pappabearbooks Chapter 31 Beijing Snow - Establishing the Capital
Chapter 31 Beijing Snow - Establishing the Capital
On the 18th day of the 11th month of the 15th year of Chongzhen's reign, at the beginning of the Yin hour.
The snow started falling in the latter half of the night. At first, it was fine, scattered snowflakes that pattered on the yellow glazed tiles of the Qianqing Palace, sounding like countless silkworms nibbling on mulberry leaves.
By the time of Yin (3-5 AM), the snowflakes had grown as large as goose feathers, falling thick and fast, turning the Forbidden City's palaces into a pristine white.
Inside the East Warm Pavilion of the Qianqing Palace, the charcoal fire burned brightly. The silver charcoal in the copper basin was smokeless and odorless, only occasionally bursting open and scattering a few sparks.
Empress Zhou did not sleep.
She was wearing a gray squirrel fur coat—it had been specially made by the Imperial Clothing Bureau before Li Ce's southern tour, with the words, "Wear this while I'm in charge of the country; it won't be conspicuous and it'll keep me warm." The coat was indeed warm, but wearing it now, she felt a chill seeping into her very bones.
There were three stacks of memorials piled on the emperor's desk, each stack being a foot high.
The stack on the left is military reports. The top one is a copy of a letter written in blood, sent by Zhou Yuji of Tongguan five days ago. The paper is ordinary official paper, but the handwriting is dark red—it was written with ink mixed with blood.
"Your Majesty, I, Yu Ji, kowtow: The grain reserves at Tongguan are nearly exhausted, and only eight thousand arrows remain. The rebel Li Zicheng attacks three times a day, and the arrow tower at the west gate has already collapsed. I and my soldiers have sworn an oath: the day our grain runs out, we will die for our country. I humbly beg Your Majesty to send reinforcements immediately..."
The writing at the end is blurry, as if the hand trembled while writing and the blood and ink spread.
Empress Zhou reached out, her fingertips lightly tracing the words "at the time of martyrdom." Her fingertips were cold, the paper was cold, but those four words burned her heart.
The stack in the middle contains the Ministry of Revenue's account books. The ink on the open page is still fresh.
"On November 17th, we received the first batch of 500,000 taels of silver and 50,000 shi of grain from Nanjing. Allocations have been made to: 80,000 taels owed in wages to Xuanfu, 70,000 taels to Datong, and 50,000 taels to Shanhaiguan..."
The stack on the right contains secret reports from the Embroidered Uniform Guard. The top one still faintly smells of ink.
"On the night of November 16th, three Later Jin spies were captured outside Xuanwu Gate. They confessed that Dorgon had secretly ordered the Plain White Banner to prepare for war, and that once Tongguan was breached, they would attack Juyongguan. Spy A was named Kurcha, originally a bondservant of the Shenyang Han Army Banner; spies B and C were defeated soldiers of the Chahar Mongol tribe who surrendered to the Jin last year."
After reading this document, Empress Zhou remained silent for a long time.
Then she picked up her small calligraphy brush and wrote on the plain paper beside her:
"First, the capture of spies must be kept strictly confidential. Anyone who violates this rule will be executed."
"Second, send the spy Kurcha back to Shenyang and have him deliver a message: Beijing has prepared 100,000 elite troops and 500 new cannons. If anyone dares to attack the pass, they will surely perish beneath it."
"Third, spies B and C shall be imprisoned in the Imperial Prison without trial or questioning, and shall be well cared for. They shall be provided with meat daily and allowed to write letters home—the letters shall be copied by the Northern Garrison Command before their release."
After writing it, she summoned the lady-in-waiting who was standing by: "Send this to Li Ruolian. Tell him that this is my will."
The lady-in-waiting accepted the plain letter with both hands, bowed, and withdrew. Her embroidered shoes stepped silently onto the gold bricks.
Empress Zhou then picked up the teacup beside her. The tea had gone cold; she took a sip, letting the bitterness spread on her tongue.
At 7:00 AM, at the Beijing Garrison's drill ground outside Deshengmen.
The snow was still falling, but less heavily; the fine snowflakes, like grains of salt, swirled in the cold wind.
On the drill ground, 50,000 new soldiers were arrayed in ten square formations. Everyone wore dark blue cotton armor, the plates of which were covered with a thin layer of snow.
No one moved, and no one trembled—this was the military rule set by Qin Liangyu before she left the capital: during drills, one must not move if bitten by mosquitoes, and one must not tremble if rain or snow falls.
