In the courtyard, leaves rustled and flew. The frontal charge of the two forces produced a tremendous noise in that first instant. Throwing darts and arrows tore through the screen of leaves with a clattering sound. Wanyan Yinshuke drew his bow and shot rapidly, drawing a line of blood across the body of a martial artist from the greenwood. On the other side, a warrior wielding a steel whip sent a Jurchen guard flying into the trunk of a great tree, the whip cracking the man’s forehead with a single blow. More warriors surged toward this spot, and the great tree shook and groaned.
Shi Jin gripped a long staff of refined iron, swinging it about like a dragon or serpent in motion, smashing through the resistance of the guards in front of him — head, neck, hands, feet — the sound of countless bones breaking forced its way into the Jurchen guards’ defensive formation, carving a path straight through by main force.
Zuo Wenying ran wildly across the rooftops, crouching low as she scattered throwing darts, while Jurchen arrows hissed upward at her in return. She leapt down into the courtyard; a spear thrust toward her from ahead, and she drew her body in tight, plunging straight into the forest of spears. Her twin blades danced, cutting out arcs of bloody light. Arms and spear-shafts flew about her; the slender blade-edges swept across throats in an instant. Around her body, blood scattered and spun with the flash of her blades, and in that moment it seemed as though a whirlpool had formed in a sea of blood.
A man named Fulu walked out from the crowd, a single-edged saber in hand. This mild-mannered man, who usually served at Zhou Tong’s side as an attendant, advanced now with a stride that seemed slow but was in fact swift, his body only erupting into sudden violence at the instant of contact with an enemy. His movements were simple and quick, his blade like lightning, always aimed at vital points the moment he closed in — often with just a shift of his stance, an opponent’s arm or throat would already be severed.
More men, working together with their comrades, tried to tear open the crowd at the first opportunity and strike straight for Nianhan. But the seventy or eighty Jurchen guards defending the courtyard were no mediocre fighters either. From the very first clash, blood began to spill in great quantities — Jurchen guards fell, and among the greenwood fighters too, some were blocked and shot down in that same first instant. Moyan Dangshi’s heavy spear held off the attacks of two tall, burly greenwood men single-handedly; as the spear swept through the air, it shattered one man’s cheekbone with a thunderous blow.
As the foremost champion under Zonghan’s command, he possessed monstrous strength, and his spearwork was simple but ferocious. A second greenwood fighter, taking advantage of the moment his long spear was ill-suited for close combat, threw himself bodily at him — only to be swept away by a single punch, slamming into a pillar beside the courtyard and coughing blood as he fell to the ground. Beside him, Zuo Wenying cut her way through in a path of blood and suddenly closed the distance, her twin blades striking like lightning. Moyan Dangshi, wielding his heavy spear, was forced into a hasty retreat, while Bolisu had already rushed in from behind — his short spear stabbing at Moyan Dangshi’s back. Zuo Wenying’s assault faltered for an instant, and Moyan Dangshi’s heavy spear swept around with a violent shriek of wind, slashing downward.
Zuo Wenying rolled backward; the heavy spear struck the ground, shattering the paving stones and sending dust and debris flying. Moyan Dangshi let out a furious roar and swept his spear low along the ground toward her, while Zuo Wenying kept rolling away. Behind Moyan Dangshi, Bolisu swung out with his second steel spear, which skimmed the ground and shot straight toward Zuo Wenying.
Just as Zuo Wenying leapt up, another figure suddenly rushed in from the side and kicked the flying steel spear aside — it was Zuo Wenying’s husband, Fulu. Moyan Dangshi yanked his heavy spear back violently. Fulu caught the flying steel spear, and together with his own saber and Zuo Wenying’s twin blades, who had charged back in, clashed against Moyan Dangshi’s heavy spear in a rapid series of clangs. As the two sides separated for an instant, Fulu spun and used the momentum to hurl the steel spear with tremendous force.
The spear screamed almost directly at Moyan Dangshi’s face, forcing him to dodge violently, and then flew straight on toward Wanyan Zonghan in the main hall. Wanyan Saba, standing beside Zonghan, knocked the spear aside, and at the same moment Yinshuke fired two arrows toward this side. Simultaneously, seven or eight soldiers rushed forward from the side.
The clash between the thirty-some greenwood fighters and the seventy or eighty Jurchen guards was ferocious from the very first moment, but the trail of blood kept extending steadily toward the main hall. The advance, spearheaded by top martial artists of the Martial Dynasty, showed almost no pause in that first instant. And at the gate behind them, Jurchen guards who had not reacted in time were now surging forward, closing in on the greenwood fighters from the rear.
