Rise of a Lonely City: From Exiled Prince to Ruler of the Nine Provinces

Liu Hong talked for an entire afternoon.

From the moment he "donated" to become the city lord three years ago, to how Scarface Liu gradually took control of Hanyuan; from how the city's grain reserves were completely plundered, to how the people fled and starved to death; from the threat from the grassland tribes to the extortion by the Black Wind Village bandits.

Xiao Chen listened, occasionally asking a question or two, but mostly remaining silent.

The fire in the brazier inside had long since gone out, and the room was as cold as an ice cellar.

The white breath Liu Hong exhaled as he spoke drifted away in the dim light.

His voice grew softer and softer as he spoke, until he was almost muttering to himself.

"...That's it."

After Liu Hong finished speaking, he slumped into his chair, as if all his strength had been drained away. "Han Yuan... is beyond saving. Your Highness, you should... you should try to transfer him. Before winter comes and the snow is too heavy, perhaps he can still move on."

Xiao Chen didn't respond.

He stood up and walked to the window.

The window paper had several holes, and a cold wind blew in, making the "Hanyuan City Household Register" on the table rustle. He picked up the register and opened it.

On the yellowed pages, the handwriting was messy, the ink varying in shades. The last page read:

"In the autumn of the nineteenth year of Yonghe, there were 2,743 people on the register. Among them, there were 1,120 adult males, 1,305 elderly and weak, and 318 women and children."

Below is a smaller note: "Approximately two thousand survived; the rest either fled or perished."

Two thousand people.

A once important border town with a population of 100,000 now has only 2,000 people left.

Xiao Chen closed the booklet: "Take me to the treasury."

Liu Hong was taken aback: "The treasury... there's nothing to see."

"lead the way."

The treasury was in the backyard, consisting of a row of low, earthen houses.

The lock on the door was rusted and stuck. Liu Hong searched for the key for a long time, but in the end, Zhao Tie broke it open with a knife.

As soon as the door opened, a musty smell hit the door.

The warehouse was empty, so empty it was unsettling.

There were some burlap sacks piled up against the east wall, most of them torn, from which black, moldy grains were spilling out.

Xiao Chen walked over and grabbed a handful—it was old millet, long since moldy and rotten, inedible even for livestock, let alone humans.

"That's all?" he asked.

Liu Hong lowered his head: "That's...that's all. Fifteen shi of moldy grain, left over from the year before last. The tax grain collected last year was all taken by Scarface Liu..."

There were some wooden shelves standing against the west wall, on which were placed some knives and guns.

The knife is rusted, the gun is broken, and the bowstring has long since rotted.

Xiao Chen counted them; there were twenty-one items in total, but none of them were usable.

There was a broken wooden box in the corner. When you opened it, you could see some scattered copper coins inside.

Xiao Chen grabbed a handful of coins; they were covered in green rust and crumbled easily with a gentle squeeze.

"Eight hundred coins."

Liu Hong's voice lowered even further, "It's...it's my salary, saved up for three years..."

Xiao Chen put down the copper coin and dusted off his hands.

"Take me to see the city lord's mansion."

Liu Hong was bewildered: "This...this is the City Lord's Mansion, isn't it?"

"I mean, the entire mansion."

The so-called City Lord's Mansion is actually a three-courtyard complex.

The front courtyard contained the main hall and several side rooms, the middle courtyard was where Liu Hong's family lived, and the back courtyard contained the treasury and stables.

The houses were all made of adobe bricks, with thatched roofs. Many parts of the roofs were leaking and were barely held together with broken wooden planks.

The main beam is a thick elm tree, but it has been hollowed out by insects. When you tap it, wood chips fall off.

"This beam... won't survive this winter," Wang Dashan, who had come along, said in a deep voice.

Xiao Chen remained silent.

He walked into the main room of the courtyard—that was Liu Hong's bedroom.

There was only a broken bed, a table, and two chairs in the room.

The bed was covered with a straw mat, and the quilt was so thin that light could pass through it.

On the table was half a bowl of dark, mushy paste, which had already frozen solid.

"What do you usually eat?" Xiao Chen asked.

Liu Hong blushed: "It's...it's just millet porridge with some wild vegetables. Sometimes...sometimes the people bring us some things."

"The common people can't even feed themselves, why would they give you any?"

Liu Hong fell silent.

Xiao Chen walked out of the main room and went to check the kitchen.

The stove was cold, there was some leftover porridge in the pot, and half a bag of bran—that was for feeding the livestock—was on the stove.

"Where are your family members?" Xiao Chen suddenly asked.

Liu Hong trembled, and after a long while, he said, "My wife... died of illness last winter. My son... fled back to the interior of the pass, saying he would rather die than stay here."

As he spoke, tears streamed down his face: "Your Highness, I... I didn't want this to happen either."

But in this place, Hanyuan, there is no money and no people. We dare not deal with bandits when they come, and we can only hide when the grassland people come... What can I do?

