At the Yumen Pass.

When Han Rongchang finally caught sight of the figure emerging from beneath the gate and striding toward him with great steps, he snapped back to his senses, hastily dismounted, and led the men behind him rushing forward to kneel on the ground, pressing their foreheads to the earth and crying out long live the Emperor.

Li Chengyu stopped walking. His gaze swept swiftly over the men standing behind Han Rongchang, yet the person he had been waiting for was nowhere to be seen. The smile on his face vanished at once, and when he told them to rise, his tone had already taken on a note of displeasure.

Han Rongchang did not dare to stand. He kept his forehead pressed deeply to the ground.

Li Chengyu looked once more at the men behind Han Rongchang, narrowing his eyes slightly. He flicked his hand, dismissing the guards standing behind and on either side, then slowly paced to Han Rongchang’s side. He looked down, gazing coldly at the man kneeling on the ground. “Where is the person We commanded you to bring?”

Han Rongchang still did not move, his head bowed to the earth. He said only, “This subject is guilty! This subject deserves death!”

Li Chengyu could endure it no longer.

He had suppressed himself and waited for so long — and finally, that day had come.

He had been barely able to contain his eagerness. For this purpose, he had even ignored the dissuasion of Guo Lang and others, leaving the defense of the capital in Cui Xuan’s hands, and traveling incognito under the pretext of an inspection tour, bringing along Chen Zhude — who had once pacified the rebellion in He Xi — all the way to He Xi.

And now this Han Rongchang had returned on his own, but she — where was she?

“Where is the person We want? We commanded you to do this. How dare you defy Us?”

His voice was icy, his gaze dark and heavy, carrying a trace of killing intent.

Han Rongchang finally raised his head. “Your Majesty, even if this subject had the heart of a bear and the gall of a leopard, I would not dare defy Your Majesty’s command. If I had not brought the person out, how would I dare return to the capital alone?”

“Then where is she?!”

Li Chengyu’s fury erupted. He shouted in a sharp, furious voice.

“The Princess Consort — she — she disappeared on the road!”

Han Rongchang trembled with fear.

Li Chengyu was stunned. When he came back to himself, he bent down and grabbed Han Rongchang’s collar with a fierce grip, nearly hauling the man up off the ground entirely. “What did you say? You dare deceive Us?”

Han Rongchang’s face was filled with grief and anguish. “This subject would not dare! After receiving Your Majesty’s command, this subject found an opportunity and brought the Princess Consort out, traveling day and night without rest, determined only to deliver her to the capital as quickly as possible so as to report back to Your Majesty. It could be said we had a narrow escape. A few days ago, we finally reached the White Dragon Mound. Just as this subject believed we would soon be able to enter the pass, who could have known that on that very day, while passing through the Ghost Mound, we were caught in a great sandstorm. Sand and rocks flew wildly — one could not see a thing. The camels and horses were frightened and bolted. This subject was buried under a sand dune, and by the time I freed myself, the Princess Consort was nowhere to be found. After the storm, this subject searched everywhere, but there was no trace of the Princess Consort. In the end, only about two li away from our location, beside a sand dune, I found this single shoe…”

Trembling all over, he reached into a pouch at his waist and drew out a woman’s embroidered slipper, holding it up with both hands, his head pressed to the ground as he wailed, “This subject deserves death! I have failed the great trust Your Majesty placed in me!”

Li Chengyu’s eyes went wide, staring at the embroidered slipper in Han Rongchang’s hands. He slowly reached out and took it, turning it over a few times. Then, all at once, a murderous light flashed in his eyes. He raised his foot and kicked Han Rongchang over, then drew his sword. “Han Rongchang — do you think We are a three-year-old child? How dare you bring such a story to deceive Us! We see that you are tired of living!” He thrust the sword viciously downward. One of Han Rongchang’s household retainers lunged forward to intercept, taking the blade in his shoulder, enduring the wound even as blood welled steadily from it. He then prostrated himself on the ground. “Your Majesty! The Han family has served the court as loyal subjects for several generations, and the General’s devotion to Your Majesty is absolutely unwavering. Upon receiving Your Majesty’s command, he immediately set aside everything and brought the person back! This was a complete and utter accident! If Your Majesty were to kill the General over this, I fear it would chill the hearts of all loyal and righteous subjects throughout the realm! Please, Your Majesty, grant the General one more chance to make amends!”

