In the autumn of the Xiangfu first year, a season of much turmoil, the battle situation on the Guangling Road was truly heartbreaking and filled with inner resentment. Yang Shenxing led his troops out of Jizhou only to be trapped like fish in a jar, while Yan Zhenchun’s three thousand elite cavalry were completely annihilated. Although the outcomes were tragic, at least they had confronted the rebel armies of the Western Chu with real swords and spears. In contrast, the hesitant actions of several royal armies sent to quell the rebellion were simply absurd, causing both court and commoners to feel disgraced! Prince Huainan Zhao Ying marched his troops out of his territory but then encamped at Huashan Mountain, doing nothing. Prince Jing’an Zhao Xun’s six thousand cavalry halted without further action after reaching the Hao’ao Lake. As for the heir of Prince Yanche, aside from causing chaos along his northward journey, he completely vanished upon reaching the southern part of Guangling Road. It seemed that Your Highness was never truly heading to suppress the rebellion, but rather leisurely marching to collect tribute and fatten your coffers!
However, just a few days before the New Year of Xiangfu’s second year, Prince Huainan’s campaign brought renewed hope. The previously perceived weak and indecisive vassal king gained newfound respect from the Liyang court, having swiftly captured the three passes of Huayang, Xiaoxing, and Hen, east of Huashan Mountain!
The defense general of Huayang Pass, Song Wuyang, had already joined the rebellion and raised the Jiang family’s banner at the pass. However, Prince Huainan Zhao Ying arrayed his forces one mile outside the pass, and rode forth alone to call upon Song Wuyang to surrender. Song ordered his city’s crossbows to fire, but was suddenly beheaded by his deputy general, Wang Xi, who then opened the gates to welcome Zhao Ying’s army. Using Wang Xi’s three thousand troops as the vanguard, Zhao Ying launched a night raid on Xiaoxing Pass, where the defending general Ji Yun refused to surrender. Zhao Ying ordered a forced attack and personally oversaw the battle. Wang Xi’s troops braved the arrow storm to fill the trenches and then erected siege ladders to swarm the walls like ants. After two assaults, over five hundred soldiers perished. Wang Xi, personally engaging in the fray and covered in blood, requested a respite, but Zhao Ying refused and ordered his elite troops to take over the assault. By dusk, continuous waves of ballistae, catapults, and battering rams arrived at the battlefield. The brutal battle raged until nightfall, with eight hundred of Zhao Ying’s infantry dying at the foot of the city walls. Throughout, Zhao Ying remained mounted beneath the Zhao family’s great banner, unmoved.
At dawn the next day, the assault resumed. Zhao Ying’s trusted general, Xia Ping, led eighty elite soldiers in the first wave to scale the walls, all of whom died fighting. Xia Ping’s corpse was pierced by an iron spear and thrown from the city by Ji Yun. Wang Xi, filled with rage, requested to join the fray. He climbed the ladders, was struck by six or seven arrows, and hit by a large stone on the shoulder, sending him crashing back to the ground. After rising, he climbed again, only to be doused with boiling oil from above, falling from the ladder. His guards risked their lives to carry him back.
Zhao Ying, wearing his bright yellow vassal king’s dragon robe, gazed at the fiercely contested battlefield. His ears were filled with the cries of the wounded and the sounds of battle from the city walls, the drumbeats from his side, and the flapping of the Zhao family banner in the cold wind. This Zhao man, long the subject of ridicule in the Liyang dynasty, slowly raised his head to look at the Zhao character embroidered on the banner. His lips pressed together in a faint smile, as if finally relieved after bearing a heavy burden for many years.
