The streets of Bù Zhèng lay slick with last week's blood, though peasants scrubbed day and night to wash it from the stones. My banners snapped overhead, heavy with dew. From the ramparts I watched farmers trudge under grain sacks levied for the war effort, eyes lowered, backs bent.
Their fear was better mortar than any mason could shape.
At council, the hall stank of sweat and oil lamps. Wu Kang's men stood to one side, sharp-sleeved and arrogant even in defeat. Wu Jin's generals stood opposite — Commander Hu with his battered brow, Captain Zhao with that same cold calculating stare. Between them, I sat like a stone dropped into a nest of vipers.
Reports piled before me on the lacquered table. Peasant militias were hiding the last of Zheng's wounded. Some villages refused to give fresh levies. Worse, two minor lords bribed by Wu Kang's agents had vanished into the countryside with promises to raise men in his name.
General Liang cleared his throat, fat jowls quivering. "Your Highness, perhaps if we increased the taxes — take hostages from the elder sons. A small guarantee against rebellion."
"Or," drawled General Dou, his thin face smug, "simply let them starve. A starving province begs for a master."
I watched them. Said nothing at first. Let the silence stretch until even Hu shifted uncomfortably. Then I leaned forward.
"Take only what we must to feed the armies. Break the militias, yes — but spare their families. A blade need not cut to the bone if fear alone serves."
Liang opened his mouth to protest. I raised one hand — palm outward. The gesture was small. It stopped him as surely as a blade.
Later they brought me three conspirators. Two were captains who had secretly met Wu Kang's envoys. The third was a merchant who carried their silver.
I had them bound on the keep steps where all Bù Zhèng could see. My Black Tigers worked quietly, efficiently. When it was done, the men still lived — but tongueless, mouths ragged with ruin, choking on their own blood.
It was not just cruelty. It was a message. Let them try to whisper treason now.
That night I couldn't sleep. I walked the ramparts alone, boots leaving red-brown prints in the torchlight. The fortress felt alive under me, stones humming with something old, patient, and cruel.
The cold under my ribs had grown worse. Sometimes I could feel it throb in rhythm to my pulse. Other times it seemed to beat on its own — a second heart, older than flesh.
I found myself smiling at shadows. Whispering to them, though I remembered no words after.
Shen Yue caught me there. I didn't hear her approach. Her hand closed on my wrist and for an instant I nearly struck — not from threat, but from some hungry instinct that rose sharp in my chest.
She didn't flinch. But her face was pale. "You're colder than this stone," she said. Her thumb pressed lightly on my skin, as if trying to find the man still beneath. "I used to think you were just ruthless. Now I'm not sure there's anything left to lose."
"There is," I murmured. I met her gaze until she looked away. "There's the war. There's what waits at the end of it."
"And what is that?" she demanded. "What throne is worth becoming this?"
I tilted my head, listening to something only I could hear. "One they will never dare topple."
She let go then. Walked away into the torchlit dark, shoulders rigid. I watched her until she vanished. The cold inside me pulsed again, pleased.
Far south of Bù Zhèng, under a sagging silk pavilion set amid broken columns, Lianhua sat with what remained of Zheng's court. Noble sons whose fine hands shook on their swords. Old lords with black fingernails from stress biting.
She poured tea calmly, eyes half-lidded. "Patience. The Fourth Prince's victory here is not the end. Wu Kang gathers fleets. The capital seethes. And Zheng's name still carries weight in every marsh village from here to Nanyan's gates."
One young noble, voice cracking with bitterness, spat into the dust. "He butchered us. Let him choke on Bù Zhèng's carcass — the land itself will revolt under such weight."
Lianhua smiled faintly. "If it does, it will need men ready to step forward. Not merely to curse in hiding."
And so she sowed seeds with a whisper — never pledging herself, never dirtying her hands, simply laying stones that would matter later.
At dawn, Wu Jin's Captain Zhao brought fresh intelligence. Zheng's scattered remnants were pillaging small townships to the east, stealing food and arms to rebuild. Wu Kang's agents slipped coin and promise to them, hoping to steer the rabble into a new cudgel against me.
Hu scowled at the map. "Too much breath left in them. If they gather at Nanyan's old forts, it'll take twice the men to root them out."
"Then we root them now," I said. My voice sounded wrong in my ears — low, almost hollow.
Liang tried a gentle protest. "But your own men are spent, Your Highness. The marsh broke many. Better to wait, let the First Prince's ships strike first. Then we—"
I stood. The scrape of my chair silenced the hall.
"Or we remind them what fear looks like. I will march before the week's end."
Liang swallowed. Zhao gave a curt nod. Hu's mouth twitched in something like grim respect — or grim dread.
That night I dreamed of rivers choked with bodies. Their mouths gaped, whispering words I couldn't catch. Above them rose a throne carved of black roots. I stepped toward it and felt my feet sink into blood.
When I woke, I was smiling.
At dawn I inspected the camps. The men flinched from my gaze. Some made charms with their fingers. One even dropped to a knee, muttering prayers that I would pass by.
I let them. Fear would carry them farther than banners ever could.
Before we set out again, Shen Yue found me alone in the fortress chapel. The incense was long burned down. Only the old statues of guardian gods remained, cracked by mold and smoke.
"You're marching again," she said. "Into lands already burned bare."
I looked up at the faceless idol before me. "Better ashes under my heel than a living province daring rebellion."
Her jaw tightened. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?"
I rose. Stood close enough to see her breath catch. "I sleep very well, Shen Yue. It is others who wake screaming."
She touched my cheek then — lightly, almost pitying. "Then may the gods you no longer pray to have more mercy than you do."
When we left Bù Zhèng, the villagers lined the streets in terrified silence. Mothers held children close. Old men leaned on sticks, not daring to bow too deeply lest it be seen as mockery.
I rode at the front, Black Tigers at my back, Wu Jin's men tight to the flanks. Wu Kang's conspirators trailed like carrion birds, quiet now but their eyes plotting still.
And under my ribs, the cold throbbed with delight. Each mile south felt like a chain slipping from my throat.
Because this was no longer just Zheng's war. It was mine. And I would carry it until the last scream died in the dust.