When it came time to celebrate a victory, Jiangling pulled out all the stops and showed exactly how deep its pockets ran.
Merchants poured in by the wave. Not a trickle. Not a polite little line. A flood. Loud, flashy, sweet-smelling silk robes, gold leaf, and men who had never once held a sword in anger but were suddenly the most patriotic souls under heaven.
First up was Master Gu, a round-bellied silk trader who rolled right to the gate with three carts piled high with silver ingots. Three full carts. He presented them to the guards with a bow so deep his chin nearly brushed the cobblestones.
"Just a small token," Master Gu said. "For the brave defenders, sir."
The gate guard stared at the carts. Stared at Master Gu.
Stared at the carts again. "Sir, this much silver could fund an entire battalion for six months straight."
"Yes, yes, well and please accept this. Think of it as a down payment on continued good relations. Lord Liu has always treated us merchants fairly. We have zero interest ending up under Sun Quan's rule." Master Gu smiled. His teeth were very white. His eyes were very calculating.
The next merchant turned up with forty bolts of embroidered silk, twelve jars of aged wine, and a personal gift for Administrator Jiang Wan, a jade paperweight carved in the shape of a prowling tiger.
Jiang Wan, who had never laid eyes on the man before in his life, accepted it with polite confusion and set it quietly on his desk.
The third merchant brought a live goat. Nobody could figure out why. The goat was accepted anyway. The goat itself looked thoroughly bewildered.
The fourth merchant, a thin, nervous man who sold lamp oil, cornered a junior officer near the east gate and leaned in to whisper. "Sir, which general actually won the day? I need to know who to send my thank-you basket to. I only prepared one."
The junior officer blinked. "All of them?"
"Yes, but I only have one basket."
"Then send it to Administrator Jiang Wan. He was the one in charge."
"Excellent. Wonderful. And he is still alive, right? Still breathing? I do not want to send a fine basket to a corpse. Very bad luck that would be."
The junior officer assured him Jiang Wan was very much alive. The merchant scurried off looking visibly relieved.
Military strategy? These men could not tell the difference between a flank attack and a routine tax inspection. But they understood one undeniable truth perfectly well. Did Jiangdong seize the city? No.
Therefore it was a magnificent victory, the coffers flew open, and everyone smiled broadly at the men with swords like long-lost cousins.
The soldiers, for their part, accepted the wine, the silk, the roasted meat, and the inexplicable goat with the dazed gratitude of men who had spent the last month eating cold rice while wondering if they would ever see another sunrise.
Amidst the noise and color, Shamoke stood at the edge of the crowd and watched it all.
Music. Drums. Laughter. Merchants bowing low. Generals being praised. Wine flowing like river water. Someone had started a drinking contest near the south gate and a small cheering circle had formed tight around them.
Shamoke took it all in. His arms were crossed tight. His shoulder throbbed where the gash had been stitched shut and bound tight.
His mind drifted back to Lexiang, to the camp pitched outside the ruined walls where men sat in the mud with bandaged stumps and cracked ribs and eyes gone hollow and flat. Back to the old soldiers who had fought under Han Dang, the ones who had finally dropped their weapons and bowed their heads in surrender, and the Wuxi healers boiling tree bark and ladling bitter brews into every cup they could find.
None of those men were here. None were drinking wine or eating roasted meat or watching a confused goat wander through the market.
Shamoke turned his back on the celebration. Walked straight to the Administrator's residence.
He requested a written warrant.
Requisitioned a fleet of boats and sailed straight for Lexiang to bring every last wounded man back to the safety of the city.
On the voyage back, the deck was packed full.
Wounded soldiers lay in neat rows on straw mats, their bandages already stained brown with old blood while healers moved slowly between them checking wrappings and calling out instructions. A few of the less badly injured sat upright with their backs against the gunwale, staring at nothing with the weary blank eyes of men who had not slept properly in days as the oarsmen pulled in steady rhythmic strokes and the whole boat reeked of medicinal powder, iron, and unwashed bodies.
Shamoke sat near the bow with his legs dangling over the edge, watching the river slide past beneath them.
Zhang Ni settled down beside him grinning from ear to ear and polishing his sword for the fourth time that morning. The blade did not need polishing, but his hands just needed something to do while his brain hummed with restless energy.
Shamoke looked at him, at the grin, at the sword, then back at the river.
A minute passed. Then two. Then three.
Zhang Ni kept grinning.
"Brother Boqi," Shamoke finally said, unable to hold it in any longer. "Is this General Zilong truly that fiercely brave?"
Zhang Ni's head snapped up. His eyes lit right up.
His whole body seemed to puff up, like a dog that had just heard its favorite word.
"Fiercely brave?" Zhang Ni repeated, sounding genuinely offended on Zhao Yun's behalf. "Fiercely brave? Brother Shamoke, that is like asking if the sun is somewhat warm."
