As the chill of night swept in, the same piece of news was fermenting into very different atmospheres in different places at once. The death of Zhang Jue in the north was, within the Wu Dynasty, the outcome of a series of complicated and tangled causes — but if one were to judge purely by the reactions rippling outward from the news itself, in truth, not a single person felt any genuine happiness at what had happened.

Within Yanfu Palace in the Imperial City, the burning candles cast a warm glow around the room, with eunuchs, guards, and palace maids stationed nearby — but in the night’s stillness, only the occasional sound of a chess piece being set down broke the silence. The emperor’s mood was far from good, and the Empress, accompanying him at chess to help ease his mind, understood well enough to remain silent, offering no words at all.

“We… have done something… whether it was right or wrong, We ourselves cannot say.”

After a long while, Zhou Zhe finally spoke, slowly and in a low voice, a chess piece held in his hand, left unset for a long time. The Empress waited a moment before replying. “Whatever Your Majesty has done, there will always be things done rightly, and inevitably some done wrongly as well — but this concubine knows that whatever choice Your Majesty makes, it is always because it was a choice that simply had to be made.”

To tell an emperor to his face that he had done something wrong would, for an ordinary person, likely have brought immediate punishment. But the Empress shared a deep bond with him, and knew well that Zhou Zhe, in fact, welcomed hearing things put this way. Sure enough, once she finished speaking, Zhou Zhe’s brow relaxed slightly, and after a moment, a bitter, wry smile crossed his face.

“We had Zhang Jue killed. Others who don’t understand will likely think Us foolish and incompetent for it — but how could they possibly understand the difficulties weighing on Our heart? This entire court, civil and military alike — Cai Jing, Li Gang, Qin Siyuan, Tong Guan, Li Bangyan, Wang Fu… every single one of them! They… they have failed Us…”

He set down his chess piece, speaking through gritted teeth, sweeping the entire court, civil and military alike, into his condemnation. The Empress remained silent, unwilling to respond directly. “They… perhaps they too have their own difficulties to contend with…”

“Difficulties! We placed them in positions of great authority at court, We granted them power, We paved the way for them to accomplish their work — and in the end, what have they given Us in return? A chaotic, tangled mess of a situation—” Zhou Zhe waved his hand forcefully. “And in the end, We alone must bear the blame for it all. These… old fools!”

He clenched his jaw, the bitterness in his heart impossible to fully express. Back when he had first thrown himself wholeheartedly into raising troops and pushing forward the northern campaign, his heart had burned with real ambition and grand aspirations — ambitions that had begun back at the very start of his reign, stirring unrest within the Liao state, infiltrating the northern kingdom through the Secret Investigation Bureau, pouring vast sums of money and resources into stoking greed and discord among them, culminating eventually in the Black Water Pact. He had genuinely wanted to become a great restorer, a hegemon who would revive the dynasty’s fortunes — levying every manner of tribute and exaction, the Flower and Rock Convoy included, precisely because the court genuinely needed funds to invest in the northern campaign. Though he had later kept a good deal of it for himself, that too was only because the north no longer required further investment. As emperor, he had already devoted himself, heart and soul, to accomplishing a great deal — and looking back, these efforts had, in fact, borne real fruit.

When the Jurchen rose up in arms, the Wu Dynasty had seized the opportunity — he had made great use of Li Gang, recalled Qin Siyuan from retirement, had Cai Jing and the others step aside to clear the way, and actively pushed forward Tong Guan’s northern campaign. There had, of course, been many obstacles and disappointments along the way — of the sixteen prefectures of Yanyun, only six had ultimately been recovered — but Guo Yaoshi’s accomplishments had still brought him no small measure of pride. This had originally been a strategy of buying loyalty at great cost, and before Guo Yaoshi had even achieved any great merit, he had already showered the man with countless rewards, even forgiving his failures in the assault on Yanjing. Later, when Guo Yaoshi personally beheaded Xiao Gan in battle, proving to the entire realm the soundness of his judgment, he had been overjoyed.

