You, a tyrannical ruler, roam the heavens; you cannot understand my joy.

As dawn broke, the last desperate scream and the dying sobs faded completely.

All that filled our ears was the sound of the wind rushing past broken walls and ruins, brushing against the embers, and swirling the tattered banners.

And the air was thick with a pungent, sweet, fishy, ​​and burnt smell.

Inside and outside the south gate of Dading Prefecture, as far as the eye could see, was a shocking scene of devastation.

The city wall, nearly half collapsed, resembled a wound torn open by a giant beast. The rammed earth and broken bricks and wood were piled up. The once indestructible iron gate was now twisted into a strange and grotesque shape, mostly buried in the rubble.

The dented fist marks and the huge hole torn open by violence silently testify to the arrival of inhuman power last night.

Inside and outside the city gates, corpses lay piled up, layer upon layer. The black armor of the Song army, the leather robes of the Jin soldiers, and the crimson robes of the Tantric monks were all mixed together, and had long been soaked in solidified dark red paste.

Many of the corpses remained in the postures of their final moments of struggle, their faces contorted in rage or blank.

Broken swords, spears, halberds, shattered shields, scattered arrows, and the burnt remains of cloud chariots... covered every inch of the land.

A few embers still lingered amidst the ruins, emitting wisps of smoke that shrouded everything in a hazy, dreamlike atmosphere.

Lu Zuo stood quietly in the center of this mountain of corpses, sea of ​​blood, and ruins, his feet in the mud soaked with blood, mixed with soil and broken bones.

His dark-colored casual clothes were stained with blood and soot of unknown origin, and were no longer clean, but his posture remained as upright as a pine tree as he looked up at the sky above.

The sounds of fighting, roaring, screaming, and screaming from the night still seemed to linger in my ears, but the world had quieted down, so quiet that I could hear my own slow but powerful heartbeat and the steady flow of blood through my veins.

A sliver of dawn was beginning to break through the eastern horizon.

Then, a soft orange-red gradually dispelled the darkness of the night, framing the low-hanging clouds with a bright edge.

The wind seemed to have softened, carrying the unique, bone-chilling cold of a late autumn morning, trying to dispel the lingering aura of death.

"Tap...tap...tap..."

The steady, slightly weary footsteps came from behind, and the soft rustling of armor plates rubbing together was particularly clear in the silence.

Yue Fei stopped three steps away from him.

This young commander, known for his calm and resolute demeanor, was now covered in blood, his bright armor splattered with cuts and dents from swords and spears.

The mask was nowhere to be found, and his face was covered in blood, cigarette ash, and sweat. Only his eyes remained bright and sharp, though deep within them lay the profound exhaustion of the battle and a sense of relief that the dust had settled.

He bowed deeply, clasped his hands in a fist salute, his armor clanging, and his voice hoarse from shouting: "Your Majesty, Dading Prefecture has been pacified."

"After a night of fighting, the remaining enemies who stubbornly resisted within the city have been basically wiped out."

"The Jin army's Grand Marshal Wanyan Zongfu set himself on fire at his headquarters, and the Left Deputy Grand Marshal Jiagu Qingchen was killed by our army in the chaos."

"The remaining commanders, such as centurions and strategists, were either killed or captured, and their numbers are countless."

"Except for a few who took advantage of the chaos to escape north, the rest of the defeated Jin soldiers, seeing that the situation was hopeless, all abandoned their weapons and surrendered."

He paused, took a deep breath of the cold, bloody air, and continued, "In this battle, our army killed an estimated 80,000 Jin soldiers and Tantric monks, captured nearly 50,000, and seized countless weapons, horses, provisions, and supplies."

"After this battle, the main force that the Jin state had gathered here with all its national strength has been almost completely wiped out."

Yue Fei raised his head, looking at Lu Zuo's retreating figure, his voice carrying a resolute assertion: "From here northwards, all the way to Shangjing, the Jin Kingdom will have no force left capable of fighting and stopping our army's advance!"

