The imperial palace, within the Chao Tian Hall in the inner city of the capital.
The Emperor Yùdào, who had ascended the throne less than five years ago, stood with a furious expression, loudly berating his officials for their incompetence and the common people for their insolence, daring to raise an army in rebellion against the throne, an act of utmost treason.
Although many officials, vassal lords, and noble families had possessed considerable military strength before, they had at least merely held that power. They had not initiated rebellion, still showing deference to him as the Emperor. When decrees that did not significantly harm their fundamental interests were issued, they would comply.
Emperor Yùdào had found these days to be stifling.
Yet, he could barely endure it.
But now, with another large-scale rebellion erupting, it immediately reminded him of how those local officials, noble families, and vassal lords had accumulated their current power and military might over the past decade. Was it not precisely because of the numerous peasant uprisings and vast numbers of refugees that the imperial court was powerless to suppress, forcing it to delegate authority, thus allowing them to grow stronger?
Now, with rebellions occurring, the imperial court was unable to resist.
Naturally, it would have to rely on them again.
Even worse, it was giving them another opportunity to expand their influence and military strength, which would inevitably fuel their ambition.
And once a person's ambition swelled to a certain degree.
What would happen then was difficult to say.
As long as one person declared themselves Son of Heaven, even if it were merely someone among the rebels, it would signify the complete collapse of the Great Qi imperial authority, and ambitious individuals would have no more fear.
The reason why those powerful, influential, and armed noble families and vassal lords were still willing to recognize him as Emperor was simply because they knew there were too many ambitious individuals, and they did not wish to be the first to make a move. They were all waiting for others to step forward, and then they would follow suit, achieving great deeds.
This rebellion undoubtedly had the potential to be the catalyst.
Emperor Yùdào's extreme anger stemmed precisely from his clear understanding of this problem.
He was almost uncontrollably furious.
He had already foreseen that he might become a monarch who lost his kingdom, yet he could neither voice this fear nor salvage the situation. What recourse did he have besides raging in impotent fury?
The officials remained silent until his outburst subsided.
Only then did they begin to speak, either expressing their stance or offering suggestions.
They all spoke in platitudes, their proposals being either unexceptional or aimed at securing greater power for the noble families they represented. Emperor Yùdào knew, with a mere listen, that it was hopeless. Not a single official present truly had his interests at heart. He possessed no military power and was at their mercy, perhaps surviving a few more years until the kingdom collapsed. If he dared to seize power from the officials, he might not live to see the next month.
Therefore, in the end, Emperor Yùdào no longer bothered to argue with the officials or rack his brains to find a solution. An unsolvable situation could not be broken no matter how much thought was given.
He simply threw out a statement, telling them to handle it themselves,
and then left the court.
Only after he departed did the officials truly let loose. Factions argued more fiercely, and some military officers even came to blows.
But what did it matter?
Emperor Yùdào had completely given up and was unwilling to manage affairs.
Let them fuss as much as they pleased.
Instead of expending effort for thankless tasks, he might as well enjoy a few good years while the country had not yet completely collapsed. Even if he died then, it would have been worth it.
It was far better than dying after exhausting himself and losing the kingdom.
With his decision to disengage, the entire political system undoubtedly became even more chaotic. The issuance and promulgation of various decrees
became increasingly difficult.
The logic was simple: Emperor Yùdào was, after all, the Emperor. Even if he lacked substantive power in reality, as long as he chose to support one faction in court, that faction would immediately gain legitimacy and could swiftly issue decrees according to their wishes.
But now that he refused to meddle, the various factions within the court possessed roughly equal strength, making it impossible for any one to suppress the others. No one yielded to anyone, and everyone sought to benefit their own side. As time dragged on with endless quibbling,
the speed of decree issuance naturally slowed down.
Communication between the upper and lower levels became increasingly difficult.
Consequently, those at the lower levels, quite reasonably, began to disregard the requirements and orders from above. They all acted independently, dealing with the rebels according to their own plans.
Meanwhile, Dīng Yún's forces continued their methodical advance, following the command to gradually expand from points across the country into a unified front, then connecting these fronts to form a surrounding encirclement. They advanced slowly, step by step. Within half a year, they had occupied half of the Great Qi's territory and had also taken over the border defenses.
It was only at this point that those noble families, vassal lords, and local officials, who had previously maintained their independent actions, finally came to understand the terrifying weaponry of this so-called Datong Army rebellion,
as well as their formidable ideology and ruling principles.
They were no match for the rebels when fighting individually;
they would be annihilated one by one.
Most importantly, the ideology of the Datong Army was fundamentally anathema to them. How could these noble clans and dignitaries be born equal to these common folk?
Let alone allowing the Datong Army to succeed, even if their ideas took root, it would cause great upheaval to the social status of these individuals. Such an enemy was undoubtedly far more terrifying than any rival emperor. Emperors, at most, would seek to weaken them, but the Datong Army explicitly aimed to uproot them. How could they tolerate this?
Therefore, in the following days, they naturally joined forces, forming an alliance army to jointly resist.
The two sides soon engaged in another large-scale battle.
And the Datong Army still crushed them with absolute advantage, thoroughly shattering their main core strength.
The victory was essentially secured.
It was at this juncture.
That Dīng Yún suddenly discovered that even drinking cold water was causing her to choke. Everything she did went awry. Even if she issued an order, requesting a certain unit to act in a specific way, that unit would inevitably encounter misfortune and repeatedly fail. When using gunpowder to attack a group that was barely equipped with armor, the gunpowder would even explode within their own ranks.
Only when she completely refrained from contacting anyone, from any unit, and allowed them to make all their own decisions,
did things improve, did they avoid being influenced by her.
With this simple verification, Dīng Yún immediately confirmed that the world's level of targeted opposition against her had been elevated. It had jumped from the previous level two to level four, reaching the extent that could only occur when the world's fate trajectory underwent significant changes, and the Son of Destiny died.
Regarding the significant change in the world's fate trajectory,
she accepted that.
But when did the protagonist of destiny, the Son of Destiny, die? She had no idea. A proper Son of Heaven, should not he have met disaster with auspicious signs and emerged unharmed even from falling meteors? How could he have suddenly died?
Where did he die?
This was not adding to her troubles, was it?
Honestly, she was so close to success!