On the seventh day after Meng Xizhao’s capture, General Wang’s massive army arrived outside Jizhou City. Leading the formation was a banner carried by four men, black with gold trim. In the center, countless red threads embroidered the character Cui, flanked on both sides by two five-clawed golden dragons in a guarding stance.
This was the imperial banner signaling the emperor’s personal command.
If an elder over seventy stood there, they would surely be moved to tears.
The Cui royal family did have its problems—many of their emperors were not entirely stable—but their ancestors had conquered the realm, proving their capability. At the very least, the founding emperor’s military talent was unmatched by ordinary men.
At that time, there was no Zhan Shenyou, no Zhan Buxiu; the founding emperor himself was both general and chancellor—a veritable six-sided warrior.
When the later emperors of the Yue dynasty became utterly incompetent, he had risen in rebellion at great risk. Throughout history, regime changes were never easy. Even if the emperor was worse than a pig, countless people had risked everything to protect him.
Otherwise, why would Britain pride itself on the Glorious Revolution? Bloodless coups were nearly impossible in feudal times.
The founding emperor rescued the suffering populace from the Yue monarchs. Wherever his army advanced, people cheered wholeheartedly. Though soon they realized he was not so different from the Yue monarch, at that moment, the sight of this banner symbolized hope itself.
And now, it was like history repeating itself fifty years later.
The fifty-thousand-strong army had been pulled from around Yingtian Prefecture. They were not the imperial guards, but local auxiliary troops; their combat skills were only slightly better than those of ordinary ruffians roaming the streets.
Yet, because they were led by the Crown Prince and carried the Cui-character banner, wherever they marched, the citizens’ shocked and solemn gazes followed them. The spectacle greatly satisfied their vanity. Bathed in those looks, they imagined themselves as mighty warriors capable of slaying ten Nanzhao barbarians each.
At the city gate, Ding Chun and Zhan Buxiu watched this motley, swaggering crowd. Ding Chun felt little, but when the conspicuous black banner fluttered in the wind, his whole body shivered.
“…The Cui-character banner?”
Zhan Buxiu also saw it and frowned. “Can the Crown Prince use this banner on campaign?”
Ding Chun: “…………”
No, he cannot!
By regulation, this banner could only be unfurled when the emperor personally went to war. How could the Crown Prince use it?
Technically, rules are rigid, people are flexible. The Crown Prince, as heir, was allowed to bend a few rules to signify imperial favor. But this generation of emperor and prince were unlike any before.
Ding Chun felt suddenly exasperated. At his age, he was increasingly unable to keep up with the shifting winds of Yingtian Prefecture.
Finally, the banner approached. The Crown Prince’s carriage neared, and as its doors opened, the stationed soldiers of Jizhou City all sneaked peeks, curious about the legendary prince.
Then they saw him: a fragile-looking young nobleman, without armor.
All the soldiers collectively: …Disappointed.
Cui Ye paid them no mind. He hurried down, intending to ask Ding Chun a few questions, and immediately spotted Xie Yuan beside him.
His eyes widened.
Later, sitting in the council hall, Cui Ye listened to Xie Yuan’s report. After a long silence, he said, “So he refused to return of his own accord.”
Xie Yuan: “Yes. Prefect Meng said he wanted to return honorably, leaving no one the chance to find fault with him.”
Cui Ye clenched his hands into fists, resting them on his knees.
All because of that rabble…
He fell silent, his expression gradually turning iron-gray. Ding Chun kept his mouth shut, unwilling to be the bearer of bad news. Zhan Buxiu lowered his head, lost in thought.
Xie Yuan glanced around and, gathering courage, asked, “Your Highness, I have inquired with the officials at Longxing Prefecture. Currently, the administration is handled by Officer Wu Qianpan; internal matters are under him, external matters by the Training Officer. They have blocked any news of Prefect Meng’s disappearance; no outsiders know. What about Yingtian Prefecture? Has a new prefect been appointed?”
Cui Ye nodded. “Weiwei Si Minister Mu Jianqi offended my father last month. The emperor sent him here to take over Meng Xizhao’s post.”
Xie Yuan: “……”
The Weiwei Temple was typically a quiet sinecure, occupied by royal relatives who were high in rank but low in skill. Even demoted, Mu Jianqi was considered competent for this role.
Xie Yuan hesitated to speak openly against it and instinctively made an excuse: “But Prefect Meng said the public must not learn of his disappearance. With Minister Mu arriving, Meng’s plan will fail.”
Cui Ye: “Then don’t let him take office.”
Xie Yuan was about to nod in habitual agreement, but realization hit. “Your Highness, what did you just say?”
Cui Ye glanced at him. “Mu Jianqi is traveling with his family; he can’t move fast. He likely doesn’t want to enter this lion’s den anyway. Since the previous prefect was captured, he’s naturally afraid. Arrange for him to be intercepted on the way, kept safe, and we will decide his fate once this matter is resolved.”
Ding Chun stared in shock. “But he carries an official appointment…”
Intercepting him would normally be considered disobedience—punishable by death!
Oh, right—you are the Crown Prince. You won’t die.
…So what do we do now?
Cui Ye furrowed his brows. “A commander outside the palace may disobey orders in special circumstances. The reasons will be explained to the emperor once we return to Yingtian Prefecture. Xie Yuan, you will manage Longxing Prefecture in the meantime. Prefect Meng doesn’t want the news of his disappearance leaked, not to protect Qi, but to prevent those lingering Nanzhao spies from learning the truth.”
He paused, then addressed Yu Fulan beside him: “Escort Xie Yuan back. There must still be Nanzhao agents in Longxing Prefecture. Prefect Meng instructed him to hurry home day and night, indicating these spies may soon return to Nanzhao.”
Cui Ye pressed his lips, then looked at Yu Fulan again. “Investigate carefully. Keep the prefecture tightly monitored. If they wish to find Meng Xizhao, they will naturally inquire at the government offices.”
Yu Fulan blinked and responded with a nod, then went to fetch Xie Yuan.
Xie Yuan had many questions, but when Yu Fulan arrived, he remained silent.
After he left, Ding Chun asked Cui Ye, “Your Highness, when shall we attack Ganzhou?”
Cui Ye rose and walked to the sand table, studying the mountains and rivers of Nanzhao, with Meng Xizhao located in a remote corner.
Lowering his gaze, he said, “Let the soldiers rest for one day. At first light two days from now, we move.”
Speed was critical. Delays would sap morale. Without the finest imperial guards, he could only lead these uneven troops, reducing the odds slightly.
Yet the Wu Guo Gong mansion had bypassed Geng Wenjin and, through the Privy Council and Armory, provided him with numerous new weapons and ample gunpowder, compensating for the lost advantage.
Emperor Tianshou was unaware of the minor schemes unfolding beneath him. Meng Jiuyu had specifically entered the palace and lamented at length to the emperor, pleading for Cui Ye to be given more preparation—after all, whether his son could return safely depended entirely on Cui Ye’s command of the troops.
The emperor was thoroughly annoyed by his persistent nagging. Finally, on Qin Feimang’s suggestion, he decided to grant Meng Jiuyu the most economical banner he could—valuable, yet cheap.
Cheap, however, was only in the emperor’s eyes. For Meng Jiuyu, this banner was anything but inexpensive; the costs of arranging it almost matched all his previous expenditures combined.
With the banner, the weapons, the morale, and generals like Ding Chun and Zhan Buxiu, victory in this battle was all but assured.
Yet Cui Ye felt it still wasn’t enough.
As long as Meng Xizhao did not stand properly before him… he would feel it still wasn’t sufficient.
While the army remained outside Jizhou City, Nanzhao spies had already caught wind of it. By the time the message reached their commanders, night had fallen—it was already the second watch.
That night, Meng Xizhao slept soundly. The next day, he went to the Western Palace to see Rosahua, but she was nowhere to be found. The palace atmosphere was noticeably tense. Meng Xizhao, unfamiliar with the palace staff, tried polite conversation but was met with indifference. Soon, he abandoned wide-reaching attempts and chose to observe silently, planning precise actions.
Sensing the tension, his instinct told him something major had occurred. He didn’t know what it was or whether it involved him, so he pressed his lips together and waited.
After nearly an hour, Rosahua returned, her face flushed with anger. On the way back, she had been loudly berating those around her.
Meng Xizhao didn’t understand the words, but he memorized the tone, planning to ask Gu Pingting the next day what it all meant.
Rosahua stormed in, her robes billowing. Seeing Meng Xizhao standing quietly at the edge, she ignored him and continued scolding angrily:
“That wretched Meng Xizhao! He dares to slander me again and again! My men sent to watch him haven’t even glimpsed his shadow, yet he claims I frightened him sick. The people of Longxing Prefecture even threatened revenge—hah! Let anyone dare try to avenge him! When I catch that villain, I will torture him until he reveals everything he knows, then cut his flesh piece by piece to eat with wine!”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He had no way of knowing whether Rosahua was speaking in anger or meant it literally. After all, one of Nanzhao’s notorious traits was that they occasionally did consume human flesh.
After a pause, he kept his head lowered. Rosahua’s tirade at Meng Xizhao had nothing to do with Jin Sanzang.
Catching his reaction, Rosahua’s expression turned sour. “What, Mr. Jin, do you find my words cruel? Do you sympathize with your Qi Prefect?”
Her pride and temper were fully exposed; any normal person would find them cruel.
Blinking, Meng Xizhao lifted his head. “Your Highness, when you catch this Meng, I will be the first to cut his flesh.”
Rosahua squinted at him, observing for a moment, then waved irritably. “The enemy is at our gates. I cannot concern myself with this despicable man now. If we capture him, fine; if not, we’ll deal with it later.”
Meng Xizhao silently commended her wisdom before asking, “Your Highness, has anything gone wrong on the front lines?”
Rosahua’s expression darkened. “The Qi emperor has resolved to avenge past humiliation. To reclaim Ganzhou, he even sent the Crown Prince, though weak and scholarly, not to lead troops, but to bolster the morale of Qi’s army.”
She sneered. “Shameless, even more than that thief Meng Xizhao.”
Despite her sharp words, her heart was uneasy.
She had an instinct she didn’t want to admit: Ganzhou might not be defensible.
The Qi Crown Prince alone was not a threat, and Nanzhao could muster tens of thousands of troops. The real danger was the gunpowder. Too powerful, Nanzhao had long tried to perfect it without success. This was why Meng Xizhao had to be captured.
Others were embedded in the military, difficult to access. Only Meng Xizhao was close to them, and he had first used gunpowder among the Xiongnu. If it had been in use for months, Rosahua would not have suspected a connection—but he deployed it almost simultaneously with their occupation of Longxing Prefecture.
Meng Xizhao dared to transport and ignite gunpowder among the Xiongnu. Was it sheer audacity, or complete mastery and confidence in the substance? Rosahua firmly believed it was the latter.
Capturing Meng Xizhao meant obtaining the gunpowder formula. Once in their hands, the Qi army would no longer be formidable.
Her plan was brilliant. The only problem: from the start, she had encountered a Waterloo. Meng Xizhao was like an eel—impossible to catch.
Once news of the Crown Prince’s personal campaign reached her, her father summoned her brother to the palace. They debated for hours, ending in a quarrel. This morning, she had been called away by the emperor’s attendants to mediate.
Thus, to most, her role was the peacemaker.
She soothed both emperor and prince. Whenever these two great figures were displeased, they sought her aid. No one knew that many of the brilliant strategies attributed to Zhen’an Luo and Luo Mailong were actually hers. Even if others found out, it would change little.
After all, she was a princess—now assisting her father, in the future aiding her brother. Even if she were brilliant beyond measure, when people spoke of her, the verdict was always the same: “What a pity she isn’t a man.”
Rosahua’s mood sank slightly as she lingered in her thoughts. After a long moment, she pulled herself together and noticed Meng Xizhao had been silent the entire time. Looking up, she saw him staring blankly, and it was clear he’d been lost in thought for quite a while.
Rosahua: “…Mr. Jin?”
Meng Xizhao, like a puppet, blinked slowly. As her suspicion grew, he swallowed hard and a look of genuine fear crept across his face.
“The Crown Prince… the Qi Crown Prince has come? W-will he attack Ningren Prefecture?”
He turned to Rosahua helplessly. “Princess, I… I am utterly loyal to you. Please, you must protect me!”
Hearing that he feared the Qi forces would arrive and execute him as a traitor on the spot, Rosahua allowed herself a small smile. “Do not worry. You are mine—I will ensure your safety.”
Relief immediately washed over Meng Xizhao, his face a portrait of gratitude. “Your Highness, you truly are a heroine among women, just like Princess Taiping in the dramas!”
Rosahua blinked, revealing she had no idea who Princess Taiping actually was. She merely uttered a soft “oh?” and asked, “And how am I like her?”
Meng Xizhao smiled. “In the stories, Princess Taiping was cherished from childhood by her parents and siblings. You, too, have been doted upon—both by the emperor and the crown prince. In that respect, you are the same.”
Rosahua nodded and smiled in agreement. “That is true enough.”
Meng Xizhao hurriedly continued, “Princess Taiping was the daughter of Tang Gaozong, Li Zhi, during the height of the Tang Dynasty. Though a girl, she was no less capable than her brothers. Among her siblings, she was the most intelligent. The emperor and her mother both loved her. As she grew, she mediated between the inner court and the administration, and many decrees bore her influence. Though a woman, her high status allowed her to play a role even more critical than a man’s. Your Highness, are you not the same?”
Rosahua fell silent, frowning. “Tang Gaozong, Li Zhi?”
She remembered the name vaguely, though details were scarce. She thought… wasn’t his wife the notorious female emperor of the Central Plains?
She felt a strange curiosity—people are always intrigued by those whose fates resemble their own. Leaning slightly forward, she asked Meng Xizhao, “Is this from the drama, or did this person truly exist?”
Meng Xizhao nodded vigorously. “She truly existed. In Tang times, Princess Taiping was famous. For a period, she wielded almost the power of a crown prince. Her story is vividly written, but because she was a woman, the official histories deliberately downplayed her achievements. Very few know of her.”
Not only were they few, but even the so-called dramas were fabricated by Meng Xizhao himself. At this point, a script had begun to take shape, but no one dared depict Wu Zetian—even under another name, one risked official censure and exile. If even Wu Zetian received such treatment, her daughter—the one who ‘crowed at dawn like a hen’—was even more erased from records.
And with the Tang Dynasty only a few centuries past, the environment was harsh. Records of a woman ascending to power were either criticized or suppressed.
Yet this situation had an advantage: Meng Xizhao could mix fact and fiction freely.
He spoke first from official history, then from unofficial accounts, painting Princess Taiping as unprecedented and unmatched in brilliance. Though unspoken, every word suggested: had she ascended the throne, Li Longji might not have so thoroughly ruined the Tang Dynasty.
Tragic. Infuriating. Lamentable.
Rosahua listened in awe, identifying with Princess Taiping and feeling a deep empathy for her fate. Then she suddenly realized Meng Xizhao hadn’t mentioned the princess’s end.
Hearing her question, Meng Xizhao, in his usual nonchalant tone, said, “Ah, when the new emperor ascended, his first act was to grant death to this aunt whose brilliance threatened him. It seems he gave her a white silk ribbon, letting her die herself. At least the body remained intact.”
Rosahua: “…………”
Her mood plummeted. She had finally heard a historical anecdote, only to discover that the heroine who mirrored her was met with such a fate.
Furious, she berated Meng Xizhao so fiercely that he nearly knelt in terror, pleading desperately for her mercy. Rosahua, seeing him now, only grew more irritated and pointed toward the palace gate, ordering him out.
Trembling, Meng Xizhao ran off. The guards at the gate noticed his legs shaking uncontrollably and couldn’t help but pity him.
It was only a matter of time—though the princess’s temperament was milder than the crown prince’s, anyone serving her would eventually face her wrath.
Once far enough from the palace and out of sight, Meng Xizhao slowed, pressing himself against a wall. He pressed his hand to his lips, restraining the urge to throw his head back and laugh.
Sometimes, resisting laughter was impossible.
He hadn’t even formally exerted his abilities yet, and already Rosahua had erupted in fury. If she hadn’t truly cared, why would she become so angry? Why expend such emotion over a long-dead person?
She reacted to the story, but she was the one affected.
Meng Xizhao thought: if you have this power, you should apply it. A moment of sibling empathy means nothing before that golden position—it’s utterly insignificant.
Those who accomplish great deeds do not fuss over trivial matters—family ties, ethics, conscience, morality, all of that can be discarded when necessary!
What? You can’t bring yourself to be ruthless? No matter—I’ll be ruthless for you.
In the book, Zhan Buxiu had no new weapons, no gunpowder, yet he personally fought and slaughtered Luo Mailong. Now, with full equipment and Luo Mailong caught completely off guard, fleeing in a moment of panic, he should be even easier to deal with.
Ah, and Luo Mailong hasn’t even voiced any intention of heading to the front line yet.
No matter—Meng Xizhao thought—he would make him say it.
After all, Cui Ye had already arrived. With him standing there like a magnet, Luo Mailong would have no excuse not to mobilize.
Thinking of Cui Ye, Meng Xizhao’s smile gradually faded.
At this point, if he were still feigning ignorance, even just contemplating it in his heart, it might not be aimed at Meng Xizhao personally—but it would still feel like a profound disrespect toward Cui Ye.
But, if he considered the facts from another angle…
Maybe he was coming for me.
He came to retrieve me.
He was worried about me, so he came himself.
The more Meng Xizhao thought about it, the more his face flushed the deep red of a Fuji apple.
His heart raced uncontrollably, both excited and joyful.
In all his past lives, this was the first time someone had cared so much for him—willing to overcome all obstacles just to come find him.
He still considered himself a typical straight man, but even straight men have emotions. And here, with no one else around, he allowed himself this small joy.
Leaning against the wall, Meng Xizhao smiled to himself for a long while before finally stepping away.
At this moment, the Crown Prince sat in his prepared command tent, reviewing the battle reports.
Whenever two armies clashed, someone would record times, casualties, and troop movements. Cui Ye was reviewing these details when suddenly, the flap of the tent was thrown open.
Yu Fulan returned, dust-covered from the journey, and whispered a few words to Cui Ye. He immediately looked up.
“Bring them in.”
Yu Fulan nodded. He knew the Crown Prince wished to meet these people. Since the prince could not leave the tent, Yu Fulan had the arduous task of escorting them from Longxing Prefecture.
When these men entered, had Meng Xizhao been present, he would surely have exclaimed: “The local officials!”
The local officials were still the same, but their subordinates had all been replaced. The last time they had entered Longxing Prefecture, the local soldiers had seen their faces. One familiar face might not draw attention—but an entire group of familiar faces would be far too conspicuous.
They changed their personnel, conspired carefully, even changed clothes. Inspired by Jin Sanzang, the officials disguised themselves as itinerant merchants. This time, they looked even more convincing than before.
Yet no matter how well they disguised themselves, they could not compare to the palace guards of the Front Hall and Imperial City.
From the moment they appeared near the prefectural offices, the guards immediately sensed something amiss. Without a word, Yu Fulan quietly commanded their capture, rounding them all up.
While temporarily confining them in the prefectural hall, Yu Fulan asked Xie Yuan to inspect the captives, to see if any were recognizable. Xie Yuan immediately identified the local officials as the same men responsible for Meng Xizhao’s abduction to Nanzhao.
Yu Fulan, hearing this, decided against personally administering harsh punishment—he would leave that satisfaction to Cui Ye. How considerate of him.
Once these hardened men were dragged in and forced to kneel, Yu Fulan turned to Zhang Shuogong, giving him a look: See? Another merit earned.
Zhang Shuogong remained silent, turning his head and refusing to acknowledge Yu Fulan.
They both stood quietly, while Cui Ye, after inspecting each of the men’s faces, suddenly fixed his gaze on the local official.
This was the man responsible for Meng Xizhao’s kidnapping to Nanzhao, plunging him into seven days of agonizing uncertainty, as though wandering through hell.
