Sir, take me to rebel (12): 

The one hundred thousand strong army that took three months to finally reach the border of Qu Province did not accomplish anything before being ambushed right at the doorstep and utterly annihilated.

The military report took only a week to reach the capital from Qu Province.

The entire imperial court was stunned.

The ministers, filled with righteous indignation, submitted memorials asking the emperor to dispatch troops to exterminate these traitors and rebels, in order to safeguard the prestige of the Qiu dynasty.

The emperor, furious, ordered three hundred thousand troops to set out immediately along with twenty sorcerers toward the Liang Province region. At the same time, he sent envoys to Liang Province demanding the local governors present themselves in the capital to confess their crimes and accept punishment.

Unfortunately, the envoys, though sent with great momentum, never managed to see any governor. Along the way, the enraged common people, upon hearing the news, beat them nearly to death and dumped them at the gates of the Qiu army’s camp at night. The emperor was so enraged that he smashed his glazed bowls to pieces.

The three hundred thousand troops, full of ill intent, met up not far outside Qu Province with General Si and his ragged remnants who had barely escaped with their lives. Across from the trenches dug by Si and his men, the army launched a fierce assault, but the first volley of arrows claimed over a thousand lives.

Next, the first wave of cavalry that barely managed to charge through the arrow storm had not yet crossed the enormous trench before suddenly being stopped by thick ropes that had somehow sprung up from the ground.

The galloping horses fell in unison, many snapping their legs from the violent momentum. The riders were either killed instantly with crushed organs or trampled to death by the mounts charging from behind.

The fallen horses blocked the path forward, clearly slowing the army’s advance. Another volley of arrows rained down, and screams filled the air.

General Si, haggard after being hunted by the rebels for half a month, looked at the battlefield ahead, his face dark as iron. He kept roaring furiously at the sorcerers beside him who were collapsing one by one: “Why is this happening, why?!”

Weren’t they supposed to be protected by destiny itself, unstoppable and invincible? Why?!

One sorcerer after another fell, gasping: “No… how could this be…”

An elderly sorcerer, rashly straining against the backlash of fate, collapsed weakly to the ground, his voice fading: “…there are sorcerers… helping them… stronger than…”

Before he finished, he fainted.

The first clash ended in a crushing defeat for the Qiu army.

Seeing the field littered with corpses and wounded soldiers, the Qiu commanders no longer dared to take reckless risks relying on their supposed fortune. From a thousand meters away they glared at the rebels, stuck in stalemate, unable to advance or retreat.

The court, enraged at the news, sent more reinforcements and provisions, determined to make these traitors pay.

Meanwhile, many merchants in the capital who heard of the matter became deeply tempted by the priceless glazed bowls and mirrors. Where there is great profit, there are always brave men—merchants were no exception. Fearing that once the emperor conquered Liang Province the artisans would no longer sell such glassware, they hurried south, secretly bypassing the confrontation zone, and entered Liang Province from elsewhere. Seeing the prosperity there, so different from the rumors, they were left in awe.

Afraid they would lose the chance if they didn’t buy now, the merchants purchased goods on a massive scale. Cart after cart of merchandise was transported throughout the Qiu lands, while Si and his men collected large sums in customs duties, gaining considerable wealth from the trade.

The merchants dared not sell openly, so they used smuggling routes. Nobles and officials, long yearning for such treasures, were unwilling to lag behind once others began using them. Silver poured out in abundance, delighting the merchants. After selling their stock and seeing the emperor still had not taken Liang Province, they grew bolder and returned to discover even more treasures they had missed before…

By the time the emperor realized, he was shocked to find that while he spent endless manpower and resources sending troops thousands of miles away to destroy the rebels, his own people were lining the rebels’ pockets with silver, indirectly strengthening them.

Waging war itself was already costly—feeding tens of thousands daily in remote lands drained the treasury. Even the wealthiest coffers could not endure for long.

