As the morning mist rose, the hills and low ridges surrounding Hangzhou were covered as far as the eye could see with endless rows of army camps.
The pre-dawn cold had frozen over the smoke of battle and the smell of blood that had lingered just a short while before; the war fever that had raged for days had finally fallen quiet. In the space between the besieging army’s camps and Hangzhou’s city walls, countless corpses, pools of blood, arrows planted in the ground or in bodies, and wrecked siege equipment together formed a scene woven of crimson and pale white—both fervent and deathly still. In some places, fallen corpses seeped red blood into the earth, while flames had ignited nearby, scattering black ash. Across the whole battlefield, red, white, and black intertwined and stretched on, extending into the drifting mist, all covered beneath a thin layer of ice formed overnight.
Occasionally, a few warhorses would ride out from the camp toward the battlefield; amid the deathly still landscape, the odd dark figure or two would appear here and there—soldiers with a certain degree of permission to leave camp, searching within a safe range for the bodies of fallen comrades, or opportunists from within the ranks sneaking out to search corpses for valuables. Such searches were mostly fruitless, but the occasional small find was enough to tempt people to keep trying.
On the city walls opposite, the flickering light of torches drifted faintly, like ghostly wisps shrouded within clouds and mist.
Around the year 1000, the erratic climate of the Little Ice Age briefly halted this battle. After five days of continuous, alternating assaults on the city, Tong Guan finally set aside, for the time being, his plan to take Hangzhou in one decisive push, allowing his besieging troops a brief rest while he considered his next move.
Though this was the first lull for the besieging army in five days, the defenders still could not afford to let their guard down. Tong Guan was no mediocre tactician—over those five days, his forces had launched attacks from three directions around Hangzhou, waves of assault rolling on like a raging tide, each wave alternating in intensity, sometimes feints, sometimes real. This southward-marching force of one hundred fifty thousand elite Imperial Guards ranked, at least at this point, among the finest troops in the entire Wu Dynasty, its combat strength far surpassing that of the rebel peasant army within the city. Had it not been for the fact that Fang La’s forces in Hangzhou at this time were themselves composed of concentrated elite troops, with ample manpower, and had the weather not been growing steadily colder, the city walls would very likely have already been breached by Tong Guan on more than one occasion.
For this reason, even though the besieging army had halted its assault, the defenses atop the walls showed not the slightest sign of relaxing—no one knew whether Tong Guan might suddenly launch a fresh wave of attacks.
Once again under the shadow of war’s peril, the city of Hangzhou, which had only just begun to regain a bit of its former liveliness, now sank once more into a tense, pale atmosphere. But compared to the panic that had gripped the city during Fang La’s earlier siege, half the population here had by now become rebels themselves, and what presented itself now was an entirely different kind of ecosystem.
The area around细柳 (Xiliu) Street, belonging to the outer perimeter of the Overlord Blade Camp, had by now been cordoned off, with long fences and tall archery towers. This place now resembled the Overlord Blade Manor hundreds of miles away, transformed into something like a fortified stockade. No one would believe such precautions were meant to guard against Tong Guan’s forces outside the city—ever since the complete break with Bao Daoyi, Liu Dabiao had ordered this kind of perimeter built mainly because the conflict with Bao Daoyi had grown increasingly intense, and Fang La and the others could no longer mediate between them. But the real reason few people knew was that certain matters currently taking place on Xiliu Street were things Liu Xigua didn’t want disturbed, and so she had used the conflict as a pretext to have the Overlord Blade Camp set apart like this.
By the time senior military figures like Fang Qifo, Wang Yin, Si Xingfang, Deng Yuanjue, and Shi Bao had returned, Tong Guan’s army was already closing in on Hangzhou, so none of them had time to mediate the conflict between the Overlord Blade Camp and Bao Daoyi. But once the siege began, both sides temporarily set aside their desire for vengeance against each other, each choosing a section of the wall to help defend.
And because the Overlord Blade Camp’s elite forces had suffered heavy losses accompanying Fang Qifo in tying down Tong Guan’s army during this period, in the past few days of the siege defense, the Overlord Blade Camp’s people hadn’t been assigned much in the way of major duties, but were instead kept mostly in safer positions, filling in gaps where needed. On the other hand, no matter how willful Liu Xigua might be, the Overlord Blade Camp remained, in the end, one of Fang La’s staunchest supporters within his own ranks. Whether the city might eventually fall, or fall into chaos, a force like the Overlord Blade Camp was still considered core military strength that Fang La needed to preserve. As long as the Overlord Blade Camp had capacity to spare, the city wouldn’t descend into total chaos, and even those scheming to replace Fang La as emperor or betray him for personal gain would be wary of the Overlord Blade Camp’s presence and hesitate to act.
