In the small pavilion, Dou Yanshan was already seven-tenths drunk. Facing delicacies and drinking fine wine was truly one of life’s supreme pleasures. Each mouthful of wine felt like flames scorching his heart. He cast off his outer garment and raised his cup to invite the moon to drink with him, leaving only his solitary figure in disarray. The feeling of revenge was not as exhilarating as he had imagined. The Yun family’s wine remained harsh and burning. As the wine entered his sorrowful gut like fire and blades, it instantly shattered his meticulous thinking, leaving him unable to appreciate the beautiful sight of Chang’an burning. For Dou Yanshan, who was accustomed to drinking honey wine, ordering Zhou Dafu to find the strongest liquor on the market to match his mood was truly a mistake.

With his last shred of consciousness, he cursed Yun Ye before collapsing thunderously into the peony bushes. The flower buds that had just emerged were mercilessly crushed by his body. Fallen petals covered the ground, as crimson as blood.

Dou Yanshan was not the first person to bungle matters due to alcohol. This world was full of unexpected factors. With the retreat signal outside Chang’an unable to be sent, the death warriors inside the city truly became dead men. Seeing no retreat command, the death warriors, having exhausted their fire-starting materials, began using every combustible material they could find to create new fires.

Having lost their secrecy, mistakes were inevitable. Once caught, even being punished unto eight hundred clans was possible. Once they violated Li Er’s bottom line, those lenient legal codes would have no effect whatsoever. For words to become law was divine authority, and Li Er possessed this qualification.

Dou San was a house-born servant of the Dou family. When the Dou clan was destroyed, he was spared punishment because Dou Zhong had given his lucrative position of purchasing food supplies to his own trusted aide, sending Dou San to work the fields on an estate and confiscating all his property to public ownership.

Having lost everything, when Dou San saw his former master again, he swore loyalty. He had no experience as a death warrior, but the hatred in his heart supported him as he set fire after fire after fire.

When the patrolling Golden Guards soldiers pressed him to the ground, only then did he remember he should commit suicide. Unfortunately, just moments ago, in order to ignite a straw shed that the master’s household had doused with water, he had stripped off his clothes, set them ablaze, and thrown them up. The shed caught fire, spurting flames and smoke, with the blaze threatening to spread further. But now his clothes were gone, and the poison pill hidden in the hem had also been consumed by the inferno. Only now understanding the gravity of the situation, Dou San could only let out a wolf-like howl.

Chang’an had been set ablaze by these fifty men, transforming into a city that never slept. Dark red flames shot into the sky like demons baring fangs and brandishing claws, devouring building after building. The ward gates were tightly locked, and all idlers appearing on the streets were arrested. The Golden Guards soldiers could only stand on the broad Vermillion Bird Avenue listening to the wailing from the surrounding wards and markets.

Heaven had not helped Li Er just once or twice—he truly seemed to be the Son of Heaven. Just when the water pumps could no longer control the flames, spring’s first heavy rain finally fell. All those fighting the fires knelt in the muddy water, respectfully paying homage to the heavens.

Dou Yanshan was also awakened by the rain. He had issued the strictest order forbidding anyone else from approaching this place, so no one knew he had been lying in the flower bushes having the most blissful dreams.

He turned to look back at Chang’an. The city that had been burning fiercely before he collapsed drunk was now hidden in night darker than ink, vanished from sight. He could only see scattered lights moving continuously, like will-o’-the-wisps.

Dou Yanshan smoothed his soaking wet hair, took another look at the silent Chang’an, then pushed open the courtyard gate and walked out.

Zhou Dafu had been anxiously pacing like an ant on a hot pan. Seeing the drenched Dou Yanshan emerge, he hurried forward to support his swaying master, saying: “Family Head, they were merely some unimportant death warriors. The Family Head need not grieve. We only need to recruit such people again. This old servant also knows this heavy rain brought our success to naught, showing Heaven does not favor us. We’ll come again next time. This old servant refuses to believe the Li family can be blessed by Heaven every single time. You were right not to order those death warriors to hide. Great undertakings require acting with full momentum to succeed. Without the later death warriors’ frenzy, we couldn’t have left the Li family with such a heavy memory.”

Dou Yanshan touched his forehead sadly and said: “Standing on high ground, imagining them fighting desperately for their lives in the city, my heart felt cut by knives. Unfortunately, a heavy rain extinguished their achievements and also extinguished the last trace of hope in my heart. Dealing with the Li family requires thorough planning before action; otherwise, success will slip away at the last moment. The heavy loss of manpower this time is my fault. Uncle Zhou, please help me fulfill grandfather’s dying wish—to ensure the Li family has no peace for a hundred generations.”

This address of “Uncle Zhou” made Zhou Dafu feel all his previous efforts had been rewarded. Even if he had to personally take the field himself, he would have no regrets unto death. He was just the most destitute cook in Chang’an’s markets, who for generations had received great kindness from the Dou family. Now to be called “Uncle” again by the former heaven’s favored son—it was worth a thousand, worth ten thousand! This old life would be sold to the Dou family.

“Family Head, rest assured. This old servant will swear to follow the Family Head unto death, never allowing the Li family a moment’s peace.”

Seeing the great fire in the city extinguished by the heavy rain, only then did Li Er turn to return to Taiji Palace. Unlike Dou Yanshan, from the moment the first fire started, he had stood on the jade steps of Taiji Palace. This was the highest point in Chang’an besides Longshou Hill. He sat in his chair, coldly watching the smoking city. When the palace attendant reported news of the Yun family fire, he already knew who had set this blaze. Hong Cheng knelt prostrate on the ground, his face pressed against the floor, not daring to move a muscle.

