War had begun.
The Sunset Plains were clearly that broad stretch in the center of the Sand Table. When Lin Tuo looked back at it, he quickly realized the war's outcome had already been decided.
The Imperial army near the capital collapsed in disarray, fleeing like a broken dam releasing a flood, while behind them thundered the Western Army—soldiers on horseback, wielding rifles and machetes.
As the dense gunfire and explosions flashed, Lin Tuo let out a soft sigh.
"They've finally developed firearms after all."
When he first entered the Sand Table and taught them science, he had deliberately downplayed weaponry and military applications.
But, inevitably, with the evolution of society in such similar conditions, tools of war had emerged naturally.
Though the details were hard to see, given the era, Lin Tuo guessed they had already moved past primitive models—these should be early rifles.
And now, after enduring more than seven centuries, the empire was facing its first true challenge from beyond the royal bloodline.
The Governor of the Western Province…
Clearly a regional strongman, and judging by the scale of his forces, he had been preparing for years. Otherwise, he could never have crushed the Imperial Army.
If one leaned toward conspiracy theories, even the emperor's death might not have been natural.
"Looks like Chi Kingdom is finally about to get a new ruler," Lin Tuo murmured, suspicion flickering in his eyes.
After a moment's hesitation, he chose not to interfere—only absorbed some Ether with the Breathing Technique before reactivating time acceleration.
His stance toward civil wars within the Sand Table remained unchanged: unless absolutely necessary, he would not intervene.
War, after all, was often just the most violent resolution of social contradictions, a necessary component of civilization's evolution.
As for Ether—decline during wartime was normal. Once peace returned, so too would recovery.
With time sped up again, the operation log began to scroll:
[After the Battle of the Sunset Plains, the Western Army claimed total victory. They marched north, the empire fell into turmoil, and the Imperial Army was defeated again and again.]
[Year 740,100,049 of World Evolution, early in the year: the Western Army arrived at the capital and laid siege without assault. Thirty-two days later, the gates opened, the city surrendered. The Great Chi Dynasty lowered its banners. The Governor of the Western Province entered the capital, founding a new dynasty. The seven-hundred-forty-one-year reign of the Chi Dynasty came to an end.]
…
…
Meanwhile, far away in the vast Tucker Desert, the endless Great Wall still cut the world in half.
This very morning, research teams outside were still experimenting with new detection methods, completely unaware that on the other side of the wall, a dynasty had just fallen.
…
"Dong! Dong! Dong!"
The Capital.
Unlike the world outside the Sand Table, here it was still the depths of winter, February.
The New Year was near.
In past years, at this time, as the empire's heart, the capital would be vibrant—Schools and factories closing for the holiday, shops lining the streets with festive foods and decorations, joy filling the city.
But this year, Kyoto was grim and lifeless.
The streets were desolate.
Citizens shut their doors. The few outside walked with hollow eyes and fearful expressions, flinching at every sound like startled prey.
As the city's great clock tolled, curtains parted on both sides of the street. Eyes peeked out.
They saw a cavalry unit approaching, followed by a long column of infantry.
These soldiers had changed out of their battlefield gear. Now they wore bright red uniforms, boots polished to a shine, epaulets spotless, rifles on their shoulders, marching in unison straight toward the Imperial Palace.
"Dad, Mom… look… soldiers…"
In one house, a child's whisper was quickly muffled by his parents.
"Quiet… that's the new king's army."
"Where are they going?"
"The palace," one parent answered tensely. "Today is the day the new king enters the palace."
…
In the northern quarter of the city stood a sprawling palace complex, still bearing the old architectural style.
Unlike the new buildings rising across the kingdom, the palace retained its ancient look: vermilion walls, white jade balustrades.
But today, the vast square before the main hall was filled with orderly ranks of soldiers.
Though the square had been cleaned, dark stains remained. The corpses were gone, but the air still carried the iron tang of blood.
At the head of the troops stood cavalry.
"Snort."
On that winter morning, tall warhorses in ornate armor stamped their hooves, snorting white clouds into the cold air.
