In the spring of the ninth year of the Jinghan era of the Wu Dynasty, the outbreak of war between Jin and Liao was, at first glance, rather surprising and almost farcical.

Just the year before, Jin and Liao had reached a peace agreement, and by all accounts, Liao had conceded a great deal in that settlement. Yelu Yanxi had formally bestowed on Wanyan Aguda the title of Great Sage Emperor, addressed the Jin state as elder brother, ceded the Liaodong and Changchun circuits — though in truth Jin had already occupied both circuits, so the cession was mostly for show — and agreed to an annual tribute of two hundred fifty thousand taels of silver and silk to Jin. This was almost the Treaty of Chanyuan turned on its head and signed over to Jin.

But where the original Treaty of Chanyuan had been between the Wu and Liao dynasties as, relatively speaking, two great powers on roughly equal footing, this time, although the treaty had been signed under duress, the actual strength of Jin and Liao was wildly disproportionate. At bottom, the Jurchen people were simply too few in number. The almost legendary victory Aguda had won at the Battle of Huhuoduo Ridge hadn’t come from any great confidence on his part — his entire force at the time numbered barely over twenty thousand men. In the years of victory that followed, Jin’s military strength, relative to Liao’s, remained badly outmatched in sheer numbers.

For this reason, when Yelu Yanxi signed the treaty, he felt he had conceded a great deal, and reasoned that Jin, too, must want no more fighting — and probably couldn’t manage more even if it wanted to — so he set his mind at ease. In the eyes of others as well, Jin now had a foothold of its own territory, and it stood to reason that it should pause now to recover and consolidate. That was only human nature, and so once the treaty was settled, most people had, more or less, come to believe in it. In any case, such treaties usually held for at least a few years.

That year, Wanyan Aguda turned fifty-two.

Looking back with the benefit of hindsight, this was a man who had risen in revolt against Liao in his forties and, in barely a decade or so, had led several tens of thousands of Jurchens to a position equal to the Liao emperor himself — a heroic, ruthless figure of the kind unlikely to leave an achievable feat of conquest for his descendants to finish. And yet, at the time, the events of that spring appeared, on the surface, almost comically petty.

At first Yelu Yanxi had refused to acknowledge Aguda as emperor, hoping instead to fob him off with the lesser title of Prince of Donghuai. But Aguda was not a man easily fobbed off — he flew into a rage, and Yelu Yanxi backed down at once, conceding the title of Great Sage Emperor. With that settled, Yelu Yanxi breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he could finally enjoy a few peaceful years — he disliked trouble, loved touring scenic places, cherished peace in the world, and was rather easygoing by nature. But just as he was setting off again to enjoy the mountains and rivers, a thought suddenly struck him.

His own ancestor, Yelu Abaoji, founder of Liao, a hegemon whose life’s achievements could rival Aguda’s own, had also once held the title Great Sage Emperor — his full posthumous title being “Great Ancestor, Great Sage, Great and Illustrious, Divine and Fierce Heavenly Emperor.” That wouldn’t do at all — giving his ancestor’s title away to someone else was unfilial. So he turned around and, rather sheepishly, sent an envoy to ask Aguda whether the emperor title might be taken back and changed to something else.

Poor men tend to care a great deal about face. Aguda had fought his whole life, and having finally become emperor, found the title now being treated as a joke — it was, quite plainly, a slap in the face. At the end of the second lunar month, Jin swore its army to war against Liao; on the twenty-sixth of the third month, Wanyan Aguda formally launched an all-out assault on Shangjing Linhuang, one of Liao’s five capitals; by the fifth of the fourth month, Jin’s cavalry had reached the western bank of the Hun River and stood before the city walls.

Guarding Linhuang at the time was the veteran Liao general Xiao Tabuye. Though he had suffered several defeats against Jin, he was, in all fairness, no mediocre commander — steady in his generalship and firm in character, with real ability. And Linhuang, as Liao’s political capital, had high walls, deep moats, and tight defenses.

Perhaps out of consideration that the city would be hard to take by force, Aguda sent Wanyan Zongxiong to urge Xiao Tabuye’s surrender. But Xiao Tabuye’s favorite grandson, Yidijian, had died at Jurchen hands years earlier at the Battle of Ningjiangzhou, so the attempt at persuasion naturally failed.

