In the first year of Jintianjuan, in the fourth month, Yunzhong Prefecture.

Summer had already arrived in the south, while in the northern lands the ice and snow had only just begun to melt. Near this city that served as the Jurchen’s western capital, more and more people had begun moving about in the wilderness.

Near the eastern gate, the broad streets were nearly under martial law. A stern honor guard escorted a procession of carriages in from outside. In the distant, unmelted patches of snow, pedestrians and vendors watched the fluttering banners and whispered among themselves.

“Another prince…”

“How many is that now, these past two weeks…”

“This one’s no small matter — Prince Lu, Talan…”

“Now it’s really going to come to blows…”

“No need to panic — Tushan Guard isn’t made of straw either. Just let them come…”

When Jin nobles traveled, most people who didn’t need to kneel and yield the road had some standing of their own. At this moment, watching these princely carriages enter the city, their faces showed no joy — some were anxious, while others had anger in their eyes, waiting for the moment when Tushan Guard would give these men a proper lesson.

This round of contention between the Eastern and Western Courts of Jin had already begun in mid-March.

Zonghan and Xiyin had set out from Shangjing at the New Year, arriving back in Yunzhong in late February. Zongbi’s departure hadn’t come much later — he reached Yunzhong on the tenth of March. Accompanying him, besides two Jin princes, was a large group of officials of noble birth carrying documents of appointment, who before the duel had already begun trying to take over a number of important posts near Yunzhong. This sparked the first round of conflict between the two sides.

In the past, with Yunzhong as its center, Zonghan had governed a thousand-li stretch of Jin’s western territory, including the Sixteen Prefectures of Yanyun. This so-called “Western Court” could of course never be formally established in name — the appointment of countless officials in the west still, nominally, came down from Shangjing. Even though Zonghan had held real power in the past, that had only been possible with Wuqimai’s cooperation.

In the matter of the new emperor’s succession, Zonghan and Xiyin had schemed too aggressively, earning the enmity of both Zonggan and Zongpan’s factions, making a backlash against them inevitable. Though Zongbi had agreed that the matter would be settled by the duel, in practice he had already begun seizing power ahead of time — targeting any official who showed even the slightest weakness. Once such officials handed over their posts and authority, even if Tushan Guard won the duel, it would likely prove very difficult to reclaim that ground.

Facing this state of affairs, the mood in Yunzhong since March had been grim and defiant. Much of this came from the maneuvering of Xiyin, Gao Qingyi, Han Qixian, and others, who on one hand played up the tragedy of the southwestern campaign, and on the other publicized the painstaking sacrifices Zonghan, Xiyin, and even the late emperor Wuqimai had made during this transfer of power.

To prepare for the threat from the south, the Marshal and Gushen had already resolved to give up a great deal of power, focusing solely on managing the Western Court and stockpiling military strength for the coming war — and the threat of the Black Banner was likewise recognized by every power holder in Jin’s upper ranks. If Zongbi and the others still wanted to stir up conflict now, then let them see the edge of Tushan Guard’s blade!

The expeditionary force returning from the southwest had suffered heavy losses, and the mood in Yunzhong upon their return was already one of grief — many had lost fathers, brothers, or husbands in the great battle, and even the survivors had come back having stared death in the face. After such a reckoning, to have the east now come bearing down aggressively was, in effect, to spit on the sacrifices of these fallen heroes — it was simply too much to bear.

Although the ferocity of the armies within Jin’s borders had been declining year after year, before the southwestern campaign, the Western Court forces led by Zonghan had still been the most capable fighting force in the whole of Jin. Even after this defeat, the survivors and the bereaved families alike still held onto that same unyielding spirit — they might have lost in the southwest, but that didn’t mean the Eastern Route Army could now walk all over them.

And so, from mid-March, following Zongbi’s arrival, several princes from the other great clans arrived one after another with their entourages — partly to oversee and witness the fairness of the coming duel, and partly, naturally, with an eye toward securing some share of the Western Court’s territory. Within Yunzhong, Zonghan and Xiyin held large-scale memorial ceremonies, using their deep reserves both to distribute relief and to stir the fighting spirit of the people, so that everyone would carry a knot of resolve in their chests, waiting for Tushan Guard’s ferocious performance in the duel come April or May.

On the eighth of April, Talan (Wanyan Chang), an old general who could be called a pillar of the state, arrived in Yunzhong, raising the tense standoff within the city to an even higher pitch.

The procession passed through streets already cleared of snow, heading toward Zonghan’s mansion. Along the way, once bystanders realized who had arrived, they lowered their gaze and stepped aside. Of course, among them were also some who felt pleased — officials who had come with Zongbi, or people from the Eastern Court already planted here, as well as more than a few well-connected merchants or nobles. As long as the balance of power shifted, there would always be chances to rise or profit, and they too passed along news in private, waiting eagerly for this conflict — serious, yet not one that would truly harm the state’s foundations — to unfold.

