Guandu.
A desolate stretch of land—no sound but the whispering wind.
Chen Sanshi sat cross-legged with his eyes closed, concentrating his spirit. His Fire Spiritual Root absorbed the dense aura within a spirit pearl. The swirling spiritual energy drew in the surrounding essence of heaven and earth like a vortex. The threads of spiritual qi entered his body, coursing through his limbs and bones, cycling along his meridians before gathering in his dantian. There, they condensed into a wisp of mist. Ten threads of that mist intertwined, thickening with each breath.
By now—
his dantian already held three wisps of mist, taking up about one-third of its space.
[Technique: Swallowing Fire Art · Qi Refining – Third Layer]
Progress: 0 / 800
The third layer of Qi Refining was the final threshold of the early stage. Once crossed, he would break through into the middle stage, and his spiritual root would grow stronger accordingly.
Moreover, once Swallowing Fire Art reached the third layer, it granted a subsidiary spell known as Flame Manipulation Art. It couldn't be cultivated separately—it could only be advanced once the main technique itself was improved.
"Boom—!"
Chen Sanshi mobilized his internal force, and a flame burst to life in his palm, gathering into a small fireball that danced restlessly up and down.
[Spell: Flame Manipulation Art (Beginner)]
Progress: Scales with realm advancement.
Effect: Control flame.
He glanced over his internal panel and tried the spell several times.
Ordinary early-stage Qi Refining cultivators could usually manage only basic spells like Fire Bullet or Ice Spike. Compared to those, Flame Manipulation Art was of much higher quality.
It allowed not only the creation of fire from the cultivator's own spiritual power but also the manipulation of external flames—hence the name "Flame Manipulation."
Chen Sanshi gathered a pile of wood and dry grass, lit it with a fire striker, and once the fire blazed, he focused his qi. Like a dragon drawing in water, he pulled all the flames toward his palm, merging them into a massive fireball above his hand.
Of course, this was only mundane fire. It posed little threat—even to a higher-level martial cultivator, it was mostly for show.
He then tried using a strand of Immortal Flame stored in one of his treasures—but failed.
It felt like trying to lift something far too heavy with not enough strength.
Naturally, that was expected. Flame Manipulation Art was still at the beginner stage. As his proficiency increased, so too would his control over fire. Once the spell reached perfection, he would surely be able to manipulate even otherworldly flames.
Furthermore—
the Swallowing Fire Art scroll contained a note stating that upon reaching a certain level, one could awaken a divine ability, but that required the complete version of the technique. The Qi Refining-stage copy alone wasn't enough.
Chen Sanshi hadn't been in the cultivation world for long, but he knew well—any technique that could grant a divine ability was far from ordinary. No wonder it had cost him such a fortune.
He suspected, though, that just like those "ninety-nine percent new" magic treasures on the black market, this scroll had probably been looted off someone's corpse.
He exhaled softly.
Cultivation of the "Dao Path" had always been his way of relaxing. Once his strength recovered, he rose, picked up the Dragon Gall Silver Spear, and began practicing his forms in the shadowy wilderness.
By now, five of the Eight Divine Spirits of the Landscape had been awakened—Jue Yuanzi, Xuan Fuhua, Tong Zhongzhong, Ling Jiansheng, and Ling Moge. Only three remained. Once all eight were awakened, the upper spirits would be fully activated, and he would step into the True Force Realm.
Next to awaken after Ling Moge was the Lü Spirit—Yi Lifu.
"Lü" meant the spine.
The spine was the pillar of movement.
If it broke, the body would collapse into paralysis.
The tempering of bone stage already involved refining the spine—but that was only the outer layer. The true refinement didn't come until the Martial Saint level, where one truly pushed the limits of the human body.
With every precise motion of the Dragon Scripture technique, spiritual qi washed through his body, cycling endlessly through his meridians…
And indeed—
only after reaching Martial Saint did Chen Sanshi realize the benefit of cultivating multiple martial techniques. The more methods he mastered, the more his meridians expanded, and the more thoroughly his body was tempered.
At a certain moment, as he practiced—
he felt the spiritual qi within him begin to reverse its flow. His spine started to draw in the essence of heaven and earth as if it, too, had grown a spiritual root, devouring qi greedily. Then came the pain.
For the first time since becoming a Martial Saint, Chen Sanshi felt agony during cultivation. But he didn't flinch. Pain meant transformation. He simply maintained the Fire Breathing Method, steady and unshaken, until—
a pale white glow burst forth from deep within his spine.
