Zhou's army was close enough now that the city could hear it breathe.
Not cannon fire.
Not drums.
Movement.
At night, when the wind fell still, Ling An could hear the creak of wagon axles, the low murmur of commands, the metallic scrape of artillery being repositioned. Fires flickered on the northern ridges — not siege fires, but cooking flames. Patient. Domestic.
They were miles away.
And they were not advancing.
That restraint pressed harder on the city than bombardment ever had.
Wu Jin stood on the inner wall, staring north through a brass spyglass. Zhou's encampment was laid out with obscene precision. Roads already cut. Gun emplacements half-buried. Cannon muzzles angled not at the city, but past it — as if accounting for recoil before the shot was ever fired.
They weren't preparing to attack.
They were preparing to end it — when the time was right.
A courier approached hesitantly.
"Your Majesty… this was found near the western powder stores."
Wu Jin took the sealed packet.
Inside was a coded order bearing Wu An's mark — precise, ruthless — directing the relocation of gunpowder barrels hours before the explosions that crippled the swivel guns.
Wu Jin felt his jaw tighten.
Forgery was easy.
Timing was not.
"This was placed after the blast," he said quietly.
The courier hesitated. "Sire… the handwriting matches perfectly."
Wu Jin closed his eyes.
Perfectly.
Across the city, Liao Yun brought a different report to Wu An.
One of the Black Tigers had been captured alive during a Zhou probe — or rather, returned. The man's tongue was intact. His hands were bound loosely, as if the enemy wanted him to speak.
"He said this," Liao Yun reported, voice tight. "Zhou officers told him they were acting on royal instructions. That the city would fall faster if the brothers turned on each other."
Wu An did not react.
"Which royal?" Wu An asked.
The soldier swallowed.
"He said… the He Lian King."
Silence stretched.
Shen Yue's breath caught. "That makes no sense."
"No," Wu An agreed. "It makes intent."
The being inside him tightened — not with anger, but with alignment. Probability collapsed inward. This was not random sabotage.
It was authored.
Someone was feeding each brother just enough truth to poison certainty.
Wu An dismissed the soldier and stood alone in the courtyard long after the sounds of the city dulled.
Zhou waited.
The South lingered.
And someone inside Ling An was carving fractures with surgical care.
Far beyond the southern marshes, the Southern King met again with the Emperor's envoy.
"No further advance?" the King asked, unable to hide his unease.
"Not yet," the envoy replied smoothly. "The north must exhaust itself first. Zhou will tighten. The tower will strain. The brothers will bleed."
"And when Ling An collapses?"
The envoy smiled faintly. "Then you will return. As savior."
The King looked down at his hands.
"And the Emperor of Liang?"
"He will be restored," the envoy said. "But only after the Lord Protector is… resolved."
The Southern King understood the unspoken truth then:
This plan did not require speed.
It required timing.
Back in Ling An, Wu Shuang stood alone at a narrow window deep within the tower, watching Zhou's distant lights dot the hills like a second constellation.
"They're waiting," she said softly.
"Yes," the Lord Protector replied from the shadows. "Because waiting sharpens need."
"And the sabotage?" she asked.
"They suspect each other," he said calmly. "That is enough."
Wu Shuang traced the lotus sigil carved into the stone.
"Not for long."
He studied her carefully. "Do you object?"
"No," she replied. "I'm adjusting."
That answer pleased him.
In the city below, Wu Jin stared at the forged order again, fingers trembling despite himself.
Across the city, Wu An stood unmoving, calculating how many lives would be lost if the alliance shattered tomorrow.
Above them both, Zhou's cannons slept.
The Southern Kingdom sharpened its smile.
And the war paused — not because it was over…