“…The second — Wanyan Huodang, Jurchen army commander of the Yanshan Guard… By judgment of the Huaxia People’s Tribunal, the sentence for this criminal is death! To be carried out immediately!”

“…The third. Wanyan Ling… By judgment of the Huaxia People’s Tribunal, the sentence for this criminal is death! To be carried out immediately!”

“…The fourth…”

“…Death! To be carried out immediately!”

…

The sounds in his mind sometimes seemed to grow distant, then suddenly close again. The sentencing voice rang out amid the surging noise of the crowd, listing one by one the crimes of the Jurchen prisoners of war dragged out this time. These were all elite soldiers of the Jurchen army, commanders great and small — and even the lightest of their crimes could not escape the word “massacre.” From the Central Plains to Jiangnan, countless massacres, from the sacking of entire cities down to the slaughter of single villages — to them, these had been nothing more than routine assignments in the course of military life.

The Huaxia Army had matched some of its records directly to their names.

Wanyan Qingjue stood there in a daze. This was the first time in his entire life he had experienced fear like this — his thoughts churned wildly in his head, his soul struggling with all its might, yet his body felt drained of all strength, as though it had been wrung dry; he wanted to move, but simply could not.

His churning thoughts were chaotic and complex, yet they could not focus on the reality before him. At times they stirred up his deepest childhood memories; at times they flickered past silhouettes of his own countless boastful declarations. He thought of conversations with his teacher, of memories from his early days of marriage, and of the countless scenes from the southern invasion — these images came like fragments: crowds of people kneeling on the ground, people screaming and writhing in pools of blood, people with foam at their mouths, in tattered clothes, skin and bones, yet still kneeling in the most abject posture, begging for mercy… He had seen countless scenes like this, had sneered at these Han people, and afterward the Jurchen soldiers had slaughtered them.

He wanted to resist, wanted to beg for mercy, but for the moment he couldn’t settle on any plan. If he broke into a sprint, what would happen the next instant? He needed to think it through clearly, because this was his last choice… He glanced carefully to the side, but the soldier standing beside him was an entirely unremarkable Huaxia Army fighter, and he thought again of the sound of footsteps he heard every morning in the camp…

The Huaxia Army’s sentence said the verdict would be carried out immediately, yet they weren’t killing people one by one — perhaps they were waiting to gather five at a time? Or ten?

At some point, he realized his whole body was trembling, and mucus had begun running from his nose without his noticing. He wanted to reach up and wipe it away, but couldn’t bring himself to move: it doesn’t matter if I look pathetic — perhaps if I look pathetic enough, these Huaxia Army soldiers will let their guard down… He didn’t dare look the soldiers in the eye, afraid they would notice his thoughts of fleeing…

The sentencing list had reached the fifth name.

A Huaxia Army officer up ahead said something. Someone beside him gave him a shove and spoke, but Wanyan Qingjue couldn’t quite make out the words — clearly, though, he was being told to walk forward.

“Hey…”

A sound came from deep in his throat, barely audible. He refused to move; the soldier beside him shoved him forcefully, and Wanyan Qingjue’s feet resisted for a moment.

“Hey…”

His mind filled with thoughts of his deceased parents, his wife and children back home, of that seemingly all-powerful teacher of his… He wanted to break into a run.

Two arms reached out from either side and seized him. Two Huaxia Army soldiers shoved him forward, and his feet finally began stumbling forward in small, unsteady steps, being pushed along in this staggering fashion. He was still trying to think of some way out when, not far off, a Jurchen general let out a howl — hoarse and wretched, mingled with the sounds of struggle. The Huaxia Army soldier beside him struck him with an iron rod, and then someone came forward with a long pole fitted with a loop, hooking it around the upper body of that Jurchen general and dragging him forward as though he were livestock.

That Jurchen general’s struggling wasn’t especially fierce — it looked, more than anything, like the pitiful thrashing of a cornered beast. Wanyan Qingjue didn’t resist violently either; he knew that these Huaxia Army soldiers had no shred of humanity in them, and that any resistance would only guarantee worse treatment.

His steps were tiny, trying to draw out the time before he reached his destination. He tried to shout “Ning Yi” at the top of his lungs, but before the word “Ning” had even left his mouth, he wondered whether he ought to say “Mr. Ning” instead, and as he opened his mouth again, the word “Ning…” was swallowed back in his throat. He knew the man wouldn’t spare him — shouting would do no good.

He had to think of something else, or else just throw caution to the wind and try to break free and run…

Countless sounds buzzed in his head, as though everything he had experienced in his entire life, everyone he had ever met, were all watching him now with open eyes. He didn’t know when the tears had started, mixing now with the mucus on his face.

Ahead was a large pit. He walked to the edge of it.

