Chapter 18: Chongyang

                           

After an autumn rain, the air turned sharply cold, and the palace had already changed into its winter silks. With the Double Ninth Festival approaching, chrysanthemums and dogwood adorned every hall, arranged as in past years for nobles to admire the blooms and ward off ill omens.

Xichangjing had been besieged for nearly a month, and fear simmered throughout the palace. Li Yi, unable to sway Cui Yi’s resolve, appointed himself the chief commander of the encampment and led the Zhenxi Army personally. Cui Yi led the Dingsheng Army. One force pressed from the south, the other from the north—two blades closing in, sealing Xichangjing like iron clamps around a withering throat.

Months earlier, Sun Jing had personally marched on Luoyang, only to suffer a crushing defeat. The loss weighed heavily on him. As autumn deepened into winter, old wounds flared, the pain gnawing into bone. His temper had grown vicious, and he often executed his closest attendants without warning. Palace maids trembled like shadows; no one dared show the slightest mistake.

With the Double Ninth Festival imminent, Sun Jing’s wife, Yuan—once mistress of the inner palace—had been confined to Changqiu Palace. Her crime: “strangling” Li Yu, King of Liang, yet secretly aiding Li Ni in rescuing him. Though Sun Jing never learned how Li Ni had spirited King Liang from the capital, he sensed that the Yuan household hid truths beneath their silks. His fury burned cold. He snubbed Duke Zheng, grounded Yuan, and forbade her from stepping even half a pace beyond Changqiu’s threshold. His concubines were meek and useless; thus the palace’s burdens fell to Madam Xiao.

Yet fate was unkind. Madam Xiao’s chronic head wind had returned, dimming her appetite and strength. Still, she rallied herself for the festival. Pale but composed, she met with the young eunuch of the Inner Palace to arrange the Chongyang banquet. By afternoon the pain overwhelmed her; she took medicine and rested. When she awoke near dawn, she quickly dressed. Jin Niang pinned a chrysanthemum in her hair. Studying her reflection, she found her complexion barely acceptable.

“Where is the Grand Governor?” she asked.

A maid bowed. “The Grand Governor is drinking at Yuhui Tower.”

Madam Xiao rose, but dizziness struck her like a sudden wave. Jin Niang hurried to steady her. “Mother…”

“It’s nothing.” Her fingers were icy as they rested on Jin Niang’s wrist. She gazed again into the bronze mirror, unsatisfied. The powder could not mask the sickly pallor. “Fetch the lipstick.”

“Niangniang…” Jin Niang whispered, pleading.

Madam Xiao did not acknowledge the plea. With no choice, Jin Niang opened the cosmetics box. Madam Xiao dipped a brush into the crimson flower-rouge, painting her lips with steady, elegant strokes. When the cherry-red finally bloomed upon her reflection, she set down the rouge. “Let’s go.”

The Double Ninth carried a tradition of climbing high. Yuhui Tower—built atop a hundred-foot platform—seemed to reach toward the stars. Madam Xiao lifted her skirt and ascended. A solitary banquet awaited. Sun Jing sat alone, drinking in silence.

She approached quietly, lifted the wine ewer, and refilled his cup. He did not look back. His gaze narrowed toward the horizon where the dying sun cast its last blaze.

She draped a cloak over his shoulders, her voice gentle. “Grand Governor, the wind is cold. Drink a while, then come down.”

His hand moved back to pat hers, a silent reassurance. She knelt beside him, leaning lightly against him. The sunset gilded the endless glazed tiles of the palace. From this height, even Suzaku Street and the narrow alleys beyond the gates were visible, bathed in molten light.

He lifted a finger toward the west. “My first campaign… I marched out of Yanping Gate with barely a name to my sword. Years passed, merits stacked one atop another, and I was promoted to Huaihua Zhonghou. When I followed my superior back to the capital to report, the splendor of the city felt like another world compared to the battlefield’s wind and sand.”

She held his arm lightly, smiling. “Why suddenly speak of this?”

He drank again, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Look—the sun is about to set.”
Then, quietly: “Its light glows on the palace tiles… and on the sand of the northwest. All red. Like blood.”

His voice faltered—whether for the men who fell under his blade or for the palace he had soaked in the Li family’s blood, no one could tell.

She turned and embraced him. “Ah Jing…”

He stroked her hair. “I’m fine. Just remembering.”
His voice grew distant. “That day outside Iluolu, I commanded a hundred thousand. We waited for the horn at sunset—blood-red, just like this.”

She remained silent. They both knew Xichangjing was on the brink. Li Ni had already sent word: Kill Sun Jing and the gates will be forgiven. The envoy had been cast out, but the morale within the walls was cracking. Sun Jing had prepared the city for a siege, gathering every grain possible—but hearts were harder to command than armies.

Softly, she murmured, “Ah Jing, I fear nothing… as long as I’m with you.”

His expression darkened with tenderness. “I won’t leave you.”

But she remembered the same words twenty years ago—words he broke. She had waited outside the city all night, and he never came. From that moment she abandoned her heart, stepping into the Eastern Palace as the crown princess. She lived dutifully, aged gracefully, believed her life sealed in golden ritual… until the day he stormed the palace, sword blazing.

She had braced for death beneath his blade—but instead, he walked toward her and whispered, “Ah Mian, I’m back.”

What had she been thinking then? Nothing. She had simply fallen into his arms.

Now, she held him again, tight as a vow. She wanted to cry, but tears had become foreign after decades behind palace walls.

His breath warmed her hair. She murmured, half-pleading, half-laughing through exhaustion, “Ah Jing… why don’t I wear armor too, and defend the city with you?”

He chuckled softly. “Li Ni isn’t fighting women and children.”

“But there is Cui Yi, and Pei Xian…” Her eyes reddened. “Ah Jing… why don’t we leave? Go far. To South Yue. Please…”

He shook his head. “Ah Mian, I cannot leave. I will send Yuanlang away. You could go with him.”

She answered immediately, fierce as fire: “I’m not going. I’ll be with you. Always.”

He had known she would say this. He raised his cup in silence.

The sun slipped beneath the earth. Wind hissed along the tiles. Even the chrysanthemums shivered.

—

Outside the palace walls, in Chongrenfang near the imperial city, chrysanthemums filled Gu Zhi’s courtyard as well. Skilled craftsmen arranged flower stands, shaping characters and symbols of fortune.

Gu Zhi, who had resigned rather than serve Sun Jing, watered the chrysanthemums in plain clothes, barefoot, serene amid a city trembling in fear. After watering them, he wiped his hands and looked up—just as his sixth daughter, Gu Wanniang, approached with her maid.

“Father,” she greeted with a bow.

“Come inside,” he said. The servants withdrew.

Inside, she brewed tea with practiced grace. When Gu Zhi took a sip, he nodded. “Your tea skill has grown.”

She smiled. “Because Daddy taught me well.”

After a few moments, he said quietly, “Liu Niang, if a path exists… would you risk leaving the city to meet the King of Qin?”

Gu Wanniang blinked, then smiled. “Why wouldn’t I? I will follow whatever Father arranges.”

Gu Zhi could not help smiling.

