Li Shangong and Cao Lie exchanged a glance. Cao Lie was thinking: *the immortal you mentioned is him?* Li Shangong was thinking: *you may have misunderstood me.*

The exchange in their eyes was brief but clear.

“The immortal I spoke of is not the General Yu she mentioned.”

Li Shangong said quite earnestly: “I once studied under that immortal. Everything I’ve learned and gained amounts to perhaps one ten-thousandth of what he knows. If you were to meet him…”

Cao Lie sighed: “Would I learn how to raise pigs?”

The moment the words left his mouth, Cao Lie assumed Li Shangong would feel at least a touch of embarrassment. But Li Shangong felt none whatsoever.

“No,” Li Shangong said. “Pig-raising is the hardest. You probably wouldn’t be able to learn it.”

Cao Lie was momentarily stunned.

This man had delivered the words “pig-raising is the hardest” with such grave sincerity — and had managed to look down on him in the process — which only stirred Cao Lie’s competitive instincts.

“We leave tomorrow to find him.”

Cao Lie said: “I’d like to see just how difficult this pig-raising can be.”

The young ladies nearby had probably assumed the two of them were figures of some celestial stature — spending the most money, in the most refined of establishments — and yet here they were, discussing the business of raising pigs.

And intending to go and learn it, no less.

“You still won’t learn it well even if you go tomorrow.”

Li Shangong remained just as solemn: “I learned quite a bit from the master. Everything he wished to teach me, I managed to grasp to some degree. Pig-raising alone truly defeated me. The terminology the master used was cryptic and abstruse — listening to it was like trying to read a celestial text.”

Cao Lie drew a deep breath: “You have succeeded in rousing my curiosity.”

Li Shangong said: “You have no idea how difficult pig-raising truly is.”

Cao Lie said: “We set out first thing tomorrow morning. If I can’t find the man, I will not return to Jiangnan.”

Li Shangong said: “That is your own choice, to charge headfirst into hardship.”

The group of young ladies listening to their exchange felt that there ought to be some measure of refinement to it — for these two men, whether in dress, appearance, bearing, or demeanor, were plainly the sort of people who possessed refinement. And yet the conversation left them feeling rather unsettled.

One of the young ladies suddenly understood something. She leaned close to another and lowered her voice: “Try replacing ‘pig-raising’ with ‘sword practice’ — I’d wager they’re speaking in code.”

Men of their standing, and no one would even believe them when they said *pig-raising*.

The young lady mentally replayed the earlier exchange and substituted the term throughout. And sure enough — it immediately took on a far more elevated air.

The very next morning, Cao Lie and Li Shangong both rose at the same hour, packed their things, and departed from Jizhou.

Even Cao Lie’s trusted personal guard, Chang Ju Ding, could not make sense of it. What on earth had gotten into their young master?

He could not understand it, because he did not understand Cao Lie’s state of mind.

At this moment, Cao Lie desperately needed a reason to step away for a time — to let his mind settle, to forget certain things, and to think others through clearly.

Whether that reason was pig-raising or anything else — raising chickens, ducks, or crocodiles — any pretext would do. Whatever excuse served.

Cao Lie simply wanted to escape for a while.

—

At the same time, at Dragon’s Head Pass.

After finishing breakfast, Li Chi stretched and moved about, and found himself marveling once again at how much colder it was here than in Jizhou.

Jizhou’s cold was a dry cold — and the temperature was somewhat higher than here. Dragon’s Head Pass was not only colder with stronger winds, it also carried a dampness in the air.

Likely because the distance to the Eastern Sea was not far, the extreme cold combined with that moisture made it feel as though a blade were scraping across one’s very bones.

Heading further northeast into Yanzhou, that dampness would become less pronounced.

But Yanzhou’s winters were even colder than Dragon’s Head Pass. Here, it scraped the bone. In the coldest parts of Yanzhou, the bone itself froze solid, then was knocked apart piece by piece until it shattered.

Fortunately, the weather had little meaningful impact on operations, as there had been no military engagements for the past month.

Li Chi had been at Dragon’s Head Pass for over two months now. When the Qingzhou rebel forces arrived at the pass, they had intended to mount a full assault — only to discover that the garrison here was far more numerous than anticipated, and already in tight battle formation.

After the long and exhausting march, and having seized precious little in the way of food and provisions along the route, these weary troops would have poor odds forcing a fight against a rested and ready garrison.

