"A rebel army is approaching Luoyang at speed."
The guard at the gate straightened sharply when Gao Yiye asked what had happened. His voice carried both urgency and discipline.
"General Cao Wenzhao and General He Renlong are not in the city. Mr. Bai Yuan has taken part of the militia to Nanyang for disaster relief. Only General Gao Jie remains. He has ordered all four gates sealed to prevent a sudden assault."
Gao Yiye absorbed this calmly. "From which direction?"
"The south. The Governor, the Prefect, General Gao Jie, and the others are already stationed at the South Gate."
She gave a small nod and drove directly there.
By the time she arrived, the southern wall had become the center of the city's tension. Officials clustered along the battlements, staring into the distance as if willing the horizon to remain empty.
Henan's Governor, Fan Shangzheng, stood with tight lips. The Luoyang Prefect hovered nearby. Prince of Fu, Zhu Changxun, was present as well, wrapped in layered robes despite the wind, his personal guards surrounding him like a living wall. Beside them stood Gao Jie, rustic in bearing yet standing tall, armor strapped on with casual familiarity.
It was an unlikely assembly. Scholar, prince, general, saintess. All staring south.
When Gao Yiye stepped onto the wall, everyone bowed.
"The rebels will arrive at any moment," Gao Jie said, lowering his voice slightly. "Saintess, the wall is not entirely safe. Arrows can travel farther than men expect. It may be better if you withdraw."
She gave him a look that was almost amused. "I have witnessed battles far greater than this."
That ended the discussion. Gao Jie bowed and moved to the front, resting one hand lightly on the hilt of his blade.
Below them, the southern plain trembled faintly as shapes began to gather at the edge of sight. At first it was dust, then movement within dust, then a dark tide of men advancing in uneven lines. The sheer number of them made the air feel heavier.
Prince Zhu Changxun wiped sweat from his brow and leaned toward Gao Jie.
"General Gao," he asked in a strained whisper, "you are capable in battle… are you not?"
Gao Jie considered the question with surprising seriousness. "Capable enough to fight."
"That is not what I asked," the prince pressed. "Have you won battles? Real ones?"
"I have fought Cao Wenzhao in Hequ County," Gao Jie replied.
The prince's eyes lit up with hope. "You held your ground against General Cao?"
"I was defeated," Gao Jie said plainly. "Quite badly."
Zhu Changxun's mouth fell open.
"I also clashed with He Renlong in northern Shaanxi," Gao Jie continued thoughtfully. "Another heavy defeat. And once I encountered the army under Dao Xuan Tianzun's banner in Pingyang Prefecture. That, too, ended poorly for me."
The prince stared at him as if he were witnessing a public execution of his own confidence. "Then surely you must have victories to speak of?"
Gao Jie reflected for a long moment, genuinely searching his memory, before shaking his head.
"Not yet."
Zhu Changxun let out a strangled cry and immediately waved for his guards to close ranks. They swarmed him so tightly that he nearly vanished within a cocoon of armor and fabric.
Governor Fan Shangzheng shot Gao Jie an exasperated glare. "General, this is not the moment for such humor. His Highness is already distressed."
Gao Jie chuckled once, then let the jest fall away. His expression sharpened as the rebel vanguard approached the foot of the city wall.
A banner unfurled among them, snapping in the wind. Three bold characters could be seen clearly even from above.
Zhang Miaoshou.
Gao Jie exhaled through his nose. "So it is him. I had feared someone more troublesome."
Then, without hesitation, he turned and called out, "Open the gates."
The prince shrieked in disbelief. "Open them? Have you lost your senses? Are you inviting them inside?"
"We open them so I can go out," Gao Jie replied irritably. "I have no intention of hosting them for tea."
The guards at the gate froze. Their eyes darted between the prince and the governor.
Fan Shangzheng finally barked, "Follow the general's command. Open the gates."
Even then, hesitation lingered. It was one thing to obey the governor. It was another to risk the prince's resentment afterward.
At that moment, Gao Yiye spoke, her voice calm yet impossible to ignore.
"Open the gates. There is no cause for fear."
That settled it. When Dao Xuan Tianzun did not personally descend, the Saintess' authority carried the weight of heaven itself. The gates creaked open.
Gao Jie mounted his horse and rode out with only a small escort. On the opposite side, Zhang Miaoshou also advanced with a handful of riders, meeting him in the open field between city and army.
They stopped a short distance apart.
Gao Jie tilted his head slightly. "Zhang Miaoshou. Have you come to test your fate at Luoyang?"
Zhang Miaoshou's face carried none of the arrogance expected of a rebel leader. Instead, there was an odd mixture of embarrassment and stubborn pride.
"The Eight Great Kings and I quarreled," he said bluntly. "He insisted on attacking Xuzhou. I told him it was impossible. We parted ways. Then he took the city. Now I cannot return to him without losing face, and wandering alone with my men has left us hungry. I came to see an old acquaintance in Luoyang and perhaps… obtain some grain."
"Obtain?" Gao Jie echoed dryly. "By persuasion or by threat?"
Zhang Miaoshou spread his hands. "Must we pretend we do not understand each other? You now serve the court and sit atop granaries. Would it truly harm you to spare a little for an old brother?"
Gao Jie's expression shifted, becoming unexpectedly serious.
"Zhang Miaoshou. Surrender."
The rebel leader blinked. "You jest."
"I do not."
"You think I rode here to lay down my sword?"
"I think you rode here because you know what stands behind these walls," Gao Jie replied quietly. He gestured toward the battlements, where musketeers stood in disciplined rows. "Do you know under whose banner I now serve? If you surrender now, it will be recorded as voluntary submission. Your life will be spared. Your sentence reduced. Your men will be fed."
Zhang Miaoshou's throat tightened. The memory surfaced unbidden. The thunder of unfamiliar weapons. The way men fell before they could even close distance. The terror that had spread through seasoned fighters like plague.
"Chuang Wang," he whispered. "It was them?"
Gao Jie did not claim credit. "Not by my hand. But yes. You and I both know what those weapons can do."
Silence stretched between them, heavy as the sky before a storm.
Finally, Zhang Miaoshou swallowed. "If I surrender… my life will truly be spared?"
"I stake my own head on it," Gao Jie said. "And your men will not starve."
For a long moment, the rebel leader stared at the city walls, at the musketeers, at the gates that had opened not in fear but in confidence.
Then he threw up both hands in exasperation.
"Well then," he said, voice cracking between frustration and relief, "in that case, I surrender."