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Chapter 299: Hello Chang'an

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Chapter 299: The Source of Injustice

For a time, the skies above Luoyang were shrouded in a deepening gloom—slaughter, retaliation, flight, cursing, interrogation, suppression… all the chaos and clamor melded into a river of blood.

In Luoyang and the surrounding prefectures, officials of various clans and origins were swiftly purged and seized. Li Xian moved with brutal efficiency, leaving no leeway, sparing no consequence, caring neither for gain nor loss. He had but one purpose—to fulfill the Holy Empress’s decree and annihilate the gentry clans of Luoyang.

That day, as dusk fell, Li Xian, wearing armor and carrying his blade, stepped out from an ancient, deep-walled three-courtyard mansion. Behind him came the faint echoes of screams and furious curses.

“A mere lowborn commoner—how dare you, upon rising to power, slaughter the noble clans of scholars!”

“Such lawless tyranny, defying Heaven’s way and human order!”

“Whether we have erred or not should be judged by the law of the realm—how dare you act wantonly, butchering as you please!”

“The principles of governance and order have been upheld by our class for centuries—should you sever the bloodline of the gentry, you sever the destiny of the Da Sheng Dynasty, and cut off the heritage of mankind!”

“That demoness on the throne courts her own doom!”

“When a nation is near its end, monsters always emerge!”

“You servants of a wicked ruler will be punished by Heaven… Heaven’s wrath will come upon you!”

“...”

Li Xian descended the stone steps, sneering to himself. “Whether the Da Sheng Dynasty falls, whether we perish—all remains uncertain. But one thing is certain: your kind, who have long deemed yourselves above all others, your time of death has truly come.”

He looked down at the blood pooling beneath his boots. This was not the end. Luoyang was merely the beginning.

Before mounting his horse, he bent down and picked up a pale pink petal floating in the blood. Straightening, he examined it carefully.

“What a pity—the peonies this year were beautiful.”

There was a trace of regret in his eyes, yet a smile soon followed. “But next year, they will bloom even better.”

With the blood of the scholars nourishing the soil, next spring’s peonies in Luoyang would be the most splendid of all. He would be there to admire them.

“Don’t kill me, don’t kill me…!”

“Please, spare me! It was all the scheme of the clan chief and the traitor Xu—I knew nothing of it!”

A man in long robes, drenched in blood, stumbled out from the mansion gate, falling to his knees as soldiers with raised blades pursued him.

Raised in a family of scholars, taught to stay far from butchery and violence, he had never even seen a chicken killed—let alone such carnage.

His father, who had cursed their attackers, had his head severed before his eyes. He had fainted in terror, only to awaken in a vision of hell.

Li Xian turned back with mild interest and stayed the soldier’s hand. “He has not resisted. Do not kill without cause. Take him to the dungeon for judgment.”

The man, trembling, kowtowed repeatedly. “Thank you… thank you, General Li!”

Li Xian’s smile widened. “I am merely performing my duty.”

Hearing that laughter, the man looked up in terror. Li Xian stood above him, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. Every hair on the man’s body bristled with fear.

He was quickly dragged away.

“What a pity,” Li Xian murmured again. “It’s a pity Grand General Cui is not in Luoyang—he would have enjoyed such delightful scenes.”

He gazed at the plaque above the mansion gate—this was the ancestral home of the Cui clan, a house famed for its integrity and defiance, so proud it dared to look down even upon imperial authority.

The world knew them as untouchable paragons. Yet none knew how easily they quaked at the sight of blood. Many had knelt before him, begging for mercy, pleading for a scrap of compassion.

He was glad to grant it. After all, only those who stood above others had the right to dispense mercy.

Mounting his horse, Li Xian took up the reins. The petal between his fingers was crushed into powder by the rough leather.

…

The prisons of Luoyang were now filled with the so-called “criminals” of the scholar clans seized by Li Xian. These families had taken root in the city for centuries, spreading like great trees. If not for the recent mass execution of heavy offenders, there would scarcely have been room to hold them all.

Within the cells came the cries of women and children, the curses of men still defiant. When Li Xian appeared, those curses grew louder, echoing through the cold iron bars—but he paid them no heed.

He went straight to the torture chamber. There, bound to the rack, was an old man with graying hair, his robes stripped away, his undershirt soaked in blood.

“Still refuses to name his co-conspirators?” Li Xian asked softly.

The old man hung his head, silent, half-conscious—yet his frail body trembled under the weight of pain.

“Truly a man of hard bones, as your style name declares.” Li Xian smiled faintly. “When I was young, growing up in Luoyang, I used to copy your calligraphy. Alas, I could capture its form, but never its spirit.”

“Base, barbarous wretch! You dare speak of learning my father’s art?”

A middle-aged man, just brought in, spat with disdain.

Li Xian turned, his smile unbroken. “It has been years, Young Lord Yuan. Though you look wretched, your spirit remains unchanged.”

The man gave a bitter laugh, even as he was forced to kneel. “So this is Heaven’s justice—when monsters rule, the world rots!”

Li Xian chuckled. “Like father, like son—unyielding to the end. Admirable, truly.”

Then his gaze shifted behind the man, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “I wonder—does the youngest of your line possess the same courage?”

At that, the man’s expression changed sharply. He twisted around in panic.

A boy of barely ten years was being dragged in. Despite his small size, he struggled fiercely, refusing to yield.

“Let me go!” he shouted.

The child’s strength was feeble; how could he possibly resist the soldiers? In an instant, they had forced him to the ground.

Li Xian strode toward him.

“Li Xian! What do you think you’re doing!” the man cried out, struggling wildly against his bonds.

Li Xian came to stand before the boy and pressed his boot down upon the boy’s right hand.

“I vaguely recall,” he said slowly, “when your son and I were of the same age, Luoyang held its grand Peony Festival each spring… That year, I picked a single Luoyang Brocade blossom out of curiosity. You, Young Lord Yuan, flew into a rage.”

He smiled faintly at the memory. “You said that peony belonged to the Yuan family—that a lowborn wretch like me had no right to touch it. What a disgrace I was, you said.”

He had tried to flee, but was dragged down and beaten by the boys who sought to flatter the Yuan heir. Some of them even urinated on him while laughing—though they made sure to do it far away, so as not to sully Young Lord Yuan’s sight.

His aunt had already entered the palace by then. She had borne imperial twins, but rather than being favored, she was deemed ill-omened. His family background was humble—his mother a mere sister to a concubine, his father a minor military officer.

It was that day he truly learned what it meant to be born low. The gulf between scholar and commoner was as vast as heaven and earth.

The glory of Luoyang had never belonged to people like him. The great clans monopolized all—wealth, rank, learning—and regarded the lowborn as filth unworthy even to breathe the same air.

Years later, fortune turned. His aunt rose higher and higher, her favor growing until their family was summoned to the capital. He had thought himself free of the Yuan clan, but upon reaching the capital, he realized that compared to the true Four Great Aristocratic Families, even the mighty Yuan clan was nothing.

In court, nearly every powerful office was held by those same four surnames. Their influence stretched across the empire. They had wealth, prestige, and the monopoly on learning and governance. They ran private academies to educate their sons and barred all others from advancement. For generations, they ruled the empire from behind the veil of propriety.

Their names were Cui, Lu, Zheng, and Wang.

And foremost among them—the Cui clan.

Even the Emperor treated them with deference.

