Layers of verdant mountains stretched across the distant horizon, while nearby, the clash of weapons and armor filled the air.

A radiant red sun slowly rose from the horizon, dissolving the remnants of last night’s mist. The badly damaged city walls, bathed in the orange-red light of dawn, looked as though they might begin dripping crimson blood at any moment.

After several fierce assaults, the troops still capable of defending Xiangyang were pitifully few.

What remained on the city wall were nothing but wounded soldiers and feeble generals, barely holding on.

Blood had soaked into the bricks of the wall, and even the air carried the faint, lingering scent of iron and gore. A severed finger, a section of intestine — neither fully cleared away — were wrapped in dark ash, piled together with broken swords and spent arrows in the corners of the wall.

The city wall was utterly silent. Every soldier standing guard bore a body full of wounds, their faces ashen and grim, still as stone carvings as they leaned against the battlements, snatching every precious second of rest.

The next assault would be the last. Against the well-rested Liao army, equipped with complete siege machinery, the Xiangyang garrison could see no hope beyond utter defeat.

Li Qingman walked the length of the city wall, taking in the crumbling morale all around her.

Li Hong followed at her side, frowning at the soldiers slumped haphazardly in every direction, whispering into her ear:

“Sister, when are we going to run?”

Li Qingman gave no sign of having heard him.

“Sister! Are you even listening to me?” Li Hong tugged impatiently at the hem of her robe. “If we don’t leave now, we really won’t be able to! When the Liao army breaks through, what — are you going to become a consort for the false emperor?”

Li Qingman shot him a sidelong glance. Li Hong’s bluster immediately wilted.

“Sister, I’m just worried about you!”

“Go by yourself.” Li Qingman pulled her robe free from his grip and walked down off the city wall without looking back.

“Where am I supposed to go on my own?” Li Hong stared, wide-eyed. “Without my sister, could I survive three days?”

Li Qingman spoke without turning around. “If you know that, why aren’t you doing what you should be doing?”

“Then when are we leaving?!”

“It’s not time yet.”

Li Hong stopped walking and glared at her back — until she stepped into the supply camp without pausing once, without ever looking back. Only then did he droop his head and slink off toward the infirmary.

“Thank you.”

Li Qingman smiled faintly, accepted the food box from the camp cook, and turned to walk toward a small grove of trees not far away.

It was just past the mao hour. Not even the birds had left their nests yet. The forest was quiet but for the sound of the wind — and the occasional, faint whisper of an arrow being loosed.

Li Qingman walked across the fallen leaves for a short while before she spotted the person she had come to find.

Whoosh.

The arrow flew out with a weak, listless arc and dropped to the ground well short of the tree it had been aimed at.

The archer wore a dejected expression and walked over to pick up the fallen shaft. Just as she turned around, she saw Li Qingman standing nearby.

“Qingman?” Shen Zhuxi said, surprised.

Li Qingman regarded her steadily.

Shen Zhuxi’s face was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and the exposed skin of her neck above her collar also glistened with a thin layer of moisture. Her chest rose and fell in slightly hurried breaths — she had clearly been practicing here alone for quite some time.

“I brought you some pastries. Come rest for a while,” Li Qingman said.

Shen Zhuxi looked down at the bow in her hands and hesitated.

“Madam’s hands are trembling. Even if you continue practicing, you won’t make much progress. It would be better to rest for a moment, so you have the strength to keep going.”

Shen Zhuxi was moved by her words. A smile surfaced on her tired face. “…You’re right.”

Li Qingman took out a folded piece of oilcloth and spread it on the ground, then knelt on it and began laying out several small pastries from the food box.

She knelt with impeccable posture, as though this were some distinguished hall. Shen Zhuxi fell naturally into the manner she had learned in the palace and knelt properly across from her.

“I prepared these after consulting with the chef at the Li household. The flavor may not quite match what Madam is accustomed to, but it should offer some small comfort.”

Shen Zhuxi picked up a mung bean cake from the small dish of pea-yellow sweets and placed it gently in her mouth.

“Isn’t this from the Immortal Guest Inn?” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Indeed.” Li Qingman smiled. “Before dawn today, the innkeeper himself brought these pastries to the camp.”

“Was there enough for the others?” Shen Zhuxi asked quickly.

“There was a little more, and it has already been distributed. Madam need not worry.”

Only then did Shen Zhuxi put the remaining half of the mung bean cake into her mouth.

“How long have you been practicing here, Madam?” Li Qingman asked.

