Chapter 292: Its Fall Was Sudden Indeed

Hanzhong is wedged between the Qinling and Ba Mountains — mountains are the one thing it never lacks. The hills are sparsely peopled; locals can't step outside without climbing a slope or descending a bank. They are largely self-sufficient and rarely have any contact with the outside world. The cost of sending officials in to collect taxes is far too high, so the authorities simply treat them as mountain folk and wild men, never entering them on the household registers.

Some people living in the deepest recesses of the great mountains go a whole generation or two without ever coming out — it's quite possible they don't even know the Han dynasty has fallen. These ranges have also become a place where filth and villainy hide away. Not only do bandits flee into them and recluses who have renounced the world make their homes there, but men fleeing for their lives also take cover among them.

Near Nanzheng there is a mountain called Mount Dingjun. In the future it will be famous far and wide; for now it is utterly obscure. The mountain is not especially high, but ridge upon folded ridge, with ancient trees soaring into the sky on its flanks, the scenery is secluded and serene.

Beneath one of those great trees lay a den — impossible to tell if it belonged to a bear or a wolf. A tall fence had been erected outside, and a gigantic "giant" of a man stood guard there. He was butchering a deer with his knife, carefully stripping off the hide and hanging it up. He cut off a small piece of the tender raw venison and ate it, then began slicing the meat with his blade. He also tossed a bone to the wolf he had beaten into submission — now as tame as a puppy and tethered with a vine.

As the smoke rose, the fragrance of roasting venison drifted through the area. When he judged it was about done, Juwuba cut the meat into small, perfectly square pieces, laid them on broad leaves, and, holding them in both hands, stooped to enter the cave. Inside, an old man with white hair, wrapped in a hemp blanket, was staring blankly at a crude, wildly inaccurate map he had scratched before the fire.

Juwuba knelt and bowed his head to the ground: "Your Majesty, please eat."

Although they had ultimately left the Tangluo Road, Hanzhong was under attack by the Greenwood forces and had descended into chaos. It was only thanks to Juwuba's loyalty and courage — carrying him on his back as they hid from place to place, following the Marquis of Shuofu, Cui Fa — that they had burrowed into this Mount Dingjun to take temporary refuge.

Lately, word had spread outside that Wang Mang was already dead, and the mountain search parties had slackened for the moment. This was, in fact, Cui Fa's stratagem: among the common folk he had spotted an old man whose features slightly resembled Wang Mang. Keeping it from Wang Mang, he had Juwuba kill the man! They dressed the corpse in Wang Mang's tattered clothes and dumped it in a mountain gully along the road for people to discover.

And so the false Wang Mang died. The real Wang Mang, however, was not faring well. Ever since his own son had beaten him and snatched away the Imperial Seal, Wang Mang had suffered a devastating blow and grown even more paranoid. All day long he scratched maps on the ground with a wooden stick, plotting a counterattack to retake Chang'an, to the point where he forgot to eat or sleep. Only when his thirst became unbearable would he drink; only when hunger made him dizzy would he eat meat. He muttered incessantly, and the one phrase he could not get out of his mind, from dawn to dusk, was: "Has the Grand Minister of Works, Wang Yi, brought his loyal army to Chang'an yet?"

"I have thought it through. Since all my sons are traitors, I wish to pass the imperial throne to the Grand Minister of Works."

As Wang Mang chewed his venison, a rustling sound came from outside. Juwuba immediately seized his great halberd and went out — but it was only Cui Fa returning.

Cui Fa could speak the Hanzhong dialect and occasionally disguised himself as a woodcutter to go out and gather news. Every time he came back, he brought Wang Mang some fresh piece of bad tidings.

Today's news was especially dire. Cui Fa prostrated himself dejectedly before Wang Mang and, preempting the usual demand to summon Wang Yi to the rescue, told him: "Your Majesty, your servant has heard word that two months ago, the Grand Minister of Works suffered a catastrophic defeat at Kunyang and lost an army of three hundred thousand…"

"False news!" Wang Mang refused to believe it — just as, though he was clearly still alive, the outside world spread rumors that he was dead.