The attacking side had already replaced their battering ram for the fourth time. The massive ballistae, capable of striking with devastating force from as far as three hundred paces, were mostly destroyed. The crossbow towers on Xiaoxing Pass had long since exhausted their dense volleys of arrows, now firing only sporadically without vigor. Yet, Xiaoxing Pass, determined to perish with the city, still resisted fiercely. The wolf-toothed battering rams, embedded with over two thousand nails each five inches long and weighing six taels, and fitted with blades on all four sides for increased damage, were now battered and broken. The night Cross Thunder and cart-footed leis, operated by winches on the city walls and capable of being retracted, had snapped their thick ropes. Still, the defenders continued to hurl “Iron Owls”—sharp iron hooks and long chains—down upon the attackers, snagging their armor and even their bodies, suspending them midair like fish on a line.
Even more deadly were the uniquely shaped axes, either hooking or chopping at the arms of those climbing the walls.
Zhao Ying, riding slightly closer to the battlefield, personally witnessed a soldier losing his entire arm, which fell from the city wall before the soldier himself.
Zhao Ying remained unmoved, his expression indifferent as he turned his horse away.
The critically endangered Xiaoxing Pass urgently sent messengers out the eastern gate to seek aid from Hen Pass, agreeing to launch a surprise attack on Prince Huainan’s camp at dawn. At that time, Xiaoxing Pass would open its gates and send out two hundred well-rested cavalry led by Ji Yun at the forefront, followed by the remaining four hundred soldiers. Zhao Ying ordered his elite warriors to lead ten elite scouts in pursuit, but despite their efforts, some escaped wounded. The next day at the third watch, knowing that Xiaoxing Pass could no longer be defended, Ji Yun indeed resolved to fight to the death. He appeared at the city gate with his two hundred cavalry, regardless of whether the commander of Hen Pass would come to the rescue, he would die for the Great Chu. Ji Yun, still in his prime, did not disregard his life, nor was he ignorant of the times. But on the day of his coming-of-age ceremony at twenty, there was no father to crown him, nor honored guests to witness the ceremony. He had crowned himself with a black cloth, for his father Ji Hai, a general of the Great Chu, had already perished on the battlefield, as had his three uncles.
Seated on his horse, Ji Yun looked back at the faces illuminated by torchlight, saying nothing, only suddenly bowing deeply with clenched fists.
On that day, Ji Yun, the Western Chu rebel commander of Xiaoxing Pass, rode out at dawn to charge against Prince Huainan. However, “Zhao Ying’s army” seemed to have anticipated the move, orderly forming their ranks to defend. Meanwhile, Hen Pass, which had the largest cavalry force among the three passes, disregarded the defensive orders set by General Xie Xichui, the Western Front commander, and launched a full-scale rescue mission with eight hundred cavalry and two thousand five hundred infantry. They were ambushed by Zhao Ying’s main force midway, suffering heavy casualties as the vanguard cavalry was struck by a barrage of arrows. The entire army collapsed upon first contact, with both the commander and deputy commander killed by Huainan’s cavalry during the chaos. Only the elderly and wounded remained at Hen Pass, where a surprise force quickly replaced the Jiang family’s banner with the Zhao family’s. The infantry commander of Hen Pass, leading seven hundred soldiers back to the city, committed ritual suicide.
Ji Yun fell during his third charge, struck through the skull by an arrow from Zhao Ying’s general Hou Datong, tumbling from his horse and dying instantly.
The two hundred cavalry and four hundred infantry of Xiaoxing Pass all perished in the charge.
Zhao Ying, wearing his eye-catching dragon robe, dismounted and walked among the corpses, slowly ascending the city wall to gaze at the rising sun in the east. He smiled and said, “The sunrise shines bright; the lamb’s fur is as fresh as dew.”
After capturing the three passes in succession, Prince Huainan did not send even a single report of victory to Taian City. He did not even occupy Hen Pass, one of the key western gateways of the Guangling Road. In fact, after breaking through the pass, the vassal king showed no intention of dividing his forces to consolidate his gains. Instead, he left the severely wounded Wang Xi and his remnants at Huayang Pass, raised the Zhao family’s banners at the three passes, and led all his Huainan soldiers eastward toward Yaoyou Pass, a naturally fortified and difficult-to-assault location. Between Hen Pass and Yaoyou Pass lay a rare flat plain in the western part of the Guangling Road, crisscrossed with waterways.