At that same hour, in a prison at the southern edge of the city, Mandu Dalu was watching his men torture prisoners by various methods until they were hoarse from screaming and covered in blood. After one prisoner had been interrogated nearly to exhaustion, another was brought in. Now the chief inspector of Yunzhong Prefecture, he did not take part himself, only stood with furrowed brow, quietly watching and listening to the confessions.

Partway through this round of torture, a subordinate constable came to report that a Black Banner spy being held in the cells had stopped holding on. Mandu Dalu went to the cell, glanced at the corpse, and turned it over for a brief check.

The interrogation had already gone too far, and whatever information there was to extract had already been wrung out — it was inevitable the man wouldn’t hold on. Mandu Dalu’s inspection was only to make sure the man hadn’t found some means to fake his death and slip away. Once he’d confirmed it, he ordered the jailers to dispose of the body and left the cell block.

The prison was gloomy and forbidding — walking through it, one wouldn’t find so much as a blade of grass. Leading his group of subordinates back out, they at last reached the bustling street nearby where pedestrians came and went. Mandu Dalu and his companions sat down at a stall selling boiled food on a street corner, ordered something to eat, and as he took in the sights of the nearby market, his brow finally relaxed a little.

Though he was Jurchen, Mandu Dalu’s origins were not distinguished — his father had once deserted on the battlefield, and because of that stain, though he himself had fought bravely, his chances for promotion had been few. He’d retired to Yunzhong to become a constable, later rising to chief constable, which was about as high as an ordinary clerk could go. He knew it would be very hard to truly cross that invisible line and become an official.

Yet Xiyin had recognized his worth, and at the end of February had promoted him to chief inspector of Yunzhong Prefecture — with the chance, perhaps, of climbing one or two more ranks after that. These months of March and April counted as the most gratifying stretch of his entire life. Old comrades who’d once been close to him now suddenly had family members eager to curry favor — a feeling that was, frankly, intoxicating.

Of course, in officialdom, nothing ever goes perfectly smoothly. For instance, among Yunzhong Prefecture’s four chief constables was a Bohai man named Gao Puhu, planted there by the Eastern Court, who had never gotten along with Mandu Dalu. Now that Mandu Dalu had been promoted, the man made a show of not giving him face, even spreading rumors behind his back: “Who knows who’ll be chief inspector after May…” That sort of petty friction was simply unavoidable in the arena of fame and power.

In rank, Mandu Dalu now stood a crucial level above the other man, but within Yunzhong Prefecture, chief constables had always enjoyed considerable independence, and Mandu Dalu had no wish to launch straight into a power struggle after his promotion. Instead, following Xiyin’s orders, he focused on hunting down Chinese Army spies who might be causing trouble. Of course, the situation at present was far from promising.

In late February, when Zonghan and Xiyin returned to Yunzhong, Xiyin had, presiding over the matter, issued an order for the Marshal’s Office to treat Han slaves well. But in truth, as winter drew to a close, supplies were at their lowest point, and although the Marshal’s Office had issued this “benevolent policy,” the number of Han people hovering on the edge of life and death hadn’t dropped by much. Mandu Dalu took advantage of this order, using relief grain to trade for information that was normally hard to come by.

Throughout March, he cast his net among the Han slaves, gathering all manner of information, and eventually arrested several dozen people suspected of being Black Banner spies. But after interrogating them one by one, only two could be more or less confirmed, and neither held much standing — from their mouths Mandu Dalu learned little of real importance. What did trouble him somewhat was the information they gave that the Black Banner had gone dormant since the second half of the previous year.

Having only just risen to chief inspector, he naturally hoped to capture some major Black Banner figures soon, so as to truly establish his authority among the other chief constables. He couldn’t very well report the dormancy rumor to Gushen without confirmation — but if it were true, it meant his odds of catching some important Black Banner figure during the period of the duel would be very slim, and Gushen might grow disappointed in his abilities.

Of course, he wasn’t entirely without options.

Gathering intelligence from Han slaves and casting a wide net for suspicious figures was one approach; identifying key members of Tushan Guard ahead of the coming duel and using them as bait to lure the enemy was another. Beyond these two methods, Mandu Dalu also had a third path, one he was slowly laying out.

As for the figure already confirmed within the Black Banner known as “the Clown,” his movements had grown increasingly secretive and hard to trace these past two years — but several years earlier, he had been quite active in Yunzhong Prefecture, and during that time had dealings or collusion with more than a few underworld figures. The investigation into this back then hadn’t gone deep enough, and many of those involved had since died over the years — but tracing further back, one could still find a few survivors who had, to greater or lesser degree, once laid eyes on this figure.

Now that Mandu Dalu was chief inspector, and moreover acting on Gushen’s direct order to pursue the Black Banner, over March and April he’d gone after a number of underworld factions he’d previously been reluctant to touch, pressing every one of them for answers. Many had died at his hands. By now, a rough sketch of this “Clown’s” appearance had finally taken shape — his height, general looks, and manner had all become reasonably well understood.

“Anything going on in the city today?”

