A large, long wooden tub had been filled to the brim with hot water — though the temperature had not quite reached scalding. In winter, the water would have been kept a degree or two hotter, which was when it would have been truly comfortable.

Li Chi lowered himself into the big wooden tub and felt the entire world become wonderful.

Lying in the water was like receiving the gentlest full-body massage imaginable.

All the aches and stiffness — gone in an instant.

Stretched out in the tub, Li Chi let out a breath he’d been holding far too long.

Beside the tub sat a tray. Gao Xining had declared with great confidence that she had prepared everything needed for a bath.

Gentle and romantic, she had said.

There was soap. There was a towel. And there were flower petals — these things, she said, could melt even the hardest heart.

Li Chi glanced over at the tray.

On the tray he found: Sichuan peppercorns, star anise, cinnamon bark, and dried bay leaves.

Li Chi couldn’t help it — he burst out laughing.

What do you say to having someone like this at home. Happy, wasn’t it.

He soaked for a good half-hour before climbing out, then rinsed off with a fresh pour of water and changed into a clean set of clothes from the inside out.

While dressing, he noticed — the undershirt had definitely been sewn by Gao Xining herself.

No one else could be responsible for something like this.

The inner shirt had several crooked but impossible-to-miss characters embroidered on it: *Beloved by all.*

And the inner trousers: *Flowers bloom wherever one goes.*

Li Chi’s thoughts: *I’ll bloom you.*

After bathing, he asked after the state of the battle outside the city. His man reported that General Tang had not yet returned.

Li Chi thought it over. Though he had no real concerns, he still found himself wanting to go to the walls and take a look.

When Tang Pidi had said *let’s go fight*, he hadn’t been talking about a literal brawl. Mainly it was about intimidation.

The Anyang forces, already mauled by the flood, would turn and run at the mere sight of the Ning Army’s banner.

At a time like this, Tang Pidi charging over with his troops — forget whether they could even make the crossing, they’d drown right along with the flood if they tried.

Li Chi had barely taken a few steps when he began to sneeze — several in a row.

Yu Jiuling was trailing behind him, and at each sneeze he called out a name.

One sneeze: that’s Prefect Liu Yao of Anyang thinking of you.

Another sneeze: that’s Young Lord Cao Lie of the Cao family thinking of you.

A third sneeze: I extend, on behalf of Xingshengde’s entire staff, our heartfelt salute to Li Duidui.

Li Chi looked around. Yu Jiuling gave a superior smile. “Thinking of finding a dirt clod? Guess again — I traveled all the way back from Anyang, and the first thing I did was sweep the ground.”

Li Chi: “…”

They reached Jizhou’s southern side quickly enough and climbed the walls — only to find that Tang Pidi was, in fact, actually fighting.

Through the spyglass aimed toward the Dading River, they could see countless small boats.

The flood’s peak had already passed. The water behind it was still high, but no longer carried that wall-smashing, mountain-toppling force.

Tang Pidi and his men, riding the small boats, were hunting down the Anyang soldiers still in the river channel.

Watching this, Li Chi thought back to what Tang Pidi had said just a little while ago.

*Do you think I might be someone sent down from above?*

The timing of the water release had been perfect — right as the bulk of Anyang’s forces were mid-crossing. By the time they saw the flood crest bearing down on them, there was no time to run.

No one knew how many had drowned. The rear forces, trying to mount a rescue, never had a chance.

Just then a shout rose from inside the city. Li Chi walked to the other side of the wall and looked down.

Two rotund Daoists were walking side by side toward this direction. Along both sides of the road, the common people bowed as they passed.

With unmistakable reverence — and more than a touch of fervor.

Li Chi thought to himself: Zhang Yuxu and Peng Shiqiu, those two little round fellows — they’ve actually got some ability.

Yet in a world turned upside down like this one, what was left for the people to believe in?

Then Zhang Yuxu looked up at the walls and saw Li Chi — both hands braced on the parapet, looking down at them.

Zhang Yuxu raised his hand and pointed in Li Chi’s direction, saying something to the crowd. The people turned to look.

A moment later, someone knelt and bowed in Li Chi’s direction.

It gave Li Chi a start.

More and more people knelt. This full prostration — it looked exactly like the worshiping of some mighty god capable of relieving all suffering.

By the time Zhang Yuxu and Peng Shiqiu made it up to the wall, Li Chi was already asking: “What demon arts have you two used on the people?”

Zhang Yuxu said, “It wasn’t really anything, we just…”

When Li Chi saw him hedge like that, he knew there was definitely something.