When his aunt became Empress, and later, the Holy Emperor herself—when his father was ennobled as the Marquis of Han—even then, the Cui clan’s arrogance did not waver. They despised him, and more than that, they feared him.

Yet the Emperor, though fully aware of their disdain, still appointed Cui Jing as the new Commander of the Xuanzhe Army—because she needed the Cui clan’s power to counterbalance the other noble houses.

So from early on, Li Xian had known one truth:

The aristocratic clans were the root of all injustice.

He despised every one of their sons—and most of all, that one among the Cui clan who shone brightest above all others.

He could not help it. He loathed the man who, though younger and less accomplished, was born to stand over him—a position that not even the passing of ten years under an Emperor’s reign could change.

If he wished to destroy that injustice, there was only one way—

He must erase the system that birthed it.

The aristocracy must die.

And heaven had granted him this chance. What he did now was not cruelty in his mind, but the fulfillment of his lifelong will. From this day forth, the ancient order of the great clans would vanish—under his hand.

Li Xian lowered his gaze to the boy beneath his boot. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw himself—helpless, humiliated.

No.

This boy, though trembling, still clenched his jaw and met his gaze unflinching.

Li Xian moved his foot away, crouched down, seized the boy’s small hand, and drew a dagger from his belt.

The blade caught the lamplight. The boy’s eyes widened with terror. He struggled frantically.

“Li Xian, don’t you dare touch my son!” the father roared.

“My boy is but a child! Even when the Changsun clan was condemned, the court spared all children under fourteen—you cannot harm him!”

Li Xian sighed. “I do not wish to harm a child either. But your patriarch refuses to confess. For interrogation’s sake—there is no other way.”

The dagger flashed. Blood splattered across the floor. Two fingers fell to the ground.

“Ahhh—!”

The boy screamed, convulsing, held down by the guards.

The father’s eyes bulged with horror. “Li Xian! You slaughter and torture as you please—where are the rites, where is the law?!”

“Rites?” Li Xian sneered. “Were they not the very tools your noble clans invented to enslave the rest of us?”

He caught the boy’s bleeding wrist again, smiling faintly. “It seems Young Master Yuan is not so made of iron after all… or perhaps, his bones are harder elsewhere?”

His gaze slid over the trembling child, lingering with cold mockery.

The boy’s face was pressed against the floor, cheeks swollen and red with tears, yet his voice quivered out—

“I am not afraid! You may break my body, but not the will of the Yuan clan! Do your worst!”

He hardly understood his own words—only that his father had always taught him and his sister: A gentleman’s spirit must never be broken.

But his father, hearing that cry, broke instead.

“Stop! Please stop!” Eldest Master Yuan kowtowed fiercely toward his bound father. “Father, forgive me! Your son is useless, unfilial!”

The old patriarch trembled, eyes closing tight. Then, in a faint, rasping voice, he said—

“…It was the Zheng clan.”

Li Xian’s brows lifted. “Zheng clan? From Xingyang?”

“Yes.”

At Li Xian’s gesture, a scribe hurried forward with a prepared confession scroll.

The old man looked at him steadily.

Li Xian smiled. “Ah, I had the confession ready all along. I already knew it was the Zhengs. Whether you admitted it or not, I could have severed your hand and used it to sign.”

He leaned close, voice dripping with amusement. “But I wanted to see it for myself—the moment when the proud bones of the Yuan clan finally shattered. Truly delightful.”

The old man closed his eyes again. Then suddenly, with what little strength remained, he hurled himself forward—head first into the spiked wooden post.

“Father!”

“Grandfather!”

Li Xian clicked his tongue, turned away, and left.

Behind him, wails filled the air.

The patriarch’s body was dragged away. The boy, missing two fingers, was thrown back into the cell.

That night, fever overtook him. Half-delirious, he murmured over and over—

“Ah Jie… don’t come back. Ah Jie, don’t come back…”

The woman holding him wept silently.

Outside, the rain kept falling.

But the hunt continued through the alleys and backstreets of Luoyang—

the purge of every last surviving noble soul.

In a narrow alley, a slender figure trembled in the dark. Then—someone tapped her shoulder from behind.

“Good night, The tone has grown heavy lately, but the rise and fall of the aristocratic clans is an essential thread of this story. It cannot be avoided, and to gloss over it would make it hollow. So I must write it as it is.”

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Chapter 298: Hello Chang'an

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Chapter 298: General, Power Is Truly Great (A Five-Thousand-Word Chapter)

“I was just thinking…” Yao Ran looked at Chang Suining and said quietly, “If not for you stopping them today, would those sixty thousand prisoners really have been taken away—to be sacrificed in the so-called rite to appease Heaven?”

Although she phrased it as a question, there was not the slightest trace of doubt in her tone.

The answer was obvious. In truth, some captives in Luoyang had already been slain in the name of sacrifice.

“I keep thinking—Commander Xiao is still out there leading disaster relief, and you, General, stayed up all last night helping the people of the nearby villages. Prefect Hu and those other generals have been working endlessly as well. Yesterday, Prefect Hu nearly drowned while saving two children. Even with all our precautions, the flood still claims lives each day in the surrounding prefectures…”

Yao Ran’s voice trembled, her words coming in uneven bursts. She hadn’t noticed that her eyes had grown red. “And Grand General Cui too…”

Grand General Cui had said he had an old acquaintance in Xingyang—someone well-versed in flood control. The day before, he had taken that man and departed from Luoyang to inspect and reinforce the key embankments along the Yellow River.

When the Bian River floods, human strength alone cannot resist it. The peril Cui and his men faced was easy to imagine.

Natural disasters were merciless. Yet what she had seen so far were people working together—struggling against calamity, doing all they could to save lives.

It had made her believe, if only for a while, that this was how the world should be.

But then, this morning, she heard that Luoyang was killing people as offerings to Heaven.

They had already slain some, and now they wanted to take all sixty thousand prisoners away—

To kill them in the name of “saving the world” and “appeasing Heaven’s wrath.”

So it only takes a few words—“to calm Heaven’s fury”—to erase sixty thousand living souls?

Yet those sixty thousand men had been preserved through her General’s painstaking effort and planning. Chang Suining had chosen to fight at Bian River precisely to end the war swiftly and minimize the loss of life.

But now, all those efforts—all that blood and strategy—could be undone with two empty words: “sacrifice to Heaven.”

She had not witnessed the sacrifices herself, yet merely imagining the scene chilled her far more deeply than any battlefield ever had—more than Bian River, more than the sight of blood and corpses.

She had heard of living sacrifices before—distant, ancient rumors. But now it was real. Those who would die had faces, voices, and fear—she could feel their terror, and through it, she felt her own. And from that fear, her thoughts began to spiral—and her terror grew even greater.

She could not describe what she felt exactly: fear, confusion, the collapse of her once-clear sense of good and evil.

Once, she had thought it simple—that only men like Xu Zhengye were truly the enemy.

When she had resolved to follow Chang Suining, she had believed she saw a new world, that if she could lend even a little strength, she could help stand against those who brought chaos and ruin.

But today, she realized how naïve she had been.

Someone could decide, with a single command, to take sixty thousand lives—or even more. They didn’t need to wield a sword; they only needed to speak. Just a word—something no one could prove or deny—and lives would be extinguished.

And so she wondered—if they could kill prisoners today, could they not kill refugees tomorrow?

And later?

Would it matter at all whether one was guilty? As long as someone invoked that vague and unchallengeable phrase—“Heaven’s wrath”—would that not be enough to justify any slaughter?

