HCT – Chapter 193 Qin and Chu Sing “Wu Yi”

This was wartime, and every commandery in Qin had its own troops, with the Commandery Governor also serving as a military commander.

The army under Li Mu’s command was stationed on the southern border of Qin, a direct royal force that answered only to the Qin king’s tiger tally, independent from local administrations.

Yes, although Li Mu was garrisoned along the Yangtze, in truth he was commanding border defense troops. He was, in essence, a frontier general.

That meant even if Li Mu’s men hadn’t returned, Wu Commandery still had its own army. Ying Zheng, as Governor of Wu Commandery, was fully qualified to command its troops.

When Li Mu returned with only his deputy generals and bodyguards, it was precisely so he could mobilize Wu Commandery’s own garrison.

This point, the Chu had completely misunderstood.

Li Mu had lingered in Wu Commandery often, and had even temporarily acted as its administrator multiple times. To the Chu, it looked as if Li Mu were simply the Governor of Wu Commandery, with authority only over its troops.

Li Mu had deliberately encouraged this illusion.

In practice, Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng usually left military control of Wu Commandery entirely in Li Mu’s hands. They barely concerned themselves with the stationed troops at all. Li Mu, this border general, had been handling half the duties of a governor without even drawing a salary—bandit suppression, training, logistics.

If Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng were ever lazy or absent from Wu, Li Mu would also step in to handle administration, agriculture, and taxation.

From Li Mu’s perspective, it was little different from when he governed Yanmen Commandery. From Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng’s perspective… well, the capable are expected to do more work. No one was going to increase his pay.

So it was only natural that the Chu misunderstood.

In this age of poor communication, gathering intelligence between states was extremely difficult—especially for a loose confederation like Chu.

Li Mu had deliberately marched his frontier army with great fanfare, so that Xiang Yan’s spies repeatedly reported back, “Li Mu hasn’t returned yet.” Meanwhile, he slipped quietly back to Wu Commandery, took over the local garrison from Ying Zheng, and moved to support Zhu Xiang.

Xiang Yan had only kept his eyes on Li Mu’s troops, not on Li Mu himself. That was his greatest mistake.

Zhao had once suffered the same miscalculation. Who would expect that the same Qin army, under a different general, would fight completely differently?

Now Li Mu was playing the same trick again.

A good stratagem can be used again and again; if someone is going to fall for it, they’ll fall for it.

“Does Uncle truly have to hold out for a full ten days?” Ying Zheng felt much steadier after Li Mu’s return.

If Wang Jian could one day force Xiang Yan to commit suicide, then so can my teacher!

Li Mu replied, “It depends on the situation. If Zhu Xiang can’t hold, I’ll march immediately. If he can, then we wait ten days.”

“Why specifically ten days?” Ying Zheng asked.

“In ten days, news of Zhu Xiang’s defense should spread beyond Chu, drawing the attention of the other Seven States,” Li Mu explained.

Ying Zheng frowned. “And Uncle will truly be safe?”

Li Mu reassured him: “Zhu Xiang only takes risks when he has no other choice. In his own words, he’s actually very afraid of death—and very afraid of trouble.”

Ying Zheng immediately pulled a mocking face. “Oh, sure, I believe that.”

Li Mu said earnestly, “He really is. He’s rational. He won’t take reckless risks. Zhu Xiang knows he can’t fight at the front, so he won’t go to the front. Don’t worry—if the Chu show signs of breaching the gates, I’ll move at once.”

Ying Zheng thought for a moment. “Then I’ll go too.”

Xue Ji instantly objected: “No!”

But Li Mu said: “Good.”

Xue Ji grew anxious: “Lord Li, you mustn’t!”

Li Mu calmly said, “Xue Ji, don’t worry. With me there, Zheng’er won’t be harmed. But unless he sees the situation at Guangling with his own eyes, he won’t feel at ease. Besides…”

He turned to Ying Zheng: “If an uncle is besieged in a lonely city, and his nephew personally comes to rescue him, isn’t that a fine tale to spread? In Qin, a prince can’t earn noble rank without military merit. Though that’s mostly just a slogan, if Zheng’er gains a record of merit, it will give him stronger footing.”

That slogan dated back to Shang Yang’s reforms. In truth, the Qin king would grant titles to his favored sons whenever he wished. But when he didn’t feel like it, the lack of military merit was a convenient excuse.

For example, King Zhaoxiang of Qin had only two sons, so Lord Anguo could indulge in drinking and pleasure without the slightest achievement, yet still be enfeoffed.

