Shi Kuan stood outside Jizhou City, lifting his gaze to the comrades and brothers on the city wall above. His arms were bound with rope, and from the earlier dragging and pulling, the bones in his arms had long since been broken — so when he pushed himself upright, he had to press his forehead against the ground to struggle up.

His face was already covered in blood and bruises, yet in this moment, he felt no fear at all.

“I am not a man of Jizhou!”

He shouted up toward the wall: “But I am willing to die for Jizhou!”

He paused briefly, then shouted again: “Is there any brother on the wall with good archery? Give me an arrow.”

“Dream on.”

The officer who had been dragging him on horseback gave a cold snort and spurred his horse forward again. The warhorse lunged ahead, yanking Shi Kuan off his feet and sending him tumbling across the ground. The officer rode hard, dragging Shi Kuan as he rolled and rolled, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

For the first time, the soldiers on the city wall found themselves desperately wanting to shoot down one of their own brothers — wanting to give him a swift release.

Arrows rained down without stop, but the rider dragged Shi Kuan back and forth just beyond the range of the wall’s archers. Plenty of arrows fell, yet not a single one found its mark.

This only made the galloping officer roar with laughter, growing crueler still, deliberately looping around to whip Shi Kuan back and forth across the ground.

Just then, General Liu Ge came rushing over. Taking in the scene, he reached out and seized a longbow, drawing it and nocking an arrow.

Liu Ge’s eyes were red as he stared out beyond the walls and loosed.

It was a three-stone bow — few ordinary soldiers could even draw it. Liu Ge’s arrow flew with deadly precision, striking the officer squarely in the back of the heart.

The officer had grown too brazen, riding back and forth just barely outside arrow range. The arrow hit true, and he tumbled from the saddle and crashed to the ground. The shot had found a vital point; his body convulsed a few times and then was still.

The warhorse slowed to a stop, moved to its master’s side, nuzzled his body with its muzzle, and let out a few mournful cries.

“Go well, brother.”

Liu Ge loosed a second arrow.

Shi Kuan, lying on the ground, eyes so swollen he could barely open them, strained with everything he had left to take one last look at Jizhou City.

Thump. An arrow drove into his chest.

Shi Kuan’s body stiffened — then slowly relaxed.

—

Outside the Youzhou army camp.

Luo Geng stood on the high bank of the river, watching the Jizhou officer die. He lowered his spyglass and stood in silence for a moment, then turned in that direction and offered a military salute.

“Through the ages, loyal and righteous men have never been in short supply — you may take their lives, but never their will.”

Luo Geng muttered this to himself, then turned and walked back into camp.

On this side of the river, Qingzhou Military Commissioner Cui Yanlai’s expression had grown even more sour. Luo Geng had simply walked away, and the slight did not sit well with him.

“Don’t let it anger you,” said Yuzhou Military Commissioner Liu Li. “Tomorrow is the fifteenth — the night of the full moon. I expect Luo Jing will move his troops inside the city at night. We can post men here to watch; if Luo Geng’s army moves tomorrow night, you and I can split forces to intercept him, then strike the east gate together with full strength. If we can take Jizhou, what does Luo Geng’s attitude matter to you?”

Cui Yanlai nodded, then asked: “You won’t go hiding your hand like Luo Geng, will you?”

Liu Li frowned. “If you don’t even trust me, then go make your alliance with Luo Geng. I’ll withdraw tomorrow and be done with it.”

Cui Yanlai laughed. “I was only speaking off the top of my head — why take it seriously?”

“If you don’t trust me,” Liu Li said evenly, “then when I break through the gate tomorrow, I’ll hold my army outside and let you take your men in first. I’ll follow after. How does that suit you?”

“Better that we enter the city at the same time,” Cui Yanlai said.

“If we’re going to keep second-guessing each other,” Liu Li said, “we might as well not fight at all.”

Cui Yanlai apologized: “I really did only mean it as a joke. It’s all because that Luo Geng provoked me.”

With enough coaxing, Liu Li’s mood finally smoothed over. The two men rode back to their respective camps with their cavalry.

—

Inside Jizhou City.

The underground chamber.

Li Chi stood before the sand table, brow faintly creased.

