Chapter 1 ：Arrows and the Stallion

Scene 1: The Stallion's Choice

202 BC

The Wu River's ice gleamed corpse-wax gray before dawn, cracks serpentining across its surface. Xiang Yu's warhorse, Baiqi (the Black Stallion)—a colossal beast jet-black save for four white hooves—pressed its neck against his sword, blood from its wound crystallizing in the cold. The arrow embedded in its flank bore the carved character "Han" (韓), blurred by gore yet unmistakably sharp—a parting gift from Han Xin's archers.

"Even Han Xin's curs fire from shadows now?" Xiang Yu's voice grated like stone on iron. He snapped the shaft, splinters piercing his palm. Blood dripped from his vambrace, pocking the ice with crimson craters. "This world is too filthy for Chu steel."

Twenty-eight riders stood frozen behind him, armor charred by Han fire arrows and crusted with frost. A boy soldier trembled forward, offering a bloated wineskin with frostbitten fingers swollen like lotus roots: "M-My King… the last wine…"

Xiang Yu seized it and poured the liquor over Baiqi's wound. Alcohol mingled with pus as the stallion stiffened, iron hooves carving trenches into the ice—silent.

"Better mute." He tore his tattered crimson cloak to bind the gash. "Truth in this age only shortens lives."

The river wind carried thunderous hoofbeats. A scout's horse collapsed, spilling rider and saddle onto the ice: "Guan Ying's cavalry—fifteen li (4.5 miles)! Their steeds… they feed them millet!"

Xiang Yu's pupils contracted. Millet-fed horses—Liu Bang's coffers run deep! He stared at the raft adrift among ice floes, its prow ropes frayed to threads—a coffin split open.

Scene 2: The Ferryman's Gamble

The ferryman crouched at the raft's edge, his back hunched like a question mark. His face was a battlefield—a scar from cheek to jawbone, his right eye milky as a dead carp. Once a Qin naval sergeant, he'd surrendered to Han and survived by knowing the rivers. Now he was the Wu's maddest ferryman.

"The horse or the men. Choose." He tapped the blackened fir planks, the sound like clattering bones.

Xiang Yu's blade kissed his throat. "Or you die, and both cross."

The ferryman grinned toothlessly. "Drown then, Conqueror. Rivers care not for crowns—only what floats."

Splashes erupted from the reeds. The boy soldier was shoving Chu corpses onto the ice, flesh bridging the gap to the raft. Frozen bodies groaned under weight, timbers creaking like a collapsing roof.

"Load the horse!" Xiang Yu sheathed his sword, the rasp like tearing silk.

Baiqi stepped onto the raft. The firwood moaned. The ferryman sneered: "Pride sinks ships."

Xiang Yu stared ahead. "Pride floats them."

Three zhang (10 meters) from shore, Han's vanguard arrived. Guan Ying's banners flickered in the mist as crossbowmen formed goose-wing ranks. The first volley came—Chu soldiers crouched behind corpses, blood seeping through raft seams to dye the ice pink.

"Port side!" the ferryman barked. Xiang Yu swung his sword instinctively—an armor-piercing bolt grazed his ear and quivered in the plank.

"Whose side are you on?" Xiang Yu leveled his blade at the old man.

The ferryman squinted his good eye. "The river's."

Scene 3: Crossing in Crimson

When the raft reached the river's heart, Baiqi's wound split anew. Blood seeped through fir planks into the current, threading crimson through the ice. Guan Ying's banners loomed clear now—Han crossbowmen arrayed in three waves on the cliffs, their bolts glinting like scales.

"Hard to port!" the ferryman roared. Xiang Yu sliced a bolt aimed at Baiqi's belly and seized the old man's collar: "What are you avoiding?"

"Reefs." The ferryman squinted. "And men's hearts."

A screech tore through the raft's starboard side. An armor-piercing bolt punched through corpse-shields, impaling the boy soldier's shoulder. He staggered, a bronze fire striker—engraved with "Chu," Consort Yu's last gift—slipping from his grasp into the river.

"Retrieve it!" Xiang Yu thundered.

The boy lunged, fingers brushing the striker—when the second volley came. A triple-edged bolt pierced his neck. His body plunged into the river, blood blooming like ink. The fire striker spiraled into a whirlpool, gone.

"Fool," the ferryman spat. "Died for scrap bronze."

Xiang Yu's blade pressed his throat: "Do you know whose striker that was?"

The old man licked cracked lips: "A dead woman's."

Baiqi suddenly reared, screaming—its first cry since the crossing. Xiang Yu turned. On the eastern cliffs, hundreds of Chu hillfolk were toppling Han beacon towers into the river with hoes and rakes.

"East of the river…" His sword hand trembled.

The ferryman yanked the rudder. The raft lurched. Baiqi plunged overboard!

Final Scene of Chapter 1: South Coast

The snow in Jiangdong crunched with salt. Xiang Yu stood outside a derelict salt warehouse, Baiqi's skull at his feet—the stallion had collapsed after the crossing, crows picking it clean in three days.

Yu Ziqi threw a moldy rice sack into the snow: "Kuaiji's grain trades only for Han gold." Behind him, a hundred Yu clan spearmen stood guard, blades glinting like serpent tongues.

"My sword mints gold too." Xiang Yu kicked the sack. Salt sprayed onto Consort Yu's spirit tablet—a plank carved with his broken sword, the character "Yu" (虞) split by a jagged stroke.

Yu Ziqi sneered: "My sister would've barred you from Jiangdong."

Steel flashed. Spear shafts snapped like straw as Xiang Yu's blade pressed Yu's throat: "If she lived, would you?"

A scout dropped from the rafters: "My King! The Yue rebels in Dongye! They slew Han envoys, offered a hundred ships!"

Xiang Yu sheathed his sword: "Prepare the fleet."

"And the Yu clan…?" The boy glanced at the moldy rice.

"Leave it for Han." Xiang Yu crushed the spirit tablet underfoot. "Let them taste Chu hospitality."

Interlude: The Han Camp

Liu Bang sat cross-legged on a tiger pelt, fingers tracing a gold-inlaid tiger tally. The brazier burned hot, yet Zhang Liang's sleeves stayed dry.

"Xiang Yu crossed the river." Han Xin tossed a silk scroll, ink still wet. "The Yue rebels gave him ships. The Yu clan locked their granaries."

Liu Bang lifted a chess piece, hovering: "Zifang, your thoughts?"

Zhang Liang fanned himself: "Before crossing, Xiang Yu lost to Your Majesty. After crossing, he loses to himself."

Han Xin snorted: "Scholars and their riddles."

"No riddle." Zhang Liang pointed at the board. "If Xiang Yu dies, Chu's hearts boil. If he lives…" He blew ash from the brazier. "Their hearts turn to ash."

Liu Bang finally moved—black stone piercing white's core: "Then let ash burn. Order Guan Ying: massacre Dongye, build a corpse mound."

"Wait." Zhang Liang pressed the tally. "Xiang Yu marches on Zhang Commandery. Let him take it, then crush both weary armies."

Liu Bang narrowed his eyes: "You want me to feed the tiger?"

"No." Zhang Liang smiled. "I help you tame it."

Shouts erupted outside. Yu Ziqi stumbled in, bloodied: "King of Han! Xiang Yu slaughtered my clan! Grant me troops for vengeance!"

Han Xin drew his sword: "A stray dog dares bargain?"

Liu Bang raised a hand: "Granted. Ziqi, three thousand convict troops."

As Yu left, Zhang Liang sighed: "A double-edged sword, Your Majesty."

Liu Bang tossed a black stone into the brazier: "Break it when it dulls."