Fourteenth day of the eighth month. Overcast.
Tang Minjie led Xu Xiaolin, posing as Khitan, through the checkpoint at the city gate, and the two headed toward the post station outside the city. The land on either side of the official road outside Yunzhong was grey and barren, stripped bare of even the wild grass.
In the distance stood manor estates, workshops, and crude slums, and within view, Han slaves moved about like walking corpses. An old man could be seen carrying a small bundle of firewood, walking slowly, back bent double—though whether he was truly “old,” given conditions here, was itself hard to say.
Farther off stood mountains and trees, but Xu Xiaolin recalled what Tang Minjie had told him—that out of sheer hatred for the Han people, many now forbade even the gathering of wood from those distant hillsides. The dwellings within view were crude; even with the ability to heat them, many would still die each winter, and now, with these new restrictions in place, once the heavy snows fell, this place would truly become a living hell on earth.
He had passed through these slum districts before, traveling with the merchant caravan on his way up, but he hadn’t felt anything then quite like what he felt now.
Tang Minjie walked beside him, head bowed, speaking as he went. “…I couldn’t write too much in my letters about the steppe people’s affairs—once you’re back, please be sure to raise the matter directly with Master Ning. It’s true the Martial Dynasty made a foolish move allying with the Jin against the Liao back in the day, but that was because the Martial Dynasty itself was weak to begin with. Now that the southwestern campaign is over, it’ll still be some time before we push north, and using one tiger to devour another might well be worth a try. This time the steppe people came, not to seize cities, but specifically to plunder the Jurchens’ military equipment—I’d say their ambitions run rather deep…”
“I’ll relay this in detail.” The matter of the steppe people might well become a major policy direction for future work in the north, and Xu Xiaolin understood the significance of it, though he found himself puzzled about something. “But this side already has the authority to make provisional decisions on the ground—why not form a judgment here first, then report it south?”
“Master Ning’s attitude toward the steppe people has always struck me as a bit odd. He never made himself entirely clear on the matter before, and I’m worried I might misread his intent, or that there might be some consideration I’m simply not aware of.”
Tang Minjie went on to explain roughly what he meant to Xu Xiaolin. Master Ning had once made a trip to Western Xia, and upon returning had said only that the steppe people should be treated as enemies. But at the time, these steppe peoples hadn’t yet set foot in the Central Plains, and the siege of Yunzhong earlier this year hadn’t happened yet either—so Ning Yi’s assessment back then might well have been somewhat oversimplified. Now, with a clearer picture of the situation, there was naturally room for a new response.
“…Yunzhong was originally counted a great city, but after Zonghan set up his ‘Western Court’ here, and with a million-odd captured Han people added on top, the city had long since outgrown its walls, spilling out into these surrounding villages and workshops. When the steppe people came earlier this year, a small number of the Han slaves outside the city managed to flee inside, while most of the rest were taken captive, herded up and penned outside the city, and most of the surrounding villages were burned to the ground…”
Seeing Xu Xiaolin’s gaze fixed on the scene around them, Tang Minjie went on to explain further.
“…The steppe people’s real target was the military equipment stockpiled over at Fengzhou, so they didn’t carry out a large-scale massacre here. After they left, quite a few people were still alive. But what difference did that make, in the end? These weren’t good houses to begin with, and once burned, rebuilding them made them even harder to live in—and now they won’t even let people cut firewood. Honestly, it might be better if the steppe people came through a few more times. Their cavalry moves like the wind, coming and going—no good at sieges, but excellent at open-field warfare, and they’re fond of tossing corpses that have been dead for days into the city…”
“…Back when the steppe people came, Shi Li’ai was still holding things together in Yunzhong, and no plague broke out—most other cities likely wouldn’t have been able to prevent one. Once enough people die off, the surviving Han people might, if anything, find things a little easier…”
Tang Minjie rambled on, his tone as calm and even as a southwestern housewife chatting away while walking down the road. On an ordinary day, Xu Xiaolin might have had all sorts of thoughts about the consequences of drawing the steppe people in further—but having just witnessed those hunched, shuffling figures, he suddenly understood the other man’s state of mind.
They continued talking the rest of the way, until, not far from the post station, they met up with the Khitan merchant caravan arranged beforehand. Tang Minjie spoke briefly with the caravan’s leader, then came back to give Xu Xiaolin a few final reminders about matters to watch for on the road. The two men parted ways beneath the grey sky; when Xu Xiaolin looked back one last time, that unremarkable figure had already merged into the stream of travelers heading toward Yunzhong, and vanished from sight in an instant.
…
Passing through the gate checkpoint, he made his way back through the streets and alleys to his lodgings. It looked as if rain was about to fall from the sky, and the pedestrians on the road all hurried along—though thanks to the north wind blowing, the stench of the muddy roads was somewhat less overpowering than usual.
As he neared the run-down street where he was temporarily staying, Tang Minjie slowed his pace as a matter of habit, then circled around a small loop to check for any sign of being followed.
The sky was overcast, threatening rain, and there were few people about on the road, which made the check easier than usual. But as he drew near the shabby courtyard where he lived, Tang Minjie’s steps slowed slightly. A figure in tattered black clothing was staggering forward, steadying herself against the wall, before finally collapsing beneath the eaves outside the courtyard gate, as if seeking shelter from the coming rain, curled into a small huddled ball.