Today it was the officials of Luoyang and Li Xian giving such orders. But what if, next time, it came from someone higher still—from those above all others?

What if the pretext was made grander, more “righteous”?

A different excuse—a false charge, a fabricated sin—anything that could be used to kill…

Then, who could save those whose lives hung at the mercy of power?

Under such circumstances, what difference would one more person—or one less—make?

Or rather, would she too, one day, face the same fate as the captives before her?

She did not think herself overly sentimental; on the contrary, she realized that she had once seen too little, known too little, thought too little. Now, confronted with truths beyond all her former understanding, she was struck with a force that shook her to the core.

Overwhelming confusion swallowed Yao Ran whole. All that she had ever known—the things taught within the boudoir, the lessons from scriptures, the wisdom gleaned from the Buddha’s words—began to waver.

She could not help but ask softly, “Has the world… always been like this?”

It felt as though she had just been born into this world for the first time.

“When Pangu first split the heavens from the earth, there was no order,” said Chang Suining, her gaze steady upon Yao Ran. “All that exists now—law, custom, order—are creations of men. In my eyes, this world has no ‘original form,’ and even if it did, what of it? It is of no importance.”

Yao Ran stared blankly. If that was not important, then what was?

She saw the girl before her—hair unbound, seated cross-legged, serene as if never once lost or uncertain—say to her, “The form of the world does not matter. What matters is what you wish it to become.”

To Chang Suining, the so-called principles of morality and order were nothing more than tools for those in power—means of control, shaped to serve their will.

And she—she would not be bound by such tools. She often said she acted without moral restraint, for only the path she envisioned for this world was the “Dao” she upheld.

She had always been steadfast; she never wavered.

“I… want to make it become…” Yao Ran’s voice trembled. “Can I?”

Chang Suining smiled. “At least you can try. Anyone can try. Even the smallest spark, when joined with others, may ignite a prairie fire.”

How to try?

Yao Ran wished to ask, yet in that same moment, the answer came to her.

She thought of the scene earlier that day—when Chang Suining had stopped those men.

The general had been able to command their retreat because she was General Ningyuan—the one who slew Xu Zhengye, the one beloved and revered by the people.

Merit, prestige, reverence—these granted her power.

Yao Ran finally understood.

She slowly clenched her fingers. “General, power is… truly wonderful.”

The words were simple, perhaps shallow, yet they alone captured what surged within her heart.

Power was wonderful—because with it, one could kill, or save; inspire fear, or command respect.

Chang Suining said, “That is why, since the beginning of time, all people have fought for power.”

Women vied for power within the household; men fought for dominion over the realm. Yet the former rarely knew what true power was.

They were caged, made to claw and bleed for the crumbs tossed from the master’s table, never realizing that beyond the courtyard walls lay a banquet that could make the heavens tremble.

Once one had tasted the true flavor of power, it was impossible not to crave it.

And Yao Ran felt that craving stir within her.

It frightened her—yet it thrilled her.

For the first time, she glimpsed the vast, perilous ocean of power.

Darkness surged in every direction, boundless and deep; and within it, a single lamp burned upon a tiny boat—a beacon.

Her gaze fixed upon that light.

“General,” she whispered, “is every desire for power born of ambition?”

“Yes,” said Chang Suining. “But ambition itself is not wrong. It is part of human nature. What matters is how you face it, control it, and wield it.”

Yao Ran’s eyes shone.

So ambition was not a sin.

Everyone possessed it.

Even women.

“You wield it well, General,” she said softly. “Were it not for your compassion today…”

But Chang Suining shook her head. “It was not compassion alone. Like Li Xian and the others, I have my reasons. Keeping those captives benefits me greatly—including, perhaps, the preservation and expansion of the power you speak of.”

She wanted Yao Ran to understand—that power could indeed be used for good, but it was a double-edged blade.

To judge its use by compassion alone was to invite that blade to one’s own throat one day.

She could not allow Yao Ran to wander from naïveté into a deadlier kind of naïveté.

Yao Ran gazed at her—the girl who spoke so frankly of ambition and benefit—and was momentarily dazed.

The girl in the dark blue robe sat cross-legged, hair falling loosely down her shoulders. Her beauty was almost secondary; it was the aura about her that dazzled, fierce and radiant as flame.

After a long silence, Yao Ran murmured, “Thank you, General. I will remember your words.”

“Then go and change,” said Chang Suining. “Help me sort through these letters and reports.”

With Xiao Min away, all accumulated military affairs fell to her alone. Even when Xiao Min was present, he often sought her counsel in major matters.

Yao Ran nodded quickly and slipped behind the screen.

Her heart still raced.

If a captain commanded a hundred soldiers, and a county magistrate ruled over thousands… then a general commanded tens of thousands.

General Ningyuan now held authority over sixty thousand captives.

If one could command so much—then what of ruling a nation?

The thought startled her so greatly she pressed a trembling hand to her forehead.

She had barely stepped into the path of power, and already her mind flirted with madness.

Just then, Chang Suining unfolded a new letter—it was from Xuanzhou, or rather, a reply.

Before departing for Bianzhou, she had sent word to retrieve someone hidden in the Grand Princess Xuan’an’s private vault. The letter stated that the person had indeed been sent to her—and two others with them.

But who could have foreseen the sudden floods around Bianzhou?

If the letter had arrived, the people should have as well… yet as rain roared beyond the tent, unease crept into her heart.

She immediately sent men to find Chang Ren—but he had not yet returned.

After some thought, she summoned He Wuhu and ordered him to take men to meet them, cautioning him repeatedly to be careful on the road.

“Rest assured, General! Leave it to me!”

He Wuhu’s eyes gleamed with excitement—the General had entrusted him personally with a task!

Outside the tent, the others crowded near.

“Brother, what did the General say?”

“Why are you shaking?”

“Who’s shaking! I’m perfectly calm—terrifyingly calm!”

Giving orders for the General required calmness—calmness was the path to greatness!

The others only exchanged looks. “So, what’s the task?”

He Wuhu lowered his voice. “The General told me to fetch her elder brother!”

“Her real brother?!”

If it were her blood kin, the task would be worth its weight in gold.

He Wuhu puffed up proudly. “Of course! Her real brother—different father, different mother, but real all the same!”

Everyone nodded gravely. After all, General Chang Suining was the adopted daughter of Chang Kuo—a fact no secret to anyone.

Her “brother,” Chang Sui’an, was indeed not of the same blood—but to them, it mattered little. Family was family.

They departed swiftly, following the route on the map given by the General.

Not long after, fearing Li Xian might act rashly and harm the innocent, Chang Suining sent another letter to Luoyang, where though Cui Jing was absent, Deputy General Yu and others remained.

Before long, word of her refusal to hand over the captives reached Luoyang.

“That woman acts without reason!” cried the eunuch chief beside Li Xian, voice sharp as a blade. “General Li, why heed her? If she obstructs us, we can simply send troops!”

Li Xian only smiled faintly. “Grand Commander Cui is inspecting the Bian River and not in Luoyang. Should I start a conflict over this now, how many troops do you think I could actually deploy?”

Even if Cui Jing was absent, his Xuanzhe Army still patrolled daily, aiding flood victims and distributing grain. Those soldiers answered only to his orders.

And besides, Li Xian suspected they had been instructed to watch him.

