The summer sun was scorching, but this did not slow down the postal soldiers. Five dust-covered couriers rushed into a relay station.

The station guards skillfully verified their tokens and official documents, seeing they were from Yunzhong Prefecture.

Although the border conflicts had ended, peace had not truly been established. First, there was the matter of Empress Chu’s alleged treason, which implicated the border army. The imperial court had mobilized troops to surround Yunzhong Prefecture, causing tension everywhere. Fortunately, the commander was replaced in time, and the situation finally stabilized.

Recently, another commander was appointed, also a father of an empress. When this news spread, it triggered various discussions.

Frequent correspondence between the imperial court and the border army was not surprising.

The station guards let their thoughts wander while efficiently returning the official documents and simultaneously offering tea to relieve heat and detoxify.

“Hot water and clean clothes are ready,” they said. “Brothers, go wash up first, and we’ll prepare food afterward.”

However, the couriers did not head inside, only throwing back their heads to finish the tea.

“We’ll rest when we reach the next station by nightfall. Now we need to change horses and continue immediately,” said the lead courier.

It must be an urgent message, thought the station guards, who didn’t say more. The couriers’ schedule was strict and couldn’t be delayed. Fresh horses were quickly prepared, along with dry provisions and water. The briefly resting couriers mounted again.

“Oh, this,” the lead courier seemed to remember something and took out a dispatch from his collar. “The General orders this proclamation to be posted along the way.”

This was a common occurrence, usually for announcing victories or certain soldiers’ meritorious service. When reporting good news to the capital, it would also be shared along the route, such as wartime bulletins.

In peacetime, it was probably about bandit suppression or something similar.

The station guards accepted it with agreement. The couriers spurred their horses and galloped away, raising clouds of dust.

The station guards walked toward the entrance hall, joking. One lazily opened the dispatch he was holding. The dispatch was large, the kind meant to be posted.

“I wonder what recent news is worth announcing along the way.” The guard shook it open and held it before him. His first impression was, “Wow, the characters are quite large—”

It was probably just the usual matters. The station guards weren’t interested and would rather go to the main hall to listen to passing travelers discuss interesting affairs from various places, such as which official took a three-day leave not because of diarrhea from overeating, but because he was beaten by his wife.

“Who cares what it is, just post it,” they said casually. “Whoever wants to read it can read it.”

As the words fell, they heard the guard behind them speak in a stiff, dry voice: “This, this, this cannot be posted—”

Everyone turned to look, seeing the guard holding the dispatch, which was rattling loudly—either from the wind or for some other reason.

“What news is it?” they asked, puzzled. “Why can’t it be posted?”

The guard looked up at everyone and stammered: “This seems to be… a declaration of war—”

Declaration of war? Everyone was more confused and couldn’t help gathering around to look at the document in his hand.

“Empress Chu Zhao announces to all: The traitor Xie Yanfang plotted to murder Empress Chu Zhao, falsified imperial edicts to deceive the masses, coerced the Emperor, monopolized court power, with the heart of a tiger and wolf—”

Just reading the first few lines was like a thunderbolt striking, leaving several people dumbfounded, unable to see the following characters.

“What are you looking at?” “What good news?” “Is this a newly arrived dispatch?” “What does it say?” “Let me see too.”

The main hall had many people resting; some entering, some leaving. Several station guards crowded at the entrance, naturally drawing attention as people asked questions and gathered around to look.

Hearing the inquiries, one station guard came to his senses and instinctively moved to protect the dispatch.

“You can’t look—” he shouted.

But it was too late. The dispatch was unfolded, the characters written large, and the people looking over could see that line of big characters at first glance.

Empress Chu Zhao announces to all, the traitor Xie Yanfang—

Those passing through the relay station all held official positions and naturally understood what this meant, immediately causing an uproar.

A declaration of war!

The escaped Empress Chu has appeared!

The escaped Empress Chu is going to attack Xie Yanfang!

The station supervisor, who had come after hearing the news, stood in the corridor watching the chaotic crowd, listening to the report from a station guard who had crawled out of the crowd with only a corner of the torn dispatch.