"So this is the palace," a voice said. "The last time I came, I had to be led by that old Minister Feng, and to see the emperor I had to pass through eight damned gates.
I swore then that if I ever returned, I'd tear those gates down."
The speaker sat atop a pure-white steed.
It was the Governor of the Western Province—the rebel leader himself—clad in light armor, white gloves holding a whip in one hand, pointing at the palace with a laugh.
After a pause, he asked:"By the way, where's Minister Feng? Funny, I actually miss the man."
A Western Army general at his side answered:
"When we took the palace, the empress and a few diehards holed up in the rear hall. They fought to the death… Minister Feng was among them."
"Oh? So he's dead?" The Governor raised his brow.
"Yes."
"Hah. Strange. I never thought he had that kind of backbone. From what I knew, he should've been the first to defect."
The general hesitated, then said:
"Your Majesty… the situation was unusual.
According to reports, those holdouts acted strangely. Even when riddled with bullets, they showed no pain—kept fighting like madmen…"
"There was such a thing?" The Governor frowned, puzzled. Still, he didn't press further. The stubborn loyalists were dead; that was enough.
He had more important matters ahead.
"It's time. With me—into the palace."
Checking his watch, the Governor dismounted, leading a procession of Western officials and generals through the gates.
…
Inside the central hall—
Though smaller than the outer square, it was still vast. Bare trees lined the winter courtyards, snow still lingering on the ground.
At the very center stood a white jade statue, more than ten meters tall.
A young man, clad in classical robes, holding a teaching staff, his expression serene. His gaze seemed to overlook the empire, deep and wise.
"Saint Lin…" The Governor whispered the name as he halted.
Yes—this was a statue of Lin Tuo.
More than two hundred years ago, after he left Chi Kingdom, the emperor had decreed statues to be raised in every city. This one was crafted by the empire's foremost artisan.
Over centuries, Saint Lin's image had become etched into the nation's spirit.
Much like Confucius on Earth, successive emperors called themselves disciples of the Sage.
"Sharing my bed, yet leaving your shadow here… I can't touch you now, but one day, I'll tear you down too."
Muttering softly, the Governor averted his eyes and strode onward.
Nearby officials who overheard the remark paled, but dared not speak.
…
Past the statue lay the throne hall, where affairs of state were conducted.
Inside, many ministers already stood assembled.
Some were new faces, others old hands.
Seeing them, the Governor broke into a brilliant smile, warm as spring rain."Apologies for keeping you waiting."
The ministers bowed together: "We greet Your Majesty."
The Governor's smile widened further.
He strode to the dragon throne, inhaled deeply, then turned and sat down, confidence radiating as he waved a hand:
"No need for excessive formality. I've spent decades in the West—I'm not fond of Kyoto's rigid rituals or empty words.
The war is won. Now we must settle the people.
I've called you here today to discuss how best to restore order."
…
In truth, his "discussion" was little more than issuing orders.
With the palace surrounded by troops and thousands of rifles aimed inside, everything proceeded smoothly.
One by one, officials left the hall, trembling, crossing the square.
…
By the time the sun rose, driving the chill from the palace, only one figure remained with the Governor.
A very particular "official":
The Deputy Director of the Imperial Academy of Sciences—now its highest-ranking scholar, as the Director had committed suicide when the city fell.
Compared to the ministers, the Governor clearly valued him more.
He personally stood, greeting him kindly, chatting warmly before finally saying:
"The old dynasty thrived on science. I too know its importance.
From the day I raised my army, I slew many, but never once did I kill a scholar."
"Your Majesty is merciful," the man replied.
The Governor's smile brightened further as he promised rich rewards, urging him to serve the new dynasty.
At last, as if remembering something, the Governor asked about the strange state of the palace holdouts.
For some reason, he sensed this man might know.
The scientist hesitated, conflicted, then sighed:
"Your Majesty, I do know… At that time, they must have activated the Secret Seal."
"Secret Seal?"
"Yes. It is the most highly classified research project of the old empire."
He paused, then added gravely:
"A machine… that can control the human mind."
(End of Chapter)