Within the great hall of the imperial palace, the recitation of gifts continued without pause.
“…From Khotan, a pair of flawless mutton-fat white jade cups, a pair of flawless mutton-fat white jade bowls, a flawless mutton-fat jade brush-washer and inkstone each, a green jade screen carved with dragons… a painting of the Ten Sages by the Tang dynasty master Wu Daozi… a gold-and-jade statue of Guanyin, a gold-and-jade Buddhist shrine, a hand-copied Lankavatara Sutra written in gold leaf on jade-toned paper, the Diamond Sutra…”
As the listing continued, a great quantity of precious treasures and curios were carried into the hall. As the deputy envoy read out the list of gifts, Xu Zerun quietly took in his surroundings, and the Jin emperor seated above.
As a power that had risen suddenly to replace the Liao, the Jin state was not one of deep, established aristocratic heritage, but rather a nouveau-riche power that had abruptly come into great wealth. And yet, even here in this palace at Huining, not even a hint of that nouveau-riche flavor showed itself outwardly—the grounds were fairly extensive, but the palace walls were, remarkably, made of wood, mostly willow and elm. The front courtyard served for administrative business, the rear courtyard for living quarters, and only this great hall showed any real sense of grandeur—yet compared to the towering imperial palace of the Wu Dynasty, this “palace” here could only be called a thatched hut by comparison.
Still, Xu Zerun understood well enough in his heart that what truly determined what kind of place this was had nothing to do with its physical form, but rather with the people gathered here. Whether dwelling in a thatched hut or a felt tent, the men gathered around the figure before him were already a presence the entire world dared not treat lightly.
Upon the throne, Wuqimai was watching with keen interest as each of these treasures and curios was carried in, one by one.
As the Jin state’s second emperor, Wanyan Wuqimai, at first glance, seemed to lack some of the world-devouring quality his elder brother Aguda had possessed. His build was actually larger than Aguda’s—said to possess natural, god-given strength, capable of wrestling bears and tigers bare-handed. Before Aguda had risen up, Emperor Tianzuo had once gathered the Jurchen chieftains together, demanding at the banquet that each chieftain dance to entertain him; Aguda had firmly refused, and Tianzuo had meant to kill him for it—it was Wuqimai, appearing in the role of a mere attendant, who had performed his own signature trick, wrestling a bear and binding a tiger bare-handed, delighting Tianzuo enough that Aguda’s life was spared.
Yet it was precisely because of this—as the big, loyal man who had always stood faithfully by Aguda’s side—that he had, by nature, come across as somewhat simple, even a bit dim-witted. Though, after inheriting the throne, by most accounts, he had indeed inherited a fair measure of his brother’s capability, his governance had tended toward a relatively mild and steady approach. In fact, seeing him now, Xu Zerun couldn’t help but recall a certain rumor he’d once heard:
During Aguda’s reign, his conduct had always been extremely frugal; he had once made an agreement with his ministers that the treasury’s wealth could only be drawn upon in times of war, and that anyone who violated this rule, regardless of who they were, would receive twenty strokes of the military rod. After Wuqimai succeeded to the throne, funds were comparatively tight, with expenses needed on every front. This emperor, having risen from hard times, could endure most things, but he did have a particular weakness for wine and meat. This past March, one day, unable to resist any longer, he had secretly taken money from the treasury to spend—only for Zonghan to find out and expose him openly in front of the assembled ministers, whereupon Wuqimai was hauled down and given twenty strokes of the rod himself, after which the entire court of officials knelt to beg forgiveness on his behalf.
Xu Zerun had met Wanyan Zonghan before—one of the most formidable ministers at the Jin court, and it was entirely plausible he really might do such a thing. Of course, whether or not the story was true, Xu Zerun had no idea whether it boded well or ill for the Wu Dynasty.
As an envoy of the Wu Dynasty, Xu Zerun himself was a man of considerable social finesse, skilled at reading faces and character. In the course of dealing with these martial, rough-hewn men, he had also come to understand that such people had at least one virtue: once they’d taken your money, it more or less guaranteed they’d handle their end of the bargain. Over these past three months, he had cultivated relationships with no small number of Jin officials, and he knew full well that the Jin court had been locked in ongoing debate over this very matter. Coming here today, although some of the officials he knew weren’t present, seeing the satisfied smile on the Jin emperor’s face above, he felt this affair was likely to end well.