After a brief reorganization at Hen Pass, Prince Huainan took with him every available warhorse and advanced slowly. This formation seemed to be calmly awaiting the arrival of the young and brilliant general of the Western Front of the Great Chu, who had made his name known throughout the Liyang court at an early age—Xie Xichui.
On the open plain closer to Yaoyou Pass, both armies, with ample space to reorganize and scout, began to face off at a distance. After dismounting, Prince Huainan Zhao Ying donned a finely crafted suit of armor over his dragon robe and slung a treasured quiver of arrows onto his back. This Zhao vassal king, long ridiculed as ambitious yet incompetent, who had feigned madness and drunkenness for years and been repeatedly reprimanded by the current emperor, who had no sons after his eldest died “mysteriously” at Dantong Pass, now mounted his horse. Gazing straight ahead, he smiled at the two generals who had followed him for years and said, “Hou Datong, Yu Qianshan, Xia Ping went ahead of us, fulfilling the promise we made in our youth to die on the battlefield. Now it’s our turn. These many years, I’ve made you live in such disgrace.”
Hou Datong laughed heartily, “Indeed, we’ve lived in disgrace, but now we’ll die gloriously. Just wait, I’ll kill a few more Western Chu remnants to make old Xia furious—haha, forget, he’s already dead!”
Yu Qianshan, more refined and scholarly in appearance than the rugged Hou Datong, yet also clad in armor and bearing a sword, smiled, “You two certainly die gloriously; it’s a pity for a scholar like me.”
Before ordering the charge, Zhao Ying closed his eyes and whispered softly, “Father, I have been disobedient, never having the chance to pour wine at your tomb. Today, I offer my blood in its place.”
Directly ahead of Prince Huainan Zhao Ying stood two thousand heavily armored infantry in formation, with a thousand elite cavalry on each flank and nearly a thousand light cavalry patrolling at a distance, waiting for the right moment to strike.
On that day, aside from the four thousand troops mobilized from various parts of Huainan, Prince Zhao Ying, along with his trusted generals Hou Datong and Yu Qianshan and all his elite guards, fought to the last man. Not one died with an arrow in the back, nor was any cut down from behind by light cavalry.
On the same day, Prince Jing’an Zhao Xun, leading six thousand Qingzhou cavalry summoned from the Hao’ao Lake, arrived at the battlefield’s outskirts at dusk. Knowing full well that the situation was beyond salvation and that Yaoyou Pass still held a thousand heavy cavalry untouched, and witnessing with his own eyes the Western Chu general’s spear piercing Zhao Ying’s body and sending him tumbling from his horse, the young vassal king Zhao Xun still resolutely led his troops into battle!
Of the six thousand Qingzhou cavalry, only two hundred managed to fight their way out, fiercely protecting Zhao Xun as he fled the battlefield.
In this battle, the two vassal kings participating in the campaign perished or were wounded.
As the New Year approached, the Western Chu rebels’ victory at Yaoyou Pass meant that the already fragile encirclement was torn wide open, with winds blowing fiercely from two sides. For the Liyang court, this was a disaster upon a disaster. The rebels could joyfully welcome the New Year, while the Liyang court, already mourning the death of General Yan Zhenchun, now faced another heavy shroud of gloom over the capital. Fortunately, after Yang Shenxing and Yan Zhenchun, another seasoned general renowned from the Spring and Autumn period, after a candid conversation with the commander Lu Shangxiang, led his troops southward, with thirty thousand soldiers directly heading for the Qingyang Basin. His goal was not to decisively defeat the Western Chu, but to rescue the four thousand Jinnan infantry trapped under General Yang Shenxing.
