In this realistic war game, only I understand the course of the battle.

The first year of the Yongle reign. Beiping (Beijing).

The old plaque for the Prince of Yan's residence had been removed, but the new one had not yet been hung up. Officials from the Ministry of Rites had debated the naming of this temporary palace for months—some petitioned to change it to "Beiping Palace," while others advocated retaining the old name "Prince of Yan's Residence" to show humility, but Zhu Di rejected both proposals. He simply ordered the original plaque to be removed and stored in the storeroom, leaving the empty space as a silent reminder: the empire was now at peace, but the holes that needed mending were still unfilled.

It was noon when Shen Du entered the mansion, now devoid of its original plaque. After returning to Beiping from Nanjing, he had been forced to rest for three whole months by the army doctor—the old injury to his left leg had finally flared up completely that autumn after crossing the river; his knee was so swollen he couldn't bend it, and the army doctor had to use heated silver needles to drain the blood clots, followed by more than half a month of herbal compresses before he could walk again. But he hadn't been idle during those three months. He reorganized the list of surviving veterans from the centurion's garrison who had marched south, wrote compensation documents for the families of every fallen soldier, and re-transcribed and bound all the topographical maps he had surveyed along the southward journey, each page accompanied by brief hydrological annotations and records of road widths. Zhao Laoliu said he was still drawing maps after the war was over; he just smiled and offered no explanation. The instincts of a war history instructor were ingrained in his bones, unchangeable no matter how many different appearances he took.

In the main hall, Zhu Di sat behind his desk, a thick stack of memorials piled before him. He was no longer wearing the black satin robe he had worn from Beiping to Nanjing; he had changed into a dark blue casual robe, but the cuffs were still habitually rolled up to his elbows, revealing the arrow scar on his forearm that he had brought back from Dongchang. He saw Shen Du enter, placed the memorials he was reviewing on the desk, and gave him a once-over.

"Is your leg better?"

"You can walk now." Shen Du cupped his hands in thanks. "Thank you for your concern, Your Highness."

"Sit." Zhu Di gestured to the chair beside him, and only continued after Shen Du sat down. "I called you here today not for military matters." He picked up a list from the corner of the table and pushed it in front of Shen Du. The list listed the meritorious generals of the Jingnan Campaign, including Zhu Neng, Chen Mao, and Huo Zhen, each with a proposed official position and title following their name. Shen Du saw that his name was at the top of the list of military officers—Vice Commander of the Guards, a hereditary fourth-rank official, awarded three thousand taels of silver, and granted a residence in Beiping.

"Thank you, Your Highness." Shen Du put the list down.

"Don't rush," Zhu Di leaned back in his chair, looking at him. "This is your military merit. But you shared all the credit at the Baigou River, and you refused to be promoted to a commander of a thousand in Dezhou—you don't seem to care much about fame and fortune. So tell me, what do you want?"

Shen Du remained silent for a moment. It wasn't that he hadn't considered this question—from Baigou River to Nanjing, he had traveled tens of thousands of miles in this world, fought for nearly three years, blew up over a dozen city gates, and led armies ranging from forty to three thousand men. Each battle had yielded a large amount of reputation points and free attribute points on the system's settlement panel. But he hadn't opened the system panel in a long time, not because he didn't need it, but because he had grown accustomed to it. He had become accustomed to using the hilt of his sword instead of the mouse to initiate the next battle. Now, sitting before this vassal king who had reunified the world, he suddenly realized that what he wanted was no longer simply to survive.

"If Your Highness intends to move the capital to Beiping, the defenses of the northern frontier must be completely rebuilt. Although the remnants of the Northern Yuan have retreated into the grasslands, the Doyan Three Guards have come to surrender to Yan, and others will come to surrender to others in the future. The passes, garrisons, and beacon towers along the Great Wall all need to be renovated, and the military households' land reclamation and logistics system also need to be replanned." Shen Du raised his head to meet Zhu Di's gaze. "I wish to oversee the surveying of the northern frontier's defenses and the reconstruction of the land reclamation and military system."

Zhu Di sat up slightly. This answer clearly exceeded his expectations—he had seen people asking for official positions, money, and titles, but this was the first time he had seen a fierce general who had fought for three years ask to go to the desolate frontier to draw maps. He was silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled. It wasn't the majestic smile of a king, but rather the satisfaction of finally finding the right person to do the right thing.

"Approved." Zhu Di picked up a token from the table. "You will be in charge of surveying and mapping the military settlements along the defense line from Beiping to Datong, with the rank of Deputy Commander of the Guard. Whatever supplies, craftsmen, and surveyors you need, I will approve."

After leaving the Prince of Yan's residence, Shen Du walked for a while on the streets of Beiping.

Old Zhao Liu squatted by the roadside waiting for him, holding two bowls of cold tea. He handed one bowl to Shen Du, then picked up the other and gulped it down, wiping his mouth with his sleeve: "Master Li—no, now I should call you Commander Shen. What do we do next?"

"Let's go to Datong." Shen Du finished his herbal tea and placed the bowl on the corner of the tea stall table. "But before we go to Datong, there's something I need to do first."

"What is it?"

