Chen Dasheng sat cross-legged atop the palace gate tower, alone.

In the past he used to sit here with his brothers, watching the novelties—watching Yandu, watching the ministers, watching the eunuchs and palace maids, watching this glittering world of wealth and splendor.

Back then people were simple, simple enough to survive in this world on nothing but a mouthful of vengeance—not understanding human relationships, not understanding social dealings, not understanding words with hidden meanings, and even less understanding schemes and calculations.

Now he understood everything, now he possessed everything, and yet his heart felt hollow, as if he’d lost something very important. Lately Yandu had been in turmoil, and when he’d received word through the courier post, he knew something was badly wrong—some things were like a wild horse that had slipped its reins, already beyond his control.

So he’d come up to the city tower, basking in the year’s finest light, feeling that he needed to slow down for a while.

Nowadays, not being disturbed by anyone was an extravagant luxury. If Immortal Liu could come today and tell a demon story, that would be perfect.

Unfortunately Immortal Liu didn’t come, and Chen Dasheng ended up falling asleep instead.

In a hazy dream, he saw broken snow falling on an earthen wall city, and in the distance lay boundless, desolate land—no one there, no one anywhere, with only Chen Dasheng left in all that space between heaven and earth, watching.

He looked around warily, and in his ears he heard the sound of long blades being drawn, one after another—one, two, three, four, five, six… blades drawn, shattering, fresh blood staining their surfaces. Chen Dasheng’s heart split apart like the ground where a drought demon had set foot.

Desolate, boundless, cracked earth, bitter dryness, no end in sight.

Brother, we’re leaving…

Who was speaking? Who was it?

Chen Dasheng looked around warily, running wildly through the dream, and then he saw a figure—step by step, step by step, emerging from the mist, slowly raising its head…

In that instant of nightmare, Chen Dasheng saw himself in terror—his own past self?

He wore tattered clothes, broken armor. He had no brothers, no reinforcements—just himself, carrying his blade, walking step by step out of the ancient city.

He turned to look back at that gate tower. Huh? How was this Zuoliang Pass?

Outside the city walls, a thousand troops and ten thousand horses; behind him, no reinforcements—one man, one city, and one tattered Great Liang banner.

A dark mass of enemy troops besieged the city, their iron hooves trampling the muddy earth—one step forward and it would be Great Liang’s soil. Chen Dasheng watched himself stop, his expression calm, unhurried, and slowly draw his last blade as well.

The sound of the blade was still crisp; he plunged fearlessly into the sea of death, and when the weapons cut through his body he felt no pain—only felt them slicing through flesh, bone, and a heart, felt himself being separated, transformed into countless fragments flying across the sky of Great Liang… and said, “How satisfying.”

He saw many people, many familiar faces—especially, at the mouth of the alley behind Quan Hou Street, a widow and her orphan, forlorn and desolate. Qian’er was crying, her face covered in tears; An’er was in tears too, with no one to rely on?

No, that wasn’t right. His wife was like a great tree—feared nothing, was afraid of nothing, could grow flourishing on a sheer cliff face.

So why was she crying, why would she only cry… But even if he himself were gone, his wife who feared neither heaven nor earth—she’d surely pick up a blade and head to Zuoliang, kill one for good measure. Why was she crying?

No, that wasn’t his Qian’er, wasn’t his wife?

Then who was it?

An unfamiliar, thin, frail child tugged at his mother’s hem, cowering as he observed this mortal world. He saw his own grave; before the tombstone a little girl smiled bitterly at him and said Zuoliang Pass had fallen, more unlucky souls had become wrongly-dead ghosts, they would always forget you…

Qi Qian’er, carrying a broken basket, pulled An’er up from the ground with nothing to rely on, and walked far away while An’er kept turning back to look at his grave marker.

It shouldn’t be like this, it shouldn’t be like this… But then Qiao Shi’s harsh, mean face blocked the gate. In her hand was a string of coins; Qian’er reached for them, but the coins scattered broken across the ground, and he shouted, don’t pick them up…

But his wife lowered her head and picked up the coins one by one anyway. Worse, his An’er was crouched under the crack in the door, small hand reaching out for a coin, when a chubby little boy came over and stepped on An’er’s hand with his foot…

An’er didn’t dare cry—he just pulled back his swollen little hand, ran all the way to his mother, and opened his palm with a face full of smiles.

