295.
Ying Tian Prefecture (應天府) — Zhu Yuanzhang's Response
The rain over present-day Nanjing had just stopped.
The dirt roads of Ying Tian Prefecture were thick with mud.
Beneath the city walls, civilians moved in long lines, while carts loaded with grain creaked past.
Requisitioned timber swayed, and stretchers carrying the wounded stumbled forward.
War was no longer distant.
It had already seeped deep into the city.
Zhu Yuanzhang sat before a low table.
There were no ornate decorations.
Only a simple wooden desk and several worn military texts.
A freshly delivered report lay before him.
He did not read it immediately.
Instead, he broke the seal and brought the paper to his nose.
It was almost ritualistic—
a habit of sensing events before judging them.
The parchment smelled of dampness, dust, and the faint odor of horse sweat.
"News from Jiangnan?" he asked.
Liu Ji (劉基), standing beside him, nodded.
"There has been movement in Chen Youliang's camp."
"A Goryeo envoy has visited him."
Zhu Yuanzhang's hand paused.
His gaze remained fixed on the floor.
"Goryeo…"
Only then did he unfold the report.
It was not long.
Between its lines lay many unspoken things.
He read one line, then stopped before moving on.
"They spoke of balance."
Liu Ji answered softly.
"A world divided into three."
"A logic meant to prevent a great war through mutual restraint."
Zhu Yuanzhang smiled—
without sound.
"The words of men who send armies while claiming to prevent war."
He folded the report and placed it on the table.
"And Chen Youliang's response?"
"He did not answer immediately."
"He is buying time."
"The envoys have been detained."
Zhu Yuanzhang nodded.
"That suits him. He never decides anything cleanly."
"He's lived his life dragging matters out."
He rose and walked to the window, looking down into the city.
Civilians carried sacks of rice.
Their faces were heavy with exhaustion.
They did not flee—
because they had nowhere to go.
"Liu Ji."
"Yes, my lord."
"If the world were divided into three, who would draw their blade first?"
Liu Ji considered, then replied.
"The one most insecure.
The one who gained their place the latest."
Zhu Yuanzhang shook his head, smiling faintly.
"No."
He spoke while gazing outside.
"It would be the one believed to have no desire."
"The one who convinces others he has no selfish heart."
Liu Ji's eyes narrowed.
"You mean Goryeo?"
"Goryeo does have desire," Zhu Yuanzhang said decisively.
"But not for land."
"They desire order."
"An old order, from a previous age."
"They are neither arrogant nor reckless,
nor indulgent in excess—unlike the others."
Turning back to the table, he continued.
"Chen Youliang needs legitimacy."
"Goryeo needs balance."
"They will trade what they lack."
"An agreement will be reached."
"Which means Zhang Shicheng will be caught off guard."
Liu Ji asked quietly,
"Then what should we do?"
Zhu Yuanzhang did not answer at once.
He picked up a military text—Sunzi's Art of War—
but did not open it.
"We say nothing."
"…Say nothing?"
"For now."
He lifted his head.
"While the three of them fight with words,
we gather people."
He glanced once more at the report.
"The leader of the Goryeo envoys—Park Seongjin, was it?"
"Yes."
"His words were too solid."
"He entered negotiation with answers already decided."
"Makes one wonder whether Chen Youliang might be swayed."
Zhu Yuanzhang muttered to himself.
"A general who saves his blade is dangerous."
"More dangerous than one who draws it freely."
Liu Ji lowered his voice.
"Should we restrain him?"
Zhu Yuanzhang shook his head.
"Not yet."
He brought the report close to the fire—
then lowered it again.
He did not burn it.
"Let us see how far he can go."
"With so few troops, what does he think he can accomplish?"
He looked out the window once more.
Clouds drifted slowly over Ying Tian Prefecture.
"A world divided into three never lasts."
His voice was low.
"In the end, it becomes one—
or two perish and one remains."
"The question is who endures to the end."
"History has never spared those who claimed they would stop fighting once the war was over."
The wind stirred.
The lanterns swayed.
That night, Ying Tian Prefecture was quiet.
But the war that began with words had already reached its gates.
Pingjiang Prefecture (平江府) — Zhang Shicheng's Response
In Pingjiang's council chamber, the smell of iron came before incense.
Account ledgers lay open on the table instead of maps.
Beside them sat half-open chests filled with silver ingots.
Their pale shine flickered in the lamplight.
Zhang Shicheng was not looking at the silver.
He was studying the numbers.
"So it's risen again," he muttered.
"The cost of provisions has doubled in three months."
The finance officer answered at once.
"Our forces have grown."
"When men are gathered with money, prices inevitably rise."
Zhang Shicheng snorted.
"Prices didn't rise."
"The price of men did."
He closed the ledger and looked up.
"So. What else?"
A general stepped forward.
"A Goryeo envoy has visited Chen Youliang."
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
"Goryeo?"
Zhang Shicheng laughed—short and rough.
"Why are those bastards sniffing around someone else's yard?"
The general continued.
"They spoke of a world divided into three."
"Of balance."
"They extended a hand to Chen Youliang."
Zhang Shicheng slammed his palm on the table.
"Ha!"
The silver ingots rattled.
"Balance?"
"That's a word poor men use first."
He leaned forward.
"If the world is divided into three—who loses?"
No one answered.
Zhang Shicheng answered himself.
"The one who spent the money."
He tapped the ledger.
"I bound men with silver. With gold."
"And now they speak of balance?"
His voice dropped.
"Why should I accept that?"
The finance officer spoke cautiously.
"If Goryeo supports Chen Youliang, the front lines may stretch."
Zhang Shicheng shook his head.
"That doesn't matter."
"What matters is that they're shaking the board."
He rose and walked to the wall map of Jiangnan.
Running his hand along the rivers, he said,
"A river does not flow in three."
"It always gathers into one."
"If it doesn't, it floods."
He struck the map hard.
"I can handle a flood."
"But I won't tolerate someone else cutting the river apart."
A general asked,
"Then what will you do?"
Zhang Shicheng turned.
There was no calculation in his eyes—
only anger.
"We go straight at it."
He spoke sharply.
"Send men to Chen Youliang."
"Find out exactly what Goryeo said."
"And Goryeo?"
Zhang Shicheng sneered.
"Men who shake the board with words
need to be shown what happens when words stop working."
He looked to the finance officer.
"Release the silver."
"How much—"
"Don't hold back."
His voice was cold.
"Buy everything money can buy."
"Soldiers."
"Grain."
"Rumors."
He added quietly,
"For those who speak of balance,
we'll show them what happens when balance breaks."
The meeting ended.
As the others left, Zhang Shicheng remained alone.
He picked up a single silver ingot.
It was heavy.
Certain.
Real.
"Words pass like wind," he muttered,
"but silver has weight—and it trades."
The ingot struck the table with a dull thud.
That night, Pingjiang was loud.
When money begins to move,
people follow.
Zhang Shicheng knew this well—
and had no intention of hiding it.