335.
After the Fires of Taiping**
How much time had passed?
Though the flames of Taiping had died down, the intoxication of victory still lingered.
The fire was gone, but the fire remained in people's eyes.
After the Battle of Taiping, Chen Youliang's Eastern Campaign truly began, aimed straight at Yingtian.
Yingtian was meant to be the final battle.
If Yingtian fell, Zhu Yuanzhang would collapse.
Taiping was both an ending and a beginning.
The gate opened at Taiping led directly to the next gate.
Chen Youliang sent envoys to Zhang Shicheng.
The proposal was simple:
apply simultaneous pressure on Yingtian from both sides and strike at the heart of Zhu Yuanzhang.
As if he had been waiting for this moment, Zhang Shicheng did not move at all.
He seemed to hope that the two sides would exhaust each other in mutual destruction.
He acted as though he had no interest in contending for the realm.
Simultaneous pressure is simple—and deadly.
While one side presses forward, the other blocks the escape.
The simpler the tactic, the more ruthless its success.
Soon, the gate of the realm would open.
An opening gate is a road for some, and a grave for others.
The envoys crossed the river and came quietly to Zhang Shicheng's camp, like a hidden dragon lying in wait.
The encampment reeked of dust and blood.
Zhang Shicheng's banner hung tattered in the wind—
the cloth worn thin, knots loosened in places.
Yet beneath that banner, the soldiers' eyes were sharp.
They did not dream.
They fought to survive, and they were ready to fight again to keep surviving.
Zhang Shicheng's command tent felt less like a banquet hall and more like a council chamber filled with cold calculation.
He had survived and maintained his power this long for a reason.
He harbored no dream of kingship.
He drew his blade only when it brought profit.
A blade drawn without profit was, to him, not a weapon—but a noose around the neck.
When Chen Youliang's envoy respectfully presented the formal letter, Zhang Shicheng slowly set his cup down and glanced at him.
Weariness and reluctance lay together on his face.
The weariness of one who had endured too long, and the reluctance of one who still had an ending left.
"I have heard Chen Youliang's theory of the realm."
The envoy spoke courteously, though within that courtesy lay the sharp scent of persuasion.
"If Yingtian is pressed simultaneously, Zhu Yuanzhang's fleets and land forces will be divided.
If you support His Majesty's intent, your path forward will widen."
Zhang Shicheng did not smile.
His hand slowly tightened around the armrest of his chair.
The wood creaked.
Lowering his voice, he said,
"Once before, your lord offered me aid. I have not forgotten that favor."
The words acknowledged an old debt—
and acknowledgment is often the first step toward severing it.
"But favor and war are not the same."
The envoy's expression wavered.
The representative continued.
"Surely Lord Zhang understands what His Majesty's Eastern Campaign signifies.
Join the simultaneous pressure.
When Yingtian falls, rewards and status will follow."
Zhang Shicheng's eyebrow lifted slightly.
What followed was not hesitation, but cold mockery.
"Rewards? Status?"
He rolled the cup lightly between his fingers.
"You speak of such things now?
With people, land, and cities piled atop blood—what rank is left to discuss?
Survival alone would be something to be grateful for."
A coarse laugh edged his voice.
"If Chen Youliang hungers for the throne, the benefit threatens my own neck instead.
If there is no gain for me, I will not help him.
Cooperation only means we do not fight each other."
The envoy's face hardened.
The representative unfolded oaths and long documents—
pages filled with promises of silver, trade rights, port administration.
These were Chen Youliang's calculations.
Zhang Shicheng was a merchant by nature.
They hoped to weigh down his unease with silver.
He took the papers and read them slowly.
A faint smile flickered across his lips—then vanished.
A smile was not a sign of profit.
Such detailed promises meant the other side was confident of victory.
Those certain of victory treat promises lightly.
From one corner of the tent, an old advisor spoke softly.
"My lord, do you not fear the spearhead of the Goryeo forces?
They excel at ambush and traps, but their structure and supply falter in prolonged war.
