Zhù Qingye was so overwhelmed with worry that she could think of nothing else — she would gladly have traded places with Zhù Ying if she could.
She heard Zhù Ying issue one more instruction: “Contact the capital — Zhù Qingtian.”
Everyone knew there were two people called Qingtian. Zhù Qingye said: “I — I’ve noted it. All right, all right — that’s enough. Everyone understands what’s needed.” She exchanged a meaningful glance with the others, and they all joined together to practically lift Zhù Ying into bed, then carefully checked on her condition.
Treating illness is half treatment, half fate — that was the situation at hand, and especially so when poison was involved, and Zhù Ying had not rested right away. Zhù Ying fell into a deep sleep, but Zhù Qingye dared not relax for even a moment. She spread a felt mat at the side of the bed and made her bed there on the floor, not daring to sleep soundly. With a wound on the face, once the pain and itching and numbness set in, it would be very hard not to scratch at it — so Zhù Qingye simply sat at the bedside and kept watch.
Zhù Ying’s condition also worried her. The wound, by all reasoning, was not deep enough to produce anything too serious. But once you begin to worry about someone, even a flick of the finger can feel like a grievous injury.
In the second half of the night, Zhù Ying broke out in a sweat again. Zhù Qingye shook her awake, poured another dose of medicine down her throat, and quietly prayed.
This continued for two days. Zhù Ying finally emerged from it with a clear head. She pulled away the blanket and slowly got out of bed. Zhù Qingye had just begun to doze when she jolted awake, instantly fully alert: “What are you doing?!”
Zhù Ying’s voice was still a bit thick: “Getting up.”
“That you absolutely cannot do! You’re still weak! Besides — I didn’t know this before — you have old injuries too? Best to get everything healed at once. Su Mingluan has already set out with the others to lay the ambush. Our young lord has also conscripted labor as you instructed, to be ready for fires. And — you cannot go out! You said so yourself, don’t you remember? You told us to pretend there was an ambush being laid—”
By the end, her voice grew quieter and more worried — she was afraid Zhù Ying had been addled by the poison and that the earlier instructions had been nothing but fever-ravings. It couldn’t be, could it? The ambush she had described struck Zhù Qingye as rather good.
Surely not. Surely not.
Zhù Ying said: “Ah — yes, that’s right. What about the prisoners I asked them to catch?”
Zhù Qingye said: “Your face has just barely begun to scab over — don’t talk too much, and try not to move your cheek. It’s still a bit swollen. As for the prisoners — some have been caught, but none of the kind you wanted. The kind you wanted need to be caught fresh; they’re working on it now. Don’t move. Let us bring water for you — you need to wash and have the dressing changed.”
Zhù Ying sat in a reclining chair, damp with the warmth of washing, while Zhù Qingye changed the dressing, then took her pulse and said: “You still need to rest.”
Zhù Ying said indistinctly: “Where is A’Lian? Have him come.”
“All right!” That much was permissible.
In the blink of an eye — while Zhù Qingye went to fetch Zhù Lian — she came back to find Zhù Ying straightening her clothing. And reaching for her blade!
Zhù Qingye cried out in alarm and threw herself forward: “Now what are you doing?! Why didn’t any of you stop her?!” Together with Zhù Lian, she tried once more to dissuade Zhù Ying. Zhù Lian said: “Little Sister and the others have already gone out — everything is in place, the rumors have been planted. I’ve had people prepare white cloth and white paper, and I’ve had the coffin shop select good timber — all without saying anything explicitly. Once a rumor spreads, it takes at least another two or three days. Now is still not the time. You just need to rest. As for the prisoner — we’ve just captured one.”
“I want to conduct the interrogation myself.”
“That you cannot do!” said Zhù Qingye. “You must not exert yourself! Whatever you want to ask, have them ask it for you — don’t tire yourself out.”
In her heart she deeply revered Zhù Ying, yet now she planted her hands on her hips like a two-handled vase: “If you behave like this, I’m going straight home to tell our teacher, and she—” She couldn’t bear for her to worry, could she?
