Xu Xiao personally escorted Qi Xian Xia out of the city. Since the White Fox was not adept at riding, he boarded a carriage while Qi Xian Xia rode alongside on horseback.
The carriage halted north of the ferry bridge over the river. Xu Xiao stepped down, and Qi Xian Xia led his horse forward as the two walked together to the midpoint of the wooden bridge.
Unable to hold back, Qi Xian Xia asked, “Why did you choose to come to Jubei City as the governor of Liangzhou instead of staying in the capital?”
Resting his elbows on the bridge railing and cupping his chin, Xu Xiao gazed at the slow-flowing river and replied calmly, “On one hand, staying in the Liangzhou governor’s mansion would mean living under someone else’s thumb, constantly overshadowed by Song Dongming, the deputy military commissioner stationed at Qingliang Mountain. Rather than engaging in a losing battle where both sides end up covered in mud and disgrace, I’d rather change the board entirely. Of course, this reasoning is flimsy—just something I tell myself to justify my choice. Even an outsider like you might find it hard to believe. In truth, aside from hoping to become a more trusted confidant than Song Dongming to the new King of Liang, I also have… personal reasons.”
Qi Xian Xia frowned. “Personal reasons?”
Xu Xiao turned slightly, his face breaking into a smile. “Do you know what it means to have the spirit of a scholar?”
Already in a foul mood, Qi Xian Xia snorted dismissively. “A brute like me wouldn’t understand the lofty ambitions of you scholars!”
Xu Xiao blinked. “Is that truly the case, or are you feigning ignorance?”
Qi Xian Xia remained silent, his expression stern.
Xu Xiao didn’t press further. Instead, he turned back to the river, stepping back slightly before straightening his sleeves and standing solemnly.
“An era, a nation—sometimes, certain people must step forward resolutely at certain moments, stand in a certain place, and hold their ground! Without retreating a single step!”
“Once you stand there, the responsibility is yours alone. There’s no shirking it, no yielding!”
“On the battlefield, Liu Jinu at Hutou City and Wei Jingtang at Hengshui City in Jizhou were such men. In the halls of power, Zhang Julu was even more so!”
“And now, it’s Xu Fengnian’s turn!”
Xu Xiao narrowed his eyes, gazing into the distance. “I don’t care what Xu Fengnian’s motives or intentions were for standing in that place. I, Xu Xiao, only care about the outcome, not the reasons! So, I’ve chosen to stand here too. Let future generations judge my deeds—whether right or wrong, success or failure—after I’m dead.”
Xu Xiao laughed heartily. “I wouldn’t want future scholars poring over the annals of this epic war only to find that not a single scholar died here!”
Qi Xian Xia sighed softly.
Suddenly melancholic, Xu Xiao murmured, “I never felt it deeply before, but now I realize how detestable those sneers and condescending remarks from the Central Plains court officials toward Northern Liang truly are.”
Abruptly, Qi Xian Xia mounted his horse and said gravely, “I’m leaving. If I stay any longer, I fear I won’t be able to go at all.”
Xu Xiao roared with laughter. “Go on, then! Scram back to your Central Plains!”
True to his word, Qi Xian Xia spurred his horse and rode off.
Xu Xiao didn’t watch him leave for long—there was no point straining his eyes in vain.
Suddenly, he slapped the bridge railing and sang loudly, “The great wind rises! How mighty is our Northern Liang!”
※※※
Wang Linquan, jokingly called the “Martial God of Wealth” of Northern Liang, left the Wutong Courtyard at Qingliang Mountain after visiting his daughter, Wang Chudong.
Only when alone did his smile fade, revealing the exhaustion of a man who had once been the wealthiest in Qingzhou and now held the same status in Northern Liang.
Xu Weixiong had privately confided something to him. As Wang Chudong’s father, he couldn’t refuse, but as an old retainer of the Xu family, his conscience weighed heavily.
Zhao Yutai, once the sword maiden of Princess Wu Su, gently pushed the wheelchair as she accompanied Xu Weixiong to the lakeside of Tingchao Lake. The veiled woman hesitated, her words unspoken.
Xu Weixiong said softly, “Aunt, I won’t go to Jubei City, and neither should you.”
Zhao Yutai trembled. “Why?”
Resting her hands on her knees, Xu Weixiong gazed at the famed Tingchao Lake and replied calmly, “If we go, we’ll only distract him. He’ll exhaust himself secretly arranging escape routes for us while forcing smiles in front of us every day. It’s too much.”
Zhao Yutai’s hands shook.
Xu Weixiong tilted her head, resting it gently on Zhao Yutai’s hand. “Aunt, if that day ever comes, help him take care of Wang Chudong. Find a peaceful haven far from the war in the Central Plains, alright?”
Zhao Yutai nodded with difficulty.
※※※
In the Wutong Courtyard, the young literary prodigy who had once dazzled the world with *The First Snow* was racking her brains. She had just promised to write another masterpiece—one that would rival her earlier work, chronicling the beacon fires of the northwest, the border wars, the heroic sacrifices, and the grand vistas.
She would vindicate him, give voice to Northern Liang, and ensure their legacy endured—never allowing future historians to tarnish their story.
Beside her, the slightly gaunt and weary Lu Chengyan took a rare break to grind ink for the famed Wang Chudong.
Suddenly, Wang Chudong looked up, her face troubled. “Sister Lu, it’s been so long since I’ve written anything. I don’t even know how to begin.”
