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

Shenjing, Zichen Palace.

It was the height of summer, a time when all things should be growing wildly and full of vitality, but the power center of this empire seemed to be completely frozen by a chill from the depths of hell.

Inside the hall, the overwhelming smell of medicine had long been replaced by another, more pungent and unsettling odor—the stench of death that even the finest spices could not mask.

Heavy, bright yellow curtains hung from the high palace ceiling, blocking out all the light from the outside world and cutting off any hope of life.

Countless white candles, as thick as an arm, burned day and night without ceasing. The candle wax piled up like small mountains, and the flickering flames illuminated the hall in a ghastly white light, distorting the shadows of the attendants into ghostly figures that were cast onto the cold, golden brick floor.

On the dragon throne, Xiao Yan, the twelfth emperor of the Great Xia Dynasty, whose reign title was Jinglong, lay quietly.

He was already emaciated, with sunken eyes, high cheekbones, and sallow, withered skin that clung tightly to his bones, like a skeleton draped in human skin.

Only the faint, almost invisible rise and fall of his chest proved that a wisp of life still remained within this body.

He had been in a coma for far too long.

From the time he vomited blood and fainted during the court assembly last December to the end of summer, for almost half a year, he has been like a living dead, trapped on this cold dragon bed, barely clinging to life with ginseng soup and the most precious medicinal herbs in the world.

The Crown Prince, the Prince of Qin, the Prince of Jin, and even the entire court had long been accustomed to the fact that the emperor was unconscious. They even began to subconsciously regard the dragon bed and the person on it as a symbol, a background, and a "seal" that could be contested but was not owned.

However, on this suffocatingly dull afternoon, after several days of persistent low-grade fever and increasingly weak breathing, Emperor Jinglong's eyelids, which had been tightly closed for a long time, suddenly twitched very slightly a few times.

The chief eunuch Cao Jin, who had been standing like a stone statue in the shadows before the bed, suddenly narrowed his cloudy old eyes, almost thinking he was seeing things.

He instinctively took a half step forward, bent down, and brought his ear close to the emperor's lips.

A faint, hoarse sound, like air leaking from a broken bellows, reached Cao Jin's ears intermittently:

"Water...pass...pass..."

Cao Jin's heart sank suddenly, then began to pound violently again.

He dared not delay, and immediately with trembling hands, picked up the warm ginseng soup beside him and carefully moistened the emperor's chapped lips with a silver spoon.

A few drops of ginseng soup slid down Emperor Jinglong's throat, and a strange "hoarse" sound came from his throat. His eyelids trembled even more violently, as if he had used up all his strength. Finally, slowly, he opened his eyes a crack.

Those eyes, cloudy, empty, and bloodshot, had long lost their former sharpness and majesty, leaving only endless weariness, pain, and a trace of... bewilderment.

He struggled to turn his eyes, as if trying to see his surroundings clearly. His gaze swept over Cao Jin's familiar yet seemingly unfamiliar old face, over the layers of curtains, and finally, listlessly, fixed on the ceiling above his head, which was painted with a nine-dragon caisson.

"Your Majesty... Your Majesty?" Cao Jin's voice trembled without him even realizing it, carrying a hint of hidden fear.

The emperor woke up? He woke up at this critical moment? What did he see? What did he know?

Emperor Jinglong's lips moved again, his voice slightly clearer than before, yet carrying a chilling emptiness and... an eerie clarity akin to a final burst of energy before death:

"Cao Jin...why is it...so...quiet outside?"

Cao Jin felt a chill run down his spine, but he forced himself to remain calm and said in a low voice, "Your Majesty, it is afternoon now, and everything in the palace is as usual. Your Majesty is unwell and needs to rest and recuperate."

"Rest at home?"

Emperor Jinglong's lips twitched strangely, as if he were trying to force a smile, but it looked worse than a grimace. "I...heard...the sounds of killing...and...crying..."

His gaze seemed to pierce through the heavy curtains and the towering palace walls, revealing the world outside that had already undergone a complete upheaval.

Is it the roar of the Crown Prince and the King of Qin in the court? Is it the mobilization of the King of Jin's troops in the streets? Is it the cries of the people in hunger and fear? Or is it the lament of an empire on the verge of collapse and the throne about to fall?

