Chapter 33: Chapter 32. The Battle of Zeguo Jiangshan.

Chapter 32.

After Yin Chengyu gave his orders, Xue Shu wasted no time. The very next day, he informed Emperor Longfeng that he’d uncovered news of a certain Daoist master in Shanxi—a “Ziyuan Zhenren” said to be over a hundred years old, yet as youthful as spring itself, known for his mastery of alchemy and secrets to eternal youth.

The emperor, predictably intrigued, immediately commanded Xue Shu to lead a group to bring the man back.

Yin Chengyu, impatient as ever, pressed Xue Shu for swift action. By nightfall, Xue Shu had gathered his men, and before dawn the following morning, fifty West Bureau agents were galloping towards Shanxi.

They took the official roads, cutting through Taiyuan Prefecture before heading toward Datong, pushing through days and nights without pause. Even at this pace, the journey would take at least seven or eight days.

After four relentless days of travel, as they neared Taiyuan Prefecture, Xue Shu finally ordered a rest. The agents swiftly pitched tents in a sheltered spot, some heading into the woods with bows and arrows to hunt for game and gather firewood.

“Inspector, care for a drink to ease the fatigue?” Li Dangtou, one of the group leaders, unfastened a wine pouch from his waist and offered it with a respectful bow.

Xue Shu scanned the surroundings, his sharp gaze narrowing. “No need. Share it with the men instead, but don’t overindulge—there’s still work to do.”

Li Dangtou, seeing that Xue Shu wouldn’t drink, tossed the pouch to the others and turned back to flatter him. “This Taiyuan Prefecture… so desolate. We’ve traveled this far and haven’t seen a single household.”

Accustomed to the bustling capital, the men were unsettled by the stark emptiness of Shanxi’s countryside. The contrast was jarring—fields abandoned, villages lifeless. Li Dangtou’s words, intended as idle chatter, only deepened Xue Shu’s frown.

“Something’s not right,” Xue Shu said darkly. It was mid-April, the peak of the spring harvest. The fields should’ve been alive with farmers, yet they’d passed nothing but barren land.

Xue Shu, raised in rural villages, recognized this bleakness all too well—it spoke of disaster.

Without a word, he swung onto his horse. “Stay here and wait,” he ordered, spurring his steed back along the path they’d come.

They’d passed farmland earlier, and Xue Shu raced to it, reaching the edge of a field in moments. He dismounted, inspecting the remnants of crops with a grim expression. The wheat stubble was fresh, green even—evidence of a recent planting. Yet now, the fields were stripped bare, likely victims of a locust swarm.

The drought reports trickling in from the northern provinces suddenly made sense. A dry spring often brought locust plagues, and with them came famine.

But as Xue Shu’s gaze swept over the fields, a far more sinister unease gnawed at him. In the fading twilight, he spotted a distant village. Not a single wisp of smoke rose from the chimneys—a chilling silence hung over the place.

Wasting no time, Xue Shu urged his horse forward. The closer he drew, the worse the scene became.

The village was utterly lifeless. Doors hung open, homes abandoned, not even the bark of a stray dog. The eerie quiet was punctuated by morbid signs of death—white mourning banners fluttering in the evening breeze, lanterns of mourning still hanging by doors. Inside some houses, coffins lay with their lids cast aside, empty as hollow promises.

As the last rays of sunlight bathed the village in blood-red hues, Xue Shu turned his horse back toward the camp, his expression colder than the night air descending around him.

Li Dangtou met him at the edge of camp, his face pale. “Inspector, we’ll have to make do with dry rations tonight. The forest is barren—not a single hare or bird to be found.”

“This isn’t desolation,” Xue Shu said, his voice sharp. “It’s devastation. The people here are dead.”

Li Dangtou froze, his face draining of color. “But… we haven’t seen any bodies along the way…”

“They’re not where you’d expect them,” Xue Shu said flatly. He pulled several men aside, drawing a crude map in the dirt. “Ride out to these locations. Do not enter Taiyuan city, and avoid drawing attention from local officials. Just scout the outskirts and report back.”

The men scattered in different directions. Xue Shu stood watching the horizon, his expression unreadable.

Half an hour later, the pounding of hooves shattered the tense silence. One of the scouts rushed back, stumbling as he dismounted. His voice trembled as he reported, “The gates of Taiyuan are sealed tight—no one’s allowed in or out. Five miles from the city walls, there’s a mass of corpses. Soldiers are burning bodies nonstop.”

Xue Shu’s jaw tightened. “Did you hear anything about the cause?”

The scout nodded, still breathless. “I overheard the soldiers mention something about… a ‘lump plague.’ Some kind of disease is killing people by the dozens.”

A plague.

The grim suspicion Xue Shu had harbored solidified into certainty. His eyes darkened, the flicker of distant firelight catching the hard lines of his face.

“And how long has this been going on?”

“From what I gathered… nearly half a month.”

Xue Shu’s silence was deafening. For weeks, plague had raged in the north, and yet the capital had heard nothing.

Over the next hour, the other scouts returned with similarly grim reports. Every nearby town and village mirrored the same horror—fields abandoned, homes empty, white banners flying, and the pervasive stench of death.

The devastation wasn’t isolated to Taiyuan. This was far worse than anyone had imagined.

The pale banners hung high, signaling desolation—a stark warning that nine out of ten homes lay abandoned.

