WNST - 134

Chapter 134: The Siege of a Lonely City

When Xie Zhu returned to his home in Jinling, it was already afternoon. Qiujie had been waiting for her father in the courtyard for quite some time. She had deliberately gathered some questions from books she wanted him to answer—though this was just an excuse. In reality, she was worried about the situation in Lidu Prefecture and wanted to ask about the latest developments. 

Not long ago, news of Sixth Sister Xiao Liu’s death had reached her, leaving her both heartbroken and shaken. Previously, she had immersed herself in the world of painting and calligraphy, deliberately avoiding the harsh realities of war. She had always believed that her family would somehow escape danger every time, until death came for her vibrant Sixth Sister. Only then did she awaken from her idyllic reverie. 

It seemed no one could escape unscathed—war was right beside her. 

The usually introverted Qiujie began venturing out more frequently, listening to rumors and gathering information. Though she could do nothing, knowing more about the situation and understanding it more clearly couldn’t hurt. 

Her father was a high-ranking official, but he rarely discussed political matters at home. She could only approach the topic indirectly. 

“By the way, Father, I heard people talking about the defense of Lidu Prefecture in the streets today. Will the court send reinforcements?” 

The prolonged morning court session today was likely about this very issue. Qiujie waited anxiously for her father’s response but caught a fleeting trace of something strange on his face. Lowering her gaze, she noticed a folded document in his hand—yellow with cloud patterns, a type used exclusively in the imperial presence. It was likely a handwritten decree from the emperor. 

“This matter has yet to be decided. We must wait for His Majesty to consider it carefully,” Xie Zhu replied vaguely. “A young lady like you should inquire less about such affairs.” 

But Qiujie felt certain that her father had an answer—he simply refused to reveal it. Lately, there had been something odd about him. When he learned of Sixth Sister’s death, he had been overcome with grief and anger, muttering, “Useless fools.” She didn’t know whom he was cursing—it clearly wasn’t the Qi forces, nor could it have been Sixth Sister. 

She naturally understood that her father wasn’t obligated to share everything with the women of the household. 

Her brief suspicion quickly subsided. She intended to return to the inner quarters but was called back by her mother, who asked her to deliver some tonics to her father’s study. 

Xie Zhu probably didn’t expect Qiujie to visit the study again, so he casually tossed the document he had brought back into the brazier. 

Qiujie happened to see this from the corridor. She recoiled in shock—why had her father burned the emperor’s decree? On second thought, perhaps it was meant to be destroyed after reading? 

Then why bring it home to burn instead of disposing of it in the palace? 

Qiujie dared not dwell on it further. Her father surely had his reasons, but she remained cautious. She instructed a servant to deliver the tonics while pretending not to have seen anything, quietly slipping away. 

Little did she know, the contents of that flame-engulfed document contained Xu Zhou’s solution to the crisis. 

Xu Zhou had entrusted Xie Zhu to secretly deliver his handwritten decree to Song Muchuan. He wanted Song Muchuan to bring Xie Queshan to the capital before the rumors spiraled out of control, clarify the true situation of Lidu Prefecture to the ministers, and then lead reinforcements back to relieve the siege. 

But this decree would never reach Song Muchuan’s hands. 

--- 

In Lidu Prefecture, things were still calm—for now. Everyone in the army now knew that the mysterious strategist was none other than Xie Queshan. He had led them to several victories, and his actions spoke for themselves. Most people, upon hearing about his undercover exploits, expressed deep admiration. His identity as a spy was gradually transitioning from secrecy to openness. 

However, peace didn’t last long. The Qi army, stationed in Luyang Town, had initially accepted the town’s surrender. But they suddenly reneged, massacring all the townspeople and soldiers. 

This was a blatant show of force—a demonstration of how the strong could mercilessly crush the weak. Those who resisted would meet such a fate. 

Separated by only Xiaoyang Gorge, many in Lidu Prefecture had relatives and friends in Luyang Town. Fear and sorrow spread silently through the city. Soon after, rumors began circulating among the populace that the new dynasty in Jinling would not send reinforcements. 

