The fall of Hanshou was plain and simple bloody treason.
At least that was how Shamoke saw it. He swore a blood oath on it, drew a knife across his own palm and let the blood drip down onto the dirt. He swore he would make every traitor pay for every inch of ground they stole.
The Pan clan of Hanshou naturally saw things completely differently. They did not call themselves rebels. In their heads, who was the rebel? Your sister was the rebel. To them this was taking back what was always theirs.
And honestly their reasoning was not totally made up out of nowhere.
The way things worked down south had been set in stone for generations. The rough wild tribes lived deep in the mountains and forests. The civilized Han people farmed the flat rich lands down below. That was just how the world worked, the cosmic order. It had been that way since Emperor Wu first sent officials out here. Nobody questioned it. Not unless they were tired of eating good rice or keeping a head on their shoulders.
For hundreds of years imperial inspectors came through Jingzhou like birds migrating for the winter. Dozens of high ranking officials showed up, did their thing, and left. Every single one of them treated the rich powerful clans of Hanshou like royalty. They drank good wine together. They sat at huge banquets together. Whenever the mountain tribes got too rowdy the officials just politely asked the local gentry to handle it for them.
It was a sweet deal. Everybody scratched everybody else's back and nobody complained.
Then the Yellow Turban Rebellion came along and burned the whole system down.
The governors up north suddenly lost interest in managing small faraway counties like Hanshou. They packed up their official stamps and ran back north to lock themselves behind the walls of Xiangyang. The deep south was left completely unsupervised. Like letting the dog run free without a leash, just do whatever you like, we don't care.
The rich clans of Hanshou did not pack up and leave. They stayed right where they were, and with nobody watching over them getting greedy became way too easy. Of course, right? If not now, then when? It was just a matter of principle. You want to be rich, or you want to be poor forever?
Hanshou was not some random nowhere town. It sat right at a major crossroads. It controlled the mountain passes going west. It connected straight to the huge river networks of the Yunmeng Marsh going east. Little by little the Pan clan and their rich friends swallowed the whole region. It became their own private kingdom. They collected all the rent. They hoarded all the grain. They trained their own armies behind closed gates.
All kinds of huge disasters happened elsewhere and these clans basically did not care and barely noticed. Sun Jian killed Inspector Wang Rui. Liu Biao rode into Jingzhou alone and took over. Wars broke out and armies marched right past their doorstep. Through all the blood and fire the gentry of Hanshou just stayed exactly the same. They kept collecting rent. They kept throwing banquets. They acted like whatever happened outside their walls was none of their business.
Then came Liu Bei.
When he suddenly took over everything the great clans actually got scared. Liu Bei was not some temporary official who would leave after three years. He conquered the whole southern region. He beat Cao Cao back at Xiangyang. He marched his armies all the way into Hanzhong. The local elites finally realized this guy actually planned to stay and rule them. Not just tax them and ignore them. Actually rule them.
And that scared the hell out of them.
That fear turned into hatred faster than milk spoils out in the sun.
Liu Huangsu was unbelievably nice to the mountain tribes that the gentry despised. Meanwhile he treated the fancy old clans of Hanshou like they did not matter at all. He broke their monopolies. He ignored their demands. He looked at their hundreds of years of special privileges and basically said that is nice but it stops now.
The insults just kept piling up. Pan Jun was this famous brilliant young scholar from the Pan clan. Everybody across the province knew how talented he was. Liu Huangsu completely ignored him. Instead he gave huge amounts of power and authority to this nobody bureaucrat named Jiang Wan who came from a totally ordinary background. The elites great clans watched this happen from less than a hundred miles away and they were absolutely furious.
Now the political winds were shifting again. And the Pan clan saw their chance. They would be more than happy to kick Liu Huangsu right off his ass.
And honestly from their point of view who could really blame them? Liu Huangsu brought in new taxes. He broke their power. He talked about treating everyone equally. Every single part of that sounded terrible to them.
Meanwhile Sun Quan ran things in Jiangdong totally differently. Sun Quan let the rich clans keep their private armies. He let them keep all their land. He let them run things the way they always had. To the Pan clan the Jiangdong way sounded absolutely perfect. Sweet. Familiar. Exactly what they wanted.
---
The news hit the marching column like a lit torch in dry grass.
Sha Jin was the first to break. He slammed his spear shaft into the mud hard enough to crack the wood.