That coin pierced the eye and gouged the heart.

Why was it like this? Chen Dasheng struggled silently in his dream. He saw wealth and power, saw grand towers and pavilions, saw the Tan clan’s whole household in splendor, and saw more and more of himself, sitting alone in a lonely city…

The enemy troops came again, from the distant mountains, stirring up a foul earthen wind, and he shivered, reaching back reflexively to grip his blade—but his palm was empty…

They swung their butcher blades, harvesting lives. An’er lay curled on the bed, breath faint and failing; his father sat alone growing old, watching this world with indifference. Qian’er held An’er’s lifeless body, standing in the courtyard, screaming at the heavens: “Chen Dasheng, I hate you! Do you see this? Do you see this…”

Chen Dasheng’s insides burned with anguish; he struggled desperately to say I see it, I see it, I see it… and then!

“Marquis Chen, Marquis Chen…?”

Zhang Minwang had finally found Chen Dasheng asleep on the city wall, his face covered in sweat. He called out several times, but Chen Dasheng wouldn’t wake, so reluctantly he was forced to shake him—and then heard Chen Dasheng let out a great cry: “Ah!”

By the time Zhang Minwang opened his eyes again, he was already lying on the ground, Marquis Chen’s fist stopped less than a finger’s width from his nose.

Zhang Minwang was terrified. Trembling with fear, he asked, “L-little ancestor? Did… did you have a nightmare?”

Chen Dasheng breathed heavily, swallowed, and withdrew his fist—only then did he see clearly where he was.

Zhang Minwang took a breath, and pointed shakily at the corner of Chen Dasheng’s eye, saying, “You… why are you crying?”

Crying? Chen Dasheng touched the corner of his eye—a hand full of moisture.

Was it a dream?

Thank goodness it was a dream.

He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling an unresolved bitterness inside, something explosive and suffocating building up that he couldn’t release.

Seeing Zhang Minwang still trembling, Chen Dasheng came back to himself, hurried over to pull him up, patted the dust off him, and said with a smile, “It’s just me, Attendant Zhang. Look at me, I really did have a nightmare.”

Zhang Minwang stood, his expression panicked. “Aiyo—little ancestor, let’s not talk about nightmares right now. Hurry, let’s get to Changxin Hall…”

Chen Dasheng closed his eyes slightly, sighing inwardly: “It’s here.”

Zhang Minwang glanced nervously left and right, then lowered his voice: “Be careful today. His Majesty is truly furious.”

Emperor Wu was furious?

Chen Dasheng raised an eyebrow. He’d schemed against a whole circle of people—this day had finally come. And it wasn’t just the Emperor; surely his father wouldn’t want him either now.

If he ranked himself, Great Liang, A’Nai, and An’er in his father’s heart, Great Liang would certainly come first, An’er second, A’Nai third, and fourth… perhaps only then would it be his own turn.

The two of them came down from the tower and hurried all the way to Changxin Hall in the Great Liang Palace.

Outside Changxin Hall, Emperor Wu stared in astonishment at the beggar lying on the ground.

He circled the corpse several times, even bending down to examine it carefully. That’s right—it really was Migu!

He asked him, “How did you die again?”

Old Chou couldn’t answer that question—he had already breathed his last, his body slowly losing its human warmth.

Bai Ruyi, having removed his mask, knelt not far away. Beside him were laid out the Imperial banner, the Imperial Kunlun sword, and the Imperial golden scaled armor.

And right next to this pile of items sat a small cloth bundle, along with a key mixed in among the things—not conspicuous, yet not hidden either.

In fact, this whole pile of items truly belonged to one family—all surnamed Tan.

The West Gate garrison commander was also kneeling, and seeing the items on the ground, sweat began dripping from his forehead.

This was fatal. The sky was falling. Something terrible had happened.

Chen Dasheng rushed in and ran straight into She Qingling; father and son said nothing to each other, and together they entered the courtyard, where they found all six Ministers already gathered in full—it seemed the two of them were the last to arrive.

The two of them came before the Emperor. She Qingling gave a half-bow; Chen Dasheng knelt in full ceremony to greet Emperor Wu.

Emperor Wu waved for them to rise, pointing at the beggar’s corpse on the ground. “Someone explain to me—how did he die again?”

No one could understand what Emperor Wu meant. Everyone was silent; the sun blazed overhead.