Zhù Ying’s voice was still a bit thick, but the words came out without missing a beat: “Oh? Then she’ll cry — and you don’t want her worrying either, do you?”
Shameless — utterly shameless! Zhù Qingye was now certain Zhù Ying had not been addled by the poison. How could a person be this awful? Stealing her very own words to threaten her!
Zhù Lian said: “You should understand the weight you carry for all of us—”
“Bring the prisoner here, you do the asking, and I’ll listen,” said Zhù Ying. “I need to know why they were able to band together, and what connection they have to the Western Barbarians.”
She pointed to her left cheek and looked steadily at the two of them: “Keep this between us. Bring the man in here.”
Under that gaze, the two could only lower their heads. Before long, the “tongue” was brought in. He was a small chieftain of the Xika clan — it was his good fortune to have been captured; any before him had simply been killed. Now he was here to be interrogated instead.
He still tried to be stubborn and say nothing. Beginning with Zhù Lian, not one of them had any patience to spare. A punch came straight down. He had always been the one striking others, never the one being struck — so he was not at all accustomed to taking beatings. Zhù Lian showed no mercy, and shoved the man’s head over the stove where medicine was being boiled, giving him such a fright that everything came tumbling out: “It — it — it was Jima’s Pusheng chieftain who wanted to come himself…”
The Pusheng chieftain was the master of a broad stretch of open plains — the same chieftain who had nearly “detained” Zhù Ying as a guest. He claimed to be avenging his wife’s family. The other Jima clan chieftains had answered his call. The Jima clan had more soldiers, better weapons, and fiercer fighters, while the Xika clan was already under pressure from Zhù Ying — they were only too glad to have allies.
Zhù Ying said: “That’s not the whole story. Vengeance is only a pretext.”
And indeed it was only a pretext. The Jima clan was farther removed from Wuzhou, yet the entire Jima clan had rallied to a single family’s summons, presenting a united front — and after military setbacks, they still had not disbanded. There were naturally material interests at stake. Wuzhou was relatively prosperous — that was one reason. The second was that both clans’ chieftains deeply resented the emancipation of slaves.
They could coexist in peace with the imperial court — though there was no shortage of seizing ordinary people to make into slaves on the side. But the court had never issued any explicit order for them to release their slaves. Zhù Ying was different. What she was doing amounted to making their lives utterly unbearable.
Previously, Wuzhou to these two clans had meant little more than “the court” — they maintained a civil surface with each other, tolerated a bit of friction beneath, made whatever trades were to be made, and muddled along. The mountain goods from Wuzhou were things they were happy to exchange for, and if tea or similar goods were being traded with the Western Barbarians, they had no objection to those caravans passing through their territory.
But not long ago, Wuzhou had loudly declared the emancipation of slaves and encouraged slaves to run away — that was intolerable. And then Zhù Ying had marched directly into the Pusheng chieftain’s territory. What was she after?
The more he thought about it, the more alarming it became. There happened to be a family vendetta ready-made; add to that the thought of Wuzhou’s “legendary riches,” and the idea of raiding it seemed well worth the attempt. One’s own interests were under threat, and with profit beckoning, the old grudges between clans could be set aside temporarily to form a common front.
Zhù Ying gave a nod. Zhù Lian, not wanting to strain her, pressed ahead and asked: “Does the Pusheng chieftain have ties with the Western Barbarians?”
The chieftain said: “His family and the Western Barbarians are neighbors — they’ve always had dealings. They say the Western Barbarians even gave him an official rank.”
Zhù Lian also grew serious: “Was the Pusheng chieftain’s mobilization directed by the Western Barbarians?”
The chieftain nodded, then shook his head: “Sort of — but not quite.”
Zhù Lian clenched his fist. The chieftain quickly added: “One moment he says the Western Barbarians are supporting him from behind, the next he says the Western Barbarians can’t actually dictate to him — and that they have things they need from him too. And he showed some blades and bows, saying the Western Barbarians gave them as gifts.”