And then, with nothing better to do on the slow river ride, an audience trapped with no escape, and a heart full of admiration built up over years, Zhang Ni began to talk.
"Let me explain something," he said, setting the sword down carefully. "You know what I did before all this? I was a Gongcao, a Merit Evaluator back in my hometown of Nanchong."
Shamoke nodded. "You mentioned that much."
"I sat in a room and judged people. Farmers. Clerks. Minor officials. I decided who was virtuous and who was lazy. Me, just a farmer's son who could barely write his own name a few years earlier."
He shook his head at the memory. "But that job taught me one thing clearly. It taught me exactly how Yizhou really worked."
He leaned forward, voice dropping lower. "The old families. The powerful clans. They owned everything, the land, the trade routes, the local garrisons, the magistrates. Every official was either their cousin or their puppet. Liu Zhang sat in Chengdu smiling and calling himself Governor, but he did not rule Yizhou. They did. They had ruled it for generations."
Shamoke listened closely, nodding slowly.
"Then Lord Liu arrived, and General Zhao came with him, and everything changed."
Zhang Ni picked up his sword again without polishing it, just running his fingers along the hilt. "I was not at Langzhong. I only heard the stories later. Three hundred riders against ten thousand. The Baishui Army, the elite garrison that had guarded the northern passes for decades. And General Zhao broke them apart, not with a long siege or some clever trick, but with a straight cavalry charge. Three hundred men slamming straight into their flank. The enemy commander cut down in a single stroke."
He paused for a moment. "But that was not the part that impressed me. Battles are battles. Generals win them. I had read enough history to know that much."
He looked Shamoke in the eye. "What truly impressed me was what happened after."
"Right after Langzhong, the old families started selling their land quickly before anyone could force them to. These same clans that had squeezed my village dry for three generations. The ones who owned the magistrates and the tax collectors and every grain store in the county. They were terrified."
Shamoke raised an eyebrow. "Of General Zhao?"
"Of what he stood for,"
Zhang Ni said, steady and sure. "General Zhao did not just crush the Baishui Army. He was the tip of the spear, Lord Liu's spear. And Lord Liu had made his position very clear regarding those old families. The land was not theirs to hoard. It belonged to the people who worked it. Their power was not legitimate. It was stolen. And General Zhao was the man who made sure that message stuck."
He gestured vaguely toward the river, toward the north. "Those old families had controlled Yizhou for a very long time. They had survived rebellions, survived warlords, survived every kind of chaos. They truly thought they would outlast Lord Liu as well. Then General Zhao rode through Nanchong."
Zhang Ni's voice softened, almost to a whisper. "I saw him once. Just once. From far away. He was passing through on his way to somewhere else, and I was standing outside the office carrying a huge stack of reports, tax records, census data, the kind of paperwork that used to terrify farmers because it meant the collectors were coming. I dropped the whole pile right there. Every page scattered in the mud. Three months of work gone. I did not even bend down to pick it up. I just stood there staring like a stunned fool."
He looked down at the sword in his hands. "The stories about Langzhong were not exaggerated. If anything, they fell short. I knew it, the moment I laid eyes on him. That man is not just a general. He is the reason Yizhou turned around, not slowly or gradually, but all at once in a single season, a single campaign, a single cavalry charge. The reason my village no longer bows and scrapes to some fat landlord's nephew. The reason the tax collectors no longer carry whips."
He went back to polishing his blade, the grin returning softer and warmer this time. "I never thought I would stand in the same camp as him. Never even dared to hope. I told myself maybe one day, if I worked hard and got very lucky, I might catch a glimpse of him from a distance. Maybe wave. Maybe get a nod in return. And that would be enough for me."
He paused, voice cracking just a little. "Now look at me, I am here, serving the same lord, breathing the same air. Yesterday I passed him in the corridor of the Administrator's residence, and he looked me right in the eye and said, Zhang Ni, good work at Lexiang. And I just said, Thank you, General. That was all. Two plain words. Thank you, General."
Shamoke stared at him.
He listened to every single word. And if a faint smile touched his own face beneath the exhaustion, the grief, and the weight of all he had seen… well, nobody mentioned it. Nobody needed to.
---
The wounded Sun Wu troops shuffled through Jiangling's north gate just past midday. Stretchers cobbled from poles and torn canvas bobbed between men limping on rough crutches, leaning their full weight on each other for every step. The city roared around them. Drums banging, music blaring, someone screaming about free wine down near the south market. But nobody turned to look. Nobody cared about the broken men dragging themselves home.
At the very back of the line, a Jiangdong prisoner stepped away from his formation. His hands were wrapped in frayed bandages, dark bruises blotching the line of his jaw.
He spotted two exhausted healers hauling a heavy stretcher and trotted over, reaching for the rear pole. "Let me help. Here. I will take this end."
A hand clamped tight around his wrist.