Although Qin Liangyu was currently engaged in a bloody battle with Zhang Xianzhong in Sichuan, this rule remained.
Three people stood on the platform.
In the middle is Li Guozhen, the Governor-General of the Beijing Garrison and the Earl of Xiangcheng. He is fifty-two years old this year and has held the title for thirty years. He usually spends his days tending to flowers and birds in his mansion. However, since the Emperor's southern tour and Zhang Weixian's trip to Yangzhou, this old nobleman has suddenly become a different person—he gets up at dawn every day to patrol the camps and personally inspect the new army.
On the left is Huang Degong, a general of the Yongwei Battalion. He is wearing specially made mountain-patterned armor—the plates are one size smaller than ordinary men's armor, but they are denser, and the breastplate is polished to a shine.
His left hand rested on the hilt of his sword, while his right hand held a white-pole spear, its shaft embedded three inches deep into the rammed earth platform. This spear was a gift from Qin Liangyu before she left the capital, who said, "With the White-Pole Army gone, this spear will serve as my supervisor."
On the right is Zhang Jinyan, the Minister of War. The old man, wrapped in a thick fur coat, was still blue with cold, and was speaking while holding a memorial to the throne. His voice was broken and intermittent, carried by the wind.
"...Soldiers! The silver from Jiangnan has arrived! The Emperor has decreed that three years' worth of back pay be made up! You..."
"Minister Zhang".
Huang Degong suddenly spoke. His voice was not loud, but clear, abruptly cutting off Zhang Jinyan's words.
Zhang Jinyan stopped, turned to look at him, and showed displeasure.
"It's cold down here," Huang Degong said, his Sichuan accent heavy. "Please keep it short. The soldiers are waiting for their pay and for their meals."
Li Guozhen coughed softly but didn't say anything.
Zhang Jinyan's face turned pale and then flushed, but he finally nodded and hastily concluded, "In short... the Emperor's grace is boundless! You should all fight bravely to repay the court!"
Silence fell over the audience.
Fifty thousand pairs of eyes watched silently from the reviewing stand. There were no cheers, no bows of thanks, only the howling of the wind and snow.
Huang Degong stepped forward.
He raised his left hand, holding up three fingers. This gesture was exactly the same as Qin Liangyu's when she was training in the drill ground.
"Minister Zhang just said quite a bit," he began, each word like a nail driven into frozen ground. "Let me say something practical."
"First, the pay will be issued today. Each person will receive three months' worth in cash, without any deductions or discounts."
A subtle commotion arose in the audience. Some whispered among themselves, while others craned their necks.
"Secondly, starting today, three meals a day. Thick porridge for breakfast, dry rice for lunch, and flatbread for dinner. Each person will receive one ounce of meat every three days."
The commotion grew a bit. A young soldier in the front row swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"Third," Huang Degong paused, "I, Huang Degong, brought two hundred soldiers from my hometown from the Yongwei Battalion. What they eat, you eat. What they train, you train. How they fight on the battlefield—"
He drew his white-pole spear, tip pointing downwards, and slammed it down heavily:
"You can fight however you want."
"Now!" he roared. "All battalion commanders, take your men to the Ministry of Revenue to collect your pay! After collecting your pay, return and continue training—today, the chariot training battalion will practice in formation until dusk!"
"Yes, sir!!!!"
Fifty thousand people roared in unison. The sound wave shook the snow off the old locust tree by the drill ground, made Zhang Jinyan take half a step back, and made a complex light flash in Li Guozhen's eyes.
Huang Degong sheathed his gun, turned, and stepped down from the platform. As he passed Li Guozhen, he whispered, "Governor Li, I've already had the fifty newly arrived breech-loading cannons moved to the West Parade Ground. We'll practice cannon fire this afternoon."
Li Guozhen nodded: "Thank you for your trouble, General Huang."
He watched Huang Degong's departing figure, the white-handled spear leaving a shallow mark in the snow, and suddenly recalled what the Emperor had said to him in the Qianqing Palace a month ago, on the eve of his southern tour:
"Guozhen, Beijing is in your hands. These 50,000 men of the Beijing Garrison are the last of Ming's assets. I don't need them to be the best fighters, I just need them to... stand firm in critical moments."
It can stand firm.
Li Guozhen looked up at the swirling snow.
Can this country still stand firm?
It was early noon in the backyard of the Ministry of Revenue.
The scene of distributing wages was eerily quiet.
