Jinzu rushed to Yongning Tongyuan Carriage House. He had expected that Li Chi and the others were probably already in hiding — yet when he saw no attendant waiting at the front gate, his heart still lurched.

It lurched because he knew: if Li Chi’s people were gone from here, then Li Chi’s preparations were already complete. And for his lord, that was anything but good news.

People sometimes find themselves in pain precisely because they cannot feel just one emotion, cannot care for just one person. Feelings subdivide with remarkable fineness — how one feels toward this person, toward that person; toward men, toward women. Even among friends, how one feels toward this one and that one will never be identical.

Someone once said there are no two identical leaves in the world. And there are no two identical feelings toward two different people.

Among friends especially — don’t question why it isn’t the same. Perhaps in some moment you never witnessed, one person poured everything they had to help another, while when the same situation arose with you, there was hesitation about whether to step in.

And yet people are born prone to keeping score — that is simply something in their nature.

Jinzu’s pain wasn’t about keeping score. It was about choosing.

Li Chi and the others were friends. Zeng Ling was his superior.

When he arrived at the carriage house and found no attendant at the door, his heart lurched once — that lurch was for Zeng Ling.

Then came relief — and that was for Li Chi and the others.

He swung down from his horse, pushed the gate open, crossed the front courtyard, and walked all the way to the rear — empty, as though the people inside had vanished into thin air just like Luo Geng’s three thousand Tiger-Leopard cavalry.

But Jinzu knew Luo Geng didn’t have that kind of ability. That disappearance too was surely Li Chi’s doing.

His inner state was already impossibly complicated — and then when he stepped into the stone pavilion in the rear courtyard and saw Li Chi sitting there, he discovered that the inner state could, in fact, grow still more complicated.

He walked toward the pavilion. Li Chi rose, and met him with a smile.

This entire carriage house had only one person left in it. As he approached, Jinzu found himself thinking: why was Li Chi still here?

The answer was almost painfully obvious. He was here for one reason: to wait for him.

In that moment Jinzu understood. The complexity wasn’t only inside himself — it was inside Li Chi as well.

Whether it was Jinzu who came today or Liu Ge, Li Chi would have been here waiting.

If neither of them had come — if it had been only Zeng Ling’s face on the other side — Li Chi would surely have already vanished with everyone else long ago.

“You even prepared tea?”

Jinzu asked with a smile.

On the stone table in the pavilion sat a warm pot of tea and several plates of pastries.

He sat down across from Li Chi, reached out, and took a piece of pastry. “I came in such a hurry I didn’t even get breakfast.”

Li Chi poured tea for him. “Eat slowly — the pastries are dry.”

Jinzu ate three pieces in quick succession, let out a long breath, and picked up his teacup, pouring it down his throat in great gulps. He set the cup down with a look of some satisfaction.

“Here to persuade me?”

He asked Li Chi.

Li Chi made a sound of acknowledgment.

Jinzu waited a moment without hearing Li Chi say anything more, then smiled. “You risked staying behind to wait for me just to say a word or two — but now that you’ve found me, you’re not saying anything. You really are something.”

Li Chi said, “You already understand. I don’t need to say it.”

Jinzu fell quiet.

After a long silence, Jinzu said, “So you stayed behind and showed your face just to let me know — you consider me a friend.”

Li Chi nodded.

Jinzu smiled. “And I consider all of you friends. Heart to heart — that’s enough.”

He rose, straightened his clothes, and noticed that flakes of pastry had fallen onto them while he ate. He pinched them up and put them in his mouth.

“Today I never came here. You and your people already flew the coop long ago.”

Jinzu looked at Li Chi. “There’s only one thing I hope for — when the enemy comes battering at Jizhou’s walls, the enemy at my back is not you.”

Li Chi finally relented and offered one last word. “Come with us.”

Jinzu smiled — perhaps glad that Li Chi had still said it in the end, because that single sentence was enough to prove that the word “friend” sometimes ranks ahead of self-interest.

“I can’t go.”

He cupped his hands to Li Chi. “Anyone who has a friend like you should count themselves fortunate. Before I came today I’d been troubled — I thought I’d be sad if I didn’t get to see you, and sadder still if I did. It seems I was wrong. The hesitation I thought was in my heart… it only lived there because I believed it would be.”

He turned and walked away, unhurried.

Without looking back, he raised a hand and gave a small wave as he went.

Li Chi stood in the pavilion and watched him go, making no move to follow. He knew that someone like Jinzu, in a moment like this, could not be persuaded to leave Zeng Ling by anyone.

Some people can only share in good fortune. Others can also share in hardship.

—

After Jinzu left the carriage house and was riding back to the Governor’s Residence, he met Liu Ge midway — Liu Ge and his soldiers were out conducting the search.

The two men looked at each other for a long moment, as though each had something to say, but neither knew how to begin.

“Heading back?”

Liu Ge asked.

Jinzu nodded. “Heading back.”

As their horses drew level, Liu Ge leaned close and said quietly, “You could have gone. You should have.”

Jinzu smiled. “Sounds like you’re not, either.”

They clasped their fists to each other, and their horses passed in opposite directions.

—

The Governor’s Residence.

Zeng Ling sat waiting for news — though he knew well enough that neither Liu Ge nor Jinzu would be bringing good news back today.

Luo Geng’s son had clearly planned his concealment for some time. If three thousand men could be found easily, why bother hiding them in the first place?

