Zhou did not announce its advance.
It simply continued.
At dawn, the western watchtower fell. By noon, the river fort at Yan Crossing burned. By evening, smoke rose from three more strongpoints along the northern arc, each taken with the same patient efficiency: cannons first, then grenadiers, then disciplined ranks of musketeers advancing behind walls of smoke.
No banners waved. No war cries sounded.
Zhou moved like an accountant closing books.
In Ling An, the news arrived in fragments—breathless runners, scorched dispatches, officers with blood on their cuffs and nothing left to say. Each report carved another line from the map.
Wu Jin listened without interruption.
When the last messenger fell silent, he dismissed the court.
Only then did he allow his shoulders to sag.
"They're not rushing," he said quietly. "They're harvesting."
General Han nodded grimly. "They take fortresses intact when possible. Where resistance is stubborn, they level it and move on. They're leaving no anchor points behind us."
"They want us surrounded," Wu Jin said. "And starving."
"Not starving," Han corrected. "Contained."
Wu Jin closed his eyes.
Outside the palace walls, Ling An no longer sounded like a city. It sounded like a wound struggling not to breathe.
A guard entered, pale. "Your Majesty… Wu An requests audience."
Silence fell.
Wu Jin opened his eyes.
"Bring him."
The hall was half-lit when Wu An entered, soot still clinging to his armor, blood dark at the seams. He walked without ceremony, without escort. Shen Yue remained at the threshold, watching both brothers as if ready to intervene with her body if she had to.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Wu Jin said, "Zhou has taken six more fortresses."
Wu An nodded once. "They'll take twelve more before nightfall."
Wu Jin stiffened. "You sound certain."
"They're mapping fear," Wu An replied. "Once they know where it spreads fastest, they'll stop again."
"Why stop?" Wu Jin demanded.
Wu An looked at him.
"Because cities kill themselves when given enough time."
The words landed like a verdict.
Wu Jin exhaled sharply. "You came to tell me this?"
"No," Wu An said. "I came because we're out of room to pretend we're enemies."
A beat.
Wu Jin laughed once, harsh and brittle. "You almost killed me."
Wu An did not deny it.
"And now you want an alliance?"
"I want leverage," Wu An said. "You want survival. They overlap."
Wu Jin studied him—really studied him—and what he saw unsettled him more than the words. Wu An's stillness wasn't calm. It was absence. As if whatever once reacted had been pared away.
"And Father?" Wu Jin asked quietly.
Wu An's jaw tightened, the smallest movement betraying something buried deep.
"He's the center," Wu An said. "Zhou knows it. The South knows it. The Emperor knows it. The ritual is the gravity holding this together."
"And Shuang?"
Wu An didn't answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was flat. "She's not a hostage."
Wu Jin's hands curled into fists.
"Then she's complicit."
"No," Wu An said. "She's aligned."
The word chilled the room.
Wu Jin looked away. "If we work together, it's temporary."
"Everything is," Wu An replied.
A long silence followed.
Finally, Wu Jin said, "Zhou's next push will be through the Northern Causeway. If they take it, the inner city is cut in half."
"I know," Wu An said. "I've already placed men there."
Wu Jin snapped his head up. "You what?"
"The Black Tigers dug firing pits last night. Golden Dragons set crossfire positions on the rooftops. We'll make Zhou pay for every step."
Wu Jin stared at him.
"You did this without asking."
Wu An met his gaze. "You would've said no."
Wu Jin swallowed. Slowly, he nodded.
"Yes," he admitted. "I would have."
Another silence.
Then Wu Jin said, very softly, "Fine. We fight together. Against Zhou."
"And Father?" Wu An asked.
Wu Jin's eyes hardened. "After."
That answer satisfied neither of them.
In the north, Zhou's general surveyed the burning line of captured forts with calm approval. Engineers laid roads behind the army. Artillery crews cleaned barrels methodically. Grenadiers stacked black-powder pots like offerings.
"Send word," the general said. "The brothers have aligned."
An aide stiffened. "Shall we accelerate the siege, sir?"
"No," the general replied. "Let them believe unity changes anything."
He turned toward Ling An's distant glow.
"Pressure breaks alliances faster than blades."
Back in the tower, Wu Shuang felt the shift immediately.
Not fear.
Not alarm.
Coordination.
"They're standing together now," she said softly.
"Yes," the Lord Protector replied. "Good."
"You sound pleased."
"I am," he said. "When rivers meet, the flood deepens."
She rested her palm against the stone. Beneath it, something vast adjusted its posture.
"And when they come for you?" she asked.
The Lord Protector smiled, serene and terrible.
"They won't," he said. "They'll come for each other first."
Above, cannons thundered again as Zhou advanced another measured line.
Inside Ling An, two brothers prepared to fight side by side—
not as family,
not as allies,
but as men who understood that the world was closing in.
And somewhere between the war and the ritual, something patient waited to see which of them would break first.