No one knew how much time passed before Emperor Wu spoke again: “In the past, reading old books, I saw emperors calling themselves ‘the Solitary One’ and ‘the Friendless One,’ and I thought it beneath contempt. I thought, life is meant to be lived by people—how could the rightful ruler of all under heaven become solitary and friendless? I thought it was just excessive caution, borrowing trouble. I thought, if I ever accomplished great things, I would treat people with sincerity. Heh… now I think, I really have walked their same old path. Without solitude, without friendlessness, one cannot hold the realm…”

Having finished, Emperor Wu pointed at Bai Ruyi kneeling on the ground and said, “Just now, this man told me that Tan Shouyi is planning to rebel…”

But before these words had even finished, an urgent report sounded from outside… A courier from beyond the city rushed in, kowtowed, and announced loudly: “Report! Your Majesty, the beacon tower southwest of the city has been lit.”

Beacon towers transmitted signals—smoke by day was called sui, fire by night was called feng.

Emperor Wu, who had been sitting listlessly, sprang up and demanded sharply: “You’re certain you saw correctly?”

The soldier replied: “Confirmed without error. The southwest beacon tower has indeed been lit.”

Emperor Wu immediately turned to Sun Shouyi, Minister of War. This time his tone was neither angry nor furious, but utterly calm as he ordered: “Sun Shouyi, go and check.”

Sun Shouyi acknowledged the order; already elderly, he nonetheless ran off holding his hat, faster than a rabbit.

Once Sun Shouyi had left, the assembled ministers began murmuring among themselves, the buzz growing louder and louder, until suddenly a long whip cracked through the air outside, and a duty officer shouted: “Silence!”

In an instant, the ministers fell quiet again.

Emperor Wu stood with his sleeves folded, his eyes on the corpse on the ground, then sweeping over the assembled ministers. The weather grew hotter and hotter; growing impatient, he removed his heavy outer robe, revealing the thin undergarment beneath, and sat down to wait.

A young eunuch brought over a canopy to shade him, but he waved it away.

A swarm of flies appeared from somewhere, beginning to land on the corpse on the ground.

Bai Ruyi couldn’t bear it, and reflexively reached out to shoo them away.

The moment he made this motion, Emperor Wu noticed and asked: “You there—you said you’re a scout superior?”

Bai Ruyi jumped, startled, raising his face with its two differently-colored halves. Seeing he’d been rebuked for his boldness, he quickly prostrated himself and replied: “Yes, Your Majesty. This lowly one is a scout clerk who monitors civilian conditions in Yandu.”

Emperor Wu raised an eyebrow: “And a seventh-rank chief at that?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“What’s your name?”

“This lowly official is named Bai Ruyi.”

“Bai Ruyi? That’s rather an inauspicious name for you.”

“Your Majesty, it’s the Bai of ‘the common people.'”

“Oh? A rare surname indeed. Are you descended from Emperor Bai Tiao?”

“Your Majesty…”

“Don’t keep saying ‘Your Majesty’ this and ‘Your Majesty’ that—I’ve no patience to hear it!”

Bai Ruyi’s teeth chattered slightly, but he tried to steady his voice: “Yes—it is that same Bai…”

Zhang Minwang, carrying a tray with small, careful steps, brought over a bowl of chilled drink with crushed ice. Emperor Wu reached out and calmly took the bowl—despite everything that had happened, he steadily took up a spoon and stirred the ice within.

The ice clinked in the broth. In such hot weather, several ministers present swallowed nervously—but Emperor Wu, usually mild-tempered, showed no such consideration today.

He drank it down himself in gulps, not even glancing at She Qingling once.

No one knew what She Qingling was feeling in that moment. In truth his hand had already clenched into a fist, his thumb pressing hard against his index finger’s knuckle—there was anger in his heart, but also a subtle sense that this day had finally arrived.

He looked at his son; his son’s expression remained composed, the calmest face in the whole hall, occasionally glancing up to study the beggar’s corpse thoughtfully before quickly returning to normal.

She Qingling took a breath, a flicker of resolve in his eyes.

Having finished the bowl of broth, the heat seemed to leave Emperor Wu’s body, and he turned his attention back to Bai Ruyi: “Bai Ruyi!”

Bai Ruyi’s body trembled: “This lowly one is here.”

Emperor Wu asked: “How many years have you served as a scout?”