"They...are all...waiting for me to die...right?"

Emperor Jinglong's voice suddenly rose for a moment, carrying a sharp sarcasm and a deep-seated sorrow, before quickly weakening into a violent cough that made his entire hunched body tremble and his sallow face flush with an unnatural redness.

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty, please calm down! Take care of your health!" Cao Jin hurriedly stepped forward, wanting to pat his back, but the emperor forcefully pushed him away.

Emperor Jinglong coughed for a long time before gradually calming down, but his breathing became even weaker and his eyes began to glaze over.

He struggled to raise his withered, bony hand, as if trying to point in a certain direction, but then let it fall limply to the ground.

"Send...send my...decree..." His voice was barely audible, like a mosquito's buzz.

Cao Jin pressed his ear almost to the emperor's lips.

"Summon...summon..."

Emperor Jinglong's lips moved, uttering a few indistinct syllables. It seemed to be the Crown Prince, or the Prince of Qin, or the Prince of Jin? Or even... Chen?

Cao Jin's heart pounded in his throat as he listened intently.

However, what the emperor ultimately uttered was a broken, incoherent word:

"...The world...is in chaos..."

Then, he let out a long, sigh-like gasp, and his raised hand fell limply to the side of the dragon bed.

Those eyes, which had just opened for a moment and seemed to have seen through the sorrows of the world and the unfilial behavior of children and grandchildren, slowly and permanently closed.

The last faint breath, like a candle flickering in the wind, quietly went out.

Emperor Jinglong of the Great Xia Dynasty, Xiao Yan, reigned for twenty-seven years before passing away peacefully in the Zichen Hall of the capital at the age of fifty-four.

Inside the hall, there was a deathly silence. Only the crackling of the burning white candles was particularly jarring.

Cao Jin stood frozen in place, remaining bent over and listening for a long, long time.

Only when he was certain that the chest was no longer rising and falling, only when he felt the body rapidly losing temperature, did he feel all his strength drain away. He staggered back two steps, then collapsed to his knees with a thud, his head hitting the ground, letting out a long, shrill wail that was hard to tell whether it was sorrow, joy, or fear:

"His Majesty—has passed away—!!!"

This cry, like ice water thrown into a pot of boiling oil, exploded instantly, tearing apart the deathly silence of the Zichen Palace, the fragile calm on the surface of the capital, and, at the fastest speed, tearing apart the last fig leaf of the entire Great Xia Dynasty called "legitimacy".

The death knell tolled from the highest bell tower in the imperial city.

"Thump—thump—thump—"

Heavy, slow, and tragic, yet it carries an irreversible resolve that proclaims the end of an old era.

The sound of bells pierced through the summer heat, spreading throughout the streets and alleys of the capital, reaching every mansion and every house, the Crown Prince's Eastern Palace, the Prince of Qin's Mansion, the Prince of Jin's Mansion, and the ears of those who were plotting in secret, mobilizing troops in military camps, or watching in fear.

Nine bell tolls signify national mourning.

In an instant, the entire capital city seemed to have been put on pause.

The hustle and bustle of the streets ceased, the shop signs stopped swaying, pedestrians froze in place, and even the noisy cicadas in the trees seemed to fall silent at this moment.

On everyone's face was a look of bewilderment, astonishment, and a deep-seated fear of the unknown and drastic changes.

Then, the sound of crying began to rise sporadically, first in the palace, then in the residences of officials who had to make a statement, and then spread to some commoner areas affected by the atmosphere.

White mourning cloths appeared as quickly as a plague on doors, windows, pillars, and people's arms.

Shenjing, this ancient imperial capital, was covered in a blinding white that symbolized death and upheaval within just a few hours.

However, beneath this seemingly nationwide wave of grief lies an undercurrent more turbulent and brutal than ever before.

Inside the Crown Prince's Eastern Palace, the moment Xiao Jue heard the bell, he slumped into his chair, his face ashen, whether from grief or fear, it was impossible to tell.

