Chapter 303: Divine Retribution

Zheng Ji swiftly arrived at the altar in the city and saw Zheng Chao kneeling atop it, reciting the many sins of the Zheng clan in repentance before Heaven.

He first ordered his servants to seize Zheng Chao’s young attendant, then ascended the altar himself. Facing the mass of disaster-stricken commoners crowded below, he could see even more people streaming toward the site from afar.

Most of those gathered were victims of the flood. After more than half a month of inundation, they were homeless and starving, their faces haggard and unkempt.

As they lifted their heads toward the man standing high above them—his robe and hair neat, his long sleeves flowing—they were struck by a sudden realization: those who truly suffered from this calamity did not seem to include these noble clansmen.

The man’s tone remained calm, yet carried the innate superiority of one accustomed to command, as though merely deigning to speak to them was already an act of condescension.

“I am Zheng Ji, the head of the Zheng clan. Ever since my elder brother was deposed as clan head, he has harbored resentment and spoken irrationally. His words today are the ravings of a madman—none of you need take them seriously.”

He cared little whether the commoners believed him or not; it was enough merely to provide an explanation—one that branded Zheng Chao as insane and thereby nullified his words.

He approached his kneeling brother, lowering his gaze. “Brother, matters of the clan are many. Cease this nonsense and return home with me.”

Saying so, he extended a pristine hand.

Zheng Chao looked at that hand—so clean and pale. Having spent days repairing the dikes alongside Cui Jing, he had long forgotten the sight of such unblemished skin.

But that purity and refinement were only surface deep, much like the so-called noble clansmen who adorned themselves in gentility.

Zheng Chao gazed at that hand and asked, “Jianzhi, do you still remember what we were most often taught in our childhood studies?”

Zheng Ji said nothing. In truth, he had long disdained to answer him.

“It was the Way of the Gentleman,” Zheng Chao said. Grasping Zheng Ji’s hand, he used it to slowly rise, then released it. “From youth, we were taught the highest principles of a true gentleman.”

“Your courtesy name, Jianzhi—taken from jianji, ‘to benefit all’—do you recall its meaning? To bring blessing to all living beings, to let all under Heaven partake in well-being—that is jianji.” As Zheng Chao spoke, he turned his gaze to the crowd of commoners below. “I always believed that once we grew up, we would indeed use what we had learned to bring benefit to the world.”

“But when I came of age, they suddenly changed their tune!” His voice trembled with bitter laughter. “The Way of the Gentleman was cast aside—only self-interest remained! When I spoke to them again of righteousness, they called me mad!”

“Why is that? What kind of world permits such reasoning?” His voice rose higher, his expression fierce and pained, his eyes bloodshot. “These so-called noble clans are but robes of false virtue! They believe themselves pure and lofty, severing the road to the heavens, while those humble commoners and poor scholars below are, in their eyes, no better than insects, as filthy as mud, as ignorant as beasts!”

Zheng Ji remained unmoved by his anguish. He merely took out a handkerchief and wiped a speck of dirt from his fingers, his lips curving into a mocking smile. “Brother, such naïve words—better saved for home.”

Zheng Chao took several steps back. “Such a clan of nobility does not deserve to exist!”

He raised a trembling hand and pointed directly at Zheng Ji. “Were it not for you, it would not perish in this manner. It was you who colluded with Xu Zhengye, your arrogance and blind ambition that have doomed not only the Zhengs, but all noble families of Zhongyuan! The innocent clansmen should not die for your crimes!”

Zheng Ji’s expression finally shifted.

The murmurs among the crowd grew louder. His eyes darkened, and he spoke in a low, chilling tone. “No, the Zheng clan has not lost—nor has it reached its end.”

Zheng Chao’s voice was hoarse, full of sorrow and fury. “What counts as defeat to you? Must you see every member of the Zheng clan die before your eyes, until none remain, before you will admit it?”

Even now, his cousin sought to gamble with the lives of their innocent kin for one final act of defiance.

Zheng Ji looked him in the eyes, and in a voice only the two could hear, said coldly, “And what of you, Brother? Do you truly believe that mere almsgiving and prayers can save the Zheng clan?”

Zheng Chao met his gaze. “No. That alone is far from enough. There are still two more things that must be done—and one of them, I must do myself.”

Zheng Ji frowned instinctively and was just about to speak when—without warning—Zheng Chao raised his hand. A gleam of steel flashed.

“Pchh—”

The dagger plunged straight into Zheng Ji’s chest.

“Ling’an told me—first lure you here, then make you lower your guard, and finally strike with certainty…” Zheng Chao’s voice quavered, but his eyes were resolute.

“You…” Zheng Ji’s face contorted, his eyes wide in disbelief. His complexion turned deathly pale. He struggled to lift his hand, gripping Zheng Chao’s wrist in an effort to push him away.

But Zheng Chao clasped the dagger with both hands and drove it deeper. The force of it made Zheng Ji stagger backward.

“Thud!”

Zheng Ji collapsed. Zheng Chao fell upon him, still clutching the dagger, tears streaming down his face. “Jianzhi… You never thought I’d kill you, did you? Even I never thought I would!”

He pulled the blade free and plunged it down again.

Below the altar, screams erupted.

Zheng Ji had been standing with his back to the crowd; only now did the people see what had transpired.

Several of Zheng Ji’s followers cried out in horror. “Zheng Chao, you dare murder the clan head?!”

They tried to rush up the altar, but were blocked by hidden guards whose faces were unfamiliar.

“The madman plotted this all along!” the Zheng clansmen shouted. “Fetch the patriarch at once!”

The scene descended into chaos. Even the monks seated on the altar chanting sutras turned pale and rose in alarm—only to find their path blocked by a girl with a sword.

“Masters, there is no need for fear,” Chang Suining said calmly. “This, too, is part of the ritual.”

The monks: “…”

No one had mentioned this part of the ritual!

Seeing the sword in her arms and the guards behind her, the lead monk forced himself to utter a trembling chant and politely asked whether any more “ritual parts” would follow.

The youngest novice was ashen-faced. Would they, too, be “part of the ritual” before it ended?!

“No,” Chang Suining said, turning her gaze toward Zheng Chao, who knelt upon the ground. “No more shall die.”

Zheng Chao tore a strip from Zheng Ji’s blood-soaked robe, lifted it high together with the dagger, and cried out with trembling voice, “O Heaven and Earth, gods and Buddhas above! I have slain the true culprit of our sins!”

The scene was both solemn and chilling.

