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

It was 3:45 AM, and dawn had not yet broken.

The north wind swirled fine snow, lashing against the most inconspicuous corner gate on the west side of the imperial city.

This place was where servants, palace maids, and convicts came and went; it was usually deserted, but today it was eerily quiet.

Xiao Chen, dressed in a worn indigo cotton robe and covered with a gray squirrel fur cloak, stood in the doorway, his breath condensing into a cloud of mist in the cold night.

Behind them was the "Prince's Retinue".

A wooden cart, harnessed to a skinny old horse.

Half of the wheel was missing, hemp rope was wrapped around the shaft, and the canopy was made of oilcloth patched upon patched, rattling loudly in the wind.

This is the "Prince's Carriage" allocated by the Imperial Household Department.

Uncle Fu was holding a bundle in his arms, his back hunched, coughing incessantly.

Zhao Tie leaned on his wooden cane, a short knife hanging at his waist, his eyes scanning his surroundings warily.

The mute Amu silently inspected the horse tack, his rough hands stroking the whip marks on the horse's back, his eyes filled with pity.

"Your Highness," Uncle Fu's voice trembled, "is he really... gone just like that?"

Xiao Chen remained silent.

He took the bundle from Uncle Fu's hand and weighed it in his hand.

It wasn't heavy; inside were a few changes of clothes, some dry food, and the "belongings" Zhao Tie had given him last night.

"What about the three hundred veterans allocated by the Ministry of War?" he asked.

Zhao Tie spat: "Wait outside the city gate."

I went to see them. The youngest was fifty-three, the oldest was sixty-eight, and there were more than a dozen people missing limbs.

They said it was three hundred, but only a little over two hundred could walk.

Xiao Chen nodded, as expected.

"What about the Ministry of Revenue's household allowance?"

"Five thousand taels,"

Uncle Fu lowered his voice, "The four thousand taels of 'flying money' given will be redeemed in the Northern Prefecture."

There's only one thousand taels of silver available, and the purity is poor. I weighed it in my hand; it's probably only eight hundred taels in actual weight.

Xiao Chen smiled.

His eyes froze as he laughed.

"One thousand taels of silver, three hundred old and weak people, and a broken-down cart."

He repeated, as if talking about someone else, "I, the Prince of Jingbei, am truly living a dignified life."

The eunuch guarding the side gate was huddled in the gatehouse warming himself by the fire. He peeked out, then ducked back in, muttering something under his breath.

No one saw him off.

When a prince is enfeoffed, according to regulations, an official from the Ministry of Rites should accompany him, or at least a eunuch from the Directorate of Palace Attendants should come to announce the imperial decree and bestow gifts.

But today, there is nothing.

It seemed as if everyone had forgotten that the Great Xia Dynasty had a seventh prince who was going to take up his fiefdom today.

"Let's go," Xiao Chen said.

He took one last look behind him.

The majestic outline of the imperial city was hidden in the darkness before dawn, like a lurking beast.

Those golden tiles and red walls, those carved beams and painted rafters, those places where he had lived for sixteen years, all stood silent, silently watching him leave.

Amu raised his whip and gently lashed the old horse's back.

The carriage creaked and groaned as it rolled over the cobblestone road, the sound monotonous and heavy.

The wheels rolled over the snow, leaving two shallow tracks, which were quickly covered by fresh snow.

From the corner gate to the north gate, one has to cross most of the capital.

As I passed by Zhuque Avenue, the sky was just beginning to lighten.

Shops along the street opened one after another, and the aroma of steamed buns mixed with the smell of soy milk wafted out.

The peddler, carrying his load on a shoulder pole, warmed his hands as he set up his stall by the roadside.

Several children chased and played in the snow, their laughter ringing out.

This is a vibrant, lively, and bustling morning in Beijing, full of everyday life.

Xiao Chen lowered the carriage curtain.

All of this is no longer his concern.

As the carriage passed the gate of the Imperial College, it happened to encounter a group of carriages and horses coming out.

Four cavalrymen led the way, followed by a four-horse carriage with red wheels and a magnificent canopy, exuding an extraordinary air.

The carriage curtains were embroidered with qilin patterns—that was part of the ceremonial system for princes.

It was the carriage of the Fourth Prince, Xiao Jing.

The two groups met at the street corner.

Xiao Jing lifted the carriage curtain, revealing a face with a half-smile: "Oh, isn't this Seventh Brother? Leaving the city so early? I was just thinking of seeing you off."

Xiao Chen lifted the carriage curtain, his expression calm: "Fourth Brother, you're very thoughtful. Are we going to court?"

"The Emperor summoned me to discuss the spring sacrifice to Heaven."

Xiao Jing's gaze swept over Xiao Chen's dilapidated carriage, and the smile on his lips deepened. "Seventh Brother's carriage... is quite unique."

The northern border is far, I'm afraid this carriage won't make it to the destination. Would you like me to send you another one?

"No need."

Xiao Chen said calmly, "The carriage allocated by the Ministry of Rites, though simple, is sufficient. I appreciate Fourth Brother's kindness."