He remembered the day she returned from Bingzhou—how the proud gatekeeper tried to bar her until she scolded him so sharply that he fell speechless. She had gone straight to Gu Zhi’s study, disregarding the mistress entirely. There she calmly revealed that she had, on her own initiative, supplied grain from their Bingzhou estates to the Seventeenth Imperial Grandson, Li Ni.

From that day onward, only she was permitted into Gu Zhi’s study.

Now, father and daughter sat across from each other, and Gu Zhi said, “Liu Niang, you had never spoken like this before.”

She smiled gently. “Because being the daughter of the Taiping Prime Minister in times of peace… is very different from being his daughter now.”

“And what is the difference?” he asked.

“In peace, I needed only to obey and be virtuous—embroider, play the qin, recite poetry,” she said softly. “But now? You have defied a usurper and stood on the side of righteousness. The world looks to you. As your daughter, I must see clearly, speak honestly, and understand the tides of fate.”
She bowed her head. “If I can be of any use to you, even a little, I am content.”

Gu Zhi considered her. Then, at last, he smiled. “I misjudged you.”

She laughed softly. “Father rarely looks toward the inner chambers. Naturally, you missed a few things.”

For the first time in a long while, father and daughter shared the same quiet, knowing smile.

Since that conversation, Gu Zhi had been summoning Gu Wanniang to the study more frequently. Because of this, everyone in the household soon understood that this Gu Wanniang—though only a girl—was the one most valued by the lord. Even Gu Zhen, the eldest son, had never received such guidance.

So when Gu Yi asked his daughter today whether she was willing to take the risk of going out of the city, Gu Wanniang answered “yes” without the slightest hesitation.

Everything had been arranged properly by Gu Yi. Xichangjing had been besieged for more than a month. The Zhenxi Army and the Dingsheng Army encircled the city but never attacked, hoping to force a surrender. Panic spread among the citizens. At first, rumors claimed the so-called puppet emperor believed everyone in Western Changjing to be rebels and planned to slaughter the entire city. Terrified yet united, people stubbornly defended the gates. But later, the King of Qin escorted the emperor out of the city, and the emperor set up camp at the old palace thirty miles away. The King of Qin then sent envoys to the capital declaring that only Sun Jing must be killed, and that anyone who surrendered would be pardoned. Hearts began to waver. Not only the common people—even the ministers appointed by Sun Jing—began to have thoughts of their own.

The defenders atop the walls were originally Sun Jing’s personal troops. Alongside the Imperial Guards, there were also soldiers from Shuoxi Mansion. The higher-ranking officers had followed Sun Jing through the bloody palace coup that nearly wiped out the Tianjia Li clan. Knowing they had no path of retreat, they were determined to fight to the end. But the lower-ranking soldiers were terrified. Who among them did not believe the King of Qin outside the city was the reincarnation of the Seven Killing Star? Otherwise, how could he have crushed Duan Yan’s army of a hundred thousand in Sparrow Valley? A hundred thousand men—gone!

Some rumors grew even more wild: he wasn’t merely the Seven Killing Star’s rebirth but the very Purple Star descended from the heavens. Otherwise, how could he, so young, bear the title of King of Qin like Emperor Taizong once had? And what else could explain how he swept from Laolan Pass to Xichangjing in just over a single year?

With such rumors everywhere, the defenders’ morale plummeted. Many felt the tide of the world was shifting again. Wealthy families inside the city feared their chances of survival once the walls fell—and feared even more that Sun Jing, in desperation, would begin slaughtering within the city. So they sought every possible means to flee. Soldiers on guard colluded among themselves to release civilians in exchange for bribes, using the chaos to enrich their pockets.

In such disorder, the Gu clan—being one of Xichangjing’s foremost gentry—naturally had their own method of escape. Gu Yi paid six hundred gold, claiming he only wished to send his youngest son out of the city to preserve a single branch of bloodline. The middleman who received the money suspected nothing. Gu Zhao’s youngest son was only seven or eight months old—still an infant—so, in addition to the little lord, the six hundred gold covered a wet nurse and a maid who had served him since birth: three people in total.

On the day of Chongyang, it rained from dawn to dusk. When night fell, there were no stars, no moon—only a lingering drizzle carried by an autumn wind so cold it pierced the bones. Disguised as a servant girl, Gu Wanniang held her infant brother in her arms and waited beneath the city gate at dusk along with the wet nurse, following the middleman. For defense, Sun Jing had dug trenches along the inner base of the city walls, and so they crouched in one of these trenches. The middleman, accustomed to this illicit trade, gathered several other families nearby and ordered all to hide in the ditch. After the night watch passed and Sun Jing’s patrol of guards moved away, the middleman urged them up the trench and toward the city tower.

Xichangjing originally had twelve gates, but with the siege in place, every one of them was heavily guarded. Their group of seven or eight followed the middleman toward Anhua Gate, climbing quietly. The soldiers atop the tower paid them no attention—clearly accustomed to such secret dealings.

Once atop Anhua Gate, the middleman led them to a shadowed corner beneath the arrow-lofts. He looked around for a long while before lifting a rope from the base of the wall and giving it a firm shake. Not long after, more than ten burly figures approached. Judging from their attire, they were guards of the city, but they neither spoke nor lit a lamp; they simply crouched and began working by touch.

The drizzle grew heavier. Gu Wanniang pulled the swaddling cloth higher, turned her back to the wind, and sheltered her baby brother’s face beneath her sleeve so the cold rain would not touch him. The wet nurse, paralyzed by fear, shrank beside her, biting her sleeve so hard she dared not make a single sound. The strong men worked in silence for a long while before finally assembling a large wheel and lifting a woven basket into place. Only then did Gu Wanniang understand—this was how they smuggled people out of the city: securing them in a basket tied with thick hemp rope, lowering them slowly over the outer wall.

The autumn wind cut like a blade, and the rain stung against her like needles. Gu Wanniang trembled uncontrollably, but she bent over protectively, warming her tiny brother with her body. The men moved with great care. After a while, they lit only the smallest horn lantern, just enough to check the knots. They tugged the rope again and again to ensure nothing would come loose.

Once the rope was secured, they tested the weight with a few practiced shakes. The long-faced leader lifted the little lantern and looked over the group, his gaze settling on the wet nurse. He pointed.
“You. Into the basket.”

The wet nurse, limp with terror, could not even stand. Gu Wanniang tried to help her, but the woman clung desperately to her arm, fingers digging in painfully. The captain barked the order again, but the wet nurse only held tighter. In the dim horn light, Gu Wanniang saw her face streaked with water—rain or tears, she could not tell.

Anxious, she gently pried her sleeve free and whispered, “General, I’ll go down first with the little lord.”

The long-faced man—indeed a captain—glanced at her. She was small, her clothes filthy, clearly disguised to conceal her identity. He understood at once that she belonged to a wealthy household. But he had taken their money, nothing more—he wanted no trouble. Seeing her volunteer so decisively, he nodded.

Gu Wanniang did not hesitate. Hugging her infant brother tightly, she stepped into the basket and knelt down, securing him with one arm while gripping the basket’s rope with the other. The men said nothing. With practiced ease, they lifted the basket over the wall, set it upon the edge, and gave a gentle push.

The basket swayed once—then the thick rope snapped taut, hanging straight down into the darkness beyond the city wall.

