The Li family’s fourteen hundred iron-clad warriors surged like a flood to the gates of the Imperial Astronomical Observatory, forming an impenetrable formation as if to barricade the entrance!
In truth, before this iron tide stood but a single man.
These fourteen hundred elite soldiers, specially outfitted in heavy infantry armor—save for the two commanders, Li Shouguo and Li Chang’an—all remained within the gates of the observatory, not a single one stepping beyond.
Clad in massive lamellar armor weighing fifty jin, these foot soldiers abandoned all mobility, a tactic typically reserved for halting cavalry charges on the battlefield. Relying on sheer weight and dense formations, they could withstand the impact of charging horsemen. Yet, an army composed solely of such heavily armored infantry, armed with large shields, spears, and crossbows, no matter how unshakable, could never pursue a routed cavalry force due to their cumbersome gear. They could hold the line but never expand their gains.
Yet, on this bizarre battlefield today, no one found the fourteen hundred men’s unconventional equipment absurd. Most soldiers in the formation even wished they could don another suffocating set of armor.
A hundred elite warriors from the Ministry of Justice, carefully selected over the years from the martial world of Liyang and granted the copper fish pouch, split into two groups flanking the infantry formation. Their positions were meticulously arranged—spread just enough to maximize pressure on the observatory’s grounds while maintaining mutual support to prevent enemies from bypassing the formation.
At both ends of the broad street outside the observatory, infantry and cavalry arrived in force.
Three hundred imperial guards, their scabbards embroidered with golden patterns, broke away from the cavalry and sprinted along the walls, positioning themselves before the fourteen hundred infantry.
Twelve hundred cavalry, hastily summoned from the northern garrison of the capital, exuded an aura of ferocity far surpassing the western garrison’s Xilei Battalion under Commandant Yuchi Changgong. Both men and horses were fully armored!
They did not charge immediately but halted at the street’s ends, watching with predatory intensity.
Earlier, the thunderous sound of their synchronized hoofbeats had already hinted at their terrifying ability to tear through enemy lines.
This mysterious cavalry, never before seen in the capital, was the brainchild of General Ma Lulang, who had spent a lifetime and vast resources forging this elite force. Their location and numbers were never recorded in the Ministry of War’s archives, nor did the Liyang Ministry of Revenue bear the cost of their upkeep. For twenty years, their staggering expenses had been directly funded from the imperial treasury.
Only the veteran Minister of War, Gu Jiantang, had ever been privy to their secrets. When Chen Zhibao and Lu Baijie briefly took over the ministry, they could only glean that the cavalry’s numbers had grown from three hundred to five hundred, then eight hundred, and finally a thousand before Chen Zhibao left office. By the time Lu Baijie was demoted to Guangling Circuit, rumors suggested a sudden surge in their ranks, as the new emperor, upon ascending the throne, had secretly diverted resources from both the Ministry of War and Revenue—selecting men, horses, and armor, while the latter, despite its financial woes, had to produce a massive sum of silver, all meticulously hidden in the accounts.
Yet even Lu Baijie, a former Minister of War, did not know that beyond their unmatched combat prowess, this cavalry held profound significance for three generations of Liyang’s Zhao emperors. In twenty-five years, they had only entered the capital in secret three times: first under Emperor Gaozu’s personal decree, led by Yang Taisui and Liu Haoshi; second during the empire’s founding and the enfeoffment of meritorious officials; and lastly, on the night Emperor Zhao Dun ascended the throne, when Yuan Benxi led them into the city to surround Prince Zhao Heng’s residence.
In essence, this was the Zhao dynasty’s very own “Dragon-Propping Army.”
The proprietress of the Jiujiu Tavern glanced around, her smile tinged with inexplicable sorrow. “Xun Ping,” she murmured, “is this the military might you once sought to build for Liyang?”
Shaking her head, she pushed aside her thoughts and turned to Zhao Zhi with a sneer. “What, still here? Hoping your status as Empress Dowager will hold Xu Fengnian back, keep him from cutting loose?”
Zhao Zhi’s expression was a mix of bitterness, hatred, and fear. Finally, she sighed and said self-deprecatingly, “Long ago, you were only Wu Su’s friend, even though we met earlier. Now, you only see Wu Su’s son as family. My sons, Zhao Zhuan and Zhao Wu—you won’t even spare them a glance.”
The proprietress laughed harshly, as if hearing a great joke. “Compete! You’ve spent your whole life competing, Zhao Zhi! Even now, you’re still like this—everything’s a contest! Xu Xiao overshadowed Zhao Dun, and you resented it! Wu Su outshone you in the capital, and you couldn’t stand it! Now Xu Fengnian and Zhao Zhuan are facing off fairly, each relying on their own resources and skills—what are you meddling for? What *can* you meddle in?”