Li Chengyu stood with his sword, its tip now stained red, and stared at Han Rongchang, who had climbed back up from the ground and knelt before him again. After a long moment, he slowly sheathed his sword. His gaze turned to gaze at the vast, bleak desert stretching out in the distance, and through clenched teeth he said, “Give him a troop of men. Go back immediately and search again. Bring her back alive, or bring back her corpse.”

He said it, then looked at Han Rongchang once more, his voice cold and menacing, “If you dare harbor any divided loyalties — do not blame Us for showing you no mercy.”

Han Rongchang knew that Li Chengyu’s veiled threat extended to his brother and the members of the Han family. He acknowledged continuously and rose from the ground.

Li Chengyu turned his head, just about to order someone to dispatch a troop of soldiers to accompany Han Rongchang, when suddenly he caught sight of a courier riding hard from within the pass, shouting that urgent news had arrived. Like a whirlwind, the courier swept to the foot of the gate tower and knelt before Yang Hong — who had been accompanying the Emperor here these past few days — and presented a sealed letter, saying it was an eight-hundred-li express dispatch from the capital.

The Emperor’s sudden appearance in He Xi had caught Yang Hong completely off guard.

He was currently the He Xi Commander, and since the Emperor had arrived, he had spent the last several days setting aside all other business to accompany the Emperor on his inspection of the frontier. After the inspection tour concluded, he had escorted the Emperor here these past two days. He had assumed the Emperor would take a look and then leave, yet to his surprise, the imperial procession had halted and remained. The Emperor had not said what he intended to do by staying here, and Yang Hong certainly did not have the nerve to ask. Just now, he had suddenly spotted a group of riders approaching from outside the pass, and recognized the leader — it was Han Rongchang, the Marquis of Guangping, who had previously been sent on imperial orders to escort the Baole King back to his homeland. Not only that, but the Emperor had personally left the pass to question him, then suddenly flown into a great fury and drawn his sword on the man.

Yang Hong had no idea whatsoever what had happened. While privately puzzling over it, he suddenly saw this extremely urgent dispatch arrive from the capital. Not daring to delay for even a moment, he hurried to receive it, stepped quickly forward, and presented it with both hands.

Li Chengyu frowned, took it, broke the seal and extracted the report. Before he had even finished reading, his expression underwent a violent change, and cold sweat instantly soaked through the back of his robes.

This report brought a terrible piece of news.

Something enormous had happened in the capital.

Shortly after he had left the capital, the former Southern Division General Shen Yang had appeared in the Eastern Capital. The Eastern Capital’s prefect was his man, and he had led troops to open the city gates and welcome Shen Yang in. Shen Yang took the Eastern Capital with no effort at all.

But that was not the most terrible part.

The most terrible part was the person who had entered the Eastern Capital alongside Shen Yang.

That person was none other than the grandson of Prince Chu — the very one that Li Chengyu had privately been investigating all along.

Shen Yang proclaimed the child as Emperor, issued a proclamation denouncing Li Chengyu for patricide and regicide, and then led troops marching toward the capital.

His own imperial aunt, Princess Imperial Li Lihua, had responded in kind, and almost simultaneously, she had conspired with a group of ministers who had long concealed themselves, to launch an uprising. The rebel troops launched simultaneous attacks in the dead of night on both the Southern Division headquarters and the imperial palace. Their aim was to kill Cui Xuan and seize control of the palace.

The palace was briefly occupied. The rebel forces killed Empress Dowager Shangguan and Princess Ningshou on the spot.

The one great stroke of fortune was that the uprising ultimately failed.

Cui Xuan led his troops to suppress the rebellion. Li Lihua, with the remnants of her forces, fled the capital in a panic.

The ministers of the capital, led by Guo Lang, begged the Emperor with tears and prostrations to return to the capital with all speed, to stabilize morale and put down the rebellion.

Li Chengyu’s eyes went wide. His hands trembled slightly. He roared toward the sky, then turned, abandoned Yang Hong and Han Rongchang and the others, and shouted furiously for Chen Zhude, ordering that they depart for the capital immediately, this very night.

Yang Hong and Han Rongchang were both shocked.

Han Rongchang especially — his heart lurched up and down, and his head was spinning with confusion.

This all went back to what had happened that morning.