Although Gu Wanniang had always been bold, when she shook her clothes dry and glanced down, her courage nearly collapsed. Beneath her was a bottomless black void. She immediately understood she was already outside the city wall. The wind and rain whipped from every direction; in just a moment her clothes were soaked through. The younger brother in her arms stirred awake from the cold, his tiny lips opening as if to cry.

She quickly pulled a piece of candy from her sleeve and slipped it into his mouth. Sure enough, the baby smacked at the sweetness and quieted. Gu Wanniang gently tapped the swaddling, softly coaxing him. Above her came the creaking of rollers from the top of the city wall; the thick hemp rope trembled as it lowered the basket carrying her beneath the battlements.

Suspended between heaven and earth, unable to climb up or down, she could only endure. Rain fell like attacking moths, rushing straight into her face. All around was pitch black; only the restless rustling of the storm could be heard. She shut her eyes and forced herself to focus on the rocking in the air. Inch by inch, the basket descended. The wind grew fiercer. The hemp rope, soaked through, became heavier and more difficult to lower. The gusts pushed the basket sideways; from time to time it slammed against the bricks of the city wall. Every collision made her heart jump—if the basket overturned, wouldn’t they be smashed to death? Fortunately, it was woven from elastic wicker; each time it hit the wall it bounced back slightly. And with a person seated inside, the center of gravity remained steady, never flipping over.

She did not know how long it took—nor how far she had fallen—when suddenly a disturbance sounded above the city wall. In such a night, where darkness and rain swallowed everything, even sound struggled to travel far. She instinctively looked up. After a moment, she noticed faint lights emerging from Anhuamen Tower; a group of torches was rushing toward the battlements. Her heart tightened. Something was wrong.

Chaos had already erupted atop the wall. The storm was fierce tonight, yet for some reason, Sun Jing himself had come on an inspection. Though he had not reached Anhuamen, the defending generals were already scrambling; naturally they needed everything in order before the Grand Governor arrived. General Xuanwei Lu Zhan, in charge of Anhuamen’s defenses, hurried to the tower. The soldiers secretly smuggling people out had indeed bribed a few superiors—but their influence could not reach Lu Zhan. Panic spread through them instantly.

Team Leader Wu, the long-faced man at the head, heard Lu Zhan was approaching. He immediately ordered those who had not yet descended to retreat. But Lu Zhan came too fast. In an instant his torches were nearly upon them—someone must have tipped him off. In the group, two soldiers were already trembling.

“Team Wu… what should we do?” one stammered.

Before he finished, Leader Wu stared at the approaching lights, clenched his teeth, and suddenly released the rope. The thick hemp unwound violently—the wheels squealed, spinning at a dangerous speed. The lights grew closer and closer; it was too late. Leader Wu barked sharply:

“Cut the rope!”

Frightened out of their wits, the soldiers drew their knives and hacked wildly. The rope was thick, refusing to sever. Leader Wu grabbed a blade, slicing with swift, brutal strokes—three slashes, five at most—and the rope snapped. Everyone rushed to dismantle the rollers, tossing them off the wall.

Below, Gu Wanniang felt it the moment disaster struck. First the lights approaching the tower… then the rope suddenly letting loose. The basket plunged downward through the wind and rain. In an instant the rope slackened completely and broke—the entire basket dropped with it, plunging straight into the darkness.

Everything happened in a flash. Certain death loomed, and Gu Wanniang thought her life was ending here tonight. But the next moment—

“Poof!”

A surge of icy water burst upward, splashing her head to toe.

Terrified and coughing, she struggled up—but everywhere around her was darkness. Only the roar of rain. She didn’t know where she was, whether she was alive or dead. In the blur of fear, a heavy boom sounded nearby. Then another torrent of rain crashed upon her. The shock sent her baby brother wailing at last. She quickly covered his mouth, fumbling for another candy and stuffing it between his lips. The crying slowly faded. She soothed him, patting gently.

When he finally quieted, she reached around to feel her surroundings. Her fingers touched only cold water. A horrible thought crept in—Had she fallen into some endless hell?

Shivering with cold and fear, she eventually mustered the strength to pull out a fire-fold from her sleeve. Shielding it beneath her arm, she prayed it hadn’t gotten wet. Carefully she removed the copper cover. Before she could even shake it, a gust of wind swept in and the fire-fold flared to life.

After so long in complete darkness, the sudden brightness stabbed her eyes; tears sprang up. She blinked rapidly and lifted the flame.

Murky yellow water stretched endlessly around her—she seemed to be drifting in a lake. The wicker basket rocked like a frail little boat. Nearby, something floated half-sunk in the water. As it drifted closer, she recognized it—it was the dismantled wheel thrown from the city wall.

At once, she understood.

Something had happened above. Something disastrous enough to make them cut the rope—nearly killing her and her brother—and then toss the wheel down after her.

Eighty percent of the soldiers on the wall had already noticed something was wrong.

Gu Wanniang forced herself to stay calm. Even if she had been discovered, she was already outside the city, and no one had chased after her for so long. For the moment, at least, she was safe. Pressing down her pounding heart, she crouched low, stretched out her arms, and reached toward the water outside the basket. The water was deep—so deep that she didn’t dare push too hard, afraid the basket might flip. But even when she extended her arms as far as possible, she couldn’t feel the bottom.

She raised the fire-fold, its small light flickering across the surface. There was nothing but water—endless water. There could not suddenly be a lake outside the city wall. Most likely, as with the defenses inside the city, trenches had been dug and the heavy rain had filled them. She began paddling slowly with her hands, believing that sooner or later she would reach the shore.

She didn’t know how long she struggled. Then—her fingers brushed soil. Joy surged through her. She scraped harder, lifted the fire-fold again, and there it was: grass. Wet, muddy grass. She tugged a few leaves—rooted firmly beneath the waterline. Holding her brother tightly, she clambered out of the basket. Her feet slipped; she nearly fell face-first into the muddy trench, but she steadied herself, staggered, pushed up again, and took two steps forward.

Around her stretched a vast darkness. She could not distinguish direction; only behind her lay water. With nothing else to cling to, she walked forward with determination.

---

After nightfall, a massive butter candle burned within the tent, its glow bright as daylight. The Chinese military tent, made of cowhide, was enormous—far more splendid than anything Li Ni had lived in since leaving the prison at Languan. Back then, only the wounded soldiers enjoyed good lodging and good food. But the situation had changed. The city had been besieged for over a month; the army was stable, but panic filled Xichangjing. And since there had been no real battles after their arrival, there were no wounded to care for. After the King of Qin took command, he no longer fussed over such details—caution would only backfire.

The emperor refused to abandon the Eastern Capital. After debate among civil and military officials, the court had proposed relocating only after the Western Expedition. But Li Ni, King of Qin, had already decided otherwise. As chief commander of the campaign, wielding immense power, he declared clearly: If the Eastern Capital was not handed over, the victorious army would never trust the throne. If they did not join forces with the Dingsheng Army, Western Changjing could not be reclaimed. If Sun’s bandits rose again, the world would fall into chaos once more.

The ministers understood well—only by uniting with the victorious army could they hope for success. Though some grumbled, they ultimately agreed.