Bai Ruyi replied: “Ten years, Your Majesty.”

Emperor Wu was startled: “Ten years? How old are you this year?”

“This lowly one is twenty.”

“Twenty? You mean to say you entered the scouts at age ten?”

Bai Ruyi answered honestly: “Yes—actually I entered at nine. My uncle sent me to serve under Huo Jiulang, the neighborhood chief in the city, as an adopted son to support in his old age. I trained further with the scouts for two years, officially registered as a scout at fourteen, was promoted to deputy at fifteen, and was just promoted to clerk last year. Outwardly I work as the neighborhood chief’s errand-runner, but privately I gather information for the scouts.”

Emperor Wu snorted coldly: “How remarkable. In ancient times there was Gan Luo, made a minister at twelve—our dynasty dares not compare, yet we’ve produced a nine-year-old clerk who entered government service.”

Bai Ruyi instinctively glanced toward Chen Dasheng. Emperor Wu snorted coldly: “What are you looking at him for? Don’t tell me he’s this uncle of yours?”

In truth, Emperor Wu already knew everything. Though he hadn’t recognized Bai Ruyi at first, by now he’d remembered exactly who he was—this was deliberate provocation.

Bai Ruyi replied: “Your Majesty, Marquis Chen is indeed this lowly one’s uncle.”

The moment Bai Ruyi’s words fell, the ministers immediately began murmuring.

The disciplinary whip cracked again, hissing through the air.

Once things quieted, Emperor Wu looked at Bai Ruyi and asked: “What did he say to you on the way here?”

The question came abruptly; Bai Ruyi looked up in surprise, but seeing Emperor Wu’s gaze fixed on Old Chou’s corpse, he quickly answered: “Your Majesty, this man was gravely wounded. He only told me that the Crown Prince’s Junior Tutor, Jindian’s Chief Administrator, Founding Marquis Tan Shouyi, intends to commit treason and rebel…”

Reaching this point, Bai Ruyi’s expression flickered with something like joyous excitement, and he pointed at the small cloth bundle with the key on the ground: “Your Majesty, he also said there is evidence beneath Duke Wusu’s spirit tablet outside the city, and… this appears to be a mechanism key.”

If you don’t believe me, send someone to check.

The moment these words left his mouth, the assembled ministers erupted in an instant of clamor, and Emperor Wu shot to his feet, striding several steps to stand before Bai Ruyi, demanding sternly: “What did you say?”

Bai Ruyi answered in alarm: “Y-Your Majesty, this lowly one… this lowly one exchanged only a few words with this man, but his face is one this lowly one could never forget, no matter where I saw it. Some time ago, this lowly one’s cousin was kidnapped by bad men, and our whole family was anxious, so we quietly investigated.

Later we learned that the day my cousin went missing, this beggar also disappeared. We had assumed he was simple-minded and had gotten lost, and even sent people to search for him, worried my cousin might come looking for him upon return—but we asked everywhere and found no news. So when this lowly one saw him at the city gate just now, I was naturally overjoyed.

There was quite a commotion where they were fighting, and being only an ordinary fighter myself, afraid of losing track of him, I quickly called for the gate guards, intending to apprehend him. Who could have imagined that the moment he saw me, he said he needed to see Your Majesty, and that Tan Shouyi was planning rebellion. Such enormous news—this lowly one was terrified at the time, and dared not delay, so I brought him… here. But he died before we even reached the inner gate.”

Having said this, Bai Ruyi glanced around, spotted the West Gate garrison commander, and pointed at him: “From start to finish, the gate commander was present the whole time. This lowly one dares not deceive Your Majesty—he only said three sentences on the way.”

Emperor Wu turned to the gate commander, who was already frightened half to death, and who prostrated himself: “Your Majesty, this lowly one rode alongside on horseback. This man was gravely wounded—by the time he got in the cart, he was already failing. It is exactly as described.”

In truth he had only caught fragments in his daze, having heard little clearly—but he had heard “Tan family” and “Tan Shouyi.”

“Gate commander” was merely a respectable-sounding title; in truth he served under the Ministry of War as a mere seventh-rank—or even sub-seventh-rank—commandant, with no standing whatsoever to appear before the Emperor. Naturally, whatever Bai Ruyi led him to say, he simply echoed.

