The cheers gradually faded away.
The excitement, curiosity, and thrill on the faces of the surrounding crowd also dissipated, replaced by a sense of bewilderment.
The civilians had a deep respect for these scholars—they often didn't understand what they said or did, but knew that their actions were reasonable and principled.
At this moment, as they watched these scholars and learned men clad in plain robes, sitting solemnly, without crying or pleading, the crowd immediately sensed that something significant had happened.
This scene was reminiscent of the past, when the prince had passed away, the first emperor announced Prince Qi as the crown prince to inherit the throne. The officials were in an uproar, and the scholars, too, were dissatisfied. The officials, dressed in ceremonial robes, knelt before the Imperial City pleading their case, while the scholars and students voiced their support for orthodoxy from outside the city.
No one knew what they were seeking this time, or why they were accusing Duke of Chengguo of being a harbinger of national ruin.
Moreover, last time, their demands were violently suppressed by the ruthless Jinyiwei, whose clubs, swords, and bloodshed resulted in a tragic incident that still sent chills down people's spines.
What about this time?
The crowd's attention turned toward the Duke of Chengguo's armies.
Several thousand soldiers stood in formation, halting in silence. Apart from the flags fluttering in the wind, the scene was still—bows slung over their backs, swords and spears hanging at their sides—yet the atmosphere was saturated with killing intent.
Compared to the Jinyiwei, if these soldiers were to act, wouldn't it be even more terrifying?
"How can you say that? How can you compare the Duke of Chengguo to the Jinyiwei?" someone murmured. "What has the Duke of Chengguo become?"
A ruthless official? A corrupt minister?
Was this still the legendary Duke of Chengguo whom everyone revered?
Or was the legend merely just that—a legend?
The legend was nothing more than a legend.
The legend spoke of how they were feared and appreciated for defending the nation, but now, what do they see?
"Why?" Lei Zhonglian murmured.
He could accept the explanation of rebel disturbances when dealing with those merchants blocking the road, but what about these scholars?
They were learned individuals; they understood principles and honor. Clearly, they weren't rebels, and their actions undoubtedly carried reason and correctness.
If they were correct, did that mean people like him were wrong?
Why? Why treat us like this?
This time, there were still sneers around him, yet they lacked the previous schadenfreude and mockery.
"Why bother asking so much?" Eighteenth Jin said coldly.
The thoughts of the soldiers and Lei Zhonglian were completely absent in Zhao Hanqing. Upon seeing the road ahead blocked, she immediately removed her bow and spurred her horse forward.
Several generals were startled; they all knew this young girl was truly capable of killing.
Not just Jin thieves—even the civilians of the Great Zhou—she would kill upon receiving an order.
Although the Qingshan Army had grown from its original dozen into their subordinates, everyone understood very well that when it came to influence within the army, even those two young girls surpassed them.
"Miss Hanqing, Miss Hanqing, you can't kill here," they hurriedly called out to stop her.
Zhao Hanqing pulled her horse to a halt and looked at them with confusion.
"Why? They're blocking the road," she said.
But they were scholars, educated men, cultured bureaucrats, learned intellectuals.
Military generals inherently ranked lower than intellectuals; how could they show violence toward them?
Duke of Chengguo smiled and chimed in.
"Let's first ask them why they're blocking the road," he said.
The generals stepped forward immediately.
"My Lord, allow us to inquire," they said in unison, their anger barely concealed.
These people had gone too far—if the Duke himself approached them, it would be a disgrace.
The Duke raised his hand to stop them.
"No need," he said.
Of course, his direct approach would calm the crowd and portray humility and benevolence.
The generals held their thoughts inwardly, watching as the Duke nodded toward Zhao Hanqing.
"Let Hanqing handle this," he said.
Indeed, the Duke lived up to his reputation.
Managing merchants was entrusted to the young girl, and now dealing with scholars was also left to her—a gesture of equal treatment.
Yet sometimes, equal treatment could be a kind of disdain.
"Refusal of orders deserves punishment, correct?" Zhao Hanqing asked.
"Naturally," the Duke replied with a smile.
Truly, punishment?
The generals hesitated, because the ingrained notion of intellectual superiority over military had taken root deeply. Even though their positions were not insignificant, they still harbored a certain reverence for these scholars—even when they weren't officials.
Not all military officers feared intellectuals, though. One particular group was exempt—Jinyiwei.
