Chapter 274.1: Hello Chang'an
Chapter 274.1: A Game of Soldiers and Pieces
“The talk about the ‘thirteenth day’—now that is truly absurd! If this continues, the fall of the dynasty may not be far off!”
“Lord Qu, that statement is mistaken,” Wei Shuyi replied, unbothered by the other’s darkened expression. “She is not some nameless girl of no standing—” he corrected, “—she is the General of Ningyuan.”
He then turned toward the Holy Emperor above and cupped his hands. “The very same General of Ningyuan who has rendered countless military merits and was personally ennobled by Your Majesty.”
The civil official surnamed Qu looked faintly disdainful. “So, because she once showed valor in battle, she must now be beyond reproach? If right and wrong are blurred in such a manner, would that not upend the natural order of precedence?”
Wei Shuyi’s expression remained calm. “When the peril of Luoyang lies before us and no strategy yet devised, why are Your Excellencies so eager to condemn a general currently pursuing the rebel army? Would that not be the true inversion of priorities?”
The older official, more than a decade Wei Shuyi’s senior, flushed red. “Then tell me, Lord Wei—who bears the blame for Xu Zhengye’s march toward Luoyang?”
Wei Shuyi’s gaze steadied, his mildness withdrawing. He spoke solemnly: “Naturally, the blame lies with the rebel. It lies with Xu Zhengye.”
“And,” he continued, “if we fail to respond effectively—if we cannot devise a sound countermeasure in time and thereby allow Luoyang to fall—then the fault will be mine, Lord Qu’s, and that of the entire court.”
A hush fell over the hall.
Then the young minister spoke again: “The battle’s outcome remains uncertain. Why rush to pronounce judgment? If Grand General Chang and General of Ningyuan indeed cause the fall of Luoyang through grave error, the Holy Emperor will surely deliver justice afterward—none shall be shielded. But now, before the battle has even reached its end, to condemn them by a single proclamation—does this not chill the hearts of the one hundred seventy thousand soldiers still fighting the rebels? Shall this war be fought or not? Shall the rebels be pursued or abandoned?”
Qu Pingsheng’s expression flickered.
Even the few officials of the Cui clan standing behind him fell silent.
The Holy Emperor watched them all, her gaze deep and unreadable.
Voices of dissent and argument within the court were not inherently a bad thing. Yet, regrettably, such voices were seldom pure—they often hid ulterior motives and self-serving aims, far from the lofty righteousness they pretended to espouse.
At such moments, she needed men like Wei Shuyi—to quell these hidden agendas.
“Lord Wei speaks reason,” the Holy Emperor said at last. “To fix blame now is far too early and detrimental to morale. Though General of Ningyuan is young, Grand General Chang stands beside her. We, seated here in the capital, cannot fully grasp the situation in Jiangdu. Perhaps Grand General Chang has his own strategy to turn the tide.”
These words were meant for the court. The murmurs of disapproval that followed were not unexpected.
Was she truly without doubts herself?
Of course not.
Listening to the reports and analyses predicting that Chang Kuo and his forces would fail to intercept Xu Zhengye, the Holy Emperor’s heart grew heavy.
Yet her thoughts extended further than those of her officials.
What she had just said was, in truth, her genuine belief—only those on the front lines could truly comprehend the situation in Jiangdu.
Especially Ah Shang.
Ah Shang possessed a deep and seasoned grasp of warfare, along with an uncanny instinct for anticipating the flow of battle.
She was her daughter. And she knew her well.
Ah Shang acted with deliberate precision, as though every move were part of a long-laid game of chess. Impulsiveness was foreign to her. Every possible consequence of her proclamation—she must have foreseen them all.
So… it was understandable that others failed to predict Xu Zhengye’s sudden turn toward Luoyang. But Ah Shang—Ah Shang could not have failed to foresee it. Could she?
Moreover, she had previously devoted all her forces to fortification, forcing Xu Zhengye to “see the difficulty and change his route”…
Then she had chosen to defend without attacking, allowing Xu Zhengye to rally his troops…
And soon after, that very proclamation appeared, thrusting Xu Zhengye into a whirlpool of self-justification.
Piece by piece, these events aligned in the Holy Emperor’s mind—like chess pieces falling into formation, revealing a greater design.
She could almost see it now—A Shang had been setting her pieces in motion ever since pacifying Li Yi and taking command in the army.
Thus, Xu Zhengye’s turn toward Luoyang, seemingly unexpected, was in truth a step deliberately lured by A Shang’s design.
The Holy Emperor’s fingers tightened on the gold-threaded sleeve embroidered with dragons.
Xu Zhengye had entered the game. But was this game truly aimed at him?
Or rather—
Was Ah Shang leading Xu Zhengye into the Central Plains, to seize Luoyang and stand in defiance against her—the Holy Emperor herself?
Was she using Xu Zhengye… to strike back at her?
That was her daughter.
She did not wish to doubt her own child—what mother would?
But that child had refused to acknowledge her, fled from her at every turn, and denied her even the chance to speak.
Indeed, the Ah Shang she remembered was the one from before the marriage alliance to the Northern Di…
In those three years among the Northern Di, Ah Shang had endured torment beyond imagination. Such suffering… might well have bred hatred toward her own mother.
That thought plunged the Holy Emperor into a cold abyss.
She had longed for Ah Shang’s return, envisioned countless possibilities—yet never this one. Perhaps her understanding of Ah Shang had frozen at the moment she departed for the Northern Di.
The Ah Shang she remembered had eyes only for the Da Sheng Dynasty, its people, her soldiers… and her family—her mother and her brother, Ah Xiao.
But the Ah Shang who had returned… was no longer that same girl.
Was this estrangement merely temporary defiance—or would it harden into lasting hatred?
The Holy Emperor had wanted to speak with her, even once. Though that wish had gone unfulfilled, she had at least granted her the freedom to remain in the army, bestowing upon her a general’s title—a mother’s gesture of goodwill. Yet her daughter seemed blind to it.
A mother should not harbor suspicion toward her own child—least of all one burdened by guilt.
But she was not only a mother.
She lifted her gaze toward the gathered officials.
She was also an emperor.
A mother could afford unreasoned trust. An emperor could not.
What’s more—her daughter bore the surname Li. She, too, was a Li.
And as a ruler of another surname—an “outsider sovereign”—the Holy Emperor could not allow even the faintest complacency to endanger her fragile reign.
Thus, while she did not question the young general’s ability, she questioned her intent.
And she could not—must not—allow Luoyang to fall.
That day, the Holy Emperor issued a series of urgent decrees to Luoyang, commanding full fortifications and defensive readiness against Xu Zhengye’s rebel forces.
Some officials proposed sending reinforcements from nearby prefectures.
But the Holy Emperor denied it.
“Do my beloved ministers still recall Prefect Wei Jun of Chuzhou?”
At once, silence fell across the grand hall.
That same Prefect Wei Jun had secretly defected to Xu Zhengye, unnoticed by all—until Chang Kuo and his troops crossed into Chuzhou, and Wei Jun laid his ambush under the guise of a banquet.
The Luoyang region, too, was webbed with powerful noble clans. The Changsun family had originated there; even in decline, their influence lingered.
If the nearby prefectures—many of whose officials were tied to these clans—were dispatched to aid Luoyang, and another “Wei Jun” emerged among them… then they might well deliver Luoyang into Xu Zhengye’s hands.
With such bitter lessons behind her, the increasingly suspicious Holy Emperor dared not take that risk.
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