By nightfall, the five thousand cavalry had rapidly reached the area around Donghe, the rebel stronghold. Yang Hu ordered the soldiers to rest in place and begin battle in the morning.

He had Shu Jian share his tent that night. Shu Jian readily agreed. When Yang Hu made his rounds of the camp, he followed behind, finding everything fresh and interesting. Not only that, but he soon became acquainted with another young soldier who also carried a standard.

This young soldier was slightly older than him, saying he didn’t know exactly how old he was, probably around fifteen or sixteen, but he had a name—Baisui. His parents had hoped he would live to be a hundred years old. However, his family had all died when he was young. Besides protecting the flag, because he had good eyesight and a loud voice, he also served as a lookout during battles.

A lookout’s position was at the rear of the formation, responsible for climbing observation ladders to survey the overall situation from above and report battle conditions to the commanding general at any time. Despite his young age, Baisui was already an experienced veteran, claiming to have participated in no fewer than ten battles. He vividly recounted his past experiences to Shu Jian, who listened with fascination. Baisui then asked where he came from, and hearing that it was Chang’an, said enviously: “My greatest wish in life is that after the wars are over and I’ve achieved merit and become an official, I’ll ride a fine horse into Chang’an and see what the imperial palace at the foot of the world looks like.”

Shu Jian said, “The imperial palace is just like that, nothing special! But if you come to Chang’an in the future, find me—even if you want to enter the imperial palace, it wouldn’t be difficult.”

Baisui laughed heartily, saying he was bragging. Shu Jian restrained himself from revealing that he was the emperor and told his new friend about various things in Chang’an and the imperial palace. Baisui listened with rapt attention, then suddenly slapped his forehead: “I know! Your family must have someone working in the imperial palace who secretly brought you in?”

Shu Jian was startled, then also laughed heartily, saying yes.

Just as they were chatting enthusiastically, Yang Hu finished his business and called him back to the tent. As soon as he entered, Shu Jian eagerly helped him remove his armor.

Yang Hu looked him over: “Quite clever! You even managed to escape with General Fan following you. From your accent, you’re also from Chang’an? What’s your relationship to the general? She doesn’t seem to have close relatives in Chang’an.”

Shu Jian flattered: “When I was in Chang’an, I had already heard of General Yang’s mighty reputation. Seeing you today, you’re indeed brilliant and martial! I think in all of Yanmen, General Yang is the wisest—nothing escapes your eyes! I am indeed from Chang’an. I’m the general’s distant relative, no wonder you don’t know.”

Yang Hu’s face darkened: “Boy, don’t give me that routine! Today I was in a hurry to travel, so I brought you along. Tomorrow is a hard battle. The Eight Tribes rebels are already fierce, and now that they’re cornered, they’ll certainly resist desperately. Their fighting strength is no less than the Beidi soldiers. Tomorrow you’re not allowed to run around—just stay in the back! Not one step forward! If you lose a hair, I won’t be able to explain to the general!”

With that, he tossed him a knife. Shu Jian caught it in his arms.

Yang Hu glanced at him: “Keep it, just in case. Time to sleep.” He extinguished the fire with one palm swipe.

Shu Jian closed his eyes. That night he slept with the knife, too excited to fall asleep until the second half of the night when he finally dozed off. Before dawn, they broke camp. He woke with a start, hurriedly got up, and followed the main force forward, arriving at the city gates.

Donghe City, also called Baishui City, was the stronghold of Ye Jin and his son’s Baishui tribe. Like Maple Leaf City to the Xiao family father and son, this place had also been managed by Ye Jin and his son for many years. In April, when their secret rebellion plot failed, they were caught off guard and fled the city in panic, it was once been occupied by Xiao Lixian. Later, when the Beidi soldiers joined, Ye Jin and his son fought back and reclaimed Baishui City.

This city had mountains to the west and the Donghe River to the east, with no passable routes. Only the south and north gates provided access. Such terrain was easy to defend but difficult to attack. But conversely, as long as they could take the south and north gates, it would be like catching turtles in a jar—the rebels would have no escape route.

Yang Hu and Xiao Lixian divided their forces, each attacking one gate.

The rebels had already received word, the city gates were tightly shut, and defenses were ready on the city walls.

The siege battle was about to begin. Countless arrows rained down from the city walls, along with catapult stones, fire oil, and rolling logs, all falling together.

Outside the east gate, Yang Hu led soldiers with shield protection, erected ten cloud ladders hastily made from wood cut the previous night, and fearlessly launched a fierce assault upward.

Shu Jian stayed in a relatively safe place, one arrow’s distance from the city wall. Nearby was a portion of troops waiting to reinforce.

