“…The story going around these days is this: the succession of the next Jin emperor was originally a matter between Zonggan and Zonghan, but Wuqimai’s son Zongpan was too ambitious and insisted on claiming the throne. Wuqimai, of course, hadn’t agreed at first…”
By the flickering lamplight, Cheng Min mended socks with old cloth, chatting idly with Tang Minjie about Wuqimai’s affairs.
“…Whether compared to Zonghan or Zonggan, Zongpan falls far short in both temperament and ability, not to mention he never achieved much merit in the past. Word on the street is that before Wuqimai’s stroke, father and son had quarreled over this very matter — some even say it was Zongpan’s stubborn determination to become emperor that brought on Wuqimai’s stroke in the first place.”
“…After Wuqimai fell ill and took to his bed, the eastern and western armies marched south, and Zongpan seized the opportunity to recruit followers more aggressively than ever. Privately, he even spread word that the two armies’ southern campaign was meant to buy him time to pave the way for his own succession. Opportunists rushed to curry favor with him, and over these two-plus years he genuinely gathered no small amount of support around the capital.”
“…Wuqimai lay ill for two years. At first he didn’t want this son dragged into the succession struggle, but gradually — perhaps growing confused, perhaps softening — he let it be. Perhaps privately he wanted to give him a chance. Then, when the western army suffered its great defeat, word has it a sealed letter reached the palace, written by Zonghan himself. Once Wuqimai regained clarity, he made his arrangements and revised his will…”
“…Originally, under the private agreement between the Eastern and Western Bureaus, since the eastern army had won and the western army lost, the new sovereign should have fallen to Zonggan. The eastern army returned while the western army was still on the road — if Zonggan had taken the throne early, Zongfu and Zongbi could have moved at once, and once Zonghan and the others returned, they’d have gone straight to prison, facing the axe. But if Wuqimai, out of old affection, hadn’t wanted Zonghan to die, and truly passed the throne to Zongpan or someone else, that person wouldn’t have been able to control Zonggan, Zongfu, and Zongbi — the brothers might well have raised a rebel banner, with Zongfu and Zongbi purging their rivals before Zonghan even made it back. The Great Jin would have split apart then and there, and blood would have flowed… what a pity.”
“…But Wuqimai’s will happened to avoid exactly that. By not naming a new sovereign and instead letting the three sides negotiate, Zongpan — who held considerable influence in the capital — felt his chance had come. To counter Zonggan, who now held the greatest power, he needed Zonghan and Xiyin alive. That’s precisely why, even though Zonghan and Xiyin arrived a step late, it was Zongpan who held his father’s will and stood against Zonggan the whole time before they got there — buying Zonghan and Xiyin the time they needed. Once they finally reached the capital and began lobbying every side, spreading word everywhere about how powerful and uncontrollable the Black Banner had become, the whole situation grew murkier still.”
Cheng Min spoke these words, then bit off the thread in her mouth. Though she was a woman who normally lived within the world of the pleasure houses, in front of Tang Minjie she carried herself with genuine sharpness and ease. No telling what expression she wore when facing Lu Mingfang in the past.
Having finished sewing the new socks, she handed them straight to him, then went to search a corner of the room for grain. She didn’t often come to this place, so there was little in the way of food stores; after searching a while she finally found some flour, mixed it with water in a wooden basin, and prepared to fry it into flatbread.
“But all this is just hearsay. The capital’s full of nobles, and when they gather together, calling on girls, all they talk about is who knows which big shot and how such-and-such affair really came about. Sometimes even something said in passing, something that seems too private to have leaked out, later turns out to be pretty accurate. But other times something’s told with total conviction and turns out to be complete nonsense. Wuqimai’s dead either way — who can really say what he was planning?”
Tang Minjie pulled on his socks. “A rumor like that sounds more like Xiyin’s style.”
“A good deal of it probably was deliberately spread by them,” Cheng Min said, her hands pausing slightly over the dough. “Speaking of Zonghan and Xiyin — even though they’ve long made their home in Yunzhong, the nobles here in the capital always worried the two sides might come to blows. But after this whole affair broke out, people realized their names now carry real weight in the capital. Especially after Zonghan announced he’d never touch the throne — a number of old meritorious nobles have thrown in with them since.”
She continued kneading. “They don’t care for Zongpan, but privately they’re not too fond of Zonggan, Zongfu, and Zongbi either. Everyone feels these brothers lack the talent of Aguda and Wuqimai’s generation, falling far short even of Zongwang in his day. Besides, with the old generals of the founding era dying off one by one, Zonghan and Xiyin remain the pillars of the Jin state. If Zonggan takes the throne, he might well turn on them next. In the past, when Zonghan wanted the throne, it was a fight to the death with no room for compromise — but now that he’s given up that ambition, the whole state still has to rely on the two of them, so Zonggan’s support has actually weakened somewhat.”