Li Mu had long considered how to help Ying Zheng “borrow” some military credit. But he knew he could never persuade Zhu Xiang. And if the Crown Prince suddenly tagged along on campaign just to collect glory, it would look far too obvious.

Now that Zhu Xiang was besieged in a solitary city, while the Crown Prince was right across the river, not leading a relief would seem abnormal. This way, the military merit would come naturally.

Xue Ji, having learned much of Qin’s laws and customs from Zhu Xiang, understood how vital merit was to Qin nobility.

She hesitated. “Truly no danger?”

“None,” Li Mu assured.

Seeing his confidence, she turned to Ying Zheng. “Zheng’er, swear to your Aunt that you will never personally fight in battle.”

After thinking, she added, “Swear on your favorite osmanthus cakes—that if you break your word, you’ll never be allowed to eat them again in your life.”

For the first time, Li Mu’s calm expression wavered.

Xue Ji, are you coaxing a child?

Even Ying Zheng’s cold, domineering expression faltered.

“Aunt,” he said helplessly, “I’m no longer a child. Can I swear on something else? Like to our ancestors, or Heaven and Earth?”

Xue Ji shook her head. “Your uncle always said oaths to ancestors or Heaven are too vague. Only vows tied to something everyone can see and enforce have true weight.”

Li Mu pressed his forehead. “That’s exactly something Zhu Xiang would say. Zheng’er, listen to your Aunt. It’s only osmanthus cakes.”

Ying Zheng felt a storm surge in his heart.

Only osmanthus cakes?! What if I can’t resist joining the fight—would I have to issue a decree renaming osmanthus cakes? That would be humiliating!

Under his Aunt’s expectant gaze, Ying Zheng grudgingly raised three fingers and swore:

If I, Ying Zheng, break this vow, I shall never eat osmanthus cakes again in my life.

Satisfied, Xue Ji nodded and allowed him to depart, staying behind at the governor’s office to handle logistics.

Li Mu stifled his laughter, silently storing the memory away. When he next saw Zhu Xiang, he would paint this whole scene vividly for him, so that Zhu Xiang could write it into his “Diary of Raising My Nephew.”

Zhu Xiang had often lamented that as Zheng’er grew up, fewer amusing stories filled the diary.

Today’s event, surely, counted as amusing.

Once Li Mu and Ying Zheng were agreed, they traveled westward by day to the border of Wu and Nan Commanderies. At night, an old fisherman rowed them across the Yangtze under cover of darkness.

Although Chu had retaken all the northern riverside cities, their navy along the Yangtze had been nearly destroyed. Having also burned the reclaimed cities, that region was practically deserted. Thus Qin forces could land behind Xiang Yan undetected.

Xiang Yan, of course, knew well the danger of being attacked front and rear.

But since Qin had offered almost no resistance, retreating decisively from the north bank, he concluded they would surely abandon Guangling as well, rather than stand against Chu.

Indeed, once only Guangling remained, it seemed clear to him Qin would also abandon it. After all, rebuilding cities, relocating peasants, and reclaiming farmland required massive expense. If Qin attempted it, Chu could simply harass them endlessly, making the effort worthless.

If Qin once more crossed the Yangtze in strength, that would mean total war—Qin would send troops deep into Chu’s heartland. Then the layered fortresses and barren supply lines would grind Qin down.

What was the point of holding a solitary Guangling? Even if they did, it was surrounded by Chu territory. The Southern Lord could build camps all around it, sealing its gates so the people could never farm.

Moreover, the Lord Changping was of exalted rank, and the Crown Prince was right across the river. How could the Crown Prince possibly allow him to languish in a besieged city?

Surely the Lord Changping would withdraw. And even if he didn’t, any Qin general left behind would only offer token resistance before negotiating surrender—just enough to spare Changping’s reputation.

Xiang Yan and the Southern Lord had already planned: if the city fell easily, they would smear Changping’s name, saying he abandoned it and caused the deaths of those who had turned to Qin. If it resisted, then they could still polish his reputation, claiming kinship with a worthy foe.

Either way, they would profit.

Upon hearing Li Mu was still far in the south, unable to return quickly, Xiang Yan became even more certain. He never once considered the Qin might slip across behind him.

By the logic of this age, his judgment was flawless. Anyone else would have thought the same.