Lu Zuo continued to gaze at the increasingly bright eastern horizon, remaining silent for a moment.

The morning breeze ruffled a few stray strands of hair on his forehead.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice calm and even, yet carrying an undeniable resolve:

"Order all troops to immediately clean up the battlefield, properly collect the remains of our fallen soldiers, cremate them, and carefully collect their ashes for their future return in glory."

"The corpses of the Jin soldiers and Tibetan monks must also be disposed of as soon as possible, either by burying them deeply or cremating them, to prevent the spread of plague."

"The entire army will rest and reorganize on the spot for three days, treat the wounded, take stock of the spoils, and replenish supplies."

"Keep a close watch on the prisoners and carefully select officers, artisans, and other capable individuals among them."

He turned around, his gaze passing over the mess on the ground, landing to the north, in the direction of the faint morning light and the indistinct mountains and rivers. Each word fell clearly:

"Three days later, the army set off."

"Their military might is heading straight for the Jin capital, Shangjing."

……

The three days passed quickly amidst the intense post-war cleanup, rest, and reorganization.

When the Song army, having rested and with morale at its peak, began to sweep northward with unstoppable force, like a sharpened sword after recuperation, fear and despair swept over the Jin capital even faster than the defeated remnants.

In late autumn, when Beijing should be enjoying a languid feeling after the harvest, the city is now completely shrouded in a sense of impending doom and impending doom.

The streets were desolate, the shops were closed, and the once bustling city was now filled with anxious whispers and a flow of people with their families trying to escape further north or into the mountains.

The streets were desolate, the shops were closed, and the once bustling city was now filled with anxious whispers and a flow of people with their families trying to escape further north or into the mountains.

Inside the palace, dark clouds loomed, and the once solemn and magnificent halls now felt empty and cold, with every step echoing in one's heart.

Emperor Wanyan Dan of the Jin Dynasty looked as if he had aged ten years at this moment.

He sat on the cold dragon throne, his magnificent ochre-yellow dragon robe seemingly losing its luster, his face pale, and his eyes sunken.

His eyes, which had been somewhat vacant from indulging in wine and women, were now filled with only panic, emptiness, and a trace of despair that he tried desperately to conceal but could not shake off.

On his desk, he had already read the battle report from the south, delivered through the most urgent channels, every word stained with blood, countless times. Each word was like a red-hot branding iron, searing his heart.

"Dading Prefecture...is it lost?"

"Uncle Zongfu...is dead?"

"Three hundred thousand troops... gone?"

"The Living Buddha...has also fallen?"

He muttered to himself, his voice hoarse, as if he still couldn't accept the successive, increasingly cruel pieces of bad news.

That was the last shield, the last elite force, and the last hope of the Great Jin!

How could it have crumbled and vanished in such a short time?

Was Emperor Zhao Gou of the Southern Dynasties truly a god descended from heaven, invincible?

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!"

Your Highness, the civil and military officials were already in chaos, with a cacophony of arguments, weeping, and remonstrances, and the usual order of the court had been completely destroyed.

"His Majesty!"

"The Southern Dynasty's army has crossed the Liao River; its advance is unstoppable!"

"Although the defenses of the capital are strong, morale is low and the elite troops are all gone. How can we possibly hold it?"

"The best course of action now is to emulate the Liao emperor of old, who went north to the grasslands to avoid their sharp edge, in order to plan for future actions!"

An old minister who advocated fleeing was in tears, and he kowtowed to the ground.

The "northern hunt" he mentioned was just a euphemism for "escape." Emperor Tianzuo of the Liao Dynasty fled in the same way, ultimately leading to the destruction of his country and his capture.

"absurd!"

An official who came from a military background, though his face was pale, forced himself to shout, "Shangjing is the foundation of our Great Jin Dynasty, the location of the tombs of our founding emperors Taizu and Taizong. How can we abandon it so easily?"

