh, more than twenty spiked boards fell, howling downward to slam onto the heads of the Heiwu soldiers below. The spikes pointing down, three to four inches of iron, drove straight into skulls. Each board crushed and killed at least four or five Heiwu soldiers as it landed.

“Pull them up and drop again!”

At Li Chi’s shout, soldiers heaved on the ropes to yank the boards back up, then released them all at once, sending them screaming back down. Countless spikes drove down into the heads of the Heiwu soldiers below, and when the boards were hauled up again, blood and brain matter still dripped from the iron points.

The Heiwu losses were severe, but their numbers were more than enough to absorb them. More and more soldiers reached the base of the wall and began pushing siege ladders up.

“Is the water boiling yet?!”

Li Chi called out.

“Ready!”

Yu Jiuling bellowed back.

Li Chi pointed. “Pour it on those bastards!”

Soldiers hoisted the great iron cauldrons to the edge and dumped them over the Heiwu soldiers clinging to the siege ladders, pouring the scalding water directly onto their heads. Thick white steam billowed up from the boiling water — and through the mist, the screams and wails of the Heiwu soldiers rang out with terrible, piercing clarity.

“Boil more!”

Li Chi’s voice had already gone rough when he shouted.

Soldiers carried the cauldrons back, shoveled packed snow into them with iron ladles, and set them over the still-roaring fires. The snow melted quickly.

In such bitterly cold midwinter weather — especially here in the mountain valleys of the northern frontier where the climate was even more severe — the boiling water, once poured, would freeze into sheets of ice in no time. That was Li Chi’s intent: to turn the ground outside this border pass into a landscape of ice.

Below the wall, the Heiwu soldiers screamed and howled. Some, scalded by the water, fell straight off the siege ladders. Those who reached up to wipe their faces found the skin of their cheeks coming away in their hands. Those who grabbed at the fallen to haul them up found that when they let go, the entire skin of their palms and the backs of their hands had been stripped off with the grip.

When the spiked boards were hauled up, sometimes corpses came with them, skulls impaled on the iron points, the bodies swaying as the boards rose. The dead stared upward with rolled-back eyes, as if trying to see what was lodged inside their own heads.

The assault continued for a full hour before the Heiwu forces, having left enormous piles of dead behind, had no choice but to fall back. The moment the Heiwu retreat horn sounded, every man on the wall broke into cheers. They looked to Li Chi — every one of them, no matter their age, no longer holding even a trace of doubt in their eyes when they looked at him. Only admiration, and trust.

Li Chi felt the weight of that trust in their gazes. He clasped his fists together and swept a salute around the full circle of soldiers, then bowed.

He straightened and said loudly, “Bring in the wooden planks from outside the wall. Pull out every usable arrow and set it aside. Replace the planks. Check and repair the spiked boards. The Heiwu forces will come again. We have no time to celebrate.”

“Yes, sir!”

Every man answered as one.

At one end of the wall, Xiahou Zuo, who had slipped up quietly to watch, smiled like a proud and satisfied elder. He trusted Li Chi. He had known Li Chi could fight this battle well. He had simply been unwilling to leave Li Chi’s safety unguarded.

On the other side, Zhuang Wudi finally let himself relax and breathed out a long, long breath.

As everyone else cheered, Xiahou Zuo slipped quietly off the wall and returned to his quarters. He threw himself spread-eagle onto the heated bed, and for no reason he could quite name, his face broke into a wide grin.

The feeling was something like a leopard mother watching the cub she had raised finally make its first solo kill. Or a sow watching her little piglet finally figure out how to root for cabbages on its own.

Old and gratified.

—