The Love-Brained Empress (16) Just how rotten the Imperial Guards were—both the Emperor and Prince Jing knew it perfectly well. That was precisely why the two of them felt reassured sending him south to suppress the rebellion with an army made up of at least half Imperial Guards.
Still, before removing Duke Cheng’en, the Emperor genuinely hoped Duke Cheng’en could first rid him of the southern feudal lords’ troubles.
In other words, for the moment, the Emperor had no strong motivation to make a move against him—but Prince Jing was another matter entirely.
A veteran fence-sitter like Marquis Antai could agree to work for the Emperor without any conflict whatsoever with secretly flirting with Prince Jing at the same time.
Qin Jingzhou admitted it himself—before this, he hadn’t noticed the signs at all. Neither had his old comrades given him any warning.
Recalling the look of hatred that had nearly burst from Marquis Antai’s eyes when he’d been dragged out by the personal guards, Qin Jingzhou sat back in the commander’s seat and smiled calmly. So Marquis Antai really wants to surpass the original owner, huh. But insubordination at Marquis Antai’s level would normally only warrant a few boards under military law—something Qin Jingzhou naturally had no intention of settling for.
With both face and dignity lost, Marquis Antai would surely begin plotting early action against him with his confidants.
Since the enemy wasn’t yet strong, Qin Jingzhou wanted to cut out this malignant tumor as soon as possible. After that, he could fight to feed the army, train the troops through battle, and still make it back in time with a force capable of fighting when Prince Jing’s “rebel army” marched north to the capital.
Thus, he ordered his guards to summon all generals and strategists to the main tent for a council.
Moments later, Marquis Antai—his wounds already treated by the accompanying military physicians—was also hauled in.
The swollen face barely concealed by medicinal paste and the bandaged shoulder told everyone exactly what had just happened.
Once everyone was present and seated, Qin Jingzhou asked Marquis Antai, who stood before him, “Do you know your crime?”
Marquis Antai knew full well that when he’d led people to storm the main tent earlier, he hadn’t bothered avoiding attention. He hadn’t expected the assembled officers to know nothing—but he did want to take this opportunity to test how many civil and military officials here would plead for him, or at least say a word on his behalf.
So he answered frankly, “I was at fault first. But I acted in the heat of the moment, seeking an explanation. Those children had just entered the battlefield—it wasn’t necessary to send them to their deaths over this.”
Qin Jingzhou remained even-tempered. “Still arguing sophistry. Anyone who dares flee the battlefield must be prepared to die when caught.” He turned to the military law officer beside him. “How many lashes for insubordination in camp?”
The officer answered conscientiously, “Twenty lashes. If Marquis Antai remains unconvinced, it may be doubled at discretion.”
Qin Jingzhou nodded. “Marquis Antai is an old general. I’ll give him face—no doubling. Just twenty lashes.”
With that, he ceded the time and space to the officials present.
The tent fell deathly silent.
None of the generals from the border armies stepped forward to plead for Marquis Antai—even though many of them had once, or were still, secretly in contact with Prince Jing or other imperial clansmen.
The reason was simple: reputation was a thing of weight. Duke Cheng’en’s accumulated authority ran deep.
Until Duke Cheng’en suffered a catastrophic defeat, none of them were willing to gamble their offices and futures by standing against him.
On the Imperial Guard side, the commanders exchanged glances. The young men who had earlier followed Marquis Antai to demand justice had already lost their nerve. After a prolonged exchange of meaningful looks, one finally stepped forward reluctantly and advised, “Duke, Marquis Antai was indeed at fault. But this is a time when capable men are sorely needed. Perhaps his punishment could be noted for now, pending future conduct?”
Qin Jingzhou smiled faintly. “Marquis Antai pleaded for deserters—trying to curry favor with the fathers and grandfathers of those useless cowards who wet themselves the moment they hit the battlefield. Are you sure you want to plead for him?”
Clinging to the undeniable fact of desertion was enough. No matter who tried to bring up the disciplinary officer who’d taken bribes, they couldn’t get around the ironclad truth: those dead young masters had indeed been the first deserters.
If deserters could be tolerated on the battlefield, then the army truly couldn’t be led.
All the generals understood this clearly. The one who had spoken could only force a bitter smile and fall silent.
