Volume III, Real Ancient Capital, Chapter 74: Independence of North Yan
By Xiao Xiang Dong'Er | Translated and Arranged by Angel Chua
On the ninth day of May, in the year 773 of the White Calendar, after the Sui era, officials wept outside the Purple Gate, and the people grieved. It became a national mourning service. On May 16, a procession was held on Tai-Qing Street, following the coffin of West Huai Wang Dai, all the way to the Nine Eun Shan Royal Mausoleum.
The historical records of Muhe are brief, only a few lines, which suggest a prosperous era behind her. However, she was not given a posthumous title. The reason for her death is also unmentioned, except for the character "殁," meaning death, symbolizing the end of the once-prosperous Muhe Yun family line. With Muhe's retreat from history, the Elders' Shrine lost one of its seven great families. This absence created unease among the remaining noble families, and the void left by Muhe's demise only intensified their suspicions and ambitions.
On the day of Muhe Queen's funeral, Chu Qiao stood on the Bell Tower in the southwest corner of the imperial palace, watching the white mourning banners flutter in the sky. Everything felt like a dream of lost splendor. Yan Xun stood beside her, his expression unreadable. But when he turned away, Chu Qiao noticed five deep fingerprints imprinted on the railing where his hand had rested.
How could one forget that the first cavalryman to set foot on the Yanbei plateau was from the Muhe lineage? How could one forget the riverside of cold water, where Yan Xun suffered humiliation, his eyes refusing to close in peace?
With the death of one of the Muhe dynasty's remaining power-holders, the blood feud between Yan Bei and the Muhe family was finally resolved.
On her way back to Yingge Academy, Chu Qiao happened to see the seventh prince, Zhao Che. The young prince was dressed in light-colored robes, with only his belt and cuffs showing white moon designs. His appearance seemed out of place amidst the pale mourning that covered the entire palace.
Zhao Che stood calmly in the pavilion at Yuanshan Mountain as a light rain drizzled, making it difficult to see his features clearly. Chu Qiao, holding a green umbrella, looked up slightly at him. The rain soaked her shoes, and her skirt hem was dampened by the drizzle.
Zhao Che's gaze was fixed on the western sky, where rolling hills stretched out. Chu Qiao knew that beyond those hills lay the plateau, where, according to legend, the ancestors of the Daxia Empire emerged. They tamed wild horses and conquered vast lands with blood and faith. When they died, their souls returned to their homeland, resting in the crimson soil.
The underground imperial mausoleum of the Daxia Dynasty, located beneath Nine Mounds Hill, had been passed down through generations. It was said that atop the mountain, a temple held a whale-oil lamp that flickered endlessly for thousands of years.
As the wind blew, the rain fell on the paper umbrella, and Chu Qiao's silhouette became hidden among the flowering trees. Only her white skirt turned softly in mid-air.
To weaken the Muhe family's power, the seventh prince Zhao Che had been born to Yuan Huan, daughter of Princess Wenhua Pavilion Yuanfei. Yuanfei had been the only lover of the Daxia Emperor, a rare figure in the harem. She followed Yuan Yu from Bian Tang, and though she had no noble background, she won the emperor's favor for 17 years. However, on the day of Zhao Che's birth, Yuanfei drowned herself in a lake in front of her maids.
No one knows the true reason for Yuanfei's death. It was rumored that Empress Dowager Muhe poisoned her, and the emperor, despite knowing this, did nothing to save her. After Yuanfei's death, the emperor continued his state duties as usual, never showing emotion. While he upheld the image of a wise ruler, he never took another concubine.
After the death of his mother, Zhao Che gradually distanced himself from his biological family and changed his political views. Eventually, he opposed his biological mother so strongly that he was sent to the frontier, where no one came to his aid.
Because of this, when Muhe Yun fell, Zhao Che remained unaffected, unlike his brother Xi Hua Wang and sister Princess Chun, who were heavily implicated. Zhao Che, as usual, held onto his power and his military leadership.
In many cases, what is seen on the surface is not the full truth. Chu Qiao turned away, pausing to gaze at the lonely figure of the young prince.
In this deep palace, everyone harbors their own sorrow, and cruelty lurks beneath the surface. Chu Qiao's eyes had already witnessed too many changes in life, and she had long since detached from the grandeur that had turned to defeat.