The Lü Spirit—Yi Lifu, courtesy name Daozhu—three inches and five fen tall, clothed in pure white jade.
[Technique: Dragon Scripture (Uninitiated)]
Progress: 72 / 100
Only two spirits remained. Once all eight awoke, his upper divine spirits would fully connect, his true qi would condense into true force, and he would become a True Force Realm martial artist.
Thus—
six of eight divine spirits had now awakened.
Chen Sanshi's physical strength surged to new heights.
Unfortunately—
time was running short.
He wasn't confident he could break through before the army's food ran out.
The gap between Mortal Shedding and True Force was like a chasm. By martial arts alone, he wasn't yet a match for a True Force expert.
Thankfully, he was not merely a warrior—he cultivated both body and law. Even if he couldn't kill a True Force opponent, he wouldn't be defenseless either.
After putting away the Dragon Gall Silver Spear, Chen Sanshi drew his Black Serpent Bow and roamed through the mountain forest. He practiced archery while hunting. The few animals he caught were nothing compared to the army's needs, but even a little food was better than nothing.
[Skill: Archery – Perfection (Limit Break Stage 3)]
Progress: 0 / 2000
Effect: Four Arrows Released Simultaneously—Unavoidable.
Four arrows released at once—none could be dodged!
A single draw of the bow unleashed the power of four attacks combined.
Naturally, it required time to charge up. The same amount of true qi focused into one arrow was far stronger than when spread among four. To reach full power, he needed to accumulate energy.
But there was another problem—arrows were limited.
He had about 100 Ghostwood Arrows left, and around 20 Streamlight Arrows paired with the Black Serpent Bow. The former could store true qi, while the latter could channel the bow's own sinister aura.
Enough to use—but not enough to waste.
Having broken through several bottlenecks in succession, Chen Sanshi felt invigorated.
Unfortunately, the hill he occupied was small, and most of the beasts nearby had already been hunted. After wandering for a while, he found only one old tiger.
With a single punch, he killed it in its sleep, dragged the corpse out of its den, and stored it in his storage bag.
Then, riding his Qianxun horse, Chen Sanshi made his way back toward the army camp—steady and unhurried, under the cold wind and empty sky.
On horseback, Chen Sanshi gently brushed the mane of his White Swan horse, its hair as soft as drifting clouds. He spoke casually, half to himself, half to the beast. "You know," he said with a chuckle, "if only you could fly. Otherwise, when I reach the middle stage of Qi Refining and learn Sword Flight, I won't be able to ride you anymore."
The horse—Qianxun—kept its head down, walking silently.
In the faint whisper of the wind, Chen Sanshi thought he caught a quiet snort of disapproval.
He'd heard that spiritual beasts and demon races often lived for a very long time. At the very least, his warhorse would be able to accompany him for many years to come.
From Poyang County to now, through countless battles big and small, his White Swan horse had always been there beside him.
And now, here at Guandu, it would likely be another battle of despair.
As the city walls came into view, Chen Sanshi's mind shifted from cultivation to strategy. The situation was dire—inside the city, food supplies dwindled by the day. If this continued, they were facing a slow, inevitable death.
In truth, ever since the battle on the wastelands, Chen Sanshi had already found the weakness in Han Xiang, the so-called War Saint. But the chance to strike at that weakness had yet to appear.
"Buzz!"
As he pondered over how to break the enemy formation, a sudden flicker of light made him tense. Someone was approaching from behind.
Spiritual light shimmered at his fingertips—the Black Serpent Bow materialized silently, and the Streamlight Arrow pointed toward the heavens, ready to be loosed at any moment.
Then—
under the moonlit night, a figure descended through the air, riding a sword.
It was a man, his bearing refined and ethereal, his presence carrying an unmistakable immortal aura.
Qi Refining – Perfection Stage.
Chen Sanshi wasn't alarmed. With six of his Eight Divine Spirits awakened, even if he couldn't win, he could easily retreat. And besides, once his signal flare was fired, Wang Jun and the others would arrive shortly.
"Brother," the man called out lightly, hands clasped behind his back, eyes looking down with a faint smile. "Won't you even ask who I am before you attack?"
Since the man spoke in such a manner, Chen Sanshi instantly knew—this one wasn't from the court, nor from Fallen Leaf Valley.
"Then say what you came for," Chen Sanshi said evenly. "No need to waste words."
"I am Cui Zichen, Master of Seeking Immortals Tower."
The man announced his name in the night wind.
