A drone still lingered in a hidden corner, faithfully transmitting this scene back to the command center.

Rui looked at those common people kneeling among corpses and bloodstains, calling out with burning flames in their eyes, his face alternating between red and pale.

Yun Buci was also watching those people.

But in her heart, she was thinking of that trembling little girl in her arms on the ice of the moat all those years ago.

She had grown up without notice, even becoming stronger and more fearless than she had imagined.

She didn’t think her own teaching had such great effect. She was a person who followed her heart, and had never been particularly close to Tie Ci. Often she let her disciples teach, and the adoring look in that child’s eyes would sometimes make even her, who considered her heart hard as iron, feel a moment of guilt and bewilderment.

So when Tie Ci turned sixteen and everything that should be taught had been taught, for safety’s sake and for her own sake, she gradually distanced herself from this child, letting her grow freely.

Yun Buci looked at the prostrate crowd, listening to the passionate mountain call, thinking.

It was in those two years that Tie Ci grew into an even better woman.

…

September’s golden wind passed through the natural tunnels of Qingyang Mountain, playing a deep and melodious tune. The green trees throughout the mountain rose and fell with the melody, while weary birds returning at dusk occasionally croaked in harmony, their black bean-like eyes staring in surprise at the snake-like procession below, not understanding why these people who usually lived in the big houses beyond the mountain were today traveling in groups toward the mountain depths.

The headmaster of Yueli Academy also stood at a high point, watching students enter the underground tunnels that had been excavated using the terrain two years earlier, occasionally looking up at the distant road leading to Qingyang Mountain.

Each time he saw the empty mountain path, another shade of worry appeared in his eyes.

…

On the official road heading north, a squadron of green-armored soldiers raised long trails of dust behind their galloping horses, but even so, they couldn’t catch up to their commander who rode alone ahead, visible only as a distant silhouette.

The mounted figure ahead had a straight back and remained motionless in his upper body despite the galloping speed, showing the exquisite horsemanship of one long experienced in military formations.

However, many days of travel had stained his snow-colored garments with a layer of yellow earth, and his fine horse had already been changed three times.

There was a relay station not far ahead. This group originally had no intention of stopping, but relay soldiers waited on the road, holding letters and hurrying forward. “Urgent report from ahead.”

The rider immediately stopped, took the military report, broke the fire seal, scanned it once, and immediately said, “Change course to Haiyou.”

His deputy general caught up from behind, asking nervously, “Grand Marshal, how is His Majesty now?”

“His Majesty has left the capital, first going to Haiyou, then turning to Yannan, finally heading to Yongping.”

The deputy general said in surprise, “This… isn’t this taking a roundabout route? Why is His Majesty going in such circles?”

Xiao Xueya didn’t answer. After a long while he said, “Our water ghosts remaining in the capital all died in the moat battle.”

The deputy general exclaimed in shock, “How is that possible? Those were our most elite water ghosts. Dying on land would be one thing, but dying in water… they wouldn’t die even if they encountered sharks!”

Xiao Xueya closed his eyes.

The most elite water ghosts under Great Qian’s strongest navy had died in the water.

So what exactly had happened at the moat then? How powerful were the enemies?

How had His Majesty escaped?

Was she… injured?

Xiao Xueya folded the paper, touched his already cracked lips, and reached for his nearly empty water pouch. Seeing his condition, the deputy general knew he wouldn’t rest at the relay station again tonight, so he hurriedly ordered the relay soldiers to replenish food and water and change horses.

Xiao Xueya dismounted and walked while gnawing on a piece of hard biscuit, swallowing with some difficulty.

The deputy general watched his back, thinking that the Grand Marshal had never eaten while walking before, much less eaten such things.

It was all His Majesty’s fault.

This influence ran deep. Four years ago when the Grand Marshal went south, his lone army stood before Yuzhou, blocking Da Yan’s cavalry, subduing and rallying Longxi. That battle sounded simple when described, but under the circumstances of Great Qian’s internal and external troubles and the capital’s crisis, the Grand Marshal, as a member of the Xiao family, bore enormous pressure. Whether to prove himself or to atone, during those months of warfare, he led from the front, fearless of death, fighting the fiercest battles and suffering the severest wounds.

Afterward, when reporting achievements to request rewards from the court, the Grand Marshal reported even the smallest accomplishments of his subordinates, but never mentioned his own merits and injuries. The court bigwigs later became quite wary of the Grand Marshal, fearing he might become too powerful, and once petitioned His Majesty to summon the Grand Marshal back to the capital for enfeoffment, but His Majesty kept the petition without acting on it.