Gan Daode had tried every means available to contact the Shanhai Army outside the pass, and through those efforts finally learned the news: the Shanhai Army had been decisively routed and scattered.

Then what exactly had they marched thousands of li to accomplish?

To court loneliness?

After roughly a month of deadlock outside Dragon’s Head Pass, the “reinforcements” Li Chi had arranged to summon arrived as well. In appearance at least, they were impressively overwhelming. Whether or not they could actually fight was another matter entirely — as long as they could intimidate, they had served their purpose.

With Dragon’s Head Pass holding firm, Ning Army reinforcements arriving, and the Shanhai Army already in collapse, Gan Daode understood there was nothing left to be gained by staying, and had no choice but to withdraw.

Li Chi’s side did not dare press the pursuit too aggressively either. After all, the bulk of his formidable-looking force consisted of ordinary civilians. If the Qingzhou army were backed into a corner and chose to fight to the death, the outcome would be worse than not pursuing at all. So Li Chi simply issued the order to give chase halfheartedly, and then turned back.

It had been over a month since the Qingzhou army’s withdrawal. Concerned they might return, Li Chi had stayed on an extra stretch — which meant they would have no way of returning to Jizhou for the New Year.

After moving about for a while, his joints and muscles all seemed to crack and loosen. His crumpled, stiff body felt considerably better for it.

Li Chi returned to his quarters and glanced up to see the small wooden chest sitting on the table. His thoughts immediately turned to Cao Lie.

That chest had been a parting gift from Cao Lie before he left. Inside were a considerable number of scrolled records and documents, along with a letter written in Cao Lie’s own hand.

The letter was not particularly long — roughly a thousand characters in all. Summarized, its overall meaning was: *I’m not playing with you anymore. Go play on your own.*

Li Chi had read the letter three times now. Each time, the feelings it stirred in him were somewhat different.

Just then, Yu Jiuling came in from outside, rubbing his hands together as he spoke: “The scouts have sent word back. The Qingzhou rebel forces have crossed the river. They took heavy losses this time — they shouldn’t come looking for trouble again anytime soon.”

Li Chi made a sound of acknowledgment and pointed toward the steamed buns warming on the brazier. Yu Jiuling’s face immediately broke into a wide grin.

He hadn’t eaten yet this morning, and the aroma of toasted buns drifting into his nostrils set his stomach rumbling at once.

Li Chi said: “There’s pickled vegetables and fermented tofu on the table, plus two salt-cured duck eggs. Have one — leave the other for your elder brother.”

Yu Jiuling chuckled to himself and crouched by the brazier to eat his breakfast.

In winter, provisions were lean. There was enough grain, but fine things to eat were scarce. Salt-cured duck eggs were already a rare luxury. There were two on the table, and Yu Jiuling understood that Li Chi hadn’t eaten them and left them aside on purpose — not that Li Chi had simply finished his meal and left them behind.

He suddenly remembered something. Turning to look at Li Chi: “There’s been some rumor going around the camp recently. Doesn’t seem good.”

Li Chi asked: “What rumor?”

Yu Jiuling said: “Someone told me that the soldiers in camp have been talking about something lately, for reasons no one quite understands. They’re saying…”

Yu Jiuling clearly hesitated. From his expression, he seemed to even regret having brought it up at all.

Li Chi glanced at him: “Is it serious?”

Yu Jiuling said: “It’s just… it’s just that people are saying Old Tang may have developed other intentions out there. Otherwise, why hasn’t he led his troops back from Yuzhou after all this time?”

The moment Li Chi heard this, his expression shifted immediately.

“How many people are spreading it?”

Li Chi asked.

Yu Jiuling said: “I only just caught wind of it myself. Whether a lot of people have been passing these words around — that still needs to be looked into carefully.”

Li Chi made a sound of acknowledgment, a chill creeping into his tone: “Then go look into it.”

Yu Jiuling could see that Li Chi’s expression had turned strange. He hadn’t expected Li Chi to be this angry.

“Once you find out — the first person who said it — whoever it is, have them put to death.”

Li Chi said this and returned his gaze to the documents on the table. The words jolted Yu Jiuling.

“Putting them to death — isn’t that… a bit severe?”

Yu Jiuling asked.

Li Chi didn’t look up: “This time, only one person dies. Next time, everyone who has said it dies.”

It was the first time Li Chi had handed down a punishment this severe to anyone under his command. And Yu Jiuling could see it clearly: if there truly was a next time, Li Chi’s response would be far, far harsher still.