Back at Yingge Academy, Yan Xun sat drinking in the pavilion at Merlin. Over the years, he had remained calm, rarely indulging in drink except on necessary occasions. Chu Qiao stood under the porch, watching the young man in his white robe, a sudden wave of sorrow rising in her chest. She was reminded of an afternoon many years ago, when the boy woke from a nightmare, clutched her hand, and asked in a fragile voice, "A Chu, when will I find peace?"
At that time, they were too weak even to muster the courage to drink. But now, with newfound strength, they shoulder heavy responsibilities. They can no longer hold the golden cup with ease.
True to form, Yan Xun drank only two cups before stopping. After the cold winter had passed, Merlin's bloom waned, and the breeze swayed the trees and plum blossoms. His green shirt fluttered in the wind, his eyes closed, head tilted upwards, eyebrows furrowed, as white plum petals fell on his face. The breeze stirred, lifting his sleeves, and his movements were graceful, like a bird's wing.
Chu Qiao did not approach him. She stood quietly at a distance, watching the person who had stood by her side for many years.
Some emotions are beyond understanding; some hatred, too heavy to bear. Even as close as they were, she could never carry the full weight of his pain.
Perhaps all she could do was stand from afar, wait for the rain to fall, and offer him her umbrella.
The empire's noblewoman had fallen, leaving behind a collapsed rock that once seemed as calm as a lake.
Contrary to everyone's expectations, Shu Concubine of the harem had no logical path to succeed Muhe Yun. After the initial moment of celebration, suspicions soon turned toward the Wei clan. The Secretariat of the Clerk Administration, the House of Internal Affairs, and the Temple of the Great Mosque all sent officials to Shu Yundian as if gathering for a festival. On the seventh day, their investigations proved fruitless, but they did not clear Shu Concubine of suspicion. Some even fanned the flames, causing her status in the harem to plummet. Wei clan, too, faced opposition, criticized by the censor stations, and the situation looked bleak.
Meanwhile, Xuanyuan Empress of Lan Xuan Dian seized the opportunity. After serving at the throne for three consecutive days, she was registered as a noblewoman on the fourth day, rising to the highest position in the harem, second only to Shu Concubine. The funeral ceremony for Muhe Yun was held as befitting the first lady of the harem.
Zhuge Lanxuan, a different kind of favorite, was not from a declining family like Muhe Yun. She hailed from a prestigious clan with a century-old heritage and a powerful family backing.
As the winds shifted, the fortunes of the Zhuge family rose, aligning them with the Wei clan.
The Daxia emperor's birthday was destined to be tumultuous. Three days after Muhe Yun's funeral, the emperor was set to marry his beloved daughter to the son of Yanbei, marking a significant event for the empire.
The air was thick with anticipation, as if the entire nation held its breath. On May 17, as the cavalry rode into the tranquil Royal Park, the bereaved Batuha family from the northwest arrived. General Bali, the younger brother of the barbarian General Lao Batu, broke down in tears upon entering the city. His cries echoed through the square, weeping before the statue of the Mother-in-law at the Crape Myrtle statue. Shortly after, he was summoned to the Golden Palace. Out of loyalty and patriotism, the noble emperor granted him an audience.
General Bali's return went unnoticed by most of the capital. To the bureaucrats, Bali was just a veteran elder whose influence had waned. With Muhe's fall, the Batuha family had been pushed further to the margins. The emperor's summoning of Bali was seen as a mere political gesture to win over public opinion.
The meeting at the Golden Palace lasted for an hour. The guards stood watch outside, allowing no one to approach.
When Bali finally emerged, it was late at night, and the wind howled down Long Street. The young General Bali, a skullcap pulled low over his head, gazed up at the sky and laughed madly. Passersby looked on in quiet dismay at the sight of the seemingly crazed man, and some frowned in secret.
That same evening, Zhuge Yue and Wei Shuye, the Wei clan master who had just returned to the capital, received a letter stamped with the northwestern goshawk. Zhuge Muqing pondered the letter for a long while, then shook his head slowly and said, "He claims to be ill and cannot come out."
Zhuge Yue frowned and asked, "Father, why?"
Zhuge Muqing replied calmly, "Our goal has been accomplished. There's no need to press further. Our family's position is not yet secure, and Lanxuan still needs time to solidify her standing in the palace."
"If we do that, the emperor will place greater trust in us," Zhuge Yue reasoned.
Zhuge Muqing's expression turned cold as he said, "Yue, do you not understand? The emperor's regard for us does not depend on how much we contribute to the empire, but on the strength of the Zhuge lineage. Look at General Meng, who has served the country for generations. Despite his loyalty, he remains just a general, without the financial influence of powerful families. The imperial court and noble families are divided in power, and they cannot be reconciled. This is what I've told you many times."
