A thousand li away, in Ding Province.

Spring brought little warmth to this northern region of the Wei River. On the city tower, battered and blackened by cannon fire, a flag emblazoned with the character “Wei” fluttered in the wind.

Beyond the wilderness, Pei Song’s army retreated like a black tide, yet no one on the city tower celebrated victory.

Pei Song, mounted on his horse, locked eyes for a moment with the dark figure atop the tower—too distant to see clearly. He turned his horse’s head, gently tugged the reins and called out: “Hyah!”

This battle—he hadn’t won.

But it couldn’t be counted as a loss either.

Ding Province had fallen to Wei Qishan, but he had redirected his forces midway and seized Mo Province, one of the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan and Yun.

Their next confrontation would be on another battlefield.

Atop Ding Province’s city tower, Wei Qishan watched the departing Pei army and remarked: “A troublesome opponent.”

No one had anticipated that after seeing the unfavorable situation in Ding Province, Pei Song would remain there as bait himself, using grain transport as cover while dispatching troops on a detour to raid Mo Province.

The cry of an eagle pierced the vast sky as wind billowed his cloak.

He raised his eyes toward the messenger hawk from the north and extended an arm. The hawk’s iron-hook-like talons gripped his arm guard as it landed on his forearm.

After reading the message from the tube attached to the hawk’s leg, Wei Qishan’s face—covered with coarse, short stubble—grew slightly grave. When he looked toward the horizon again, he said: “But the truly cunning fox has gone south.”

The trap he’d set in Xin Province had been broken.

With rebel kings rising everywhere in the south, he’d gained no advantage, leaving Pei Song with nothing but a mess as well.

The one who truly profited was the former Liang’s Hanyang Wengzhu.

After this campaign, that Wengzhu would become famous throughout the realm for more than just her beauty as Great Liang’s foremost beauty.

—

In the biting spring wind, Pei Song rode his horse at a leisurely pace, deep in contemplation.

A messenger on horseback galloped urgently toward him from ahead. Upon reaching Pei Song, he reined in his horse and tumbled to the ground in a rolling dismount, holding a battle report high above his head: “Master, urgent report from Tong City!”

A personal guard riding beside Pei Song moved forward to retrieve the report and presented it to him.

After reading it, Pei Song’s aura turned cold and heavy, yet he said nothing, merely waving his hand to dismiss the messenger.

Gongsun Chou’s carriage traveled alongside. He lifted the curtain and, seeing Pei Song’s displeased expression, said: “Tong City has no famous generals stationed there, nor is it even a military garrison. Could something unexpected have happened to Pei Yuan on this mission as well?”

Pei Song handed over the battle report.

After reading it, Gongsun Chou’s already wrinkled old face seemed to crease even deeper. He pondered aloud: “That rat of a Tong City magistrate fled south with official silver, only to be intercepted by those remnants of the former dynasty. They disguised themselves as refugees and escaped through the roads to Ping Province. With those rebel provinces acting as shields, Pei Yuan couldn’t pursue with his large army. This woman… truly possesses intelligence bordering on the supernatural!”

He paused before continuing: “But my lord need not worry. No matter how many schemes those former Liang remnants devise, they are merely tricks, not true military strategy—they cannot amount to much. However, that guard by her side who wields a five-foot Miao saber and nearly severely wounded Pei Yuan… such divine prowess is formidable. If we could eliminate him, it would be akin to pulling the sharp fangs from Hanyang’s tiger mouth.”

Pei Song said: “I have my own plans for eliminating this person.”

He raised his eyes toward the thin snow covering the distant green mountains and asked: “Have our people sent to Southern Chen transmitted any news?”

Gongsun Chou replied: “Not yet, but the conditions my lord offered are quite generous. Southern Chen will most likely not refuse.”

Pei Song’s eyelids lowered slightly as he said: “It matters not if they refuse.”

Under Gongsun Chou’s puzzled gaze, he lightly pressed his heels against the horse’s flanks and urged it forward: “If so, we’ll also be able to gauge how much weight Prince Changlian’s remaining leverage in Southern Chen carries.”