The picture was murky.
Zhù Qingye then asked about the poisoned arrow. On this the chieftain knew something. Coating weapons in poison was not common practice — for one thing, poison was not always easy to preserve for long; it was troublesome. For another, it could easily cause accidental harm to one’s own side — blunt iron was simpler and more reliable. The poisoned arrows had therefore been specially prepared and intended for use against Zhù Qingjun. Someone among the Pusheng chieftain’s men had recognized Zhù Ying — and so Zhù Ying had been the one who benefited from their attention.
At the time, the Pusheng chieftain had been making all manner of boasts. Now, seeing that Zhù Ying was still very much alive, one truly had to say — Heaven’s eyes had gone shut.
Zhù Lian asked several more questions about the Pusheng chieftain’s current situation. He learned that their provisions were running dangerously thin, casualties had also been significant, and there were signs of impatience. Pressed further, the chieftain had nothing more of substance to offer. Zhù Lian looked to Zhù Ying; Zhù Ying raised her hand and drew it across her throat.
Zhù Lian covered the chieftain’s mouth and had men lead him away to be executed. Two more prisoners were interrogated, and the accounts they gave were essentially the same.
Zhù Ying had a clear picture in her mind now. The Pusheng chieftain was most likely a “loosely bound vassal” of the Western Barbarian Kun Da Chi. She had been mentally prepared for this situation. When two adjacent power centers exist in proximity, if there is absolutely no exchange between them, that is in fact the strange thing.
It was simply that in her plans, that was the last confrontation to be faced. Now she needed to move some of her reserved preparations forward in time — for instance, cavalry. And also, she needed to take earlier precautions against Western Barbarian interference in her showdown with the Pusheng chieftain.
Zhù Qingye said: “Grandmaster — you can’t go out now. Can we rest a while?”
Zhù Lian also said: “Since the cracks in the enemy camp have already shown themselves, there is no need to worry too much about Qingjun and Little Sister. Let’s simply wait for their good news.”
“I know what is and isn’t important. I won’t go out.” There was little left to learn. Zhù Ying stopped insisting, and she truly remained inside the room to recuperate — calmly waiting for news from the front.
At the front, Su Zhe and the others had been lying quietly in wait for a very long time. The other side had made no move for two days running. They set up traps, kept watch on the enemy, and waited impatiently for the enemy to come and meet their end — yet dreaded they might come too soon before the traps were fully prepared.
In this particular form of torment, the Pusheng chieftain received word — Zhù Ying was dead!
The Pusheng chieftain laughed loudly: “Excellent! Truly excellent! A snake cannot move without its head! Cut off this snake’s head, and there is snake meat for us all!”
The Sangli chieftain said: “Even if the Yigan family comes back, I swear I will capture enough slaves!”
“Of course.”
The Sangli chieftain’s son’s face changed color — which brought laughing mockery from those around him: “You’re thinking about that fierce girl of their family!”
Amid the laughter, talk turned to dividing the spoils. The Pusheng chieftain and the other Jima people only wanted to take some wealth and slaves and leave — and help restore the Ganyi family’s territory while they were at it; everything else could be left for the Xika people to handle, since the Jima had no intention of migrating in this direction. The Xika people, in contrast, hoped above all to destroy Wuzhou’s fighting strength, so that Wuzhou could never again pose a threat to them. They demanded that the Jima help them kill off all the “chieftains” on Wuzhou and especially Zhù Ying’s side.
Both sides agreed. They conducted a joint blood sacrifice of human offerings and pledged to launch a direct assault on the camp!
Only at this point did the Pusheng chieftain finally feel his heart settle back into his chest. He knew that Zhù Qingjun had been making trouble behind his lines all along. If the campaign produced no forward progress, he would be compelled to withdraw. And now — this was an unexpected gift! Push forward first, let his side resupply, then return home at the head of rested troops, and on the way, take the opportunity to confront the isolated, exhausted forces of Zhù Qingjun.
A perfect plan.