"But—"
"There's no need to discuss this further. For now, we wait for three days."
Zhuge Yue was cut off by his father's stern words. In fact, he had wanted to say that, had Bali not been such an idiot, Yan Xun might have truly escaped the emperor's control and returned to Yanbei. What then? What would become of the Daxia empire? What would the world look like after the emperor's enemies were allowed to return? What chaos would follow in the wake of their self-serving decisions?
He also wanted to tell his father that his age limited his perspective. He saw only the immediate gains and losses of the Zhuge family, not the broader forces shaping the world. Without the empire, would the Zhuge family even survive?
If his father had gone, what of her? Would she leave the Royal Park and return to Yanbei?
Fortunately, although Bali was a fool, Wei Shuye and the Wei clan were weakening. Zhuge Yue knew they would need to seize this moment to maintain their position.
Zhuge Yue slowly raised his head and murmured, "You don't want me to be disappointed."
On the following day, Wei Shu Ye led 18 samurai warriors into the residence of the old Batu Imperial Capital. The warriors from the northwest waited the entire day, but they did not see any sign of Zhuge Yue.
Barre and Wei Shujun, meeting for the first time, were not reserved. They had once worked together at a large-scale southwestern camp, and this reunion was without hesitation. As soon as they sat down, General Bali made his intentions clear. The young general curled his lips and said, "The Zhuge family missed a golden opportunity to serve the country. It seems that the chance for wealth will now fall to you, my brother. Time's up."
Wei Shu Ye, with a dark expression, was clearly unwilling to engage in General Bali's schemes. Without delay, he asked coldly, "General, do you have a plan yet?"
General Bali smiled proudly. "Yes."
"Please share the details."
The plan was essentially a small-scale military coup. Three days later, on the emperor's birthday, the 7th and 9th Armies of the Xiaoqi Camp, stationed in the capital, would join the Batuha family's forces from the northwest. Disguised as the Northwest Army, they would combine with General Bali's troops and besiege the area in North Hebei. General Bali himself would lead the attack, crush all resistance, and arrest the traitors. Afterward, they would re-establish order, with the treacherous leaders removed and peace restored.
Wei Shu Ye understood the intent of the Golden Temple. There were few forces capable of executing such an operation, and the Batuha family from the northwest was the most fitting for this mission.
Although the operation would be elaborate, it would appear to the outside world as merely a personal vendetta. No one would suspect any deeper connection between the Northwest Batu family and Yanbei. The old Batu feared that after the Yantai Princess married, her power would grow unchecked. Thus, he sent his younger brother to the imperial palace to assassinate Yan Shi Zi (Yan Xun), making the situation appear straightforward.
The emperor would then step in, punish the northwest forces, and confiscate General Bali's assets. After a ten-and-a-half-month trial period, General Bali would be pardoned, and a small compensation would be accepted. By then, Yanbei, having been vanquished, would receive no justice.
The entire operation would appear to be personal revenge, with no official ties to the emperor—who had just married his daughter. The emperor's connection would remain hidden.
Wei Shu Ye felt a pang of disgust but kept his composure, responding coldly, "The Wei clan, with its 300 soldiers, will follow the general's orders."
General Bali, smiling, said, "Good. The Major General will be responsible for intercepting reinforcements and external defenses."
Wei Shu Ye smiled slightly, though without warmth. "I thank the general for this opportunity."
On the night of May 18, a girl stood in front of a map, studying every detail of the plan. After careful scrutiny, she spoke in a low voice, "Everything has been arranged. But I still don't feel secure. I need to seek help from the southern temple of Chengnan."
Yan Xun raised an eyebrow, prompting her to continue.
"According to the ceremony, you must go to the ancestral temple to worship the ancestors, and then return to the palace with the priest to marry the princess. The soldiers guarding you on this route are from the ceremonial department, and their loyalty is questionable. If anyone intercepts you on this road, it could be disastrous."
Yan Xun looked at the map and replied calmly, "The terrain here is open. It's near the southwest town government, where people from all walks of life mingle. If anything happens, I can call for reinforcements. Moreover, the southwest town government has connections with us. They likely won't have the courage to act against us."
Chu Qiao shook her head slowly and said, "The more moving parts, the more likely things will go wrong. We must be prepared for any variable. You and I both know that the southwest town government is not loyal to Yanbei or to you. We must be cautious."
Yan nodded in agreement. He picked up the map and began planning strategies for potential confrontations.