General Lu Shangxiang, who had long been stagnant at Youlu Pass, finally made a move under the world’s watchful eyes, leading his troops southward along the Yudong Plain.
But the most reassuring event was not the mobilization of nearly one hundred thousand troops, but the appearance of two individuals in Taian City.
One was the emperor himself, who had returned to the capital after inspecting the borders and promptly imprisoned the chief minister with an imperial edict. The other was the great general Gu Jiantang, who accompanied the emperor.
The monarch, who had once punished Prince Huainan over trivial matters, issued only two imperial edicts upon returning to Taian. The first ordered that Zhang Julu die in disgrace without a posthumous title. The second granted Prince Huainan Zhao Ying the highest honors in death, bestowing upon him the title “Yi” and declaring, “The emperor has lost his arm and leg.”
The New Year was difficult to endure, but it had to be crossed.
In Taian City, the sound of firecrackers marked the old year’s passing, but this year lacked the usual festive cheer.
Thus, the Liyang court welcomed the second year of Xiangfu.
The first morning court of the new year.
Emperor Zhao Dun sat on the dragon throne, having countless times faced south since ascending the throne. He gazed through the wide palace gates, beyond the grand entrance, directly at the unobstructed imperial road.
A true emperor should face south and listen to the world, ruling with clarity.
Perhaps sensing the emperor’s wandering thoughts, the Chief Eunuch of the Rites Supervision, Song Tanglu, did not timely call out, “If there is business, present it; if not, dismiss the court.”
The civil and military officials within the court and the ministers outside respectfully bowed their heads, lowered their gazes, and silently waited. Even the elderly officials who found morning court burdensome began to discreetly doze off.
The emperor slowly retracted his gaze, from the seemingly endless imperial road leading all the way to the southern border back to the palace gates. He clearly remembered the day he summoned the two generals who had first conquered the Great Chu and then pacified Xishu. The older one, a cripple, walked unhurriedly—not slowly due to his limp, but with a casual indifference to the solemnity of the path meant for the most respectful of subjects. He carried the famed Xu family saber, and with each step closer, the emperor felt a suffocating sense of humiliation.
Behind the cripple was a young man, handsome and dignified, dressed entirely in white. His youthfulness evoked instant affection, especially in the eyes of the new emperor, who wished to lower his royal status to befriend him. In his heart, the emperor believed that if his predecessor could have such a cripple to fight his wars, he himself should have an even greater white-robed military sage. He would grant him the greatest authority, the most troops, personally see him off on horseback, and let him ride freely beyond the frontiers, together achieving unparalleled feats in border warfare.
But that young man in white declined. The emperor felt disappointment, but not anger.
Later, the emperor watched as those young scholars, destined for future glory, similarly walked into his vision amidst the morning light, filled with barely concealed nervousness and excitement.
Yin Maochun, Zhao Youling, Bai Guo, Wang Xionggui, Zheng Zhenxian, Qian Youjian…
A dazzling array.
Together, they forged the Yonghui Spring of the Liyang dynasty.
And they would surely be recorded in history alongside the emperor for eternity.
In the court of the late Yonghui era, there were no rebellious vassal kings like Xu Xiao and Zhao Bing to obstruct the proceedings, but there were accomplished generals such as Gu Jiantang, Yang Shenxing, and Yan Zhenchun. There were also young and promising commanders like Lu Shangxiang and Lu Bai Jie, with ample time to accumulate military achievements. There were aging civil leaders like Zhang Julu, Huan Wen, and Yao Baifeng, as well as renowned scholars like Yin Maochun in their prime. And there were countless first, second, and third place graduates from the imperial examinations, seemingly inexhaustible.
The late Emperor had long lamented the days when he first aspired to rule the world, when he struggled constantly with the lack of capable men. But he, Zhao Dun, was different. He had truly felt the magnificence of possessing an empire.