That morning, he had dispatched someone to carry the Princess Consort’s letter to Prince Qin on its way. Then, with the Princess Consort — who had changed into men’s clothing and disguised herself as one of his own attendants — he continued on toward the pass. But they had barely started out when they encountered a young man on the road, around seventeen or eighteen years old, as dark and lean as a monkey but sharp-eyed and clearly quick-witted.

The young man called himself Fei Wan and said he was acquainted with the Princess Consort, and that he had been waiting here for several days.

What surprised Han Rongchang even more was that this young man had been sent by the Southern Division General Cui Xuan.

The young man looked Han Rongchang over, then glanced at the disguised Princess Consort, before offering a greeting and stating that the Emperor had left the capital and was at that very moment at the Yumen Pass. Before departing, the Emperor had ordered Cui Xuan to remain in the capital to guard it. But Cui Xuan seemed to have learned of the Emperor’s plot to abduct the Princess Consort, and in secret, without the Emperor’s knowledge, had sent this young man quietly here to wait and deliver a message.

In Han Rongchang’s mind, a man with the surname Cui was the Emperor’s trusted henchman.

The night before, the Princess Consort had said she and Cui Xuan were old acquaintances, and she had written a letter asking him to help her. Han Rongchang had found this somewhat surprising, and honestly speaking, had not had a great deal of confidence that Cui Xuan would actually respond to the Princess Consort’s request.

Yet at this moment, he was utterly convinced.

As long as one sent the Princess Consort’s letter, that man with the surname Cui would certainly help.

Had he not seen it with his own eyes, he would never in a thousand years have imagined that the man would be so breathtakingly bold — deceiving the Emperor to such an extent.

After his astonishment passed, Han Rongchang immediately stopped the Princess Consort from entering the pass, saying that he himself could manage the situation, and told her to rest easy — her life would certainly not be in any danger.

The young man suggested the Princess Consort turn around and go back immediately. And it was at this point that Han Rongchang learned of another matter.

The Princess Consort said she might be with child — she had become aware of it on the road — and at this point, turning back would mean too long and arduous a journey, which would be inconvenient for her. Her original plan had been to slip quietly into the interior pass and take refuge for a time at her adoptive father Jiang Yi’s place in Shangjun, both to wait for word from Cui Xuan’s side and to get some rest. Now that the situation had changed and she could not enter the pass, she would alter her course and go to Rouyuan first to lie low, wait for the Emperor to leave, and then make other plans.

Han Rongchang, upon hearing this, was surprised and ashamed, and also more than a little frightened.

After he had seized her and set out, he had been afraid of being caught by pursuers behind them and even more afraid of missing the Emperor’s deadline. He had driven the journey at a fierce pace the entire way, making it extremely grueling. If the Princess Consort was with child and some mishap occurred because of the rough travel, he could not atone for it even with ten thousand deaths.

Rouyuan was a small kingdom outside the Yumen Pass, about two hundred li away. It fell under the jurisdiction of the Li dynasty, serving both as a watchtower and lookout post for the He Xi Commander’s Office, and as a resupply stop for traveling merchants and Li dynasty soldiers who had passed through the pass in the past. Because it was not far from He Xi, over the years, a good number of Li people had settled there as well.

There was nothing better to be done. Fei Wan would lead a small escort to see the Princess Consort safely to Rouyuan for temporary shelter, while Han Rongchang himself would continue on toward the Yumen Pass.

The story he had just told the Emperor was a lie — but sandstorms in that region were notoriously fierce and treacherous, and the shifting sands were known to swallow people alive. Everyone knew this. Even if the Emperor did not believe him, he had no way to verify the story.

Watching the Emperor lose his composure and then turn and stride away, Han Rongchang knew that he had made it through. He was quietly letting out a breath of relief when he suddenly saw the Emperor stop in his tracks, turn his head and glance back at him, then gaze out toward the distant desert as though sinking into hesitation.

Li Chengyu only half-believed Han Rongchang’s account.

This journey to He Xi — nominally an inspection tour — was in truth his desire to come here in person to receive her. He had never imagined he would be met with such a result. In his fury, he had very nearly stabbed Han Rongchang to death with his sword.

If Han Rongchang had truly been negligent and allowed her to perish miserably, then even if he died a hundred times over, it would not be enough to ease the pain in his heart.

And if Han Rongchang had harbored divided loyalties and attempted to deceive him, then that was an unforgivable crime.

