The flag overhead suddenly ignited. Ashes filled the sky, swirling down in a dense drift. At the moment the banner caught fire, Shen Zechuan already used the momentum to flip down from the horse’s back. Feng Taishuangyi moved in tacit understanding, running forward. He had already avoided the horizontal strike and followed Feng Taishuangyi in a few light leaps. The scorpion missed its target. In a brief moment of distraction, Shen Zechuan seized the arm that had struck out.
The scorpion froze, then was overjoyed, shouting in Beisha language: “He has no strength—”
Before the sentence could finish, Shen Zechuan had already released his grip. His left hand struck along the side of the scorpion’s arm. The scorpion thought it was an over-shoulder throw and immediately stepped out with one leg to stabilize his stance. Unexpectedly, Shen Zechuan spun and kicked directly into his chest.
The scorpion’s arms spread wide as he roared: “An ant trying to shake a tree!”
Shen Zechuan’s long fingers pointed obliquely at the scorpion’s brow. Thinking it was a feint, the scorpion immediately closed his eyes. Who would have thought Shen Zechuan would lightly laugh, releasing the short blade downward. Using one foot to support himself, he spun again and kicked the short blade sideways into the scorpion. Caught off guard, the blade violently pinned into his lower abdomen, and he screamed in agony amid a spray of blood.
Shen Zechuan paid no attention. Firelight burst behind him, and his figure stretched long with the shifting flames.
Fei Sheng seized the moment and shouted: “Luomu colluded with Beisha people! Foreign enemies are inside the city! The garrison troops kill the enemy—everyone else, clear the way!”
Torches on the eastern gate watchtower waved toward the sky. Soldiers standing on the railing raised Zhongbo waist tokens and shouted with all their strength: “Governor’s order—kill foreign enemies, kill chaotic troops, kill traitors!”
The scorpion saw that incitement had failed and the passage was blocked, so he retreated toward his original route. The entire capital was in chaos. The defending troops guarding the gates were being cut down into rivers of blood by the imperial army.
Half the battlements had already collapsed. Xue Xiuzhuo’s official robe was torn. He was in a wretched state until someone grabbed him hard.
The mute child held Wengge’er’s hand. A bundle hung from his shoulder. In the chaos he gestured urgently at Xue Xiuzhuo with “ah ah” sounds, pulling him toward the stairs.
Xue Xiuzhuo staggered, leaning against the wall, and looked at Wengge’er. Wengge’er, son of Xue Xiuyi and raised by Xue Xiuzhuo, was already in tears, clutching his sleeve and sobbing: “Uncle… uncle!”
The mute child stomped anxiously, tugging harder at Xue Xiuzhuo’s robe, urging him to flee.
Xue Xiuzhuo raised his hand and touched Wengge’er’s face. He said, “You are a good child.”
Wengge’er looked up and felt water on his cheek.
Xue Xiuzhuo hunched his body, back to the light, hiding all weakness. In his life, this was his only moment of pause—as if only in this instant did he belong to himself.
The mute child suddenly cried out, pulling at him until his fingers turned red.
Xue Xiuzhuo straightened again and gently broke free of the restraint. He pushed the mute child’s shoulder and said, “Go.”
Wengge’er cried loudly: “Uncle!”
Xue Xiuzhuo ignored him completely.
In the rain-laden sky of that night, darker than two years before, he saw the same dim heavens. A lone man guarding this city had already heard the echo of decay before dawn collapsed, yet he was unwilling—unwilling that the once towering empire would end in such a way.
Xue Xiuzhuo stepped down the stairs slowly, walking downward. He walked alone, never once looking back.
“You strongly promoted the Yellow Register in Zhongbo,” Xue Xiuzhuo stopped and said to Shen Zechuan, “that was Yuan Zhe’s achievement.”
Shen Zechuan did not answer.
In the dim silhouettes, Xue Xiuzhuo brushed dust from his sleeve and said, “I admired Qi Huilian and walked his path,” he looked at Shen Zechuan, “but I was not as ruthless as him.”
Betting one’s life was simple. The difficulty was daring to place that life into the game. Qi Huilian dared everything; behind his madness was trust in Shen Zechuan.
Lan Zhou was not his chess piece.
Because of this, Qi Huilian left nothing for Lan Zhou. Shen Zechuan did not need restraint. In those five years together, Qi Huilian merely guided him.
Sir taught you poetry and books, and gave you the courtesy name Lan Zhou.
That was all Qi Huilian left.
“In the era of great heroes, the Great Zhou stood for centuries and even foreign powers could not break this gate. Yet today it falls to you,” Xue Xiuzhuo looked at Shen Zechuan, “a fish at the bottom of the net.”
