Chapter 556: War Smoke in a Chaotic Age, the Gentleman

He Ruo Qinhu was summoned to the palace not for any other reason than that Emperor Jiang Yuan had finally grown anxious amid the widespread smoke and fire of rebellion—though the combined rebel forces numbered no more than one hundred thousand.

But they were too dense, too frequent.

It was terrifying to behold.

He Ruo Qinhu felt disappointment too; he longed to sweep his sleeve and leave, yet he could not—his daughter had come home weeping, telling him she carried the Emperor’s child, and begged him not to stand idly by.

Empress He Ruo, eyes glistening with tears, pleaded: “Father, must you let your daughter and your grandchild die in this chaotic world, all for the sake of some hollow reputation?!”

Even He Ruo Qinhu’s iron heart could not ignore his daughter’s anguish.

She was his youngest daughter, the most cherished since birth, and now with child and bloodline at stake—even if his heart burned with rage at Jiang Yuan’s deeds, he had no choice but to obey.

The Emperor treated him with utmost respect and propriety.

He offered a seat, personally poured tea; as He Ruo Qinhu held the cup, he was momentarily lost in memory—before him stood the aged yet still vigorous Dragon, that mighty Emperor of Ying.

Yet years had passed since then.

The Dragon’s bones and blood had grown cold in this chaotic world.

He Ruo Qinhu gazed at the Emperor—dressed in the same robes, young and handsome, yet wearing an expression of pleading.

Between that illusion and reality, it was as if the great sovereign had instantly become Jiang Yuan; for some reason, his heart was pierced sharply, agonizingly.

Human beings are not simple creatures.

There is baseness and greatness, courage for the realm and bravery to die for country, hesitation for gain and softness for children’s pleas—but for He Ruo Qinhu, the most unforgettable years of his life were when, as a teenager, he met Jiang Wanxiang.

Bold and open.

Six decades of war and smoke, now like a dream.

He Ruo Qinhu recalled the words Jiang Wanxiang had spoken repeatedly before death.

He said He Ruo Qinhu was entangled too deeply in human ties and obligations, that he must not be burdened by them; then he fell silent, and He Ruo Qinhu could not help but wonder—had Jiang Wanxiang already seen this possibility then?

“So, these damned, deserving-to-be-killed rebels, must be left to you, General.”

He Ruo Qinhu’s thoughts returned; he said: “...Yes.”

“Leave them to me, Your Majesty. Order the troops mobilized—I shall depart at once.”

But at that moment, He Ruo Qinhu saw hesitation and embarrassment on Jiang Yuan’s face: “General, you cannot leave this place. The chaos of the realm is raging, and the Empress is pregnant—what if traitors come here?”

He Ruo Qinhu stared at Jiang Yuan.

He too was a fierce, bold general of the battlefield; in that instant, he nearly wanted to laugh aloud and expose every cowardly fear buried in Jiang Yuan’s heart—but all he heard himself say, in silence, was:

“Most rebels are common folk, driven by hunger and thirst into rebellion; they lack armor and bows, and are unskilled in formations. Though they number ten thousand, three thousand Tiger-Marauder cavalry can crush them easily.”

“The only trouble is their excessive dispersion.”

“Set aside Dou De and Shan Xiong.”

“The rest are no threat—only need to dispatch young generals of the Fifth and Sixth Heaven realms to defeat them effortlessly.”

Jiang Yuan beamed, leaned forward, and seized He Ruo Qinhu’s arms:

“Perfect!”

“The fate of our nation rests entirely in your hands, General He Ruo!”

He Ruo Qinhu merely nodded. He was among the top five generals of the realm; in the fierce chaos before, he had roamed unchallenged, defeated only by Chen Chengbi—due to overconfidence and rashness.

Now, calm and composed, he could marshal troops: Ying’s army, if pitted against Qin’s Qilin Army, Canglang Guard, or Beiwei Corps, would be no match.

But what were these so-called rebels?

