Bù Zhèng's gates groaned open for me at last. We entered under banners that drooped heavy with blood, torchlight dancing across stone slick from the last desperate slaughter.
My horse's hooves clopped on the courtyard tiles — broken tiles in places, black with scorch. The fortress smelled of wet ash, old oil, and something sweeter that clung to the nostrils. Death always left that faint sweetness.
People emerged from the ruined porticoes — peasants mostly, hollow-eyed, carrying small children or holding their elders upright. When they saw me, they dropped to their knees, foreheads pressed to the stone. They didn't beg. They only waited.
"Tell them their homes are untouched," I ordered. "No looting. No torch. Any soldier who breaks this order will be unmade — slowly."
My men glanced at one another. Some with relief. Some with disappointment. It didn't matter. Let them learn I could be both their salvation and their nightmare.
I found Lord Xie and the Prefect of Nanyang waiting in the fortress's high hall.
Lord Xie wore his armor polished again, breastplate reflecting torchlight, hair combed as if he had not been watching men rip each other apart just hours ago. He leaned one hand on the long table, rings tapping the lacquer, his smile thin.
Beside him stood the Prefect, lean and hollow-chested, wearing ceremonial robes too fine for this ruined seat. His eyes darted like minnows whenever I looked at him.
Lord Xie inclined his head just enough to insult. "Your Highness," he drawled. "A fine victory — if one wishes to count such blood as profit. Still, Bù Zhèng stands under your command. And we, of course, have ever been loyal to the throne — especially to the First Prince, whose authority surely still holds here."
His eyes glittered. "You would be wise to remember that."
The Prefect chimed in with oily eagerness. "Indeed. Nanyang has long supported the First Prince's noble ambitions. I trust Your Highness sees the advantage in maintaining certain… understandings. For the greater unity of the realm."
Their arrogance settled on the hall like spoiled incense. It amused me that even surrounded by my Black Tigers — even with the fortress floor still sticky from their last betrayal — they thought to threaten me with Wu Kang's name.
I said nothing at first. I only studied them. The way Lord Xie's hand hovered near his dagger hilt, as if reassured by its carved grip. The way the Prefect's throat bobbed each time he swallowed.
Then I stepped close enough to smell the fine perfume in Lord Xie's beard. Close enough to see the sweat at his hairline.
"You left my flank naked on that field," I said softly. "You let my soldiers die so you could run to the First Prince with tales of your prudence. And you—" my gaze slid to the Prefect, who shivered — "burned my supplies to keep your favors balanced between us all. In case I failed."
Their silence was brittle.
I touched Xie's shoulder — a light, almost fraternal gesture. His skin twitched under my fingers.
Then I smiled. Not warmly.
"Guards," I said. "Take them."
Shen Yue and Han Qing moved instantly. My Black Tigers closed in, armored boots rasping over the stone. Lord Xie snarled and tried to draw his blade, but a mailed fist cracked across his face, splitting his lip. The Prefect squealed, flailing as hands seized his fine robes.
I did not give them the mercy of a clean death.
Instead I ordered a courtyard cleared. Torches set high so every dark corner bloomed with stark light. Soldiers, merchants, local headmen — even the peasants gathered to see. They came silent, pressing close despite the horror, because all wanted to learn which way power would blow in this new wind.
Lord Xie stood bound, his mouth bloody, one eye swelling shut. Still he found his sneer. "Kill me, then. But the First Prince will learn of this. You think he'll let you keep what you've taken? Even now, he gathers more men. You will be a stain on his banners before the next harvest."
The Prefect tried a different tack. Falling to his knees, clutching at my boots with clawing hands. "Spare me, Your Highness! I have silver — grain — daughters of gentle upbringing—"
"Enough."
My voice was quiet. The hush it dropped on the crowd was deeper than any shout.
They knelt Xie on the block first. His curses turned to wet rasps as they brought out the knives. The executioners were skilled — they peeled the skin carefully, so slowly he lived through every slip of the blade. Blood pooled warm across the stones.
The Prefect fainted at the sight, then awoke screaming as they dragged him next.
I watched. I did not blink, did not look away. Shen Yue stood at my side, her armor splashed with older gore, her eyes locked on the spectacle with a taut, unreadable grief.
When it was over, I ordered their skins nailed to the gate. Let them hang there, weeping down the walls. It was no petty cruelty. It was instruction.
That night I walked alone atop the fortress ramparts. The wind clawed through my hair, carrying with it the smell of burnt oil, scorched flesh, and something colder still — a scent almost like rain on iron.
Below, patrol torches wound through Bù Zhèng's streets, trailing light like uneasy fireflies. Somewhere out past the marshes, beyond the reach of my new banners, I knew Zheng Yùhao still regrouped. His army was bloodied, but not destroyed. And Lianhua… she was gone. Taken or vanished on her own cunning, perhaps with Zheng's remaining lords.
Planning. Watching. Waiting.
Shen Yue joined me. She didn't speak. Neither did I for a long time. We simply stood side by side, listening to the fortress breathe — this place I had spared, and stained, in equal measure.
"They will remember this day," I said at last. My voice felt hollow in my chest. "The peasants, the lords, even the children who hid behind those walls. They'll remember that I gave them life… and showed them what the price of betrayal looks like."
Shen Yue's hand brushed mine. It was not comfort. Only recognition.
"Then you've won more than this fortress," she said. "You've carved your name into their bones."
Perhaps she was right.
I closed my eyes, feeling the faint pulse of something under my ribs. Still there. Still waiting. It did not purr with pleasure. It simply watched, as if calculating how many more of these cities it would take to truly call this empire mine.
When I opened my eyes again, Bù Zhèng lay quiet under me. Held fast by both fear and my reluctant mercy.
And in the dark beyond the torchlines, I could almost see the marshes move — a promise that this victory was only the beginning.