Those bigwigs with their deep suspicions had no idea that the Grand Marshal couldn’t even get out of bed then, and only barely managed to rise after half a year. Even if he wanted to go to the capital, he couldn’t have made the journey.

Fortunately, His Majesty was understanding, giving the Grand Marshal complete trust and everything he deserved. But the Grand Marshal seemed to have developed some stubborn streak—after recovering from his wounds, he should have gone to the capital to express gratitude, but he made excuses not to go, abandoning this excellent opportunity for rewards and recognition.

In the four years since His Majesty ascended the throne, the Grand Marshal had never returned to the capital even once.

But besides him, who else knew that the Grand Marshal personally traveled throughout Yannan’s great mountains in his spare time, finding various rare medicines to send to the capital? But rarely in his own name—mostly through Prince Yannan’s mansion, effectively giving the favor to You Weixing.

The deputy general sighed, watching Xiao Xueya hastily finish the biscuit and raise the water pouch brought to him, gulping down several mouthfuls—another action he would never have done before.

The next moment, Xiao Xueya mounted his horse, and the deputy general hurriedly followed.

The whip rose, scattering the remnant light of dusk. Evening clouds came uninvited, spreading over the snow-like countenance of the mounted rider.

Under dark brows pressed down over black eyes, where snow and the warm winds of Yannan from that year were hidden.

The whip fell, heading toward Haiyou.

…

While some hurried on the road, some welcomed them, some pursued them, and some remained to wait.

After Tie Ci’s departure, He Zi led the Cabinet in shifts guarding the imperial palace, handling the world’s affairs on behalf of His Majesty.

The capital entered a wartime state with strict curfews. All nine gates were immediately closed, leaving only Nanping Gate for essential daily passage. All officials coming to the capital for reports and duties were ordered to return to their posts. Except for urgent military matters and necessary agricultural and commercial business with official permits, no one else could enter or leave.

Before leaving, Tie Ci had issued an edict ordering officials to suspend court sessions and hide well, hoping to preserve the officials as much as possible under powerful weapons.

But He Zi didn’t follow this imperial edict.

He ordered fourth-rank and below idle officials to return home, but all officials in key positions couldn’t leave their offices. He concentrated all officials from various departments essential to the capital’s normal operation, moved them out of their individual offices, and established unified “Six Ministries Office” and “Administrative Office,” working and living together in the outer court’s Tianfang Hall.

All Cabinet members and Ministry heads were in the inner court, also living together under full palace guard protection.

Centralized office work actually improved efficiency. The complex arrangements needed for so many people to work together were naturally handled properly by Minister Gu and his son—the former was good at making and spending money, the latter at keeping accounts and allocation. All the capital’s and the realm’s financial affairs were well-organized under this father-son team, so arranging these matters was naturally no problem.

Students and young officials from the Grand Tutor’s faction were all imprisoned without even needing formal charges.

Normally such measures would cause great upheaval, but since the moat bloodshed occurred, with the blood from that day at the city gate turning the moat pale red, the entire capital fell into an eerie silence.

When the Emperor turned and departed before all the people, with those demonic armies trailing behind her, their rolling dust disappearing before countless capital citizens’ eyes, the capital’s silence transformed into another complex emotion—infinite gratitude toward Tie Ci and endless anger toward the invaders and Grand Tutor.

Under the influence of such emotions, let alone just imprisoning the Grand Tutor’s faction, even if heads rolled, no one would object.

Following Tie Ci’s parting instructions, Zhu Yi also ordered his writing team to spread news of that day’s events throughout the capital, detailing the invaders’ identity, statements, possible objectives, currently appearing weapons and possible countermeasures, how to protect oneself—all explained in detail.

They also explained everything Tie Ci had done after the incident at Chongming Palace that night.

Only then did the people learn how much the Emperor had endured and accomplished in that day and night.

Only then did they understand what kind of disaster the capital faced, what role the Grand Tutor’s faction played, what terrible thing the laboratory was, and what crisis the birds flying everywhere carried.

People became more active in catching birds and taking protective measures. Birds caught were handed to the government for unified handling, but they refused payment, all saying that in the capital’s time of crisis, they only sought to weather the difficulties together.

Strange cases did appear, but because of sufficient information dissemination, no one panicked. Responses were timely and accurate—people protected themselves, promptly invited doctors and reported to authorities. After receiving reports, the government brought the few patients to pre-arranged specialized tent areas for unified care and treatment.

Some died from illness. After notifying families, no one made a fuss. They sadly but calmly accepted reality, with the government handling burial and compensation.

Those imprisoned from the Grand Tutor’s faction initially felt they held truth and justice, willing to stand against thousands.