The Huaxia Army soldier dragging him by the arm seemed to say: “Turn around.”

Wanyan Qingjue turned mechanically.

He saw Huaxia Army soldiers approaching in a line, rifles in hand.

Should he lie down in the pit…

Maybe he could play dead…

For some reason his jaw suddenly clenched hard, biting down viciously on his own tongue. It hurt, but the pain no longer mattered at this point — his body still had strength in it. Scenes of countless massacres he had once witnessed flashed through his mind; once, his teacher had tested him with a question: “Knowing they’re about to die, why do you suppose they simply stand there and don’t resist?”

He had given a fine answer at the time. What had he said, again? He couldn’t remember.

Those slaughtered Han commoners had looked at him with eyes filled with the utmost terror. Now he looked back at them, face to face.

“Father… Mother…”

Certain fragments of memory grew clearer and clearer in his mind…

“I…”

His thoughts…

…

Bang—

…

The five Jurchen men, standing in a row, had their heads burst open.

Throughout the city, countless people cheered. Five bodies collapsed into the earthen pit, and no one cared in the slightest what fear or thought had crossed their minds in their final moment — just as no one had cared, in all the countless murders these men had once committed across the Central Plains and Jiangnan. The dead became corpses and fell; the living turned away and went on with their own vibrant, ongoing lives.

The sentencing had begun, and it continued on.

Before long, more and more people throughout the city came to learn of the news.

The sentencing and execution of the Jurchen prisoners and other war criminals continued for the better part of a day even after the parade concluded.

Gunfire rang out intermittently near Victory Square; disfigured corpses fell into earthen pits, the scent of blood spreading through the air — yet the crowds drawn by the news only grew larger still. People wept, cursed, or cheered, venting their emotions freely.

Though those brought forward were, after all, former Jurchen generals, when it came to the moment of sentencing and execution, those who actually attempted resistance proved to be the minority in the end — and effective resistance, essentially none at all.

The Huaxia Army had already crushed them on the battlefield, and in the reality that followed, they had come to witness firsthand the sheer power of this army. With the main Jurchen forces already back in the Jin state, thousands of li away, any resistance now was utterly futile. Once they came to understand this futility, even the most violent-seeming struggles amounted to little more than the death-throes of a dying beast.

News that the Huaxia Army intended to execute the Jurchen prisoners of war had not been announced in advance. When it happened so suddenly, the onlooking crowds felt a rush of excitement and fervor — some even went home and returned with steamed buns and coins, seeking out the executioners in hopes of dipping something in the condemned men’s blood to use as medicine. Such behavior was, of course, strictly forbidden across the board. On the other hand, the dignitaries seated on the various viewing platforms who witnessed the scene mostly found it rather unexpected as well.

If ordinary commoners had, to some degree, anticipated and even looked forward to a scene of executions, then men like Yan Daolun and Guan Shanhai truly had not anticipated this outcome at all. In their view, not killing these Jurchen prisoners could have brought countless benefits — using them as bargaining chips in negotiations with the Jurchens, for instance, could yield immediate gains, or help establish an advantage more quickly amid the current chaos. Even without conducting a trade for them right away, holding them captive would leave the option open to use them as leverage at some future point — a position offering flexibility either way.

By contrast, killing them now yielded nothing tangible at all, beyond giving the common people below a moment of wild celebration.

For a long time now, the Huaxia Army, struggling to survive amid difficult circumstances, had loudly proclaimed to the outside world that they dealt in business and honored contracts. Ning Yi had done business with the northwest, with Western Xia, and had conducted numerous trades with the Jurchens as well; after settling in the southwest, he’d carried out countless business dealings with various factions across the Central Plains and Jiangnan. And during the southwestern campaign itself, Ning Yi had even used Jurchen prisoners to ransom back a group of captured Huaxia Army soldiers — so now, holding such a fine set of bargaining chips in hand, why had he suddenly decided not to conduct any business with them at all?

Amid such puzzlement, at the midday banquet, someone finally brought the matter up to Ning Yi. The opening line, predictably, was a familiar one:

“…After this, there will truly be no turning back between the Huaxia Army and the Jin state — an endless cycle of vengeance, surely.”

“Has there ever really been an opportunity for reconciliation between the Huaxia Army and the Jurchens?” Ning Yi asked with a smile in return.

“There has, in fact. Back during the Xiaocang River period, for instance, the Jin envoy Fan Hongji came to see Mr. Ning to open negotiations. And before the southwestern campaign, I hear Xiyin sent an envoy as well.”

The one speaking was a Confucian scholar surnamed Huang. Ning Yi smiled. “And does Old Master Huang know why the Jurchens were willing to negotiate with the Huaxia Army at all?”

The man thought for a moment. “…Because, from the very start, the Huaxia Army chose the path of endless, uncompromising vengeance.”