The prisoner turned to find one of Han Dang's veterans standing there. The man was missing an ear, a thick scar slicing clean across his cheek.
"Do not bother. I got this."
He took the pole, shifted the weight, and hauled the stretcher toward the medical tents without a single glance back. The Jiangdong prisoner stood frozen, arms still half-raised, before he finally let them drop and shuffled back to his own group.
Evening. The courtyard behind the east barracks.
A handful of surrendered Jiangdong soldiers sat huddled at the far edge, well away from the fires, spooning thin congee from wooden bowls. A squad of Han Dang's veterans walked past on their way to the cook fires. The scarred man with the missing ear glanced over. Every Jiangdong man looked back in the same heartbeat.
Their eyes held for a breath. Then the veterans kept walking. The Jiangdong men stared down hard at their bowls.
One of the younger prisoners, a kid with a bandaged stump where his left hand used to be, opened his mouth like he wanted to say something. The man beside him gave a barely noticeable shake of the head. The kid shut his mouth and went back to staring at his food.
The main fire crackled twenty feet away. Close enough to feel the warmth. Too far to sit in it.
Jiang Wan's study, an hour later.
Jiang Wan sat behind his desk with tea within easy reach and a detailed defense map spread out before him. Shamoke stood opposite, still in travel-stained armor, a fresh bandage peeking out from his shoulder.
"Brother Sha, we have a problem. A serious problem. So tell me everything that really happened," Jiang Wan said. "First, start with Han Dang."
Shamoke went still for a moment, and when he spoke his voice came slow and careful. "Let me slowly recall my memory, Brother Gongyan. Hah, I have a bad memory, you know. Ehm, let us start from the beginning. We fought with four thousand, and Han Dang was their commander. I know they were all veterans who had served since Sun Jian's day. When we hit them at Lexiang, they did not crack. So resilient. Not the first hour. Not the fifth. Not even when the sun went down."
Jiang Wan listened without interrupting.
"Damn, you know we had twice their number and we needed to try something to beat them, so we rotated fresh troops to the front every twenty minutes. And they could not rotate. They just stood there and took it, kept swinging back every time."
"And what happened with Han Dang?"
"Right in the thick of battle the whole time, Han Dang was always barking orders and hacking his way through the press. He took three wounds and did not flinch. That old guy was so resilient. But by the end, when his formation was gone and his guard was gone, he was just standing in a ring of his own dead, fighting alone."
Jiang Wan set his teacup down gently. "You faced him."
"I did." Shamoke's voice went flat and hard. "Six exchanges. His technique was flawless, but he was running on pure spite and nothing else. I saw an opening. Brought my mace down. Finally, the old man did not get back up."
The room went still as the candle flame flickered low.
"What were his last words, Brother Sha?"
Shamoke stared at the floorboards. "He turned his face east, toward home. Said, Sun Jian, I kept my oath. That was all."
Jiang Wan closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and nodded. "And what happened to his men?"
"They all dropped their weapons, one by one. It did not even look like surrender, I know they were reluctant. It just looked like they had finally been given permission to stop." Shamoke searched for the right words. "Exhausted. Grieving. Just like that."
Jiang Wan leaned back, fingers tapping steadily on the armrest. "And the rest of the Sun Wu soldiers, the ones who surrendered at Jiangling, they know what happened at Lexiang?"
"They know Han Dang is dead. They know Lu Meng is dead. They know their fleet is ash, and their commander was killed by a farmer." Shamoke's jaw tightened. "They know everything."
Jiang Wan sat still for a long time before he pulled a fresh sheet of paper close and picked up his brush. "Brother Sha, my original plan was neat. Just mix all of them, spread them across work details, fold everyone together slow. Standard procedure." He stared at the blank page. "But now, I know my plan will not work."
Shamoke frowned. "Why?"
"Because Han Dang's men watched their general die, while the others dropped their weapons under Lu Meng's command. There is some grievance there, like, you did not fight hard enough, and now we are just a disgrace. Now you want me to put them in the same barracks? Feed them at the same table?" Jiang Wan shook his head. "They will not riot. They will just drift ten feet further away, every single time."
Shamoke stayed silent.
"So." Jiang Wan dipped his brush in ink. "Separate quarters. Separate duties. Han Dang's men get their own space. Let them grieve. Let them be angry. Nobody forces them to work alongside the other Sun Wu soldiers for at least two weeks."
He set the first stroke to paper and kept writing. "The rest of the Sun Wu prisoners get put to work rebuilding, hauling stone, mending walls. Let them earn their place with their own hands before I ask for their loyalty."
"And after that?"
"Weeks turn into months, and the lines blur. Not by order. Just by being side by side every day, sharing meals, sharing blisters, sharing the same stupid jokes until the sharp edges wear smooth." Jiang Wan set the brush down. "It is messy. It is slow. But it is real."
Shamoke leaned in to read what was written. "That will take ages, right?"