An alliance with Chen Youliang may yield short-term gains, but the lifespan of those gains is uncertain."
Zhang Shicheng closed his eyes, then opened them.
"Exactly. And that is what I fear.
They are strong enough, yet merely tools of Chen Youliang."
He set the papers down.
"If I become a tool as well, my power will scatter.
I only wish to protect my cities and my people.
If I offer them up to him, tell me—after the war ends, will he truly recognize my rule over them?"
The envoy let out a brief smile—generous in form, calculating in substance.
"If you promise cooperation alone,
if instead of full mobilization you commit only part of your forces to disperse the enemy's edge,
then after the war, redistribution will follow.
His Majesty will guarantee your independence."
Temptation always arrives bearing the word "guarantee."
Zhang Shicheng flinched—then swallowed it.
His hand wandered restlessly over an old map, fingers lingering at its edges.
For years, he had balanced the two sides, alternately supporting whichever seemed weaker, ensuring neither could recover fully.
That balance had been his strategy.
After Taiping, the weight had tilted.
Now Zhu Yuanzhang should have been the one begging for aid—
yet it was Chen Youliang offering cooperation.
The map recorded every shift of recent years:
cities fallen, roads severed, supply lines altered, names erased.
Zhang Shicheng remembered how his own power had wavered in the west and south.
The real question lay beyond Yingtian.
Once Chen Youliang defeated Zhu Yuanzhang, why would he not turn his blade?
Cooperation becomes reversal,
and reversal becomes a blade at the throat.
Zhang Shicheng spoke slowly.
"Very well…"
He deliberately stretched the pause, measuring the other man's breath.
"I will move first and provide support.
But I will not commit all my forces."
He counted the terms on his fingers.
"I will send only part of my troops.
I will disrupt supply routes.
And I will provide intelligence on the battlefield."
Then he lowered his voice further.
"My demand is clear.
After Yingtian is taken, do not touch my lands, my people, or my army."
He fixed his gaze on the envoy.
"If that promise is broken, I will move in my own way."
Confusion flickered across the envoy leader's face.
He recorded the terms, knowing this decision was beyond his authority.
Still, the message had to be delivered.
They understood:
simultaneous pressure is deadliest when swift, dulled when delayed.
Zhang Shicheng's hesitation was tactical delay—
delay that fractured Chen Youliang's timetable.
In war, fractures bleed.
Before the envoys departed, Zhang Shicheng held a brief council with his aides.
His voice was low and firm.
"I must protect my people and my cities."
He took a breath.
"Chen Youliang will soon dream of kingship.
Once crowned, he will reshape everything at the root.
He will even forget that he ever proposed cooperation."
A bitter smile followed.
"Joining hands with him brings temporary gain.
After that, it may become the blade that cuts my flesh."
An aide asked carefully,
"Then will our cooperation be merely symbolic?"
Zhang Shicheng nodded.
"Yes. Symbolic.
A struggle among three warlords will not last long."
He pressed a corner of the map with his fingertip.
"And when the moment comes, I will not step forward.
That is my strategy."
The envoys took note of the conditions.
Even splitting Zhu Yuanzhang's forces would shift the war.
As they left, Zhang Shicheng climbed to a high vantage point and looked toward Taiping.
The battlefield's flames were gone, but distant torches still flickered—
festival lights.
Festival fires burn the heart longer than fires of war.
A cold smile touched Zhang Shicheng's lips.
It was not the smile of victory, but of calculation—
a choice made to protect himself, his people, and his cities.
Clean.
Cruel.
He accepted that cruelty.
After the envoys departed, chill returned to the tent.
The decision brought brief calm—and a shadow across his brow.
One agreement changes the flow of war.
One hesitation decides thousands of lives.
He knew this.
And still, he chose.
Every calculation has its price.
Zhang Shicheng chose to pay it.
Chen Youliang's eastern advance began amid thunderous cheers on one front,
and slipped cautiously into uneasy alliance on another.
The torches of Taiping swayed above the river.
Their trembling light stretched onward—
into the night at Yingtian.