Don’t deny it—luck is not something everyone has. Don’t deny it—even a small stroke of luck can fill a person with joy. To settle down and build a life, to strike it rich—all of this is luck. Small luck.
The big kind isn’t called luck. It’s called destiny.
Someone once said that luck is a form of ability. Someone else once said that people who rely on luck will not last long.
How does one make sense of that?
Perhaps something like this: good luck for a while is exhilarating, and good luck that never stops is endlessly exhilarating.
Li Chi himself could never have imagined that Shen Shanhu would lead a hundred thousand Yanzhou troops southward and raise the Ning banner across half of Qingzhou.
And yet—could this truly be attributed to luck?
Why did luck like this only come to Li Chi? Why did Yang Xuanji not have it? Why did Li Xionghu not have it? Why did none of the others who aspired to rule the realm under heaven have any of it?
They didn’t have it. How wonderful.
Only Li Chi had it. Well—how utterly satisfying.
Xiahou Zuo looked at Li Chi: “The news has already made it back here, which means Yang Xuanji has likely known of it for a day already. So he’ll make his judgment immediately.”
Li Chi nodded. He had already thought of this—it was why he had just said he wanted to see how Yang Xuanji would respond.
Yang Xuanji had too many supporters, and so even in Qingzhou, those who passed information to him would be no small number.
Xiahou Zuo continued: “If nothing goes wrong, Yang Xuanji will judge that we are short on troops in Yuzhou at the moment. Even if he can’t detect Old Tang’s eastward advance, any movement of troops tends to attract notice along the way. Once word reaches Yang Xuanji, he’ll send a report.”
He looked at Li Chi: “Perhaps the Heaven’s Command Army will soon receive orders to cross the river northward again.”
Li Chi said: “Yes… perhaps very soon. That force of a hundred thousand Heaven’s Command troops on the south bank will receive the order to force a crossing.”
Xiahou Zuo rose: “Let me go.”
At present, the garrison troops remaining in Yuzhou City were fewer than ten thousand. The forces Xiahou Zuo had brought were eight thousand. Added together, that was only about fifteen thousand or so in total—and they could not take all of them away to hold the riverbank. At most, they could bring ten thousand.
Li Chi said: “Let’s go together.”
He rose as well, looking at Gao Xining: “I’ll leave the home front to you. Xiahou and I will go to the riverside encampment. We may be away for some time.”
Gao Xining nodded: “Don’t worry.”
Their meal only half-eaten, Li Chi and Xiahou Zuo led their column toward the riverside encampment.
At this point, the Ning forces left on the riverbank were only about four thousand or so. Their purpose there was largely to create the illusion of a larger presence for the Heaven’s Command Army on the opposite bank.
Each day, drills went on as normal. And at a position roughly twenty li from the riverbank, large numbers of laborers dressed as Ning soldiers created the appearance of a full, active camp. So the Heaven’s Command Army on the opposite bank had no way of knowing that what stood before them was, in truth, a hollow shell.
As Li Chi and Xiahou Zuo led their forces this way, Yang Xuanji’s own envoy was also riding hard in the same direction.
Yang Xuanji had indeed already received the news—in fact, a full day before Li Chi.
And by coincidence, Yang Xuanji’s envoy had arrived a full day before Li Chi and Xiahou Zuo as well.
The moment the news came back to him, Yang Xuanji was furious enough to detonate. If Li Chi truly had taken Qingzhou, then the three northern prefectures were in Li Chi’s hands.
Whether in terms of manpower for recruitment or grain for production, this was more than enough to make Li Chi a power that could stand against anyone.
In this situation—even if Yang Xuanji seized Daxing City first and ascended the throne—he could never unify the Central Plains without an enormous struggle.
With these three prefectures as his foundation, Li Chi would have the base from which to contend with any rival under heaven.
The Dachu realm spanned thirteen prefectures. Of the three northern prefectures, the people were the most hardened—and the soldiers recruited from them were consequently the most battle-hardened and effective.
After Yang Xuanji proclaimed himself Emperor in Daxing City, the very first thing he would have to do was lead a northern campaign. If he gave Li Chi even a few years, the question would no longer be Yang Xuanji marching north—it would be the Ning forces pushing south.