After the various gifts had been presented, he formally submitted the state document containing the various trade agreement terms. Wuqimai accepted it, gave it only a passing glance, set it aside, and rose from his seat.
Once he stood up, Xu Zerun finally felt the full weight of the man’s overwhelming presence. Draped in sable and fur, the bear-like Jurchen emperor walked over, reaching out to touch the porcelain and jade curios among the tribute gifts, then picking a few up to turn over in his hands for a moment. “Fine things indeed,” he murmured, and upon spotting some cured meats and fine wine sealed in porcelain bottles among the tributary gifts, he couldn’t help but pick those up too, bending down to sniff at them. “Truly fine things…”
“When we broke into the Khitan palace,” he said, turning to Xu Zerun, “the emperor had fled, taking a great deal with him, and along the way much of it got smashed to pieces—some good things never survived. Of course, the young hotheads who charged in first didn’t know anything either; after the fighting, they went around setting fires everywhere…”
Already past fifty, the emperor’s face, formidable yet with a certain guileless simplicity to it, looked almost as though he were saying “what a heartbreaking waste.” Having said this, he circled the pile of gifts once more, looking them over, then waved a hand toward the assembled ministers. “Court dismissed—dismissed for today, all of you may go.”
The assembled ministers began taking their leave. Xu Zerun frowned slightly. “Your Majesty, that… that agreement…”
“The matter is already settled.” Wuqimai rose from among the treasures and walked toward Xu Zerun, then reached out directly, draping an arm around his shoulder, speaking in his deep, rough voice. “Envoy Xu, no need to worry further. Come, walk with me—I’ll show you something.”
Wuqimai stood a head and a half taller than him, and reaching back, gave him a pat that sent him stumbling forward a step; by now the emperor had already begun walking toward the hall’s exit, and Xu Zerun and the others followed after him. A few white clouds drifted across the autumn sky, the sun already climbing high, bringing with it a faint warmth. The emperor climbed into his carriage, then had Xu Zerun brought along as well. “Envoy Xu, ride with me.”
Xu Zerun demurred a bit, but in the end climbed aboard, perching himself at the edge of the carriage seat by the curtain, only half-seated. Wuqimai pulled him over, urging him to sit properly. “The road’s rough—if you don’t sit steady, you’ll take a tumble.”
The emperor sat upright in the carriage, both hands resting on his knees, a faint smile on his face, looking for all the world like a great bear settled comfortably in its seat.
For some reason, Xu Zerun felt a growing unease in his heart. After a moment, as the carriage moved forward, Wuqimai spoke.
“Envoy Xu, my late brother and I, many years ago, came to admire Han learning deeply. We knew that to the south lay the Wu Dynasty, prosperous and flourishing, where everyone… could receive education and enlightenment—a truly civilized empire under heaven. Envoy Xu, do you understand what I mean?”
Xu Zerun cupped his hands respectfully. “I… understand, Your Majesty. If the two states can open border markets and increase exchanges between them, before long, the Jin state…”
“Like those things you brought today—all fine things.” Wuqimai waved a hand, cutting off whatever lengthy speech was about to follow. “Of course, you people have your issues too—always fond of these convoluted little schemes we don’t understand. What use is any of that? Can’t make sense of it, and it’s useless anyway…”
“Of course, we have our own issues too.” Wuqimai didn’t dwell further on the point, continuing on. “I’ve only just taken the throne—there are enemies at court, and things need stabilizing below as well. I truly have no wish to fight another war—the Liao are already finished. Yan and Ji, and the rest, you’ve already reclaimed what you were owed there. A bit of rest would suit everyone best. But!”
He raised a finger, his voice growing sharper. “But… I will never allow anyone to think that we Jurchen fear war—that having conquered an empire, we no longer dare to fight! If anyone holds such a notion, they will die for it! Envoy Xu, do you understand?”
Xu Zerun froze for a moment, then cupped his hands. “This humble subject understands.” Inwardly, though, he felt a flicker of relief—when someone spoke this way outright, it usually meant the actual threat wouldn’t materialize. Sure enough, Wuqimai laughed afterward. “Good, good that you understand. If those at your court understand as well, then all under heaven shall know peace.”