The young soldier Baisui, whom Shu Jian had just met the night before, was climbing an observation ladder, watching ahead.

This wasn’t a field battle but a siege—the battle situation was clear for all to see, requiring no reports from him. He was only responsible for watching a signaler ahead holding a triangular flag. When the triangular flag was raised, it would signal for the rear forces to join the battle.

Shu Jian’s blood-boiling excitement from the previous night and all his fantasies about killing enemies on horseback quickly dissolved like bubbles after this real battle began. He saw a soldier climb halfway up only to be knocked down by a huge stone falling from above. On another nearby cloud ladder, another soldier used his shield to deflect flying stones, dodged overhead attacks, finally climbed near the city wall, only to be cut down by a blade from the wall. Such scenes repeated endlessly. But no one retreated. Soldiers climbed one after another, like ants, stepping over the constantly falling bodies of their comrades, continuously attacking upward.

The battle had just begun—not much time had passed—but to Shu Jian, it felt as if it had lasted an eternity.

His eyes saw towering flames, his nostrils caught the bloody smell carried on the wind, and his ears were filled with deafening sounds of slaughter. He was nearly dizzy from the intense stimulation. When he saw another volley of arrows like locusts from the city wall, massive rolling logs crashing down, fire oil pouring, cloud ladders toppling, injured soldiers with bodies on fire rolling on the ground screaming, while dead soldiers under the city wall lay motionless, swallowed by the roaring flames that emitted acrid black smoke, he could no longer control himself and shouted at the nearby squad leader: “Why aren’t you going up! Go quickly! The front can’t hold!”

The squad leader was equally tense, but this was Yang Hu’s deployment. The sacrifices ahead were to exhaust the city’s most threatening defensive materials—rolling logs, fire oil, and massive stones. Once these were depleted, the resistance to assault would greatly decrease.

Such deployment was indeed cruel, but this was war. It was impossible not to have deaths.

Knowing this young man was probably not ordinary, he quickly explained. Shu Jian was stunned. At this moment, the rebels on the city wall caught their breath and began shooting random arrows in this direction.

“Prepare! They’re using the wind!”

Baisui, on the observation ladder, shouted, then quickly raised his shield to protect himself. The soldiers below were all well-trained, uniformly raising shields overhead, forming a protective wall of shields.

Most of the incoming arrows lacked sufficient force to reach them, drawing arcs in the air before landing on the ground. Only dozens of powerful arrows carried by the wind reached the vicinity. Amid a series of clanging sounds, the scattered arrows were all stuck in the shields.

Baisui also held a shield. After the arrow volley passed, he lowered it and called down to Shu Jian below the ladder: “Scared? It’s nothing! It’s like this every time! I tell you, today is just a small skirmish—”

His words stopped abruptly.

A stray arrow carried by the wind fell like a ghost shadow from the clouds, instantly reaching the vicinity, striking squarely in the center of his neck, piercing through and emerging from the other side.

His body swayed on the high observation ladder, then along with his shield, fell straight down, heavily hitting Shu Jian’s back.

Shu Jian was pinned underneath.

He lay prone, not knowing how he finally got free. When he came to his senses, another person was already standing on the observation ladder.

Another wave of assault began. This repeated until the fourth round, when the person on the observation ladder saw the triangular flag finally raised ahead. With a great shout, the eager soldiers let out battle cries and charged forward. Finally, only Shu Jian remained here, with his newly met companion lying at his feet.

Baisui lay motionless with an arrow through his neck. His expression showed no pain, his eyes were open, and his face still seemed to bear traces of the mocking expression from his last words.

This round of assault was effective—the Wei army climbed the walls and quickly occupied them. Just as they were about to fight their way into the city, suddenly the city gates below opened, and a large number of civilians poured out—elderly, women, children, both Eight Tribes people and Han people.

These were the people intercepted by the rebels in recent days. Now they were being driven out again. If they didn’t come out, they would be killed behind the city gates. They fled desperately, with rebels mixed among them, rushing out. Many civilians were pushed and fell to the ground, and before they could get up, they were trampled by countless people behind them. Screams mixed with children’s piercing cries—the area near the city gate became complete chaos.

Human tragedy was just like this.

Yang Hu hadn’t expected Ye Jin and his son to be so shameless. With so many civilians, he dared not order soldiers to shoot arrows to block them. He could only shout orders for civilians to scatter quickly after coming out, while leading soldiers to form an encirclement around the area, intercepting and killing the endless stream of rebels rushing out from the city.

Shu Jian was startled by the boiling slaughter ahead. He leaped up from beside the dead Baisui, tightly gripping the knife Yang Hu had thrown him the night before, wanting to charge forward and join in.