Chu Qiao took out pen and paper, writing down notes at her desk.
After a moment of quiet concentration, the two of them exchanged papers. After just a glance, they both smiled.
Burn the boats! Fight with everything!
If Xia Huang (the Great Summer Emperor) dares to act against them, they will rise against him with everything they have!
Two peaceful days passed. On the morning of May 20, the entire city was engulfed in celebration. Red silk banners were draped from Jiuwei Street to Dongcheng Gate, and the emperor made a public appearance. Officials, merchants, and commoners alike crowded the streets, bowing as the imperial guards led the procession. Cries of "Long live the emperor!" filled the air, painting a picture of a prosperous and flourishing empire.
Even the criminals who had committed heinous acts found their sentences pardoned, as Xia Huang's birthday was accompanied by acts of clemency. At Lagerstroemia Square, convicted prisoners shouted praises of gratitude as the emperor's carriage passed.
The military attachés and envoys followed the parade, basking in the adulation of the people.
The parade lasted until the afternoon, and a grand banquet was held in the Golden Palace. In the evening, fireworks filled the sky, and lanterns lit up the city. Gorgeous dances were performed in Kabuki fashion in the square, and voices filled the air, celebrating the festive occasion. The whole Imperial City resonated with cheers.
Yet, as the crowds cheered in Lagerstroemia Plaza, a quieter, more somber procession made its way to the southern ancestral temple. A group of men in ceremonial clothing proceeded slowly down the road.
While the inner city celebrated, the southern ancestral temple remained silent, its stillness accentuated by the distant echoes of the festivities.
The moonlight was dim, and red lanterns flickered along the road. Yan Xun, dressed in a red kimono, sat inside his carriage, eyes closed, waiting for the moment.
Before long, the carriage came to a stop. Yan Xun opened his eyes and frowned slightly, his last moments of hesitation fading away.
"What's happening? Why have we stopped?"
A brigadier official stepped forward to investigate. Shortly after, Xiao Wu, a military captain, hurried to the carriage and said to Yan Xun, "Your Highness, the official priests and the ancestral temple guards are requesting that we dismount for an inspection."
"What is this? This is an ancestor worship ceremony. It was approved ten days ago. Even the Royal Highness Princess's procession wouldn't dare to intercept us. Which group are they from?"
Captain Xiao Wu responded bitterly, "Your Highness, I told them this, but they still insist on conducting an inspection."
"Go to the front and see for yourself," Yan Xun ordered.
The carriage fell silent as the priest understood that Yan Xun had tacitly given his approval. The Captain then left to handle the situation. What he did not realize was that by this time, the occupants of the carriage had quietly slipped away, completely unnoticed.
The air was thick with a sense of impending danger, like the presence of death itself.
Up ahead, a brutal skirmish had erupted between the courtesy brigade and the defenders of the ancestral temple, with blows being exchanged fiercely.
Behind a tall house, warriors had muffled the hooves of their horses with cotton wraps. They moved swiftly and stealthily. A'Jing dismounted and led his horse over, speaking coldly, "Your Highness, everything is prepared. It's time."
Yan Xun nodded silently, turning away from his horse and heading towards the other side of Chang Street, where the town government cavalry awaited. These were imperial troops deployed from Yanbei, long stationed in the capital, numbering over 10,000.
Though not his own men, they were from Yanbei, and Yan Xun had decided to rely on them.
Now, he was seeking aid.
The tense standoff was broken by a sudden sharp cry, piercing the stillness of the night. The defenders of the ancestral temple, who had been pretending to negotiate, suddenly shouted, "Attack!"
Blades flashed in the dim light as the garrison at the ancestral temple drew their swords. They struck with precision, their actions swift and practiced. These were seasoned soldiers, hardened by battles. Steel clashed as blood sprayed across the ground, with the sickening sounds of bone and flesh being sliced through. Screams filled the air as the slaughter began.
"Kill Yanbei's rebel!" shouted the assassins. Like wolves, they tore through the fragile formation of the frontier officials, quickly reaching the heart of the procession.
"Assassins! We're under attack!" one of the ceremonial officials cried. As a military man, he quickly drew his sword and rushed into the fray, shouting, "Protect His Highness! Form ranks! Call for reinforcements!"
But before he could finish his command, a blade slashed across his throat. Blood spurted from the wound as his voice turned to a gurgle, and he collapsed into a pool of his own blood.
The priests in the carriage barely had time to react before a barrage of arrows pierced the partitions of the carriage from all sides. The silver arrowheads embedded themselves with deadly precision.
