Hot flashes

The siege lasted for thirty-five days.

The mornings in Wancheng are deathly silent. Where once there were wisps of smoke rising from chimneys, now there is almost no smoke at all.

The soldiers guarding the city walls leaned against the cold crenellations, their eyes numb, their cheeks sunken, and their hands gripping their weapons trembling slightly. Suppressed cries and arguments occasionally drifted from within the city, only to be quickly dispersed by the cold wind.

Feng Jiming stood in the main hall of the government office, his armor still on, yet the space seemed empty.

Standing before him were the few remaining high-ranking generals and several respected elders from the city, all of them pale and filled with sorrow.

"Lord of the city..." an old general said hoarsely, "The food... can only last for three days at most. The wounded have no medicine, and there are already signs of disease. The people... the tragedy of people exchanging their own children to eat has already occurred."

Another elderly man with white hair knelt down tremblingly: "Lord Feng! The lives of 37,000 people in the city depend on your single thought! The court... the court has long abandoned us like worn-out shoes! Marquis of Beiliang... at least gave us a way to live! I beg you... for the sake of the people in the city!" After saying this, tears streamed down his face, and he kowtowed to the ground.

The others also knelt down, and cries of grief filled the air.

Feng Jiming closed his eyes, his chest heaving violently. He knew the final moment had arrived.

With morale shattered and the people exhausted, the city he had sworn to defend to the death was on its last legs. Continuing to resist would only lead to the deaths of the entire city's soldiers and civilians.

He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze no longer filled with struggle, but with a deathly calm and a near-martyrdom-like resolve.

"Get up." His voice was unusually hoarse. "My mind is made up."

He looked at his eldest son, Feng Ben, his eyes filled with complex emotions: "Ben'er, change into civilian clothes and blend in with the people. If the city falls... seize the opportunity to escape. The Feng family line must not end with your father."

"Father!" Feng Ben's eyes were bloodshot as he knelt on the ground, refusing to rise. "I am willing to die with you, Father! I will live and die with Wancheng!"

"Foolish!" Feng Jiming shouted sharply, then his tone softened, filled with endless weariness, "Dying is easy. Living, carrying on the Feng family bloodline and... remembering all of this today, living on, that is difficult. This is my... final order."

Feng Ben trembled violently, tears streaming down his face. He kowtowed three times, choking back sobs and unable to speak.

Feng Jiming stopped looking at him and turned to the generals and elders: "Open the city gates...that's fine."

But you must do three things for me.

First, the Northern Liang army must swear an oath that after entering the city, they will not plunder, kill indiscriminately, or rape women and children, and will ensure the safety of all the people in the city.

Secondly, I, Feng Jiming, was born a subject of Wei and will die a ghost of Wei; I will never surrender to the enemy. My life and death are none of your concern.

Third, after my death, cremate my body and scatter my ashes...below the four gates of Wancheng.

He spoke his last words softly, yet they carried a heartbreaking weight. He wanted to stay with this city, through life and death.

Upon hearing this, everyone burst into tears.

Feng Jiming said no more and turned to walk into the inner room. A moment later, he changed into a scholar's casual robe that had been washed until it was faded but was ironed perfectly, and wore a scholar's cap on his head.

He carried no sword, only a scroll of his own handwritten document bearing the city lord's seal.

He calmly walked out of the government office and headed towards the west gate. His steps were steady, his back straight, as if he were not going to his death, but to complete a solemn ceremony.

The city gate slowly opened a crack behind him. Morning light streamed in, illuminating his lean and serene profile.

Outside the city, the Northern Liang army stood in solemn formation. Han Lie had already received the news and led his elite armored soldiers to form a battle array at the front.

On a high slope in the central area, Xiao Jue sat upright on his horse, his dark cloak fluttering slightly in the wind, watching the lone figure approaching with an expressionless face.

Zhou Heng stood to the side and behind Xiao Jue, his palms already clenched with cold sweat, his heart pounding like a drum.

Feng Jiming walked to the front of the two armies, about a hundred paces away, and stopped. He raised the document in his hand, his voice not loud, but clear and resonant, carrying a strange penetrating power:

"On behalf of the Marquis of Beiliang, your guilty subject Feng Jiming, on behalf of the 37,000 soldiers and civilians of Wancheng, begs for surrender!"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the grim Northern Liang army formation, finally settling on the blurry yet imposing figure on the distant high slope.