He practiced martial arts daily in the palace. He fantasized about heroically killing enemies.

Now was his chance.

However, his feet seemed locked by something, unable to move.

He was the emperor.

Neither his Third Imperial Uncle nor Third Imperial Aunt would allow him to join like this.

In the end, he could only comfort himself with this thought over and over, listening to the sounds of slaughter, watching the fresh severed arms and limbs spraying blood flying through the air not far away, gripping the knife handle, then releasing it, releasing it, then gripping it again. Cold sweat poured like a waterfall from his forehead, flowing into his eyes with burning pain.

Just then, his gaze fixed. He saw ahead a thin little girl of a few years old standing beside several corpses, crying bitterly. Nearby, Wei soldiers and rebels who had rushed out of the city were fighting each other. A terrified woman ran over—she should be the little girl’s mother. After running just a few steps, she encountered a rebel head-on. With one blade, the woman was cut down.

Shu Jian’s eyelid twitched, and another drop of cold sweat fell into his eyes. He blinked, could no longer bear it, and charged toward the little girl. In one breath, he reached her, scooped her up, and ran back wildly. Turning his head, he saw that the wounded Wei soldier who had been fighting the rebel was losing ground, pressed to the ground by his opponent, who was choking his neck tightly.

Shu Jian placed the crying little girl beside Baisui, turned, and charged back again. Rushing nearby, he drew his knife, aimed at the head of the rebel who was choking the man, and with all his strength, struck down with one blow.

The neck was severed. A head rolled to the ground. Blood spurted skyward from the severed neck, splashing onto Shu Jian’s face.

He opened his blood-covered eyes and, in the blurry red light, saw another rebel charging toward him. The opponent’s expression was mad and frenzied. He didn’t know how he raised his knife and charged forward. He gritted his teeth, opened his blood-stained eyes, joined this melee of hand-to-hand combat, and fought with the rebels he encountered. He cut down another one. He felt a blade also striking toward him from behind. He wanted to dodge, but his body wouldn’t obey, couldn’t match the speed he wanted. Just as his eyes were about to split with unwillingness, suddenly there was a “clang,” a blade wind swept over his head, and a body was cut down behind him.

He spun around sharply and was shocked to see someone had appeared behind him.

“Third Imperial Aunt!”

He cried out wildly.

…

This hand-to-hand bloody battle near the city gate finally ended. The rebel army was annihilated. Xiao Lixian surrounded and intercepted Ye Jin and his son, who were disguised as civilians trying to escape again, and killed both men.

Yang Hu only learned that Jiang Hanyuan had also arrived after the fighting ended. He immediately guessed she must have come for that young man and hurried over. Indeed, he saw her with the young man. The young man was covered head to face in blood, his gaze fierce, still holding a knife, standing straight and rigid.

Yang Hu was shocked.

Hadn’t he instructed the other party not to advance even one step? What was going on?

He turned to Jiang Hanyuan and hurriedly explained: “General, he caught up yesterday. I was in a hurry to march, so I brought him along. But I did instruct him not to come forward today!”

Jiang Hanyuan calmed Yang Hu with a few words, then turned to look at Shu Jian, who seemed still not to have awakened from the slaughter, and walked over: “How are you? Are you injured?”

Shu Jian slowly shook his head and said quietly: “I’m fine…” Before he finished speaking, he threw away the knife in his hand, bent over, and began vomiting.

He kept vomiting until finally he was kneeling on the ground, retching until there wasn’t even bile left, then finally stopped. Following that, he slowly collapsed to the ground, closed his eyes, and gasped heavily.

Yang Hu still needed to clear the city, tend to the wounded, and pacify the civilians. That day, Jiang Hanyuan first took Shu Jian back to Maple Leaf City.

She arranged a carriage for Shu Jian to rest well, while she rode alongside on horseback. After setting out, she suddenly saw Shu Jian lift the carriage curtain and say quietly: “Third Imperial Aunt, can you sit in the carriage with me?”

His face had been washed clean, but his complexion appeared somewhat pale, his spirits low, quite different from his usual appearance.

Jiang Hanyuan got into the carriage and sat with him. Seeing him silent, she took a blanket and covered him: “You should be tired. Sleep. After sleeping, you’ll feel better.”

Shu Jian leaned against her and slowly closed his eyes.

Looking at Shu Jian’s face, Jiang Hanyuan suddenly thought of that person.

Her father should have received her report more than ten days ago and would have immediately notified Chang’an. Counting the days, he should have learned about Shu Jian’s whereabouts not long ago.

He would certainly come personally to receive Shu Jian. She was certain of this.