His face was pale as he watched the chaotic relay station, stunned and speechless.

“Quickly disperse these people,” the station guard urged. “How do we stop them from spreading this?”

The supervisor looked at him and smiled bitterly: “What’s left to stop? Are you confused? Have you forgotten who brought this declaration?”

The station guard was stunned, his already pale face turning white.

It was the postal soldiers.

Soldiers from the border army.

“Yunzhong Prefecture, the border army, is already in Empress Chu’s hands,” the supervisor said, looking past the chaotic crowd into the distance. “Swift as thunder, unstoppable.”

…

…

The thunderous momentum wasn’t limited to the relay station.

On a bustling street, a troop of soldiers galloped in. They were in full armor with colorful flags on their backs.

This was a forced march.

After the previous conflict with Western Liang and the suppression of the Prince of Zhongshan’s rebellion, civilians had become familiar with military movements and quickly made way.

The troops galloped through the street without speaking or shouting, but after passing through, they threw scrolls that rolled onto the ground.

The people on the street were startled, thinking the soldiers had dropped something, and urgently called after them, but the soldiers had already disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The scrolls were not sealed and unfurled upon landing. Some civilians boldly picked them up and shook them open.

Those who could read were immediately stunned.

Those who couldn’t read asked people around them. The literate ones who saw it all stepped back as if they had seen a ghost.

“This—”

“This says, Empress Chu’s declaration against the traitor Xie clan—”

“Empress Chu? The Empress—”

“The Empress has returned—”

“The Empress says the Xie clan is the real traitors—”

A sudden uproar exploded in the street.

By the time government officials hurriedly arrived after hearing the news, even if they retrieved the declaration, they could not prevent its spread.

Not all forced marches openly passed through cities in broad daylight. In the night, there were also troops moving stealthily, accompanied by the soft sound of cutting through the air.

Within these sounds, countless arrows flew like meteors.

The arrows carried thick papers that fluttered down like flower petals in the night sky, tumbling and scattering, then causing ripples throughout the city by morning.

…

…

Not just towns, but villages were not overlooked either.

In the early morning, an elderly person collecting cow dung tremulously picked up a piece of paper from the ground. The characters on it were large and looked intimidating, but it had a big official seal, which made the illiterate elder think it was important. So he carried it back to the village, seeking someone who could read.

“Quickly, see what it says! Is it a new notice from the government?”

In this village, only a few children who studied in town were literate. Being woken up to read something made these children unhappy—they hadn’t been studying long and hadn’t learned well, yet villagers always thought that anyone who entered school would know everything.

If you didn’t know, you would be scolded for not studying hard, and your parents would give you a good beating.

When they approached the paper, they suddenly became happy.

“I recognize all these characters,” they said joyfully, no longer reluctant but reading loudly: “Empress Chu, harmed and fled, traitor Xie clan, occupies the court, now I return, punish evil, inform neighbors, do not panic, each stay in place, await peace.”

So many characters, read in one breath—they were so impressive!

The children stood with hands on their hips, chests out, waiting for praise from family and neighbors.

But their family and neighbors were stunned, and the next moment scattered in an uproar.

“Something big has happened—”

“War is coming—”

“Martial law, martial law—”

“Gather all the villagers—”

…

…

The world suddenly seemed to become clamorous.

Even standing in the mountain forest, one could sense that the atmosphere was different.

Ding Dachui put down the rope in his hand and squinted at the mountain path below. In the time it took to burn a stick of incense, horses had galloped past on the winding mountain path, people driving carts had passed by, and others carrying loads or holding children had hurried past.

Usually, such a remote place rarely had so many people passing through.

If remote places were getting crowded, it meant something might have happened elsewhere, causing people to avoid it by coming here.

“Ding Si’er—”

A loud shout brought the daydreaming Ding Dachui back. He turned to see a fellow villager.

“Why are you slacking off again?” the villager said. “You still haven’t caught any game today. How can you be a hunter like this?”

Ding Dachui made a sound of acknowledgment and said, “Slowly.”

