By now nearly a hundred thousand people had gathered outside Jizhou City. Most of them were ordinary subjects — some had come in answer to a call, and some had come of their own accord.

This was not difficult to understand. Those who answered the call were rebel units that Prince Yu had previously pacified and taken under his banner; those who came of their own accord were refugees and wanderers.

They had no time and no energy to think about how Prince Yu’s campaign might ultimately end. They simply wanted a meal. Win or lose, they were staking their lives for a stretch of days without worrying about food. What tomorrow might look like, or the day after — for them, even thinking about it was a luxury. Surviving today was the first thing to face.

It was neither a joke, nor a thing to laugh at.

Prince Yu, for his part, was entirely unbothered that he had assembled twice what he’d planned. He needed show of force now, and the more people, the greater the spectacle. He could even run up a great banner proclaiming that these commoners had rallied to him of their own free will — that they too had hearts loyal to Dachu — and use it to demonstrate his prestige and popular support.

He didn’t care whether these soldiers could fight. If his intelligence was correct — the Crown Prince gravely wounded, the Emperor near death — perhaps his army, marching with tremendous momentum, wouldn’t need to fight at all. Perhaps the road to the capital would open before him.

Even if it came to fighting, his Jizhou regulars would be positioned at the rear. These hundred-odd thousand rebels were his expendable fodder. However many died, he felt no grief.

And moreover, messengers had returned to report that men from all over Jizhou were still streaming in to enlist, an unceasing flow. If he waited another month before marching, the force assembled at Jizhou might reach two hundred thousand — though, of course, he couldn’t wait that long.

—

At the Prince Yu estate.

Prince Yu looked at Military Governor Zeng Ling. “You’ll serve as the campaign’s general administrator — movement coordination, logistics, supply. You’re my head steward.”

Zeng Ling immediately bowed. “I’m deeply honored by Your Highness’s trust. I will do everything in my power to fulfill it.”

Prince Yu turned to Luo Jing with a smile. “I wish to appoint young General Luo as the vanguard commander for the army. Opening roads through mountains, laying bridges over rivers — if the army is a long sword, young General Luo is its point, cutting through every obstacle. I am counting on the general entirely.”

Luo Jing stood and clasped his hands. “Your Highness need not worry. Leave it to me.”

Prince Yu nodded. “Settled, then. Tomorrow, gentlemen, you will ride out with me to see the men outside the city — give them something real to eat, and paint them a dream of more.”

Everyone laughed.

Standing behind Prince Yu, the Young Lord Yang Zhuo’s face had gone as white as paper. Though he had done his best to suppress his emotions, when he heard his father assign the holding of Jizhou to Xiahou Zuo, his control broke.

That boy of base origins — how had he earned their father’s trust and misplaced love?

Jizhou was the very foundation of their father’s power, and yet their father had handed this cornerstone to that bastard. He couldn’t accept it.

He had already laid so many plans, and had gone to Zeng Ling many times, asking him to put in a good word so that he could be the one to stay in Jizhou. As long as his father rode out, he had intended to dig up every last stone until he found Xiahou Zuo’s entire family, and kill them all before his mother’s grave — an offering to her spirit in the afterlife.

But now all of it had come to nothing. When his father spoke the name Xiahou Zuo as the one to hold Jizhou, he felt as though someone had thrust a blade into his chest — and before he could react, another came from behind.

The blade from the front had been his father’s. He was the Young Lord — he was the future heir to the prince’s seat and eventually the throne — yet his father had no faith in him at all.

The blade from behind had been Zeng Ling’s. Zeng Ling had promised him. When Yang Zhuo asked, Zeng Ling had said not to worry, that he would make sure this was handled. And yet right now? He hadn’t lifted a finger.

It was true — he had deceived the Xu family. His father had never approved him as a campaign supervisor; with the prince himself leading the southern march, where would there be room for a Young Lord to serve as supervisor? His greatest wish had still been to stay in Jizhou, because only in Jizhou could he kill all the people he wanted dead. He had even allowed himself to think — if his father’s campaign went badly, and he was still here in Jizhou, with or without his father, he might still carve out a domain for himself as one lord among several.

He was a ruthless man — just not a particularly capable one. He had deceived the Xu family, and not thought that Military Governor Zeng Ling would deceive him.

The young men the Xu family had assigned to him, he had indeed recommended to Zeng Ling, and they were indeed placed in the Jizhou army — but there were no officer positions to speak of.

At this moment Yang Zhuo had only one thought: no one else could be relied upon. Only himself.

“Father…”

Yang Zhuo looked at his father’s back, then at the faces all around him, lit up with smiles. He couldn’t stand to stay another moment.

He put on an expression of guilt mixed with suffering. “Your son is feeling… rather unwell. I beg Father’s permission to withdraw first.”

“Go then.”

Prince Yu glanced at him. “If you’re unwell, call the medical officer. Get some rest. Tomorrow ride out with me to the troops — walk among them. And — didn’t you want to command an army? There are over a hundred thousand men outside the city. I’ll give you ten thousand. You’ll be their commanding officer.”

Yang Zhuo hastily gave his thanks. What was this — consolation?

But it was consolation, of a sort. Even if the ten thousand given to him were the ragtag mob from outside the walls, at least it was something to show the Xu family. At worst, he could simply take back the men he’d placed under Zeng Ling.

He backed out of the study, and once outside let out a long breath. Then he gave his orders to the men waiting nearby: “Prepare the carriage. Take me to Twin Phoenix House. Send word to the Xu family — ask their people to meet me there.”

—

Half an hour later, at Twin Phoenix House.

Young Lord Yang Zhuo looked across at Xu Yuanqing, whose face showed an expression of genuine contrition.

