Chapter 38: The Naming of the Mark

**Chapter 37: Ceding the Four Western Cities**

“Mr. Yang Xiu, please come in.”
Xiao Fu Ren Kong Tong greeted him at the palace gate, her smile polished and practiced—just enough warmth to be polite, none to be sincere.

Inside the hall, nearly every member of the Li family had gathered. This wasn’t just a diplomatic meeting—it was a wedding treaty between city-states, grand as a festival. Even the main avenue into Zulong City had been decked out with lanterns, glowing like fireflies against the dusk.

“Where is the Lady Sovereign?” Yang Xiu stepped forward, his voice smooth, almost affectionate. “It’s been a while. Our troops from Lingxiao have missed her dearly.”

He came alone—only two guards trailing behind him. The rest waited outside the courtyard, even though they stood within enemy territory. Yet Yang Xiu didn’t flinch. He moved through the hall like he was visiting an old friend’s home, calm, unbothered, utterly at ease.

“The servants are likely dressing her now,” said Xiao Fu Ren Kong Tong.

“Ah, good, good,” Yang Xiu chuckled. “To be honest, we’re all a bit surprised by how obedient our Lady Sovereign has been. But then again—she *is* the Lady Sovereign. She’s willing to sacrifice everything for peace between our two cities, even… kneeling as a concubine. Hahahaha!”

His laughter echoed through the hall.

The Li family’s faces darkened.

No matter how you looked at it, the side that proposed peace was the one making concessions.

They’d expected a dignified envoy—someone respectful, measured. Instead, Yang Xiu had arrived with a smirk already tugging at his lips.

“This is the peace treaty,” Li Ying said, stepping forward. “Please review it. If there are no objections, sign it.”

Yang Xiu gave a half-bow—polite, but empty. A gesture, nothing more.

He took the scroll, scanned it quickly.

As he read, a soldier in a crimson chest brooch hurried over, whispering urgently into his ear.

Yang Xiu never touched the ink. Never picked up the brush. From the start, he hadn’t intended to sign. Not to seal it. Not to stamp it.

The soldier withdrew.

Yang Xiu frowned. He let out a sharp, grating *tch-tch-tch*, then set the brush down.

“Master Li,” he said, voice suddenly cold, “we’ve brought you so many gifts—proof of our sincerity. So why isn’t there a clause here about ceding the four western cities? And why haven’t we even been allowed to see the Lady Sovereign yet?”

Silence fell.

Then chaos erupted.

*Cede the four western cities?!*

The western four cities were the lifeblood of the Li domain—rich, fertile, second only to Zulong itself. Even if war dragged on, the Li family would never surrender them!

“What? Cede the four cities?!” Kong Tong snapped. “We agreed only on Li Yunzhi marrying into the Lingxiao Lin family as a concubine!”

This man—this *insolent* man—had no manners, no respect, and now he was spouting madness?

“Oh,” Yang Xiu said, feigning surprise. “Didn’t mention it before? Well, times change. Adding it now won’t hurt. I can wait.”

With that, he casually pulled a chair from the side of the hall and placed it right in the center of the room. Then he sat down—like he owned the place—and reached across a nearby Li daughter’s fruit tray, plucking a grape and popping it into his mouth without asking.

“Rude! How dare you treat our ancestral court like your own backyard!” roared a Li dragon-sword general.

“I’m representing the Lin family of Lingxiao in negotiations with your master,” Yang Xiu said, chewing slowly. “War? It’s decided in a few words. Peace? Also just a few words. But some little pawns—like you—don’t get to decide anything. And if you open your mouth too wide, you might end up watching your entire clan wiped out. So tell me, young general—do you want to be the one who starts the war? If not, shut up.”

He laughed, juice dripping from the corner of his mouth, seeds still clinging to his teeth.

Just moments ago, he’d worn a feathered crown, bowing with grace. Now he was a street thug—crude, loud, shameless.

“Excuse me,” said Commander Cheng, stepping forward. “Why this sudden interest in our western four cities? If this is the price of peace, then let us go to war. What’s the point of bargaining if we’re just handing over land?”

“Commander Cheng, Master Li,” Yang Xiu replied, tossing a date pit onto the floor, “from what I’ve heard, the East Xu Fortress has fallen. The Rebel Army is marching straight through, deep into the eastern plains of Li Chuan. Your granaries? They’ll be looted clean. *Ugh.* These dates are terrible.”

Li Ying’s face hardened.

Kong Tong’s eyes widened.

They’d only just learned the news themselves. Yang Xiu had just arrived from the west—he couldn’t possibly know about the fall of East Xu!

Someone had leaked it.

That soldier—was he the one who told Yang Xiu? And did he use that knowledge to twist the negotiation?

But how? Even the Zulong army hadn’t received word yet.

“You just said yourself,” Li Ying said, voice low but steady, “war or peace is decided in a breath. You demand we give up cities—because of rumors about rebels in the east? Let’s be clear: those rebels are just greedy mobs dreaming of power. Putting them down isn’t hard. So tell me—did you make this up on your own, trying to stir up war in the west? Or did your master never intend peace at all? If it’s the first, I’ll laugh at you like a fool. If it’s the second—tell your lord this: we don’t mind fighting to the last drop of blood.”

He spoke calmly. But the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.

Yang Xiu didn’t react.

He picked up the fruit tray again, popped another crystal grape into his mouth, and spat the skin carelessly onto the floor.

His disregard for the head of the house ignited fury.

The young dragon-sword general stood up, hand on his blade, ready to draw.

Li Ying remained outwardly composed—but inside, dread gnawed at him.

If Lingxiao attacked now, from the west, sweeping toward the rich four cities—Zulong would be caught between two fires. Their defenses would collapse. Land would be lost. Fast.

And worse—how could intelligence fail so badly?

The hall fell silent. Every eye turned to Li Ying.

Had East Xu really fallen?

The Li Chuan Plain was vast—a sea of grass and grain. Once the Rebel Army crossed it, they’d be wolves in the wild, devouring everything in their path. Reclaiming it would take years. And even then, the land would be scorched—no harvest, no tax, no strength.

“Master doesn’t answer… and lets this man behave like this,” someone whispered. “East Xu must be true.”

“Does that mean… we’re truly defenseless?” Another voice trembled.

Tension thickened. Murmurs rose. But no one dared act. Only the master could decide.

“Let me kill this dog,” the young general finally growled. “I swear, Lingxiao never meant peace. They sent this man just to humiliate us!”

Yang Xiu threw back his head and laughed—loud, cruel, unapologetic.

“Go ahead,” he sneered. “Come up and cut me down. If no one stops you, I’ll slit my own throat. But if someone *does* stop you—then kneel. Chew on the pits and peels I spit out. That’s the price of honor.”

He grinned, seed-stained and defiant.

The hall froze.