Recently, with no more captives left to slaughter, they had substituted condemned prisoners. But when even those ran out, they had attempted to seize beggars and vagrants—only to be “coincidentally” stopped by Deputy General Yu.

No, it would be unwise to provoke Chang Suining now.

After all, who was she?

A general who had decided the fate of the realm in a single battle—a hero known across the land.

To be proud and arrogant was her right; the court expected no less.

Why should he lower himself to quarrel with one who shone so brightly in the public’s eyes?

And yet… was she truly foolish—or merely feigning ignorance?

Did she not know that this matter concerned the Holy Emperor herself?

If she did, how dared she act so brazenly?

Whatever her motive, he would make sure to report everything faithfully to the throne.

Suppressing his irritation, Li Xian asked about Xiao Min’s position.

When told that Xiao Min was still occupied with disaster relief, he said calmly, “Then it cannot be helped. Let He Shan and the others return.”

As for the arrow wound and the insult—he would remember them.

“Return? Impossible!” cried the eunuch in outrage. “The ritual has begun! The rain has not stopped—how can the offering cease?”

“Indeed, General,” said another official, frowning deeply. “If we stop now, how will we explain it to the people?”

They had told the populace that the floods were Heaven’s punishment for the surviving traitors of Xu Zhengye, that sacrifices must be made to appease Heaven. To halt now would make them liars.

“The ritual cannot end until the rain does!”

Someone suggested timidly, “Perhaps we can compromise—ask the General to release just a few thousand captives for the offering?”

No one wanted to offend her—not now.

“She will not yield,” said Li Xian, smiling coldly. “And why should we beg? The traitors of the Xu clan are not limited to those captives.”

“You mean…”

He gazed into the downpour. “Luoyang overflows with Xu’s remnants. If we cannot kill the lowly, then we shall kill the lofty. Let the scholars atone in their place.”

And so it began.

Day after day, as rain poured without end, Li Xian led his soldiers through the flooded streets of Luoyang, breaking down the doors of noble houses.

Their fine robes and eloquence were useless against the soldiers’ steel.

The knives cut through silk and flesh alike.

The noble clans had lived in comfort too long. They had forgotten how easily everything they possessed could be swept away.

Now, under the endless rain, they remembered—too late.

(End of Chapter)

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Chapter 297: Hello Chang'an

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Chapter 297: I Will Not Go Back on My Word

“These sixty thousand prisoners of war were taken by me from the Battle of Bian River. They are captives under my command — neither you nor General Li Xian have any authority to dispose of them.”

As the faces of He Shan and the others stiffened, that voice continued, each word resolute:

“If anyone wishes to take them away, then go to the Holy Emperor and request an imperial decree. Once I see the decree, I will naturally not stand in the way.”

Request an imperial decree from the Holy Emperor?

The two Luoyang officials’ expressions changed.

Let alone the floods cutting off the roads — even if they sent a messenger to the capital immediately, it would take at least ten days for a round trip. By then, the rain might have already stopped, the damage already done, and no matter how many prisoners they slaughtered afterward, it would all be meaningless.

Besides, how could the Holy Emperor ever issue such an edict?

Though it was the killing of captives, to sacrifice living men to the heavens would surely draw condemnation. In their desperation, such a measure could be excused, but if the Holy Emperor openly decreed it, would that not hand her enemies a perfect weapon for slander?

An emperor must win hearts and avoid reproach. Many things cannot be said aloud, many deeds cannot bear her name — they must be done through the hands of her ministers.

Only madmen would request such a decree; and only a mad sovereign would grant it.

Thinking of the destroyed Fengxian Palace and the rumors that had spread like wildfire against the Holy Emperor, one of the Luoyang officials clenched his jaw.

Only by shifting the blame for this flood onto these prisoners could they silence the whispers against the Holy Emperor completely.

They were only prisoners — what harm in killing them?

Had not this Ningyuan General slain countless enemies on the battlefield?

So was she truly seeking to protect these meaningless captives, or was she, young and arrogant from recent victories, flaunting her power before them?

To their minds, it was clearly the latter.

Such martial generals who rose through battle were all the same — once exalted, they grew arrogant, overbearing, impossible to reason with.

Facing her outrageous demand for an imperial edict, He Shan’s voice tightened.

“General Ningyuan, do you not understand the gravity of this matter?”

“You—what gutter weed are you that dares to question my General’s judgment?”

Jiang Cai rode forward two steps to stand beside Chang Suining, her brows arched sharply.

“When my General risked her life at Bian River, where were you? Hiding in some corner of Luoyang? My General was the greatest hero of that battle! Who are you, nameless pawn, to bark before her?”

Jiang Cai’s thinking was simple — since she wore armor, her General’s merit was her greatest weapon.

He Shan’s face darkened. The Luoyang official beside him, unable to bear her insolence, jabbed a finger toward Jiang Cai.

“Where did this ignorant shrew come from?”

Jiang Cai sneered.

“Ignorant? You high lords know everything, don’t you? You even knew that before this rain became a flood, my General had already ordered us to ride through the night to Luoyang to warn you! But you ignored it — and because of that, the Fengxian Palace was destroyed the moment the waters came!”

“You refused to bear responsibility, so now you would shift the blame onto these captives — use their lives to patch your own hole! What kind of governors are you? Even the King of Hell would yield his throne for you lot!”

She might not have understood the deeper political struggles among the Luoyang clans, but her words struck truer and cut deeper for it.

“Utter nonsense!”

The officials nearly trembled with rage. At last, pretending lofty restraint, they turned to Chang Suining instead.

“Does General Ningyuan permit her woman soldier to spew such insolence? Or does her tongue speak the General’s own mind?” one asked sternly, his tone thick with official authority, as if to remind her of her place.

Yet the weight of his presence seemed to vanish before the girl on horseback, as though it could not reach her at all.

Chang Suining looked at him coolly and said,

“She is no ignorant woman. She is a soldier under my command — a soldier of merit.”

“I believe I have made myself very clear. The army has its own laws. Such reckless slaughter of captives for sacrifice — without an imperial decree, I will not permit it.”

Her gaze swept over the men behind them.

“And if you think to take them by other means, you are welcome to try.”

No sooner had her words fallen than He Wuhu and the others at her back drew their blades, radiating the wild menace of men who had lived and killed too long in battle.

The soldiers around her readied themselves instantly — the air grew taut, one spark away from violence.

The two officials instinctively stepped back, their faces paling.

“Do you wish to try?” the girl on horseback asked lightly — and smiled.

“Is it not said that nothing in this world is difficult, if one has the will?”

That smile sent a chill down their spines.

If one has the will… one might also have no life left to see it through!

They were not fools — no one would walk into a blade willingly.

One official stopped He Shan, who was still seething, and said coldly,

“Since General Ningyuan refuses us this courtesy, we shall take our leave for now.”

With that, they turned their horses and left.

Once out of Chang Suining’s sight, He Shan’s face darkened.

“How are we to answer to the Grand General now?”

“Could you not see?” the other official sneered. “That girl is reckless and insolent. If we truly fought her, who knows what might happen—”

“…” He Shan looked down at the arrow still lodged in his arm. What did they mean ‘if she acted’? She already had!

She dared to wound him — and dared to demand that his General seek an imperial edict from the Holy Emperor herself!

Truly, a few victories had gone straight to her head…

By defying him, she had also indirectly defied the Holy One. Such arrogance — let us see how long she remains in favor!