In the midst of this fierce slaughter erupting all at once, Wanyan Zonghan’s voice suddenly rang out: “Kill him! Stop him! On the left!”
That was on the left side of the courtyard facing Zonghan, where a figure was silently rushing forward beneath the eaves. There were defenders on this side too, of course, but the fiercest fighting was still concentrated at the center of the courtyard. This figure advanced swiftly; several Jurchen guards who came into contact with him fell at a single touch. Moments earlier, a Jurchen commander named Chixian had swung his blade at him, only to be forced back, his body flying backward again and again, nearly past the front line of the clash.
This almost silent scene should not have drawn much attention, but Wanyan Zonghan, seasoned in countless battles, noticed the strange disturbance on that side all the same. As Chixian was flung backward, Yinshuke fired an arrow toward the intruder. At Zonghan’s command, five or six more Jurchen warriors closed in as well. In the next instant, a furious roar shook the entire courtyard — and in that same instant, Chixian was nearly torn in half, as if someone had gripped his belly and ripped him apart, flesh and blood scattering through the air and spraying into the eyes of the Jurchen warriors.
These Jurchen were all battle-hardened soldiers; seeing flesh and blood explode before them, they did not flinch but instead drove their spears and blades straight into the heart of that carnage. At the same moment, a great spear of mixed bronze leapt out from behind, its trembling clang growing from faint to thunderous, transforming into a long cry like that of an azure dragon.
Weapons flew from hands, arms were severed. Two Jurchen warriors suddenly lost great portions of flesh from their bodies — one had an arm vanish clean at the shoulder, the other had half his abdomen hollowed out, as though some ferocious beast had abruptly torn the life from them. Two others were sent flying; one struck the ground directly, every bone in his body shattered. The tall figure had already charged out from the sea of blood, his footfalls thundering as he drove straight toward the main hall of the Daoist temple.
Two Jurchen warriors ahead swung their blades savagely at this charging figure, but their bodies were sent flying the instant they made contact with him. Yinshuke fired arrow after arrow rapidly, but each arrow seemed to strike solid rock and bounce away.
The nerves of everyone in the courtyard were stretched to their absolute limit in that instant. There were still more than ten Jurchen guards before the main hall who charged forward together, while behind, Moyan Dangshi ran at full speed with his heavy spear in hand. The great bronze spear thrust straight at the more than ten Jurchen guards ahead, then twisted slightly and swept back around in a wide horizontal arc. Moyan Dangshi blocked with his spear — there was a heavy thud, his stance faltered, and his opponent, spear and all, charged straight through toward the guards ahead.
The great spear swept through, knocking the entire forest of thrusting spears into disarray; two Jurchen men’s arms were shattered at a single touch. Behind them, Moyan Dangshi let out a furious roar and charged in as well. The great bronze-mixed spear crashed back toward him; he blocked it with his own spear, then threw the full strength of his body forward against his opponent.
The distance closed abruptly. Moyan Dangshi released his spear and threw a punch straight at his opponent — the blow landed at the same instant that his own face took a thunderous hit in return, and then the world spun. The two men traded blows with reckless speed, their two spears whirling amid the Jurchen guards. By the second exchange, Moyan Dangshi had gotten a clear look at the face before him — a face whose age could not be determined, hair and beard bristling, eyes bloodshot, the entire visage seemingly consumed by nothing but “fury” — endless rage and murderous intent. Even Moyan Dangshi, seasoned as he was, felt a flicker of dread at that glimpse, for the face before him looked like some wrathful guardian deity descended from a temple shrine. In the instant after that fleeting glimpse, his opponent’s head slammed forward in a savage headbutt, crashing straight into his face!
As the two men spun and grappled, dust sprayed from the ground. Yinshuke’s longbow was drawn to its absolute limit; suddenly, the whistle of cutting wind rushed toward him. He released his grip at once — the longbow snapped in half in midair, the force flinging his entire body away. The clothing on his left shoulder had already been shredded to ruin, blood and torn flesh visible down to the bone. Looking closely, it was Moyan Dangshi’s heavy spear, now buried deep in the wall of the main hall.
Moyan Dangshi, the foremost warrior at Zonghan’s side, had been sent flying — and the sudden, deadly intruder now wielded his mixed-bronze spear, already locked in combat with more than ten men. His spear swept left and right, its overwhelming power sending men flying again and again, as though a true master were beating back a pack of mastiffs with a mere stick. In the blink of an eye, this line of defense too had been broken. Wanyan Saba shouted, “Retreat quickly!” and, seizing the moment, threw his body against a burning bronze cauldron near the front side of the hall.