Gongsun Chou’s worry turned to joy as he clasped his hands and said: “My lord is wise.”

Pei Song tightened his grip on the reins: “Today I was merely outmaneuvered by that woman of the Wen clan using Tong City as her stage. Military strategists never fixate on a single victory or defeat. Her methods differ from those of her father and brothers—she’s quite adept at seizing the initiative.”

Just as when she had previously disrupted grain and medicine prices, releasing advance word of her purchases to make merchants follow suit in hoarding goods, successfully driving up prices that should have risen months later, right when his army arrived at Yong City.

This recent setback in the south also stemmed from her spreading rumors of his assassination first, then falsely conscripting troops from Tong City, causing panic that should have taken much longer to ferment to spread rapidly instead.

Many provinces raising rebellion flags were forced into action by that panic and pressure from Xin Province.

She merely plucked the strings lightly, effortlessly swaying control over the entire south.

He had suffered losses at her hands twice.

But there wouldn’t be a third time.

Wind across the wilderness lifted the stray hair from Pei Song’s forehead as he slowly raised his eyes and said: “But what I excel at most is also seizing the initiative first.”

—

“Dong—”

The ancient temple bell rang out melodiously. Before the Cave of Ten Thousand Buddhas, candle flames burned eternally. On the entire cliff face carved from the mountain, ten thousand Buddha statues were etched—some compassionate, some sorrowful, some wrathful, some angry. The main Buddha in the center of the great hall stood as tall as the second-floor hall itself, eyes half-closed, gazing down at the worshippers below with what seemed like sorrow and pity.

Wen Yu knelt quietly on a prayer cushion with hands joined, her delicate features and moth-like eyebrows forming a profile like carved jade. Pearl hairpins adorned her hair, yet they couldn’t diminish half the radiance of her world-toppling beauty. Morning sunlight streaming through the hall windows mingled with candlelight from the Buddha shrine, illuminating her face—in that hazy moment, her entire being seemed to emanate divinity.

The golden-orange gauze robe made of some unknown material seemed to shimmer with flowing light in the dawn rays and candlelight.

A young novice monk chanting sutras beside her kept his eyes tightly shut, tapping a wooden fish, not daring to open them lightly.

A gaunt old monk entered the hall, raising one palm and intoning: “Amitabha.”

Only then did the young monk open his eyes, returning the gesture to the old monk: “Master.”

The old monk said: “You may go now.”

The young monk departed with palm raised.

The old monk gazed at the woman kneeling on the cushion, her golden-orange robes spread behind her, and said with closed eyes: “What the benefactor seeks is not within this Buddhist temple.”

Wen Yu’s dark lashes lifted as she slowly opened her eyes, her phoenix-like gaze piercing: “The Buddha said, ‘All appearances are illusory; if one sees that all appearances are not appearances, then one sees the Tathagata.’ Now I see this human realm is not the human realm, yet I have not seen the Tathagata. I am confused.” [1]

The old monk intoned another Buddha’s name and replied: “My Buddha observes freely, seeing that the five aggregates are all empty, thus transcending all suffering. However, the benefactor already has her own path of the heart. Therefore I say, what the benefactor seeks is not within this Buddhist temple. Amitabha.” [2]

A gust of wind from some unknown source scattered the Buddhist sutras Wen Yu had placed before her cushion.

She gently pressed them back down with her slender, pale fingers. Under the sorrowful gaze of the great Buddha nearly two zhang tall carved into the cliff face, she calmly lowered her long lashes: “I worship the Buddhas not for my own sake.”

—

Ping Province, at the foot of Bodhi Mountain.

In the ancient towering forest, Fan Yuan withdrew his blade from a pursuing soldier’s chest, kicked the corpse away, and spat: “These bastards from Xin Province have been chasing us relentlessly, like wild dogs that spotted a bone.”

His subordinate laughed: “Our mission was a complete success. We not only captured alive that turtle grandson of a Tong City magistrate but also brought back nearly a million taels of silver he’d plundered from passing merchant caravans. More than just a bone—we’re a fat piece of meat that cut right through Xin Province. How could they not scramble to snatch it?”

