"It is not the sword that breaks men, but the hand that holds it too long." — Saying from the Northlands
Snow fell again, thin as spider silk. The fortress of Moquan stood, but only barely — a jagged scar against the white ridges.
Inside its battered walls, the rebels tended to wounds and buried the last of their dead. Xu Liang lay feverish with a festering shoulder. Yi Fen, sleepless for days, was binding blades with boiled cloth. Huai Shan stood alone at the tower, watching the same path where Han Yu's army had once marched.
But now, silence.
No siege. No soldiers. Nothing.
Only emptiness—and that frightened him more than the war drums ever had.
That night, the air turned warm.Too warm.
A scout named Le Gao returned after dusk, panting and pale. "Riders," he gasped, "from the east. Not Imperials. Not ours. I saw crests — green and silver. Mounted, maybe twenty at least."
Yi Fen reached for his cleaver. "Mercenaries?"
But Huai's brow furrowed. "No," he said. "This is bait. Be ready."
By morning, the riders were at the gates.
They did not attack. They waited.
Their leader was draped in heavy wool and silk, face obscured by a deer-hide veil. When the gates finally opened, he entered alone — unarmed — and bowed low before Huai Shan.
"I am Lord Yao Hensheng," the man said, voice smooth as lacquer. "Son of the late Marquis of Tongxian. I bring no army, only a proposal."
Huai did not return the bow. "We are not in the mood for games."
Lord Yao smiled thinly. "Good. Then let us speak as men of war. You are winning battles you should not be winning. Which means soon, greater men than Han Yu will come. And you will not hold."
He glanced at the broken walls.
"You need food. Iron. Timber. Gold. And maps. I have all of them."
Yi Fen folded his arms. "Why would a noble help peasants?"
"I was exiled," Yao said simply. "For trying to poison my brother. I failed. He has the ear of the Eastern Court. I have only this." He gestured behind him, to the banners of his riders.
"I cannot return to my land, but I can burn his down. You want an empire? I want revenge. Help me, and I help you."
Silence followed.
Then Huai spoke. "We don't fight for nobles."
"You fight to win," Yao replied, eyes cold. "And I can help you do that."
That night, a council formed. Some argued to accept the offer — others feared a trap. But in the flickering torchlight, a deeper wound surfaced.
Ren, the brother of the youth Huai had executed days before, stood. "We kill our own," he said. "We burn boys and lie to widows. Is this a war of justice… or just a prettier kind of tyranny?"
Huai said nothing at first.
Then he walked to the map, laid a finger on the eastern border.
"This was where I buried my father," he said. "Bled to death outside a tax office. I swore I'd never beg a noble for anything again. But maybe this isn't begging. Maybe it's buying a knife."
He turned to the room. "And we'll aim it ourselves."
At dawn, Huai met Lord Yao outside the gates.
He extended his hand.
"Ride with us," he said. "But know this — I am not your puppet. And if you betray us, your head will hang beside the generals you hate."
Lord Yao grinned. "I would expect no less."
And so, the pact was sealed.
The wolf had opened its gates — and let in the vulture.