Merely untrained martial artisans, mere starving peasants who picked up knives to steal food—in this chaos, the gap between armies was as vast as mountains and seas.

Three thousand armored Qilin troops could scatter ten thousand ordinary border soldiers.

Yet those same border soldiers, with sword in hand, were among the fiercest defenders in garrison troops.

Even an army assembled merely from garrison and rebel-hunting forces—armed with armor, swords, heavy shields, bows, crossbows, some cavalry, mounted archers, and led by Fifth and Sixth Heaven-level commanders—

Was disciplined, versed in formations and tactics.

Against peasants, it was effortless.

Soon, many “rebels” were crushed; General Bai Li Chen sighed: “Just starving peasants. Thank heaven they’re only peasants—if they’d had even a scrap of martial skill like those in Qin, and gathered in such numbers, it would’ve been far harder.”

“The Qin Emperor was born of mud and soil.”

“He actually gave [swords and blades] to common peasants.”

“Foolish beyond measure—how easily we’ve won, how easily we’ve earned merit!”

He bound them, preparing to hand them over to the Emperor. When Jiang Yuan heard of the great victory, he roared with laughter: “Ha! Ha! Ha! Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!”

“These petty rebels and bandits cannot stand against the might of our Ying Heavenly Troops!”

Bai Li Chen bowed deeply: “This is because Your Majesty is favored by Heaven’s fate, touched by Heaven’s might—all directions submit. These peasants merely...”

Jiang Yuan rewarded the victorious generals, then heard of the rebels: “Where did these peasants come from? They are rebels! If rebels are not killed, how can the realm be stabilized?”

The general was speechless; as he prepared to speak, Jiang Yuan paced twice and said: “No, this cannot be—if the people see this, resistance will only grow fiercer. Will that not shame our Ying?”

“Listen to my decree!”

Jiang Yuan issued an imperial edict. The generals, upon reading it, were stunned, their faces and bodies filled with disbelief—but under heavy rewards and the Emperor’s wrath, they bowed and accepted.

After Bai Li Chen and others shattered several “rebel bands,” other peasants, seeing these troops’ terrifying discipline, found even their own numbers doubled useless against the armored, crossbow-equipped, formation-bound infantry—cut down like melons and vegetables.

Their hearts trembled with dread.

All will to fight vanished; many now wished to surrender.

Some even threw down their weapons, slipped away from the gathered forces, discarded their rebel robes, and pretended to be ordinary peasants, sneaking home.

But most were blocked by Ying’s regular troops.

Could not run; could not fight.

Only watched helplessly as the regular army, stationed outside, advanced steadily and efficiently—filled with dread, fear, and panic. Bai Li Chen sent cavalry forward, shouting:

“His Majesty, the Emperor of Ying, is benevolent. He knows you were merely misled, coerced into rebellion. Now, if you wish to surrender, return—your past crimes shall be forgiven.”

“Put down your weapons, return to your fields—you remain subjects of great Ying.”

“You shall still be under Ying’s protection!”

“But if you persist in folly, when our Heavenly Troops arrive, do not blame us for mercylessness!”

Many were moved—but the rebel leader was a Fifth Heaven peak martial hero, capable of condensing Qi into weapons, wielding superb sword techniques and deep internal energy; ordinary peasants, even a hundred at once, could not match him.

Yet the man fell silent for a long while, staring at the sharp, deadly blades outside.

He knew if he continued, his men would either starve trapped in the mountains or be slaughtered by swords; after long silence, gripping his weapon, he said: “These people followed me—how can I abandon them?”

“And save myself by my martial skill?”

He shouted to Bai Li Chen: “How do we know you speak truth?!”

Bai Li Chen raised a bright yellow jade scroll, shouting:

“We have His Majesty’s imperial edict!”

“His word is gold—how could it be false?!”

Jiang Yuan ordered those who surrendered first to swear oaths before the statue of the Ruixiang in Tongxuan Temple.

Those who surrendered would not be killed.

