Volume Two: Prologue

Volume Two: The Prologue and the Endgame

On the west bank of the Wei River, the scorched earth slowly rotted in the incessant rains of late spring. The murky yellow river, carrying broken spears, tattered flags, decaying wood, and swollen, deformed corpses, silently flowed eastward into the sea. A thick, putrid stench, like an invisible miasma, permeated the rain, lingering for months, choking all surviving creatures. The once towering Wei army camp was now reduced to charred wooden stakes, crumbling rammed earth foundations, and a network of muddy ditches, like a massive skeleton gnawed by a beast, soaking in the murky rain. Occasionally, wild dogs or vultures would roam among the ruins, tearing at the uncollected limbs, emitting chilling howls and cacophonies.

The rain, cold and sticky, pounded against the broken rubble, producing a monotonous, muffled sound like funeral drumbeats. Xiao Yuxuan huddled in a corner of a half-collapsed wall, which still offered some shelter from the wind and rain. His thin linen clothes were already soaked through with rain and mud, clinging tightly to his body, drawing warmth from his already meager reserves. The old wounds on his ribs and arms, eroded by the damp cold, felt like countless tiny ice needles piercing him repeatedly, bringing a deep, tingling, and aching pain that penetrated to his very bones. Deep within his dantian, the warm current ignited by Xuanweizi with his life force, like a faint hot spring deep within the earth's veins, struggled to circulate amidst the boundless cold, maintaining a sliver of warmth in his heart and resisting the pervasive aura of death and despair from the outside world.

He opened his palm. In his palm lay three things: a sharp-edged piece of broken wood engraved with the words "Hanging Blade"; a fragment of a bronze gear, neither gold nor stone, cold to the touch, covered with intricate, star-map-like ink lines—Ji Zhai's last entrustment before his death in the flames of Guzhu Fortress; and a seed wrapped in damp moss, stained with the dark red blood and mud of the Wei River—the locust sapling that stubbornly peeked out from the mountain of corpses and sea of ​​blood, which he had carefully picked before evacuating.

The torch is passed on even when the flame is exhausted.

The dilemma of sticking to old ways.

A prayer for an end to war.

Three distinct branding marks, cold and sharp, pressed against his palms and heavy against his heart. Where did they point? A glimmer of redemption, or a deeper path of delusion? The scorching embers of the fierce battle at Weishui seared his soul; the profound insights into Xuanweizi's Dao Qi, the icy touch of Ji Zhai's mechanical fragments, the faint life force of the locust seedlings in the blood-soaked mud… all clashed and intertwined violently in his chaotic sea of ​​consciousness, like surging lava clashing with a bone-chilling cold current.

Through the rain, the sound of trudging footsteps echoed. A hunched figure, draped in a tattered raincoat, swayed like a withered reed in the wind and rain, struggling through the ruins and mud, finally stopping outside the crumbling wall. It was Sun Qian.

He removed his armor, leaving only a faded, patched dark brown cloth robe. His once sharp, hawk-like eyes now held a weariness akin to the silt at the bottom of the Wei River, and a desolate wisdom that seemed to see through the ways of the world. His left arm, simply bandaged with coarse cloth, hung limply at his sides. He carried no sword, only a jujube wood cane worn smooth and polished by countless hands.

"Are you leaving?" Xiao Yuxuan's voice was dry and hoarse, almost inaudible in the sound of rain.

Sun Qian nodded, raindrops sliding down his deeply lined face. "This matter is settled. Wei has lost and Qin has won; the overall situation is decided. There's no point in staying any longer." His gaze swept over the three items in Xiao Yuxuan's hand, lingering for a moment on the locust seed, his expression complex and unreadable. "Weapons are instruments of destruction, used only by sages as a last resort." He spoke slowly, his voice low and deep, like the fading bell of an ancient temple. "The Battle of the Wei River was not a failure of strategy, but a result of unavoidable circumstances. Even with the strategies of Sun Tzu and Wu Qi, and the bravery of Bai Qi and Han Xin, it was impossible to avert a cataclysmic disaster. However…" His tone shifted, his gaze suddenly sharpening, piercing the rain. "Those who plan wars must know why they fight, and for whom they fight. If it is only for the selfish interests of the court, even victory will only bring suffering and sow the seeds of future disaster. After this battle, the格局 (geju, a concept encompassing the overall situation, character, and overall balance) of the states has changed. Qin's power is like a tiger or rhinoceros released from its cage, yet its laws are as harsh as wolves and tigers. Lacking popular support, it rose rapidly, and it fell just as suddenly. The real game is not on the battlefield, but in people's hearts, in morality, in… whether the people of this world can find a way to survive!"