But as no one paid attention, no one campaigned for them, no one rescued them, and hearing what those invaders had said that night, hearing their “deeds” of attacking civilians without scruple, they gradually understood they had been used. In those invaders’ eyes from unknown places, they were just “low-level ignorant people” not worth a glance.

A few die-hard Grand Tutor loyalists still stuck their necks out wanting to debate. He Zi did nothing but order jailers to lead them out for a walk around the streets near the city gate.

When they went, households near the city gate were holding funerals for family members who had died. These troublemakers were stunned by the white mourning banners hanging from start to finish of the entire street as soon as they entered.

It was nightfall, with dim lanterns and mournful crying, black coffins and white curtains, cold moonlight illuminating paper money covering the entire street.

Those people stood at the street entrance, struck speechless by this black and white world.

The funeral processions connected head to tail. Red-eyed relatives saw these people and initially thought they were observers paying respects. When they understood these people’s identities, they spat at the feet of these once-respected individuals.

The entire capital was shrouded in an atmosphere of suppression and anger. Under such atmosphere and gazes, these people covered their faces and fled.

From then on they obediently stayed in prison.

Regarding whether to inform the people about enemy conditions, many civil officials initially disagreed. Minister Jiang and others thought this might cause panic among the people and create emotions of fear and fleeing the city.

He Zi and others believed that enemy weapons wouldn’t weaken because of their fear, nor would they lower their guns because of their flight. The bloodshed at the moat had fully demonstrated this point—their weapons were cold-blooded and powerful. Once executing orders, they were like cutting grass. Even if people fled, they couldn’t escape the enemy’s speed. Since reality was thus, people should be mentally prepared.

Later Chi Xue produced Tie Ci’s letter. Tie Ci directly ordered that people must have the right to know, must immediately understand what kind of enemy they faced. After clearly explaining the enemy’s weapons and capabilities, if people still wanted to leave, they shouldn’t be stopped, but they must not create a huge commotion or spread panic—if leaving, leave quietly.

Some were tempted to flee, but after hearing about the moat bloodshed and seeing those small holes penetrating the ground a full zhang deep, many realized that fleeing was impossible.

Then they would stay. Where in the world could be safer than the capital?

His Majesty had drawn away most enemies, even leaving almost all military forces to protect them!

Unlike four years ago, this time the capital had sufficient forces and united hearts. The capital’s atmosphere was both sorrowful and uplifting.

But only He Zi understood that sufficient military forces, weapons, and provisions were useless against the Grand Tutor’s side.

The moat bloodshed occurred earlier than expected but didn’t progress to further attacks, making He Zi feel that His Majesty’s guess might be correct.

The enemy didn’t have sufficient force to sanction the entire capital and all of Great Qian.

So the enemy might have initially intended to implement appeasement policies. The moat bloodshed was likely caused by momentary anger after consecutive setbacks, then called off.

If so, there was still room for maneuvering.

On the seventh day after Tie Ci’s departure, He Zi led the Cabinet to request an audience with the Grand Tutor at Great Qian Academy’s entrance.

Great Qian Academy no longer had its former glory. The magnificent gate was now covered with vegetable leaves and rotten eggs—gifts from nearby capital residents.

The Great Qian Academy gates had never been closed before, but now the two carved iron gates were tightly shut, and the gatekeepers had quit immediately.

He Zi didn’t push open those seemingly precarious iron gates but stood before them, calling loudly, “Grand Tutor He Zi requests audience with Grand Tutor Yun Buci.”

Tie Ci hadn’t immediately removed Yun Buci from office, but keeping this position now seemed more like mockery.

He Zi stood at the front. Chief Minister Duan Yande pulled him back, fearing this political enemy most at odds with the Grand Tutor would be the first to get shot.

He Zi smiled and looked up at a dark object overhead. The thing looked like an eye—definitely not something from Great Qian. He said to the object, “I wonder if this thing will give this old man a beam of light? If I could die at Great Qian Academy’s entrance, it would be this old man’s fortune.”

In the command center, Yun Buci held a cup of tea, watched the screen, and laughed, “The old dog is putting on an act to provoke again. Cameras don’t kill people.”

Rui sat gloomily to one side. He had been reprimanded, and the Management Division said a colonel would be dispatched immediately, along with another batch of personnel and weapons, but they wouldn’t be under his management anymore.

Looking at the screen showing a large group of civil and military officials, a cold light flashed in his eyes. “What do you think about… eliminating these people…”

Usually they couldn’t find anyone, but now they had delivered themselves. If they fired a barrage and killed all these people, the capital would truly be leaderless and easily taken.