Originally, when accompanying Fang Qifo in the assault on Jiaxing, the main force of the Overlord Blade Camp had numbered over three thousand; later, when Liu Dabiao turned back partway, more than two thousand had remained with Fang Qifo. In order to realize the strategic goal of dragging Tong Guan’s siege efforts past autumn, Fang Qifo had led his troops in stubbornly holding back this army of one hundred fifty thousand, at considerable cost to his own forces—the Overlord Blade Camp contingent had lost more than half its numbers along the way, with only a few hundred surviving to return.
Such heavy losses had finally bought Hangzhou ample time to build up its defenses; at the time, Liu Xigua had concealed part of the battle’s progress from those on Xiliu Street. Now that the army had returned to the city, the mood on Xiliu Street naturally couldn’t rise very high. But after several days of siege, with Tong Guan having called off his assault, the people on the streets were finally able to rest this morning. Amid the not-too-thick morning mist, the occasional pedestrian out on the street spoke only in hushed, quiet tones. Within the main residence of the Overlord Blade Camp, one window had been lit since before dawn, and inside, two people were now in conversation about certain matters.
“…’The people are most important, the state comes next, the ruler is least’—when we first discussed this, we already talked about the idea of equality among all people. Interpreting it through Confucius is difficult; it’s better explained through Mencius. Liu Xiyang is an expert in this area—though his essay interprets things a bit carelessly, probably without much real sincerity, it’s easy to understand and accessible, and could still serve well as introductory reading material going forward… I think it’s worth one dou of rice…”
“If it’s entirely without sincerity, why give him a whole dou… I’ll only allow five sheng.”
“Not entirely without—there’s still some sincerity in it…”
“Anyone can manage a shallow interpretation—pull a random group of people off the street and you’d get a pile of essays just like this. Since he’s supposed to be a great Confucian scholar, he ought to be pushed to produce a few pieces worth real scrutiny. And given how deep his learning is, if he writes something shallow just to fob people off, it clearly shows some resentment in his heart. Give him a dou of rice, and if he doesn’t finish eating it, he won’t write a second essay… Only five sheng for him.”
“Fine. Five sheng for Liu Xiyang… This piece by Guo Jiliang is a bit deeper—since we’re trying to needle Liu Xiyang a little, let’s give Guo Jiliang seven sheng for this one. As for Han Fangjun’s piece, it falls a bit short…”
The lamp flickered slightly as it swayed. The two people in the room, holding essay after essay as they discussed them, were Ning Yi and Liu Xigua. Though both spoke with genuine seriousness, hearing them go on about sheng and dou of rice made the whole exchange seem rather odd. Liu Xigua had been up on the city walls a lot recently; having rested a little yesterday, she’d risen early today to seek out Ning Yi to discuss matters, and after going through the essays for a while, the conversation turned to the Manichaean faith.
“…That woman Wu Yunying has no brains. Loyal, sure, but she’s not from the Overlord Blade Manor, she’s not one of our own people—you need to keep an eye on her.” Fang La had risen up under the banner of the Manichaean practice of “eating vegetables and serving the demon,” and there were quite a few believers among the troops. But since the Overlord Blade Camp had always been strong in its own right and never wanting for resources, this faith, which emphasized shared hardship and solidarity among peasants, held relatively little sway within the Camp. This Wu Yunying was the head of the Manichaean branch temple within the Overlord Blade Camp; Liu Xigua didn’t think much of her, regarding her merely as the faith’s nominal Holy Maiden on this side.
“She’s not so bad. She’s been attending the lectures lately, and when I asked her about it, she said the teachings share quite a bit in common with our doctrine.”
“Oh… good.”
“But when it comes to their usual proselytizing, even the branch heads haven’t really studied the scriptures much. Wu Yunying hasn’t even read through the entire Lower Section Hymns, so it’s hard to say she could speak convincingly if asked to help revise the doctrine.”
“The other branch heads are actually quite knowledgeable—it’s just Wu Yunying who’s a bit slow-witted. Though preaching to villagers doesn’t really require understanding much—Uncle Fang says the four words ‘share hardship together’ are more than enough…”
“That’s certainly the plain truth… Other than that, there’s not much else. Oh, about the essays I’ve received recently…”
“If I were to change my name, what do you think would sound good?”
