The dagger had been revealed.
The vast hall fell tense and silent. Aside from Zonggan’s reflexive slap on the table, no one spoke. Some exchanged glances, others bowed their heads in thought — by now, some had begun to grasp exactly what Zonghan and Xiyin were truly after in this whole game.
Xiyin slowly poured himself another cup of wine.
“As for the question of the new sovereign, all sides are now committed — there’s no backing out for anyone. Everyone sitting here today, uncles, brothers, nephews alike — you’re all here for the sake of the Jurchen people. Isn’t the same true of those standing behind Zongpan? All of you already hold noble, exalted positions, sharing in the honor of the state. Once we’ve helped install a new sovereign, can any of you rise any higher, grow any more illustrious? What matters is that the greater good of the Jurchen people isn’t harmed. But the moment a winner is declared among those sitting here today, half of everyone present won’t sleep soundly ever again. The stability of the state will suffer.”
“Inside and outside the capital, things are already at the breaking point tonight. Even before this, there’s already been fighting and bloodshed among the nobility in and around the city — some people have gone missing and still haven’t been found to this day. Tonight Sai Ye arrives in the capital, and once we all walk through those palace gates together — can any of you say for certain that Zonggan will surely take the throne, that it’s already decided? And if it’s Zongpan instead, none of you would feel secure either. Having come this far in this standoff, why not step back a little?”
A few people began murmuring to one another.
Indeed — because of Wuqimai’s single edict, virtually every top noble in the Jin state had already been forced to take sides. But what real benefit did taking sides actually bring them? These men were already among the most exalted nobility in the realm. Yet if they backed the wrong side, not a single day of peace awaited their great clans for the rest of the new sovereign’s reign.
Such enormous risk for so little gain — many, in truth, had no wish to get involved at all. Yet the moment Wuqimai’s will was announced, Zonggan and Zongpan both began recruiting supporters everywhere, and Zonghan and Xiyin followed suit, lobbying from the sidelines. In an affair of this magnitude, who could truly remain neutral? Over the past month, everyone here had found themselves caught, unable to advance or retreat. This was precisely why Xiyin’s proposal, raised at this critical moment, genuinely resonated with many in the room.
And for a group of nobles who had lived through countless upheavals, no one here would believe, at this point, that the whole affair was some spur-of-the-moment idea from Xiyin or Zonghan.
Originally, with the failure of the southern campaign, Zonggan’s ascension and the decline of the Western Bureau seemed the only possible outcome. Yet somehow Zonghan and Xiyin had thrown their support behind Zongpan, dragging every great noble house into this impossible standoff. And now, having stirred the pot themselves, it was Zonghan and Xiyin who were moving to break the deadlock they’d created.
If this whole scheme had involved Wuqimai’s participation while he still lived, then the entire affair took on an even more poignant cast. Had the southern campaign succeeded and the Jurchen grown stronger, Wuqimai might well have passed the throne directly to Zonggan — or even, out of private favoritism, to his own son Zongpan. But once Zonghan suffered his crushing defeat in the southwest, Wuqimai, in his sickbed, changed his will, dragging everyone into the mire — which, in effect, gave Zonghan and Xiyin their one and only chance to break the deadlock. Looking back from where things now stood, had that bear-like emperor, who had clung to life for years after his paralyzing stroke, truly foreseen all this?
There was no way to know now.
Outside, the night sky was thick with clouds, though no snow was falling; the air was cold and oppressive. Xiyin had only just revealed the edge of his blade, and in the face of Zonggan’s ashen expression, no one spoke.
Throughout this whole affair, Zonggan had originally held the strongest claim to the throne. Yet after this round of maneuvering, having dragged everyone into the fray, he now realized that Zonghan and Xiyin intended to use this oppressive deadlock to push both him and Zongpan out of contention entirely.
The man who should have been emperor, strong and commanding as he was, was suddenly about to be cast aside by two men who’d merely been beating the drums on the sidelines. Though the idea had only just been raised, the fury building in him was plain to see.
“A thing like this… do you dare say it to Zongpan’s face?” he ground out, word by word.
“It’s all for the good of the Jin state — everything can be discussed,” Xiyin said slowly. “Consider this — even if Zongpan holds a grudge against me and Nianhan and has us both killed, what would he actually gain from it? In the end, you’d still take the throne, and he and everyone around him would spend the rest of their days walking on eggshells. Far better, in the end, to elevate someone smaller instead.”
His measured words left Zonggan facing not just Zonghan and Zongpan now, but half the great nobility of the Jin state. He said nothing.
Then Zongbi erupted. “I’ll—” He came charging down from where he sat.
Xiyin, who had looked frail and aged, flipped the table over with a crash, his tall frame surging upright to meet the burly Zongbi head-on. He seized a stool and swung it down at Zongbi’s head. Zongbi, already in armor, blocked and charged, the wooden stool shattering in midair. Zongbi landed two blows on Xiyin’s body, and Xiyin, grabbing the front of his armor, drove a headbutt straight into his face. The crowd watched the two figures spin and grapple like wrestlers for several turns before Zongbi was sent flying, slamming into the steps at the hall’s entrance. Still in his prime, he rolled and rose to a half-kneel, blood streaming from his nose and mouth.
Blood trickled from a cut on Xiyin’s forehead too. He spread his arms wide, like some giant standing against wind and snow, and his voice roared through the hall like a tiger’s:
“Come on then, Old Four—”
The crowd rushed forward to pull the two men apart.