As they spoke, the jolting carriage gradually came to a stop. “We’re here,” Wuqimai said, rising first, with Xu Zerun following behind him down from the carriage. Ahead lay a long row of low houses and walls, forming a neat, square courtyard, a few trees stirring in the autumn wind. Aside from Xu Zerun’s group of envoys and the guards accompanying Wuqimai, there were few people around. The emperor stood in the courtyard, gazing at this rather bleak scene, drew a deep breath, and raised a finger toward those beside him.
“Envoy Xu, close your eyes. Listen—listen to this sound.”
Xu Zerun’s heart, by this point, was pounding with a mixture of unease and confusion. He closed his eyes and listened; all he could hear was the faint rustle of the autumn wind through the treetops, and beyond that, nothing he could make out clearly. When he opened his eyes again, Wuqimai’s low murmuring had already begun once more.
“When I was young, I hunted in the Changbai Mountains—to be a good hunter, one’s ears matter a great deal. From a great distance, I could already tell the sound of bears and tigers, the sound of their paws pressing into the snow, the leaves rustling gently, which way the wind was blowing… A good pair of ears will save your life. Listen now—this sound, truly it’s… whooooooo…”
He waved his hand, gently imitating the sound of the wind, and smiled at Xu Zerun. Xu Zerun, however, could only look on in bewilderment—though he also understood that many emperors simply enjoyed this sense of being inscrutable to others, so half of his confusion was, admittedly, a deliberate show as well. After his laugh, Wuqimai strode forward, toward a small gate on the far side of the courtyard. As he walked, his final words to Xu Zerun were: “Oh, right, Envoy Xu, those things I said back in the carriage—do you remember them?”
Xu Zerun answered, “Yes, Your Majesty, I remember.”
Wuqimai stepped through that small gate.
Xu Zerun followed after him, and the scene unfolded before them—then something crawled thick and dense across his vision, like tens of thousands of ants swarming, spreading up from the base of his spine. His scalp prickled, and in that instant, his entire body seized up tight…
…
Shangjing, Linhuang Prefecture.
As Wanyan Xiyin walked into that exquisite little courtyard, the sound of a guzheng rose to meet him. He climbed the small tower, pushed open the door of the finely appointed room, and the woman inside, seated by the window plucking at the guzheng strings, turned to give him a gentle smile.
He sat down in a chair, closing his eyes to listen to the woman’s playing.
“Valley Spirit” Wanyan Xiyin was, among the Jurchen people, considered foremost among their civil officials. Of course, being “foremost among civil officials” mainly reflected the fact that his learning surpassed everyone else’s—when it came to knowledge of Han culture, of Confucian scholarship, he stood in no way inferior to many of the great scholars of the southern Wu Dynasty. Some years earlier, he had even single-handedly created a written script for the Jurchen people.
And it wasn’t only in scholarship that he’d made his mark—among the Jurchen ministers, he was a man of extraordinary talent, equally accomplished in both civil and military affairs. Even Jin Wushu, a name that would go down as something like a demon’s in later ages—Aguda’s fourth son, Wanyan Zongbi—held him in a mixture of respect and fear.
Living here in this small tower was one of his concubines. Wanyan Xiyin, with his deep admiration for Han learning, had taken as his concubine a woman of a prominent Wu Dynasty family who had ended up adrift in the northern lands, named Chen Wenjun. The two had been married for many years now, in perfect harmony, deeply devoted to one another. Chen Wenjun had borne Wanyan Xiyin two children in all, and after the death of his official wife, with that position having remained vacant ever since, she had effectively become his wife in all but name. The Jurchen people of this era held no particular prejudice against Han people, and within the household, she was often privately referred to as “the Han lady.”
Every time he returned home, Wanyan Xiyin had made it a habit to listen to her play a tune on the guzheng, and this time was no exception. As the gentle, flowing melody drew to a close, Wanyan Xiyin opened his eyes and gazed at this beloved woman for a long while. Chen Wenjun’s fingers rested on the strings; she tilted her head and asked with a smile, “Does my husband have something on his mind?”
Wanyan Xiyin was silent for a moment, then said, “I am to march south.”
…
The scene widened before them.