"I knew it!" he screamed, spit flying. "Han people! All of them! Two-faced, knife-hiding, smiling-while-they-slit-your-throat snakes! You can never trust a single bloody one!"
The words had not even finished leaving his mouth before Sha Lei stopped walking. Turned slowly. The sheer size of him blocked out the sun.
"Shut your mouth, boy." His voice was not loud. It vibrated in the chest. "Say that again. Go on. Say it while looking at me."
Sha Jin's grip on the spear tightened. He did not back down. "They opened the gates, Uncle Lei! The Pan clan did not scale the walls. They opened the gates and walked in! How am I supposed to tell which Han is a traitor and which one is not?"
Sha Biao appeared from the tree line, chewing on a piece of sweetgrass. He spat it out. "You want to know how? Look at the messengers." He jerked his chin toward the roadside. Half a dozen scouts collapsed in the dirt, gasping, boots worn down to the soles. "Count the Han faces. They ran four li without stopping to bring us this news. Go call them snakes to their faces. See if they do not spit in yours."
Sha Jin's head snapped toward Sha Biao. His mouth opened. Closed. He had no answer for that. He looked at the scouts. At the grass. At the cracked shaft of his own spear. His shoulders dropped. Just a fraction.
"I did not mean them." His voice was quieter now. Deflating. "I meant the lords. The gentry."
"Then say what you mean," Sha Lei growled. "Because Master Ma is Han. And if you are calling him a snake, I will break your legs myself before the chief has to do it."
Sha Jin flinched. "I would never insult Master Ma! He lived with us, he ate with us."
"Hah, I remember back then, he spent two days behind a banyan tree cursing our water," Sha Biao said, a crooked grin flickering across his face. The grin faded on its own. "Still showed up to council on the third morning. Pale as a ghost. Bamboo scroll out. Taking notes."
Sha Lei did not laugh. He stepped closer and poked Sha Jin in the chest with one thick finger. "Master Ma told us something when he first came to the camps. You remember? Or were you too busy running your mouth to listen?"
Sha Jin said nothing. His throat worked. His eyes were fixed on the ground now.
"He said, you people keep calling yourselves Han, tribes, northerners, southerners. I do not care. When someone is hungry, he is just hungry. When someone is sick, he is just sick." Sha Lei's voice dropped. "You spit that poison, you chill the hearts of every Han brother marching beside you. Then we fracture. Then the Pan clan wins without lifting a sword. That what you want?"
Sha Jin stared at the mud. His ears burned red. His hands hung loose at his sides. "No, Uncle."
"Then fix it."
Sha Jin turned. Walked toward the messenger squad with his head low. His steps were heavy. He stopped in front of them and muttered something. An apology. The words came out clumsy, half-formed, the way a boy apologizes when he knows he was wrong but has not yet learned how to say it properly.
One of the Han scouts, a wiry man with graying hair and a split lip, looked up at him. Said nothing for a long moment. Then, "Just bring Hanshou back, tribesman. My family is still in there."
Sha Jin stopped breathing for a beat. His fist clenched at his side. He looked toward the horizon, toward the distant walls he could not yet see. "I will."
The scout nodded once and closed his eyes. Too tired for anything else.
Behind them, Sha Biao spat into the dirt. "If you ask me," he muttered, loud enough for the surrounding ranks, "those rich bastards from the big clans look at poor Han farmers the exact same way they look at us. To them, we are all just dirt. Different colored dirt. But dirt."
A murmur rippled through the column. Nods. Grim, tired nods. From tribal warriors and Han conscripts alike.
Sha Jin fell back into line. Did not speak again. Just marched. Eyes on the road.
Near the front of the column, Shamoke sat on a fallen log. He had been there the whole time. Listening. Watching. His eyes rested on Sha Jin for a moment, then shifted to Sha Lei. He exhaled once through his nose. Not a laugh. Something smaller. Something that said, good.
He waited until his physical exhaustion eased, then stood up and hoisted his heavy iron club onto his shoulder.
"We take Hanshou back first."
Not a roaring battle cry. A simple, cold command. The kind you give when you have already decided how the day ends.
Shamoke respected Ma Liang more than anyone. That skinny scholar had earned every bit of his loyalty just by being good at what he did and treating people like actual people. Those were the two things Shamoke valued most in this world.