Li Chi asked again, and Zhang Yuxu finally answered in fits and starts.

From Li Chi’s perspective, what Zhang Yuxu had done was understandable — a handful of small tricks, the kind used to fool people in the jianghu.

Not long after Li Chi left Jizhou, Zhang Yuxu had sent men throughout the city to spread word: a road that had fallen into disrepair needed fixing, skilled workers wanted, generous pay.

Naturally this would draw people in. And so, while the workers were repairing the road, it was only logical that they would dig up a stone figure.

Peng Shiqiu grinned. “I carved the characters. So tell me — how did I do?”

Li Chi said, “You haven’t even told me what you carved. How would I know how you did?”

Peng Shiqiu said, “Right, I forgot… I made up the verse too. Carved on the back of the stone figure: *In an age of chaos, a sovereign of men shall rise — bearing the surname Li, in the northern lands.*”

Li Chi said, “Good grief—”

Zhang Yuxu said, “You see — I said the verse was too plain and rough, without a trace of elegance.”

Peng Shiqiu said, “Nonsense. You put in all sorts of classical phrasing, can the common people understand it? Look at these lines — the boss understood them immediately. That’s the whole point. It doesn’t matter who reads it, everyone understands right away.”

Li Chi said, “This is… a big game you’re playing.”

Zhang Yuxu said, “What we did is nothing compared to what came next. When General Tang got back and heard, he decided to play his own hand.”

Li Chi said, “What did he do?”

It turned out that when Tang Pidi returned and learned what Zhang Yuxu and Peng Shiqiu had done, his interest was immediately piqued.

He had come back this time with several dozen people from the Nalan Grasslands — exact reasons unstated, just described as coming to have a look around.

Tang Pidi enlisted these Nalan Grasslands men and had them spend days wandering through Jizhou city, asking if anyone knew a person whose name contained the character for *chi*.

Day after day they went and asked, and the people of Jizhou grew curious.

Word spread before long: something extraordinary had occurred on the grasslands.

On a pitch-black night, a massive fireball had fallen from the sky — and in an instant, night became day.

The herders of the grasslands crept close in fear, and found: an enormous stone from beyond the heavens. Several zhang tall, still burning — yet two lines of characters used by the people of the heartland could be clearly seen.

One line read: *When a fire-stone falls, a sovereign of men shall emerge.*

The other line read: *The divine armies of Emperor Chi shall sweep all eight wastelands.*

Li Chi heard this and stood silent for a moment. He sighed and said, “I think those two lines are particularly ridiculous.”

Peng Shiqiu said, “Right? I said the same thing — Old Tang’s two lines are way more ridiculous than mine.”

Li Chi said, “No one would believe something like this.”

Zhang Yuxu sighed and pointed toward the city below.

Li Chi looked down at the city again. The people hadn’t left. Still out there. Still bowing toward the wall.

This time he could hear it too — they were calling out something about the sovereign of men protecting them.

The corner of Li Chi’s mouth twitched.

He thought: if he had been down there among them, he might already be sitting on a ceremonial table as an offering. Fresh fruit and steamed buns laid before him. Three sticks of incense sending up curling smoke.

Zhang Yuxu said, “Take a look for yourself. Old Tang’s move is actually more powerful than ours… the people are all guessing now that the sovereign of men must be Li Chi.”

Peng Shiqiu said, “That’s the technique. If you just walk up and tell people outright — it probably wouldn’t work. Stand in the street and shout *I am the chosen one* — and the people’s reaction is probably: *look, another lunatic.*”

“But if you find some way to arrange it so the people figure it out themselves — that you’re Li Chi, that this Li Chi is the sovereign they’ve been waiting for — the effect is entirely different.”

Li Chi couldn’t stop himself from asking Zhang Yuxu, “How did you just come up with the name — and *sovereign of men*, of all things—”

Zhang Yuxu sighed and said, “One night, I had a dream.”

Li Chi waved a hand. “Enough. Say no more.”

He let out a long, slow breath, and called down to the people below, “All right, everyone go home now. Go about your business.”

Peng Shiqiu said, “You should say something profound and inscrutable.”

Li Chi: “Pah…”

He watched the people rise and disperse, thinking to himself: what on earth is all this.

Then he suddenly remembered he’d let something slip past him, and asked, “You said just now that Old Tang brought back quite a few Nalan Grasslands people?”

Zhang Yuxu said, “Yes, seventy or eighty of them.”

Li Chi asked, “Where are they? They’re guests — I ought to go and greet them.”

Peng Shiqiu said, “Already left. They stayed in Jizhou for seven or eight days and then departed. They seemed rather pleased when they went.”