Relying on the city’s strong defenses, Xiao Tabuye felt no great urgency. Liao, though weakened, was still the proverbial emaciated camel bigger than a horse; even if he couldn’t defeat Aguda in the field, he had prepared to hold out behind his sturdy walls for months and wait for reinforcements. Aguda, for his part, was equally decisive — having sent Wanyan Zongxiong to urge surrender that morning and been refused, he launched the assault on Linhuang that same morning, personally commanding the siege from before the walls. By the afternoon of that very day, at the hour of Xin, Aguda’s half-brother Wanyan Shemu was the first to scale the walls of Shangjing.

It was an outcome no one had foreseen — a fortress everyone had assumed could hold out for months at the very least fell into Aguda’s hands within half a day. As the setting sun that day painted the sky the colors of dusk, Aguda and his generals rode through the city gates; Jurchen soldiers had already surged deep into the city, leaving the whole of it wreathed in smoke and chaos.

…

“Even a cheat code wouldn’t be this ridiculous…”

Draining the last of his tea, Ning Yi let out a sigh. He hadn’t known much about Wanyan Aguda’s life story before this. Though the founding rulers of every dynasty in every era tended to have some superhuman feat or achievement to their name, hearing Old Qin recount it now still left him genuinely stunned. People of this era despised Liao and were therefore, generally speaking, favorably inclined toward Jin; when they spoke of it, they tended to regard Wanyan Aguda as a heroic figure the likes of which appeared only once in an age among the foreign tribes, and Ning Yi himself felt a measure of admiration for the man’s exploits. And yet, as Old Qin told the story, his tone was not entirely one of joy.

“Cheat… code?”

“It means cheating.”

“Ah, ha — that’s about right, actually.” Old Qin nodded and chuckled, though a touch of melancholy crept into his gaze. “Hero or villain, call him what you like — this Wanyan Aguda truly is an outstanding figure of his age. That he’d turn his forces against Liao was only ever a matter of time, no surprise there. If he’s moving now, he must already have signed a treaty with our own Wu Dynasty as well. All that’s left is for our court to march its armies, and then — the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan and Yun…”

He sighed, and Ning Yi, watching him, thought for a moment before lifting the teapot to pour. “So it’s really happening, then. Back when you argued for letting Jin grow strong, allying with Jin against Liao, driving the tiger to devour the wolf — that was your plan, wasn’t it, Old Qin?”

“Not exactly a plan.” The old man shook his head and sighed. “I was simply cornered with nowhere else to turn, and came up with a bit of a scheme. His Majesty had his own ideas about reclaiming Yan and Yun — and it wasn’t only the Jurchens he’d once considered allying with. Back then the Jurchens couldn’t even see a way forward for themselves. I went and made a fuss about it at the time, took the blame, and then stepped back. Over these past years the situation has shifted in many ways I hadn’t planned for — but in the end they managed to seize the moment, and now the day has finally come…”

For months before this, the old man had remained silent on the matter, never once broaching the subject of the wider situation. Only today had he finally been able to speak of it — he had waited eight years for Jin and Liao to reach a true balance of power and formally go to war, and now that it had happened, there was naturally a sense of relief in him. And yet, alongside that relief, he didn’t exactly seem happy either. He was usually easygoing and humorous, but there was always a certain gravity and force behind his words — and yet just now, seeing his hair gone gray and thin, that gravity seemed to have drained away, leaving only mildness and a trace of weariness in its place. These eight years of restraint, outwardly calm as they’d seemed, had in fact been years of watching the larger situation shift and change, and he must have carried an unspeakable weight upon his heart the whole while — it couldn’t have been easy.

The courtyard was quiet now, leaves swaying in the light breeze. Ning Yi, sensing something of the old man’s mood, felt a faint stirring of emotion himself. The history unfolding here differed from what he’d once known, but regardless, as a participant in it, the old man had truly given everything he had, and had achieved something of his own in the process. Ning Yi lifted his teacup and took a sip, understanding that there was nothing he needed to say just now. The old man thought for a while, then began to smile again.

“So, back to the same question — is Liheng willing to go to the capital and make something of himself there?”

In the past it had usually been Kang Xian who kept asking whether Ning Yi wanted to take up an official post, with Old Qin simply looking on from the side. Now, though, it was Old Qin himself asking. Ning Yi shook his head. “Ha — your future’s uncertain, old man. I’m not signing on with you.”