For the past several days, he had spent long stretches standing before it. Seeing him like this, no one dared disturb him lightly.

Tang Pidi came over from the deeper reaches of the chamber; he had gone personally to observe the movements of Luo Jing’s Tiger-Leopard Cavalry on the other side, watching for nearly half a day before returning.

When Li Chi was deep in thought, no one would casually interrupt — not even Gao Xining. Tang Pidi alone was the exception.

When Tang Pidi had something to say to Li Chi, it didn’t matter if Li Chi was lost in thought or fast asleep — he would rouse him and say it.

“It should be tomorrow.”

Tang Pidi came to stand across from Li Chi with the sand table between them.

He finished the sentence and paused a moment. Then, with a slight smile, he said: “This is the biggest scheme you’ve ever laid out. What does it feel like from inside it?”

Li Chi shook his head and sighed. “Except for our own people, I can account for everyone else.”

That one quiet sentence made Tang Pidi’s expression shift ever so slightly. Spoken so plainly, in so flat a tone — yet Tang Pidi could hear the helplessness and powerlessness beneath it.

“If our chief waits until after the battle to arrive, the fruit scattered across this ground — he can pick up whatever he likes.”

“But if he arrives before the battle is settled,” Li Chi continued, “the Yanshan Camp becomes just another piece of fruit on the ground.”

“Yu Chaozong…” Tang Pidi said the name alone, then bit back whatever came next. After a moment he said to Li Chi: “You’ve already thought it through clearly in your own mind. You simply don’t want to admit it.”

Tang Pidi looked down at the sand table and pointed: “Tomorrow, whether or not Jizhou falls, the three armies outside may well leave the field covered in corpses.”

Li Chi shook his head slightly. “Two armies.”

“Surely Luo Geng isn’t going to disregard even his own son?”

“When a battle is being fought, his son is not his son — he is a subordinate commander. That is precisely what makes him Luo Geng.”

Tang Pidi fell silent for a moment — then suddenly recalled something Li Chi had once said: You don’t match me in commanding an army; I don’t match you in reading men’s hearts.

—

At the same time, roughly two hundred li north of Jizhou City, the Yanshan Camp column had been force-marching for seven or eight days straight. The men were visibly exhausted, yet Chief Yu Chaozong had still not ordered a rest.

After this unbroken march, even the most elite troops were nearly spent.

Yanshan Camp’s co-chief Chandingyears urged Yu Chaozong: “Brother, at this pace, by the time we reach Jizhou our men won’t have the strength to fight.”

Yu Chaozong nodded. “I know. But if we slow down any further, we truly won’t need to fight at all. Less than two hundred li remain — tell the brothers to hold on a little longer.”

Chandingyears opened his mouth, then said nothing more.

The soldiers moved forward like wooden puppets, every man’s movements like those of a marionette — limbs pulled by strings, going through the motions.

—

The Jizhou army camp.

Inside the command tent, Zeng Ling swept his gaze across the assembled generals, then spoke: “Gentlemen, tomorrow’s battle concerns the survival of Jizhou — and the survival of each of you, and the survival of nearly a hundred thousand Jizhou soldiers. Win, and no one will dare trouble us in Jizhou again. Lose, and we had best hope for a good rebirth — and that we find each other as brothers in the next life.”

“Fight to the death!”

The generals’ voices rose as one.

—

The next day. The fifteenth.

When everyone woke, they noticed at once: Li Chi had not slept. He was still standing before the sand table, motionless as a post.

Just as they were hurrying over to try to coax him away, they heard a soft sound.

“Shhh…”

Everyone startled. Only then did they notice Tang Pidi sitting with his back against the far wall.

Tang Pidi made a gesture, signaling them not to disturb Li Chi. Even his expression betrayed some worry.

Perhaps it was the sound of footsteps, or perhaps it was Tang Pidi’s hushing — Li Chi turned and looked at them. In that instant, everyone let out an involuntary cry.

Li Chi’s eyes had turned completely red.

Gao Xining’s heart clenched. She stepped forward quickly — almost at the same moment, the Daoist Changmei also rushed over.

“I’m fine.”

Li Chi shook his head. He closed his eyes, as if he too knew that his eyes must look alarming.