“Exactly.” Ning Yi said. “That’s simply how things work in this world — if you choose to fight to the bitter end without compromise, others will leave you room to maneuver. But if you go looking for room to maneuver from the start, the other side won’t even bother negotiating with you at all. So why should I concern myself with it?”

“But doing this — slaughtering the Jurchen prisoners — surely the Jin side will retaliate in kind by slaughtering Han prisoners? There was, after all, room for negotiation here.”

Ning Yi looked at the man and fell silent for a moment. “They’re already killing them.”

He paused. “War is an exchange of pieces. Some debts were incurred long ago — it may look as though a person is still alive, but in reality, they’re already out of your hands. The Jurchens have long made a habit of slaughtering Han people, killing a few here and there regardless of the circumstances. If we execute Jurchen prisoners, of course they’ll retaliate in kind — but if we truly let ourselves be swayed by such retaliation, then starting today, they’ll use these Han prisoners to threaten us a second time, a third time, a fourth time, and in the end our losses will only grow far greater.”

His answer ended there. Someone then asked: “The Jurchens are already killing Han prisoners?”

“No one can stop it,” Ning Yi said quietly, with a sigh.

Outside, the faint sound of gunfire from the executions could still be heard drifting in from time to time…

The city’s celebrations, boiling over like a great cauldron, continued unabated for most of the day. Even in the out-of-the-way clinic, the commotion from outside could be heard drifting in wave after wave.

Qu Longjun, her back wound now slightly healed, could occasionally sit up in bed, and she too had heard of the great feat of executing the Jurchens outside — so much so that the doctors and wounded soldiers at the clinic had all run out to watch the excitement, and from time to time distant cries of admiration could be heard drifting back: “The Huaxia Army truly is something…”

“That took guts…”

Even separated by several courtyard walls, Qu Longjun could hear the genuine, heartfelt praise in those voices.

With her simple sixteen years of life experience, the Huaxia Army truly did seem admirable — over these past few months, this had become almost impossible to deny. But the fact that her father had been killed by the Huaxia Army stood in the way of her thinking too deeply on the matter. She could only try to keep her mind occupied with other things.

Such as: could women really hold up half the sky?

She sat on the bed, flipping through the book in puzzlement for half the afternoon.

The book was written entirely in coarse vernacular language, its content easy enough to follow — drawing on the stories of women who had made something of themselves through their own efforts, it offered various suggestions and summaries of what women were capable of doing, punctuated here and there with rousing slogans like “who says women are inferior to men,” encouraging women to actively participate in work — joining the Huaxia Army’s weaving workshops, for instance, was held up as an excellent path, one where they would supposedly feel all sorts of collective warmth, and so on.

Qu Longjun could not, for the life of her, understand what that young military doctor’s intention had been in leaving this book here.

She had come to the southwest because Wen Shoubin had wanted to cause trouble for the Huaxia Army; her father, who had once led troops against Xiaocang River, had been killed by the Huaxia Army — all of this the Huaxia Army already knew. And yet what they intended to do with her hadn’t even been made clear. Once her wound healed, she might be put on trial, beaten, or even executed…

But looking at this book — could it be that what the Huaxia Army had decided was to marry her off to some man here, then send her into one of their workshops to labor for the rest of her life as punishment?

Wherever in the world one might be, such a notion would seem strange indeed.

She spent half the day flipping through the book, still uncertain whether it had really been Dr. Long who left it there. At noon, when Auntie Gu came by, Qu Longjun cautiously brought it up, mentioning that someone had left a book by her bedside without saying who. Auntie Gu took a look at it, but only said it hadn’t been her.

In the afternoon, when the young doctor came to check on her wound, Qu Longjun worked up her courage and, lying prone on the bed, said quietly: “Someone— someone left a book by my bed. Dr.— Dr. Long… was it you?”

“What book?” Long Aotian’s expression turned proud and aloof, his gaze puzzled.

Not him?

Qu Longjun grew confused as well, and pulled out the book, Women Too Hold Up Half the Sky. He took it, looked it over, and even stood by the bed flipping through a few pages earnestly, his expression one of disdain.

“‘Women too hold up half the sky’ — why would I read something like this! Look, this is clearly written for you women.”

“Um…” Qu Longjun found his expression rather fierce and shrank back in fright. “I wasn’t saying it was you reading it — I meant, I don’t know who left it here…”

“…” Long Aotian fell silent for a moment, then set the book down. “Well, it wasn’t me, anyway. Might as well read it, then — it’s meant for women.”

Having said this, he offered nothing further. Qu Longjun didn’t dare press the matter, but just as he was about to leave, she finally spoke up: “Dr.— Dr. Long, if it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t Auntie Gu either, then who exactly came into this room?”