Zhao Zhi’s face lost its expressiveness, replaced by rare sorrow and exhaustion. She glanced at the observatory and said softly, “Wu Su and Xu Xiao are dead. My husband is dead too. My son is emperor now. What is there left to fight for? But you don’t understand what the observatory means to the Zhao family. The swordsman Qi Lianhua slaughtered all the qi refiners there, already disrupting the Zhao dynasty’s fortunes. If Xu Fengnian insists on killing today, destroying the grand formation built by generations of Longhu Mountain’s Heavenly Masters, and ruining what the previous Zhang sage, the Duke of Yan, personally escorted into the capital—do you know what kind of catastrophe that would be?”
She continued, her voice heavy, “You surely don’t. The Northern Mang empress, despite losing over three hundred thousand men without even breaching Northern Liang’s borders, hasn’t stripped Marshal Dong Zhuo of his command. She’s waiting for Northern Liang, after its great victory, to see hope in another battle—to force Xu Fengnian to come to the capital for grain supplies, and during that time, settle old scores at the observatory, undermining Liyang’s foundation. So now, watching the observatory are that old woman and the Northern Mang’s Taiping Ling, the Western Chu’s Cao Changqing, the Southern Frontier’s King Yan Zhao Bing, and Liaodong’s Gu Jiantang—not to mention the ones already inside, like Master Xie and the King of Shu.”
Zhao Zhi sighed. “Is the observatory really just about Xu Fengnian and three thousand soldiers? Northern Liang’s iron cavalry, Western Chu’s rebels, the Southern Frontier’s army, Liaodong’s border troops—all are already involved. One misstep, and Northern Mang’s million-strong army will trample across the Central Plains. Even if they’re eventually driven back to the deserts and grasslands, how many of our people will die?”
The proprietress feigned terror, clutching her chest. “Oh, how terrifying!”
Chen Yu’s lips curled slightly, her beauty breathtaking.
Suddenly, the proprietress strode toward Zhao Zhi, raising her hand as if to deliver a slap.
Zhao Zhi stood unmoving, her gaze icy.
The proprietress laughed and lowered her hand. “Never mind. I’d hate to dirty my hands. My Jiujiu Tavern may be small, but at least what we serve is clean. As for you big shots and your grand schemes—how murky, how ‘patriotic’—I couldn’t care less! All I know is this: as long as Wu Su’s son lives, whether he’s in the capital or Northern Liang, whether he dies today at the observatory or someday on the battlefield beyond the pass, it’ll always feel like justice to me. Because in this world, it’s not just my man who was a fool daring to defy heaven—there’s also the Xu family, Xu Xiao and Xu Fengnian!”
She turned and walked to her carriage, Chen Yu following.
Once seated inside, the proprietress eyed Chen Yu, who bent to enter, and teased, “Regretting it now?”
Chen Yu’s lively eyes sparkled with amusement, but she remained silent.
The proprietress frowned. “If back then he was just a wretched scoundrel, I’d understand you rejecting him. But now? Still unmoved?”
Chen Yu hesitated, then said with a strange expression, “Back then, he only wanted to kidnap me and take me back to Northern Liang—as a bride for his brother, Xu Longxiang. Aunt Hong, do you think I could agree? My master, Huang Longshi, was depressed for days after hearing that.”
The proprietress burst into laughter, wiping tears from her eyes. “That brat! Even worse than Xu Xiao in his youth!”
Zhao Zhi also returned to her carriage, where her daughter, Princess Suizhu Zhao Fengya, sat looking desolate.
Zhao Fengya whispered, “Fourth Brother already promised not to marry me to Chen Zhibao.”
Zhao Zhi snapped, “*I* don’t agree!”
※※※
A lone rider galloped desperately through the ranks of cavalry at the street’s end, rushing straight toward Xu Fengnian.
Xu Fengnian, now just twenty paces from the observatory gates, sighed at the sight of the dismounting young man.
Huangmen Lang of the Hanlin Academy, younger brother of the current empress, Yan Chiji, stood before him, sweat and tears streaking his face. “Nian-ge, don’t go any further. His Majesty says Northern Liang can have three million dan of grain via the canal—but for every one of the three thousand soldiers who dies today, a thousand dan will be deducted.”
Xu Fengnian replied gently, “Tell Kong Wuchi I said we’re still brothers.”
Yan Chiji suddenly grabbed Xu Fengnian’s sleeve, weeping. “Nian-ge, don’t go! I’m begging you!”
Xu Fengnian whispered, “Don’t worry. I won’t die. And no matter how many I kill, Liyang won’t dare withhold a single dan of those three million.”
Then he shook off Yan Chiji’s grip with a chuckle. “Get out of here. If you stay, you’ll distract me.”
Yan Chiji wrestled with himself, then gritted his teeth and mounted without another word.
He didn’t look back—just raised a thumb high in the air.
※※※
Xu Fengnian turned toward the observatory.
The old Liang blade hung at his left hip.
His left hand rested lightly on the hilt.
A pale-faced leader of the copper fish pouch contingent stepped forward, shouting, “Halt! Retreat fifty paces from the observatory gates!”
The next moment, the man was sent flying like a broken kite, crashing into the infantry formation inside the gates.
Xu Fengnian now stood where he had been.
Northern Liang—we fight, we die, but we *never* retreat!
Against Northern Mang’s million-strong army, we stood firm. What are three thousand Zhao soldiers to us?!
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