“Once I’ve shown them to that group of children… wait, what?” Ning Yi paused, startled.
“Uh… change my name.” The young woman named Liu Xigua, dressed in plain, simple clothes but draped in a large cloak, waved her hand casually. “Let’s finish your business first… uh, I’m just asking, by the way… of course I’m not really asking you to help name me… you’re the more learned one, so let’s hear what you think.”
“…There’s a child who read them, asked some questions, wrote two short essays—I think he shows some real promise. Changing your name, but keeping the surname Liu?”
“Of course… which child is this?”
“Surname Chang, given name Qing. I’m planning to reward him with something—his family certainly isn’t short on rice, of course. I’ll draw up a certificate of merit for him, and you can help by writing something on it… uh, or maybe just stamp your seal, the kind that can be framed… Liu as the surname—how about Liu Yifei?”
“Oh, just stamp it yourself, I’ve left everything on the desk, I’m not around—tell Uncle Tiannan… wait, what did you say?”
“Liu Yifei.” Ning Yi began gathering up the essays on the desk. He’d said this off the top of his head, his mind on other matters, not really taking it seriously, and he even chuckled to himself as he said it.
“Liu Yifei… no good, out on the street nine out of ten women surnamed Liu are named Yifei… never mind, I was just asking for fun. Go on back for now. If you’re free this afternoon…”
“Nine out of ten, is that really so?”
“Yes indeed. Just the day before yesterday I heard that even Neighbor Liu Ahua’s cousin’s aunt’s grandmother-in-law is called Yifei too, and there’s also a cat kept by the second wife of Wen Kerang’s nephew’s family, also called Yifei Yifei. Wen Kerang once wanted to have you killed—when you have time, have someone stew that cat and eat it… You have real business to attend to, go on ahead. I was only asking out of idle curiosity.”
After Ning Yi left, Liu Xigua took out a sheet of paper covered in names from a drawer and wrote the new name onto it, then put it away and returned to her actual work…
…
After the formal break with Bao Daoyi, Ning Yi had no longer been closely involved in that particular matter. Liu Xigua had instead put him in charge of more practical—or perhaps one might say, more abstract—work within the Overlord Blade Camp: reshaping the entire institutional foundation of the Camp. At the time, this had seemed a bit like child’s play.
The Overlord Blade Camp had already held its first so-called election, and to abandon it halfway would seem unseemly. But with Tong Guan’s army marching south, the pressure was imminent, and with the Overlord Blade Camp’s future uncertain, it did seem rather absurd to devote the Camp’s efforts to reforms that amounted to little more than a game. Still, whatever the case, since they were at war, they had to prepare both for losing and for winning—if Fang La’s side truly managed to hold on, and Liu Xigua eventually came to rule over a prefecture or county of her own, giving her a piece of land to experiment with freely would present no problem at all. Whatever needed to be done in the future could well begin being laid out now.
Ideas like democracy and freedom were, for the most part, tools used to win Liu Xigua over, but on a deeper psychological level, Ning Yi genuinely wanted to run a little experiment of his own, seizing the opportunity at hand. Of course, the fundamental essence of democracy was never really a matter of institutions, but of the human heart—and in this era, so-called democracy was a tree without roots, something almost no one gave any thought to. Simply handing the Overlord Blade Camp an institutional framework, copying over an electoral system wholesale and imagining it would build a utopia of universal harmony—that was absolutely impossible.
In fact, from what little history Ning Yi knew, he’d heard that China’s own history had already seen many attempts at building societies of universal harmony. Certain wealthy men or scholars had donated their family fortunes to create commune-like villages, where everyone ate from a common pot, children attended school together, everyone worked collectively, and matters were decided by a council of elders voting together—yet every single one of these attempts had, without exception, ultimately failed. Whatever the reasons behind such failures, simply handing people a system was never, by itself, of any use. Democracy, at its core, was also a form of dictatorship of the majority over the minority. To have democracy, one first needed culture—people had to fight for it spontaneously, recognizing the legitimacy of what they were fighting for; there had to be that kind of theoretical foundation in place.
Once given the power to act, Ning Yi first turned his attention to a group of literati at Wenlie Academy.