After preparations for the Western Expedition were complete, Li Ni unexpectedly ordered Pei Xian to enter the palace, forced himself to serve the emperor personally, and even placed Li Mao in the golden chariot. When Emperor Li Mu arrived at the front, he disliked the constraints at first. But when their forces camped outside Xichangjing, and the Dingsheng Army arrived to join them, the combined might of the two armies stretched endlessly across the plains. The sight alone suggested that the recovery of Xichangjing was imminent.

When the two armies met, Cui Yi visited the Zhenxi Army to pay respects to the Son of Heaven. Not excessively humble, yet impeccably proper—enough to please Li Mu. For a moment, he even felt dignified, as though he truly embodied the majesty of the Son of Heaven.

But as days passed, his confidence wavered. The city had endured a month-long siege without collapse. The weather grew colder; soldiers and horses clamored restlessly. Anxiety returned to his heart. Fortunately, Wu Zhenren—an esteemed master invited by Prince Xin, Li Jun—bowed repeatedly before the emperor, proclaiming that Li Mu bore the vitality of a true dragon, the Ziwei Star descended to earth, the mandate of heaven itself. With King Xin, King Qi, King of Qin, as well as generals Cui Yi and Pei Xian protecting him, this battle would surely be won.

Li Mu was overjoyed. He titled Wu Zhenren as National Teacher, and since it was the Double Ninth Festival, he seized the opportunity to reward the three armies. He even bestowed special gifts upon Cui Yi and Pei Xian—golden pills personally refined by Wu Guoshi.

Pei Xian was calm. He understood well how muddled both the former King of Liang and the new emperor were. He accepted the golden pill, had his staff draft a polite but perfunctory memorial of gratitude, and let the matter rest. Cui Yi, however, had no such tolerance. As soon as the messenger left, he hurled even the box containing the golden pill into the corner of his tent.

Compared to that, His Majesty’s reward of meat for the three armies was far more welcome. At least it roused genuine cheers of “long live” from the troops.

Li Ni returned to his tent after a long day’s work, only to find that the emperor and his father had also sent him a box of golden pills. He felt both irritated and amused. Just as he was wondering what to do with it, Pei Yuan entered the tent and shoved something into his hands.

Pei Yuan had not yet seen what it was. Under the candlelight, he recognized it immediately and could only smile bitterly.
“Seventeenth Lang, this is a gift from the emperor. I shouldn’t be taking it.”

“Take it, take it.” Li Ni waved his hand repeatedly, half annoyed, half amused. “Don’t let my father see it. Hurry and bury it somewhere before he starts asking questions.”

Pei Yuan noticed he had already changed his clothes and couldn’t help asking, “It’s already time for duty. You’re still planning to go out?”

“Not going out,” Li Ni replied, though his tone grew light with a hint of anticipation. “The governor will be coming here instead.”
Although he himself was also the Governor of Zhenxi, whenever he said “the governor,” he naturally meant Cui Yi, Governor of Lulong.

At dusk, Li Ni, Cui Yi, and Pei Xian had ridden together to inspect the terrain outside the city. They agreed to meet later in the night to finalize the plans for the siege. As the nominal commander of both armies, Li Ni had invited them to his tent for the discussion.

Pei Yuan was full of complaints as he carried the glittering golden pill box out. Unfortunately, fate was not kind—he ran straight into Pei Xian entering the tent with a group of generals. The torchlight outside flashed along the gold leaf of the box in his hands, making it gleam conspicuously. Pei Xian’s brows instantly tightened.

Pei Yuan hurried to explain, “His Highness asked me to put this away for him!”

Pei Xian clearly didn’t believe it. He shot him a hard glare. Pei Yuan, flustered, bowed and quickly lifted the tent curtain for his father. In the middle of their silent father–son dispute, the sound of horses snorting and armor clattering rose outside—Cui Yi had arrived with the generals of the Dingsheng Army.

Taking advantage of the bustle and formalities, Pei Yuan finally stole away to bury the golden pill box.
By the time he returned, Li Ni was already seated at the center, with Cui Yi on the left and Pei Xian on the right. Their meeting stretched long into the night; when the talks finally concluded, it was already the second watch.

Because the Dingsheng Army was considered a guest force, Li Ni remained exceptionally courteous. He personally escorted Cui Yi out through the rain to the gates of the camp before returning. Not long after he re-entered his tent, someone lifted the curtain—Cui Lin had arrived.

Despite their armies camping side by side outside Western Changjing, the vast number of troops made the barracks maze-like. As commander, Li Ni had been busy preparing for the assault and hadn’t seen her for ten full days. Tonight she had stood behind Cui Yi during the council, wearing the uniform of a captain. There had been no chance for him to look at her properly, much less exchange a private word. Seeing her now, truly here, warmed him instantly.

“Ah Ying,” he called softly.

He took her hand and guided her to sit. Then he turned and brought over a plate—Chongyang cake. He had saved it for her, knowing she liked such sweets. The cake was already cold, the rice flour hard from sitting out too long, but she broke off a piece anyway, tasting it slowly. It was still sweet.

Under the lamp, the two shared the cakes and talked quietly.

“I have something to entrust to you,” he said at last.

She laughed lightly, teasing, “I knew this cake wouldn’t come free.”

The memory of the sugar cakes he once bought outside Bingzhou City surfaced between them: the sweetness, the shared ambitions, the promise of taking Bingzhou together. Their eyes met, and both smiled—the kind of gentle sweetness that needed no words.

Li Ni then told her everything about the former crown princess Xiao: her origins, her hidden maneuvers, how she had joined hands with him long ago to rescue the then-King of Liang and the current emperor.
Cui Lin had known someone in the palace must have helped the rescue, but she had never imagined it was the former crown princess herself—enduring humiliation, navigating Sun Jing’s schemes, bearing burdens beyond what most people could ever endure.

After hearing everything, she sighed softly.

Li Ni continued, “Based on today’s plans, the Dingsheng Army will likely reach the palace first. If so, I must trouble you to watch over her. Protect the former crown princess at all costs.”

Cui Lin nodded. “You can rest easy.”

The rain outside the tent tightened into a steady roar. Both paused, listening.
Li Ni had left Xichangjing at thirteen. His memories of the crown princess were faint—little more than glimpses at palace banquets. Just a graceful, dignified woman in passing. But what she had done on the enemy’s side… that was no ordinary woman’s will.

Cui Lin couldn’t help thinking: If only such a remarkable woman might live to see safety again.
And this—this was the first time Li Ni had entrusted her with something so seriously. When the time came, the palace would be chaos. She resolved to send Taozi immediately with a team straight to Yunguang Hall to shield the former crown princess.

Outside, the rain intensified, the wind joining it. Cui Lin stood. “I should return.”

He fetched her oil coat and fastened each tie with care, holding a lamp close so the flame would not flicker out. He knew that riding in such weather meant she would be soaked regardless, yet he still tried to shield her from even a little wetness.

He made to escort her out, but she smiled. “Stay. If you’re seen sending me off at this hour, it won’t look good.”
And with that quiet understanding, she slipped away into the night.

