It failed.

At Yu Lianzhou’s shout, seventy-four men began to simultaneously attune themselves to the surrounding spiritual energy, drawing it in and concentrating it around their bodies.

To Changsun Zhi and Liu Renwu, the drill ground appeared unchanged and ordinary, with nothing out of the ordinary to their eyes. But for any cultivator present, it would be apparent that the spiritual energy in the area was condensing and lingering, making this an ideal moment for cultivation, yielding twice the result with half the effort. Yu Lianzhou, himself a cultivator, was naturally aware of the benefits; he guided the spiritual energy into his body, nourishing his organs and meridians. His method was the very opposite of the seventy-four on the field.

Yu Lianzhou’s mind was filled with contemplation, as this phenomenon was an unexpected discovery.

Meanwhile, the seventy-four men felt as if they were standing above the clouds, the sunlight caressing their bodies with perfect warmth, a gentle breeze drifting by as though they floated on air. Their hearts were at peace, suffused with comfort.

Li Ji’an felt less than the others. Though it was winter, he was enveloped in warmth, but nothing more. Despite following the cultivation method Yu Lianzhou had taught him, he sensed nothing different.

Time passed. Half an hour slipped by, and the seventy-four’s comfort had turned to torment, as though they were trapped in a heatwave, struggling to breathe. Yet each man continued to persevere.

Another quarter hour, and most were drenched in sweat. Some began to falter, collapsing unconscious on the field, while others swayed on the verge of fainting. Li Ji’an remained quietly seated among them. Changsun Zhi and Liu Renwu watched anxiously, unable to grasp what was happening, but dared not interrupt.

After another quarter hour, only three men remained standing. Sensing something was wrong, Yu Lianzhou glanced at Li Ji’an, who was still striving to sense the energy—but it was futile.

“Sage?”

Li Ji’an opened his eyes, gazing around him. A flicker of sorrow crossed his face, soon replaced by despair.

“Am I truly incapable?” Li Ji’an murmured softly.

“Let them stop,” he sighed. With those words, he rose and began to leave the field.

“As you command, Sage,” Yu Lianzhou replied, then called out, “You may stop now.” The last three men, upon hearing this, could endure no longer and fainted.

Yu Lianzhou hurried to Li Ji’an’s side and whispered, “Sage, we have not yet gathered a full hundred men. If we do, you will surely sense the energy.”

But Li Ji’an did not respond, the look of despair on his face undiminished.

“Sage, I do not speak idly. Among cultivators, it is well known that the number nine and its multiples possess profound significance; gathering a hundred can transform one’s constitution,” Yu Lianzhou pleaded, seeing the Sage’s hope wane.

Upon hearing this, Li Ji’an’s face brightened. He turned to Yu Lianzhou, asking, “Is this true?”

“I stake my life on it. If a hundred men gathered cannot help you cultivate, I will accept death as punishment,” Yu Lianzhou declared, dropping to his knees.

Li Ji’an could no longer contain his excitement and burst into laughter. “Excellent! Very good! Rise.”

Changsun Zhi and Liu Renwu, seeing the Sage’s expression, knew the attempt had failed. Yet Liu Renwu was puzzled, for Yu Lianzhou had seemed so confident of success. Now, seeing Yu Lianzhou suddenly kneel and the Sage laugh, they were thoroughly bewildered.

“Changsun, reward each of these soldiers with twenty taels of silver, and send them home with proper care. All expenses are to be covered by the Ministry of Revenue,” Li Ji’an instructed as he approached Changsun Zhi.

Changsun Zhi looked perplexed. “Sage, they have only fainted—why such generosity?”

Li Ji’an hesitated, then looked to Yu Lianzhou to explain.

Changsun Zhi turned to Yu Lianzhou, waiting for an answer. Liu Renwu hung his head in guilt, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

Before Yu Lianzhou could speak, understanding dawned on Changsun Zhi, for some on the field were already awakening.

A voice came from the field, drawing Changsun Zhi’s gaze.

