Chapter 205: The Storm Approaches

The mansion of the Prefect of Chan Prefecture, the sleeping hall.

Candlelight blazed, yet it could not dispel the heavy, deathly air that permeated every corner.

Chai Rong had sunk completely into a coma, his breath so faint it was barely detectable, only the slightest rise and fall of his chest proving that this once mighty lord still clung to life.

Several imperial physicians gathered beside the couch, taking turns feeling his pulse, all with grim faces, shaking their heads and sighing.

Wang Pu stood guard outside the door, like a stone statue, his white-streaked beard and hair trembling slightly in the crosswind.

He listened to the low-voiced exchange of the physicians inside, those phrases 'pulse scattered' and 'oil exhausted, lamp dry' striking his heart like cold needles.

Outside the hall, the senior officers who had been permitted to enter the mansion and await news—Han Tong, Zhang Yongde, and others—stood in full armor, silent and solemn.

No one spoke.

Every face was etched with gravity and unease.

The air seemed to have an invisible string pulled taut; any tiny movement could snap it.

Chen Wen stood at the front of the military formation, eyes observing nose, nose observing heart, his countenance calm.

But if someone looked closely, they would see that his hand hanging at his side had slightly curled fingers, revealing that his inner state was far from the calm he showed.

The intelligence Qian Gui had obtained was like a precise map, clearly laying out the path of the impending storm before him.

Three days later, at the chen hour, the fabricated military report.

Chen Bridge Station, at the third watch of the zi hour, the yellow robe was bestowed.

Wang Yansheng, 'Gloom Shadow' interception.

And there was the 'Wind Listener' of the Qingyun Temple.

Everything was now clear.

Now, it was a race against time, and who could hold their nerve better.

He slightly lifted his gaze, sweeping over the civil officials opposite, landing on Zhao Kuangyin standing forward.

Zhao Kuangyin likewise wore military attire, his waist ramrod straight, his face revealing no expression.

But Chen Wen keenly caught the occasional glance the other cast toward the sleeping hall—the fleeting anxiety in his eyes, and the fingers unconsciously rubbing the hilt of his sword hidden in his sleeve.

He was waiting.

Waiting for that final moment to arrive.

Waiting for that letter that would thrust him into the eye of the storm and also give him a 'legitimate' pretext to leave Chan Prefecture and head for Chen Bridge—the fabricated 'Northern Invasion' military report.

"Soon..."

Chen Wen murmured silently in his heart.

Just then, a eunuch hurried out from the sleeping hall, approached Wang Pu, and whispered a few words.

Wang Pu's body trembled imperceptibly.

He slowly turned his body, facing all the civil and military officials waiting in the corridor.

His gaze swept slowly over the crowd, and finally, in that hoarse, heavy voice, he announced the news everyone had anticipated yet still felt as a tremendous shock to the heart.

"Prefect... he may not survive the night."

"Everyone, hold your posts, steady the hearts of the army and the people, to guard against... the unforeseen."

As his words fell, the corridor filled with a suppressed intake of breath.

Although they had been prepared, when this moment truly arrived, that sense of heaven and earth collapsing, of panic and emptiness, instantly seized each person.

The heavens of the Later Zhou were truly about to change.

Han Tong clenched his fists tightly and looked at Chen Wen.

Zhang Yongde drew a deep breath, his gaze meeting Wang Pu's for an instant, and he gave a slight nod.

In Zhao Kuangyin's eyes, a flash of light mixed with tension, excitement, and ambition burst forth, but he quickly suppressed it.

"Your subordinate obeys orders!"

All replied in unison, their voices echoing in the empty corridor, carrying an indescribable solemnity.

The crowd began to disperse slowly, each carrying complex thoughts, returning to their posts or making final preparations.

Chen Wen was about to turn and leave when Wang Pu called out to him.

"Wenzhong, stay."

Chen Wen stopped his steps and looked at Wang Pu.

