The troops had been arrayed to reclaim Wu. For Prince Wu, there was no escape.
Second Miss Chen had told the Prince that if he allowed imperial officials to enter, they could verify and explain that the assassins were a frame‑up. If the Prince yielded and sought peace, the court would withdraw its armies.
But all this was what Second Miss Chen said to the Prince. The court itself had never considered such a thing.
“His Majesty did not think of this,” said the Iron‑faced General, looking at the scroll bearing Prince Wu’s seal. “When Prince Wu refused to obey the grace‑sharing edict, and even moved first to ‘cleanse the court,’ His Majesty never imagined Wu would seek peace.”
Wu’s land was perilous in position, rich for a hundred years, untouched by disaster or war, with tens of thousands of soldiers, and a loyal, battle‑tested Grand Tutor. So when the Crown Prince proposed that to destroy Wu, one must first eliminate the Grand Tutor, the Emperor immediately agreed. But now the Grand Tutor still lived, while the Crown Prince’s pawn had been removed by Second Miss Chen. And she had brought word that Prince Wu was willing to yield and negotiate with the Emperor. This could not help but provoke deeper thought.
“I met Prince Wu myself,” said Master Wang. “His words and manner were full of talk of Huang‑Lao philosophy. He seemed to look down on everything, yet his mind seemed empty.”
“That is why I must speak with His Majesty,” said the Iron‑faced General. “Since Prince Wu is willing to yield, to win without battle, sparing the people from war—this is a blessing for the court.”
It was indeed good. Yet Master Wang still felt it unnecessary.
“We can win,” he said, stressing the words. “General, the merit of conquest and the merit of negotiation are not the same.”
“Do you think the present Prince Wu is the same as the Princes of Yan, Lu, Qi, or Zhou?” asked the Iron‑faced General.
Master Wang shook his head. “Not at all. Not only unlike Zhou and Qi, but utterly unlike the old Prince Wu as well.”
If those lords had been madmen, then this new Prince Wu was a fool.
The Iron‑faced General glanced at the scroll on the desk. “Madmen and fools must be treated differently. And—”
Master Wang felt the gaze behind the iron mask fall upon him, sharp as needles. He shivered involuntarily.
“I do not fight for merit,” the Iron‑faced General’s voice rasped like a dull blade scraping stone. “Fighting madmen is interesting. Fighting fools—utterly boring.” With that, he tossed the scroll to Master Wang. “Submit it to His Majesty.”
Master Wang could only accept with a bitter smile. Fighting not for merit but for amusement—this was true madness.
Li Liang’s corpse hung in Wu’s capital, and the atmosphere of the city finally grew tense.
If even a great general like Li Liang had betrayed Prince Wu, then surely the court would strike this time. The people at last felt the urgency of war pressing upon them.
Prince Wu, too, changed his ways. Each day, he asked after the front lines and troop movements. In the palace, he spread out maps of battle, arranging tens of thousands of soldiers from south to north like a long serpent across the capital.
Chen Liehu pointed out the flaw. The head and tail did not connect; if battle came, the enemy could easily cut them apart. “This is the duty of your old minister,” he said, kneeling to petition. “I am willing to go to the front lines, to array the troops and meet the court’s unrighteous army.”
It was not his first request. Each time it had been refused. He was entrusted only with guarding the capital. Now his son was dead, his son‑in‑law a traitor slain. Only the old general remained to fight.
Prince Wu looked at him. “Grand Tutor, with Second Miss Chen, that is enough. You need not go yourself.”
Chen Liehu was baffled, then wary. Again, he suspected the Prince had designs on Chen Danzhu. For a moment, he dared not speak. Other ministers stepped forward, offering themselves or their strategies. The Prince listened, but accepted none.
Confused, Chen Liehu returned to the Grand Tutor’s residence. Chen Danzhu met him and asked about court affairs. Since her visit to the army camp, she often asked about military matters. Chen Liehu did not hide them; she told her everything. With Chen Danyang dead, Li Liang dead, and Chen Danyan unwell, only Chen Danzhu could inherit the mantle.
This time, Chen Liehu no longer thought of finding her a husband. Ah…
“I cannot fathom what the Prince is thinking,” Chen Liehu said. “Opportunities in war vanish in an instant. It is maddening.”