But on calm reflection, with the court’s military forces and treasury already severely depleted, and the situation critical, suppressing the rebellion was now the foremost priority. And at a time when capable men were so desperately needed, Han Rongchang was, after all, a military commander who could still be of use.

He hesitated for a moment, then quickly suppressed that feeling of heartrending pain, withdrew his gaze from the distant horizon, and ordered Han Rongchang to return to the capital with him. Having said so, he led his troops away in haste.

…

Now that she knew Li Chengyu was waiting ahead, she could naturally not walk into the trap herself.

Besides, she was now with child.

Looking back on it now, it must have happened after that night when he had come to the Shuang clan’s manor to bring her home. In the first half of the night he and she had lain together, skin against skin, in the bliss of union. In the second half she had woken and found him at the cliff edge behind the fort. He had held her and let her sit in his lap, wrapped in the same robe together, using the warmth of his body to shelter her from the cold. For the first time, he had opened up to her about what had happened to him in his sixteenth year, and she in turn had told him for the first time about her “previous life” — that previous life of hers in which she had waited, and he had come, and it had been complete…

That night had been utterly beautiful, so beautiful that even now, thinking back on it, it felt as though it had only happened last night. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the trembling sensation that had run through her when his warm lips had brushed softly over her skin…

But by the reckoning of days, it had actually been four or five months. Only after he had left, one thing after another had kept coming. And she was not like her sister-consort Ruo Yue, who had suffered terrible nausea during the first two or three months. During that period, with the war keeping her frantically busy day and night without sleep, she had had no memory at all of how many months she had gone without her cycle. It was only during this past month or so after she had been seized and taken on the road by Han Rongchang — lying in the carriage with nothing to do — that she gradually became aware of the subtle changes in her body. Her arms and waist seemed to feel somewhat thinner than before when she touched them, yet her chest, for reasons unclear, had grown fuller, and her lower abdomen was no longer as flat as it once was, swelling ever so slightly. Connecting this to the long absence of her monthly cycle, she realized she must be with child.

In that moment, her heart had been filled with happiness and joy — and even a dreamlike sense of unreality that made her dizzy.

She finally had her own child — hers and Li Xuandu’s child.

She did not know why, but in the instant she recognized she was with child, she had a premonition: this child growing quietly within her in the great western desert would certainly be a son.

He was so resilient, yet so well-behaved. Ever since he had come, he had kept her company quietly every day, without causing her the slightest trouble.

She would do everything she could to protect him well — even in circumstances as difficult as these.

Beyond the Yumen Pass lay an unbroken expanse of wasteland and desert, impossible to linger in. But Rouyuan had a marketplace, with people of various clans living side by side. Arriving there and quietly slipping in to hide for a few days should not present much of a problem.

Fei Wan had originally brought a small escort of men, but considering that traveling together would make them too conspicuous and attract unwanted attention, he dismissed the rest and kept only one person with him. They traveled for a day, and that night Pu Zhu spent in the carriage, then set out again the following morning.

Fei Wan drove the carriage himself, as if afraid of jolting her, navigating the road with painstaking care. Along the way he told her that he had brought a concealed crossbow capable of firing poison darts in rapid succession, and had originally planned to get behind Han Rongchang and strike first to kill him — but fortunately he had not acted immediately the day before.

Pu Zhu was deeply struck by this. Two years ago in Fulu Zhen, Fei Wan had been a self-styled wandering knight, a rascal who spent his days harassing the marketplace and was despised and feared by the townspeople. Now, the way he spoke and conducted himself was both shrewd and composed. Compared to before, the man had been utterly transformed, as if reborn. These two years, following Cui Xuan through the capital’s arena of power and profit, he had grown accustomed to seeing life and death, and was no longer the same reckless young ruffian who had loitered around gambling dens.

Pu Zhu was just about to say something in reply when, in the pale light of early dawn, a warhorse came galloping toward them from the road ahead. The rider was a Han man in military uniform, clearly gravely wounded, his whole body soaked in blood, slumped nearly flat over the horse’s back. Catching sight of them, with one final supreme effort he rasped, “Are you people from inside the pass?” — then seemed to have no strength left at all, and toppled from the horse’s back, pitching forward headfirst to the ground.

Fei Wan immediately stopped the carriage and ran over. After propping the man up and questioning him briefly, he came sprinting back and reported a shocking piece of news to Pu Zhu.