Immediately, he jumped up as if pricked by a needle, and roared hoarsely at his subordinates, "Quickly! Quickly draft an edict! No, draft a will! Father... Father will surely pass the throne to me! Immediately take control of the four gates of the imperial city! Summon the ministers! Prepare... prepare for the enthronement ceremony!"

In the Qin Prince's residence, Xiao Rui abruptly smashed his teacup, his eyes flashing with a terrifying light. He sternly ordered his trusted advisors, "The time has come! Get our men moving immediately! Take control of the Office of Transmission and the Six Ministries. We absolutely cannot allow the Crown Prince's edict to leave the capital! Put the entire Shence Army on high alert! Also, send a letter to the north—no, urgently! Tell Xiao Chen that the Crown Prince forged the edict, the Prince of Jin is plotting rebellion, the foundation of the nation is in jeopardy, and urge him to immediately march south to 'pacify the rebellion'!"

At the Prince of Jin's residence, Xiao Ming kicked over the table in front of him and roared, "The old bastard is finally dead! Good! Issue the order: all units of the Capital Garrison, immediately proceed according to plan! Seal off the nine gates of the capital, allowing entry but not exit! Crown Prince?"

"King of Qin? Hmph! This empire was conquered by me! It belongs to me! Go, bring me that imperial edict we prepared! Proclaim to the world that the Crown Prince is unfilial, the King of Qin is disloyal, only I, having received the late emperor's secret edict, am destined to inherit the throne!"

Inside and outside the capital, troops from all sides were mobilized more frequently, and conflict was imminent.

Beneath the white mourning cloth, swords were already drawn, and bowstrings were quietly drawn taut.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in the north, in Zhenbei City, lies the Jingbei Prince's Mansion.

When Night Owl delivered the top-secret news of the emperor's death to Xiao Chen's desk at top speed using carrier pigeons and fast horses, he was in a sand table room with Han Lie, Wang Dashan, and Murong Xue, deducing the details of a future battle.

The secret report was presented, and Xiao Chen unfolded it, his gaze quickly sweeping over the few lines of text, which carried immense weight. He paused for a fleeting moment.

In the sealed room, you could hear a pin drop.

Han Lie, Wang Dashan, and Murong Xue all held their breath, their eyes fixed on Xiao Chen's face.

Xiao Chen slowly closed the secret report, raised his head, his face showing neither sorrow nor excitement, only a deep and unfathomable calm.

He walked to the sand table, his gaze falling on the point representing the capital, and remained silent for a moment.

Then, he reached out and gently pulled up the somewhat worn bright yellow dragon flag that represented the imperial power of the Great Xia Dynasty, which was planted above the capital, and casually tossed it aside.

"Give the order," his voice rang out calmly, yet it sounded like thunder in the silent chamber:

"From this day forward, the entire northern border shall be in mourning for the Emperor. All banquets and entertainment shall be suspended, and the military and civilians shall wear mourning clothes for three days. White banners shall be hung in the royal palace, government offices, and military camps. The Ministry of Rites shall be ordered to prepare a eulogy and offer the most solemn tribute to the late Emperor from afar."

He paused, lifting his gaze from the sand table to sweep over the three people before him. A cold, sharp glint finally flickered in his calm eyes, like an undercurrent beneath the ice of a deep winter in the north:

"At the same time, the entire army was notified to raise its alert level to Level 1 combat readiness."

"Xuanjia Guards, accelerate the final stage of integration training."

"Tell Night Owl, I want Shenjing. Every single event, every single detail, that happens from this moment on, to be delivered to me within twelve hours."

"The world is in turmoil?"

A faint, yet chilling smile curved Xiao Chen's lips. He gazed at the Central Plains on the sand table, a region suddenly appearing empty yet fraught with danger due to the removal of the dragon flag, and slowly said:

"The shaking has only just begun."

"The real storm is coming."

The imperial star fell, and on this day, the old era was officially tolled to death by those nine death knells.

A new era will arrive on earth, struggling and roaring amidst the clash of blood and fire, iron and blood.

The northern wolf has raised its head, its cold eyes fixed on the southern hunting grounds where the alpha wolf has been lost and is now embroiled in a frenzied infighting.