As for the civil officials, their minds were even more complicated. Whether currying favor with the Emperor or Prince Jing, neither should be done at a moment like this.
Someone had spoken for him—Marquis Antai did feel a bit of relief—but it changed nothing. He couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
As Duke Cheng’en’s guards dragged him out of the main tent, Marquis Antai was already calculating: wielding the Emperor’s secret edict to strip Duke Cheng’en of command would not be as easy as he’d imagined. Duke Cheng’en might have withdrawn from public life for years, but in the hearts of the generals he remained an insurmountable mountain.
And Marquis Antai was certain of one thing—Duke Cheng’en felt absolutely no lingering affection for him as an old deputy.
The moment the first lash landed, Marquis Antai ground his teeth in hatred. Xiao Jingzhou! If you’re heartless, don’t blame me for being unjust! Qin Jingzhou stood at the tent entrance with the officials, watching Marquis Antai’s wonderfully expressive changes of face. “I’ve provoked him this much, and he’s already been ‘debuffed.’ He’ll probably move against me sooner rather than later, right?” The system replied, “He might contact the other side. That would be the perfect chance for you to show off.” “I’ll have people keep an eye on him.” Marquis Antai endured the twenty lashes—no broken bones, no lasting damage, but the humiliation was overwhelming. Back in his own tent to recuperate, the more he thought about it, the angrier he became, spiraling into rage.
Seeing this, his confidants cautiously stepped forward to offer counsel.
…
Half a month later, Marquis Antai’s injuries had largely healed. At just that moment, an imperial edict arrived: the Emperor ordered Duke Cheng’en to attack immediately.
During this interval, Qin Jingzhou reorganized the troops. The young masters with some salvageable value were broken up and reassigned into border-army units. As for the truly hopeless ones, he grouped them together and placed them between the central army and the rear. If these scheming wastrels made any move, the rear forces alone could wipe them out.
Sensing the time was ripe, Qin Jingzhou went with the flow and convened another council of civil and military officials—planning to wipe out the bandits, whose combat strength conveniently matched the utterly rotten Imperial Guards, in one decisive sweep.
Incidentally, the feudal lords in the south who truly harbored ambitions of independence numbered only four.
No matter how divided they were internally, these princes understood mutual defense. Unfortunately for them, after swallowing over a million taels of silver, the bandits performed so atrociously that their “patron” spent these days scrambling for aid like his hair was on fire—yet no one answered his calls.
That patron knew all too well that trying to distance himself now was pointless. Once the private troops he’d bankrupted himself to raise were annihilated, his fate would be stripped of title and placed under house arrest.
So, no matter what, he had to force himself upright.
And thus, when Marquis Antai’s confidant came knocking… they hit it off instantly.
On the day of the final assault on the bandit stronghold, Qin Jingzhou personally commanded from the center. Looking at the mountainside fortress—now little more than a crumbling ruin after repeated trebuchet strikes—he nearly laughed out loud.
This was a mountain stronghold, not a city. It had no capacity for deep defense.
The accompanying engineers improvised on the spot, chopping trees and assembling eight trebuchets. Just daytime bombardment alone crushed nearly all of the bandit patron’s ambition, forcing the bandit main force into a desperate last stand.
With no retreat left, the bandits finally didn’t collapse at first contact, but fought with all their might against the border-army-led vanguard.
Suddenly, Qin Jingzhou felt something amiss. He clenched his riding crop and swung it down hard.
A long arrow was struck cleanly out of the air.
In the next few breaths, he relied purely on instinct to knock down several more cold arrows. His guards reacted at once, spurring their horses forward to surround him.
At that moment, from the cluster of “young master formations” positioned between the central and rear armies, over ten heavily armored cavalry suddenly charged out.
Most were intercepted and cut down on the spot by the guards—but a single fish slipped through the net with speed, swinging a curved saber in a powerful horizontal slash aimed straight at Qin Jingzhou’s neck.
Qin Jingzhou’s expression didn’t change. He hurled the riding crop straight at the man’s forehead. The crop struck the helmet with a dull thud, momentarily stunning him.
Qin Jingzhou lunged forward, both hands clad in chainmail gloves. With one hand he seized the man’s saber; with the other he grabbed the helmet and tore both helmet and rider bodily off the horse.
The attacker’s warhorse wasted no time—its four hooves pounding as it fled for its life.