However, even if he set out immediately upon receiving the news, he should have just departed not long ago. For him to travel here by various routes, at the fastest, would probably still require a month or so.

“Third Imperial Aunt…”

A low call suddenly came to her ear.

Jiang Hanyuan looked down and saw that Shu Jian had opened his eyes again.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Third Imperial Aunt, you’re so good to me. You and Third Imperial Uncle are the best to me. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have made you and Third Imperial Uncle worry about me.”

A feeling of comfort suddenly welled up in Jiang Hanyuan’s heart.

This comfort wasn’t due to the young emperor’s feelings toward her, but due to this young man’s recognition of another person.

That person could be said to have devoted his heart and soul to this young man and what he represented. Even if needed, if that person were asked to sacrifice his own life, he would probably agree.

But this young man might not necessarily acknowledge it.

Now he had finally said such words. It was as if that person’s devotion had received a response—reciprocating kindness, ultimately not falling on deaf ears.

She felt genuinely comforted for that person, more joyful than if the young man had been grateful to her.

“Third Imperial Uncle will still need a month to arrive…”

The young man murmured again, “Will he be very disappointed in me, very angry…”

“No. Don’t worry. I guarantee it.”

She looked at Shu Jian and said gently.

There were no further incidents on the road, and she successfully brought Shu Jian back to Maple Leaf City.

Three days later, Yang Hu and Xiao Lixian returned with their troops. They had found large quantities of grain and livestock in the city, all the proceeds of Ye Jin and his son’s previous cruel exploitation of the people. That batch of civilians had also gradually regathered and were traveling to Maple Leaf City under soldier protection.

Thus, this Eight Tribes rebellion that had lasted nearly half a year was completely quelled.

The Great Hehe King held a grand celebration banquet that day for the victorious Great Wei soldiers and tribal warriors. The banquet was held in the military camp outside the city, with bonfires lit, cattle and sheep roasted, and wine flowing continuously. Not only that, but there would also be grand horse races that everyone could participate in.

This was a day to cast off all worries and celebrate wildly.

However, in the three days since Shu Jian’s return, he had remained listless. Today’s celebration couldn’t rouse his interest either. When he went to find his Third Imperial Aunt out of boredom, he happened to encounter Xiao Linhua following beside her.

Xiao Linhua had originally been talking and laughing, enthusiastically inviting Jiang Hanyuan to watch the competition as well. Suddenly seeing him arrive, her smile immediately disappeared, and she glared at him fiercely.

Shu Jian knew he was in the wrong and pretended not to see.

Jiang Hanyuan asked what he needed. He couldn’t say for a moment, stood dazed briefly, then said he wouldn’t leave the city today and would wait at his lodgings. She should celebrate with the soldiers to her heart’s content and not worry about him.

Jiang Hanyuan touched his forehead. No fever. Guessing he probably hadn’t fully recovered from the brutal slaughter a few days ago, she let him rest well.

“Probably afraid my father might see him, so he doesn’t dare go,” Xiao Linhua mockingly muttered quietly.

Yesterday, Shu Jian was nearly spotted by the Great Hehe King, but fortunately reacted quickly and turned away in time.

He glared at Xiao Linhua, turned around, and listlessly returned to his lodgings.

He didn’t know what was wrong with himself—he couldn’t muster energy for anything. Normally, for excitement like today’s, even risking being spotted by the Great Hehe King, he absolutely wouldn’t miss it.

He buried his head to sleep, tossing and turning on the bed. With closed eyes, he sometimes saw young soldier Baisui’s death, sometimes the image of the little girl crying beside corpses, and sometimes seemed to smell the blood that had sprayed from the severed neck onto his face. He had never known that blood could spray so high. The taste was sweetly fishy, nauseating, and still warm…

Shu Jian finally fell into a confused sleep. When he woke, golden slanted sunlight was streaming through the window into the room.

It was dusk. But today’s citywide celebration should just be reaching its peak. Even here, he could hear the singing, dancing, and cheering sounds carried on the wind from outside the city.

He steadied himself and was about to get water when suddenly, rapid footsteps sounded outside the door. Before he could react, someone knocked, then a voice reached his ears.

“Jian’er!”

A deep voice, originally very familiar to him, but different now—it was hoarse and slightly urgent.

Third Imperial Uncle?

How could it be him?

Wasn’t he supposed to arrive in a month?

Shu Jian thought he had heard wrong. After hesitating, the voice came to his ears again.

“Jian’er!”

Someone pushed the door open and quickly walked inside.

Shu Jian’s heart pounded violently as he shouted: “Third Imperial Uncle!”

He spun around sharply and ran wildly outside.