In less than a year Ma Liang had turned Hanshou into something nobody ever thought possible. He paved those muddy roads that turned into sludge every time it rained. He built low walls around the villages so people could sleep safer at night. He set up clinics where anyone could get help. He opened schools for the kids. He showed farmers how to rotate crops so the fields stayed good year round. He made strict rules about keeping drinking water clean so people stopped getting sick.
Every single thing he did worked. Right away. For the first time ever the mountain tribes were not treated like dirt or wild animals. They finally had something steady. They finally had something to look forward to beyond the next harvest and the next raid.
And the best part? Liu Huangsu did not care what family you came from. He did not care about blood or status. He gave real official titles to tribal chiefs. That had never happened in the entire history of Wuling Commandery. Not once. Not in four hundred years.
Ma Liang had always been straight with them. He explained the titles were for now. He promised that once the war ended Liu Huangsu would set up proper exams. If you passed you kept your job. If you did not you just handed the seal back and went home. No trouble. No hard feelings. No one getting killed over it.
It was fair. It meant that any kid out in the mountains who was smart and willing to learn could actually become something. A real way up that had never existed before.
Before Ma Liang showed up those rich families ran this place like they were looting it. They did not govern. They just took everything they could get. Squeezed the land dry. And left.
Ma Liang used to joke about it late at night when they sat drinking. He said the landlords lived like fat pigs while everyone else got stepped on like mud. Shamoke had thought about that a lot. And he agreed one hundred percent.
Ma Liang always talked with so much fire about the future they were building. And Shamoke and his men were not going to sit back and let a bunch of greedy nobles and Jiangdong invaders smash that future into pieces.
---
The Pan clan's private militia stood atop the low earthen wall of Hanshou. They looked down at the approaching Wuxi tribal army with nothing but pure disdain.
"Look at these brainless hill dogs," one officer sneered and spat right over the wall. "Instead of running into the woods and hiding they actually marched straight here to die!"
The rebel leaders were in direct touch with Jiangdong's high command. They knew a huge force of professional southern infantry was marching fast toward Shamoke's rear.
To these gentry officers, the tribesmen were fine at jumping out of bushes but completely useless when it came to fighting walls. All they had to do was lock the gates and hold on for a little while. Jiangdong's army would show up and crush the barbarians flat.
Down in the field Shamoke's men looked up at the wall. Confusion was written all over their mud splattered faces.
The wall was not super tall but it was still a problem. When Ma Liang built defenses around the villages out in Linyuan he kept them waist high on purpose. You could just step right over. They were only meant to keep wild animals out.
This wall around Hanshou was different. They had built it last winter under Ma Liang's own eye. It stood a full man's height.
When nothing was going on climbing over it was just a quick step up. In the middle of a battle it was a death sentence. Scrambling up while gasping for air meant getting a spear right in your face.
Shamoke did not order a suicidal charge. He stopped his infantry. Leaned down. Whispered a few quick instructions to his personal guard. They nodded and slipped off toward the trees.
Shamoke sat down in the grass. Crossed his arms. And waited.
His calm made the men on the wall nervous. The Pan clan's private army was a total mess. Half were farmers forced into service. Half were hired thugs. The rest were terrified servants dragged up there with threats and a handful of silver coins. Looking out at ten thousand angry well armed tribesmen was tearing their nerves to pieces.
One captain decided to break the tension. He stepped up onto the battlements cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled down.
"Shamoke!" His voice cracked halfway but he kept going. "Look at this fortress! Fear it! Lord Sun's elite army is right behind you! You are already dead! Why don't you tie your own hands and surrender? If our master is feeling nice he might even let you live as a slave!"
Shamoke reached up stuck his pinky in his ear and twisted it slow. The man's high pitched screaming was annoying. But since this idiot was asking to be humiliated Shamoke decided to give him exactly what he wanted.
Confident in his armor Shamoke walked forward slow and easy. His iron club rested casually on one shoulder. He walked up to the wall like he was just heading into town to buy something.
"Who in the hell are you?" Shamoke's voice boomed across the field like thunder rolling down the mountains.
The captain puffed out his chest and rested a hand on his sword. "I am Liu Sandao! Three Blade Liu! Remember the name of the man who takes your head today!"
Shamoke stared at him. Blinked. Tilted his head. "What kind of random stray dog name is that?"
