Chapter 781

Shanhai Pass was not held.

It was not breached by attack.

It was when Xu Da and Tang He evacuated the last batch of severely wounded from the pass, preparing to detonate the thousands of jin of explosives previously buried beneath the city walls' foundations, to perish together with the Qing vanguard that had stormed inside—

The ground beneath their feet split open.

Not a burrow of the earth‑digging beasts.

It was a larger‑scale stratum collapse.

It seemed as if the crust of the entire Yanshan remnant range had been shaken and torn apart by some unimaginable force from deep within the earth.

The massive fissure, centered on Shanhai Pass, spread outward along the eastern and western mountain ridges.

In the deafening roar, the mighty walls of the pass crumbled like blocks pushed over by a child—section by section, they collapsed, slid, and plunged into the bottomless chasm.

The pre‑placed explosives were detonated early, only worsening this geological disaster.

Smoke and dust mixed with azure‑blue light columns shot up into the sky, veiling half the heavens.

The retreating Ming troops, together with the frenzied Qing vanguard that had stormed the pass seeking to seize it, were buried together beneath the millions of jin of collapsing earth and stone.

That was no longer war.

It was a natural disaster.

Or rather, it was a ruthless, precise "revision" of the world's very rules, driven by the will of the Iron Crow Army.

When the surviving scout‑riders sent back to Ying Tian the barest, trembling words describing this apocalyptic scene—

The Qing army's massive main force—a horde of mutant beasts, war slaves, and hitherto unseen twisted units—appeared at the old Longtan Guard site thirty li north of Ying Tian, only three days away.

Ying Tian, on the banks of the Yangtze, the heart of the Great Ming.

This city, which gathered Zhu Yuanzhang's lifelong painstaking effort and decades of construction, now faced for the first time a thoroughly inhuman death threat issuing from the bitter cold lands of the north.

There were none of the anticipated layered defenses.

No prolonged peripheral battle to wear down the enemy's vigor.

The Qing army—or rather, the Yuneng Pollution itself—moved with near‑"teleportation" speed; after tearing apart Shanhai Pass, causing crustal instability and a massive pollution outbreak across hundreds of li, its main force followed the pollution's spread like a azure‑blue flood, sweeping over the virtually defenseless Jiangbei plain.

Beacon towers, forts, and garrisoned troops, before that overwhelming force accompanied by geological catastrophe, were as flimsy as paper.

"Your Majesty! Enemy battalions have been spotted outside the North Gate, Yi Feng Gate, and Jin Chuan Gate!"

"Unidentified shadows have appeared on the river; the naval scout boats have lost contact!"

"Civilians outside the city are desperately rushing in, all gates are jammed!"

The urgent military dispatches shattered the last sliver of hope in the Wuying Hall.

Zhu Yuanzhang donned armor and ascended the morning gate tower.

No need for a spyglass.

To the north, where heaven meets earth, a sluggish, constantly roiling azure‑gray has spread over everything.

It is not merely dust kicked up by troops.

It is the land dying, the air being poisoned, and a "field" that transcends physical limits spreading.

Closer in, the writhing, indescribable outlines along the edge of the pollution field can already be seen.

Larger than war slaves, more twisted than earth‑digging beasts.

Some of them still faintly reveal the skeletal frames of giant elephants, oxen, even humans, but all are overgrown with crystal clusters, exposed writhing muscles, and extra organs continually dripping slime.

When they move, the earth transmits a dull resonance.

"Close the city gates."

Zhu Yuanzhang's voice rang unusually clear upon the dead‑silent city walls.

"All city gates—drop the thousand‑jin bars, pour in molten iron to seal them shut."

"Except for the water gates leading to the Yangtze, which retain limited passage, Ying Tian… shall be entry‑only, no exit."

The orders were swiftly carried out.

The heavy barriers crashed down, cutting off the last batch of refugees' wails and even more desperate gazes from outside.

This metropolis that held over a million souls became an island, a fortress about to face a storm.

"City defense deployment—execute according to Plan Jia."

"Xu Da."

