BSI Chapter 3 Yan Song mobilizes troops and bombards Wudang!
Chapter 3 Yan Song mobilizes troops and bombards Wudang!
Three days ago, in Beijing.
After Zhu Xixiao led his men out, Zhu Houcong did not remain idle.
He waited in the Wanshou Palace for two days, growing more and more anxious with each passing day.
It's not that I'm worried about Zhu Xixiao getting into trouble.
They were worried that Zhu Xixiao would embezzle the items.
Cultivation techniques for immortality, secret arts for longevity.
Who wouldn't be tempted by something like this?
Zhu Houcong became increasingly uneasy and summoned Yan Song to the West Garden.
Yan Song was eighty years old and needed help to walk, but his mind was still very clear.
He knelt on the ground and listened to Zhu Houcong's words, cursing under his breath.
It's about cultivating immortality again.
It's another pursuit of immortality.
How many years has this emperor been insane?
But he dared not say it.
His power was entirely dependent on Zhu Houcong; if Zhu Houcong fell, his whole family would be finished.
"Your Majesty means..."
"Deploy troops."
Zhu Houcong's voice was cold.
"Take three thousand men from the Beijing garrison, along with muskets and cannons, and go to Wudang Mountain to meet Zhu Xixiao."
Yan Song's heart skipped a beat.
Three thousand garrison troops of the capital? Red-coated cannons?
Go to a Taoist temple and capture a wandering Taoist priest?
What kind of formation is this?
"Your Majesty, Wudang Mountain is a sacred site of Taoism, the Daoist temple of Zhenwu the Great. To rashly mobilize troops might be..."
"What are you afraid of?"
Zhu Houcong stared at Yan Song with icy eyes.
"I said, I want everything that person owns. If he doesn't give it to me, I'll turn the entire Wudang Mountain upside down."
Yan Song dared not offer any further advice.
"This old minister obeys the decree."
He withdrew from the Western Garden and arranged for the troops of the Beijing Garrison overnight.
Three thousand men, one hundred muskets, and six red-coated cannons.
They set off from Beijing in a grand procession, heading straight for Wudang Mountain.
Zhu Zaiyi was awakened by the sound of cannon fire.
No, that's the sound of artillery shells whistling.
When he opened his eyes, an iron ball was flying from the southeast, trailing a plume of black smoke, heading straight for the flat land behind the mountain.
Zhu Zaiyi stretched.
The iron ball was getting closer and closer, becoming visible to the naked eye.
He raised his right hand and pointed his index finger forward slightly.
A transparent light curtain appeared out of thin air, blocking the path of the iron ball.
boom!
The iron ball struck the light screen as if it had hit a net wall, and bounced back violently.
Return via the same route you came from.
Three seconds later, a loud bang came from the foot of the mountain in the distance, followed by screams.
"I'm going back," Zhu Zaiyi muttered to himself, then lay back down.
The second shell is coming.
It bounced back.
The third one.
It bounced back.
The fourth one.
It bounced back.
Six shells in a row bounced back along the same path.
The screams at the foot of the mountain grew louder and louder.
Zhu Di sat on the rock, watching all this, his face growing increasingly grim.
He asked Zhu Zairi, "Who did this?"
"It must have been troops dispatched by Emperor Jiajing. The Beijing garrison brought red-coated cannons."
"Red-coated cannons?"
Zhu Di was not familiar with this name.
This kind of thing didn't exist in his time.
"It's a very big cannon. A single iron ball can be launched several miles away."
Zhu Di's face darkened further.
"He bombarded Wudang Mountain with cannons?"
"right."
"Wudang Mountain is the sacred site of the True Martial Emperor! His grandfather spent countless taels of silver to build this place!"
Zhu Di's voice trembled with anger.
"That unfilial descendant!"
"Great Ancestor, please calm down."
"Why are you so angry!"
Zhu Di slammed his palm on the stone beside him.
He slapped a heavy stone, creating spiderweb-like cracks and sending fragments flying.
If Zhu Xixiao, who was frozen in place, could still move, he would probably have wet his pants.
Zhu Zaiyi sighed and stood up.
"Grand Ancestor, would you like to go down the mountain for a look?"
Zhu Di stood up, his eyes blazing with fury.
"I don't just want to look."
He walked up to Zhu Xixiao, bent down, and stared at his stiff face.
"Where is your emperor?"
Zhu Xixiao, of course, could not answer.
Zhu Zai Rui made a gesture, releasing Zhu Xi Xiao's face from the immobilization spell.
Zhu Xixiao's jaw suddenly regained movement. His lips trembled for a long time before he managed to squeeze out a few words: "In...in the capital...Wanshou Palace in the Western Garden..."
Zhu Di straightened up and turned to Zhu Zaiyi.
"Rui'er, how far can you fly with your flying magic?"
"Wind control technique? Judging by the distance, it takes about two hours from Wudang Mountain to Beijing."
"Too slow." Zhu Di frowned. "Take care of those people down the mountain first."
"How do I clean it up?"
Zhu Di remained silent for a moment.
"I'll go down myself."
He stretched out his hand.