Yun Buci glanced at him.

…

Duan Yande watched the long-silent gate with unease, whispering to He Zi, “Grand Tutor, I still think your action is rash. Bringing the entire Cabinet and Six Ministries here—if the enemy acts, it doesn’t matter if we all die here, but the capital would be finished.”

“Finished? Nonsense,” He Zi said. “His Majesty hasn’t died yet. As long as His Majesty hasn’t died, the capital won’t be finished.”

“But His Majesty isn’t in the capital now,” Minister Jiang said. “And His Majesty also ordered us to hide well…”

“If we hide, what’s the difference from being dead? With the capital leaderless, one or two days might be fine, but over time, chaos will inevitably arise. Then the people will suffer. When His Majesty returns to see a devastated capital and sees us crawling out of dog holes, what will you plan to tell His Majesty then? I’ll say this upfront—if you’re going to speak, you speak. This old man won’t. This old man doesn’t need face?”

The two prudent bigwigs mumbled sheepishly, “But isn’t this really disobeying imperial orders…”

“Generals in the field need not accept all commands from the ruler. When the ruler is away, even more so. His Majesty left such edicts out of love for us, but we can’t treasure ourselves doubly because His Majesty treasures us, knowing that both His Majesty and the people need us now, yet still shrink in holes playing dead.”

Everyone fell silent. Minister Zhang rolled his eyes. “Old fox, why say so much? We’re all standing here. If they won’t acknowledge us, can you call the gate open?”

“Call what call?” He Zi turned and beckoned to Chi Xue behind the crowd.

Chi Xue came forward holding a jar.

He Zi showed a letter to that black eye, displaying the signature, “Entrusted by His Majesty to deliver a letter to the Grand Tutor.”

He pointed to the jar in Chi Xue’s arms, “And bringing Miss Dan Shuang to bid final farewell to Master.”

…

Rui: “What do you think?”

His finger pressed on the control panel, a yellow key waiting quietly.

After repeated setbacks, he unconsciously began asking Yun Buci’s opinion.

Yun Buci rolled her eyes at this.

Suddenly she heard He Zi’s voice and turned back to see that letter.

Rui’s gaze immediately became suspicious again.

Yun Buci stared at that letter expressionlessly. She recognized it was indeed Tie Ci’s handwriting.

He Zi then raised the jar.

Yun Buci’s hand eating snacks paused.

Rui leaned over to look at the jar, “You have another disciple… oh, the Emperor’s maid. What kind of disciple is that? Just taken to deal with Tie Ci…”

Yun Buci suddenly tapped a blue key.

Rui: “Watch the cigarette ash!”

Before He Zi, the gate slowly opened.

Two teams quickly ran out at amazing speed with amazing physiques.

Both teams were a head taller than Minister Zhang, the tallest among this group. The left team wore steel armor on their heads, arms, waists, and thighs that looked very hard, gleaming brightly with smooth, sharp lines. The right team’s armor was slightly different—fully encased, radiating blue light, seeming made of metal yet giving a sense of muscle-like flexibility.

Both sides’ soldiers carried black tubular objects. As they ran forward, the cold, slender tube mouths were like snake eyes, inspiring fear.

Almost as soon as He Zi and others could clearly see them, they were right in front, their massive steel forms standing before them, creating an overwhelming sense of oppression.

Initially the ministers thought they weren’t human, but looking more carefully, they were clearly human eyes behind the face guards, though the pupils were various colors—black, blue, gray, purple. The gazes from these colorful eyes were cold and condescending.

Like looking at a flock of chickens and ducks for slaughter.

This gaze made these thickest pillars of Great Qian feel hostile, but each had deep political experience and remained impassive.

The black tubes aimed at everyone. The leader gestured with his gun barrel, indicating they should enter.

He Zi led the way with a leisurely expression, commenting as he walked that Great Qian Academy was indeed wealthy, that His Majesty was biased, and so on.

He and Yun Buci were at odds and had never given her any support.

Hearing this, Duan Yande kept smiling bitterly, thinking wasn’t He Zi afraid of provoking Yun Buci by saying such things now?

On someone else’s territory, being escorted by them, yet constantly slapping faces—the old fox really thought he lived too long.

Since there were no students in the academy now, many things were no longer concealed. The group of old ministers walked unhurriedly, observing and mentally recording as they went.

Above the screen wall at the entrance inscribed with school mottos were two black eyes.

Above the square’s ball frame were black eyes.

Minister Cai suddenly cried out as he pulled his foot from bushes.

Everyone looked.

Oh, there were some in the bushes too.

