Every person of standing in the city had rushed to the Longchang Gate in the east to welcome Prince Wu back, and everyone present understood that something was wrong about his return — yet everyone also understood they had to pretend otherwise.

Even a fool using nothing but common sense could see that something was amiss. Prince Wu withdrawing from Suzhou — who would be left to hold back Li Xionghu, who was said to command over two million troops?

No one still navigating the court of Dachu was a fool.

They had naturally all guessed that Prince Wu’s return had not been ordered by the Emperor — that he had come back to the capital without imperial sanction.

Yet the Emperor had personally come out to receive him outside the city. The implication was obvious: Dachu still could not do without Prince Wu, and the Emperor could not do without Prince Wu.

Outside the Longchang Gate, the Emperor saw Prince Wu’s column approaching from afar and actually ran toward them.

When he ran, the assembled civil and military officials, the gentry and noble houses, all had to run as well. In an instant the scene became both lively and chaotic.

Prince Wu had only his personal guards with him. When he saw the Emperor himself running out to meet him, he quickly dismounted.

Before he could even kneel, the Emperor had already seized him by the arm. “Royal Uncle — how We have missed you.”

As those words were spoken, the Emperor’s eyes were already brimming with tears.

In that moment, every worry in Prince Wu’s heart was swept away, replaced entirely by guilt and a heart full of tenderness.

It had been so long. Prince Wu had aged. The Emperor was still so young, yet his face too was worn and haggard.

“Your Majesty, this subject is guilty.”

Prince Wu moved to kneel again. The Emperor caught him once more and held him upright.

“Royal Uncle is certainly guilty!”

The Emperor said in a loud voice. “We sent envoys time and again to ask Uncle to return, yet Uncle insisted on staying until the bandits were pacified before coming back to court. Now that Uncle has returned in triumph, we still must reproach you — Royal Uncle, you truly do not know how to care for yourself. Look at this road-worn state of you, look at this head of white hair — it breaks our heart.”

The Emperor spoke, and as he spoke, tears flowed freely.

He took Prince Wu by the hand and said, “Uncle’s defeat of the great rebel Li Xionghu — We cannot fathom how to repay you. We…”

The Emperor released Prince Wu’s hand and stepped back two paces, folding his hands and bowing low. “On behalf of the tens of millions of Dachu’s subjects, We thank you, Royal Uncle.”

Prince Wu’s face went pale with alarm. He dropped to his knees. “This subject is unworthy.”

“Royal Uncle is worthy.”

The Emperor raised him again. “It is We who are unworthy — We who have failed Royal Uncle.”

At this moment Prince Wu too was weeping, tears trailing down an old man’s face.

He understood that the Emperor had no choice but to play out this scene. But he could also see that the Emperor’s feelings were real.

He had led his force against Li Xionghu’s million-strong army without grain, without reinforcement, without hope. Any other commander would have broken long before now.

The Emperor’s self-reproach was genuine.

“Let us go home.”

The Emperor took Prince Wu by the hand. “Come home with us, Royal Uncle!”

Among the crowd, Gui Yuanshu looked at Prince Wu, then at the ragged state of Prince Wu’s escort soldiers, and knew at once that this was no triumphant return.

Prince Wu’s main army had not dared come close to the capital — they were camped far away. That alone spoke volumes of their wretchedness, of something not to be seen.

Prince Wu’s soldiers at this moment had no armor left on their bodies — their clothing was in tatters, their faces gaunt and sallow. If the common people were to see them in such a state, who would still believe Dachu could hold on?

And these were the vaunted Left Martial Guard — the sharpest edge in the realm.

Gui Yuanshu looked again at Li Shang standing at the very front of the assembled officials, and at Huang Wei’an standing close beside him.

He thought for a moment, then turned and walked away.

How could Li Shang not see through Prince Wu’s desolation — not see through the Left Martial Guard’s sorry state?