They claimed that Lidu Prefecture was actually under the control of the traitor Xie Queshan, and the battles fought were merely performances for the court’s benefit. The goal was to lure the imperial army into a trap and annihilate them. The court had already seen through the Qi forces’ scheme, realizing that Lidu Prefecture was a massive snare, and thus refused to send troops. 

Lidu Prefecture was already in the Qi forces’ grasp, and resistance was futile. 

Half-truths intertwined with facts, making the rumors seem plausible to those unaware of the full picture. In the current climate of fear in Lidu Prefecture, even baseless gossip could stir unrest. 

At first, the army paid no heed to these absurd claims. But as more people repeated them, inevitably some began to listen. What was the point of fighting if their efforts were in vain? If defending the city was meaningless, who could bear such an outcome? 

However, whenever such talk arose, soldiers spontaneously rose to defend Xie Queshan. Heroes still held weight in the hearts of the troops, and the common people instinctively trusted that the court wouldn’t abandon them—reinforcements would come eventually. Initially worried, Song Muchuan was somewhat reassured to see that most in the army remained rational. The army was their most crucial line of defense—if morale here collapsed, it would spell their doom. 

Song Muchuan treated the situation with utmost seriousness, fearing spies might infiltrate to undermine morale. He ordered strict surveillance around the camp. 

Under this heightened vigilance, they indeed captured a spy who had sneaked in under the cover of night. 

The spy carried a secret letter addressed to Xie Queshan. The letter read: “Once the Yu reinforcements enter the city, please pretend to pursue them but trap them instead, like catching turtles in a jar. Then march south immediately. Upon success, you will be appointed Right Chancellor without delay.”

Such a clumsy attempt at framing had Song Muchuan fuming, calling it absurd. Yet, no matter how ridiculous, some people still believed it. 

With each passing day bringing no news of reinforcements, the soldiers’ will to defend the city was crumbling. Doubts and accusations grew louder both in the city and within the army. 

Those who had once defended Xie Queshan now fell silent. Trust, it seemed, was a fragile thing—a mere whisper could tip the scales drastically. Their past support for him now fueled their anger even more fiercely as their passionate loyalty was met with betrayal. The truth crushed their fervor, and rage surged all the more violently. 

People only saw what they were capable of seeing, and ignorance sometimes became a weapon. 

The enemy understood well that the key to a successful siege lay in dismantling the defenders from within. 

Conflicts escalated daily, culminating in soldiers attempting to storm Xie Queshan’s camp, demanding he face justice and atone for his supposed crimes. 

“My family is in Luyang Town! Even if I die here today, I will avenge them!” 

“Tell me, wasn’t the massacre of Luyang Town part of your treacherous scheme?” 

“If he isn’t a spy, why is he hiding and refusing to come out?” 

“What do you mean, hiding? The strategist is openly discussing matters inside the camp!” 

Soldiers from the Yucheng army stood firmly outside, blocking the chaotic and enraged mob from breaking in. The two groups faced off, weapons drawn, on the verge of violence. 

“If he has nothing to hide, then let him come out and atone with his life!” 

“He is innocent—why should he die?!” 

The clamor echoed into the camp, yet inside, there was an eerie silence. 

Xie Queshan sat with his hands resting loosely in his lap, seemingly indifferent, but every word spoken outside had seeped into his heart. After a long while, he finally raised his head. The vigor he had displayed on the battlefield just days ago had vanished entirely, replaced by an unmistakable air of desolation. 

“I’ll leave the camp for a while, lay low to ease tensions. This way, you’ll have something to show for it.” 

Song Muchuan didn’t respond. Though he knew this might temporarily defuse the conflict, he didn’t want Xie Queshan to bear the brunt of blame yet again. He couldn’t bear to see history repeat itself—the same predicament faced by Xie Chao’en eight years ago and now by Xie Queshan. A general abandoned by reinforcements could only save himself through surrender. 

Ying Huai glanced hesitantly at Song Muchuan, hoping his sharp mind would devise a brilliant solution. Otherwise, it seemed there were no other options. 

“I disagree,” Song Muchuan said firmly. “I’m no strategist, and Ying Huai lacks experience leading large-scale battles. If you leave the camp, things will only worsen. The biggest issue now is the lack of reinforcements and the wavering morale. But His Majesty won’t abandon Lidu Prefecture—I’ll personally go to Jinling to request troops.” 