Even the hero was spared; hearing this, many desperate rebel troops, driven to the brink, surrendered within weeks.

Jiang Yuan buried them all alive at Huangting Ravine.

Over thirty thousand dead.

The dying cried: “Emperor, how can you break your word?!”

Bai Li Chen answered with Jiang Yuan’s reply: “Doesn’t military strategy say deception is acceptable?”

The rebel leader, who had surrendered for the sake of common folk, raged in grief, flung his sword, and shouted: “As the world says—you are no true sovereign, you are a [Fake Emperor]!”

Bai Li Chen’s face paled; nearby captains covered their ears and bowed their heads. Bai Li Chen himself drew his bow and shot the man dead, then buried him under yellow earth.

Over thirty thousand were buried alive.

Dou De, hearing this, fell silent for a long while: “Now I understand what the Qin Emperor meant—peace cannot be won with surrender and promises, only with swords.” After this, the whole realm spread the tale of the [Fake Emperor].

What followed this rebel band’s fate—the historians’ brush was sharp as a blade.

Grand Historian Sa Atanti wrote:

【Thus, remaining rebels regrouped as bandits; imperial troops could not suppress them, until the realm was finally pacified.】

In Ying’s imperial palace, Jiang Yuan was immensely proud of his stratagem, drinking merrily, feasting ministers, and laughing: “This is the essence of military deception—I understand it well!”

“All say I inherited the realm from my predecessors, but even if I had competed with other warlords, I would still have become Emperor!”

Wei Yi was furious and swept out in anger; He Ruo Qinhu fell silent for a long while.

Killing surrendered troops—though it was killing surrendered troops—but...

His fist slowly clenched, knuckles cracking.

He heard a soft voice: “Father...”

His fist, and the fire of rage and injustice in the soldier’s heart, froze at those two words. He looked up and saw his daughter, Empress of the Realm, beside the Emperor, gazing at him with pleading eyes.

Long moments passed; He Ruo Qinhu slowly unclenched his fist, lowered his hand.

It fell heavily on the table, then he lifted his cup and drank deeply.

Killing surrendered troops—though base—still, it was war.

But were they truly surrendered?

After all, it was a vast nation. Jiang Yuan had driven off regional powers, crushed some rebel factions, then issued another order—【When the Wolf King besieged the Eastern Capital, he opened granaries to feed the people. All who received grain shall be buried alive south of the capital.】

The order spread; many were moved, yet only sighed.

After all, those who accepted the Wolf King’s grain were merely the desperate. Wei Yi suddenly overturned the table, roaring: “Absurd! Absurd!!!”

He could bear it no longer.

What fucking civil virtue!

Fuck the civil virtue!

He rode to find He Ruo Qinhu, but He Ruo Qinhu had been invited by the Empress to a banquet in the palace; Wei Yiwen stood before the General’s residence, feeling only coldness in his hands and his entire body drained of strength.

He Ruo Qinhu!

He wrote a letter to Grand Secretary Jiang Su.

Jiang Su received the letter.

At that moment, the Divine General had just returned from a clash with the Emperor of Qin, and a scout handed him Wei Yiwen’s letter; Jiang Su unrolled it, and both his intact eye and the jade-carved mechanical eye reflected the words within.

Wei Yiwen was famed in his age for his sharp, vigorous brushwork, embodying the grand style of a master.

But the ink in this letter trembled.

One could imagine the pain, struggle, and resentment Wei Yiwen endured as he wrote it.

Wei Yiwen wanted Jiang Su to return.

Having received no reply from He Ruo Qinhu, he turned to Jiang Su.

He said he would spare no cost—even if it meant provoking Jiang Yuan to his death—to delay this matter, begging Grand Secretary Jiang Su to return, or at least to write and stop Jiang Yuan’s reckless actions.

Jiang Su calmly set the letter to flame; the fire reflected in his eyes, while his deputy, silent, asked: “Is it because of the Wolf King’s War, Grand Secretary, that you now burden the people?”