But Zhu Xiang was not of this age. His stubbornness baffled everyone—family, friends, and foes alike. Xiang Yan was no exception, and so he found himself trapped in today’s predicament.

When Xiang Yan first saw Zhu Xiang appear atop Guangling’s battlements, his heart sank.

Qin would surely come to his rescue. He would surely be attacked front and rear.

His only option now was to storm Guangling as fast as possible, seize Zhu Xiang before the Qin reinforcements arrived, and use his life to bargain Qin into retreat.

Yet even as Xiang Yan realized his prediction was wrong, he still couldn’t understand why.

From every angle, Guangling was worthless to Qin. Holding it meant being surrounded in hostile Chu territory, gaining nothing and losing much.

Why would Lord Changping act so foolishly, placing himself in danger without a thought? Could it truly be only because of the massacre and the forced migration order? 

Xiang Yan was caught off guard by Zhu Xiang’s foolishness, and actually laughed in anger.

Was Zhu Xiang’s plan really to hold Guangling City, and then, in the gap of time when the Chu army withdrew, lead all the commoners of Guangling across the river to the south? How utterly stupid!

Xiang Yan’s state of mind collapsing under Zhu Xiang’s foolishness was very much like how Bai Qi and Li Mu had once been driven to despair by fools.

Clever men could be matched in wits, ordinary men could be predicted. But fools like this—whose thoughts one could never grasp, who harmed others without benefiting themselves—were the hardest to deal with.

What Xiang Yan never expected was that although Zhu Xiang’s companions did not fully understand his stubborn persistence, they nonetheless respected and supported it, always trying to help him find a balance between ideals and reality.

Thus Li Mu, under cover of night, slipped into Wu with his lone boat, and together with the Qin Crown Prince, led ten thousand reinforcements across the Yangtze under cover of darkness, encamping behind Guangling.

The lands around Guangling were flat and open, but now it was summer, when heat and moisture were abundant. With Xiang Yan burning towns and relocating the people, many villages had become ruins, and long weeds sprouted up like bamboo shoots after rain—growing as soon as the wind touched them, devouring the traces of human life in an instant.

Especially near the marshes, reeds had grown taller than a man, making it nearly impossible to see that people had once come daily to wash clothes and fetch water from the riverside.

And yet, all this was but ten-odd days ago.

The ten thousand elite Qin soldiers now hid within an abandoned farmland. Had this field not been burned, golden waves of rice should have stretched to the horizon, like a sea.

Although this was Ying Zheng’s (the Crown Prince’s) first forced march, the pampered youth—raised tenderly by Zhu Xiang—had no complaint, and his spirits were high.

When encamped, he even had the leisure to observe the wild weeds in the fields.

Ying Zheng said: “Teacher, Uncle said these weeds in the fields are terribly troublesome—they grow three feet tall in just half a month.”

For concealment, the Qin army did not pitch tents, nor light fires to cook, since it wasn’t raining. They ate only dry rations and slept under the open sky.

Li Mu cut a bundle of grass and made a nest for the Crown Prince to lie in—taking care of the youth who had never suffered the hardships of campaigning.

He had expected complaints of hardship, and had already thought of words of comfort. Yet instead, what Ying Zheng said was this.

Li Mu asked: “Your Highness knows this grass?”

In front of others, Li Mu treated the Crown Prince with due respect.

Ying Zheng replied: “Uncle never told me its name, only that it’s troublesome, it grows too quickly.”

He crouched down, scooped up a handful of soil, and said: “This is prime rice soil. Uncle says only fields that have grown rice for many years can form such earth—this is a rare man-made fertile soil, the more it is cultivated, the richer it becomes.”

Li Mu, who also knew something of farming, said: “Ordinary fields need to lie fallow, for land grows barren if farmed without rest. Rice paddies, however, through careful cultivation, only grow more fertile with use.”

Ying Zheng said: “And yet such fertile land, in only half a month, has become overrun with man-high weeds.”

He did not know why he sighed, but Zhu Xiang’s words came to mind, and the sigh escaped him.

Land that had taken humans many years to cultivate into fertile rice paddies—one fire, half a month, and it became overgrown wilderness, weeds so tall that marching men needed blades to hack a path.

Li Mu said softly: “If Zhu Xiang saw this, he would be heartbroken.”

Ying Zheng nodded, but did not reply.

The surrounding Qin soldiers, hearing the exchange between the general and Crown Prince, also fell silent. Some even wiped their eyes in secret. Whether it was because they had friends among the Chu who fled north, or simply because they felt the grief of farmland turned desolate, none could say.