A face gloomy as water yet unable to serve as water—in spring’s dry Chang’an, this was indeed the best weather for arson. Dry weather made for fire hazards. The cry of “dry weather, beware of candles” never ceased. Every year there were several fires, impossible to completely prevent.

At some point, dark clouds obscured the moon. When the earth became pitch black, Li Er looked up at the sky. Heaven does not fail those who persist—the rain finally came, arriving urgently as if specifically to catch this fire. The raindrops were large and dense, painfully striking the body. Hong Cheng had firsthand experience of this. Right now, never mind rain—even if knives were falling, he dared not move. From the corner of his eye, he discovered the Emperor’s gloomy face had loosened, the corners of his mouth slightly turning up. A good omen! He could only hope this heavy rain would extinguish all the fires. That way, perhaps he could preserve his life.

When the rain stopped and clouds parted, the roosters had already crowed once. Standing at Taiji Palace, one could faintly see a trace of light at the horizon’s edge. Hong Cheng still lay on the ground, not daring to rise. With Li Er absent, he prostrated even more respectfully.

Li Er’s voice transmitted from within the palace hall, as if coming from the nine hells, cold and merciless: “Get up. Go handle your business. If you fail, you need not return.”

All of Chang’an complained about this fire disaster, but only the Yun family’s servants used thick timber to push down the buildings that hadn’t yet collapsed, one by one. The servants muttered cautiously about this inexplicable fire. Could someone have offended the Kitchen God, causing the old deity to send down a fire calamity as special punishment? It couldn’t be their own household—the Old Matriarch was kind and benevolent. Even if the Marquis was somewhat of a spendthrift, it wasn’t enough to anger the immortals. Their family must have been implicated by another household. If anyone asked, they’d say just that: our Yun family has never done anything wicked.

Most infuriating was this heavy rain. They’d already moved everything out of the house. The family didn’t want the building anyway—the Marquis had long been clamoring to build new ones. One fire burned everything, and now they could go live in the fine houses on the estate. Who wanted to live in the city? You had to sleep as soon as darkness fell, and buying anything required running across half of Chang’an. Uncle Liu said outside the estate gates was the marketplace, extremely lively. They’d also heard how beautiful Yushan was. Floating a bamboo raft on the Dongyang River, you could spend your entire day off on the water surface. The weather was cool—more comfortable than immortals! Not like in the city, where after bathing, you still needed to haul well water for ages to refill the tub. By the time it was full, you’d sweated again. A wasted bath.

This damned roof wouldn’t burn completely either, constantly dropping tiles. Yun Jiu’s head got bashed with a huge lump. Everything they’d rescued was now soaked by rainwater. Uncle Liu had been cursing for ages. The fire itself harmed no one, so it didn’t count as a disaster. This heavy rain was what truly brought a solid disaster upon the Yun family. The fine wooden furniture made from materials the Marquis had acquired all got drenched. If the joints absorbed water and then dried, they’d definitely crack. Such a pity.

Officials came in several waves, inquiring about the household’s losses. Uncle Liu cried with streaming tears and dripping snot, bewailing that the household suffered heavy disaster, all the buildings burned away, leaving only a few stable sheds. Most possessions weren’t rescued—just what was before their eyes. He’d failed the Old Matriarch who entrusted the estate to his care, and failed the Marquis who always trusted him. But the Yun family could withstand disaster, so they yielded the water pumps to other households first, fearing small households couldn’t endure disaster—risking lives for buildings wasn’t worth it. The Yun family had always maintained such noble character and integrity.

Hearing this, the officials immediately clasped their hands in salute, arising in solemn respect, even saying they’d specially prepare a plaque to hang at the Yun family gate. Neighbors whose disaster was relieved by the water pump teams specially ran to kneel and kowtow before the Yun family gate—entire households, one after another. This caused Uncle Liu to cry along with them again.

The main gate remained intact. Once the doors closed, Uncle Liu sat in the large chair under the admiring gazes of the guards and servants, patting his leg and keeping time while singing a couple lines of folk tunes. Though poorly sung, it was quite amusing.

One county magistrate died, along with one hundred eighty-six other people. Among them, several dozen were poisoned to death. The authorities said those poisoned were the murderers, but couldn’t determine who they were, where they came from, or who created this massacre.

The most deaths occurred at the Western Market. The barbarians were greedy for wealth—for money, they didn’t even care about their lives. Bodies aflame, they still drilled into the inferno trying to rescue goods, so the number burned to death was highest. There was also a shop specializing in selling Hu dancing girls—of the twenty-some Hu girls locked in the building, not one escaped.

The Western Market was also burned to a shambles. The He Shao family hadn’t suffered disaster. Early in the morning, they ran to the Yun family. Seeing the Yun family’s tragic state, they immediately flew into a rage. Grabbing an official by the collar, they demanded an imperial audience, saying a dignified marquis residence, refusing water pumps so common people wouldn’t suffer disaster, had accomplished such noble and praiseworthy deeds worthy of song—yet the authorities showed not the slightest acknowledgment. They wanted to go to court to seek justice from His Majesty.

Actually going to court for an imperial audience would scare He Shao into wetting his pants. Who knew if His Majesty currently wanted to kill a few people to vent his fury? Only when the new County Magistrate of Chang’an requested the Yun and He families to jointly restore the Western Market did this matter cease. Returning to the Yun household, he raised his hand and rewarded Uncle Liu with a jade pendant of brilliant emerald green, then rode his horse to find Li Ke to discuss how the He family could establish a foothold in the Western Market.