The narrow confines of the carriage left no room for escape. Screams of agony echoed across the southwest part of the capital, leaving anyone who heard them feeling numb with fear.
Yet the executioners remained cold and unmoved. They methodically drew their bows again and fired, volley after volley, as arrows penetrated the carriage walls. The innocent priests inside were impaled and killed. Some archers, with their powerful bows, shot arrows that pierced through multiple partitions, showering the carriage with blood. The arrows dripped with crimson as they struck their targets.
The guards surrounding the carriage drew their swords to defend themselves, trying to fire back, but they were overwhelmed by the speed and precision of the enemy. Unable to react in time, they fell under the relentless assault. They pulled their weapons from the scabbards, desperate to meet the attackers head-on, but the dark night and the speed of the ambush made it impossible to see their assailants clearly.
On the wide road, meant for eight horses to ride abreast, the soldiers collided in a bloody melee. There was no time to ask names or reasons. All they could do was lift their swords and fight for survival.
But the number of enemies was overwhelming. The few guards were like scattered straws in a river of enemies, swallowed up in the blink of an eye, leaving not even a shadow behind.
Thunderous roars echoed through the streets. Amid the chaos, fireworks exploded in the sky, lighting up the capital in celebration. The cheerful revelry from the Royal Palace masked the brutal massacre happening just outside. No one would have imagined that on such a prosperous and joyous day, a ruthless slaughter would be taking place, hidden beneath the surface of the empire's festivities.
The royal guards roared as they tried to rally against the attackers. But there were too many enemies, swarming like a tidal wave, drowning them. The faces of the assassins were twisted with bloodlust, their eyes gleaming like wild beasts as they tore through the last glimmers of hope in the defenders' hearts.
"Fight back! The empire will send reinforcements!" one guard shouted desperately.
But what they didn't know was that the assassins had come from within the empire itself. No help was coming. The guards were abandoned, destined to be sacrificed for the greater machinations of the imperial power.
Eyes bloodshot, the soldiers fought on, shooting arrows at point-blank range, smashing enemy skulls with heavy crossbows, hacking through flesh and bone with their swords. The entire street was a battlefield soaked in blood. Both sides fought with ferocity, and screams and cries filled the air.
Yan Xun's carriage was riddled with arrows, resembling a hornet's nest. No one expected him to survive the attack. The battle was intense but brief. After a short time, the fighting began to die down. The attackers gradually withdrew as the last of the defenders fell. Two hundred soldiers, meant to protect the convoy, were completely annihilated—none survived to tell the tale. Blood pooled on the street, flowing like a quiet river until it congealed into a thick, dark stain.
Suddenly, more fireworks burst into the sky, brilliant and dazzling. Cheers erupted from the central empire, starkly contrasting the eerie silence in the aftermath of the slaughter.
Though the assassination had been a tactical success, the planners were far from pleased. General Bali stood in the center of the bloodbath, looking distraught. His voice trembled with anger as he snapped at his men, "What happened?"
One of his subordinates, pale and panicked, stammered, "I—I don't know. We searched the bodies, but we couldn't find Yan Shi Zi. He wasn't in the carriage. I think... I think he may have escaped."
"Escaped?"
General Bali snapped angrily, "Eight hundred men are surrounding the area, and the defense of the other three hundred is well-armed and prepared, and you're telling me Yan Shi Zi managed to escape? What more can I do for you?"
"General, perhaps we can go to General Wei's position outside the city and see if they managed to capture him," suggested a trembling subordinate.
"Yes," General Bali nodded, clinging to a slim hope. But before they could act, the sound of thundering hooves suddenly broke through the night. The earth shook violently as General Bali looked up in horror. Down the long, dark street, a dense line of torches approached, slowly merging into a shining band of light. Horses and riders surged forward like a rainbow of death! It was a cavalry corps, and their banners and armor gleamed ominously.
"It's the Yanbei Army, formed by the southwestern Prefecture Army!" General Bali screamed in terror, immediately turning to his men, "Run!"
But it was too late to escape. No human could outrun a warhorse. This was no longer a battle—it was a massacre. Even the seasoned warriors of the northwest stood no chance against this organized cavalry. The hastily assembled assassins were overrun, and their resistance crumbled in the face of the oncoming storm.
"I am General Bali of the Batuha family from the northwest! We carry the king's orders!" Bali's panicked voice echoed through the retreat, screaming his identity in desperation.
