On the fourth day of the tenth month, the Imperial Rain forces captured Yacheng, and the defending general Tuoba Hong took his own life when the city fell.
On the sixth day of the tenth month, the great army of Huang Chao besieged Nandu.
On the seventh day of the tenth month, Prince Nan went out of the city dressed in plain clothes, holding aloft the supreme command token of Nanguo — the Xuanmo Order — upon his head, and knelt in submission before Huangguo.
On the eighth day of the tenth month, Huang Chao bestowed upon Prince Nan the title of “Marquis of Nan Cheng,” and dispatched men to “escort” the Marquis of Nan along with over four hundred members of his household back to Huangguo to be settled. Huaguo’s military strategist Liu Yusheng volunteered for the mission.
The Imperial Capital. Three hundred and seventy-two years ago, Shi Di proclaimed himself emperor here, built palaces and raised city walls, conferred ranks upon civil officials and rewarded military generals, and issued proclamations throughout the land announcing the founding of the Dong Chao Empire — thus opening the most glorious and magnificent chapter in the empire’s history. More than three hundred years had since passed. The Imperial Capital, which had once loomed over all of Central Plains like a crouching lion, had drifted and swayed through its cycles of imposing authority and domineering might, of wealth and splendor, of power and intrigue, of extravagance and decadence, of dazzling prosperity, and of autumn frost upon white grass. Having weathered a hundred years of vicissitudes, it had become, by now, nothing more than an ancient city faintly tinged with the weariness of age. The glory and magnificence of its former days had been slowly washed away by the long river called time. Perhaps only in some corner of red palace walls, in a patch of purple leaves within the imperial garden, in the misty air adorned with pearl-and-jade ornaments, and in the songs that floated through the night, could one still find traces of the splendor of days gone by.
The Imperial Capital. The Imperial Palace. Dingtao Palace.
“This old subject pays his respects to Your Majesty!”
A sonorous voice rang out. Within the southern study of Dingtao Palace, a white-haired elderly general bowed respectfully before a man seated at a writing desk, who was dressed in dark purple casual robes and wholly absorbed in painting.
“Oh, General Dong has come — please, rise quickly.” The man who had been painting gestured to the attending eunuch beside him to help the old general to his feet.
“This subject thanks Your Majesty!” The old general, however, needed no attendant’s support; he rose to his feet entirely on his own without the slightest effort. Such a simple movement, yet he performed it with complete ease and agility.
This elderly general was none other than Dong Shufang, Grand General of the Dong Chao Empire, holder of the title of Grand General and enfeoffed as Marquis Ji’an. In this turbulent age of warlords vying for supremacy and unceasing strife, he had remained utterly loyal to the Dong Chao imperial house, steadfast as ever through decades without a single day’s wavering. Though already past sixty, his outward appearance — save for his frost-white hair — was that of a vigorous man in his early forties. His square face was chiseled with precision as though carved by a knife; his thick eyebrows were like bold strokes of dark ink drawn in a single sweep; his frame was tall and broad, with a bearing that suggested he could lift a thousand pounds with a single sweep of his hand. Anyone who laid eyes on him would think one and the same thing without hesitation: this man must be a great general.
“You have come at just the right moment, my dear subject. Tell me, how does this painting of Flowers Beneath the Moon that We have copied compare?” The man in purple robes said with great enthusiasm, pointing to the nearly finished work on the desk. He was the reigning emperor of the Dong Chao Empire — Qí Di — approximately in his early forties, of medium build, pale-faced with a light beard. His bearing carried none of an emperor’s domineering authority; instead, he possessed the refined and scholarly air of a man of letters.
“This subject is a crude man, entirely unversed in the literary arts and painting — how could I possibly discern the subtleties of Your Majesty’s work?” Dong Shufang did not step forward to examine the painting; he merely bent slightly at the waist and replied.
