North of Yanshan — the land that the people of the Central Plains referred to as the savage and desolate frontier beyond the passes — was a place where no Central Plains person dared to venture anymore.
Past Yanshan and through a stretch of land swallowed by yellow sand, the ancient fortified city of Qinguan could still be found.
This had once been the northernmost border garrison of the Chu Army. At its strongest, it had held several thousand troops, and Chu banners had flown here.
As the dynasty’s strength slowly failed, it had become impossible to sustain this border city. After being besieged for several days without relief, the isolated Chu border soldiers lost both hope and the promise of tomorrow; the last Chu warrior standing finally fell.
A border city is a nation’s dignity, its gateway — its significance immeasurable. The old soldiers who died here never disgraced the honor of Chu. It was Chu itself that had abandoned the gate.
Chu still claimed the frontier Qinguan as its territory, yet it had long since been occupied by the many small tribes driven there by the Black Wu forces.
The Black Wu forces had broken through Qinguan and then seized much of the land and pasture belonging to those smaller tribes, forcing them to migrate into this desolate and harsh region.
And those displaced tribes, in turn, had begun to prey upon and slaughter the Han people who had originally settled here, turning the land more savage still.
Atop the walls of Qinguan, Li Chi stood and looked out at the vast sweep of land — his heart heavy with a welter of conflicting feelings.
They had been giving chase for many days, only to be forced to give up, at least for now.
Tang Pidi had led the assault on Eastern Ridge Mountain, which was held by only a few thousand scattered and disorganized Eastern Ridge Dao men — it had no chance of holding.
That Black Wu man and the Jiandao people with him had fled north. Tang Pidi had originally intended to give chase himself, but then an urgent dispatch sent by Mister Yan had arrived.
After Tang Pidi learned what had happened at Yanshan Camp, he immediately joined forces with Dantai Qi and rode back in full haste.
At the Xiaoqing River, Li Chi and Tang Pidi’s combined forces had killed more than forty thousand White Mountain Army soldiers and also slain Lao Yi.
Li Chi’s intention had been to kill Lao Suize himself to avenge Yu Chaozong — or at the very least, to find another way to kill him if they could not meet on the battlefield.
But the reports brought back by scouts who ventured south confirmed that Lao Suize was already dead — pierced through the heart by Luo Jing’s lance, then trampled flat by the cavalry stampede.
The scouts had also brought word of the great battle at Jizhou: another of Prince Wu Yang Jiju’s schemes, which had not only destroyed the White Mountain Army and the Yanzhou Army in a single blow, but had also dealt a devastating blow to Luo Geng’s Youzhou Army.
On receiving this news, Li Chi and his group had no choice but to set aside any plans to go south, for there were more pressing things they had to do.
Yanshan Camp was gone. The provisions had been burned — not every last grain, but what could be salvaged would only last the column about a month.
To survive the lean season between harvests and hold out until the grain Li Chi and his men had planted on the slopes below Yanshan could be brought in would require at least two or three more months.
In northern Yuzhou, wheat was already ripe by the end of the fifth month. But this far north, the climate was cold — wheat would not be ready until the seventh month. Two or three months more.
Those two or three months, Li Chi had to find a way to feed the column — seven or eight thousand mouths looking to him.
And so Li Chi had made a decision. He left Gao Xining, along with Elder Ye and Mister Yan and the others, with six thousand troops — half to keep watch over the fields on the slopes below the mountain, half to begin rebuilding the stronghold.
His first concern had been Luo Geng. Although he had defeated Lao Yi’s fifty thousand White Mountain troops, Luo Geng would never give him breathing room. The moment Yanshan Camp was this vulnerable, Luo Geng — if he could free up any forces at all — would strike at Li Chi without hesitation.
But as fortune had it, the great battle at Jizhou had left Luo Geng once again coughing blood from his horse — and the heavy armored iron cavalry that was said to be Youzhou’s invincible force had been reduced by more than half. After that battle, the Youzhou Army had lost seven or eight parts in ten of its strength and was in no condition to look at anyone else.
And so, after his scouts returned with their reports, Li Chi had the column begin rebuilding the stronghold while he and Tang Pidi and Zhuang Wudi, with a cavalry force of over a thousand, rode away from Yanshan.