"Although the Southern Dynasty's army is numerous, it is exhausted from prolonged warfare. Our capital city is fortified and well-defended; by gathering our last strength, we may well be able to win a battle!"

"If we flee north now, the morale of the army and the people will collapse instantly. What difference would that be from surrendering without resistance?"

"war?"

"What are we fighting with?" another civil official shrieked. "Our elite troops are all wiped out, our capable generals are dying out, and the people are filled with resentment. Where are the armies from all over the land ready to defend the emperor?"

"Zhao Gou is a brilliant strategist, and with the aid of demonic power, how can we possibly defeat him?"

"To be trapped in an isolated city is nothing but a futile act of waiting for death, only leading to the slaughter of its inhabitants!"

"So, in your opinion, we should open the city gates and surrender, handing over the empire that Emperor Taizu and Emperor Taizong fought and bled to the southern barbarians?" The pro-war faction glared angrily.

"Surrender might preserve the ancestral temple, the lives of His Majesty and the royal family, and the lives of all the people in the city!"

"Resisting to the end will only anger the Song Emperor, and then... then I'm afraid..." The voices of the pro-surrender faction grew softer and softer, but their meaning was self-evident.

The destruction of the nation and the extinction of the race are imminent.

"Your Majesty! I am willing to lead my entire family to the city walls and fight to the death to repay the nation's kindness!"

"Your Majesty, please reconsider!"

"As long as the green hills remain, there's no worry about running out of firewood!"

The argument escalated, with some people even pushing and shoving each other and hurling insults, completely losing their composure.

Cries, curses, pleas, and desperate sighs mingled together, turning this grand hall, which symbolized the highest power center of the Jin Dynasty, into a chaotic marketplace.

It also seemed to become the absurd background sound before the final curtain fell of this once invincible dynasty that swept across the north.

Wanyan Dan sat blankly on the dragon throne, looking at the chaotic ministers below and listening to their words, which were sometimes passionate, sometimes cowardly, and sometimes desperate.

Every word felt like a needle piercing his heart.

escape?

Where can they escape to?

The various tribes on the grasslands had long harbored ulterior motives, and it was already a miracle that they didn't kick him while he was down.

war?

On what grounds should we fight?

The 300,000-strong army of Dading Prefecture, along with the Tantric Living Buddha, were defeated. How many days can the remaining troops and the panicked people in Shangjing hold out?

surrender……

Surrender to Zhao Gou, who is said to be tyrannical, lustful, and ruthless?

Will he accept it?

How would he treat himself, the ruler of a fallen kingdom?

Overwhelmed by immense fear and helplessness, he was completely engulfed by the icy seawater.

He once dreamed of expanding the territory like his grandfather, Emperor Taizong, and even imagined one day conquering Lin'an with his horse. But the reality is that he is now in charge of the ancestral foundation, which is about to be destroyed.

He hadn't yet had enough of this supreme power and wealth...

"That's enough!"

Wanyan Dan slammed his hand on the imperial desk, his voice sharp and trembling.

The hall fell silent. Everyone looked at him, their eyes filled with a final, faint hope, or perhaps a deeper despair.

Wanyan Dan's chest heaved violently, his face flushed red, then quickly lost its color and turned deathly pale.

He looked around at the princes, who were usually so dignified but were now behaving themselves in disgrace. He gazed at the empty, cold palace and listened to the faint sounds coming from outside the palace, whether it was the wind or the cries of fleeing people.

Finally, as if all his strength had been drained, he slumped back into the dragon throne, and in a barely audible, yet utterly broken sob, he uttered hoarsely, "Draft...draft the decree..."

His last three sentences seemed to have exhausted all his energy and spirit.

As soon as the words were spoken, suppressed sobs finally erupted from the courtiers. Some fell to the ground and wailed, some covered their faces and wept, and some looked up to the sky and cried out in grief.