Jiang Su’s gaze reflected the fire: “No.”

“The people accepted the Wolf King’s grain because they could not eat their fill.”

“It is our fault—how can we blame them for accepting the Wolf King’s food? To demand they die as loyal ministers when they cannot even afford a meal is absurd.”

The deputy, a famed general of the Seventh Heaven Realm, ranked nineteenth, asked in confusion:

“Then why do you not return?”

Jiang Su gazed into the distance, at the crimson Qilin-patterned battle flag fluttering across heaven and earth; the firelight danced at the edge of his vision, merging with the Qilin banner, blazing like wildfire. Jiang Su said:

“I am waiting…”

The fire in Jiang Su’s eyes brightened, flickered.

…………

Jiang Gao was reminded by Wei Yiwen to intercept the Ying Army.

Wei Yiwen kowtowed, tears streaming: “Only you can stop these soldiers, Your Highness—how can you raise your blade over the people’s heads simply because they seek a full meal?”

This old minister, heartbroken, wept uncontrollably—he sought fame, yet also aspired to Jiang Wanxiang’s noble ambition; now, torn, he finally made his choice amid Jiang Yuan’s endless absurdities.

“Your humble servant will do all he can to stop this, Your Highness—please, you must act.”

Wei Yiwen hurried off, seeking to intervene through the Chancellor’s authority, to suppress and delay the matter; Jiang Gao personally led his remaining loyalists to the capital’s side, where he saw a scene like hell on earth.

He saw the people bound and shoved toward pits.

The Dixian of this gentle, kinship-seeking gentleman finally shattered; a surge of rage and blood boiled within him—he instinctively seized the bow at his horse’s side, drew, and shot.

The Azure Dragon-patterned banner was severed by that single arrow.

Whoosh—

The great Azure Dragon banner tumbled down, crashing into many; the noise was so immense it drew everyone’s gaze instinctively back—they saw Jiang Gao gripping the bow, face flushed, eyes blazing as if spitting fire.

“What are you doing?!”

The lead general bowed: “The late Emperor’s death stemmed from Chen Chengbi’s treachery—and these base folk!” He pointed to the bound, dumped figures in the ditch: “They followed Chen Chengbi, storming the city gates.”

“They looted our imperial granaries—unaware of their own death.”

“If we do not punish them severely, how will the realm know the might of our Great Ying State?! We act by the Emperor’s command.”

“Punish?!”

The word was not merely unpleasant—it was excruciating.

Jiang Gao’s gaze slowly lowered, seeing the people—men, women, old, young—all terrified, clinging to each other, children wailing, women sobbing, men roaring—

The very fire of chaos.

All of Wanxiang’s suffering reflected in Jiang Gao’s eyes; finally, his heart began to pound with fury. The grief of the masses surged like a flood; his temple throbbed, and the general, meeting his gaze, felt a jolt of dread.

As if facing an enraged dragon.

“What absurd decree!”

“The late Emperor never issued such an order—how dare you?!”

The general bowed: “It is the Emperor’s command.”

Jiang Gao drew a deep breath: “Stop.”

The general replied: “Without the Emperor’s written edict, if I halt, my entire family will be buried alive—I cannot comply.”

Jiang Gao said: “Even if I command it?”

The general bowed low, whispering: “I can pause briefly—but Your Highness must return to the palace and obtain the Emperor’s written order. Then I will cease. Frankly, burying people alive—especially starving ones—is no pleasant task.”

“If you wish to persuade the Emperor to change his mind, do so quickly.”

He pointed to the sky: “By noon, they will be buried.”

Jiang Gao’s gaze turned cold as he looked toward the imperial palace within the Ying capital; since the Qin Yulong affair, he had never returned. He had always been wary of his brother—but now, he had no choice.

He looked at the captured people and whispered: “Don’t fear.”

“Even if I die—”

“I will bring you the imperial decree!”

He turned, spurred his horse into the palace, galloping onward; his once gentle, refined heart began to fracture—those who seek fame are bound by fame, those who crave beauty are bound by beauty.

