At that moment Luo Jing’s feelings were genuinely too complicated to put into words. The shock she had given him was on par with the first time he had ever watched Tang Pidi lead troops into battle.

In the course of their brief, casual conversation, he had pieced together a rough picture of what this young woman had been up to in Yanzhou.

She had taken the remnants of the White Mountain Army and given chase to the survivors of the Mountain Sea Army. In less than three months, she had fought her way from Longtou Pass all the way to the far northeastern corner of Yanzhou.

Not to mention the fighting — just marching that distance straight would take two months.

Then this young woman had declared Yanzhou to be under Prince Ning’s governance, issued his decrees, and prepared to leave only ten thousand behind, taking everyone else with her.

She had decided there was no point in staying, so she might as well head south and have some fun.

By any normal reckoning, the proper route back was through Longtou Pass, into Jizhou, and south from there to Yuzhou.

But she didn’t want to. She found the idea dull.

She had never traveled through Qingzhou, and in life, one ought to walk unfamiliar roads, see new sights — and fight a few fights, and get a few things done.

So she brought her hundred thousand Yanzhou soldiers south, and after entering Qingzhou she cut through it like a blade through water. With Qingzhou already ravaged by internal strife, it could do nothing to stop these hundred thousand fresh troops.

The most astonishing part of her character was this: she had actually meant it about leaving only ten thousand behind in Yanzhou — split into ten detachments, conducting unceasing long-range patrols across the entire province.

She had assigned each detachment its own territory, with standing orders that any violation of the Ning laws was to be punished by immediate beheading — no room for discussion.

Before departing, Shen Shanhu had said: in Jizhou, the people lived exceptionally well because they followed Prince Ning’s governance. Yanzhou had to be run the same way. Anyone who broke that order was making an enemy of every single person in Yanzhou. Even without a patrol unit nearby, if any official was found to be corrupt, derelict, or occupying a post without serving its purpose, the people could simply go and deal with them themselves.

Now, here in Qingzhou, Luo Jing facing Shen Shanhu found himself with no choice but to consider what came next.

He looked at her, wondering what kind of spirit lay coiled deep in her bones — the spirit that had let her accomplish what the vast majority of men could not.

“Miss, you are truly remarkable,”

Luo Jing said, and meant every word of it.

But Shen Shanhu didn’t seem moved or particularly pleased. She hadn’t done any of this for someone else’s admiration.

What she thought, privately, was this: the man she had her eye on was impossibly, outrageously capable — probably the single most formidable person in the entire realm.

She wasn’t doing this to prove she was worthy of him. She simply wanted him to understand — *we are a good match*.

You lead troops — you’re the best of the men. I lead troops — I’m the best of the women. You can say we’re incompatible; fair enough. You can say my looks aren’t your type; also fair. But you cannot say I’m not your equal.

Not just you. Nobody gets to say that.

This woman’s greatest ambition in life was none other than herself.

There was no need to talk about who deserved whom. But if someone insisted on framing it that way — then it could only be: only Tang Pidi was worthy of this woman.

Of course, if someone said it the other way around — that only Shen Shanhu was worthy of Tang Pidi — she’d be just as happy to hear it.

She accepted Luo Jing’s compliment with a polite word of thanks, and nothing more — because while Luo Jing was excellent, she felt he still fell a little short.

At first Luo Jing had been thinking that if Shen Shanhu were willing, he could step in as the senior commander and sweep through the rest of Qingzhou with this fresh force — it would be child’s play.

But after thinking it over, he figured that a woman of Shen Shanhu’s character would probably refuse.

He thought about it more, and decided he should probably remove the word *probably* entirely.

So his last stand of stubborn pride was this: he would not be ordered around by Shen Shanhu.

“Let’s split up and each take our own part,”

Luo Jing said. “You follow your original plan, I’ll follow mine.”

Shen Shanhu looked a little regretful. “My original plan was to take all of Qingzhou.”

Luo Jing said, “…”

Shen Shanhu smiled. “But since General Luo is already here, let’s split it.”

Luo Jing exhaled.

Shen Shanhu said, “But I have more troops. If I finish faster than you, General Luo is probably going to find that hard to swallow. I have a hundred and ten thousand — I’ll split off fifty thousand and give them to you. No — lend them to you. You return them once Qingzhou is settled. That way it’s a fair competition.”

Luo Jing shook his head. “No need. My own forces are more than sufficient.”

Shen Shanhu said, “Is that so?”

Then she turned to her generals. “All of you stay back. I’ll take ten thousand to go fight — the rest just follow behind. No one is allowed to interfere. Anyone who treats my words like hot air — I’ll make sure they can’t pass hot air themselves for the rest of their lives. Everyone clear?”

Her assembled generals clasped their hands. “Clear!”

Luo Jing said, “…”

He had truly never encountered a woman with such a fierce competitive streak before, and for a moment was at an utter loss for words.

Shen Shanhu thought about it and felt it still wasn’t quite fair — so she issued another order: “Have fifty thousand go follow behind General Luo’s forces. Whatever his men do to cheer, chant, and shout — your fifty thousand do the same right behind them.”

Then she looked at Luo Jing. “Follow your own plan — separate operations.”

Luo Jing thought to himself: *Miss… can this really be called separate operations?*

Probably.

—

Daxing City. Shiyuan Palace.

In the eastern study, Emperor Yang Jing stood at the window looking out. The season was just right — the flowers beyond the glass swayed as though competing in fragrance and color. Yet the Emperor’s heart was like a lone boat tossed on great swells.

The head palace attendant Zhen Xiaodao stood at the Emperor’s side. There were things he had long wanted to say — but dared not, and could not.

The Emperor truly worked hard, and truly held the desire to turn the tide in his heart. His one flaw was his inability to trust people.

