Chapter 304

Li Haoyang's face flickered with fear; he staggered back two steps, barely avoiding a fall. The word "surrender" struck like a thunderclap, leaving his mind utterly blank.

After a long while, he slowly turned his gaze toward the palace courtyard; sixty thousand enemy troops had completely encircled Jizhou City, leaving no gap. The archers on the walls wore expressions of utter despair—their arrows were long exhausted, yet the enemy kept pouring in. The newly recruited young soldiers' legs trembled, their fighting spirit utterly gone.

Li Haoyang's fingers repeatedly jabbed his temples; the throbbing veins reminded him his time was running out. He knew Jin Ling saw through his despair and fury, yet he could no longer mask the illusion. Yes, Da Liao was shattered beyond repair—and how could he possibly match Jiang Mingyu?

Thinking of this, Li Haoyang slumped heavily onto the dragon throne. His withered fingers mechanically brushed across the desk, littered with final letters from frontline generals—all once his trusted confidants, now all slain. Jizhou was besieged from within and without; the collapse of the empire was now an undeniable fact.

Li Haoyang twisted his lips into a bitter, self-mocking smile. Fate mocked him—his own agonizing efforts to build this nation had become Jiang Mingyu's spoils of war. At this moment, what path remained? What hope was left?

"Your Majesty..." Jin Ling whispered, his voice heavy with sorrow. Li Haoyang knew his chancellor saw the truth more clearly—he understood the battle was lost, that surrender was the only wise choice. But to Li Haoyang, it was a hundred times harder than death.

Li Haoyang's gaze swept over the map on the wall—from Jizhou to Huzhou, from Hongzhou to Guanzhong—all lands once under his command now engulfed in flames. The enemy marched as if through empty lands; Da Liao's armies retreated step by step, as if defeat had long been sealed.

He recalled the good news received days ago, describing Fei Long's gruesome death beneath hooves. Back then, Li Haoyang had raged, crushing the letter in his fist. Now, recalling it brought only endless exhaustion.

The deaths of Fei Long, Wang Sichao—each great general lost—were like chunks peeling from Da Liao's foundation. And the defeats of Wu Yongyan and Kuang Boya only piled more snow atop the avalanche. Li Haoyang gave a bitter laugh—Da Liao truly stood on the brink of ruin.

Jin Ling was right: Jizhou faced internal strife and external siege. Fang Hang and Li Goudan had raised armies in Huzhou; Feng Xi was attacking every commandery. The empire's collapse loomed. And now Jiang Mingyu's sixty thousand troops stood at the gates—what could his mere twenty thousand do against them?

Li Haoyang threw back his head and laughed aloud, his voice thick with despair. He slammed a fist into the pillar beside him; the pillar shook violently, and the imperial plaque above it—inscribed with "Da Liao Eternal"—crashed to the floor with a thud, its golden characters twisted and distorted.

Is this the end? Li Haoyang closed his eyes. His father Li Cunxu's stern visage rose in his mind. What would he have done in this predicament?

Just then, a man's voice suddenly rang out.

"Your Majesty, surrender is out of the question! I am unworthy, but I beg to fight for you and earn glory!"

The speaker was under thirty, his dark, bright eyes showing not a trace of fear.

He was Zhu Shaoyu, Li Haoyang's Minister of War—and once a subordinate general under him.

As Zhu Shaoyu's bold offer ended, the hall fell silent. Li Haoyang studied the young minister, a flicker of hope rising in his chest. He fixed his gaze on Zhu Shaoyu, searching for any sign of bravado—but saw only unwavering resolve.

Zhu Shaoyu was not tall; his frame was lean, yet every muscle pulsed with explosive power. His gaze was sharp and fierce, utterly devoid of fear—as if he had already accepted death. A heavy spear leaned against his side, ready to be drawn at any moment.

Li Haoyang nodded slightly, his beard trembling. For the first time, his eyes held genuine approval. Such a young, vigorous man—even if he died—he would die on horseback, beneath enemy spears. Zhu Shaoyu's words brought the first glimmer of hope into Li Haoyang's heart, long drowned in despair.

"Minister Zhu, truly a man of valor!" Li Haoyang clapped his hands and laughed. "I was just fearing Da Liao's fall—now that you step forward, I can rest easy!"

"I swear to fight to the death for Your Majesty—to hang Jiang Mingyu's head on the city wall as a warning!" Zhu Shaoyu clenched his fist in reply.

"Ha! Ha! I love a spirited, fiery young man like you!" Li Haoyang roared with laughter, slapping his belly, his earlier despair vanished.

Zhu Shaoyu answered loudly, his spirit visibly strengthened. He stood tall and proud, radiating an unyielding, battle-ready fury. Li Haoyang felt invigorated—and immediately placed all his hope upon this brave, shrewd young minister.

Zhu Shaoyu laughed heartily too, his eyes gleaming with excitement and eagerness.