“What’s there to be slow about? It’s been so long, and you can’t even catch a rabbit,” the villager lamented. “You came to your great-aunt, but she’s poor and can’t help you. You still need to support her. You need to find a livelihood. Otherwise, how will you make a living? How will you marry? I’ve told you, Old Yang’s eldest daughter from the east village has her eye on you, but if you can’t save up for a house, Old Yang’s daughter won’t squeeze in to sleep with you and your great-aunt—”

As the villager rambled on, Ding Dachui half-listened, then suddenly interrupted him.

“Listen, what’s that sound?” he said.

The villager was stunned and asked, “Has an animal fallen into the trap?” He pricked up his ears to listen, but there was no animal’s cry of pain. The forest was quiet, with occasional birdsong.

The birdsong was clear and prolonged.

He was about to say something when Ding Dachui suddenly made a bird call, startling the villager.

“You think this will confuse prey?” the villager laughed, patiently wanting to teach him. “This won’t work—”

Before he could finish, Ding Dachui made another bird call, louder than before, sharp and somewhat hoarse—

Bird calls arose in response from the forest.

“Are you planning to learn bird calls?” the villager said again. “Birds aren’t worth much. If you want to make money, you need rabbits, even pheasants would do—”

Before he could finish, Ding Dachui threw the rope to him and said, “Brother Tie Niu, I’m leaving.”

Leaving? The villager was stunned and quickly said, “Don’t give up on yourself. Hunting isn’t something you can learn in a day or two. You need patience.”

Ding Dachui smiled at him, walked over, and took the bow and arrow from his hand. His gaze swept across the forest, and he suddenly raised his hand to shoot.

As the arrow flew, the bushes not far away rustled violently. A rabbit with an arrow in its back darted out, then promptly fell motionless.

“Hunting requires steadiness, but you must also be quick to act. Brother Tie Niu, your archery is good, but you tend to hesitate. Next time, be more decisive,” Ding Dachui said, stuffing the bow and arrow into the villager’s hands before striding away.

Was he teaching him how to hunt? The villager was stunned and asked, “Ding Si’er, where are you going?”

Ding Dachui didn’t look back but waved, saying, “Going hunting.”

Hunting? Weren’t they hunting now? The villager watched as the thin, weak-looking man suddenly became as agile as a wild rabbit, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

…

…

The postal soldiers whom the authorities couldn’t catch up with.

The passing riders who appeared from nowhere in the night.

The declarations, scattered and posted in towns, were recited with rhythmic emphasis.

The rhymes passed from mouth to mouth in rural villages about approaching war and the need to seek shelter.

Like a rocket fired from the border prefecture, igniting a raging fire all the way, heading directly toward the capital.

…

…

Three prefectures outside the capital were on high alert, with troops building layer upon layer of checkpoints. Anyone passing through was strictly examined with extremely fierce attitudes.

However, upon seeing the identity documents of a certain group of people, they relaxed half their fierceness, replacing it with a somewhat strange expression.

“General Liang,” the leading official said, “my condolences.”

Liang Qiang’s expression was wooden, a change from his usual gentle and polite demeanor. He didn’t acknowledge the official, who didn’t mind his attitude and led his men away.

“Poor thing.”

“He hadn’t even reached the border army, and it was already gone.”

“His father is still in the border army. I wonder how he is now—”

“He definitely can’t escape. Empress Chu now deeply hates the Liang clan, especially since a Liang daughter is now the Empress—”

“No discussions allowed, quickly get to work.”

With shouts, the noisy troops dispersed. Liang Qiang’s expression didn’t improve much.

“Young General Liang,” a guard asked in a low voice, “shall we continue forward?”

Continue forward? To do what? Xie Yanfang had made him a general of the border army, but now the border army had been seized by Empress Chu. What was he going there for? To die? Liang Qiang woodenly stood up: “Return to the capital.”

“Then what about General Liang Senior…” a guard couldn’t help asking.

Liang Qiang looked at him, and the guard fell silent.

“How can personal feelings be considered when serving the country?” he said. After these words, he mounted his horse and took another look in the distant northwest direction.

His father and he had come this far; surely they couldn’t both die.