She kept working the dough. “We always used to say that once the southern campaign ended, the Eastern and Western Bureaus would finally settle things for real, and half a year ago everyone assumed the Western Bureau was too weak, that Zonggan and the rest wouldn’t let them off easy… who’d have thought this standoff, on the brink of war, would still be dragging on because of Zonghan and Xiyin. Wuqimai’s hand is in it too, of course, but it really does show how formidable these two are… I only hope tonight brings some result, and that heaven finally takes the pair of them.”
The situation in the capital was broadly described as a three-way struggle, but in truth the real participants likely numbered more than a dozen households. The whole balance could tip the moment it was disturbed even slightly, and whoever gained the upper hand might seize the moment at once. Cheng Min, in all her years in the capital, had mostly been exposed to intelligence from the Eastern Bureau — only in these past two months had she truly glimpsed the reach and scheming of Zonghan’s side.
Night had fallen not long ago outside, with only the occasional faint sound drifting in. In the warm room, the two of them spoke calmly enough, but their hearts were fixed on the vast chess game unfolding beyond these walls. Neither had the power to act at this moment; all they could do was hope the situation in Jin would rapidly deteriorate — which was, after all, the most likely outcome.
“Every people has its own heroes,” Tang Minjie said. “But an enemy’s hero is my foe… is there anything I can help with?”
“No, just sit,” Cheng Min said with a smile. “Tonight might bring real bloodshed and chaos — we may end up having to flee ourselves.”
High clouds hung over the sky of this northern city, the grey dusk accompanied by a moaning north wind that made the countless lamplights of the city seem small and fragile. On the city’s outskirts, troops advanced, made camp, and stood in tense standoff, while messenger riders cut through the streets, carrying word after word to one power broker or another. Countless people, like Tang Minjie and Cheng Min, watched the unfolding of events.
In a great mansion outside the eastern palace gate, elite Jurchen soldiers who had served in the southern campaign stood already armored, blades in hand, some checking the cannons within the compound. Such things — cannons especially — were forbidden by law so close to the capital and the palace grounds, but for generals returning triumphant from the southern campaign, such minor legal niceties no longer mattered.
Wanyan Chang, dressed in brocade robes with elaborate hair ornaments, strode in from outside, heading straight into the courtyard where preparations for a brawl seemed already underway. His face was dark with anger; someone tried to stop him but failed. A moment later, Wanyan Zongbi, already in full armor, hurried out from the other side of the courtyard to meet him.
“Uncle, Uncle, you’re here — you should have sent word ahead! What is it, what’s happened?”
Zongbi spread his arms wide, all warmth and enthusiasm. Wanyan Chang had long been one of the pillars supporting the Eastern Bureau — though his careful, somewhat conservative approach to warfare meant his battlefield achievements never shone as brightly as Zonghan’s, Loushi’s, or Zongwang’s, now that the first generation of great generals had mostly passed on, he had become one of the few men on the Eastern Bureau’s side still capable of standing toe-to-toe with Zonghan and Xiyin. This was precisely why no one dared openly block his entry now.
“Old Four. I was about to ask you the same thing — what is this?”
“Just making preparations,” Zongbi said with a smile. “Better safe than sorry, Uncle.”
“You call this being safe? You’re trying to start a fight in the city! Or are you planning to attack the palace?”
“I don’t want to, Uncle, but you know — Zongpan’s already put the Tiger Guard out on the streets!”
“The Tiger Guard exists precisely to defend the capital and the palace.”
Zongbi swept his hand out sharply, a flash of ferocity crossing his face. “But the Tiger Guard isn’t ours!”
Wanyan Chang looked at the ever-fierce Wushu for a long moment before speaking. “Clan affairs are not to be settled lightly. Since the time of our ancestor Jingzu, no matter of great tribal importance has ever been decided by force. Old Four, if you fill the streets of the capital with cannon today, tomorrow — no matter who becomes emperor — the first ones marked for death will be you and your brothers. No one will be able to protect you!”
His words carried real severity. Zongbi spread his hands. “Uncle, you exaggerate. I never said I meant to attack anyone. Look how few men we have here — who could we possibly fight? The army’s still outside the city. If anything’s going to break out, it’ll more likely happen out there.”
Wanyan Chang frowned. “Where are your elder brothers?”
“Sai Ye has already arrived — Third Brother went out personally to receive him. Eldest Brother is out meeting some of the uncles and might not be back for a while, so it’s just me here making preparations.” Zongbi lowered his voice. “Uncle, if there really is bloodshed tonight, you can’t expect me to have made no preparations at all, can you?”
