novelraw Chapter 75 : Crisis at Canglong Pass
Chapter 75 : Crisis at Canglong Pass
Chapter 75: Crisis at Canglong Pass
Urgent news poured in from the frontlines, war reports flying into the capital like a flurry of snow.
At this year’s year-end palace banquet, the seat meant for the Prince of Yan, Jiang Zhaoqian, sat empty—he was nowhere to be seen.
It was clear that the dire situation at the Prince of Yan’s Mansion left him no time to attend.
However, the one bearing the most direct and brutal brunt of the Great Jin’s assault was not Jiang Zhaoqian alone.
Those feudal princes stationed at the gateways of Great Zhou’s northern frontier were in even graver, more desperate peril.
Several of them, led by the Prince of Shanhai, had, in just a few short months, completely lost their fiefs—their lifelong foundations gone to ruin.
Jiang Zhaoming’s gaze swept across the seats below, finally coming to rest on the Prince of Shanhai at the far end.
The sight before him made his heart sink.
This man, once spirited and full of vigor when they had first met, was now utterly unrecognizable.
Defeated and haggard, as though his very soul had been drained away.
He sat there, mechanically pouring cup after cup of strong wine down his throat, his eyes vacant, the spark that once animated them long since crushed beneath the flames of war and defeat.
When everyone had arrived, the Emperor Father announced the beginning of the banquet.
Yet, as the imperial decree fell, the air within the great hall seemed to solidify—so heavy it was suffocating.
Even the feudal princes from the distant southern frontiers could not muster the slightest hint of festive cheer on their faces.
For once the war with Great Jin dragged on into a quagmire, those predatory southern tribes lurking in the jungles would not miss the heaven-sent chance to strike while the empire burned.
Looking around, the hall was filled with nobles in crimson and purple robes, yet not a single face showed true ease.
The invisible shadow of war hung oppressively over every heart.
Jiang Zhaoming instinctively looked toward his Emperor Father seated high upon the dragon throne, hoping to discern some trace of how he might face this crisis.
Yet, the Emperor Father’s face bore only that same unreadable, faint smile.
As though the northern inferno—capable of shaking the very foundations of the realm—were nothing more than a few distant rumbles of thunder.
Apart from the Emperor, another drew particular attention—Prince of Huaijiang, Jiang Zhaoding.
He too appeared calm and unhurried, even faintly exuding an imperceptible air of composure.
This was puzzling, for Huaijiang Prefecture lay southeast of the Prince of Yan’s Mansion.
Though the Yan domain stood as a barrier against Great Jin, once it fell, Huaijiang would be next in line for disaster.
Moreover, Huaijiang was mostly plains—should the Jin cavalry charge, unless they relied heavily on the terrain, there would be no stopping that iron tide.
And if Prince of Huaijiang, Jiang Zhaoding, chose to make a stand by the Huaijiang River, it would mean abandoning half of his fief outright.
The atmosphere within the hall grew so stifling it felt one could wring water from the air.
The princes sat with bowed heads or empty stares—lifeless, defeated.
Then, just as the suffocating silence seemed about to congeal entirely, the Emperor Father, still wearing that profound, enigmatic smile, finally spoke.
His voice was not loud, yet it was like a stone cast into still water—instantly seizing every heart.
“What is this? Merely the blades of a few Jin barbarians, and you feudal princes already cower in fear before a single battle is fought? Have you all turned into frightened, beaten curs?”
His tone remained calm, but each word pierced like an icicle, sending chills down their spines.
“Today, you sit here only to stretch your hands toward the court—begging for troops, for grain, for aid. Tell me!”
The Emperor Father’s voice suddenly rose, filled with the unshakable majesty of an emperor.
“If, one day, among you there is someone who by fortune ascends this dragon throne and becomes the ruler of Great Zhou—
And should that day bring calamity to the nation, enemies circling all around, no court left to rely upon, no reinforcements to summon—
Then, what will you do?
Offer your neck to the blade… or—”
“—kneel and surrender?”
The final four words struck like thunder through the still hall, faces blanching as every breath froze.
The Prince of Shanhai’s wine cup fell with a sharp clang, spilling wine across the floor—no one dared to move.
The Emperor Father’s gaze swept over them like a blade made flesh, making every prince flinch under its weight.
After a long moment, the oppressive aura eased. His tone softened again, regaining that faint, inscrutable calm.
“Remember this—war is not merely the fire that razes cities and shatters walls; it is also… the forge from which new kings arise.”
He paused, his eyes turning deep and unfathomable, as if piercing the palace walls to gaze upon the battlefields blazing in the north.
“The Jin invasion is a calamity—yet perhaps also a stroke of fortune. Whether that fortune becomes the ashes upon your fiefs, or the ladder upon which you ascend to greater heights…”
His voice gradually sank, ending in a sigh filled with meaning.
“To stand as an emperor is to bear dominion over a nation, over a people. If one lacks such resolve, then it is better to relinquish the throne altogether.”
As he spoke, his gaze briefly, almost imperceptibly, swept over Jiang Zhaoding.
Jiang Zhaoding still wore that faint smile, showing no reaction whatsoever.
“The key to this matter,” the Emperor Father said finally, “is for you to ponder yourselves.”
With that, he fell silent, merely lifting his jade cup and sipping its contents with quiet grace—
As though those words that had just shaken every soul had been nothing but idle conversation.
Yet behind the rim of the cup, within his deep eyes, a flash of cold, assessing light flickered and vanished.
Jiang Zhaoming’s thoughts stirred. The Great Jin’s iron hooves were indeed ferocious—
But this was also an opportunity for all the princes. If they could achieve victory in battle against Jin,
Even without pushing the war deep into Jin territory, the Imperial Destiny Value alone would be an irresistible reward.
Unfortunately…
At present, Anxi was in no state to consider such ambitions.
Still, with a few more Golden Body Realm generals, Jiang Zhaoming was not entirely incapable of tugging at the Jin tiger’s whiskers.
After the banquet, the calendar turned to Shaosheng Year 411.
The Great Jin’s advance showed no sign of stopping, still rampaging across the northern lands.
Though the core defenses of the Prince of Yan’s Mansion had yet to fall, the Jin army had cunningly turned westward.
Like a ravenous serpent, it stretched and tore apart the northern front, widening the wounds of war.
One fief after another was engulfed in the flames, more feudal princes of Great Zhou were forced onto the brutal battlefield—overwhelmed, exhausted, and scrambling to survive.
The iron tide crushed all resistance beneath its hooves, shattering the last defenses of Huzhou County.
Before the dust of Huzhou’s fall had even settled, the Jin army’s vanguard reached the towering pass that stood between heaven and earth—
Canglong Pass.
A battle report, still scented with the smoke of Huzhou’s flames, was delivered to Jiang Zhaoming’s desk.
His gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, fixed on the chilling words: “Jin Cavalry Breaks Huzhou.”
His fingers tapped unconsciously upon the cold desk, thud, thud, like a ticking countdown.
He drew a deep breath—the biting northern wind seemed to pierce a thousand mountains to fill his lungs, then he slowly exhaled it.
“So… it’s Anxi’s turn.”
His low voice echoed through the quiet hall, carrying the weight of fate itself.
The war of the People of Anxi had arrived.