Hot flashes

Xiao Jue stood on the steps of the Qianqing Palace.

The palace doors behind him were wide open, and the lights inside poured out from behind him, casting his figure as a black silhouette.

Below the steps, a dense crowd of people stood—neatly armored, with spears and halberds like a forest, all dressed in iron gray from head to toe, with only the tips of their knives and spears gleaming coldly in the firelight.

That was Xiao Jue's personal guard battalion.

Those who fought their way from the North followed him through Eagle Beak Cliff, Wolf Valley, and Azure Cloud Ridge, crossed the Canglan River, and flattened the Southern Capital City.

This is the scene that the vanguard of the rebel army saw when they rushed to Qianqing Gate.

They thought the imperial city was in complete chaos, and that the imperial guards had been terrified by the fire.

They thought everything would go as Li Xun had promised—the palace gates would be wide open, an inside agent would lead the way, the emperor would be captured in his sleep, and everything would be over before dawn.

They saw the figure standing with his hands behind his back on the steps, and the sea of ​​iron gray below. Everyone stopped in their tracks, as if an invisible hand had gripped their throats. The shouts of battle were squeezed out of their throats, turning into short, terrified gasps.

Xiao Jue stood on the steps, looking down at those people.

He didn't speak, but raised his hand and pressed it down.

The soldiers of the Imperial Guard rushed down the steps like a torrent of iron gray, crashing into the chaotic formation of the rebels.

The blade flashed in the firelight, and blood splattered on the snow, on the white marble railings, and on the red lanterns that had not yet been burned.

Screams, wails, pleas for mercy, curses—all the sounds mingled together, creating a chaotic cacophony that echoed through the empty palace, lingering for a long time.

When the news reached Cuijiawubao in the east of the city, the third watch drum had just sounded for the second time.

Cui Yin did not sleep. He sat on the armchair in the main hall of the fortified village, with an oil lamp in front of him that was about to burn out. The wick was charred black, and the flame was as thin as a needle, flickering in the draft.

The sandalwood prayer beads in his hand spun all night long, the beads becoming warm from being held in his palm. The sandalwood scent grew stronger and stronger in the cramped hall, almost suffocatingly so.

The messenger rode up on horseback and knelt before Cui Yin: "Lord Cui... the palace... the palace is on fire! Commandant Li has opened the palace gates, and our men... our men have already gone in."

Cui Yin stopped rosary beads. He opened his eyes, and a strange light suddenly flashed in his cloudy old eyes.

He stood up, moving much faster than usual. The force of his ascent caused the armchair to tilt backward, creaking as it bumped against the screen behind him. "Order the entire force to depart immediately."

The bugle call to relay the order rang out in the fortified village.

Torches were lit one after another, illuminating the entire fortified village as bright as day.

The gates of Cuijiawu Fortress opened at the third watch of the night. A procession of three thousand men filed out of the narrow mountain path, like a startled giant python, slowly swimming towards the capital under the cover of night.

Leading the way were two hundred cavalrymen, their horses fine steeds bought from the North, plump and strong, their hooves wrapped in thick cloth, making only a soft thud as they stepped on the snow, like the whispers of lovers.

Behind the cavalry were two thousand infantrymen, with swordsmen and shieldmen in front, spearmen behind, and archers in the middle. Their formation was strict and their pace was synchronized, making them seem like a completely different team from the loosely organized "tomb guardians" during the day.

At the very back were the supply wagons, with eight hundred men pushing dozens of large carts loaded with siege ladders, battering rams, and spare weapons. The wheels crunched through the snow, the sound carrying far in the quiet night.

The snow was still falling, though less than at dusk.

Cui Yin rode his horse in the middle of the procession, surrounded by his personal guards on all sides.

He wore an iron-gray cotton armor, over which was a dark black cloak, with a section of dark red lining peeking out from the collar of the cloak.

The journey from Cuijiawu Fort to the capital is only half an hour on horseback, but the speed slowed down when leading a mixed infantry and cavalry force of three thousand men.

The snow made travel difficult, and the wheels often got stuck in potholes, requiring dozens of people to push them out.

The infantrymen's boots sank into the snow, which was up to their ankles. The cold air rose from their feet, making their teeth chatter.

Sitting on his horse, Cui Yin looked at the winding dragon of torches and a strange premonition suddenly welled up in his heart.

Everything went too smoothly. From the moment Li Xun opened the palace gates until they arrived safely in the outskirts of the capital, the checkpoints along the way were practically useless. No one from the Ministry of War appeared, no patrols from the Beijing Garrison appeared, and they didn't even encounter a single checkpoint to stop them.

He suppressed his unease and urged his horse to increase its speed.

At the fourth watch of the night, the group arrived outside Deshengmen, north of the capital. According to the plan, Li Xun's men were supposed to meet them inside the city and open the gates to let them in.

Cui Yin reined in his horse and looked up at the city gate tower that stood majestically in the night. The tower was dark and unlit.

He waited a moment, and then a commotion suddenly erupted from inside the city gate—the clanging of metal, footsteps, and shouts, all mixed together, as if someone was having a fierce argument inside. Then, the gate opened.

The heavy city gate swung open with a tremendous crash, and a troop of cavalry in bright armor poured out from behind it. Their hooves shattered the snow in the archway, and their iron armor gleamed coldly in the torchlight. The leader rode a chestnut horse and held an iron spear with a human head impaled on its tip.