A few frightened commoners whispered, “He truly must be mad…”

“Seems he’s gone insane.”

“…”

“No—he’s not mad!” a young scholar suddenly exclaimed, face pale with shock. “He is the Gentleman of the Thatched Hall!”

The Gentleman of the Thatched Hall?!

How could it be him?

Almost all in Xingyang had heard that name—especially among the learned.

From about seven or eight years ago, in an abandoned thatched hall outside the city, there suddenly appeared a man who began lecturing there.

At first, no one went to listen, but since he did not collect any tuition and allowed everyone to attend, before long, he had a few students.

Later, the reputation of this “Thatched Hall Master” spread. The number of students coming to listen grew ever larger, though his lectures were irregular—sometimes he disappeared for three or five days—but even so, there were always scholars eager to come and hear him.

No one knew this Thatched Hall Master’s surname or given name. He never showed his face, always wore a dull gray robe and a bamboo hat veiled with black gauze, claiming that his face had been disfigured and was unfit to be seen.

Now, he had been recognized—because of his voice.

A man’s face may be hidden, but his voice cannot deceive those who often listened to him lecture.

The dozen or so scholars gathered before the altar were utterly stunned.

They had never imagined that beneath the Thatched Hall Master’s hat lay the identity of a son of the Zheng family.

“The Eldest Master of the Zheng family is the Thatched Hall Master!”

The cry quickly spread through the crowd, drawing more and more scholars to the site.

And along with them came the troops led by Li Xian.

The Zheng family clansmen, already in a panic, turned pale when they heard Li Xian had arrived.

“How could he come so fast…”

The family head had clearly ordered men to ambush Li Xian on his way into the city—

Where were those men?!

The crowd of commoners was forced aside as the soldiers advanced toward the altar. The Zheng clansmen, seeing this, turned ashen with despair.

The family head was dead, and the blade of slaughter had arrived...

One clansman staggered backward, drawing something from his sleeve. His expression hardened with grim resolve.

Moments later, three sharp and piercing arrow whistles rang through the air above the crowd.

The altar stood at the main road leading to the Zheng family estate.

By the time Li Xian reached it, he had already been informed of Zheng Ji’s death.

As his horse slowed near the altar, he raised his head toward the darkened sky.

When the last echo of the whistle faded, he smiled faintly.

“To report now—don’t you think it’s a little too late?”

His smile disappeared as he looked toward the altar and shouted,

“The Yuan family of Luoyang has already confessed! The collusion between the Central Plains aristocrats and Xu Zhengye was all under the command of the Zheng family head, Zheng Ji!”

Then, coldly, he gave his order:

“Arrest all members of the Zheng clan! Any who resist—kill without mercy!”

At once, the soldiers behind him surrounded the altar on all sides.

At that same moment, within the Zheng estate, those aware of the signal stood stunned and dismayed.

Three arrow whistles meant the plan had failed—but how could it fail so quickly?

They had arranged an ambush! Why had it been of no use?!

Moments later, panic-stricken servants ran into the hall to report:

“The family head Zheng Ji is dead—slain by Zheng Chao himself!”

“Heaven has abandoned the Zheng clan…!”

An elderly clansman spat blood and collapsed, supported by those beside him.

“The Zheng clan may perish—but we must not let those vile thieves take our legacy!”

“Since matters have come to this, we shall carry out the family head’s final orders!”

Several clansmen rushed out of the hall.

For generations, the true heirloom of every aristocratic clan had never been their wealth or estates, but the rare and precious books passed down through the ages.

As the foremost of the Central Plains aristocratic families, the Zheng clan’s collection was vast.

Their books were stored in several library pavilions, their locations kept secret and protected by mechanisms and guards day and night.

This was true of other great clans as well.

Thus, in recent days, Li Xian had tortured and executed countless sons of noble houses to force them to reveal where their collections were hidden.

The keys to the Zheng clan’s libraries were always held by the family head—

but last night, Zheng Ji had given those keys to his clansmen.

“I have already slain the culprit Zheng Ji!

By the order of blood and seniority, I am now the Zheng family head!”

On the altar, Zheng Chao knelt with his forehead to the ground.

“I am willing to offer all of the Zheng family’s lands, estates, and collections!

I am willing for the Zheng family of Yingyang to be reduced to commoners!

I am willing, bearing my guilt, to lead our surviving sons throughout the realm to lecture and preach—

to return ourselves to the world, and atone for the Zheng clan’s sins!”

When he finished, he struck his head again against the wet altar, splashing muddy water.

At that very moment, the libraries he spoke of were about to be consumed by fire.

Within the three pavilions of the Zheng family collection, pine oil had been poured across the floors.

“…So be it, so be it!”

“Today, I will perish alongside the Zheng clan’s teachings!”

A clansman, weeping in despair, reached for a torch from a servant’s hand—

but before it could touch the ground, an arrow pierced his knee, knocking him forward.

Footsteps echoed sharply as soldiers entered the library.

The startled servant dropped the torch—

A figure leapt forward, catching it midair and exhaling softly, “That was close…”

Cui Ling’an handed the torch to another man.

“Take it out and extinguish it.”

The injured clansman, dragging his wounded leg, stared up at the tall, straight figure entering the room. His voice trembled in fury:

“It’s you… Cui Ling’an!”

“You—what are you doing?!”

Having already been attacked, he no longer harbored illusions of help.

Cui Jing ignored him, ordering his men to extinguish all flames, remove the torches, and guard the building inside and out.

The wounded man was soon dragged out and thrown onto the stone steps.

“It’s you! You ruined the family head’s plan—it was you!”

“This is your mother’s clan—you share the same blood!”

“Cui Jing, you aid the wicked and disgrace all noble families—may Heaven strike you down!”

Cui Jing did not respond.

He soon saw Zheng family members fleeing in terror—

women clutching their children, hairpins falling loose, ornaments scattered.

Others shouted curses at him in hatred.

A young man suddenly rushed forward from the side, sword raised toward Cui Jing.

Cui Jing did not order his men to harm him.

He simply reached out, gripped the blade, and snapped it in half with his bare hands.

The youth stumbled backward, clutching the broken sword, eyes red with fury.

“Cui Ling’an—you will be condemned by Heaven!”

The young man before him remained calm, his expression deep and cold as still water.

“If Heaven condemns me alone, but the rest of you can live—what of it?”

He turned and walked away.

The youth stood frozen, gripping the broken sword in silence.

At last, he dropped to his knees, howling in anguish.

Back at the altar, Li Xian was about to seize Zheng Chao when a figure appeared before him.

