Xianyang had gone from teeming with people to resembling a city of the dead in less than half a year.
By the time all the feudal lords left Xianyang, it had nearly become a field of ruins. Every resource within the city had been looted, hauled away, and transported to their respective fiefs.
Another round of struggle for the realm had begun. Everyone knew it, especially the seventeen feudal lords enfeoffed by Xiang Yu.
But while some rejoiced, others grieved. Liu Ji did not know what Xiang Yu was thinking, and he knew even less about what the other sixteen feudal lords were thinking.
He sat in his residence, sighing again and again.
Among the Eighteen Kings, his fief might not have been the smallest, but it was certainly the most desolate and barren. This was undeveloped land, surrounded by four feudal lords. To the west lay a plateau, while to the south stretched vast rainforests that were difficult to penetrate. This land was like a cage, sealing Liu Ji completely inside.
The title of King of Within the Passes was gone, and now he had fallen into such a plight. How could Liu Ji, who had been high-spirited only days ago, possibly lift his spirits?
What was more, this place was far from home, and they had no way of returning. Not to mention Liu Ji—even the soldiers under his command were suffering bitterly.
They could only look east, toward the old lands of Chu. That was their homeland.
Yet though it was home, they likely could never return.
Liu Ji summoned his generals to drink and make merry in his residence, but instead of celebration, they merely gathered together and sighed. Of the lively atmosphere from before, not even one-tenth remained.
"What are we to do?" Liu Ji