“Oh.” Qí Di appeared mildly disappointed. His gaze drifted from Dong Shufang back to the painting, and as he gazed upon his own work, his expression gradually transformed — growing tender, then ardent — until his entire soul seemed to sink into the canvas, the way a man looks upon the woman he loves most dearly: wholly focused, wholly entranced.
“This painting, Flowers Beneath the Moon, by Young Master Xieyue — I have copied it no fewer than dozens of times, and this time is the finest yet. And yet…” His feet shifted; his gaze moved from his own work to a painting hanging directly before the desk, then back again to his own, shifting repeatedly between the two. Murmuring words spilled from him in an unending stream: “No, no, it will not do. Young Master Xieyue’s painting achieves a perfect unity of scene and emotion — one need only look upon it to feel oneself transported within it. Truly beyond words! Look at this moon — neither fully emerged nor fully hidden, luminous as jade, yet cloaked in an exquisite haze of dreamlike mist. And these flowers — neither fully open nor fully closed, petals beginning to unfurl from their buds, like the bashful countenance of a beautiful woman… Magnificent! Magnificent! Truly magnificent! No wonder he is called the ‘Young Master of Moonlit Elegance’ — how could We ever compare to him!” With those final words, he let the brush fall upon his own painting, and that still-unfinished Flowers Beneath the Moon was thus brought to its end.
Dong Shufang, watching from the side, wore an expression of quiet lament — and beneath it, a disappointment and anxious sorrow too deep to conceal.
“Your Majesty!” Dong Shufang called out in a firm voice, drawing the emperor back from his lamentation over his own inadequacy.
“Oh.” Qí Di turned to face the loyal old subject standing before him. “What matter brings Dong, my dear subject, here?”
“Your Majesty, you are the sovereign of a nation — affairs of state must take precedence. You must not allow these… leisurely pursuits to interfere with governance!” Dong Shufang chose his words as tactfully as he could. Had the man before him not been the emperor but rather one of his own descendants or subordinates, his temperament would have driven him to roar long ago: The kingdom is on the verge of ruin, and you still have the leisure for such idle and useless things?!
This Qí Di, from the moment of his accession, had never once directed his thoughts toward affairs of state. Every matter of court and military governance he had entrusted entirely to Dong Shufang, without the slightest fear that ceding such authority might lead to someone usurping his throne. Though the Dong Chao Empire now existed in name only, so long as the emperor still reigned and the Imperial Capital still stood, the court yet endured. And so, each day, memorials continued to arrive from every corner of the royal domain — the most frequent being reports of feudal lords raising rebellions and bandit armies multiplying on all sides. But this emperor would read them and set them aside without so much as a furrow of his brow, as though the events described bore no relation whatsoever to his own realm. Nor was he given to the vices of his predecessors — drink, women, wealth, warfare, or slaughter. His tastes were rather more refined and gentle. He loved only painting and calligraphy. For them he harbored an enormous passion, spending his days copying celebrated masterworks of past generations — yet he had never once produced a single painting that was his own.
“Oh.” Qí Di’s response to Dong Shufang’s remonstrance was as indifferent as ever. “With you here, my dear subject, We need not trouble Ourselves with such trivial matters.”
Dong Shufang could not decide whether to laugh or to weep. Throughout the annals of history, this emperor before him was likely the only one to regard affairs of state as trivialities and the writing of characters and painting of pictures as matters of true importance. What was he to do with such an emperor?
“Your Majesty!” Dong Shufang set aside his wandering thoughts and brought his mind back to the purpose of this palace visit. “The treacherous Bai Wang has already reached Shangcheng — once past Jiaocheng, he will be at the Imperial Capital’s doorstep. And that Prince Xi, who marches under the banner of ‘Bringing Order to All Under Heaven,’ follows close on his heels. The situation is already gravely urgent. We implore Your Majesty…”
The memorial Dong Shufang had composed through the night was barely past its opening when he found himself unable to continue — for the emperor before him, who should have been visibly alarmed by those words, was instead wearing a smile. Yet this particular smile was, after all these years, the first that had ever made Dong Shufang feel that the man before him truly was an emperor — a supreme and sovereign ruler above all others.