Meanwhile, Si and his followers had cities at their backs, eating as much as they pleased for years if need be, not fearing a prolonged war at all.

As one side declined and the other flourished, the emperor realized his massive army had made no progress in months and finally grasped the gravity of the situation.

But realization was useless. The problem was no longer whether he could defeat the rebels, but whether they, emboldened, would turn on him instead.

If not for the palace sorcerers’ repeated assurance that the Qiu dynasty’s destiny still overwhelmingly favored him over the rebels, the emperor might not have stayed calm.

Helpless, he left two hundred thousand soldiers stationed in the barren land, watching the rebels’ every move.

Because the cost of transporting provisions was too great, some ministers, after consulting old records, suggested letting the soldiers farm the land themselves.

The idea sounded good, but it was extremely difficult in practice.

First, the soil there was too poor to grow much, far from enough to feed the soldiers.

Second, the pampered soldiers had never endured hardship. With nothing there—no food, no housing, scarce drinking water—they quickly suffered. Away from the capital’s protective fortune, their faces and hands cracked under the harsh winds. Allergies, acclimation issues, and illnesses spread. No herbs could be found, and dwindling medical supplies barely sufficed. Life was bitter beyond words.

They could not fathom how anyone could survive there. Their spirits visibly withered.

By contrast, the tens of thousands of rebels across from them thrived, living happily, tirelessly training with strict discipline, their shouts resounding day and night. Fear slowly crept into the Qiu soldiers’ hearts toward these once-despised “commoners.”

The standoff dragged on so long that the rebel army swelled from thirty thousand to fifty thousand, so long that Liang Province’s goods flooded the Qiu lands, so long that bold nobles even followed merchants to visit Liang Province and witness its prosperity surpassing the capital.

On wide, flat roads, crowds with fair faces and neat clothes bustled about.

Several young nobles in silks, surrounded by attendants, curiously stomped the paved road beneath their feet, then gazed down the endless stretch, bewildered: “How could such huge stones be laid so flat and smooth?”

Not even the road to the palace in the capital had stones so vast and polished like paper.

If not for their own eyes, they would never have believed it.

Just a few years ago, this place was spoken of as a famine-stricken backwater where people could not even eat.

And now?

These pampered nobles, born in the capital, felt like the true bumpkins, while the houses here rose two or three stories high, with windows luxuriously made of glass simply to let in more light.

The shops’ goods amazed them further. Books that would cost dozens or hundreds of taels in the capital were sold here for a few coins. Even vegetable sellers read them during spare moments, asking neighboring shopkeepers how to pronounce words—studious beyond the nobles themselves.

At the inns, the details shocked them further. Toilets were indoors, so clean that one would not know their purpose.

Clear water flowed from a “faucet” just by twisting it, without servants hauling buckets. The self-proclaimed worldly nobles studied the faucet for half a day but could not fathom how water flowed through walls without any river nearby.

As for the glass bottles and blue-and-white porcelain set casually on tables, any one of them would fetch hundreds of taels in the capital. Yet here, with inn fees only fifty coins a day, the proprietors feared no theft—they were simply not valuable in Liang Province.

When they saw the so-called schools, hospitals, and administrative districts, they were left speechless.

At first they still criticized the women walking freely in public, decried the schooling of girls, and condemned the private forging of iron and production of salt…

After eating the thing called cake, tasting roasted meat seasoned with all kinds of spices, seeing an office building as tall as seven stories, and then witnessing physicians of Liang Province easily curing illnesses long known to be fatal…

The young nobles grew more and more silent, until at last they could no longer utter a single arrogant word.

At that time, it had been only two years since they first learned of the existence of glazed mirrors, yet Liang Province had already developed this far.

So in another two years, five years, or even ten years—

Could the capital still claim to be the most prosperous city of the Qiu dynasty? Could they still claim to be its noblest people?