So the only opportunity, right now, was to use the Heaven’s Command Army to take Yuzhou while the Ning forces’ main strength was away. Then seal off the return route of the Ning forces in Qingzhou. Strike while Li Chi’s foundation was still unsteady—and strangle the greatest threat in its cradle.
What vexed Yang Xuanji was that his strategist Xun Youjiu was still not at his side—he had gone off to find some peerless martial arts master to assassinate the Dachu Emperor. And to this point, no good news had come from Xun Youjiu’s direction.
Bad news, on the other hand, kept arriving one after another. Li Xionghu’s great army had already entered Jingzhou, closing in on Daxing City considerably faster than Yang Xuanji. And Li Xionghu’s sworn brother Zhai Li had already raised his own forces and was pushing north, seeking to join hands with Li Xionghu.
This situation, though anticipated in its broad strokes, became profoundly aggravating when the expected good news refused to materialize.
Yang Xuanji had no way of knowing that a coincidence had occurred—and the person Xun Youjiu sought to find might no longer be easy to find.
Nor could the Dachu Emperor have known that a coincidence had spared him from an extremely dangerous assassination plot.
The distance from Yuzhou to the riverside encampment was no short journey—it took several days of hard travel to cover it. The column moved without pause, faster than their usual best speed.
But by the time Li Chi and the others arrived at the north bank encampment, the Heaven’s Command Army on the opposite side had clearly already begun moving.
“It feels like it’s been a long time since I’ve fought a battle.”
Xiahou Zuo breathed in deeply.
Li Chi said: “Yang Xuanji’s envoy got here ahead of us. To gain time, they’re probably not going to spend long preparing.”
Xiahou Zuo gave a sound of agreement, and surveyed the defensive positioning along the riverbank. What he saw was already excellent—there was nothing he would change.
Here were four thousand Ning soldiers, every one of them battle-forged troops trained by Tang Pidi.
Looking it over carefully, Xiahou Zuo found not a single flaw in the formation. He even felt he had picked something up from the studying.
And this was without Tang Pidi himself present. Just imagining what it would be like if Tang Pidi were actually in this camp—Xiahou Zuo felt certain he would have even more to learn.
“Who is in command here?”
Xiahou Zuo asked.
Li Chi pointed to the figure now running toward them from a distance: “The young general, Zhuo Qinglin—personally trained by Old Tang. Possessed of real talent for commanding troops, and valor enough to stand against ten thousand.”
Xiahou Zuo watched the young general approach, and was struck by a sudden feeling that he himself had already grown old—though by all reckoning he was still only in his mid-twenties.
When a person has accumulated enough of life’s experience, their inner age far outpaces their years in body. There are those you speak with who seem exactly your equal in understanding—whatever you raise, they meet it, with insight yet without imposing their insight on you. They only draw out resonance from you, or leave you feeling you have drawn resonance from them. Speak long enough, and you might even develop the pleasant illusion that you yourself are brilliantly learned.
Do not doubt yourself—do not wonder whether you have suddenly become formidable. It is simply that the other person has descended to your level to meet you. Their knowledge, experience, and depth of perception far exceed yours—and that is precisely why the conversation feels so easy and right.
In other words—they are holding you up.
Xiahou Zuo had observed the soldiers and generals trained by Tang Pidi, and felt the gap between himself and them was immense.
Yet in truth—how many in this world could hold a candle to Xiahou Zuo?
Young General Zhuo Qinglin ran up before Li Chi and dropped into a bow. Li Chi asked him to brief Xiahou Zuo on the situation.
Upon learning that the formidable and awe-inspiring general before him was the very Xiahou Zuo who had held the northern frontier against the Black Martial people, Zhuo Qinglin’s eyes lit up.
Young men had their idols. His idol was Commander Tang Pidi—and people like Xiahou Zuo.
“The enemy began moving yesterday. The ships gathering on the river have grown more numerous, but compared to the last crossing attempt, they have fewer vessels—and no large ones.”
Zhuo Qinglin said: “I have observed the enemy’s preparations, and I suspect they intend not to use the ships for ferrying troops directly across, but to construct a pontoon bridge.”