As for the Jurchen, who had grown arrogant and overbearing with their newfound success, Zhou Zhe held no fondness for them at all — at the very least, he was determined to reclaim the sixteen prefectures of Yanyun. Once recovered, the mountain passes to the north would form a formidable barrier, making it essentially impossible for the northern barbarians to push south again — and he could then console the spirits of his ancestors in the great beyond, becoming a ruler remembered for his territorial achievements. Such ambitions had lent his approach toward the Jurchen a certain forward-leaning quality; accepting Zhang Jue’s defection had been, in effect, a continuation of the earlier effort to win over Guo Yaoshi. But afterward, an enormous problem had inevitably dragged him back down to reality.

If the Jurchen’s reaction to Zhang Jue’s defection proved disproportionately severe, should this battle now be fought, or not?

In the period immediately following Zhang Jue’s defection, the mood at court had actually been rather optimistic: we once tried to discuss the sixteen prefectures with you and you refused — now, surely, we can finally sit down and talk properly. The Wu Dynasty wasn’t entirely without caution regarding the Jurchen, but there was a shared understanding on certain points: the Jurchen were few in number, and conquering and governing the entirety of the former Liao territory was no easy task — they simply didn’t have the surplus strength to push south as well. At the same time, Guo Yaoshi, training troops beyond Yanmen Pass, had defeated Xiao Gan and wiped out his forces entirely, while Zhang Jue himself was no soft target either. Rationally speaking, both factors carried real deterrent weight — and with these cards on the table, there seemed reasonable grounds to negotiate from a position of some strength.

But events proved that these were considerations that belonged to civil officials, and had, in truth, been thought through far too optimistically. One could weigh the odds a thousand times over and conclude that the Wu Dynasty’s strength had grown considerably — but as far as the Jurchen were concerned, if they were displeased, there was only one way to settle it: come, let’s fight it out once, and see who wins and who loses.

When Wanyan Shemu launched a direct campaign against Zhang Jue, Zhou Zhe found himself forced to seriously grapple with the matter at last.

Over the following month or two, he had quietly sounded out the opinions of a great many people — Tong Guan, Cai Jing, Gao Qiu, as well as Li Gang and Qin Siyuan, along with various senior officials in the Ministry of War, and even a number of ministers who had once served as envoys and were thoroughly familiar with the situation between the Jin and Liao states. Weighing everything together in the end left his heart half-frozen with dread.

On the surface, when he asked whether they could win a fight, everyone naturally said yes, of course they could. But Zhou Zhe wasn’t a fool — at the very least, he could catch the unspoken undertones in what these officials were telling him. He could see clearly enough that Tong Guan, Cai Jing, Gao Qiu, and the others all harbored real doubts about the army’s actual combat readiness, while Li Gang and Qin Siyuan’s position amounted to: whatever the case, we must hold firm this time, we absolutely must fight!

What a joke. You can afford to hold firm to the bitter end — even if it costs your lives, you’d still be remembered as men of unbending integrity. But could he, the emperor, really afford to act so recklessly? Weighing everything together, he suddenly realized that after all this time spent sharpening swords and training troops, his own side still looked, in the end, like little more than a paper tiger. If it truly came down to a real fight against the Jurchen, were they genuinely prepared for it, in every respect?

And so he had issued a secret edict to the capital, instructing Wang Anzhong that unless the Jurchen pushed things too far, they must under no circumstances rashly provoke a border conflict — and if it became absolutely necessary, Zhang Jue could be sacrificed. There was simply no other choice. Behind this decision lay all his painstaking deliberation — and who, truly, could ever understand the weight of it?

He resented Cai Jing, Tong Guan, and the others who controlled the overall military situation — resented that, at least where the army was concerned, things still stood exactly as they were now. He resented Li Gang, Qin Siyuan, and the others just as much — he had granted them such enormous support, and in the end, they too had failed to achieve anything truly decisive, anything that could genuinely satisfy him. The army had won no notable victories, and all they knew was to keep calling for war, to hold firm no matter the cost. And if this first battle had been lost — then what?

