The warriors of Changfeng Camp fought through the night, clashing with the Western Rong army’s elite vanguard in a brutal struggle that nearly cost them Lu City.
Li Shuang never stepped onto the battlefield herself, yet she was no less consumed. Through the long hours she commanded from the camp—deploying troops, conferring with generals, sending riders with urgent reports to the capital. From the moment she heard of the enemy advance, her hands had not stilled.
The camp was a storm of activity. Physicians tended the endless tide of wounded, guards rotated to keep her safe, horses stamped restlessly in their stalls. Even the scandal of the black-armored libertine and the whereabouts of the boy Jin’an faded into irrelevance. Chaos left no room for distraction.
By dawn, after blood and fire, the vanguard withdrew—ten li beyond Lu City. Li Shuang rode hard into the city, intent on persuading the governor to allow Changfeng Camp inside the walls.
Governor Li Zhangyi waddled into the hall, sweating and panting as if he’d run a league, though he had only come from his quarters.
Li Shuang wasted no time on courtesies. Her voice rang like steel:
“Governor Li, you know what happened last night. The Western Rong presses our borders. To defend Lu City, Changfeng Camp must enter within the third quarter of the You hour today.”
Li Zhangyi’s tiny eyes darted nervously. He was a man of the Prime Minister, who opposed the Grand General in court. Li Shuang’s presence at the frontier was itself a product of that rivalry, and the exclusion of her camp from Lu City had been one more maneuver in their endless struggle for power. Now, even with the enemy at their gates, he would not yield ground that weakened his faction.
Forcing a smile across his fleshy face, he said, oily and false:
“General, the Western Rong fight fiercely. Yet the south has seen abundant harvests this year, and Lu City’s granaries are full. Why not spare them some grain? A gift may send them away.”
Li Shuang’s gaze turned razor-cold.
“You would feed wolves with the provisions of Great Jin?”
The governor shuddered and stepped back, chilled by her eyes. The court had named her the Jade-faced Rakshasa—he now understood why.
Sweat poured down his face as he chuckled weakly.
“This is but a temporary measure. From the wall yesterday, I saw not just vanguard forces. The main army is here, tens of thousands. Even with your camp, our numbers are less than half. Better to appease than bleed.”
Li Shuang’s laugh was like frost.
“Appease them? Why don’t you ask the Western Rong if they accept appeasement?”
Still he smiled, obsequious.
“Does the General truly wish to throw her soldiers, and mine, into certain death?”
“You forget yourself,” she snapped. “Life and death in war are not for civil officials to decree. Grain is scarce on the frontier this winter. Whoever holds it rules the tribes. The Western Rong know Lu City’s stores are rich—that is why they march with their main force. If they seize our granaries, they will dominate the north by spring. Tell me, Governor—how much grain can you surrender to feed an army through winter?”
He had no answer.
Li Shuang slammed her gauntleted hand on the table.
“This battle must be fought. I will fight it. I will win it, and secure Lu City’s peace. At the You hour, open the gates to my camp. In peace, I yield. In war, I command.”
Her armor rang as she rose. The sweep of her bound hair brushed past his sweating face as she strode out.
When her footsteps faded, Li Zhangyi’s smile collapsed into a snarl.
“Hmph. Arrogant girl.”
By the You hour, the northern sky was already dark. Changfeng Camp marched with bundles on their backs, Li Shuang at their head, her guards close behind. For the first time that day she allowed herself a breath—until she noticed.
“Where is Jin’an?”
Her lieutenant Qin Lan startled, scanning the ranks. No one had seen him since dusk. Luo Teng cursed, wheeling his horse. “That cursed brat—I’ll fetch him back.” He stopped suddenly, staring toward the Western Rong camp. His voice hardened.
“General—movement.”
The earth began to tremble. Li Shuang’s face turned grim. She knew that sound—hooves, thousands of them.
“The main army.”
She raised her voice like a whip.
“Quick! To the city! Man the walls! Resist the Rong!”
The camp surged forward. But when they reached the gates of Lu City, they found them barred.
Li Shuang reined in, glaring up at the wall.
“By my order, open the gates!”
The guards shifted uneasily until one dared shout down:
“General, the governor commands us to hold the gates to the death.”
Li Shuang’s fury exploded.
“Idiocy! With the enemy at our throats, you follow a traitor’s command? Will you await execution for treason when this city falls?”
The guards faltered, exchanging fearful looks. Then Li Zhangyi appeared, puffing up the wall, squeezing between them.
“General Li, your words are cruel! If I open now and the Rong flood in, who will answer for Lu City’s lives?”
Behind her, the thunder of hooves grew nearer. The moment was lost—entering now would risk disaster. Li Shuang cursed inwardly, turning to face the plain where the Rong tide rolled forward like a storm. She braced to die on open ground.
But then—a cry from above.
“Ah! Who are you!”
Li Shuang snapped her head up.
A black-masked figure stood beside the governor, one hand locked around his throat, the other pressing a stolen blade against his neck until blood welled. Crimson eyes glowed like embers.
That libertine.
But this time, fully armored.
His voice was low, steady, and carried like a warhorn across the field:
“Open the gates.”
Li Zhangyi whimpered, torn between terror and pride. The blade bit deeper, and at last fear triumphed.
“Open! Open the gates! Do you hear me? Open them now!”
“Do not open!” Li Shuang’s command split the night.
Even the masked man hesitated, startled. But she gave no explanation, only drew her sword as the Western Rong storm bore down in clouds of dust.
“Changfeng Camp! Drop your supplies! Form ranks! Tonight we kill before we enter!”
Her soldiers obeyed without hesitation, discarding burdens, locking shields.
She cast one last glance at the wall.
“Governor, you may deny us shelter, but if you will not defend this city, the Emperor himself will take your head.”
Terrified, Li Zhangyi shrieked for archers to cover the camp.
Li Shuang raised her blade. The hoofbeats thundered closer.
“Kill!”
Changfeng Camp met the enemy in a clash of steel and blood. Arrows rained from the walls, fire lit the battlements, and the northern night filled with the stench of iron and death.
But the Rong were too many. The camp buckled, scattered. Li Shuang fought alone in the thick of the horde, drenched in blood, arms heavy, enemies endless. A spear lunged for her side—no escape.
Then, with a single devastating stroke, the spear was cleaved in two. Its wielder flew back as if struck by a storm.
A strong hand seized her shoulder, pulling her against a solid chest.
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