Three days later.
On the second day after evacuating his family from Qingfeng Prefecture, Wei Tu heard news from the city—
The entire Li family—thirteen members—had been locked in wooden cages at the market square in Qingmu County and left to die standing.
Hearing this, Wei Tu sighed but felt no remorse.
However—
He still wrote down the rise and fall of the Li family, compiling it into a letter and having it sent to his children, Wei Yan and Wei Xiuwen.
A lesson to be learned.
For over a hundred years, the Li family had risen from mere traveling merchants to wealthy landowners, building up a grand legacy of prosperity.
Yet—
Because of one foolish descendant, Li Xingye, the entire foundation crumbled overnight.
Decades of effort, generations of accumulation—all gone in an instant.
Nearly wiped from existence.
A perfect cautionary tale.
Wei Tu did not wish for his own descendants to become like Li Xingye.
Of course, he knew this was difficult to prevent—
"Wealth rarely lasts beyond three generations"—was not just empty words.
But if he could at least ensure that his children did not become such failures, he would be content.
—
The letters he sent to Xiaoyi Prefecture soon received replies.
His sixteen-year-old daughter, Wei Yan, wrote back:
"I will remember Father's teachings and remain steadfast in guarding our family's legacy."
Wei Tu had expected this.
Raised under Xinghua's discipline, his eldest daughter had become the model of a proper noblewoman, graceful and well-mannered in all things.
After setting Wei Yan's letter aside, he opened the reply from his second son, Wei Xiuwen.
Compared to Wei Yan's rigid and formal response, Wei Xiuwen's letter was much more interesting.
"Li Xingye's mistake was not in serving a rebel king—"
"—but in failing to act with caution. I will remember Father's teachings: to be meticulous in my actions and leave no room for future disaster."
Upon reading this, Wei Tu's brows furrowed.
Instead of praising his son's words, he felt deep concern.
Li Xingye was no fool.
As a government-sponsored scholar, he must have understood the importance of caution—
Yet he still ended up dead.
Wei Tu did not believe this was because of carelessness, but rather—
Because he overestimated himself.
Eyes set too high, hands reaching too low.
The arrogance of someone who lacks true ability.
Wei Xiuwen's words made Wei Tu feel—
That his son was dangerously close to repeating the same fatal mistakes as Li Xingye.
Thus—
Wei Tu picked up his brush again, writing an entirely new letter.
This time, it was several pages long, filled with warnings and guidance, urging his son:
"Do not reach for things beyond your grasp. Walk one step at a time. Build your foundation first—before dreaming of great ambitions."
—
But this time—
Seven days passed.
No reply came.
Wei Tu's eyes narrowed.
As a seasoned military officer, he immediately understood—
The city's communication routes had been cut.
Which could only mean one thing.
—
The very next day—
As Defense Officer of the Western Gate, Wei Tu received urgent military orders.
The Governor's Office had issued commands:
Prepare defenses. Stockpile rolling logs and boulders. Mobilize the common folk. Hold the Western Gate at all costs.
Not a single rebel must be allowed to enter the city.
At the same time—
A new officer was sent from the Governor's Office to take command.
A Fifth-Rank Military Officer—Deng Zhijun—
Would serve as the Commander of the Western Gate.
Wei Tu, now the Vice Commander, would be his second-in-command.
—
The next morning.
Standing atop the Western Gate tower, Wei Tu gazed into the distance.
Five miles away—
A sea of rebel banners covered the horizon, stretching endlessly toward the city walls.
His gaze swept over the battlefield—
And landed on the foremost banners.
A large blue standard, emblazoned with the character "Qing" (青).
His expression darkened.
"The commander of this assault…"
"It's Qinghu King Lin Quancheng."
One of the thirty-two rebel warlords.
A fierce, battle-hardened veteran.
A true threat.
But even worse—
Just beside the main war banner, Wei Tu spotted another secondary flag.
A yellow banner with a single character—
"Ming" (明).
"The Ming Province King?"
Wei Tu narrowed his eyes.
He clearly remembered—Li Xingye had defected to the Ming Province King, serving as a strategist under him.
And now—
The Ming Province King was here, leading forces alongside Qinghu King Lin Quancheng, directly attacking the Western Gate of the city.