His eyes narrowed.

“General Ningyuan—why are you here?”

 Chapter 302: I Teach My Uncle

Facing this question, Cui Jing looked at Chang Suining. After a brief pause, he lowered his voice and said,

“Your Highness, my thanks.”

Meeting her gaze, he continued,

“I am one caught within the web. Those who are about to be slaughtered are the kin of my late mother—”

Thus, even if he wished to act, though not entirely out of selfish intent, selfishness was inevitably involved.

But she was different. Ever since the rise of the noble clans, the realm had long been divided between aristocrats and common-born scholars. From the standpoint of both the common-born and the Li imperial family, she ought to regard the noble clans as an opposing force.

Yet at this moment, she belonged to neither side. She merely wished to safeguard the thousand-year-old current of culture flowing through this land — to preserve it for the generations yet to come.

Whatever the world became, she truly cherished every river and inch of soil beneath her feet.

Looking at the young lady standing amid the murky night, her robes damp and soiled with mud, a line came unbidden to Cui Jing’s mind:

“A spirit fallen into the mire, yet its light unextinguished.”

At that moment, he heard her say:

“Precisely because you are within the web, you understand better than anyone what the noble clans possess, what they control. If all that were to be burned to ash, it would be a grievous loss. Moreover, even if you harbor selfish intent — that is only human nature.”

“In this world, what conflict has ever been free from selfish intent? The struggle between the throne and the clans — both sides act out of self-interest. Even the Holy Emperor, who ‘tests’ you with such means, does so out of self-interest as well.”

She said with calm indifference,

“Since all are selfish, by what right should anyone demand that you alone be a fool without it?”

Then she added softly,

“Right and wrong are bound to their time and place. With the passing of years, when stances change, what is wrong may become right, and what is right may be wrong. So long as we are without shame in our hearts at this moment, that is enough.”

Cui Jing looked deeply at her and nodded.

“Yes. So it should be.”

“I wonder, Your Highness — how do you intend to test them?”

Chang Suining did not answer directly, but asked instead,

“And you? Since you have returned this time, what are your thoughts?”

Cui Jing said,

“In my eyes, the calamity upon the Central Plains’ noble clans is not one that external forces can save.”

Even setting aside right and wrong, if he led the Xuanzhe Army to forcibly protect the clans led by the Zheng family, those beyond Luoyang and Yingyang would still face punishment. The disaster would quickly spread, implicating even more clans, including the Cui family itself — making the situation only worse.

The downfall of the noble clans of the Central Plains had become inevitable from the moment they chose to side with Xu Zhengye. They had to pay the price for their own deeds.

“If outside forces cannot save them, then only self-rescue remains,” said Chang Suining.

“To seek a way of self-rescue, one must save people — not merely the noble clans.”

“Yes,” said Cui Jing. “At present, only by stepping into the abyss can there be rebirth.”

As their gazes met, both already understood what the other intended.

“If it is to be self-rescue, then we must have figures of influence among them to discuss a course of action,” said Chang Suining. “The Zheng clan of Yingyang stands foremost among the noble families of the Central Plains. Time is pressing — why not secretly send men to Yingyang, and bring here some Zheng clansmen of weight?”

“No need to abduct anyone,” said Cui Jing, turning his head to the side. “This gentleman here bears the surname Zheng — Zheng Chao, courtesy name Guancang.”

“Zheng Chao…?” Chang Suining repeated, somewhat surprised. “Your maternal uncle?”

Cui Jing nodded. He was his mother’s only brother.

“My uncle is unlike the other members of the Zheng clan. His story is rather long.”

Chang Suining had heard a little about Zheng Chao before. He was the legitimate eldest son of the Zheng family’s main branch in Yingyang. In his youth, after his father’s passing, he inherited the position of clan head, but within a few years, the Zheng clansmen deposed him under the pretext of ‘frailty and unfitness for leadership.’

The succession of a great clan’s patriarch was no small matter. Having long been one of suspicion, Chang Suining had sensed something amiss even back then. Now that she encountered the man himself, she could not help but ask,

“...The rumors say your uncle has been long ill — is that true?”

“Half true, half false,” said Cui Jing. “He is indeed ill, but as he himself claims, his ailment lies in the mind.”

“What sort of affliction of the mind?”

Could it be cured by the Huichun Hall?

Cui Jing replied,

“A chronic illness of rejecting the way the noble clans conduct themselves.”

“…” Chang Suining instinctively looked at his head.

She had not expected this ailment to have a hereditary strain within the family.

Cui Jing then told her of his uncle Zheng Chao’s many youthful acts of defiance — how he once sought to reform the system of the noble clans, proposed opening education to the common-born scholars, and even wished to build academies everywhere, sharing the Zheng family’s collection of books with the world, so that all students under Heaven might have texts to study.

He had been filled with passion, his eyes alight as if finally seeing the dawn of his dream — leaving the entire Zheng family dumbstruck. For a moment, they could not tell whether the new patriarch had gone mad or simply lost his wits.

They searched the family genealogy, wondering from which branch such a disastrous deviation had arisen, hired masters to examine the ancestral tombs and geomancy, even performed exorcisms — all to no avail.

After several years, seeing that the young patriarch remained unrepentantly “deranged,” the family reached a consensus: whoever wished for him could have him — they certainly did not.

Thus came the official reason: “Too frail and ill to shoulder the duties of patriarch.”

Hearing all this, Chang Suining felt a newfound respect for this Master Zheng — suddenly realizing that he was in truth the very progenitor of the “rebellious ailment” afflicting the noble clans.

Before long, she and Cui Jing went together to meet this founding rebel.

Yuan Miao was still kneeling on the ground. When she saw them approach, she wiped her tears and was about to withdraw.

But Chang Suining said,

“Stay and listen.”

Yuan Miao stopped, instinctively looking toward her.

“Master Zheng.” Chang Suining raised her hand in greeting.

Zheng Chao, upon hearing, turned to look at his nephew and clicked his tongue.

So little time had passed, and yet the boy had already given him away.

Meeting his uncle’s questioning gaze, Cui Jing feigned ignorance.

“I wonder, Master Zheng,” said Chang Suining frankly, “what plans you might have next?”

Zheng Chao nodded confidently. “I do. I’ve already planned it all.”

Chang Suining’s eyes lit with anticipation.