The Emperor withdrew his gaze slightly and looked toward the palace gate. That threshold was a crucial Dragon Gate, one that every official in the realm longed to cross. He had personally witnessed countless aged civil officials and generals, their robes embroidered with white pheasants, egrets, or bears, kneeling year after year in the outer courtyard, gazing longingly at the Golden Hall that commoners spoke of, until they were carried away in coffins without ever stepping inside.
He had also seen many amusing yet restrained scenes: men fainting from hunger or sun exposure, carried off by eunuchs; others scolded and reprimanded for failing to control themselves; even colleagues who had fought bitterly over a courtesan one day, only to subtly elbow each other the next. He had even spotted a minister stifling a yawn, which he, the Emperor, noticed. In jest, he had solemnly summoned the man into the hall for a reprimand. He recalled how the man, before he could even speak, had fallen to his knees in fear, a grown man of seven chi tall, sobbing uncontrollably. The Emperor had gently questioned him and learned that the man had been on duty the previous night at the Ministry of Revenue, barely sleeping at all. He had granted the man a day off, jokingly asking the minister present if he approved. At the time, it was not yet Wang Xionggui or Bai Guo who held the post of Minister of Revenue, but the venerable old minister known for his strictness, who rarely indulged in humor, who had replied with a rare smile, “Once the Emperor has spoken, I have no choice but to approve.” Six years later, that official had been promoted to govern Huainan Circuit, while the old minister had long since retired.
The Emperor once again turned his gaze inward, into the grand hall. The chair of the old Grand Preceptor Sun Xiji of Western Chu was now empty; the old man was likely standing before that young girl in the Western Chu palace. The Emperor bore no ill will toward this elder; in several conversations, he had admired the man’s vast knowledge and even publicly acknowledged that only the soil of Western Chu could temporarily nurture such a unique demeanor in him, although only temporarily. The old man had sincerely nodded in agreement. Even now, having gone to Western Chu, the Emperor believed that when the day came for the imperial army to pacify Guangling Circuit, as long as the old man still wished to live, the Yangli Dynasty should have the magnanimity to allow him a peaceful retirement.
Finally, the Emperor looked at the young man standing before him, dressed in the imperial yellow dragon robe. It was his son, the Crown Prince Zhao Zuan. The Emperor had no complaints about this son who had already served as regent for some time. Yet, looking at him, he could not help but feel guilt toward his eldest son, Zhao Wu. Thus, he had decided to marry Zhao Wu off to the frontier, to a woman rumored to be peerless in beauty, Chen Yu.
Looking beyond the Crown Prince, the Emperor’s eyes fell upon a glaringly empty seat. Nearby stood Huan Wen of the Menxia Province, who had been there for many years, and the newly appointed Zhongshu Ling, Qi Yanglong. On the other side stood Gu Jiantang, the Grand Commander returned from the Two Liao regions. Yet, one person was missing. Instinctively, the Emperor gripped the arms of his throne. He had visited the imperial prison, but had stood at a distance the entire night, from deep into the night until dawn, never approaching to face that man. He was afraid—afraid that the man with the purple beard and green eyes would appear disheveled in prison, afraid that he would see his chief minister in a state of despair. But deep down, what he truly feared was that this scholar, Zhang Julu, would not appear disheartened at all, but would instead smile and curse him, Zhao Dun, as a tyrant!
The Emperor’s lips trembled slightly as he slowly released his grip. At that moment, Song Tanglu proclaimed loudly, “If there is business to be presented, speak now. If not, the court is dismissed!”
※※※
In the bitterly cold night, a couple walked hand in hand through the silent palace, arriving before a grand hall. The energetic man turned to tighten the knot of his wife’s fox fur cloak, then looked up toward the roof of the hall and pointed, softly laughing, “Loyal friendship between sovereign and minister, sharing the autumn moon. Kindred spirits between brothers, sitting together in the spring breeze. That was the bond between the late Emperor, Xu Xiao, and Yang Taishui up there.”
