That night, Ji Fa held a banquet in the main camp.
It was called a banquet, but in truth there was no music or dance, no pomp.
A few low tables had been pushed together, with a whole roast lamb, steamed cakes, pickled vegetables, and a jar of rice wine set on top.
Seated there were several of Xiqi's core generals, all dressed in ordinary clothes, with no armor, looking like brothers from an ordinary household gathered for a meal.
Nezha sat on Ji Fa's right. In front of him was a pottery bowl, piled high with meat until it heaped over the rim.
He lowered his head and glanced at it, then raised his eyes and swept them around the people seated there. They were looking at him too—curious, assessing, mostly sizing him up, but there was no hostility.
He picked up his chopsticks, grabbed a piece of lamb, and stuffed it into his mouth.
It tasted good, so his chopsticks reached out again.
That meal went by very quickly.
Nezha ate a great deal—thirty bowls of rice, two whole roast lambs, and a jar of wine.
The bowls were stacked five or six high, and the plates before him had piled into a small mountain.
By the end, his movements slowed, and he set down his chopsticks a little sheepishly.
"Your Highness, did I... eat too much?"
A very soft murmur came from the side. Jiang Ziya was sitting in the corner, leaning close to Ji Fa's ear, his voice lowered until it was almost inaudible.
"Your Highness, we do not have much grain and fodder left."
Ji Fa's corner of mouth twitched ever so slightly, and Nezha caught it from the corner of his eye.
He was lowering his head to drink soup, the rim of the