After leaving the prefect's residence, Baqi's attendant did not dare linger for even a moment. He fled the city in panic, regrouped with the men who had been searching for the prince, and hurried back to Wuyan under cover of night.
By the time they arrived, daylight had already broken.
Wu Yan had not slept at all. He sat restlessly in his tent, unease gnawing at him.
"I wonder… is my son still alive?"
"Your Majesty," a guard announced as he entered, hesitating, "the men sent to find the prince have returned. However…"
"However what?" Wu Yan demanded anxiously.
At that moment, the attendant rushed in. His clothes were disheveled, his face streaked with tears. In his arms, he carried two severed heads, with a woman's garment draped over them.
"Your Majesty!" he cried, collapsing to his knees. "The prince… the prince has been killed!"
Wu Yan froze, staring wide-eyed at the grisly sight.
"My son is dead…?" he murmured in disbelief, before suddenly snapping back. "But why is Baqi dead as well? Speak! Tell me everything!"
For him, his son's death—though painful—was not entirely unexpected. But Baqi's death made no sense.
Through sobs, the attendant recounted everything: how they searched for the prince, how they traced the trail to Yuyang, and how Zhang Xin humiliated and executed Baqi. Finally, he held up the woman's clothing.
"That young commander also said… if Your Majesty cannot teach your son properly, you should put on women's clothing and learn from them."
Wu Yan trembled violently. His face turned pale, his vision darkened—and he collapsed on the spot.
"Your Majesty!"
The attendants rushed forward, pressing his philtrum and patting his chest until he regained consciousness.
"Zhang Xin… that brat… has gone too far!" Wu Yan gasped, fury blazing in his eyes. "Summon the tribal leaders at once! I will attack Yuyang!"
Before long, the leaders of the various tribes gathered.
After hearing the full account, they were all enraged.
Killing the prince? That could be accepted—after all, the victor had the right to deal with captives. The Wuhuan respected strength.
Killing an envoy? Rare, but not unheard of.
But to humiliate them like this—sending women's clothing as an insult—was intolerable.
"Your Majesty, give the order! We will follow you through fire and water and raze Yuyang to the ground!"
"Yes, give the order!"
The leaders shouted in unison.
"Wait."
An older tribal chief stepped forward. "Your Majesty, how many troops does Yuyang have? Have we confirmed this?"
Wu Yan paused and looked to the attendant.
"We inquired upon entering the city," the attendant replied. "The Yellow Turbans brought over five thousand people, but many are craftsmen and families. There are about four thousand soldiers capable of fighting."
"Four thousand…" The elder frowned. "With a fortified city, our forces alone cannot take it."
The enthusiasm of the other leaders faltered.
Even if they mobilized every able-bodied man, they could barely gather two thousand troops. Sending two thousand against four thousand defenders in a city siege would be futile.
"Then we borrow troops," Wu Yan said decisively. "From the other three tribal leaders."
The elder hesitated. "In this bitter cold, they may not agree."
Wu Yan clenched his teeth. "Then I will give them my treasures. I will provide all provisions for the campaign. And after we take the city, I will claim none of the spoils!"
For Wu Yan, this was a battle he could not avoid.
Among the Wuhuan, leadership was not hereditary—it depended on strength and prestige. If he endured such humiliation without retaliation, his authority would crumble.
Moreover, Zhang Xin had threatened to attack in spring. By then, the tribes would be occupied with farming and raising livestock, leaving them even more vulnerable.
Zhang Xin's move had forced him into a corner—attack now in winter, or face disaster later.
With no better choice, Wu Yan prepared supplies and sent envoys to seek aid.
—
The envoy soon arrived in Liucheng and met Qiu Liju, presenting the treasures.
After hearing the request, Qiu Liju stroked his beard thoughtfully. "The Wuhuan of the four commanderies are of one blood. I should help… but the weather is harsh, and my troops lack provisions. I am willing, but unable."
"My king has said," the envoy replied quickly, "that if you send troops, he will provide all provisions."
"Oh?"
Qiu Liju's eyes flickered.
Wu Yan's desperation was clear. That meant opportunity.
Feigning reluctance, he sighed. "I am old and frail. I fear I cannot personally lead troops."
Understanding immediately, the envoy smiled. "Your Majesty need not trouble yourself. You may send a son or nephew. If Yuyang falls, my king will not take a single coin—all spoils will belong to you."
Qiu Liju weighed the offer. With Wu Yan supplying provisions, there was little risk. Even failure would cost him nothing—and he had already gained treasures.
"It is acceptable," he finally said. "I will prepare troops and depart on an auspicious day."
The envoy's face lit up. "How many soldiers will Your Majesty send?"
"Three thousand."
The envoy hesitated. "Could there be more?"
Qiu Liju shook his head. "The New Year approaches. The warriors will not be pleased to march. And we must prepare for spring work. Three thousand is the limit."
Then he added coolly, "If that is insufficient, take your gifts back."
"Three thousand will do!" the envoy said quickly. "I trust Your Majesty will keep your word."
Qiu Liju laughed. "I have ruled Liaoxi for decades. When have I ever broken a promise?"
Reassured, the envoy hurried back to report to Wu Yan.