Emperor Wu took a breath, looking at the corpse on the ground, and said helplessly again: “Tell me, how did you die again?” Then he looked at Bai Ruyi and asked: “What were the three sentences he said on the way?”

Bai Ruyi thought for a moment, took a breath, and said: “He said, hurry and take me to see His Majesty, Tan Shouyi is going to rebel. Also, that Tan Shouyi is amassing troops and reviving the old Lao Dao Battalion, and privately forging weapons and armor. And then… this key—he told me I must personally deliver it into His Majesty’s own hands, and said it was beneath Duke Wusu’s spirit tablet… and then, he breathed his last.”

Emperor Wu stood in place, silent for a long while, before finally speaking: “Someone—go to the ice cellar and fetch large blocks of ice, prepare a room in a side hall, boil some water, and tend to my… Migu properly… A useless thing his whole life, dying still looking like a beggar. Fool.”

He bent down and picked up the key, turning it over and over in his hand, thinking—so he did have himself in mind after all. He’d already escaped and won his freedom, yet upon seeing something that threatened me, he still had to run back. Such a great fool. Couldn’t you have thought of some other way? You had so many people at home—why did you have to throw yourself onto the blade’s edge with no thought at all…

Several eunuchs came forward and carried Old Chou’s body away by the head and feet. The assembled ministers’ eyes followed the corpse until it was out of sight, and only then did they think—how many of Great Liang’s ministers of high standing claimed the Emperor’s favor, yet whose bodies could lie in state within the Great Liang Palace like this? An ordinary commoner who died outside wasn’t even allowed back into the household courtyard.

This beggar—his status must have been considerable indeed.

The weather was hot, and swarms of flies gathered on the bloodstains on the ground. No one knew how much time had passed before a series of hurried footsteps approached.

Sun Shouyi ran in front, holding his hat, followed by the principal ministers of the three military departments. After paying respects to the Emperor, Sun Shouyi said: “Your Majesty, the southwest beacon has indeed been lit. Your officials estimate that Jindian may be in grave danger.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than Emperor Wu’s eyes flew open in fury. He shot to his feet and strode several steps to stand before Chen Dasheng, lifting his foot and delivering a heavy kick straight to his chest.

Before anyone could react, Prince Furui, She Qingling, lunged to block it—Emperor Wu’s kick was about to land on his chest instead, but what did Chen Dasheng do? In that instant he reached out both hands to catch his father, twisted his body, and took the kick on his own back instead, hearing Emperor Wu curse in his ear: “Chen Dasheng! Have you no shame before me!”

That father and son, who had both enjoyed Imperial favor since Great Liang’s founding, lay prostrate together. After a long while, She Qingling stood, brushed off the dust, lifted his robe, and knelt before Emperor Wu, saying: “Your Majesty—show mercy.”

Emperor Wu sneered coldly: “He isn’t even your true son by blood. If you want a son, pick any of my Imperial Princes you like!”

She Qingling gave a faint smile: “I won’t be choosing another. This one is enough. If he’s gone, I’ll simply live out my days alone. Over these ten-odd years, I’ve grown accustomed to him. Whatever crime he’s committed, he’s never once failed me in filial duty.”

Emperor Wu, furious, pointed at Chen Dasheng, who had gotten back up: “Do you even know what crime he’s committed?”

She Qingling, without turning around, said: “I’ve only just come to understand it myself. Ever since the day you had him brought out from the Lao Dao Battalion, he must have been quietly planning for this day all along. He is the foremost of all scouts under heaven—how could he not have seen the signs of Tan Shouyi’s rebellion coming? How much else lies behind this, I do not know. But my son, Chen Dasheng! He is far from innocent! To let private grudges shake the foundations of the state, to stir up war and chaos across Great Liang’s once-peaceful lands…”

The angrier She Qingling grew, the angrier he became, and he turned and struck Chen Dasheng across the face, rebuking him furiously: “How dare you!”

For the sake of this era of peace and prosperity, how many men of the Shao Shang faction had died? Since the founding of the dynasty, how many had worked diligently to establish new policies, before this present stability had finally been achieved.

Chen Dasheng knew his own guilt, yet felt no regret. He covered his cheek and said with a faint smile: “Since I’ve already done it, what is there left to dare or not dare?”

She Qingling opened his mouth to curse him further, wanting to say—how old is Tan Shouyi this year, does His Majesty not already know he harbors rebellious intent? Why did you have to push the Tan family step by step to this point?

