Chapter 63: When Tenderness Drifted Eastward
Word Number：385
Author：闲穿径竹
Translator：
Release Time：2025-06-27
They brought Geshu Han to Luoyang in irons. An Lushan, now draped in imperial yellow and lounging upon the Dragon Throne with all the borrowed majesty of a usurper, fixed him with a gleam of amusement and disdain. “You’ve always held me—us—in contempt. And now that you stand before me in chains, tell me—do you yield?” Geshu Han, stripped of command and pride, had but one thought left: survival. He dropped to his knees, pressing his brow to the cold floor. “This fool was blind to Your Majesty. The realm is not yet pacified—Li Guangbi holds the passes at Changshan, Lu Jiong commands the south at Nanyang. Both were once my subordinates. If Your Majesty would but spare me, grant me a letter of command, I might summon them to your cause. They will come. They will submit.” An Lushan laughed, deeply pleased. With a grand gesture, he declared Geshu Han henceforth Sikong—Minister of Works—and Tong Pingzhangshi, Chancellor in all but name. Geshu Han, clinging to the last thread of purpose, set to writing—letters full of false warmth and urgent appeal, dispatched to his former lieutenants, bidding them come over to the rebel side. But his entreaties were met not with obedience, but scorn. Each reply came back laced with reproach, cold and cutting. An Lushan, upon learning that his ploy had failed, flew into quiet rage. The farce of clemency ended then and there: Geshu Han was cast into a cell, his name already fading from memory, his usefulness spent. Soon after, Tong Pass—last bastion against the tide—was breached. The rebel forces surged forward like floodwaters, bearing down upon Chang’an itself. Within the capital walls, fear ran like fever through the veins of the city. At court, ministers rushed to the palace gates only to find disorder: court ladies fleeing in every direction, their silken sleeves fluttering like birds flushed from the hedgerow, no order, no command—only panic. And the Emperor? Vanished. Only then did the truth settle upon them like ash after fire: the emperor had fled. Among the shrieking of palace women, one voice rose clear and incredulous—half sob, half scandal: “His Majesty has run! The Holy One has gone—and taken the Precious Consorts with him!” The p
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