"However, I, Feng, have received the grace of the nation and have guarded this land for generations. The fall of the city was due to my inability to do what I could, not to the fault of the battle, nor to my own desire. A loyal minister does not serve two masters, and a virtuous woman does not marry two husbands. I, Feng, am foolish and dull, and can only use this crippled body to die for my duty and preserve my honor."

His voice remained steady, without much variation, as if he were stating something unrelated to himself.

"I, Feng, have only one wish: that the people of this city may be innocent. I beg Your Excellency to remember Heaven's benevolence and keep your promise, and not harm a single blade of grass, a single tree, a single person, or a single animal in Wancheng. I, Feng, will be grateful for your great kindness even in the afterlife."

After saying this, he knelt down on both knees, raised the letter of surrender and the city lord's seal high above his head, and then bowed down and kowtowed three times in the direction of Wancheng.

The first head, thank you, Your Majesty.

The second head, Xie Baixing

The third head, Xie Chengchi

After kowtowing, he straightened up and slowly drew a short sword, about a foot long, from his sleeve. The blade was gleaming white, gleaming with a cold light in the morning sun.

"Father—!!!" A heart-wrenching wail, almost inhuman, came from the crack in the closing city gate; it was Feng Ben.

Feng Jiming paused for a moment, but did not turn around. He looked down, taking one last look at the short sword in his hand, and then at the city in front of him, its outline blurred in the morning mist—the city he had guarded his entire life.

Then, he gripped the hilt of the sword with both hands, turned the tip of the sword, aimed it at his heart, and without hesitation, plunged it deep into his chest!

"puff--"

The dull thud of a sharp blade piercing flesh was especially chilling in the quiet morning.

Blood instantly stained his plain clothes, like a flower blooming suddenly in the snow, its beauty both poignant and tragic.

His body swayed, but he did not fall down immediately.

He gripped the hilt of his sword, and slowly, with all his might, straightened his spine once more, facing Wancheng, as if he wanted to use his last bit of strength to etch the image of this city into his soul.

Finally, he collapsed forward, falling onto the cold ground, in front of Wancheng's gate.

Blood slowly seeped out beneath him, seemingly merging with the silent city behind him.

Even the wind seemed to have stopped.

The entire battlefield was deathly silent. Only the figures lying in pools of blood and the faint, barely suppressed sobs coming from the city walls echoed in the vast emptiness.

Standing on the high slope, Zhou Heng felt cold all over, his hands and feet were icy cold.

He witnessed a death that was almost ritualistic, a kind of "loyalty" that he had never truly understood, yet which instantly pierced him with its weight and tragedy.

Feng Jiming's calm gaze, his straight spine, his decisive thrust, and his three heavy kowtows... were like a cold hammer, striking his heart hard.

There were no passionate shouts, no blaming curses, only a resigned yet astonishingly persistent determination.

For a "reputation" that may no longer be worthwhile, and for the unyielding belief in his heart, he chose the most tragic way to bury his city and the responsibility he was protecting.

Is this... the integrity of the scholars of this era? Zhou Heng felt a profound sense of bewilderment and a chilling cold.

All his previous calculations about "tasks," "utilitarianism," and "optimal solutions" seem so pale and... insignificant in the face of such naked, life-sacrificing persistence.

Xiao Jue remained seated on his horse, his face expressionless, but his deep eyes were fixed on the body a hundred paces away, gradually losing its warmth, and he did not look away for a long time. After a while, he slowly raised his hand.

"Han Lie".

"Your subordinate is here!" Han Lie's voice was heavy.

"Enter the city. As promised, do not commit any offenses. Give Feng Jiming a proper burial." Xiao Jue's voice was emotionless, yet carried a heavy weight. "Find his family members, settle them properly, and do not cause them any trouble. If his son is alive, bring him to see me."

"Yes, sir!"

Xiao Jue turned his horse around, no longer looking at the pool of blood, nor at the city gate that had finally been opened.

His gaze turned further south, where more cities and more people awaited his conquest or subjugation.

Zhou Heng subconsciously followed Xiao Jue in turning his horse around, and looked back one last time.

The black torrent of the Northern Liang army began to flow into Wancheng in an orderly and silent manner.

On the city wall, the tattered "Wei" flag was slowly lowered, and a brand new black eagle flag representing the Northern Liang was rising.

The sun finally rose completely above the horizon, its golden rays spreading across the earth and also falling on the gradually congealing dark red bloodstains, dazzling and cold.

War is always just a change of territory. This was the first time Zhou Heng had realized this so clearly.