ITIEQ C61

Chapter 61 – Dawn Breaks Suddenly

Late at night, the Dragon‑Soaring Camp (Longxiang Ying) of Huizhou, long quiet along with two neighboring provinces, suddenly received an urgent mobilization order.

The Golden‑Armored Guard, famous throughout the realm, protected only the Imperial City of the capital. But beyond the city, there was another force: once known as the Western Vanguard Camp, later renamed Dragon‑Soaring Camp. As its name implied, it was an elite corps at the emperor’s personal disposal. It was the very unit that had once crushed the Rebel Prince’s uprising in a blaze of blood — peerless among the elite. Though the rebellion was long suppressed and its ranks greatly reduced, those remaining were stationed across the provinces, answering only the emperor’s command. Their fame was not as bright as the glittering Golden‑Armored Guard — yet those old enough to remember the years of storm and slaughter still trembled when they heard the name.

It was with such steel that Emperor Zhaohuan had secured his throne in early youth. Whatever storms churned beneath the court’s surface, above it was placid as still water. That was his reputation.

But since those years of mutinies, never had Dragon‑Soaring Camp received a midnight order. The camp’s commandant, seeing the detailed decree and its imperial red seal, stiffened at once and leapt to obey.

The dawn sun rose red as a god‑horse thundered across stone bridges, its rider the solemn figure in plain dark robes — Emperor Xiao Yuanzheng himself. Behind him rode his camp, armor glimmering like black scales. Every soldier followed in tight, thundering order. The commandant, tense and fearful, clutched his reins. What task called them here? War? Uprising in the Central Provinces?

But no answer came from the emperor’s stern, silent profile. Lips pressed tight, expression grave as iron. He had worn such severity only once before — in the days when the Rebel Prince’s faction still writhed. The commandant’s heart climbed into his throat. Whatever had happened — it was no small matter.

Eight‑hundred‑mile urgencies were ridden hard from the capital. Ignoring the counsel of his ministers, the emperor departed with no retinue, no pomp, barely even physicians. He cut across provinces sleepless, unpausing, until his dark steed reached Huizhou.

The Dragon‑Soaring troops followed like a black tide. No clattering drums, no gilded banners. Only the suffocating hush of disciplined steel. Rising villagers glimpsed them, turned pale, and scuttled back into their homes.

Yao Guang and Kong Zhengqing, waiting for word from the capital, had not slept for nights. At last they heard it — the dreadful thunder of hooves shaking the streets. Yao Guang rushed to the window, eyes widening.

“Dragon‑Soaring Camp!”

His heart surged. Relief, awe. He had witnessed their iron ranks even as a youth during the suppression of rebellion.

Then he spied the rider leading them, sable‑clad on a white steed. Yao Guang blurted aloud, disbelief clear: “…His Majesty? The Emperor himself!”

Kong Zhengqing stiffened. Did the Emperor truly come in person?

The Wei clan fielded their own private guards, but their troops were nothing but painted clay before this army. Within moments, one of the foremost families of Yunzhong collapsed into chaos. Black armor surged like storm clouds into their estate, sealing doors, occupying halls, clearing courtyards. Not a cry could resist.

The emperor sat his horse calmly, watching his men like shadow pour through corridors. No blood spilled. Yet the Wei family compound was already his hand, beating in black gauntlets.

Wei Hongbo, ancestral patriarch of the Weis, had finally dozed before dawn. He was jarred awake by the tumult, dragging his frail body into the courtyard, gray hair sticking from his crown.

“You… you—!”

His eyes bulged as strangers in black armor invaded his household. In Yunzhong, in all Huizhou, for half his life he had ruled like a petty emperor. Long since he’d forgotten fear. He barked, “What rabble are you? Do you know whose house this is—!” The words dissolved in coughing, his face flushing purple.

The black‑armored soldiers did not even dignify him with answer. One merely drew his blade, white edge flashing beneath morning light.

“Back inside!”

These soldiers were raised from orphans, bound only to their Emperor’s command. Here, patriarchs and magnates meant nothing. They had toppled rebel kings — what was one clan chief to them?

“You—!”

Wei Hongbo staggered back, hacking breathless. His heart lurched. Yet suddenly, the line of armored men shifted.

Hooves clattered behind them. The soldiers drew back, parted with formal deference.

A tall shadow fell across him.

Wei Hongbo raised his head — and his knees buckled.

“Y‑Your Majesty…”

Emperor Xiao Yuanzheng remained mounted, stern features shadowed. Only his narrowed eyes gleamed sharp.

