On the bank of the Xiaoqing River, Li Chi — covered in the blood of battle — strode up to one of the prisoners kneeling at the water’s edge. The man knelt on both knees, trembling uncontrollably.

Li Chi stopped and looked down at the man. After a moment, he turned his head toward Liu Ge. He said nothing, but Liu Ge immediately spoke: “When this man was captured, he kept calling out that he was the son of the White Mountain bandit paramount chief Lao Suize, a man named Lao Yi.”

Li Chi gave a nod, then looked back at Lao Yi.

Lao Yi knelt there, his voice shaking. “This whole affair was a misunderstanding from the very start — you want to blame anyone, blame that Luo Geng…”

Li Chi extended his hand.

Liu Ge drew his saber and passed it over. Li Chi took it and walked around behind Lao Yi. He gripped the service saber in both hands, swung it in a level arc — and a head fell.

Li Chi returned the saber to Liu Ge, looked at the body, and said: “I did not ask you to explain.”

He raised his eyes to survey the scene: the entire riverbank was covered in kneeling White Mountain Army prisoners, packed so dense they seemed to stretch to the horizon.

Tang Pidi came over, looked first at Li Chi’s expression, then asked quietly: “There are somewhat over ten thousand prisoners. What is to be done with them?”

Li Chi answered plainly: “I made myself clear before the battle began.”

Tang Pidi nodded, turned, and called out: “Kill!”

The Ning Army soldiers, savage and bristling, drew their blades and moved through the kneeling men, cutting down one after another. Some prisoners struggled to their feet and threw themselves into the river, swept away by the current.

The entire eastern bank became a scene of slaughter, heads falling one by one. The blood pooled into rivulets and ran into the river water. The Xiaoqing River ran clear no more.

“Keep the heads!”

Li Chi called out loudly. “Starting today, military merit is counted by heads. Those who worry they will forget which are theirs — tie the heads you cut to your own belts!”

The Ning Army soldiers, each drenched in blood, answered together in one voice.

“Huo!”

They picked up the heads, knotted the hair through their own belts. Every man wore several heads at his waist.

“After this battle, enemy skulls will not frighten our soldiers. They will treat enemy skulls as ledgers of their own valor.”

Li Chi raised a hand and wiped the blood from his face. He turned and walked toward the horses, calling out as he went: “Dispose of the bodies. Bring the heads — we ride back to the stronghold!”

The Ning Army soldiers disposed of the bodies where they stood — burying some, pushing others into the river. Blood was everywhere. The air was thick with the smell of iron.

The bodies in the river were too numerous, dammed up at stretches, and no one could say how long before the current would carry them all out of sight.

The column formed up and set out, the Ning Army soldiers bearing heads at their belts, each man carrying a shade of ferocity he had not worn before — every one of them looked like a blood-hungry demon.

The column began to march, moving toward the charred ruins of the stronghold.

Di Chun, who had already fled some distance, stood on high ground and watched. He had seen several thousand Ning Army troops butcher more than forty thousand White Mountain soldiers until the ground was carpeted with the dead.

Strike the enemy when half have crossed — a man capable of such tactics is no ordinary man.

He also watched as the Ning Army soldiers severed the heads of every single prisoner, then hung those heads from their own belts.

It was the first time in Di Chun’s life he had seen such a thing. Even with his years of battle behind him, cold dread crept up his spine, one wave after another.

“The soldiers trained by that man are not soldiers. They are a pack of wolves and tigers.”

When Di Chun thought of the enemy the White Mountain Army had provoked, and of how in some future campaign they might face such an enemy again on another field, the chill at his back only deepened.

It was like being plunged through into a frozen lake — where any movement might mean a sharp edge of ice driving into flesh.

“General…”

A Cleaver Battalion officer said, his voice shaken with dread: “The Young Chief is dead. If someone has escaped to tell the paramount chief, then we…”

Di Chun steadied himself and replied: “Lao Yi went looking for his own death. I counseled him many times and he refused to listen… But even if we return and I give the paramount chief a truthful account, he will never believe me. You are all my men — if he means to kill me, he will kill you all alongside me…”

Di Chun paused for a moment, then spoke as if having made a great and final decision. He raised his voice: “Then we simply will not go back to the paramount chief. Follow me to Yanzhou — to our own home. In the land we know, with blades and spears and brothers beside us, we will carve out something of our own!”

In truth, from the moment he had led the Cleaver Battalion off the battlefield, he had already been turning this over in his mind.

Had he committed the Cleaver Battalion to a fight to the death, he did not believe Li Chi would have won so cleanly — but he had not wanted to.

