Transmigrating to the Chongzhen era, I started by confiscating the Donglin Party.

On the 17th day of the 10th month of the 15th year of Chongzhen's reign, at the beginning

The night was as dark as splashed ink.

The outline of Beijing blurred into a continuous silhouette in the darkness, with only a few scattered lights, like the eyes of a dying person, flickering in the cold autumn night wind.

The watchman's clapper sound came from afar, three slow beats followed by one fast beat:

"Dry weather—be careful with fire—"

The sound echoed through the empty streets and alleys, sounding particularly desolate.

Qianqing Palace, East Warm Pavilion.

The candlelight was bright.

Li Ce sat behind his desk, a detailed map of the imperial city spread out before him. The map was drawn by the Ministry of Works, with fine ink lines, clearly marking every palace, every passageway, and every gate.

He drew a circle on the three characters "Huangji Hall" with a vermilion brush.

They also added more than a dozen red dots to the eaves, brackets, beams, and pillars of the palace roof.

"Three hundred crossbowmen, is that enough?" He looked up at Zhou Yuji, who was standing opposite him.

Zhou Yuji, dressed in full military attire, his armor gleaming dimly in the candlelight, bowed and said, "Your Majesty, that's enough. There are twenty-seven hiding places on the roof of the Hall of Supreme Harmony, each with ten to fifteen soldiers lying in ambush, their crossfire covering the entire square. The crossbows are Shanxi-made, capable of penetrating heavy armor within a hundred paces."

"Where are the arrows?"

"Each person will be equipped with thirty arrows, coated with poison." Zhou Yuji's voice was as calm as if he were stating a common matter, "They will kill instantly upon drawing blood."

Li Ce nodded and then drew a triangle on the map at each of the four locations: Chengtian Gate, Meridian Gate, East China Gate, and West China Gate.

"What about Zhang Weixian?"

"General Zhang has followed His Majesty's orders and deployed 5,000 reliable troops from the Beijing Garrison to the four gates," Zhou Yuji said. "Tomorrow, during the grand court assembly, all the guards in the Huangji Hall square will be replaced with unfamiliar faces, totaling 800 men. Two hundred of them are our men, mixed in among them."

When will Liu Liangzuo's three hundred personal guards enter the palace?

"According to the rules, a guard commander can bring fifty personal guards into the palace. But Liu Liangzuo will surely use the excuse of 'strengthening the guards' to bring more men." Zhou Yuji paused, "I have ordered the gatekeepers to let him in—allowing him to bring three hundred men. But after he enters, all four gates will be locked immediately."

"A pocket formation," Li Ce said softly.

"Yes," Zhou Yuji said. "Let him in, then close the door and beat him."

Li Ce put down his vermilion pen, stood up, and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the night was deep. The outline of the distant coal hill was hidden in the darkness, only a blurry shadow, darker than the night sky, could be seen.

"Zhou Yuji," he suddenly said.

"Your subject is here."

"How many people do you think will die tomorrow?"

Zhou Yuji was silent for a moment, then said in a low voice, "Kill as many as are due."

Li Ce smiled, a smile that held both weariness and relief.

"Yes, kill as many as you need to kill." He repeated the words, then turned around. "But you must remember—what I want is not rivers of blood. What I want is for everyone to see what happens to traitors."

"Your subject understands."

"Go," Li Ce waved his hand. "Enter the city at midnight, and be discreet. I want a fully drawn crossbow behind every tile of the Huangji Hall roof when the sun rises tomorrow."

"My lord, I obey your order."

Zhou Yuji clasped his hands in a fist salute, bowed, and withdrew.

In the warm pavilion, only Li Ce remained.

He walked to the candlestick, picked up the scissors, and cut off a piece of the burnt wick. The candlelight flickered, becoming brighter, casting his long shadow on the wall, like a drawn sword.

"Zhao Qichang," he said softly, "I have been waiting for you."

At the same time, in a secret room at Wu Zhaoyi's residence.

No lights were turned on.

Only a sliver of moonlight shone through the skylight, pale and stark, illuminating the wheelchair and the person inside.

Wu Zhaoyi sat in the darkness, holding the official copy of the proclamation in his hand. The paper was top-quality Xuan paper, the ink was Huizhou pine soot ink, and the handwriting was neat, with every stroke exuding the elegance of the official script.

However, the content was utterly blasphemous.

