The former residence of the Qiao clan was now King Jiang's temporary quarters.
Inside, Jiang Mian removed his armor and stood before a yellowed, blurry bronze mirror. The man reflected within was haggard and thin, his beard long and unkempt. The coals in the brazier beside him glowed red, while the kettle lid trembled with bubbling steam, clattering loudly. He picked up the kettle and poured water into a bronze basin.
He drew a sharp little dagger, washed it clean in the hot water, then raised the blade to his neck...
With a light scrape, there came a rustling sound as a tuft of dry beard slowly fell to the floor. He washed the blade again and continued shaving.
Scrape, scrape, scrape...
The stove brought a trace of warmth to the old residence beneath the gloomy sky.
Outside the inner courtyard gate, Pan Hongzu leaned against a pillar with his sword in his arms as usual, staring blankly into space. Recently, he seemed to have grown increasingly lazy, always wanting something to lean on. Not far beside him, Chen Jia sat in meditation, chanting scriptures. He had been so busy every day that he had had no time to shave his head. His once gleaming bald scalp had become covered in short greenish hair, three thousand strands of worldly troubles growing anew.
Chen Jia turned his head and looked at the dark old house, sympathy written across his face.
"He's not thinking of killing himself, is he?"
"No need." Pan Hongzu spoke with utter composure.
"Why?"
"He'll be dying in battle tomorrow anyway. Why go through the trouble today?"
"Uh..."
Today, the Chi Mang people had unusually refrained from attacking the city, allowing Yue City's soldiers and civilians to breathe a sigh of relief. Yet before long, several enormous catapults