He paused, then took out a carefully wrapped, worn-out scroll from his robes and handed it to Xiao Yuxuan. “This contains the insights I’ve gained from half a lifetime of military service, observing the heavens, assessing the earth, discerning human nature, and studying battle formations, as well as reflections on the tragedy of the Wei River. It’s not to teach you how to kill, but… to teach you how, in the chaos of war, to do what you ought to do, to safeguard a sliver of life, and to fight for a safe haven. The ways of war are treacherous and dangerous; used righteously, they protect life; used wickedly, they create evil. Your choice… is up to you.”

Xiao Yuxuan took the heavy bamboo scroll, the cold touch spreading from his fingertips. The sharpness of military strategy, the tranquil and inactive way of preserving Qi of Xuanweizi, the compassionate and persevering will of Ji Zhai, the silent vitality of the locust seedlings in the blood and mud... all surged violently in his heart.

Sun Qian said no more, took one last deep look at the ruins and rain-soaked landscape that had buried countless comrades, turned around, and his hunched figure, leaning on his cane, staggered away, disappearing into the misty depths of the rain. His back was desolate, yet it carried a resolute air of shedding shackles and stepping into the unknown.

***

**The land of Qi and Lu, the ancient site of Jixia Academy.**

The smoke of war had not yet completely dissipated, but the towering rammed-earth walls of Linzi were already in sight. Unlike the deathly silence and decay of the Wei River battlefield, the official road leading to Linzi was gradually revealing a peculiar, post-apocalyptic bustle and vitality. Although abandoned vehicles, dead livestock, and scattered new graves could still be seen along the roadside, there was an even greater flow of people.

Ragged refugees, with their families in tow, pushed creaking wheelbarrows piled high with their meager belongings; scholars, dressed in various dark robes and wearing tall hats or square scarves, walked hurriedly or rode donkeys, carrying heavy satchels and bamboo scrolls on their backs; merchants drove packhorses laden with cloth, pottery, and salt bags, carefully weaving through the crowd; there were even strangely dressed, dark-skinned foreign merchants leading tall camels, their camel bells ringing dully in the dust.

The air was thick and murky, filled with a strange stench of dust, sweat, animal dung, and various spices. The sounds of people, animals, cart axles, and camel bells mingled into a cacophony. Yet, beneath this chaotic surface, a long-suppressed vitality, yearning for communication and interaction, surged quietly beneath the scorched earth like an undercurrent.

Xiao Yuxuan was enveloped in the crowd, like a piece of duckweed drifting with the current. The Qi-preserving method taught by Xuanweizi was slowly circulating in his body, like opening up a lake in the turbulent current, allowing him to observe this chaotic world with an almost detached calm.

"Make way! Make way! Don't block the carriage of Master Zou Yan of the Yin-Yang School!" A haughty shout rang out. Several carriages decorated with strange celestial patterns and pulled by strong oxen slowly passed by. The curtains were lowered, and figures could be vaguely seen sitting upright inside, holding compass-like objects, seemingly calculating something. Passersby quickly made way, and murmurs arose:

"Have you heard? Master Zou observed the stars and said about the 'Five Elements' cycle. Qin obtained the Water element and favored black, replacing the Fire element of Zhou. This is the mandate of Heaven!"

"Hmph, destiny? Qin's laws are harsh, and it's a land of tigers and wolves. Even if it has the mandate of heaven, it will lose the hearts of the people! Our Confucianism's 'benevolence and love for others' is the right way to save the world!" A Confucian scholar carrying heavy bamboo slips of the Book of Poetry and the Book of Documents retorted angrily, which drew the agreement of several other scholars dressed in Confucian robes.

