The Emperor of Liang does not arrive with banners.
He arrives at dusk beneath a white pavilion raised between broken wards of the city — neither inside Ling An's walls nor beyond them. A space of negotiation carved from rubble and snow.
The Southern Kingdom's honor guard stands at measured distance behind him.
Zhou observers watch from the northern ridges.
And Ling An waits.
Wu An walks into the pavilion alone.
No armor.
No blade drawn.
The Emperor sits already, robes immaculate despite months of displacement. His face is serene, almost scholarly. Not a man who has marched through blood.
"General," the Emperor says calmly.
He does not call him son of the Lord Protector.
He does not call him usurper.
He does not call him traitor.
Just General.
Wu An inclines his head slightly.
"Your Majesty."
The silence between them is heavier than artillery.
The Emperor gestures for tea to be poured.
"Ling An stands," he says lightly.
"For now," Wu An replies.
"And Zhou presses."
"Yes."
"And the Southern Kingdom fractures."
"Yes."
The Emperor smiles faintly.
"You've made quite a storm."
"You allowed one," Wu An replies evenly.
A flicker in the Emperor's eyes.
There it is.
They both know.
The Southern Kingdom marched under his authority.
Zhou moved under the pretense of stabilizing him.
He has never been powerless.
Only patient.
"You seek restoration," the Emperor says.
"I seek sovereignty," Wu An answers.
"And if restoration is the price of sovereignty?"
"Then the throne must change."
The Emperor sets his cup down carefully.
"You killed your father."
"Yes."
"You killed Wu Jin."
"He chose."
"You shattered the palace."
"Yes."
"And now you wish to negotiate."
Wu An meets his gaze.
"I wish to conclude."
The Emperor leans back slightly.
"Very well."
Terms are laid out calmly.
The Emperor will return to Ling An.
Formally.
Publicly.
The Southern Kingdom will withdraw under imperial decree.
Zhou will recognize the reinstated Liang court.
Ling An stabilizes under symbolic continuity.
A clean solution.
On parchment.
But both men understand something deeper.
The Emperor does not trust Wu An.
Wu An does not trust the Emperor.
Behind the pavilion, unseen to the public eye, parallel negotiations unfold.
Southern envoys meet privately with imperial advisors.
Zhou observers exchange sealed correspondence with Liang officials.
A common thread emerges.
Wu An has become too central.
Too unpredictable.
Too unmanageable.
The Emperor intends to restore the throne—
Without the general who overshadowed it.
Zhou prefers a weak monarch to a strong warlord.
The Southern Kingdom prefers ritual legitimacy to strategic brutality.
All sides align on one quiet understanding:
Wu An must go.
The method is not yet chosen.
Assassination.
Exile.
Battlefield "accident."
But the consensus is forming.
Wu An leaves the pavilion before nightfall.
He does not look back.
Shen Yue meets him halfway to the gates.
"Well?" she asks.
"He returns."
"And?"
"They think they've contained the storm."
She studies him carefully.
"You expected this."
"Yes."
"Do you intend to accept it?"
"No."
Inside the war chamber, Liao Yun awaits.
The map is already prepared.
Southern territories marked in red.
Supply lines half-repaired.
Command structures weakened by internal fracture.
"They're reorganizing under imperial protection," Liao Yun says quietly.
"They believe the throne stabilizes them."
Wu An nods.
"They will consolidate."
"And Zhou?"
"Waiting for the handover."
Shen Yue crosses her arms.
"And you?"
Wu An moves three markers.
Deep south.
Not at the river line.
Not at the siege front.
Farther.
Hidden arsenals.
Religious command centers.
The Southern Kingdom's spiritual backbone.
"They believe I will retreat once the Emperor returns," he says calmly.
"They believe diplomacy replaces violence."
"And instead?" Shen Yue asks.
Wu An's voice is steady.
"We remove their ability to wage war permanently."
Not siege.
Not defense.
Annihilation of command.
Decisive.
Fast.
Before Zhou stabilizes the northern front.
Before the Emperor reasserts full authority.
A final southern strike—
So devastating that no restoration can survive it.
"And after?" Shen Yue asks.
"After," Wu An says quietly, "there will be no Southern Kingdom left to manipulate."
She searches his face.
"You're escalating again."
"Yes."
"And if the Emperor orders you to stand down?"
Wu An's expression does not change.
"He won't have time."
That night, Southern camps celebrate the Emperor's agreement.
They believe legitimacy has returned to their cause.
Zhou prepares diplomatic envoys.
They believe Ling An is stabilizing.
Inside Ling An, preparations move in silence.
Black Tiger units are redeployed quietly southward under cover of imperial escort missions.
Artillery is repositioned under the guise of defensive rotation.
Supply caravans shift without public announcement.
Wu An stands on the southern wall as snow falls softly over the river.
The Emperor believes he is reclaiming the throne.
Zhou believes it is containing instability.
The Southern Kingdom believes it has moral vindication.
All three believe Wu An's power is narrowing.
They are wrong.
He does not intend to survive the restoration.
He intends to end the war.
Completely.
Behind him, Shen Yue speaks softly.
"If you succeed, there is no balance left."
"I know."
"If you fail?"
"There will be no Ling An."
The Presence remains silent.
It does not urge him forward.
It does not restrain him.
It simply waits.
And in the distance—
Southern signal fires glow faintly.
Unaware that they have already been marked.