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

Before the smoke of war had completely dissipated at Tongguan, black wolf flags had already been planted in most of eastern Guanzhong.

When Chen Dao left a detachment to continue putting pressure on Tongguan, and personally led the main force of the Hanyuan Army, riding the momentum of successive victories, like a rolling black torrent, pointing westward and heading straight for Chang'an, the entire Guanzhong Plain seemed to tremble before this unstoppable force.

Chang'an, the ancient capital that has witnessed thirteen dynasties, has long since lost its former grandeur and glory.

The towering city walls appeared gray and dilapidated in the cold winds of late winter and early spring. The banners bearing the characters for "Xia" and "Zhongxing" hung limply on the top of the walls, and the patrolling soldiers all looked pale and fearful.

The city was filled with fear and the streets were deserted.

After Zhao Chong fled to Chang'an with the false emperor Xiao Yu, the western capital, which had already declined due to the relocation of the capital, began to bear unimaginable pressure.

The oppressive regime's exorbitant taxes, the harassment and looting by defeated soldiers, and the immense fear of the enemy's approach to the city have turned Chang'an into a giant, hopeless prison.

"Report—General! The vanguard of the Han Yuan rebels has crossed Ba Bridge and is less than fifty li from Chang'an!"

"Report—Several beacon towers to the east have been destroyed, and enemy cavalry have appeared in sight to the east of the city!"

"Report! Grain depots throughout the city are running low on supplies; rioters are looting them!"

Report—A clash has broken out between the guards at the North Gate and the supervising officer; a small group of soldiers have deserted!

The bad news flew into the pseudo-royal palace like snowflakes. With each report, Xiao Yu on the throne paled a little more, and Zhao Chong, who was listening to the government behind the beaded curtain beside the dragon throne, became even more turbid.

Xiao Yu's hands trembled slightly inside the sleeves of his dragon robe. He dared not look at the old man behind the beaded curtain, who was growing increasingly withered yet exuded a dangerous aura like a dying beast.

He remembered that just a few days earlier, this same old man had personally beaten to death a civil official in the imperial court who had proposed "surrendering outside the city," his blood splattering across the golden bricks of the hall. Even now, the hall seemed to still retain a faint smell of blood.

"What's the panic! What's all the panic about!" Zhao Chong suddenly lifted the beaded curtain. His face was ashen, his eyes were sunken, but his eyes burned with an almost insane flame.

The continuous blows and torment of illness did not break his will; instead, they made him more paranoid and violent.

"Chang'an is a high-walled city with deep moats, and its provisions... can last for several months! Our army still has tens of thousands of soldiers ready to fight! As long as we are united and hold our ground while awaiting reinforcements, the reinforcements from the King of Wu and the King of Chu will arrive soon! The rebels have come from afar, so a swift battle is advantageous. As long as we hold them off and wait for their troops to tire, we will surely have an opportunity to strike!"

His voice was hoarse and shrill, echoing in the hall, which only added to his bluster.

The officials who stood sparsely by His Highness had their heads bowed and no one responded.

Reinforcements? The promises of the King of Wu and the King of Chu were as thin as paper.

Food supplies? Perhaps only Zhao Chong himself still believed that the granaries, which had been siphoned off at every level and were already mostly empty, could last for several months.

Are they even fit to fight? The true core forces of the Zhao clan have already suffered heavy losses in Shenjing and Tongguan. The current garrison in Chang'an is mostly composed of conscripted able-bodied men, defeated soldiers, and former Chang'an garrison troops with differing intentions. Morale is low, and desertion is increasing daily.

"Pass on the order!"

Ignoring the silence of the crowd, Zhao Chong slammed his withered hand heavily on the imperial desk. "Close all four gates and impose a curfew! Anyone who dares to speak of surrender will be executed on the spot!"

Anyone who dares to sow discord among the troops shall be executed on the spot!

Anyone who dares to leave the city without permission and communicate with the thieves will have their entire family executed!

The system of collective punishment was implemented in each neighborhood; if one household fled, all its neighbors would be punished!

"Hold this place for me! Hold it until reinforcements arrive, hold it until the rebels retreat! Your Majesty, the court, and Chang'an shall live and die together!"

Cruel orders were issued from the puppet palace, attempting to maintain the last vestiges of order in this crumbling city through fear and bloodshed.

The city of Chang'an was suddenly filled with unease and panic.

Zhao Chong's trusted guards, the "Shence Army," patrolled the streets, arresting and imprisoning anyone suspected of anything suspicious, and even killing them in the street.

Grain prices soared, the black market flourished, and complaints were rampant, but no one dared to complain openly.

The entire city of Chang'an was like a giant prison, filled with fear, despair, and deathly silence.

Several days later, outside Chang'an City.

The black tide has finally arrived.

The Han Yuan army did not rush to launch an attack, but instead systematically set up a long camp ten miles outside Chang'an City.

The camp was fortified, the trenches were deep, and the watchtowers were numerous, completely surrounding Chang'an from the east, south, and north.

Black wolf banners fluttered in the wind, and soldiers in gleaming armor patrolled the camp, exuding a chilling aura.

What terrified the defenders on the city walls even more was that the massive siege equipment transported from the direction of Tongguan—towering ladders, iron-clad battering rams, and dozens of trebuchets that required dozens of people to operate and inspired fear—was being slowly pushed toward the front lines.