Qí Di smiled faintly as he regarded the deeply troubled subject standing before him. The man was consumed with worry for the fate of this Dong Chao Empire clinging so precariously to its last breath. What a pity, truly… A trace of mockery rose unbidden in his eyes — but the moment he caught sight of the old subject’s sharp yet unwavering gaze, that mockery dissolved into gratitude and a long, quiet sigh.
“General Dong, We have reigned for nearly twenty years now, have We not?” Qí Di began quietly, without any desire to calculate precisely how many years he had sat upon the throne. “From the very day of Our accession, We have pushed every matter onto your shoulders, while We have hidden away in this Dingtao Palace — writing characters, painting pictures, reading books, listening to the rain…” Qí Di laughed at himself with a self-deprecating smile. “It must be said, We are truly an inept ruler. All these years, We have caused you great suffering. Yet you have devoted yourself entirely to supporting Us, to guarding and protecting the Dong Chao Empire, without faltering a single day over these decades. Such loyalty is exceedingly rare throughout all of history.”
“These are nothing more than what a subject ought to do.” Dong Shufang replied with respectful deference.
Qí Di shook his head, his gaze passing through Dong Shufang to settle far, far away, as though absorbed in some distant vista beyond.
“You just said that Prince Xi has already reached Shangcheng?” he said after a moment, his gaze returning to settle on Dong Shufang. “How swift. Truly worthy of Lanming Wang’s bloodline. And what of the descendant of Feng Wang — the one who calls herself the ‘Phoenix King’? Where has she reached? And the descendant of Yan Wang — where is he now?”
“Feng Wang, after seizing Yancheng in the royal domain, immediately moved to Juancheng. And the Imperial King has taken Nanguo and has already captured six cities in the royal domain — he has now reached Chengcheng.” Dong Shufang answered, and as he spoke, his brow furrowed involuntarily, his eyes sharp with undisguised contempt — his heart silently seething: These treacherous rebels — hmph!
“Hmm, not bad at all.” Qí Di, upon hearing this, nodded with what seemed like genuine admiration. “None of them have disgraced the sacred names of their ancestors. Only we unworthy descendants have failed to carry on the heroic legacy of those who came before us… Only I wonder — which of them will be the first to arrive at the Imperial Capital?”
“Your Majesty!” Dong Shufang suddenly cried out.
“Oh.” Qí Di smiled with a trace of mild amusement and fixed his gaze upon this loyal old subject, whose face was etched with worry. The man was consumed with anguish over the fate of this Dong Chao Empire barely surviving by its last breath — what a pity, truly… Yet even as that thought stirred his eyes toward mockery, one glance at the old subject’s penetrating yet resolute gaze transformed that mockery into gratitude and a long, quiet sigh.
“Your Majesty!” Dong Shufang called out again with sudden force.
“Oh.” Qí Di seemed faintly amused. He looked at his loyal old subject, and in that moment his gaze was as clear and lucid as a mirror — entirely unlike the habitual air of careless indifference. In that instant, Dong Shufang felt a flash of wonder and a certain reverence as he stared at his emperor. Had His Majesty finally awakened to the responsibilities of a sovereign?
“General Dong, how many men do We still have?” Qí Di asked calmly. Seeing a trace of confusion in Dong Shufang’s eyes, he added, “We mean — how many soldiers do We still have?”
“In reply to Your Majesty: this subject commands one hundred thousand imperial guards who have held steady in their defense of the Imperial Capital all this time. Adding the garrisons of other cities, we can muster at least two hundred thousand soldiers in total.” Dong Shufang replied.
“Oh, so that many remain.” Qí Di seemed mildly surprised. He thought for a brief moment, then said, “Then let General Dong lead eighty thousand imperial guards forth to subdue Feng Wang.”