"Seeking Immortals Tower?"
Chen Sanshi's thoughts flashed instantly. It didn't take long to guess whose envoy this man was.
The Twelfth Prince—Cao Zhi.
Back at Mount Ziwei, Chen Sanshi had already noticed the close connection between Cao Zhi and the Seeking Immortals Tower. What he hadn't expected was that its master would possess a Qi Refining Perfection cultivation. Clearly, a millennium-old organization like that hid plenty of powerful treasures.
"Brother Chen," Cui Zichen said calmly, "rest assured—I'm not here on behalf of the two traitors from our tower."
He paused, then added slowly, "I came to help you."
"Help me?" Chen Sanshi's brow furrowed. "How exactly?"
"To save your life."
Cui Zichen looked toward Guandu, his tone casual yet certain. "Before you lies the pursuing enemy; behind you, no retreat. When your rations run out, that will be your death day. You need not waste any more time here. Leave with me—I'm the only one who can get you out safely."
"And then what?" Chen Sanshi asked calmly, lowering his bow. "Go to the capital?"
Cui Zichen smiled. "As expected of Brother Chen—sharp as ever. Yes, to the capital. So what are we waiting for? Let's go."
"No need."
Chen Sanshi's voice was steady. "I'm a commander. The words 'deserting before battle' do not exist in my mind."
"Oh?" Cui Zichen tilted his head, amused. "Even if it's a death formation?"
"Even then."
Chen Sanshi's reply was firm as iron. "If you truly wish to help me, stay and fight alongside us."
"Help in battle?"
Cui Zichen gave a short laugh, his tone laced with mockery. "There are people in the rear who want you all dead. Even if I wanted to help, it'd be pointless."
"So it's not that you can't help…" Chen Sanshi's eyes narrowed. "You simply won't."
The moment this man appeared, Chen Sanshi had already understood Cao Zhi's true intent.
The prince wanted to bring him to the capital—to help bring down Grand Secretary Yan. Once that was done, the court would belong solely to Prince Jin's faction.
And more than that…
Cao Zhi probably didn't even want this battle to be won.
Because to topple Grand Secretary Yan, they needed evidence.
And what evidence could be better than the deaths of 150,000 soldiers buried in the fields of Guandu?
Just like when the former Crown Prince's faction had held the proof of the Ten Days of Yunzhou, yet did nothing to stop it—they needed corpses. They needed mistakes. And most of all, they needed leverage.
Another political struggle.
Round and round it went—all of it for the throne.
And now, with the cultivation world entangled in worldly power, the Dragon Throne meant even more. Whoever sat upon it would gain the right to control the resources of the Eastern Divine Continent itself.
"So you refuse to leave?" Cui Zichen asked again.
Chen Sanshi said nothing. He spurred Qianxun forward and rode away into the darkness.
"Think carefully," Cui Zichen's voice echoed behind him. "When you come to your senses, you'll know where to find me."
Moments later, the gates of Guandu creaked open with a deep rumble.
Chen Sanshi entered the city straight toward the military camp.
Along the way, many soldiers of the Dumiao Army stepped aside to salute him—but as he passed, they whispered among themselves.
They thought they spoke softly.
But Chen Sanshi heard every word.
"I… I heard the food's almost gone."
"How do you know that?"
"I saw it with my own eyes! The storekeeper stacked the sacks outside to make it look like there's plenty—but there's hardly anything left!"
"Running out of grain is bad enough, but the real disaster is the Three Prefectures! Haven't you heard? They betrayed us! Now we're completely trapped here at Guandu!"
"You serious?"
"As serious as it gets!"
Though Chen Sanshi had ordered strict secrecy—no one was to spread news of the worsening situation—rumors always found a way to slip through.
Things were growing more desperate by the day.
When he returned to the Central Command Tent, he found Wang Jun waiting inside.
As Chen Sanshi took his seat at the command chair, he asked directly, "What's the situation with the Three Prefectures?"
"They're completely committed to betrayal," Wang Jun said grimly. "Especially their commanding general. Even when we offered a higher price than Fallen Leaf Valley, they wouldn't budge."
"That's expected."
Chu Shixiong sighed. "They know well enough—betray once and surrender again, and no one will trust them. No matter what, their fate would be sealed."
Wang Jun continued, "The Prince of Zhen'nan dispatched some troops to attack, but they've made no real progress. With supplies dwindling, it's almost impossible to retake the area before the grain runs out.
