Xiahou Zuo stared at the body that had fallen before him, and a storm of emotion surged within him, for the man who had died in battle before his eyes had once been his idol.

Pei Fanglun’s death was perhaps inevitable. He died as a reckoning with his family’s interests, as a reckoning with his identity as a Dachu garrison general, and as a reckoning with the soldier’s convictions he had upheld throughout his life.

Sometimes a person’s decision between life and death is made in the span of a single heartbeat.

In this battle, the Ning Army killed more than ten thousand enemy soldiers on the northern bank. Compared to the battle Tang Pidi had commanded previously, the number of enemies killed seemed somewhat fewer—yet in this engagement, the enemy’s commanding general had fallen on the battlefield.

On the river, on the pontoon bridges, the Tianming Army soldiers who were watching saw that not a single comrade remained standing on the bank—all had become part of the earth. Every one of them stopped where they were. No one spoke. They simply watched in silence.

The sandy beach was blanketed in corpses. The Tianming Army’s battle flags, soaked through with blood, seemed to be making some proclamation.

Not long after, from the Tianming Army’s side came wave after wave of horn calls, and they began to slowly withdraw.

Without their commanding general, having lost their command, they could only return to their camp, and wait for a new commander to arrive, wait for new orders, wait for new battles.

In truth, within the heart of every Tianming Army soldier was a measure of bewilderment. Since they had marched out of Shuzhou, they had fought through Liangzhou and taken Jingzhou without suffering a single defeat—so how was it that here in Yuzhou they seemed to have forgotten how to fight, losing every battle they joined?

What they did not know, when such thoughts came to them, was that the Ning Army had already become a nightmare haunting their hearts.

Li Chi had not participated in the battle from beginning to end—just as Xiahou Zuo had said: *You are the Great Prince. There are times the Great Prince must learn to stand to one side and watch.*

In a certain sense, the first teacher of Li Chi’s life had been Changmei Daoren, the second had been Yan Qingzhi, and the third was Xiahou Zuo.

What Xiahou Zuo had taught Li Chi was not any particular knowledge, but how to be a man. When Li Chi had been at his most destitute and downtrodden, it was Xiahou Zuo who told him that a man must stand up straight and keep his back upright—he must never bow and scrape for the sake of a few scraps of silver.

Seeing Xiahou Zuo lost in a daze, Li Chi walked to his side and stopped there. He said nothing, only stood with him.

After a very long silence, Xiahou Zuo suddenly asked: “Have you thought it through?”

Li Chi turned his head: “Thought what through?”

Xiahou Zuo smiled faintly: “I want an impressive honorary title—one better than Old Tang’s. Something that sounds impressive, that sounds domineering, something that makes anyone who hears it feel this person must be extraordinary.”

Li Chi replied: “How about the Marquis of Magnificent Might?”

Xiahou Zuo: “……”

He looked at Li Chi: “How do you come up with all these ridiculous words?”

Li Chi said: “That one truly is not something I came up with myself—it was something I learned from something Teacher Li wrote.”

Xiahou Zuo turned the phrase over in his mind, and it did seem, on reflection, like quite an impressive thing.

Li Chi dug around in his front lapel and produced a lollipop, which he handed to Xiahou Zuo: “Here.”

Xiahou Zuo looked at the lollipop, then laughed: “You are what you eat, they say?”

Li Chi gazed at the lollipop with a thoughtful expression, then let out a sigh: “No wonder I feel like I’m getting more and more impressive every day.”

Xiahou Zuo glanced at him sideways, took the lollipop, and popped it into his mouth.

Sucking at it noisily.

It was sweet.

“You know—if my title were the Marquis of the Great Staff, don’t you think a lot of people would be curious?”

Li Chi heard this and slowly narrowed his eyes: “Are you scheming something?”

Xiahou Zuo grinned: “Didn’t you say you wanted to play matchmaker for me? You’re working hard on your end, so the least I can do is strive for myself—consider it supporting your efforts. When you play matchmaker for me in the future and you tell the young lady that the gentleman’s name is Xiahou Zuo, Marquis of the Great Staff, at the very least she’ll hear that title and immediately know I am a truly impressive man.”

Li Chi said: “Are you trying to let her know that you are impressive, or that you are…magnificently capable?”