“This failure can’t all be laid at your door,” Yang Zhuo said. “Who could have predicted Li Chi would have so many allies? Chen Fenglei came back and told me everything. I know you did your best.”

At that, Xu Yuanqing glanced at the man standing behind the Young Lord — the one called Chen Fenglei. He kept his face neutral, but in his mind he had already cursed this man’s ancestors back eight generations.

Imagine: the man the Young Lord had personally selected had run the moment fighting broke out — ran faster than a rabbit. He’d fled while the outcome was still uncertain, probably crouched somewhere in the shadows watching, and when things looked bad had truly, definitively run.

And this man had earned a place of trust at the Young Lord’s side?

Chen Fenglei, of course, knew exactly what Xu Yuanqing must be thinking. He’s probably cursed my eight generations of ancestors by now, he thought. Well, let him curse. He can die if he likes. I have no wish to.

He felt his own share of grievance, truth be told — he’d been dragged into this for no clear reason, with no way to refuse.

The one the Young Lord ultimately wanted dead was Xiahou Zuo. And Xiahou Zuo was also the prince’s son. Whichever of them killed the other, the prince wouldn’t do much about it — if the Young Lord killed Xiahou Zuo, the prince might scold him and let it pass; if Xiahou Zuo killed the Young Lord, probably the same.

And him? The prince would take him apart piece by piece.

Of course he dodged.

Xu Yuanqing clasped his hands toward Chen Fenglei and said, “Many thanks to Advisor Chen for giving the Young Lord an honest account.”

Chen Fenglei returned the gesture. “Please, there’s no need, Mister Xu. Serving as His Highness’s personal attendant, it is naturally my duty to report what I witnessed faithfully.”

Yang Zhuo waved his hand. “Defeat is common in war. Missing once doesn’t mean we’ll miss again…” He looked at Xu Yuanqing. “But the time left to us isn’t much. The time left to Mister Xu isn’t much either. My father is on the verge of marching, and has already confirmed that Xiahou Zuo will hold Jizhou. Mister Xu — you know the nature of the relationship between Xiahou Zuo and Li Chi. With Xiahou Zuo as the holder of Jizhou, the Xu family…”

Xu Yuanqing’s face shifted.

Yang Zhuo smiled. “My situation is manageable. My father has already given me the promised army command. But you — you can hardly let those young men from the Xu family become the last remaining heirs of a broken house.”

He paused and looked at Xu Yuanqing’s expression before continuing. “In seven days, my father will march south. The auspicious date has already been chosen. That gives us seven days before Xiahou Zuo begins to settle scores. Count the days left, Mister Xu.”

He let that sit for a moment, then went on. “My position is still livable — my father has already given me command of an army, and I’ll be a commanding officer rather than a supervisor. The men you provided will be taken care of. But you, Mister Xu, can hardly afford to let those young men become one of the last few heirs of the Xu family.”

Xu Yuanqing said, “Does he truly dare destroy the Xu family?”

“Destroy the Xu family? Perhaps not.”

Yang Zhuo resumed his habit of tapping the table lightly with his fingertips — perhaps he felt it lent a sense of pressure to his words.

“But has Mister Xu considered this: what if Xiahou Zuo, using his authority as Jizhou’s holder, promotes Li Chi, and then leans on the Xu family to hand you over? When forced to choose between preserving the family and protecting you — the Old Master would hand you over without a moment’s hesitation. Whether alive or dead, he would hand you over.”

Xu Yuanqing’s expression had grown increasingly grim, because he knew that for all the Young Lord’s lack of talent, what he said this time was accurate. If Xiahou Zuo applied pressure to the Xu family, the Old Master had a ninety percent chance of delivering him up — whether as a living man or a corpse, deliver him he would.

Yang Zhuo said, “Fortunately, we have seven days. In those seven days I will go to my army and select some men. Mister Xu, you are surely not limited to the strength you’ve shown so far. Within seven days, we kill Xiahou Zuo and Li Chi, and I’ll go to my father and request to stay in Jizhou. At that point, Mister Xu, you will be the civilian administrator of Jizhou Prefecture.”

Xu Yuanqing fell silent, forcing himself to think clearly.

“Only seven days.”

Yang Zhuo’s fingers came down hard on the table.

“Very well.”

Xu Yuanqing looked up at Yang Zhuo. “Then I will act on the Young Lord’s instructions and do my best.”

Yang Zhuo smiled. “This isn’t just for me. It’s for yourself, and for the Xu family. If I can hold Jizhou, it’s worth far more than commanding one army. With me here — the Xu family holds power in Jizhou City.”

He leaned back and said, “And in fact — why stop at Jizhou City alone? The entire northern territory, all of Jizhou’s jurisdiction — would be ours to command.”

Xu Yuanqing gave a low sound of assent. He was quiet for a moment, then turned and told the men around him, “Send for Miss Gongshu and the people she brought.”

His subordinates answered immediately and went out. A moment later, Gongshu Yingying entered with two men, paying their respects to Yang Zhuo.

When Yang Zhuo saw Gongshu Yingying, his eyes lit up. Her face was half-covered by a veil, with only her features above the nose visible — but he was quite certain she was a woman of remarkable beauty. He became briefly distracted, and missed whatever it was she said to him.

“Your Highness.”

Gongshu Yingying said, “These are the two assistants I have brought: Chen Dawei and Gang Gang.”

Yang Zhuo had been too occupied looking at Gongshu Yingying to take in more than the sounds. He nodded carelessly and said, “Chen Da, and Wei Gang-gang, was it? You two look every bit the heroes.”

The two men looked at each other. They both thought roughly the same thing: What exactly is this Young Lord?

Nothing much at all.

—