Liu Sandao's face turned bright red but he held his ground. "You won't be laughing when Lord Sun's army gets here savage! You will be on your knees begging to—"
"I am the Magistrate of Hanshou County!" Shamoke cut him off loud enough to drown the man out completely. "I am the Chief of the Wuxi Tribes! My official imperial seal is right here on my belt! What official rank do you hold?"
Liu Sandao opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Shamoke walked along the trench speaking so everyone on the wall could hear. "I was appointed personally by Liu Huangsu! I am the rightful authority here! You are my people! You picked up weapons and rebelled against your own magistrate! Are you declaring war against the Great Han Dynasty itself?"
He pointed his heavy club straight at Liu Sandao. "I am giving you one chance to surrender! Under Han law the leaders of a rebellion are cut in half at the waist! Everyone else involved is publicly executed and their bodies thrown in the ditch! Do you even understand the laws you are breaking?"
The men on the wall looked at each other. Some lowered their spears halfway. Others kept them up but glanced over at their officers unsure what to do. Two men near the gate started arguing in low urgent voices.
"He really is the magistrate," one whispered. "That seal is real. I saw it when he came through here last winter."
"He is a barbarian with a stolen seal!" a gentry officer shouted from further down the wall. "Liu Bei's people abandoned Hanshou! The Pan clan are the only ones who stayed! Who protected you when the floods came? Who fed you when the harvest failed?"
The soldiers hesitated. Spears went down. Spears came back up. The officers walked among them screaming threats but the very fact they had to scream showed how desperate they really were.
Shamoke had zero interest in winning a debate. Words were cheap, and the conscripts on that wall would believe whatever kept them alive for the next five minutes. He let them stew a moment longer, then glanced over his shoulder.
His guards were coming back from the woods, grunting under the weight of a massive freshly cut tree trunk. The front man, a grizzled veteran with a missing ear and arms like tree branches, caught Shamoke's eye and grinned. Sha Lei walked beside him, his massive frame blotting out the sun.
Shamoke rolled his shoulders. Finally. Something he could hit.
He jogged over, grabbed the front section of the heavy log, and hoisted it onto his shoulder. Sha Lei took the rear without a word. The weight was familiar. Comforting. Shamoke aimed for a section of the wall exactly ten paces to the right of the main gate.
"Follow my count!" he barked. They broke into a heavy jog, boots pounding the dirt in rhythm.
Up on the rampart, Liu Sandao spotted them and let out a high-pitched, hysterical laugh. "A battering ram against a dirt wall! You brainless hill dog! Even a child knows you break gates, not walls! Archers! Bring them down!"
A volley of arrows arced down from the wall. Most bounced off Shamoke's rattan armor. One caught a young warrior in the throat. He crumpled without a sound. Another shaft buried itself deep in the shoulder of the man beside him. He stumbled, screaming, and the log dipped hard to the left.
Shamoke roared and heaved it back up. His muscles screamed. Sha Lei grunted behind him, boots digging into the dirt. They did not stop. Could not stop. If the charge stalled now, the archers would cut them to pieces in the open field.
The heavy log slammed into the plaster face of the wall with a sound that was wrong. Not the dull, heavy thud of packed earth. A sharp, hollow crack that echoed across the field and made every man on the rampart freeze.
Liu Sandao's laughter stopped like a blade had cut it. His mouth hung open.
"Back!" Shamoke bellowed. "Five paces! Again!"
They reversed. Arrows whistled past. Another warrior fell, clutching his leg. Sha Lei stumbled over the body, caught himself, and drove forward with a snarl. The log hit the same spot a second time.
Cracks spread across the surface like veins. Dirt fell away in heavy sheets. Beneath the clay, thick wooden support beams stood exposed. The whole section was hollow. A wooden skeleton wrapped in a thin skin of earth.
His insurance policy. When Ma Liang designed this wall, Shamoke had asked for one small favor. Leave one section hollow. It would not weaken the structure, and no sensible commander would waste time ramming a dirt wall when a gate stood right beside it. But if you knew where to hit, the whole thing would fold like wet paper.
"One more!" Shamoke roared. "Put your backs into it!"
The third impact snapped the support beams with a deafening screech. The entire section collapsed inward, swallowing itself in a cloud of dust. Shamoke stumbled forward, caught himself on the wreckage, and straightened up with blood running down his forearm from a gash he had not even felt.