But Zhen Xiaodao also understood: the Emperor could not help it. It had nothing to do with who the Emperor was as a person.

Think about it — the environment the Emperor had grown up in. Above him, a feckless and foolish father; holding actual power, an overbearing and tyrannical eunuch.

In an environment like that, if the Emperor had been someone who trusted others easily, he would have been eliminated countless times already.

The horrors of the inner palace were invisible to common people.

But ordinary folk had all heard a certain rumor — that the palace consorts and titled ladies did not dare drink water from the palace wells. Every household sent trusted servants outside to bring water in.

After Yang Jing was designated Crown Prince, he dared not eat anything casually wherever he went — dared not drink water, and dared not even let himself grow drowsy.

The common people imagined the Crown Prince’s life as one of carefree splendor. Only he knew how wretched it truly was.

To address a powerful eunuch as *Imperial Father* — and as Crown Prince, not only to treat this eunuch with reverence equal to a birth father, but to show the same warmth and even deference to the eunuch’s underlings.

Zhen Xiaodao understood the Emperor — and that was how he knew the Emperor’s suffering.

The Emperor had genuinely wanted to rely on Wei Chiguang. But he had genuinely been unable to stop himself from suspecting everyone.

“Xiaodao.”

“Your Majesty, this servant is here.”

“We find ourselves wanting an Empress.”

The Emperor’s sudden pronouncement startled Zhen Xiaodao.

Yet in the next instant, he understood the Emperor’s meaning: His Majesty had not taken any concubines since ascending the throne, precisely because the late Emperor had been so consumed by women that the court fell to ruin. This was Yang Jing’s warning to himself. To this day, Dachu had no Empress — and though many officials had petitioned repeatedly, the Emperor had always ignored them.

For the Emperor to suddenly say he wanted an Empress now… he was worried. He was afraid.

Afraid that the pure imperial bloodline of Dachu would be extinguished, leaving no heir.

“We have heard that the Minister of Finance Li Shang has a younger sister — dignified and virtuous, educated and refined. Go in person and convey our meaning to Li Shang. Have him bring her to the palace tomorrow — we will meet her ourselves.”

“Yes…”

Zhen Xiaodao acknowledged the order, his heart a tempest of emotions.

He saw now that His Majesty was thinking not only of the continuation of the imperial lineage, but also of stabilizing the hearts of his court.

Those passionate young men once gathered in the Chongwen Academy — they were all now at the height of their powers, brimming with capability and energy.

The majority of the officials His Majesty had newly appointed were drawn from that generation.

Among them, the most outstanding had naturally been Wei Chiguang — acknowledged by all as the finest of the Chongwen Academy in their time.

But the one who commanded the loyalty of all the rest — that was Li Shang.

Li Shang’s greatest quality was not his gift for leading troops or governing a territory.

It was an innate warmth and magnetism, woven into his very nature. At the Academy, no one had more friends than Li Shang. He never curried favor with those of high birth, nor looked down on those of low origin — he placed everyone on equal footing when it came to friendship.

Over time, Li Shang’s influence within the Academy had far surpassed that of Wei Chiguang or Gui Yuanshu.

To put it plainly: if Wei Chiguang called for people to follow him into a fight, he might not get many takers — but if Li Shang was wronged and called for backup, half the Academy would line up to defend him.

Keep Li Shang stable, and the court stayed stable.

With the entire court in a state of anxiety over Wei Chiguang’s defection — more than half the officials were from that same Chongwen Academy cohort, and if it came to guilt by association, anyone could be implicated — the Emperor’s move was clear.

Li Shang and Wei Chiguang had been the closest of all. If the Emperor chose not only to leave Li Shang untouched, but to welcome Li Shang’s own younger sister as Empress, the moment that news spread, every anxious official would breathe easy again.

Zhen Xiaodao received his orders and left the palace. The Emperor stood at the window a while longer, lost in thought.

Just then, an attendant hurried in from outside and knelt. “Your Majesty — Prince Wu is nearly at the capital. He sent a rider ahead with word that he expects to arrive outside the city by midafternoon. The rider requests Your Majesty’s instruction — should Prince Wu wait outside the city, or may he enter to pay his respects?”

“He waits.”

The Emperor spoke two words.

The attendant quickly replied, “This servant will go at once and tell Prince Wu’s messenger to return immediately with word that His Royal Highness should await the imperial summons outside the city.”

The Emperor said, “We are the ones who will wait.”

He strode toward the door. “Go and issue the decree — within half a shichen, every official in the city, regardless of rank, must make their way to the Longchang Gate to receive our uncle. Any who fail to appear, any who arrive late — execute them.”

When he had finished, he walked out of the eastern study with great strides.

With that, the whole of Daxing erupted into chaos. Every official in the city, regardless of rank, had to turn up to welcome Prince Wu.

And within Daxing’s walls, there was no shortage of titled people — officials of the Six Ministries and Nine Courts, both senior and junior, along with those who held noble titles but no actual authority — none of them dared not to go.

The men were going, certainly — but what about the women? If the women didn’t go, would the Emperor hold them accountable?

His Majesty had already killed his way through Daxing in one great purge, and everyone had been frightened thoroughly senseless. They now understood clearly that no matter how diminished Dachu had become, the supreme authority within these walls remained the Emperor.

So the city dissolved into frantic motion — everyone making for the east city’s Longchang Gate, men, women, even those with babies in arms.

Gui Yuanshu stood at the inn window, watched the sudden commotion for a moment in silence, then turned to his men. “Prince Wu must have returned. I’m going out for a bit — all of you stay put. Don’t go wandering. Stay in the inn and wait for me.”

With that, he turned and headed downstairs.

—