Give me my sword.
Zhu Zaiyi pulled a long sword from his sleeve.
He found the sword in a stone cave in the back mountain. The sword was engraved with four characters: "Made by Imperial Order of Yongle".
This is the sword that Zhu Di once wore.
The system told him that the sword was buried in Changling with Zhu Di, and later somehow ended up in Wudang Mountain.
Perhaps it was fate.
Zhu Di took the sword, drew it, and glanced at it.
The sword's blade was as smooth as autumn water, its cold light piercing the eye.
It's been over a hundred years and hasn't rusted at all.
He held the sword across his chest and took a deep breath.
"Walk."
Zhu Zaiyi nodded, formed a hand seal, and a gust of wind rose from beneath his feet, lifting him and Zhu Di up at the same time.
The two people took off, soared over the treetops, and flew towards the foot of the mountain.
At the foot of the mountain, Zhao Ping, the commander of the Beijing garrison, was cursing.
All the shells fired from the six cannons flew back, killing more than a dozen of their own men and injuring more than twenty others.
What kind of place is this?
Just as he was about to order the second salvo, the sky suddenly darkened.
Zhao Ping looked up.
Two people flew down from the mountain.
Without wings or ropes, it just floats in mid-air.
The boy in front had his hands behind his back, his robes fluttering in the wind.
The old man behind him held a long sword, his white hair flying, and his figure upright.
Three thousand soldiers from the Beijing garrison simultaneously looked up at the two figures in the sky and fell silent.
Zhao Ping's mouth opened and he couldn't close it.
That old man...
He flew lower and lower, and his features became clearer and clearer.
Square face, thick eyebrows, high nose, long beard, and tiger-like eyes.
Zhao Ping's pupils suddenly contracted.
He remembered a place.
Imperial Ancestral Temple.
The Imperial Ancestral Temple displays portraits of emperors from various dynasties, and every year during the sacrificial rites, the commander of the Beijing Garrison would kowtow to them.
He kowtowed countless times.
Of those portraits, one left the deepest impression on him.
Because that portrait depicts the most capable emperor of the Ming Dynasty in terms of military prowess.
Emperor Yongle.
Emperor Chengzu Wen.
Zhu Di.
Zhao Ping's legs went weak.
As he watched the old man fly closer and closer, he recalled the portrait in the Imperial Ancestral Temple.
The same.
Not like.
They are exactly the same.
That face, that figure, those eyes...
Zhao Ping dropped the command flag.
His lips were trembling violently.
Zhu Di landed on the ground, planted his long sword in the ground, and surveyed the three thousand soldiers of the Beijing garrison.
As soon as they saw it, the soldiers in the front row all took three steps back in unison.
I wasn't forced into it.
It was that kind of imposing aura that only those who had truly been on the battlefield, killed people, and ruled the world possessed, which made them feel suffocated.
Zhao Ping knelt down with a thud.
His voice was trembling and broken.
"You...you..."
Zhu Di looked down at Zhao Ping, who was kneeling on the ground.
"Are you from the Beijing Garrison?"
"This humble general... Zhao Ping, deputy commander of the Beijing garrison..."
"Who sent you?"
"His Majesty's... His Majesty's oral decree, Grand Secretary Yan Song's transfer order..."
"Yan Song?"
Zhu Di read the name aloud, but he didn't recognize it.
He turned to look at Zhu Zaiyi.
Zhu Zaiyi uttered five words in a low voice: "A great traitor, a powerful minister."
Zhu Di narrowed his eyes.
He turned around and stared at Zhao Ping.
"Look up at me."
Zhao Ping raised his head, trembling.
Who do you think I resemble?
Zhao Ping was almost in tears.
He no longer simply "feels like it".
He was certain.
But he dared not say it.
Because that person has been dead for over a hundred years.
How could a dead person be standing here?
Zhu Di saw his hesitation and gave a cold laugh.
He bent down, pulled the long sword from the ground, turned it over, and aligned the four characters on the sword with Zhao Ping.
Made by Emperor Yongle.
Zhao Ping's eyes nearly popped out.
With a "thud," he fell face-first to the ground, his forehead hitting the mud.
"Emperor Cheng...Emperor Chengzu!"
His voice was sharp and shrill, echoing through the valley.
Upon hearing this, the three thousand soldiers of the Beijing garrison were first silent, then whispered among themselves, and then stirred up a commotion.
Some people were looking in the direction of the Imperial Ancestral Temple.
Some people looked at the sword in Zhu Di's hand.
Some people immediately knelt down.
Like dominoes, the front row knelt down, and the back row knelt down too.
Three thousand people knelt down in unison.
Only the sound of the wind and distant sobs remained in the valley.
Zhu Di stood amidst three thousand kneeling soldiers, his sword held horizontally.
He didn't look at these people.
He was looking north.
The direction of Beijing.
Zhu Zaiyi stood behind him and asked softly.
"Grand Ancestor, are you going to Beijing?"
Zhu Di gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.
"Go to Xiyuan."
His voice carried a fierce, clenched edge.
"I'd like to see what kind of lousy elixir my unworthy descendant is concocting!"