Li Chi nodded. He had already looked it over himself, and the signs did indeed point toward a pontoon bridge.
The Heaven’s Command Army did not have many ships, and they were predominantly small craft—poor carrying capacity. Ferrying troops piecemeal across the river would simply mean feeding the Ning forces easy kills.
But lash the small boats together sideways, drive wooden stakes into the riverbed to anchor them in place, and push them forward one by one, each unit abutting the last. Soldiers following behind would lay planks across the boat decks to walk on.
Done this way, several pontoon bridges could be raised in short order. Their value was not just in letting soldiers march across—they also gave troops who chose to swim across a place to rest midway.
It was evident this was a lesson drawn from the last failed crossing attempt.
“Who commands on the other bank?”
Xiahou Zuo asked.
Zhuo Qinglin answered quickly: “In reply to the General—the one commanding on the opposite bank is Pei Fanglun, former Right Marquis Guard Grand General of Dachu.”
Xiahou Zuo’s gaze went distant for a moment: “The Right Marquis Guard Grand General who brought his forces into Yanzhou and massacred two hundred thousand Bohai troops?”
In those days, Xiahou Zuo had been no more than a boy. Pei Fanglun had been the idol in his heart.
Just as young Zhuo Qinglin now held Xiahou Zuo as his idol, so too had Xiahou Zuo’s heart once stirred to hear that the Right Marquis Guard had destroyed the Bohai invaders in Yanzhou—and that their commander had given the order to take no prisoners, to cut down every last one.
At that time, Xiahou Zuo had made his resolution: this was the kind of soldier he wanted to be.
He had wanted to be like Pei Fanglun—to stand with his own forces when foreign enemies invaded, to not merely defeat them but to make them remember forever that the Central Plains was not a land to be trespassed upon.
What had Pei Fanglun been in those days? The very embodiment of heroic spirit.
A single battle: more than sixty thousand enemies slain in the fighting; one hundred fifty thousand taken captive.
Grand General Pei Fanglun gave one order—and all one hundred fifty thousand were put to death.
He said: those Bohai people—wolves to the bone, every one of them—and it made no difference which among them had set foot on Dachu soil. Not one could be pardoned.
When news of the battle reached Jizhou and the Academy instructors spoke of it in voices blazing with fervor, Xiahou Zuo had felt his very blood alight.
He had even taken a small blade to his study desk and carved a line into the wood.
*One battle fills ten thousand graves; to be a true commander, be like Pei Fanglun.*
“What’s wrong?”
Li Chi saw something off in Xiahou Zuo’s expression and asked quickly.
Xiahou Zuo let out a long, slow breath, looked at Li Chi, and said in a low voice: “The reason I made up my mind to go to the northern frontier to resist the Black Martial people—was in truth because of him.”
Li Chi felt a quiet tremor inside.
He knew—how deeply an idol could shape a person’s path. The great Dachu War God, Xu Quilao, had shaped how many men came after him?
The Dantai family’s vigil over Western Liang Prefecture—born of Xu Quilao’s influence.
In those days, Pei Fanglun had fought in Yanzhou and nearly annihilated the entire Bohai force of two hundred fifty thousand—driving the Bohai King to his knees in submission and surrender.
In these last twenty or thirty years of Dachu, it had been one of the very few victories against foreign enemies that the world could still remember.
A hundred-some years before, the great Dachu War God Xu Quilao had pacified the grasslands and swept across the western territories, buying Dachu another age. After that, heroes of that kind had grown rare.
Some would speak of Prince Wu and Xu Quilao in the same breath—but those who had commanded troops knew: these two men were not remotely in the same order of magnitude.
Xu Quilao had spent the greatest part of his life fighting foreign enemies. Prince Wu had spent the greatest part of his life fighting rebels.
A slow breath.
Xiahou Zuo breathed out again.
He fell into silence, his expression difficult to read.
Li Chi rested a hand on Xiahou Zuo’s shoulder and stayed silent with him.
Li Chi understood—to face the man who had once been your idol on the battlefield one day, with neither of you permitted to survive the other… that was not a feeling that could be called good.