For some reason, Sima Zhao had felt uneasy these past few days.
He kept dreaming of his elder brother.
In his dreams, his brother merely stared at him coldly, without saying a word.
It was as though he were demanding to know why Sima Zhao had not followed his final instructions.
Several times, Sima Zhao had wanted to summon Yang Zong to discuss what to do, but Lord Yang had been taking powder and drinking these past few days, scarcely spending a day sober.
This made Sima Zhao even more irritable.
He dearly missed the days when his brother was still alive. He remembered how, no matter how critical the situation became, the sight of his brother would calm him down.
On the night they rose up with their father, he had been trembling with fear, and had fallen asleep listening to his brother snore.
But now, his father was gone, and so was his brother.
The fate of the entire family rested on his shoulders. He lay sleepless all night, and even his meals no longer tasted so good.
In the time since he had taken the reins of power, Sima Zhao had suddenly begun to grow thin.
Only then did he understand why the tall, sturdy brother he remembered had become little more than skin and bones within a few short years.
Sima Zhao was still healthy, yet handling the Outer Generals alone had left him utterly exhausted, his strength falling short of his wishes.
He dared not imagine how his brother, constantly suffering, had managed to resolve so many matters alone.
Sima Zhao lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
He had already decided to march in five days, and had made arrangements for the generals stationed throughout the regions.
Now that the moment to