432.

  News of Zhu Yuanzhang’s Capture — Chen Youliang Army Command

  The battle on Lake Poyang was not yet over, and the noise of war still rolled on from every direction.

  To the east, the crash of great ships colliding thundered across the water.

  To the west, cannon fire and the whine of arrows spread outward.

  At the center, shouts and screams rode the wind.

  Chen Youliang’s main command tent stood wrapped in white mist and gun smoke.

  The air inside was heavy with dampness, and the candles flickered low, pressed down by powder fumes.

  Inside, Chen Youliang gripped the map, reviewing reports from Zhen Cong, Zhu Deming, Wang Ren, and Yi Zhongbo, sorting judgment from chaos.

  “…Zhu Yuanzhang should still be near the center.”

  “If Zhang Shicheng presses in toward Ying Tian, the calculation grows more complex.”

  “The key is that man standing firm like a mountain.”

  “Pressure on the right wing is heavy—send support.”

  “Cannon losses are severe—have the assault units prioritize ships carrying artillery.”

  Orders did not stop.

  Each shift in the front moved the markings on the map with it.

  Red pegs were relocated.

  Black pegs twisted.

  Small flags toppled, then were set upright again.

  The weight of the realm swayed on the surface of the map.

  Then it happened.

  From outside the tent came the sound of ragged breathing.

  “Im—important report! Urgent report!”

  The flap was torn open as a blood-soaked messenger staggered inside.

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  Blood ran down his face, and an arrow graze had torn open his shoulder.

  Each breath brought froth bubbling at his throat.

  Chen Youliang answered briefly.

  “Speak.”

  The messenger dropped to his knees and forced out the words.

  “Zhu Yuanzhang—Zhu Yuanzhang has been taken prisoner!”

  The presence inside the tent fell silent in an instant.

  Moving hands froze.

  Speaking mouths closed.

  Time stretched, pressed thin.

  Even the fingers resting on the map did not move.

  The cannon fire outside felt distant.

  Only the messenger’s harsh breathing remained.

  From Chen Youliang’s hand, the wooden stylus slipped and fell.

  “…What did you just say?”

  The messenger, face drained of color, pointed forward.

  “Lieutenant Park Seong-jin captured Zhu Yuanzhang alive on the command ship and is moving him here now.”

  The generals in the tent inhaled as one.

  Zhu Yuanzhang—taken.

  That name which had shaken the Central Plains.

  Chen Youliang slowly shook his head.

  “Heh… Are you making sport of the battlefield?”

  But his gaze stopped on the object in the messenger’s hand.

  It was a Ming command banner, soaked in blood.

  The cloth was torn, scorch marks blackened the pole, and congealed blood had darkened the knots.

  Chen Youliang’s expression settled.

  “…Zhu Yuanzhang’s banner.”

  The messenger lowered it to the floor with trembling hands.

  The air in the tent sank all at once.

  Chen Youliang could hear his own heartbeat.

  “You truly mean he was taken?”

  His voice was low, trembling thinly.

  He seized the messenger’s shoulder.

  “That man—he is being brought here?”

  The messenger nodded violently.

  “Yes. Lieutenant Park cut down the guards and bound him. They are on the way. They will arrive shortly.”

  Chen Youliang’s pupils wavered.

  Within them, elation and caution rose together.

  He knew moments when a single captive ended a war.

  He also knew moments when a single captive shook the world even harder.

  Chen Youliang sank to the ground and covered his face with both hands.

  “…Heaven has not let go of me.”

  That sound carried clearly to everyone in the tent.

  Zhu Chong spoke in a hardened voice.

  “General, the balance has tipped.”

  Wang Ren and Chen De added, breathing hard.

  “With Zhu Yuanzhang captured, the Ming formation will falter.”

  “Ying Tian and Nanjing will open.”

  “The defeat at Longwan will be pushed aside.”

  The tent stirred.

  But Chen Youliang was trembling lightly, laughter mixed with disbelief.

  “…Now I stand at the front.”

  Then a cold sensation ran down his spine.

  “…What manner of man is this Park Seong-jin?”

  He glimpsed the time about to unfold—

  Jiangnan without Zhu Yuanzhang.

  The Central Plains with its order shaken.

  Doors opening and closing in rapid succession.

  At the beginning of all those currents stood one man.

  Park Seong-jin.

  Chen Youliang sprang to his feet.

  “All of you, out. Prepare to receive Lieutenant Park. I will confirm this myself.”

  The generals left the tent.

  The wind off Lake Poyang struck the canvas.

  Cannon fire and battle cries drew near again.

  Then, across the tangled waters of the battlefield, a figure approached.

  A warrior in ash-gray battle cloak leapt between ships.

  Over his shoulder hung a man, bound with rope, limp.

  Chen Youliang’s gaze hardened.

  “…He truly has taken him.”

  The words were a question—

  and at the same time, an acceptance.

  The waters of Lake Poyang heaved.

  But in Chen Youliang’s eyes, there was only one sight.

  Park Seong-jin.

  And Zhu Yuanzhang slung over his shoulder.