“…Wei Hongbo?”

The old man’s limbs withered. Once, the Wei family had earned even the Xiao royal house’s forbearance. Now, under Imperial gaze, strength fled him. Slowly, joints trembling, he collapsed into a bow.

“Your servant kneels to the Son of Heaven!”

Emperor Zhaohuan stared cold. His voice fell like iron:

“Where is Shen Qinghe?”

Wei Hongbo froze. Fear and confusion crashed over him. Once, the Wei name had commanded half the empire’s deference. Tonight they fell so low the Emperor himself stormed his gates. And all for… a name he had never even heard.

“Your Majesty…” he rasped. “Might I first investigate the household? I will give you… a full answer.”

He thought: yield now, win later. As always, the family’s dignity would survive.

But his words invited only cold laughter from the Dragon‑Soaring men. Threats and lies? This estate was already combed thrice over by steadfast steel. Save your breath, old wolf.

Then came the shout, echoing through dusk:

“Dungeon, in the rear court! We’ve broken the iron door!”

Wei Hongbo’s whole body shook. Dungeon…

So Shen Qinghe was there!

“Your Majesty!” he roared suddenly. “That man is the criminal who tried to slay my son—!”

The emperor turned one eye, mouth curling.

“Lingnan Duke… you have grown old.”

For a moment, the old patriarch saw in the emperor’s shadow the face of the late, half‑mad King before him. Ruthless, wild. His stomach dropped. Yet he made one last gamble, kneeling and spitting threat:

“Your Majesty! All Huizhou reveres you as sovereign. Do not step further!”

The emperor’s answer came only with four chilled words.

“Block me and die.”

Within the pitch‑black dungeon, footsteps echoed.

Shen Qinghe stirred faintly. He had lost all track of time here. Ages of silence, broken by torment. Consciousness drifted, returned, fled again. Dreams had become his refuge: of Qiuchuan’s farmland, of first harvests beneath the sun; of his mother, in his old life, carrying sweet soup to his study desk before the high school exam.

… Exams? What exams? Wasn’t he already…

He woke sharply.

Locks clanged open one by one. Shackles fell. His wrists and ankles were freed. Arms wrenched back by hands of warriors, his body flinched with layered agony.

He gasped but barely. Voices above him, blurred:

“Careful with him.”

“Quiet, move quickly!”

Figures lifted him. In his blurred vision, all was only black shadows. Another nightmare, surely.

Damn it all. Even dying, still noisy.

Through the false mountain’s cavern mouth, Emperor Xiao Yuanzheng at last dismounted. He had not slept one instant on the journey. Even his physicians trembled to see him unheeding. He stared only at the black maw of the prison. His knuckles on the reins were white.

Time slowed. Soldiers descended.

Then — pale cloth. Amidst seas of black armor, the limp white robe was stark. Fragile, broken.

“…”

The emperor strode forward, no thought for dignity. His steps faltered, fists clenching.

Shen Qinghe was lowered gently down. His weak form collapsed against waiting arms, only to fall deeper into a warmer, towering embrace.

“…Y‑Your Majesty…?”

The haze lifted barely. He blinked up — saw the face — shock struck him sober for an instant.

“Am I… dead then?”

His voice was broken half to whispers, one could hear only by pressing ear to mouth.

“You are not dead.”

A palm pressed his cold, fevered wrist. Wrists ringed in blood, raw sores. The emperor’s eyes darkened with grief.

Pain. Hatred. Regret.

Eight years before, Yuan He’s corpse had been cold as ice. Eight years later, here he was again, holding another — a minister full of light, now fallen, cold, bloodied.

“…Not dead.”

Those few words pierced like a blade. Yet slowly, warmth spread.

“Not dead…” Shen Qinghe murmured again. “Then why… do I feel as though I’ll ache to death…”

The emperor’s heart cracked. He pulled him tighter, then froze, terrified of injuring him further.

Son of Heaven, sovereign of all under heaven — but in this moment, he tasted grief, raw and human.

For the second time in life, true heartbreak.

Footnotes:

1. Dragon‑Soaring Camp (龙骧营): Imperial elite corps, formerly Western Vanguard, equivalent to an emperor’s personal strike force. 
2. Lingnan Duke (岭南公): Title of the elder patriarch Wei Hongbo, an old aristocratic rank. 
3. “Block me and die” — curt imperial decree, reflecting absolute authority reminiscent of historical emperors when defied.