"Your Majesty, this matter is true — absolutely, incontrovertibly true!"

Seeing Cui Fa so certain, the old Wang Mang's body jolted. For a long while he could not utter a single word. Only after a great stretch of time did he murmur: "Wang Yi has failed me. Wang Yi has failed me!"

With Wang Yi's defeat, the last shred of hope Wang Mang clung to was utterly extinguished. Apart from these two at his side, he had now become a truly "lonely man, a widower."

He remained in a stupor for a long moment before it occurred to him to ask: "Then at that battle of Kunyang… who was the enemy general?"

Cui Fa replied: "I heard it was Liu Bosheng's younger brother, Liu Xiu."

"Liu Xiu raises troops to strike down the unprincipled…" Wang Mang suddenly recalled that Diwu Lun had mentioned this name during their question-and-answer session. He had always believed it was a forged prophetic text by Liu Xin. Could it be that, in the unseen workings of fate, this was preordained?

Wang Mang suddenly burst into loud laughter, then into wailing sobs. He rose and stumbled out of the cave, lifting his head to gaze at the sky through the gaps in the tree shadows. Clenching his fists, he swung his arms in a furious rage and demanded: "Is the Mandate of Heaven truly not with me?!"

…

By the time mid-August arrived, looking across the realm, the Xin Dynasty's Mandate of Heaven had indeed utterly vanished. The last remaining sign that this dynasty had not yet been completely wiped out was the "Xin" banner atop the walls of Chenggao — but under the Greenwood siege, even that was hanging by a thread.

"Grand Minister of Works, resist no longer in this hopeless corner."

The former Grand Preceptor of the Xin Dynasty, who had now renamed himself "Wang Kuang," stood on an earthen mound outside the city, shouting into the fortress on behalf of Wang Kuang, urging surrender.

"The Han Gengshi Son of Heaven has dispatched the Duke Who Stabilizes the State to attack Luoyang. The Colonel-Director of Retainers shakes the region; the heroes within the Four Seas rise up as one in response, all slaying their provincial governors and adopting the Han reign era, awaiting the imperial decrees. Within a single month, this has spread throughout Yu Province."

Wang Kuang shouted with great zeal: "Grand Minister of Works, look to the north — across the great river, Diwu Lun's troops have already taken Henei and Hedong. Wang Xun has been routed; Bing, Ji, and You Provinces are cut off."

"Look again to the east — Chenliu has already fallen to the Han; Qing, Yan, and Xu Provinces are cut off."

"And to the west — Hanzhong has been breached, Wang Mang has been killed, and his head hangs in the Wan market. The Son of Heaven has dispatched the Grand Chancellor Liu Bosheng, the Great General Who Screens the West Shentu Jian, and the Chancellor's Scribe Li Song to attack Chang'an. Hongnong has already surrendered, Wu Pass has already opened; Yong Province and Yizhou — cut off!"

"In all the realm, no one still raises the Xin banner. Only you, Grand Minister of Works, remain trapped and besieged in Chenggao, doomed to perish at any moment. Have you forgotten how the Han celestial troops were utterly unstoppable at the battle of Kunyang? Why do you still dare to act like a mantis trying to block a chariot?"

The soldiers joined him in shouting, and every word struck the ears, each sentence capable of shattering the fighting will of countless men within the city.

On the city wall, the Grand Minister of Works Wang Yi was also listening. His face looked as though he had aged ten years. Over these past two months, he had dreamed of Kunyang every single day — dreamed of that uncanny weather, the meteor that tore through the night sky, and the Han general who, with a mere three thousand men, had dared charge his army of three hundred thousand!

Like dry weeds crushed and dead wood snapped, like earth crumbling and tiles shattering — it had all happened far too fast.

And the soldiers who had fled here with him had contracted a peculiar malady: the moment they saw clouds pressing low or sensed a fierce storm approaching, they trembled with uncontrollable fear.

"Bearer of the Gilded Mace, Assistant General Xiu" — those were the words on the banner of the man who had routed the Xin army that day.