“Subdue Feng Wang?” Dong Shufang was certain he had misheard. He stared at Qí Di with wide eyes. “Your Majesty, how can this be?” His concern had grown too great for him to worry whether his words might offend the emperor. “If this subject were to lead the imperial guards away to subdue Feng Wang at this moment, what would become of the Imperial Capital? Bai Wang and Prince Xi each command armies numbering in the hundreds of thousands — how could the remaining twenty thousand imperial guards hold them off? If that were to happen…”
But Qí Di waved a dismissive hand: “Did General Dong not just say that by mustering the garrison forces of other cities, we could assemble at least two hundred thousand troops? Then We shall conscript armies from those cities to defend the Imperial Capital. Once General Dong has subdued Feng Wang, you can loop around through the outer cities and come upon Prince Xi from behind — at that point We will press from both sides at once, and Prince Xi will be like a turtle trapped in a jar, easily captured. Once Prince Xi is taken, the Grand General can then drive the army east and south against the Imperial King, defeat him, and would not the realm be pacified?”
“This…” Dong Shufang was left momentarily speechless. The emperor’s words sounded entirely reasonable — but would things truly unfold so smoothly and simply?
“Does General Dong lack the confidence to defeat Feng Wang? Or does General Dong not trust that We have the ability to defend the Imperial Capital?” Qí Di’s voice suddenly took on a quality sharp as tempered metal.
“This old subject dares not!” Dong Shufang quickly lowered his head.
“Very well, then.” Qí Di’s voice returned to its usual tone. “General Dong shall set out the day after tomorrow to subdue Feng Wang.”
“Your Majesty, mobilizing a great army for a campaign cannot be done in a single day — there are still various battle preparations that must be made…” Dong Shufang had barely begun to speak when Qí Di cut him off.
“Oh? Is the Grand General afraid? Does he require dozens of days to steel his nerves?” Qí Di’s voice turned suddenly cold, his gaze carrying a tinge of disdain. “It seems the Grand General has truly grown old. Feng Wang Xiyun, I am told, has made quite a name for herself in recent years — her literary talent and martial prowess are both exceptional, and the Fengyun Cavalry she created is said to be ferociously unstoppable. It seems the Grand General has truly lost his nerve and dare not face her in battle.”
“This subject…” Dong Shufang stared at the emperor seated above him for a long moment, then slowly knelt with a bow of his head. “This subject humbly obeys His Majesty’s imperial command!” The old subject’s head hung low, and his voice was hoarse with a sorrow and indignation he could not suppress.
“Hmm.” Qí Di nodded with satisfaction. “We have drafted an imperial edict of surrender here — take it with you. If you can persuade Feng Wang to submit, so much the better. After all, she is a subject of our Dong Chao — how could We not offer her a path to return to the fold? And this would also demonstrate Our own magnanimity. If she submits, then Prince Xi and the Imperial King may well follow her example, and We would have pacified the realm without expending a single soldier or a single arrow.” Qí Di picked up his brush and wrote out the imperial decree upon a sheet of painting paper. The contents were clearly not lengthy, for it was finished within moments, after which he gestured for an attendant to seal it.
Dong Shufang accepted the imperial edict wrapped in yellow silk from the attendant’s hands, raised his head to look at the emperor once more, then lowered his gaze again — concealing a bitter smile and an overwhelming exhaustion behind that bowed head. “Your Majesty’s benevolence is boundless. May the treacherous subjects perceive Your Majesty’s sacred will and submit in earnest without delay, devoting their loyalty to Your Majesty!”
“Good. You may go.” Qí Di waved a hand.
“This subject takes his leave.” Dong Shufang withdrew. That departing figure now seemed, for the first time, to carry with it a faint and unmistakable shadow of age and weariness.
