Chapter 63 - A Trap Woven in Blood

We moved at dawn. Columns unfurled from Bù Zhèng like dark veins, banners trailing limp in the early cold. The marsh lay ahead, waiting — damp, deceptive, hungry. My Black Tigers led the way, boots sinking into muck that sucked at ankles like greedy mouths.

Wu Jin's generals kept the flanks disciplined, though their eyes showed only wary calculation. Even Wu Kang's men fell into step, but their faces were tight, glancing back often toward Bù Zhèng's walls as if hoping for some last-minute reprieve that would excuse retreat.

At first it all went exactly as Zheng had planned.

Our cavalry foundered in the hidden shallows. Pikes wavered where stakes lay cunningly masked beneath water's skin. Arrows hissed from across the reed beds in thick curtains, punching through shields, driving men to their knees. I saw two of my Tigers slip under the murk, only a froth of bubbles rising before the marsh swallowed them whole.

A captain rode to me, voice shrill with panic. "Your Highness — we must fall back! The ground won't hold us — the southern archers—"

"Keep advancing," I said, so evenly it cut through his terror like steel. He flinched, then spurred off to relay the order, shoulders hunched as though he feared my blade at his back.

Far across the field, General Zheng watched from his saddle.

His eyes darted from the clash at the ford to the reserves forming tight behind him — no more than twenty thousand now, worn thin by weeks of blood. Sweat pooled under his gorget. He squeezed the reins until his knuckles whitened.

"You see how it works?" he hissed, half to himself, half to the woman calmly mounted beside him. "Press them here — break their rhythm — the swamp does half the killing."

Princess Lianhua regarded the battlefield without expression. Her hands were folded neatly on her reins, her posture perfect, as though seated for some court recital.

"You've spent much already, General," she said lightly. Her tone was soft, but each word settled into Zheng's bones like stones. "If this fails, there will be more than just men lost in the mud. Your kingdom will feel this wound for generations. Perhaps even your house itself."

His jaw clenched. "It won't fail. Not here. Not while Wu An presses like a mad dog."

"Perhaps." She turned slightly toward him. Her dark eyes unreadable. "But madness has a way of spoiling careful traps."

Then she said no more, simply watched, letting him simmer under the weight of consequences he'd rather not name.

When Zheng sent his lancers in a sweeping flank, I let them come. My left line staggered beautifully, men feigning panic. Wu Jin's General Hu cursed me under his breath — until he saw the lancers crash into sudden, unexpected pits we'd cut overnight. Horses plunged, snapping legs, riders pitched into waiting pikes that bristled up from muddy cradles.

Hu shot me a savage, grudging look. "Well played, devil."

I saw Zheng rear back on his horse, eyes widening as the scream of maimed mounts carried across the marsh. His lips moved — a curse, or a prayer — before he wheeled to bark at aides to reposition archers, to salvage his momentum.

Lianhua said nothing. Her gaze was on me — though half a league of death and filth stretched between us. For a fleeting second, I thought she almost smiled.

The day burned on. The sun climbed high, harsh on pools of pink water. We lost men by the score. Arrows found gaps in armor. Spearmen slipped in marsh sludge only to rise with throats opened by hooked blades.

I rode through it all, the cold inside me purring, steady as a lover's hand on my heart. Shen Yue came alongside, face drawn.

"You're feeding him your own blood," she rasped. "Letting Zheng think he's winning. Until—"

"Until he commits everything," I finished. "And then he'll have nowhere left to run."

Her shoulders slumped. "And if you misjudge?"

I looked at her, smiling faintly. "Then we drown together."

Elsewhere, Zheng spurred down the ranks, striking his own officers with the flat of his blade to drive them forward.

"Push them! Drown them! That marsh is your shield — force them deeper!"

His throat burned from shouting. His eyes stung with sweat. He felt Lianhua's presence still at his shoulder, cold and silent.

"What would you have me do? Yield to that creature behind the Tigers' banners? Let him plant his dragon over my province?" he spat, not even sure she was listening.

She tilted her head. "Oh no, General. I would have you win. It's only that victories often cost more than the losers."

And then she rode off along the rear line, leaving him with a heart that beat too hard, too fast — as if it already feared stopping.

At last, I signaled the true stroke.

Hu's hidden riders, men who'd held back in still patience under Wu Jin's orders, erupted from low ground to strike Zheng's left rear where his baggage trains huddled. Wagons went up in greasy flames. Thirsty conscripts broke ranks to claw at spilled water barrels. The southern lines faltered, trying to pivot — but the marsh gripped them like a hand closing on insects.

Zheng's banner dipped. He spun his horse wildly, calling for order that would not come.

I rode hard into the center. The Black Tigers howled around me, axes rising and falling. Men vanished under churning feet. I saw one of Wu Kang's officers who had plotted to slow this campaign try to rally a group of archers — only to be cut down by my passing blade, his head snapping back on a red arc.

Shen Yue's horse slammed into mine, our shoulders colliding. Her eyes were wild. "It's breaking! Gods help us — it's breaking all at once!"

"Good," I breathed. "Let it."

From the rise, Zheng's heart twisted.

He pulled his sword, tried to rally men to him. "Form ranks! Stand! If you flee now—"

A rider crashed past him, shoulder smashing into his flank. Zheng reeled, half-falling from the saddle. When he righted himself, he saw nothing but panicked faces, mouths open in screams he could no longer command.

Lianhua appeared again — he did not see from where. Her horse stepped delicately through bodies. Her expression was serene.

"It's done," she said.

He could not answer her. Only watched her turn away, robes fluttering like the last calm thing left on this cursed field.

By dusk, it was over. Zheng's army lay in shattered heaps across miles of mud. Some of his men fled screaming into the marsh, where they would drown unseen. Others dropped to their knees, weapons cast aside, eyes empty.

I rode among the wreckage, breathing the rot. The cold under my ribs pulsed strong, satisfied.

Shen Yue joined me, smeared with gore. "The war isn't done," she said hoarsely. "Wu Kang's men still conspire. Wu Jin's watchers will carry tales of what you've become. And Zheng's dead survivors will not rest for long."

I smiled, feeling the cold shiver of that hidden presence coil deeper into me. "Then let them come. I am not finished either."

And under the bruised sky, with crows gathering over Bù Zhèng's outer roads, I knew the true war had only begun.