It was fortunate that Wang Yi had not spotted that banner among the Greenwood forces outside the city; otherwise, morale inside would have collapsed long ago and they would have surrendered outright!

After the defeat at Kunyang, his men had long since lost all fighting spirit. Even when Wang Yi wanted to pull them back to the Guanzhong region to rescue the emperor, he could not make them obey orders. The Greenwood forces struck at Luoyang first. Wang Yi wished to relieve it and personally led his troops in a brilliant engagement, annihilating several hundred arrogant and careless Greenwood vanguard soldiers — but it was of no avail.

Although Chenggao is a strategically vital pass — with the Si River to the east, it is called "Tiger's Cage" — that reputation only held when it had Luoyang, Henan, and ultimately the Guanzhong heartland behind it, providing an endless stream of troops and provisions. Only under those circumstances could the long standoff between Han Gao and Xiang Yu have occurred here.

But now, cut off in all four directions, what use was a solitary isolated pass? Wait for reinforcements? Hadn't Wang Kuang just said — looking across the realm, this place was the only spot in the Central Plains still flying the banner of the Xin…

"Father, why not simply surrender!"

Wang Yi's son, the Palace Attendant Wang Mu — whom Wang Mang had sent to summon him to the emperor's aid — made this suggestion. But he was not urging surrender to the Greenwood forces, for the Han regarded the Xin as usurping rebels, and they would likely face death even if they surrendered: "Your son has heard that Dou, the Duke of Zhou, has gone to the Guanzhong region and submitted to Diwu Lun…"

Well, that certainly confirmed Wang Yi's suspicions about Dou Rong — he had indeed thrown in his lot with that rebel Diwu long ago!

Wang Mu merely knelt, weeping and sniveling as he pleaded: "Dou Rong is, after all, a relative of our family — your son's own maternal uncle. Father, why not break out of the city with your son, cross the river to Henei or Hedong, and seek refuge with…"

Before the words were fully out, Wang Yi suddenly drew his sword and stabbed his son in the arm, drawing blood. Wang Mu recoiled in terror, scrambling backward.

"I am a minister of the Xin — how could I consort with rebels?"

Wang Yi was now somewhat deranged, brandishing his sword wildly as he drove away his subordinates: "Whoever wishes to surrender to that rebel Diwu, whoever wishes to surrender to the Greenwood rabble — all of you, get out!"

Seeing that he recognized neither kin nor friend, the men scattered like birds and beasts, Wang Mu among them. Only Wang Yi remained, stumbling and staggering toward the city's granary.

The sole reason he had been able to hold out this long was that, after retreating here in defeat, he had moved all the grain from Ao Granary into Chenggao. Now, as everyone fled in separate directions, Wang Yi kicked aside the stupefied grain officer, grabbed two torches, and strode in holding one in each hand.

He stretched out his left hand and set a sack of grain alight.

"Anyone else may surrender — I alone cannot."

Wang Yi stretched out his right hand and let the piled-up cloth catch the flames.

"I am His Majesty's cousin. I styled myself the finest general under heaven, yet I lost an army of three hundred thousand and betrayed his weighty expectations. I have no face left to live in this world."

He walked over to the jars filled with oil, smashed them, and let the viscous oil flow out, then tossed a torch onto it.

"Yet though I am incompetent, I am not so shameless as that Wang Kuang!"

The Xin Dynasty's Grand Minister of Works, Wang Yi, brandished his torches, setting fire everywhere inside the granary. The flames gradually spread. Unhusked grain began to burn, golden millet kernels blackening one by one into charcoal; silk and cloth shrank violently.

A dragon of fire rampaged through the granary, thick smoke rolling. The Greenwood forces seized the moment to begin their assault. Chenggao descended into utter chaos — some fled, some surrendered, and no one had the attention to spare to fight the fire.

And Wang Yi stood in the midst of the warehouse, now a sea of flame, laughing uproariously. Fire danced across his clothes, his hair, his armor. The burning man twisted his limbs in a grotesque, flailing dance, until at last he toppled with a crash, his head facing west, as though prostrating himself in a full kowtow toward the Chang'an that had borne all their dreams.