"...Since Your Majesty ascended the throne, you have favored the Imperial Guards and the Secret Service, abused your power, slaughtered nobles, and sowed discord among the people. Your new policies are harsh and cruel, causing widespread suffering; your crackdown on corruption is ruthless, terrifying the court and the public. We, your humble servants, tearfully beg: dismiss Li Ruolian, disband the Embroidered Uniform Guard, halt the new policies, and return power to the scholar-officials. If Your Majesty remains obstinate, we will remonstrate with our lives..."

He read it once, and then read it again.

I recognize every single word and understand every single sentence, but when put together, it's like an absurd dream.

Two months ago, he was the Director of the Military Affairs Department of the Ministry of War, a sixth-rank official in the capital. Although his rank was not high, he was in charge of border defense maps and city gates, which was a powerful position. Every day he went to and from the office, drank tea with his colleagues, talked about poetry, and occasionally went to the music academy to listen to music. His life was plain but peaceful.

Then, Zhao Qichang's letter arrived.

The letter didn't say it explicitly, but simply asked, "Zhaoyi, do you think there's any hope for the Ming Dynasty?"

He replied with some high-sounding words.

A second letter arrived: "If the emperor insists on his own way, what should we do?"

He dared not reply.

The third letter was delivered directly to him. The messenger said, "Minister Zhao wants to ask you a question—would you rather die standing, or live on your knees?"

He chose to stand.

Then, his leg broke.

"Master," the butler's voice rang out from outside the private room, "General Liu's men have come to deliver a message that three hundred personal guards have been assembled and will depart at 3:45 AM tomorrow, arriving at Chengtian Gate around 7:00 AM."

Wu Zhaoyi opened her eyes: "Tell him to proceed according to plan."

"Yes."

The footsteps faded into the distance.

Wu Zhaoyi pushed the wheelchair to the wall. A bronze mirror hung on the wall, its surface dusty, reflecting a blurry figure—thin, pale, with sunken eyes, and a thick bandage wrapped around his left leg.

He reached out and touched his reflection in the mirror.

"Wu Zhaoyi, oh Wu Zhaoyi," he murmured to himself, "what was the purpose of your studying the classics, passing the imperial examinations, and becoming an official in the court?"

Is it for the purpose of governing the country and bringing peace to the world?

Is it for the purpose of bringing glory to one's ancestors?

Or is it because of... unwillingness to accept it?

He was unwilling to spend his whole life as a sixth-rank official, unwilling to watch those less capable than himself climb up the ranks, and unwilling to sink with the collapsing dynasty.

So when Zhao Qichang threw out that straw, he seized it.

Even if it's a poisonous plant.

"Tomorrow..." he said softly, "it'll either be a meteoric rise to power or the extermination of your entire family."

He turned around and took out a small porcelain bottle from a hidden compartment.

The bottle contains arsenic.

It was a gift from Zhao Qichang, "just in case."

He opened the bottle, looked at the white powder inside, then put it back in his pocket.

Then, he pushed his wheelchair to the desk, spread out a sheet of paper, and dipped his brush in ink.

The pen tip hovered over the paper, not falling for a long time.

Finally, he wrote three words:

"Son, do not imitate your father."

After writing, he folded the paper and tucked it into the compartment of his wheelchair.

Then, he blew out the only candle on the table.

The secret room was plunged into complete darkness.

Liu Liangzuo's private residence, backyard.

Three hundred guards stood at attention.

No one spoke, no one coughed, no one even moved. They were dressed in uniform cotton armor, with swords at their waists and bows slung across their backs, their eyes as cold as stone.

These were all veterans who had followed Liu Liangzuo for ten years, fighting from Liaodong to the Central Plains, and then being transferred back to the Beijing garrison. They had blood on their hands, seen the dead, and were long since numb to life and death.

Liu Liangzuo stood on the steps, looking at them.

The moonlight shone on his face, making the scar look particularly menacing.

"I've already said it during the day," he said, his voice not loud, but each word landing like a hammer blow. "Tomorrow's matter: success means wealth and honor, failure means death. If any of you are afraid, step forward now, take ten taels of silver, and get out of here."

No one moved.

"Alright." Liu Liangzuo nodded. "You've all been my brothers for ten years, so I won't hide anything from you—tomorrow, we're going to do something that could cost us our lives. If we succeed, each of us will be rewarded with one hundred taels of silver and promoted three ranks. If we fail…"

He paused:

"We've lost. On the road to the Yellow Springs, I, Liu Liangzuo, will accompany you."

Still no one speaks.

Only the whistling sound of the autumn wind brushing against the courtyard wall could be heard.

"Inspect the weapons," Liu Liangzuo said. "The swords must be sharp, the bows fully drawn, and the arrows plentiful. Meet me at Chengtian Gate tomorrow at Chenshi (7-9 AM)."

