The assembled ministers erupted with excitement. Battle fervor filled the palace, and civil officials and military commanders alike dreamed of winning glory and becoming founding heroes of an empire.
They had swept undefeated across every battlefield. What did they have to fear?
Shan King and Wei King were merely defeated foes.
King Zheng, who called himself a divine son, was more laughable still. He was even less formidable than King Yu and Yu Yong had been. If he had not lived in a remote border region, he would have died long ago—nothing but dry bones in a tomb.
Across the entire region, their enemies appeared mighty and magnificent, but they were merely men with price tags on their heads.
If they moved too slowly and others claimed the glory, would they not regret it for the rest of their lives?
"My king, send out the troops at once!"
One commander after another called for war, their voices rising like a tide.
Silence fell.
No answer came.
"Send out the troops?"
Amid this scene of flowers laid over brocade and oil poured onto a blazing fire, an inexplicable chill rose in Tu Sanyi. For no reason, he remembered Zhou Xiaocui burning in the flames back in Backed-by-the-Mountain Village.
That scene bore no resemblance to this one, yet it felt strangely familiar.
Was the fire of ambition in my ministers' eyes meant to burn me?
Tu Sanyi remained silent for a long time, giving no answer to their pleas for battle. The palace gradually grew so quiet a falling pin could have been heard.
The ministers exchanged bewildered looks.
What was wrong with the king?
Could their wise, mighty king, who saw ten thousand miles ahead, not recognize this perfect chance to press their advantage in one surge?
"Our soldiers have suffered