"Better six months and get it right, than six days and end up with a mutiny." Jiang Wan poured himself another cup of tea. "I do not have six months to spare, but for now, it is the best choice. Better late than sorry."
Shamoke nodded and turned for the door, then paused with his hand on the frame. "Brother Gongyan?"
"Yes?"
"Han Dang. He deserves a proper burial, full honors. His men will want to pay their respects."
Jiang Wan looked up and nodded. "See to it. Full honors. And leave the gate open for the other Sun Wu prisoners too. They do not have to come. But if they want to, let them."
Shamoke nodded and left while Jiang Wan sat alone, sipping his tea and staring up at the rafters before he picked up his brush and went back to work.
---
That same night, in a manor three streets away from the Administrator's residence, Liu Zhang drank himself into total oblivion.
His snores rattled the roof beams hard enough to make the dust sift down from the rafters. Two servants stood outside his door, exchanging glances every time the whole frame shook. He was not celebrating. He was escaping. Wine worked faster than meditation, and Liu Zhang was not picky about methods. A third servant brought another full jar, poured it out, and watched the cup overflow onto the floor. Nobody bothered to wipe it up. The snoring went on. The night rolled forward.
---
In a small courtyard lit by a single guttering oil lamp, Zhuge Guo sat cross-legged on the tiles beside her mother.
Huang Yueying had spread their notes across the floor, botanical records, growth measurements, leaf counts, soil observations from the glass greenhouse, all set down over the past few weeks in Zhuge Guo's careful, slightly wobbly hand.
Outside, the city roared with drums and music and wild laughter. In here, there was only the steady scratch of a brush and the soft, even sound of her mother breathing beside her.
"Mother," Zhuge Guo said, not looking up from her sketch of a millet stalk, "have the bandits been defeated?"
"Mhm."
"Then we can go back to Gong'an soon, right?"
Huang Yueying set her brush down and paused. "We are probably not going back."
Zhuge Guo's face crumpled. Her mouth turned sharply down. "Why not?"
"Because Daddy is not in Gong'an anymore. He is in Chang'an now."
Zhuge Guo stared at her mother. "Then we are going to Chang'an?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Really."
The scream that burst from Zhuge Guo's small chest could likely be heard three streets away. She sprang to her feet, seized her mother's hands, and bounced them up and down. "When? When do we leave? Can I pack tonight? Can I bring the greenhouse notes?"
Huang Yueying laughed. "Yes. Yes. Probably not."
"I will carry them myself!"
"You will fall asleep in the cart and sit right on them."
"I will not!"
"You absolutely will."
Two rooms away, Zhuge Qiao heard his little sister's sudden shriek of delight.
He could not help but smile at the sound. Then he turned his full attention back to the intricate crossbow model laid out before him, a prototype his mother had crafted with her own hands, accompanied by detailed blueprints. Her instruction had been clear and strict: he must be able to take it apart and reassemble it perfectly, without a single mistake.
He understood exactly what she meant. She did not want him rushing blindly into battle, throwing his life away on some front line charge and he had no intention of letting her down.
---
With the severed head treated, boxed, and sealed, Zhao Yun's deputy general, Zhang Yi, led a detachment of elite cavalry on a relentless night march north to deliver the triumphant news to Guan Yu and Xu Shu, who were probably worried sick by now.
The map lay spread across Jiang Wan's desk. He had been staring at it for half the morning, his tea gone cold without him even noticing.
"Ah, Zilong, Boqi, Brother Sha, come in, sit, make yourselves at home." He waved them to the chairs. "Listen well. I have been thinking. We should move again. Secure Jingzhou once and for all. Hit Sun Quan hard, right now, before he can recover. What do you say?"
"Jiangxia," Shamoke said, settling into his seat. "Are you really sure we need to take it straight away?"
Zhao Yun stood across the table, arms folded, eyes on the map. "Gongyan, the same thought crossed my mind. But let us hear your reasoning fully before we decide."
Jiang Wan leaned forward and tapped the junction where the Han River flowed into the great Yangtze. "Jiangxia sits right here. The Han meets the Yangtze, and whoever holds this point controls all movement between Jingzhou and Jiangdong. Leave it with Sun Quan, and he will always have a way to strike us from the east whenever he wants. We will just be sitting here waiting for the next blow. Take it, and Jingzhou's rear is completely secure. Jiangdong will be the one watching their back from then on."
Zhang Ni nodded slowly. "So it is far more than just another city to take. Send me wherever you need, Brother Gongyan. With General Zilong leading the cavalry, I have no doubt we will succeed."
"Easy now, Boqi." Jiang Wan raised a hand. "Do not take this lightly. This city decides whether Jingzhou stands strong or gets boxed in. We secure this place so Kongming can focus fully on Cao Cao in the north, and Yuanzhi can hold the front line with more peace of mind. And do not worry, we will always have work for you."