Rain hammered her from all sides. Even with the oil coat, she was drenched. As she passed through the camp gates, a commotion suddenly rose ahead—guards escorting someone in. Taozi hurried over to greet her, and upon questioning, she learned the patrol had captured what they thought was a spy. After interrogation, the person claimed to be Gu Xiang’s daughter, having escaped the besieged city to seek His Highness King Qin.

Cui Lin’s heart tightened.
She composed herself. “Invite Miss Gu to my tent.”

Soon the guards brought in a figure who looked almost like a clay doll. Mud smeared her clothes from head to toe; she had clearly fallen countless times. Her face, washed clean by rain, was pale as paper.

Gu Wanniang stared, stunned by the sight of a woman of such high rank within the army.

Cui Lin, however, recognized her immediately—she had seen her briefly on the boat.
“Miss Gu,” she said, “you claimed you had something important to report to King Qin?”

Hearing her voice, Gu Wanniang finally recognized her—the captain from the ship.
Everything that happened on that ship had split her life in two: before Li Ni and after Li Ni.

Before meeting Li Ni, all she wished was to survive—perhaps live a little better if fate allowed.
After meeting him, she seemed to rise from the shadows. Even her father, the most powerful man in their household, began to rely on her. She became someone valued, someone trusted—far more than her own elder brother.

She was no longer the timid, hidden Gu Wanniang of the past.
Not anymore.

She straightened her back ever so slightly without even realizing it. Before this formidable military woman, she dared not relax for even a heartbeat nor allow herself to fall behind. She remembered her well—the girl who stepped onto the boat with only a single sentence to Li Ni, a sentence that sounded like surrender yet carried the proud bearing of someone who had already won everything.

Such a girl was not like the soft glow of the moon—she was like the blazing sun. Whoever saw her once would never forget her.

After that night, Gu Wanniang replayed every moment on that boat countless times in her heart, carefully analyzing each detail. She knew everything had changed. From the moment she met Li Ni, she had become someone else entirely. There was a phrase she had read many times in books but never understood—“To catch the thief, catch the king first.” After returning to Xichangjing and meeting Li Ni, she suddenly understood. In her own household, the mistress did not matter. No matter how furious her mother was, no matter how much she disliked Gu Wanniang, everything would change as long as her father spoke a single word.

Sure enough, her mother still hated her, Gu Sanniang still whispered poison into her ear, but none of it worked anymore. She now had her father’s favor; no one could touch her. A concubine who once bullied her alongside Gu Sanniang now scrambled to smile and show goodwill.

The first time she stepped into her father’s study, she had been trembling. Later, she walked in calmly. Because she was intelligent. Because she understood. And because he was willing to teach her—willing to discuss things with her, willing to cultivate her talents without reservation.

In this world, men were not the only ones who could be molded—girls could be shaped too. Wasn’t this Colonel He before her a living example? When the Dingsheng soldiers brought Gu Wanniang into the tent, their respect for Colonel He was unmistakable.

Gu Wanniang saluted slowly and elegantly, her posture soft and refined, as if she were back in a boudoir.

She had gone over that night on the boat thousands upon thousands of times, dissecting every movement, every expression. She finally understood why Li Ni—then just the emperor’s Seventeenth Grandson, now the meritorious King of Qin—had looked so lonely that day.

Because he liked Colonel He. And not only that—Colonel He liked him too. When they looked at each other, their gazes were nothing like the ones they gave others.

When they looked at each other, there was only the other person in their eyes—as though the rest of the world paled in comparison. As though every star in the heavens dimmed before the brilliance of that one person.

“Gu Wanniang greets Colonel He.”
Her own voice startled her—soft and gentle, like a girl greeting an old friend she had missed dearly. “It has been several years since we parted on the boat. How has the Colonel been?”

Cui Lin had grown up disguised as a boy, spent her life marching with troops, and rarely encountered such soft-spoken boudoir manners. Before this delicate young lady, she felt strangely out of place. She only nodded and replied, “Thank you for remembering, Miss Gu. I am well.”

At that moment, Gu Wanniang explained why she had left the city and begged Colonel He to take care of her infant brother. She told her everything—how she had been found carrying the baby in the rain by the Dingsheng patrol soldiers, nearly mistaken for a spy; how the baby had been soaked and crying from the cold; how he had been sent to the military physician, who, helpless with infants, had ordered hot soup to dispel the chill.

While she spoke, Cui Lin had already ordered men to rush to the palace and bring the imperial physicians. Though they were not specialists in pediatrics, they were far more skilled than army doctors.

Gu Wanniang listened and felt her heart loosen for the first time since escaping the city. Her younger brother was only eight months old. After suffering cold rain for half the night, he was finally safe—and now Colonel He was sending for the imperial physicians. Surely, he would recover.

After ordering the physician, Cui Lin ordered a carriage to take her to the King of Qin.

“It’s raining too heavily—you can’t ride,” she said. “Take the carriage.”
She added, “Your brother is a baby. Leave him in our camp for now. I will have the imperial physician treat him and assign someone to care for him.”
Then, “Your clothes are soaked. The autumn night wind is bitter. Don’t fall ill. I’ve had someone bring dry clothes.”

It was impossible not to be moved. Gu Wanniang’s eyes burned with heat—tears threatened. After changing into clean clothes, she thanked Colonel He repeatedly before getting into the carriage.

By the time she reached the Zhenxi barracks, it was already the fifth watch. The rain had stopped, leaving the darkest stillness before dawn. Li Ni’s personal guards walked the perimeter with torches. Though Li Ni had gone to bed late, he was already awake. A few generals had gathered, so when Gu Wanniang entered the tent, several of them hurried out with helmets on, casting curious glances her way before continuing forward.

A brazier glowed inside the command tent, filling the space with warm, rising steam—a rare comfort in the chill of late autumn. Li Ni stood when she entered, polite as ever. The moment Gu Wanniang saw him, her throat tightened, and tears nearly spilled. She forced herself to remain calm, bowed gracefully, and said, “I greet Your Highness.”

One fleeting, hurried glance at him—and she felt as if he were a completely different person. In truth, this was only their second meeting. The first time he had been merely the Seventeenth Grandson. Now he stood before her a prince with great military merit. Nearly a year had passed. He seemed taller, steadier, yet his eyes and brows were as striking as ever.

He returned her greeting with formal restraint. His gaze stayed politely lowered—like a true gentleman addressing a young lady. Gu Wanniang wished he would look at her, just once—but she was startled by her own boldness and quickly collected herself, focusing on recounting her father’s message in full detail.

He listened attentively without interrupting. She began nervous, afraid she might misremember something, but gradually her voice steadied. She even dared to peek at him occasionally. He kept his gaze lowered the entire time—courteous, proper, distant.

When she finished, he considered for a moment, then asked several questions—when she left the city, how she had brought the child out, and where Gu Jialang was now. When she told him Colonel He had left the infant in the Dingsheng camp and summoned the imperial physician, he finally smiled.

It was the first time she had ever seen him smile.

And that smile… appeared only when she mentioned Colonel He. His eyes seemed brighter at the mention of her.

He said gently, “Very well. I understand Minister Gu’s intentions. Miss Gu has worked hard. I will send someone to escort you back to the Dingsheng camp.”