The Lao Suize who had used him and then tried to kick him aside filled him with contempt and cold rage.

Without him, the White Mountain Army would never have reached the strength it held today. Yet once the force had grown, Lao Suize had turned to thinking about how to be rid of him — held back only by a lingering reluctance.

He had seized back half of the Cleaver Battalion that Di Chun had poured himself into training, and demoted him from Grand Marshal commanding the full army to something not unlike a subordinate.

A grievance like that — when Di Chun finally had his chance, how could he not release it?

He had used Yanshan Camp’s hand to kill Lao Yi deliberately. Only then did the suffocating weight pressing on his chest ease by a measure.

“Follow me to Yanzhou! We will cut a path and build something of our own!”

Di Chun bellowed.

Five thousand Cleaver Battalion soldiers surged in answer, one cry after another.

—

Yanshan Camp.

Li Chi led the column back to find a scene of ruin in every direction.

Bodies everywhere — many already charred to black. The stronghold had been reduced to ashes, the granary and stores all burned away.

The place that Yu Chaozong had poured years of himself into — it was truly gone now. Even if everyone wanted to rebuild Yanshan Camp from the ground up, how difficult would that be?

Without provisions, in the lean season between harvests, how to feed the men — that had become the most pressing problem of all.

“Pile the heads up!”

At Li Chi’s order, the Ning Army soldiers mounded the enemy skulls they had carried back. The pile grew quickly into a small hill.

Li Chi walked to an earthen grave mound. In front of it stood a wooden board, carved with the words: Tomb of Heavenly King Yu Chaozong. It had clearly been placed by the White Mountain Army.

Li Chi knelt before the grave and pressed his forehead to the ground in a deep kowtow.

All the Ning Army soldiers dropped to one knee, raised their fists in salute toward the mound.

“Elder Brother…”

Li Chi knelt there, his voice low and heavy. “Only now do I understand that you were right… This world is full of ravening wolves. You said, even if you never went looking for trouble with those wolves, the wolves would still be thinking of how to devour you.”

“No one can share a life with a wolf. A man thinks that if he only gives way, there can be peace. But a wolf only wants the blood and flesh of men.”

“I once thought that killing was not the only way to achieve what I wanted. But now I see: without killing, the wolves have no fear. And even a wolf that fears is still a wolf. Killing them all — that is the only answer.”

He pressed his forehead to the ground again.

“Elder Brother, I bring back tens of thousands of heads to offer at your grave, and at the grave of all our fallen brothers. But it is not enough… I will go and bring back Lao Suize’s head as well, to set before your mound.”

With those words, Li Chi rose.

He turned to Tang Pidi and said: “Tell the brothers: first, search carefully — every fallen brother’s remains must be found and buried. Second, see whether any grain or supplies can still be salvaged.”

Tang Pidi acknowledged the order, walked to Li Chi, and laid a hand lightly on his shoulder. The two men passed each other, and Tang Pidi spoke four words quietly in Li Chi’s ear.

“Grieve, and grow stronger.”

Li Chi nodded firmly: “I know.”

—

Ten days later.

The Yanzhou Army had been battering at Jizhou for many days without breaking through, and Military Commissioner Zhou Shiren could not make sense of it.

The garrison troops inside the city were largely surrendered men from the former Yuzhou Army — their loyalty to Military Commissioner Pan Nuo should have been tenuous at best.

So why, after this many days of heavy assault, did the garrison troops’ morale remain so high? They showed not even the faintest fear of the city falling and their own deaths.

Twenty-odd days of sustained assault, yet Jizhou City held like iron. Something was not right.

Zhou Shiren had no choice but to suspect: was the force inside Jizhou really just those few tens of thousands of old, weak, and depleted troops?

Nearly a month of siege, and the Yanzhou Army’s provisions were already running low — three to five days left at most.

If Jizhou did not fall, and with its garrison’s morale still intact, his Yanzhou Army’s morale would soon crumble.

And so Zhou Shiren took the field himself to rally his men, personally beating the war drum to drive them forward. On a day in the fifth month, the Yanzhou Army launched another all-out assault on Jizhou City.

Zhou Shiren could wait no longer — had no way left to wait — so he staked everything on this, like a gambler throwing down his last coin.

The Yanzhou Army attacked from all four sides of Jizhou, blood running all day, and before nightfall, they finally broke through one of the city gates.

That night, the Yanzhou Army pressed on — but in the deep darkness, the White Mountain Army’s forces under Lao Suize suddenly arrived and seized them from the rear, sinking their teeth in hard.