This man was a garrison soldier who had been stationed in Rouyuan by the court for many years. He had fifty comrades. Just the night before, they had accidentally learned a staggering piece of news: the King of Rouyuan had defected to the Eastern Di, and the Shuang Khan planned to dispatch one hundred thousand troops through Rouyuan, to capture and occupy He Xi. The troops were already on the move and would arrive within days. They had intended to return and report to Yang Hong so that he could prepare in time, but before they could even set out last night, they were surrounded and attacked. Including his commanding officer, all forty-nine of his comrades had died. He himself had been wounded and had played dead, hiding among the bodies of his fallen comrades, and had crawled out in the confusion and fled — barely clinging to life, driven by a single purpose: to get back and report this news.

If this information were true, He Xi would face catastrophic disaster.

As far as Pu Zhu knew, the current regular army in He Xi numbered at most twenty thousand. And over these past years, the Eastern Di’s incursions had mostly been small-scale raids. A major battle mobilizing a force of a hundred thousand — the last time that had happened was in the thirtieth year of the Xuanning reign, when Jiang Yi had been a young man.

Fei Wan’s expression became grave, and Pu Zhu’s heartbeat quickened.

An ominous premonition washed over her.

She thought of events from her previous life. The Eastern Di had taken advantage of the Li dynasty’s internal strife to attack He Xi, and ten-odd cities fell in succession.

That had undeniably been the darkest and most humiliating passage in the Li dynasty’s history since its founding.

It was said that on the day the prefectural city fell, the Eastern Di had carried out a massacre — the entire city ran with blood, the bodies of the dead lay heaped one upon another, reaching tens of thousands.

It was only that in her previous life, this disaster had not happened now — it had been several years later.

Yet was it possible that in this lifetime, He Xi’s calamity was going to come early?

Her heart hammered in terror. “We must assume it is true! Go back now — get the message to Yang Hong as quickly as you can! Tell him he absolutely must prepare!”

Fei Wan looked at her, hesitating.

“I can get back on my own!”

Fei Wan ground his teeth, then instructed the attendant who had come with them to guard the Princess Consort well. He was about to leave — then thought better of it, reached into his sleeve, drew out the concealed poison crossbow he had been carrying, and handed it to her. He showed her how to fire it, then bowed formally to her and immediately mounted his horse, galloping off in the direction of the Yumen Pass.

Pu Zhu went to look at the soldier and found that he had already stopped breathing. Holding him in solemn respect, she and the attendant moved him to the side of the road, dug a hollow in the sand, buried him there, and stood a moment in silent prayer. Then she turned around and headed back toward the Yumen Pass.

The Eastern Di had long coveted He Xi, determined to control this corridor that connected the Li dynasty with the Western Regions.

Since the Shuang Khan had launched a military campaign of such scale against He Xi, he had certainly come prepared.

On Shen Yang’s side — if her thinking was right — there should already be movement by now. With Li Chengyu away from the capital, this was an excellent opportunity for him.

Now, she had no choice but to enter the pass to take shelter from the disaster.

Fortunately, by her reckoning, Li Chengyu should have already left by this point.

…

Fei Wan rode at a furious gallop back to the Yumen Pass, identified himself and was let through, then learned that Yang Hong had left early that morning in the company of His Majesty the Emperor. He did not stop, but continued his chase without pause, changing horses at relay stations along the way, and finally, on the second day, caught up with Yang Hong and told him what he had learned.

Yang Hong was greatly alarmed.

He had only just seen the Emperor off and was barely back when he received news like this.

If it were true, the situation in He Xi would be extremely dire.

This was too grave a matter for him to decide on alone. After arranging for the reinforcement of the gatehouse and Great Wall defenses, he simultaneously dispatched scouts to gather more information.

That very night, he received their report: the news was confirmed.

He did not dare leave his post himself, so he sent men racing through the night at top speed to chase down the imperial procession. Before reaching Jingguan, Yang Hong’s deputy commander finally caught up with the Emperor, reported the news, and conveyed Yang Hong’s urgent request for the court to dispatch reinforcements to He Xi as quickly as possible.

Otherwise, with only twenty thousand garrison troops against a force of one hundred thousand, He Xi would be in mortal peril.

How could Yang Hong have imagined that just before the man he had sent arrived to deliver his urgent border report to the Emperor, Li Chengyu had already received yet another new battle report, and that the man was at this very moment in a state of violent rage?