Chen Danzhu knew what the Prince was thinking—whether the imperial armies would truly withdraw, and when. “Father, do not worry,” she said. “The Prince does not fight himself. That he has the will is already good.”
Chen Liehu agreed, his face brightening with relief and resolve. “When ruler and ministers are of one heart, their strength can cut through metal. The Emperor’s unrighteous acts are nothing to fear!”
Chen Danzhu gave a bitter smile, unable to bear looking at her father’s face. From inside came the maid Xiao‑Die’s delighted cry: “Eldest Miss has awakened!”
Chen Danzhu and Chen Liehu exchanged a glance, suddenly breathless, unsure whether to feel joy or sorrow.
“What must be faced must be faced,” Chen Liehu said. “My daughters can endure anything.”
Chen Danzhu nodded, and together they went to see her sister.
Chen Danyan was struggling up from her bed, her pale face flushed unnaturally red from agitation.
Xiao‑Die, the maids, and the physicians all tried to calm her, but she insisted on rising. When she saw her father enter, she wept: “I had a nightmare, Father. I heard that Ah‑Liang is dead. Is Ah‑Liang truly dead?”
Chen Liehu answered: “Yes. He is dead.”
Chen Danyan cried out in anguish, tears streaming like rain.
“You must not cry!” Chen Liehu barked. “Li Liang was a traitor. His death was deserved.”
Her sobs caught in her throat. She stared at him in disbelief. When she had fainted, she had only heard that Li Liang was dead—she had not heard the rest.
Chen Liehu explained in a few words. “Now, if you wish to see him, it is easy,” he said grimly at last, pointing outside. “His corpse hangs at the city gate for all to see.”
Chen Danyan was stunned. Xiao‑Die knelt at the bedside, weeping and kowtowing. “Master, speak gently. Eldest Miss is unwell, and she carries a child.”
Chen Liehu’s face twitched. He ground his teeth. “That child—better not to have it.”
Xiao‑Die dared not speak further. Silence pressed down on the room.
Chen Liehu drew a deep breath, forcing his voice steady. “Ah‑Yan, think carefully. I know you are a clever child. You will understand.”
Chen Danyan’s gaze shifted to him. “Father, Ah‑Liang was killed by Ah‑Zhu, wasn’t he?”
Chen Liehu’s voice was heavy. “It was my order—”
Chen Danyan cried: “Father, you were as ignorant as I was. You did not know what Ah‑Zhu was doing. How could you have ordered her?”
Chen Liehu opened his mouth, but Chen Danzhu stepped forward from behind him, calling: “Sister, it was I who killed brother‑in‑law. When I struck, Father did not yet know.” She repeated the story she had told her father. “I hurried back to take the tally you had stolen, to see the truth. And indeed, I found he had betrayed the Prince.”
Chen Danyan stared blankly, lips trembling. “You—you could have bound him, brought him back, and then—”
Killed him later? Chen Danzhu met her gaze. “No. If I had not killed him, he would have killed me.”
Chen Danyan fell silent, closing her eyes as tears streamed down.
But Chen Danzhu did not relent. “Sister, are you blaming me?” she asked.
This was exactly what Chen Liehu feared. He cried out in anguish, “Ah‑Yan, do you not trust your sister? Do you truly grieve for that traitor Li Liang?”
Chen Danyan opened her eyes and gave a sorrowful smile. “Father, I loved Ah‑Liang. But if he betrayed us, betrayed the Prince, I would have killed him with my own hands.”
Chen Liehu nodded. “Good, good. I know. My Ah‑Yan is a worthy daughter. Do not blame your sister—”
“I do not blame her for killing Li Liang,” Chen Danyan interrupted, her eyes full of pain as she looked at Chen Danzhu. “I blame her for hiding it from me, for not telling me, for not trusting me.”
Chen Liehu’s heart ached. “Ah‑Yan—”
But Chen Danzhu showed no anger, no grief, no tears. She frowned in displeasure. “Sister, you listened to Li Liang and stole the tally, without telling me or Father. Was that not mistrust of us? Then why should I trust you? Why should I tell you what I was going to do?”
Chen Danyan was stunned.