He turned gently to clasp his wife’s hands, then leaned down to warm them with his breath, saying, “‘A true man should rise like a dragon, not cower like a hen!’ That was the phrase Zhao Heng declared at the age of seven before the late Emperor, a phrase I could never utter. ‘My greatest wishes are four: green mountains, books, beauties, and my elder brother.’ That was what Zhao Yi, that chubby boy, said. Thus, the empire is mine, but I willingly gave him Guangling Circuit. As for Zhao Bing, that fellow used to claim he could hear his short sword at his bedside singing like dragons and tigers in his youth, but as he grew older, he became increasingly silent. So I sent him off to the southern frontier to fight the Beiman. As for Zhao Ying and Zhao Sui, I have never felt much for them. But since Zhao Ying died honorably, I will not begrudge him anything.”
Looking at his wife, whose eyes were now red, the man suddenly smiled. “I know. I’m just experiencing a final flicker of life before it fades.”
His wife, Empress Zhao Zhi, the mother of the realm, gently rested her head on his shoulder.
Zhao Dun, not the Emperor, stroked her hair gently and whispered, “I have no regrets in this life, except that I feel I’ve spent too little time with you. It’s almost funny—perhaps the time I spent with those ministers and documents was longer than the time I spent by your side.”
Zhao Zhi suddenly asked, “Do you remember our little game back then? When you were just a prince and I was the princess consort?”
Zhao Dun laughed heartily, stepped back, and bowed formally. “Long live the Empress for a thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand years.”
Zhao Zhi also stepped back. “Long live the Emperor for ten thousand, a hundred thousand, a million years.”
After a moment, Zhao Dun covered his mouth, still coughing.
Zhao Zhi gently patted his back.
Zhao Dun recovered and tightly held her hand. “Let’s go.”
Zhao Zhi nodded softly.
She said, “Your Majesty, do you know? I’m happy to have married you. Happier still to have grown old with you.”
“I know you’ve always thought yourself not beautiful enough, but in truth, you couldn’t be more beautiful. Look, you have white hair now, yet I still can’t get enough of you. You’re exactly the same as the first time I saw you—just one glance, and I fell in love. And I’ve never stopped loving you since.”
“So you can say sweet words too?”
“Haha… Of course I can. I just always thought the sweetest words in the world were the ones that let you know, even after walking this far with you, I still love you more now than I did the moment I first laid eyes on you.”
The woman, her hand tightly held, stopped walking, weeping softly, far from the composed demeanor expected of the Empress of the realm.
He stopped too, reaching out to wipe her tears.
But in the end, he leaned into her.
She embraced him, tears still flowing, yet her eyes filled with determination. In a low voice, she said, “It’s better this way. Now you can finally rest in peace. I’ll watch over this vast empire for you, and I’ll watch over Zuan-er as he sits on the Dragon Throne…”
※※※
As the year entered Xiangfu Era Year Two, a great tragedy struck.
In the spring of the Yangli Dynasty, the entire nation mourned in white.
The great city of Tai’an was filled with weeping.
Then, a young Zhao nobleman, who had been a prince for over twenty years and had worn the Crown Prince’s dragon robe for only a year, now donned the unique imperial robe of the dynasty, ruling over all.
The young monarch, clad in a perfectly tailored new imperial robe, sat high upon the throne.
As the entire court of officials knelt in homage, he gazed into the distance like the emperors before him, expressionless.
At this moment, the Emperor should have raised his hand gently and solemnly declared, “Rise, my ministers.”
But he did not speak in haste.
He narrowed his eyes, savoring the sight of the sea of kneeling figures inside and outside the hall.
He remained silent, and no one dared rise.
For from this moment on, the Emperor of Yangli was none other than Zhao Zuan!
He cast a meaningful glance toward the northwest, his lips subtly curling into a faint smile.
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