“I don’t even remember anymore.” Shen Zhuxi smiled, a little sheepishly. “I couldn’t sleep last night — I kept thinking too much. So I figured I’d just come out and practice archery.”

“Madam knows how to shoot?”

“I only learned yesterday, from Xiao Hu. I thought, in case something happened…” Shen Zhuxi’s smile gradually faded. She lowered her gaze to the remaining mung bean cake on the small dish and said softly, “I wanted to be of use.”

Li Qingman studied her for a long moment before finally speaking:

“Madam, Xiangyang cannot hold. Let us leave.”

Not a flicker of emotion crossed Shen Zhuxi’s face. It seemed she had expected these words all along.

She swallowed the mung bean cake in her mouth, and looked up at her with a smile. “Qingman, take your brother and go. I’ll arrange horses and a carriage for you.”

“And what about Madam?”

“I’m staying.” Before Li Qingman could speak, Shen Zhuxi smiled first and said, “Qingman, I have already decided.”

Li Qingman looked in silence at the person before her who was deliberately putting on a light, easy smile to face her.

She would never be able to understand someone like this.

Not for money. Not for fame. Not for gain.

Almost foolishly, she sacrificed herself.

For Shen Zhuxi, it seemed she bore something more important than her own life.

That thing was called responsibility.

Was it the responsibility of being Li Wu’s wife? Or the responsibility of being the Lady of Xiangzhou?

“If I die…” Shen Zhuxi hesitated for a moment, then reached into her innermost garment and placed something into her hand.

A golden phoenix soared across the surface of the token, its long, slender tail feathers burning like fire against Li Qingman’s fingers.

She flinched sharply, nearly dropping the phoenix token.

“If I die,” Shen Zhuxi said, looking at the stunned Li Qingman with earnest and imploring eyes, “please give this to Li Wu.”

“Sister! Why haven’t you packed yet, what are you waiting for?!” Li Hong called out.

He was hauling a heavy chest of valuables, staggering and swaying as he set it down in front of the carriage, then turned around to urge her again:

“Sister! Aren’t you going to pack your clothes and jewelry?!”

Li Qingman sat at the stone table, not moving. “You do it,” she said.

Li Hong dared not show his anger openly. He puffed up like a round, indignant blowfish and stormed into the main bedroom.

“She makes me cook the meals and wash the bowls, all the dirty work and hard labor falls on me, and now she won’t even pack her own clothes! My life is so bitter — so bitter! Father and mother, how could you leave so early…”

He flung open the wardrobe and, without a care for wrinkles, began stuffing clothes haphazardly into an empty wooden chest.

“You told me to pack it, so whatever happens isn’t my fault.”

After cramming a few things in, Li Hong stopped and stared at the jumbled, wrinkled mess of clothing inside. In the end, he couldn’t overcome the fear in his heart, and took everything back out to fold it neatly before putting it in again.

“Hmph, I’m not afraid of her. I just refuse to argue with a woman…” Li Hong muttered under his breath as he continued packing.

Outside in the courtyard, Li Qingman still sat at the stone table.

From the western gate, the sounds of catapult fire and arrow volleys rang out again.

The final battle had begun, and its outcome was clear.

The carriage arranged to escort her out of the city was ready and waiting — they only needed to rush out of Xiangyang in the chaos when the Liao army broke through the gates. With the riches of Xiangyang before them, the Liao army would not bother chasing down one civilian carriage.

But did she truly want to leave?

Li Qingman stared down at the phoenix token in her hand, silent.

The Princess of Yue, as described in rumor, was dissolute and extravagant, arrogant and imperious. The Shen Zhuxi she knew in reality was warm and kind, resilient and steadfast.

Rumor and reality were worlds apart. Where had things gone so wrong?

Whose interests were served by the damage done to the Princess of Yue’s reputation?

Li Hong came out carrying a chest packed full of clothes. When he saw she hadn’t moved, he could bear it no longer:

“Sister! Why aren’t you moving?! Are you really going to stay and be the false emperor’s consort?!”

Li Qingman looked down at the phoenix token in her hand, her five fingers slowly curling around it.

“A-Hong, do you know what the single most important quality a ruler should possess?”

“I have no idea.” Li Hong looked completely blank and rattled off a few guesses at random. “Money? Intelligence? Military strength?”

“The people’s trust,” Li Qingman said quietly.