Fan Yuan laughed along: “They’d better have the life to snatch it! We’ve already entered Ping Province territory. If they dare advance with a large army, it means they’re declaring open war on Ping Province. The neighboring provinces won’t miss the chance to stab them in the back!”

He looked around and found Xiao Li sitting on a large boulder, wiping blood from his blade.

Several corpses lay collapsed near that boulder.

All died from severed tendons and broken bones—killed with single strikes.

Having just killed, his aura of violence hadn’t yet dissipated. The pair of wolf-like eyes reflected in the cold blade still seemed to carry ferocity, keeping even those who had called him brother throughout the journey from easily approaching to chat.

Fan Yuan walked over and slapped his shoulder hard: “This mission owes much to Brother Xiao as well. Without you repeatedly slaying the heads of pursuing troops, how could we have reached the Ping Province border so quickly?”

Xiao Li sheathed his blade, his violent aura diminishing somewhat: “It’s all due to General Fan’s excellent command.”

Fan Yuan laughed heartily: “We tally merit by headcount—your share won’t be less!”

Then he clicked his tongue with some regret: “Pity you’re the Wengzhu’s man, otherwise I’d really want to pull you under my command.”

Not just pull him in—in this fragmenting realm, such talent was surely sought after by all factions.

Fan Yuan recalled when Xiao Li crossed blades with Pei Yuan, who had come with Pei clan hawks and hounds in pursuit, viciously forcing him to retreat repeatedly. He still felt lingering trepidation. Patting Xiao Li’s shoulder, he laughed: “But I suppose it won’t take you long to reach my position. We’ve at least shared life-and-death trials together—don’t forget to look after me in the future.”

Xiao Li said: “The general jests.”

Fan Yuan walked back, waving dismissively over his shoulder: “I’m excellent at judging people!”

He called to his subordinates: “Alright, rest is over—time to move. Another ten-some li ahead is Bodhi Temple. I’ve already sent word ahead, so don’t keep the Wengzhu waiting.”

Through gaps in the forest branches and leaves, one could just make out Bodhi Temple at the peak of the layered distant mountains.

Xiao Li gazed toward the Buddhist temple hidden among the trees, unscrewed his water pouch, tilted his head back and silently gulped down a mouthful, then tossed the pouch aside, gripped his blade, and mounted his horse.

—

When the ancient bell on the mountainside rang once more, Li Xun rushed in from outside the hall. After nodding respectfully to the old monk, he said to Wen Yu, who knelt listening to sutras on her cushion: “Wengzhu, General Fan and Righteous Scholar Xiao have returned!”

Wen Yu opened her eyes.

The old monk performed a salute with joined palms: “The benefactor is intelligent with inherent dharma nature. Though you don’t turn toward my Buddha, you have your own heaven and earth. Since worldly matters entangle you, benefactor, please go.”

Wen Yu’s fingertips gathered the stack of copied Buddhist sutras. Rising, she bowed to the old monk: “Thank you, Abbot, for expounding the sutras and resolving doubts. I won’t disturb you further.”

The old monk watched her retreating figure and intoned with closed eyes: “Amitabha.”

Then, looking at the four eternal lamps Wen Yu had offered before the Buddha, he sighed and shook his head: “With attachments in the heart, karma is difficult to dispel…”

After stepping out of the great hall, Wen Yu instructed Li Xun: “I’ve offered eternal lamps here for my father the king, my mother the consort, my elder brother, and Jun’er. When I go to Southern Chen, I’ll trouble Uncle Li to come to this temple every year to add some incense money for me.”

Mentioning their former lord, Li Xun’s aged face also darkened. He nodded: “This subject remembers.”

As they spoke, they reached the mountain gate.

Fan Yuan’s group, who had just come up the winding mountain path, had just arrived.

To avoid disturbing the temple’s tranquility, they brought only twenty-some elite troops up the mountain, leaving the rest waiting below.

Seeing Li Xun leading Wen Yu out from within the mountain gate from afar, Fan Yuan quickly dismounted with his men, bowing with cupped fists: “We greet the Wengzhu!”