He lowered his voice and said to the people beside him, “Go immediately and organize whatever it takes — pull battle dress and armor from the storehouses and send it to the Left Martial Guard camp. Grain, provisions, and supplies as well — find whatever way you can, squeeze it out, and send it all over.”

Those words happened to be overheard by Prince Wu as he passed beside him, and the old man could not help a look of gratitude.

He had a vague impression of this young man — something familiar about him — but could not quite place him. Yet the second-rank purple robes on the young man’s back told Prince Wu that this was one of the Emperor’s newly appointed officials.

A young man with such foresight and such arrangements — Prince Wu judged him fit for great things.

Where could Dachu demonstrate its grotesque, warped residual strength?

Its military arsenals.

No money, no grain — but in the arsenals, weapons and armor and equipment piled up beyond counting. Was that something to be proud of?

The corruption behind it was known only to those inside the Ministry of War.

Year after year, the Ministry demanded the production of so many weapons, so much armor, so much equipment — needed or not, it had to be made.

This was one of the Ministry officials’ greatest sources of personal profit. The numbers could never be reduced; quality, on the other hand, was nobody’s concern.

To give an example: if the court’s annual allocation was five hundred thousand taels of silver, enough to properly produce fifty thousand full kits — armor, weapons, all the way down to protective gear — in the absence of any quality requirements, those same fifty thousand kits could be produced for far, far less. The Ministry received the funds, skimmed off the top at every level down to the workshops, and by the time the money actually reached production, a hundred thousand taels would be cause for celebration.

Such was Dachu — its decline was inevitable.

The leather for armor was sliced into three thinner layers from one. The arrows — some were made with *reed stalks*, dressed up to look like arrows at a distance but nothing more.

But those in charge of the arsenals knew how to hide it. Every year, the genuine quality items from previous years were moved to the front; the newly produced rubbish was stacked in the back.

That way, even a cursory inspection would show no apparent issues.

But sooner or later, the genuine items would run out. And sooner or later, the rubbish would have to be brought to the light.

—

Shortly after, Shiyuan Palace, the eastern study.

“Heat water for Uncle!”

The Emperor commanded the attendants. “Draw a bath and wash away all that road dust.”

Prince Wu moved to offer thanks. The Emperor took his hand and guided him to a seat. “Uncle has endured much — sit and talk first.”

A wave of his hand, and Zhen Xiaodao immediately read the room, stepped out, and dismissed the assembled officials with word that they could disperse — the Emperor wished to spend more time with Prince Wu.

Only a handful of people remained in the eastern study — among them Li Shang and Huang Wei’an, the pillars of the Dachu court under the Emperor’s new appointments.

“Your Majesty.”

Seeing most of the officials withdraw, Prince Wu rose to kneel once more in supplication. The Emperor sighed. “Royal Uncle, if you do this again, it will pain Us deeply.”

Prince Wu had no choice but to relent. For a moment the room fell into an awkward silence.

Li Shang stood to one side, not daring to look directly — his eyes skimming occasionally over that aged warrior god. In his heart grew a feeling of quiet, creeping sorrow.

When he was a student at the Chongwen Academy, Prince Wu had come to lecture there on multiple occasions. At that time Prince Wu had looked for all the world like a divine being standing atop the clouds.

Even then, with Dachu already beset by rebellions in every direction, no one had believed it would collapse so quickly.

Now Li Shang thought he could almost smell a faint odor of decay emanating from this old man’s person — and it deepened his unease.

This old man — how much longer could he carry Dachu on his back?

And so he could not help but think of Wei Chiguang again. He could not understand why his eldest sworn brother had defected.

The Emperor had relied on Wei Chiguang so — valued him so deeply. Li Shang could see that the Emperor had genuinely regarded Wei Chiguang as Prince Wu’s successor.

In terms of martial arts, perhaps Wei Chiguang still had a way to go before matching Prince Wu — but in commanding troops and honing an army, Wei Chiguang was already not far behind.

Given a little more time, becoming Dachu’s new generation of martial god would have been no question at all.