"Instead of hoping for that…
"There are actually a few among the Western Qi Army who've shown intent to defect. Here—these are the lists and letters. Take a look."
Chen Sanshi accepted the sealed packet and began reading each letter carefully, his eyes narrowing as the flickering lamplight danced across his face.
"There's a cultivator from Fallen Leaf Valley named Yan Yingli, in a situation similar to Ma Zhen's. For the sake of his clan's prosperity, he's willing to act as our insider. The terms he asked for are all ones that our Shengyun Sect can meet. But his position isn't high—he's only assigned to assist the cavalry patrols—so he can't provide us with any critical information."
"There are also a few Lieutenant Generals among them," Wang Jun continued. "Most have children with spiritual roots, but their talent's mediocre, not enough to earn entry into Fallen Leaf Valley. So they're hoping to switch allegiance and join Shengyun Sect instead.
"Others are trapped in political infighting. Their futures uncertain, they're looking for a way out.
"But the most noteworthy one is a strategist named Liao Fang."
"I know that man."
Chu Shixiong took over the conversation. "That 'Liao Fang' is quite a figure in Western Qi. He's their foremost strategist—known far and wide as the White-Robed Adviser.
"But in recent years… that title's been overshadowed—by you, my lord."
He smirked faintly. "Once, he even boasted that he'd personally capture you alive."
"Oh?"
Chen Sanshi's eyes glinted with amusement. "Then why is he suddenly exchanging letters with us?"
"Because of Han Xiang," Wang Jun explained. "Originally, this campaign was commanded jointly by Zhong Wuxin and Liao Fang. But when that so-called 'War Saint' Han Xiang arrived, he seized full control of the command and sent Liao Fang to the rear—to oversee grain supplies."
Grain supplies—
that was the key to this entire war.
Not only was the Great Sheng Dynasty's food nearly exhausted, but Western Qi's own reserves were also running dangerously low.
It was just after the autumn harvest, so they could still forcefully requisition another batch of grain—but Chen Sanshi was certain that would be their last.
If he could find a way to destroy that batch, Western Qi would collapse even faster than Great Sheng.
"Can we locate it?" Chen Sanshi asked, eyes fixed on the campaign map.
"You said before that their grain's most likely stored in one of three prefectures—Wucheng, Yunju, or Lu Prefecture. That's turned out to be right."
Wang Jun explained, "I've had our allies investigating, risking encirclement and death. Combined with our scouts' reports, it's certain now—Western Qi has been transporting massive quantities of grain to those three cities."
"All at the same time?"
Tong Xiaochu, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke. "So Han Xiang's not putting all his eggs in one basket, then…"
"No."
Chen Sanshi shook his head firmly. "More than 90% of their grain must be in just one of those cities. There's no way they'd disperse it. Look closer at the terrain."
"Hmm… you're right."
Tong Xiaochu stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Those three cities are far from their main supply lines. Splitting the stock between them would only cause more loss from transport. They'd never waste it like that."
Even cultivators had no easy way around the logistics of feeding armies.
Sure, storage bags existed—but their space was far from limitless. Compared to the mountainous daily consumption of over 300,000 troops, their capacity was barely a drop in the ocean.
"So," Chu Shixiong concluded, "the Grand Commmander means that Han Xiang's setting up a decoy formation—trying to mislead us?"
He frowned. "If that's the case, then finding out where the real supply is stored… might only be possible through that Liao Fang."
"Exactly," Wang Jun nodded. "He's our best chance."
"How's his attitude?" Chu Shixiong asked.
"Greedy," Wang Jun replied coldly. "Unreasonably so. First, he demanded worldly titles and wealth. Then, after discovering he has a middle-grade spiritual root, he asked for a fortune in cultivation resources. He's old—too old for it to matter—but still shameless."
"This one's no good man," said Tong Xiaochu. "Greedy, lustful, and corrupt. Especially fond of abducting women—his favorite pastime. The only reason he's reached such a rank is because he can fight."
"Write to him anyway," Chen Sanshi said flatly. "This isn't the time to judge character. It's too important. Forget it—I'll write it myself."
——
Western Qi Army.
"Bang—!"
Liao Fang, drunk and red-faced, slammed his wine bowl on the table.
"My lord, please, you've had enough," one of his deputy officers urged.
Liao Fang sneered. "I am the White Robe Adviser! How did it come to this—reduced to managing grain for that bastard Han Xiang?! Why?! I've fought through countless wars, won more victories than I can count! What makes that Han think he's a 'War Saint'? Hah! If he's a War Saint, then I'm the War Ancestor! He's my damn junior!"