He had just learned that in addition to dealing urgently with Shen Yang’s rebel forces and the grandson of Prince Chu whom Shen Yang was using as a figurehead to challenge him, the northern border had also fallen into crisis.

The Shuang Khan had launched a great army, advancing toward the border between the two nations. If they were allowed to cross it, the several commanderies and dozens of counties at the empire’s northern frontier would be in grave danger.

And to make matters worse, he now also had to deal with the terrifying rumors — already spread so widely that nearly the entire realm had heard them — about how he had murdered his own father and usurped the throne.

He was at his stopover at Jingguan for the night, in the midst of discussing with Chen Zhude how to respond, when he suddenly learned that He Xi had also fallen into crisis. The whole man stiffened. Instantly, blood and vital energy surged chaotically in his chest and his throat ran sweet, and in the throes of acute rage and panic, he vomited a mouthful of blood.

Chen Zhude was horrified, hurriedly stepped forward to support him, and repeatedly urged him to calm his anger.

Li Chengyu steadied himself, shoved Chen Zhude away with one hand, and shouted furiously, “Cui Xuan can still help Us hold the capital! What about you?! Our great-uncle by marriage! A three-dynasty elder statesman! We have treated you with such extraordinary regard — you have risen to the highest rank of officialdom! Now, with things in such a state, is ‘calm your anger’ all you have to say?!”

Chen Zhude was left red-faced with shame by the Emperor’s tirade. He immediately knelt to beg forgiveness.

Li Chengyu’s eyes were bloodshot, and he paced back and forth ceaselessly in the room like a cornered and enraged beast, breathing in great ragged gasps.

Chen Zhude steadied himself. “Your Majesty, this subject has one idea, but does not dare speak it, for fear Your Majesty will blame me.”

“Speak!” Li Chengyu shouted.

Chen Zhude steeled himself and said, “Your Majesty — with the court’s current military strength and grain supplies, dealing with the northern frontier and Shen Yang’s rebel forces is already stretching our resources to the breaking point. If we also try to allocate forces to take care of He Xi, fighting on three fronts simultaneously, this subject fears we will lose all three.”

Li Chengyu said, “What do you mean?”

“Your Majesty must pardon this subject, so that he may dare to speak.”

“Pardoned!”

“The only plan for the present is to sever one arm in order to preserve the greater whole. Abandon He Xi — devote full strength to the northern frontier and Shen Yang’s rebellion. Your Majesty — if we lose He Xi, the consequence is merely the loss of the Western Regions. Throughout the reigns of the late emperors, have the Western Regions ever truly been under our dynasty’s control? Moreover…” He paused, lowering his voice, “Prince Qin effectively controls the Western Regions at present. If He Xi were unfortunately to fall into the Eastern Di’s hands, that would trap him there nicely. Your Majesty need only sit back and watch the tigers fight.”

Li Chengyu stood at the window, staring in the direction of He Xi, his figure rigidly upright for a long while. Then he slowly turned his head, speaking through gritted teeth, “If it comes to this — how should it be arranged?”

“Your Majesty may command Yang Hong to defend He Xi to the death, then close the gates of Jingguan here. With no escape route, he will have no choice but to give everything he has. And once the gate is closed, it will also prevent the interior commanderies from being affected and guard against any further unnecessary uprisings.”

Jingguan was the only passage linking He Xi with the interior commanderies. Closing this pass would sever all communication between He Xi and the interior.

Li Chengyu fell silent, not saying a word at first.

Once he gave the order to close that gate, it would mean that twenty thousand soldiers and He Xi’s nearly one hundred thousand civilians would in all probability be encircled by the Eastern Di cavalry, with no way out whatsoever.

His hand trembled faintly.

“Your Majesty — this concerns the greater situation! The court’s military forces truly cannot sustain a three-front war. When you weigh the gains and losses, it is simply a matter of choosing what to keep and what to give up. Once Shen Yang’s rebels have been wiped out and the northern frontier pacified, if He Xi has already fallen into enemy hands, it can be recovered in time — and Your Majesty’s achievements would then be worthy of comparison with all but the three sovereigns and five emperors across ten thousand generations!”

Yes — he was the Emperor, the supreme ruler of all under heaven. Even a single general’s glory was built on ten thousand bleached bones — how much more so for an emperor?

All those under heaven were no more than ants.

Li Chengyu closed his eyes, drew a long, deep breath, and finally made up his mind. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Let it be done according to your plan. Approved.”