He called for someone. Soon, a tall young man entered—the very same Xie Chang’er. Li Ni gave a few brief orders, and Xie Chang’er escorted Gu Wanniang back, riding alongside her carriage.

Her brother slept soundly when she arrived. With the wet nurse still trapped inside the city, Taozi had found a bowl of milk somewhere, warmed it, and fed the baby. Gu Wanniang thanked her over and over. Taozi replied:

“The captain said you may stay here for now. Milk will be sent every day.”

Gu Wanniang tried to thank her again, but Taozi had already lifted the curtain and gone out to speak with Xie Chang’er. Through a narrow gap, Gu Wanniang saw them chatting and laughing—so familiar, so intimate—that she suddenly understood everything.

Gu Wanniang stayed in the Dingsheng camp for about ten days. Autumn rain fell without pause for days. When it finally cleared, dawn arrived with a biting chill. Dew clung to every surface. Because of the baby, Taozi had brought charcoal and a brazier earlier to keep the tent warm.

That morning, the charcoal fire was dying. Gu Wanniang added a few pieces of charcoal and boiled milk in a clay pot so it would be ready when her brother woke. Though she was a sheltered young lady, she had grown up neglected and had lived in seclusion in Bingzhou; she was no stranger to simple tasks.

She was watching the clay pot carefully when a sudden earth-shaking “WOO—WOO—” shattered the quiet—like a dragon’s roar, like buried thunder rumbling through the ground. The tent trembled. Her brother woke crying. She held him tightly while straining to listen.

She knew it was the army horn. But what she heard today was nothing like the usual one or two calls. It was as if tens of thousands of horns were sounding at once. The air seemed to vibrate; the ground trembled.

The horns rose again, louder, clearer—one after another, surging like an endless tide crashing against the shore. Like an eagle spreading its wings, soaring into the ninth heaven. Fierce. Majestic. Overwhelming.

The entire world seemed filled with this sound—vast, unstoppable, shaking heaven and earth.

The baby in her arms had finally stopped crying. Those wide, dazed eyes stared up at her, trembling with every rise and fall of her breath, as though sensing her unease. Just then, an old soldier hurried into the tent with a small clay canister of milk. He had been delivering milk these past few days, and Gu Wanniang had grown somewhat familiar with him.

“Brother Cai,” she asked softly, “why is it so noisy outside today?”

The old soldier, surnamed Cai, set the milk down on the table and smiled. “The army is heading out. Our Dingsheng Army and the Zhenxi Army are marching together to attack the city.”

Gu Wanniang’s heart gave a heavy thump. She couldn’t even name what she felt—expectation, fear, hope… or something else entirely.

Sun Jing had rebelled, slaughtered the late emperor and the princes, and plunged the dynasty into ruin. No one had imagined that from far-off Laolan Pass, the seventeenth grandson, Li Yi, would lead the Zhenxi Army back across mountains and rivers, reclaiming city after city. And now—today—he was marching on Xichangjing to confront Sun Jing himself.

She, a powerless woman with a baby in her arms, felt her blood surge at the thought. Thousands of soldiers advancing toward Kyoto, charging through mud and blood to punish the traitor—what a world-shaking sight it must be. She could do nothing but wait in the rear camp, clutching a child, imagining the clash of armies dozens of miles away.

But he would win.
She believed this with absolute certainty.

She knew nothing of strategy or the intricacies of human hearts. Yet ever since he had descended from the heavens like a god, she had known—he would prevail in anything he set his mind to. He was born for this. The world itself seemed destined to bend to his will, to fall into his hands.

While Gu Wanniang let her thoughts scatter in the tent, Li Ni—commander of both armies and leader of the siege—had no such leisure. Ever since Gu Wanniang delivered Gu Zhen’s intelligence, he had discussed it repeatedly with Pei Xian and Cui Yi. In the end, they agreed: this battle must be decisive. They would take the city in one stroke.

On the first day of the siege, both armies lined up in strict formation, stretching for miles along the western side of Xichangjing, ready to attack with their full might.

It was a battle of grit and endurance. Sun Jing, upon hearing of the assault, donned his armor without hesitation and went up to the city walls to direct the defense.

Li Ni played no tricks. He ordered the ballistae to fire first, launching giant bolts as thick as a child’s arm into the city’s bricks and tiles. Shards flew everywhere. Occasionally, defenders at the top of the wall were struck and fell, blood flowing down their temples. Then came the trebuchets, hook cars, ram cars—every siege machine they had.

Arrows rained like locusts. Stones pelted down like a second downpour. The defenders knew the battle was unavoidable. With Sun Jing personally overseeing them, they remained steady, firing back with arrows and stones of their own.

The fighting continued until dusk, when both the Zhenxi and Dingsheng armies finally pulled back to prepare for the next day. The defenders had few casualties, but morale inside the city was crumbling. Whispers spread everywhere—The city cannot hold.

Sun Jing, alarmed, ordered his guards to seize all the noble family heads as hostages, including Gu Zhen. But each household relied heavily on loyal servants. One after another, they shut their gates and refused to comply. Forcing their way in could easily trigger a rebellion in the night, so Sun Jing had no choice but to abandon the attempt.

The next day, the Zhenxi and Dingsheng armies again joined forces to attack the western wall. The terrain made the rammed-earth layers beneath the bricks weaker, and with no protective outer wall, it was the most vulnerable point. Sun Jing concentrated all his forces here, and the battle turned fierce and deadlocked.

By afternoon, muffled thunder rolled across the sky. Soon the rain came—light at first, then pouring harder and harder until the world turned white. Fighting in such weather was impossible. Both armies withdrew for the time being.

Even knowing the retreat was temporary, the weary defenders cheered. Sun Jing’s men were trapped, cut off from all aid, and their morale had long been sinking. To withstand even a moment felt like a blessing.

Li Ni, however, was not discouraged. Xichangjing had been the capital for a hundred years. Though Dayu had experienced wars before, battles had never reached the city walls of the western capital. He had spent months studying every inch of the terrain. Pei Xian and Cui Yi, both veteran generals, had done the same. Together, they had simulated countless scenarios—rain or shine, advantage or disadvantage.

So even in the downpour, Li Ni remained calm. He returned to his tent, dried his soaked clothes by the brazier, calculated by the sand table, quickly ate a bit of dried rations, inspected the wounded camp, and then sat down at last.

Before he could rest, Lao Bao lifted the tent curtain and strode in.
“Seventeen Lang! How could you forget your brothers when there’s such a good job to be done?”

Li Ni couldn’t help but laugh. “What ‘good job’ have you set your eyes on this time?”

“The tunnels!” Lao Bao huffed. “Didn’t you and the Cui family’s Dingsheng Army agree that if it rained, we’d use the softened ground to dig tunnels? Such a fun task—how could you not let us join?”

The “us,” of course, meant Huang Youyi and the others from Mingdai Mountain.

Li Ni sighed. “The autumn rain is freezing. You’ve got seventeen or eighteen old injuries on your body. If you dig tunnels in this weather, you’ll suffer for it later.”

Lao Bao spat. He grumbled that Li Ni was looking down on him—treating him like some useless relic. He claimed he had already heard that the Dingsheng Army was digging. If they succeeded first, how could he, a twenty-year veteran of the Zhenxi Army, show his face again?