“There must be no chaos tonight — tell them to put all this away!” Wanyan Chang waved his hand at the surroundings, gave the courtyard one more sweeping look, and turned. “I’ll go wait for them up front.”
“Uncle, let me settle things here, then I’ll come pour you some wine!”
Zongbi waved as he said this. Once Wanyan Chang’s figure had vanished through the courtyard gate, his deputy approached. “Marshal, the men here—”
“Get everyone ready, move to another courtyard. Don’t let anyone see them again!” Zongbi flicked his hand, spat on the ground after a moment, and muttered, “Old fool, out of touch…”
Having cursed under his breath, Zongbi left the courtyard and went to the front hall to continue speaking with Wanyan Chang. By now people had begun arriving one after another to pay their respects. Per Wuqimai’s will, once Wanyan Sai Ye and the others entered the city, all the major players of the Wanyan clan currently in play would finally be assembled — and the moment they entered the palace to begin deliberations, the identity of Jin’s next emperor could be settled at any time.
For this very reason, some who had already secretly committed to backing Zonggan were now gathering at his mansion — partly because Zonggan feared they might change sides, and partly out of a wish to shelter them. Even in the worst case, where too few supported Zonggan’s succession, keeping this group under his roof would at least buy him a few more days to plan.
The same, presumably, was happening on Zongpan’s and Zonghan’s sides as well.
After waiting a while in the front hall, Zonggan arrived with several elders of the clan. After exchanging greetings with Wanyan Chang, the two withdrew to discuss the matter of the troops in the rear privately. Zonggan then pulled Zongbi aside for a quiet scolding, though it produced little real improvement.
By now the hour of Xu was more than half spent, the city under full martial law. Outside the walls, Zongfu was leading troops to meet Wanyan Sai Ye, who was still halfway there — this was the main event of the entire evening, and messengers occasionally returned to report on the standoff near the city walls. Then someone came running in, knelt, and reported: “Word — Lord Gushen’s carriage has appeared at the street corner. He says he wishes to pay his respects to the various princes, and has sent in his card.”
“Xiyin?” Zonggan frowned. “Isn’t that scheming dog supposed to be at Zonghan’s side, or busy deceiving that little brat Zongpan? What’s he doing here?”
“No one visits without a purpose,” Zongbi said. “I say don’t let him in. Whatever he has to say isn’t worth hearing.”
“Now, Old Four, that’s a bit petty of you,” one of the elders spoke up.
Zonggan nodded. “Whatever our differences, at the end of the day we’re all family. Since it’s Gushen himself paying us this honor, I’ll go greet him personally. Everyone, please wait a moment. Someone, set out a table and chairs!”
In the great hall, everyone sat along the sides and at the head, and at Zonggan’s signal, servants brought out a table and chair and placed them right in the very center of the hall, so that it looked rather like the setup for an interrogation.
Before long, the gaunt, white-haired and white-bearded Wanyan Xiyin followed Zonggan in. Taking in the arrangement of the hall, he laughed. Rather than sit down at once, he walked around the hall greeting each person in turn, exchanging a few words of reminiscence with some. One old man sighed, “Gushen, you’ve grown old.”
“We’ve all grown old,” Xiyin said with a smile. When he came to Zongbi, he gave a grand cupped-hand salute, then made his way to the table in the center of the hall, picked up the wine pot, poured himself a cup, and drank it down. “Good wine! It’s freezing out there!”
Seeing him rather take control of the room, Zonggan walked to the head seat and sat down, smiling. “Please, Gushen, sit. What brings you here today — is there some matter of importance?”
Xiyin looked around at everyone, gave a long sigh, and stood by the table for quite a while before finally pulling out a chair and sitting down before them all. This left everyone looking down at him from a head higher, but he didn’t seem to mind the disadvantage — he simply sat quietly, studying them.
The hall fell silent for a moment. Zongbi spoke. “Xiyin, whatever you have to say, out with it!”
“We’re all clansmen here — uncles, brothers, nephews. It’s rare for so many of us to gather together like this. I’m old now, my feelings run high, and I wanted to reminisce a little — what’s the harm in that? Even once tonight’s great matter is settled, we’re still one family. We share the same great enemy — there’s no need for things to be so tense… Come, let me offer everyone a toast.”
He raised his own cup first, and everyone followed suit. One elder at the head of the table raised his cup with a laugh, apparently recalling something. Xiyin smiled. “The year I turned fifteen, I went to a banquet at Huoshui. I was silent and awkward, no good at socializing, and Seventh Uncle told me — if you want to seem bolder, offer the first toast. He still remembers that.”