Yang Hong had gone sleepless for several nights running, consumed with anxiety, and at last a reply came from the Emperor — commanding him to do his utmost, and saying that the court would dispatch reinforcements as quickly as possible.

He believed it at first. But after one more night, not only did he receive no further news about reinforcements, he instead received a piece of news that struck him like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky.

The iron gate of Jingguan, after the Emperor had passed through it, was now sealed shut. No matter how the civilians who had already learned of the impending war gathered at the gate begging and crying out for it to be opened, the other side turned a deaf ear and made no response whatsoever.

Yang Hong flew into a fury. Unable to leave his post himself, he sent a trusted man to demand an explanation, and the man was turned away with a cold, flat reply: orders from above are not to be disobeyed.

He understood everything, and was utterly in despair.

There was clearly something enormous happening at court. They had sacrificed a pawn to save the rook — abandoned He Xi, leaving his twenty thousand soldiers and one hundred thousand civilians to fend for themselves.

After the brief initial despair had passed, Yang Hong was, after all, a veteran general who had guarded the frontier for many years. He steadied himself quickly and immediately summoned his aides and officials to discuss countermeasures.

The Yumen Pass was nothing more than a checkpoint standing in the middle of open desert, with no natural barriers to rely on — it was not easy to defend. And the Great Wall line was far too long; if the enemy leveraged its numerical advantage to launch multi-point simultaneous attacks, he simply did not have enough men to respond, and could not possibly organize an effective defense across the entire line. And once a breach was opened, a total collapse of the entire line would be inevitable.

In the end, Yang Hong made a decision he had no other choice but to make: abandon the Yumen Pass and half of He Xi, and before the Eastern Di’s great army arrived, move the people of the western region as quickly as possible into the prefectural city — then concentrate all forces to defend the prefectural city, fighting point by point until the last moment.

As for the outcome — he had only one thing to say: do what you can, then leave the rest to heaven.

Filled with the tragic resolve of a man prepared to die, he issued this command.

And by this time, though the Eastern Di army had not yet arrived, news of the impending great battle and the severed escape route cut off by the court had already spread everywhere. The Commander’s Office proclamation ordering all persons to evacuate to the prefectural city as soon as possible was plastered on the walls beside the gates of every city and town.

The Yumen Pass gate was sealed shut, and no matter how one knocked, there was no response at all. Fortunately, the garrison soldiers guarding the Great Wall had mostly withdrawn already, so climbing over the wall no longer posed any danger.

Pu Zhu had no choice but to abandon the carriage. On this day, with the help of the attendant, she carefully climbed over the city wall and entered He Xi, then followed the flow of refugees on the road for a full day. At last she managed to hitch a ride in a donkey cart, and after several transfers, finally arrived at Fulu Zhen — the town where she had once lived.

This place, as it now met her eyes, bore no resemblance whatsoever to the image she carried in her memory.

The familiar lanes — even the red lanterns above the relay station gate, their paint long since peeled and faded, still swaying slowly in the wind — were still there. But all the peaceful bustle of the marketplace that had once filled this place was gone. Most of the townspeople had already fled, and the relay station stood empty. Yet a portion of the people remained: some scrambling back and forth in frantic trips, carrying loads of belongings they could not bear to abandon; others too old and weak to make the journey, clinging to the faint hope that things might not come to the worst, unwilling to leave. The roads were covered with people carrying large and small bundles, dragging their families along, worry etched on every face. Everyone moved in haste, preoccupied with saving their own lives.

Pu Zhu’s feet had swollen from walking. Blisters had formed on the soles, and they had long since burst open, blood and fluid seeping through her socks, so that every step she took seared her with burning pain.

Fei Wan, before parting from her that day, had said that once he had delivered the news to Yang Hong, he would come back immediately to find her.

The agreed meeting place was Fulu Zhen.

Pu Zhu waited in the town for the better part of a day. There was no word from Fei Wan. Afraid that the Eastern Di troops might arrive at any moment, she decided to wait no longer and set out for the prefectural city on her own.

The attendant, concerned for her, told her to wait a while longer and said he would go find a carriage to carry her along the road.

In the midst of war and chaos, finding a carriage with an empty spot to carry one more person was extremely difficult.

Pu Zhu knew she probably could not walk any further, and agreed to wait.

The place where she was resting temporarily was the small courtyard where she had once lived with Yang Hong’s family.