“Hey, why is everyone sleeping? You can’t sleep, get up.” The man’s speech was slow, his movements sluggish as he stumbled toward the others, his eyes vacant and dull. He fell, struggled to his feet, and continued toward the unconscious, muttering, “Get up.”

Another soon woke, looking around in confusion, murmuring, “Where am I?” Then he sat in silence, saying nothing.

More woke, one after another. The slower they roused, the worse their state: some wept uncontrollably; others lost control of their bowels.

Changsun Zhi stared in shock at this scene, his heart wracked with emotion.

“I will see that they are cared for, that they want for nothing the rest of their lives,” Li Ji’an said, not without sorrow.

“You... you all knew?... Did you know this would happen?” Changsun Zhi looked from Li Ji’an to Liu Renwu, then finally to Yu Lianzhou. Though his words bordered on disrespect, Li Ji’an did not take offense, for he felt the pain as well.

“General Changsun, they served the Sage loyally. He will see they are well provided for,” Yu Lianzhou replied, meeting Changsun Zhi’s gaze, trying to comfort him.

“You knew... you all knew…” Changsun Zhi muttered, turning back to the field, his voice low.

“General Changsun, do not be too sorrowful. I must trouble you to gather a hundred men next time—though there is no rush,” Yu Lianzhou continued.

Changsun Zhi looked at Li Ji’an in disbelief. Li Ji’an remained silent.

“Your Majesty, these are all fine sons of Great Tang!” Changsun Zhi suddenly knelt, grief and anger in his voice.

“I know. They served me faithfully; I would never wrong them,” Li Ji’an replied, reaching to help him up.

“If they fell on the battlefield, cut down by enemy blades, I would not complain. But to see them ruined for the sake of some elusive cultivation—I cannot accept this command. Please reconsider, Your Majesty.”

Li Ji’an did not help him rise; anger flashed across his face at these words.

“Should they not serve me with their utmost loyalty?” Li Ji’an withdrew his hand, flicked his sleeve, and questioned sharply.

“A man’s duty is to die on the frontier, his body wrapped in a horse’s hide to return home. I beg Your Majesty to rescind this order,” Changsun Zhi pleaded, bowing his head so hard that blood stained the ground.

“I know you love your men, but are they more important in your eyes than your emperor?” Li Ji’an demanded, his voice rising to a near shout.

“Your Majesty, I never meant that. But if you insist, I am old and broken; I beg you to let me retire,” Changsun Zhi replied, his head pressed to the earth, unmoving.

“You threaten me?” Li Ji’an roared.

“I dare not. I only beg Your Majesty’s permission.”

“Very well, very well. You dare threaten me,” Li Ji’an spat.

“Sage, General Changsun spoke out of turn—please forgive him,” Liu Renwu pleaded, kneeling beside Changsun Zhi and tugging at him.

Changsun Zhi said no more, nor did he rise.

“I refuse. Kneel here if you wish,” Li Ji’an said, each word clipped with anger. Then, face contorted with fury, he departed, Yu Lianzhou following in his wake. The guards left as well, leaving only Changsun Zhi and Liu Renwu kneeling on the ground.

“General Changsun, get up. The Sage is gone. Why put yourself through this?” Liu Renwu tried to help him up, sighing heavily.

Changsun Zhi slumped to the ground, tears in his eyes as he stared at the field, silent.

“Please, General, don’t catch cold,” Liu Renwu tried again to help him up.

Changsun Zhi pushed Liu Renwu’s hand away, then, trembling, rose and walked toward the field.

Liu Renwu watched his receding figure—stooped, aged in an instant—this was not the proud, energetic Changsun Zhi of old. A sense of loss weighed on his heart.

Changsun Zhi moved among the soldiers, helping each to their feet. Some shrank away; some he could not lift. He did not force them, only embraced those he could not raise.

In the end, only a dozen or so stood. Changsun Zhi looked at each, murmuring, “You are all the fine sons of Great Tang.” Then he collapsed on the field, gazing up at the sky.

“How did it come to this? How did it come to this?”