“I have heard many guesses—even Yuan Zhe once thought I might be hidden blood of the Li clan left by Shen Wei,” Shen Zechuan turned his eyes toward the palace, “but I am just a criminal’s son. The world covets imperial blood, only Sir went against it.”
The one who attains the Way is not destined by heaven.
“Qi Huilian changed destiny alone. I admire him,” Xue Xiuzhuo exhaled deeply, then said solemnly, “My lord is young. The one surrendering today is I, Xue Xiuzhuo. The city gate has fallen, the official road is open. Shen Zechuan—do not kill the innocent. I come to receive you!”
The words struck like thunder, collapsing the ministers on the city wall. Surrendering the gate was eternal humiliation—today, Xue Yanqing bore it alone.
“No…” Kong Qiu cried out in grief, beating his chest. “Great Zhou…”
The ministers collapsed in sorrow.
Surrender meant the cessation of war. The remaining Zhongbo troops no longer needed to advance. Dadu had fallen; behind it, the thirteen western cities of Erxi might still remain intact—their years of effort, the last granary of the Great Zhou.
Kong Qiu understood this was the final solution. They had been completely defeated in their struggle with Zhongbo. With this surrender, the Great Zhou would cease to exist.
He nearly collapsed, gripping the battlement, tears streaming: “Today the world changes hands—our incompetence.”
Then his expression hardened.
“Nobody of Great Zhou kneels to a second ruler!”
He leapt from the wall to die for his country.
Fei Sheng shouted in alarm: “Stop him!”
A figure suddenly lunged from behind and grabbed Kong Qiu’s robe. Liang Cuishan cried out: “Minister Yuan cannot!”
Kong Qiu’s body froze, scraping against broken bricks. He coughed violently in tears.
Liang Cuishan dragged him back, trembling.
A carriage was attacked on its way to the west gate. Streets were clogged with carts and horses. Noble families fled, blocking the road completely.
The escort whipped the reins: “Move! Move aside!”
A carriage crashed from the side. Chaos erupted. There were too many people—like a boiling pot of porridge. The carriage could not move forward.
The curtain swayed. Li Jingtian saw towering palace buildings and heard bronze bells.
“The city has fallen!” Han Jin ran barefoot through the street, laughing madly as he grabbed flying proclamations. “The city has fallen!”
“Xue Xiuzhuo surrendered! The Great Zhou is gone!” someone cried.
Li Jingtian felt a sharp pain in her chest. Trembling, she lifted the curtain and suddenly leaned forward, vomiting. The wind scattered her hair as rain struck her face.
Xue Xiuzhuo’s final path was one that bore humiliation for her.
Her body trembled too. With a hoarse laugh, she stood up.
“Pursuing survival through hiding and exile… how boring.”
She turned, walking against the tide of fleeing crowds, alone.
Han Jin ran laughing with proclamations.
She picked up a broken drum.
She struck it. A dull sound echoed.
“Go to the palace?”
“Go! Go!” Han Jin clapped.
She beat the drum and laughed wildly as flames engulfed Minglitang.
At dawn, the killing in the city ceased. After rain, the air was clear. The palace had burned half down. Shen Zechuan walked through ruins.
“It was arson inside the palace,” Fei Sheng said. “Minglitang was burned to ashes.”
“The female emperor refused surrender and died for her country,” Shen Zechuan said. “On the record of Great Zhou, Emperor Shengyin should have her name.”
“She was a fierce woman,” Fei Sheng said.
“Summon Yun Jing, Min Shen, and Cheng Feng for orders.” Shen Zechuan stopped. “Has Songyue not returned?”
Fei Sheng looked toward Minglitang and hesitated. “He has returned.”
Qiao Tianya washed his hands. Blood dissolved in the copper basin. His sword was still at his waist, but the hilt was stained red.
All scorpions were killed—147 in total, mostly eunuchs. The leader was Fengquan, who replaced Pan Ruguic after the eighth year of Xiande.
“So many,” Zhou Gui said in shock.
Qiao Tianya dried his hands and left.
At the tent, he heard coughing.
Yao Wenyu said, “Come in.”
Qiao Tianya entered.
The fire had gone out. The tent was cold. Yao Wenyu sat on the bed.
Qiao Tianya lay down beside him, resting his head on his lap. The smell of medicine covered him.
“I once lived on Bodhi Mountain,” Yao Wenyu said softly, “there was a courtyard…”
He paused.
“Snow is coming.”
Outside, white blossoms drifted.
Amur picked up a red silk flower.
“Good girl, go back to the oasis,” he said.
“Let the wolves come,” she said.
War approached.
At last, thunder came.
Xiao Chiye mounted his horse.
The wolf king rose.
Iron cavalry surged forward.
War drums sounded.