The current occupants of this place had long since fled. Everything inside that could be carried away had been taken — the food, every last scrap of it, was gone. All that remained were heavy tables and chairs and beds that had not been taken.

Pu Zhu sat in the small room she had once lived in. Though she had no appetite whatsoever, thinking of the child in her womb, she reached into the bundle she carried and took out a dry flatbread she had purchased two days earlier from a refugee in exchange for a gold bracelet. She tore off a piece and chewed it slowly, swallowing bite by bite, gradually growing lost in thought.

The familiar surroundings filled her with a dreamlike sense of unreality.

She was eating when footsteps sounded outside.

Thinking it was the attendant returning, she called out, “How did it go — did you find one?”

The footsteps outside stopped.

Pu Zhu suddenly sensed something was wrong. She was about to rise when the half-closed door was kicked open by someone.

In the doorway appeared a narrow-faced, beady-eyed man wearing several layers of clothing — men’s garments mixed with women’s — clearly not his own, thrown on in a jumbled mess.

When the man caught sight of Pu Zhu, his eyes lit up with sudden intensity, and he stared fixedly at her, gulping hard.

Though Pu Zhu was dressed in men’s clothing and covered in road dust, her appearance disheveled, she was strikingly beautiful, and her chest had grown fuller day by day — difficult to conceal. It was hard to hide that she was a woman.

One look at the lecherous gleam in this man’s eye, and Pu Zhu understood at once.

This was undoubtedly a ruffian taking advantage of the chaos to sneak into homes, steal, and prey on whatever else came his way. Seeing that she was a woman alone, he had conceived malicious intentions.

The man swallowed again, and with a leering smile he started toward her, saying, “Little miss, what’s happened to you? Left all alone here — how pitiful. Why not come with me? I’ll take you to the prefectural city for safety. If you don’t go now, once those Eastern Di men who’re as fierce as wolves and tigers come crashing through, even if you want to leave, you won’t be able to.”

Pu Zhu frowned, slipped off the gold bracelet remaining on her wrist, and tossed it at his feet. “This is all I have of any value. Take it and leave immediately. Otherwise — do not blame me for being ruthless.”

The man quickly snatched it up, bit it, and found it was true gold — wild with delight. With the money in hand, he still could not bear to part with this beauty the likes of which he had never laid eyes on in all his life. The lust in his gaze grew thicker, and he spread his arms wide and lunged toward her with a foul grin. “Young miss, just give in to me! Let me have just one touch — even if I die for it, I’d die happy…”

His words were not yet finished when he let out a scream of agony, his hand flying up to clutch at his chest, and with a heavy thud he crashed to the floor. The gold bracelet he had tucked into his bosom rolled out and went spinning away into the corner of the wall.

Pu Zhu’s slender fingers gripped tightly the narrow tube — the poison crossbow she had just fired — her knuckles going white.

She stared at the man’s final death throes — blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth, his eyes rolling back — and felt a wave of nausea, then a wave of fear. She did not want to look for another moment.

She pressed down her racing heartbeat, looked away, and was just raising her sleeve to wipe the thin sheen of cold sweat that had sprung up on her forehead when, all at once, from outside came a voice filled with terror and despair.

“The Eastern Di are coming — run for your lives —”

Then came cries of alarm, mingled with the weeping of children.

Pu Zhu had no time even to retrieve the bracelet. She snatched up the bag of food and, despite the burning pain in her feet, ran outside.

Outside, another surge of people came rushing from who knew where — panicking civilians — all bolting forward madly, fighting for the road. Some even dropped, as they ran, things they had been unwilling to part with only moments before.

That sense of despair at the end of the road felt like storm clouds pressing down from above, crushing until one could not breathe.

Pu Zhu glanced around — still no sign of the attendant. She ran with the crowd for a few chaotic steps, then stopped. She made her way along the outer wall of the relay station, cutting through the town, and quickly came out the back. She climbed up the high slope where she had once often stood to gaze into the distance.

Far off, the faint silhouette of the Great Wall she knew so well seemed to have crumbled in places. The surface of the land churned with yellow dust, and as far as the eye could see, across the hills and across the plain, black dots swarmed.

Those were the Eastern Di cavalry charging forward — like one sharp blade after another, tearing through this vast and silent expanse of open wilderness without mercy.

She turned around. Gritting her teeth against the piercing pain in her feet, she came down from the earthen slope and fled.