But no one cared. The soldiers of the southwestern town government, recently insulted by the empire's Green Army and Xiaoqi Camp, had long been humiliated. Since the fall of Yan Shicheng, they had endured the disdain of the imperial capital. This was their chance for retribution, and they would not waste it. Who would believe the claims of assassins?
Daring to carry out a large-scale assassination in the imperial city was an act of insanity.
The soldiers roared, waving their swords, cutting down the loudest voices first. The cavalry closed in swiftly, trampling the fleeing assassins underfoot. The rain of arrows that followed shot down anyone still trying to escape, their bodies trampled into the mud by galloping warhorses.
Retribution came swiftly. Only moments before, these assassins had mercilessly slaughtered their enemies; now they were the ones being slaughtered. No one could escape.
The pounding of hooves and the clash of swords filled the air as the cavalry swept through, razing all opposition. Leading the charge, a red palanquin swayed on horseback, its rider's eyes sharp as a falcon's, scanning the battlefield with ruthless precision. His lips curled, his expression resolute.
"Your Highness!" called He Xiao, deputy leader of the southwestern town government, riding forward to report. "The mission was a success. All the assassins have been killed, and none escaped."
Yan Xun nodded and smiled, "He Tong Wei has done a great service. Your loyalty and efforts will not be forgotten."
He Xiao shook his head, replying humbly, "Your Highness, the security of the imperial capital is our responsibility. As loyalists from Yanbei, we could not stand by and do nothing."
Yan Xun smiled again and said, "Thank you for your efforts. I will report your contributions to the emperor. I believe the word 'deputy' can soon be removed from your title."
He Xiao grinned. "Thank you, Your Highness, for the promotion!"
"Commander!" At that moment, a small aide approached and whispered urgently into He Xiao's ear.
He Xiao's expression shifted in surprise, and he turned to the aide. "What's wrong?"
The aide frowned, his eyes filled with panic as he whispered, "Come with me, quickly. There's something you need to see."
He Xiao excused himself from Yan Xun and followed the aide. What he saw stopped him cold. His vision darkened, and it felt as if the world was collapsing around him. He nearly fainted on the spot.
Lying before him, among the corpses, was General Bali. A man who thrived on attention and publicity, Bali had been recognized by nearly everyone in the city when he first entered. Now, his body lay with a cluster of arrows piercing his chest, his once imposing figure reduced to a lifeless husk.
He Xiao, a man responsible for maintaining the order of the city, felt his heart sink. He knew now that the road ahead was sealed. This was no mere battle; this was a disaster with far-reaching consequences.
While the soldiers all wore the uniforms of the northwest Batuha family, He Xiao and his men had been stationed in the southwestern township for years. They easily recognized the faces of the men they had clashed with so often in the imperial barracks. These were no ordinary assassins. They were imperial forces, sent to kill under the guise of the Batuha family.
And now, He Xiao and his troops had slaughtered them all.
What would the consequences be for extinguishing the empire's troops, and for saving Yanbei's rebel prince? The answer was clear: there would be no forgiveness.
At that moment, one thought rang clear in He Xiao's mind: he had to take Yan Shi Zi and make amends.
"If they come for me, it will be by the order of the Great Summer Emperor," Yan Xun said quietly, his voice calm and steady.
In that instant, everyone fell silent.
Yan Xun glanced quickly at the soldiers standing before him, then turned to He Xiao. His voice was measured, but firm. "He Xiao, you and your men have involved yourselves in this situation. If it weren't for the original soldiers from Yanbei's southwest town government, I might not have survived this disaster."
His words shook He Xiao out of his daze. His eyes, previously lost in confusion, suddenly cleared. He stared at Yan Xun, the truth dawning on him.
There was no turning back for the southwestern town government.
Had it been any other group that mistakenly killed General Bali and the Xiaoqi camp soldiers, they might have explained it away. But the southwestern town government had long been suspected of harboring Yanbei sympathies. Now, having killed the emperor's troops, there was no escape. The empire would not show mercy. The elders would not show mercy. Even the Sacred Palace would not show mercy. There was no path but death ahead of them.
He Xiao's eyes burned red as he glared at the man in the red robes before him. A voice screamed in his mind—he knew Yan Xun had led them into this. Deliberately.
Yet, He Xiao found he could not say a word. After a moment, the look in his eyes slowly shifted from confusion to madness.
Thousands of people gathered in the streets. Those who understood the situation suddenly felt as if the earth beneath them trembled with fear. They looked at He Xiao, at Yan Xun, and then up at the sky, desperately trying to figure out a way out of this nightmare.
