North of Xuzhou, at the Old Course of the Yellow River.
When Shen Li reached the southern bank, the sight before her was a vision of the apocalypse. In 1644, the Yellow River was not the "Mother River" of legend; it was a roaring, silt-choked dragon, fueled by the erratic rains of the Little Ice Age. Its waters thundered through the wide riverbed, a muddy torrent that separated the desperate from the dying.
On the muddy flats of the south bank, tens of thousands of refugees were huddled together like a colony of ants trapped on a sinking island. Their faces were hollow, their eyes fixed on the horizon with the dull glaze of the doomed.
Five hundred paces ahead of them lay a brutal blockade. It was a forest of Abatis—sharpened wooden stakes known as "deer horns"—reinforced by deep trenches and heavy barricades. Behind this line stood the banners of the Xuzhou General, along with rows of archers and matchlockmen. Their weapons were trained not on an invading army, but on their own countrymen.
"Back! Any who cross the line shall be executed!"
A cavalry officer on a tall stallion cracked his whip, his voice harsh and strained. Only moments ago, a small group of refugees had tried to rush the barricade. Their bodies now hung from the wooden stakes, blood dripping slowly into the yellow sand. It was a grim warning to the thousands behind them.
Shen Li watched the scene from behind a high ridge, her "thousand-mile lens" focused on the garrison.
"A classic Cordon Sanitaire," she whispered to herself. "But they aren't containing a virus. They're containing the people they failed to protect."
Crossing the river by force was impossible. The soldiers were on a knife's edge; any sudden movement would trigger a rain of iron and arrows. She scanned the shoreline until she spotted a small patrol boat moored in a bend of the river two miles upstream. It was a secluded spot, thick with reeds—a weak point in the defense.
As the sky darkened and the wind grew razor-sharp, Shen Li moved like a shadow. She slipped through the reeds, invisible to the weary sentries. Near the boat stood a dilapidated temple dedicated to the Dragon King. Faint light flickered from within, accompanied by the sounds of a struggle.
"Speak! Are you a rebel scout?"
"I am Jinyiwei! Open your damn eyes and look!"
Shen Li paused. The Jinyiwei—the Emperor's elite secret police. In the peak of the Ming Dynasty, they were the most feared men in the empire, the "Emperor's Eyes and Ears." But what was one of them doing out here, in this wasteland?
She crept to the back of the temple, peeking through a hole in the paper window. Inside, five soldiers sat around a campfire. On the floor lay a bloodied young man bound in ropes. He wore a tattered Flying Fish Robe—an intricate silk uniform that was once a symbol of immense imperial power. A copper identity plaque had been tossed contemptuously onto the dirt.
"Jinyiwei?" The officer in charge picked up the plaque and sneered, his yellow teeth bared in the firelight. "I know this mark. The Northern Pacification Department (Bei Zhenfu Si). But news flash, kid: Beijing is falling. Your little badge won't even buy you a steamed bun today!"
"I am on official business from the capital!" the young man roared, struggling against his bonds. "I have the imperial warrants! To block me is treason!"
"Treason?" The officer kicked the man in the stomach, doubling him over. "The General's orders are absolute: nothing from the north passes. You must have some hidden gold on you. Hand it over, and I'll give you a quick death. Otherwise, I'll chop you into bait for the turtles in the river!"
Shen Li watched the young man. Despite the blood and filth, the stubborn defiance in his eyes reminded her painfully of her brother, Shen Lian.
She knew this man's name: Wang Qi. He was her brother's comrade. In the original timeline of this dying world, he was supposed to die here, his bones forgotten.
Shen Li's hand moved toward the flintlock at her waist, but she hesitated. A gunshot would bring the entire garrison down on them. She needed something quieter. Something alchemical.
She pulled two ceramic jars from her tunic. One held sulfur powder she had bought in Nanjing; the other, a mix of sugar and saltpeter. It was a primitive but effective smoke bomb recipe. She combined them, inserted an oiled fuse, and struck her flint.