With a great crash, the bronze cauldron toppled over, spilling its blazing coals — and in the next instant, another thunderous boom rang out as the cauldron was sent flying to the other side of the courtyard, flames scattering across the sky in front of the hall. Zhou Tong, spear in hand, charged forward and up into the main hall. Inside, besides four personal bodyguards, only Wanyan Zonghan stood with his long saber drawn.
Beside the main hall were two doors leading to the rear of the temple, but as a great general of the Jin army, Wanyan Zonghan, a lifetime of martial valor behind him, never once considered fleeing.
“Come, then! Make your move—”
He swung his saber level and let out a furious roar. From the two small doors leading to the rear of the temple, more than twenty soldiers poured in. Zhou Tong charged forward, spear raised; Wanyan Zonghan, saber in hand, led his more than twenty men to meet the old man head-on. Behind him, Yinshuke climbed up from the ground, seized a long sword, and rushed with Wanyan Saba toward the rear of this terrifying assassin.
The autumn wind blew soft, while great numbers of soldiers converged from every side. In the courtyard, the battle line drawn by the greenwood fighters was still pushing steadily forward; inside the hall, the sounds of chaotic, astonishing combat blurred into one continuous roar. No one could comprehend just how far the power of this assassin before them truly extended.
A moment later, a thunderous crash sounded. Inside the hall, Wanyan Zonghan, gripping his saber with both hands, was sent flying into a corner against the wall, his arms trembling, the flesh of his palms torn and burning with pain. The elder ahead of him, himself wounded, thrust a spear toward him, a fierce dragon’s roar accompanying the strike as it lunged at him. Yinshuke, his left shoulder gravely wounded, threw himself forward. Another bodyguard threw himself in front of the spear — Wanyan Zonghan watched as the spear tip pierced straight through the man’s body; the soldier, in a mad fury, still gripped the spear that had run him through with both hands. Behind the old man, someone rushed at him, but the old man paid no attention at all, driving the spear forward straight at Wanyan Zonghan — yet Yinshuke pulled Zonghan aside, and the great spear plunged into the brick and stone of the corner wall instead.
“Go—!”
Yinshuke roared, hauling Wanyan Zonghan up, and the two of them charged toward the small door leading to the rear of the temple. As Wanyan Zonghan looked back, he saw the old man release his spear and, with a few punches and kicks, send the soldiers in the hall flying like tossed monkeys.
Soldiers blocked the small door as Wanyan Zonghan and Yinshuke pushed toward the rear of the temple. As for the old man who had charged into the hall to assassinate their lord, they no longer had any way to measure the extent of his power — this was no longer a human being at all; how could such a person possibly exist in this world?
As a necessary part of the defenses, even the rear of the temple was heavily guarded, and soldiers were now converging steadily from that direction as well. And just as Wanyan Zonghan and Yinshuke left the main hall, the old man inside, having forced back the enemies surrounding him, suddenly leapt toward the statue within the hall and bounded upward, one leap after another. Zonghan and Yinshuke had barely run a short distance when they suddenly turned to look back — and with a crash, that blood-soaked, inhuman figure burst through the roof tiles of the temple and appeared before their eyes.
The figure leapt down at once, running wildly along the tops of nearby walls.
At this moment, in the courtyard before the main hall, even more soldiers had poured in. Nearly half the greenwood fighters had fallen dead or wounded, but those ahead had already broken through the original defenses of the courtyard and charged into the hall itself, driving Bolisu, Wanyan Saba, and the remaining guards toward the rear of the temple in the midst of the frenzied slaughter.
The assassins left behind at the rear were already surrounded by soldiers, fighting with everything they had, trying to buy a few more moments for those ahead — the battle line was still advancing, still spreading forward. The old man named Zhou Tong charged at Wanyan Zonghan like a god of death; Bolisu and Wanyan Saba rushed toward Zonghan as well, trying to shield their commander. Shi Jin, wielding the very spear Zhou Tong had left embedded in the main hall, along with Fulu, Zuo Wenying, and several other warriors, tore through the crowd, cutting a bloody path forward without pause.
Combat on a battlefield is different from a duel — by now, all of them bore wounds of every kind, and Zhou Tong himself carried countless injuries as well. Yet he kept swinging whatever weapon came to hand, smashing through the enemies around him, occasionally hurling a spear straight at Wanyan Zonghan. Soldiers guarded Zonghan as he moved — some were run through, sometimes Zonghan himself swung his saber to knock a spear aside, sometimes he was dragged in a panic by Yinshuke, searching for any place to take cover. But now, the old man came howling toward them, and at a certain moment, he suddenly closed the distance — with only a few steps between them in the rear courtyard of the temple — and lunged forward, throwing a heavy punch.
