Divine Forces Descend Upon Xiangzhou (Part I)

Hebei Province, Xiangzhou City — Zhoujintang Hall.

This majestic edifice, a symbol of the Northern Song statesman Han Qi's lifelong glory and loyal service across three reigns — Renzong, Yingzong, and Shenzong — stood proudly to the east of the Xiangzhou prefectural office. Amid its resplendent halls and scattered pavilions lay elegant gardens, forming a serene and dignified complex. Compared to these refined and stately buildings, the adjacent Xiangzhou yamen appeared dwarfed and dilapidated, no more than a mere foil to its grandeur.

The main hall of Zhoujintang, in particular, was vast in scale and opulent in design. Beside it stood three aged pagoda trees once planted by Han Qi himself. Nearby rose the renowned "Stele of Three Perfections" — a towering monument eight feet high and five wide, inscribed with a eulogy written by Ouyang Xiu and calligraphed by Cai Xiang, chronicling Han Qi's illustrious life. Among its most celebrated lines: "Rose through officialdom to the rank of general and chancellor; returned in wealth and honor to his native land." The text and calligraphy were both unparalleled masterpieces of the age. To obtain a rubbing of this stele was already a rare privilege; to behold it within the hall with one's own eyes — a lifelong honor for any scholar.

Yet on this winter's day, Wang Boyan, current prefect of Xiangzhou and Deputy Marshal of Hebei's armed forces, paid no heed to the stele's crimson ink and serpentine brushwork. Braving the stinging chill, he pressed forward with aching legs, quickening his pace toward the green-glazed rooftops of the hall.

By now, the Han family — former lords of Zhoujintang — had long since abandoned their ancestral home and fled south to escape the ravages of war. Upon the great hall's entrance now hung a new plaque, freshly inscribed with the title "Grand Marshal's Office of Hebei Armed Forces." Beneath it stood several guards clad in scale armor, stern-faced and blade-in-hand. Their gaze remained fixed forward with arrogant pride — yet upon seeing Wang Boyan approach, not one dared maintain pretense. They immediately stepped aside, saluting him with utmost reverence before ushering him into the hall.

Within the western wing of Zhoujintang, the newly appointed Grand Marshal of Hebei, Prince Kang — Zhao Gou — sat atop a divan, sifting through a handful of letters as he awaited Wang Boyan's arrival. Greeting him warmly by his courtesy name, he asked, "Tingjun, how proceeds the reorganization of our volunteer armies?"

Bowing low, Wang Boyan replied, "Your Highness, since you established headquarters here in Xiangzhou, I have diligently overseen the recruitment and reorganization. Thus far, some twenty thousand volunteers have pledged themselves to our banner. Of them, ten thousand are former imperial troops from Hebei and Guanshi. Another thirty thousand are en route from Daming, Dongping, and Cangzhou. The city's armories have also been inventoried: we possess a thousand suits of armor, three thousand bows and crossbows, and two hundred thousand arrows. With ample materials on hand, the city's workshops can, within twenty days, equip another thirty thousand men."

"Moreover," he continued with another bow, "the city's grain stores can sustain an army of one hundred thousand for three months. Your Highness may well take root here, using this stronghold and its forces to negotiate from a position of strength with the capital. At the very least, we must ensure you are not left without recourse or dignity."

Upon learning that the Jin army had been miraculously vanquished and the capital relieved, both Zhao Gou and Wang Boyan realized their plans had utterly unraveled.

They had believed that the invading Jin forces, far stronger than in the previous campaign, would surely capture Bianliang, taking both the Emperor and the Retired Emperor as hostages. In such a crisis, Zhao Gou — as the only surviving imperial prince with a stronghold and an army in Hebei — would be the rightful candidate for the throne, backed by both legitimacy and force.

But fate took a wild turn. Thanks to the inexplicable powers of Immortal Guo and Doraemon atop Bianliang's walls, the Jin horde was vanquished like paper before fire. In that instant, Prince Kang, who had hoped to found a new court in Xiangzhou, became not a savior of the dynasty, but its greatest threat.

