Although the Emperor, his ministers, and the citizens of Bianliang had long been waiting anxiously by the Eastern Water Gate, Master Guo Jing, the so-called Celestial Immortal, took on an uncharacteristic air of leisure that day. It was not until noon that he finally arrived, accompanied by only a handful of attendants, seated in a modest carriage.
His unassuming entrance left the Emperor visibly perplexed, prompting him to inquire as Guo approached to pay his respects,
"The hour of battle is upon us. Where, pray, are the Six Jia Divine Troops you promised, my good Guo?"
To this, Guo Jing responded with a tone so haughty it left even the Emperor and his courtiers momentarily speechless.
"Your Majesty, the Six Jia Divine Soldiers were summoned not for these trivial barbarians, but for future campaigns—chasing down fleeing foes across the northern steppes and laying siege to the dark fortresses of Yin Mountain. As for the Jurchen rabble outside our walls, they are hardly worthy of such effort. One of my disciples shall craft a simple magical weapon right here—and that alone shall suffice to sweep away these wretches."
With that, he gave a flick of his sleeve and ascended the city tower. The Emperor and his ministers, exchanging bewildered glances, had little choice but to follow him up the battlements.
Atop the East Water Gate, the city's military commander, Zhang Shuye, had already prepared, as instructed by Guo Jing, the largest and most formidable of their siege crossbows. A massive iron bolt glistened coldly in the sun, its barbed tip promising death. This weapon—an engineering marvel—was capable of felling armored war elephants with a single shot. Yet the idea that it might annihilate the tens of thousands of Jin soldiers beyond the walls seemed nothing short of ludicrous.
And yet, aided by the miraculous inventions of Doraemon, the impossible would soon become possible.
—Before the eyes of all present, Doraemon drew from his pocket a gleaming gadget: the Evolution-Devolution Ray Gun!
This wondrous device had the power to evolve or devolve any object or creature. It could uplift a cat or dog to sentient, human-like intelligence, or reduce any beast to its most primal form. It could advance machinery to futuristic sophistication or regress it to the clunky age of early industry.
With the aid of this arcane tool, Nobita had once helped a band of abandoned strays establish a grand feline-canine civilization three hundred million years in the past (see: Nobita's Cat-Dog Time Chronicle). He had also evolved a mere wind-up alarm clock into a precision laser timepiece, regressed a transistor radio to a crystal set, and even reduced his father to a Neanderthal.
But back to our tale.
As the Evolution-Devolution Ray bathed the siege crossbow in its strange light, the weapon first morphed into a bronze-fronted falconet, then into a multi-barreled Gatling gun, next into a Katyusha rocket launcher, then a CIWS anti-aircraft turret... until at last, it became the ultimate weapon of Doraemon's era:
The Fully Automated Plasma Convergence Cannon, engineered for the interstellar wars of the 22nd century.
This was a weapon of true mass destruction, typically deployed from planetary orbit to suppress colonial rebellions with precision orbital bombardments. And to suit all terrains, it was equipped with a miniature anti-gravity drive, enabling seamless ground deployment within any atmosphere.
—Before a speechless multitude, the silver-hued, awe-inspiring cannon rose gently from the city tower, levitating dozens of meters into the air, rotating slowly like a divine gyroscope.
Then, under the expert hand of Nobita—the cosmic marksman himself—the hovering metal beast emitted a series of digital beeps:
"Combat map uploaded. Calculating firing solutions. Commencing full-spectrum bombardment on enemy bases at Liujiamiao, Qingcheng Stronghold, and Banqiao Town. Maximum output enabled... Targets confirmed... Firing sequence initiated!"
"BOOOOM!!!"
As Nobita pressed the launch button, those gathered below saw a blinding flash erupt from the cannon's barrel, followed by earth-shattering detonations echoing from the distant horizon...
From the vantage of the battlements, the imperial guards stared in mute disbelief as one after another, blazing fireballs surged upward from the enemy's encampment. The blinding white glare dazzled their eyes, and at ground zero, the plasma weapon's searing heat—measured in the millions of degrees—transformed air into ionized matter and the earth itself into molten lava.
In the distance, under the apocalyptic brilliance, trees, tents, buildings, livestock, and men alike were incinerated by this spectral "light of death." Anything caught within its reach was reduced to ash—carbonized in moments, consumed by fire, and then disintegrated entirely.
