“Sir! We have a problem!”
The tent flap was flung open, and a young man burst in with the icy wind and snowflakes. It was He Xing, one of the personal guards. His face was as pale as paper, and he dropped to one knee, his voice trembling with terror. “The commander... has surrendered! General Zuo Guangxian has opened the gates and surrendered the city to the rebel army!”
Ning Xingchen slowly raised his eyes.
The moment had finally come.
It was the sixteenth year of Chongzhen's reign. The realm was on the brink of collapse, and Shaanxi was engulfed in flames of war. Li Zicheng's cavalry was sweeping all before it. Ning Xingchen calmly regarded the young guard before him. In those fearful eyes, he saw dread of the unknown, as well as the last vestige of trust in him, their commanding officer.
“I know.”
Ning Xingchen spoke, his voice steadier and colder than he had expected. “If he's surrendered, then so be it. As long as they don't massacre the city or oppress the common people, let them be.”
He Xing froze, clearly not expecting such a calm response from his commander.
“Go gather the men and keep them under strict control. No troublemaking.” Ning Xingchen rose and strode over to He Xing, placing a firm, broad hand on his shoulder and offering a measure of reassurance. “Wait for further word. Go.”