The soldiers behind him were seeing Wen Yu in formal attire for the first time. Some stared dumbfounded before snapping back to attention and hastily bowing their heads, kneeling on one knee.

Xiao Li also gazed at her, momentarily stunned.

He suddenly understood why her title was called Hanyang.

Glamorous as a lotus, brilliant as the blazing sun.

If divine beings descended to this mortal world, they would likely resemble her as she descended these steps now.

Xiao Li lowered his eyes, not daring to look further.

“Please rise quickly, everyone.” Though Wen Yu’s voice was gentle, it also carried a trace of coolness. The golden-gauze-covered robes trailed long behind her like a phoenix’s tail feathers. Her gaze swept past Xiao Li to look at Fan Yuan: “Did this mission proceed smoothly?”

Fan Yuan replied: “Smoothly. The Wengzhu’s divine foresight was accurate—that Tong City magistrate was indeed cowardly and greedy for life. Before Pei clan’s army even reached Tong City, he’d already fled south with his wealth. We feigned allegiance and seized an opportunity to control the magistrate, then incited his subordinates to surrender. Disguised as refugees, we crossed through Xin Province and brought all the funds back. We encountered Pei clan pursuers and small Xin Province official troops midway, but fortunately Brother Xiao was divinely brave, so the journey was without major incident.”

Wen Yu nodded: “That’s good then. General, please lead the soldiers into the temple first to have some tea and rest briefly. I’ll quickly gather some things, then we can descend the mountain together.”

As she turned, her gaze casually glanced at Xiao Li again.

Since arriving on the mountain, he’d kept his eyes half-lowered in silence, which seemed rather strange.

After entering the mountain gate, Wen Yu said quietly to Li Xun: “Later, call Xiao Li to the side hall. I have something to ask him.”

Li Xun understood that having escorted Wen Yu throughout the journey, Xiao Li must have earned her trust as a confidant. It was reasonable for Wen Yu to seek him out privately for matters. He nodded in acknowledgment.

Lost in thought, Xiao Li fell back a few steps, walking at the rear with soldiers under Fan Yuan’s command.

Among them were soldiers who still hadn’t recovered their wits even now. One missed his footing on the steps and took a face-plant, drawing muffled laughter from his brothers nearby.

Fan Yuan had gone ahead into the temple with Li Xun and didn’t know what happened behind, so they weren’t as restrained.

Someone laughed: “Nothing shameful about being dazed and tripping—the Wengzhu is Great Liang’s foremost beauty! Legend has it that a young master from a noble house saw the Wengzhu just once at a banquet and went home lovesick!”

The soldier who tripped turned beet red amid the teasing, scratching his head: “Wonder what the Chen King our Wengzhu is marrying is like…”

Another soldier said: “This marriage was arranged when the Prince was still alive. I heard that back then, to seek betrothal to the Wengzhu, the Chen King had craftsmen carve a man-height screen from a whole piece of mutton-fat jade, engraving the ‘Ode to the Goddess’ on it. You all know the story of ‘the Xiang King has intentions, but the goddess has none,’ right?”

Seeing his brothers ahead turn back to look at him, intrigued, he continued: “The Chen King used this method to demonstrate his admiration for the Wengzhu. That screen is still kept in the Fengyang Prince’s manor. The Prince, moved by his deep feelings, agreed to this marriage. I’d guess the Chen King’s appearance isn’t poor either—otherwise, why would the Wengzhu agree to marry him?”

Thinking he’d revealed quite a few secrets, he looked smugly at his brothers, but instead of their expected amazement, he felt the mountain temple—perhaps due to its high elevation—was rather chilly.

Just as he was about to rub his arms, a voice cold enough to drop ice shards came from behind: “Excuse me.”

His expression froze. Turning his head, he saw Xiao Li’s handsome, coldly stern face.

He stiffly stepped aside, clearing a path.

Only after Xiao Li passed did he clutch his head in dismay: “It’s over, it’s over! The Wengzhu’s confidant was right behind us—why didn’t you warn me?”

The other soldiers gave him helpless looks. They’d wanted to warn him, but the Wengzhu’s personal guard’s expression was truly frightening!