The Yanzhou Army descended into chaos. By the time night ended, an uncountable number had been killed, an uncountable number had fled. Of a force some hundred thousand strong, by dawn the column had dissolved entirely.

The White Mountain Army, still exhilarated from their night of fighting, reveled in their defeat of such a large and formal military force — a victory unlike any before.

But before they had finished celebrating, Luo Geng led his forces and fell on them from behind. What appeared at first to be a supply convoy was suddenly turned against them in a violent ambush.

The Youzhou Army used the grain wagons as barriers against the cavalry, then, while the White Mountain Army was still drunk on the joy of defeating the Yanzhou Army, the Youzhou iron cavalry came thundering through their lines.

Another full day and night of fighting.

The Youzhou Army won a great victory. Lao Suize, paramount chief of the White Mountain Army, was pierced through the chest by Luo Jing’s lance — and then trampled to a bloody pulp by the stampede of cavalry.

The fields outside Jizhou City became a slaughterhouse — a slaughterhouse of monstrous scale. Within only a few days, hundreds of thousands of men died on that ground.

Bodies were strewn as far as the eye could see. Rivers of blood.

And then — just as Luo Geng believed he had crushed everything before him — Military Commissioner Pan Nuo of Jizhou, whom he had thought utterly spent, suddenly led his forces out of the city. And out came tens of thousands of fully capable, battle-ready troops.

Luo Geng went pale with shock. He knew he had been outmaneuvered — but it was too late.

This had been the brilliant stratagem of Prince Wu, Yang Jiju.

Prince Wu’s forces arrived from behind, and in concert with Pan Nuo striking from within, the two sides crushed the Youzhou Army between them. Even the Youzhou invincible heavy armored cavalry suffered devastating losses.

Luo Geng, furious beyond all reckoning, coughed up blood again. Luo Jing took what remained of the troops and fled in defeat. Of the Youzhou Army, seven to eight parts in ten had been destroyed. They would not recover.

In the field that day, Prince Wu had faced Luo Geng and, with just a few words, made him cough blood and fall from his horse.

Prince Wu pointed his riding crop at Luo Geng and laughed: “Luo the Dwarf — every piece of information you obtained was deliberately spread by me. The Li Xionghu of the southern frontier never raised his banner, and the Yang Xuanji of Shuzhou never marched either. I used a single false report to make you show your true face — and you, convinced of your own cleverness, arranged everything perfectly for me, then delivered yourself right to my door.”

Prince Wu understood well: the greatest hidden threat to Jizhou was not any single rebel force — it was Youzhou’s Luo Geng.

Only by destroying Luo Geng could Jizhou enjoy a prolonged period of stability. Otherwise, sooner or later Jizhou would fall back into chaos.

He had deliberately spread word across the regions north of the southern river: that Yang Xuanji of Shuzhou had led two hundred thousand troops out of the mountains, and that Prince Wu had personally moved to block him.

With enough voices repeating it, Luo Geng came to believe it as truth.

And then Prince Wu needed do nothing further — Luo Geng would arrange everything for him, seamlessly.

The Yanzhou Army’s Zhou Shiren marching into the region to strike at Jizhou was the mantis hunting the cicada. The White Mountain Army’s Lao Suize believed himself to be the sparrow waiting behind.

But Luo Geng had thought himself the true sparrow — with Zhou Shiren and Lao Suize as only two mantises.

Luo Geng could not have known: he was the third mantis. Prince Wu was the one, true sparrow.

—

Atop the walls of Jizhou City.

Pan Nuo’s face was bright with joy. He pointed north and said: “My lord, this stroke has removed several great threats at once. Pacifying the north is now only a matter of time. If we now press our advantage and take Youzhou — the north will truly be…”

His words were not yet finished when Prince Wu shook his head. “I cannot pursue Luo Geng, nor can I march on Youzhou. The north — I will have to leave it to you…”

Pan Nuo was startled. He quickly asked: “Why?”

Prince Wu was silent for a moment, then let out a long breath — his tone carrying a weight that was hard to describe. “Because it is all true… Li Xionghu has indeed declared himself king, and Yang Xuanji has indeed marched.”

He looked at Pan Nuo. “I am out of time. This is already the longest I could delay my departure. The Emperor has sent messengers for me three times already.”

The old man let out another long, slow breath. Exhaustion was written across every line of his face.

He raised his eyes to the sky. After a long silence, his voice fell very quiet. “The Emperor needs me…”

Prince Wu looked out at the corpse-strewn fields beyond the walls and pressed his hand against the parapet — hard.

“Pan Nuo, keep Jizhou safe for the Emperor. I have done everything I could here. But to the south, far greater matters wait for me. I must go now.”

—