Below the Yellow River, across the rainy season, the land alternated between overcast skies and sun.

It was as if a string, somewhere in this world, was quietly drawing taut through the sixth month.

After the seizure of Guanzhong and the moment when their true intentions could no longer be hidden, across the territories held by Dai Mengwei and Zou Xu, from the Yellow River down to the Yangtze, every road and pass began tightening its defenses, and news and traffic from north to south were sealed off as much as possible. And from Guanzhong toward Hanzhong, the five minor roads — Kugu, Ziwu, Tangluo, Baoxie, and Chencang — were all sealed off at once by Dai Mengwei: plank roads torn up on one hand, border defenses reinforced on the other. His intent to guard against the Huaxia Army was now plain for all to see.

In Hanzhong, things had grown somewhat chaotic.

That chaos, in fact, arose first from the everyday concerns of the people — or rather, from the merchants who had gathered there.

Back before the Southwest war had even begun, the Huaxia Army had broken out from Liangshan and gone on to occupy most of the Chengdu Plain, but toward the northeast — the routes of the Jinniu and Micang Roads — they had, for a time, made no rush to occupy them, so that these areas remained for a while under the control of Wu Dynasty generals and local tribal chieftains and headmen.

Of the two roads out of Sichuan from this region, the Jinniu Road had always been the more prosperous. Si Zhongxian, who guarded it, had always taken a rather ambiguous stance toward the Huaxia Army — he never banned merchant caravans, and even showed a degree of support for their anti-Jurchen stance, which was why the Huaxia Army had long hoped to win him over peacefully. But once Zonghan’s great army came sweeping in, the officials of the Wu Dynasty across Ba and Shu grew confused in their thinking, and Si Zhongxian, who had once seemed a candidate for persuasion, defected to the enemy instead. Zonghan’s army then swept into Shu through Jianmen Pass, driving straight for Zizhou, and a great battle broke out along that road.

By the time the war in the Southwest had reached its midpoint, Xiyin’s army swept in from the east, and along the way, most of the Wu Dynasty officials surrendered at the mere sight of them. Bazhong and Zhenba thus became, in name, occupied territory of the Jin state — but because the terrain there was rugged and the roads difficult, and because the local ethnic minorities were not especially inclined to obey the Wu Dynasty’s orders of surrender — and also because the Huaxia Army already had defenses prepared further south at Dangqu — Jurchen power never truly penetrated deep into this region.

By the time the Southwest war ended with Zonghan’s army crushed, the Huaxia Army recovered Hanzhong, but did not overextend the territory under its control. Though they controlled the Jinniu Road north toward Hanzhong from Jiange, they left the mountainous region of Bazhong and Zhenba — an enclave Xiyin had once ceded to Dai Mengwei — largely untouched, only steadily absorbing the Sichuan plain a little further south.

This peculiar soft-heartedness on the Huaxia Army’s part left Dai Mengwei’s side rather uneasy as well. On one hand, Xiyin had handed over to Dai Mengwei, with a single document, the Han captives taken in the southern campaigns, along with a great deal of territory, logistics, and supplies too cumbersome to carry away — inevitably creating a tangled overlap of interests with the Huaxia Army. On the other hand, in terms of raw strength, if the Huaxia Army had taken any interest in a given place at that time, a few cannons hauled over would have been enough to seize it. Dai Mengwei, styling himself a sage of the present age, found it extremely difficult to judge how to act — whether to stand firm or yield — if the Huaxia Army had come pressing aggressively at that time.

He had originally expected the Huaxia Army to seize Bazhong outright and control the Micang Road. Dai Mengwei could only keep playing up his image as a sage concerned for the common people, hoping that if they ever did attack, he could at least fling some blame their way and avoid too great a loss of face. Who would have guessed the Huaxia Army never made a move at all — they simply sent a few negotiating teams to press him: since you’ve taken this territory, you’d better keep the trade routes open properly, and not interfere with our free trade with the rest of the realm and the Southwest.

Like a piece of meat dangling from a tiger’s mouth — nominally his own, yet he had no idea when the tiger might close its jaws. Dai Mengwei felt uneasy about it, but on the other hand, gradually began to discover the advantages of holding Bazhong.

