Divine Forces Descend Upon Xiangzhou (Part II)

As the floating fortress "Neo Tokyo III" drifted ominously through the winds toward Xiangzhou, the stationed Song garrison remained wholly unaware of this uninvited guest's descent.

The golden hue of dusk spilled across the ancient city walls, casting a mottled glow like a memory worn thin. Wisps of smoke curled lazily into the sky above the city, veiling it in an air of peace and serenity. Beneath the falling twilight, Xiangzhou slumbered in tranquil repose, bearing scant trace of the ruthless devastation wrought by war.

Though the relentless conflict between Jin and Song had laid waste to the once-prosperous countryside of Hebei, the Jin army, whenever it swept southward, never lingered to contest city after city. Thus, many of the region's major urban centers, so long as they did not lie directly along the enemy's path, remained largely unscathed—though to the court's appeasers in Bianliang, they had already been all but written off as lost.

Consequently, many soldiers stationed in Xiangzhou had yet to so much as lay eyes upon a single Jin warrior. Discipline was lax, morale waning, and even those posted on sentry duty passed the time in quiet chatter or drowsy stupor.

On the watchtower above Xiangzhou's southern gate, a few imperial guards clad in light paper armor and clutching long spears rubbed their hands against the chill and conversed idly. None spared a glance for the far-off speck that was the airborne castle—too distant to command attention, too fantastical to be conceived by the minds of Song men.

"...Tch, that old fox Zhang's slipped off again to dally at Widow Liu's shop, while we're stuck freezing our arses off up here…"

"What can we do? His niece is some petty officer's concubine now... Erhu, save me a swig, will you? Hic—this damn weather'll chill your bones clean through if you don't drown it in liquor… good thing they're lax with the rules here…"

"Heh, I don't think it's just liquor you're craving, eh? Be honest, you're itching for a warm woman, aren't you? Hell, I haven't been to the Red Fragrance Courtyard in nearly a month myself. Wonder if Little Peachbud's still got that wild charm... or if it's all sagged down there now…"

With the shift change nearing, the garrison soldiers clustered in groups along the ramparts, drinking idly and exchanging vulgar gossip. After a few mouthfuls of wine, complaints spilled freely from their lips, soon giving way to lewd banter and bawdy laughter. Though they lowered their voices to keep their jests from prying ears, the air was thick with heat and mirth.

Yet not all ears had been spared. Someone had heard them—someone who was not meant to.

Watching these lax and heedless men, Yue Fei, the cavalry officer recently demoted to patrol duty for offending his superior, could only shake his head with a weary sigh. Turning away from the disgraceful scene, he cast his gaze over the snow-covered wilderness beyond the walls, his breath emerging as a thick plume of white mist.

Though deeply disheartened by his comrades' indolence, Yue Fei understood their brazenness was not without cause. The main Jin force had been utterly annihilated at the gates of Bianliang, leaving scarcely any enemy troops within Song borders. The last remnant of the Jurchen field army still lingered far to the north, in the old Liao territories near Yanjing—far too distant to pose an immediate threat to Xiangzhou.

Thus, despite the outward chaos that still plagued Hebei, the real bloodshed now came from internal strife—Song soldiers killing their own. The scattered "righteous armies" roaming the wilds were little more than roving bandits, preying on undefended villages and occasionally ambushing supply convoys. But the fortified city of Xiangzhou, guarded by tens of thousands, was beyond their reach.

And so, with the threat seemingly passed, the once taut nerves of the garrison had slackened into complacency. To be forced now to guard the walls in wind and snow felt to them a needless punishment. If strict wartime discipline were still imposed—whips and branding and all—many would sooner desert than endure further indignity.

After all, in this empire that exalted the pen and shunned the sword, what true man of stature would willingly debase himself by becoming a soldier?

Sighing again at the dereliction surrounding him, Yue Fei's thoughts drifted inward, recalling the rough path his life had taken of late.

A native of Tangyin County in Xiangzhou, he had been born a humble farmhand under the Han family estate. His lineage was low, his family poor, and no ancestor of his had ever made a name worth remembering. Yet from a young age, Yue Fei had been singular—gifted with prodigious strength, able to draw a 300-catty bow and wield an eight-stone crossbow with ease. He had studied archery under the renowned master Zhou Tong, mastering the art of ambidextrous shooting with uncanny precision.

Determined not to let his talents go to waste, he had resolved to serve the nation, to earn glory upon the battlefield.

Yet his path had been anything but smooth. This was his third attempt at military service—twice already he had been forced to return home. The first time, his unit was disbanded; the second, overrun by invading Jin forces. He had fought his way back through chaos to his hometown in Tangyin, wounded in body and spirit. Disillusioned, he had resolved to abandon soldiering for good.

But his mother had urged him otherwise. With tears in her eyes, she had tattooed four characters upon his back—"Utmost Loyalty to the Nation"—and sent him forth once more.

This time, fortune had shown him a fleeting smile. His skill with the bow earned him the favor of his superiors; he was placed in the cavalry and granted the modest rank of dutou—a squad leader. Yet before he could prove himself in battle, his unit was absorbed into the forces stationed at Xiangzhou, now under the command of the Grand Marshal of Hebei. His former commander was replaced, and Yue Fei, headstrong and blunt, soon ran afoul of the new one. For his defiance, he was banished to the city walls.

Though his fellow soldiers mocked his fall from grace, Yue Fei had endured far worse in his young life. Hardened by trials, he took the punishment in stride.

What truly troubled him now was the uncertain future of the massive army gathered here in Xiangzhou.

Yes—the Jin army had indeed been crushed at Bianliang. Yet the Grand Marshal's office in Hebei, its purpose fulfilled, showed no signs of disbanding. On the contrary, it now expanded with even greater zeal, amassing men and resources, hinting at ambitions far beyond its mandate.

And who could ignore the implications? No matter who sat the throne in Bianliang, they would never tolerate a princely warlord with tens of thousands of troops and control of vast territory, camped so close to the capital.

Especially when that warlord was of royal blood—a legitimate contender to the throne by right.

Should he form alliances within the palace, the threat to the imperial court would become dire indeed.

Thus, recent military policies from Xiangzhou—scouting patrols, signal towers—seemed more directed southward, toward the Song heartland, than northward at the defeated Jin.

Though Prince Kang and his circle still cried "resist the Jin" with loud voices, many wise men had seen the writing on the wall.

Indeed, whispers already circulated among the troops: that Prince Kang, under the pretext of filial loyalty and national shame, would soon cross the river and march on Bianliang—seizing the throne by force.

Once, someone had remarked that "the Son of Heaven should be he who commands armies and steeds." But this was no longer the anarchic era of the Five Dynasties. The ideals of loyalty, propriety, and legitimacy now ran deep in the hearts of men. If Prince Kang truly dared such treason, he would not only earn the wrath of the nation, but also place himself in direct opposition to the realm entire.

Yue Fei, though reluctant to surrender the post he had just earned, had resolved inwardly: if rebellion were to erupt in Xiangzhou, he would not chase the fleeting glory of backing a pretender. He would find a way to vanish, to desert honorably—lest he betray the vow carved into his back.

The Yue family of Tangyin might be poor, but it was upright. Better to die obscure than to live as a traitor.

And yet… would this third enlistment of his, too, end in anticlimax?

Would he once again depart without ever realizing his aspirations—to serve his country with sword and skill?

A sigh escaped him—deep, forlorn. On a whim, he turned his eyes skyward.

And there, he froze—as if turned to stone.

Heavens above! What had he just seen?

A castle—a colossal, golden-hued fortress—was descending from the skies, bearing down upon Xiangzhou!