Lu Chengyan smiled gently. “Great writing comes naturally. Don’t rush it.”
Wang Chudong nodded and returned to agonizing over the opening lines.
Lu Chengyan stood, ruffling Wang Chudong’s hair. “Take your time.”
Wang Chudong suddenly brightened, clenching her fists and waving them excitedly. “Don’t worry! The inspiration will come pouring out, unstoppable!”
Lu Chengyan chuckled. “Then I’ll be the first to read it.”
Once Lu Chengyan left the room, Wang Chudong—who always seemed so carefree—suddenly burst into tears, her face streaked with sorrow.
※※※
A carriage passed through the battlefield of Laoniu Mountain, where the stench of blood still lingered. A pale-faced young general struggled to sit up, lifting the curtain to gaze outside, unwilling to let it fall.
The female Bodhisattva from Luotuo Mountain sat inside, channeling a steady stream of soothing energy to prevent his wounds from worsening.
Xie Xichui stared at the battlefield strewn with Northern Mang corpses and whispered, “Twenty thousand monk-soldiers—though most belonged to other factions of Luotuo Mountain, your three thousand elites were among them. That was your entire fortune as the Six-Beaded Master. You must have guessed why I went to that corridor, didn’t you?”
The Bodhisattva, her long hair cascading nearly to her waist, nodded coldly.
Xie Xichui smiled bitterly. “It was a move to kill three birds with one stone—I had no choice. It delayed Northern Mang reinforcements, turned the monk-soldiers into an unexpected force in Liuzhou, and depleted the Western Regions’ strength. Whether Northern Liang wins or loses, it benefits us. If we win, the weakened Luotuo Mountain will likely send more monk-soldiers to aid us. If the Xu family loses, Northern Mang will have lost twenty thousand monk-soldiers before they can march south. Either way, Northern Liang gains, and Luotuo Mountain is forced to follow.”
She sneered. “If you, Xie Xichui, had died in that corridor, and if Liuzhou’s border army had been crushed, I wouldn’t have hesitated to take your head to Northern Mang as a trophy.”
Xie Xichui grinned. “Disappointed?”
With that, he let the curtain fall and lay back, soon drifting into deep sleep.
She closed her eyes, serene and detached, silently reciting sutras for the dead.
※※※
Inside and outside Huaiyang Pass, the two most famous fat men in the world—Nan Chu and Bei Dong—stood in opposition.
Dong Zhuo rode to the front lines, gazing up at the outer walls of Huaiyang Pass, where over twenty thousand disgraced nomads from the grasslands were swarming the defenses.
With a private army of 140,000, Dong Zhuo had no illusions about these expendable troops breaching Huaiyang Pass—or even taking the outer walls.
He was biding his time, waiting for winter and the first heavy snowfall.
Until then, sacrificing twenty thousand men to whittle down the defenders’ numbers was a bargain.
These twenty thousand had cost him nothing—he’d wheedled them from the old woman. If he tapped into his father-in-law’s Yelu clan reserves, he could squeeze another twenty thousand from the The Great Steppe Feast.
Beyond that, Dong Zhuo had sent word to He Lianwuwei, the The Governor of Hexi Province with Imperial Credentials: *If you can’t take Fuling and Liuya before winter, I’ll lend you troops. Don’t stand on ceremony—I’m feeling uncharacteristically generous!*
The veteran general, famed for his prowess, didn’t even bother replying. Instead, he launched relentless assaults, day and night, far surpassing the intensity at Huaiyang Pass.
Dong Zhuo absently tapped his teeth, like the softest drumbeat in the world.
On the inner city walls, Chu Lushan stood clad in iron armor, his presence imposing.
The Northern Liang Protector interlaced his fingers and tapped them lightly, his face unreadable.
※※※
The Northern Mang Crown Prince, Yelü Hongcai, didn’t ride in a palanquin. Instead, he wore golden armor and sat astride his horse at the heart of his army, surveying the endless sea of Steel Cavalry of the Grasslands.
Historically, Central Plains emperors led campaigns in eight-horse-drawn chariots, but the Grasslands had no such tradition. Still, the Crown Prince mused that once they ruled the Central Plains, they could tweak ancestral customs.
He hadn’t expected the emperor—whom he deeply feared—to grant him real authority instead of keeping him as a figurehead. The Kheshig guards, loyal only to him, were proof.
Though Yelü Dongchuang and the Spring Nabo Tuoba Qiyun were vexing presences, they were but minor nuisances. As long as he proceeded with meticulous precision, they would never become a true threat. One boasted a grandfather who served as regent across three dynasties; the other, a father hailed as the War God of the Grasslands. Impressive lineages, indeed—but could they possibly rival his own?
His gaze flicked to the woman beside him—his wife, the nominal Crown Princess.
Once, he’d respected and confided in her, even relied on her counsel. But since his confidante’s arrival, their marriage had grown distant, from mutual respect to mutual indifference.
Thinking of his lover—forever hidden from the world—the Crown Prince felt a twinge of regret and guilt.
But compared to the empire, compared to the Central Plains no Grasslands lord had ever fully conquered, the choice was clear.
Blame that Xu brat from Northern Liang and his so-called 300,000 iron cavalry for being so inept, soon to become his prisoners.
For the first time, the Northern Mang Crown Prince swelled with pride, longing to roar triumphantly.
*I command 400,000 cavalry!*
*How can a lone Jubei City stand against me?*
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