A vast parade ground, countless banners fluttering. At the front of the ground stood a high platform, and the figure ahead walked toward it. Below the platform, a great many officials in Jin court robes had been bound tightly with rope, kneeling there—every one of them a man Xu Zerun had visited and who had accepted his gifts. Atop the platform, all manner of tribute goods were piled high, racks laden with precious porcelain, gold and silver vessels, and beneath the platform, a massive brazier of burning charcoal blazed, waves of heat rolling off it, warping the air.
Leaves spun and skittered past underfoot.
Xu Zerun was an intelligent man, an exceedingly intelligent man, and the moment he took in the full scene before him, something rose up from deep within him, gripping his very soul. Gooseflesh spread over him along with a chill, and Wuqimai’s words in the carriage came flooding back, followed by things further still—the great rivers and mountains he had passed by ship and cart on his long journey north, the eyes of his wife and children as he’d left home, countless eyes, all flashing through his mind at once…
A great wind swept across the parade ground, banners and leaves snapping and rustling, the clouds above rolling and unfurling.
“Close your eyes, listen to this sound…”
He was still walking forward, his body cold, the back of his head numb. This was meant to be an ordinary day; he had never imagined he would witness the scene now unfolding before him, and yet some grave, crushing sensation was already bearing down on him, like a heavenly wind and ocean storm crashing against the mountain rock.
Soldiers came forward, striking the backs of the envoy delegation with their weapons, yet strangely, no sound reached him—in that moment, he could hear nothing at all. His vision seemed to sway, and struck down, his knees buckled beneath him. Ahead, the emperor climbed the high platform, the wind lifting his robes, fur flying through the air, his massive frame, both fists clenched, facing down countless soldiers and officers gathered before him, and beside him rose piles of porcelain, gold, silver, and treasure like small mountains. Then, his voice rang out like thunder.
“My Jurchen brothers, do you know what these things before you are—”
…
Wind and rain swept across the land as Zhou Tong and his attendant walked along the roads of a foreign city, rain falling from the sky.
In Jiangning, the girl the family called Xiao Qi pushed the white-haired old man out to sit in the sun, watching passersby walk along the roadside outside. The old man occasionally spoke, breaking into smiles.
In the Miao territories, a one-armed blade-wielder named Du Sha swung his blade, the enemy’s blood spraying across his face, while beside him, his brothers fought fiercely against their foes…
…
“These are treasures from the southern Wu Dynasty—right before your eyes, porcelain like this, worth tens or even hundreds of strings of cash. The most valuable piece here alone, if you took it, could keep you fed and clothed for the rest of your life… Here’s a piece of Khotan mutton-fat jade, a chunk this large—enough to drive many men mad with desire, kept in your home, it could be a family heirloom passed down for ten generations… Here are paintings and calligraphy from the Tang dynasty… scriptures inlaid with gold and silver… tribute meant for the Wu emperor himself… fine wines you couldn’t buy even with money… here, thousands upon thousands of strings’ worth, hundreds of thousands of strings’ worth of fine treasures, laid out right before you—”
The wind swept across the high platform, and the emperor spread his arms wide within it. “You! Do you want it or not!”
…
In Hangzhou, a city rebuilt after enduring the ravages of war, canopied boats glided along peaceful waterways, and in the bustling markets, vendors called out their wares in loud voices; at the city gates, merchants and travelers came and went in a lively crowd…
In one courtyard, two men from the wilderness clashed in rapid combat, one of them sent flying, coughing up blood; the other raised his hand and called out, “I’ll lead the charge to slay the demons in your heart—who else refuses to yield?”
Li Pin walked along a mountain village path, and stopping by a stream to fetch water, picked up a bit of the wet sand and brought it to his nose to smell. He liked that fresh, clean scent.
Looking up, he could just make out, in the mountain village below, farmers coming and going about their work; the light was fine, the rice ripening to gold, nearly ready for harvest.
