And so Beijia took no drastic measures during this period, merely dispatching missives to berate Panlong City while ordering Baling to assist Xianyou and dispatch several nearby demon generals to the front.
Perhaps it was also because the empire possessed ample confidence, figuring that if soft tactics failed, it could always resort to force—it would merely mean losing a few extra months.
It was nothing more than the cost of trial and error, an expense it could easily afford.
Yet Panlong City's leadership knew full well that Beijia's conciliation and hesitation would not last long. Had Panlong City flatly refused from the start, Beijia would at most have cursed them for failing to appreciate its grace;
once it saw through Panlong City's true intentions and realized it had been duped, its reaction would go far beyond shame and fury!
For that would mean Zhong Shengguang had been resolved to resist to the bitter end from the very beginning, and this entire sequence of maneuvers was nothing more than a smokescreen to stall for time.
A man like that could only be beheaded; he could never be brought to heel.
Only when Beijia realized this would the true tempest arrive.
He Lingchuan knew it lay in the near future.
On the day news arrived that General Red had captured the key Xianyou stronghold of Tancheng, a torrential downpour broke from clear skies. The heavens churned with sinister, shifting clouds, as if countless demons and monsters lurked within, stirring up tempests.
The Chipa Plateau lay close to the sky; thick, dark clouds seemed ready to crush Panlong City beneath them at any second.
Standing atop the city wall and looking toward the east, He Lingchuan let out a deep sigh.
Happy times were always fleeting. After enjoying two years of peace and prosperity, Panlong City would soon have to face a formidable foe once again.
In real history, Panlong City had failed to hold the Maohe Plain, and thus this great development had never occurred.
He had once thought that Panlong City's destiny might be altered because of this.
Now it seemed that hope had been naive.
Beijia taking Xiluo as a vassal, sending an ultimatum to Zhong Shengguang—none of this had happened in real history.
In other words, the Panlong City of history had vanished without even withstanding its first few blows.
Beijia had vastly more cards to play, none of which had been brought to bear last time.
Now, Zhong Shengguang, General Red, and He Lingchuan would all have a chance to experience them.
It was now the nineteenth year of the Panlong calendar, thirteen years before the Panlong City of history met its demise.
An ominous thought welled up from the depths of He Lingchuan's heart:
Could his intrusion and meddling have drastically accelerated the course of Panlong City's history?
For instance, Beijia stepping in personally to deal with Panlong City was a war that, at the very earliest, should not have taken place until a decade later.
Yet in today's Panlong World, was it not looming right before their eyes?
The historical facts he knew regarding Panlong City seemed to have been completely altered.
Everything was thrown into disarray; everything had run off course.
(*The Stolen Light of the Shanjin Plain* ends here.)
The rain cleared, leaving the azure sky washed clean.
With droplets still clinging to blades of grass, the quarterly market opened on schedule in Yongwang Town.
Villagers from miles around converged on the fair. The clearing before the Earth God Shrine, quiet and desolate just the day before, was now packed with stalls: everyday handicrafts, rice, flour, grain, and oil, smoked meats and cured sausages, dried fish and vegetables, furs and fabrics... Though the wares were simple, they were offered in a dazzling array.
Children romped and played near candy stalls, while young maidens dressed in their finest, bright as blossoms.
No matter how hard life was, there was always a moment to forget one's cares.
A party slowly approached, five or six people driving some thirty fine steeds.
In truth, there was little need to drive them; the horses followed the person leading the way of their own accord.
Yet the moment the people in the market caught sight of them, their faces darkened. The bustling hubbub fell into an unnatural hush.
Someone muttered, "Why are they here?"
The horse drovers kept their eyes fixed forward, skirting around the edge to the far side of the market. There they settled into an open spot and planted their signboard—
They were horse traders.
Not far off, a leather ball bounced over, rolling right to the feet of a youth in the party.
Looking down, he picked up the ball and saw a five- or six-year-old child standing a short distance away, cheeks red as apples, grinning and waving at him.
"Mine, mine! Brother A'xun, that's my ball!"
How long had it been since he had seen an outsider treat him so warmly?
He had gotten to know the boy at the previous market. A'xun smiled, walked over, and crouched down, handing him the ball. He was about to exchange a few more words when the boy's mother dashed over from behind, yanking her son away with a sharp pull.
"Don't talk to him! Out of all the people you could play with, why did you have to run off to them?"
She glared fiercely at A'xun, warning him, "Stay away from my son! Traitor!"
The smile on A'xun's face turned wry. He watched as the woman spat on the ground and hurried away, clutching her son.
He stood up alone; within twenty yards of him, not a soul remained.
This place was no more welcoming to them than anywhere else, but A'xun had grown used to it. Besides, the steeds they brought from Chigu were first-rate—sturdy and robust, with broad heads, deep chests, and well-developed sinew, built for charging across battlefields. So after a brief chill, buyers still stepped forward to haggle over the horses.
After that small episode, the market regained its bustle and orderly rhythm.
Only then did an outsider visiting the market for the first time whisper to a local:
"Who are those people?"
"Ying people." The stallholder rolled his eyes, his answer echoing the woman's exactly. "Hmph. Traitors."
The visitor grew even more curious. "Tell me more?"
"Ever heard of the Battle of Mount Lutai six years ago?"
"Uh, I think I've heard a bit about it."
"Nine of our kingdoms and tribes joined forces to wage a punishing campaign against the Yao Kingdom. We held every advantage at the Battle of Mount Lutai. Our chieftain said that if we only took Mount Lutai, the Yao Kingdom would be finished! But right then, the Ying clan and the Luodian Kingdom suddenly turned traitor. The entire army fell into chaos, and the Yao Kingdom seized the chance to strike back." The stallholder spoke with bitter resentment. "Such a crucial battle, and we lost!"
That joint offensive had ended in total failure.
"The Yao Kingdom fought nine adversaries at once and won, so they've been strutting around puffed up with pride ever since. Meanwhile, our lives have grown harder by the year." How could the losing side ever fare well? "If those two traitors hadn't turned on us, we would have overthrown the Yao Kingdom by now! How else would we have ended up like this?"
"So that's how it was!" The visitor also spat in disgust. Traitors within were hated even more than enemies without; no wonder the locals despised the Ying people so deeply. "If they defected to the Yao Kingdom, they must be living comfortably now."
Otherwise, what had the Ying clan gained?
"They're not doing well either!" The stallholder chuckled with spiteful glee. "The Yao Kingdom returned the territory it had seized from them before, but—hahaha—all the mines there had already been stripped clean! All the Ying got back were a few worthless, barren hills! Heaven has eyes: four years ago, an equine plague swept through their lands, killing off so many of their finest horses!"
The laughter carried on the wind to A'xun, and he bowed his head.
Six years ago, when his father, as clan chieftain, agreed to the Yao Kingdom's terms and betrayed the allied forces, both he and his second uncle had pleaded vehemently against it. But his father had refused to listen.
Someone tapped his shoulder and whispered, "Pay them no mind."
A'xun turned to see Mengmeng, his childhood friend who had grown up alongside him.
"How could outsiders understand our hardships?" she said. "How could they understand what the chieftain had to face?"
Chapter 1145