Inside a command tent amid Great Qian's sprawling encampments.
Swish.
A sheet of paper fluttered down onto the desk in the candlelight.
Han Chan sat upright, an indescribable air of death creeping over his handsome face. He looked just like an old man on the verge of death, his oil spent and his lamp guttering out.
He had entered official service in his youth, risen and fallen three times, and now, in the blink of an eye, reached middle age.
He had laid his plans along the frontier in Shangyu because his ideals remained unfulfilled and he could not accept that; he had also done it to restore the Yulin Faction's glory and repay the man who had recognized his worth.
He considered himself a man who could let things go...
That dusky evening, standing atop Shangyu County's walls, Han Chan had resolved to enter the game himself.
At the time, he had told himself that even if he lost, he had to be able to bear defeat-and death.
All the blame under heaven would fall upon him alone.
Defeat meant nothing more than being smashed to pieces or torn apart by five horses.
What did a strategist have to fear?
But!
When this game reached its final moment and the outcome appeared starkly upon the board, he discovered that he could not accept it at all.
It was not fear of death... Rather, when that final piece fell, all his pride, ideals, and convictions were crushed beneath it.
He suddenly realized that he was neither a planner nor the player moving the pieces, but merely a puppet piece being toyed with in someone else's palm.
That reversal from player to piece shattered every shred of Han Chan's self-respect.
Even now, he did not know who had been using him