Most Jin soldiers had no time to react; they were burned alive where they stood. Rows of tents crumbled like paper offerings in a funeral pyre, steel blades melted like wax, sentry towers and barricades were swallowed by infernos. In mere seconds, the entire Qingcheng encampment was reduced to a smoldering wasteland—no bodies left, only scorched earth.
Then came the shockwave.
A scorching wind ripped across the battlements, nearly toppling every soldier. Even the great city walls trembled under the blast. Many nearly tumbled to their deaths. The Emperor himself, abandoning all royal composure, clung to a pillar with wide-eyed terror, staring out at the unfolding apocalypse.
—Yet the assault was not over.
The plasma cannon continued its divine retribution, sweeping across the other enemy strongholds in a wide arc around the city. Fire and thunder lit the skies crimson.
Within Bianliang, every soul—merchant, farmer, laborer, soldier, official—halted in awe. Under the blood-red sky, illuminated by the infernal glow, they knelt and prayed. In this era, belief in divine power was absolute. Even the elite harbored reverence or at least suspicion. And now, witnessing this devastation—a single blast laying waste to dozens of miles—how could they not tremble?
Meanwhile, atop the Eastern Water Gate, Wang Qiu stood frowning, his gaze fixed on the glowing golden script racing across the pages of the Chronicle of Transcendence in his hands:
"...Wanyan Zongwang, Supreme Commander of the Eastern Jin Army, slain—Reward: 1500 points."
"...Wanyan Zonghan, Supreme Commander of the Western Jin Army, slain—Reward: 1500 points."
"...Wanyan Xiyin, Grand Chancellor of the Jin Empire, slain—Reward: 1500 points."
"...Wanyan Zongbi (Jin Wuzhu), renowned Jin general, slain—Reward: 1500 points."
"...Wanyan Lou Shi, renowned Jin general, slain—Reward: 1000 points."
"...Wanyan Yinshi Ke, renowned Jin general, slain—Reward: 1000 points."
"...Wanyan Huonü, renowned Jin general, slain—Reward: 500 points."
…
"...Fate of Emperor Huizong and Emperor Qinzong altered—Abduction to the north averted—Reward: 3000 points."
"...Qin Hui and wife spared abduction—Treasonous future averted—Reward: 1500 points."
"...Princess Roufu spared her fate as a camp prostitute—Reward: 1000 points."
"...Poetess Li Qingzhao spared a life of war-torn exile—Reward: 500 points."
"...General Zhang Shuye saved—Reward: 500 points."
"...Zhang Bangchang's reputation preserved—Reward: 500 points."
…
"...All invading Jin forces annihilated. Second Siege of Bianliang concluded. Total Reward: 32,550 points. Report complete."
At last, seeing the final tally, Wang Qiu smiled with deep satisfaction.
Indeed, the most effective solution to chaos is not intricate schemes or subtle diplomacy—but overwhelming force. Brute power to shatter all resistance.
What use is bickering over ritual and loyalty, allying with traitors, or weaving webs of intrigue? When one possesses such technological supremacy, why bother playing games with these backward natives?
Let them whine about propriety and tradition—blast it all to dust!
So, you appeasers still wish to surrender? Fine—now that the Jin have been reduced to ashes, to whom will you offer your loyalty?
—Watching this apocalyptic tableau, the appeasement faction—led by Geng Nanzhong—suffered a profound spiritual collapse.
For years, the mighty Jin had haunted the Song like a specter of death. And now, in an instant, they were no more.
All their years of political maneuvering, their courtroom eloquence and backroom schemes—what had it all been for?
In that moment, they stared at one another in stunned silence, a deep absurdity taking root in their hearts.
So profound was this absurdity that it felt like they had been cast into a farce—a parody of reality itself.
After a long pause in the scorching wind, these disillusioned ministers veiled their faces with their sleeves and turned away, silently retreating into the city.
They could not bear to remain a moment longer beneath this cruel contrast between their petty machinations and the merciless truth.
As they fled, Guo Jing's voice rang out from atop the tower, rich and triumphant:
"Your Majesty! The lowly Daoist has fulfilled his duty. The tens of thousands of invaders have been utterly annihilated. I now await Your Imperial command!"