"Benevolence? Empty talk!" A burly man with a short sword at his waist sneered. Several sharp-eyed companions, carrying counting rods and rudimentary maps, gathered around him. "In this age of great strife, only the Legalist approach of 'enriching the country and strengthening the army' can ensure a nation's invincibility! The laws of Shang Yang are proof of this!"

"A strong army? What use is a strong army? It only increases bloodshed!" A clear voice rang out, and a scholar in blue robes was seen squatting beside a large rock by the roadside, gesturing with a peculiar ruler engraved with measuring lines. "The Mohist school advocates 'universal love' and 'non-aggression,' valuing the virtuous and practicing frugality, promoting the benefit of the world and eliminating its harms—this is the fundamental way to govern! Look, with this Pythagorean theorem, we can measure the earth's veins, divert water to irrigate fields, and save countless lives. Isn't this far better than your empty talk of killing?" Several craftsmen dressed around him nodded repeatedly.

"Absurd! You Mohists, with your strange and ingenious skills, disregard propriety and law, and disrupt the social order!" the Confucian scholar angrily rebuked.

"What are the principles of morality and etiquette? Can they fill the bellies of starving people?" A simply dressed old man with a heavy Chu accent sneered, toying with a few herbs in his hand. "Our farming family's 'Shennong's Art' teaches people how to cultivate crops and identify herbs, which is the foundation of survival! 'Food is the first priority of governance,' and the people depend on food for survival! Instead of your endless arguments, why don't you come with me to cultivate the wasteland and produce an extra bushel of millet?"

"Indeed! Indeed!" A voice boomed like a bell, and a burly old man with white hair and beard strode over, followed by several muscular men performing breathing exercises. "Life is fundamental! Our Taoist school values ​​life and preserves nature. Breathing exercises harmonize Yin and Yang, dispel illness, and prolong life! Even mountains of gold and silver are meaningless without life to enjoy! Listen to me, everyone, and stop wasting your breath. Follow me to practice the Five Animal Frolics, strengthen your bodies, and you will have the foundation to discuss Taoism and help the world!" After saying this, he actually began to practice on the spot by the roadside, attracting curious or laughing glances.

The words of the various philosophers, like countless threads of different colors, intertwined, collided, and entangled fiercely on the road to Jixia Academy. There were lofty discussions, heated debates, unwavering practice, and detached contemplation. Confucianism's benevolence and righteousness, Legalism's emphasis on national wealth and military strength, Mohism's universal love and non-aggression, and ingenious mechanisms, Agriculturalism's emphasis on deep cultivation and simple weeding, Daoism's emphasis on life and self-cultivation, and Yin-Yang's theory of the Five Elements… like a hundred rivers flowing, they vigorously eroded the channels of thought on this land recently ravaged by war. The reopened gates of Jixia Academy, like a giant whirlpool, attracted the wisest minds of the world, foreshadowing the unfolding of an intellectual arena far grander and deeper than the battlefield, one that would determine the future of the world.

Xiao Yuxuan silently traversed this torrent of thoughts. The locust seed in his palm, amidst the clashing of a hundred schools of thought, seemed to emit a faint, almost imperceptible, tremor. The tender green from the blood-soaked mud of the Wei River, the Daoist fire before Xuanweizi's demise, Ji Zhai's resolute act when burning the city, Sun Qian's military strategy upon retiring… all of this resonated strangely with the vibrant yet turbulent scene of a hundred schools of thought contending before him.

He raised his head and looked at the majestic city gate of Linzi, and the faint outline of the Jixia Academy, a symbol of wisdom and confrontation, visible behind the gate.

The game is not over.

He, along with the faint seed in his palm, the cold fragments, and the heavy bamboo slips, were merely a piece that had just been placed on this vast chessboard.

A new game of chess has quietly begun amidst the clamor of diverse opinions. The moves made may determine whether this shattered land reignites the flames of war, or... gives rise to a glimmer of hope for peace.