Two days later, word of Cloud Ridge Stockade's destruction had spread throughout the imperial city. It was said that everyone who went up there vomited. Corpses littered every corner of Cloud Ridge Mountain. After a day of rain, battered by wind and rain, the bodies had long since swollen, a ghastly sight beyond compare.
Cloud Ridge Stockade had always been a scourge near the imperial city. Aside from the Imperial Guards, who had not been mobilized to besiege it, no one knew how many times the other armies had been sent out. Yet they had all returned in failure.
Cloud Ridge Mountain's terrain was too unique—easy to defend and hard to attack. Carriages and horses could not make their way up, and a great army could not bring its advantages to bear. They could only accept defeat time and again.
No one had expected such a place to be slaughtered into a land of death overnight. All 4,317 people were dead, and not a single survivor had been left behind.
Other than on a battlefield, so many deaths at once had never happened before.
It was a bizarre case. Since there were no survivors, no one knew who had done it.
There was one exception: Qing Ling.
She had sensed the change in Ning Chen's aura. The innate differed from the acquired, and she possessed an extremely keen perception of such things. Ever since Ning Chen entered the palace that day, she had felt that something was amiss, but she had never expected something this enormous to happen.
Changsun looked at the memorial in her hand. As she pondered, Qing Ling spoke softly, "Empress Dowager, Ning Chen may have done it."
Changsun frowned at those words. "Are you certain?"
"The possibility is very high," Qing Ling said seriously.
Changsun fell