Cui Jing almost wanted to caution her not to expect too much — for, knowing his uncle…

“Tomorrow,” Zheng Chao declared, “I shall return to Yingyang. Once I’ve eaten my fill, bathed, and changed into clean robes, I will sit at home and await the Imperial Envoy Li Xian’s arrival — when he comes to execute me.”

Chang Suining: “…”

Yuan Miao: “…”

Cui Jing remained utterly calm — he was long used to this.

“Master Zheng has rendered great service in controlling the floods. Moreover, I have just heard from Grand General Cui that Master Zheng was unaware of the Zheng family’s collusion with Xu Zhengye,” said Chang Suining.

“Of course I did not know,” Zheng Chao replied indifferently. “I have never held any voice in the Zheng family’s affairs. Yet whether I knew or not—what difference does it make? Those who perished unjustly in Luoyang, even the women and children—did they all know? They did not, yet they still had to die.”

“This matter is unjust and must not be allowed to continue,” said Chang Suining, meeting his gaze. “If such wrongs are permitted to persist, they will become an unbreakable trend. Then, more innocent people will die in vain. Therefore, it is necessary for you, sir, to step forward and put a stop to it.”

“…Who?” Zheng Chao froze. “Me?”

It was as if he had heard a jest. He laughed once, then said, “I have heard of General Ningyuan’s deeds—she can save others, but I cannot.”

“No,” said Chang Suining, “this matter can be done by no one but you.”

Meeting that steady and resolute gaze, Zheng Chao fell silent for a while before smiling toward Cui Jing. “Ling’an, the persuader you found is far better at speaking than you.”

As he spoke, he rose from the stone mill. Having sat cross-legged for too long, his legs had gone numb. Straightening his robe, he sighed in self-mockery. “Enough, I will find a place to sleep. I must return to Xingyang tomorrow.”

“Master Zheng once tried to save the Zheng family in the past,” came a voice from behind him. “Why not try again this time?”

Zheng Chao halted mid-step.

Cui Jing looked at the man’s back and said, “Uncle, you do not fear death—so why fear to try?”

After a long pause, Zheng Chao slowly turned back to face the two of them and pointed. “Between the two of you—who is truly making the decisions here?”

He suddenly felt that this young lady was not merely a persuader his nephew had brought.

“It is her,” said Cui Jing, turning toward Chang Suining. “Uncle should trust her.”

Only then did Zheng Chao give Chang Suining a look of genuine regard. “General Ningyuan, why do you wish to help the Zheng family?”

Chang Suining shook her head. “This junior does not intend to help the Zheng family. Like you, sir, I wish for the learning of the gentry to have the chance to be passed down throughout the realm, rather than vanish and perish.”

Zheng Chao was taken aback, then glanced toward his nephew—did this boy truly tell her everything?

He laughed at himself. “When I said such things in my youth, everyone thought me mad. Of course, it is still the same now. In the Zheng clan, I am the madman of great repute.”

Chang Suining smiled. “That is a good thing. Only madmen can act freely.”

Zheng Chao looked at her, curious and testing. “Then tell me, General, how should this madman act?”

“Can Master Zheng kill?” asked Chang Suining.

“Kill whom?” Zheng Chao asked blankly.

Kill Li Xian?

If that was what she meant, he truly would rather go sleep.

“Kill the gentry to protect the Zheng family,” said Chang Suining.

Zheng Chao was stunned. “How would I kill them?”

“Of course, with a blade.”

Zheng Chao started. “Truly kill people?”

Not a metaphor?

He waved his hands hastily. “…That will not do. I have never killed anyone!”

Then added, “Not even a chicken!”

Cui Jing spoke in time. “I shall teach my uncle—it is not difficult to learn.”

Zheng Chao’s lips trembled. Looking at his thoughtful, considerate nephew, he found himself unable to refuse.

If his late sister could see from the afterlife that her son was teaching her brother how to kill, who knows what she would think?

During the next two days, elsewhere aside, the people within and around Xingyang City lacked grain and nearly rioted, though the authorities managed to suppress them.

The county magistrate of Xingyang, his hair falling in handfuls from anxiety, had nearly despaired when a savior arrived.

The savior offered an enormous gift—ten thousand shi of grain—but on one condition.

The magistrate bowed repeatedly in gratitude. “Not one, even a hundred conditions, I would agree to all! That is ten thousand shi of grain!”

The other party’s demand was simple: to open the city’s altar and pray for the rain to cease.

Hearing this, the magistrate nearly wept with joy. “What a living Bodhisattva!”

That same day, several porridge sheds were set up throughout Xingyang City. The magistrate publicly declared that the grain had been donated by the Zheng family to relieve the famine victims.

The people, long tormented by hunger, were deeply grateful for the Zheng family’s generosity.

But the Zheng clan head, Zheng Ji, flew into a rage. Busy with pressing affairs, he had known nothing of this so-called donation. Upon investigation, he learned that it had been Zheng Chao’s doing.

“That madman,” Zheng Ji sneered. “Does he truly think that by giving away some grain and currying a bit of favor with the common rabble, he can escape this calamity?”

To preserve the Zheng family through the pity of starving peasants—what folly!

After all these years, his cousin was still the same—naïve, foolish, dreaming wildly.

As the man who had succeeded Zheng Chao as clan head and masterminded the Zhengs’ alliance with Xu Zhengye, Zheng Ji was not one for mercy. He immediately had those involved in the grain donation punished severely and sent men to bring Zheng Chao back. But soon came the report—Zheng Chao was in the city, atop the altar, personally offering prayers.

Zheng Ji laughed coldly. “He has truly disgraced the Zheng family!”

At such a critical juncture, he had not wished to concern himself with the madman’s antics—but he soon learned that Zheng Chao’s act of prayer was far more “mad” than he had imagined.

As the rain eased, many famine victims who had received Zheng’s aid came voluntarily to the altar to express gratitude.

On the high altar, seeing the growing crowd below, Zheng Chao—who had been sitting cross-legged beside a dozen monks—slowly rose to his feet.

Under countless watching eyes, he stepped to the front and called out loudly, “You may not know me. I am Zheng Chao, courtesy name Guancang, former head of the Zheng family’s main branch in Xingyang. Today, I pray here to atone for the Zheng family’s sins and beg Heaven and the Buddhas for forgiveness!”

The crowd stirred in confusion.

“This flood in the Central Plains, this calamity upon Luo River and the land of He, all are the fault of the Zheng family!” cried Zheng Chao, eyes bloodshot, his soaked garments clinging to his frame. “The Zhengs are steeped in sin—colluding with the traitor Xu, offending Heaven itself! Our guilt is beyond pardon!”