Dingtao Palace returned once more to silence. Qí Di’s gaze fell back upon that painting of Flowers Beneath the Moon by Feng Xieyue. He gazed upon it for a long moment, then broke into a soft, quiet laugh — a laugh laced through with derision and cold scorn, yet also carrying a faint undercurrent of relief that no one could quite understand. “My dear Dong… when a body and its limbs have all rotted away, even the sharpest and most brilliant mind can do nothing to save it. After all these years, have you truly not yet understood?”
“What a nuisance!” In the official residence at Shangcheng, He Qishu stared at a document that had just been delivered to his desk and muttered quietly.
“What nuisance?” A light laugh drifted in from the doorway. Ren Chuanyun strolled in with casual, unhurried steps. “What manner of matter could make the ever-shrewd Young Master He feel troubled?” His words carried a thinly veiled note of teasing.
“Hmph! The reason I’m in this mess is entirely because of you!” He Qishu frowned and looked at the man who had just entered. “If your heart weren’t riddled with rot and bent in the wrong direction, would Wang have dumped the task of managing grain and provisions onto me? These tedious, bothersome matters were supposed to be your job — you, with your reluctance to lift a hand for anything!”
“Oh?” Ren Chuanyun stroked his chin, entirely unbothered by He Qishu’s scathing accusation, and simply smiled with easy composure. “Isn’t it because Young Master He is clever and capable that Wang has entrusted you with such important responsibilities?”
“My cleverness and capability ought to be put to proper use — on the battlefield, fighting the enemy and winning glory with open and honest force. Not like certain people who deploy their gifts in underhanded schemes and shadowy trenches!” He Qishu’s words were utterly without mercy. Among the four generals of the Mo Yu Cavalry, only He Qishu’s sharp tongue could hold its own against Ren Chuanyun’s slippery sophistry.
“Qishu.”
Just as what promised to be a spectacular exchange was about to unfold, it was cut short by someone striding in through the doorway.
“The city’s grain reserves will last only five days, and the resupply has still not arrived. What is the reason for this?” Qiao Jin directed the question at He Qishu, with Duanmu Wensheng and Ren Chuanyun following close behind.
“Ahh.” He Qishu let out a heavy sigh. “It has been raining continuously in the Pashan mountains, and the mud and stone that washed down from the slopes have completely blocked the roads — the provisions cannot be transported through.”
Qiao Jin’s brow furrowed upon hearing this. He looked at He Qishu. “An army with empty bellies cannot win a battle.”
“I know.” He Qishu rubbed his temples with vexation. “But to get the provisions through, the roads must first be cleared. If we ration what remains in Shangcheng and add what can be brought from Yicheng, we should be able to hold out for around ten days. By then, the provisions ought to arrive as well. But the problem is…” He Qishu looked at his colleagues. “Bai Wang has now reached Jiaocheng — our army will almost certainly have to move out within the next two days. You must know that once past Jiaocheng, we are at the Imperial Capital. We simply cannot afford to remain here for ten days. And yet, if the provisions do not arrive, how can the army march?”
“What a nuisance indeed.” Duanmu Wensheng found himself involuntarily echoing He Qishu’s complaint. “The army’s movements cannot be delayed. Bai Wang attacking the Imperial Capital is fine, but we absolutely cannot let him actually capture the emperor.”
“Is there truly no way to resolve this?” Ren Chuanyun asked.
“There is.” He Qishu looked at the youngest of them — General Chuanyun — with an expression that was half smile and half something else entirely. “Go and plunder the common people. Are you willing to lead troops and rob the civilians?”
Ren Chuanyun rolled his eyes at that. “If it came to plundering, I personally wouldn’t have much of a problem with it. But Wang would never permit me to do something that would destroy our army’s reputation for benevolence.”
“This is no time for jokes.” Qiao Jin waved a hand and looked at He Qishu. “Is there another way?”
“There is.” He Qishu nodded — but his next words were: “However, I only just received news of this, so I haven’t come up with a solution quite yet.”