The plan itself was not particularly elaborate — several chieftains each chose a direction and charged Zhù Ying’s main camp. After killing those who resisted, they would resupply using the camp’s provisions, then march on Gan County.
The plan was well conceived; execution proceeded smoothly. But once they broke into the camp, they encountered some resistance. The defenders seemed barely awake — a shallow push of resistance, then they fled. A short distance on, when it seemed they could not escape, they turned and fought again for a while. Occasionally a small relief unit would join up mid-retreat to offer another round of resistance.
Fight, then flee again. No one could say how many times this back-and-forth was repeated. The coalition was drawn deeper and deeper in.
Su Zhe and the others were executing their own plan flawlessly, though they were fuming inwardly: the enemy had too many men! The camp had been expanded in haste and could not contain them all within the killing zone to be burned away entirely.
They had grown up under Zhù Ying’s care — Su Zhe in particular, for Zhù Ying had raised her longer than even her own mother. Zhù Ying’s injury had filled her with a full measure of rage. She gave the order: “Archers and crossbow units, ready! Don’t spare arrows for my sake! Take aim at their chieftains and their archers!”
When the ambush zone could hold no more, Su Zhe shot a fire arrow into the sky — a sharp, whistling thing that cut through the air. The tribal soldiers tied cloth strips to their arrowheads, dipped them in fire oil, and lit them. The sound of arrows breaking through the air rang out as tent after tent packed with dry kindling caught fire. From both mountainsides, rolling logs and boulders were sent crashing down.
Su Zhe looked coldly at the sea of fire below: “Don’t worry about anyone still inside — watch the ones escaping outward. Kill them.”
The battle lasted from daylight into darkness, and only quieted in the latter part of the night. The Pusheng coalition suffered a crushing defeat. The Pusheng chieftain had a good horse and sharp instincts — he was the first to pull back, running twenty li before finally stopping. Seeing no pursuit behind him, he began gathering the remnants of his forces and linking up with the other chieftains.
The chieftains, though they feared his power, still grumbled: “We have lost so many men.”
The Pusheng chieftain, seeing too many complaints, lowered the posturing he had half-raised and said: “I believe that woman is surely dead by now — they did not pursue us; they must have gone back to hold a funeral. Let’s rest and regroup our soldiers properly, and then strike again!”
The Sangli chieftain was emphatically in favor!
The other chieftains’ expressions darkened. None of them had been completely wiped out, but each had taken significant losses; none of them had any heart left for fighting. The Pusheng chieftain rallied them with encouragement, pledging firmly that Zhù Ying was dead, and promising that when this campaign succeeded, each family would receive weapons as their reward.
The chieftains’ spirits began to stir again.
They regrouped, counted their losses — and found they had suffered a third of their forces. The losses varied by family; those who had lost more were seething, those who had lost less felt a quiet, guilty relief. As for provisions and supplies — every family was having difficulty keeping up. The Pusheng chieftain pressed all the harder: “Why not fight to the death? They have grain and men, don’t they? Take it!”
At last the assembled chieftains unified their position!
They agreed to regroup and refit. In three days — fight again!
On the other side, Zhù Ying received the good news and finally stepped out of her room. Standing in the sunlight, she stretched long and wide: “Well, well — not bad at all!”
Su Zhe and the others, seeing her alive, were overjoyed! Su Zhe came running and threw her arms around Zhù Ying’s waist: “You scared me half to death! From now on, you are not allowed on the front line!”
“Exactly!” Zhù Qingye echoed!
Su Zhe went on murmuring, things like “In the north you wouldn’t let me go to the front line — and now look who’s the one that got hurt” — and then, prompted by a reminder, released her hold and gave a battle report.
Prisoners there were, but very few — Su Zhe justified herself unabashedly in having killed all the enemy commanders outright, with no trace of remorse: “Unfortunately they didn’t leave much in the way of weapons and armor — only a few animals, and not much grain left over.”
Zhù Ying said: “Send out scouts. Keep them close-watching.”