“Internal heat rushing upward — my eyes must be hemorrhaged. Everything looks faintly reddish when I see. Send for someone from Physician Shen’s clinic in a moment and it should be fine.”

His voice was steady, but that steadiness only deepened everyone’s worry.

With his eyes still shut, Li Chi turned unerringly toward where Tang Pidi sat, and said in a low voice: “I can’t save him.”

Tang Pidi gave a single nod. “Neither can I. I worked at it half the night before giving up. You worked at it the entire night.”

“After this matter concludes,” Li Chi said, “go and pay a visit to Bo’ertiechi’na.”

Tang Pidi nodded again. “Already thought of it.”

Li Chi turned back around and stepped forward, looking more or less steady on his feet — then he pitched forward and fell.

—

Half an hour later. Outside Li Chi’s room.

Tang Pidi cradled a cup of hot tea and took a sip. A sleepless night always left a man cold, especially in the underground chamber, where the temperature was several degrees cooler than outside.

“He spent the entire night thinking of a way to save Yu Chaozong.”

Tang Pidi let out a long breath, handed the teacup to Yu Jiuling at his side, and said: “I’m going back to sleep. I worked through half the night and my head was nearly splitting — working through every possible shift the situation might take, searching among all those shifts for an opening… Looking back roughly, I figure I thought through more than forty possible changes, then tried to work out how we might exploit each one with the strength we have now. Not one of them was workable.”

He glanced at the sleeping Li Chi: “He worked through the whole night — a hundred possible scenarios at minimum. Every one turned into an impossibility. That’s why his blood surged so badly.”

Yu Jiuling asked anxiously: “And when he wakes, if he still can’t help going back to it — as long as there’s even the smallest chance, he’ll find a way to try to save Yu Chaozong.”

Everyone knew Li Chi’s temperament: for the people he cared about, for the people who cared about him, he would spare nothing.

“Knock him out.”

Those three words, and Tang Pidi was already walking away.

As he went, he called back over his shoulder: “Tonight will see something big. I don’t intend to miss it, so I’m going to sleep now.”

Gao Xining sat beside Li Chi. After listening to Tang Pidi speak, she looked at Li Chi — sleeping soundly on the bed — and her eyes were full of aching tenderness.

Li Chi had genuinely wanted to help Yu Chaozong accomplish something great, because he had genuinely believed that Yu Chaozong could be the man to turn everything around.

Yet he had exhausted every thought in his mind and found that there was nothing he could do.

In Gao Xining’s own words: Li Chi could not make decisions for others — especially not the decisions that belonged to the one at the helm.

Unless that decision-maker was Li Chi himself.

Gao Xining turned to look at Shen Rujian, who stood to one side, and asked: “Physician Shen, would it be all right to give him some medicine to sleep?”

Shen Rujian said: “How long do you want him to sleep?”

She seemed entirely composed — perhaps because she was a physician.

“Sleep for…”

Before Gao Xining could finish her thought, Shen Rujian sighed and said: “Why not let him sit up and take the medicine himself.”

The figure lying there gave a soft sigh, as if talking to himself: “Deceiving people really is not easy at all.”

Shen Rujian said: “You were feigning sleep to keep them from worrying. But to my eyes, it was as clumsy as a child telling lies. Remember — a person pretending to sleep will deliberately keep their eyes perfectly still. A person who is truly asleep — their eyes move.”

Li Chi laughed awkwardly and was just about to say something when Shen Rujian had already moved to his side. “Sit up. I’ll give you a few pills — take them and you’ll be able to sleep.”

Li Chi sat up. He opened his eyes and was just drawing breath to speak when Shen Rujian brought the edge of her palm down sharply on the back of his neck—

Li Chi fell stiffly back.

Shen Rujian gave a small shrug. “More reliable than medicine. Some people have such a strong will that medicine has no effect on them. This works on everyone.”

Gao Xining asked anxiously: “Will he be all right?”

“If he wakes up and doesn’t remember who hit him,” Shen Rujian said, “send someone to find me at once — I’ll come look at him. And while I’m at it, I’ll tell him it was Tang Pidi who did it.”

“And if he does remember?”

Shen Rujian was already walking out the door. As she went, she said: “Then put in a few good words for me.”

—