He dashed forward in three strides, kicked open the heavy wooden door, which slammed wide with a bang, revealing a dusty, grimy soldier outside.

"Open the city gates!" Zhu Shaoyu bellowed, swinging his arm. The soldier snapped to attention and shouted, "Yes!" before sprinting toward the city tower.

Zhu Shaoyu turned back to Li Haoyang, his eyes blazing with determination: "Your Majesty, rest assured—I will bring Jiang Mingyu's head to your throne!"

At that moment, a commanding voice rang out from below the walls: "Hear me, men of the city! I am the Marquis Who Stabilizes the Nation, under the Emperor of Da Jiang, leading five hundred thousand troops in person! Open your gates and surrender at once!" All turned to see a towering figure holding a sword—Tuke Sulu, the very man who had spoken.

Before his words faded, Tuke Sulu raised his hand—and a bloody head flew through the air, landing at the feet of the defenders. Everyone stared in shock—the severed head was none other than Grand Commander Wang Sichao!

"Hurry and report!" the city commander urged again.

At that moment, the city gates crashed open. A young general in brocade armor strode out, followed by twenty thousand troops. "Who dares call himself emperor? Do you seek death?" The man was Zhu Shaoyu—Li Haoyang's trusted general. He faced Tuke Sulu's overwhelming force without fear, stepping forward defiantly.

"General Zhu, quickly send word back to Your Majesty..." The city commander's words were cut short as Zhu Shaoyu swung his weapon and charged straight at Tuke Sulu! Tuke Sulu stared coldly, raised his hand—and fifty thousand archers instantly aimed at the gate.

"You think twenty thousand men can stand against me?" Tuke Sulu said, expressionless.

"Ha ha ha!" Zhu Shaoyu roared. "You're that traitor's lapdog? You and your master's time is up!"

He gripped his spear tightly, the tip scraping sparks from the ground. The battle-lust pent up within him for days finally found its outlet.

"Open the gates!" Zhu Shaoyu bellowed. Two strong men turned the gate rings; the heavy gates groaned open. Sunlight poured through the opening. Zhu Shaoyu squinted, then strode forward with determined steps.

"Follow me!" Dozens of cavalrymen swung their Mongolian steel sabers, shouting as they charged behind Zhu Shaoyu. Blades flashed in the sunlight, and enemy arrows rained down—but they dodged them effortlessly.

"Die with your master! Die!" Zhu Shaoyu leapt high, spear aimed straight at the enemy ranks. A tall general in silver armor galloped toward him—Zhu Shaoyu's sharp eyes instantly recognized him: Tuke Sulu himself!

"Hey!" He thrust his spear forward. Tuke Sulu sidestepped, bringing his Tianyu Spear down in a overhead strike. Zhu Shaoyu laughed, parried the spear, spun on his heel, and thrust his own spear straight at Tuke Sulu's face.

"Not bad!" Tuke Sulu reined back, sneering. "You've got guts!" Then he wheeled his horse and retreated into his ranks. Zhu Shaoyu's heart tightened—he sensed something wrong.

Indeed, countless willow-leaf arrows suddenly shot from the enemy lines. Zhu Shaoyu reacted instantly, swinging his spear—"Ding! Ding! Ding!"—deflecting most of them. But several cavalrymen beside him were struck in vital spots and screamed as they tumbled from their mounts.

Zhu Shaoyu gripped his great sword, charging furiously toward Tuke Sulu. His eyes were bloodshot—he wanted nothing but to cut down this arrogant enemy commander.

"Wuuu!" He leapt high, both hands gripping the sword as he brought it down in a vertical slash. This blow channeled all his strength—the blade became a flash of cold light, slicing toward Tuke Sulu's head.

"Boom!" Tuke Sulu drew his longsword and met the blow, deflecting it with a smooth motion. Their weapons clashed, sending sparks flying in all directions.

"You insolent worm!" Tuke Sulu sneered, thrusting his sword single-handedly at Zhu Shaoyu's chest. Zhu Shaoyu twisted aside, barely avoiding it, then kicked at Tuke Sulu's lower body. Tuke Sulu spun lightly, evading the kick, and his sword flashed like a shadow, slicing toward Zhu Shaoyu's right arm.

"The world is treacherous—today you'll learn what it's like to lose your arm!" Tuke Sulu roared with malice. Zhu Shaoyu's face paled; he strained every ounce of strength to block the strike—"Dang!" His right arm trembled violently, pain twisting his features. He gritted his teeth, holding the sword's edge, and swung his left fist—but Tuke Sulu sidestepped effortlessly.

"Ha ha ha!" Tuke Sulu laughed, ready to press his advantage. Zhu Shaoyu's chest heaved, sweat dripping from his brow. He knew Tuke Sulu's martial skill far surpassed his own—continue fighting, and death was certain.