"Here I am." Xu Da, covered in dust with his left arm bandaged, stepped forward—he was among the final group of commanders who fled south by ship before the collapse of Shanhai Pass.

"You shall oversee the city's entire defense, focusing on the north and west sides."

"Tang He."

"Here I am."

"You are responsible for internal patrols, grain and supply allocation, supervision of armaments, and suppressing any possible disturbance."

"Li Shan‑chang."

The elderly minister stepped forward, his complexion ashen but his eyes resolute.

"You shall hold the central command, coordinate the departments, and pacify the people's hearts."

"Liu Ji."

"Here I am." In Liu Ji's eyes lay rapid calculation and a faint, barely perceptible tremor; he sensed more clearly than anyone the "unnatural" nature of the force outside the city.

"All artisans and students of the Investigation of Things Institute are to be conscripted into the 'Skill and Valor Corps,' which you will command. Every stockpile and any newly producible firearms and generators—spare no expense—shall bolster the city's defenses, especially… against threats from below and from above."

"Your servant, I receive the order!"

No bombastic declarations—only the most concise orders and acknowledgments.

Time is more pressing than the enemy's blades.

In the coming twelve shichen, Ying Tian turned into a frantically turning war workshop.

On the streets, soldiers and conscripted laborers flowed incessantly, transporting rolling stones, logs, fire oil, and all manner of siege equipment onto the city walls.

The arsenal's steam engines rumbled nonstop day and night, the hammering sounds unceasing.

On the battlements, heavy cannons were set up every fifty paces, the gaps filled with numerous light falconets and medium bowl-mouth guns.

Arrays of energy neutralization generators were densely deployed at key points; a golden halo stretched across the battlements, thin yet tenaciously resisting the increasingly dense, corrosive-feeling etheric mist in the air.

At the water gate, the last supply ship, under escort of gunboats, daringly docked, unloading sack after sack of food and crate after crate of lead shot and gunpowder, then hastily carried away a batch of civil officials' families and copies of important documents—this was Zhu Yuanzhang's final spark left for civilization.

Zhu Yuanzhang himself, after completing the deployments, returned to the imperial palace.

But he did not go to the sleeping chambers.

He ascended the highest structure in the palace—the observatory platform of the Imperial Observatory.

Here, at this moment, is the best place to overlook the entire city.

Dusk gathered.

Beyond the city, the azure light grew ever clearer, waxing and waning like a breath.

There were no shouts, no clamor.

That silence of death was more heart‑pounding than any battle cry.

He could see that some shadows, as large as hills, were slowly and steadily moving forward.

They were units that had never appeared in any battle report.

He could even see, farther out in the sky, several floating points of azure light emitting strong energy fluctuations.

Like… some kind of node, or an eye.

"Your Majesty, the night wind is bitterly cold; please return to the hall," the old eunuch urged in a low voice.

Zhu Yuanzhang shook his head.

"I am right here."

"Watch them come."

"Watch us defend."

He leaned on the cold railing, his gaze sweeping over the city at his feet that he had built with his own hands.

Myriad household lights flickered on in turn despite the panic, intertwining with the patrol torches on the walls and the unextinguished furnace fires of the workshops.

This is the light of mankind.

Beyond the city, however, lay an icy blue emanating from another 'rule'.

He knew this might be his final battle.

Not as the Hongwu Emperor.

But as Zhu Yue, the soul from the future who knew history yet was ultimately drawn into this trans‑historical showdown.

He had changed much, yet it seemed he still could not break free of that invisible net.

"Iron Crow Army…"

He whispered the name he had learned from the fractured signals of the Chen dynasty.

"What is it that you truly want?"

No one answered.

Only from the north came a low, prolonged wail—no sound any known creature could make—penetrating the mist, faintly audible.

Like a bugle call before a general assault.

On the battlements of Ying Tian City, all the cannons slowly adjusted their aim.

The defenders gripped their weapons tightly.

The arrow is nocked on the bow.

The final moment arrived as the last glimmer of sunset on the Yangtze faded away.