As for the carriage house — Luo Geng’s entire force had already vanished into thin air. How could Li Chi possibly still be waiting there to die?

“Report!”

An aide came running in from outside, dropped to one knee before Zeng Ling, and said, “My lord — scouts report enemy troops spotted to the southeast, less than fifty li from Jizhou City. Flying the Qingzhou Army banner.”

Zeng Ling nodded. This was no surprise. If Luo Geng’s son had disappeared, it meant the forces outside were on their way.

“Report!”

Another guard rushed in. “Scouts report: enemy forces spotted due south — numbers unknown, flying the Yuzhou Army banner.”

Zeng Ling nodded again.

Two down. It wouldn’t be long before word came that the Youzhou army was also approaching.

He rose and walked a few steps, then stopped. He stood silent for a long moment, then said, “If any of you want to leave — you can still make it, if you go now.”

None of the guards said a word.

Zeng Ling waited. Seeing them all looking back at him, he let out a slow breath and said two words.

“Thank you.”

Then he strode outside.

—

Half an hour later, on the city wall, Zeng Ling stood fully armored, looking out into the distance. The land beyond Jizhou was an open plain — you could see a long way.

He looked through his spyglass for a while, then lowered it and glanced to either side. He wasn’t sure when, but Liu Ge and Jinzu were now standing one on each side of him.

“My lord.”

Liu Ge, gazing out at the city below, said, “It’s just a battle.”

Jinzu followed with, “We’ll win this one. Because this time — we fight for ourselves.”

Zeng Ling’s heart ached. He struck the parapet with his hand and repeated Jinzu’s words.

“This time, we fight for ourselves.”

—

The Underground Palace.

When Li Chi entered, the people waiting at the entrance sealed the passage behind him. They went down through the tunnels, and by the time they reached the palace chamber, everyone was gathered there in the great hall waiting for Li Chi to return.

“Did you try?”

Gao Xining asked Li Chi.

Li Chi nodded.

That he had tried and failed to persuade Jinzu was proof enough that Jinzu had already made his peace with sharing whatever fate awaited Zeng Ling.

“They’ll be all right — they’re both skilled fighters…”

Yu Jiuling started to say something and then couldn’t finish it. He knew as well as anyone: with tens of thousands of troops battering the walls outside and Luo Geng lurking within, this battle seemed all but certain to end in defeat for Jizhou’s army.

This was the outcome Li Chi had foreseen long ago. He had simply refused to give up, wanting to see if anything could still be salvaged.

“A game of chess?”

Li Chi said suddenly.

Tang Pidi, standing nearby, nodded. “A game of chess.”

Everyone assumed they were actually going to play chess — but the board they had in mind was a sand table.

Li Chi had built a sand table himself in the underground palace. Jizhou at the center, the surrounding terrain stretching out from it in every direction — an almost perfect replica of the land outside.

“You attack or I?” Tang Pidi asked.

Li Chi said, “You’re better at offense. I’ll hold the defense.”

“Then I’ll command the three-province army and attack the city. You defend with Jizhou’s forces.”

Tang Pidi picked up flags of three colors — one color for each province’s army — and began laying out his formations in the space outside Jizhou. Li Chi took a flag of a single color and arranged his defenses within the city.

Both of them became perfectly serious. The others instinctively gathered around to watch, not speaking, breathing quietly — and as the two men moved their pieces across the sand table, something in the air thickened. The watchers seemed to sense a real battle pressing in on them, and more than a few felt a tightening in the chest.

The engagement went on for a very long time. Yu Jiuling eventually couldn’t endure the standing and slipped away to rest, and as he left, so did others one by one — everyone had been on their feet for too long. The two men on the sand table still had not reached a conclusion.

Time passed. The cook, Auntie Wu, came to call them for the midday meal. Li Chi and Tang Pidi took no notice — their attention remained fixed entirely on the sand table.

More time passed. Auntie Wu came again to call them for the evening meal. Still the two men held their positions.

Not long after her evening call, Li Chi finally sighed and laid down his flag.

“Can’t hold it,” he said, shaking his head.

Tang Pidi said, “Playing it your way, they could hold for a month — you even neutralized Luo Geng’s surprise attack. But Zeng Ling isn’t you. At his best, Zeng Ling holds for ten days.”

Li Chi made a sound of acknowledgment, then said, “It may not even be ten days. Luo Geng will definitely make a night assault — probably the east gate.”

Tang Pidi said, “You and I can see that coming, and so can Zeng Ling. The first time Luo Geng tries to storm the gate, he probably won’t succeed.”

Li Chi said, “He’ll succeed — but it won’t be him. It’ll be his father.”

Tang Pidi paused.

“In military matters I’m no match for you,” Li Chi said, “but in reading people, you’re no match for me. What you and I and Zeng Ling can all figure out, Luo Geng can certainly figure out too. You can call Luo Geng a fool when it comes to living his life — but on the battlefield, there are few men in the world who are his equal.”

Tang Pidi thought for a moment, and understood.

He had once said: among the great commanders within the Dachu realm, Prince Wu Yang Jiju stood foremost; second was Dantai of Liangzhou; and third was Luo Geng of Youzhou.

Zeng Ling against Luo Geng — the gap was simply too great.

Li Chi said, “What I’m thinking about now is — I hope Luo Geng doesn’t get too pleased with himself.”

Tang Pidi burst out laughing. “With that temperament of his, how could he possibly not?”