Shamoke rubbed his jaw. "You want to march now? We just fought a hard battle. The men are still catching their breath."
"That is exactly why we must go now." Jiang Wan's voice stayed calm, but firm. "Lu Meng is dead. His army is broken. Jiangdong still has not fully grasped what happened. If we wait, they will panic and pour reinforcements into Jiangxia, and what should have been an easy strike will turn into a long, costly fight. March today, and we hit a garrison that still thinks Lu Meng is winning the war."
Zhao Yun uncrossed his arms. "Be honest with me, Gongyan. Are you truly sure about this?"
"No," Jiang Wan admitted plainly. "I do not know who is holding Jiangxia. My scouts have not returned yet. Could be a clerk with a pen. Could be Zhang Liao himself. But whoever it is, I would wager everything they are not ready for us."
The name hung in the air, and the room went still.
Zhao Yun's jaw tightened. "If Zhang Liao is there, he will not just hide behind walls. He will come out and fight us in the open."
"Then you already know how to handle him, do you not?" Jiang Wan tapped the map again. "Do not give him time to line up his troops. Hit him before he can set his plan in motion."
Zhang Ni spoke up. "And if Jiangxia refuses to surrender?"
Shamoke chuckled. "Then we fight until they come around. Brother Gongyan, send me. I will take that city for us."
Zhao Yun looked from Shamoke to Zhang Ni and back to Jiang Wan. "What if Xu Shu does not agree? He gave me no orders for an advance like this."
"You said it yourself, Zilong." Jiang Wan finally lifted his teacup and drank, not bothered that the tea was cold. "A good commander adapts when things change. Waiting for permission is just another way of giving the enemy time they should not have."
Zhao Yun studied the map a moment longer, then reached for his spear leaning against the table. "Fair enough. I will get the men ready, light gear, fast horses, no heavy wagons slowing us down."
"Leave at midnight?" Jiang Wan asked.
"I ride the moment the horses are saddled." Zhao Yun turned toward the door. "If we are doing this, let us do it quickly. Strike before Jiangdong even hears Lu Meng is gone."
Jiang Wan stood and placed a hand on the desk. "I will hold Jiangling steady. Your rear is safe. Supplies and reinforcements will all be taken care of here."
Zhao Yun paused at the door, then looked back. "One more thing."
"Go on."
"When I faced Zhang Liao at Changban, he pulled back before we could finish what we started. He knows exactly how I fight." Zhao Yun's eyes were steady and sharp as steel. "If he is defending Jiangxia, he will be expecting the same tactics."
"Then show him something he has not seen before," Jiang Wan said simply.
"That is exactly what I intend to do." Zhao Yun gave a short, firm nod. "We will finish what we began back then."
He stepped out into the dark. Jiang Wan sat back down, picked up his cold tea, and looked again at the map spread before him. Jiangxia lay there, peaceful and unsuspecting, waiting for the storm to come.
Meanwhile, Jiangxia was already one big mess of panic and chaos. Dong Xi stood up on the fortress walls, his heart so heavy it felt like a stone in his chest.
Damn, this whole war had been one giant headache for me. My luck was absolute trash. First, I charged out too fast, lost my best men, got captured by those tribal warriors, and became the laughingstock while everyone else cleaned up the mess at Hanshou and took all the glory. Then I got ordered to march north to help Jiangling, where I accomplished absolutely nothing. With no troops left and no status to argue with, they sent me back to guard Jiangxia instead.
But standing on these walls now, I could not help but feel that my luck was finally turning. If I had stayed with the main camp, I would have been caught up in Lu Meng's madness for sure. Back then, Lu Meng had looked at me, a general with no troops, and seen nothing but an eyesore. I had gone to help him, and what did I get? He did not even say thank you. He just used the excuse of guarding the supply lines to dump me in Jiangxia like I was a piece of broken equipment. No gratitude. No respect. Just an order to get out of his sight.
And now? Now that decision might have saved my life. If the reports were true, Lu Meng was dead and the main army was shattered. And yet, I was still breathing. Still standing. Sure, I was standing in the path of an incoming storm, but at least I was alive to see it coming.
I am just a defeated general who lost all my troops. Then how the hell did I suddenly end up standing directly in the eye of the storm, expected to save Jiangdong from collapse?
Part of me actually regretted it. If I had just stayed in the main camp and been captured by Liu Bei's forces alongside everyone else, maybe it did not seem like it would have been the worst fate.
But I quickly shoved those thoughts down. All I had to do was feel the piercing, uncomfortable glare drilling into my back from behind to know I was in a miserable spot.
You, Zhang Liao, General Zhengdong. Please act as your title suggests. You might be famously heroic, and yes, your specialty is cavalry. But you just suffered a little setback, so why did you not just take your riders and go straight back north, back wherever you came from, back to Cao Cao? Why on earth did you stay here to help me defend the city?