They divided the cavalry into three groups: one to search for the whereabouts of those Black Wu men, one to solve the column’s provisions problem.
It was the second of these that Li Chi had his eye on — those Black Wu tribes.
Several days earlier, Li Chi had led a raid on a Black Wu tribe and seized considerable supplies. By chance, the Black Wu men who had been at Eastern Ridge Mountain were also part of that same tribe.
Li Chi had led the pursuit, driving them all the way to the ancient city of Qinguan — but in the end, he could not catch them.
To press further would be to wade into danger from all sides, and Li Chi would not gamble with his brothers’ lives. The column halted at Qinguan.
“From here south all the way to Yanshan really is five hundred li.”
Li Chi looked back and murmured as if to himself: “I remember hearing a line once: five hundred li from Yanshan to Qinguan pass, the Hu pipes wail, wail in this Chu land…”
Dantai Qi said: “The pipes still wail — but this has long since ceased to be Chu land.”
Li Chi made a sound of acknowledgment. He looked out at the vast open country, then down at the worn and mottled walls of the ancient city, and a weight settled over him.
“Let’s head back.”
Dantai Qi said: “This entire region is Black Wu tribes, spread like stars across the land. Those Black Wu men have no end of places to hide and run. If we chase any longer, they will have time to regroup, and we risk getting mired here.”
Li Chi agreed. He pressed his hand against the wall of Qinguan. “Someday, we will plant our banners here again.”
“This is not actually the northernmost border city of all of Dachu — only the northernmost on the northwest side.”
Dantai Qi said as he walked. “At the height of Dachu’s power, even the lands around Luojia Lake were ours.”
Li Chi said: “I hope that one day, our Central Plains banners fly again over Luojia Lake too.”
He glanced at the great red Ning banner fluttering in the wind, then strode down from the ancient city walls. Below, the soldiers had already mounted their horses and were waiting for his order.
“Back to main camp.”
Li Chi pulled up his neck wrap to cover the lower half of his face and mounted, riding forward.
The frontier wind carried great swirling clouds of dust. From a distance, the column could be seen moving through the yellow haze — a black dragon swimming through a sea of sand.
Two months had passed since Yu Chaozong’s death. Li Chi and his men had fought battle after battle across the frontier beyond the passes, scraping by on captured supplies, barely holding on through the lean season.
The wheat on the slopes below Yanshan had turned gold. Breezes rolled through the grain in long waves — a picture like something from a poem. Li Chi and his men returned just in time for the harvest.
The sight of Ning Army soldiers filling the fields swinging their scythes lifted the weight in Li Chi’s chest and let the open air back in.
Gao Xining had her hair wrapped in a cloth, her face dusty, sweat cutting clean little streaks through the grime — and even so, nothing could dim the fine beauty of her features.
“The chief is back!”
A sharp-eyed soldier called out.
Gao Xining, who had been bent over cutting grain, immediately straightened. She looked toward the main road — a great tide of cavalry returning, driving countless head of cattle and sheep before them.
“Ahh-ho-ho-ho~!”
Gao Xining let out a whoop, waving her arm as she ran toward the road.
Above, the hawk that had been circling let out one cry after another — clear and bright, sweet to the ear, the sound so full of joy it seemed to ring with its own happiness.
On the other side, something that looked like a small mountain of flesh — the divine eagle — let out its own rumbling calls and came waddling toward Li Chi, its great fat haunches swinging absurdly with every step.
Li Chi jumped from his horse and ran to meet Gao Xining. They came together, and Li Chi looked at that small, grimy face — and felt a pang in his chest.
She was born to a family of refinement and learning. And now here she was — a small girl with a sickle in her hand, laboring in the fields.
“You must be tired.”
Li Chi asked.
He raised his hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead — then stopped when he saw how dirty his own hand was.
In that moment of hesitation, Gao Xining made a sound and grabbed his hand, pressing it against her own face and rubbing it back and forth herself.
Which left that little face looking rather like a painted cat — muddy streaks running every which way.
Li Chi stared at her and grinned like a fool. She stared back at him and grinned like a fool.
“Come on — let’s go bring in the grain.”
Gao Xining took his hand and walked with him toward the wheat field, talking as she went: “Grandfather came down to the fields too. He said watching the wheat made him feel the same joy as watching a great many students complete their studies.”