But those who serve the people fracture because of the people’s suffering.

For the first time since birth, Jiang Gao was this furious. When he stormed the palace, he heard laughter and revelry within—so piercing to his ears. He walked slowly upward, seeing his brother, clad in the imperial robe, laughing heartily.

Around him were his own appointees, officials and ministers.

Jiang Gao clenched his fists, his sleeves flaring as he strode in; Jiang Yuan had already seen his brother and roared with laughter: “Who dares come? Isn’t this my good elder brother?!”

“Hahahaha! Prince Zhao, we haven’t seen each other in years.”

“If posterity learns of this, they’ll think I’m trying to kill you.”

Jiang Gao said: “Why bury the people alive?”

Jiang Yuan replied: “They’re traitorous rabble—just a few ten thousand households. Slay a chicken to scare the monkeys, and the realm will be at peace.”

Jiang Gao nearly laughed in rage; he had no interest in arguing with his brother, no interest in lofty principles—he already knew some men cannot be reasoned with—or rather—

No man can ever convince another.

He said only: “I know your mind.”

“Spare the people, and I will submit to your judgment.”

Jiang Yuan stared at Jiang Gao: “Good!”

“I think we brothers need not be so distant. After this, you shall reside in the palace’s annex. I’ve prepared maids and servants for you—we are of the same mother; we can meet daily.”

“Now, drink!”

Jiang Yuan waved his hand; a servant brought a cup of wine.

Jiang Yuan’s finger rested on the purple sandalwood tray and the jade wine vessel atop it, saying:

“Please, elder brother, drink this cup.”

Jiang Gao stared at the cup; his intellect already knew the wine was poisoned. He slowly extended his hand: “Write the decree now. When the people are safe, I will drink—to toast it.”

Jiang Yuan said: “Good!”

He immediately penned the decree, tossed the brush aside, handed the scroll to a nearby aide: “Deliver the decree!” A eunuch seized it and hurried off; Jiang Yuan raised his hand, inviting Jiang Gao to drink.

Jiang Gao understood.

The mass burial of the people was meant for him.

Otherwise, why bury them south of the capital? Why commit such an act near the city? It was a trap—designed to lure Jiang Gao, who had hidden for years, back into the palace.

His brother was far cleverer than the world believed.

Far cleverer.

He promoted new intimates, suppressed and co-opted Wei Yiwen and He Ruo Qinhu—nearly the entire court lay in his palm.

But this cleverness was applied only to these matters.

But this realm—

Is not merely Ying State!

Alas. Regrettable. Hateful.

Jiang Gao raised the cup to his lips.

A faint smile touched Jiang Yuan’s face.

All eyes turned to him; even the music ceased. Jiang Gao closed his eyes—years flashed before him: Qin Yulong, the campaign, the canal, the people, the burial, the rebels, the gentleman, the gentleman…

A fire burned in his chest.

That fire, mixed with his longing for kinship—the memory of his brother’s childhood innocence—coalesced into a chaotic blaze: all that Jiang Gao cherished.

The gentlemanly aura on his person cracked, piece by piece.

All ministers watched. The next moment, as the gentle gentleman was about to drink, Jiang Gao gripped the cup, wrist flicked—

The cup, like stone, flew violently forward—

Straight at Jiang Yuan.

Jiang Yuan recoiled in shock, dodging the cup; wine splashed to the ground, reeking of poison—but Jiang Gao lunged forward, seized a guardsman’s sword, and drew it in one swift motion—the blade sang like a dragon’s roar.

Candlelight, shadows.

Men never remain unchanged—never.

The glow of the flames reflected in Jiang Gao’s eyes.

Like fire in a chaotic age, like a fiercely burning heart, like the spark Jiang Su had waited four years to see.

Jiang Wanshang’s fire.

At last, it blazed fully on Jiang Gao.

In the smoke of chaos, the gentleman undergoes a leopard’s transformation.

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