“Everyone at this clinic is a good person — what’s there to be afraid of… anyway, I’ll keep a close eye on things around here, so you don’t need to worry about it. It was probably… one of the nurses brought it for you to read, I’d guess. In any case, nothing to worry about.”

He repeated the reassurance several times, then walked out with his nose held high.

…

That evening, as Auntie Gu was washing clothes in the courtyard, she struck up a conversation with young Ning Ji, who was sitting nearby shelling beans.

“Ning Ji, was it you who gave that little girl the book, Women Too Hold Up Half the Sky?”

“Shh.” Ning Ji held up a finger. “Auntie Gu, don’t tell her.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t you say yourself, just a few days ago — she’s all alone, sixteen years old, no family left, and that Wen Shoubin who sold her into all this is dead now too. Who knows what she’s supposed to do from here. I thought about it, and it made sense, so I bought her a book to help her learn to stand on her own two feet.”

“Huh?” Auntie Gu’s round, plump face filled with confusion. “Why… why does she need to learn to stand on her own two feet?”

“Of course she needs to learn to stand on her own two feet. Our Huaxia Army does good deeds, sure, but we’ve already saved her, already treated her wounds — we’ve spent quite a bit of money on her by now. Once her injury heals, she obviously can’t just keep freeloading here forever. I figure it’s best if she leaves on her own — if she gets kicked out instead, that’d look bad. Tch, saving people is such a hassle.”

“Er…” Auntie Gu looked the young boy up and down as he sat on the steps shelling beans. “So that’s… that’s what you had in mind, little Ning Ji…”

“What else would it be?” Ning Ji stared back at her, eyes wide with obvious conviction.

“Heh heh, Auntie was just thinking…” Auntie Gu laughed, weighing her words for a moment. “Auntie was just thinking, so it wasn’t… it wasn’t… it wasn’t because you liked her, that you saved that little girl…”

“Huh?” Ning Ji’s mouth fell open, his fair cheeks visibly flushing red before their very eyes, and then he leapt to his feet. “I— how could I possibly— how could I possibly like a woman… no, wait, I mean, how could I possibly like her. I, I, I…”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it — Auntie just got the wrong idea, thought you wanted to bring her home as a child bride, heh heh.” The plump woman laughed and waved her hand.

Ning Ji hopped in place a couple of times. “How could that be — I just happened to save her, just felt she didn’t deserve to die, that’s all, and then Sister Chuyi made me deal with the aftermath, so I gave her the book to read! Otherwise I’d kick her out right now—”

“All right, all right, all right, I believe you, of course I believe you, Auntie just got the wrong idea. Go on, shell your beans, shell your beans — kicking her out now, what would that even accomplish, kids these days…”

“Once she’s better, I’m kicking her out.”

“Well, don’t go overboard about it either. All right, her injury isn’t minor — Auntie will just take charge of looking after her for now. Ah, such a young thing, and delicate too — can’t even manage a few bites of food.”

“I didn’t think she looked all that delicate.”

“Not delicate, not delicate, a bit rough around the edges, really…”

As the setting sun dyed the earth a deep crimson, those responsible for collecting the dead had already dragged Wanyan Qingjue’s body onto a wooden cart. Throughout the city and beyond its walls, people came and went, countless matters large and small intertwining, unfolding without pause.

The girl named Qu Longjun, tossing and turning on her bed as she read that tedious book, had no idea that in the courtyard next door, that seemingly stern and haughty young military doctor was swearing up and down that he meant to kick her out to fend for herself — and the boy, having just been insulted by the suggestion that he liked girls, naturally had no idea either that, not long after nightfall that very evening, Auntie Gu would run into Min Chuyi making her rounds nearby and tell her all about his behavior that evening, leaving Min Chuyi both amused and puzzled.

Later still, Min Chuyi met up with the exhausted Ning Xi near Moheh Pool, and quietly told her about it too. Ning Xi declared she couldn’t care less about her little brother’s romantic troubles — she was practically dead on her feet and needed some sympathy of her own — after which she was set upon by her own fiancé, the beating turning mutual, and the scene was soon obscured by the drifting clouds of the night sky.

In the northern lands of Jin, the slaughter of Han slaves was already unfolding in all its various forms across that land. News of Wuqimai’s death had begun to spread in limited circles — a storm concerning the fate of the entire Jin state was now silently brewing amid this chaotic, frenzied atmosphere.

In early autumn, Tang Minjie, watching secretly from the shadows, received the first round of instructions from the south since Lu Mingfang’s death.

By this time, the Huaxia Army’s first military parade had already concluded, and the first Huaxia People’s Congress convened as scheduled — the southwest flourishing, full of promise.

At this time, no one could yet foresee what was to come, in the lands of the north…