A roof beam collapsed and crushed him beneath it. And so Wang Yi, together with over a hundred thousand shi of grain, was reduced to ashes!

He was the third high minister of the Xin, after Yan You and Tian Kuang, to die for the dynasty. The crimson Han banners flooded over the city walls like flames, and the soldiers cheered as they hacked down that lone Xin flag.

The banner of the Earth Virtue toppled limply onto the city gate, trampled under countless hooves and marching feet.

With the fall of Chenggao, the remnant Xin loyalists in the Central Plains were swept clean by every faction within a mere two months, reduced to the dust of history.

……

The great fire at Chenggao burned for a long time before it was extinguished. A strong wind caught these last embers of the Xin Dynasty and carried them across the river to Henei Commandery. Diwu Lun had already moved his seat here. Standing at Meng Ford, where King Wu of Zhou once crossed the river to punish Zhou, he gazed at the faint, half-real glow of flames on the opposite shore. He rolled up his kingly robe, stretched out his hand, and his fingertips seemed to brush against a trace of ash.

Diwu Lun, who had personally dealt Wang Mang the fatal backstab, now felt, at this very moment, a surprising touch of sorrow. He sighed:

"When Yu and Tang faulted themselves, their rise was swift; when Jie and Zhou faulted others, their fall was sudden! Whether Wang Mang is dead or not, the Xin Dynasty has thus come to an end."

Truly, this was a dynasty worthy of deep reflection by transmigrators. Diwu Lun hoped that, in the end, it would be his own regime that wrote the history of this short-lived court.

But this melancholy lasted only a brief moment. Diwu Lun turned around and looked down at Ai Zhang, who was prostrating himself before him. He sneered: "State General, Duke of Meixin — Wang Yi died for his country. What about you?"

Ai Zhang was in a wretched state. He had told Wang Kuang that he was going to Mount Beimang to perform a ritual, but in truth, he had slipped away along a small path to the riverbank. He crossed the river just before Luoyang fell, only to be captured by the people of Henei and presented as a prize.

The man was quite quick-witted and resourceful. He actually said: "Great King, your humble servant wished to die a martyr's death in Luoyang. I went to Mount Beimang to hang myself, and to the Yellow River to drown myself, yet each attempt ended in failure."

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"When I tried to cut my own throat, the blade suddenly bent and simply would not pierce my neck. When I tried to hang myself, the branch snapped and threw me to the ground. Left with no choice, I threw myself into the river. Just as I was about to drown, a huge white carp appeared in the water, lifted your humble servant up on its back, and carried me to the northern shore!"

Ai Zhang had stuttered a little at first, but the more he spoke, the smoother he became. He raised his head and said: "As your humble servant lay dazed upon the riverbank, I suddenly saw the Grand One Heavenly Messenger — the very one who had bestowed the talismanic auguries upon me many years ago — descend once more. He whispered to me: 'Ai Zhang, you cannot die yet!'"

This fellow, the one who had once presented Wang Mang with the golden casket of talismanic auguries and prophetic charts, the greatest storyteller of them all, now kowtowed repeatedly before Diwu Lun: "Because Ai Zhang must, by the Heavenly Messenger's command, report these auguries to the true Son of Heaven. If only you allow me to convey them, allow me to finish speaking, I shall have no regrets even in death ten thousand times over!"

Diwu Lun did not reply. He merely sat still, sipping his wine, watching the glow of flames on the opposite shore, his thoughts unreadable. It was Ai Zhang who seized this final chance at survival, saying: "In the time of Emperor Wu of Han, there was a prophecy: the house of Han would suffer the calamity of six-seven, and by law must receive the mandate anew. Which descendant of the imperial clan shall answer this? Six times seven is forty-two. The one to replace Han shall be Dang Tu Gao!"

His voice cracked as he cried: "The Heavenly Messenger said that Dang Tu Gao is not the Xin, nor is it Wang Mang — it is 'Wei'!"

……

PS: Tomorrow's update will be at 13:00.