And their gaze toward the Qin Crown Prince subtly changed.

A prince who could feel sorrow for ruined rice fields, who knew the origins of rice soil—surely such a one would become a good ruler.

The true commoners—not impoverished scholars, but real peasants—never cared whether their king was good or bad. They only passively endured the oppression of the officials or nobles they could see, numbly accepting fate. If they could not survive, they either numbly waited for death, fled elsewhere, or rebelled blindly, throwing their lives away.

But now, hearing the Crown Prince speak thus with Lord Wu Cheng (Li Mu), the soldiers felt a thought arise that had never before occurred to them—

To weigh whether a lofty Crown Prince might become a good king.

The treasonous thought took root—and could not be pulled out.

Ying Zheng himself did not know that his casual sigh had stirred such ripples in those around him. And perhaps even if he knew, it would not matter—for it was such a small thing, and would not change his future.

Li Mu and the Crown Prince rested a short while, two hours to recover their strength, before pressing forward again, creeping through the weeds in silence.

Only when they sighted Chu scouts in the distance did they halt.

Li Mu sent his own scouts to gauge the distance to the Chu encampment. When he learned it was only twenty li away, he split the ten thousand into dozens of small units, each led by its captain, to slip past the Chu scouts and regroup at a marked village under Guangling’s walls.

Ying Zheng was utterly shocked: “Each to lead on their own? Teacher, is that truly all right? Will they all arrive on time?”

Li Mu said: “They will.”

Ying Zheng said: “But if they’re careless, won’t they be discovered?”

Li Mu said: “The men I lead are used to fighting alone across the steppes. Don’t worry.”

Ying Zheng said: “Even if they get through, that village may hold Chu soldiers—if we go there, won’t we be exposed immediately?”

Li Mu said: “Rest assured, I’ve checked already—no Chu are stationed there.”

Ying Zheng could not understand, not at all.

When had his teacher checked? Even if he had, how could he be certain the Chu would not later send scouts there?

Li Mu did not explain immediately. Only when he brought the Crown Prince safely past the Chu scouts and into that village, did he tell him why.

First, judging from Xiang Yan’s deployments, there could be no garrison here.

Second, when Xiang Yan had ordered the burning and evacuation, this village had resisted fiercely, so it had been slaughtered most cruelly.

Generals might not fear ghosts, but they still respected them. Xiang Yan had conscripted many Chu refugees from the Yangtze’s north bank as porters and soldiers—if only to spare their feelings, and prevent rebellion, he would keep them away from such a place.

Li Mu said: “Moreover, where corpses lie thick upon the earth, plague grows easily. Very dangerous.”

Ying Zheng said: “And isn’t it dangerous for us to encamp here, then?”

Li Mu did not answer directly. Instead, he ordered the rotting corpses to be burned, weeds cleared, and water sources re-dug. The Qin soldiers dismantled ruined houses for firewood, burned the bodies, then cooked food and drank only boiled water.

Ying Zheng instantly understood—this was how to avoid plague.

It was troublesome, yes, but for ten days only, it was enough. The weeds and beams would provide fuel.

The Chu had indeed set fires here before, but they had left immediately, not burning thoroughly, nor wasting costly oil or wine as accelerant. So most of the village still stood.

It was a large village, nearly the size of a small town.

Ying Zheng wandered through its ruins, even finding some bamboo slips and old weapons.

Clearly, this was no mere peasant village, but a clan of scholars who had once retreated here in seclusion, perhaps once illustrious. Now only charred earth remained.

Ying Zheng said to Li Mu: “Teacher, gather the bamboo slips, guard their ancestral tombs, then in my uncle’s name, seek out their descendants, and return these relics. What do you think?”

Li Mu replied: “I only fight wars. Such things, you must decide.”

Ying Zheng tilted his head, childlike before his elder: “Since I stumbled upon it, it is fate. I’ll help them this once.”

Li Mu chuckled: “Very well.”

Having decided on this good deed, Ying Zheng then asked: “Earlier you forbade lighting fires for fear the Chu might see. Why allow it now?”

Li Mu explained: “Once Xiang Yan learned Guangling chose to hold the city, he halted the northward expulsions and hastened his army to besiege it, hoping to seize it before I returned. So many refugees still linger here.”

Ying Zheng said: “So it’s not only us—wherever people remain in villages, there will be smoke rising?”