“Excuses…”

Ning Yi deflected with a joke, and Old Qin let the remark pass. “In truth… a few years back, watching the conflict between Jin and Liao grow more intense by the day, my heart held only relief. But these past few years, the more I watch them fight it out, the more uneasy I’ve grown. You understand the reasoning behind that, don’t you, Liheng?”

“A weak state has no diplomacy?”

The old man blinked, then nodded. “Liheng truly does understand these things — struck the point in a single line. A weak state has no diplomacy indeed… Wanyan Aguda rose with barely two thousand men and stood against Liao’s million-strong host — Chuhedian, Huanglong Prefecture, Huhuoduo Ridge — one victory after another. People in our own court, hearing of it, say the man truly is a hero the likes of which appears only once in an age, that Liao’s fortunes are exhausted. And yet whenever we clash with Liao at our own borders, we’re routed every single time. Twenty thousand Jurchens breaking seven hundred thousand Liao troops at Huhuoduo Ridge, ten thousand Jurchens said to be unbeatable — it’s unthinkable. But if seven hundred thousand Liao troops were to march against our own Wu Dynasty, who among us could stand against them? Li Gang? Tong Guan? Zhong Shidao? And once these Jin soldiers finish with Liao — who will they turn on next? Liheng, I keep thinking that what I set in motion back then wasn’t saving the Wu Dynasty at all — it was pushing it toward the fire pit…”

“You’re overthinking it,” Ning Yi said, glancing at him. “Jin’s manpower is insufficient — that’s their weakness, at least for now. As long as people are willing to rise to the occasion and seize the breathing room while it lasts, the Wu Dynasty can still be saved.”

“What I fear is that one day the Jin troops march south and there is no breathing room left. What then?”

“Then the dynasty deserves to fall. Old man, how much can one person hope to accomplish alone?”

“Still, better to accomplish what one can.”

“You’re far too arrogant.”

“Ha, ha.”

The two of them found themselves laughing for a moment. After a pause, Ning Yi raised his teacup. “Old Qin, I won’t waste more words — I understand what you mean. The capital… if the chance arises, I’ll go. When the time comes, if there’s something worth doing, I’d ask that you look out for me a little. For now I only hope… that when the time comes I won’t be too stubborn about it, ha…”

In all honesty, Ning Yi felt a measure of admiration for what the old man before him had done. He himself had no intention of entering officialdom, nor did he believe that if things truly took a turn for the worse in the future, he’d personally be able to turn the tide — after all, there were limits to what any one person could do. But if there were ever an opportunity down the road to lend a hand, that was fine too, so there was no need to slam the door shut in his words.

The two of them had known each other for about two years now, had talked many times in that span, and understood each other’s characters reasonably well. And yet that last remark left Qin Siyuan momentarily unable to fully grasp its meaning. Only years later would those who truly came to know Ning Yi understand just how far he was capable of taking things, once he genuinely decided to see something through properly.

That was a notion almost no one in that entire era would have dared to conceive of.

Of course, for now it was still the peaceful, tranquil early days of summer, and the plans already made with his wife couldn’t simply be set aside. The two of them chatted a while longer about the situation between Jin and Liao, and a few days later, with Su Tan’er having arranged everything, Ning Yi bid a reluctant farewell to Yun Zhu and Jin’er — no wait, the whole family boarded a large ship together and set out eastward along the Yangtze, heading toward Yangzhou.

In the fifth month, news of the outbreak of war between Jin and Liao spread across the length and breadth of the land.

At the end of the fifth month, Qin Siyuan was recalled to office, promoted directly to Right Vice Director of the Department of State Affairs concurrently Manager of Affairs with the Secretariat-Chancellery, along with countless other honors and rewards. The reasons for his recall were never officially disclosed, but it quietly confirmed the truth of the rumors from the year before, and for a time his standing at court was unrivaled.

The wheel turned and turned, and the histories of Jin, Liao, and Wu entered a new chapter.

Meanwhile, on the grasslands in Liao’s northwest, a tribe called the Qiyan had already raised the banner of revolt against Liao, and was rapidly expanding its power across the steppe, campaigning south and north like a swarm of locusts. Like a cyclone hidden in a corner no one had thought to watch, they waited, gathering strength, destined eventually to swell into a storm vast enough to tear every eye in the land toward it…