When Liang Qiang received the news at the wounded soldiers’ camp, he rushed over but couldn’t even catch a glimpse of Chu Zhao’s back.

He stood stunned outside the military camp.

“Military Marquis Liang,” passing soldiers greeted him.

As the only survivor of the left-wing vanguard, who had refused to surrender at the brink of death and nearly had his left arm cut off, Liang Qiang’s story had spread throughout the camp. The military admired brave warriors, and now almost everyone knew Liang Qiang.

“Military Marquis Liang, is there anything you need?” some soldiers actively asked. “Can I help you?”

Liang Qiang came to his senses, shook his head, and smiled at the soldiers: “I was just bored from recuperating and wanted to return to the army.”

The soldiers looked at him with even more admiration.

“Military Marquis, focus on your recovery first, then come back.” “Don’t rush, when you appear, the Western Liang soldiers will flee at the sight of you.”

Everyone joked and comforted him.

Liang Qiang talked and laughed with them for a moment, then said goodbye. As he turned away, the smile disappeared from his face. He mounted his horse and rode to the wounded soldiers’ camp.

“Military Marquis Liang,” the guard called out, “your father has come to see you.”

Father! A smile appeared on Liang Qiang’s gloomy face as he hurried inside. Since the incident, his father hadn’t visited him. After all, the complete annihilation of the vanguard meant the left-wing army bore responsibility for dereliction of duty, and investigations were still ongoing.

Liang Ji sat in the tent, looking at a sand table. Hearing the commotion, he raised his head, saw his son running in, and quickly stood up, his gaze first falling on Liang Qiang’s arm.

“Father, I’m fine,” Liang Qiang smiled.

Liang Ji walked over and carefully held Liang Qiang’s arm: “I heard the wound was deep, almost severing it.”

“But it didn’t break, and in a few months it will be as good as new,” Liang Qiang smiled, while moving his arm. “Even now I can—”

Liang Ji quickly restrained him, rebuking: “Don’t show off. That’s not how one becomes a hero.”

Hero… He knew clearly how he had earned this “hero” title. Liang Qiang’s expression darkened as he clenched his fist. Perhaps he should tell his father—

Liang Ji noticed his son’s change in expression and looked at the young face, now darker and thinner than when he was doing labor, let alone compared to when he was a young noble in the capital—even as a father, his memories had grown hazy.

Hero—If one could live peacefully and smoothly, who would want to be a hero?

“A-Qiang,” Liang Ji gently patted his son’s shoulder, “only by enduring the bitterest hardships can one rise above others. Good days await you in the future. Your father is proud of you, and the Liang family is proud of you.”

His father was proud of him. Liang Qiang swallowed what he was about to say. How could he disappoint his father? More than disappointment, it would likely cause him anxiety and fear. He nodded, then shook his head: “Father, what I’ve done is nothing. To be a hero through one’s strength is minor—you are the one who creates heroes. With proper command, one person can create countless heroes.”

What proper command did he provide? That wasn’t even his command, Liang Ji thought. Initially, he had only one attendant. Later, after being rewarded for his achievements and promoted, he was assigned staff officers. The more staff he had, the better his command seemed, and the higher his rank became. Then he got even more advisors and assistants, making his strategies seem more impressive—basically, his supposed prowess had less and less to do with him. Liang Ji’s eyes dimmed slightly. Perhaps he should tell his son—

“Father, the Liang family isn’t proud of me, but of you,” Liang Qiang said solemnly, holding his father’s arm. “And it’s precisely because you’re here that I feel more at ease in the army.”

Indeed, war was dangerous with unpredictable life and death, achievements and mistakes. Take this incident—only his son had fortunately survived from the left-wing vanguard army, while the others who died were still being punished. Even reporting Liang Qiang’s merits for reward had been extremely difficult, facing questioning and obstruction. It was—or rather his staff—who had navigated the connections to secure the reward.

If Liang Qiang knew that his father wasn’t actually brilliant in command and strategy, and was even controlled by others, he would surely be worried. It would be too dangerous—he would be distracted on the battlefield, let alone being brave.

Then everything would be over for both father and son.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore,” Liang Ji swallowed what he was about to say. “You and I will work together and strive harder. But now the situation is very bad.”

He changed the subject, looked around, and lowered his voice.

“The Zhongshan Prince’s troops have already surrounded the capital, and the court is now fighting with Zhongshan.”

“So that’s why,” Liang Qiang blurted out. “No wonder she left—”

Liang Ji was startled: “Who?”

“I meant there was troop movement in the army,” Liang Qiang said vaguely.

Liang Ji said: “Not many troops will be mobilized from the border army, as the Western Liang King hasn’t been dealt with yet.”

That’s why this was Zhongshan Prince’s opportunity.

Great Xia was truly facing troubles both within and beyond its borders.

Seeing his father’s frown, Liang Qiang smiled: “Father, don’t worry. Whether we win or lose has nothing to do with us. We kill enemies to protect the Great Xia. No matter who becomes emperor, they will respect us and need us.”

