Autumn had arrived, and the night sky still seemed to carry a faint rumble of thunder. Tong Guan, Prince of Guangyang, stood atop the walls of Taiyuan, gazing out at the rivers and mountains stretching away to the north, his expression solemn and still, sparse points of lamplight spreading out across the distant plain.

This old man, now seventy-one, could truly be said to have spent his whole life in the saddle. Though his body bore old scars and disfigurement, his frame remained tall and imposing; even past seventy, his back showed not the slightest stoop, and his bearing had never once diminished.

Over the past decade, ever since the Black River Alliance, when the ruthless, iron-fisted Qin Siyuan had stepped down from the Ministry of War, control over the entire military and political apparatus of the Wu dynasty had been held firmly in his own hands. He had taken part in every major military and political affair of the past ten years — pacifying Fang La within, absorbing the Yan-Yun region without, keeping Zhong Shidao in check, holding the Western Xia and Dali kingdoms and the rest at bay, and so on and so forth.

Even after stepping down from the Bureau of Military Affairs the previous year, handing military matters over to Tan Zhen, in practice his grip on the army had never weakened in the slightest. Because of the fallout from the Zhang Jue affair, Tan Zhen had put forward the Pacification Edict, and everyone had gone about frantically absorbing the scattered remnants of the defeated Liao forces, forming the Righteous Victory Army in the north. To set minds at ease, in the latter half of the previous year Zhou Zhe had once again called Tong Guan back into service, sending him to Taiyuan to pacify and administer the Hedong and Yan-Yun regions — in practice, hoping that Tong Guan’s status as prince would overawe the north and cow the petty troublemakers there. And so, when word of the Jin invasion arrived, when the declaration of war was delivered, it reached Taiyuan before it reached the capital — this man, in all but name the supreme commander of everything north of the Yellow River, learned of it all before the court in Bian Liang did.

Over these past several days, he had repeatedly issued orders to resist, while at the same time having his men receive the Jin envoy who delivered the declaration of war with the highest possible courtesy, seeking peace all the same. Every night he climbed the city walls to look north. When the wind blew past, in the eyes of his attendants, this old man’s figure looked tall and magnificent — but only in Tong Guan’s own heart could anyone understand what it was he actually saw.

A tide of blood was already rolling down from the north.

Though at this very moment the fighting had only broken out along the frontline to the north, though along the several hundred, even thousand-li stretch of road running from south to north there stood the mighty pass of Yanmen, towering fortress cities, and several hundred thousand troops standing at the ready — only Tong Guan understood what it truly meant, this force of Jurchen soldiers that had swept unchecked across the north, that had annihilated the entire Liao state within the span of a few years.

This time… this was no joke at all…

Gazing out at this peaceful darkness beneath the night sky, in his heart, he felt nothing but a chill of dread.

Wanyan Zonghan had already reached Yanmen Pass; Wanyan Zongwang should already be locked in fierce fighting with the Changsheng Army at Yanjing. Even with word arriving slowly, he could roughly estimate how things stood. And that very night, he made up his mind — he would return to the capital!

…

To the north, the first wave of the Jin advance southward had run into a hard bone to chew.

At the Chaobai River, the fierce fighting had already gone on for five full watches.

The sky had gone dark, yet flames still burned and lines of blood spread everywhere, staining the whole of the Chaobai River a deep red. Flaming arrows streaked constantly across the sky. Amid the flickering light and shadow along the riverbank, corpses lay strewn without end. A soldier, weapon still in hand, staggered up out of a pool of blood; just eight or nine zhang away, a squadron of Jurchen cavalry surged past like another river running parallel to the Chaobai itself, howling as they came. Someone noticed him — and behind him, the sound of movement was already spreading too, a forest of spears rising up from his rear to meet the oncoming horsemen.

Lifting one’s gaze to the sky, the fighting sprawled along both banks of the Chaobai River in countless interlocking clashes, flames engulfing the woods and howling in the wind, columns bearing torches and marshaling troops stretching like long dragons winding through the low hills, giving off an indescribable sense of menace, and enormous banners still snapping in the wind against the darkness.

Few had expected that, after the fall of Liao, in the face of the Jurchen Second Prince Wanyan Zongwang’s own army, there would be a battle fought to such a standstill.

Amid the surrounding clamor, atop the hills, Guo Yaoshi sat astride his warhorse wrapped in a great cloak, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the state of the whole battlefield, occasionally issuing an order, deploying reserves, or shifting his formation to answer the changing tide of the fight.