Twenty long tables were arranged in the snow, with two officials from the Ministry of Revenue sitting behind each table. One called out names, and the other weighed the silver. On the tables were standard official silver ingots, fifty taels each, and next to them were iron shears, steelyards, and coarse paper.
The soldiers lined up, ten men per row. They announced their battalion, outpost, squad, and names.
The official flipped through the registers, checked the records, and then cut the silver—a large ingot of fifty taels was cut into small pieces of five taels each, weighed accurately with a steelyard, wrapped in coarse paper, and handed over.
"Wang Ergou, Third Squad of the Left Outpost of Xuanwu Camp, owes nine months' pay. This payment covers three months' wages, totaling nine taels."
"Li Tiezhu, the Right Squadron of the Shenji Battalion, owes eleven months' pay. This payment covers three months' wages, totaling nine taels."
"Zhao Shitou..."
Each soldier who received the silver would clutch the paper packet tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning white. Some would open it on the spot, take a bite, leaving clear teeth marks on the silver ingot; others would simply stuff it into their pockets, pressing it down with their hands, their eyes scanning their surroundings warily.
An old soldier received his pay but didn't leave.
He leaned against the courtyard wall, staring at the silver in his hand for a long time. The paper packet wasn't big; it contained nine taels of silver, about the size of a fist. But he stared at it for the duration of half an incense stick burning.
Then he squatted down and buried his face in his knees.
My shoulder is twitching.
But he didn't say anything.
A new recruit tried to pull him away, but the veteran stopped him: "Let him cry. The money is his only share after he's finished crying."
The new recruit asked, confused, "Why?"
The old soldier gazed at the swirling snowflakes and murmured, "Because before this, the imperial court owed him three years' worth of wages. This money... wasn't wages, it was a debt. Now that the debt is paid, he can trust the imperial court again."
On the other side of the courtyard wall, Li Guozhen and Huang Degong stood side by side, quietly watching this scene.
"General Huang," Li Guozhen suddenly asked, "do you think nine taels of silver can really buy their lives?"
Huang Degong was silent for a moment: "I can't buy lives. But I can buy them... to hold out for one more hour when the city falls."
He paused, then added:
"We might be able to get reinforcements in an hour."
At 3:45 PM, at the Imperial Prison of the Northern Garrison of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.
Li Ruolian washed her hands in the torture chamber.
The water in the basin had turned red; he changed the basin three times before finally washing the blood off his hands. There was still some dark red under his fingernails, which he carefully removed with a small knife. The knife was very sharp; the blade moved swiftly across his fingertips, and a moment's carelessness could draw blood.
But he peeled it very steadily, as steadily as if he were peeling an apple.
After washing his hands, he dried them and took out the Empress's edict from his robes. He read it again.
"Keep it..."
He repeated the two words in a low voice, then looked up at the rack.
Two people were tied to the rack—the Later Jin spies, Yi and Bing, who had been captured last night. They had already been tortured once, but no confessions were asked; it was just "procedure": to give the prison officials some practice and, incidentally, to let these two know where they were.
Both men were unconscious, bearing numerous wounds, none of which were fatal. Their cotton-padded coats were removed, and they were replaced with clean prison clothes. The bloodstains on their faces were washed away, revealing their original appearances—both were men around forty years old, one sallow and emaciated, the other with scars on his face.
Li Ruolian walked over and looked at the one with the scar on his face.
The scar is on my left cheek, running diagonally from my cheekbone to the corner of my mouth. It looks like a knife wound, and it's been there for quite some time.
"Loosen the restrictions," Li Ruolian said.
The executioner was taken aback: "Sir?"
"Untie them and take them to the infirmary. Use the best wound medicine and find a doctor to examine them." Li Ruolian paused, "Also, allocate two clean single rooms, provide them with three meals a day according to the standard for a captain. If they want paper and pens, give them those too."
The executioner was utterly bewildered: "This...this isn't a spy?"
"He's a spy." Li Ruolian turned and walked out. "That's why he needs to be taken better care of. He needs to gain weight and be more energetic."
He walked to the door, then stopped and added:
"By the way, separate them. Don't let them meet, and don't let anyone talk to them."
"What if...they make a fuss about it themselves?"
"Then let them shout." Li Ruolian pushed open the heavy iron door. "What are they shouting about? Write it down. Don't miss a single word."