As he mulled over these various matters, he also found himself reflecting on how, in the matter of the relief effort, he had genuinely granted Qin Siyuan and the others far too much authority and latitude. With the factional infighting at court in recent times, he had leaned toward supporting their side, suppressing a good deal of the opposing voices, and the influence of the two chancellors within the capital had grown steadily greater — to the point that even Grand Preceptor Cai and his faction had been forced to tread carefully around them. In some respects, this had gone somewhat too far.

Weighing everything carefully, the relief effort still had to proceed — but the matter of Zhang Jue could, in its own way, serve as a means of reining them back in somewhat. Otherwise, the recruitment of Zhang Jue’s defection had been their own accomplishment; to then, having recruited him, throw the full weight of the entire nation behind supporting him, going to war with the Jurchen over a single man like Zhang Jue, would ultimately seem far too reckless — making himself, the emperor, look like little more than a puppet in the process. He could support all his officials in carrying out their duties, but a gamble of this magnitude, one that staked the fate of the entire nation, was simply not something to be undertaken lightly.

On the other hand, the relief effort, while no small matter in itself, still paled in comparison to the northern campaign in terms of overall priority. That Li Gang and Qin Siyuan had thrown themselves so wholeheartedly into the relief effort was, in itself, a commendable thing — but in doing so, they had also offended rather too many people along the way. After this affair had run its course, reining in the strength of the two chancellors somewhat, allowing Grand Preceptor Cai and his faction to rise a little in counterbalance, was, in a certain sense, also a way of protecting the chancellors’ own positions in the long run. A few private hints dropped here and there, and surely they would come to understand his painstaking intentions…

All these various threads of thought, all these various considerations — even in front of the Empress, some could be spoken aloud, and others could not. In the end, it all dissolved into nothing more than a single sigh. As Son of Heaven, the loneliness of standing at such dizzying heights was truly beyond words. He could only hope that all this painstaking effort of his would, in time, yield good results after all — and that history, in the end, would judge him fairly…

…

Upon receiving word of Zhang Jue’s death, Zhou Zhe’s feelings were deeply conflicted. At the Right Chancellor’s residence, Qin Siyuan very nearly collapsed under the shock of it on the spot. Li Gang, the Left Chancellor, upon seeing the news, was likewise struck utterly speechless. At the Grand Preceptor’s residence, Cai Jing, having just finished a piece of calligraphy, looked at the news with a complicated expression, which finally dissolved into a single sigh. Tong Guan stood with his hands clasped behind his back before the map in his own residence for the better part of the evening, sighing to those nearby, “In the end, it was a move made out of necessity.” Having already announced his retirement from office, with his own record of accomplishments and failures already settled, he felt none of the same psychological burden as the others.

At the Censorate, Qin Hui had not yet returned home when the news reached him. He read the report, narrowing his eyes, jaw clenched tight, his voice trembling faintly. “Foolish, utterly foolish…”

He returned to the room where he handled official business, unrolled a blank sheet of paper, and began writing the opening of a memorial of remonstrance. Having once been taken captive by the northerners himself, he understood firsthand the savage, untamed ferocity of those people — how could one possibly deal with men like that through nothing but concession and displayed weakness? Showing weakness to an enemy only inflamed their savagery further, and in the end would only lead to a situation impossible to salvage.

Speaking out with passionate, righteous conviction was a state he often found himself in — no small number of high officials had been brought down by his fierce, impassioned memorials of impeachment. And yet there was always more to consider than simple righteous indignation. Halfway through writing the memorial, he already felt his wording had grown too extreme, and he stopped. He drew out several fresh sheets of paper and began again twice more, but neither of these two subsequent attempts even made it past the opening lines.