"Yes!" the three hundred men shouted in unison, their voices muffled like thunder.

Liu Liangzuo turned around and went into the house.

The room was lit, and a knife sat on the table. The blade was long and narrow, and the scabbard was inlaid with jewels, which gleamed in the candlelight.

This was a gift from Li Ruolian to him last year.

At that time, he had just been transferred back to the capital. Li Ruolian held a banquet to welcome him back and presented him with this knife during the banquet, saying, "General Liu has rendered meritorious service in guarding the border. This knife is given to you in the hope that you will guard the capital well for His Majesty."

He was grateful when he took the knife.

But now...

Liu Liangzuo picked up the knife and slowly pulled it out.

The blade gleamed, reflecting his distorted face.

"Lord Li," he said softly, "I'm sorry. In this world, if a man doesn't look out for himself, he'll be doomed."

He sheathed the knife and hung it at his waist.

Then he blew out the light.

At midnight, at the Imperial Estate in the Western Hills.

Three thousand Shanxi soldiers lined up.

There were no torches, no sound, only moonlight illuminating their silent faces.

Zhou Yuji stood at the front of the line and checked each person one by one.

He walked up to a crossbowman, picked up the man's crossbow, tested the string, and then looked at the arrows in the quiver. The arrowheads gleamed with a ghostly blue light in the moonlight—they were poisoned.

"Are you nervous?" he asked.

The crossbowman was a young man in his early twenties, his face roughened by the winds and sands of the border region, but his eyes were bright. He shook his head: "Not nervous."

Why?

"Kill those who deserve to be killed, I'm not nervous."

Zhou Yuji nodded, returned the crossbow to him, and patted him on the shoulder.

Then move on to the next one.

In half an hour, he inspected every one of the three hundred crossbowmen, every crossbow, and every arrow.

Finally, he returned to the front of the queue.

"Remember," his voice carried on the night breeze, "your mission is to protect His Majesty. But if anyone dares to harm His Majesty, dares to disrupt the court assembly—"

He paused:

"Kill without mercy."

"Yes," the three thousand people responded in a low voice, their voices low yet like muffled thunder from the ground.

"Set off."

There were no slogans, no drumbeats.

The three thousand people were divided into thirty teams, like thirty silent rivers, flowing out of Huangzhuang and disappearing into the darkness.

Zhou Yuji walked last.

He glanced back at the Imperial Estate—where the barracks where he had lived for three months were, where he had trained his soldiers, and where he had seen the moon while drinking alone late at night.

Then he turned around and never looked back.

At the hour of Chou (1-3 AM), in Beijing.

The city wall resembled a sleeping giant python, coiled up in the night.

On the city wall, the sentries of the Beijing garrison, rifles in hand, dozed off behind the crenellations. They had no idea how many people would pass beneath their feet that night.

The general guarding Xizhimen was a trusted confidant of Zhang Weixian and had already received secret orders. When the first group of Shanxi soldiers arrived, he personally opened the side gate.

"Hurry up," he whispered. "Go to your assigned positions according to the list."

The soldiers filed in.

There was no conversation, no lingering.

They disappeared into the streets and alleys of the capital like drops of water merging into the ocean.

Three hundred crossbowmen, carrying their crossbows, walked along the walls of the imperial city to the Meridian Gate. There were already people waiting to meet them there—several secret agents of the Imperial Guard dressed as eunuchs.

"Come with me."

The undercover agents led them into the imperial city through a secret passage. The passage was narrow, allowing only one person to pass at a time, and the walls were slippery and dripping with water. After walking for about fifteen minutes, light appeared ahead.

The exit was located in an abandoned duty room of the Directorate of Ceremonial.

Exiting the duty room, you'll find yourself at the back of the Hall of Supreme Harmony.

"Get to the top of the palace," the undercover agent whispered. "They must be in position before dawn."

The crossbowmen nodded, untied their grappling hooks from their waists, and tossed them onto the eaves. The iron hooks gripped the roof tiles with a soft "click."

Then, like geckos, they climbed up the rope.

Under the moonlight, the glazed tiles of the Hall of Supreme Harmony gleamed with a cold, eerie light.

Three hundred people lay motionless behind the roof tiles.

From below, you can't see anything.

At the hour of Yin (3-5 AM), outside Wu Zhaoyi's residence.

On the second floor of a teahouse two streets away, a window was slightly ajar.

Li Ruolian stood by the window, holding a cup of tea that had long since gone cold.

He stood there for two hours.

Watching the lights in Wu Zhaoyi's mansion go out and come on again, then go out again.

