A place that had long since crumbled to ruin — so desolate that even beggars would not come near — turned out to conceal an entirely different world within!

Everyone present except Li Wu and his two brothers stared open-eyed in disbelief. The murmuring voices rose in wave after wave, each louder than the last.

Li Wu drew the long blade from his belt, and the crowd fell instantly silent.

The neighbors and townsfolk he had once known in his daily life looked at this unfamiliar Li Wu with a mixture of awe and wariness.

The former local ruffian had returned to the place where he had grown up, commanding a vast, well-equipped army at his back. Li Wu, imposing and formidable, was someone no one dared take lightly any longer.

Those who had offended him trembled, fearing he had come to settle scores.

Those who had been on good terms with him felt too ashamed of themselves to approach.

He had put on finely woven silk robes, and his long hair was properly gathered and bound. Every trace of his usual idle, roguish manner dissolved in the moment his blade cleared its sheath, replaced by something grave and commanding.

Li Wu had shed the skin of a local petty tyrant and emerged as a dragon of the open sea. Everyone was wondering — was the man before them still the Li Wu they had known?

Li Wu stepped up onto the planks Li Kun had lifted, walked to the edge of the hidden chamber, and swung his blade in quick succession, knocking the locks off an entire row of wooden crates.

The tip of the blade flicked open the lids one by one. Rows of silver ingots, new sets of chainmail armor, and sharp blades came together like a river of silver, shimmering in the rising sun.

The crowd fell utterly silent.

“In all honesty — this is the wealth I accumulated in the first half of my life. To build this foundation for myself, I gave offense to many of my neighbors in times past. For that, I, Li Wu, offer my sincere apologies!”

The crowd exchanged glances. Sui Rui and Jiu Niang looked questioningly toward Shen Zhuxi, who could only shake her head in bewilderment — she had known nothing of Li Wu’s intentions beforehand.

“More than two hundred years ago, it was the founding emperor of the Great Yan who overthrew the rule of the Great Yuezhi and delivered us from foreign tyranny. More than a hundred years ago, it was the Yan Emperor Wu who personally led his armies into the field, driving back the Xiongnu who had swept south and protecting the peace of the common people — including those of us here in Jinzhou —”

Li Wu planted one foot on the lid of a crate of silver ingots, swept his gaze across the gathered crowd, and called out in a carrying voice: “Now, the Great Yan teeters on the brink of collapse. When the nest is overturned, no egg beneath it is left unbroken. That truth, those of you who have just lost your loved ones should understand better than anyone!”

Scattered sounds of weeping rose from the crowd. Some stood red-eyed, heads bowed, wiping their tears. Others wore expressions of naked fury, fists clenched tight.

“A person lives but once. A man of worth ought to do something that matters — what meaning is there in spending a life skulking in one corner, amounting to nothing? I am willing to pledge my service to the Great Yan and give what strength I have to restoring the realm. If you trust me and wish to make something of yourselves alongside me — tomorrow, at this very time and place, you may come and put your name down to join the Qingfeng Army! Every recruit who meets the requirements will receive a full set of weapons and equipment, as well as silver to see their families settled!”

When Li Wu finished speaking, the crowd erupted into commotion.

Hu Yishou, the gambling house proprietor who had crossed paths with Li Wu on more than a few occasions, stood silently somewhere in the crowd, several broad-shouldered, thick-armed men clustered around him, all visibly stirred, their heads bent together in murmured conversation. A wisp of smoke curled from the pipe in Hu Yishou’s hand. He looked at it — the pipe he had not taken a single draw from since this had begun — and simply let it drop to his side.

“If this had come a few years earlier, when I was still young…” he murmured. “Born in the wrong time…”

The onlookers buzzed and chattered, the air charged with energy. Even Sui Rui pushed through the crowd to reach Shen Zhuxi’s side and asked quietly: “…Can you ask for me — are women allowed to enlist?”

“Probably… not?” Shen Zhuxi thought of Xiao Hu, who was even now in the army, and gave her answer without quite convincing herself of it.

“Ask him for me, ask him for me. Doesn’t Li Wu listen to you? Put in a word for me — whisper it to him in private —” Sui Rui pressed her arm with a look of desperate longing.

“Ask what?” Li Wu walked over.

