Chapter 25 - The Legend Within the Model
Ye Zhao struggled to restrain his restless fingers, his heart pounding with the urge to reach out and touch the intricate craftsmanship. Just as he was about to graze the surface of the miniature city, Pei Shian’s voice drifted through the hall, pulling his wandering mind back to reality.
"Years ago, the armies of Xize descended with a hundred thousand men. They were an unstoppable force, sweeping through our lands like a tidal wave. Yet, they met their ultimate defeat right here, within the walls of this city—a city Tianshu had transformed into a labyrinth of lethal mechanisms. In a single day, their grand invasion turned into a frantic retreat."
As he spoke, Pei Shian moved with measured steps, opening the windows of the Star-Plucking Tower that had remained sealed for years. The biting winter wind howled into the chamber, instantly dispersing the heavy, lingering scent of sandalwood and replacing it with the crisp, cold air of the high altitude.
Ye Zhao nodded slowly. This was a tale every child in the Kingdom of Wei grew up hearing; it was the bedrock of their national pride. Scratching his cheek, he followed the Duke’s lead. "I remember the records. It was Xin Muyi and the Crown Prince of Xize who led that campaign, wasn't it?"
"It was," Pei Shian replied. The wind gusted through the open frames, causing the clusters of candles to flicker violently. Several flames sputtered and died, plunging sections of the hall into shadow. Pei Shian’s voice remained as steady as the stone beneath them. "Xin Muyi led his vanguard through the North Gate, while the Crown Prince of Xize breached the South. In the end, they and their broken remnants fled back through that same South Gate."
"They arrived like wolves and tigers, brimming with arrogance," Pei Shian continued, then paused.
Ye Zhao watched him intently, his curiosity piqued. "And when they left? Surely a defeated army couldn't maintain such bluster. Did they tuck their tails and run in disgrace?"
Pei Shian’s gaze drifted toward the horizon visible through the window, the memories of that day seemingly etched into the very air. After a few heartbeats, he turned back to Ye Zhao. "No. They left in a state of absolute terror—soulless, shattered, and gasping for their final breaths."
Ye Zhao blinked, processing the weight of those words. It was one thing to be defeated; it was another to be psychologically broken. His interest in the ancient battle deepened. Leaning casually against the edge of the wooden platform, he mused, "So, they were scared out of their wits?"
"You could say that," Pei Shian conceded.
Ye Zhao let out a short, sharp laugh. "Xize had a hundred thousand men. How many did Tianshangjing have to defend it back then?"
Pei Shian held up a single finger.
"Ten—" Ye Zhao started to say "ten thousand," but the word died in his throat. He realized the absurdity of the thought. Back then, the Kingdom of Wei had been fragile, its forces stretched thin to hold the borders against Eastern Ling. There was no way they could have spared a massive garrison for the capital. "One thousand?!" he gasped, his eyes widening in shock.
The disparity in numbers was suicidal.
Pei Shian observed the shock on the youth's face—a look he had seen on many others decades ago. "No, ten thousand. But even then, the numbers were too few. To bridge the gap, the common citizens took up arms. Alongside the city guards and the private retainers of the noble houses, they fought as one. Together, they achieved the impossible."
Ye Zhao felt a surge of genuine admiration. This was the ultimate underdog story, a miraculous comeback against overwhelming odds that reminded him of the indomitable spirit of guerrilla legends from his own world's history. "Incredible," he whispered.
"Incredible indeed," Pei Shian agreed, his eyes fixed on Ye Zhao. "After all, no one believed he could win. Not a single soul."
Standing alone with the Duke in this hall of historical glory, Ye Zhao found himself relaxing. The weight of the mourning ceremony outside felt miles away. "Could you tell me more about the battle? I want to know how he did it." He knew the man was a genius, but he wanted to understand the sheer scale of that brilliance. How could the gap between two human minds be so vast?
"I could," Pei Shian said softly. "But aside from what I have already told you, I suspect you have heard the rest in the tea houses and history books."