"My lord…"
The deputy reached out to steady him, but Liao Fang shoved him aside.
He ranted on, his face flushed with fury. "And look at the results! Has he won yet? Still stalemated! If it were me in charge, I'd have captured that fake White Robe Chen Sanshi alive by now!"
"Bang!"
The door suddenly burst open.
A cultivator stepped in, frowning as the reek of alcohol filled the room. "Senior Brother Han gave strict orders—no drinking until the campaign ends! Especially here, in Wucheng, where the grain reserves are stored! You're supposed to set an example!"
"They won't let me command," Liao Fang snarled, rising unsteadily to his feet. "So what if I drink?! You dare scold me? Believe it or not, I—Liao the White Robe—could destroy your whole army of 300,000 with a flick of my finger!"
"Clang—!"
A flash of spiritual light filled the room.
A flying sword appeared out of nowhere, pressing cold steel against Liao Fang's neck. The blade's edge bit into his skin, drawing a line of blood. His drunken haze evaporated instantly.
"Worthless mortal trash!" the cultivator spat. "If you weren't still useful, I'd have killed you already. Tomorrow morning, if you don't have the grain ledgers ready—then prepare to die."
He turned and left in disgust, his robes sweeping through the doorway.
"Ahh…"
Liao Fang collapsed to the ground, clutching his bleeding neck, gasping in panic. His fear soon curdled into fury. "Too much! They've gone too far!"
"My lord," his deputy pleaded helplessly, "please endure it. We need these cultivators to fight our wars."
"Get out! You get out too!"
Liao Fang bellowed, waving him away. When he was finally alone, humiliation and rage churned together until he could hardly breathe.
About half an hour later, an old man with white hair appeared silently inside the room.
It was Yan Yingli, the cultivator who had already turned traitor to Western Qi and joined Great Sheng.
"Have you made up your mind?" Yan asked quietly. "Wang Jun sent me to ask again."
"They agreed to my conditions?!"
Liao Fang's eyes widened. "That stingy Wang Jun—why should I risk myself to save them?!"
"They agreed," Yan replied, "and not just that. Chen Sanshi himself wrote you a personal letter."
He tossed the envelope lightly onto the table. "See for yourself."
"What? Chen?!" Liao Fang snatched up the letter, his drunken eyes narrowing with curiosity and suspicion.
Liao Fang finally picked up the letter, scanned it, then sneered. "Wasn't he supposed to be so great? In the end, he still comes begging me for help! So tell me, who's the real White Robe here, huh?"
"Think it over quickly," Yan Yingli reminded him. "If you take too long, those conditions of yours might not stand."
Time flew by like a galloping horse.
The two armies had been locked in a tense stalemate, and in the blink of an eye, two months had passed.
Only one month remained before the Great Sheng Dynasty's food stores would be completely depleted.
In a remote area, Chen Sanshi showed no signs of panic or disorder. On the contrary, every day after handling his military duties, he would find a secluded spot to cultivate—day after day, utterly calm.
To outsiders, it looked as if the war didn't even exist in his eyes.
The human body's Scenic Gods each represented a part of the body, though not merely the organs themselves. For example, the Eye God, known as Ling Jiansheng, didn't mean that the eyes were gods—it meant that divine power was hidden within the eyes, with a "Scenic God" slumbering in that place.
So to be more precise, it could be called "the God within the eyes."
Now, the one Chen Sanshi was cultivating—out of the upper eight Scenic Gods—was the seventh: the Nose God. It didn't literally mean training the nose, but rather awakening the Scenic God located at that position.
The human body's yin and yang were perfectly balanced, encompassing all things, with boundless potential. When these Scenic Gods connected along the proper Dao sequence, their power could truly be unleashed.
Gradually, streams of spiritual energy converged at Chen Sanshi's nose. Within that flow, it felt as though a withered tree was being revived by spring rain—its roots sprouting anew, its branches growing and flourishing.
Then, a brilliant light of green, yellow, and white flared forth.
The Nose God, named Zhong Longyu, styled Dao Wei, stood two inches and five-tenths tall, clad in robes of green, yellow, and white.
[Technique: Dragon Scripture (Uninitiated)]
[Progress: 86/100]
Seven of the Eight Scenic Gods had awakened!
Only the final one remained. Once he awakened it, he could step into the True Force Realm.
But time—only one month was left.
Chen Sanshi resolved to go without rest if he had to. He didn't know if it would be enough.