“What?”
Li Chi startled at those words.
Director Gao had come down to the fields?
Among the Central Plains people, a man of letters who did his own fieldwork invited scorn. Scholars were, by some unspoken rule, supposed to be above physical toil. And a man of Director Gao’s standing — one of the great Confucian scholars of his generation — actually lowering himself to fieldwork was, if anything, nothing short of miraculous.
Li Chi followed Gao Xining forward, and from some distance away he could already see two old men in wide-brimmed straw hats, working together to bundle and bind the cut stalks.
The Daoist Changmei was showing Director Gao the technique with practiced hands, nodding with satisfaction: “I did not think you, old fellow, would turn out to have such a natural hand for farm work.”
Director Gao put on an air of smug pride: “Is there anything I set my mind to learn that has ever defeated me?”
Changmei curled his lip: “Bearing children, for a start?”
Director Gao blinked, then roared: “Shameless old man! Disgraceful! Shameless! Ptui!”
Changmei shook his head: “That tone of yours is all wrong. If you want to insult someone properly, mere words won’t carry it without the right delivery. Come, follow me — Heh, spitting sound!”
Director Gao: “Heh, spitting sound!”
Then both old men burst into loud laughter together — one saying your spitting sounds like passing wind, the other saying yours not only sounds like passing wind but like you’ve gone and made a mess of your trousers.
Not quite the sort of talk you would expect from a great scholar of the age…
They were still at it when they caught sight of Li Chi and Gao Xining running over. Both old men had the grace to look slightly embarrassed — a pair of coughs apiece, both feeling the occasion called for a quick return to decorum.
“Look.”
Director Gao pointed at the wheat field and readjusted his voice, infusing it with feeling: “Last night the south wind rose, fields of wheat lie ripe and yellow — women shoulder baskets of food, children carry jugs of water, together they go to feed the harvesters, the strong men work the southern ridge…”
Changmei gave a deep, resonant nod — then inspiration struck, and he added two lines of his own: “Each kernel stripped is white as jade, still on the stalk it gleams like gold.”
Li Chi smiled and added two more: “From far off, comes the smell of dung and farts — close up, the sound of praise for the busy harvest.”
Both old men reached for their walking sticks at the same moment. Li Chi immediately stepped back.
“We have made it through.”
Director Gao said with a laugh: “Now that the summer grain is in, we plant the autumn crop — and once the autumn grain is in, never mind this year; we will be eating well through the next as well.”
Li Chi nodded — and then, out in the distance, a scout came riding hard down the main road, a trail of dust rising behind him.
Li Chi feared there might be urgent military news, and hurried over to intercept. The scout was wind-burned and road-worn, as though he had crawled straight out of a pile of earth. He had clearly been riding a long time.
When he saw Li Chi, the scout dropped to one knee. “Chief! I’ve just come with good news!”
Li Chi smiled and asked: “What good news, that you came galloping back like your life depended on it?”
The scout said: “Luo Geng is dead.”
Li Chi stopped.
He looked at the scout, his eyes carrying something that didn’t quite want to believe.
The scout nodded firmly. “He is truly dead. When I rode back, the whole of Youzhou City was already in white mourning dress. The entire Youzhou Army is in full mourning.”
The scout had barely finished when another rider came galloping down the road. The man dismounted, apparently asked someone where Li Chi was, and was pointed in this direction — then he came over at once.
When he arrived, the man bowed low. “Chief, I am from the Shen Medical Hall of Youzhou. I come to bring you word… Luo Geng is dead.”
Li Chi stood there, momentarily stunned.
The man from the Shen Medical Hall continued: “After Luo Geng returned from Jizhou, he fell gravely ill and took to his bed, coughing blood day after day. Every treatment was tried and none helped. A little while ago it seemed he had improved slightly — but then Military Commissioner Pan Nuo of Jizhou sent Luo Geng a gift. They say it was a set of women’s robes. The sight of it enraged Luo Geng so badly that he coughed up blood and collapsed. After two days of treatment they could not bring him back.”
Li Chi took a slow breath and asked: “Has the Youzhou Army made any movements?”
Both men shook their heads at the same moment.
Yet Li Chi knew: Luo Jing would never let this lie. A vendetta this deep — with Luo Jing’s nature — how could he not seek retribution?
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