Chapter 296: Hello Chang'an
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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