The Salt Fields to the Throne: Jiang Ziya's Rise

In the fifth year of Emperor Xin's reign, a heavy snow fell like torn mourning cloth. Jiang Shang huddled in a broken shack beneath the walls of Zhaoge, the capital. A wooden slip from the East Sea bore eight chilling words: "Father died. Four branches scattered. Do not return." His missing right pinky throbbed in the cold wind. Outside, Fei Zhong's carriage rolled over a frozen dead rat; across the street, laughter and gambling echoed from a tavern. He recalled his father teaching him to mend nets thirty years ago: "If a net breaks, mend it; if it can't be mended, get a bigger one." Now he understood. Zhaoge's net was too tight and heavy, catching only rootless fish like him. Jiang Shang threw the slip into a brazier, the flames consuming his last retreat. Beyond the window, the Deer Terrace blazed with lights as the new king's sacrifice began. He touched the warm jade bi in his pocket—a gift from Fei Zhong, also a noose around his neck. "Time to change the net," he said, pushing open the broken door and stepping into the boundless darkness.