Wang Pu stepped closer, lowered his voice so only the two of them could hear.

"Wenzhong, Prefect... perhaps tonight."

"Chan Prefecture, and indeed the whole realm, what tomorrow will look like depends entirely on your decisions."

"I ask for nothing else, only that you... not betray the Prefect's dying wish, not betray the trust of Chan Prefecture's millions of soldiers and civilians."

Chen Wen looked at Wang Pu's eyes, bloodshot yet unusually clear, and clasped his hands solemnly.

"Mr. Wang, rest assured, Wen, I have it in mind."

"I will exert my utmost effort to safeguard the greater situation."

Wang Pu gave him a deep look, said no more, turned and walked back to the door of the sleeping hall permeated with the scent of medicine and death, continuing his watch.

Chen Wen left the Prefect's mansion and looked up.

The sky had grown dark at some point, leaden clouds hanging low over the city walls, muffled thunder rolling deep within them, the air filled with the earthy scent that precedes a storm.

The mountain rain is about to come, the wind fills the tower.

He swung onto his horse and ordered his personal guards.

"Return to the mansion."

"Also, notify Shi Dun, have him send a team of absolutely reliable men holding my command to watch Lord Zhao Kuangyin's western villa, and... the Qingyun Temple."

"Report any movement immediately."

"Yes!"

The chief of the personal guard received the order and immediately dispersed to act.

Chen Wen rode his horse along the street that had suddenly become deserted.

Most shops had closed early, the populace hurried along, their faces showing obvious panic.

News of Chai Rong's critical condition spread through the city like a plague.

In troubled times, a change of rulers often means the start of turmoil and slaughter.

No one can remain aloof.

Occasionally, a townsfolk who recognized Chen Wen would pause from afar, gazing with a mix of hope and worry, but dare not approach.

That fiery, fire‑like popular spirit, too, seemed to contract its scorching heat under the city's oppressive atmosphere, becoming deep, dense, and heavy, like lava gathering power.

Chen Wen could feel that the speed of the fortune‑momentum vortex within him had not slowed; instead, under this immense pressure, it became more substantial.

The growth progress bar remained steady at 28%.

He knew this was merely a brief calm before the storm.

Returning to the temporary residence, Qian Gui appeared again like a shadow.

"Lord, the Azure Cloud Temple has been surrounded; the temple master shows no movement, seemingly unaware yet."

"At Zhao Kuangyin's annex, several groups entered secretly this afternoon; they are likely his core followers."

"The North Gate has also been reinforced with triple the personnel, all unfamiliar faces mixed among the city guards and merchants."

Chen Wen removed his damp outer robe while listening to the report.

"Very good."

"Tell the scouting brothers: whatever they see or hear, without my order, they must not act rashly."

"We must wait."

"Wait for the 'military intelligence' to arrive, wait for Zhao Kuangyin to reveal himself."

"Yes."

Qian Gui replied, then added another sentence.

"That prisoner has awakened. His mental state is unstable, alternating between mania and drowsiness, constantly muttering words like 'key' and 'signal'."

Chen Wen furrowed his brow slightly.

"Keep an eye on him, don't let him die. Perhaps... at a critical moment he might still be of use."

"Understood."

Qian Gui withdrew silently.

Chen Wen walked to the window and opened it.

The cold, moisture‑laden wind rushed in, stirring the hair on his forehead.

In the distance, a pallid bolt of lightning tore through the dark clouds, briefly illuminating the gloomy Chen Prefecture City.

Following closely, rolling thunder rumbled like war drums, striking every heart.

He knew this sky‑enveloping downpour was about to pour forth.

He, Zhao Kuangyin, and even the hidden Iron Crow Army would all engage in the final battle amidst the rain.

The victor takes all; the loser…… loses life and the Dao.

He lightly clenched his fist, feeling the endless surge of power within, as well as the deep, heavy fortune‑momentum.

His gaze, sharp as a blade.

"Come on."