In the Wu Dynasty’s realm at this time, the contest over orthodoxy remained a serious matter. Some shameless merchants and unscrupulous great clans were willing to openly trade with the Huaxia Army, caring nothing for their reputation as long as there was money in it — those went by way of Hanzhong, through the Jinniu Road, or the water route through Qutang Gorge to the east. But for those great families who wanted both money and their reputation intact, Bazhong became an excellent trading option. Before long, enormous quantities of goods flowed in and out through it, and Dai Mengwei even sold the commoners under his rule, whom he couldn’t feed, into slavery, shipping them in bulk to Chengdu and reaping enormous profit from it.

But strategically, to avoid finding himself helpless the day the Huaxia Army decided to bite down, Dai Mengwei worked constantly to shift his own power away from the Huaxia Army’s immediate vicinity. To this end, he staged a farce of rebellion, having his general Cao Silong lead an uprising in Bazhong and Zhenba, turning the region into a genuine haven for free trade. Later, after betraying Liu Guangshi and entering Bianliang, he finally allowed himself to relax somewhat — at least the Huaxia Army, upon emerging from Sichuan, would not immediately have him as their first target.

This kind of management and positioning turned Bazhong and Hanzhong into hubs connecting goods across the realm. But in truth, the capacity of both the Jinniu and Micang Roads had its limits. After the Huaxia Army crushed the Jurchens, it began making friends across the realm through its excellent products, and vast quantities of workers, minerals, and grain poured in from every direction, keeping every route running at capacity at all times.

To cope with this transport bottleneck, a great number of small subcontracted workshops sprang up around Hanzhong — raw materials from various mines would come in, pass briefly through these workshops, and go back out stamped with Southwest labels, which kept the Han River crowded every single day with merchant ships.

Having become, in just two short years, a hub gathering enormous numbers of people and goods, Hanzhong’s streets were now dirty, cramped, and full of the chaotic yet thriving bustle of the marketplace.

All manner of people arrived from elsewhere — beggars, soldiers of fortune, gentry, merchants — dressed in different styles and speaking in every accent imaginable, gathering here. Mixed among them on the streets were also various old-school and new-school Confucians who had come out of the Southwest, along with figures with cropped hair and crisp short jackets covered in pockets — the so-called “New Youth.”

Around the sixth or seventh of the sixth month, an atmosphere of grim tension had settled fully over the place.

Dai Mengwei’s moves caused trade on the Han River to plummet sharply. Merchant vessels coming up from the Yangtze were stranded halfway, and merchants trying to leave Hanzhong could no longer find reliable passage through the border checkpoints.

A good number of gentry and wealthy families, having pulled the right strings, brought their entire households up the Han River to take shelter for the time being within Hanzhong city, gathering news of what was happening on every side.

Some of the sharpest merchants had already received word from the north days earlier. Some of those unable to get their goods out of Hanzhong, though they knew they stood to lose a great deal of money, were in no hurry to leave. They gathered in the city’s restaurants and teahouses to discuss the movements of the outside world, and every day the current-affairs newspapers sold out as fast as they could be printed. Some even paid high prices for papers others had brought from Chengdu, passing the news hand to hand.

People sensed that a great conflict was imminent, but strangely, being inside Hanzhong city let them breathe a little easier.

Everyone understood well enough what real chaos and warfare looked like, after more than a decade of the Central Plains lying under occupation.

People exchanged word of developments on every side — news of the fall of Lin’an had already reached them, and the south was not entirely at peace either; occasionally someone would mention the dire straits facing the southeastern court as well — but at this moment, what people cared about most, at the very core, was this: how would the Southwest respond?

The Huaxia Army command stationed at Hanzhong was currently headed by Qi Xinhan of the Seventh Army, with Lu Qiaoshan serving as his deputy. After the trade routes along the Han River were cut off, word had it that Lu Qiaoshan had already sent an envoy to lodge a protest with Dai Mengwei, but privately, all sorts of rumors circulated — that the Huaxia Army was already taking stock of its weapons and provisions on the west side of the city, and had begun putting its barracks in order, perhaps awaiting further orders from the Southwest’s central command.