“Will you only think of one when the army is already marching on empty stomachs?” Duanmu Wensheng muttered.
“Truly, this is such a small matter, and yet it has all of you so flustered. If I didn’t know you all — having practically grown up alongside you — I would start to wonder whether you really were the four generals of the Mo Yu Cavalry, feared throughout the world.” Ren Chuanyun, who had been quietly standing to one side, shook his head with an exaggerated sigh.
“Brother, do you have a plan?” Ren Chuanyun immediately brightened and turned toward his elder brother.
“Of course.” Ren Chuanyun stroked his chin and nodded. “We can send a letter asking Feng Wang for assistance. In any case, before the Imperial Capital is taken, the Fengyun Cavalry will most likely not engage in any hasty battles — they will be conserving and replenishing their strength. So our army can proceed to Jiaocheng as planned, while we ask Feng Wang to send a portion of provisions ahead from Juancheng. We can also ask her to send troops to Pashan to clear the road and escort the supply convoy to catch up with us. Would that not solve everything?”
The four generals were momentarily taken aback. Ren Chuanyun’s plan seemed sound enough — but on further reflection…
“I have always had one question for you.” He Qishu fixed his gaze on Ren Chuanyun. “It seems that from the very beginning — even before you had ever laid eyes on Feng Wang — you have consistently worked against her and against the Fengyun Cavalry. Why? You know full well that what Wang and Feng Wang share is far more than an ordinary arrangement between two rulers bound by a marriage pact. They met in the jianghu and have known each other for ten years — the bond between them is beyond what most people could fathom. It is precisely because of the two of them that the two nations have been able to forge such harmony, and it is precisely because of this that we were able to take Baiguo so swiftly. And yet you have persistently worked to sow discord between the two rulers and the two armies. You, who are so proud of your intellect and consider yourself second only to Wang in brilliance — why do you keep making such unwise moves?!”
He Qishu’s words struck a chord, and the other three turned to look at Ren Chuanyun as well. This question had long been lodged in all of their hearts.
“Hmm, it seems it is always difficult to be the one doing good.” Under the gaze of four pairs of eyes, Ren Chuanyun smiled with a trace of wry bitterness. “Is it truly your impression that I, Ren Chuanyun, am a petty, scheming man?”
“Whether you are petty or not, I cannot say — but you are certainly no noble gentleman.” Duanmu Wensheng spoke up. “Even so, none of us have ever doubted your loyalty to Wang.”
“Oh.” Ren Chuanyun’s only response was an unreadable smile. His gaze settled and fixed upon a fine sword resting on the weapon rack in the corner of the room. After a long silence, he finally spoke: “In your opinion — what manner of person is Feng Wang?”
The four fell quiet for a moment. In the end, it was Qiao Jin who answered: “Incomparable grace and bearing, talent and genius without equal in her generation.”
These were words of praise long celebrated throughout the land. Once, they might have seemed somewhat excessive — but at this moment, every one of them felt it from the very bottom of their hearts, and they truly believed she had earned every word.
Ren Chuanyun gave a slight nod, as though he shared the feeling. Then he said, “Throughout history, there have been two kinds of women who have drawn the admiration of all under heaven — and who, by that same token, have also been capable of bringing all under heaven to ruin.”
The four generals felt a sudden jolt in their chests. Those words seemed to pry open a door, and through it rushed thoughts they had never before considered.
“The first kind,” Ren Chuanyun continued, his gaze still resting on the sword, “are those whose beauty topples nations. Women of this kind possess an appearance of incomparable and devastating loveliness — capable of bewitching the eyes, ensnaring the heart, confusing the mind, and shaking the very soul. To the point that men are utterly and hopelessly consumed by them… abandoning their lives, casting away their kin, betraying their friends, forsaking their families and their kingdoms… even willing to fall into the most wretched depths of hell, all for the chance to draw a single breath of their fragrance. These are what the world calls ‘beauties who bring ruin’ — the great calamity of red beauty.”