Li Mu nodded: “Refugees will cling to their villages, even if only ruins. With smoke rising everywhere, how can Xiang Yan know which is the Qin army?”

Ying Zheng felt there was a double meaning in his teacher’s words, but did not press.

He continued exploring the ruins, brimming with curiosity at every secret left behind. He thought, when he met his uncle, he would have a story to tell.

Ying Zheng believed he could spend days exploring, uncovering all of the village’s hidden past.

But on only the second night, Li Mu roused him from sleep, to see flames flickering in the distant sky.

When Li Mu had first arrived in Wu Commandery, Xiang Yan had not yet reached Guangling. Now, while they lingered behind him, on their second night in the village, Xiang Yan launched his first assault.

The very night when Zhu Xiang ordered Kongming lanterns to be lit.

The Qin sentries on watch lifted their eyes, filled with both curiosity and dread, and with a strange sense of half-forgotten familiarity.

Ying Zheng rubbed his eyes, looked once, and guessed at once: “Changping lanterns. Uncle is releasing Changping lanterns? Asking us for aid?”

Li Mu said: “The scouts report, today Zhu Xiang held the city with ease.”

He had not woken Ying Zheng to see the lights, but because the scouts had just brought back news. He knew the Crown Prince would want to hear of Zhu Xiang at once.

The scouts, crouched in the weeds, though not seasoned in warfare, had seen the firm lines before Guangling, and heard the Chu songs sung from its walls.

“Uncle ordered Chu songs sung from the ramparts, throwing Xiang Yan’s troops into disarray?” Ying Zheng’s expression turned strange.

“My uncle knows how to do that too?”

Li Mu smiled and said, “I told you long ago—if your uncle is defending a city, he will surely prove himself a great general. You can rest easy.”

Though Ying Zheng let out a sigh of relief, he still retorted stiffly, “What kind of great general only knows how to defend? He’s just leaning on the walls. If my uncle is truly a great general, let him drive Xiang Yan back first.”

Li Mu laughed heartily. “Say that to Zhu Xiang’s face when you meet him.”

Ying Zheng gave a cold snort.

The very next afternoon, a scout—risking discovery by Chu scouts—seized the horse of a fleeing Chu soldier and galloped back to report.

“General! Lord Changping has crushed the Chu army! General Meng has seized both Xiang Yan’s and the Southern Chu Lord’s command banners!”

Li Mu nearly bit his tongue on his dried meat, and Ying Zheng choked on his water.

“What?!”

The two of them stared at each other, dumbfounded.

In just a single day, Zhu Xiang—his uncle—had led twenty thousand defenders to rout Xiang Yan’s one hundred thousand Chu soldiers?!

“Uh, Teacher, so… do we still wait here?” Ying Zheng stammered, reverting to the tongue-tied silliness of his childhood.

Li Mu’s expression turned odd. “I won’t show myself. Zheng’er, you’ll lead the army to reinforce.”

Ying Zheng was baffled. “Why?”

Li Mu replied, “This victory is entirely Zhu Xiang’s doing. But if I appear, the world will think it was all my stratagem.”

“And if I go to support him, won’t that steal Uncle’s credit?” Ying Zheng asked.

Li Mu chuckled. “You’re too young, and your reputation is far below Zhu Xiang’s. At most, people will praise you for bravery. I’ll disguise myself as a masked bodyguard and fight at your side—don’t worry. Once the battle ends, I’ll quietly slip back to the fleet and return to Wu Commandery with the main force. Just tell your uncle I was here. Don’t let anyone else know.”

Ying Zheng answered solemnly, “Yes!”

Then he clenched his fists in excitement.

In his heart he sneered: Dream-self, you’ve never earned a single battle merit, have you? You’ve never even fought in person! You’re as weak as Father!

Meanwhile, beneath the walls of Guangling.

After Zhu Xiang ordered Jiao Yun to charge, the Chu army fell into even greater chaos.

Jiao Yun was like a rasping file—if one could look down from the skies, they would see that every time his cavalry brushed past the Chu formation, the edges blurred. When the lines reformed, the formation had shrunk, retreating several meters.

Worse still, after Jiao Yun rasped across the ranks several times, the blurring spread inward like ripples in a pond.

The center was already thrown into disorder by the rampaging oxen and Meng Tian’s raid. Fleeing conscripts dragged more Chu soldiers with them, scattering like rats, until the entire army boiled like a pot of porridge.