"What you told me? You mean the route they took?" Ye Zhao pressed. "But what about the process? The strategy?"
Seeing the blatant hunger for answers in Ye Zhao’s expression, Pei Shian added, "If you are asking exactly how Tianshu commanded that victory, I am afraid no one knows—perhaps not even the heavens. Only he held the threads." He gestured to the model behind Ye Zhao. "The marks of his command are still preserved on this map, but even the most brilliant tacticians cannot decipher the sequence. The timing of his maneuvers, the precise shifting of units at every critical juncture... no one has ever been able to replicate his thought process."
Ye Zhao glanced back at the towering spires of the model. A true "Mastermind," he thought, feeling a sense of profound respect. "When the Xize army finally fled, how many were left?"
Pei Shian’s answer was blunt: "A little over ten thousand."
Ye Zhao paused, his mental math stumbling. "Wait, that doesn't add up. If they still had ten thousand men, why didn't they regroup? That's still a formidable force. Why did they just... run? And they haven't dared to cross the border for over twenty years since."
"Because," Pei Shian explained calmly, "when Tianshu opened the gates to let them in, the Crown Prince of Xize and Xin Muyi were each leading fifty thousand men. But the Prince was arrogant. He left ten thousand outside the walls and entered with only forty thousand, thinking the city was already his."
He was lured into a trap and had his pride utterly demolished, Ye Zhao filled in the blanks mentally. It was the first time he had heard that Tianshu had *voluntarily* opened the gates. A city of mechanisms required the enemy to enter to be effective, but the sheer audacity of the move was breathtaking.
"What about the Chess Master's Pact?" Ye Zhao asked, recalling a persistent rumor. "I heard that even though Xin Muyi lost, Tianshu acknowledged his skill at the board and made some kind of agreement with him?"
Pei Shian fell silent, a shadow crossing his face. It was a memory that clearly unsettled him, one that few survivors cared to recount. "It wasn't an agreement," he said eventually. "It was... a form of deterrence."
"Deterrence? Through a game of chess?" Ye Zhao frowned, finding the idea far-fetched. But seeing the Duke's somber expression, he didn't push further. "I see."
He turned back to the model, tracing the path from the South Gate toward the city center. Now that he looked closer, he could see the hidden traps embedded in the miniature streets. As the "enemy" pieces moved deeper into the heart of the model, their numbers dwindled. It was as if Tianshu had possessed a bird's-eye view of the entire battlefield, anticipating every split in the enemy's ranks and every turn they took.
Ye Zhao picked up a tiny wooden arrow, no longer than a fingernail, and examined it. He noticed the interlocking gears beneath the surface of the "streets." He felt a sudden urge to trigger one, to see the mechanical genius in motion, but he restrained himself. This was a historical relic, not a toy.
He set the arrow down and stood there, lost in thought. Who was this man, really? A military officer? A high-ranking statesman? He had mastered mechanics, strategy, and politics all at once. "A polymath? A government operative?" he muttered to himself, unable to find a modern equivalent that fit.
"Have you reached a conclusion?" Pei Shian’s voice broke his reverie.
Ye Zhao snapped out of it, coughing lightly to hide his embarrassment. "Ah, no. Nothing."
Sensing it was time to leave, Ye Zhao scanned the room one last time. "We've been here a while. Should we head back?"
Pei Shian looked at him with that same unreadable gaze that had unsettled Ye Zhao earlier. "Very well."
As Ye Zhao turned toward the door, Pei Shian called out, "Ye Zhao..."
"Yes?" Ye Zhao looked back, confused.
The two men locked eyes for a long moment. Pei Shian seemed to have words trembling on the tip of his tongue, but he eventually swallowed them. "It is nothing."
The Duke remained silent as they descended the Star-Plucking Tower and made their way back toward the Hall of Eternal Light. A light snow began to fall, dusting the world in white.
High on a distant battlement, a lone figure had been standing for a long time, watching the two men enter and leave the tower. The snow gathered on his shoulders, but he did not move.