He understood in his heart exactly who stood behind this whole affair, driving it forward. He understood, too, that now that the matter had already come to pass, His Majesty would hardly welcome men like himself offering remonstrance after the fact, as though wise only in hindsight.

What use would it serve to write something like this now, beyond simply inviting others’ resentment…

He rubbed his forehead, thinking it over for a long while, before finally picking up his brush once more — this time, writing a memorial impeaching Qin Siyuan for his lack of foresight in accepting Zhang Jue’s defection in the first place. He wrote quickly, reaching the halfway point before stopping again: his line of reasoning still wasn’t quite right. Chancellor Qin’s decision to accept Zhang Jue’s surrender had not, at the time, been mistaken; though it was the emperor himself who had ordered Zhang Jue’s execution, given His Majesty’s evident wisdom and discernment, he was unlikely to take any particular pride in that outcome. He couldn’t afford to impeach Qin Siyuan too harshly — but if he wished to help ease some of the lingering doubts and misgivings circulating at court, what approach should he take instead?

After mulling this over for a while longer, the content of his third memorial shifted instead to impeaching Wang Anzhong, the Pacification Commissioner who had actually carried out Zhang Jue’s execution — though his language remained carefully measured, nothing too severe. He understood well enough that His Majesty had no wish to see Wang Anzhong himself called into question over any wrongdoing. He couldn’t afford to nail Wang Anzhong to the pillar of shame outright either — but by keeping his wording moderate, he left room for discussion, and once discussion became possible, he could steer the conversation toward portraying Wang Anzhong as a man acting correctly, out of painstaking necessity. In doing so, he himself would play the role of the villain here, while His Majesty would be free to extract both Wang Anzhong and himself from any real blame — and while His Majesty might reprimand him for it outwardly, in his heart, he trusted the emperor would remember this careful consideration of his.

At the same time, at court, this whole affair could finally be given a settled characterization, allowing everyone to grow calm once more and refocus their combined efforts on what lay ahead. With this thought clearly settled in his mind, the memorial flowed smoothly and quickly from his brush, and he finished it, submitting it the following day.

In Yanjing, Wang Anzhong found himself similarly caught in a tangle of conflicted emotions.

Regarding the execution of Zhang Jue, he too felt the same sense of helpless resignation and injustice. Guo Yaoshi clamored day after day for a real battle against the Jurchen — but whether such a battle could actually be won was the true question at stake. After Zhang Jue’s execution, the mood throughout Yanjing had turned distinctly hostile; within the ranks of the Ever-Victorious Army, an atmosphere of grim solidarity had settled in, each man feeling a kinship with the doomed fox mourning the death of the hare, treating men like Wang Anzhong and the other civil officials as little better than treacherous, contemptible rats. In the days immediately following, Guo Yaoshi had very nearly worn white mourning garments for Zhang Jue outright, and when Wang Anzhong called on him repeatedly to pay his respects, the man claimed illness each time and refused to see him. Wang Anzhong felt his temper flaring within him — if this were the south, a military man like you, just watch what I’d do to you…

But however much resentment he harbored, he still had to do his utmost to smooth over the damage this affair had caused. Reflecting on it, he genuinely felt he had done everything within reason in fulfilling his duties as an official. Day after day, he called on Guo Yaoshi, offering warmth to a cold shoulder each time, all for what purpose, if not for the sake of peace and stability in this northern territory?

Fortunately, Guo Yaoshi didn’t remain angry for too long, and three days later, finally opened his door to receive him. Wang Anzhong laid out the stakes for him in earnest, comparing the strength of both sides, and explained the court’s order forbidding any reckless provocation of border conflict. Guo Yaoshi, his face haggard with exhaustion, finally said, “In the end, this junior officer thought too little of the consequences, and caused Lord Wang no small trouble.”

“We are all serving the nation in our own ways. General Guo’s discontent over this matter is something I, too, can genuinely understand and share — but this concerns the fate of the entire nation, and we cannot afford recklessness in pursuit of speed. We can only seek stability above all else. Going forward, I hope General Guo will continue to serve with his full effort and dedication to the affairs of state, and I, for my part, will do everything in my power to support General Guo fully.”

