Chapter 452 Leave the Palace

Chapter 452: Leaving the Palace

Cheng Ge charged ahead, his long spear sweeping out in a wide arc!

The spear tip sliced across the throat of the first armored soldier, blood splattering across his face with a metallic sweetness.

He didn't stop. He spun the spear and thrust it through another man's chest, kicked the corpse aside, and kept pushing forward.

"Keep up—!"

Behind him, the Jinyiwei answered in unison, blades flashing, their war cries splitting the air.

The palace corridor was narrow, lined with pavilions on both sides, their upturned eaves and carved beams casting sinister shadows in the firelight.

No matter how many troops Chen Zhengqi had, they couldn't spread out—the front ranks of armored soldiers were packed tight.

Those behind shoved those ahead, pressing forward like a wave, but they could only squeeze into a long column along the corridor.

Cheng Ge took advantage of the bottleneck, fighting and advancing with his men.

He wielded his long spear in a blur of steel—each thrust dropping another man.

Blood ran down the shaft, so slick he could barely hold it, so he gripped it harder.

Wuliji guarded his flank, a heavy cleaver in hand.

The blade was heavy, a good thirty or forty pounds, but in Wuliji's grip it felt like it weighed nothing.

One chop and he cut man and armor clean in half.

Blood splashed across his face, caking his eyes, but he didn't wipe it—he just lowered his head and kept charging.

His eyes blazed in the firelight, wild and burning, like a true beast dripping with bloodlust.

"Right side!"

Cheng Ge roared, running through a soldier who lunged at him from the side.

The tip stuck in bone and wouldn't budge, so he dropped the spear, yanked out the sword at his hip, and kept hacking his way forward.

The blade slashed across the man's throat; he dropped, clutching his neck, eyes wide, mouth open like he wanted to say something.

Cheng Ge didn't look at him. Blood ran down the blade and over his hands, so slick he could barely keep hold of the hilt.

"Sir! The Hall of Supreme Harmony is right ahead!"

A Jinyiwei rushed to his side, but before he finished speaking, an arrow came out of nowhere from the side and caught him dead center in the chest.

He looked down at the arrow, then up at Cheng Ge.

His lips moved like he wanted to speak, then he dropped.

Cheng Ge's stride hitched for a split second—just one.

An armored soldier lunged from the side, blade coming straight for his head.

Cheng Ge couldn't dodge in time; he could only twist aside, taking the hit off-center—

"Bang—!" Wuliji slammed his shoulder into the soldier, sending him flying into two men behind him.

But in that very moment of impact, another blade came from the other side, cutting right at Cheng Ge's back.

Wuliji couldn't turn around. He just reached out, grabbed Cheng Ge, and hauled him back, putting his own body in front of him.

The blade sank into his ribs.

"Thud—" The dull sound of steel into flesh hit Cheng Ge's ears like a spike.

Cheng Ge's eyes went wide. "Wuliji—!"

Wuliji grunted through clenched teeth, swayed but didn't go down.

He whipped his saber around and cut down the man who'd hit him.

Blood sprayed over him, mixing with his own—you couldn't tell them apart.

He glanced down at his ribs.

The wound was deep enough to show bone, blood pouring out faster than he could stop it.

Then he looked up at Cheng Ge, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

Like he was trying to smile.

"I'm... fine."

Cheng Ge's throat seized up.

He wanted to curse him, call him an idiot, ask why the hell he'd done it—but nothing came out.

"Go." Wuliji shoved him, voice ragged.

Cheng Ge gritted his teeth, grabbed Wuliji, and kept pushing forward.

—

At the center of the formation, several figures in bright yellow robes were shielded tightly.

The firelight made them hard to discern—only a flash of imperial yellow shifting through the crowd.

Chen Zhengqi sat astride his horse, watching that figure from afar, the greed in his eyes nearly spilling over.

"Report—!" A scout scrambled to his horse's side.

"Sir! Lin Zhufeng and the others have been taken away by Zhou Yi! Heading toward the Tianyi Gate!"

Chen Zhengqi frowned. "How many men?"

"Zhou Yi doesn't have many, but on the Lin family's side... Lin Nanshu has sent plenty of men to receive them!"

Chen Zhengqi was silent for a breath.

"Never mind them." He waved a hand, his gaze returning to the blaze ahead. "We'll deal with the Lin family another day."

A cold smile curled at the corner of his mouth. "Pass the order—bring out the fire oil."

—

Fire oil splashed across the palace corridor, arrows of flame fell like rain, and the fire spread in an instant, sealing the entire road shut.

The wounded soldiers who couldn't get out in time were swallowed by the flames, their screams gut-wrenching.

Cheng Ge and his men fought as they fell back, retreating into the Hall of Supreme Harmony, the doors slamming shut behind them.

Cheng Ge leaned against the door, sucking in air.

He looked down at himself, soaked in blood, couldn't tell if it was his or someone else's.

The blade in his hand was already chipped and nicked all along the edge.

He glanced around the hall.

There were too many enemies; only a thousand or so were left in the hall. Every one of them was wounded, every one of them gasping, but not a single one had gone down.

Wuliji leaned against a pillar, his face so pale it was scary.

The wound under his ribs was still seeping blood, staining half his body red.

His hand gripping the blade trembled a little, but he still stood there, like a mountain.

Cheng Ge rushed over and grabbed him.

"What the hell are you, stupid?!" His voice cracked. "Who told you to take that hit?!"

Wuliji looked down at him.

Those eyes gleamed in the dim hall, like a wolf on the steppe.

But there was no fierceness in them—just something plain and direct.

He looked at Cheng Ge, at his frantic, angry face, at the faint redness welling up in his eyes.

In that moment, his throat felt impossibly tight.

Cheng Ge pushed Wuliji's hand away, bent down, tore a strip off his own hem, and pressed it against the wound.

Blood seeped through his fingers, warm and sticky.

His hands were shaking, but Wuliji didn't say a word.

He just watched him, watched him lower his head, watched his shoulders tremble.

The pounding on the doors outside got louder, and splinters started falling.

Cheng Ge knew this door wouldn't hold much longer.

Splinters rained down, and the doorframe groaned under the strain, each groan like a death knell.

Cheng Ge pressed on Wuliji's wound, but blood still seeped out, leaking through his fingers, dripping to the floor and pooling into a small puddle.

Sweat and blood dripped from his chin, but he kept pressing down, afraid to let go.

"Stop pressing," Wuliji said, looking down at him, his voice hoarse. "It's... no use."

"Ah... I'm out of inspiration, I'll continue tomorrow..."