“Do not stoop to her level, General He,” said the calmer of the two. “Your wound comes first. After all, she is not truly in command. The one who holds real authority in this army is still Xiao Min.”

That reminder made He Shan’s eyes flicker.

Indeed — the girl was not worth his time. Xiao Min, however, should know better.

He immediately ordered his men to find out where Xiao Min was stationed — and sent a fast rider ahead to Luoyang to report everything to General Li Xian.

Chang Suining leapt down from Guiqi’s back, splashing mud under her boots.

Captain Bai stepped forward, lowered his voice, and explained the sequence of events—how the prisoners of war had seized blades and rebelled.

The corpse of the man whom He Shan had shot through the chest had already been carried away.

Chang Suining approached the group of subdued prisoners. “Who led the uprising just now?” she asked.

“It was me!” A burly man with his hands bound behind him admitted without hesitation.

Chang Suining looked at him. “Your name?”

“Huang San!” The man’s sun-scorched, freckled face was taut. Staring at the young girl before him, he seemed compelled to explain, “They killed Shunzi first! We only fought back because we didn’t want to die!”

There was no trace of sympathy on the girl’s face. Her tone remained calm. “You are a prisoner of war. To incite a mutiny is a breach of military law.”

The man clenched his jaw, abandoning all hope.

He closed his eyes. “It was I who led the rebellion. Kill me alone!”

Her clear, emotionless voice rang out, “Twenty strikes of the military rod, as a warning to all.”

“Yes!”

Before the man could react, he was dragged aside and pressed onto the punishment bench. When the first rod struck his back, pain flared through him; he grunted, finally realizing what awaited him.

Chang Suining watched from not far away as he endured the punishment.

Whether prisoner or soldier, those within the army must abide by its laws.

Just as in brawls among soldiers, the reason for a fight mattered less than the act itself—if one side could escape punishment, others would test the limits of discipline.

And military law could not be tested or challenged.

Even though she knew that the prisoners had been provoked by He Shan and the others, she had to enforce punishment—to preserve the army’s authority.

After twenty blows, Huang San lay motionless on the bench, trembling in agony.

Twenty strokes were far from light; a weaker man might not have survived.

Sweating profusely, teeth chattering, he lifted bloodshot eyes to look at Chang Suining.

Her gaze swept over him, then over the other prisoners. “Considering your recent good conduct and the special circumstances today, this matter will be lightly punished and thus settled. But if another revolt occurs, all participants will be executed and their heads displayed. There will be no leniency.”

The prisoners answered in fearful unison.

“And another thing—” Chang Suining continued, “I have promised that those who surrender will not be killed. I will not break my word. Once this flood subsides, I will take you all back to Jiangnan.”

—Back to Jiangnan?!

The prisoners stared at her in disbelief. Their filthy faces lit up with sudden, desperate hope.

Chang Suining went on, “I know that most of you were forcibly conscripted by Xu Zhengye. Your families were plundered or slain by his soldiers. Joining his army was never your choice—

“But the empire has its laws, and the army has its rules. Following Xu Zhengye in rebellion was treason, and must be punished. Once we return to Jiangnan, you will serve as laborers to atone for your crimes. The cities you once helped destroy—you will rebuild them with your own hands.”

“We… we are willing!” a prisoner sobbed. “We are willing to serve and atone!”

They had never followed Xu Zhengye willingly. Among the refugees of Jiangnan were their parents and wives and children.

When Xu Zhengye’s forces fell by the Bian River, they had even felt a grim relief—this nightmare was ending at last.

They surrendered only to survive, never daring to hope they might one day return home.

Even if they returned as prisoners—to atone—it was enough. Home was still home.

Tears streamed down several faces as they cried, “We’re willing! We’re all willing!”

No one had asked their consent, but still—they couldn’t help it. That was how they felt.

A few began to sob outright.

The man who had received the twenty strokes was dragged forward again. Looking at Chang Suining, he asked hoarsely, “...General Ningyuan, is this true?”

Chang Suining met his gaze. “What would I gain from deceiving you?”

Hope flickered in his eyes, but he still dared not believe. “Can General Ningyuan truly decide this matter?”

Hearing that, the girl’s expression grew thoughtful.

The man held his breath, watching her closely.

After a moment, she smiled. “I think I can.”

“My General killed that traitor Xu himself!” He Wuhu declared proudly beside her. “His Majesty said she could name her own reward!”

At that, the man bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes.

As Chang Suining turned and left with Captain Bai and the others, he twisted to watch her figure fade into the fine drizzle.

“Will the General truly take them back to Jiangnan?” Captain Bai asked softly. “Or was that only to calm them, to prevent another mutiny?”

“Jiangnan lies in ruins,” Chang Suining replied. “It needs countless hands to rebuild. If manpower is needed, why not use them? And most of those drafted by Xu Zhengye were the able-bodied men of Jiangnan. Many are dead already—only these sixty thousand remain. Some of them can even read and write.”

Unlike Xu Zhengye’s elite soldiers, these were once common folk.

She was not a soft-hearted person—she had slaughtered prisoners before, especially those of foreign tribes. Against them, cruelty was strength.

But these were her own people of the Da Sheng Dynasty. They had been forced to rebel. They deserved punishment, not slaughter.

And with both internal unrest and foreign threats looming, killing sixty thousand able-bodied men would only weaken Da Sheng’s defenses. That would be folly.

That was one reason for her decision.

Chang Suining did not explain further. Instead, she said, “Where is the Commander now, in the flood relief efforts? Send a trusted man to warn him—keep out of sight and don’t let anyone find him.”

These prisoners she would never hand over to Li Xian. She herself was best suited to deal with the matter—she’d always been headstrong and defiant anyway.

But Xiao Min’s position was different; she would not drag him into this.

In times of flood, messages traveled slowly. It would not be suspicious if they failed to locate him for several days.

Captain Bai understood immediately and went to make arrangements.

Yao Ran followed Chang Suining back to the command tent in silence.

Chang Suining changed into dry robes, her damp hair loose behind her. When she emerged from behind the screen, Yao Ran still stood motionless, soaked through, her expression uncertain.

Seated cross-legged behind a low desk piled with military documents, Chang Suining finally looked up.

“What is it?” she asked.

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Chapter 296: Hello Chang'an

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Chapter 296: Then Let Us See

After finalizing the matter, Li Xian immediately summoned several Daoists from within the Luoyang imperial palace complex—those responsible for overseeing the construction and geomantic layout of the Fengxian Palace.

These Daoists all held official ranks and were usually in charge of Fengxian Palace’s arrangement, layout, and fengshui. The leader among them was known as Master Dongxuan, a man held in high regard across Luoyang for his reputation and following.

After leaving Li Xian’s presence, Master Dongxuan and his fellows opened an altar within the city and publicly announced that they would hold a sacrifice to Heaven.

This sacrifice—was to use living men.

——

Before the floods struck, Li Xian had already been ordered to investigate all within Luoyang who had colluded with Xu Zhengye. To obtain a detailed list of inside agents, he had taken five hundred captured officers who once served under Xu Zhengye and brought them to Luoyang for interrogation.

Li Xian already possessed the general list of internal spies within Luoyang and had arrested a number of suspects. All that remained was to trace their connections and root out the rest.

But the words “same faction” carried deeper meaning.

In addition to the confessions wrung from Xu Zhengye’s captured lieutenants, Li Xian held another list—one secretly handed to him by the eunuch who had come from the capital bearing imperial orders.

