321.
Xu Da's Fury
As dawn fog spread across the fields, Xu Da rode back to the main camp.
Less than two hours had passed since he'd gone out to inspect the scouts.
He still believed he was controlling the pace of the war.
The cautious man wins—that conviction held up his stride.
The more prepared the enemy, he thought, the longer you watch, the slower you cut.
But when he reached the camp entrance, his horse stopped.
The flags were moving though there was no wind.
On the cloth were red handprints—smeared, not stamped.
As if someone had brushed past and left blood behind.
"What… is that smell."
Xu Da muttered.
The officer behind him reined in and covered his nose.
"Blood, Commander."
Xu Da dismounted and walked into the headquarters.
At first he assumed it was simply a night raid.
To him, a night raid meant one thing: failure of vigilance.
But the moment he lifted the tent flap, his face froze.
Blood had pooled up to his ankles.
The lamps were out.
In their place remained only eyes—glinting in the dark.
The eyes of the dead merely reflected light.
The eyes of the living avoided it.
Inside the command tent, the officers and advisors he prized lay tangled together.
Some had died gripping swords, others died holding brushes.
On the table, an order bearing his name lay soaked in blood—half-burned.
The paper's edges had curled upward, charred dry; the center of the text was eaten black.
Beside it, a severed hand lay on the ground.
The fingers were still shaped as if clutching something.
"..."
The thought struck him:
If I'd remained here, I would have died.
For a long while, Xu Da could not speak.
His lips trembled.
Blood seeped into his boots; the leather shone slick.
When blood mixed with dirt, the ground became faintly slippery beneath his soles.
That slipperiness enraged him.
On a battlefield, even the earth betrays men.
"This isn't an inside job."
His voice split low.
"It's Park Seong-jin."
The soldiers nearby flinched.
No one dared meet his eyes.
They feared his rage—
and in his face they saw the place where certainty had been torn out.
Xu Da turned to one side of the tent.
A phrase had been written in blood:
〈今日未是死期也〉
Today is not yet the day to die.
It looked like a joke.
A joke written in the blood of the dead.
It sent a cold fear crawling up the spine.
Yet in Xu Da, fury rose first.
He had come this far in.
He had stepped on this ground.
He had left empty-handed.
Xu Da gripped the hand of an officer he loved.
Blood slipped between his fingers.
"…So he came all the way in."
The words leaked out with his breath.
"At night—into the very heart of my camp."
His shoulders began to shake.
At first it was anger.
Then shame and fear shoved their way in and took its place.
And fear sharpened—
because the writing meant he could come again.
Xu Da crushed the tremor down and shouted as if in seizure.
"Light the fires! Wake the whole army! We advance at dawn!"
Officers rushed, scattering the orders.
But the soldiers could not meet one another's eyes.
Fires caught.
Drums sounded.
Yet inside the noise, the spirit had drained away.
Xu Da stood in the center of headquarters and seized the hilt with both hands.
"Park Seong-jin!"
His shout tore through the dawn fog.
"You killed my men.
Today, I will flip your fortress over—stone and all!"
He threw a bloodstained dagger up into the air.
It flashed once in the light—then fell at his feet.
At that moment, the first sunlight spread across the fields.
Red blood and sunlight mixed together, and the entire plain looked as if it were burning.
Xu Da's Hasty Order to Storm the City
Before dawn fully spread across the field, Xu Da was already standing at the center of the camp.
The smell of blood and smoke still hadn't lifted.
He hadn't slept, and sleep wouldn't come.
"There's no reason to drag time out."
His voice was low, but clean-cut.
He looked as if his fury had vanished—
and that, more than rage, made the soldiers uneasy.
"The enemy is locked inside the city.
Outside is a trap.
Inside is breath."
An advisor stepped forward carefully.
"Commander, we should scout further—"
"No."
Xu Da cut him off.
Short. Fast. Absolute.
"Scouting is already finished.
The result is right there."
He raised his hand and pointed toward the city.
In the fog, Chizhou stood quietly.
So quiet it looked like an empty fortress.
"Traps grow by feeding on waiting.
If we wait, they deepen."
He stepped forward.
The plates of his armor struck each other, a brief metallic click.
"Move the siege wagons forward.
Battering rams to the gate.
Stone-throwers target the walls."
Commanders exchanged glances.
Someone opened his mouth—then closed it.
"Spread the cavalry left and right.
Avoid the marsh. Ride the forest edge."
An officer asked, "The chance of traps—"
"We accept it."
Xu Da's answer was not calculation.
It was decision.
"This is a fight we lose if we add more to it.
If we can't shake the city today, tomorrow we will be the ones shaken."
He paused.
Then, in a voice even lower, he added—
"Park Seong-jin used the night.
We will use the day."
At that, the drums sounded.
A short, sharp signal.
Siege wheels began to turn.
The iron head of the ram glistened in the early light.
The soldiers' steps leaned into a single direction.
Xu Da looked once more at the city.
It remained quiet.
It offered no answer.
"Move."
The command was simple.
But inside that simplicity, one thing had gone missing—
Patience.
At that moment, the river and fields of Chizhou held their breath again.
This time, it wasn't a trap—
It was silence waiting for human haste.