Thinking of this, he suddenly startled and asked instead: “Tell me—was the Taize Trading House incident in Yandu a trap you set?”

Chen Dasheng nodded, blunt and unflinching: “Yes.”

The single word sent the whole courtyard into shock. Well, well—no one had seen this coming; this honest, simple-seeming Gate Marquis had schemes so terrifying. With one single trap, he’d drawn tens of thousands of people across Yandu into his plot, destroying two members of the Tan family without lifting a blade or raising a single soldier, and even now there remained one more whose life hung by a thread—directly toppling the Tan family’s direct bloodline. How could Tan Shouyi not rebel after that?

Emperor Wu laughed in furious admiration: “Well done—what a scheming demon of a Gate Marquis you are! Your calculations run so deep that even the military strategists who once followed me to conquer this realm would fall short by comparison.”

She Qingling was nearly bursting with rage, and struck him across the face again: “You—do you understand what calamity you’ve unleashed?”

Chen Dasheng gritted his teeth and kowtowed to Emperor Wu: “Your Majesty has heard it as well—the Tan family has revived the Lao Dao Battalion.”

Emperor Wu, suppressing his fury, said coldly: “So what?”

Chen Dasheng said: “Does Your Majesty know how many lives it takes to forge a single long blade? I don’t know how things stand now with the Lao Dao Battalion in Jindian, but back when the Tan family first forged their blades, it cost one thousand nine hundred and ninety-three lives.”

He lifted his chin slightly, and said, one word at a time: “One thousand nine hundred and ninety-three—it sounds like just a number. But I knew those people. I knew where their families lived, knew their joys and sorrows. We ate together, lived together, shared life and death together—every single one of them was a living person!”

The resentment of two lifetimes poured out of him. Chen Dasheng’s eyes reddened: “Living people feel pain when hurt. When desperate, they long for their mothers. Everyone fears death, everyone struggles to find some way to keep living. But in the eyes of the Tan family, what were we? Worth less than livestock. We sold our lives on the front lines, fighting in utter confusion—we didn’t even know who the enemy emperor was or where Great Liang lay.

We earned them military merit and wealth, yet they wouldn’t even spare us a full meal or a single warm coat in return.

Your Majesty says ‘so what’? This lowly criminal has nothing to say to that either… Later, I learned to read, and one thing troubled me. Those who accomplish great things—they are emperors! Famous ministers! Famous generals! But what of the foot soldiers? Those who die in utter confusion—who remembers their names? Where their homes were? Whether they had wives, had sons? The elderly parents left behind with no son—do they have grain to sustain them?

Your Majesty, what does it matter? They were people—living people! People I knew, people who were—who said, ‘how can we say we have no clothes, we shall share our robes with you’—brothers who took blades meant for me! How could I bear to let them die wrongly, forgotten…”

Chen Dasheng’s accusation poured out, and then a soft patter of footsteps sounded.

Everyone looked up. Chen Dasheng didn’t even need to turn around to know—it was Yu Qingguan, Tong Jintai, Cui Erdian, Hu Yougui, Guan Si’er, Ma Ergu.

These old blade-brothers rushed in one after another, entering Changxin Hall, kneeling one by one behind Chen Dasheng.

They had once shared a single bowl of rice together—today, facing disaster, they would bear it together too.

Chen Dasheng’s heart was in turmoil. In truth, he hadn’t expected the Tan family to rebel so hastily.

By his original plan, the Tan family, having lost a great sum of money, would be forced to take action to cover the gap. When the time came, the army would need vast sums to sustain itself, and once cut off from funds and provisions, mutiny would follow before long—everything would fall naturally into place.

But man’s plans could not outpace heaven’s will. They had rebelled, and now he had to bear this guilt.

He continued: “In this time of peace, for the Tan family to forge blades now, they’d have to take a wicked path. In Jindian, the number of people who might die on that road could be counted in the tens of thousands… In this matter with the Tan family, this guilty official bears fault, and also acted from private motive—all of this was done by myself alone, and has nothing to do with anyone else. If Your Majesty doesn’t believe me, investigate as you will. Even if you cut me to a thousand pieces today, I will hold no complaint whatsoever… I am willing to accept my crime and submit to punishment!”

But no sooner had he finished than those behind him said together: “We too are guilty, willing to accept our crimes and submit fully to the judgment of the law!”

