Hot flashes

On the tenth day of the siege, the wells in the city began to smell strange. The suicide squads that went out of the city to fetch water suffered heavy casualties under the accurate crossbow bolts of the Northern Liang army, and the water they brought back was far from enough.

On the fifteenth day, the grain reserves originally planned for six months were consumed far faster than expected due to panic buying and Feng Jiming's insistence on the "equal distribution of grain" policy.

On the twentieth day, the first case of disease caused by malnutrition and poor sanitation appeared in the civilian area, and panic began to spread.

The Northern Liang army outside the city, however, appeared calm and unhurried. Their camp was well-defended, with wisps of smoke rising from the chimneys, and the faint sounds of drill chants could even be heard.

That methodical, confident demeanor was more despairing than a fierce siege.

In just twenty days, Feng Jiming's temples turned mostly white. He still patrolled the city every day, his back ramrod straight, but the bloodshot eyes and deeply sunken cheeks revealed the immense pressure he was under.

He rejected his subordinates' suggestions to launch several "probing attacks," knowing full well that in open battle, the exhausted troops inside the city would be no match for the fierce and ruthless forces of Beiliang, and would only suffer wasted resources.

He began receiving anonymous notes, either tucked into reports or left at his door, with similar contents: "Lord, give us a way out." "The court has abandoned us!" "The children are starving to death!"... Each time he saw one, he silently burned it, his hands trembling slightly.

Meanwhile, strange rumors quietly spread throughout the city. "The imperial court has decided to abandon Wancheng and move the capital south." "The Marquis of Beiliang said that only the ringleaders will be executed; those who surrender will be spared and even receive land." "The neighboring county surrendered, and they're doing just fine; the Beiliang army is even giving them rations..."

Feng Jiming knew this was a psychological warfare tactic by Beiliang, so he intensified his suppression and propaganda efforts, even publicly executing two rogue soldiers who spread "rumors."

But the despair and will to survive that permeated the air were like invisible vines, entwining the increasingly weakened city and his heart.

On the watchtower outside the city, Zhou Heng put down his monocular telescope and sighed softly. He recorded the changes in Wancheng every day, from its initial strictness to its later exhaustion, and now to its visible despondency.

He sealed a detailed account of the dwindling smoke from cooking fires in the city, the noticeably slower movements of the garrison, and the suspected shooting of civilians attempting to sneak over the city walls, along with some of his own reflections, in a letter and ordered it to be sent back to the Luoshui camp by fast horse.

A few days later, Xiao Jue's reply arrived, not to Han Lie, but directly to Zhou Heng.

The letter was brief: "Try to make Feng Jiming aware that: firstly, there will be no reinforcements from the imperial court; secondly, Beiliang can guarantee the safety of his family and promise his son a future; and thirdly, if he surrenders, the soldiers and civilians of Wancheng will have a way to survive, and I will protect Feng's reputation."

Zhou Heng held the letter tightly, knowing that this was the final attempt to persuade him to surrender, and also the final ultimatum.

Xiao Jue gave Feng Jiming a dignified way out, even taking into account his reputation and the continuation of his family line.

This is both the magnanimity of a ruthless leader and a cold-blooded calculation from a superior position—to take down the toughest nut to crack with minimal cost and win over an admirable enemy.

How to "find a way"? Zhou Heng thought for a moment, then found the best archer in the army, condensed Xiao Jue's meaning into a few words, wrote them on tough parchment, rolled them into a small scroll, and tied them to the shaft of an arrow without a cluster.

Then, he personally came to the front of the battle and pointed to the blurry but still upright figure on the city wall.

"See that person? Lord Feng. Shoot the arrow closer to him," Zhou Heng ordered.

The archer accepted the order, drew his bow, aimed slightly, and with a "whoosh," the special arrow flew in an arc and precisely struck the crenellation in front of the city tower where Feng Jiming stood, the shaft still trembling.

Feng Jiming was gazing at the enemy camp outside the city when he heard the sound and turned his head, seeing the arrow. He frowned and gestured to his guards to take it down.

Unfolding the parchment, the bold and elegant calligraphy came into view, but the content made his pupils shrink suddenly, and his fingers gripping the parchment tightened abruptly, his knuckles turning white.

He stood atop the city wall, motionless for a long time, letting the cold wind ruffle his graying temples.

He did not reply, but in the following days, the resistance in Wancheng underwent some subtle changes.

The defenders' counterattacks were no longer so resolute. On one occasion, a small detachment of the Northern Liang army tentatively approached the city wall, but the defenders only fired a few symbolic arrows before letting them retreat.

Han Lie keenly noticed this change, and after reporting it to Xiao Jue, he intensified his psychological offensive.

More letters urging surrender were shot into the city, with increasingly detailed content, even mentioning the current situation of Feng Jiming's elderly mother and young daughter who were living in seclusion somewhere in the south, and emphasizing that the Northern Liang army would never harm women and children.

The despair within the city had finally reached a breaking point.