Chapter 1057: The sky fell in 979 days

“Ah…” A cry burst from the crowd as civilians panicked and crowded towards the city gate: “Let us out! Let us out!”

Everyone was shouting nonstop, afraid that some mishap would occur if they left too late. The soldiers at the city gate had lost the will to maintain order; they opened the gates and ran out of the city ahead of everyone else.

All were running desperately towards the outskirts, cars were congested among the crowd, mixed with horse-drawn carriages and ox carts, creating quite a bustling scene.

While these people were scrambling to flee out of the city, the ground shook once again. Everyone was scared to a halt, followed shortly by a billow of white smoke and the sound of a tremendous explosion.

The crowded masses became even more agitated. No one cared about courtesy or order any longer; they all kept rushing towards the city gate, where the guards had long since disappeared.

The Prime Minister’s residence, the walls of the Chu family’s courtyard had collapsed… Situated not far from the Imperial Palace, the Tang Empire’s missiles had not missed their target; they struck right inside the Imperial Palace, affecting the periphery Mao family estate as well.

That explosion, which resembled a thunderclap, rendered the sons of Chu Muzhou still unable to hear anything, utterly unaware of what had happened, as they sat on the ground, utterly confounded and bewildered.

Fuel-Air Explosive Bombs are known as the “mother of bombs” for a reason; their destructive power is evident. These bombs actually detonate twice, but because the second explosion is deafening, people often overlook the preceding dull thud.

During the second detonation, the bomb can evaporate all the surrounding air, creating a high-temperature area of 2500 degrees, destroying everything nearby.

Its power is second only to nuclear weapons, even comparable to a small nuclear bomb in power; the immense destructive force of the explosion leaves no reprieve, even for enemies in underground bunkers.

The first Dongfeng missile plummeted from the sky, landing directly inside the Imperial Palace. Although far from the hall where Zhao Kai was, it truly hit inside the palace grounds.

The explosion likely shattered glass for ten miles around, its thunderous blast echoing through the entire city. The fearsome shockwave destroyed many nearby buildings and ignited raging fires in many places in an instant.

Embarrassingly, the Dahua Empire is a nation with an ancient tradition and rich historical heritage. Its main Imperial Palace was constructed hundreds of years ago, and although it has been renovated continually, its primary design is still that of a century ago.

Such buildings perform reasonably well in terms of earthquake resistance, but they lack the capacity to withstand intentional destruction.

Put bluntly, the Dahua Imperial Palace may have decent earthquake resilience, but against deliberate arson or bombing, it’s practically as vulnerable as streaking.

The cloud bomb detonated hundreds of meters away, its nearly two-ton warhead’s destructive power no match for these old constructions.

So, the palace where Zhao Kai was collapsed during the explosion. He was still on the phone in his study when the ceiling suddenly gave way.

Dust engulfed everything in the room, and Zhao Kai was immediately struck by falling tiles, laying in a pool of blood.

The guards and the palace attendants were too shocked to react; only when they emerged from the suffocating dust did they realize their Emperor had vanished without a trace.

In chaos, everyone began to search, then they saw the harrowing spectacle of the Emperor and his attendants struggling amidst the ruins.

At this very moment, Zhao Kai hadn’t even recovered his hearing. Hysterically, he was screaming while flailing his arms amidst the rubble, forbidding anyone to approach him like a madman.

Those who tried to get close to him were met with his fists, and all the while, his head wouldn’t stop bleeding. The dignified dragon robe was now covered with dust; his disheveled hair was a far cry from his usual imperial majesty.

“Ah! Ah! It’s a rebellion! Someone is trying to kill me! Kill me! Regicide! There’s a rebellion! Revolt! Everyone has turned!” Zhao Kai was terrified into sheer madness, with his leg bone broken, he could only sit on the ground, his arms still waving ceaselessly, unwilling to let anyone near regardless of persuasion.

Shame, tension, fear, and anger, a turmoil of emotions intertwined tightly, causing Zhao Kai to completely collapse.

Tears streamed down his cheeks washing away the dust, leaving two deep trails. Zhao Kai, who had fallen from the grace of the clouds to the mortal dust, experienced what it was like to be worse off than dead.

He should detest the ancient palace of the Dahua Empire; a single distant cloud bomb collapsing a side hall put him in such a degrading and shameful situation.

He should also be grateful he was in the old main hall, where even if the roof of wooden beams and tiles collapsed, it wasn’t lethal, allowing him to survive despite his dishevelment.