He put away his spear, mounted his White Swan horse, and rode back toward the city.
Near the gates, he ran into a small group of soldiers returning from outside—about a dozen men, led by a Lieutenant General. Some had bags of grain slung over their horses, others carried tied-up chickens and ducks, and one was even leading a cow.
"C-Commander Chen?"
The lieutenant froze, clearly not expecting to see the Supreme Commander himself. The men quickly dismounted and clasped their fists. "Greetings, Commander!"
"You lot," Chen Sanshi said coldly, scanning them. "Where did all this come from?"
The men exchanged nervous glances.
"Commander…" the lieutenant stammered, "we—we went hunting. Up in the mountains."
"In the mountains?"
Chen Sanshi raised an eyebrow. "You found grain in the mountains?"
"Thump!"
The lieutenant dropped to his knees. "M-My lord! We—we bought it from nearby villagers!"
"Bought it?"
Chen Sanshi's gaze landed on one man whose armor was stained with dried blood. "Or took it?
"Guards!
"Seize them all!"
At once, soldiers from the city rushed over and restrained the group.
The truth came out soon enough.
"Our grain stores can supposedly last another month," reported Teng Le, "but the truth is, rations were cut back a month ago. For the past half-month, the men have barely had enough to eat.
"So these soldiers went to nearby villages to buy food—but before the war even started, all surplus grain had already been requisitioned. The villagers barely have enough for themselves. There was nothing to buy, so those fools used force. They ended up killing an old man."
"Execute them," Chen Sanshi ordered flatly. "Spread the word—anyone who dares rob a single grain from the people will face the same end."
"All fifteen of them?" Teng Le hesitated. "There's a lieutenant among them, sir. He's earned merit in the past."
Chen Sanshi said nothing—just looked up at him.
"I… understand."
Teng Le didn't dare say another word and went to carry out the order.
The mentality of bandits must not be allowed to spread!
Once such thoughts took root, no matter how elite an army was, it would degenerate into a mob of bandits—disorganized, weak, and doomed to collapse.
Besides, to put it bluntly—how much food could the locals even have left?
Even if the army stripped them bare, how many more days could that possibly buy?
That kind of behavior would only hasten their downfall.
"After the execution," Chen Sanshi added, "hang their heads on the city gate for all to see. Return every bit of the stolen grain. And the household that lost a man—compensate them until they're satisfied. Assign Wang Li to oversee this personally."
"Yes, Commander!"
"How about that man, Liao Fang?" Chen Sanshi asked.
"Reporting to the Commander," Tong Xiaochu replied, "no word yet. The message should've reached him long ago, but he's deliberately holding back, I think."
"What else could it be," Wang Jun snorted, "he wants more benefits."
Days blurred by again.
Chen Sanshi slept only two hours a day. The rest he spent cultivating.
But as time went on, rations grew even scarcer, and the troops' discipline began to crumble.
They no longer dared to rob the villages—so they simply chose to desert instead.
The Hongze Battalion was steady as ever—unyielding, like a mountain.
But the Dumiao Army had been losing battles for half a year, trapped in this place for another half. Now, hearing that supplies were nearly gone and the rear had rebelled with no path of retreat, their morale had fallen to rock bottom.
Every day, more tried to flee.
"Commander!"
Tong Xiaochu, exhausted and drenched in sweat, rushed into the central command tent after dealing with another round of offenders. "It's over. The food will only last a little over twenty days, and there's no hiding it anymore.
"Now it's not just desertion. Plenty of middle-ranking officers have received letters from Western Qi trying to convince them to surrender. Yesterday, during patrol, one of their cultivators was killed. His storage bag was full of secret correspondence with our officers. At this rate, out of the 150,000 troops, at least 40,000 are ready to mutiny!"
Forty thousand.
It didn't sound like much—but inside the army, it was enough to tear everything apart.
"Rustle—"
Teng Le came in carrying a rough hemp sack and dumped its contents on the table—dozens of secret letters spilled out. "These are all of them. Should we act first—before they cause chaos?"
Chen Sanshi, who had been preparing to cultivate, stopped and rose to his feet. "Take the letters. Gather everyone in the drill ground."
"Commander Chen plans to make an example of them?"
Tong Xiaochu nodded after a moment's thought. "Good. That'll put fear back in their hearts."
A few hours later—
By dusk, the entire army of 150,000 had assembled on the drill ground before the city lights dimmed.
At the front stood the lieutenant generals and the civil officers, all forced to line up together.