The two armies in this great battle numbered, roughly, between fifty and sixty thousand men each. In modern terms, two thousand people could fill an entire sports field; multiply that by fifty and the hills and riverbanks were packed dense with men. A truly great commander could, amid such chaos, still make out the shape of his own forces, identify which army belonged to whom, and even predict how the battle might unfold beyond the hills where his own eyes could not reach.

Since the fighting had begun at midday, Guo Yaoshi had already deployed his forces to their absolute peak. The two sides’ battle lines, once drawn out, already stretched several li in length, and over five watches of fighting, twisting and extending the whole way, the distance over which the two sides now grappled had exceeded thirty li. Nearly ten thousand men had already left their blood and their lives on the riverbanks on either side, and even now, which way the balance would tip remained impossible to say.

In a gap that no one else could perceive, Guo Yaoshi’s entire body trembled faintly. Once a starving refugee begging for his life in Liaodong, he had made his way, step by step, from leader of the starving masses, to commander of the Resentment Army, bowing and scraping under Liao’s command, all the way to pledging himself to the Wu dynasty and founding the Changsheng Army — and now, in this very moment, his whole life seemed to be burning.

He wanted to make his name, to stand at the very summit of this world, to contend with all the great heroes beneath heaven. Back when he had served under Liao, there had been a man above him, the Prince of Xi, Xiao Gan — a man he had once admired above all others as a hero. But admiration between men need not come with bowing and scraping.

He thought back to the days after the Resentment Army was founded, when rebellion after rebellion had broken out. After Dong Xiaochou’s mutiny, Yelü Yudu had suggested to Xiao Gan that they simply slaughter the entire Resentment Army and be done with it once and for all — it was Xiao Gan who had opposed this, and so Guo Yaoshi and the others had kept their lives. Yet when Guo Yaoshi had knelt before Xiao Gan to give thanks, what he felt in his heart had not truly been gratitude — he had only wished that, one day, his own life would no longer hang on another man’s passing word, that he might stand on the same stage as such a man, whether as friend or as rival.

After pledging himself to the Wu dynasty, he had finally found that chance. Yet the attempt to take Yanjing had gone poorly; Xiao Gan had led his army back to strike, and Guo Yaoshi, wanting nothing more than to meet him head-on in open battle, had instead watched the Wu army collapse around him, his own brothers-in-arms nearly wiped out entirely. Xiao Gan had crushed all resistance with ease — had his own men not dragged him bodily from the field, Guo Yaoshi would have died there that day.

Afterward he had rebuilt the Changsheng Army, and when at last his subordinates had struck Xiao Gan down in battle, he had felt none of the glory he might once have imagined — because by then Liao was already spent, a candle guttering in the wind; the Xiao Gan he had defeated was no longer the man at his prime, only a dying, hollowed-out remnant of a fallen state.

After that, he had expanded his forces at Yanjing with feverish energy, drilling his troops without rest — and only now, at this very moment, did he know that he had finally reached the summit. Because standing before the Changsheng Army now was the most renowned general among the Jurchen who had destroyed Liao, the mightiest star of this age — and this man, Guo Yaoshi now held at bay, facing him as an equal.

At the start of the day’s fighting, the Jurchen cavalry had come surging forward with overwhelming force, meaning to shatter the entire Changsheng Army with a single, most devastating blow. Guo Yaoshi had organized a tight defense along the Chaobai River with arrows and spear formations, while his own cavalry cut simultaneously into the Jurchen rear, giving not an inch of ground. There had been a moment when Guo Yaoshi had genuinely wanted to lead his troops out himself, in full force, charging straight for Wanyan Zongwang’s own command position — because he could see that the man was underestimating him.

Had he truly made that decision, this battle might well have been decided in a single instant, after both sides unleashed their fiercest possible strike. But Wanyan Zongwang’s reputation ran deep, and this was, moreover, the Changsheng Army’s very first real trial by fire since its formation — Guo Yaoshi had not dared to gamble on it.

And the Jurchen, too, lived up to their reputation as the strongest army under heaven. After their fiercest strike failed to break through, they swiftly shifted into a formation balancing offense and defense both, their main force pulling back slightly. The Jin excelled above all at cavalry warfare in the open field, and before Guo Yaoshi’s eyes, their cavalry formations charged and slaughtered like ten thousand raging dragons. He, in turn, swiftly coordinated his various troop types, using the river, the woods, fire, and arrows, sending his infantry and cavalry pressing constantly closer against the enemy’s formation, tearing everything apart into a chaotic, interlocking mess.

Five watches, more than thirty li of grinding battle. The Jin assault had shifted from ferocious to cautious, and now, at this point, the two sides fought like players at a game of chess, each move carefully weighed. Guo Yaoshi understood that he had, at the very least, earned his opponent’s respect.

