The trouble came from Liu Jin.

Liu Zhen knew her little brother was timid—but not this timid.

The moment Liu Jin saw Meng Xing, his face paled in fright, and he immediately hid behind Liu Zhen, refusing to come out no matter what. When Meng Xing called for him twice with no response, the tutor frowned and smacked his ruler against the desk.

Thwack!

Liu Jin flinched, his body trembling as quiet sobs escaped him.

Meng Xing: “...”

He hadn’t even done anything yet!

Faced with this scene, Liu Zhen felt truly at a loss for the first time. She hurriedly stood and apologized to Meng Xing on her brother’s behalf, then coaxed and scolded Liu Jin until his tears subsided.

Meng Xing, initially furious, could only sigh. He knew he wasn’t handsome—but one’s appearance was dictated by heaven, and he’d never scared a child before! Ultimately, this just proved how excessively timid Liu Yuan’s youngest son was. For a boy, such cowardice was hardly a virtue.

With the “student” too terrified to continue, the lesson ended prematurely. Since Meng Xing wouldn’t teach just Liu Zhen, he stormed off—straight to Liu Yuan to complain. Liu Zhen, meanwhile, took her brother to Madam Zhang.

Upon hearing what happened, Madam Zhang was both heartbroken and exasperated. She hugged Liu Jin comfortingly before sighing to Liu Zhen. “How could your father assign such an... unseemly man as a tutor for children?”

Liu Zhen shook her head. “Mother, Meng Xing is one of Father’s officials, a learned scholar. Father had to plead repeatedly for him to agree to teach Jin temporarily. This was already an imposition on Meng Xing—today’s incident surely angered him further. If Father hears of it, he’ll side with Meng Xing.”

She glanced at Liu Jin. The boy had stopped crying, but tear tracks still streaked his pale, delicate face.

Liu Jin resembled neither Liu Yuan nor Madam Zhang but instead took after their grandfather, Liu Xin. Perhaps that was why Liu Yuan had always been indifferent to his youngest son, despite the family’s improved circumstances.

Their earlier hardships had left Liu Jin scarred, and now, with their lives comfortable, Madam Zhang doted on him excessively. Strangely, this hadn’t spoiled him into arrogance but instead made him even more fearful. Aside from family and familiar faces in the governor’s residence, strangers took him a long time to warm up to.

When Ji Ci had visited Liu Zhen and stayed for a few days, Liu Jin had spent the first two days observing him from afar before finally approaching on the third.

With someone as unsightly as Meng Xing, the outcome was inevitable.

Of course, none of this was Meng Xing’s fault.

So Liu Zhen could already predict her father’s reaction.

Sure enough, that evening after dinner, Liu Yuan reprimanded both Liu Jin and Madam Zhang.

Considering his son’s young age, Liu Yuan didn’t raise his voice but frowned sternly. “Who taught you to judge people by appearance?”

Sensitive to moods, Liu Jin immediately hid behind Madam Zhang again, even without Liu Yuan losing his temper.

This time, Liu Yuan did snap. “A doting mother ruins the son! Do you want him to grow up useless?!”

He then ordered Liu Nan and the others to leave—this wasn’t a conversation for children.

Once they were gone, Liu Yuan addressed Liu Jin. “Come out. I’ll test you.”

Madam Zhang protested, “He hasn’t even had a full lesson! What is there to test?”

Liu Yuan nearly rolled his eyes. Anyone listening would think he was a stepfather!

“Don’t be unreasonable. Meng Xing’s knowledge surpasses even Teacher Song’s. I had to beg him to tutor Jin—this was already an insult to Meng Xing.” His words mirrored Liu Zhen’s. “Jin’s timidity is worse than a girl’s. If we don’t correct it now, what will become of him? How can a man be so effeminate?”

Madam Zhang argued, “He’s just young—”

Liu Yuan waved her off. “Neither Liu Nan nor Liu Zhen were like this at his age. No more excuses—if you truly care for him, teach him to respect his teachers!”