“People’s trust? Who has people’s trust?” Li Hong looked suspicious. “Has this person’s trust married someone? It’s fine to become an emperor’s consort, but please don’t go off and become some prince’s concubine…”

Li Qingman appeared not to have heard him and continued:

“A ruler need not possess extraordinary intelligence or unrivaled military prowess. All a ruler needs is the trust and devotion of the people — that alone is enough to draw countless brilliant advisors and fierce warriors to their side. For a ruler, the ability to inspire followers to trust them wholeheartedly and fight with undivided loyalty — without fear of betrayal or abandonment — is everything. For a ruler, possessing outstanding moral character is far more important than possessing outstanding ability.”

“Sister… what are you talking about? Aren’t we going to leave?” Li Hong was completely lost.

“When you wish to command a single city or county, outstanding personal strength alone will suffice. When you wish to rule all under heaven, personal strength becomes utterly insignificant before the vast order of things.”

Li Hong stared at her in alarm. “Sister! I only want to be the younger brother of someone who rules all under heaven!”

“…Useless creature.” Li Qingman finally turned to look at him directly, and said coldly, “Take everything off the carriage and bring it back.”

“What?” Li Hong’s mouth and eyes opened wide simultaneously.

Li Qingman tucked the phoenix token away and rose from the stone bench, walking toward Li Hong to retrieve a dagger he had carelessly stuck into the top of the wooden chest.

“Sister!” Li Hong cried out in disbelief from behind her. “You’re really not leaving?!”

“I’m not leaving.”

Li Qingman said it softly.

A ruler of benevolent virtue was a rare gift — rather than start all over again, she would stake everything on this one chance.

Defeat meant enslavement or concubinage. Victory meant rising to prominence.

If even a princess of a fallen nation dared to gamble her life on this, what did she have to fear?

“Where are you going?!” Li Hong called out urgently. “The Liao army is about to break into the city! Even if you won’t leave Xiangyang, don’t go back toward the outer walls! The Liao army will capture you!”

Li Qingman paused at the doorway, turning her head just enough to give him a glance from the corner of her eye.

“Only the useless hide at home.”

She stepped over the threshold and out through the courtyard gate. Her figure was as slender as ever, but her spine was straighter than it had ever been.

Li Hong stood there, struck dumb, until finally, with a burst of frustration, he flung down the chest in his hands.

He rushed back into the kitchen, rummaged around until he found a hatchet, and dashed out after her:

“Sister! Wait for me! Wait!”

Boom!

A boulder hurled by a catapult gouged a massive crater into the already-damaged city wall.

Shielded by a hail of arrows and a barrage of rocks, the Liao army surged forward and planted their enormous siege ladders firmly against the wall.

Shen Zhuxi rushed over and threw herself against one, pushing desperately, but the massive scaling ladder did not budge.

Tiang, her eyes brimming with frightened tears, kept pulling at her arm. “Madam, we have to go! This place cannot hold any longer!”

“I’m not going!” Shen Zhuxi’s cry was swallowed by the storm of arrows.

Before Tiang could react, the reflexes Shen Zhuxi had honed over these past few days had already kicked in — she grabbed Tiang instinctively and pulled her to shelter behind the wall.

Many of Xiangyang’s defenders were struck by arrows and crumpled to the ground. One young soldier, his face barely old enough to bear whiskers, collapsed not far from Shen Zhuxi. She gritted her teeth, ignored Tiang’s attempts to stop her, and braved the arrow storm to reach out and drag him to safety against the wall.

The young soldier’s face was streaked with tears, trembling with the lingering terror of a man who had just escaped death by a hair’s breadth. “Th… thank you, Madam…”

“Madam! Let’s go!” Tiang finally broke down and wept.

Cries of anguish rang out from every direction.

Xiangyang could not hold.

She had deployed her troops day and night without rest. The boiling oil and scalding water she had prepared in advance were long since spent. Every able-bodied young man in the city had been called to the walls, and even the common craftspeople of the city had joined in repairing the fortifications — she had done everything within her power.

This was as far as she could go.

Tears swam in Shen Zhuxi’s eyes — fear, guilt, and a burning hatred of her own inadequacy.

She could not cry.

Even at this final moment, she could not cry.

She was the Lady of Xiangzhou whom the people trusted. She was a princess who had eaten the grain of the court. She was Li Wu’s wife. Even if she were to die, she would die worthily.

She clenched her teeth hard, pushed away Tiang’s hand, and — ignoring Tiang’s cry of alarm — suddenly sprinted toward the arrow tower not far away.

