After taking Quanling in a single night, Zhang Ni did not linger.
He rested only one night, no wine banquet, no extended celebration. At dawn, he gathered his men and departed again.
From the moment the Jiaozhou envoys entered Nanzhong, their knowledge of Jingnan had been fragmented. They knew only that Jiangdong had crossed borders and attacked. They knew of chaos, but not of form.
Yet as Zhang Ni advanced north step by step, the true outline of Jingnan slowly unfolded before his eyes, like a great chessboard revealed square by square.
Jingnan's eastern lands were rich with waterways. Rivers interwove like veins. One Xiang River alone connected Lingling, Guiyang, and Changsha, binding three commanderies together as if strung on a single thread. To the east, those waters touched Jiangdong itself. For anyone attacking from Jiangdong, this was a heaven sent advantage.
The one mercy of geography lay in the source of the Xiang River. It rose from Yanghai Mountain in Lingling Commandery and flowed from south to north, pouring into Yunmeng Marsh.
This meant that Jiangdong troops marching from Yunmeng Marsh into Jingnan would always be fighting the current, oars straining, supply lines resisting the flow of water itself.
Zhang Ni, coming from the south, stood on the opposite side of fate. If he chose the river, the water would carry him north.
But advantages on parchment were not the same as advantages on the battlefield.
Guiyang and Changsha had already fallen. If he boarded ships at Quanling and followed the Xiang River north, blockades would be inevitable. Jiangdong would not leave such an artery undefended. To go that way would mean smashing through every single Jiangdong river defense in sequence.
The risk was immense. The time cost was worse.
At the prow of the ship, Zhang Ni sat quietly, fingers tapping and counting as if measuring spirit stones before a breakthrough. His gaze did not move, but calculations turned endlessly in his mind.
This was precisely why he had not chosen the Xiang River.
Going with the current was tempting, but once the ships entered Yunmeng Marsh, three thousand men would be swallowed whole. No retreat, no terrain, no formation. Only water, fog, and Jiangdong's fleets.
That path was a death tribulation.
If the water route was sealed, then marching north toward Jiangling left only two remaining paths.
One was the land route through Hanshou.
The other was to plunge into the mountains and forests of Wuling Commandery.
The mountains were safer on paper, but Zhang Ni was a stranger to those lands. His instincts, honed through years of chaos and blood, told him that wandering blind through mountains was no better than challenging Yunmeng Marsh head on.
Thus the heavens left him a single road.
Land route. Hanshou. Jiangling.
"So Mister Lu truly saw this far," Zhang Ni murmured softly.
When he had traveled from Nanzhong into Jiaozhou with that group of envoys, Mister Lu had already spoken of Jingnan as if observing a cultivation formation from above. He had laid out the situation, piece by piece, and reached his conclusion calmly.
If Zhang Ni wished to reinforce Jiangling, Hanshou was unavoidable.
Therefore the route was designed clearly. Take Quanling. Go ashore. March through Yongchang. Strike straight into Zhaoling County. Seize ships. Follow the Zi River downstream to Yiyang. Abandon the boats. Continue north.
Every step Zhang Ni had taken so far matched that analysis exactly, without the slightest deviation.
Only one detail had exceeded expectation.
"But Mister Lu never said Hanshou would gather this many Jiangdong troops," Zhang Ni said quietly, a rare trace of pressure seeping into his tone.
After aiding Wu Ju in breaking the enemy, Zhang Ni interrogated surrendered Jiangdong soldiers. From their mouths came troubling news. Across Jingnan, elite troops were being drawn in, all converging on Hanshou.
This was the opposite of Mister Lu's prediction that Hanshou would be heavy with supplies but light on troops.
What had triggered this shift, Zhang Ni did not yet know. According to the words of that thick headed fellow who proclaimed himself the Grand General of Lingling, Jiangdong believed that once Hanshou fell, the rest of Jingnan would collapse like a broken cultivation realm.
Whether that belief was arrogance or desperation no longer mattered.
Even if the analysis had deviated, Hanshou could not be bypassed.
On land, even facing ten thousand infantry, three thousand elites still possessed the strength to fight.
In Yunmeng Marsh, surrounded by ten thousand warships, there would be no second ending. Only drowning, repaying the imperial uncle's favor with one's life.
Moreover, Hanshou was resisting. Someone there was still standing against Jiangdong. That alone made them allies.
Once that conclusion formed, it was no longer debated.
Zhang Ni rose calmly and stepped to the side of the boat. Without a word, he replaced a soldier exhausted from steering.
The soldiers noticed.
Once the commander took the oar, no one dared slacken. The Yizhou troops paddled harder, muscles burning, breath steady. The small boat surged forward, slicing through the water toward Yiyang.
At the same time, far to the north, Hanshou burned.
"Dong Xi, defeated dog, you dare not fight again. Cowardly pig and dog, timid as a mouse."
On Hanshou's chaotic battlefield, Shamo Ke's roar rolled out like a battle drum. His official speech, corrected and refined by Ma Liang, carried no heavy accent. Each word was clear, sharp, and humiliating.
The Jiangdong ranks rippled.
Soldiers paused. Heads turned.
They saw nothing.
Yet beneath the great banner of the central army, Dong Xi felt as if those words had struck his chest directly. Shame surged hot and thick. He wanted to charge out, weapon in hand, to wash it away with blood.
But the moment his fingers brushed the hilt, memories surfaced. Shamo Ke's brute strength. His ferocity. His deceptive tricks.