In this whole world, there was no longer anyone who could look down on him.

…

In Bian Liang, amid the firelight, a great map marked out the situation in the north, and the emperor and his ministers had gathered together in one hall. Li Gang, Qin Siyuan, Wang Fu, Tan Zhen, Gao Qiu, Li Bangyan… even Grand Preceptor Cai Jing, who had by now retired to enjoy his old age at home, sat there now in a corner of the room.

“Whatever else may be said, the two Jin armies’ dispositions are now clear — they advance south along two routes, east and west. Though their momentum is fierce, our defenses are more than sufficient. On the western route, we have the mighty pass of Yanmen, and Prince Guangyang is at this moment holding overall command from Taiyuan. On the eastern route, according to word from Yanjing, Marshal Guo’s Changsheng Army should already be engaged with Wanyan Zongwang. Given the Changsheng Army’s strength, it is highly unlikely to collapse at first contact. Your servant judges that they will certainly be able to hold Yanjing — and as long as Yanjing does not fall, the three garrison towns of Hebei will remain unshaken…”

The one speaking, pointing at the map in the room, was Tan Zhen, Commissioner of the Bureau of Military Affairs. After he had spoken for a while, Emperor Zhou Zhe spoke up. “Guo Yaoshi is a loyal minister and capable general of mine. He has drilled his troops for years now — he will surely not disappoint me.”

On the matter of employing Guo Yaoshi, the emperor himself had always been the greatest driving force behind it — the repeated promotions and titles granted to Guo Yaoshi in the past had all been pushed through by Zhou Zhe personally. What he said now was less a statement of confidence than an emphasis on his own foresight. Naturally, no one present dared to object.

After a moment, Zhou Zhe spoke again. “As for my minister Tong, holding Taiyuan — I trust him as well. But there is one issue. Though my minister Tong now holds the rank of prince, if he is to take full charge of the war effort, at present his authority to do so lacks proper legal footing. I mean to issue an imperial edict, to give him a clear mandate. What do you gentlemen think?”

Tan Zhen stepped forward at once. “Your servant requests to resign the post of Commissioner of the Bureau of Military Affairs.”

“My minister Tan, that is not what I meant at all. I trust you. With the Jin now bearing down on us so fiercely, both you and Prince Guangyang must lend your full strength to commanding this war — you cannot shrink away now, not at a time like this!”

“Your servant is not shrinking from this duty,” Tan Zhen said, dropping quickly to his knees. “It is only, as Your Majesty has said, that without proper legal footing, one’s words carry no weight. At any other time, as head of the Bureau of Military Affairs, your servant would bear full responsibility for the Jin advance southward, and would gladly give his very life and brains for it without hesitation. But Prince Guangyang has held command of the Bureau for many years, and has spent his whole life in the saddle. At this moment of crisis, your servant is willing — for Prince Guangyang alone — to step aside and yield the post to a worthier man. Your Majesty may grant your servant a deputy position instead, to serve the state equally well under Prince Guangyang’s command.”

“Very well, then. But my minister Tan, let me speak plainly now — once you have given up the primary post, you must still give your full effort, not one measure less. So long as you serve the state with all your strength, and given that Prince Guangyang is already advanced in years, I promise you this: once this matter has passed, the post of Commissioner shall once again be yours. Remember this well.”

Zhou Zhe gave him a pointed look, then, after a moment, turned back to the map. “The Changsheng Army, from what we can see, is already engaged with the Jurchen. Marshal Guo has not failed me, and I will not fail him either. There is one matter I wish you all to discuss — today, I intend to buy the bones of a thousand-li horse.”

He paused, then continued. “So long as the Changsheng Army holds Yanjing, I intend to grant him the greatest reward possible — I will make him Prince of Yan, and grant him, entire, all the land north of Yanmen Pass, that he might guard the north for me and for my descendants, generation after generation…”

Before he had even finished speaking, Li Gang, Qin Siyuan, and several others had already rushed forward, and even Tan Zhen, Qin Hui, and the rest were crying out that this could not be done. Cai Jing raised an eyebrow, his seemingly clouded gaze quietly drifting to the emperor, a look of pity flickering across his face.

Within the hall, the emperor swept his hand out sharply. “My mind is made up — this is the reward I mean to give him! You will discuss it properly for me, and within these next few days the edict must be sent out!”

…

That same night, along the banks of the Chaobai River, the peak moment of Guo Yaoshi’s entire life had already lasted five full watches. Then, along the flank of the battle line, something began to change.

The change appeared quietly at first, and in the instant it was noticed, it left both sides on the battlefield equally caught off guard, equally at a loss. But not long after, a great embankment came crashing down with a thunderous roar…