The words thundered across the square, and the crowd erupted.

The former head of the Zheng family… had confessed on behalf of the clan!

The affair of the Luoyang gentry had already spread, and some whispered that the next to fall would be the Zhengs of Xingyang. Yet the Zhengs were the foremost gentry of the Central Plains—deep-rooted and powerful—none dared predict their fate.

And now, before their eyes, a Zheng elder had admitted their guilt publicly!

The uproar grew. The news spread like wildfire, and ever more people gathered before the altar.

Zheng Chao’s “mad act” reached the ears of Zheng Ji and the other elders.

In recent years, Zheng Chao had lived as an idle drunk, near useless—none expected such a spectacle.

When word came that he had confessed the Zhengs’ guilt in public, the clan members turned pale. “Why are you not bringing him back immediately!”

But their servants stammered in panic—men with extraordinary martial skill guarded the altar. None could get near.

“It seems my cousin has truly gone mad,” said Zheng Ji coldly. “I will bring him back myself.”

At such a moment, only he, the clan head, could salvage a shred of dignity.

As for the rest—

Word had just arrived that Li Xian had already led his troops into Xingyang. By now, he should have crossed the city gates.

“Uncles, remain here. Proceed with the plan as arranged.”

(End of Chapter)

 Chapter 301: Shall We Try It Together?

That was a middle-aged man in his early forties. His dark blue robe was caked with mud, his features upright but shadowed by a trace of weary melancholy. The unkempt stubble on his chin made him appear even more dejected and desolate.

At first glance, he looked every bit the archetype of a scholar crushed beneath his own unfulfilled ambitions.

“This gentleman accompanied me to inspect the Huang River embankments and temporarily cleared several key passages,” Cui Jing introduced, though his words were more an acknowledgment than a true introduction.

He made no mention of the man’s name or background—only referred to him as sir.

Yet Cui Jing clearly affirmed the man’s merit. “The Huang River has long suffered from sediment buildup and unrepaired embankments. Were it not for this gentleman’s guidance, the river would have already overflowed.”

Cui Jing was not one to exaggerate. Chang Suining felt a deep sense of respect rise within her. She raised her hand and offered the man a solemn bow. “Sir, your virtue is immense.”

This was no empty praise.

Since the onset of the floods, thousands of homes in the surrounding prefectures had collapsed. She had witnessed with her own eyes the countless dead and injured, and vast fields reduced to a boundless expanse of water.

Had the Huang River burst its banks, the situation would have become far worse—they might not even have had the chance to erect the temporary shelters now serving as their refuge.

Jiang Cai, too, looked upon the man with admiration. “Sir, your service has saved countless lives. You should be commended before the Imperial Court!”

The man only gave a faint, bitter smile. “I merely did what I could. The defects in the Huang River embankments have long been known, but officials at every level have shirked responsibility. I and Lord Ling’an merely forced through emergency reinforcements where we could. What could be done has been done. If the rains do not cease soon, within five days, those fated to die will still die.”

His dispirited words left Jiang Cai momentarily at a loss.

“So be it,” the man continued, his tone resigned. “A man’s life ends in death sooner or later.” He stepped away, wading through ankle-deep water toward higher ground, murmuring under his breath, “The rise and fall of all things follow their own cause and consequence. If Heaven wills destruction, what can mere mortals do?”

Jiang Cai opened her mouth, then closed it again. This gentleman was truly the picture of despair. If he were sent into an enemy camp, he might well collapse an entire army’s morale—everyone would simply drop their weapons and weep together.

The news of Cui Jing’s arrival did not alarm the surrounding refugees. The county officials merely assumed a relief detachment had come to assist the General Ningyuan, unaware that it was in fact the Grand General Cui himself.

Chang Suining and Cui Jing walked to a slightly elevated spot and sat down upon a large stone. Ah Dian moved to follow but was intercepted by Yuan Xiang, who dragged him aside. “Ah Dian, why is there another person by Lady Chang’s side?”

It was an obvious diversion. Ah Dian leaned in, lowering his voice with a hint of pride. “I picked her up!”

Then he whispered conspiratorially, “But keep your distance. She bites!”

Yuan Xiang blinked in surprise, humoring him further, keeping Ah Dian properly distracted.

“By now, you must have heard what happened in Luoyang,” Chang Suining said, stretching her tired legs as she sat, eyes resting on the flickering clusters of firelight among the refugees. “By returning at this time, you’re courting trouble.”

It was already clear that the Holy Emperor intended to use this incident to purge the Luoyang aristocracy. The decree that Cui Jing and the Xuanzhe Army remain behind to suppress the unrest was clearly a test.

For the Holy Emperor’s target was not only the Luoyang nobles—the next blade was aimed at the Zheng clan of Xingyang, Cui Jing’s maternal family.

The Da Sheng Dynasty upheld the principle that kin should recuse themselves from matters of law involving relatives. This was why, for example, when the Pei case arose, the Holy Emperor had ordered Yao Yi, the Minister of Justice, to step aside to avoid suspicion.

It was an expression of imperial regard for her officials.

But this time, the ruler had explicitly commanded Cui Jing to remain and suppress the unrest involving his own kin. If the matter later implicated the Zhengs, Cui Jing could technically recuse himself—but that would be tantamount to turning his back on the aristocracy and openly severing ties with his own class.

The empire had its laws, and the great clans had their ancestral codes—codes that, in some respects, stood even above the law of the land. Should Cui Jing comply, he would incur infamy, scorned not only by the gentry but by the common people as well.

And should he defy imperial will and shield the Zhengs, he would be condemned as their accomplice.

This decree was meant to force Cui Jing into a final choice. The empire was unsteady, and the Holy Emperor no longer required a scion of the Cui clan to hold the command of the Xuanzhe Army. To reclaim that sword of power, she needed a pretext—something that would justify the act and soften the political upheaval it might bring.

Yet the floods had changed everything. While others were caught in the turmoil, Cui Jing, having gone to repair the Huang River embankments, had inadvertently distanced himself from the political storm. This spared him from slander and thwarted certain hands eager to exploit the chaos.

“You needn’t have hurried back,” said Chang Suining quietly.

“Yes,” Cui Jing replied, his gaze also fixed upon the scattered lights ahead. “I know.”

But still—he chose to return.

  The middle-aged man in a scholar’s robe sat cross-legged alone upon a dark stone, gazing distantly toward the direction of Xingyang. As time passed, the look of despondence upon his face gradually turned numb.

  At that moment, a frail figure approached and knelt down before him in the dimness.

