Anyang City.

Luo Jing stood on the city wall, holding a long-range spyglass, scanning the southern bank of the Nanping River.

More than ten days had passed. Prince Wu’s great army had come and gone; he had stayed his hand throughout. The old wretch was probably fit to burst with rage by now.

Thinking of how Prince Wu’s ploy to draw him out had come to nothing, Luo Jing felt a quiet satisfaction.

At this moment, the more he turned over what Li Chi had once said to him, the more sense it made.

Li Chi had told him: the one who’s anxious isn’t us — it’s Prince Wu.

Prince Wu wasn’t just eager to resolve the battle for Anyang. He was eager to resolve battles in every direction.

At that thought, Luo Jing breathed out quietly to himself.

He called the man an old wretch to his face and always talked of killing him, but he couldn’t help, in some private corner of his heart, holding Prince Wu in a measure of esteem.

If Dachu were a great building, more than half its foundations had already crumbled. It was Prince Wu who had shouldered the load, back bent under the weight, holding the structure upright and refusing to let it fall.

Luo Jing lowered the spyglass and looked out over the Nanping River — not a single vessel in sight.

Merchants, fishermen, all of them had long since read the air and fled. No one wanted to be caught in a war.

In times of chaos, what does a man want?

Just to live.

The river surface was rarely this tranquil, yet it felt desolate.

Just then, he noticed a small boat crossing from the southern bank, with three or five figures aboard.

Shortly after, the boat reached the northern shore. Those who disembarked were quickly surrounded by Youzhou soldiers.

A moment later, the Youzhou soldiers escorted the group toward Anyang City.

Anyang was a fair distance from the river — a full ten li — but the terrain in this stretch was flat and open, with excellent sightlines. Standing atop the high city walls, a spyglass afforded a clear view of the southern bank with no obstructions.

After some time, a subordinate came to report: Prince Wu, Yang Jiju, had sent men bearing a letter for Luo Jing, along with gifts.

Luo Jing thought to himself that the old schemer must be up to something again, but he was curious enough.

So he had Prince Wu’s envoys brought up, eager to see what this was about.

The envoy was a young man — from his dress, a military adjutant.

Luo Jing looked him up and down, then asked, “Who are you?”

The young man answered with cool arrogance: “I am Liu Wan, adjutant under Prince Wu’s command. By His Highness’s orders, I bring you a letter, along with gifts from the Prince.”

Luo Jing said, “Present the letter.”

A subordinate stepped forward and took the letter from Liu Wan’s hands.

Luo Jing opened it and read. Within moments, his expression darkened — clearly, his temper had been stirred.

That shift in his face gave even Luo Zhijie a start.

The gist of Prince Wu’s letter was roughly as follows:

*Luo Jing, you’re young, still a junior — and because of that, you don’t know that your father and I were actually quite close back in the day. Over the years, your father gave me no small number of gifts. Your father even said that if I was willing, he would gladly become my adopted son. So by that reckoning, you came very close to being my adopted grandson.*

*Although that arrangement never came to pass, I’ve always regarded you as an adopted grandson. You’ve come so far from home — I’ve prepared a few gifts. These gifts are the letters your father once wrote to me; you may read them and see how your father flattered me in those days.*

*There is also one other item: a piece of jade your father once gave me, which I’ve been fond of and have kept close to my person ever since. It is a talisman carved from green jade — the character for peace on the front, a prayer inscription on the back. Your father said he carved it himself, with sincerity as its worth. The prayer inscription was written from a junior addressing a senior.*

That was the letter in essence. Small wonder Luo Jing’s face had changed upon reading it.

He narrowed his eyes at Liu Wan. Liu Wan answered with a cold smile. “If you want to have me killed, give the order. If you so much as flinch, I’ll call it my loss.”

Luo Jing looked at the man’s contemptuous expression, and suddenly broke into a smile.

“Prince Wu is indeed my elder. If we count by age, he’s more than ten years older than my father — by generation, he’s not wrong.”