Li Ni couldn’t argue with him any further and finally relented.

Lao Bao brightened immediately and grinned. “Just you wait. We’ll beat the Dingsheng Army to it and finish that tunnel first.”

After Lao Bao finished speaking, he immediately led Huang Youyi, Zhao Youde, and the others from Mingdai Mountain into the torrential rain to dig tunnels beneath the city. True to form, they outpaced the Dingsheng Army; within half a day, the tunnel stretched beneath the city wall. Lao Bao, ever the leader, wielded a shovel himself, digging tirelessly in the narrow passage where only two or three men could work side by side. Each section completed required a careful rotation, yet he never paused.

Though the rain had ceased by dusk, the continuous downpour had softened the ground, making every strike of the shovel twice as effective—but also twice as exhausting. Lao Bao swung the shovel relentlessly, sweat and mud blending into his clothes. Huang Youyi and the others urged him to take a break, offering to rotate, but he refused.

At one point, a surge of muddy water burst from the tunnel, cascading over Lao Bao’s head and face. He laughed, exhilarated. “It’s done!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the tight, damp space.

The city had endured days of rain; the trenches surrounding it were flooded. Now, with the tunnel complete, water gushed in, leaving workers unsteady in the mud. Just as the group allowed themselves a moment of triumph, a sudden crash shook the earth. Mud, sand, logs, and stones came hurtling through the tunnel. The defenders had discovered the dig and blocked the passage from within the city.

But Lao Bao and his team were undeterred. A temporary obstruction was nothing; the tunnel could be cleared, and work resumed. Amid the clamor, Qian Youdao could no longer restrain himself. Grabbing a shovel, he led a small group to breach the blockage, and soon the tunnel echoed only with the sound of labor. The defenders rushed to intercept, but the cramped passage allowed only a few to fight at a time. Though arrows rained down, the attackers pressed on relentlessly.

In the midst of the stalemate, the defenders devised a new tactic: fire. They poured jars of vegetable oil into the tunnel. Though the rain had ceased, ankle-deep water still coated the floor, allowing the oil to float. Lao Bao’s keen nose detected the scent of oil. “Fire!” he shouted, and immediately led everyone to retreat. Flames ignited with frightening speed, consuming everything in their path.

Huang Youyi and the others escaped into the open, watching in horror as the fire raced toward the rear of the tunnel. Lao Bao was missing. Panic gripped the group. “Lao Bao!” Zhang Youren cried, eyes stinging with tears. Then, miraculously, a figure emerged from the inferno—Lao Bao, ablaze but alive. Quick-thinking Qian Youdao grabbed him and rolled into the rain-soaked trench. Once safe, they saw that most of his hair and beard had been singed. Anger and laughter mixed in Lao Bao’s eyes as he cursed under his breath, pointing at the city walls.

The defenders, peering down from above, were astounded to see the fire attack fail. Lao Bao and his men, muddy and singed, couldn’t help but laugh at their audacious escape.

By the second day, the defenders had grown wary. Wooden shields dotted the base of the city walls every few dozen steps, providing cover for the Zhenxi and Dingsheng armies as they continued their tunnel operations. The defenders were caught in a dilemma: attack the obvious digging and waste arrows on shields, or hold fire and risk real tunnels being completed?

Night fell, yet both armies labored continuously, and the city’s defenders dared not sleep. If they did, the sound of shovels digging through earth haunted their dreams.

After two more days, unrest simmered within the city. Rumors flowed through the markets: the Zhenxi and Dingsheng armies had encircled Xichangjing. Panic spread; some believed Sun Jing intended to set the city ablaze and perish with its people. Oil had been stockpiled near the city gates, fueling the speculation. Despite Sun Jing’s attempts to maintain order—posting notices, executing rumor-mongers—the population trembled.

Meanwhile, drums echoed along the city walls. While Lao Bao and his men drew the defenders’ attention with tunnels, the main Zhenxi army had maneuvered to the Yanping Gate on the south side. They struck the city gate with massive logs, each impact thundering like a rolling storm.

Pei Yuan led the vanguard, braving a hail of arrows. Sun Jing, confident in his urn city defenses, sent reinforcements to block the attackers. Yet chaos erupted unexpectedly: fires blazed from Zunshan Temple and surrounding buildings, throwing the city into panic. Believing Sun Jing intended to destroy them, the populace rushed to flee, further amplifying disorder.

Seizing the moment, the Dingsheng Army attacked Tonghua Gate. Sun Jing realized the day was lost. He sighed, opened Guanghua Gate, and personally led his forces to confront the Zhenxi army outside the city.

Li Ni, calm and prepared, donned his armor and mounted his horse. “Xie Chang’er,” he ordered, “tell Pei Yuan that Sun Jing has left the city. No matter what happens here, he must never return. I only want Yanping Gate.”

The ensuing battle took place on a narrow plain flanked by mountains and rivers. Sun Jing charged like a sharpened blade, but Li Ni’s formation held firm. After more than an hour, Xie Chang’er reported, “Your Highness, Pei Yuan has broken through Yanping Gate, and the Dingsheng Army has taken Tonghua Gate.”

Li Ni nodded, aware that Sun Jing would have received the same news through messenger cavalry. Undeterred, the traitor grew reckless, even discarding his armor to fight bare-chested with a spear. His boldness momentarily shook the Zhenxi army’s front lines.

Calmly, Li Ni gave orders to adjust the left and right flanks. The horns of the Zhenxi army sounded, the formation moved as one, and soon, a cavalry column surged forward. Leading them was Li Ni himself, atop a tall horse, spear in hand, banners of “King of Qin” and “Zhenxi” fluttering in the wind.

Sun Jing, seeing the charge and the smoke rising from the city, realized too late the trap behind him: Pei Yuan’s cavalry had circled from the rear. His generals hesitated, but Wang Xiao urged, “Grand Governor, retreat!”

Sun Jing sneered. “The world is vast—where else can I go? Now is the time to fight to the death.”

With a roar, he plunged into battle, colliding with Li Ni’s forces like two wild beasts. Blood and steel flew, screams echoed across the plain, and the carnage of war erupted with terrifying intensity. Both sides were locked in a deadly embrace, struggling fiercely, and neither could yield an inch.

Blood soaked the blades of grass, and the weeds on the plain were crushed beneath the relentless march of the army, gradually turning to mud. Soon, the trampled earth was stained dark with blood, forming pools that mirrored the sky. Countless soldiers fell, while countless more struggled to rise. Some roared with fury, some groaned in pain. The dead stared skyward with hollow eyes, while the wounded dragged themselves back into the fray. Over and over, the cavalry led by Pei Xian surged forward like a living winch, crushing lives in their wake, striking again and again at the rear of Sun Jing’s forces.

Sun Jing himself was caught in a maelstrom of battle, as if transported back to the first time he had wielded a sword in his youth. Warm blood sprayed across his neck, yet he returned strike for strike, twisting his wrist to end lives with brutal precision. On the battlefield, it was either kill or die; he had long become numb to fear and pain.

He did not know how long he fought before exhaustion set in. His arms ached unbearably, too heavy to lift, and around him, the fight had descended into chaos. He looked up blankly at the westward sun, spilling warm golden light across the bloodied plain. The warmth tempted him, and for a fleeting moment, he longed only to lie down under that comforting light and rest.