With such thoughts, after being struck by reality for several days in Liang Province, the young nobles calmed down and took the initiative to speak with the common folk.

For the first time, they learned that the rule of women not going out freely was mostly a custom of great households. For ordinary people, who once could not even afford food, how could women in their twenties live like noble ladies doing nothing at home, waiting to be supported? Of course they had to farm, go out, buy and sell things. There was never such a rigid rule against meeting men.

As for little girls studying with boys, that was easier to understand. Few had ever had the chance to study before. Now it was possible only thanks to the magistrates and Master Si providing schooling free of charge. The county magistrate had decreed that girls must attend classes, and if discovered otherwise, their parents would be punished. After completing their studies, girls could seek jobs or even official posts without issue.

Although in Qiu society it was commonly believed that women could not enter government service, and needlework was valued more than literacy, once the government declared that studying was useful, and since the people trusted the government so deeply, they naturally believed it. After all, in these times, needlework had no future compared to education. Who cared about weaving when a textile mill could produce so much daily? But entering an office, one could earn a fine salary simply by wielding a brush.

Because they had never been so bound by convention, they were in fact less restricted by rules.

If they dared to rebel, why would they not dare to go to school?

Hearing the common people speak, the young nobles found it absurd, yet at the same time oddly reasonable.

If anything seemed unreasonable, it was only by the standards of Qiu dynasty etiquette. But in reality, Liang Province’s development over the past two years clearly showed who was right and who was wrong—and certainly not the province where the people lived well.

The nobles who came with curiosity returned with heavy hearts.

Back in the capital, they told family and friends what they had seen and heard. Many did not believe them, but many did. More and more people quietly entered Liang Province, eating food far tastier than any capital restaurant, using objects seemingly ordinary yet crafted with unmatched refinement, tasting candies that ought to be priceless, playing all kinds of novel games, and finally gazing at the massive dams and waterwheels rolling on the great river, sighing deeply—unable to repeat the lie that “the rebels are nothing much.”

In truth, compared to the capital, the rapidly advancing Liang Province had already surpassed it in many ways.

And yet, this “remote region,” while defying the court, continued its own development undisturbed, ignoring the emperor’s growing anxiety and living ever better.

Many people, while still saying “our dynasty’s destiny is flourishing, we fear no enemy,” had already begun to see the people of Liang not as fellow subjects but as a powerful neighboring nation that could swallow the Qiu dynasty at any time.

Even the people of Liang themselves no longer wished to call themselves Qiu subjects.

At first, they said they were Liang people. Then, finding it strange to say so when not living in Liang itself, they said, “we follow Master Si, we are his people.”

After a while, it became, “we are people of the Si State.” They spoke of “your Qiu dynasty” and “our Si State,” proud to call themselves Si people.

The names of Si Qi and Si Yi spread wider as Si State rose, and the deeds of this master and disciple became known to all.

No one knew who Si Qi was or where he came from. Even the General’s household never connected him with the frail boy who had once fled from their home.

But as for Si Yi’s origins, under deliberate promotion by the governors of Liang, the story was made public.

Of royal blood, born with astonishing destiny, his life force was coveted by his father, who sought to seize it. Imprisoned in the harem, he suffered inhuman abuse for years.

Six years ago, discovered and rescued by Master Si, he was taken in as his disciple. Since then, he had worked tirelessly, contributing greatly to the people of Si State and saving countless lives.

Now Master Si stayed mostly behind the scenes, seldom appearing. The policies of Si State, and even the battles with Qiu, were handled personally by this student.

Though young, his skills were reliable, his learning broad, his character steady. He was deeply loved by governors and magistrates alike.

Most people already considered him the future emperor of Si State. Apart from Si Qi, who cared nothing for power, none was more suited to the throne.

Thus, in the third spring of the standoff, the emperor, weary of delay, sent envoys to negotiate with Si State. They proposed ceding the Liang region entirely to Si Yi as a vassal state. In return, Si Yi must not invade Qiu, must send yearly tribute, must not sell specialty goods directly to merchants but only through Qiu, and must send artisans to share their knowledge with the court.