Luo Jing rose cheerfully, looked at Liu Wan, and said, “Prince Wu is truly ruthless, sending a young man like you here to die.”

“He must have said something to you — Liu Wan, yes? That was your name?

“He would have told you: Liu Wan, your chance of coming back from this errand is almost none. Are you afraid?

“And you would have said: This subordinate is not afraid. This subordinate’s life belongs to His Highness. I am willing to die in his service.”

He began to circle Liu Wan, one slow loop after another.

“Prince Wu would have then continued: I’m sending you in order to provoke Luo Jing into anger. If he’s goaded enough to ride out and engage me in battle, so much the better.”

“And he would have added: if he doesn’t come out, he’ll still kill you. And my troops are in poor spirits, morale is low — the news of your death reaching camp will stir up righteous fury across the army. It can be used to restore fighting spirit.”

Luo Jing stopped walking and looked at Liu Wan with a grin. “Did I get it right?”

The color had drained from Liu Wan’s face. He stared back at Luo Jing but said nothing.

Luo Jing turned cheerful, thinking: in future, whenever anything comes up, he should think it over the way Li Chi would — useful.

So he resumed his slow circling of Liu Wan, and continued.

“I can also guess: your Prince said to you, Liu Wan — if we cannot resolve this quickly, our provisions are running low, and the fighting in other places is pressing. We can’t afford to drag this out.

“He spoke to you gravely and earnestly: Liu Wan, I would like to borrow something from you. Your life.

“If that Luo Jing is provoked enough to ride out and fight, you will have died worthily. If Luo Jing doesn’t ride out and kills you instead, that too serves a purpose — our troops are wavering and their spirits are low, and the news of your death spreading through camp will kindle a shared fury and restore what fighting resolve remains.”

Luo Jing stopped again, looked at Liu Wan, and smiled. “How did I do?”

The expression on Liu Wan’s face had reached the outer limits of a man trying not to show what he felt.

Luo Jing looked at Liu Wan’s attendants. “I’ll do Prince Wu’s bidding halfway: Liu Wan stays. The rest of you go.”

Luo Jing turned to Luo Zhijie and gave a quiet order. “Go get a full case of ginseng, deer antler — whatever’s the most fortifying, fill a case of it — and send it back with them as a gift for Prince Wu.”

Then he looked at the attendants. “When you return, give Prince Wu my regards. Tell him: his grandson Luo Jing pays his respects, and wishes him long life and all good fortune.”

“As for Liu Wan,” Luo Jing said, “I’ll honor your request after a fashion. You said you didn’t fear death? Then die slowly.”

He smiled. “Prince Wu’s poisonous scheme cannot touch me. It will only be you who suffers for it.

“His Highness wants his soldiers to feel a shared fury and fighting spirit — so I’ll give him that. But killing you outright wouldn’t deliver it with enough force.”

Luo Jing called out, “Guan Feicheng.”

Guan Feicheng stepped forward immediately. “At your service.”

Luo Jing said, “On the riverbank, erect a wooden frame — tall one, at least three zhang. Strip this man and lash him to it. Make sure Prince Wu and all his men can see clearly what they’ve done to one of their own. Don’t beat him, don’t curse him, just starve him. Let’s see how many days it takes.”

With that, he waved a hand. “Send them off. Tell His Highness I’m frightened of him, I dare not fight, and I’ll be staying inside the city walls. Coming out is absolutely out of the question.”

He walked back to his seat and settled himself in, crossing one leg over the other.

Guan Feicheng shouted a command. The Youzhou soldiers outside filed in and had Liu Wan bound before he could react.

Liu Wan’s attendants were released and sent back, bearing the case of tonics that Luo Zhijie had prepared.

Within two hours, a wooden frame had been erected on the riverbank — a full three zhang high. A post stood fixed at the center, and the Youzhou soldiers bound Liu Wan securely to it.

Luo Jing climbed once more to the city wall of Anyang and raised his spyglass to look at the frame.

“Old wretch — think you can anger me into fighting?”