That’s why they must be heroes, must rise above others, must hold power, and must not end up like his uncle, discarded like worn-out shoes.

Liang Ji had come to the commander’s main camp on official business and took the opportunity to see Liang Qiang. With pressing duties, he couldn’t stay long, so after exchanging a few words, he left.

Liang Qiang stood outside watching his father leave. Even after his father’s figure disappeared, he remained motionless until he heard a call from behind.

“Military Marquis Liang.”

Liang Qiang turned around to see a soldier carrying medicine.

“It’s time for your medicine,” he said.

This was the military doctor specifically assigned to care for him. Liang Qiang looked at him without speaking or taking the medicine bowl.

The doctor was bewildered by his stare: “Military Marquis, what’s wrong?” Then he quickly added, “This medicine is specially prepared for you to nourish your blood and heal faster. If you don’t trust me, I’ll taste it first.”

As he spoke, he raised the bowl to drink, but Liang Qiang smiled and raised his hand to stop him.

“I trust you-all—,” he said, taking the bowl and drinking it all at once.

The doctor nodded: “The Military Marquis should rest more.” With that, he turned to leave.

Liang Qiang called him back.

The doctor turned around, waiting for his orders. Liang Qiang slowly walked over.

“Tell your master,” he said, “with my arm intact, it doesn’t affect our deal, does it? Or does your master only want a one-armed hero?”

The words seemed random and disconnected, but the doctor looked at him without showing shock or confusion. Lowering his eyes, he said: “Please wait, Military Marquis, while I seek instructions.”

With that, he left.

This time Liang Qiang didn’t call him back. Watching the doctor’s retreating figure, his feelings were complicated. He knew he couldn’t escape this net.

The net was already spread, and how could a bird fly out?

This mortal world was a giant net, so he would have to be the bird that flew highest within it.

…

…

After the New Year, cold winds blew for several days. Suddenly, green buds appeared on the willows by the roadside, and birds gathered in the treetops, chirping that spring had arrived.

But just as everyone had forgotten the New Year festival, no one noticed the signs of spring.

In the seemingly bustling markets, people walked with hurried steps rather than leisurely ones. Those sitting in teahouses and taverns were no longer focused on enjoying fine wine and delicacies but instead whispered among themselves.

“What are you planning to do?”

“We can’t leave, with such a large family.”

“We can’t leave anyway, everywhere is surrounded. The capital is still the safest place.”

“That’s right, I’ve seen many families bringing in relatives from the countryside.”

“It’s hard to believe, are they going to fight?”

“How is it hard to believe? We’ve been expecting this since the Late Emperor’s incident, just waiting until today.”

With a bang, Qi Leyun closed the latticed window, blocking out the whispers from next door.

“My father said we’ve been waiting for this day. The Zhongshan Prince is truly shameless, taking advantage of Western Liang’s attack on the border to pressure the court,” she said.

The girls sat together in the small flower hall, but this time there was no discussion of poetry or principles, only furrowed brows.

Although the court had announced that the Zhongshan Prince was coming to protect the capital, after initial confusion, everyone had now come to their senses—a prince raising private armies and marching toward the capital, was he protecting the capital or staging a coup? The history books had recorded such scenarios very clearly.

“A-Tang, what does the court plan to do about this?” Qi Leyun asked.

Chu Tang seemed lost in thought and only looked over when called by name. She replied helplessly: “I don’t know either. The Empress isn’t here, I can’t even enter the imperial city, and the court wouldn’t discuss state affairs with me.”

That was true. The girls nodded.

“But don’t worry, there’s one thing I do know,” Chu Tang continued. “Since the Western Liang war began, my uncle has refused any reinforcements, saying he needed to guard against those who might take advantage of the situation. When Western Liang soldiers infiltrated Shanggui, A-Zhao went to help on her own, specifically to avoid using any troops outside the border commanderies. So the court has enough troops prepared for battle. Rest assured, the capital will be safe.”

The girls’ expressions showed admiration.

“With General Chu and Empress Chu being so steadfast, the capital will surely be fine,” Qi Leyun said.

With the tense situation, the girls briefly gathered to exchange information before dispersing.

Qi Leyun and Chu Tang rode back together. Chu Tang entered the Chu residence, while Qi Leyun went to the Chu Garden.

Seeing her family packing, Qi Leyun angrily said: “What are you afraid of? We’ll be fine. Let’s stay here. This is the Empress’s home, it’s the safest place.”

Old Master Qi said: “We indeed won’t be in danger. Even if the capital falls, we would still be safe.” He looked at his daughter with a complex expression. “But staying in the Empress’s home would put us in danger.”

What did that mean? Qi Leyun was bewildered.

…

…

“This letter—”

In the Grand Tutor’s hall, Xie Yanfang put down a letter.

Deng Yi saw the Zhongshan Prince’s seal and Xiao Xun’s name on the envelope.

“This is a letter from the Zhongshan Prince’s heir to the noble families,” Xie Yanfang said with a smile.

Deng Yi didn’t pick up the letter to open it, but asked: “Is he trying to persuade everyone to help him pressure the court?”