Li Kun and Li Que had stayed behind at the spot where Li Wu had been standing. Li Wu’s personal guards jumped down into the hidden chamber, and working in coordinated teams, began hoisting the heavy crates up from below ground.

“Can I enlist?” Sui Rui blurted it out before anyone else could.

“What are you stirring yourself up about? You can’t even get into full armor — go back to roasting your chickens.” Li Wu raised an eyebrow at her.

“What kind of attitude is that?!” Sui Rui stamped her foot in outrage. “Didn’t you just finish apologizing to everyone?!”

“That’s right — I’ve already apologized, which means we’re even. Aren’t we square?” Li Wu said.

“You —”

“Quit your clucking at me —” Li Wu made a face of open impatience. “Go convince your father first. Once you do, come back and talk. Your father finds out you want to enlist, he’ll break your legs — then you won’t even be able to roast chickens.”

“Move along, you’re blocking the way.”

Li Wu shoved Sui Rui aside and hooked his arm around Shen Zhuxi beside her, pulling her along with him.

“Come, come, come — your husband is starving…”

“What about them?” Shen Zhuxi said, surprised, glancing back at Li Kun and the others, still hard at work.

“They won’t drop dead from hunger just yet. Your husband’s about to die of starvation and you’re not concerned? Is it them that matters, or —”

“You!” Shen Zhuxi cut him off hastily.

“I know.”

Li Wu slung his arm around her shoulders and walked contentedly toward the horses.

Once back at the county magistrate’s compound where they were staying, Li Wu steered Shen Zhuxi into the study and sat her down at the writing desk.

“There’s something I’d like your thoughts on.”

Li Wu’s expression was serious. Shen Zhuxi felt herself grow alert. “What is it?”

“Of the sixteen military governors across the realm, which one do you think I should pledge my allegiance to?”

“Why not pledge directly to Emperor Yuanlong?” Shen Zhuxi said without thinking.

“I’d be glad to pledge directly to Emperor Yuanlong — but would he look twice at me?” Li Wu countered.

She had to admit he had a point.

If Li Wu simply wrote a letter to Emperor Yuanlong, the most likely outcome was that Xiangzhou would be accepted while Li Wu himself was given some idle, inconsequential post as a polite dismissal.

Emperor Yuanlong had far too many noble families waiting in line for positions. For Li Wu — a man with no background or connections — to rise on his own merit would be harder than climbing to the sky.

This was Shen Zhuxi’s first time being asked for her thoughts on something of political consequence, but she had sat in on court proceedings in the Imperial Study more than a few times before this.

She thought it over, then began:

“Of the sixteen military governors, the first to rule out is the Wuying Military Governor — you have a grudge with him. Chunyu An repays every grievance without fail; not only would he never give you a position of real use, he would find ways to settle his private score with you. His top military advisor also has a personal enmity with you over the death of his brother, and would certainly work against you. Not only can you not go to Wuying Governor’s territory — you also cannot seek out any of the governors who are on good terms with the Wuying Army.”

This alone eliminated four military governors.

“…The majority of the rest are fence-sitters, playing both the Imperial Court and the false Liao regime against each other. Their territory is small and their armies weak — in their position, going where the wind blows is understandable, but this kind of wavering will sooner or later see them swallowed by more powerful forces.”

Li Wu’s eyes shone with pleased admiration — which greatly encouraged Shen Zhuxi. She steadied herself and continued:

“Of those currently with a firm stance, openly committed to supporting the suppression of the rebellion on behalf of the Great Yan, there are only four: the Military Governor of Zhenchuan, the Military Governor of Cangzhen, the Military Governor of Jihai, and the Military Governor of Longbei. Cangzhen’s Military Governor Kong Ye is loyal and conscientious but lacking in ability; Jihai’s Military Governor is resistant to outsiders; Longbei’s Military Governor has already passed the age of fifty and has recently been confined to bed with illness — Longbei is likely to fall into internal strife before long. As for the Military Governor of Zhenchuan, Li Qia — he has only been in the position for four years, and I know relatively little about him, only that he comes from a distinguished military family with centuries of tradition, and that in the capital he was considered a notable house among the established elite.”

After working through the options, there were not many left.

Li Wu thought it over briefly, then said, “Help me write a letter to the Military Governor of Zhenchuan.”