“The second kind,” Ren Chuanyun’s gaze shifted, blazing and direct, settling on Qiao Jin, “are those whose intellect surpasses kingdoms. Women of this kind possess unparalleled brilliance and a bearing of the highest refinement. In the wilderness, they can command the submission of all outstanding talents; at court, every powerful figure bows its head, and the entire realm is held in the palm of their hand. Such women will inevitably be proud of their own genius and harboring great ambitions — they will never accept a position beneath another. At the lighter end, they will command a single family or a single nation; at the heavier end, they will seize the entire realm and hold it in their grasp.”
At those words, all four of the generals’ expressions grew somber.
“This Feng Wang — she does not merely possess beauty…” Ren Chuanyun laughed suddenly, a laugh laden with a boundless sense of lament, “…she also has talent, intellect, virtue, and martial skill, and beyond that — she has a nation, wealth, people, an army, a host of civil and military officials who are loyal to her heart and soul, and the devotion of countless people of Fengguo. A woman like her — can she truly stand behind another?”
The room fell into complete silence. No one spoke. Each of them turned it over in their own mind, thinking of that woman — so clear and elegant, so supremely gifted — who seemed tranquil on the surface, yet whose single gaze was enough to make them feel a deep and instinctive pressure.
“She and Wang already have a marriage pact. Once they are wed, she will naturally take her place as queen consort behind Wang.” Duanmu Wensheng said in a calm, measured voice. Had it not always been so, throughout history?
“That is precisely what makes it more worrying.” A shadow of concealed unease passed through Ren Chuanyun’s eyes. “The flower-strewn path laid to welcome Feng Wang, the Xifu Terrace built for the ceremony of the peace accord, the ‘Lanyin Biyue’ flowers planted and tended for eight years on her behalf… Do you truly not see what all of this means?”
“What is wrong with any of that? A deep bond between the two rulers will only serve to strengthen the alliance between the two nations.” Duanmu Wensheng was, in fact, glad to see Wang do something for someone — it made Wang seem more human, rather than so flawlessly perfect as to seem utterly without feeling, more like an ideal than a person.
“Hmph! A deep bond will bind two nations more tightly into one? You are all thinking far too simply.” Ren Chuanyun let out a cold laugh.
“Is the path of a true king truly a solitary road?” Ren Chuanyun’s younger brother, who had been silent all this while, looked at him and sighed with a quiet heaviness. Having depended on each other since childhood, he alone, perhaps, could glimpse something of what moved in his elder brother’s heart.
“Yes — the path of a king is a road walked alone.” Ren Chuanyun exhaled a long, slow breath, a faint shadow falling across his brow. “Throughout all of history, every true emperor has stood at the absolute pinnacle, and walked at the absolute forefront. No one could ever walk abreast of him, and no one could stand before him. Only behind him — the countless subjects who followed in his wake.”
“Moreover, for a true emperor, the only thing that can hold the foremost place in his heart is all under heaven. No person, no matter how beloved, no matter how close — nothing can supersede that. For anything that does will only become a shackle, an obstruction on his path to the highest throne.” Ren Chuanyun’s hands tightened slowly into fists. “Shi Di rose from a man of common birth to claim the realm — what genius and greatness of vision that required! And yet today… the Dong Chao Empire lies shattered and divided, the feudal lords war for supremacy, battles rage without end, and the people have no peace in which to live. But this catastrophe was created with Shi Di’s own hands. Dividing the realm into kingdoms, distributing land and power among others… The seven generals were loyal to him — but after a hundred years, would their descendants remain just as unwaveringly faithful? Shi Di could not possibly have been unaware of this. And yet he still conferred those kingdoms. And why did he confer them? Was it not all for Feng Wang? For the sake of one woman, he left the nation in such a state as this! Such an emperor was, in truth, never a worthy ruler at all — never truly fit to be a king!” A cold blade-like light shone in Ren Chuanyun’s eyes. “Do you truly wish to see Wang walk the same path as Shi Di? Do you wish to see the realm we reclaimed with our blood, our flesh, and our lives end up as this empire has today?!”