---
The disaster at Jiangling hit the courier roads like a brick through a window.
Within hours, a messenger from Jiangxia was scrambling onto a light skiff, his oars churning the Yangtze white as he raced east toward Jianye with the sealed dispatch tucked tight against his chest.
Top secret. Marquis's eyes only.
He made great time. Way too good, as it turned out.
All because Gan Gui was bored.
The Ruxu chokepoint was where the river pinched hard between two rocky bluffs, forcing every ship into a narrow, sluggish crawl.
Perfect spot for an ambush.
Gan Gui had parked his flagship, the Brocade Fang, across the channel like a drunk taking up the whole doorway, and he had been fishing for two straight hours without a nibble.
Old Liu stood at the helm, his one good eye scanning the current as he spat over the rail. "Nothing but driftwood and bird crap today, Captain."
"Patience, old man. The river owes me a fish." Gan Gui was draped across the bow rail with his boots propped on the gunwale, the silver bell at his hip clinking every time he shifted. The golden brocade sail snapped overhead, ridiculous and bright, copied stitch for stitch from his father's flagship. Subtlety was for people who could not afford to be flashy.
Then A'Shan raised a hand from the ballista platform. "Contact. Small skiff. Coming hard from the west. One rower. Looks military."
Gan Gui's boots hit the deck. "Military?"
"Pouch strapped to his chest with official courier cords."
A'Shan squinted against the glare. "He is trying to pass himself off as a fisherman, and he is doing a terrible job of it."
Big Nose Zhang popped up from below deck with his axe already out, the blade polished to a mirror shine.
He had been sharpening it since breakfast, through lunch, and would still be at it by dinner if no one stopped him. "Want me to crack him open, Captain? Say the word and I am first over the rail."
"You will be first over the rail when I tell you to be first over the rail," Old Zheng muttered from the shade of the mast, his scarred arms crossed. He had fought beside Gan Ning back when the old man still owned these waters, and he had the wounds to prove it. "Save it, Zhang. It is one man in a rowboat."
"It is the principle, old man."
Gan Gui lifted one finger, he tilted his head as the little skiff bobbed closer, the messenger hunched over his oars and rowing like the river itself was on fire behind him.
"Old Liu, bring us alongside. Gently. I do not want to sink him. I want to talk."
Old Liu spat again. "Since when do you want to talk to anyone?"
"Since today. Rudder two degrees. A'Shan, keep the ballista loaded but do not aim it at him. That would be rude."
A'Shan, sweating, adjusted the harpoon mechanism and swung it away from the skiff. "Yes, Captain. Two degrees."
The Brocade Fang slid across the channel with the lazy confidence of a predator that already knew the prey had nowhere to go.
The messenger looked up, saw the golden sail, the silver bell, and the young man leaning over the rail, and his face went the color of cold porridge.
"Hey there, friend!" Gan Gui waved like he was hailing a neighbor at market. "You look tense. Long day?"
The messenger's mouth opened, closed, opened again. "I carry urgent dispatches for the Marquis of Wu. This is official military business. You are ordered to..."
"Ordered to what?" Gan Gui leaned further over the rail, genuinely curious. "Let me guess. Move along. Do not look. Pretend you never saw the giant ship with the giant ballista blocking the entire river." He winked. "Bit late for that."
Big Nose Zhang vaulted over the rail and landed in the skiff, rocking it hard. The messenger yelped and clutched his pouch, but Zhang plucked it from his hands like candy from a toddler and tossed it up to the deck, where Old Zheng caught it without looking.
"That is sealed under penalty of..."
"Yes, yes, death, treason, the whole speech." Zhang hauled himself back aboard.
Gan Gui turned the pouch over, admiring the seal. "Ooh. Red wax. Triple knot. The spicy kind." He cracked it open with his thumbnail and unrolled the dispatch.
A'Hei, the young scribe, appeared at his elbow with bamboo slips and a stylus. "Captain, should I transcribe..."
"Not yet, little brush. Let me enjoy the good parts first."
His eyes swept the page. Fast. Faster. His whole body began to tremble, and then he threw his head back and howled with laughter so loud it bounced off the bluffs and sent a flock of herons scattering from the far bank.
"HAHAHAHA! Oh, glorious! Administrator Jiang Gongyan actually did it!" He wiped a tear from his eye. "The man held Jiangling to the end and sent Lu Meng to the grave! And now Zhao Yun is already marching on Jiangxia!" He slapped his knee. "Old Liu, are you hearing this?"
Old Liu, who had heard every word, spat into the river. "Heard it. Do not care. Those walls are Qin dynasty old. Garbage."
"The walls do not matter, old man. The drama matters!" Gan Gui spun toward the messenger, who was still frozen in the skiff, expecting an execution order. Instead, Gan Gui beamed at him like an old friend. "You are free to go."
The messenger blinked. "I... what?"
