Curious, Tang Ji leaned closer. In the pale moonlight, a few lines of writing on the brocade pouch came into view:
"If Zilong has already left the city, go at once to Xiaopingjin. If not, exit through the northern valley gate.Head north—never look back, never return to Luoyang. Remember this well.If all else fails… abandon peace."
At the sight of the words "Ke Qi Ping," Zhao Yun's expression shifted. He silently vowed, My lord, even at the cost of my life, I will ensure the eldest prince's safety.
Tang Ji glanced at Zhang Ping, puzzled. The child only grinned innocently.
"Head north," Zhao Yun said firmly, turning to her. "Madam, we must go."
They slipped out of Yeting Palace. Ahead lay Dongguan Pavilion—once a place where Cai Yong edited texts. To the west stood Xuanwu Gate, and beyond it, the covered corridor connecting the Northern and Southern Palaces.
Zhao Yun quickly pieced it together—Empress Dowager He must have fled that way. Yuan Shao would certainly pursue along the same route.
After a brief pause, he led Tang Ji and Zhang Ping toward a small gate in the northeast of the Southern Palace. Having patrolled the grounds for so long, he knew every path by heart.
The gate was deserted.
Zhao Yun climbed the wall, scanned the outside—no soldiers. He dropped down and opened the gate.
Beyond the palace, the Yangqu Canal stretched through Luoyang.
After crossing a bridge, Zhao Yun settled Tang Ji in a hidden spot, then climbed onto a rooftop to survey the city.
Chaos.
Northern Army, Western Garden troops, private retainers—fighting everywhere. Fires burned, shouts echoed, steel clashed.
Following Zhang Xin's advice, Zhao Yun focused on the route to the valley gate, judging the density of troops by the noise of battle. In his mind, he mapped out the safest path.
Then—
A scream.
He spun around.
Several soldiers had crept up behind Tang Ji. Their weapons were bloodstained, clothes disheveled, bulging with loot. The leader dismounted, grinning lewdly as he approached her.
"You dare!" Zhao Yun roared.
With two powerful steps, he launched himself from the rooftop.
The leader barely had time to react before Zhao Yun crashed down, stomping him to the ground. In one swift motion, Zhao Yun crushed his throat with a brutal kick.
A sharp crack—the man fell silent.
The others shouted and charged.
Zhao Yun did not retreat. He drew his sword, sidestepped a thrust, seized a spear with his left hand, and cut down two attackers in a flash. Their bodies collapsed, hands clutching their necks.
Switching to the spear, he swept and thrust—another man fell.
The last soldier broke and ran.
Zhao Yun hurled his sword—it struck clean through the man's back.
In moments, all were dead.
"A true tiger of a general…" Tang Ji whispered, stunned.
Zhao Yun retrieved his sword, sheathed it, and led over the fallen leader's horse.
"Madam, please mount. I will escort you on foot."
Tang Ji shook her head gently. "With chaos everywhere, how can you go without a horse?"
"We only have one," Zhao Yun insisted. "Your safety comes first."
She hesitated—then spoke softly, "Then… may I ride with the general?"
Zhao Yun froze. "Madam, this… this violates propriety…"
Though not yet formally crowned, Tang Ji was destined to become empress. How could he dare share a horse with her?
"In times of crisis, one must act expediently," she said calmly. "I will explain to His Majesty."
Still Zhao Yun refused.
Tang Ji's expression hardened. "If you fall, what becomes of me? What becomes of A Ping? How will you answer to Marquis Xuanwei?"
Zhao Yun fell silent, conflicted.
Seeing his hesitation, Tang Ji suddenly placed Zhang Ping into his arms and turned toward the canal.
Zhao Yun hurriedly stopped her. "What are you doing?!"
"If you insist on this, I would rather die now than fall into the hands of rebels," she said with a faint smile. "Take A Ping and go. Tell Marquis Xuanwei to serve His Majesty well."
"Sister Tang, don't!" Zhang Ping cried.
"Madam, stop—I will obey!"
Zhao Yun exhaled deeply. He removed his armor sash, set aside his breastplate, mounted the horse with Zhang Ping in his arms, then reached out his hand.
"Forgive my offense. Please mount."
Tang Ji took his hand and climbed up behind him.
"Hold tight," Zhao Yun said quietly.
She nodded, wrapping her arms around his waist.
Zhao Yun stiffened—but there was no time for hesitation.
"Drive!"
The horse surged forward.
Though carrying three people, the fine warhorse barely slowed. Zhao Yun followed his planned route, weaving through quieter streets.
Soon, they encountered a group of soldiers.
Zhao Yun tightened his grip on the spear—but the soldiers did not stop them.
Armor, weapons—all looked the same. In the chaos, allegiance was judged by direction. Seeing Zhao Yun moving the same way, they assumed he was one of them.
Some cast envious glances at Tang Ji.
Lucky man… to have seized such a beauty.
Zhao Yun ignored them and rode on.
A few streets later, hundreds of soldiers were locked in chaotic battle.
Zhao Yun reined in the horse, listening carefully.
Everywhere was noise—but here, the numbers were thinnest.
He glanced at the melee. No formations, no order—just a desperate brawl.
He took a deep breath.
"Madam, hold tight."
Tang Ji closed her eyes and tightened her grip around his waist.
Zhao Yun lowered his spear.
Then, with a sharp kick of his heels, he drove the horse straight into the chaos.