Each day he held a brief class, gathering many scholars from both within and outside the academy, lecturing daily on the relationship between production and distribution, teaching from Das Kapital. From this, he distilled a simple social essence: that the fundamental nature of a state was that of a collective in which people came together to help one another and pursue mutual benefit; on this basis, no one held any inherent superiority over another, and social progress meant continually moving distribution toward greater fairness. He then had people explain these basic cooperative relationships in whatever language others could accept, and write essays about it. Confucius’s theories worked, so did Mencius’s, so did Mozi’s, Han Fei’s, Laozi’s—it made no difference; if someone could cobble together a piece using even Sunzi’s framework, and it had some quality to it, he’d accept it too.
By this time, Hangzhou had already shifted into full wartime status.
Although Fang La had taken Hangzhou during the autumn harvest and had amassed considerable resources in preparation for facing Tong Guan, so the city’s resources were still fairly ample, under wartime conditions various goods had become very difficult to circulate—anyone with money or grain found it very hard to bring such things back out into circulation. The scholars and literati of Wenlie Academy had once again become idle men with time on their hands, and Ning Yi made them this offer: write an essay, get something to eat.
Ning Yi explained all manner of modern theories in terms as simple as possible; in any case, these educated men could generally follow along. Whether or not they agreed with the ideas, he pushed them to force out something, however far-fetched, tying it back to the teachings of Confucius and Mencius and the sages—right or wrong made no difference. With so many scholars writing so many essays, out of a hundred pieces of garbage, one or two interesting ones were bound to turn up eventually. In the future, these essays could be used as introductory material for children, turning a lie repeated a thousand times into something accepted as truth, then gradually verified and refined through real life experience; shown to others, there would always be some rebellious few capable of seeing something that seemed to make sense within it.
But first, there had to be essays to work with. He was bored anyway, and what he needed to do now was to break Das Kapital apart into pieces and blend it together with Confucius and Mencius. As for what this particular bomb might eventually become down the line, he honestly didn’t much care.
And so it was that, coming out of the main residence, he happened to run into Chen Fan, whom he hadn’t seen in several days. Chen Fan was once again bandaged up, the strong smell of medicine clinging to him, yet he still looked full of vigor. After exchanging greetings, Chen Fan mentioned he’d been up on the front lines these past few days.
“When it comes to fighting, the first thing that matters isn’t skill—the most reliable thing is luck… You may be a master, but with bad luck, it’s just as well you haven’t been up on the walls. You just came from over there? How’s that Xigua girl doing—has she gotten hurt?”
“Looks like her luck’s better than yours.” Ning Yi laughed. “General Manager Tiannan told me you two nearly came to blows again a few days ago. What happened?”
“Just kidding around. We didn’t actually fight—we were up on the wall, and she suddenly asked what I thought would be a good name if she changed hers… She’s been asking everyone this lately, all mysterious about it. So I told her, her father’s called Liu Dabiao, and it’s a bit awkward for her to go by both ‘Liu Dabiao’ and ‘Liu Xigua’—better to combine the two…”
At this point, Chen Fan couldn’t help laughing out loud, bending forward at the waist. Ning Yi’s mouth twitched. “Uh, combine them into what?”
“Ha, combine them, obviously… hahaha, hoo hoo… Liu… Liu Da-Xigua, or you could also call her Liu Da-Xigua-Biao, hahahaha…” Chen Fan clutched his stomach, laughing uncontrollably, thoroughly punchable. “And then, and then she completely lost it, drew her blade to cut me down—but we were on the battlefield, she couldn’t bring herself to actually do it, I laughed myself to death, hahahaha…”
He couldn’t stop laughing. Ning Yi’s mouth twitched for a good while too before he finally patted Chen Fan’s shoulder. “I think you’d better stay out of her sight for a while.”
“Of course, of course—oh, wait, there’s something, something I need to tell you…” As Ning Yi started to walk past, Chen Fan grabbed his arm, laughed a bit more, then finally composed himself and stood up straight, trying his best to keep a serious, dignified expression. “It’s like this—Tong Guan’s been attacking for five days now, and the weather’s getting colder and colder. Once it actually starts snowing, he won’t be able to keep fighting. The city should be able to hold, but Master says that given Tong Guan’s temperament, combined with the tense situation up north, he probably won’t give up easily, and there’ll likely be one or two more all-out assaults to come. Either way, when things settle down, he wants to meet you once. I’m just letting you know now—it’ll probably be soon, and if Tong Guan happens to be idle, it might even be this afternoon…”
Ning Yi thought about it and nodded. The two chatted a bit more, and after Chen Fan left, Ning Yi stood there for a while, then finally let out a breath and smiled.
“Fang Qifo…”