Once everyone was in position, a white figure stepped up onto the platform, his robe rippling in the evening wind. Beneath his feet lay piles upon piles of sealed letters.
The sight alone made several officers break into a cold sweat.
"These!"
Tong Xiaochu stood beside the White Robe, snatched up a few of the letters, and raised them high for all to see. "You all know what these are, don't you?! Some of you are very familiar with them, I'm sure!
"A bunch of traitorous bastards!
"The court of Great Sheng has fed you, paid you, taught you martial arts, and even supplied you with medicine! And now, when the nation needs you most, you dogs think of turning traitor!
"Commander!
"Give the order—open every one of these letters and execute them all!"
The words made several officers' hands drift toward their blades, ready for a desperate fight.
But then, what the man in white said next—was nothing like what anyone expected.
"Burn them."
"What?"
"I said, burn them all."
Chen Sanshi repeated the command.
"Then burn them," said Chu Shixiong bluntly, seeing Tong Xiaochu hesitate. He tossed his torch straight onto the pile of letters.
Before everyone's eyes, the incriminating evidence—proof of crimes worthy of death—went up in flames, burning until only gray ash remained.
The gathered officers and civil officials lowered their heads, trying to hide the flicker of disbelief in their eyes.
"I didn't read the letters," Chen Sanshi said evenly. He didn't raise his voice, yet his calm tone carried across the whole field. "So you can rest easy. No one will come after you.
"I understand—you want to survive.
"But think about it. Given our current situation, even if you surrender to Western Qi, do you think they'll trust you? Even if you live, what future will you have? Who would ever put faith in a traitor?"
He paused.
"But if you grit your teeth and hold out a little longer, you'll soon have your chance—to earn glory and honor."
Glory and honor?!
The crowd—tens of thousands strong—looked at one another in confusion. They were at a dead end. How could there possibly be any chance of glory?
"A dead end?"
Chen Sanshi's gaze swept over them, sharp as a blade. "No. Not a dead end. A counterattack from the brink!
"The 300,000 troops of Western Qi—in my eyes, they're already a mountain of corpses!"
A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd.
Was he mad? In such a hopeless situation, how could he sound so certain?
"I, Chen Sanshi, have never lied to my soldiers!"
His voice rang like iron striking stone. "Tell me—have I ever lost?"
The crowd fell silent.
No… he hadn't.
Even those unfamiliar with him couldn't deny it.
The White Robe Commander—had never been defeated.
The Western campaign hadn't produced victory, but neither had it yielded defeat. It had held—stalemated—against overwhelming odds.
Still, now there was no food, no retreat, and no chance to win. How could he possibly triumph?
"Fifteen days!"
His thunderous voice exploded across the field, echoing through the dusk.
"Give me fifteen days at most—and I will crush Western Qi completely. I give you my word!
"If, after fifteen days, I fail to destroy the enemy—then run, surrender, do whatever you want! I won't stop you!
"But within these fifteen days—if anyone dares spread fear or break discipline, I will execute their entire clan!
"So decide for yourselves, my brothers—will you follow me to glory, or crawl like dogs to your enemies?"
With that, Chen Sanshi said no more.
He turned, his white robes trailing behind him, and walked away—disappearing into the shadows of the burning twilight.
The hundred and fifty thousand troops stood frozen, the shock still echoing in their hearts.
Fifteen days?
After fifteen days… they would win?
Then what had the last six months been for?
Waiting for the right moment?
"Of course we've been waiting for the right moment!"
The soldiers of Hongze Battalion began shouting one after another.
"Look at you Dumiao Army cowards!"
"Back in Liangzhou, eight hundred scouts from our battalion slaughtered twenty thousand enemies!"
"Do the math! Eight hundred killing twenty thousand—how many could one hundred and fifty thousand kill?"
"How the hell do you even calculate that?"
"Use your damn fingers!"
"Did you forget? When Commander Chen first came to Pingzhou, he told Han Xiang face-to-face that Han Xiang would lose for sure!"
"So dragging it out until now? Of course it's just waiting for the right chance."
"Right chance, my ass!"
"Remember Mingzhou?!"
"And Hulao Pass too!"
"Anyway, whoever runs now is a complete idiot."
"Just wait, we're about to get promoted and rich!"
The soldiers of Hongze Battalion—whether intentionally or not—began recounting every glorious victory they had ever fought under Chen Sanshi's command, their voices filled with fire and pride.
"That's true."
"Commander Chen said it himself—fifteen days."