He had made up his mind so quickly that Shen Zhuxi couldn’t help saying, “Don’t you want to think it over a bit more?”

“What is there to think over? It’s all a sorry bunch of options — no amount of thinking produces a better one.” Li Wu said decisively. “I’ll take Li Qia. Better to pledge loyalty to someone of the same family name than to an outsider. As the saying goes, water doesn’t flow out of one’s own family well —”

Since Li Wu was ultimately the one making the decision, Shen Zhuxi didn’t press any further. She picked up the inkstone and the ink stick, and as she began to grind the ink, asked, “Who do you plan to send the letter through?”

“Through the relay station.”

“I mean — who do you intend to have place the letter in front of Li Qia?”

“Who else? The courier at the relay station.”

“You’re writing to Li Qia without knowing him personally?” Shen Zhuxi was stunned. “Do you have any idea how many letters arrive at Li Qia’s household in a single day? If you don’t have someone put it directly in front of him, when will this letter ever reach his eyes?”

Li Wu was unconcerned: “That’s his own loss, nothing to do with me. Who says his being a military governor makes him any more important than anyone else I could work under?”

The words had a certain perverse logic that Shen Zhuxi found impossible to argue with.

Something this serious — and somehow, in Li Wu’s hands, it felt like a joke.

Shen Zhuxi sighed, looked at the blank paper before her, and asked, “What do you want to say?”

Li Wu launched right in: “Write: ‘I’m coming to pledge my allegiance to you, bringing Xiangzhou with me. Yes or no?'”

Shen Zhuxi fell silent.

After a moment, she asked, brimming with skepticism: “Is this how you talk to Li Qia? And besides… we haven’t even taken Xiangzhou yet, have we?”

Li Wu said with perfect confidence: “By the time he receives the letter, we will have.”

…Fine. This man’s mind always worked differently from everyone else’s.

Shen Zhuxi dipped the brush in ink, considered briefly, and wrote the opening address in her lean, bone-strong thin-gold calligraphy.

Li Wu looked on from behind with lively interest, reading aloud character by character what Shen Zhuxi’s brush set down.

At first he could still read complete sentences. The further along he went, the deeper his brow furrowed, and the more halting his reading became.

“…To build a great hall, to cross a mighty river, one must first choose… fine… a fine ‘Zi’… and ‘Yu Huang’…”

“Not ‘Yu Huang’ — it’s ‘Yu Huang’ — ‘a great vessel.'” Shen Zhuxi stopped and corrected him.

“You write so obscurely — can Li Qia even read this!” Li Wu said indignantly.

“Li Qia comes from an illustrious family — of course he can read it.”

“Are you looking down on me for my birth?” Li Wu’s face darkened.

“Where does one thing have to do with the other?” Shen Zhuxi said, both amused and exasperated. “I taught you to read. You weren’t paying attention, and insisted on learning poetry and history first. If it hadn’t been for that, how would you not even recognize the characters for ‘a great vessel’?”

“…So what if I’d recognized them — nobody was going to pay me for knowing them,” Li Wu muttered.

Shen Zhuxi set the finished letter to one side, picked up a clean envelope, and wrote Li Qia’s full name on it.

She blew on the fresh ink, and worried that the letter might be shelved and forgotten by the household staff, she hesitated, then picked up the brush again and added the sender’s name:

“Humbly presented by Li Wu, City Master of Xiangzhou.”

Strictly speaking, the sender’s name and honorific should not appear on the envelope, but Shen Zhuxi was genuinely afraid that this letter — on which the entire future of the Qingfeng Army depended — might sink into silence and never be seen. It was for that reason alone that she had broken convention and added the sender to the envelope.

To acknowledge the breach of etiquette and explain the necessity, she also added two lines of courteous formality inside the body of the letter.

Once everything was complete, Shen Zhuxi blew the ink dry, folded the letter into the envelope, and sealed it carefully.

“Here.”

The task was done. She handed the finished, ready-to-send letter to Li Wu.

“Shen Silly-Gourd —” Li Wu looked at her intently.

“Hm?”

Li Wu pulled her into his arms all at once, and gave her head a vigorous, enthusiastic rubbing.

“You are truly my greatest treasure.”