…
“You should want it!” Wuqimai’s voice echoed across the skies above Huining. “Good things—who wouldn’t want them! I want them too! But, I refuse to accept them as charity—”
“We Jurchen! Since our late emperor first rose up, we have fought our way out of the White Mountains and Black Waters, and in scarcely ten years, have swept across the entire realm of the Liao! Everything that once belonged to the Khitan, all their finest possessions, are now ours! Is this vast realm, are all its treasures and wonders, not far greater than what lies before you here!? What are these things, compared to that—”
Amid his furious roar, he seized hold of a massive rack laden with porcelain nearby and, with a violent heave, sent it flying through the air—countless pieces of porcelain soaring upward before crashing down like a small mountain upon the platform below, shattering into white fragments before the eyes of everyone present. Several of the kneeling Jin officials at the front were knocked flat beneath the wreckage, their heads bloodied…
…
At the Alum Tower, elegant scholars fanned themselves gracefully as they composed poetry and prose. Shishi, plucking at her instrument with a smile, watched the men before her; outside the window, the summer heat had already faded, and the leaves were beginning to yellow.
Well, autumn again. Sometimes, thinking about it—the warblers flying, the grass growing—another year gone, just like that…
Up north, another caravan of goods entered Mount Lüliang. Hongti stood atop the completed stronghold gate, watching the merchants and travelers passing through.
Zhou Bangyan poured tea in his thatched cottage, entertaining a visiting guest. Song Yongping, military treatise in hand, surveyed the terrain around a valley, a few bored county soldiers trailing along behind him.
At the Ning residence, Xiao Chan clutched her belly and let out a great cry. In an instant, the whole household was thrown into chaos…
…
The thunderous crash of shattering objects rang out, followed by chests filled with gold and silver; those gleaming, precious wares flew up into the air, falling into the massive charcoal furnace, wind and flame rising together.
“Porcelain! What is that—”
“Gold and silver! What is that—”
“Paintings and calligraphy! What is that—”
“Have you never seen these things before! No! You have all seen them! When you marched across the whole of the Liao’s mountains and rivers, when you charged into the cities of the Khitan, into their very palaces, you have all seen these things before! Many of you brought them home yourselves—you already have everything! The whole of the Liao’s realm belongs to us—”
“We are the snow bears of the frozen plains, the wolf kings of the forest sea! We Jurchen, once gathered together, are unmatched under heaven. We took, openly and rightfully, everything we wanted! We conquered the whole of the Liao, including these men kneeling below—they were once your brothers, they too once went out openly and rightfully to seize everything they desired! Do you know why they kneel here now! Because when they saw these things they wanted, they actually began accepting them as charity! Like dogs, they accepted the charity of Wu Dynasty men, and then went to work lobbying, serving them—”
“They are no longer Jurchen—they are dogs—”
The wind howled, the flames rose ever higher, and beneath the platform, countless small mountains of treasures shattered, smashed to pieces, melted into liquid gold, burned to ash. The massive figure of the emperor surged across the platform like some demon god, hurling priceless treasures toward destruction with a single hand…
…
South of the river, along the official road leading in and out of the county town, Wang Shanyue sat in a teahouse, watching the merchants coming and going, a bored smile on his face.
In a dark, small room, Cheng Zhouhai sorted through the intelligence at hand, occasionally jotting down useful items in the small notebook beside him, calculating the steps and odds of success for some covert scheme.
Shi Jin casually tossed a drunk troublemaker out of the tavern, then turned back to drink from his own cup of wine. The passersby on the street, startled at the sight of the man on the ground, gave him a wide berth and went on about their business. Only then did Shi Jin’s underlings rush over to give the man a thorough beating.
At the Grand Preceptor’s residence, Cai Jing had just finished writing out a fine piece of calligraphy and sat waiting in the autumn wind for the ink to dry, then instructed the steward beside him: “This one turned out well. Have it mounted later.”
Sunlight streamed in, the autumn wind stirring the paper, and in the corner, where the ink had not yet fully dried, these words could be seen: “…an elegant gift for my worthy younger brother, Huihui.” Amid the scent of ink lingered the faint fragrance of tea and books—the very bearing of a gentleman.
…
“These envoys of the Wu Dynasty have turned them into dogs! For all the things they brought, in the end, it comes down to this—they fear us! They fear we will strike them, but do we intend to strike them? We have not—”
“For so long, we treated the Wu Dynasty as a brotherly state, regarded them as brothers! And what have these so-called brothers done! When we fought the Khitan, they held back their strength! And once the fighting was done, they went scurrying about behind our backs, like detestable rats! They incited Zhang Jue’s rebellion, they harbored the remnants of the Liao! In our own territory, they scattered money everywhere, bribing, corrupting my own people! They have been carving away at my flesh, driving wedges between you brothers! And these men kneeling before you now—these are the ones they turned from men into dogs!”