“Lord Wang’s magnanimity puts this humble Guo to shame — it was I who acted with narrow-mindedness. Going forward, I will certainly present local gifts and pay a personal visit to apologize, and I hope Lord Wang will forgive my earlier conduct…”

Guo Yaoshi replied thus, cupping his hands respectfully, and afterward prepared a substantial quantity of gold and silver to send to Wang Anzhong’s residence. Wang Anzhong understood well enough that some measure of resentment surely still lingered in the man’s heart, but such matters could only be resolved gradually, over time — for now, there was simply nothing more to be done about it.

…

The ripples set off by Zhang Jue’s death had yet to settle, spreading outward in waves across the realm. Throughout the Wu Dynasty, north and south, those with sufficient standing to grasp the full weight of this affair mostly found their emotions difficult to express in words. And amid all this complexity, up in the north, within the royal court of the Jurchen, an altogether different scene was unfolding.

In Shangjing, the city — having only recently endured the chaos of war — no longer carried the same prosperity it once had. After the Jurchen had conquered it, most of the former Liao nobility had either been killed or reduced to slavery, and even the imperial palace itself now stood in a state of disrepair and neglect. The Jurchen were still occupied with ongoing military campaigns and hadn’t yet gotten around to restoring the city, but with the New Year approaching and the winter storms setting in, they had nonetheless returned to this once-flourishing city to wait out the snow and plan for the coming year ahead.

Wanyan Zongwang’s triumphant return was, for every Jurchen present, a source of genuine delight and celebration.

Though, in truth, the Jurchen had by this point come to hold the Wu Dynasty’s people in some degree of contempt, unable as they were to put up much of a fight — yet somewhere beneath the surface, the old impression of the Wu Dynasty as a mighty, prosperous power still lingered. Zhang Jue’s defection had thrown Aguda into a fury, and everyone had clamored loudly for giving the Wu Dynasty a taste of their own strength — but when it actually came down to fighting, most had still approached the matter with real caution.

Everyone had been waiting anxiously for the outcome of this battle.

The clash between Wanyan Shemu and Zhang Jue had ended two wins to one loss, but this wasn’t something anyone considered especially significant. What truly weighed on everyone’s minds was the great, looming power to the south. The first real engagement with the Wu Dynasty was what genuinely occupied everyone’s thoughts. And so, the one who had ultimately taken personal command of the campaign was Wanyan Zongwang, the finest military commander among the Jurchen. With the snow already falling by then, laying siege to a fortified city was no simple task — if the southerners had chosen to hold the city under a determined defense, the outcome of this battle, in theory, wouldn’t have been settled until the following spring at the earliest.

Most had therefore assumed that Wanyan Zongwang would end up spending the New Year camped outside the walls of Yanjing.

Who could have guessed the result would come so easily, forcing the other side to concede so readily — even they themselves found it rather astonishing.

Within the golden hall of the imperial palace, an enormous brazier roared with blazing fire, and amid the clinking of wine cups at the feast, Wanyan Zongwang strode in with a booming laugh. Present at this banquet, besides Aguda’s own family — Zonggan, Zongyao, Zongbi, and the others — were also a number of ministers who had first risen alongside Aguda in his initial rebellion, men such as Gushen Wanyan Xiyin, Loushi, Yinshuke, and Balishu. In a certain sense, these were the truly rising stars of this new era.

Of course, as men caught up within the events themselves, they likely didn’t see themselves quite that way — merely as members of a newly ascendant dynasty, their untamed, primal vigor unable to conceal the spirited, ambitious energy that ran through them. Even here in the golden hall, such feasting still didn’t call for a great deal of formal ceremony — everyone drank heartily and sang with abandon. As Wanyan Zongwang entered, several of his brothers leapt up at once to greet him, exchanging words back and forth all at once.

