Chapter 168: The Dust Has Settled; Humble Origins Are Not Shameful

A line of soldiers surged into the hall like a tidal wave.

They were all towering figures, wielding long spears and clad in heavy iron armor, their steps firm and unyielding.

Upon closer inspection, the armor was extraordinarily heavy—estimating over thirty catties in weight, entirely black, radiating an aura of inviolable majesty.

On both sides of the armor were engraved taotie patterns.

The Black Iron Army of the Northern Army's Five Camps!

Within the capital, power structures were intricate and intertwined, clearly divided into a tripod of forces: apart from the elite Gold Guard under Dong Jie, the City Gate Captain under Dong Lu could not be underestimated, and yet another force originated from the former Eight Camps, now reduced to only Five.

Within the Northern Army's Five Camps, struggles for authority intensified, led chiefly by southern aristocratic clans and high-ranking court ministers, each harboring hidden agendas.

Among the three factions, the City Gate Captain, favored by the Grand Empress Dowager, held the strongest position, while the Gold Guard, personally established by the Emperor, had slightly declined, occupying the lowest rank.

Yu Chen, long seasoned in officialdom and well-versed in the undercurrents of all factions, felt puzzled.

Logically, under the Emperor's decree, apart from the Gold Guard, the Imperial Guard should have been deployed.

Yet it was the Northern Army's Five Camps—this was suspicious.

Yu Chen had a persistent feeling that today's capital was growing increasingly turbulent beneath the surface.

Above the capital, an invisible haze seemed to hang, turning the struggle between the Emperor and the Grand Empress Dowager into a game of national destiny and power transition.

The downfall of the Western Depot had been the Emperor's opening move—a single piece placed, stirring new turmoil in the capital and making the path to imperial authority even more obscure.

And at the center of this whirlpool.

Yu Chen's gaze was fixed on the middle-aged figure in the courtyard—the Lu Shaobao, who had come from Mount Zhongnan into the capital.

Like a massive stone cast into a lake, it stirred up great waves.

Behind the screen, Xie Lingxuan's brows furrowed slightly, then relaxed—she had sensed the subtle pulse of the situation, yet it remained as elusive as viewing flowers through mist, impossible to grasp fully.

Zou Shuning was filled with anxiety, watching the scene unfold; the dust had settled, and change was unlikely.

Wang Shi'an, witnessing the soldiers filing in one after another, gradually wore a near-maniacal grin on his face, shouting loudly, his voice shaking the rafters:

"Lu Chen, surrender yourself!"

Lu Yu's eyes grew colder, like winter ice.

Zhang Lin looked up, her gaze piercing through the crowd to the entrance, where the Black Iron Army parted like a tide, clearing a path.

A middle-aged general approached.

The general was tall and broad, clad in heavy armor, his nose high and sharp like a hanging gourd, his brow brimming with martial vigor; even without speaking, he radiated an aura of silent authority.

Zhang Lin's heart tightened—she had not expected this man to appear in person: another pivotal figure in the capital—Northern Army's Middle Commander Deng Ping.

Another figure as powerful as Dai Zhong.

Once, the Northern Army's Middle Commander had been merely a supervisory post, yet it had quietly risen above the Four Captains to become the de facto leader of the Northern Army's Five Camps.

This transformation stemmed entirely from Deng Ping himself.

Xie Linghao was also surprised—he had not anticipated the visitor to be Deng Ping, the Northern Army's Middle Commander who had been close to his father.

Silence fell over the courtyard!

You looked up—the pure white haedongqing had flown back from the hall and landed steadily on your shoulder.

Yet there was no note on its claws; instead, it affectionately rubbed its head against your cheek.

You smiled faintly.

At this moment, you stood out conspicuously.

Wang Shi'an, seeing this, curled his lips into a cold sneer, privately mocking your pretense of calm—Deng Ping was a figure both the Emperor and the Grand Empress Dowager sought to court, backed by the great southern aristocratic clans!

You're merely putting on a show!

Wei Yue looked tense; the growing number of soldiers made her instinctively hide behind the two of you, seeking a sliver of reassurance.

Lu Yu remained composed, arms crossed, observing the crowd with an unreadable gaze.

Yu Chen and the others hurried to bow before this high-ranking Northern Army Middle Commander, for Deng Ping's rank surpassed even that of the Minister of Justice by one level.

But!

Yet Deng Ping's expression was grave, his eyes fixed on the two of you.

Seeing this, everyone suppressed their thoughts, daring not to disturb him at this critical moment.

Deng Ping slowly entered the courtyard, each step heavy; the Dali Temple officials immediately cleared a path, fearing any misstep might anger this powerful general.

Deng Ping drew nearer to you, and everyone held their breath.

Zhang Lin felt today's losses were trivial—this whole chain of events was overwhelming her heart.

Especially in this atmosphere, with so many powerful figures gathered.

Then—

Deng Ping bowed deeply, performing the highest reverence.

"Deng Ping, pays homage to the Shaobao."

His words were filled with reverence and respect, utterly devoid of any intent to arrest.

You nodded slightly.

"This…?" Wang Shi'an's voice trembled with shock; he snapped his head up, eyes blazing with disbelief.

He had never imagined the Northern Army's Middle Commander would act this way—this scene shattered his entire understanding!

"How is this possible!" he blurted out, astonishment plain on his face.

Yu Chen was equally stunned; today's sudden turns came like a downpour, leaving him helpless.

His mind churned with countless questions—how could this be?

Weren't the Northern Army's Five Camps ordered to arrest Lu Chen?

Another twist!

Even Yu Chen, seasoned through decades of turmoil, found today's sudden turn utterly inconceivable.

Dai Zhong's expression remained calm, as if he had foreseen all of this.

Deng Ping ignored the reactions of those present and spoke slowly:

"Deng Ping was once merely a squad leader in the garrison at Hulao Pass, fortunate enough to have received orders outside the Shaobao's tent. Later, for reasons unknown, I was reassigned back to the capital."

In the military, the lowest rank was the squad leader—five men formed a squad, ten squads formed a company, and those commanding twenty to fifty men were called squad leaders.

You studied Deng Ping closely; fifteen years had blurred memories, yet the note you had just received mentioned his name and past.

He was not a member of the Lu family army, merely a garrison commander at Hulao Pass who had participated in the Northern Wind Campaign.

Deng Ping's voice rose again, tinged with nostalgia: "To be honest, I'm ashamed—I was merely a lowly squad leader, of no rank, never even granted the chance to see the Shaobao's face."

"The Shaobao once said: 'Humble origins are not shameful; true men know when to yield and when to stand firm.' I have remembered these words all these years."

Once a mere squad leader, now the Northern Army's Middle Commander, rank of Middle Two Thousand Stones.

You listened, then nodded slightly.

"I know your name."

Upon hearing your words, Deng Ping's eyes brightened.

(End of Chapter)