146
Inside the southern gate of Liuhe Fortress, an old Daoist hall was being used as Guo Zixing's temporary headquarters.
The wide main chamber, poorly ventilated, was thick with the smell of incense—though stronger still was the scent left behind by war.
When Zhang Shicheng entered with several guards, Guo Zixing was already seated in the place of honor.
"Lord Zhang. It has been some time."
Guo Zixing laughed heartily.His expression was genial, but his eyes were sharp.
"I hear you took a heavy blow at Gaoyou.Still, you returned alive—Heaven must favor you."
Zhang Shicheng replied calmly.
"We withdrew to reorganize our ranks.With what remains, we can rebuild the army.The northern forces will not come down easily."
His voice was low, but firm.He was the leader of a faith-army that had long stood against the crumbling authority of the Empire.
As Zhang Shicheng entered Liuhe, the ranks of the White Lotus grew even more entangled.
Monks and peasants, bandits and merchants, former officials cast out of office—all gathered together.
Their faith was closer to despair than devotion.
At night, they still chanted the sutras.But resentment and fear bled into their prayers.
"Buddha, show us the path that reaches us.""The Empire collapses. The people starve. Where is compassion to be found?"
Some still called Zhang Shicheng a holy man.Others whispered that he was a defeated commander.
The leader lived on, but belief itself was splitting.
Among the sect's cadres, Guo Zixing's name was spoken more and more often.
"Lord Guo is a commander of real battles.This is no longer an age where faith changes the world—steel does."
Guo Zixing raised his cup.
"The north is no great threat now.Toqto'a's army will show strength for a while, nothing more.The Empire is shaking at its roots."
He drank and continued.
"We may have been driven back for now—but victory will soon be ours.The opportunity is in our hands."
Zhang Shicheng met his gaze directly.
"They are still strong.The will of the people matters.If the people turn away from us, we cannot endure long."
Guo Zixing scoffed.
"The people's will is a rice jar.Fill it, and they gather. Let it empty, and they scatter."
He set his cup down.
"And filling it takes grain and military stores."
A hush fell over the hall.
Several monks beside Zhang Shicheng flushed with anger.One elderly monk spoke quietly.
"Compassion is order.When men lose the Way, the world turns to mud."
But Guo Zixing's generals responded with cold smiles.
To them, faith was an old language.Grain and weapons were reality.
At that moment, a young man seated in a corner observed the exchange in silence.
Zhu Yuanzhang.
He said nothing.
Though under Guo Zixing, his gaze passed beyond faith and armies—toward something farther still.
His judgment was already complete.
What moves the world is the hunger of the heart.He who masters that hunger becomes king.
That night, the darkness over Liuhe deepened.
The meeting ended late.Zhang Shicheng returned to his own camp.
His followers, who had ridden far to reach Liuhe, followed in silence.Their faces bore fatigue intertwined with belief.
Far to the east, the sky burned red—the light of wars yet to come.
Someone murmured,
"The imperial army is coming."
The air over Liuhe was heavy, and hot.
It remained a city of rebellion.
Outside Liuhe
The walls of Liuhe Fortress were visible even from afar.
Beyond the plains, the outline of brick rose amid tangled smoke and banners.
The wind blew from the south.The grass lay flattened in a single direction.
From horseback, Yi In-jung lifted his gaze.
Within the fortress, subtle movement continued.Instead of drums or shouts, a measured stillness wrapped the walls—the calm of a place preparing for battle.
"Here."
At his word, the vanguard cavalry slowed.
Hoofbeats softened.The formation spread naturally, widening across the plain.
The army stretched long and steady.Calculation came before haste.
Behind them, Toqto'a's main force emerged.
Cavalry and infantry, stone-throwers and supply wagons followed in order.Banners stood tall.Nothing was out of alignment.
The army was vast, yet restrained—measuring its place rather than rushing to strike.
Toqto'a dismounted and spread out a map.
The lines drawn on cloth were simple:rivers, marshes, gates, canals—clearly marked.Nothing unnecessary cluttered it.
"The southern gate belongs to Guo Zixing.The northern gate, to Zhang Shicheng's remnants.They guard each other's backs."
Yi In-jung studied the walls in silence.
The banners were different colors.The rhythm of the watch differed.
Two armies inside one fortress—held together not by unity, but by tension.
"The city is quiet," someone said.
"They're waiting to see how we move."
Yi In-jung nodded.
The soldiers' gazes were fixed on the walls.Neither excitement nor fear lingered on their faces.
These were eyes honed by long wars—already measuring where blood would spill, and where paths would open.
"Set the camp here. One arrow's distance from the walls.No closer."
The order spread.
The sounds of dismounting, of spear shafts being planted, followed.Supply wagons halted.The army settled slowly onto the plain.
It was neither assault nor siege—but pressure.
Looking up at the fortress, Toqto'a said quietly,
"Liuhe will not endure long."
Yi In-jung answered at once.
"If they meant to endure, they would have moved first from within."
A brief silence passed between them.
Wind shook the banners atop the walls—red and white snapping in alternating waves.
Then, from within the city, a single plume of smoke rose.
It climbed briefly into the sky, then faded.
A signal—one known only to those who shared its meaning, sent to someone far beyond the walls.
Both men saw it clearly.
Toqto'a's lips curved, just slightly.
"So someone inside is already plotting."
Yi In-jung mounted his horse again.
"We wait until sunset."
His gaze was not on the gate—but deep within the fortress itself.