Wu An did not try to be everywhere.
He made it look like he was.
The edict went out at dawn.
In the great hall of Beiliang City, before trembling officials and silent generals, the child emperor held the jade seal with both hands. His fingers shook, but the seal did not.
The words were read aloud.
"By the will of Heaven,
Wei, Zhao, and Yan have betrayed the realm,
defied the Mandate,
and endangered the people.
All loyal subjects are called to rise.
All traitors will be punished."
The seal struck the scroll.
The sound echoed.
And with that, Wu An gained something more valuable than soldiers.
A reason.
Across the land, the proclamation spread.
Villages whispered.
Officials chose sides.
Militia formed.
Not strong enough to win wars—
But strong enough to slow enemies.
And in war—
Time was everything.
Wu An did not keep his army together.
He split it.
Again.
Two generals were summoned.
General Han Liang and General Sun Ke.
They stood before the map, both already understanding what was coming.
"You will hold the eastern border," Wu An said.
Han Liang frowned slightly.
"With how many?"
"Ten thousand each."
Silence.
Liao Yun did not interrupt.
Shen Yue did not speak.
Because the numbers did not make sense.
"Wei and Zhao are moving together," Sun Ke said carefully.
"Estimated strength?"
"Over one hundred and fifty thousand."
Wu An nodded.
"Yes."
Another silence.
He was not asking them to win.
He was asking them—
To survive.
"You will not defeat them," Wu An said calmly.
"You will divide them."
Han Liang's eyes narrowed.
"How?"
Wu An did not answer directly.
He looked at the map.
Then spoke one line.
"Make them doubt each other."
Sun Ke smiled faintly.
"Understood, my lord."
They bowed.
Not in confidence.
But in understanding.
Because if they failed—
There would be nothing left behind them to defend.
The eastern plains were wide.
Too wide for ten thousand men to defend.
Too wide for any formation to hold.
So they did not hold.
The first engagement was not a battle.
It was a message.
A Zhao cavalry unit found a Wei supply convoy burned in the night.
Tracks led away.
Zhao tracks.
Or something that looked like them.
The second engagement was worse.
A Wei scouting party was ambushed.
Arrows.
Fast strikes.
Then gone.
Survivors claimed they saw Zhao riders.
Zhao denied it.
Then came retaliation.
Zhao forces struck what they believed was a Wei forward camp.
But the camp had already been abandoned.
Wei thought Zhao had turned first.
Zhao thought Wei had set a trap.
The alliance—
Began to crack.
Han Liang watched from a ridge as two distant camps repositioned—not toward Liang—
But toward each other.
"Good," he said quietly.
Sun Ke rode through the night, striking fast, leaving behind just enough evidence to mislead.
Never enough to reveal the truth.
Always enough to create doubt.
Ten thousand men.
Against one hundred and fifty thousand.
And still—
They did not collapse.
Because the enemy was beginning to fight itself.
But while the east held—
The south burned.
The war with Chu was no longer a contest.
It was a grind.
Liang ships were lost daily.
Small victories gained at night were erased by morning.
Chu's larger formations adapted.
Their patrols tightened.
Their defenses deepened.
Lin Hai stood over a report.
Then another.
Then another.
Each one the same.
Loss.
Loss.
Loss.
"We can't sustain this," he said quietly.
Shen Yue did not argue.
"We're not winning," she said.
"No."
"We're not even holding."
Wu An stood in silence.
Watching.
Listening.
Counting.
For the first time in a long time—
He was losing control.
"We don't have time," Liao Yun said.
Wu An did not respond.
Outside, another damaged ship limped back to shore.
Half its crew gone.
The rest—
Silent.
Something had to change.
That night, Wu An gave an order.
"Gather volunteers."
Lin Hai looked up.
"How many?"
Wu An did not hesitate.
"Two thousand."
The room went still.
"They will be rewarded," Wu An continued.
"Their families will be elevated."
"Generations will be protected."
"Positions in government."
"Land."
"Status."
Lin Hai did not speak.
Because he understood.
Shen Yue closed her eyes briefly.
Then opened them.
"Volunteers?" she asked.
Wu An nodded.
"Yes."
No one argued.
Because they knew what he meant.
The call went out.
And men came.
Not all.
But enough.
Some for glory.
Some for desperation.
Some for their families.
Some because they had nothing left.
Lin Hai stood before them.
Two thousand.
Not soldiers.
Not really.
"Do you understand what you're being asked to do?" he said.
Silence.
Then one man stepped forward.
"We do."
No one stepped back.
That night, the ships were prepared.
Not for battle.
For fire.
Oil.
Pitch.
Explosives.
Packed.
Layered.
Hidden.
The boats were smaller than anything Liang had built before.
Light.
Fast.
Disposable.
Lin Hai stood beside Wu An.
"You're crossing a line," he said quietly.
Wu An did not look at him.
"We crossed it a long time ago."
The river was quiet.
Until it wasn't.
At dawn, Chu patrol ships spotted movement.
Too many.
Too fast.
Too direct.
Then—
Flames.
The boats did not turn.
They did not retreat.
They did not slow.
They collided.
The explosions tore through the river.
Fire spread across the water.
Ships burned.
Men screamed.
Smoke covered everything.
For the first time—
Chu's formations broke.
Not from defeat.
From shock.
Lin Hai watched from the distance.
His face unreadable.
Shen Yue stood beside him.
"This will change the war," she said.
Lin Hai nodded.
"Yes."
But he did not sound certain.
Because something else had changed too.
Back on the shore, the remaining soldiers watched the burning river.
Silent.
Still.
They did not cheer.
Because they understood.
Wu An stood at the edge.
Watching the fire.
Victory.
At a cost.
And for the first time—
No one questioned him.
Because they were afraid—
Of what would happen next if they did.