Shen Du didn't answer. He turned and walked towards the west of the city. In the west was a ward specifically designated for the families of soldiers who died in the Jingnan Campaign. Rows of courtyards with blue bricks and gray tiles stood side by side, each with a wooden plaque on its door bearing the name of the fallen soldier and their garrison. Shen Du walked to one of the doors, reaching out to touch the words on the plaque—Liu Shitou, Yanshan Left Guard, Pocheng Camp, died in battle at Baigou River. This was the first person whose name he had written down when distributing the spoils of war to his fallen comrades after the Battle of Baigou River. He didn't push the door open. He simply hung a small bag of silver he had brought back from Nanjing on the door knocker, took two steps back, and bowed deeply. Then he turned and walked towards the next house. Zhao Laoliu followed behind, saying nothing, only keeping his pipe in his mouth, without lighting it.

Meanwhile, in Nanjing, a man in green robes sat in a riverside teahouse on the Qinhuai River. Boats ply the waters outside his window, and the soft, gentle sound of a courtesan's pipa drifted from the opposite bank, as soothing as the twilight of Jiangnan. He took a sip of tea, put it down, and looked at Song Yu and Shanhe sitting opposite him.

"The Jingnan Rebellion is over. Jianwen is nowhere to be found, and Zhu Di has taken over Nanjing. Our Awakening Guild sided with the court, fighting from beginning to end, and ultimately lost." The man in green robes spoke calmly, as if recounting an archived military report. "Guild members suffered heavy losses in the battles of Dezhou, Jinan, Qimeishan, and Lingbi. Iron Axe was killed in action. More than half of our core members died at least once, and we lost a considerable number of items and skills permanently." He paused. "But this doesn't mean it's over. Zhu Di taking the throne doesn't mean the country is stable. The relocation of the capital, the reduction of the power of the princes, the handling of the former Northern Yuan officials, the purge of Jianwen's former officials—at every stage, there will be discontent, resistance, and secret collusion. Awakening's connections within the court are still there, Tie Xuan is still there, Sheng Yong is still there, and many of Jianwen's former officials are still there. The future is still uncertain."

Shanhe slammed his teacup down on the table, the bottom of which made a dull thud as it hit the wooden surface. "Sheng Yong surrendered, but Tie Xuan didn't. After being captured in Jinan, Tie Xuan was taken to Nanjing, where he publicly denounced Zhu Di for usurping the throne. Zhu Di ordered his tongue cut out, but he continued to curse—writing it in blood on the ground. Such loyal ministers will not disappear. At least a group of former Jianwen officials will not genuinely submit. As long as we hold our ground, we will have an opportunity sooner or later." He paused, lowering his voice slightly, "In addition, news came back from Jinan—Su Wanqing is still alive. After the fall of Jinan, she did not go south with Tie Xuan but stayed in Jinan to continue procuring food for the refugees. This person has a special identity and is very important for our future strategic layout in Shandong."

Song Yu pulled an internal guild report from his sleeve and pushed it in front of the man in the green robe. "There's another matter. News from the Yan army camp says that Zhu Di summoned a man this morning, a commander with the rank of Assistant Commander of the Guard, who is in charge of surveying military settlements along the line from Beiping to Datong. His surname is Li."

The man in the green robe picked up the report and glanced at it. His lips twitched slightly—not a smile, but confirmation. He folded the report and set it aside, picking up his teacup but not drinking. He gazed silently at the Qinhuai River outside the window for a while. "Li Jingzhong. From a foot soldier at Baigou River, he fought his way to the walls of Nanjing, and now he's repairing the Great Wall." He placed the teacup on the table. "File this report. Also, send someone to the northern frontier to monitor the movements along the line from Beiping to Datong. This man doesn't participate in court intrigues, but the maps he draws in the northern frontier may become the battlefield in the future."

Beiping. Shen Du stood on an abandoned beacon tower in the north of the city, holding a blank roll of blueprints. Behind him lay the city of Beiping, and before him stretched the Yanshan Mountains to the north, the Great Wall winding along the mountain ridges, beacon towers one after another extending to the horizon. The autumn wind blew from the grasslands, carrying the scent of dry grass and sand, making his robes flutter in the wind.

Old Zhao, pipe in mouth, squatted below the beacon tower, strapping surveying rulers and ropes onto the donkey's back. Gu Zhang loaded the last box of surveying tools onto the cart. His old left arm injury still throbbed slightly in the cool weather. He rubbed his shoulder with his right hand and looked up at Shen Du, saying, "Master Li, everything's packed. Huo Zhen's guide from the Duoyan Three Guards is already waiting outside the North Gate." Shen Du nodded, rolled up the blueprints, stuffed them into his pocket, and stepped down from the beacon tower. His left leg limped slightly as he descended the steps—the army doctor had said the injury would never fully heal, but he hadn't paid it any mind.

He took the reins from Zhao Laoliu and mounted the horse. It was a Mongolian horse sent by the Doyan Three Guards, short, stocky, and with a disheveled mane—completely different from the old horse he had ridden at the Baigou River. He glanced back at Beiping one last time, then turned his horse and headed north. From the Baigou River to Nanjing, he had traveled tens of thousands of miles. Now he was heading north to build an even longer and more extensive defensive line.