The Zhou Army's morale had been crushed to rock bottom.
By the third month at Muye, the Shang Army began to run short of food.
Zhao Gongming had held the rear together for a full three months.
Relying on his position as grain supervisor and on his own network of connections, he requisitioned grain from every region—from the granaries on the east, from private storehouses in the south—digging it out cart by cart.
Xiqi had cut off the grain roads seven times; he changed routes eight times, and by sheer force delivered the army provisions to the front.
But human strength had its limits. Trouble broke out within the Shang Army.
A unit responsible for escorting grain failed to arrive on time. Grand Tutor Wen sent men to investigate, and they discovered the grain officer had fled with the grain carts.
It was not defection to the enemy, but it was even more hateful than defection.
They had taken the grain and fodder into the deep mountains, planning to wait until the war ended before coming out to sell it for a good price.
"Useless trash."
Grand Tutor Wen smashed his teacup. Shattered porcelain splashed across the military tent.
Kong Xuan stood outside the tent. Hearing the sound of breaking porcelain, he raised a hand and pressed his brow. Beneath his fingertip lay a faint bluish shadow from days without sleep.
In these days, Kong Xuan had sent seventeen of Xiqi's great generals flying on the main front, and the Ten Absolute Array had trapped and killed thirty thousand elite allied troops.
But the Left General had surrendered, the Right General had followed suit, and the core Talisman Master at the array eye had been stabbed through the heart from behind by one of their own.
He could not hold