"I am merely a purchased official, and I have never even passed the imperial examinations. It is already a blessing from heaven that I have survived until now..."

Xiao Chen looked at him.

This gaunt, cowardly, and afraid-to-die city lord was crying like a child.

But Xiao Chen felt no sympathy whatsoever.

There is always a reason why someone is pitiful.

Liu Hong is hateful, but what's even more hateful is that he turned Han Yuan into this kind of person, and that he sent a good-for-nothing like Liu Hong to be the city lord.

"You can go now," Xiao Chen suddenly said.

Liu Hong was taken aback: "Leave? Where to?"

"Go back to the interior, go back to my hometown, go anywhere is fine."

Xiao Chen turned and walked out, saying, "Hanyuan doesn't need a city lord like you."

Liu Hong stood there, stunned, for a long time, then suddenly knelt down with a thud and kowtowed repeatedly: "Thank you, Your Highness! Thank you for your mercy, Your Highness!"

He scrambled back into the house, and soon came out carrying a small bundle on his back, running away without looking back.

Uncle Fu watched his retreating figure and sighed, "Your Highness, are we just going to let him go like that?"

"What's the point of keeping him around?"

Xiao Chen said indifferently, "A piece of trash, just taking up space."

He walked to the center of the courtyard and looked around the dilapidated mansion.

"Wang Dashan".

"Your humble servant is here!"

"Take your men and inventory everything usable in the mansion. Dry out the moldy grain and salvage as much as possible. Remove rust from the knives and spears and repair as many as you can. Keep the copper coins safe; they'll be useful in the future."

"yes!"

"Zhao Tie".

Zhao Tie struggled to get up from the stretcher, but Xiao Chen held him down: "Your injuries haven't healed yet, talk while lying down."

"Thank you, Your Highness."

Zhao Tie lay back down, his voice weak but firm, "What are your orders, Your Highness?"

"Until you recover from your injuries, you are responsible for taking stock of everything we brought. How much food, coal, and weapons are left? Write it all down clearly."

"Yes."

"Uncle Fu".

"This old servant is here."

"Take a few men and tidy up the mansion. Repair what needs fixing and fix what needs repairing. We need a place to stay tonight."

"Yes."

"Amu."

Amu raised his head, his eyes questioning.

"Go and wander around the city, see how many usable wells there are, and how many intact houses there are. Remember, don't disturb the people, just observe from a distance."

Amu nodded, turned and left.

As orders were issued one by one, the once lifeless city lord's mansion suddenly came to life.

The veterans sprang into action, some shoveling snow, others repairing houses, and still others taking inventory.

Xiao Chen walked into the courtroom—the only relatively intact room in the entire mansion.

He sat down behind the tattered desk, spread out the household register, and took out the map he had drawn along the way to compare it with the map.

Hanyuan City is not large; it is square in shape, with each side measuring about three li.

It has four gates: east, south, west, and north, but only the south gate is relatively intact; the other three gates have collapsed.

The city was divided into four neighborhoods by the crossroads.

Dongfang is an affluent area—if there are any wealthy people left in this city.

The West Ward was a slum, the North Ward was the site of a former military camp, and the South Ward was a market.

Now, nine out of ten houses in the East Ward are empty, the West Ward is crowded with the elderly and weak, the North Ward is abandoned, and the South Ward only has a few stalls selling firewood and charcoal, which are often not open for business.

There is land outside the city, but most of it is barren.

The Baishui River flows through the west of the city, freezing in winter and thawing in spring.

The other side of the river is grassland, and three hundred miles to the north is the territory of the Canglang tribe.

Xiao Chen marked the map with charcoal.

There is no food.

Weapons? No.

Two thousand elderly and infirm people.

Outside, there were no nomadic cavalry; inside, there were bandits and local tyrants.

This situation is worse than he could have imagined.

But he was not discouraged.

On the contrary, I felt a strange excitement.

Just like a chess player facing a hopeless game, instead of thinking about admitting defeat, they think about how to turn the tide.

"Your Highness."

Wang Dashan came in and reported, "The inventory is complete."

"explain."

"Fifteen bushels of moldy grain, after drying and removing the mold, will probably yield about ten bushels."

If we eat sparingly, it's enough to feed 300 people for ten days.

There are twenty-one rusted knives, and only about ten can be polished to be barely usable.

There are seven bows, but all the strings are broken and need to be replaced.

Fifty arrows, the arrowheads are rusted, they need to be sharpened again.

"Where's the coal?"

"There are three cartloads left, about 500 jin (250 kg). If we use it sparingly, it should last for half a month."

"Our own food?"

"Two more days' worth."

Wang Dashan's voice was low and deep, "Moreover... Your Highness, we are also running low on food. The dried meat and cheese we got from the herdsmen will only last for three days."

Xiao Chen nodded and wrote it down on the paper.

Ten days plus two days plus three days, a total of fifteen days.

He must find a new source of food within fifteen days.

Otherwise, they would starve to death before Scarface Liu came to kill them or the grassland cavalry attacked.

