NOVEL WEB Chapter 222: The Fifth Brother
"The southern ridge is too exposed."
Sun Longzi leaned over the lacquered map table, one hand braced against the wood while the other moved a carved ivory marker into position. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, ink smudged faintly along his wrist where he'd been noting troop shifts. Across from him, his father—Duke Sun, otherwise known as General Sun—stood silent, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes narrowed with calculation rather than disagreement.
"If Baiguang presses along the flatlands between the Lin marsh and the rice terraces," Longzi continued, pointing to the area on the map, "we'll have no cover. No elevation. And it will be open slaughter."
General Sun exhaled slowly. "Then what do you propose?"
"We can't stop them there." Longzi flicked another token forward, this one stained black. "But we can slow them down. Have the villagers burn their own fields before they reach them. Strip the land of anything that might feed or hide an army. I'll leave traps in the furrows—metal caltrops soaked in dung. Infection will spread faster than their healers can treat."
His father's brow ticked upward. "You want to starve the south?"
"No," Longzi said coolly. "I want to bleed the enemy before they even draw a sword."
Silence settled between them—thick with approval neither voiced.
"The northern slope is stable," Longzi added, gesturing toward the curve of terrain just past Mount Tian. "But the south needs reinforcements. Move General Wei's third battalion out of standby. We'll station them here." He tapped the board sharply. "Any slower, and we'll lose control of the valley pass."
General Sun gave a slow nod. "I'll issue the orders tonight."
There was no praise. No thanks. Just the rustle of cloth as Longzi sat back and began scribbling down figures—supply weights, weapon allocations, casualty estimates. The brush in his hand moved with sharp economy, each stroke a silent dismissal of the hours of sleep he wouldn't get.
"You've done well," his father said quietly with a nod of his head. "I'm proud of what you have done with the family name."
Longzi didn't look up. "I'm simply doing what must be done."
A pause, heavier than most. Then: "You sound like your brother."
Longzi's jaw twitched, but he said nothing.
Then came the sound of the door sliding open without warning.
"Longzi," said a voice that didn't belong in a war room. "Look at how handsome you look when you're serious."
He didn't look up. "Mother."
Duchess Sun swept into the room like a tide of perfume and pressure, her robes crimson and her hair coiled in ornate spirals that made her look more dowager than wife. Behind her, standing just far enough to be polite and close enough to be noticed, was Lady Huai.
Longzi's quill paused. His knuckles tensed around the shaft.
"Lady Huai has come to join us for dinner," his mother said, voice too light to be innocent. "And while we're all together, I thought it would be the perfect time to discuss something… joyful."
"Not tonight," he replied without inflection. "Unfortunately I don't have the time to spare."
"Nonsense." She moved closer. "It's an auspicious day. And I've already spoken with the court astrologers for five ideal dates in the coming months. Nothing elaborate, just something quiet. Dignified. Before you ride off into battle."
He looked at Lady Huai for the first time.
She didn't bow. She didn't smile.
Instead, her gaze wandered across the map table. She studied the tokens, the marked valleys, the small Xs drawn in red ink where bodies were expected to fall. Her hands were clasped loosely in front of her, but her fingers were not still. She wasn't pretending to be docile—she was listening, analyzing, reading the war like she expected to survive it.
"I don't mind a quiet wedding," she said. "But I won't settle for being forgotten. If I marry a war hero, I expect to be remembered beside him."
Longzi stood, finally. The air in the room shifted.
"This is not the time for weddings."
"Then when?" the Duchess demanded, her eyes flashing. "When you're dead? When your body is returned to me without title or heir? Don't you dare shame this family by refusing what has already been arranged."
Duke Sun remained still. Watching. Measuring.
"You want an heir?" Longzi said evenly. "I have four younger brothers. If none of them are suitable, you are welcome to have a fifth."
"Longzi—"
"But if I am to die tomorrow," he continued, "I will not do it bound to a woman I do not care for, dressed in colors I did not choose, beneath banners that mean nothing to me."
Lady Huai raised a brow. "So you dislike me?"
"I don't know you," he replied. "But I know myself. And I won't build a legacy from a compromise."
His mother's breath caught—offended, wounded, and furious all at once.
Lady Huai stepped forward. "And if I said I'd rather die remembered as your widow than live as another court ornament?"
He met her gaze with no warmth. "Then I suggest you pick a different war."
Her jaw tightened, but she didn't speak again.
Neither did his mother. Not immediately.
"You've always been stubborn," she said at last. "But even stubborn sons bend to dynasty. Eventually."
Longzi walked past her, past Lady Huai, past the crushed scent of hibiscus oil that clung to the hallway walls. He stopped by the door and turned.
"If I win this war, I'll choose my own bride."
"And if you don't?" she asked coldly.
He looked at her, not unkindly. Just clear.
"Then none of this matters."
He stepped out into the courtyard before she could answer, the chill air wrapping around him like a second skin. Above, smoke curled from the brazier roofs. Beyond the walls, the world was already turning toward war.
He paused near a column where shadow met stone. For a moment, he closed his eyes.
He wasn't afraid of dying. But he refused to die as someone else's victory.
Inside, voices rose again—his mother's sharp, Lady Huai's steady. But he didn't turn back.
He reached for his cloak. The night was waiting. So was the map.