Outside the gate was the long corridor of the imperial prison, with torches stuck in the walls, their flickering light casting distorted shadows on the blue brick floor. The air was thick with the smells of mildew, blood, and some other indescribable stench of decay.
Li Ruolian walked lightly down the corridor.
He was pondering the third meaning behind the Empress's letter.
The purpose of keeping spies wasn't to pry them open—if it were possible, they would have done so long ago. They were kept for show, to put an example for Shenyang. They were kept for show for Dorgon.
Let him know that Beijing has the confidence.
A confident person doesn't rush to kill. A confident person dares to keep the enemy's eyes in their own home, let them see, and let them go back and talk.
At the end of the passageway, push open another iron door, and you'll find a secret room.
Sitting inside was the spy, Kurcha. He had changed into clean clothes, and there was food on the table—two dishes and a soup, along with steaming white rice.
When Kuercha saw Li Ruolian enter, he hurriedly stood up, at a loss for what to do.
"Sit down." Li Ruolian sat down opposite him, poured herself a cup of tea, and said, "Eat up, and I'll see you out of the city after you finish."
Kurcha's eyes widened: "Send...send me out of the city?"
"Hmm." Li Ruolian took a sip of tea. "Her Majesty the Empress has shown mercy and is letting you go back. However, there are a few words you need to convey to Dorgon."
"Please speak, sir! I will certainly convey your message!"
Li Ruolian put down her teacup and looked directly at him: "First, tell Dorgon that there are 100,000 new troops and 500 new cannons in Beijing. These cannons were personally supervised by Lord Tang Ruowang and can fire up to three miles away."
Kurcha's Adam's apple bobbed.
"Second, tell him that Wang Chengyin, the general of Xuanfu, and Jiang Xiang, the general of Datong, have both been secretly ordered to go to the capital to 'report on their duties.' The current commanders along the Xuanfu-Datong line are all people personally promoted by the Emperor. If he wants to make an appeal, he has to ask these people if they agree first."
"Third..." Li Ruolian paused, then smiled. The smile was faint, but it sent a chill down Kurcha's spine. "Tell him that we're keeping the other two spies he sent. They're well-fed and well-housed, and we even gave them paper and pen to write letters home—we've already sent the letters to Shenyang to let their families know they're safe."
Kurcha's face turned deathly pale.
He understood. This wasn't letting him go back to deliver the message; it was letting him go back... to sow discord.
"I...I understand," he said, his voice trembling. "I will...I will definitely deliver the message."
"Very good." Li Ruolian stood up. "After this meal, someone will escort you out of the city. Horses, provisions, and travel documents are all prepared. Take care on your journey."
After saying that, he turned and left.
As they reached the door, Kurcha suddenly asked, "Sir...aren't you afraid I'll go back and talk nonsense?"
Li Ruolian turned around and glanced at him: "Can you?"
Kurcha choked.
"You wouldn't," Li Ruolian answered for him, "because you know that if you lie, they won't be so lenient next time they catch you. Besides... your family is still in Shenyang, right?"
The door closed.
Kurcha slumped into his chair, looking at the table full of food, and suddenly lost his appetite.
At the beginning of the hour of You (5-7 PM), a soup kitchen was set up outside Deshengmen.
The snow stopped, but the wind grew stronger. The north wind, carrying snowflakes, stung people's faces like knives.
The soup kitchen was set up three days ago, using grain transported from Jiangnan. The kitchen was simple, with a few wooden beams supporting a reed mat roof, letting in drafts from all sides. But the soup pot was large, an iron pot placed on an earthen stove, where firewood crackled and popped as it burned.
Empress Zhou changed into a cotton-padded coat like an ordinary commoner, covered with a gray cloth cloak, and stood in the porridge shed, personally ladling out porridge.
This was something she had instructed Wang Chengen to do before leaving the capital—to open the porridge shed at 9:00 AM and close it at 5:00 PM every day, serving porridge twice a day. The porridge had to be thick enough that chopsticks could be stuck in it without it falling over.
At this moment, a long queue had formed outside the porridge stall, stretching all the way to the foot of the city wall. Most of those queuing were elderly people, women, and children, all of them pale and thin, dressed in tattered clothes. Some were carrying broken bowls, while others simply held chipped earthenware pots.
Each person receives a bowl of porridge and two mixed flour pancakes. Those with elderly people or children receive an extra pancake.
The line moved slowly, but no one pushed.
Because soldiers from the Beijing garrison were standing on both sides of the soup kitchen—not there to maintain order, but to collect their pay. They had just received their pay when Huang Degong ordered them to "take turns coming to the soup kitchen to see who you are guarding."