When the dust cleared, a breach yawned open. Wide enough for three men to walk through shoulder to shoulder.
Shamoke tossed the tree trunk aside like a spent torch. Sha Lei stepped up beside him, wiping dust from his beard with the back of one massive hand.
"Chief." His voice was a low rumble. "The breach is ours."
Shamoke nodded. "Then let us use it."
He did not need to give the order. His warriors were already moving, pouring through the gap with a roar that shook the remaining plaster off the walls. Sha Lei went with them, his iron club swinging in wide, crushing arcs.
The militia's courage, what little of it had survived the morning, evaporated on the spot. Men threw down their weapons and ran. Others stripped off their armor mid-sprint, desperate to look like civilians. Some dropped to their knees and pressed their foreheads into the dirt, begging for mercy in voices that cracked and broke.
Liu Sandao turned to flee. His own men tackled him before he could take three steps. They bound his wrists with coarse rope, dragged him kicking and screaming across the rubble, and dumped him at Shamoke's feet like a sack of stolen grain.
The proud officer was gone. In his place knelt a trembling wreck, tears and snot streaming down his face. "Lord Magistrate! Great Chief! Spare my life! I know where the Pan clan hid everything! Every storehouse! Every secret vault! Please, I just want to live!"
Shamoke looked down at him the way a man looks at a crushed insect on the sole of his boot. He tilted his chin. One of his squad leaders grabbed Liu Sandao by the collar and hauled him away. The man's shrieking faded into the noise of the city falling.
Crushing the Pan family rebellion felt good. It felt righteous. It gave Shamoke the perfect legal excuse to purge those greedy old men from Hanshou forever. Ma Liang would have approved. The thought warmed him more than the victory itself.
But the warmth faded fast. Within seconds, his face hardened again.
The nightmare was not over. Thirty thousand Jiangdong troops were closing from the north. Enemy ships were likely surrounding his southern bases right now, cutting off every path of retreat he might have considered.
Shamoke had never learned to read those grand imperial maps. He did not need to. He knew Ma Liang was deep in Jiangdong territory, lighting fires under Sun Quan's supply lines. He knew Liu Huangsu had pieces moving across the board that Shamoke could not see and did not need to understand.
His job was simpler than all of that. Surrounded on four sides. No way out. No reinforcements coming.
Bite down hard. Stand his ground. Fight to the last man.
He looked at the breach. At his warriors still pouring through. At the city that was his to hold or to lose.
"Sha Lei," he said. His voice was calm. Tired. Certain. "Get the men off the streets. I want defensive positions on every corner before the sun sets. No looting. No chasing. Anyone who stops to pick up gold gets left behind when the Jiangdong banners appear."
Sha Lei turned, already bellowing orders. His voice carried across the square, and the warriors closest to him snapped into motion without hesitation.
Shamoke watched his men move, watched the city begin to transform from a prize to be won into a fortress to be held. Somewhere out there, beyond the northern hills, thirty thousand men were marching toward him. And somewhere even further, Ma Liang was doing what Ma Liang did best: making life miserable for people who deserved it.
Shamoke adjusted his grip on his club. Then he walked through the breach, into his city, and got back to work.
---
Across the south, the whole realm had ground down into one bloody, terrifying stalemate. The great map had split apart into four separate burning hellscapes.
Jiangdong's high command poured every resource they had into Wuling. They had to crush Shamoke and his tribes fast, or they would never safely take the rest of Jingnan.
Up north, inside the great fortress of Gong'an, Jiang Wan stood high upon the watchtower looking down over everything. He noticed the Jiangdong garrison growing thinner by the day. Sun Quan kept pulling troops south to hunt down the Wuxi Chief. Jiang Wan moved fast. He sent small, sharp raids across the river every night. Keep them guessing. Keep them bleeding.
Far to the east, Gan Gui stared at the walls of Jianye. Sun Quan had completely abandoned the outer city. He pulled every man he had left back inside the stone keep at the very heart of the city. It sat far back, beyond the reach of Gan Gui's ship-mounted catapults and heavy crossbows. To take it meant sending men in to fight room by bloody room. A meat grinder.
Gan Gui spat over the railing. "Bloody hell. The old turtle has crawled into his shell."