Xiang Yan had been delayed by the Southern Chu Lord’s carriage. He missed the best chance to rally his forces—and in that instant Meng Tian seized his banners. First Meng Tian slashed down the Southern Chu Lord’s flag. Then a general behind him loosed an arrow that ripped Xiang Yan’s own command flag apart.

In all his years of leading troops, Xiang Yan had never suffered such humiliation.

Fury blinded him. He skewered a spear-wielding soldier who blocked his horse, then at last closed in on Meng Tian.

Meng Tian shouted, “Xiang Yan, face me!”—and immediately wheeled his horse to flee.

Xiang Yan: “…!?”

As Meng Tian ran, his riders ran with him, as if the whole routine had been rehearsed.

They all shouted while retreating: “Xiang Yan, take my blade!” “Hahaha, Xiang Yan seeks death!” “Xiang Yan is beaten, not worth a strike!” Their voices rang loud as they sped away.

Xiang Yan nearly choked on his own rage. He spurred after them: “Don’t run!”

But Meng Tian and his men ignored him, spewing nonsense while racing ahead. Their shouts drowned out his own, making it sound as if Xiang Yan were the one fleeing in disgrace.

Meng Tian’s riders were master horsemen, circling through the chaos and keeping just beyond Xiang Yan’s reach.

He tried to order Chu troops to intercept, but the army was already in disarray. Meng Tian’s cavalry, though “fleeing,” kept perfect formation. To the panic-stricken Chu soldiers, they looked like an unstoppable Qin charge. Terrified, they broke and ran, leaving no one to block the way.

Xiang Yan’s eyes nearly split with rage.

Are Chu’s sons so cowardly now? Do they not even dare face Qin? Never have I commanded such craven men!

“General, don’t pursue! Rally the troops first!” his deputy urged, fearing Xiang Yan would lose his reason entirely.

Taking a deep breath, Xiang Yan forced his fury down, reined in his horse, and halted pursuit.

As if sensing it, Meng Tian stopped fleeing as well. He spun around, bow in hand. His aim was poor, and the arrow missed Xiang Yan, but it struck a nearby Chu soldier.

“You bastard!” Xiang Yan, who always prided himself on noble restraint, was so enraged he cursed aloud.

Meng Tian roared, “Xiang Yan is hit!”

He loosed another arrow—still a miss.

His riders followed suit, loosing arrows at random and shouting nonsense: “Xiang Yan is down!” “Xiang Yan is dead!” “Xiang Yan, don’t run!”

The clamor spread. Some fleeing Chu soldiers took up the cries themselves, not knowing what was true. Confusion deepened, formations collapsed, even the sergeants holding the banners trembled and waved them erratically.

Though seething, Xiang Yan’s years of command kept him from losing his mind entirely.

He quickly ordered his deputy to lead troops in pursuit of the reckless Meng Tian, while he himself raised a fresh command banner and rallied the Chu ranks. Officers and sergeants gathered soldiers back into line, forcing them to reform.

Banners often fell in battle; he had brought spares. He should have raised a new one the moment his was torn, but Meng Tian’s sudden insults and flight had stunned him into pursuit instead.

Now, with a fresh banner raised, some order returned. His elite troops regrouped swiftly; the Southern Chu Lord’s veterans also steadied, though shaken. Only the conscripted peasants kept fleeing, deaf to command.

Some even shouted, “Xiang Yan lives—run faster!” and bolted all the more desperately.

Xiang Yan immediately changed the signal flags, ordering his elite troops to cut down the deserters. If they weren’t killed, the deserters would once again throw the reorganizing Chu army into chaos.

Meng Tian shouted loudly: “Fellow countrymen! Xiang Yan burned your fields and homes, killed your relatives and friends, and now drives you here to die in Guangling! If death is certain either way, why not fight them to the end?”

Behind him, the Qin soldiers also shouted, “Fellow countrymen, take revenge—fight them!”

Xiang Yan’s hand trembled at that, and his horse almost bolted forward.

These Qin dogs—who are you calling countrymen?!

But Meng Tian and the Qin army had been stationed in Southern Qin for so long, had accepted many Chu refugees, and now they were mimicking the speech and tone of Chu people almost perfectly. The deserters really understood them.

One deserter, just wounded by the overseer’s spear, was about to kneel and beg for mercy. Looking at the overseer’s cold expression, he spat out bloody saliva and lunged forward.

“Damn you! I’ll fight you! My whole family’s dead anyway—only I’m left—hahaha!”

As he charged, the once-cowardly man suddenly burst into laughter, fearless at last.