All paths were blocked. There was no retreat. Only a dead end. The only way out now was to risk everything.
He Xiao dismounted his horse suddenly and raised his hands, turning to his soldiers. "Brothers! For eight years, I've held my tongue, but today, I must speak! The king rebelled. He rushed into the imperial capital to save the emperor and the elders of this empire. Who crossed the white shores of the Yanbei Plateau to fight against the Northern Barbarians, protecting our parents, our wives, and our children? It was the King of Yanbei! It was the Old Prince of Yan Shicheng! And what did the loyalists of Yanbei receive in return? Beheaded in public squares! Humiliation and death! For the past eight years, Yanbei's soldiers have been ignored and shamed by the imperial army. And still, we forgave them. But now, the empire wants to wipe out the last bloodline of Yanbei, and they sent cowards to do it! Soldiers of Yanbei, will we stand for this?"
"Not satisfied!"
The thunderous call echoed, and a siren blared through the air. Numerous soldiers raised their swords and guns high. The legends of invincible Yancheng City surged in their veins. The years of oppression they had endured bubbled up like molten magma, ready to erupt. Their cries filled the air, growing louder with every passing moment.
"Brethren, we are soldiers of Yanbei! Tonight, we have slain the conspirators of the Empire. We are now tied to His Highness Yan Xun. If he falls, we will fall with him. Do you think we can sit idly by?"
"No!"
"We cannot die like this!"
"The emperor is ungrateful! He does not deserve our loyalty!"
"Then we stand against him!"
No one knew who had shouted that final declaration, but it was as if a spark had ignited a fire. The whole crowd fell silent for a moment, but then, like a wildfire spreading, countless voices shouted in unison: "Yes! We stand against him!"
"Yanbei warriors!" Yan Xun, sitting on horseback, looked out over the raised weapons and countless fists in the air. His eyes narrowed, his voice firm as he spoke: "For eight long years, my uncle was wronged, Yanbei trampled beneath the weight of a corrupt imperial capital. We have stood as loyal warriors for the Empire. We guarded the frontier, fought against the Northern Barbarians, and protected the peace inland. Yet for years, the empire's leaders—blinded by their greed and extravagance—forgot who bled for the frontier, who built the Great Wall of Steel with blood and bone. They forgot who fought in the cold wind, faced the snow, and shielded them from the dogs of war!"
"We did!" the soldiers shouted back in unison. "We, the warriors of Yanbei!"
"Yes, it was us!" Yan Xun tore off his red robes, revealing the black shirt underneath, embroidered with the magnificent war eagle—the flag of Yanbei, the Golden Eagle flag! His voice was sharp and commanding: "The emperor has grown weak and treacherous! He has forgotten our merits and, instead of rewarding us, he sends assassins to kill us! We are guilty only of our loyalty, but now we must resist!"
"Resist! We will not die!"
In one voice, the soldiers bellowed, "We will not die!"
Yan Xun unsheathed a long sword from his waist, the black fabric of his shirt billowing in the wind. The golden eagle embroidered on his chest seemed to come to life, ready to soar. The young man, who had been trapped for eight long years, roared like a lion: "Warriors! Follow me! We will kill the emperor and return to Yanbei! There is no other way! Today, we declare our independence in Yanbei!"
"Out of the imperial capital! Back to Yanbei!" The soldiers' deafening roar pierced the sky. At the same time, a series of fireworks exploded above the city, accompanied by billowing smoke.
Meanwhile, at Yingge Hospital, a woman dressed in black stood in the darkness. A group of similarly dressed individuals stood silently behind her. A white bird flew across the night sky and landed on her shoulder. She opened the letter it carried, her brows knitting in concentration before she released it.
"Soldiers, your time has come!" Chu Qiao's sharp gaze gleamed like snow in the night. Her long hair flowed like a waterfall down her back as she called out in a loud, commanding voice: "Yanbei needs you! Datong needs you! The common people, the thousands who suffer under corrupt rulers, need you! It is time to end the rotten heart of those in power and pay homage to a new, just government!"
A whistle blew, and in an instant, the group disappeared into the night. Only Chu Qiao remained.
Liu Dao, a young maid, ran up nervously and whispered, "My lady, we should go."
"No," Chu Qiao shook her head firmly. "We haven't finished our mission yet."