The discussion ended there. Liu Yuan’s authority had grown increasingly absolute, and his decisions were rarely overturned. Besides, his intentions were for Liu Jin’s good. Though Madam Zhang’s heart ached, she had no choice but to relent.

Preoccupied with his rebellion, Liu Yuan had neglected his sons’ upbringing. Had he remained a minor official in Xiangxiang, they’d have grown up like any other boys—marrying, having children, living ordinary lives.

But now, Liu Yuan harbored higher hopes for his sons, and his standards had risen unconsciously. More than once, he’d lamented that Liu Zhen wasn’t born male. Yet no amount of wishing could change her gender—his aspirations rested on his two sons.

Liu Jin’s behavior disappointed him. If Liu Nan could at least be called “brave,” the only word for Liu Jin was “cowardly”—a label no father wanted for his son. Thus, Liu Yuan resolved to rectify his youngest’s education immediately.

The next day, he summoned Liu Zhen. “Your mother spoils Jin excessively—this isn’t good. I’m often occupied outside, so as the eldest sister, guide her when she errs.”

Madam Zhang would probably listen to Madam Han more than me, Liu Zhen thought but nodded. “I’ll do my best, Father.”

She then asked, “Do you have plans?”

Some things were hard to explain to Madam Zhang, but Liu Yuan didn’t hide them from his daughter. “Yes. I intend to head south.”

South? Liu Zhen immediately understood. “Nanyang or Hengshan?”

Liu Yuan marveled at her quick grasp. “Nanyang is already occupied by Song Liu. He got there first under the rebel banner—I can’t seize it from him. That leaves Hengshan and Nan Commandery.”

Liu Zhen agreed the timing was ideal. With Zhang Han’s forces tied up attacking Chen County, they wouldn’t spare attention for Yingchuan anytime soon. Historically, Xiang Liang and Xiang Yu should be rising in the east by now—their presence would shield Yingchuan from immediate threats. Liu Yuan’s decision to expand southward was undoubtedly well-considered.

Liu Yuan instructed, “In my absence, your mother will manage the household. If major issues arise and she’s unable to decide, consult your second uncle or Teacher Song.”

Liu Zhen agreed. Sure enough, news of Liu Yuan’s southern campaign soon spread.

Having already discussed it with his advisors, the announcement caused little surprise. Preparations proceeded smoothly. Yingchuan’s original ten thousand troops had lost nearly two thousand in the Yangdi battle but had since been replenished. Liu Yuan took eight thousand with him, leaving two thousand under An Zheng to defend Yangdi.

Only Xu Zhongfang and Guo Shu accompanied Liu Yuan, while the others—including Song Xie, An Zheng, and Dong Yi—remained in Yangdi.

After the former Assistant Governor Song’s sudden death, the position had been vacant. Following Dong Yi’s surrender, Liu Yuan appointed An Zheng as Assistant Governor and generously made Dong Yi the Imperial Censor. So far, Dong Yi had performed adequately, but Liu Zhen suspected her father still distrusted him—why else leave a seasoned general like Dong Yi behind instead of taking him to the frontlines?

Two days after Liu Yuan’s departure, Liu Zhen discovered something shocking.

Liu Nan was missing!

Her brother often wandered off, and with meals no longer strictly shared, it wasn’t unusual for them to go days without crossing paths. Liu Zhen only learned of his disappearance when his maid came to her in a panic.

Too afraid to report to Madam Zhang directly, the maid sought Liu Zhen first.

Liu Zhen was stunned. “Since when?!”

The maid sniffled. “This morning, the young master left as usual without saying anything... but he didn’t return for dinner...”

Liu Zhen steadied herself. Maybe he’s just carousing with his friends at some tavern. Still, she informed Madam Zhang, who immediately sent servants to search—to no avail. Eventually, even An Zheng got involved, arriving with Guo Zhi.