Because of extreme tension, one of Zhao Kai’s hands still clutched the telephone receiver, even though the cord had already detached, he gripped it as if holding on to some world-defying weapon.

Only such precautions seemed to provide him with a sliver of safety, and amidst the gathering smoke, the continuous arrival of guards and palace attendants was finally bringing Zhao Kai a trace of lucidity.

As humans are, once the mad frenzy of intense fear had passed, other sensations would flood in, occupying the brain space that had just been vacated.

The dust inhaled into his lungs tormented Zhao Kai. The convulsions of his nerves caused him to start vomiting; he lay face down, his body spasming uncontrollably, ejecting the morning’s pastries and sweets.

He had heaved so violently that some of the vomit had shot into his nostrils. The foul, stomach acid-laden mess stained the front of Zhao Kai’s favorite dragon robe and dribbled onto his legs.

Then, pain struck him–he had indeed broken his leg. He hadn’t felt it in his earlier madness but now, as he regained some clarity, the excruciating pain made his whole body shudder.

Never having experienced such agony–born and raised in luxury–Emperor Zhao Kai had no idea how to confront this state of affairs. He sat there, alternately vomiting and staring vacantly.

Suddenly, a loyal guard dashed forward and supported Zhao Kai: “Your Majesty! Your Majesty! This servant deserves death a thousand times over for arriving too late to protect you!”

Zhao Kai could now see the face of the person by his side and the ruins around him, as well as the messy debris that had once been part of the room’s furnishings. Finally, he let go of the broken telephone receiver he had been tightly gripping.

He remembered the moment the explosion had sounded, the instant his ceiling collapsed. Before that, he had been talking on the phone with Li Mingshun, who was urging him to seek shelter in an underground bunker.

Now, he finally felt the trembling in his arms, the incessant quivering of muscles uncontrollable by his will–anxious, unceasing tremors.

The guard supporting him felt Zhao Kai’s shudders, realizing only now that even Zhao Kai could experience fear, that he too could be reduced to trembling at the hands of fear just like anyone else.

The idol, once disguised with ruthlessness and variability, had shattered, leaving behind nothing but an ordinary, pitiful old man, miserably seated on the ground, ashen and bedraggled.

“Help me up… get me up,” Zhao Kai’s voice quaked, his face smeared with blood, tear stains, and the filth from his mouth, making him resemble a mad old man.

“Your Majesty! Your leg is broken! Better wait for a doctor…” The guard didn’t shun Zhao Kai. Deeply devoted to him, he was truly a close attendant of Zhao Kai, displaying genuine concern now that was no less than that of a son.

“Help me up!” Zhao Kai roared, hysterical.

The guard didn’t dare delay and immediately pulled Zhao Kai up by his hand, hauling him off the ground. Zhao Kai was a tough one; he actually endured the pain and stood up on his one good leg.

The surrounding servants and maidservants had already begun to sob. They truly hadn’t expected that their Imperial Palace would one day witness such a tragedy.

What they didn’t know was that the epicenters of the explosion had already become a living inferno.

There were thousands of maidservants and attendants in the Dahua Empire’s Imperial Palace, not to mention the thousands of guards, a situation that could be described as extremely luxurious.

Now, in the blast zone, hundreds had died instantly, and hundreds of injured had yet to receive aid. Many palaces had collapsed, with many people buried alive beneath them–they might still be alive now, but that could change at any moment.

The concubines of the harem were terrified out of their wits. Many of the previously majestic buildings had been damaged, and the walls that secured the palace’s safety had also collapsed greatly.

Some servants, seeing Zhao Kai’s miserable state, uncontrollably began to cry out, their outbursts unleashing emotional turmoil that left the hearers heartbroken.

“I’m not dead yet! Why the hell are you wailing?” Zhao Kai barked, irritated; his voice drowned out by the engulfing dust moments later.

“Fire! Fire in the West Hall!” Faint shouts from the guards in panic could be heard, along with soldiers querying each other for passwords.

Several of Zhao Kai’s personal attendants had by now arrived, and some maidservants sent by the concubines of the harem to inquire about the situation and affirm the Emperor’s safety were gathered on the periphery seeking information.

Chaos spread throughout the palace, the most terrifying predicament: if anyone were to infiltrate the palace at this time, they might truly go unnoticed.

Moreover, at this moment, Zhao Kai’s connection to the outside world had been severed. If a general decided to rebel now, the chances of success were not low.

For an instant, Zhao Kai felt a tinge of regret. He regretted the decisions he had made before, lamenting why he had provoked the Great Tang Empire, that harbinger of doom…