They called it the "Lump Plague," and it was nothing short of merciless. Those who caught it had no hope, as medicines were utterly useless. The death rate was staggering—nearly every victim perished. Entire households fell like dominoes, leaving no survivors. [1]

In just two short weeks, the plague ripped through Shanxi, leaving a trail of despair in its wake. The living dared not mourn, the dead lay unclaimed, and the roads grew eerily empty.

True, the Great Yan Empire had weathered its share of disasters in recent years—droughts, floods, and occasional outbreaks of disease. But none had spread as fiercely, nor claimed lives as swiftly, as this horrifying pestilence ravaging Shanxi.

Xue Shu stood motionless for a moment, the gravity of the situation settling over him like a storm cloud. He gazed into the shadowy expanse of the mountains, his voice a low, commanding rumble. “Ten men, return with me to the capital and deliver this news. The remaining forty, continue to Datong in search of the Master Ziyuan. If you encounter more outbreaks along the way, send word to the capital at once—ride hard.”

Without delay, he chose his ten people. After a meager meal of dry rations, they lay down where they stood, resting in their travel-worn clothes.

By the first light of dawn, Xue Shu and his men were already on their way, racing back toward the capital. Though it had taken them four days to arrive, the return journey lasted barely three.

It was deep into the night when they arrived at Wangjing, but Xue Shu wasted no time. He stormed into the palace, rousing Emperor Longfeng from his slumber without a hint of hesitation.

The emperor sat up with a lazy grin, his gaze flitting eagerly behind Xue Shu. “You’ve come in such haste—have you finally found the old sage?”

Xue Shu’s chest tightened at the emperor's misplaced priorities, but he steadied himself and shook his head. “The whereabouts of the Master Ziyuan remain unknown. I have come on an urgent matter.”

The emperor’s initial spark of interest dimmed immediately. With a yawn, he lounged back against his cushions. “How urgent? Surely it can wait until morning.”

Xue Shu’s eyes dropped to the floor as he spoke, his tone unwavering. “On my way to Datong, I passed through Taiyuan Prefecture. Shanxi is in the grip of a devastating plague. The dead number countless, and in some towns, nine out of ten homes stand empty.”

“Shanxi?” The emperor frowned briefly before his expression eased. “Ah, yes. The governor submitted a report about spring droughts. Droughts happen every year. The Ministry of Revenue already approved grain distribution.”

His tone was dismissive, his demeanor unconcerned.

The truth was, the emperor was tired of disasters. Floods, locusts, famines—one calamity after another plagued the empire. Each time, someone claimed it was divine punishment, hinting that the heavens were displeased with him. It irked him to no end.

“Let the ministers handle it,” he thought. “This is nothing new. Deaths from disasters are inevitable in a vast empire like ours. What’s the big deal?”

But Xue Shu refused to back down. “This plague is unlike anything we’ve seen before. It’s far more aggressive—”

The emperor waved him off, irritation seeping into his voice. “How different can it be? I’m tired. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”

With that, he turned and retreated to his bedchamber, signaling the end of the conversation.

The attending eunuch, Gao Xian, smirked as he saw Xue Shu out. “Who knew a man like you still harbored such concern for the empire’s troubles?”

Xue Shu shot him a dark, piercing look before turning on his heel and leaving.

Outside the Qianqing Palace, he glanced at the darkened sky and, avoiding prying eyes, headed straight for the Ciqing Palace.

When Yin Chengyu was roused from sleep by his servant, he was still half-dazed. “Why has he come back so soon?”

The servant dressed him quickly, murmuring, “It seems he has urgent news.”

When Yin Chengyu emerged, he saw Xue Shu standing in the hall, his clothes caked with mud and dust. The man looked utterly exhausted, but his eyes—dark, intense, and burning with urgency—flared the moment they met his.

“What happened?” Yin Chengyu asked, stunned by the rare vulnerability in Xue Shu’s expression.

Xue Shu wasted no time, recounting the nightmare unfolding in Shanxi. His voice was heavy, his words deliberate. “I’ve faced epidemics before, but even the most virulent can’t compare to this ‘Lump Plague.’ It spares no one—only one or two out of ten survive.”

Yin Chengyu’s face darkened as Xue Shu spoke. The moment he heard the term “Lump Plague,” dread settled over him like a lead weight.

He knew it all too well.

The symptoms began with swollen lumps under the arms or near the groin. Blood spewed from the mouth like crushed watermelon, and no medicine could stem the tide of death. Victims sometimes died within moments of showing symptoms. [2]

In his previous life, the Lump Plague had erupted in Daming Prefecture before spreading to Wangjing. At its peak, the capital’s nine gates saw thousands of coffins pass through each day. Eight or nine out of every ten people perished, leaving the streets eerily empty.

And that had merely been the beginning.

The plague eventually swept into Tianjin and beyond, ravaging the northern provinces. Fields lay barren, countless civilians were displaced, and many turned to banditry just to survive. Uprisings ignited across the land.

At the time, Yin Chengyu had been imprisoned in the imperial mausoleum. News trickled in sporadically, but he had pieced together that the Lump Plague had begun in the seventh or eighth month of Longfeng’s 19th year. Yet he never imagined its seeds had already been sown—right here, right now, in Shanxi.

Last time, everyone underestimated the plague, dismissing it as just another disease that would soon pass.

How wrong they had been.

This was no ordinary epidemic. This was the beginning of the Great Yan Empire’s descent into chaos.

———Author’s Note:

Notes [1] and [2] are quoted from Baidu Encyclopedia.