The carriage raced through the dark night. Unable to see the road clearly, the journey became even more bumpy.
Chu Tang sat inside the carriage, her mother’s sobbing in her ears.
“A-Tang, where are they taking us? To the academy where your brothers are?” Jiang Shi asked. “Isn’t it worse to go out now? Didn’t they say fighting has broken out outside? Wouldn’t it be safer to continue hiding at the Zhou family’s place?”
Chu Tang thought to herself that it wasn’t just worse now—they were going to an even worse place.
She pressed her hand against her chest to keep her heart from jumping out with the jolting, thinking of the message Little Rabbit had delivered. She’d been awakened in the middle of the night. After hearing Little Rabbit’s words, she’d slapped herself to confirm she wasn’t dreaming.
“Has she gone mad?” She’d asked. “This is courting death. How can I possibly do it? I’m just a weak woman!”
Little Rabbit had grinned: “Sister A-Zhao says you can do it, so you can.” She’d pulled her along urgently. “Quick, let’s go, let’s go.”
What could she do if she didn’t go? Whether to go or not, where to go—it wasn’t up to her. It was up to the old, weak, women, children, and loyal servants around her.
Chu Tang had always been someone who went with the flow. Though her heart was shocked and screaming wildly, she still obediently packed immediately and used words to comfort her parents.
However, once in the carriage, thinking of what she had to do next, Chu Tang stopped hiding things from her parents.
“The court and Prince Zhongshan have started fighting. The court has offered a reward for our capture.”
“It’s not because of Chu Zhao and Uncle’s troubles, but because of what Father did back then—it’s been exposed.”
Jiang Shi stood stunned. Chu Lan, who had been playing confused all along, could no longer keep up the act. He wailed: “I was forced! And I didn’t do anything—”
So wronged.
Jiang Shi, both panicked and confused, pressed for answers. Only then did she learn what had happened back then, nearly fainting: “Heavens, our fate is sealed.”
Only now did she understand why after Chu Zhao became Empress, she never mentioned them or even saw them. It turned out they’d been confined at home for over half a year—it wasn’t keeping a low profile at all.
Speaking of this, she felt resentful.
“She alone escaped to the border army. Why didn’t she take us with her, leaving us in the capital to die?”
Chu Tang covered her mother’s mouth, preventing her from saying anything more. The servants outside were all quite formidable.
“We don’t count on her either.” She said decisively. “My friends are helping me. I’m taking you to a safe place.”
Jiang Shi hugged her daughter: “A-Tang, you’ve suffered, making you worry and work so hard with us.”
Chu Tang embraced her mother, looking at Chu Lan: “What your daughter does isn’t hard work. What comes next will depend on Father.”
Depend on Father?
Both Jiang Shi and Chu Lan were stunned.
“A-Tang, your father has survived by pretending to be crazy, playing dumb, and feigning confusion.” Chu Lan covered his face and sobbed. “What can you depend on? Your father was truly harmed terribly by your uncle and Prince Zhongshan’s heir.”
No one in the family knew what Chu Ling had done, and he wasn’t in the capital, which led to him, the elder brother, being targeted by Prince Zhongshan’s heir and coerced. He clearly hadn’t done anything—it was truly an unwarranted disaster.
“No, Father. Precisely because you were harmed so terribly, you should seek justice.” Chu Tang said.
Chu Lan looked at her: “Who would I seek justice from?”
Chu Tang moved closer and grabbed his arm. In the dim carriage, her eyes shone brightly: “Of course, from Prince Zhongshan’s heir, Xiao Xun.”
Chu Lan was shocked: “A-Tang, how is this seeking justice? You’re asking your father to court death!”
…
…
Dawn light spilled from the horizon. On the early spring earth, no green grass flourished—the turf was trampled to pieces everywhere. Fleeing citizens ran about, old and young, men and women. Adults shouted, children cried, carriages and horses collided in chaos.
Behind them were ranks of cavalry, like dark clouds, gradually swallowing the morning light.
Before the fleeing civilians, another army appeared, standing motionless, dense as a forest.
Seeing these troops, the civilians ran toward them desperately as if seeing saviors—
“No one may advance without orders—retreat quickly—” The black wall ahead shouted in unison. “Otherwise, death without mercy—”
Retreat? Where to retreat? Shouts came in waves, each more urgent than the last. The civilians looked back.
Behind them also came unified shouts: “Prince Zhongshan protects the court, advancing to the capital for an audience—those blocking the way, quickly move aside—quickly move aside—”
Move aside? Where to move? Horse hooves rolled like waves, opening wide mouths to devour people.
Xiao Xun rode amid the rolling waves, wearing his heir’s ceremonial robes, pure white as jade. He raised his hand and waved it gently. He said: “Kill.”
With this command, soldiers raised their shields and armor, spears thrust forward, cold light flashing.
Before them, the black wall responded to a horn blast with shields and armor standing in unison. Half-kneeling crossbowmen released ten thousand arrows together.
In an instant, blade light and arrow rain devoured heaven and earth, everything blood red.
…
…
The February spring wind struck the face like knives.
The scent in one’s nostrils also seemed like knives.
Iron rust.
Blood.