Xie Yanfang opened the letter and shook his head: “Not exactly. Young Master Xiao is simply being candid about his intention to pressure the court.”

He looked at the contents of the letter.

“The Young Master says this is his affair, and he alone will bear the evil deeds and reputation. But he will guarantee the safety of the noble families. Once armed conflict begins, he won’t vent his anger on the aristocratic families.”

Deng Yi laughed: “So he can vent his anger on common people instead? Does he know how many citizens will die in the fires of war? He acts as if bearing the evil reputation is a sacrifice.”

“Of course he knows,” Xie Yanfang said. “That’s why he’ll make the court share the blame.”

“They’ve already reached the capital’s defense line,” Deng Yi said grimly. “Moving further forward would be mobilizing troops without imperial orders, with intent to rebel—a capital offense.”

“He has captured three imperial envoys and declared them as commanding officers,” Xie Yanfang said. “Most likely, he will soon execute these three, claiming they were acting tyrannically and disrupting the military. Then he will come to the capital to apologize and seek an audience with His Majesty—”

He looked at Deng Yi.

“At that time, who is right and who is wrong will be difficult for the people to discern.”

Deng Yi said calmly: “The people aren’t that foolish. Do you think they don’t know what’s happening? They are just—”

“Just deceiving themselves, avoiding reality, self-comforting, and pretending all is well,” Xie Yanfang finished his sentence. “But to avoid danger, people can twist black into white. And these noble families—”

Xie Yanfang placed the letter on the table and tapped it with his finger.

“This letter doesn’t seem to be persuading them. Xiao Xun isn’t asking them to do anything, but at this moment, the noble families doing nothing means they’re siding with the Zhongshan Prince!”

Deng Yi lowered his eyes to look at the letter on the table and asked: “Is Master Xie suggesting we confirm the Zhongshan Prince’s rebellion?”

“Only this way can we let the world know there’s no retreat, no avoidance,” Xie Yanfang said. “No more self-deception. And these noble families, doing nothing, receiving Xiao Xun’s letter without reporting or expressing outrage—that makes them accomplices. Only then, when this war begins, will it be righteous, without worries, and will make the world submit. A-Yu’s imperial position will be beyond question from then on.”

Deng Yi looked up and asked: “Then how do we confirm the Zhongshan Prince’s rebellion?”

Xie Yanfang looked at him and asked: “What did Xiao Xun write in his letter to the Grand Tutor?”

…

…

“After all that talk, it turns out Master Xie wants me to confirm the Zhongshan Prince’s rebellion,” Deng Yi smiled, leaning back in his chair. Looking at Xie Yanfang, he pulled out a letter from his sleeve. “I think what Master Xie wants to ask about isn’t the letter Young Master Xiao sent me now, but from before, during the capital’s military uprising. Or perhaps even earlier—for example, letters about how I colluded with the Zhongshan Prince?”

Deng Yi wasn’t a fool. Of course, he understood that the biggest issue now was who would expose the Zhongshan Prince and his son’s wolfish ambitions.

Have him, Deng Yi, expose them?

If the Zhongshan Prince and his son had been colluding with Deng Yi for a long time, and the Prince had treacherous intentions, then what were Deng Yi’s intentions?

“Third Young Master, whether this is a righteous army, whether there’s justification for war—the emperor cares, but I don’t,” Deng Yi said. “I don’t even care whether this battle ends in victory or defeat for me, Deng Yi.”

These words were truly disgraceful. As the Grand Tutor of the dynasty, he said he didn’t care about the court’s victory or defeat.

“That’s right, I, Deng Yi, am just such a villain,” Deng Yi said coldly. “I don’t care about propriety, righteousness, integrity, or shame. Since I’ve taken this position, I don’t think you can bind or manipulate me with reputation.”

He looked at Xie Yanfang and smiled again.

“Third Young Master, you’re not doing this for the court’s justification either. You’re just using this opportunity to threaten me.”

“If you wanted justification for war, you should ask your niece-in-law.”

“You know my history with the Zhongshan Prince, but don’t you know why Empress Chu took the young emperor and left the Chu family?”

Back then, Chu Zhao had protected Xiao Yu as they killed their way into the imperial palace to see the emperor. Afterward, the Late Emperor bestowed the title of Crown Prince, followed by ascension to the throne. Everyone knew Xiao Yu was entrusted to the Chu family because Emperor Chu enjoyed the emperor’s deep trust and had a private army hidden away. No one investigated the other details.

For instance, if the Chu family, with their hidden private army, was so reliable, why did Chu Zhao take Xiao Yu away from the Chu residence?

And they had to fight their way out.

Why had Chu Lan been confined at home with illness ever since? And why was Chu Tang, a young girl, the only one representing the empress’s family in public?

That girl had never told him, and he never asked, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know.

Xie Yanfang certainly knew.

Xie Yanfang’s expression remained gentle as he said: “Because to prevent the Empress from being implicated in the Chu family’s affairs, we must also drag you, Grand Tutor, down with us.”