“Skip the step of warning them not to talk recklessly. Tell them the consequence directly — that’s the kinder thing for them.”

Li Chi said: “When talk like this spreads, you know what it means.”

Yu Jiuling made a sound of acknowledgment: “I know.”

After a moment of silence, Li Chi added one more word: “In public.”

—

At the same time, in Yuzhou, at Jiuxian Ford.

This was the largest crossing along this stretch of the Cangyun River. Beyond it, heading south, lay the territory of Jingzhou.

And at this very moment, Tang Pidi stood at the ford gazing at the far bank. Yang Xuanji, the self-proclaimed King of Heaven’s Mandate, was on the other side of the river.

Two months earlier, Chu Ping, a senior general under Yang Xuanji, had suddenly led his forces across the Cangyun River — one hundred and fifty thousand troops, driving hard at Yuzhou.

Tang Pidi understood: this was Yang Xuanji’s signal that he intended to march on Jingzhou.

Yang Xuanji’s greatest enemy was not the imperial court’s army in Jingzhou — it was Tang Pidi, positioned on his flank.

By suddenly ordering his general to cross the river, Yang Xuanji was trying to pin Tang Pidi north of the Cangyun, keeping the Ning Army from dragging him down.

Tang Pidi led forty thousand troops out of Yuzhou City. After over a month of marching, he arrived here and engaged Chu Ping. In the month that followed, they fought twelve engagements — Chu Ping lost all twelve.

Across those twelve brutal battles, forty thousand Ning Army soldiers had been chasing the Heavenly Mandate Army.

It had begun with Chu Ping provoking a fight and then finding himself beaten — fewer men beating more, at that.

Forced into a humiliating retreat, Chu Ping fled back to the Cangyun River having lost over seventy thousand men. Upon his return, Yang Xuanji had him publicly punished — a full thirty strokes of the military rod. That he survived was genuinely a matter of good fortune.

Yang Xuanji had already, in those two months, taken two major cities in Jingzhou. But because of Chu Ping’s defeat, he had been forced to withdraw and establish a defensive line along the Cangyun.

He might not believe that Tang Pidi’s mere thirty to forty thousand troops would dare cross the river and give battle. But he could not afford not to guard against it.

That was the pressure Tang Pidi imposed on his enemies.

You might not believe it — but you did not dare leave it unguarded.

“General…”

The young Ning Army commander Gao Zhen stood beside Tang Pidi, a trace of worry in his voice: “Are we truly not returning to Jizhou?”

Tang Pidi’s answer was simple and direct: “We are not.”

Gao Zhen said: “At Jizhou, the fighting was fierce, and the Ning King was beset on all sides. If we don’t go back, the Ning King will have no reinforcements…”

Tang Pidi said: “The distance is immense. Going back would be of little use, and would only hand Yang Xuanji the chance to take Yuzhou in one stroke while we’re gone.”

Gao Zhen asked quietly: “But, General — aren’t you worried about the Ning King?”

Tang Pidi answered: “I am not.”

Gao Zhen found it difficult to understand: “But with the situation as it is, how could you not be worried…”

Tang Pidi asked: “If it were not the Ning King in Jizhou, but me — facing the same circumstances the Ning King faces — do you think I could manage?”

Gao Zhen considered carefully, then nodded: “You could, General.”

Tang Pidi said: “Then what are you worried about?”

He looked into the distance, his tone unhurried: “Whatever I can manage, the Ning King can manage. Whatever I cannot manage, the Ning King can manage as well… Someone once asked me to my face why I was willing to serve as a subject under the Ning King. Do you know what I said?”

Gao Zhen shook his head: “I do not know how the General answered.”

Tang Pidi said: “I didn’t answer. I killed him.”

Gao Zhen was taken aback.

Tang Pidi said: “All who harbor such thoughts die.”

He glanced at Gao Zhen: “What you are truly worried about is this: that given the present situation, my failure to return to Jizhou might give some petty person the opportunity to stir up trouble beside the Ning King — am I right?”

Gao Zhen made a sound of acknowledgment: “I am indeed worried that… some small-minded person might take the chance to cause mischief.”

Tang Pidi looked ahead into the distance, still unhurried: “The ones I can kill — the Ning King can kill even more.”

After saying this, he paused for a moment, and then gave a faint smile.

“When it comes to killing for my sake — he can do it without hesitation.”

—