"Released. Pardoned. Sent on your way. Shoo." Gan Gui waved him off. "Take your little boat and deliver your bad news to Marquis Sun. I insist."
The messenger stared at Big Nose Zhang, who was back to polishing his axe on his sleeve, then at Old Zheng, who was picking his teeth, then at the pirate captain doing a little jig by the rail.
"You are not going to kill me?"
"Kill you? And rob the world of the funniest courier run in Jiangdong's history?" Gan Gui pressed a hand to his chest. "I am wounded, friend. Truly. Now go. The Marquis is waiting."
The messenger grabbed his oars and rowed for his life without looking back, the crew's jeers and whistles chasing him down the river, the kind of laughter that would follow him into his dreams for years.
A'Hei scribbled furiously. "Captain, for the record, should I note the prisoner was released with..."
"With full dignity, little brush. Write that down. Released with dignity and a hearty send-off."
The playful energy around Gan Gui vanished. He turned to the crew, and when he spoke again, his voice carried the weight of a man who had already decided how this would end.
"This letter says Lu Meng's siege of Jiangling has failed. Lu Meng is dead. Zhao Yun is marching on Jiangxia. And Sun Quan is sitting in Jianye, thinking he can keep all of this in his pocket like a lucky coin."
He folded the dispatch and tucked it into his belt. "How selfish. News like this belongs to the people of Jiangdong. The great clans. The merchants. The farmers. Everyone deserves to know their Marquis just lost half his western frontier."
Old Liu stopped spitting. "So you are not letting it through to Jianye?"
"Gods, no. That would be boring." Gan Gui spread his arms, the bell at his hip jingling. "I am broadcasting it."
He rattled off orders like a man reciting a shopping list. "Send out every skiff, every fishing junk, every half-rotten sampan we have. Sail the river. Hit every port, every ferry, every market town. Tell them what happened at Jiangling. Shout it. Sing it. Make up a ballad if you have to. But by the time Sun Quan reads this letter in his fancy hall, every noble from Ruxu to Jianye will already know."
Big Nose Zhang's mouth split into a wide, ugly smile. "So the Marquis gets the news, but everyone else hears it first."
"Now you are thinking with your whole head." Gan Gui pointed at him. "It is not the information that stings. It is the audience. Sun Quan wanted to spin this, call it a setback, blame some poor subordinate. We just took that away from him in front of the Gu clan, the Zhu clan, the Zhang clan, all the houses already looking for an excuse to doubt him."
A'Shan raised a hand. "Captain, the Gu and Zhu clans run heavy patrols on the lower river. Our men will run straight into them."
"Let them." Gan Gui's smile turned sharp. "Let every aristocratic clans patrol intercept our messengers and drag the news out of them. People always believe a secret they think they stole."
Old Liu shook his head. "You are a walking disease, Captain."
"I am a public service." Gan Gui turned to A'Hei. "Draft me a proclamation. Nothing fancy. Just a few lines. By the generous courtesy of Captain Gan Gui and the Brocade Fang, the good people of Jiangdong are hereby informed: Jiangling has fallen, Zhao Yun is coming, and their beloved Marquis forgot to mention it. Make it rhyme if you can."
A'Hei's stylus trembled. "R-rhyme, Captain?"
"If you cannot, make it punchy." Gan Gui draped himself over the rail again, one boot up, the bell clinking softly. "And A'Shan?"
"Yes, Captain?"
"Keep the ballista trained on the channel. I still have not caught my dinner."
---
The messenger rowed like a man who had stared death in the face and been told to run along. He did not stop at Ruxu or any ferry. He rowed until his palms blistered, burst, and bled all over again.
But Gan Gui's reach went far beyond one checkpoint.
Just past Ruxu, a Gu clan patrol boxed him in, three sleek warships with lacquered hulls and proud banners.
An officer leaned over the rail.
"Courier. What news from the west?"
"Sealed dispatches for the Marquis. I am not authorized to..."
"The Marquis's seal means nothing to the Gu clan. What happened at Jiangling? Talk."
The messenger gave them the short version. The officer's face drained of color, and a fast cutter raced south to the Gu estate before the skiff was even released.
Two hours later, a Zhu clan fleet intercepted him. Same questions. Same pale faces. Same cutter speeding ahead.
By nightfall, a Zhang clan galley pulled him alongside. He had told the story four times by then, his throat raw, his pouch wrinkled and reeking of river water and fish sauce.
The Zhang captain read the letter, sniffed at the stains, and handed it back with pure aristocratic contempt.
"Filthy. The whole affair is filthy."
The messenger rowed on.
He sighted Jianye at dawn, and his stomach dropped through the floor of the skiff.
The gates were wrecked. Scorched black. Splintered. Sections of the outer wall had been pulled down and piled into rough barricades. Scaffolding clung to the inner fortifications, and hundreds of laborers swarmed over the stone, hauling timber, mixing mortar, working with the frantic speed of people who knew the enemy was still out there.