I watched as several dark figures entered and exited through the back door.

Watching the night watchman walk by, striking his clapper, and then disappear into the distance.

"My lord," Gao Wencai whispered as he went upstairs, "Liu Liangzuo's three hundred personal guards have assembled. General Zhou's men reported that all the Shanxi troops have entered the city, and the crossbowmen are in position."

Li Ruolian nodded without saying anything.

"Wu Zhaoyi...isn't he moving?" Gao Wencai asked.

"Don't move," Li Ruolian said. "What His Majesty wants is for them to finish their performance."

"But what if..."

"There's no chance of anything going wrong." Li Ruolian put down her teacup. "Zhou Yuji is on the roof, Zhang Weixian is at the four gates, and we're in the shadows. They can't cause any trouble."

He paused:

"But you must remember—at tomorrow's court assembly, your task is to protect His Majesty. No matter what happens, His Majesty must not suffer the slightest harm."

"Yes."

Li Ruolian took one last look at Wu Zhaoyi's residence before turning and going downstairs.

"Let's go," he said. "It's time to go back and change into my court robes."

Early morning of the hour of Mao (5-7 AM).

The sky was beginning to lighten with the first light of dawn.

The capital city slowly awoke from its slumber. Breakfast vendors pushed their carts out to work, vegetable farmers carried their loads into the city, and the night watchman, after striking his clapper for the last time, went back to sleep.

Everything was the same as usual.

But some people know that things are different now.

On the roof of the Hall of Supreme Harmony, three hundred crossbowmen lay prone behind the tiles, their breathing so light it was almost inaudible. Their fingers were on the crossbows, their eyes fixed on the square below.

At Chengtian Gate, Meridian Gate, East Prosperity Gate, and West Prosperity Gate, the guards of the Beijing Garrison changed shifts. The new guards were all unfamiliar faces, with sharp eyes and their hands always resting on the hilts of their swords.

Liu Liangzuo's three hundred personal guards set off from his private residence, divided into ten teams, and took different routes to converge on Chengtian Gate.

Wu Zhaoyi, in a wheelchair pushed by a servant, emerged from the mansion gate. He wore a blue official robe with a seventh-rank official badge inscribed with a mandarin duck. The bandage on his left leg was hidden under the robe, but the wheelchair still revealed his disability.

He looked up and glanced at the sky.

"It's a beautiful day," he said softly.

The servant dared not respond.

Inside the Qianqing Palace, Li Ce donned the twelve-symbol imperial robe, put on the winged crown, and hung the emperor's sword at his waist.

Wang Chengen knelt down to straighten the corner of his robe.

"Your Majesty, everything is ready," Wang Chengen said in a low voice.

Li Ce nodded and walked to the mirror.

The person in the mirror was wearing a dragon robe and a crown, but his eyes were bloodshot and his face was somewhat pale.

He hasn't slept well for three days.

"Your Majesty," Wang Chengen couldn't help but say, "How about... wearing another layer of soft armor?"

Li Ce shook his head: "No need."

"But……"

"If I don armor, it would be a sign of weakness." Li Ce turned around. "I want them to see—the Emperor of the Great Ming stands right here. He does not hide, he does not conceal himself, he is not afraid."

Wang Chengen's eyes welled up with tears, and she lowered her head, saying, "This servant... understands."

A bell rang out from outside the hall.

Deep and lingering, it spread through the morning air.

This is the bell tolling for the start of court.

Li Ce took a deep breath and adjusted his crown.

"Let's go," he said. "It's time to go and meet them."

He stepped out of the Qianqing Palace.

Outside the door, the autumn wind rushed in, carrying the chill of late autumn.

It's almost bright.

October 18th, 3:45 AM.

Before the Hall of Supreme Harmony, all the officials stood solemnly.

Li Ce emerged from behind the palace and ascended the throne.

As he sat down, the twelve symbols on his robes reflected the morning light, and the sun, moon, and stars embroidered on his shoulders seemed to be slowly turning.

His gaze swept across the hall.

From left to right, from front to back.

Finally, the spot fell on the person in the wheelchair in the civil service line.

Wu Zhaoyi.

Eyes facing each other.

For a fleeting moment, a hint of panic flashed in Wu Zhaoyi's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by an almost frantic determination.

Li Ce looked away, as if he had only glanced at an insignificant person unintentionally.

"Today is the grand court session," he began, his voice steady. "Those with matters to report, may leave the court."

There was a moment of silence in the hall.

Then, an imperial censor stepped forward.

"Your subject, Censor Zhou Chang, has a memorial to present!"