“Already done. They’ve regrouped — doesn’t seem like they’re giving up. I’ve got people ready to call on them to surrender. They don’t treat their own soldiers well — offer one bowl of rice and they’ll come running. ” Su Zhe said with mockery.
Zhù Ying said: “Be careful.”
“Of course. We’ll screen thoroughly for enemy plants.”
Both sides were refitting, both watching the other closely. On Zhù Ying’s side, she still stayed put — Zhù Qingjun and the others had already spread out. On the other side, the Pusheng chieftain grew increasingly uneasy. He had brought the most soldiers — but those soldiers, unfortunately, were simply not as capable in battle as Wuzhou’s tribal fighters. The other chieftains were already dissatisfied. If the next engagement was also lost, he would have no choice but to withdraw in haste, and his prestige would suffer.
This caused the Pusheng chieftain considerable anguish.
When the day came for the two sides to meet, the Pusheng chieftain did not even bother with the killing ritual in front of the battle line — only the standard consecration of the battle flag, and then the drums beat and the charge began!
To his surprise, the opposing side suddenly raised a great banner with a single character — “Zhù.” The Pusheng chieftain could not read the character, but he recognized the pattern on the flag. He assumed Zhù Qingjun had returned and felt a burst of gladness: if she had appeared in front of him, she would not be behind making trouble in the rear. Good news.
But then several shields parted and Zhù Ying emerged, surrounded by them.
She was not dead!
The chieftains’ ranks, already not particularly orderly, became even more chaotic.
The two sides met in battle. Su Zhe anchored the position; Jin Yu pushed forward aggressively — growing steadier and steadier. The Pusheng chieftain and the others gained no advantage. One chieftain saw the situation turning and led his own people off the field. The Pusheng chieftain too had no choice but to retreat once more.
This time, they fled even farther. At this point, the Pusheng chieftain could no longer suppress the voices calling to “go home.” The Sangli chieftain cried out in alarm: “The enmity is already set — if you run now, she will come for you in the future all the same.”
The chieftains were unmoved. Some said: “If we don’t run now, she’ll come for us right now.” Others said: “She’ll come for you — not necessarily for me.” And so on.
The Sangli chieftain said to the Pusheng chieftain: “You came here of your own will. Now you owe us some kind of account.”
In the midst of the argument, another piece of terrible news arrived — Zhù Qingjun had gone berserk.
Zhù Qingjun had been fighting in a manner that was fairly disciplined up to now; traveling alongside Zhù Ying all those years had given her a slight “imperial army” pride in the rules of engagement. But then she suddenly received word that Zhù Ying “had been killed by the Pusheng chieftain” — and Zhù Qingjun was seized simultaneously by shock and fury, and quickly turned her forces and fought her way back.
She tore through the various village chieftains a second time. Along the way, she also dug up the enemies’ ancestors’ graves. Wherever she encountered Jima people bearing blades or bows, she treated them as mortal enemies; punched a hole straight through the rear of the Pusheng chieftain’s territory; redirected water flow to flood one large stretch of road; dug through two more major roads; and completely severed the supply lines.
The Pusheng chieftain’s face went dark. He said: “If you want to go, I won’t stop you. After this — we all settle our own separate accounts.”
The chieftains’ hearts and minds were thrown into disarray. Each led his soldiers home, thinking as he went about how to avoid this killing star. Within two days, they were gone to the last man.
Only the Sangli chieftain remained, keeping the Pusheng chieftain: “You and I are her greatest enemies.”
The Pusheng chieftain smiled: “You’re right. I’ll stay.”
The Sangli chieftain was slightly reassured and sent food and wine to entertain him. The Pusheng chieftain and he drank together, freely and openly.
That night, the Sangli chieftain sank into sweet dreams. He suddenly heard the sound of killing — he lurched in bed with a violent start, opened his eyes, and listened. It was not a dream! The door was pushed open. The Sangli chieftain sat up, and his son came bursting in: “Father! The Pusheng chieftain has raided our granary!”