  “Uncle Zheng!”

  The man looked somewhat surprised. “You are…?”

  The young girl beside him lifted her tear-streaked face. “This junior is Yuan Miao, eldest daughter of the main Yuan family branch. Two years ago, I accompanied my grandfather to pay respects to Uncle Zheng.”

  “So it is you.” The man sighed faintly. “I have heard… your grandfather has taken his own life in the Luoyang prison, and your father also…”

  The girl, about fourteen or fifteen, could no longer hold back her tears. “That is why this junior came to Xingyang — to beg the Zheng family’s aid, to rescue my younger brother!”

  But the man only shook his head helplessly.

  The girl crawled one step closer and bowed deeply. “Though I am young, I still understand right from wrong. I know the Yuan family indeed colluded with the rebels — our family bears its sins and should accept punishment. But such guilt should not extend to my younger brother and the other innocent children!”

  “That Li Xian is cruel beyond reason. On the slightest pretext, he orders torture and slaughter. Even the innocent collateral kin have had their estates surrounded by his troops — no one may enter or leave. Those who resist are executed; those who do not, within ten days, are starved, drowned, or buried alive! Among them are countless women and children — by law, they should not have died!”

  “They even killed the esteemed elders of every clan, using their bodies for sacrifices in Luoyang. Those who refused to bow were dragged through the streets, insulted and humiliated before the crowd… Even the ordinary scholars and citizens who saw it could not bear the sight, for they all knew — a man of learning may be killed, but not disgraced!”

  Her tears fell hot and fierce, her voice trembling with hatred. “They act so wantonly only to vent their wrath — they will not rest until every one of us is destroyed, until the backbone of all scholars beneath Heaven is shattered!”

  The man closed his eyes briefly, lashes quivering, saying nothing.

  “They even use the excuse of hunting fugitives to plunder innocent folk, taking advantage of the Huang River’s flooding…”

  “Enough.” The man interrupted her softly. “The times are what they are. No matter how wrong they may be, it changes nothing. This matter is no longer mine to command. I am no longer head of the Zheng clan. I am but a useless man now — I cannot help you. You are fortunate to have survived. Leave, child. The farther you go, the better.”

  “Uncle Zheng…”

  He gazed toward Xingyang, his eyes void of life. “The Zheng clan too will not escape this calamity.”

  For all the scholar clans of the Central Plains, this would be a catastrophe — none could escape.

  In truth, he had long foreseen this day. Prosperity invites decline; the fall of the noble clans had already been written by fate.

  Yet he had not imagined that their end would come in such a brutal, merciless fashion… The clans had their faults, yes, but they had also upheld the roots of the realm for a thousand years — was all of that to be destroyed overnight?

  His cold fingers clenched faintly, suppressing the helpless ache in his heart.

  The girl still knelt in the dirt, refusing to rise, tears falling like rain.

  From the shadows, Chang Suining looked toward that kneeling figure. “That is a young lady of the Yuan clan of Luoyang.”

  Born to a great family, the girl had no experience in fleeing for her life. Even her dagger bore the Yuan clan’s insignia.

  Cui Jing asked, “Why did you save her?”

  “She asked me to.” Chang Suining’s palms pressed against the ground. “I asked if she needed help. She nodded. So I helped.”

  Cui Jing’s lips lifted faintly. His voice was low. “Your Highness truly never refuses anyone.”

  Chang Suining smiled, though her eyes remained solemn. She looked across the distance. “I never wished to meddle in the struggle between the scholar clans and imperial power. I have neither the ability nor the position to intervene. Besides, I have always believed — whether it was the Pei clan or the Changsun clan, they lost and must bear it. The winner takes all — that is the way of the world.”

  “I had no intention to interfere with this calamity of the Luoyang scholar clans either. In truth, I am partly responsible. I killed Xu Zhengye — his downfall led to theirs.”

  “And now, the Zheng clan of Xingyang — they too are among the Four Great Families, and they are your mother’s kin.” Chang Suining turned toward Cui Jing. “Cui Jing, do you blame me?”

  Cui Jing looked at her. “If I say I do—”

  “Then so be it.” Chang Suining said firmly. “Even if I could live again, a hundred times over, I would still have to kill Xu Zhengye.”

  Seeing her thus, Cui Jing’s voice softened. “I know.”

  “If it were me,” he added quietly, “I would have done the same.”

  He was no child incapable of discerning cause and effect. Even had she not slain Xu Zhengye, the destruction of the scholar clans was inevitable.

  Since the previous dynasty, the throne had long sought to cast off the yoke of the aristocratic clans. Suppressing them had been the lifelong obsession of emperors — and the common wish of the lowborn scholars.

  Now, the throne was held by a woman. The political tension between crown and clans had only deepened into a battle of life and death.

  After a moment of silence, Chang Suining asked again, “Do you believe the scholar clan system should continue to exist?”

  Cui Jing looked ahead. His voice was quiet. “What does Your Highness think?”

  She looked at him — this young man, mud still clinging to his armor, fresh from dredging the Huang River’s embankments.

  He had left home young, enlisted at twelve, and endured countless insults from the aristocrats for years.

  “The scholar clans’ existence is indeed unjust,” Cui Jing said. “Even setting aside their suppression of the throne, their dominance is most unfair to the common-born scholars. Their arrogance and corruption are known to all.”

  “Whether a thing is just or not often depends on where one stands,” said Chang Suining. “Those who profit from it rarely see its flaws — or refuse to admit them. You saw through it early on, and that is rare.”

  That was, in truth, the source of Cui Jing’s “rebelliousness.”

  His convictions ran counter to his clan’s interests. Unable to accept the Zhengs’ and Cuis’ way of survival, he forged a path of his own — one that none of his kin would approve.

  “When I was young and naïve, I once tried to persuade my grandfather,” Cui Jing said. “He was not a rigid man, but after generations of inertia, a ship cannot be turned by one helmsman alone.” He paused. “Yet I still believe — so long as men live, there is always another way forward.”

  Chang Suining looked at him. “Then may I take it that your decision to join the army was, in part, your attempt to find another path for the Cui clan?”

  “Yes,” Cui Jing answered solemnly. “But not entirely.”

  She regarded him quietly, then said with sincerity, “You are a fine general, and also a fine son of the Cui family.”

  He had awakened early — yet was destined never to be understood.