Though Xiyin had long presented himself with the bearing of a scholar, even among the very top ranks of Jurchen generals, he had never been anyone’s soft target. Even men like Zonghan, Zongwang, and Loushi had always treated him with genuine respect — not merely for his skill with words. Zongbi had been beaten by Xiyin since childhood, and his confidence had swelled greatly after this recent victory in the southern campaign; considering also that Xiyin was aging and looked ready to drop, he’d dared to challenge him again. But now he discovered that the fire in Xiyin’s chest hadn’t dimmed in the slightest.
“Let go of me, I’ll kill him—”
Still held back, Zongbi raged, struggling to get free. Xiyin pressed his lips tight, gave his sleeves a shake, and walked slowly to the table Zongbi had been sitting at, pouring himself another cup and drinking it down.
“I know — this time the eastern army did win the southern campaign, and giving that up doesn’t sit well with you, Zonggan. But everyone here today is already past the point of backing down gracefully, and if you try to force it through, it’ll be difficult. If you’re willing to consider someone younger, we can make concessions too — and there happens to be a fitting candidate, one from your own line.”
Xiyin looked at Zonggan. “When Zongjun passed away, you adopted Dan as your son. He was Taizu’s most beloved eldest grandson. Putting him on the throne would settle everyone’s hearts better than anything. And though you’re not his birth father, the debt of raising him remains — it can’t be erased. The throne would return to Aguda’s direct line, and no one else could easily lay claim to it after that. For you, this wouldn’t be much of a concession at all.”
Wanyan Zonggan was Aguda’s eldest son by a concubine; there had also been the legitimate eldest son, Wanyan Zongjun, followed by Zongwang, Zongfu, and Zongbi. Zongjun had died young, and after his death his son Wanyan Dan had been adopted by Zonggan as his own. Given Aguda’s deep affection for this grandson, the boy had received countless honors and titles from childhood — but with his father gone, few held any particular hostility toward him.
Xiyin sighed. “As for Nianhan and me — we’re old now, and I no longer have great ambitions for power in this life. But what I saw in the southwest, that still weighs heavily on me. All of you — Nianhan and I have fought our whole lives together. Perhaps we can be faulted for other things, but on the battlefield — were we truly so foolish? The southwest was like the Jurchen of our own early days, back when we rose up with Taizu — even more so, if anything! Their mastery of natural philosophy, their methods of training troops — if we don’t learn from them now, ruin isn’t far off. If they sweep through the Central Plains and then turn north against us, the old men sitting in this room today won’t even be dead yet!”
“Nianhan and I only hope the Jurchen people can weather this crisis safely. If tonight’s business in the capital can be settled peacefully, we’ll return to Yunzhong, train our troops in peace, forge our weapons, and study what the south has to teach us about natural philosophy. As for the troops we train and the weapons we forge — those will belong to our children’s generation to use. Old Four, one day you’ll need them too. You’re sharp-minded, not stupid at all, so why keep putting on this act of recklessness? There won’t be any conflict left between us going forward — you can rest easy. When you were young I used to beat you precisely because I couldn’t stand that fake bluster of yours!”
With that, he tossed his empty cup down onto the table.
“I know this matter carries great weight, and you’ll need to shut the doors and discuss it among yourselves — I doubt you can settle it tonight. If tonight you welcome Sai Ye and are certain you’ll win once you walk through the palace gates, then treat this as if I never came, as if none of this was ever said. But if you’re not entirely certain of victory, consider this at least a little — let Dan take the throne, and no one loses out. That’s all I have to say. I’ll take my leave. Once you’ve reached a decision, we can speak further.”
He cupped his hands to the room, and Wanyan Chang rose and returned the gesture; everyone else, including the silent Zonggan, bowed to see him off. But as he turned to leave, Zongbi called out from within the hall.
“Maybe it’s you and Nianhan who’ve gone soft, not our troops! No matter how tonight turns out, one day I’ll bring my army to Yunzhong, and we’ll settle this properly, fair and square. If your troops really have gone weak, that’ll prove everything you’ve said in the capital today was a lie, that you’ve been cowering in fear and crying wolf about the Black Banner just to survive! When that day comes, I’ll wipe out your whole family—”
Xiyin stopped and turned to look at him. “Fine. When that day comes, all of you come see for yourselves what the Mountain-Suppressing Guard, defeated in the southwest, can still do. Have your men leave their wills behind before they come — farewell!”
With that, he strode out of the hall, and after a moment climbed into his carriage waiting outside. A brazier burned inside, keeping it warm. Xiyin leaned against the carriage wall, and only now did he take out a silk handkerchief, coughing heavily and painfully for some time. When he looked at the cloth, there were spots of blood on it. He was, after all, old, and the scuffle with Zongbi had taken its toll.
The carriage train pushed through the cold wind, past the quiet, long streets, lamplight scattered sparsely along the way in countless homes. After a while, he arrived back at the great mansion on the other side of the palace, where he found Zonghan.
“…What remains now is convincing Zongpan. He won’t be pleased.”
Zongpan had inherited his father Wuqimai’s build, bear-like in stature, and when angered his temperament could turn quite savage — few could deal with him directly.
“I’ll go speak with him,” Zonghan said, a cold smile crossing his stern face. “He’ll agree.”