Qin Jingzhou’s own mount snorted disdainfully, perfectly on cue.
He tossed the unconscious “assassin” to his guards, bent to soothe his horse, then looked up—
The guards stood with shields raised against sporadic arrows, eyes blazing as they stared at him.
He chuckled softly. “Bring me a longbow.”
The nearest master archer guard immediately offered his bow and quiver.
Qin Jingzhou tested the draw—not ideal, but usable—and without hesitation aimed at the bandit leader, who had been forced to enter the fray personally.
One arrow. Direct hit.
The leader toppled backward and fell from his horse.
Qin Jingzhou returned the bow to the stunned guard and ordered the signal officer, “Press the attack.”
He completely ignored the deathly pale faces of Marquis Antai and Qi Er. Capture the bandits by capturing their king. With Duke Cheng’en taking the enemy’s “general’s head” in a single shot, what was left to say?
Charge.
In the end, the ringleader was slain, two thousand bandits killed, five thousand captured, and countless supplies seized. When news of this great victory reached the capital, the Emperor was instantly torn between joy and dread—he had to find a way to suppress Duke Cheng’en quickly, or he’d capsize his own boat before he could even reap the rewards.
Prince Jing was even more anxious. No wonder Duke Cheng’en had insisted on taking command properly and legitimately despite knowing of their schemes—this wasn’t just letting a tiger return to the mountains.
Fortunately, Duke Cheng’en’s children—all except the youngest daughter—were still in the capital. And fortunately, with Duke Cheng’en gone, the capital’s defenses were even weaker.
He couldn’t wait any longer.
Even if it meant splitting the realm with Duke Cheng’en, it was better than ending up with nothing.
It was autumn harvest season. While the Emperor was still scheming how to eliminate Duke Cheng’en “naturally,” terrible news arrived:
Over a hundred thousand rebels had gathered in the suburbs of the capital. After looting granaries and armories, they were marching straight for the imperial city.
The Emperor hastily ordered a general of imperial-clan origin to lead troops to intercept. Days later, news returned—the general was dead.
Panicked, the Emperor had no choice but to accept Grand Secretary Qi’s counsel and dispatch the main force of the suburban capital garrison to meet the enemy.
No one expected the rebel main force to make a wide detour and, without warning, breach the capital through the eastern gate.
Upon hearing this, the Emperor hurriedly packed a few belongings and forcibly ordered the Imperial Guard commander to escort him out through the northern gate.
At no point did he even consider bringing his wife, children, ministers, or confidants.
The Empress could perhaps be excused—after all, he resented the wife he’d been forced to marry—but even the Noble Consort he’d doted on for years, and her son, never crossed his mind.
Such was the worth of the Emperor’s “love.”
Qi Langhuan knew the Emperor’s true nature, yet still raged so fiercely upon learning he’d fled that her temples throbbed violently.
If the Emperor had run… then it was time to settle accounts with Xiao Shi.
At this time, the Empress—nominally praying for blessings, actually under house arrest—met her younger sister in the Great Buddha Hall.
When Second Miss Xiao told her that rebels were at the gates and the Emperor had already fled, the Empress shook her head frantically. “How could he do this to me? I don’t believe it! I’ll stay here and wait for him to return and explain!”
Second Miss Xiao glanced at the eunuchs and palace maids who were packing with practiced coordination. She also noticed a nanny holding Zhuzhu securely, and gave the nanny a subtle look.
The nanny understood immediately and carried Zhuzhu outside—Prince Lu’s people and their father’s personal guards were waiting there. Second Miss Xiao wasn’t worried.
She turned back to her elder sister. With Zhuzhu gone, the Empress didn’t even notice—she just kept crying, refusing to accept reality.
No wonder Father had completely lost patience with her. Seeing how muddled her sister was, Second Miss Xiao felt that no father in the world could be more loving or tolerant than theirs.
No—thinking further only made her heart ache for her father.
She took a deep breath, raised her hand, and slapped her sister hard across the face—without holding back. “Wake up! Say one more stupid thing and I’ll break your legs!” Or break them first and knock you out—dragging you away would be even easier. The Empress instinctively clutched her cheek, staring blankly at this utterly unfamiliar younger sister.
At just that moment, Prince Lu stepped inside and saw the slap in its entirety.
It was… kind of exhilarating… wasn’t it?
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