  Chang Suining asked no further, nor did she continue to debate the rights and wrongs of the clans. She turned her gaze afar. “This is the Central Plains — the very heart of Huaxia. It has ever been said, ‘He who holds the Central Plains, holds the world.’ This land is not only where armies contend, but also where a thousand years of civilization have flourished into the brilliant culture of the Heluo region.”

  And “unfortunately,” much of that Heluo culture still lay in the hands of the great clans, preserved through their generations.

  “These ancient traditions,” she said, “give the people rites to follow and the realm laws to uphold. If they are all destroyed overnight, how long will it take to rebuild them?”

  Such rites sustain political order.

  Such culture sustains the very soul of the realm.

  To wipe it out completely — that would not only ruin the present, but wound the ages to come.

  Like scattering stars across the night — dimming them may prevent danger, but shattering them utterly… would that not be too much?

  And now, human strife coincided with natural disaster — the two together enough to shake the world’s foundations.

  “Politics knows no absolute right or wrong,” Chang Suining said plainly. “But Li Xian’s slaughter to the last root — that I cannot accept. These thousand-year legacies of culture should not be cut off by the sword.”

  As always, she did not seek to argue morality. She only wished to do what she felt must be done.

  So this time, she would intervene — to seek a middle path.

  Rising to her feet, Chang Suining looked toward Cui Jing. “Will you try with me?”

 Chapter 300: Why Save Her?

“...Where is your master? Do you need our help?”

Before the words had even fallen, the figure being patted on the shoulder from behind suddenly turned like a startled bird. She lifted the dagger in her hand and struck toward the person behind her.

Her movements were swift—so swift that the other was caught off guard. Startled, he leaned back to avoid the blow, grabbed her wrist, and exclaimed, “I only asked you a question—why are you stabbing me?”

She tried to yank her hand free but could not. The dagger slipped from her grip and clattered to the ground. Just as she raised her other hand to strike, it too was seized and pinned.

The man’s strength was great, and she panicked. “...Let go of me!”

Ah Dian blinked in surprise. “You’re a girl!”

The young girl disguised as a boy froze, her face paling. She instinctively looked toward the mouth of the alley, clearly intending to escape. In desperation, she suddenly lunged forward and tried to bite Ah Dian’s hand.

Startled, he immediately released her—but when she tried to flee, he caught her again from behind, locking her arms and pinning her against the wall. He shouted toward the person approaching with a horse, “Ah Li! Come quickly! Look, I caught an assassin!”

Wearing a rain cloak and a bamboo hat, Chang Suining walked toward them. “An assassin?”

“I’m not!” the girl struggled, voice sharp with panic. “I was separated from my family... I’m just an ordinary refugee!”

“But she had a knife!” Ah Dian protested earnestly. “A very fast knife!”

Still holding her securely with one hand, he pointed with the other. “There! On the ground!”

Chang Suining stepped forward, picked up the dagger, and examined it carefully.

The girl’s voice grew even more frantic. “Someone was robbing people amid the chaos—I took it only to protect myself!”

Chang Suining’s expression did not change. “Are you from Xingyang?”

This place was only thirty li from Xingyang City. Situated between Luoyang and Bianzhou, it was where Chang Suining and her men had arrived after several days of disaster relief.

“Yes... yes, I am!” the girl’s tone carried pleading urgency. “I truly didn’t mean to hurt anyone!”

Chang Suining said to Ah Dian, “Let her go.”

Without hesitation, Ah Dian obediently released her.

The girl turned to face Chang Suining—more precisely, she turned to look at the dagger in her hand. “Please, return my dagger. I—”

Before she could finish, hurried footsteps and voices echoed from the mouth of the alley.

“Hurry! This way!”

“Someone said they saw her—she must be nearby!”

“Over here!”

The girl’s face turned ashen. She forgot all about the dagger and immediately spun to run in the opposite direction.

But after only two steps, a calm voice behind her said, “I just came from that way. There are more soldiers ahead searching for fugitives.”

She froze mid-step and instinctively looked back.

Through the misty rain, beneath the brim of the bamboo hat, she met a pair of clear, steady eyes. The owner of that gaze asked quietly, “Do you need my help?”

The girl opened her mouth, then nodded rapidly as if compelled. “If you can help me, I’ll repay you—”

Before she could finish, the person had already taken a rain cloak and hat from the horse and tossed them to her. “Put these on. Take the reins.”

She clutched the cloak and hat as though grasping a lifeline, hastily putting them on. Meanwhile, the soldiers’ footsteps grew louder as they entered the alley. Chang Suining stepped sideways, shielding the girl behind her.

Once the girl had finished dressing, she steadied herself and grasped the reins tightly.

Chang Suining turned and said calmly, “Let’s go.”

Could they really escape this way? The girl was uncertain. Hadn’t they said there were soldiers ahead as well? But she obeyed, nodding silently, and led the horse forward with her back to the approaching men.

“Stop right there!”

The leading soldier shouted sternly.

The girl stiffened, her fingers trembling on the reins. She knew it—of course they would stop them!

She wanted to flee again, but the quiet voice beside her said, “Hold the reins steady.”

That voice carried a strange, steadying force. Her legs froze in place.

Chang Suining turned calmly to face the soldiers approaching through the rain.

As they neared, one barked, “Who are you people? Where did that horse come from?”

Both Chang Suining and Ah Dian wore simple garments beneath their cloaks—nothing that revealed rank or identity. Yet the horse they had brought was of extraordinary quality, unmistakably the steed of someone of status.

Ah Dian immediately replied, “We’re here for disaster relief!”

“Disaster relief?” The leading soldier narrowed his greedy eyes upon seeing the fine horse. His gaze shifted to Chang Suining. “A fine steed like that—no commoner could possibly own one.”

He looked her up and down and ordered, “Lift your head. Remove your hat.”

The tone made Ah Dian’s temper flare. “Why should we listen to you?”

“Because we are acting under General Li Xian’s orders from Luoyang, searching nearby prefectures for fugitives!” the armored soldier declared, fixing a sharp gaze on Chang Suining. “You two look suspicious—hardly like common folk!”

As he spoke, he suddenly drew his blade and pointed it toward her. “What, do you want me to take it off for you?”

Chang Suining raised a hand to stop Ah Dian, her eyes calm as they met the blade before her. “If I hand over the horse and our coin,” she said evenly, “will you let us pass?”

Guiqi, hearing that, pricked up his ears and gave a discontented snort.

The girl quickly tightened her hold on the reins.

The soldier’s eyes flickered, and he suddenly laughed, lowering his blade. “We’ll still have to check your identities,” he said. “But as long as you’re not fugitives, we won’t trouble you further.”

