Within a few days, Xiqi's great army had encircled Chaoge.
The camps of the eight hundred feudal lords joined into one unbroken stretch, and the bonfires dyed half the sky orange-red.
Jiang Ziya rode a circuit around the city. After returning to his tent, he dabbed a point of cinnabar onto the map, right beside the words "South Gate."
"The remnants of the Shang Army's main force are concentrated at the North Gate."
He set down the cinnabar brush.
"The South Gate is empty. Tomorrow, we make our main assault on the South Gate."
Ji Fa sat at the head of the main tent, holding a cup of tea he had not drunk.
The tea had long since gone cold. A film of droplets had beaded on the cup's wall, and his thumb rubbed once through the moisture without lifting it to drink.
"Prime Father, after the South Gate falls, I want him alive."
Jiang Ziya's hand, stroking his beard, paused for an instant.
"Your Highness means..."
"King Zhou."
Those two words slipped lightly from Ji Fa's mouth, like ash falling to the ground.
At dawn the next day, the war drums thundered.
The city gate was smashed open.
When the door planks split into fragments and flew outward, they knocked over the last row of Shang Army shield-bearers behind the gate.
Xiqi cavalry surged in over splintered wood and broken bones, their hooves striking the bluestone slabs and splashing up string after string of blood-colored spray.
Nezha charged at the very front on his Wind-Fire Wheels.
His Fire-Tipped Spear swept out sideways, and three Shang Army infantrymen were sent flying, crashing into the storefronts on both sides as roof tiles clattered down all over the ground.
He drove straight ahead, his spear tip flipping over seven or eight shields,