To seize the throne by force was now an impossible dream. The disparity in strength, the righteousness of the central court, and the mere fact that his commanders were barely acquainted with him — none would follow him into madness.

Yet to abandon his command and territory, to return meekly to Bianliang — Zhao Gou could not bear the thought. He trembled at the uncertainty of his fate. After all, not long ago, he had witnessed his seemingly benevolent imperial brother lure their father back from the south, only to imprison him in the cold palace.

If he returned now with no safeguards, who could say whether exile or prison awaited?

Wang Boyan, now a fellow passenger on this doomed ship, sighed at Heaven's injustice but advised action before the court could move: consolidate forces in Hebei, rally more troops, and fortify their position. Even if they could not reach the throne, they might at least secure an honorable end.

But the Song court, so often slow and indecisive, acted with unprecedented speed.

Zhao Gou grew despondent. "Alas," he murmured, "though Xiangzhou has high walls and deep stores, the old master is returning…"

He handed Wang Boyan a letter. "News from the capital — my brother intends to appoint Han Xiao Zhou as Commissioner of Hebei, stationed right here in Xiangzhou. He means to pull the ground from beneath my feet!"

In the Northern Song, officials were barred from governing their native regions. Yet Han Qi, due to his unmatched merit in supporting two emperors, was granted rare favor to serve multiple terms in his hometown of Xiangzhou, even being named Grand Preceptor and local governor in his final year. The court had even promised his descendants a hereditary right to rule the region. Thus, for four generations, the Han clan held unbroken sway over Xiangzhou — an honor unmatched by any other gentry family.

Though Han Xiao Zhou, great-grandson of Han Qi, lacked his ancestor's brilliance, his influence remained formidable. The Han family's century-long rule had made them the de facto sovereigns of the region. Even after he relinquished his post and fled south, Han's legacy endured: Zhao Gou had relied on their stores and officials to establish his power base.

Should Han Xiao Zhou return with imperial orders, a single command might turn the whole city against Zhao Gou. And if Wang Boyan dared to silence him through treachery, a mere whisper of foul play might see them both butchered before they could escape the city walls.

"My imperial brother," Zhao Gou said bitterly, "has no means against the Jin, yet spares no schemes against his kin!"

His voice wavered with a mix of resentment and dread. "The situation is dire… What counsel have you, Tingjun?"

Wang Boyan, now steady in the storm, replied, "Your Highness, it is true — this move cuts us to the root. Yet Han Xiao Zhou has already led his clan south. Even if loyal to the court, it will take months for him to return and reestablish command. In the meantime, Your Highness must act swiftly — consolidate Daming and Dongping, rally more volunteers. Even if Xiangzhou is lost, the banner of resistance can still fly elsewhere."

He concluded, "So long as Your Highness proclaims a campaign against the Jin, and commands tens of thousands near the capital, the court will not risk internal strife by moving against you. Thus, Hebei's men and resources will remain at your disposal. Do not despair — hope still lingers."

"So be it," Zhao Gou sighed. "There's no turning back now — we must parley with my brother to the bitter end. I place my trust in you, Tingjun."

Alas — fate was not yet done with them.

In the next instant, a sudden clamor shattered all their schemes.

It began with the tolling of alarm bells from the city walls, followed by a growing cacophony of shouts and chaos. The city erupted in a storm of voices, shaking snow loose from the rooftops.

Bewildered, Zhao Gou and Wang Boyan called their guards and sent messengers to investigate. But before any scout could return, a stableboy burst into the hall, breathless and shouting,

"My lord! Your Highness! It's terrible — the court's sent heavenly soldiers to destroy Xiangzhou!"

Stunned, Wang Boyan slapped the boy reflexively. "What nonsense is this?!"

But as he stepped into the courtyard and looked up, he saw it — the immense, ominous shadow of the floating fortress "Neo-Tokyo III."

And in that moment, the traitor Wang Boyan — once bold enough to challenge a dynasty — collapsed in terror, blacking out beneath the weight of divine retribution.