“I heard Prince Lu’s entered the city.”

“Those easterners really don’t mean to let us live in peace.”

“Just watch what Tushan Guard does.”

The men sat by the roadside, eating and talking.

It was afternoon, sunlight streaming brightly down from the sky. Most of the roadside snowdrifts had melted, leaving the roads muddy or damp in patches. At the small square on the corner, pedestrians came and went, and now and then one could hear the clang of a blacksmith’s forge along with various calls and cries. As Mandu Dalu and the others by the roadside spoke of Tushan Guard, their faces all carried a fierce look, as if they longed to rush into battle themselves.

Wanyan Chang’s carriage entered Zonghan’s mansion, and after a while came back out, with Zongbi and the others already at his side, laughing heartily. Within Yunzhong Prefecture now, more than ten men of princely rank had gathered. That evening, at the banquet held to welcome Wanyan Chang, they would all gather again — Zonghan, Xiyin, Gao Qingyi, and Han Qixian on one side, Zongbi, Wanyan Chang, and the others on the other — trading this sort of sharp verbal sparring, all waiting for the moment the truth would finally be settled.

Wanyan Dezhong, Wanyan Youyi, and others were likewise active amid this atmosphere, whether visiting and calling on Tushan Guard’s soldiers or attending one banquet after another, boosting everyone’s morale. At times, the young nobles would even come to blows over some point of pride. And sometimes, walking through the streets, they would notice that the trees in the city already bore new leaves — that beyond the black and white of winter, the city now carried the scent of spring buds bursting forth, poised and ready.

For the people of Yunzhong Prefecture, the most desperate moment had been when news came of the defeat in the southwest — the nobles within the city had even braced themselves for the worst, for the loss of their power. Yet who could have known that the Marshal and Gushen would resolutely head north and, even from a position of weakness, manage to bring Zonggan, Zongpan, and the others in the turbulent capital to heel, installing the young new emperor on the throne — while the arrogant, overconfident Zongbi, believing the Western Court had lost its edge, sought to settle things with Tushan Guard in a duel.

What could be sweeter than a turn from utter despair to a path opening before you?

Looking back from that vantage, in those early days of April, everyone within Yunzhong Prefecture carried this same resolve in their hearts — though the challenge had arrived, they all believed the hardest days were already behind them, and that with the Marshal and Gushen’s careful planning, there wouldn’t be any great trouble ahead. And across the whole of Jin, though people understood that small-scale friction was bound to arise, many had also breathed a sigh of relief — all sides had set aside thoughts of conflict, and both the veterans and the rising stars could once more turn their energy toward serving the state. That Jin could avoid the worst possible outcome was, truly, a great relief.

Outside Yunzhong’s walls, large numbers of soldiers had already gathered, drilling daily, waiting for the “duel” to arrive. Not far from them lay a village where Han slaves lived, a place that still seemed lifeless — the slaves who had frozen or starved to death over the winter hadn’t yet all been carried away — though the survivors seemed, perhaps, to be faring a little better than they had in winter.

Across the open country, the ice on the river bends would, now and then, let out a thunderous crack. That was the sound of the ice breaking apart.

It was as if the city, in all its long-neglected disrepair, were suddenly brimming with vitality…

Tang Minjie stood on the street, watching all of this unfold…

Mandu Dalu was searching the city for clues, weaving together a vast net, trying to catch him…

The ninth of April was an unremarkable, clear day — one that, many years later, Mandu Dalu would still remember.

Nothing especially out of the ordinary happened that day. That morning, following a tip from someone else, he caught a fugitive criminal who had been on the run for years, and from him learned of one or two events connected to “the Clown,” further enriching his profile of this senior operative of the Chinese Army’s intelligence network.

The interrogation of this criminal continued into the afternoon. Not long after leaving the prefectural office, Gao Puhu, the north gate’s chief constable, with whom he had long had bad blood, hurried out from the office gate with his men. Something had happened within his jurisdiction: the son of a marquis’s family who had come to Yunzhong from the east with Zongbi — Wanyan Linqi — had been strangely abducted by bandits while browsing an antique shop.

These noble sons who’d come west were, of course, here to jostle for power — but for one of them to be abducted on Yunzhong’s own soil was no small matter indeed. Mandu Dalu, naturally, felt no urgency about it — after all, that fell within Gao Puhu’s jurisdiction, and he even hoped the matter would drag on as long as possible. Privately, he assigned some of his men to quietly look into the case on their own. If Gao Puhu proved unable to solve it and was reprimanded from above, and Mandu Dalu’s side then cracked the case, that slap to Gao Puhu’s face would land all the harder.

The sun set that day in the west, and soon lamps lit up along the streets, with carriages and pedestrians passing through, all manner of small sounds gathering in the human world — and on through the deep of night, nothing more happened.

Years later, he would think back again and again on this day he’d passed so carelessly. This day marked the beginning of the dirge sung for the Western Court.

The net had not yet closed, when a member of the Chinese Army named Tang Minjie set down a painful move on the board.