"besides,"

Wang Dashan hesitated for a moment, then said, "During the inventory just now, we found a cellar under the treasury. There are... some things inside."

"What is it?"

"Your Highness should go and see for yourself."

The cellar was located beneath the treasury, with its entrance well hidden, covered by a pile of tattered sacks.

Lifting the sack revealed a small opening, just wide enough for one person to pass through, with a wooden ladder leading down.

Xiao Chen went down with the torch in his hand.

The cellar was not large, about two zhang (approximately 6.6 meters) square.

But what was inside stunned him.

Along the east wall, there were more than a dozen wooden crates neatly stacked.

Wang Dashan pried one open, and inside was—a book.

These are not ordinary books; they are agricultural books, industrial books, medical books, and even a few military books.

The pages are yellowed, but the book is well preserved.

Along the west wall, there was a pile of tools: shovels, hoes, and plowshares. Although they were rusty, they were all made of iron.

There were also several large earthenware jars containing seeds—wheat seeds, bean seeds, and vegetable seeds—all sealed with lime, and they hadn't spoiled yet.

What shocked Xiao Chen the most was a box placed in the center of the cellar.

The box was made of iron and was very heavy.

Open it, and inside is a set of armor.

It was not ordinary leather or iron armor, but a finely crafted Mingguang armor.

The nail plates were polished to a gleaming shine, gleaming coldly in the torchlight.

Beside it was a horizontal sword, its scabbard black, which gleamed coldly when drawn.

"This is..." Wang Dashan was also stunned.

Xiao Chen picked up the knife and examined it carefully.

The blade has fine cloud patterns, and two small characters are engraved near the hilt: Han Yuan.

"The sword of the former commander of Hanyuan." A voice came from the cellar entrance.

It's Zhao Tie.

He had come down at some point, leaning on the wooden ladder, looking at the suit of armor with a complex expression in his eyes.

"In the seventh year of Yanxi, the Northern Yan invaded the border. Yang Ye, the garrison commander of Hanyuan, led three thousand soldiers to defend the isolated city for forty days. When food and reinforcements ran out, the city finally fell and he died for his country."

Zhao Tie's voice was a little hoarse. "It is said that before the city fell, he hid all the documents, farm tools, and seeds, and also sealed up his armor and sword, saying... to leave them for future generations."

He paused for a moment, then said, "I didn't expect that I would actually stay."

Xiao Chen stroked the cold blade.

The knife was heavy, but he held it very steadily.

"General Yang Ye,"

He said softly, "If you have a spirit in heaven, watch. See if I, Xiao Chen, can bring Han Yuan back to life."

He sheathed his sword and said to Wang Dashan, "Move all of this upstairs. Books, find literate people to copy and distribute. Tools, remove rust and polish. Seeds, preserve them well. Armor and sword... I'll keep them."

"yes!"

It was already dark when we got back to the ground.

The snow stopped, the clouds dispersed, revealing a sky full of stars.

The starry sky in the North is exceptionally clear, and the Milky Way stretches across the heavens like a luminous ribbon.

Inside the city lord's mansion, a fire had already been lit.

The veterans huddled around the fire for warmth, while a thin porridge was cooking in a pot—it was made from sun-dried moldy grain. Although it still had a musty smell, it was better than nothing.

Uncle Fu came over and said, "Your Highness, we've prepared a few rooms; please rest here."

Xiao Chen shook his head: "I'll sleep here."

He pointed to the courtroom.

"This...this won't do! There isn't even a bed here..."

"Just lay down some dry grass."

Xiao Chen said, "I am a prince, so I must reside in the government office. From today onwards, this will be the government office of Hanyuan City. People can come to me anytime they have any problems."

Uncle Fu wanted to persuade him further, but seeing Xiao Chen's resolute expression, he had no choice but to go and gather the dry grass.

Late at night.

The fire gradually died down.

The veterans, wrapped in thin blankets, slept in the courtyard and the side rooms.

The sounds of snoring rose and fell, mingling with the groans of the wounded and the howling of the north wind.

Xiao Chen lay on the haystack in the courtroom, using the "Cold Abyss" sword as a pillow, his eyes open, staring at the hole in the roof.

Outside the hole, starlight twinkled.

He thought of the capital, the palace, and those days of luxury and strife.

I recalled my fourth brother's mockery and my sixth brother's feigned concern when I left Beijing.

I recalled the assassinations, the wind and snow, the dead along the way.

I thought of the Cold Abyss I saw today—a dilapidated, hopeless, yet hopeful dead city.

"Han Yuan..."

He murmured the name.

Then close your eyes.

In his dream, he saw three thousand soldiers standing on the city wall, arrows raining down.

I saw a general, sword in hand, charging into battle amidst a vast army.

On the day the city fell, with flames soaring into the sky, the general committed suicide.

I saw the knife, stuck in a pool of blood, the two characters "Han Yuan" on the blade stained crimson with blood.