With this one toast and a few words, he’d seized control of the room. Zongbi was ready to curse him out, but Wanyan Chang cut in with a smile. “Gushen, since you clearly know something important is happening tonight, don’t blame everyone for being on edge. There’s always time for reminiscing later — if you don’t get whatever’s on your mind out, I’m afraid we’ll all be tense the whole night. Let’s finish this toast, then get to business. We can drink again after.”
Xiyin nodded, not pressing the point further. “I came tonight because I fear the city, inside and out, truly can’t come to terms and might come to blows. As I understand it, Third Brother and Shuliesu are probably already out there beating drums and gongs. Zongpan’s called the Tiger Guard onto the walls, worried that with your numbers, you might march into the city…”
“Don’t you dare slander us—” Before Xiyin could finish, Zongbi cut him off. “Is this an attempt to frame us? He put the Tiger Guard on the walls because he thinks we’re planning a revolt? Xiyin, this really is the mouth of a scholar…”
“I mean no such thing. Old Four, hear me out.” Xiyin raised a hand. “I’m not trying to frame anyone — I only mean that if this situation continues, something truly tragic, something that would grieve loved ones and please enemies, could easily happen. Old Four, if a sudden clap of thunder went off outside right now, wouldn’t the troops under your command charge out? And once you charged out, could things still be reined back in? It’s precisely because of this that I wanted to act as a mediator, to pass word along, in the hope that everyone might sit down and talk calmly.”
“You and Zonghan share the same trousers, and you want to be the mediator?” Zongbi sneered. “Besides, there’s nothing to discuss! It was agreed from the start — once the southern campaign ended, the matter would be settled. Today’s outcome is plain as day — we won, you lost. This throne rightfully belongs to my elder brother, and we’ll take it fair and square! And you keep going on and on — I’ll talk to your ancestors—”
Others in the hall spoke up.
“Old Four’s right.”
“Little Four, watch your words…”
Xiyin frowned and raised a hand. “Don’t say it like that. When Taizu passed, he said the throne should go to Nianhan — that was fair and square too, and yet when the time came, none of you agreed, said it would pass to him next time instead. Do you honor that promise today? As for the southern campaign — the eastern army won, that’s very good, but the choice of emperor still needs everyone’s agreement. If you put Eldest Brother on the throne, Zongpan won’t feel secure, the Marshal won’t feel secure — will the rest of you feel secure? Why is the late emperor’s will worded the way it is? Precisely because the southwest has become such a threat, and he didn’t want our Jurchen people to fall into internal chaos — otherwise, one day when the Black Banner marches north, our Jin state will meet the same fate as the Liao before us. I imagine you all understand this sentiment as well.”
Zongbi cursed loudly. “I understand your— understand your mother! This ‘late emperor’s wish’ nonsense — it’s all a rumor you and Zongpan cooked up in private!”
“If it were only me saying it, perhaps it would be mere rumor. But before the Marshal and I even arrived in the capital, Zongpan was already saying the same thing. He’s the late emperor’s legitimate son — does that sound like a rumor to you?”
Wanyan Chang spoke from the head seat. “We could have Eldest Brother swear an oath, witnessed by every clan elder, that once he takes the throne, there will be no settling of old scores. What of that?”
“A thousand years of history, and oaths sworn by emperors are seldom kept. Look at Nianhan’s own claim to the throne — first they said it was his, then said he’d get it later, and in the end it never came to him at all.”
Wanyan Chang smiled faintly. “If you don’t trust Eldest Brother’s word, do you trust Zongpan’s? If he takes the throne, with things as tilted in his favor as they are today, who’s to guarantee he won’t settle every score one by one? Gushen, please, enlighten me.”
Xiyin nodded. “I did come today with a proposal in mind.”
Xiyin, known as Gushen — “Valley Spirit” — had long been regarded as the foremost strategist and schemer among the Jurchen people. Though Zonggan, Zongfu, and Zongbi held the upper hand on the strength of their triumph in the southern campaign, the standoff in the capital had dragged on this long largely because of Zonghan’s enduring prestige and Gushen’s tireless lobbying throughout the city, winning over hearts wherever he went. His visit here today was clearly no idle matter, and everyone present — including Wanyan Chang, Zonggan, and Zongbi — sat up and paid close attention, waiting for what he’d say next.
Xiyin’s gaze turned grave and deep as he looked around the room. “If Zonggan takes the throne, Zongpan will fear reprisal, and every clan elder standing with him now shares that same worry. If Zongpan takes the throne, I imagine the rest of you would feel much the same. The Marshal was defeated in the southwestern campaign — let’s not dwell on that further. Given how delicate things are in the capital now, with the standoff already set — since whoever takes the throne will leave half the room unhappy either way — why not…”
“…find someone smaller to take it instead.”
The moment he finished speaking, Zonggan’s palm slammed down on the table with a crack, his face ashen, killing intent rising in his eyes.