"If he wasn't confident, he'd never dare say that."
With that reasoning, bit by bit, the hearts of the Dumiao Army steadied. The soldiers' wavering faith began to firm once again.
"Commander, I admire you."
Tong Xiaochu followed close behind the man in white. "I thought you were going to execute those traitors—but instead, you burned the letters. That was brilliant."
Chen Sanshi strode forward without slowing. "Starting today, no more saving food. Let the men eat their fill."
"What about after fifteen days?"
Tong Xiaochu and the others still looked uneasy.
"After fifteen days, we'll see victory or defeat."
Chen Sanshi entered the command tent.
All he needed now was to confirm where the enemy's grain was stored—and he could strike directly at Han Xiang's weakness.
During this period, he'd studied the maps again and again, comparing them with the intelligence gathered.
He could almost certainly rule out Yunju Prefecture. The supplies had to be stored either in Wucheng or Lu Prefecture—seventy percent chance for the former, thirty percent for the latter. If it came down to it, he'd have to bet on the higher odds.
A few more days passed.
"Liao Fang sent word."
Wang Jun descended straight from the sky on his flying sword, landing before the tent and pulling out a sealed letter. "That bastard made all sorts of demands. I agreed to every one of them, and only then did he agree to defect. See for yourselves."
Tong Xiaochu and the others skimmed through the letter—and immediately burst out in fury.
"Being granted a marquisate is one thing. If he really helps us turn this war around, that'd be fair. But he's demanding to be made a duke within five years? Why doesn't he just ask to be crowned king outright?!"
"These cultivation resources he listed—I don't even recognize half the names, but anyone can tell he's asking for a mountain of treasure!"
"The most outrageous part," Tong Xiaochu seethed, "is that he demands Commander Chen greet him wearing a black robe! What kind of insult is that?!"
"Dog bastard," Wang Zhi spat out the grass stem he'd been chewing. "I get it now. Didn't they call him the 'White-Robed Adviser'? This old bastard's trying to humiliate our commander—make him wear black to mock the name. It's beyond insulting!"
He turned to Chen Sanshi. "Senior Brother, didn't you say last night that there's a seventy percent chance the grain's in Wucheng and thirty in Lu Prefecture? Why not just gamble and move now?"
"We can't act out of anger," Chen Sanshi said calmly.
Just like back in Mingzhou, when General Yu Song risked his life to draw enemy attention, Chen Sanshi had agreed to the sacrifice—not out of pride, but for the sake of strategy.
Now, the same logic applied.
He couldn't let a matter of pride—some petty demand—affect the larger situation.
Even if the odds were only thirty percent, he couldn't gamble recklessly with the lives of his men.
More importantly…
He had never once called himself the "White Robe." The name came from Sister Lan, who had sewn the robe for him.
Back in Laizhou, he didn't wear armor because it made surrender negotiations easier. The white robe simply made him stand out and was useful for rallying cities to submit peacefully.
In truth, the color never mattered. Everything he wore—every step he took—was for the sake of the war.
If he had worn black, people would have called him the "Black Robe." If he had worn red, they'd call him the "Red Robe." The color itself meant nothing. What mattered was the man who wore it.
"Even if it's just a one-in-ten chance," Chen Sanshi said evenly, "it's only a black robe. Why wouldn't I wear it?"
"Tell him it's fine. When can he arrive at the soonest?"
"In three to five days," Wang Jun replied. "I'll make sure he's brought here safely."
"See that nothing goes wrong."
Chen Sanshi's voice was firm.
Once Liao Fang arrived and confirmed the enemy grain depot's location in Wucheng, the outcome would be set.
After Guandu, he'd also uncover the truth behind the rebellion of the three prefectures.
If it really was the Cao family who orchestrated this—plotting to bury him and his 150,000 troops alive—then once his mourning period was over, they'd surely try to drag him back to the capital.
They really meant to force him.
And if that was the case…
'A man born under heaven and earth,' Chen Sanshi thought coldly, 'how can he live forever under another's heel?'
"Chu Shixiong!"
Chen Sanshi rose abruptly to his feet. "Gather fifty riders. At dawn, you'll ride with me out of the city—to kill the enemy!"
Whatever came afterward didn't matter yet.
For now, Chen Sanshi had only one goal—to win this battle and bring his Hongze brothers home alive!
When the sun rose the next morning, it would shine on Han Xiang's fatal flaw.
That would be the turning point of Guandu—the key to victory.
The momentum for a great triumph was already building, ready to burst forth.