“They! Living in the warmest of lands! They have the finest mountains and rivers, countless fine things! And yet they are not men! They are dogs! All they have is scheming and backstabbing, never a single sharp fang or claw between them! Have we Jurchen ever been stingy toward our brothers? Have we Jurchen ever been petty toward our friends? In the war against the Liao, they contributed nothing—it was we who won it, and then we gave them a share of the spoils! Let them go be happy, let them go boast of it! And in return, they turned around and drove knives into your backs! Into the backs of my own people! They destroyed these brothers of yours utterly—”
“But it’s just as well—” Wuqimai spread his arms wide, his robe sleeves billowing in the wind and flame. “They came to us, and told us what they have—so much, such fine things. And I have seen it now—you all want it, haha, but as for these dog-scraps up on this platform, we don’t need them. But there is more, so much more—ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times finer things, all lying to the south—”
…
South of the land, beyond Yanmen Pass, lay the warmest of soil, the finest waters and earth, the most favorable sunlight and climate. Year after year, month after month, it nourished the people of this land, granting them the finest cradle for survival and posterity.
For thousands of years, generation after generation, they had built here a great and brilliant civilization; they too had known war and chaos, but always, before long, they would come together once more, forging order anew. Now, more than two hundred years had passed since large-scale warfare had last swept through this land, and among its towering mountains and green waters, city after city, village after village, was filled with an air of peace and tranquility. As the sun rose, farmers stepped out of their village homes to begin their day’s labor with the dawn; in the cities, shops opened their doors, craftsmen finished their bowls of steaming porridge and picked up their tools for the day’s work, soldiers stood at the city gates chatting while inspecting passing merchants, and yamen runners called out stern commands in the courts of law. Boatmen poled their skiffs along the riverbanks; by the sea, fishermen raised their sails, beginning their day’s work, their families waving from the shore. The sound of suona horns rang out as a wedding procession crossed a stone bridge, the bride within her sedan chair waiting, both joyful and anxious, for the next chapter of her life to begin. Incense smoke curled through Buddhist temples, Daoist priests at their monasteries practiced their exercises for cultivating health, and on cliffs thick with green trees, stonemasons carving great Buddha heads were gradually bringing the features into view.
This was a world where ten thousand lives, and countless treasures, had gathered together…
In a mansion tucked within some winding garden estate, a new life was being brought into the world; it opened its eyes and let out its first ringing cry. Amid great pain, the mother felt joy; someone pressed their palms together, tears glistening…
…
Everything came crashing down like a small mountain collapsing.
“Since they are dogs, since they have shown us what they have, since you truly want it—then let us go and take it, openly and rightfully! Today, let these officials who came from the Wu Dynasty serve as the sacrifice before our banners—”
Xu Zerun’s thoughts had long since sunk away, only now gradually resurfacing. He had already guessed what the man intended to do; amid the blurred light and shifting thoughts, it felt as though his very soul were being torn apart from within and without. At some point, without realizing it, he had risen to his feet, rushing forward, shouting as he charged toward the figure atop the high platform, not even aware of what curses were spilling from his mouth—and below the platform, someone had already moved to block his path—
“Don’t stop him. Let him come up. Let me… show all of you—”
“Tyrant! The countless subjects of our Wu Dynasty will surely…”
They watched as that figure charged up onto the platform, straight at Wuqimai, but the bear-like emperor simply reached out one hand and seized him, then swung him back down, slamming him into the small mountain of shattered porcelain debris. He brought both fists down upon him, the body already twisted out of shape; then he hauled the man back up, stomped down on him, tore off his arm, blood spraying out—then, with three more crashing blows, the great bear tore the entire body apart with his bare hands, blood and gore spraying across the great imperial banner pole, and across his own body as well.
“Long live the Jurchen—” The great bear’s roar swept across the sky, and amid the thunderous response that shook the very earth, countless blades fell, countless streams of blood sprayed forth. Beneath the autumn sky, the emperor licked the blood from his lips, spreading his massive hands wide. “We—”
His voice boomed forth, deep as a demon’s: “March out—”
The clouds swept in, rolling forward.