Hiss—
The fuse ignited. Shen Li hurled the jar through the window.
"What the—?"
The officer turned just as the jar shattered at his feet. There was no explosion, only a muffled thud, followed by an instantaneous eruption of thick, suffocating yellow-white smoke. The sulfur burned, releasing sulfur dioxide—a gas that, in the cramped temple, felt like a lung-burning fog from the deepest pits of hell.
"Poison! The rebels are using poison gas!"
"My eyes! I can't see!"
The five soldiers panicked, their eyes streaming with tears as they stumbled blindly through the fog.
Shen Li kicked the door open. She wore a damp cloth over her face, and in her hand was not a gun, but a razor-sharp scalpel. In the thick smoke, she was a wraith. A glint of steel followed. The nearest soldier reached for his sword, but his wrist was sliced open with surgical precision. He fell, screaming.
She wasn't there to kill; she was there to rescue. She reached Wang Qi, sliced through his ropes with a single stroke, and grabbed him by the collar.
"Move!"
She dragged him out of the temple and toward the riverbend. The cold wind cleared Wang Qi's head as he stared at the slender, masked figure who had just saved his life. "Who... who are you?"
"If you want to live, shut up and get in the boat!"
They scrambled onto the patrol vessel. Shen Li slashed the mooring lines, and Wang Qi, despite his injuries, grabbed the long sculling oar and pushed off with everything he had. The boat slid into the churning current of the Yellow River. A few arrows whistled past them from the shore, but in the pitch-black night, they missed their mark.
In the center of the river, the boat tossed violently like a leaf in a storm. Shen Li pulled down her mask, her lungs burning, her hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline.
"Thank you... for saving me," Wang Qi panted, finally seeing his savior's face in the moonlight. He blinked in shock. A woman?
"Northern Pacification Department, Wang Qi?" Shen Li stared at him coldly. "Why aren't you in Beijing? Why are you out here?"
Wang Qi let out a hollow laugh. "Defending the capital? It's over. I was sent to deliver a message... the rebel army has already passed Juyong Pass. The pampered 'young masters' in the capital's garrison broke at the first sight of them. I was trying to reach Nanjing to beg for reinforcements."
"Nanjing has no reinforcements," Shen Li interrupted him, her voice as cold as the river water. "Nanjing only has singing girls and drunks."
Wang Qi's eyes dimmed. "Then... I must go anyway. Even if I die on the road."
"Do you know Shen Lian?" Shen Li asked suddenly.
Wang Qi's head snapped up. "How do you know Shen Lian? He's my brother-in-arms! Who are you to him?"
Shen Li didn't answer. She looked toward the north, toward the darkness that seemed ready to swallow the world. "I'm going there to collect his body."
Wang Qi recoiled as if struck.
The boat finally hit the north bank—a silent, desolate wilderness. Not even refugees remained here, only the occasional flicker of "will-o'-the-wisps" from unburied corpses. Shen Li jumped ashore, hoisting her trunk.
"Go south. You might live," she said, pointing to the boat. "North is a charnel house."
Wang Qi stood up and shouted at her back. "Wait! Shen Lian isn't dead! When I left two weeks ago, he was still at the Department. He was being assigned to a secret mission—it was all so rushed I didn't get the details—but he told me he was waiting for someone. He said his sister was coming back, and he would wait for her!"
Shen Li stopped dead in her tracks.
The wind howled across the wasteland, whipping her long hair. Two tears finally escaped her hardened gaze, tracing paths down her face.
"As long as he's alive."
She didn't look back. She simply waved a hand and walked into the northern darkness. Beyond the Yellow River lay the capital province. Beijing was only three hundred miles away. And there, an ancient empire was drawing its final, rattling breath, waiting for her arrival.
Would you like me to continue with Chapter 7, where Shen Li enters the chaos of the starving capital and begins her search for her brother amidst the smoke of a falling dynasty?