The more he thought, the heavier his heart grew.

The Emperor asked Prince Wu to speak freely before those present — to recount the state of the war in full, holding nothing back. As he spoke, every listener’s face grew heavier and heavier, a weight pressing down like stormclouds.

Li Shang and the others stayed with Prince Wu late into the night. At one point the Emperor even moved to personally scrub Prince Wu’s back when he bathed — Prince Wu naturally would not allow it, but the Emperor’s intent had been made unmistakably clear: whatever else had happened, Prince Wu remained Dachu’s foremost subject, beyond comparison.

In the deep of night, Li Shang climbed into his carriage and made his way home. When he descended, he turned and looked back toward the palace, lost in thought for a long, long moment.

Once through the door, he could not help but let out a long, slow breath — though all it did was push out the weariness of his body without touching the shadows in his heart.

“My lord,”

the steward hurried forward, “an old friend of yours has been waiting in the study for half the night.”

“An old friend?”

Li Shang’s brows drew together. “What old friend?”

The steward said, “He says he is your old classmate from the Chongwen Academy — left the capital long ago and only returned today, came specially to pay a visit.”

Li Shang felt something loosen slightly in his chest. As the foremost civil official in the court — in all but name, the Chancellor — he had an endless stream of visitors every day, most of them people looking to leverage some distant connection.

If it was truly a former classmate who had heard of his prominence and come to seek an opportunity, that was nothing unusual.

He had a servant brew tea, and pushed open the study door — and the moment he saw who was inside, his expression completely changed.

“You — you!”

Two repetitions of *you* — the first was surprise and joy, the second was fury.

In the instant he laid eyes on Gui Yuanshu, his first instinct was: *my brother is alive after all* — his second was: *this man must be the one who drove my eldest brother to defect.*

“Don’t be in a rush to call your people to seize me,”

Gui Yuanshu said, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Even if you’re going to have me arrested, there’s no harm in sitting down to talk first. After the bond between us — doesn’t it at least warrant a few moments of conversation?”

Li Shang’s expression shifted through several changes in rapid succession. After a long pause, he turned and said quietly over his shoulder, “No one is to approach the study without my word — everyone step well back.”

The attendants responded immediately and withdrew.

Li Shang closed the door firmly and walked to take a seat across from Gui Yuanshu. “I only ask that whatever you have come to say — not a single word of it be wasted.”

Gui Yuanshu said, “Then guess — how many people in this household do you think the Emperor has placed here to watch you?”

Li Shang frowned. “I don’t know how you managed to deceive our eldest brother. But you won’t deceive me. If you came here only to incite me into becoming a traitor as well, then save your breath.”

Gui Yuanshu had known it would be like this. Of the five sworn brothers, Li Shang’s character was the most unshakeable.

He took out Wei Chiguang’s personal letter and token and passed them across. “Our eldest brother asked me to give these to you. Read it and you’ll understand.”

Li Shang reached out and took them. He was silent for a moment — then threw the personal letter directly into the tea brazier without reading a single word.

The token, however, he tucked into his inner robe.

“No need to read it. I don’t need your reasons — no matter how reasonable they might be.”

Li Shang stood. “I was born a man of Chu. Now I serve as an official of Chu. The first character my father taught me to write was not my surname or given name — it was *Chu*.”

Gui Yuanshu gave a quiet sound of acknowledgment. “You used to say that.”

Li Shang said, “You still remember the old days?”

Gui Yuanshu did not answer.

Li Shang walked to the door and opened it. “Go. This is the limit of my dereliction of duty. If the opportunity ever comes, I will report my failure before His Majesty and accept whatever punishment is due.”

Gui Yuanshu stood, and — remarkably — actually left without another word.

Li Shang watched Gui Yuanshu’s retreating figure. After a moment, he called after him: “That token — I will return it to our eldest brother on the field of battle.”

Gui Yuanshu raised a hand and gave a small wave — which might have meant *noted*, or might have meant *farewell*.