Many names overlapped between the two, but there were others that did not appear on either list.

The Holy Emperor’s intent was unmistakable: if she were to act, it must be a complete purge—uprooting every thorn that could threaten her rule, whether or not they had truly colluded with Xu Zhengye.

In truth, the claim of “investigating Xu Zhengye’s accomplices” had been nothing more than a pretext from the very beginning.

The scope of this “investigation” extended far beyond Luoyang. The female sovereign’s gaze was upon all the landed clans of the Central Plains—especially that most illustrious surname among them, one powerful enough to tear apart the intertwined interests of the four great noble families.

Thus, Li Xian knew precisely who was next and what must be done.

He no longer needed to interrogate the prisoners.

Yet he soon realized—these seemingly useless captives still had one final use.

The decision to sacrifice the captured Xu soldiers to Heaven was one reached jointly by Li Xian and several Luoyang officials.

Master Dongxuan, presiding over the ceremony, declared that the floods and the destruction of Fengxian Palace were the result of Xu Zhengye’s heinous crimes—that his wickedness had provoked the wrath of Heaven, and that Heaven’s anger would not subside until the remnants of the traitor were completely eradicated.

In the name of appeasing divine fury, they dragged two hundred prisoners to the altar and beheaded them as offerings.

Blood flowed along the engraved runes of the altar, mixing with the rain, and dyed several streets of Luoyang crimson.

It was a ghastly spectacle—but precisely because it was ghastly, it cowed the populace. For a time, the terror silenced all rumors unfavorable to the Holy Emperor.

To reinforce the message, they announced that two hundred captives would be offered each day until Heaven’s wrath was quelled.

Though brutal, Li Xian’s act was not unprecedented. Since the founding of the Da Sheng Dynasty, living human sacrifices were rare, but executing prisoners for sacrificial rites had historical precedent.

Many scholars in Luoyang denounced the act, but their criticism could rise no higher than moral condemnation.

The noble clans of the city, however, were deeply unsettled. Li Xian’s bloody ritual clearly served not only to quell unrest—but also as a warning aimed directly at them.

If captured soldiers could be slain today, then tomorrow, they, branded as Xu Zhengye’s accomplices, could be next upon the altar.

Fury and fear spread among the clans. Yet Luoyang was encircled by layers of Xuanzhe Army troops, and with roads ruined by floodwaters, their families—composed largely of scholars, women, and children—could not flee even if they wished.

With both natural disaster and human peril closing in, they had become trapped beasts. Their only hope for salvation, perhaps, lay in appealing to the Zheng clan of Xingyang.

Thus, they resolved to send trusted messengers in secret to deliver a plea for help.

——

Meanwhile, Li Xian dispatched a thousand of his personal guards, accompanied by two Luoyang officials, to ride through the rain toward Bian Prefecture.

They did not enter the city but went straight to the military encampment established upon higher ground outside its walls.

Upon learning that the commander, Xiao Min, was absent from camp, the leading officer and the two officials immediately ordered the soldiers to count the Xu captives in the camp and prepare to transfer them all to Luoyang.

When several officers came forward to question this order, the envoy replied sharply that he was acting under General Li Xian’s direct command, that the matter concerned the state, and that it could not be delayed.

The rain had eased somewhat. Not far away, a group of shackled prisoners were laboring to fill sandbags. The officer gestured to have them driven over and began binding them together with ropes, treating them like livestock.

The remaining captives in Luoyang would not suffice for more than two days’ sacrifice—they needed to bring back more at once.

“There are over sixty thousand captives in this camp,” said Captain Bai, frowning. “To count and register them all will take at least a full day. This is no small matter. It must wait until the Commander returns so it can be properly discussed with you officials before we hand anyone over.”

The envoy sneered, hand resting on his sword. “This concerns the Heavenly Sacrifice of State—the fate of the realm itself! Should there be the slightest delay or mishap, not only we but you all would bear the blame!”

At his words, the captives being bound nearby grew terrified.

Sacrifice to Heaven?

So the rumors were true?

Had those executed in Luoyang not been enough—they now intended to slaughter them all as offerings?

Panic erupted.

“We don’t want to go to Luoyang!” cried one thin prisoner, stumbling forward. “The Ningyuan General and Commander Xiao both promised—those who surrender will not be killed!”

An arrow pierced his chest mid-sentence. He fell into the mud, blood bubbling from his lips.

The one holding the crossbow was Li Xian’s subordinate.

“Anyone who resists,” he barked coldly, “shall be executed here and now as an offering to Heaven!”

Watching their fallen comrade twitch in the bloodied mud, a burly captive clenched his fists in fury. “He didn’t resist—he was terrified, that’s all!”

He turned, glaring at the officer who had killed his friend, snapping the rope binding his wrists. “You deceive and slaughter us like beasts!”

“If I’m to die anyway, I’ll die fighting like a man!”

They had been conscripted by Xu’s army, defeated, and taken prisoner—never once given a choice. They had surrendered only to live, yet now were to be butchered as sacrifices? What kind of monstrous world was this?

With a roar, the burly man snatched a fallen soldier’s blade, and others followed.

“Stop them—restrain them!” Captain Bai shouted.

The officer only sneered. “Livestock, are they? They overestimate themselves. Kill every last one who resists—bring their heads to Luoyang, not one missing!”

As he raised his crossbow to fire, another arrow struck from the side—piercing his arm clean through.

He cried out, stumbling backward, clutching his wound.

“General He!” one of the officials gasped, supporting him while turning toward the sound of approaching hooves.

A group of riders emerged from the rain, cloaked in armor and straw capes. At their head was a young woman with a longbow in hand. She reined in her horse a few paces away, loosed another arrow—but this one struck the ground before the charging captives.

“Anyone who dares move another step—will be slain where they stand,” her cold voice rang out, sharper than the rain.

“It’s the Drillmaster!”

“General Ningyuan!”

Cries rippled through the ranks.

Captain Bai and his soldiers swiftly subdued the chaos.

The wounded officer—He Shan, a servant-born retainer of the Marquis of Han’s household—glared up at her, his face pale from pain. “General Ningyuan, why have you attacked one of your own?”

“You should be asking yourselves why you dare interfere with matters of my command,” replied the mounted girl coolly.

Her steed—a magnificent chestnut stallion—snorted, eyes wild, pawing the muddy ground as she looked down upon them. “In the field, military law admits no chaos. You, who hold no command within my army, dare to draw weapons and stir disorder—should I not execute you on the spot?”

Her words struck like iron; and indeed, sparing them a mere wound was mercy.

One of the officials, indignant, raised his voice. “We act under General Li Xian’s orders, to escort these captives to Luoyang!”

Her tone turned mocking. “Li Xian again? What does he need them for now—has he not already taken enough for his interrogations?”

The implication that Li Xian’s competence was lacking made He Shan’s jaw tighten.

Enduring his pain, he explained stiffly that the captives were to be used for the Heaven Sacrifice.

Chang Suining’s eyes narrowed, her voice cold with disdain.

A Heaven Sacrifice. Two hundred killed each day, until Heaven’s fury abated.

So when the rains finally stopped, that would mean Heaven’s wrath was appeased?

She understood well—Fengxian Palace’s collapse had birthed dangerous rumors against the Holy Emperor. Li Xian’s bloody ritual was meant to smother one rumor with another—using shock and fear to silence dissent, while intimidating Luoyang’s clans into submission.

Indeed, a plan that could not fail.