Ren Chuanyun lifted his head. His gaze passed through the four generals, and the sunlight streaming in through the window caught the bronze scabbard of the sword and scattered in broken points of light across his eyes — yet those eyes were impervious to warmth, utterly cold, like ice striking the surface of a mirror lake, ringing with the frozen chill of a winter shore. His voice, too, was without warmth: “You have all witnessed it with your own eyes — the Fengyun Cavalry and Fengguo are loyal only to her, submissive only to her. If the day ever came… when swords were drawn against each other, she would be our — she would be Wang’s greatest, most dangerous enemy. And so… either her power must be diminished, or… she must not be allowed to exist. Because the only ruler we have sworn our lives to serve is Wang alone!”
Outside the window, the sun blazed in a clear sky. The tenth month was no longer truly warm, but it was certainly far from cold. And yet within the room, in that moment, the air was filled with a bone-deep chill. The four generals stood in absolute stillness, while in their hearts, surging, tumultuous waves crashed and roared without end.
When Xiyun saw the urgent message sent by the Mo Yu Cavalry asking for help, she did not hesitate for even a single instant.
“Cheng Zhi — draw out half the city’s provisions and lead three thousand men to escort them to the Mo Yu Cavalry.”
“Xu Yuan — lead five thousand men to Pashan.”
“Yes!” Xu Yuan and Cheng Zhi accepted their orders and departed.
Watching them go, Xiu Jiurong suddenly recalled something.
“Wang, over these past months of successive battles to seize cities, our army’s casualties have been few, but we have still lost close to a thousand men, and more than two thousand have been wounded. Add to that the troops left as garrisons in the cities we have taken — and now another eight thousand sent out — and by careful count, the men within the city who are fit for combat number fewer than thirty thousand. The Mo Yu Cavalry commands two hundred thousand troops. Could they truly not spare even ten thousand men to transport provisions? Bai’s army is not the Zhengtian Cavalry!”
“Oh, don’t trouble yourself with that, Jiurong.” Xiyun could not help but smile warmly to reassure her cherished general. “In any case, our army will not take any more cities before Prince Xi captures the Imperial Capital — we can rest and recover here at leisure. So helping them transport some provisions is no great matter.”
In that moment, none of them knew that Dong Shufang had been ordered to lead eighty thousand imperial guards and was already marching toward Juancheng. Xiyun was a brilliant general who wielded armies like a divine instrument — but she was not a prophet. She assessed the situation with the mind of a strategist: the Imperial King’s Zhengtian Cavalry was busy absorbing the cities of the royal domain one by one; Bai’s army was too occupied trying to flee to cause trouble; and the Imperial Capital at this hour should have been fully focused on fortifying its defenses against the converging forces of Bai and Feng. It was simply impossible to imagine — unless she herself initiated an assault — that any battle would come seeking her out. And precisely because she reasoned with a strategist’s mind, she failed to conceive of that stroke from out of nowhere delivered by Qí Di, who understood nothing of the art of war. Because of this failure, countless heroic souls in the Luoying Mountains would later pour out a great, heart-rending song of sacrifice and sorrow in blood and steel.
Had they been able to foresee what lay ahead, Ren Chuanyun would have sent his request for help with even greater delight — while Xiyun would have absolutely refused to dispatch a single soldier for provisions, even at the cost of a rupture between the two armies. But had they been able to see even further ahead than that, Ren Chuanyun might never have set himself against Xiyun from the very beginning — he might instead have enshrined her like a bodhisattva from day one. And Xiyun herself — had she known what the future held in every detail — would she still have accepted Lanxi’s betrothal, still have formed this alliance with Fengguo? Would she still have helped Lanxi conquer the realm with such selfless and wholehearted devotion?