Xiao Jing stared at him for a moment, then suddenly sighed: "Seventh brother, it's not that I'm criticizing you."

That place, Hanyuan, is truly not a place for humans to stay.

If you go back now and beg your father to let you go, it might still be in time.

Even if things are bad in the capital, it's still better than freezing or starving to death over there.

He spoke with concern, but his eyes were full of mockery.

Xiao Chen met his gaze and suddenly smiled: "Fourth Brother is right. However, I've heard that although the Northern Frontier is harsh, it has one advantage."

"Oh? What are the benefits?"

"Clean".

Xiao Chen said, word by word, "The sky is clean, the snow is clean, and people's hearts... are also clean."

Unlike the capital city, which appears lush and beautiful on the surface, but is actually filthy and smelly inside.

Fourth Brother, isn't that right?

Xiao Jing's smile froze.

"Giddy up." Xiao Chen lowered the carriage curtain.

The carriage moved slowly forward, passing by the magnificent carriage of the prince.

Amu drove the cart without looking back.

Zhao Tie gripped the knife at his waist, his gaze sharp as an eagle's.

Uncle Fu was holding the bundle, his body trembling slightly—he was furious.

Only after they had gone some distance could they hear Xiao Jing let out a heavy groan from inside the car.

"Your Highness," Uncle Fu said in a low voice, "you shouldn't have..."

"Shouldn't we have offended him?"

Xiao Chen closed his eyes to rest, "If I don't offend him, he will let me go?"

Uncle Fu, there are some people in this world who will take advantage of you the more you give in.

It's better to let him know that even a rabbit will bite when cornered.

Uncle Fu fell silent.

The carriage continued north.

When we passed by the Duke of Zhenguo's mansion, the gates were tightly closed.

When passing by the Sixth Prince's residence, there were several carriages parked in front of the gate, it seemed that they were going out to attend a banquet.

As they passed by the residence of Consort Liu, the birth mother of the Eighth Prince, they heard the sounds of string and wind instruments coming from inside, as if the banquet had not yet ended.

All this prosperity and excitement has nothing to do with this dilapidated carriage.

By the time we reached the north gate, it was already broad daylight.

The snow stopped, and a crack appeared in the clouds, revealing the pale sun.

The sunlight slanted across the city gate tower, making the three gilded characters "Yongding Gate" gleam coldly.

Outside the city gate, a large group of people stood in the dark.

Three hundred old soldiers, some standing, some sitting, some leaning, some lying down.

Most of them wore tattered prison uniforms, and some didn't even have prison uniforms, just wrapped in cotton-padded jackets whose color was indistinguishable.

The oldest one, with completely white hair and beard, stood shakily, leaning on a cane.

The younger ones were all over fifty, and they were all sallow-faced, thin, and had cloudy eyes.

The crowd stirred slightly upon seeing the carriage approaching.

A one-armed veteran stepped forward, his left sleeve empty, and pounded his chest with his right arm—this was the border guard's salute.

"This humble servant, Wang Dashan, former captain of the scout battalion of the Divine Martial Army, greets Your Highness!"

His voice was hoarse, yet it carried the toughness of a soldier.

Xiao Chen stepped off the carriage and glanced at the group of veterans.

Of the three hundred people, less than two hundred could actually stand up straight.

The rest are either missing limbs or plagued by injuries.

Some people were coughing incessantly, some had chilblains on their faces, and some had vacant stares, as if they hadn't returned from the battlefield.

This is the "bodyguard" assigned to him by the Ministry of War.

"Captain Wang," Xiao Chen asked, "among you, are there any who can ride horses and fight?"

Wang Dashan smiled wryly: "Your Highness, there are fewer than fifty people who can ride horses."

Those who can draw a bow are less than thirty.

The rest are the elderly, the weak, the sick, and the disabled, just trying to make a living and waiting to die.

The words were blunt, even somewhat offensive.

But Xiao Chen wasn't angry.

He walked up to an old soldier who was squatting on the ground.

The old soldier was missing a leg, his trousers were hanging loosely, and he was holding a knife in his arms, the scabbard of which was rusty.

"What's your name? Which army did you serve in?"

The old soldier raised his head, glanced at Xiao Chen with his cloudy eyes, and then lowered his head again: "Your Highness, I am Li Si, formerly a swordsman and shieldman of the Tiger Legion."

In the seventh year of Yanxi, he fought against Northern Yan, lost a leg, and returned.

"In the seventh year of Yanxi..."

Xiao Chen did some calculations. "How old were you when you were injured fourteen years ago?"

"Twenty-eight."

"I'm forty-two this year."

Xiao Chen nodded, then asked, "Is anyone else at home?"

Li Si shook his head.

"Tiger-like Warriors with Swords and Shields,"

Xiao Chen looked at the knife in his arms and said, "Back then, the Tiger Legion guarded Yumen Pass. Three thousand men held off twenty thousand iron cavalry from the Northern Yan for three days and three nights."

Are you one of those three thousand?

Li Si suddenly looked up, his eyes lighting up: "Your Highness knows about Yumen Pass?"

"Know."