When she remained silent, He Shan pressed again, “General Ningyuan, this matter is of great importance. We ask for your cooperation.”

Her eyes flicked toward the bound captives, their faces pale and hopeless. “I cannot allow it,” she said evenly. “You may not take them.”

“What?” He Shan thought he had misheard.

Even the prisoners froze in disbelief.

“I gave them my word,” said Chang Suining, “that those who surrendered would not be killed. They are to be dealt with according to military law, not slaughtered like beasts.”

One of the officials spoke coldly. “Does the General understand the crime of obstructing a Heaven Sacrifice?”

“And may I ask,” she returned sharply, “who initiated this so-called Heaven Sacrifice? Was it the Holy Emperor—or officials fearful of being blamed for failing to guard Fengxian Palace?”

The man’s face darkened. “General Li Xian acts under imperial decree to punish Xu Zhengye’s remnants!”

He raised his hand toward the capital’s direction. “If he acts under the Holy Edict, he has full authority over these captives!”

Still astride her horse, she answered faintly, “And I, too, act under the Holy Edict—to eliminate Xu’s remaining forces. To my knowledge, Li Xian was ordered to investigate Luoyang’s internal conspirators, not command military prisoners.”

Another official stepped forward angrily. “And if we insist on taking them?”

Her lips curved coldly. “Then try.”

At her words, the chestnut stallion reared with a shrill neigh, hooves slashing the air. Startled, the official stumbled back as the horse snorted loudly, as though mocking him.

The man’s face flushed in humiliation—he had been frightened and mocked by a horse!

Then, from atop her mount, the young woman spoke again—her voice calm, her tone proud.

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Chapter 295: Hello Chang'an

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Chapter 295: Liuhuo, Come Here

Chang Suining and Cui Jing left the front hall together. As soon as they stepped into the corridor, they heard the sound of approaching footsteps and the scattered clatter of hooves at the far end.

Before long, Chang Suining saw two of Cui Jing’s personal guards leading several horses toward them.

She paused, peering through the dim corridor light to make out the figures.

When the two guards caught sight of Cui Jing, they immediately understood and released the reins and bits of the three horses.

Freed at last, the youngest of the horses shook its coat restlessly, snorting hot breath with a sharp “pff, pff.”

It pawed the ground, eager to move forward—but noticed that its father had suddenly frozen in place, staring fixedly ahead.

Eh? What’s he looking at?

Curious, the young horse stepped closer to see what had caught his father’s attention.

Two figures stood in the distance. One of them spoke tentatively, “Liuhuo?”

At the sound of that name, the chestnut-red stallion’s eyes widened, ears pricked upright—and with a joyful whinny, it reared on its forelegs.

Now sure of it, Chang Suining laughed and called again, “Liuhuo!”

Liuhuo no longer hesitated. He broke into a gallop toward her, bounding and tossing his head in excitement, hooves tapping like a lion at festival dance.

Watching this, the young horse Guiqi stared wide-eyed. In his ears echoed the words his mother always used to soothe him after his father kicked him half to death—You must understand, your father has fought on battlefields all his life. He’s a proud warhorse, stern and silent, never bows his head.

And yet… right now, that proud father looked exactly like a silly, tail-wagging dog!

Guiqi could hardly believe it. With a clatter of hooves, he trotted forward to see for himself.

Liuhuo reached Chang Suining, lowered his head, and gently pressed it against her shoulder.

She wrapped both arms around his neck.

Liuhuo let out a low, trembling whimper.

Guiqi froze, terror flashing in his large eyes—what was that sound? Was his old father whining?

He stepped forward again, and the moment he saw Chang Suining, realization dawned. Ah, so it’s her.

The woman stretched out a hand toward him, meaning to pat his head.

But Guiqi was not so easily moved!

He raised his head proudly and took two steps back.

The next instant, a powerful shove from behind sent him stumbling forward—his proud head shoved straight beneath that woman’s “evil claws.”

Guiqi snorted in indignation, flicking his tail hard against the culprit behind him—his mother.

“Little Guiqi, we meet again,” Chang Suining said with a smile, rubbing his head.

Guiqi snorted through his nostrils in protest.

“How majestic you’ve become,” she praised. “Just as imposing as your father once was.”

Guiqi seemed to understand; he lifted his neck higher, looking even prouder.

Liuhuo, disgusted by his insolent son, lashed out with a swift kick—how dare this brat steal the Princess’s attention! Didn’t know when to be grateful? He’d show him!

Guiqi neighed in outrage.

Chang Suining quickly stepped between father and son, laughing as she intervened. “Now, now, they say discipline breeds filial sons—but when the child’s grown, one should still spare him a bit of face.”

Liuhuo snorted twice, then turned his head to nuzzle her palm.

Chang Suining looked at the sturdy bay mare standing nearby, her eyes gentle and bright. “...All of them acquired through dereliction of duty?” she asked wryly.

Cui Jing gave a brief “mm”: “If stealing they must be, then stolen they are.”

It was a dry joke between them. As Commander of the Xuanzhe Army, Cui Jing hardly needed to “steal” a few horses.

“All of them for me?” Chang Suining asked.

“Would you refuse?” he replied.

Liuhuo gazed at her imploringly—as if to say, You know, I’ve been away from my mother since I was a colt. I’ve fought by your side through life and death...

“It seems I can’t refuse,” she said softly, wiping the fine mist of rain clinging to his lashes with her sleeve. Liuhuo closed his eyes, ears laid back in comfort, like a tame rabbit enjoying her touch.

“But I am very poor now,” she said. “Following me means hardship.”

“No matter,” Cui Jing said seriously. “I have saved enough through the years to provide for them. I’ll send it all to you later—so you need not worry about their feed or care.”

“They’ll have to travel far and wide with me,” she said, glancing at the aging Liuhuo. “I had thought to steal him away only after I settled down.”

Cui Jing looked at Liuhuo as well. “He has fought half his life and cannot bear confinement. His temper is fierce—he recognizes no second master. Though well cared for these years, he has never been so content as he is now.”

“So I thought, for him, true peace means following you.”

Liuhuo was old; each day with him was precious. The world was uncertain, and missing this last chance to stay together would be a regret for both horse and master alike.

Liuhuo lowered its head and rubbed against the Yaori Sword in Chang Suining’s hand.

The sword was here, it was here, Her Highness was here—everything seemed to have returned to how it once was.

A deep sense of peace and contentment welled up within it.

Chang Suining looked at the scene and smiled faintly.

“You’re right. I’ve made Liuhuo wait far too long.”

It seemed she would have to push herself harder.

Looking at Liuhuo and its little family, Chang Suining suddenly felt that she was now someone with dependents of her own.

As the head of this little household, she must find a stable place for her battle-hardened Lord Liuhuo to enjoy his retirement in peace.

“Do you know the name of Guiqi’s mother?” she asked. “Does she have one?”

“She does. It’s Sishi.” Cui Jing replied.

“Sishi…” Chang Suining repeated softly.

Sishi, Guiqi—was it meant to mean ‘Waiting for return through all seasons’?

At the sound of her voice, Sishi also stepped forward.

Chang Suining smiled and reached out to stroke its ear.

Looking at Liuhuo’s tidy little family, she felt her heart soar with joy.

Tonight, she had met many old friends.

At this moment, she felt rich—content—and happy.

In the past, whether she was very happy or deeply upset, she would either drink heartily or find someone to spar with.

Now, wine was forbidden to her.