When the emperor wrote these terms, he felt utterly humiliated, as if disgracing the nation. Yet he thought: compared to ceding land, what harm in taking a few things? All of Qiu was his anyway. If he deigned to accept goods, it was their blessing, adding imperial glory to them.

But when Si Yi and his people heard the envoy’s words, their faces were expressionless as ice. With a wave, they had the trembling envoy dragged out and dumped at the gates.

The envoy was miserable.

The emperor wanted to trade barren land, long exploited and worthless, for treasures that brought endless wealth. He wanted to seize trade rights, cut off revenue, and demand that an equal rival become his vassal and pay yearly tribute. How could he dream so beautifully?

After the envoy tried to explain, the emperor flew into a rage, overturning his desk. Worse still, he could do nothing to punish Si State militarily. Persuaded by sycophantic ministers, he rewrote the treaty again and again, furious enough to want to cut the rebels down with a blade. At last, the envoy carried the edict to Si State.

This time the emperor’s terms were more reasonable: he recognized Si State, ceded the land, allowed trade between the two states, but reserved the right to collect heavy customs duties. His only demand was that Si Yi not violate Qiu’s borders—else there would be war.

Qiu spoke with confidence. With centuries of history, their destiny had always been overwhelmingly strong. They did not believe their armies could lose in their own lands, even if they had suffered in Si State’s cursed territory. If Si dared to invade, it would be their soldiers who paid.

Si Qi understood their confidence, for they did have reason.

Xiu Xiu once asked: “Master, why don’t you directly control the world’s power and shift Qiu’s destiny over to us?”

Si Qi replied: “I want the people of this world never again to believe in destiny, never again to depend on it. If I used fate to help Si Yi, wouldn’t that give them false hope—that destiny can be trusted, so long as it’s in the right hands?”

By now, the people of Si State hated sorcerers bitterly, convinced destiny was nothing but a curse, and embraced Si Qi’s belief that humans could triumph over heaven, relying only on their own strength to live on this barren land.

Even many Qiu nobles now doubted the sorcerers. Otherwise, how could Si State, once a backwater, have grown so quickly, and even gained the upper hand in the standoff?

The sorcerers themselves had no answer. Their theories were not wrong—but Si State had played a bad hand brilliantly, while Qiu’s pampered people squandered their advantages. How could they argue?

They too feared Si’s strength. Their future ruler had been tormented by them for years—surely he hated them deeply. If Qiu lost, none of them could hope for mercy.

Not only Si Yi, but even the common folk they once sacrificed would gladly tear them apart to vent their rage.

Many sorcerers finally realized their misuse of fate had been a mistake. Far from helping, it only hastened death and ruin. But regret came too late.

Among them were many executioners who never valued life, already corrupted beyond return. They had no path but to sink deeper into darkness.

Si Yi ignored the emperor’s offers of peace, focusing only on building his power. The emperor finally saw they were determined to rebel, to seize the throne, to force him down. Whether or not Si could be defeated, he gave the order: General Si and the others must attack, crush Si State, and kill Si Yi, Si Qi, and all the traitors.

War was on the brink.

Si Yi and the governors had long prepared, and with three extra years they had accomplished much—bringing gunpowder to the battlefield.

What the emperor thought would be a war lasting months or years did not drag on. The Si soldiers, eager for vengeance, charged with sharp weapons and sturdy armor.

Behind them stood giant crossbows, before them fierce gunpowder blasting city walls, and within Qiu itself, agents placed through trade routes, opening gates, swaying hearts, calming the people.

In only two months, Si Yi led his army into the capital. There they found the emperor, face dark as iron, forced to kneel before the throne, held down by his own soldiers.

At the sight of the emperor’s face, Si Yi’s steady steps suddenly froze.