Deep inside enemy lands, Ma Liang and the Shanyue chiefs had won a huge victory. They stormed the great salt works at Piling and seized mountains of salt. They cut off one of Sun Quan's biggest streams of gold. But when they turned west toward Jianye, their advance hit a wall. Heavily fortified mountain passes. Elite troops holding every ridge. They could not move forward another step.
---
Wu Ju had been pacing inside his tent since dawn. Back and forth like a caged tiger. He had ordered the wine warmed three separate times. The food had been reheated until it was nearly burnt.
Around noon, a long line of sleek transport ships pulled up to the southern dock.
The moment the lead officer stepped onto the shore, Wu Ju rushed forward. Grabbed the man's hands. Pulled him straight into the command tent.
The officer introduced himself as General Zhang Ni. He commanded three thousand veteran troops from Yizhou. His smile was gentle. His voice was soft. He looked more like a scholar who had borrowed a general's armor by mistake.
Wu Ju was overjoyed. He poured a cup of warm wine. Spread out the map. Slapped his thigh hard with excitement.
"General!" Wu Ju said, beaming from ear to ear. "Our supplies are ready! You and your men have traveled far. Rest today. Gather your strength. Tomorrow morning we smash through their lines together!"
Zhang Ni did not take the wine. Did not sit down. He stood right in the center of the tent. Looked down at the map with a calm, pleasant expression. Like a man admiring a painting.
"The enemy does not know we are here," Zhang Ni said. "This is the perfect moment to strike fast. I will take my men and break their center right now. I only ask that you hold the flanks for us."
Wu Ju blinked. The man was still smiling. Still speaking like he was ordering tea. Wu Ju looked at that gentle face and felt something beneath it. Hard iron. The kind that did not ask for permission. Did not wait for tomorrow.
Realizing he was dealing with a man who meant exactly what he said, Wu Ju led Zhang Ni up to the watchtower. He pointed at the enemy lines spread out below.
"That tower has twelve archers. They rotate every two hours."
Zhang Ni nodded. "Mm."
"That trench is deeper than it looks. A man could drown in the mud alone."
"Mm."
"The supply dump is behind those trees. Guarded day and night."
"Mm."
Wu Ju pointed at the ridge. "Their commander flies a yellow banner. He is competent. Not brilliant. But competent."
"Mm."
Wu Ju kept going. He showed Zhang Ni every wall, every trench, every hidden path through the marsh. Explained the guard rotations. The signal flags. The names of the enemy officers he had learned from captured scouts. He talked until his throat was dry and his finger was sore from pointing.
Zhang Ni listened carefully. Smiled. Nodded at every word.
Wu Ju finally breathed easier. This young general was careful. Thorough. Willing to learn. Good. Very good. He was not some reckless fool who would throw away three thousand lives for glory.
Three minutes later, Wu Ju stood on the tower in absolute horror as Zhang Ni walked down the steps, drew his sword, and let out a terrifying battle cry. Then he charged straight at the enemy lines all by himself.
Wu Ju's mouth fell open.
Behind Zhang Ni, the first veteran did not hesitate. He drew his blade and sprinted after his general without a word. The second followed. Then the third. Then the entire column was moving, three thousand men pouring forward in a tide of steel and dust. No second order. No war drums. They had done this before. They knew exactly what came next.
Wu Ju stood frozen. His hand was still pointing at the map.
One of his officers quietly rolled up the parchment. "Guess we will not be needing this, my lord."
Wu Ju wanted to tear his hair out. He had just spent two hours explaining every detail to a complete madman. A madman who had smiled and nodded and said "Mm" while planning to charge the entire time.
But his frustration vanished only moments later.
These three thousand soldiers were not like any infantry Wu Ju had ever seen. They had climbed cliffs where horses could not walk. They had crossed bamboo bridges over ravines that would make a goat think twice. They had hunted tribal rebels through fog so thick you could not see the man beside you. This was not a battle to them. It was a Tuesday.
They hit the Jiangdong defenses like a hammer striking thin wood. The enemy line shattered the moment they touched it.
Zhang Ni was not a tall man. But wherever his banner appeared, the Jiangdong line bent. Men stopped trying to kill him. They started trying to get away from him.
The Jiangdong formation cracked. Broke apart. Fell to pieces right before their eyes.
Wu Ju stood on the watchtower watching the battle unfold below. He cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a roar of pure joy. Tears stung his eyes.
The road north was open again. At last, Jiaozhou could march.