Xie Queshan opened his mouth to speak but ultimately said nothing. 

His chest still burned with passion; no one wanted more than he did to carve a path through the chaos and serve his country. 

Yet his identity had become a weakness the Qi forces exploited mercilessly. From the death of his mentor Shen Zhizhong to the torrent of rumors now swirling around him, this was a trap laid long ago. Whether he was strong or weak, he was destined to collide with this web. 

As the three men sat in silence, a sudden shout came from outside: “Something’s happened at the dock! Hurry to the dock to rescue people!” 

This cry instantly dissipated the tension in front of the camp, and the crowd turned to rush toward the docks. 

The city was already in chaos. Initially, only a few wealthy families had fled south with their households, but after rumors spread that the court wouldn’t send reinforcements, even the steadfast citizens began abandoning the city en masse. Regardless of whether they had tickets, people swarmed onto ships, believing that boarding one meant survival. 

This frenzied escape ended in tragedy—a ship overloaded with people capsized just three to five miles offshore due to its excessive weight. Those who could swim made it back to shore, while those who couldn’t drowned, struggling until they sank beneath the waves. 

Song Muchuan quickly arrived at the scene with soldiers to rescue the drowning civilians. But even the immediate danger couldn’t stop the panicked exodus. Many continued to push their way onto ships. To maintain order at the city gates and docks and reduce unnecessary casualties, Song Muchuan had no choice but to issue an order: no one without official clearance could leave the city. 

This decree sent the already anxious populace into further turmoil, with protests erupting everywhere. 

“Why?! Are you condemning us all to die in the city?!” 

“Exactly! I’d rather drown in the river than be trampled by the Qi forces!” 

Some went so far as to point accusing fingers at Song Muchuan, shouting, “You’re colluding with that traitor Xie! You’ve betrayed Lidu Prefecture! You don’t deserve to be our governor!” 

Surrounded by an angry mob, Song Muchuan tried desperately to explain: “These are rumors sown by the Qi forces to divide us! If we believe them, we’re falling into their trap! Please unite, trust us—we can hold Lidu Prefecture!” 

“Why should we trust you?! If you’re truly sincere, sacrifice that traitor Xie to appease the spirits of the fallen!” 

From an unnoticed corner of the street, Xie Queshan watched as the indignant crowd nearly overwhelmed Song Muchuan. 

He struggled to make his voice heard above the din, but his words were drowned out, leaving him powerless. 

A profound sense of helplessness washed over Xie Queshan. He wasn’t guilty, yet his very existence had become a target of universal condemnation, making him unworthy in the eyes of the world. 

The people he loved didn’t love him back. 

He had done everything he should have, and his conscience was clear. Yet at this moment, his resolve had been stretched to its breaking point. Like everyone else, he was a loyal subject of this land—so why was fate so unjust, directing all suffering toward him alone? 

He was growing weary. This city was a tangled web of selfishness and righteousness, woven together by millions. When public sentiment veered toward extremes beyond his control, he, a single man, could do nothing to sway it. At this moment, any defense felt like adding fuel to the fire—he was already branded with shame. 

He truly wanted to walk away. 

“Xie San—Xie San!” 

In his daze, Xie Queshan thought he heard someone calling his name. Turning, he saw Lady Gan Tang. 

“Second Sister,” he responded faintly, his tone distant and distracted.

Unexpectedly, a figure darted out from behind Lady Gan Tang and enthusiastically hooked arms with Xie Queshan. 

“Second Sister specifically asked me to lead the way to find you!” Nan Yi spoke lightly but cautiously, glancing nervously at Lady Gan Tang. 

It was obvious that Nan Yi had called Lady Gan Tang here—she knew that family was always his softest spot. 

The clamor outside, shouting for “Xie the traitor’s” death, was deafening. Yet Lady Gan Tang acted as if she heard nothing, calmly saying, “Let’s go home. Grandmother misses you and insists that you return to have dinner with us today no matter what.” 

Second Sister had also found an excuse, carefully trying to pull him back from the edge. 

Everyone knew he was teetering on the brink of a cliff. 

Xie Queshan understood perfectly but didn’t expose their intentions. He simply smiled faintly and agreed. 

It felt like the most ordinary journey home.