I, Yang Xiuqing, Have Returned from the Dead

On the eve of the Tianjing Incident, Eastern King Yang Xiuqing died.

No, he was reborn. For eight years, his soul drifted, helplessly watching the Heavenly Kingdom collapse as Zeng the Butcher hacked tens of thousands of his old brothers to pieces and the poor, who had once dared to hope, starved to death in besieged Tianjing.

Then he woke up.

The Yang Xiuqing who awoke had become someone else:

He no longer sought the empty title of “Wansui.” It was useless.

He no longer fought to be “Heavenly Father's spokesman.” It didn't matter.

He even cast aside the pomp and pageantry of the Eastern King's court. It was all a burden.

Hong Xiuquan was still in his palace in Tianjing, busy making mediocrities “royal brothers.”

Wei Changhui was still nervously sharpening his blade, waiting to kill.

But Yang Xiuqing quietly left Tianjing with just fifty thousand elite troops.

He wanted only three things:

Anhui's fields, Anqing's troops,

and the will to cut off his enemy's head with his own hands.

When Hong Xiuquan discovered that the Eastern King's residence was nothing but an empty shell,

Yang Xiuqing was already drilling a naval force on the banks of the Yangtze.

When Wei Changhui finally found the courage to raise his blade,

he discovered that it had

cut nothing but empty air.

And far away, in Nankang Prefecture, Jiangxi, Zeng Guofan

had just received a secret report:

“Yang Xiuqing is personally leading fifty thousand troops toward you.”

For the first time, the hand holding Zeng the Butcher's brush

trembled ever so slightly.

A foe who has already died once is the most terrifying of all.

This time, who will be the one to die by the blade?