Chang Suining gave a faint smile. “So this is how you ‘search for fugitives’—by robbing travelers amid disaster.”

The soldier’s face darkened instantly. A moment ago, he had thought her sensible; now, she had clearly provoked him.

In times of calamity and rebellion, countless people died each day. If he were to cut down a noble fugitive here and now, who could stop him?

These past weeks, their blades had already drunk deeply of noble blood. Watching once-proud scholars fall beneath their swords gave them a dark thrill—a sense of vengeance, of superiority.

That taste of power had long eroded restraint or conscience. After all, they served General Li Xian—and General Li Xian served the Holy Emperor!

Now, seeing the youth before him show not the slightest fear, the soldier felt gravely challenged. With a roar, he raised his blade and swung down.

But in the same instant, the youth moved.

Chang Suining’s leg shot out like lightning, striking the soldier squarely in the abdomen. The man flew backward three or four steps before crashing into the mud with a heavy thud.

He gritted his teeth, sat up, and shouted furiously, “So you are one of those treacherous nobles! Seize them!”

The other soldiers drew their blades, ready to rush in and slaughter them on the spot—

—but before they could, a brisk, orderly rhythm of approaching footsteps sounded from behind.

A group of officers entered the alley, torches in hand, led by several local magistrates.

The girl holding the reins froze in panic—blocked on both ends, her escape cut off.

“What is the meaning of this?” the leading magistrate demanded, shocked to see armed soldiers attacking civilians.

The soldier whom Chang Suining had kicked glared at them defiantly. “We act under General Li Xian’s command, pursuing fugitives! We’ve tracked them here!”

“Fugitives?!” One of the officials stepped forward and raised his hand toward Chang Suining. “This is General Ningyuan! Do you realize your offense—raising weapons against your superior?!”

“G-General Ningyuan?!”

The soldiers turned pale, staring in disbelief at the youth beneath the rain hat.

How could General Ningyuan be here personally leading disaster relief?!

As the county magistrates hurried forward to salute her, the leading soldier’s mind went blank. A heartbeat later, he dropped to his knees with a heavy thump. “I—this lowly one had no eyes to recognize General Ningyuan! Please forgive my offense!”

Though her rank was only Fifth Class, the Holy Emperor herself had once proclaimed: Whosoever takes the head of Xu Zhengye shall be granted promotion by three ranks.

And beyond titles—her reputation was immense. None dared offend her.

The soldier’s regret curdled into dread. Why had she not revealed her identity sooner?

Then he recalled her earlier offer—to give up her horse and coin—and his stomach dropped. She was testing me!

As panic surged, that tall figure approached through the rain, her boots splashing in the muddy water.

“Your identification token,” she said.

He dared not hesitate. Trembling, he removed his waist tag and held it up with both hands.

Chang Suining took it, glanced at the name and post, then tossed it back. “Report what you’ve done these past days,” she said coldly. “And confess before your General Li Xian.”

He kowtowed to her departing figure. “Yes... thank you, General Ningyuan!”

He knew she would remember his face. That sin could not go unpunished. But he could only bow and watch her leave.

“Did General Ningyuan take offense?” one of the magistrates asked carefully once they were out of the alley. Though clearly the ones terrified should have been those soldiers, a word of courtesy could not hurt.

Their county was stricken with flood and famine. The prefecture at Xingyang could scarcely manage its own survival. If not for General Ningyuan’s arrival, countless lives would have been lost.

Chang Suining shook her head. She turned the conversation toward relief efforts, walking alongside the magistrates as they discussed progress.

The girl trailed behind, holding the reins, her eyes fixed on Chang Suining’s back beneath the dim light.

So she is the famed General Ningyuan...

Wasn’t General Ningyuan the Holy Emperor’s trusted commander? If she knew the girl was a fugitive, why save her? Why dare to save her?

Before long, Jiang Cai approached with men to report that the temporary shelters for the refugees were nearly complete.

“Thanks to you all,” one magistrate said with a weary bow. “We will see the people settled at once.”

Chang Suining nodded. The rain had lightened, most of the victims were now sheltered, but one question remained—grain.

The imperial granary’s relief shipment had yet to arrive. Half the local stores were ruined by floodwater, the rest nearly exhausted. Their only hope was Xingyang Prefecture.

Couriers had been sent that morning, but had not yet returned.

Floods were crueler than droughts: droughts spared grain, but floods destroyed all—homes, stores, crops, and hope.

Chang Suining joined the others in organizing the displaced, waiting for word from Xingyang. If even Xingyang had no grain—or refused to share—another solution must be found.

By dusk, the clouds still loomed, the light dim and weary. Lanterns flickered weakly amid the drizzle.

At last, the couriers returned—empty-handed. Xingyang officials claimed their own stores were empty. The refugees must endure until imperial relief arrived.

Cries of hunger filled the camp. Some fought over scraps of food; the desperate struck one another for a mouthful of gruel.

The magistrate intervened, then took out the last handful of rice left in his stores and ordered thin porridge made for the people.

When it was ready, he personally carried a large bowl to Chang Suining.

The elderly man’s hair was streaked with white. Seeing him soaked and shivering from days of toil, Chang Suining shook her head. “We have rations,” she said. “Please, you should eat this yourself.”

The magistrate insisted, but she refused again. Finally, he poured half the bowl into another for himself and handed the thicker half to an injured scholar nearby.

What remained for himself was mostly cloudy rice water. He drank it quietly, then went to check on the wounded again.

Jiang Cai sighed softly. “At this rate... how can this continue?”

And this was only one county—countless others faced the same fate.

Chang Suining sat on a stone, gazing toward Xingyang, thoughtful.

Then—hoofbeats sounded in the distance, splashing through the puddles.

The girl stiffened at once, tense.

Chang Suining turned calmly toward the sound. She had sent soldiers to keep watch, and soon one came running. “General, it’s Grand General Cui and his men!”

Cui Jing has returned?

Chang Suining rose at once.

Cui Jing had been inspecting the Huang River embankments—he’d been gone for more than ten days.

And in those ten days, the world around Luoyang had utterly changed—not just with natural calamity, but human chaos.

Under the torchlight, the approaching troops in black armor moved with solemn might.

At their head rode a tall young man, his robe half-soaked, rain glistening on his sharply defined face, his eyes darker than the night.

He dismounted and strode toward her.

Chang Suining noticed someone new at his side—someone she had never seen before.

And when the girl behind her caught sight of that person, her eyes widened in shock.

 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.”

 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)