“Life or death,” when experienced, means nothing else—only the terror of death.
Cui Ye barely remembered how he had managed to arrive here himself, yet he kept his eyes firmly on this man, considering him the most despicable person alive.
Though he already knew Meng Xizhao’s current situation and had been fully briefed by Xie Yuan, leaving this man alive was useless.
Yet Cui Ye still commanded those nearby, “Torture him. Make him confess everything he knows.”
A lowly guard immediately responded. As for the prince’s tent being his sleeping quarters—he didn’t care. The prince’s orders were absolute.
Back at the camp, Ding Chun and Zhan Buxiu heard screams echoing from the Crown Prince’s tent.
Ding Chun: “……”
He thought this seemed excessive. Torture could not be carried out so openly—other soldiers hearing it might leave with the impression that the Crown Prince was cruel.
He shook his head and explained to Zhan Buxiu, “I heard they captured Nanzhao spies—the very ones who kidnapped Meng Xizhao.”
Zhan Buxiu’s furrowed brow relaxed instantly. “Ah, in that case, this is still mild.”
Ding Chun: “…………”
One after another, they seemed to enjoy using torture.
Really—these people were of no use. Why not just dig a pit and bury them alive?
The local official’s subordinates could not endure. Some began pleading for mercy, offering all the information they knew. Yet Cui Ye stared expressionlessly, unmoved by their words.
By now, the area before the tent was a gruesome mess of blood and flesh, yet Cui Ye’s expression remained unchanged—he did not even blink.
Soon, the other subordinates could no longer endure it. Their wretched screams even reached the guards outside, stirring uneasy sympathy, yet no one in the tent reacted.
Not only did Cui Ye remain unmoved, the local official also uttered not a single word.
This was a tough nut. To withstand such excruciating pain and remain silent meant that even if tortured to death, he would not reveal a word. Likely, he would believe until his last breath that he had remained steadfast, protecting his country and upholding his principles.
Cui Ye studied him for a moment, then suddenly turned to Yu Fulan. “Has he met Xie Yuan yet?”
Yu Fulan paused, realizing why Cui Ye asked, and smiled faintly. “No. Chief Secretary Xie was very busy. I only let him glance at the prisoner outside the cell, fearing any mishap, so I didn’t allow him inside.”
Cui Ye, hearing this, relaxed slightly in his seat, propping his head on one hand. “Then why are you still standing there? Go fetch him.”
Yu Fulan, eager to oblige, quickly stepped outside.
Longxing Prefecture wasn’t far. Yu Fulan rode swiftly, and by nightfall he had brought Xie Yuan along. To save time, they rode together, and the wind nearly froze Xie Yuan’s face.
Upon entering the tent, Xie Yuan barely had time to steady himself before Yu Fulan pushed him toward the local official.
The official knelt weakly, near death. Seeing a pair of feet suddenly appear, he instinctively lifted his head.
When he recognized Xie Yuan’s face, his eyes widened in disbelief, his throat dry like a broken bellows. “You… you—”
Xie Yuan, knowing why Yu Fulan had brought him, calmly introduced himself. “It’s been some days. Previously, due to certain circumstances, I could not reveal my true name. I am Xie Yuan, Chief Secretary of Longxing Prefecture.”
The official’s mind went numb.
In an instant, he recalled the words of the innkeeper at the Longxing Prefecture tavern—the woman who had spoken to him before.
Meng Xizhao was young, with a tender face, rosy lips, and white teeth—a noble who had never suffered hardship.
It was him.
It was him…
How could it be him?! He had kidnapped Meng Xizhao without realizing his true identity. And now, this person… this person was in Ningren Prefecture! Beside the princess, in the imperial palace!
Upon realizing this, the official’s eyes burned with fury, his teeth clenched in a desire to bite Xie Yuan: “You wretches! Nanzhao will not let you escape! One day, Nanzhao will exterminate all the people of Qi!”
Xie Yuan merely smiled faintly. “Instead of hoping for that, you might hope that Qi is merciful. When they crush Nanzhao, they will not leave you in the same state you now wish upon all the Nanzhao people.”