Surrounded by his generals, Chen Dao rode his horse to a high slope, gazing at the city of Chang'an.

The city walls are tall, but they cannot hide the decline of the city.

The soldiers guarding the city walls were few in number, their flags scattered about.

"Impregnable?"

A cold smile appeared on Chen Dao's lips. "It's nothing more than a trapped beast's struggle, a death throes."

"General, when shall we attack the city?" one of the generals asked, unable to contain his fighting spirit.

"No rush."

Chen Dao calmly replied, "Chang'an is a large city with high walls; a direct assault would result in heavy casualties. Zhao Chong has lost the hearts of the people, and the city's food supplies and morale are unlikely to hold out for long."

Our army has just pacified the eastern part of Guanzhong and needs time to consolidate its position and replenish its food supplies.

Orders were given to all units to dig deep trenches and build high walls, surrounding the city without attacking. Catapults were to bombard the city walls and gates at irregular intervals each day, exhausting the defenders and demoralizing their troops.

They tied surrender documents to arrows and shot them into the city in large quantities. They also widely distributed letters from surrendered generals, accusations against Zhao Chong, and our army's policies.

At the same time, I will send cavalry to sweep through the area within a hundred li of Chang'an, completely cutting off its external aid and supply lines. I will turn Chang'an into a dead city, an isolated city!

"Yes, sir!"

Thus began a peculiar siege.

The Han Yuan Army did not launch a general offensive, but the pressure was everywhere.

Huge stones roared from the catapults, crashing against the walls of Chang'an with a dull thud. Bricks and stones flew everywhere. Although they could not immediately collapse the walls, they kept the defenders in a state of constant fear and unrest.

Even more terrifying were the arrows that swarmed into the city like locusts. Instead of deadly arrowheads, they carried proclamations urging surrender, letters from surrendered generals proving they were being treated well, proclamations listing Zhao Chong's crimes and exposing the corruption of the puppet regime, and proclamations promising to "only punish the ringleader Zhao Chong, spare the coerced, and reward those who surrender the city handsomely."

These pieces of paper are more lethal than swords and knives.

Like a plague, they spread quietly through the despairing city of Chang'an.

The soldiers secretly circulated the document, and the people gossiped about it in private.

Zhao Chong's harsh laws and severe punishments could prohibit open expressions of surrender, but they could not stop fear and the will to survive from growing in everyone's heart.

The escape began to grow from sporadic individuals to small groups.

Although Zhao Chong intensified patrols and suppression, publicly executing captured deserters and their families and displaying their bodies on the city walls, the trend of escape, like anthills under a dike, continued to grow and became increasingly difficult to contain.

What made Zhao Chong even more desperate was that the "reinforcements" from the south, on which he had placed his high hopes, were still nowhere to be found.

The messengers sent out either disappeared without a trace or brought back empty promises from the King of Wu and the King of Chu, such as "they are gathering troops and will soon march north."

Meanwhile, the various prefectures and counties in Guanzhong had already been wiped out by the Han Yuan army, and there was no support whatsoever. Chang'an had truly become an isolated island, tottering in the storm.

As the siege entered its second month, the city's food supplies began to run out.

Zhao Chong ordered a strict rationing system, with ordinary people receiving only a bowl of thin porridge per day, while the garrison soldiers received slightly more, but it was still barely enough to fill their stomachs.

Black market grain prices soared to astronomical levels, and the tragedy of cannibalism began to quietly occur in alleyways.

The plague also began to spread in the crowded, dirty slums.

Death and despair, like a thick black fog, shrouded the entire city.

Inside the pseudo-royal palace, the atmosphere was oppressive and suffocating.

Xiao Yu had not attended court for many days. He huddled in a corner of his bedchamber, looking emaciated and with a vacant stare, like a soulless puppet.

Zhao Chong, the once powerful old man, now resembles a caged, emaciated yet still ferocious mad tiger.

His cough became more and more violent, and he coughed up more and more blood, but the madness in his eyes grew stronger.

"Useless! All of you are useless!"

He smashed everything within reach, roaring at the empty hall, "Where are the reinforcements? Where is the King of Wu? Where is the King of Chu? And all those powerful figures from Guanzhong, are they all dead?!"

"I haven't lost yet! Chang'an still stands! The legitimate Liang dynasty still exists! As long as we hold on... as long as we hold on, there is hope... Xiao Chen, you traitor! Traitor!"

His roar echoed through the empty palace, with no one responding except for his own echo and the faint sound of bugles from the Han Yuan army camp outside the window.

The bugle call was steady and powerful, carrying an unstoppable will. It pierced through the high palace walls and clearly reached everyone's ears, striking like a heavy hammer into the hearts of Zhao Chong and every conscious person in this lonely city.

Chang'an, this ancient capital with a history of thousands of years, has been surrounded by black iron walls and is being eroded from within by despair and fear.

Zhao Chong's desperate struggle, though frantic, could not change the fact that the city was sliding step by step into the abyss of destruction.

Han Yuanjun, like the most patient hunter, slowly tightened the encirclement, exhausting the last bit of strength and life force within his prey.

The final offensive may not have begun yet, but the outcome seems to have already been decided.

Everyone is waiting, waiting for that last straw to fall, waiting for this cage to collapse from the inside, or to crumble under the crushing force of the outside.