It was Guo Zhi who provided the clue. “Yesterday, Liu Nan mentioned something about ‘if I could follow Father to war.’ I didn’t think much of it then, but now...”

Madam Zhang nearly fainted. A search of Liu Nan’s room revealed his bow and sword were missing—nothing else.

The answer was obvious. Even the usually composed Liu Zhen was on the verge of losing it.

An Zheng, normally mild-mannered, couldn’t help but curse. “That reckless fool! Does he not grasp the danger? The army left a day ago—even if he catches up, traveling alone is perilous! If anything happens to him, how will I face Liu Yuan?!”

Madam Zhang pleaded, “Can we send someone after him?”

An Zheng sighed. “I don’t know if it’s possible... I worry he might get lost...”

Catching the anxious looks from Madam Zhang and Liu Zhen, he quickly backtracked. “Don’t worry, Sister-in-law. I’ll do everything to find him!”

But man proposes, heaven disposes. Despite sending search parties in multiple directions, none could locate Liu Nan. An Zheng had no choice but to send a letter to Liu Yuan explaining the situation.

By the time Liu Yuan replied that Liu Nan had indeed caught up with the army and stubbornly attached himself to Xu Zhongfang’s unit, days had passed—leaving the Liu women too exhausted from worry to feel relief.

Around the same time as Liu Yuan’s southern campaign, the eastern front delivered increasingly grim news for the rebels.

Zhang Han’s forces crushed Deng Shuo and Wu Xu’s troops one after another, advancing straight for Chen County. After defeating Zhang He west of Chen, Chen Sheng was forced to retreat southeast—but then came an unexpected twist.

Chen Sheng died.

Not at Zhang Han’s hands, not in glorious battle, but pathetically—betrayed by his own charioteer, just like Wu Guang.

The lesson was clear: as a military leader, you needed both skill and the ability to judge character. Chen Sheng had failed spectacularly. Not only had he squandered a golden opportunity, but he’d also sunk so low that even a lowly driver dared betray him.

Yet the world moved on without Chen Sheng. The decentralized nature of the rebellion meant its collapse wasn’t total—with no central authority, various factions had already declared themselves kings of Wei, Qi, Yan, and more, giving Zhang Han plenty of targets.

It was here that Xiang Liang and Xiang Yu truly emerged. After killing the Kuaiji governor and amassing their own forces, they were approached by Chen Sheng’s leaderless followers.

Thus, Xiang Liang was appointed Shang Zhuguo (Grand Marshal) and tasked with confronting the Qin army.

With Zhang Han busy subduing self-proclaimed kings like Wei Jiu (the brother of Wei Bao who’d once sought Liu Yuan’s aid), Xiang Liang seized the chance to consolidate. He absorbed Chen Ying’s forces, executed the self-styled King of Chu, Jing Ju (whom he deemed an illegitimate claimant), and—following advisor Fan Zeng’s counsel—installed Xiong Xin, a grandson of Chu’s last king, as the new Chu emperor. Only then did he march to rescue the besieged Qi and Yan.

By now, Xiang Liang commanded a hundred thousand troops. Even against Zhang Han, he held his ground, forcing the Qin general to retreat to Dingtao. Though Qi and Yan were saved, poor Wei Bao—left too long without aid—was driven to suicide by Zhang Han’s relentless assault.

Chasing Zhang Han to Dingtao, Xiang Liang fell into an ambush and was killed.

Yet his death didn’t pass the army to Xiang Yu. Emperor Yi of Chu (Xiong Xin) relocated the capital to Pengcheng, naming Song Yi as Shang Jiangjun (Senior General) and Xiang Yu as Ci Jiangjun (Vice General)—effectively sidelining Xiang Yu.

Emperor Yi had judged correctly—Xiang Yu wasn’t suited for supreme command. But he forgot he was a puppet propped up by the Xiangs in the first place.

Enraged, Xiang Yu murdered Song Yi and forced Emperor Yi to name him Shang Jiangjun instead.

Now he was satisfied.