AC Afterthoughts
This chapter marks a pivotal moment of transformation and defiance in the narrative. The tension that has been building throughout the story reaches a climax, as Yan Xun and the soldiers of Yanbei finally make the decision to rebel openly against the empire. This act of rebellion is not just about self-preservation; it represents a larger ideological shift, where loyalty to a corrupt emperor is abandoned in favor of justice, honor, and independence.Yan Xun's Leadership: Yan Xun emerges as a formidable leader in this chapter. After years of suffering and humiliation, he uses his pain as fuel for action. His speech galvanizes the soldiers, and the moment when he reveals the Yanbei flag on his chest symbolizes the reawakening of Yanbei's spirit. Yan Xun's transformation from a victim of imperial politics into a revolutionary leader is compelling, and his rallying cry for independence from the empire signals the beginning of a new era.The Soldiers' Awakening: The soldiers' passionate response to Yan Xun's speech illustrates a collective awakening. For years, they have suffered in silence, their loyalty to the empire rewarded with neglect and contempt. The volcanic outpouring of anger and defiance signifies not only their personal grievances but also their disillusionment with the empire. They are no longer just soldiers; they are revolutionaries, willing to fight and die for a cause greater than themselves.Chu Qiao's Role: Chu Qiao's presence, both silent and commanding, adds a layer of strategic foresight to the rebellion. While Yan Xun speaks to the emotional and moral aspects of the uprising, Chu Qiao represents the intellectual and strategic planning required for the rebellion to succeed. Her call to action, urging the soldiers to overthrow the rotten heart of power, mirrors Yan Xun's emotional appeal but with a tactical edge.Revolutionary Undertones: The chapter carries strong revolutionary undertones, with themes of oppression, betrayal, and the fight for justice. The emperor, a symbol of the corrupt and decaying system, becomes the focal point of the soldiers' rage. Their decision to rebel reflects a desire to reshape the political landscape, one where merit and justice prevail over blind loyalty to a failing system.The Turning Point: This chapter serves as a turning point not only for the characters but for the story as a whole. The narrative has now shifted from political intrigue and survival to outright rebellion and revolution. The stakes are higher, and the characters are fully committed to their cause, knowing that there is no turning back. This rebellion will set the stage for future conflicts, alliances, and sacrifices.
In summary, this chapter captures the essence of rebellion—born out of frustration, suffering, and a yearning for justice. The emotional power of the soldiers' defiance, combined with Yan Xun's rise as a leader and Chu Qiao's strategic guidance, creates a sense of impending change. The story now pivots toward a full-scale revolution, with the empire's power hanging in the balance.
Zhuge Yue:
Zhuge Yue's role in this chapter is more of a background presence, but his influence on the unfolding events is significant. He represents the pragmatism and caution of the story. While Yan Xun is driven by passion and vengeance, Zhuge Yue approaches the empire's crumbling power with careful calculation. He understands the delicate balance between loyalty to the emperor and survival, showing that he values strategy over impulsive action. His decision to not act too hastily, despite seeing opportunities for power, reflects his long-term thinking and highlights the contrast between him and Yan Xun's revolutionary zeal. Zhuge Yue's restraint suggests that while he is a key player in the political landscape, he chooses his battles wisely, setting him up as a thoughtful and methodical strategist in future conflicts.
Yan Xun:
This chapter marks Yan Xun's full transformation into a revolutionary leader. After years of suffering, oppression, and betrayal, his deeply personal grievances against the empire boil over into open rebellion. Yan Xun's character embodies the explosive energy of revenge, yet there's also a sense of righteousness and justice in his cause. His ability to inspire and rally the Yanbei soldiers shows his charisma and leadership, and his declaration of independence is a defining moment. Yan Xun is no longer just a victim of imperial politics; he is now the face of a nation's uprising. His personal vendetta has grown into a full-blown revolt, and while his intentions may be noble, the path he has chosen is fraught with danger. Yan Xun's emotional intensity and commitment to Yanbei's cause make him a compelling, but unpredictable, leader.
Chu Qiao:
Chu Qiao plays the role of the silent but critical strategist. While Yan Xun commands the emotional center of the rebellion, Chu Qiao represents the calculated, intellectual side of the uprising. Her understanding of the broader political landscape and her sharp instincts complement Yan Xun's fiery leadership. Chu Qiao's presence in this chapter reinforces her role as a tactician, someone who thinks ahead and ensures that no variable is overlooked. Her refusal to leave with her maid, stating, "We haven't done anything yet," shows that she is far from being just a supporter—she is an integral part of the movement, always planning and always preparing for what's to come. Chu Qiao's measured approach, combined with her unwavering commitment to justice, makes her a pillar of strength and foresight in the rebellion.