Across the clear river stood Hanyang's trees, distinct and bright; lush fragrant grasses covered Parrot Isle.
Cui Hao's "Yellow Crane Tower" towered above the ages, but few people knew that the poem sang of Wuhan's commanding terrain. (No rush-we will reconstruct Wuhan's geography at the time in detail later.)
Wuhan, a great city and metropolis, had been a strategic stronghold since ancient times. It was now called Xiakou.
Outside Xiakou, banners shifted, warships came and went, and the clouds of war gathered thickly.
Inside Xiakou, at the residence of the Prince of Jian'an, a fourteen-year-old boy stood on a table, gripping a sword in both hands-
Its edge rested against his neck, trembling slightly.
"Stay back! Don't any of you come closer!!"
The servants knelt all over the room, frantic but afraid to approach. All they could do was plead over and over:
"Be careful, Your Highness! Please be careful!"
"Move it farther away, Your Highness! Please move it away!"
"Please put down the sword, Your Highness! You are a son of the dragon, a grandson of Heaven. You must never toy with your own life!"
Xiao Zizhen, the Prince of Jian'an, was the ninth imperial prince. His childhood nickname was Little Ninth.
Little Ninth was already frail, with a very thin neck. With that great sword laid across it, his head looked even bigger.
"Stay back! Anyone comes closer, and I'll slit my throat! Where's Kong Xiuzhi? Why isn't Kong Xiuzhi here yet?"
"Lord Kong will be here any moment! Ease the sword away first, Your Highness. Don't hurt yourself!"
"Hurt myself, my ass! I might die here today! Kong Xiuzhi won't come, is that it? Fine! If he won't come, I'll-I'll-"
Little Ninth drew a deep breath, as though bolstering his courage. The blade shifted with his breathing,