Li Chi thought — well, he’d just have to ask Old Tang what that was about later.

Meanwhile, south of Jizhou.

The Anyang soldiers fleeing in blind panic — with no idea how far they had run — the central forces that hadn’t been caught in the flood scrambled back toward the rear, crashing into the rearguard, who also started running.

They did not dare stop. Something unseen seemed to pursue them — a demon swinging a scythe at the back of their necks.

When they finally stopped at higher ground and dared to look back, what they saw was devastation.

The water had not come after them. But their souls had fled their bodies.

The face of General Meng Kedi had gone ashen. He had gotten away only because his warhorse was fast enough and strong enough.

He had been toward the front of the procession — already nearly across — when the flood hit.

Meng Kedi had spurred his horse into a full gallop, passing over countless soldiers of his own. The degree of undignified rout was unlike anything in all his years of commanding troops.

“General.”

Ding Shengjia came up, gasping. He saw how terrible Meng Kedi’s expression was and swallowed the rest of what he’d been about to say.

Meng Kedi exhaled at length. He looked around at his soldiers collapsed on the ground — every one of them looking as though even standing was beyond them.

The sprint had wrung out the very last reserves from their bones.

“Where is Xue Chunbao?”

Meng Kedi asked.

Everyone around him looked blank.

When they were running, who had any care to spare for anyone else?

Besides, Xue Chunbao was the vanguard commander — the vanguard had been first to cross. Xue Chunbao should already be on the other side of the river.

With the flood sweeping everything away, how could Xue Chunbao have made it back?

Meng Kedi sighed. He knew — Xue Chunbao was almost certainly cut off north of the Dading River.

He looked around once more at the wreckage on all sides. It made him furious — and, unwillingly, grateful.

“It’s fortunate that Jizhou’s garrison has limited numbers. If they had enough troops — if they’d arranged even a few thousand light cavalry in ambush here ahead of time — with what little force we have left now, they could break us completely…”

His words had not finished when a piercing cry rang out.

“Enemy attack!”

Far off, a cloud of dust boiled up.

Like a sudden sandstorm erupting from the ground, it swept along the surface toward them.

Seconds later, they heard it — hoofbeats like rolling thunder.

“Cavalry!”

“It’s cavalry!”

People screamed with every breath in their bodies.

And not just cavalry — the finest cavalry.

The force was not large — only six thousand — yet they were the most battle-hardened of troops: Nalan Grasslands light cavalry.

They came like a gale — there and upon them in an instant.

At the very front of the charge was the Grand Esikhen of the Nalan Grasslands, Borte Chino.

—

At the Dading River.

On a patch of high ground, roughly a hundred or more Anyang soldiers had gathered, every face etched with despair.

And among them, Xue Chunbao’s face burned with incandescent fury.

If he could, he would storm Jizhou this very moment and kill every last person inside — leave none alive.

“Enemy forces!”

A soldier at his side shouted.

Several small boats were making their way toward them. Each carried only seven or eight men.

Xue Chunbao roared, “Die fighting — take some of them with us! Loose arrows!”

What arrows remained with his men were few — most had been dropped in the panic of flight.

The arrows flew but achieved little: blocked by shields held by the Ning soldiers at the prows.

From the high ground, Xue Chunbao’s eyes were red as he bellowed, “Who dares face me?!”

A figure leaped from the bow of a small boat. The stern kicked high out of the water as the bow launched him skyward.

Tang Pidi leveled his spear forward. Xue Chunbao’s soldiers, knowing they were going to die, let that knowledge ignite them — every one surging toward Tang Pidi with everything left in them.

Tang Pidi’s iron spear moved like a dragon rolling in clouds, each step advancing without pause. Every man who came within reach was struck dead.

Xue Chunbao’s eyes were bloody red. He raised his heavy saber in both hands, used the height of the ground to spring high, and brought the blade sweeping down from midair toward Tang Pidi.

His martial skill was nearly the equal of Ding Shengjia’s — Ding Shengjia had held back somewhat, not wishing to truly wound him. Even so, Xue Chunbao’s fighting strength remained among the top five in all of Yuzhou.

The saber fell.

Tang Pidi’s spear gave a single trembling shake. In front of him, a burst of silver light exploded outward.

A heartbeat later — a heavy thud. Xue Chunbao’s body struck the ground. The spear had pierced straight through his skull, front to back, bursting with blood on both sides.

Tang Pidi cast one glance at the fallen body, and exhaled slightly.

“I dared face you. You, as it turns out, were not up to it.”