Xiahou Zuo immediately retorted: “What utter nonsense—that part absolutely must be capable.”

Li Chi burst into laughter, raised his hand and placed it on Xiahou Zuo’s shoulder. Xiahou Zuo raised his own hand and placed it on Li Chi’s shoulder. The two of them stood there at the riverbank, arms draped over each other’s shoulders.

Standing like that, it was as though they had suddenly been transported back to the old days at the Four-Page Academy.

After a good while, Xiahou Zuo asked Li Chi: “Who is your idol?”

Li Chi said: “I cannot say.”

Xiahou Zuo asked: “Why not?”

Li Chi said: “This fellow’s head is already getting big these days, thinking quite highly of himself. If I told him he was my idol on top of that, wouldn’t he start to think he was the greatest, most impressive man in the world? And besides—the idol in my heart is already impossibly impressive. I can’t let him find out.”

Xiahou Zuo bumped Li Chi with his shoulder: “Then how about talking about raising my salary?”

Li Chi: “Who could have guessed—that’s just how life is, full of sudden and unexpected falling-outs.”

Xiahou Zuo burst out laughing.

Li Chi dug around in his lapel again and pulled out another lollipop, which he put in his own mouth.

Two men standing at the riverbank—one a Great General, one the Prince of Ning.

Arms over each other’s shoulders, sucking on candy, with a great river before them, and beyond that river, ten thousand li of territory.

Xiahou Zuo raised a finger and pointed toward the distance. In that moment, he had the air of a man who could survey all under heaven and comment on all of it.

But after a while, Li Chi asked: “You’ve been pointing for quite a long time. Aren’t you going to say something?”

Xiahou Zuo said: “I was going to ask you—how wide is this river channel?”

Li Chi said: “Old Tang roughly measured it when he attacked the south bank last time. It’s about four li across.”

Xiahou Zuo said: “Do you believe I could finish this piece of candy and then send a stream across to the other side?”

Li Chi: “……”

—

More than ten days later.

At the Tianming Army’s main camp in Jingzhou, after the messenger finished delivering his report, Yang Xuanji could barely conceal the fury rising in his eyes.

A sentence—*how could Pei Fanglun be such useless trash*—very nearly escaped his lips.

But as Yang Xuanji’s gaze swept across the assembled generals, swept across the strategists and advisors gathered there, the words that had risen to the tip of his tongue were forced back down.

A moment later, his eyes actually turned red, and then he let out a wail and burst into tears: “My Pei Fanglun—my general!”

A single cry of grief, and Yang Xuanji collapsed forward onto the desk, sobbing—his shoulders actually appeared to be shaking.

At this, his subordinates rushed forward to console him.

As he bent over the desk, Yang Xuanji used the table to conceal himself, and with gritted teeth pinched his own thigh—hard. He genuinely cried out in pain from that.

By the time he straightened up, his face was already streaked with two lines of tears.

“How could General Pei just leave us like this?”

He raised his hand and beat his own chest: “My heart aches!”

His subordinates panicked and rushed to comfort him, while Yang Xuanji stomped and beat his chest with every appearance of being utterly overwhelmed by grief.

After a long while, Yang Xuanji seemed to settle slightly, looked at his subordinates assembled before him, and gave his orders: “To recover General Pei’s remains, I am leading the full army back now!”

Among the strategists and advisors, Murong Yanlie—whose standing among the advisors ranked just below Xun Youjiu—immediately remonstrated: “My lord, you must not. Please think carefully, my lord. The situation in Jingzhou is not yet settled. The great bandit Li Xionghu is watching hungrily from the south, and Prince Wu and General Yang’s army is also standing by to observe. If you turn back now, my lord, everything achieved thus far will be undone!”

Yang Xuanji shook his head: “I can do without this empire, but I will certainly bring back General Pei’s remains for a proper burial. It is I who wronged General Pei. It is I who placed him in that dangerous position. Therefore I must personally go and bring him home. Whatever any of you say, it will not change my resolve—I must bring him home.”

Having said this, Yang Xuanji immediately rose and strode out with great steps: “Pass the order—the entire three armies are to mobilize. I will fight my way back, avenge General Pei, and personally execute that rebel Li Chi before my horse!”