In the bushes was also a square object that looked like a mirror—no telling what it was.

Minister Zhang quietly loosened his belt.

After walking a few steps, he cried out, “Oh my, I dropped my golden turtle.”

He ran to the bushes to retrieve his golden turtle, seemingly accidentally kicking a stone that hit the mirror-like contraption.

Bright light suddenly blazed, nearly blinding Grand Academician Gu who was looking down at Minister Zhang.

Grand Academician Gu rubbed his eyes and looked worriedly at the wall.

Those tall soldiers were waving their black tubes at them again. The lead soldier shouted in a strange accent, “No wandering around! Come back!”

The bigwigs immediately returned obediently. Minister Jiang pulled out a paper package of pastries from his robes. “At our age, we can’t go without food. Please excuse us.” He distributed them to colleagues. “This year’s first batch of osmanthus-flavored osmanthus cakes, famous delicacies from Qiyun Tower—everyone try the new ones.”

Everyone accepted them. Rich osmanthus fragrance wafted, and the soldiers’ eyes, supposedly looking straight ahead, quietly glanced over.

So fragrant.

Some remembered the food from Great Qian Academy’s cafeteria when they first arrived and couldn’t help swallowing.

Ancient people really ate well.

Unfortunately, Great Qian Academy’s stores weren’t abundant, and the soldiers had large appetites. They quickly finished the cafeteria stores, but subsequent purchasing encountered problems—they couldn’t find any markets. All markets and vendors seemed to have disappeared. They could only continue with nutrient solutions—the lowest grade distributed, tasting like vegetable caterpillars pickled then sun-dried for three days.

Food wasn’t good, clothing wasn’t either. These people brought little luggage when they came—after all, Great Qian was their back garden, they could get materials locally. However, when they went to the streets, they found shops weren’t open. They couldn’t even get a change of clothes.

Clothing wasn’t good, housing wasn’t either. Orders from above were not to leave Great Qian Academy or be alone. Living in student dormitories, but future people were large while dormitory beds were extremely narrow. Cramped on small beds, they woke with aching backs and legs.

Housing wasn’t good, transportation wasn’t either. Weapons, equipment, and vehicles were all allocated. Resources were tight—except for combat, they couldn’t be used casually. For daily trips to slightly distant places, they couldn’t run around in full armor and muscle combat suits, ultimately relying on legs or local transportation. But wherever they went, they couldn’t find a single cart or horse. Soon soldiers lost interest in touring the capital, since walking everywhere was very tiring.

The desolate, stagnant capital left these people disappointed and exhausted. Occasionally encountering someone whose mouth still gleamed with oil, when they approached to ask where they ate meat, the person would show hateful eyes and disappear in a blink.

Not to mention all the inconveniences of a backward era—no air conditioning, computers, phones were one thing, but even food and drink were unavailable? In just a short time, like falling from heaven to hell, each day felt like a year.

These soldiers very much wanted to fire their guns. These stubborn ancients would naturally surrender obediently, but orders from above forbade randomly killing natives, saying killing wouldn’t solve problems. They should strive for peaceful transition to create better living environments in the future, since they still had to rely on Great Qian people, who comprised the vast majority of the population, to work.

So everyone held suppressed anger.

This anger was temporarily suppressed, but who knew when it might explode.

In the command center, Yun Buci watched that group of leisurely strolling bigwigs and chuckled.

Rui wasn’t paying attention to the screen. He was still thinking about the new commander coming soon. These old men with extremely poor physical condition who could enter coffins any second weren’t worth a glance in his view.

Seeing people almost arriving, he said coldly, “Go see them if you want, I don’t care what you say to them, but remember one thing—Federation interests are supreme. No one can betray the ideal of galactic co-prosperity.”

Yun Buci snapped her fingers at him.

“Don’t meet them in the command center. I’m afraid if they see our advanced technology, they’ll be scared to death,” Rui smiled sarcastically.

Yun Buci stood and went to the outer headmaster’s office.

Opening the door, a group of bigwigs faced her.

He Zi bowed deeply and respectfully upon seeing her, much more polite than when they met at court before.

Yun Buci rolled her eyes skyward, too lazy to ask why he was formerly arrogant but now deferential.

This old dog’s mouth definitely couldn’t produce ivory.

She could almost guess—either congratulating her for forcing her disciple out of the capital, or congratulating her for becoming a bare commander, or congratulating her for finally ceasing to be human.

Though she didn’t care, it was better not to listen if possible.

He Zi waited for her response but didn’t get one. He smiled with some regret and got straight to the point: “We came today to negotiate peace with the Grand Tutor.”

Yun Buci: “Huh?”