Fear crept in.
"This is enemy provocation," Pan Zhang laughed loudly, stepping in at once. "Yuandai should not be troubled by it."
Then he raised his voice with confidence that rang like false cultivation insight.
"These barbarians are arrogant and ignorant of valor. Watch me defeat them in open battle. Hanshou will fall today."
With that, Pan Zhang seized his weapon and strode out.
Dong Xi opened his mouth, then closed it again. Seeing Pan Zhang's confident back, he chose silence.
After being captured alive at Linyuan, Dong Xi had become a general without troops. His units were gone. Dead or surrendered. Only a few dozen personal guards remained, released deliberately by the Pan clan of Hanshou to display goodwill toward Jiangdong.
Dong Xi sighed, lifted his cup, and drank slowly. In his heart, calculations turned. After this battle, no matter what, he would borrow troops and go suppress the Shanyue again. He needed victories. Any victories.
As he drank, he counted breaths.
At the thirty seventh breath, laughter exploded outside.
"So this dares call himself a fierce general. Does Jiangdong truly have no brave men left."
The tent flap was torn open.
Pan Zhang was carried in.
The imposing presence from moments ago had vanished. One side of his face was swollen, smeared with mud. His ornate leather armor was torn and broken.
After frantic treatment, Pan Zhang slowly woke. His first impulse was to accuse Dong Xi. But seeing Dong Xi's bitter smile, the words died in his throat.
"These barbarians are fierce but few," Dong Xi said evenly. "They cannot match our numbers. Wengui should proceed steadily."
Pan Zhang clenched his jaw. He did not like it. But he knew it was the safest path.
Outside, Shamo Ke's curses continued. Irritation surged. Pan Zhang waved his hand sharply.
"Archers forward. Silence that barbarian."
The two Jiangdong generals exchanged a glance. Both sighed.
Back in Jiangdong, who had not been praised for valor. Great clans had even named them Tiger Ministers. Though they never said it aloud, their hearts had accepted it.
Yet since leaving Jiangdong, misfortune followed them like inner demons.
North, crushed by Zhang Liao. West, forty thousand troops besieging barely over ten thousand barbarians, yet unable to press forward decisively.
Was Jiangdong truly weaker than the north.
Within Hanshou, forced back by arrows, Shamo Ke spat.
"Bah. Jiangdong rats, every last one."
In his eyes, only a few years had passed since Red Cliffs. Among these troops were veterans who once followed Zhou Gongjin. The soldiers were nearly the same.
Back then, thirty thousand dared block Cao Cao's overwhelming force.
Now thirty thousand hesitated before ten thousand.
The answer was obvious.
Strangely, Shamo Ke's hatred toward the Pan clan softened. Releasing Dong Xi meant little. A mediocre general changed nothing.
The true matter lay ahead.
Shamo Ke let attendants remove his rattan armor. The foolish expression vanished. His eyes lifted, deep in thought.
North was sealed. South was the Yuan River, dominated by Jiangdong ships. East was Yunmeng Marsh, unreachable without boats.
West led back to the mountains.
For a moment, doubt flickered.
Then it was extinguished.
Being King of the Five Streams was nothing compared to the office of Hanshou Magistrate personally granted by Lord Xuande. Through that post lay a future the Wuling barbarians had sought for centuries.
The decision was sealed.
Orders were sent. The other barbarian kings were summoned.
The Five Streams were only the largest tribe. Others existed. Each had received kindness from Mister Ma. Each served Xuande. Each obeyed Shamo Ke.
The choice was simple.
Fight or flee.
They chose to fight.
"Jiangdong wants to sit on our necks. Let them see if they have the strength."
Thus Pan Zhang discovered that his textbook siege tactic was ignored entirely.
Day after day, Shamo Ke cursed at the front. Jiangdong soldiers looked back repeatedly, only to see nothing inspiring beneath the banner.
Pan Zhang never appeared again.
The encirclement tightened slowly.
Numbers prevailed. Step by step, with archers and steady advance, Shamo Ke was forced to abandon the outer walls and retreat into the inner defenses.
Calling it an inner city was generous. It was rubble, houses, and desperation.
At this moment, another Jiangdong general stepped forward.
Han Dang.
Dong Xi held no authority. Pan Zhang did not command all troops.
"Yigong," Pan Zhang cupped his hands, casual to the point of disrespect.
Han Dang frowned.
He had served the Sun family across generations. He had seen northern armies. He knew what true generals were.
Pan Zhang, in his eyes, was a vanguard at best.
But now was not the time.
"The enemy has exhausted their means," Han Dang said calmly. "I will lead from the front. Wengui will follow."
Pan Zhang forced a smile.
Han Dang nodded once.
Morale was cultivated simply.
Rest. Food. Timing. The banner advancing.
When the low walls were flattened, Han Dang raised his ring pommel saber.
The signal was absolute.
Veterans roared and advanced.
Pan Zhang followed.
Shamo Ke watched, eyes bright.
"So Jiangdong truly has tiger generals."
Pan Zhang did not exist in his gaze.
Han Dang advanced silently. The clash was brutal.
Experience met ferocity.
Neither yielded.
The battle ground on.
Then, from the south, chaos erupted.
A young general charged through the ranks, shouting with a voice sharp as steel.
"Ma Zhong is here. Who dares fight."
The battlefield shifted.
And fate turned its page.