An old woman took the porridge and bread, but didn't leave.
Holding the bowl, she walked shakily to Empress Zhou and was about to kneel.
Empress Zhou reached out to support him, saying, "No need, old lady."
The old woman looked up, her eyes red-rimmed, her lips trembling: "Your Majesty... my son, who serves in the army at Tongguan... his name is Liu Sanshun, from the Left Battalion of Xuanfu Garrison... is he... is he still alive?"
Empress Zhou paused for a moment.
Then she took the old woman's hand—a hand like a withered twig, cold, rough, and full of cracks.
"Alive," she said, her voice steady, as if stating a fact. "The Emperor has gone to Tongguan. He will bring your son back."
The old woman's tears fell, splashing into the porridge bowl and creating ripples.
"Thank you, Your Majesty... Thank you, Your Majesty..."
Empress Zhou gently patted the back of her hand, then turned around and continued scooping porridge.
The next one was a boy, about eight or nine years old, whose cotton-padded jacket was so tattered that the cotton was showing through, and who was barefoot in straw sandals, his toes turning purple from the cold. He tiptoed to hand over the bowl, but his eyes were fixed on the basket of cakes behind Empress Zhou.
Empress Zhou scooped up a full spoonful of porridge, then took three cakes and stuffed them into his arms: "Eat slowly, don't choke."
The child froze, then grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth. He hugged the biscuit, bowed deeply, and ran back to a woman at the end of the line—his mother, who was cooling the porridge before feeding her even smaller child.
Outside the soup kitchen, at the foot of the city wall, refugees who had received their food squatted in sheltered spots, eating in small bites. Some broke their flatbread in half, tucking one half into their pockets to save for tomorrow. A child choked while eating too quickly, pounding his chest, and an elderly person nearby quickly fed him a spoonful of soup.
A four- or five-year-old girl finished eating a pancake, licked her fingers, and looked up at her mother, asking, "Mommy, what does the Emperor... look like?"
The mother thought for a moment and said, "The Emperor... looks like this."
She pointed to the woman scooping porridge in the porridge stall.
The child blinked, seemingly understanding but not quite. Holding the empty bowl, she looked at the figure in the porridge stall and suddenly whispered, "That...that Emperor is a good person."
The sound was not loud, but it was carried by the wind to Empress Zhou's ears.
She paused for a moment while scooping the porridge, but without turning around, she continued to scoop the steaming porridge into the broken bowls, one spoonful at a time.
At the hour of Xu (7-9 PM), in the warm pavilion of Kunning Palace.
Empress Zhou has returned.
She took off her cotton-padded coat, which was stained with porridge, changed into her everyday clothes, and sat down on the kang (a heated brick bed). The kang was warm, and dinner was laid out on the kang table: a bowl of rice, a plate of green vegetables, a plate of tofu, and a bowl of steamed egg custard.
She didn't touch her chopsticks.
Instead, he picked up another secret report that had just been delivered that afternoon—it was sent by Li Ruolian and concerned the process of releasing the spy Kurcha.
"...As Your Majesty commands, at 3:45 PM, I released the spy Kurcha outside Changping City. I gave him a horse, three days' worth of dry rations, and ten taels of silver. Before leaving, Kurcha asked, 'Why are you releasing me?' I replied, 'So you can go back and tell Dorgon that Beijing has no shortage of food, no shortage of pay, and certainly no shortage of daredevils.' Kurcha remained silent, mounted his horse, and rode north. I have already sent a secret sentry to accompany him for thirty li to confirm that he is heading towards Shanhaiguan..."
After reading it, Empress Zhou held the secret report close to the charcoal brazier. The pages curled up, charred black, and turned to ashes.
Only then did she pick up her rice bowl and begin to eat slowly. The rice was short-grain rice, very fragrant; the vegetables were winter-stored cabbage and tofu, light and simple. She ate very carefully, leaving not a single grain of rice.
Halfway through the meal, a female official came in and announced, "Your Majesty, General Huang Degong requests an audience."
"please."
When Huang Degong entered, he was still in his armor, and there were still snow streaks on his shoulders—clearly he had come directly from the drill ground. He knelt on one knee: "Your subject Huang Degong greets Your Majesty."
"Get up, sit down." Empress Zhou gestured to the stool on the kang opposite her. "Have you eaten?"
Not yet.