Xiao Chen said, "The history books record that in the autumn of the seventh year of Yanxi, the Northern Yan invaded the border. Three thousand Tiger Warriors guarded Yumen Pass. They fought a bloody battle for three days, annihilating eight thousand enemy soldiers, and the entire army was wiped out."

"You survived that battle?"

Li Si's lips began to tremble.

He released the knife from his chest, used his one arm to support himself, and tried to stand up.

Xiao Chen reached out and helped him up.

The veteran stood up straight, his back ramrod straight even though he only had one leg.

He looked at Xiao Chen for a long time, then suddenly knelt down on one knee—with a thud, his knee hit the frozen ground.

"Li Si, swordsman and shield bearer of the Seventh Battalion of the Tiger Legion, greets Your Highness!"

His voice was hoarse, yet it sounded like a knife scraping against an iron plate.

Xiao Chen helped him up, then looked at the others.

"And you?"

He raised his voice, "Which units did they retire from? What battles did they fight? How many enemies did they kill?"

The crowd fell silent for a moment.

Then, one voice after another rang out.

"Zhang Shitou, spearman of the Third Battalion of the Divine Martial Army! He fought in Xiliang!"

"The Imperial Guard, archer Zhou the Cripple! He defended Tongguan!"

"Old Wu, the stable boy from the Valiant Cavalry! He served under General Huo during the conquest of Nanzhao!"

"The Golden Guard..."

"The Thousand Bull Guards..."

The sounds were initially chaotic, but gradually they merged into one.

These veterans, these forgotten and abandoned old soldiers, straightened their chests and announced their former unit numbers and the battles they had fought.

Xiao Chen had read about some of the battles in history books.

Some battles were not even recorded in history books.

But these veterans remember.

They remember every battle, every fallen comrade, and why they have become what they are today.

Xiao Chen listened and waited until everyone had finished speaking before speaking:

"I know what you think."

They thought I was an unfavored prince, banished to a desolate place to die.

I see you as a burden I've thrown out; following me, you'll only freeze and starve to death.

He paused, his gaze sweeping over each face.

"But I tell you, the Abyss is not a dead place."

The North is not a dead end.

I, Xiao Chen, am not walking out of this city gate today to die—"

He turned and pointed north.

"I'm going to fight for a way to survive! Not just for myself, but for you all!"

The wind whipped up snowflakes that stung my face.

The three hundred veterans listened quietly.

"The court doesn't want you, but I do."

"The capital city cannot accommodate you, but Han Yuan can."

Xiao Chen's voice was exceptionally clear in the cold wind, "I won't ask how old you are, or how many injuries you have. I'll only ask one question—"

He raised his voice, emphasizing each word:

"Can the knives in your hands still kill? Is the blood in your hearts still warm?!"

silence.

A long silence.

Then, Wang Dashan was the first to raise his one-armed arm and roared hoarsely:

"able!"

"able!"

"able!"

The roars burst from dozens of throats, gradually merging into one.

These veterans, these men whose edges had been worn down by time and injury, now had bloodshot eyes, bulging veins, and were roaring with all their might.

He roared out fourteen years of pent-up frustration, the resentment of being abandoned, and the fighting spirit that hadn't yet cooled down in his bones.

The guards at the city gate peeked out, but were frightened back by the sight.

After Xiao Chen and the others' shouts subsided, they climbed onto the front of the carriage, stood on it, and looked down at the group of veterans.

"Then obey!"

Everyone straightened their backs.

"Wang Dashan!"

"Your humble servant is here!"

"You are the commander of the vanguard; select fifty men who can ride horses and send them five li ahead to scout the route!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Li Si!"

Li Si stood ramrod straight on one leg: "Here!"

"You are to be the rear guard commander, leading fifty men to cover the rear. The supplies are entrusted to you!"

"yes!"

"The rest of you, form teams of ten, and each team should select a team leader. The elderly and infirm should travel by vehicle, and those who can walk should walk. Zhao Tie!"

Zhao Tie stepped forward: "This old servant is here!"

"You are the commander of the guards, in charge of all military affairs."

"yes!"

As orders were issued, the previously scattered crowd quickly came into order.

Although they are still the same old, weak, sick, and disabled people, their eyes are different now.

Xiao Chen took one last look at the capital city.

Yongding Gate was behind him; the gate's opening was so deep it seemed bottomless, like a giant mouth.

He lived in this city for sixteen years.

This city has never offered him a shred of warmth.

"Walk."

The carriage slowly started moving.

Three hundred veterans, some on horseback, some in vehicles, and most on foot, marched northward in a vast and silent procession.

The snow started falling again.

Fine snowflakes fell on their shoulders, on the roof of the car, and on the gray hair of these veterans.

Xiao Chen sat in the carriage, lifted the curtain, and looked back one last time.

The capital city gradually blurred in the wind and snow, leaving only a silhouette.

He lowered the carriage curtain and closed his eyes.

"I will come back one day."

The voice was soft, yet resolute.

"At that time, this city, this world—"

He didn't finish speaking.

But inside the carriage, Uncle Fu, Zhao Tie, and the driver Amu all heard it.

I understood it too.

The wheels rolled over the frozen ground, heading north, ever north.