He murmured to himself, smiling. “Lucky for me, as I left Youzhou, just before passing through the city gate, Li Chi said… Sometimes satisfaction doesn’t have to come from the blood and exhilaration of battle.”

He exhaled slowly.

*Li Chi’s idea of satisfaction — now I understand.*

It was, in truth, more gratifying than any headlong charge into a fight.

As he watched, something lit up in his mind.

He recalled another conversation.

When they had been resupplying in Jizhou, Tang Pidi had spoken to him at length.

Tang Pidi had said: when Prince Wu’s army reaches Anyang, he will be desperate to engage quickly. He will try every means — force or enticement — to draw you out for a pitched battle.

If you refuse to come out, he’ll be reluctant to leave. A standoff will form.

Prince Wu knows your reputation as a fighter, and he’ll fear that the moment he withdraws, you’ll push your army into Yuzhou. So he won’t leave easily.

If the standoff holds, take your time and send forces out in every direction — claim every prefecture and county around Anyang, one by one.

Let him sit on the southern bank for as long as he likes. Pay him no mind. Just keep sweeping up the surrounding territory.

Prince Wu wants to draw you into attacking him — so you do the same. Lure him into attacking you. Whoever crosses the river first takes the beating.

When Luo Jing had arrived in Anyang and thrown himself into the work, he had let these instructions from Tang Pidi slip clean from his mind. He had been wholly focused on keeping his forces intact against Prince Wu’s army, afraid to detach any units.

Now, calling it back to mind, Luo Jing turned it over carefully, weighing whether Tang Pidi’s counsel could or should be followed.

He deliberated for a good while. At last, he made his decision.

He turned and ordered, “Luo Zhijie — tomorrow morning, take twenty thousand men and march them out of the city.”

Luo Zhijie at once asked, “A push against the southern bank?”

“Attack nothing.”

Luo Jing smiled. “Right under that old wretch’s eyes, I’m going to watch him watch me take every prefecture and county within reach of Anyang — and see whether he dares cross.”

Luo Zhijie nodded vigorously. “A masterstroke, Young General!”

Luo Jing almost said it was Tang Pidi’s idea — but the words reached his lips and he swallowed them back.

He smiled and said, “Don’t you go telling me I’m too impulsive and can’t keep my temper.”

Luo Zhijie felt that since arriving in Anyang, the Young General had become an entirely different person — in everything he did, he was unrecognizable from before.

An elder general who knew of it would surely feel heartened.

He had no way of knowing that all of Luo Jing’s conduct since reaching Anyang had been taught to him by Li Chi and Tang Pidi.

Luo Jing was a proud man. He would never say so.

Luo Zhijie took his orders and left to muster troops. They would ride out tomorrow and sweep the territory surrounding Anyang.

When Prince Wu saw this, he would be maddened with fury.

Luo Jing leaned against the crenelated parapet, quietly pleased — and then a flicker of something troubled him.

He thought: yes, Li Chi and Tang Pidi seemed to make sense on every count, but going forward he should perhaps be a little more careful about listening to them too readily. If it became a habit, he would grow dependent on those two, and over time he would lose his own judgment.

He struck the stone parapet with a palm.

Laughed to himself. That’s a problem for later. The business now comes first.

For a man like Luo Jing, this moment held a peculiar mixture of pleasure and something like sorrow — and the sorrow, he refused to acknowledge. It was a thin sliver of wounded pride.

Whether it was Li Chi or Tang Pidi, the precision of their thinking, the steadiness of their composure — both genuinely surpassed his.

He forced himself to stop thinking about it. He turned his mind to conquest.

The territory around Anyang — dozens of prefectures and counties, all of them prosperous. Some were almost embarrassingly wealthy.

If he brought them all under his banner, both the territory under his control and the silver and supplies at his disposal would exceed what Youzhou had to offer.

With this as his foundation, within a year he could build an army of a hundred thousand. Within two years, at least two hundred thousand.

Luo Jing breathed slowly, then looked back toward the southern bank.

“Old wretch. Wait for me.”

—