The messenger's jaw hung open. He had left Jianye whole. Now it looked like a dog had chewed it up and spat it out.
But duty was duty. He dragged himself through the gates, up the ramp, past three layers of guards who stared at his filthy clothes and bleeding hands, and into the great hall, where he dropped to his knees and held up the crumpled dispatch.
"My lord. From Jiangxia. Sealed and delivered."
Sun Quan sat on his throne like a man who had not slept in four days. He took the letter, looked at the mud and the stains, and frowned. Then he read it.
The color left his face. His fingers went slack, and the letter fluttered to the stone floor with a soft, pathetic little sound.
"Which dog," he whispered.
Then louder, his voice cracking. "Which treacherous, gutter-born dog leaked classified military intelligence to Gan Gui's pirates?!" He was on his feet. "Guards! Seize him! Take his head!"
The messenger screamed and begged, pleading his loyalty, his service, the fact that he had been intercepted and released deliberately, that he was the victim here, that he had an elderly mother in Kuaiji, please, he had...
The guards did not care. They dragged him out, and his wails echoed off the pillars before cutting off, sharp and final.
Lu Yi stood to the side of the dais, motionless through the screaming and the dragging. When the doors swung shut, he bent down, picked up the crumpled letter, and smoothed it against his knee.
He read it.
His shoulders jerked as if the words had struck him. He read it again, his lips parting without sound. Then he folded the letter carefully along its original creases and held it at his side.
Sun Quan stared at him, the rage still hot but something hollow creeping in beneath it.
"Boyan." His voice cracked on the name. "Boyan, what do we do?"
Lu Yi did not answer. He just kept staring at the letter in his hand, and Sun Quan, Lord of Jiangdong, Marquis of Wu, waited like a drowning man waits for a rope.
---
Here was the ugly shape of the disaster.
Jianye had held. Barely. Lu Yi had looked at the incoming Jingzhou fleet, those massive ships bristling with crossbows and reinforced rams, and made the coldest call a defender could make. He had abandoned the outer city entirely, pulling every soldier, every supply, every able-bodied person behind the inner walls. Let Gan Gui sail right up to the docks. Let the pirates storm the outer gates, cheer loud enough to shake the sky, and loot the empty market streets to their hearts' content.
Then he had slammed the inner gates shut and turned Jianye into a meat grinder.
Gan Gui's entire advantage was his fleet, his range, his ballistae, his ability to hit hard from the water and vanish before anyone could catch him. Lu Yi stripped that away. You cannot sail a warship down a city alley. You cannot ram a bolt through a wall when your ship is beached three streets away and you are fighting house to house with a sword in one hand and a stolen door for a shield.
The street fighting was brutal, close, and slow. Gan Gui's pirates, built for hit-and-run raids, found themselves grinding block by block against defenders who knew every alley, every rooftop, every drainage ditch. Old Zheng took a crossbow bolt through the shoulder on the second day and kept fighting. Big Nose Zhang finally got his first-through-the-gate moment and immediately caught a pot of boiling oil to the face. A'Shan spent three days converting a captured ram into a battering tool, sweating and muttering calculations until the thing finally worked.
They held. But the inner walls held too.
Sun Quan, freed from the immediate siege pressure, peeled off troops to deal with the Shanyue tribes boiling out of the southern hills. The hill fighters hit the coastal salt flats hard, stripped them bare, tore up the drying racks, hauled off every store of salt, and then started building their own forts on the ridges like they intended to stay.
But the real knife in Sun Quan's gut was not the Shanyue.
It was Gan Gui.
Once Jianye's inner walls proved too tough, Gan Gui did not sulk or rage. He adjusted. He looked at his fleet, at the river, at the fat estates lining the banks, and he remembered exactly who he was.
He went full pirate.
The Brocade Fang and her escort fleet sailed the Yangtze like they owned it, because for a while, they did. They hit the Gu clan's warehouse at Wuhu. The Zhu clan's private dock at Moling. A Zhang clan grain convoy, whose rice they handed out to every fishing village between Ruxu and Jianye, not out of charity, but just to plant a muddy middle finger in the face of every aristocrat watching.
For one long, miserable stretch, the people of Jiangdong had a front-row seat to the legend of the Brocade Sail, Gan Ning's old signature reborn in his son's hands, except the son was louder, meaner, and far more committed to the bit.
And Sun Quan endured it, holding the line, keeping his head down, telling himself every night that Lu Meng was coming. Lu Meng would break the siege, crush the pirates, retake the river, and make it all stop.
He had bet everything on that one card.
Now the card was ash in his hands. Jiangling was gone. Lu Meng's campaign was wrecked. Zhao Yun was marching east.
And a lunatic with a silver bell at his hip had made sure every great clans in Jiangdong knew the story before Sun Quan could even open his mouth.