He was stabbed again and again by the overseer’s sword, but still he gripped the man tightly, dragging him to the ground with brute force.

Dead.

The Chu soldiers around the overseer hurried to pull the corpse away in panic.

They couldn’t.

They had to chop off the deserter’s hands before they could save the overseer pinned beneath. When they lifted him up, there were two deep purple bruises circling his throat—he couldn’t even speak from the pain.

And he wasn’t the only deserter resisting.

Once one man fought back, that desperate courage spread like sparks into an oil pot—exploding instantly.

At the same time, Jiao Yun was cutting into the Chu army’s flanks. He broke apart their formation while shouting surrender terms:

“Follow Xiang Yan and the Southern Chu Lord and there’s only death! But if they are defeated and you surrender, all of you will live in your homelands again. Lord Zhu Xiang does not kill prisoners! He will even divide land for them, help them rebuild their homes! Lord Zhu Xiang stayed to defend Guangling’s people—he will help you too!”

Jiao Yun’s words struck deeper than Meng Tian’s.

On the north bank of the Yangtze, no one hadn’t heard of Lord Zhu Xiang’s name.

Before, they may have despised him as a Qin noble, or ignored his fame out of numbness from daily struggle. But now, stripped of everything—down to their last breath—they remembered his reputation.

Zhu Xiang was kind and compassionate, teaching peasants how to farm with his own hands, even writing letters begging Xiang Yan and the Southern Chu Lord not to slaughter and burn cities. After their refusal, he still helped Guangling defend itself.

If we surrender to the Qin, Zhu Xiang will not massacre us—he definitely will not!

That thought stirred even the most numb hearts of Chu people north of the river.

Zhu Xiang, a Qin, would not kill prisoners—while Xiang Yan and the Southern Chu Lord, both Chu, burned their homes and killed their families.

So who were truly their enemies, and who were their fellow countrymen?!

Among the deserters were men skilled in speech, even some former scholars.

They hurled curses at Xiang Yan and the Southern Chu Lord, cursed at the Chu soldiers raising blades against them.

“We are also Chu! Why burn our homes, why force us to die?!”

“When Qin occupied us, we prayed every day for the Chu king’s rescue. When you came, we raised arms, drove out the Qin, opened the gates, offered food and water to welcome you. And how did you repay us? Why?!”

Some deserters roared this while crossing blades with Chu soldiers.

Some clutched Chu throats, crying their questions.

Some, dying, clung tightly to Chu legs, muttering through clouded eyes that refused to close.

The Chu soldiers, who once watched slaughter and arson without blinking, hardened by such cruelty, now felt cracks forming in their hearts.

“Hahaha! We’re all Chu! You’re next!”

“You and I are both commoners, both foot soldiers. You’re no better than me. My end will be your future!”

The dying cries of deserters whispered like devils in their ears.

Looting and slaughter were nothing new; soldiers were beasts led by beast-kings. But now the ones they killed wore the same clothes, spoke the same tongue, and had fought side by side just moments ago.

Killing these “comrades” felt utterly different from butchering faceless “civilians.”

The cries, curses, and questions finally pierced their ears, sank into their hearts, and stirred their thoughts.

Soldiers should be unthinking cogs, obeying orders and flags.

But once they started to think, the machine of war would break.

Are we truly right?

Will their curses come true?

We are all Chu commoners—ants before our generals and lords. Today we burn their homes for fear of Qin—what if Qin comes tomorrow to burn ours?

No—don’t think! Don’t question! If we doubt, we can’t swing our blades!

Zhu Xiang hadn’t expected the Chu army to fall into chaos so quickly. When Xiang Yan raised his flag again, order lasted only a moment before dissolving into even worse disorder.

Though surprised, Zhu Xiang had already prepared for this very scenario.

He ordered the horns blown and the “Changping” banner raised.

Swing it.

The defending army formed ranks—attack!

Drums thundered, horns blared.

The Guangling scholars, once proud Chu men, mounted horses and climbed into chariots. The city’s defenses opened—barriers torn down, trenches boarded over, gates pushed wide.

Defense had always been paired with offense; routes for counterattack were built into the walls.

Now Guangling’s troops surged out—not to hold, but to strike the Chu lords Xiang Yan and the Southern Chu Lord.

Even those sleeping for shift change donned armor and rushed out.

Zhu Xiang too armored himself heavily, helmet protecting even his neck, and stood upon a shielded chariot.