A flicker of doubt crossed Tang Minjie’s mind. He walked on slowly, watching for a moment, and saw the figure struggle to rise again, staggering forward once more. He let out a breath of relief and headed toward the courtyard gate. From the corner of his eye, he saw the figure hesitate by the roadside, then turn back—perhaps seeing him about to open the gate, she hurried forward two steps and reached out to grab at him.
“Help me…”
Tang Minjie shifted his body to avoid her outstretched hand. It was a haggard, emaciated Han woman, her face pale, a wound on her forehead, calling out to him for help.
“Help me, kind sir, help me… please, take me in for a while…”
Over the past decade and more, Jin territory had rounded up several million Han slaves, of whom only a vanishingly small number retained any freedom. In the early years they’d been treated like pigs and dogs—forced laborers, brothel slaves—and by now, few of them remained alive. In later years, once Wuqimai forbade the arbitrary slaughter of Han slaves, some great households had begun using them as maidservants and household staff instead, improving conditions somewhat, but in any case, very few Han slaves were ever granted their freedom. Given the current conditions in Yunzhong Prefecture, ordinary reasoning suggested this woman was likely a slave from some household who could no longer bear it and had fled.
Someone was approaching from further down the lane; for the moment, they didn’t yet seem to have noticed what was happening here. The woman’s expression grew increasingly desperate, tears streaming down her gaunt face. She reached up and pulled open the front of her robe—her right shoulder down to her chest was covered in wounds, a large patch of flesh already beginning to fester, giving off a sickening stench.
She wept as she spoke: “If they catch me and drag me back, I’ll die… please, kind sir, take me in…”
Tang Minjie looked at her, unable to tell whether this might be some trap set by someone else.
At that moment, servants from some household or other came running down the lane toward them; someone shoved Tang Minjie aside, then kicked the woman down to the ground and began beating and kicking her. The woman’s body curled up on the ground; she cried out a few times before being bound in chains and dragged away like a pig or a dog.
Not a trap, then… that much was now certain.
Tang Minjie watched all of this with a blank expression. When the servants came over to question him, he pulled out his household registration papers from inside his robe and said in a low voice, “I’m not Han.” Only then did they leave.
Cold rain began falling from the sky.
He opened the door, went home, and shut it behind him. Tang Minjie hurried inside, found two books containing certain critical information, wrapped them in cloth and tucked them inside his robe, then put on a rain cape and bamboo hat and went back out. As he closed the courtyard gate, he could still see, from the corner of his eye, the marks left by the woman’s beating—bloodstains on the ground, slowly mixing into the black mud of the road in the rain.
He glanced at it once, then, without lingering, made his way through two streets in the rain and knocked on the back door of a certain house using a prearranged signal. Someone opened the door—a deputy who had worked alongside him in Yunzhong Prefecture for a long time now.
The order to put intelligence work into dormancy had already been passed down through the ranks; this meeting with the deputy had been arranged in advance. Once inside, after a brief check of the surroundings, Tang Minjie got straight to the point.
“Starting today, you’ll take over all my responsibilities in Yunzhong Prefecture on a temporary basis. There are a few pieces of critical information we need to hand over…”
As he spoke, Tang Minjie drew the two books out from inside his robe. The other man looked puzzled, but nodded first regardless, and began carefully noting down everything Tang Minjie told him.
The whole process took quite a while. Afterward, Tang Minjie solemnly handed over the books as well. Once everything was done, the deputy finally asked, “What are you planning to do?”
“I’m going to Shangjing.”
The deputy frowned. “Didn’t we already agree—even going to Shangjing now won’t let you have any real influence over the outcome. You told everyone to focus on staying alive, and now you want to go join in the excitement yourself?”
“Getting firsthand intelligence gives a clearer picture. Even if I can’t intervene right now, it’ll make it easier to think of ways forward later. The Jurchens’ eastern and western courts might go to war—but ‘might’ also means they might not.”
The deputy frowned again. “…Don’t be reckless. Manager Lu’s style was different from yours—he was strong on gathering intelligence, weak on taking action. If you get to Shangjing and things don’t go well, and you try to force your way through, you’ll get people killed.”
“I won’t force anything. Don’t worry.”
The other man looked over at him, and Tang Minjie looked back. After a moment, that gaze finally, reluctantly, dropped away. Tang Minjie stood up.
“Well then, that’s settled. Take care of yourself.”
“You’re the one heading two thousand li north—you take care of yourself.”
The deputy said this while seeing him to the door, and couldn’t help adding one more warning as they parted: “Given how things stand, they’re bound to fight it out sooner or later. Just watch from the sidelines. Don’t do anything.”
“I know. Stop fussing like an old woman.”
…
Walking all the way back to the courtyard where he lived, the rain seeped through his rain cape; the eighth-month weather was startlingly cold. Come to think of it, tomorrow would be the fifteenth of the eighth month—the full moon of Mid-Autumn. But how many moons, damn it, would actually be full tonight?
Tang Minjie stood outside the courtyard for a moment. At his feet was the spot where that woman had been beaten and bled earlier; by now every trace of it had already mixed into the black mud, no longer visible at all. He knew this was the color of the Han people on Jin soil—some of them, himself included, could still bleed red when beaten. But sooner or later, all of them would turn to this same color.
The next day, the fifteenth of the eighth month, Tang Minjie set out north.