There were also rumors leaking out — “secretly” — from the General Staff, the Citizens’ Consultative Assembly, even the Office of the President, spreading underground: some said the Huaxia Army in the Southwest was already mustering on a massive scale, that Ning Yi, enraged over the upheaval in the Jin region, was about to fly into a rage for the sake of a woman and march out to war; others said Master Ning had foreseen everything five hundred years in advance and had already seen through Zou Xu’s scheme, and had decided to hold his ground and do nothing; still others claimed the mutiny in Chengdu the last time had already destabilized the Huaxia Army internally, which was exactly why Zou Xu had seized his chance to rebel — and that Ning Yi and Qin Shaoqian had both fallen gravely ill as a result. All manner of rumors circulated eagerly, including even one that Ning Yi could subdue Zou Xu with a single wave of some legendary heaven-turning seal — none of which, of course, could withstand much scrutiny.

In any case, the aftershocks of the Southwest’s 521 Incident were still rippling through the army, with internal rectification still under way. Amid the backdrop of this looming chaos across the realm, both the Fifth and Seventh Armies of Huaxia had grown grim and forbidding, and no one dared let too much information leak out.

Most of the people who sensed the coming disaster came to a temporary halt in Hanzhong, waiting to see how things developed further. But a few pressed on along the Jinniu Road, past Jiange, gradually making their way toward Chengdu, and before long, they bore witness to a city unlike any other place on this land.

Around Mohe Pond, security had been raised a notch. Young officials arriving from all over reported for duty one after another and were assigned to new posts. By mid-June, the news from the northwest, the Jin region, and Guanzhong had all become clear, and even the stirrings among the Jurchens to the north could now be dimly discerned. Inside the Huaxia Army’s Fifth and Seventh Armies, a series of personnel rotations had taken place under cover of the 521 Incident’s aftermath. Among the army’s mid- and upper ranks, everyone now understood that the Southwest was certain to make some move this time — the only question left was which unit would receive the order to strike.

“Everyone in the army is petitioning — everybody wants to fight…” It was evening; having finished dinner, Peng Yueyun came over to pester Tang Minjie, who was out for a stroll around the training ground, and in order to speak privately, practically shut out Cheng Min, who was walking behind them.

Tang Minjie was not much for exercise; he had once endured brutal torture, and his body had never been strong since — now it was even worse. After being wounded again in the third month, the physicians had advised him to keep up at least some light exercise. Since Cheng Min had arrived, she had taken these medical instructions to heart and dragged Tang Minjie out every day to walk it off, practicing forms like the Eight Pieces of Brocade or the Five Animal Frolics — running was out of the question, since his knees had nearly been beaten to ruin during his torture, and now, when he walked too fast, he limped a little.

Cheng Min was a lively, cheerful sort, and ever since arriving in Chengdu, she found something to marvel at nearly every day, chattering away in Tang Minjie’s ear whenever she had a spare moment. Tang Minjie didn’t mind — sometimes he even joined in — but honestly, it was the news brought by his unreliable junior fellow disciple Peng Yueyun that carried far more useful information.

“…I heard Chen Tian’s drawn up six whole battle plans — six! We were guessing privately, it’s probably for striking north from Hanzhong toward Guanzhong. The Fourth Division’s specialty is special operations — thousand-li raids, breaking through enemy lines, that’s exactly their favorite kind of thing… And then there’s Zou Xu stirring up trouble in the Jin region with half-baked special-warfare tactics of his own — who could stand for that? Everyone in the army’s been in a frenzy these past few days…”

Around the government compound, quite a few people were out on the training ground, walking and jogging in twos and threes, whispering to one another — and what they were discussing was, in fact, all connected to this same matter. The affair of Zou Xu’s rebellion in the Central Plains was already being openly discussed among the mid- and lower ranks of the army — there was no longer much need for secrecy internally.

Cheng Min poked her head out from behind: “I want to go too! I want to submit a petition too!”

“I want to go too, sis.” Peng Yueyun showed no trace of superior airs. “But the higher-ups say our current work matters more!”

“Bullshit!”