Emperor Wu’s lips trembled for a long while before he finally pointed at Chen Dasheng and said bitterly: “You think Tan Shouyi’s hasty rebellion can’t accomplish much—but do you know how stretched thin Great Liang already is? The Hongshun reign left me with the Three Rivers running wild, scorched earth for a thousand li, devastation everywhere. Open the national treasury and you’ll find nothing but worn-out cotton and tattered silk—when I bestowed rewards on your wife that day, it was old silk I gave her. Now Tan Shouyi has rebelled—tell me, what am I supposed to fight with? Ah!”

Chen Dasheng closed his eyes slightly, and knocked his head to the ground in submission: “This official… deserves ten thousand deaths and more…”

Before matters of state, personal grievances were trivial things. Emperor Wu, helpless, waved for them to be taken away, to be dealt with together once the Tan Shouyi rebellion was resolved.

But these people had no idea that, several thousand li away, two li from Tan Shouyi’s rebel camp on a small hill, a group of people lay in patient wait for nightfall.

Huo Qiqian and her two elder sons, along with their future daughter-in-law, lay at the very front, with Shi Quan and Shi Shan behind them, along with a group of new blade-brothers, and behind them the wandering fighters from around Fenglan Mountain.

In all, a long string of at least one or two hundred people.

Fortunately it was deep summer, and the hill’s grass grew thick and tall; everyone present had considerable skill, and so they hadn’t alerted the Tan family’s great army below.

These people had already left Jindian, and had even reached Fenglan Mountain’s old dock to reunite with Xie Ximu and Ugly Girl—but the moment they heard Tan Shouyi had rebelled, Huo Qiqian immediately turned back toward Jindian.

As she left, a whole string of people followed her—impossible to shake off.

Huo Qiqian lay in the grass, watching her eldest son with irritation, not daring to raise her voice, and scolded him in a low voice: “You damned brat, take Ugly Girl and get lost! I don’t need you here!”

Xie Ximu was naturally unwilling, and said quietly: “Mother, I won’t get in your way. I’ll keep watch for you.”

Ugly Girl nodded vigorously at this and said: “Mm-hm, I—I brought medicine. Auntie, don’t make me leave.”

She Wanlin looked at the densely packed camp tents below and swallowed, saying: “Mother, this disaster we’ve stirred up—it’s a bit much, isn’t it? Are you really set on doing this?”

Huo Qiqian, helpless, reached over and pulled a bundle from beside her, distributing dried flatbread to the children. Seeing them behaving obediently enough, she said mockingly: “What else can we do? You lot don’t know—back home I kept hearing your grandfather grumbling about how poor His Majesty is. I used to read books, and didn’t those books say it—strike first at the ringleader when catching bandits? Tonight when I go down this hill, I’m going to take all their heads off. I’ll make them rebel!”

Having said this, she looked at Xie Ximu and asked: “Have you notified the local prefects in the nearby provinces?”

Xie Ximu nodded: “Mm, all told. Once things get chaotic here, they’ll wrap things up quickly. But Mother, will this really work?”

Huo Qiqian puffed out her cheeks for a while, swallowed her flatbread, and said: “What do you brats even know! Who would give up a peaceful life to go looking for war? Whose family doesn’t have an old mother and father, a warm stove, a wife and children all reunited together—wouldn’t that be nice?

Not to mention anyone else—that new bride Huang I met in Jindian, her husband had barely warmed the marriage bed before the army marched out. So heartbreaking!

I’m telling you, the ones stirring up trouble are all crooked-headed scoundrels. Cut off the rot, and everyone else can live in peace. Tch—my little troublemakers… I just find you all such an eyesore. Can’t you just get lost?”

Once she’d finished, the children all turned their heads aside, pretending not to have heard.

Another rustling sound, and Fenglan Mountain’s Overturning River Dragon Zhang Qixing crawled over, grinning obsequiously: “My lady, look at this bunch of brothers of ours—not much in the way of great skill, but we won’t get in the way either. We came because… well, His Majesty has never liked us wandering rivers-and-lakes types much, and, um, peaceful days are so much better, aren’t they, we don’t want a war either.”

He scratched at the ground with his hand and grinned: “You alone, no matter how skilled, can’t manage this alone. Heh heh, let’s do it together—many hands make the boat move faster…”