Empress Zhou said to the female official, "Give General Huang a bowl of rice and an extra dish."
When the food was served, Huang Degong didn't stand on ceremony and started eating right away. He ate quickly but cleanly, even mixing the soup with his rice.
After finishing his meal, he put down his bowl and said solemnly, "Your Majesty, the fifty thousand new troops have been fully trained by your subject and Governor Li. Their wagon formations, musket fire, and infantry-cavalry coordination are all capable of fighting. But..."
He paused.
"But if we really want to leave Juyong Pass and set up a second line of defense in Taiyuan, we will need at least 100,000 shi of grain and 300,000 taels of silver. We also need to set up grain depots along the Xuanda line three months in advance. Otherwise, once the supply line is cut off after the army leaves the pass, it will surely collapse."
Empress Zhou nodded: "I understand. The second batch of silver and grain from Jiangnan should arrive in Beijing within ten days. I will allocate it to you first when it arrives."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Huang Degong cupped his hands in greeting, then added, "There is one more matter—I request that General Wang Chengyin of Xuanfu and General Jiang Xiang of Datong be transferred to the capital to train with the new army. I am not at ease with these two."
"Granted," Empress Zhou answered readily. "Tomorrow, the Imperial Court will issue an edict summoning them to the capital to 'report for duty.' If they disobey the edict..."
She looked up, a cold glint flashing in her eyes:
"Treat him as a traitor and order the Embroidered Uniform Guard to arrest him."
Huang Degong gave the Empress a deep look.
Then, he stood up and knelt on one knee: "Your Majesty, I have a question."
"explain."
"If..." Huang Degong's voice was low, "if Tongguan really falls, and the rebel Li Zicheng breaks through the pass, Your Majesty..."
He gritted his teeth:
"Does Your Majesty truly intend for me to leave the pass and establish defenses in Taiyuan?"
The warm room was quiet for a moment.
The charcoal crackled and popped, sending a spark flying.
Empress Zhou slowly put down her chopsticks.
She looked at Huang Degong, her gaze as calm as a deep pool:
"General Huang, Tongguan will not fall."
"Your Majesty..."
"Because the Emperor is there," Empress Zhou said, emphasizing each word. "As long as the Emperor is there, Tongguan Pass is there. I trust him."
Huang Degong's Adam's apple bobbed, but he ultimately uttered only one word:
"Yes."
He stood up and took his leave.
As he reached the door, Empress Zhou suddenly called out to him:
"General Huang."
Huang Degong turned around.
"If that day ever comes," Empress Zhou said softly, but every word was clear, "I will not let you leave the pass alone. I will take the Crown Prince with me and go to Taiyuan with you."
Huang Degong's pupils suddenly contracted.
He stared at the Empress for three breaths, then bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty, I understand."
This bow is more significant than kneeling.
At 9:00 PM, in the East Warm Pavilion of Qianqing Palace.
Empress Zhou returned to her desk.
Another report appeared on the desk—a brief report on the battle situation at Tongguan, just delivered by the Office of Transmission and sent by the Censor-in-Chief of Henan:
"From November 12th to 15th, Tongguan repelled nine more fierce attacks by the rebel army. General Zhou Yuji was wounded in the left arm but still climbed the city wall to supervise the battle. The grain stored in the pass was reported to be enough for three days."
Today is November 18th.
This battle report took six days to arrive.
Empress Zhou picked up a vermilion brush and circled the date "November 18th" on the calendar next to her.
Then she wrote below:
"His Majesty should have already arrived near Tongguan."
After she finished writing, she stared at the line of text for a long time.
It's snowing again outside the window.
Large flakes of snow fell silently in the darkness, covering the palace, the streets, and the capital city that was gathering its strength.
Meanwhile, a thousand miles away, the snow in Tongguan must be falling even more heavily.
In the snow-covered landscape, the beacon fires on the city walls flickered; in the snow-covered ground, piles of corpses lay like mountains; under the snow's light, the cold glint of swords and spears was blinding.
Empress Zhou opened the window, letting the cold wind rush in.
She looked northwest, as if she could see through mountains and rivers to the majestic pass that was teetering on the brink of collapse in the midst of a bloody battle, and to the figure galloping through the wind and snow.
She clutched the small sachet to her chest—inside was a lock of her hair, and his scent.
"Your Majesty," she whispered to the void, "I have defended Beijing. You... must defend Tongguan."
The snow fell silently.
The lights in the Qianqing Palace remained lit throughout the night.