Coincidence?
Unlikely.
Of all thirty-two rebel warlords, why was this the one who ended up in his defensive sector?
"Could it be… that Li Xingye had something to do with this?"
—
Standing atop the city walls, Wei Tu's gaze sharpened.
As he observed the rebel forces below, he saw something unexpected.
The enemy troops were following flag signals, moving in orderly formations, responding to command banners without hesitation.
It was nothing like a disorganized mob of peasants.
Instead—
A true army.
A force that had been trained, disciplined, and battle-hardened.
Wei Tu's expression darkened.
"The rebel warlords have truly become a force to be reckoned with."
—
Moments later—
Wei Tu returned to the command tent to discuss the enemy's formations with Deng Zhijun, the newly appointed commander of the Western Gate.
Together, they devised a detailed defensive strategy, assigning different sections of the wall to various officers and ensuring all units knew their roles.
Deng Zhijun did not suppress Wei Tu's suggestions—
Instead, he listened carefully, nodding in agreement, even praising Wei Tu's tactical insight.
"You have a keen military mind," Deng Zhijun remarked.
—
By midday—
The rebel army launched its first attack.
A probing assault—meant to test the city's defenses.
But—
It ended in disaster for them.
Wei Tu's defensive arrangements had been meticulous.
Before the rebels could even reach the walls, they were bombarded with boulders, rolling logs, and flaming arrows.
Hundreds died.
And not a single one made it past the foot of the walls.
—
"Hah! These rebels are nothing but a joke!"
In the command tent, Deng Zhijun laughed heartily, watching the retreating rebel forces.
"A bunch of undisciplined thugs—nothing compared to the elite troops of the imperial army!"
Hearing his words, the other officers visibly relaxed, confidence surging through the ranks.
For many of them—
This was their first real battle.
Zheng Kingdom had been at peace for centuries.
Aside from the occasional local uprisings, there hadn't been a full-scale siege like this in decades.
—
Seated nearby, Wei Tu also smiled, appearing as relaxed as the others.
But deep down—
He felt uneasy.
Something wasn't right.
"This battle… isn't as simple as it seems."
He and Fu Zhizhou had long suspected—
That the true battle wouldn't be decided by soldiers, but by the hidden forces behind both sides.
This war…
Would be determined by Xiantian martial masters—
Or worse—
By immortals.
—
The next day—
The rebels attacked again.
But this time—
They came prepared.
Unlike the previous hasty skirmish, this was a full-scale siege operation.
Massive siege towers, battering rams, and cloud ladders were wheeled into place.
And the attack—
Was far more coordinated.
Within moments, their relentless assaults nearly overwhelmed the city's defenses.
The defenders fought desperately, struggling to hold the walls.
For the first time—
The rebels reached the battlements.
A section of the wall was breached.
And the first wave of rebels climbed over the walls—
Engaging the imperial soldiers in brutal hand-to-hand combat.
—
Most officers stayed far behind the battle lines, giving orders.
But Wei Tu—
Did the opposite.
Standing behind a squad of elite guards, he quietly drew his bow.
He did not waste arrows.
He did not fire at random soldiers.
He aimed only at the enemy commanders.
Every time his bowstring twanged, an enemy officer fell dead.
Without leadership—
The attacking rebel units lost cohesion.
They hesitated.
And in war—hesitation meant death.
Wave after wave of rebels fell.
And soon—
The city's defenders began to push back.
—
After firing seven or eight arrows, Wei Tu lowered his bow.
He did not intend to attract attention.
Carefully, he wrapped his hand in a bandage, feigning an injury, and withdrew from the front lines.
"I learned my lesson in Siyang Town."
Years ago, when he had exposed his archery skills, it had led to dangerous consequences.
He wouldn't make the same mistake again.
—
As the battle raged, one thought settled in Wei Tu's mind:
"This is only the beginning."
Qingfeng Prefecture is not like Guangyuan Prefecture.
This is the capital of Southern Mountain Dao.
"The imperial court will not allow it to fall."
And soon—
There would be reinforcements.
And among them—
There would be Xiantian masters.
The real battle was yet to begin.