“Yeah, bullshit!” Peng Yueyun glanced at Tang Minjie, then back at Cheng Min. “So, how about this — sis, want me to file a petition for you?”

“Hmph!”

“I’ll get you in for sure!”

“…Forget it… it’s not that I’m scared.”

Cheng Min pouted. Of course she wanted to go and fight, but Peng Yueyun had once told her privately about his senior fellow disciple Tang Minjie’s troubles, mentioning that he had a certain “self-destructive tendency” that needed a friend’s care, and Cheng Min, considering herself reasonably good at looking after people, had held back the urge to rush off to the battlefield.

Tang Minjie listened to the two of them talk, shaking his head with a smile.

“Come on, brother, tell us — what are the higher-ups even thinking…”

“How would I know.”

“Just guess with us — it’s not like it’s some big taboo. Look, from here to my house, all the way to Zhang Village, anyone you meet on the road — who isn’t petitioning to go?… Except for me, apparently. Not worth much, I don’t even get the chance to petition.”

After finishing his monthly report at the start of the month, it had been settled within a few days that both he and Tang Minjie would remain working in the rear on inspection duties — which effectively ruled him out of any expedition. He’d more or less expected as much, but as the fever for volunteering grew more intense throughout the army, Peng Yueyun couldn’t help feeling gloomy about it, privately grumbling to himself that his father-in-law wasn’t giving him any chance to earn merit.

Tang Minjie shook his head: “You don’t even realize — the fact that the army’s still debating it means even the higher-ups haven’t made up their minds. And another thing — why do you all keep fixating on Guanzhong?”

“Uh…” Peng Yueyun thought about it. “There are five roads into Guanzhong, and Old Zou and Old Dai are being so arrogant, shouldn’t we teach them a lesson? Besides, if we open up Guanzhong, wouldn’t that connect us more easily to the Jin region too…”

“Guanzhong is exactly the battlefield Zou Xu wants us to fight on. Why should we go there?” Tang Minjie said in a low voice.

“…Wants us to?” Peng Yueyun’s brow furrowed.

“Wants us to?” Cheng Min leaned in too.

Tang Minjie glanced at the two of them, then looked around: “I’m only guessing… let’s talk about it back at the room.”

The three of them crossed the training ground and made their way back to the housing assigned by the Inspectorate. Once inside, they shut the door and lit an oil lamp. Only then did Tang Minjie let out a sigh and sketch a rough map on the blackboard in the room.

“This one’s easy enough to guess,” he said quietly. “Back at Xiaocang River, though he didn’t say much, our teacher once showed real wariness — and curiosity — about the Mongol forces. This time, when Zou Xu made his move, the first ones he reached out to were the Mongols, who’ve already taken the Western Xia. And at the same time, the western faction’s Zonghan is in Yunzhong, and the eastern faction’s Zongbi is in Yanjing — the same posture as the last southern campaign, east and west route armies both. You see…”

He sketched out a rough map of the various forces on the blackboard, drawing just two lines — the Mongols coming down from the northwest, and Zonghan advancing from the Jin region toward the Yellow River.

The lines converged at Guanzhong.

“Guanzhong and Hanzhong are separated by the Qinling Mountains. The five minor roads look like a natural barrier, but nowadays, with gunpowder clearing the way, and special operations, and sharpshooters, forcing a way through isn’t actually impossible. But once you’re past the Qinling Mountains, then what? If we throw the Fifth Army, or the Seventh Army, onto that so-called eight-hundred-li stretch of Guanzhong plain, can our supply lines keep up? Do we have enough gunpowder? Sure, morale’s high on our side — but are we going to stand there trading blows with cold steel like men of raw courage? Think about it — what are the steppe people good at? Cavalry. And the Jurchens — Zonghan may command a broken, desperate force now, but with the Iron Pagoda cavalry charge on open plains added in, their tactical execution is ten times what ours is. So I’m curious — is our Huaxia Army really invincible? How many men would we have to throw in there? Twenty thousand? Thirty thousand? Or, for that matter, how many rockets do we even have to spare?”

He looked at Peng Yueyun: “Little Peng, why don’t you tell me.”

Peng Yueyun opened his mouth slightly and blinked.