A sharp whistle split the air—an arrow. Instinctively, Sun Jing swung his knife, slicing through the shaft and cutting off the feather. Pain seared through his chest as the arrowhead embedded itself in his armor. Someone beside him cried out. Blinking through the haze, he saw the arrow jutting from his chest.

A voice shouted urgently. Hands grabbed him, holding him upright. Wang Xiao, who had earlier pleaded with him to retreat, now carried him from the battlefield. Sun Jing spat blood, clutching Wang Xiao’s sleeve with trembling fingers. “Let’s go… take people… leave…”

Wang Xiao’s eyes, wide with disbelief, reflected the turmoil of following Sun Jing for so many years and never witnessing him falter. Sun Jing coughed, spewing another mouthful of blood, and then his head fell slack—he made no further sound.

The battlefield erupted in chaos. Voices shouted from every side, indistinguishable, whether Zhenxi Army or Sun Jing’s own troops. Wang Xiao dragged Sun Jing onto a horse, and together they fled toward Fengshui. The arrow that struck Sun Jing had not been shot by Li Ni—it was lost in the disorder of battle, an anonymous strike in the storm. Sun Jing’s army, demoralized, retreated in disarray, while Li Ni’s forces pressed the pursuit relentlessly.

By the time they reached the outskirts of Fengshui, another clash erupted. In half an hour, Sun Jing’s troops were decisively defeated. Night fell, and what remained of his army scattered in all directions, the survivors fleeing into the darkness.

Meanwhile, Pei Yuan’s forces had waged a four-hour, bloody siege against Jiang Shu at the Yanping Gate, with losses mounting on both sides. The Dingsheng Army had broken through Tonghua Gate and advanced straight toward the imperial city. By dawn, Pei Yuan had annihilated Jiang Shu’s troops entirely, and the Dingsheng Army had already seized the imperial city.

The red sun rose in the east over a rare, clear autumn morning. Zunshan Temple, which had burned through the night, finally smoldered into ashes, leaving behind only charred ruins of the magnificent century-old landmark.

Li Ni entered the palace from Danfeng Gate, riding toward the Zichen Hall. Corpses littered the grounds, blood pooled across the steps, weapons scattered indiscriminately. He paused, taking in the devastation. The morning wind lifted his robe, the autumn sun glinting off the marble floors. Ahead, the Hanyuan Hall and Xuanzheng Hall rose in solemn majesty, reflecting the clear sky of Xichangjing, untouched by clouds.

He stood silently, lost in thought, until a soft voice called: “Your Highness.” Pei Yuan had arrived. Li Ni’s gaze lingered on the Zichen Hall, then on Hanyuan Hall. A heavy sigh escaped him. “I was only thirteen when I was sent to Laolan Pass… before leaving, I went to bid farewell to the late emperor. I made a mistake, and the emperor was angry, but he said nothing, only sent a message… to keep my duty and not bring shame to the Li family. Back then, I left the capital, and now… almost my entire family has been slaughtered. Perhaps I remember the carefree days in Laolan Guanzhong, but in just a year and a half, it feels as though I have lived in another world entirely.”

Pei Yuan’s voice was steady: “Your Highness has now recaptured Xichangjing. That alone comforts the spirit of the late emperor in heaven.”

Li Ni paused, then asked quietly: “Will those who pursue Sun Jing’s remnants be rewarded?”

Pei Yuan nodded. “A general from Sun Jing’s confidants was captured and surrendered. Sun Jing was gravely injured, dead even, though Wang Xiao fled with his body. His father, however, refused to believe it and ordered continued pursuit.”

“And Cui Yi?” Li Ni asked.

Pei Yuan recounted, “After General Cui broke through the imperial city, he led his team into the palace, dismounted at Hanyuan Hall, visited Lingyan Pavilion, and returned, saying only, ‘I am satisfied.’ Then he rejoined the Dingsheng Army outside the city.”

Li Ni sighed. “I envy him… break the city, kill the enemy, and leave swiftly. That is true generalship.”

Pei Yuan smiled wryly. “Your Highness… you are different from him.”

Li Ni’s gaze softened. “Yet at times, I envy him very much.”

Pei Yuan’s voice was calm. “From the moment you left the prison of Lan Pass, you have led the troops, suppressed rebellions, reorganized the land… You are no longer the same as anyone in the world. You need not envy others.”

Li Ni muttered, almost wistfully, “Then… it feels so boring.”

Pei Yuan wanted to argue, but Li Ni had already turned toward the Zichen Hall, slowly ascending the steps.

From Yuhui Tower, Cui Lin gazed at the glazed tiles glinting in the rising sun. She sighed. “It’s… really boring.”

Taozi frowned. “The palace… it’s all just bigger houses, taller houses. Where are the people?”

Cui Lin smiled. “This is Yuhui Tower. In front is Hanyuan Hall, then Xuanzheng Hall, then Zichen Hall—all used by the previous dynasty’s emperor. Beyond the high walls lies the East Palace, the harem.”

Taozi’s eyes widened. “How many people live in such a place? And we’ve seen no one!”

Cui Lin explained the horrors of Sun Jing’s assault: the almost complete slaughter of the Li family, the chaos during the siege, and how Concubine Xiao survived by hiding.

Taozi pouted. “If Sun Jing wanted her, he could have found her. But he had other priorities then.”

Cui Lin nodded and hurried to check on Concubine Xiao. Taozi had brought antidotes, which they administered, stabilizing her condition. With Xiao safe, Cui Lin took a moment to admire the palace city and the Zhenxi Army moving within it.

They came across Lao Bao, who recounted the fiery tunnel attack. The group laughed and bantered over burned scalps, bald heads, and military humor. Taozi even offered wound medicine to restore Lao Bao’s hair, which he accepted gratefully.

Meanwhile, Li Ni was in Hanzhang Hall, tending to urgent matters. When Cui Lin arrived, she saw his exhaustion, the blood on his face, and had a basin of hot water prepared so he could clean himself. He breathed a sigh of relief when she confirmed Concubine Xiao was safe.

Xiao had attempted to poison Sun Jing, but his vigilance and careful diet meant the attempt only partially succeeded. He had been weakened, almost fatally, by the slow-acting toxin, but he had survived.

When Pei Yuan delivered dry food for lunch, Li Ni shared it with Cui Lin. Between bites, they exchanged quiet conversation about the palace, the battle, and the aftermath. She tended to his wounds carefully, cleaning the deep gash on his arm and bandaging it with precision.

Finally, he fell asleep at the table, exhausted beyond measure—likely after two nights of sleepless command. Sunlight streamed through the window, catching particles of dust in the air. She watched him, marveling at his youth, his beauty, and the life he had endured.

Hours passed. He stirred, noticing her presence, and murmured softly. She smiled, telling him it had been only a brief rest. He listened to updates on military matters, then saw the care she had taken with his wound. Later, she sent him jerky and a humorous silk painting of him asleep with his bandaged arms, inscribed with “King Qin’s Sleeping Picture.” He laughed, his heart warmed, and carefully stored the gift in his armor pocket, treasuring it quietly.

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