Volume One, Chapter Seven: The Downfall of Yang Guozhong

At dusk, the setting sun bled across the sky, staining the entire Mawei Post Station in a deep crimson.

June’s heat was already stifling, and the Mawei Post Station was engulfed in waves of scorching air; not a breath of wind stirred, as if the very atmosphere had thickened, oppressive to the point of suffocation.

“Kill the traitor Yang! Purge the court!”

“Slay Yang Guozhong and march back to Chang’an!”

...

Upon arriving at Mawei Post, the soldiers of the Longwu Guard wasted no time setting up camp. Clad in armor and gripping broadswords, they gathered outside the station’s inn, their faces burning with fury.

During marches, to conserve energy, they typically carried their armor on horseback or in supply wagons. Donning their armor signified readiness for battle.

Thus, the fateful Mawei Mutiny began.

“Brothers, our wives, children, and elders remain in Chang’an. Can we stand by and watch them fall into danger?” one captain shouted hoarsely.

“Absolutely not!” the ranks thundered in unison, their voices like rolling thunder.

“They draw closer to peril. What shall we do?” another captain roared.

“Kill Yang Guozhong and march back to Chang’an!” the soldiers shouted back.

“Are you afraid to die?” the captain demanded loudly.

“We fear no death! We’d rather die fighting back to Chang’an!”

“Better to perish in battle than live a coward’s life!”

“Kill! Kill! Kill!” The Longwu Guard soldiers brandished their weapons, their angry cries echoing like fierce war drums.

“Brothers, follow me! Let’s go kill that old traitor Yang Guozhong now!” The captain raised his broadsword, its blade flashing coldly in the sunlight.

The soldiers’ blood boiled; they surged forward without hesitation, trailing behind him like an unstoppable torrent toward Yang Guozhong’s location.

Nearby, Li Heng’s face bore a satisfied smile as he listened to the deafening shouts.

It seemed the army’s spirit remained intact—an opportunity he could scarcely afford to miss.

...

Inside the post station, Emperor Xuanzong had just settled in. After a day of jostling along bumpy roads in the carriage, the seventy-one-year-old ruler felt exhausted and famished.

For the sovereign of a great empire to be unable even to secure a simple meal filled him with bitter resentment.

“Your Majesty! Trouble!” Gao Lishi burst in, panic evident in his staggering steps.

“What’s the matter?” Emperor Xuanzong frowned.

“Your Majesty, the Imperial Guards have mutinied!” Gao Lishi’s voice trembled with fear.

“What happened?” the emperor asked.

He glanced at Yang Guifei beside him; the consort’s complexion was deathly pale, her eyes wide with terror, her full figure trembling slightly.

“The soldiers demand the death of the Chancellor and to march back to Chang’an,” Gao Lishi said, looking at Yang Guifei, his tone dry.

“Where is General Chen Xuanli?” the emperor asked urgently.

“Your Majesty, I have not seen General Chen,” Gao Lishi replied helplessly.

“You fools! You’re all good-for-nothings!” Emperor Xuanzong snapped.

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