A paper umbrella suddenly appeared overhead, shielding him from the flakes. A refined, gentle voice spoke: "Father, why are you standing out here in the cold?"
It was Xie Yusong. Dressed in pristine white robes, he looked every bit the peerless young lord.
The man he addressed as father was wrapped in a deep grey cloak. His frame was lean, and his features bore a striking resemblance to Xie Yusong’s, though his eyes were infinitely deeper, radiating an aura of profound, silent power. This was the man who held the reins of the court—Xie Mingyuan, the Duke of Mingde.
"Is that..." Xie Yusong followed his father's gaze toward the two figures walking through the snow. "Ye Zhao and the Duke of Anguo?"
Xie Mingyuan’s voice was low and toneless. "Do you know this Ye Zhao?"
Xie Yusong considered it. "We have only recently become acquainted."
After the question, the elder man lapsed back into a silence so heavy it felt like a physical weight. No one could guess what lay beneath that calm exterior. Slowly, Xie Mingyuan began to descend from the battlements. Xie Yusong took one last look at the disappearing figures of Ye Zhao and Pei Shian, his brow furrowing slightly.
When Ye Zhao finally returned to the mourning hall and knelt beside Jiang Ziqi, his friend immediately leaned in and whispered, "You're finally back! Well? What's inside the Star-Plucking Tower?"
Ye Zhao kept his hands tucked in his sleeves, his expression thoughtful. "Wind. Bright lamps. A single chair. And a massive wooden platform." He paused, looking up at the ceiling. "And the echoes of a glorious story."
"...That's it?" Jiang Ziqi’s face fell.
"That's it. What else did you expect?"
Jiang Ziqi huffed in disappointment, muttering under his breath about wasted anticipation. He stayed quiet for a few minutes before leaning in again. "By the way, Ye Zhao, I forgot to ask—when did you learn martial arts?"
Ye Zhao blinked. "I didn't."
Jiang Ziqi stared at him with wide, incredulous eyes, his voice a low hiss. "Stop pretending. Every time we got into a fight before, I was the one out in front. If I’d known you were that good, I would’ve let you handle the heavy lifting!"
Ye Zhao was genuinely baffled. "Pretending? What are you talking about? Fighting has always been your specialty. Why on earth would you want me to step up?" He was shocked that his "combat specialist" friend wanted to outsource the brawling to him, the "support" player.
Jiang Ziqi stared at him, convinced his friend was putting on a masterful performance. "Who else would I want? You kicked a man so hard he ended up in the Imperial Medical Bureau! Even Zhang Zuyao is terrified of you now. And you have the nerve to hide behind me?"
Thinking of all the bruises he had taken for Ye Zhao in the past, Jiang Ziqi narrowed his eyes. "You're something else, Ye Zhao," he whispered, his voice dripping with mock-resentment.
Ye Zhao finally realized what this was about. "I... if I said it was an accident, would you believe me?"
Jiang Ziqi gave him a look that said everything.
Ye Zhao sighed. "We grew up together. We've rarely spent more than ten days apart in our entire lives. You know everything about me."
"Exactly! Which means you've been painstakingly hiding this from me for years!"
"I haven't been hiding anything! It really was an accident!"
Jiang Ziqi let out a dry, sarcastic laugh. "Sure. Just a string of 'accidents.' What, do your hands and feet have a mind of their own?"
"No..." Ye Zhao rubbed his temples. "He just happened to charge right into me, and I just happened to move that way."
Another mocking laugh was his only reply.
Jiang Ziqi glanced at the fan tucked into Ye Zhao’s waist, remembering the moment that had nearly cost Zhang Zuyao his life. For a split second back then, Ye Zhao had seemed like a different person—almost as if he were possessed.
Ye Zhao tried to explain a few more times before giving up. Seeing Jiang Ziqi’s expression return to normal, he assumed the matter was settled and focused on his prayers.
In reality, Jiang Ziqi was already mentally calculating which high-ranking monk he should hire to perform an exorcism on his friend.
As it turned out, Jiang Ziqi’s thought process was truly in a league of its own.
***
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