The thought flashed across their minds, and bitter smiles appeared on their faces.
They had sacrificed blood and sweat on countless battlefields, never daring to call themselves brave and loyal, yet they had fallen to the same image as the Jinyiwei.
Zhao Hanqing spurred her horse forward without hesitation.
The sound of hoofbeats echoed distinctly in the solemn military formation, cutting through it and halting before the scholarly protesters blocking the road.
"Hey, are you dissatisfied with some order from the feudal authority?" Zhao Hanqing asked.
The few scholars standing at the forefront looked up. Their gaze met the young girl who had appeared before them without surprise or irritation at her breaking protocol as a woman to ask such questions.
They remained composed.
"No," one scholar at the front replied. "We have no dissatisfaction with the feudal authority."
No?
Zhao Hanqing froze momentarily.
"We are only dissatisfied with Duke of Chengguo," the scholar continued.
The Duke had only said dissatisfaction with the feudal authority would be punished. He hadn't stated what to do about personal grievances against him. Zhao Hanqing refrained from drawing her weapons or issuing orders, instead rubbing her brow with her hand.
"Then what do you want?" she asked.
"We ask Duke of Chengguo to disband his soldiers, remove his armor, take off his hat, and carry thorned branches in apology before the Imperial City," the scholar stated solemnly.
An apology?
The crowd burst into an uproar.
The dynasty had clearly claimed to reward and honor the Duke for his service. Why were these scholars demanding his apology?
Scholars always spoke with reason, leaving the crowd shocked and confused. Yet no citizen voiced dissent; they merely whispered among themselves.
"Why?" Zhao Hanqing asked the question everyone held in their hearts. "The Duke clearly has merit."
Her words made the generals in the formation anxious.
This question should never be asked.
Such naïveté—this child couldn't help but blurt her curiosity aloud.
At this moment, these dissenters mustn't be given the opportunity to speak.
They instinctively stepped forward, but it was too late.
"Duke of Chengguo has no merit but guilt,"
The scholar's voice rang clear and composed. Before Zhao Hanqing could question further, he shifted his focus toward the true target—the army behind them—and raised his hand.
"Crime one: Disobeying the sovereign's orders, recklessly risking lives, leading to the deaths of tens of thousands of soldiers."
"Crime two: Deceitful and power-hungry, pursuing authority and influence at the expense of national security and civilian welfare."
"Crime three: Favoring warfare and the military at the cost of endless battles, depleting the national treasury, and burdening the people."
"Crime four: Arrogance and egotism, demanding rewards and recognition, encouraging chaos among officials and military governance."
The accusations hadn't ended. More scholars rose, pointing their fingers toward the soldiers in the ranks with pained expressions and fiery eyes.
"For too long, you rejoice at the sound of battle, glorify war, leaving the borders never at peace, and the conflicts never-ending."
"You crave personal benefit, disregarding state affairs, disrespecting civilians. Your actions sow disaster to the nation and suffering to its people."
"And yet you dare to flaunt your merits and demand recognition. If this persists, our Great Zhou will undoubtedly see its power diminish and its destruction come at your hands."
"Duke of Chengguo Zhu Shan is a minister of ruin, and you are soldiers of a ruined nation."
Though many of them spoke at once, each voice was clear, sonorous, and resolute. Their words struck the military ranks and resonated just as sharply in the ears of the surrounding civilian onlookers.
So that's how it was?
So this was the truth?
Their valor and bravery in battle weren't virtues or achievements but rather sins.
Thinking back to the past war, everyone had truly been living in constant anxiety and unease. News of negotiations had brought immense relief, yet Duke of Chengguo opposed the peace talks and insisted on continuing the fight against the Jurchen people.
The Jurchen retaliated angrily and threatened to dispatch another 100,000 troops. If things were to continue, the wars would indeed become endless.
Funds dwindled; merchants began imposing taxes to gather resources, and even officials saw their salaries halted—evidence of the severe depletion of the treasury.
Most critically, people were left with no sense of security or stability in their lives.
Weapons are instruments of calamity—it was indeed true.
The civilians' expressions grew complicated, their gaze toward the soldiers shifting noticeably.
And the soldiers' faces changed as well.
Though much of what the scholars said seemed cryptic to them, the final words were unmistakable.
And the expressions of the surrounding crowd—they understood those as well.
Soldiers of ruin, guilty soldiers.
Was this what they had become?
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Important notice: Two chapters today!