The bowmen stationed in the arrow tower had all been wiped out, and no new archers remained to fill the void.

The Liao soldiers who had scaled the wall were seizing on the gaps, climbing up the siege ladders in a steady, unbroken stream.

Scattered on the ground were a few lone bows and arrows. Among them was a batch of noticeably crude wooden bows — training bows retrieved from the armory by Fang Tingzhi specifically for conscripted soldiers who had received no professional training, so even untrained hands could draw them.

Shen Zhuxi did not stop to think. She picked up one of the wooden bows from the ground and, summoning the greatest strength she had called upon in seventeen years of living, slowly drew the bow to its full tension.

Tears shimmered in her eyes, yet her expression was resolute and brave.

She had not held Xiangyang.

She had failed the people of Xiangyang who had placed their trust in her.

She had failed Li Wu, who had entrusted the rear flank to her hands.

Even now, Shen Zhuxi still feared death — but she feared dying like the Noble Consort even more: utterly without dignity.

Even in death, she would not disgrace the name of a princess.

Whoosh!

The arrow flew out and struck one of the soldiers clambering up the siege ladder.

The soldier fell like a bird with broken wings, screaming as he crashed to the ground below — and then was still.

But there were so many more. So many, many more soldiers climbing up the siege ladders toward the city wall.

A second arrow. A third. A fourth —

Shen Zhuxi’s hands grew numb from the relentless drawing of the bowstring. The thin calluses on her fingertips were worn through by the string, and the clean white fletching of the arrows was stained with patches of red.

She did not seem to notice.

Arrow after arrow, she worked like a wooden puppet on a string, her arms growing heavier and heavier — as though filled with lead — repeating the same motion over and over.

It didn’t matter if she missed.

She still had arrows. Her hands could still move. Her chest was still rising and falling.

As long as she still lived.

She would not give up.

Even if only for the time it took to drink a cup of tea, or the time it took to burn a stick of incense — as long as her resistance could buy the people of Xiangyang even the slimmest extra thread of hope, she would hold on until the very last moment of her life.

Shen Zhuxi picked up another arrow from the ground and nocked it to the bow, drawing the string back once more. But before she could release, a stray arrow came flying toward her first.

“Look out!”

A long arm pulled her into a familiar embrace.

A clear metallic ring — a blade intercepted the icy arrowhead.

Li Wu held Shen Zhuxi tightly and bellowed at the top of his lungs: “All forces, on my command — open the western gate! Defending troops, stand clear!”

A thunderous rumbling continued — but it did not come from the Liao army’s catapults outside the city.

The Zhen Chuan Army, clad in pitch-black armor and impeccably equipped, came charging down Xiangyang’s main boulevard from its far end like a surging black river, unstoppable, crashing toward the buckling western gate.

At their head was Li Kun — twin axes swinging in both hands, roaring without pause.

“Open — the — gate —”

The command was relayed, one voice after another.

The severely damaged western gate groaned and shuddered, and slowly, protestingly, began to open.

Shen Zhuxi watched as if in a dream as the Zhen Chuan Army poured forth like a gift from heaven — vast as the sea, vast as a mountain — and in an instant shattered the Liao army’s encirclement, tearing savagely through the Liao main force.

The tears finally broke free and streamed down her face.

Li Wu shoved her to safety and in a few great strides leapt down from the crumbling wall.

Li Que was waiting on horseback below, holding the reins of a powerful bay stallion.

Li Wu swung into the saddle and clamped his legs hard — launching like an arrow loosed from a bow into the black river of the Zhen Chuan Army. Li Que spurred his horse and followed close behind.

The Liao army had not anticipated at all that the formation at the southern gate had already been completely annihilated, nor that a relentless tide of elite soldiers was now pouring into the city from within. The Liao army was caught completely off guard.

Li Kun, standing over nine feet tall, was rampaging through the heart of the enemy forces, howling as he carved through them unopposed, not one soldier daring to come within his reach.

His two heavy battle axes whirled like meteors in no particular pattern, severing limbs and scattering flesh amid sprays of blood. Li Kun demonstrated to every enemy before him exactly what it meant to hold off a hundred men single-handedly.

In mere moments, the Liao army’s armor was thrown aside, their morale completely shattered.

Li Wu spurred his horse at full gallop through the chaos of the Liao army, locked his eyes on the most lavishly appointed carriage in the fleeing procession, and charged straight for it.

He called out clearly, “You’ve come all this way — you might as well stay!”