She turned to Cui Jing. “Do you have your sword with you?”

Cui Jing nodded.

“Then may I trouble you to spar with me for a bit?”

Chang Suining raised her sword hand, a bright smile at her brow.

“I’d like to see for myself how skilled the current general of the Xuanzhe Army has become.”

Cui Jing drew the sword from beneath his cloak and saluted.

“Then, Your Highness, please grant me your instruction.”

It had been more than ten years since her Yaori Sword was last unsheathed.

That she did so tonight—for him—was an honor beyond words.

In a moment, they stood facing each other.

Then both drew their swords.

The Yaori Sword gleamed bright as snow.

Cui Jing’s long sword shone dark as ink.

At some point, rain had started again outside the corridor, falling in silvery threads.

Both were clad in blue robes—hers pale, his deep.

The girl in pale blue was like a bamboo stalk, her swordlight like snowflakes slicing through raindrops, carrying mist as it swept toward the young man.

The man in dark blue was like a cypress, his swordlight deep as an abyss. As their blades clashed, fierce currents of sword energy whirled through the corridor.

Sword shadows intertwined, the sound of steel like a whistling wind.

One’s moves were nimble, the other’s steady—complementary, evenly matched, impossible to tell who held the advantage.

Liuhuo had led its mate and foal away to the hall entrance, forcing its son to watch carefully.

The duel lasted for two quarters of an hour before it ended.

Chang Suining sheathed her sword, a fine sheen of sweat at her brow.

A few strands of hair clung to her cheek. “This round, you win.”

“Not really,” said Cui Jing, returning his sword to its sheath.

“It was not a true victory—only that your strength gave out first.”

“I’d have lost if we went on,” she said between breaths, resting her sword against the railing and sitting down to recover. “Lack of stamina is still a weakness. I’m not the sort who can’t admit defeat.”

“For just one year’s recovery, this is already remarkable,” Cui Jing said as he came over, took her sword, and slipped it neatly back into its scabbard before handing it back.

“Next time, you’ll surely beat me.”

Chang Suining raised her brows. “I think so too.”

The rain blew slantwise into the corridor, carrying the fragrance of wet spring earth and the vitality of budding plants.

When the rain finally stopped, Chang Suining and Cui Jing left the villa.

On the road out, Liuhuo lectured its son the whole way—mostly urging him to seize his opportunities.

Guiqi wished he could cover his ears.

At the gate, Yuan Xiang brought their horses.

Just as Chang Suining took the reins to mount, Guiqi suddenly barged forward and shoved the other horse aside, full of domineering vigor.

It never listened to reason, but if another horse challenged it, it became downright spirited.

What spirited stallion didn’t have a bit of temper?

Guiqi pawed the ground twice toward her, signaling.

Chang Suining laughed and vaulted onto its back.

In an instant, Guiqi shot forward like an arrow loosed from its bowstring.

The displaced horse stood there in confusion until Cui Jing and his men mounted and rode out, then followed.

Liuhuo galloped after them, chasing Chang Suining.

It soon overtook Cui Jing’s group and saw, ahead, that rider and steed—it felt as if it saw its younger self again, proud and untamed.

But it soon realized—it couldn’t keep up.

It had grown old.

It could no longer catch its unruly son—nor its princess.

Then, a moment later, the rider ahead turned back.

Chang Suining reined Guiqi around and smiled.

“Liuhuo—come!”

Liuhuo perked up, shook the rain from its mane, and sprinted forward with renewed spirit.

By now, Chang Suining had fully mastered Guiqi’s temperament.

The three—woman and two horses—rode side by side all the way back.

By the time they reached the Prefect’s mansion, it was already midnight.

After parting with Cui Jing, Chang Suining personally entrusted Liuhuo’s family to Ah Che’s care.

After a hot bath, she changed into soft inner robes, climbed into bed, lowered the bed curtains, and lifted the quilt—

Her Yaori Sword lay hidden beneath.

That night, Chang Suining fell asleep holding her sword—and dreamed sweetly all night long.

Several days later, a Sacred Edict arrived in Bian Prefecture.

The Holy Emperor, in high spirits, praised the merits of Chang Suining, Xiao Min, and their soldiers—especially commending Chang Suining for slaying Xu Zhengye.

It further decreed that Li Xian was to purge Xu Zhengye’s remaining faction in Luoyang; Cui Jing was to lead the Xuanzhe Army to guard the city to maintain order.

Meanwhile, once Xiao Min’s army had rested and their warships were refitted in sufficient number, he and General Ningyuan Chang Suining were to march south along the Huainan route to join forces with Chang Kuo and reclaim the cities of Yangzhou, Jiangning, and the remaining southern territories still occupied by Xu Zhengye’s remnants.

When all was accomplished, they were to lead the combined armies back to the capital via Huainan, where the court would hold a great ceremony to bestow rewards and titles upon the meritorious.

Chang Suining, Cui Jing, Xiao Min, and Li Xian received the decree together.

By rights, after receiving such an order, Chang Suining should have departed Bian Prefecture at once to join Xiao Min in Huainan. She herself also intended to return south to finish what remained.

But the unexpected happened.

Bian Prefecture was struck by relentless rain for several days—

the army could not move.

At first, the downpour was merely an inconvenience, but gradually, Chang Suining’s expression grew solemn as she stood beneath the corridor, watching the sheets of rain.

Then Yao Ran hurried over, soaked despite her umbrella.

She produced a sealed letter from within her robe.

“General, a confidential dispatch from the capital—sent by Uncle Ren.”

Chang Suining tore it open.

It was in Wu Jue’s handwriting.

Only a few short lines—he had read the stars and the winds, and foreseen that the Central Plains might soon face flood disasters. Knowing she was in Bian Prefecture, he sent this warning in advance.

The date showed it had been written six days earlier—just as the first signs of this heavy rain had appeared.

Chang Suining frowned and immediately went to see Prefect Hu to urge early preparations for potential flooding.

Hu Lin had already ordered minor precautions—inspecting old houses and dangerous mountain paths—but little more. Now, hearing Chang Suining’s grave tone, he asked her reasoning.

“A master skilled in reading the heavens sent a warning,” she said frankly. “He is not infallible, but seven or eight of his ten predictions prove true. Such matters, though uncertain, concern great danger. Better to prepare than regret.”

Hu Lin considered, then nodded.

The safety of the people outweighed all.

He immediately ordered preparations for flood control and personally inspected the granaries.

Soon after, the prefectural office issued public warnings to the populace.

At first, few believed it—

until two more days passed, and the rain still did not stop, only worsened. Houses began to collapse.

Disasters struck not only Bian Prefecture but also Luoyang, Xingyang, and other nearby regions. The Gu River and Luo River overflowed, even destroying the Fengxian Palace that the Holy Emperor had ordered built in the Luoyang palace complex. Over ten palace maids perished.

The Fengxian Palace had been under construction for over a year, meant as a place of divine blessing for the Da Sheng Dynasty—its destruction terrified the Luoyang officials.

Rumors spread overnight, especially among Luoyang’s entrenched noble clans opposed to the Holy Emperor.

Whispers quickly circulated among the people—

that Heaven had turned against the Holy Emperor, and the flood was divine punishment for her misdeeds.

Li Xian, already interrogating remnants of Luoyang’s aristocrats, heard of these rumors. To calm the panic, after discussion with his advisers and the frightened officials of Luoyang, he made a fateful decision—

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