With a thud, Murong Yanlie dropped to his knees and blocked Yang Xuanji’s path.

“My lord, avenging General Pei is naturally important—but should we turn back now and Prince Wu’s forces come striking from behind, the losses could be devastating, and we may lose far more.”

Yang Xuanji’s footsteps halted: “Murong Yanlie—by blocking me like this, are you not placing me in a position of moral dishonor? You know how General Pei was to me, and how I was to General Pei. This vengeance—I will have it no matter what.”

“My lord!”

Another important figure tied to the Pei family in Yang Xuanji’s camp stepped forward and knelt, sweeping aside his robe.

This man was called Pei Chongzhi. Though he had not risen to become Great General of the Right Sentinel Guard as Pei Fanglun had, his standing in the Dachu court was considerable. Though only forty years of age, he could be considered a teacher to the reigning Dachu Emperor, Yang Jing.

He had lived in Daxing for many years and had served as an instructor at the Dachu Chongwen Academy. When Emperor Yang Jing was a student at the Chongwen Academy, the matters of military strategy and battle formations had been taught to him by Pei Chongzhi.

Not only could Yang Jing be considered his student, but men such as Yuchi Guangming and Gui Yuanshu could also be counted among his pupils.

When Yang Xuanji had gone to great lengths to recruit him, it was precisely because of his unique identity. Pei Chongzhi held no official rank, no noble title—but he could be called an Imperial Tutor.

If the common people came to know that even the Imperial Tutor had willingly placed himself in service of the Heavenly Mandate King Yang Xuanji—would that not be sufficient proof that the Heavenly Mandate King was truly the one Heaven had chosen?

In truth, because Pei Chongzhi had gone over to Yang Xuanji’s side, Emperor Yang Jing had indeed erupted in fury.

If every person has goals and idols at different stages of their life, then during his time at the Chongwen Academy, Pei Chongzhi had been the Emperor’s goal and idol at that stage.

Back then, Yang Jing had even made a silent vow to himself—that he would one day master everything Teacher Pei knew, and then surpass him.

Yet Pei Chongzhi had gone over to Yang Xuanji’s side and become a strategist, and the Emperor had felt something within him crumble away, as though a section of wall had collapsed.

Pei Chongzhi knelt before him: “My lord, the greater picture must take precedence. Pei Fanglun’s death was not my lord’s fault—it was his own failure to assess the battle correctly, his own failure to calculate the situation. That my lord did not punish him for his defeat is already a grace extended to him, a grace extended to the Pei family. I implore my lord to think carefully—do not under any circumstances turn back.”

Only after these words were spoken did Yang Xuanji receive what he had actually wanted.

The Pei family’s influence was not to be underestimated—it was one of Yang Xuanji’s greatest sources of support. To rank among the top ten of the great clans and noble families standing so thickly throughout Dachu was sufficient proof of how enormous the Pei family’s accumulated power truly was.

Yang Xuanji had risen to power by relying on these great families. He could not afford to offend the Pei family. Had those words that had nearly leapt from his lips earlier actually been spoken—had he insulted Pei Fanglun—every member of the Pei family present would have lost face, and resentment would inevitably have taken root in their hearts.

And this entire performance of weeping, wailing, and beating his own chest had been staged primarily for the benefit of the Pei family.

Yang Xuanji said: “But General Pei’s revenge—I will certainly have it.”

That line was an opening for retreat.

An opening for Pei Chongzhi and Murong Yanlie, and an opening for himself.

Pei Chongzhi said: “Among my students at the Chongwen Academy, there are several now serving under my lord’s command. These men are all of great ability—they can be relied upon and entrusted with important responsibilities.”

A brief flicker passed through Yang Xuanji’s eyes.

This Pei Chongzhi—what formidable methods he possessed.

Under the guise of persuading him to stand down, he was maneuvering to elevate his own people. Pei Fanglun had barely died in battle, and Pei Chongzhi was already pushing new candidates forward to fill the position—such scheming was truly remarkable.

Seamless, natural, without any appearance of artifice.

Yang Xuanji had no choice but to nod: “Very well then—bring your people to me, and let me see what manner of outstanding young talents they are.”

—