Wanyan Zongwang strode forward, laughing loudly, came to a table, and set down a human head he’d been carrying in his hand, tilting his chin up. “Ha ha, well then! How’s that!” Only then did he move aside to pay his respects to his father, Aguda.

At the table stood the one man in the entire golden hall whose manner of eating carried any real refinement. He wiped his greasy mouth and looked at the head on the table with a faint smile. Wanyan Zongbi walked over. “Ha ha, Zhang Jue… Wushi, well? Didn’t I tell you before — the southerners are weak and useless, no match for us at all. Well? Speechless now, are you?”

Wushi was the Jurchen name of Wanyan Xiyin, the most learned in Han scholarship among the Jurchen people — a man of tall, imposing stature, skilled in both letters and arms, who had recently, under Aguda’s direct order, created an entire writing system of the Jurchen’s own. Having long admired Han culture, he had also been the one among them who most respected the Wu Dynasty, repeatedly warning the others not to underestimate them. At this moment, he too seemed at something of a loss. “It seems I misjudged this. Find somewhere to bury him properly.”

“What’s there to bury.” Wanyan Zongbi waved a hand, and Zhang Jue’s severed head went flying out of the golden hall with a thud. He leaned against the table before the other man. “Wushi, you’ve got nothing left to say now… Hey, brothers, listen up — once we’ve finished conquering Liao, why don’t we go ahead and take on the Wu Dynasty too, while we’re at it?”

This remark set the whole hall abuzz with argument. Someone said, “Our numbers are still too few, after all.” Another said, “Marching south is far too great a distance.” Amid all the discussion, everyone’s gaze ultimately turned upward toward Aguda. The now fifty-something Aguda, dressed in fur robes, sat upon his throne, exchanged a few words with Wanyan Zongwang, and finally said with a smile, “This time, though Wolibu managed to force the Wu Dynasty to hand over Zhang Jue, we never actually fought them directly — and our smaller numbers are certainly a factor as well. Liao is not yet fully settled — talk all you like among yourselves, but don’t grow too arrogant. A careful, cautious warrior is never devoured by the bear; it’s the arrogant warrior who gets eaten.”

Everyone assented readily enough, and before long the banquet began to break up, the guests filing out of the golden hall in scattered groups. Wanyan Zongbi glanced toward Wanyan Xiyin and gave a cold snort. In later ages, people would come to know him better by his fearsome Jurchen name: Wuzhu. But at this moment, even he harbored a certain wariness toward this cultured, martially accomplished Wanyan Xiyin. Jin Wuzhu had been fond of warfare since childhood, and held a natural fondness for his kinsmen of formidable martial prowess — but this particular Wanyan Xiyin, having read far too many Han books, carried himself with a scholarly, bookish air that Wuzhu found genuinely uncomfortable to be around — and worse still, even in martial skill, he found himself unable to best the man.

Among those filing out at that moment were also a number of others whose names would go down in the history books of later ages — some destined to carve out their own domains, others to become emperors of the Jin state in time. Most of them had, by this point, weathered mountains of corpses and seas of blood. Outside the golden hall, snow blanketed the ground, and the north wind howled fiercely — yet not one among them so much as frowned at the bitter weather. To them, such cold was simply the ordinary state of this world they lived in.

On this day, this group of men turned their gaze briefly toward the Wu Dynasty in the south — and then, indifferently, withdrew it once more, turning their full attention back to the rich prize that still lingered on their tongues.

The Liao state, after all, was still vast, still ripe for the taking…

The snow fell in silence, and Zhang Jue’s severed head, tumbling down the steps, now lay half-buried in the white snow, utterly alone, facing the vast heavens above, unmourned by anyone.

Before long, a servant sweeping the grounds gathered up the head with a bamboo basket and tossed it away into the open wilderness.

…

In the south, within the quiet halls of the Zuo family estate, Zuo Duanyou finished reading the report in his hand, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes…