Governing the country, enriching the people, an unparalleled imperial tutor

The bugle sounded from below the city walls. The first rank of rebels began to move forward, their slow walk turning into a trot, the clanging of armor plates growing increasingly frequent. Before the first volley of arrows could fall, the musketeers pulled their triggers, white smoke billowing simultaneously along the crenellations, the gunshots a series of short, explosive bursts. Several rebels in the front rank fell, but those behind continued to surge forward, filling the gaps. The musket fire didn't stop; after the first rank finished firing and reloaded, the second rank immediately took their place, the white smoke piling up thicker and thicker above the city walls, like a layer of slowly moving old cotton wool.

Lin Yanzhou bent down and picked up the short stick beside him. As his thumb pressed down, a beam of white light shot out from the center of the city tower, piercing through the twilight and landing precisely on a spot where someone was using a grappling hook. The light was much brighter than a torch, and the person illuminated by it froze for a moment, the grappling hook in their hand almost falling into the air.

All movements on the city wall accelerated simultaneously. At the nearest crenellation, a soldier bent down, picked up a grenade, pulled the fuse, paused for three breaths, and threw it towards the location indicated by the beam of light. The beam of light moved from one spot to another, and the grenade's impact point followed, exploding precisely in the area the beam of light had just left, catching up with the lingering smoke and dust from the previous impact. Wherever the beam of light pointed, the grenade followed. No commands, no hand gestures. The beam of light itself became the guide.

Zhao Yan stood on the high platform inside the city gate tower, his hands pressed against the brick edge of the railing. The instant the beam of light swept across the base of the city wall, his pupils contracted sharply to their smallest size under the impact of the light, as if he were nailed to the spot by its intensity. The Vice Minister of Revenue stood half a step behind him, his official tablet having slipped from his hand and rolled twice on the ground, but he didn't bend down to pick it up. The Vice Minister of Rites' lips were slightly parted, only a short, sharp sound escaping his throat. The young official squatted down and then stood up again, his back hitting the pillar behind him before stopping, the fine sweat on his forehead glistening in the firelight. The old Hanlin scholar slowly raised his right hand, holding it across his forehead to block half his face, as if to confirm the boundaries and range of the light, then his fingers began to tremble uncontrollably, and he clenched his fist tightly to barely steady himself.

As the beam of light swept across a regrouping position on the east side of the city wall, all four cannons fired simultaneously. Four fireballs streaked across the sky above the city walls, leaving four parallel arcs in the twilight, before falling upon the most densely packed sections of the rebel ranks. The first explosion was still echoing when the second, third, and fourth followed in quick succession, the four flames merging into one, briefly illuminating the base of the city wall in daylight.

Gravel and dirt were hurled into the air and then fell back down, landing on the edges of the crenellations and on the soldiers' shoulder armor, making a dense, clattering sound, as if someone had scattered a handful of stones on the city wall. Several elderly ministers were startled by the sound and took a half step back, only managing to stand firm by leaning against a pillar. But they did not leave, nor did they close their eyes. They just stood there, watching the firelight below the city rise and fall layer by layer, repeating this three or four times, until the last embers were swept away by the night wind, and the base of the city wall returned to the dark red glow of torchlight.

The beam of light moved across the city wall for almost the time it takes for an incense stick to burn. Wherever it pointed, grenades fell, and wherever grenades fell, sparks exploded, forming warm-colored flowers one after another in the night sky. The lights rose in layers in the twilight, their edges being broken up by the night wind before slowly dissipating.

Zhao Lingxi stood beside Lin Yanzhou, the loud noise causing her to unconsciously hug him. They watched the lights rise and fall in layers across the night sky, like layers of old letter paper being constantly replaced, each page sealed with the same wax, but each page brighter than the last.

Her gaze fell on his hand holding the short baton during a lull in the artillery fire. His fingers gripped the surface of the baton, maintaining a steady angle and direction. Everything outside his fingertips was moving, but his palm remained perfectly still.

The torches below the city walls began to retreat. Not in disarray, but the entire line moved backward simultaneously. As the beam of light swept over the last retreating unit, no more grenades followed, because there were no longer any targets at the base of the city walls.

Lin Yanzhou released the switch. The beam of light shrank to a line in the twilight, then disappeared.

The torches on the city wall regained their original brightness. Musketeers were standing up from behind the crenellations, some were stuffing cleaning rods into the barrels, and others were putting the remaining grenades back into the wooden boxes.

The Vice Minister of Revenue's court tablet still rested on the railing beside him. He reached out, picked it up, held it in his palm, and slowly straightened up. The Vice Minister of Rites closed his mouth and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. The young clerk finally walked back to his original position from the edge of the pillar, and once he stood still, he did not squat down again. The old Hanlin scholar of the Hanlin Academy lowered his hand from his forehead, his face slightly flushed, slowly regaining its temperature.

After the flames had completely died down, Zhao Yan turned around from the high platform. His gaze shifted from the darkening wilderness below the city walls to Lin Yanzhou, and he said in a low voice, "Sir, this night truly was a battle that brought glory to our Xuan Shuo Dynasty! Unprecedented and unparalleled!"

Lin Yanzhou put the short stick back in his hand: "Well, it's true that our Xuan Shuo Dynasty's battle for fame was unprecedented! But it's unlikely to be repeated..."

Zhao Lingxi turned around from the edge of the battlements, looked at him sideways, her heart filled with happiness. This exhilarating battle had satisfied the young girl's little desire to be pampered. She was even more certain that the person beside her was her destined husband.

Lin Yanzhou stood in the center of the city tower, the warmth of the short stick slowly dissipating in the night breeze. The soldiers on the city wall were taking their positions again. The night wind blew in from the north, carrying the remaining gunpowder smell and soot from the city wall towards the inner side, as if an invisible hand was turning a page, while the edge of the next page was still hanging in mid-air, yet to be turned.

He stood at the edge of the city wall and glanced in the direction of the Guandi Temple in the distance. Night had completely obscured the outline of the old temple.