As commander, he too must march.

A war drum was mounted on the chariot. Zhu Xiang seized the mallets and sang aloud the battle song—

“Qin Wind: No Robes” (Qin Feng · Wu Yi).

He sang in the Chu tongue—a song every Chu scholar knew.

For this song was originally written when Duke Ai of Qin dispatched troops to save Chu.

The “no robes” were not Qin’s question but Chu’s cry for aid; “Comrades in armor” were not only Qin but Chu soldiers rising to restore their state; Sharpened blades and mended armor—Qin and Chu fought side by side against a common foe.

Now the song resounded again in Chu’s land, sung by both Qin and Chu soldiers together—yet their enemy was Chu’s own lords and generals.

Xiang Yan and the Southern Chu Lord knew its origin well. Hearing it now felt bitterly ironic.

Qin and Chu once more sang this song—but in such a scene. What cruel irony.

For the first time, fear flickered in Xiang Yan’s heart.

He saw in his mind Chu scholars dying under his sword, roaring in defiance.

They had rioted to welcome Chu’s army, driven Qin away, opened gates, smiling as they offered food and wine.

And then their “rescuers” drove them out, burned their homes. Scholars protested, begged on their knees, cursed him, even rushed with swords before killing themselves.

They had cursed him, cursed the Southern Chu Lord, cursed the Chu king who allowed it.

They had regretted ever opening their gates to beasts.

Once, Xiang Yan dismissed it all. It was the only way to stop Qin. The trouble left behind was Southern Chu’s problem, not his.

But he had never thought of the price—just as he never counted fallen soldiers as living men, only numbers. Such was the way of generals, of nobles, of Chu itself.

Always.

Yet now, why was he questioning right and wrong?

He looked up at the bronze chariot racing toward him, flying the Changping banner.

On it stood Zhu Xiang, clumsy with the drumsticks, his rhythm chaotic. He could barely stay upright, wobbling with each bump, held up by aides lest he be thrown off.

A man who had never fought, never stood on a chariot, never struck a war drum—forced onto the battlefield by Xiang Yan himself.

How powerful Xiang Yan must be.

He laughed bitterly at himself, then gave the order:

“Sound retreat.”

“I’ve lost. Completely lost.”

He laughed—and wept.

He did not think his decision wrong. How else to resist Qin? Li Mu was too brilliant—unstoppable. Even so, perhaps Qin could not be held back, only troubled, delayed—enough that Chu might survive a little longer.

For this, a city, a land, the curses of its people—all were nothing. Only Chu mattered.

He knew his name would be ruined, that the king lent him for such dirty work precisely to later discard him and his rising clan. He knew he would be cursed worse than Lian Po, for at least Lian Po struck foreign foes, while Xiang Yan struck Chu’s own.

He knew—and still he accepted it.

But still—he had lost. Utterly, laughably, to a novice like Zhu Xiang.

Xiang Yan’s elite soldiers still rallied and withdrew in order, protecting the trembling Southern Chu Lord at the center.

Before leaving, Xiang Yan looked once more at Zhu Xiang—still falling, helmet askew, bruised and ridiculous, yet stubbornly hammering the war drum. Fuqiu and Li Si held him steady, fixing his helmet as best they could.

The defenders and scholars saw this comical figure, and their eyes burned hot. They gripped their weapons tighter.

Their song roared louder.

Qin Feng · Wu Yi.

History records: When Southern Chu rose, appointing Xiang Yan to attack Guangling, the Lord Changping personally entered battle, beating the war drum, singing “No Robes.” The Southern Chu army retreated over fifty li.

Later, the Southern Chu force was pursued by the Qin Crown Prince to the Huai River, until the Lord Changping recalled him.

Crown Prince Ying Zheng returned in haste. Seeing Zhu Xiang battered and bruised, he was horrified: “Uncle! Who hurt you?!”

Zhu Xiang, embarrassed, muttered: “Fell off the chariot.”

Ying Zheng: “…”

He inhaled deeply, about to scold, when Zhu Xiang shouted first: “Are you mad?! With only ten days’ rations and ten thousand men, you chased Xiang Yan all the way to the Huai? Do you think Southern Chu has no more soldiers? If you hadn’t pulled back fast enough, I’d be begging their court for your ransom! Want me to petition your father to send you as hostage to Chu instead? And where was Li Mu—letting you charge off like that?!”

Ying Zheng clutched his ears.

Enough! Stop yelling—my ears hurt!