Just as Wanyan Zonghan saw that figure looming larger as it leapt at him, a warhorse suddenly charged in from the side — the heavy punch landed squarely on the horse, and in an instant, it seemed as though a spray of blood in the very shape of a horse burst outward. The entire horse, along with the rider on its back, along with Zonghan and Yinshuke behind them, were all sent flying and tumbling, crashing with a thunderous roar into a nearby corner wall. The rider, half his body scraped raw with dust and streaked blood, climbed to his feet gripping a golden sword, and looked first at the struggling Wanyan Zonghan and then at that blood-red figure — his face filled with utter, unspeakable horror. It was none other than Wanyan Xiyin, who had rushed here along the way.
On this side of the temple’s rear courtyard, Zuo Wenying, Fulu, and the others fought with everything they had, but they were still far from where Zhou Tong stood, and more soldiers kept pouring in from every direction. Zuo Wenying shouted, “Throw me over there!”
Fulu grabbed hold of Zuo Wenying and hurled her forward with tremendous force — yet the moment the woman’s feet touched the ground, she found herself trapped once more, surrounded by six or seven men closing in. Meanwhile, Shi Jin swept aside a nearby Jurchen warrior and hurled with all his strength the mixed-bronze spear called “Azure Dragon Subdued.”
The dragon’s roar cut across the sky as Zhou Tong charged toward Wanyan Xiyin and the others, catching the spear mid-flight and thrusting it forward violently. Wanyan Xiyin’s golden sword, the Prince’s Blade, flashed with light as he struck back, joined by Bolisu’s steel spear and Wanyan Saba’s saber, all three striking together at the incoming spear.
The dragon-roaring force of the spear sent Wanyan Xiyin staggering backward; Bolisu’s steel spear was knocked clean from his hands, the flesh of his palm split open. And from nearby, an arrow flew in and struck Zhou Tong’s shoulder.
Zhou Tong only staggered back slightly. With a cry, he thrust his second strike straight at Wanyan Zonghan once more, blood filling his mouth and eyes alike. Zonghan swung his saber savagely to block; Wanyan Xiyin joined in as well, while Wanyan Saba, now empty-handed, threw himself bodily at Zhou Tong. Several thunderous impacts rang out — Zonghan’s saber was knocked flying into the air, the flesh of both his palms completely torn open; Wanyan Xiyin, gripping his sword with both hands, was forced backward uncontrollably as well, his jaw clenched so hard that blood filled his mouth.
Zonghan kept retreating, while the old man advanced like a raging tiger, thrusting forward to the very limit before sweeping wide in a horizontal arc, cutting down Wanyan Saba beside him and flinging off Bolisu, who had thrown himself onto his body. The spear vanished behind him for an instant, then leapt out from the other side.
The fierce dragon’s roar shook the eardrums — a reversing thrust! The azure dragon reared its head! It shot toward the face of the wildly retreating Wanyan Zonghan — but in the next instant, his back had already reached the wall behind him. Arrows flew in from the side, soldiers rushed at Zhou Tong, and Wanyan Xiyin, gripping his golden sword with both hands, tried to cut down the incoming spear.
Blood bloomed at the spear’s tip.
…
In the instant his vision began to fade, everything before his eyes turned entirely blood-red.
The mortal world is a sea of suffering, the flesh merely a raft upon it. For many years, the old man had never pushed this body of his this far. In his heart, he knew he had long since reached his limit — or perhaps, had long since surpassed it.
In that final moment, he could no longer see anything at all; blood had already blotted out everything. If it were possible, all he wished for was to thrust his spear forward just a little further.
The spear’s point pierced into flesh.
Yinshuke was crowded in front of Zonghan, staring at the spear embedded in his own shoulder, unsure whether its point had gone all the way through.
A soldier crashed into the old man’s body with a thud, then collapsed to the ground.
The dragon’s roar suddenly stopped…
Zonghan stared at the bloody scene before him, his entire body trembling.
“Ha ha — ha ha!” Wanyan Xiyin, gripping his long sword, breathed in great heaving gasps and let out a laugh whose meaning even he himself did not fully understand. Then he let out a roar like a wounded beast and swung his sword down savagely at the old man still holding his spear before him—
The battle still raged on, wave after wave of soldiers converging from every direction, and in that smoke-stained autumn dusk, the figures of the resisters were gradually swallowed up and buried…
Heaven and earth stretched on, vast and empty…
…
In the autumn of the thirteenth year of the Jinghan era, the Jin state launched a two-pronged invasion of the Martial Dynasty from east and west. The western army, led by Jin marshal Wanyan Zonghan, marched south along the Yanmen Pass line, seizing cities and territory as though marching through an empty land. On the seventh day of the eighth month, the city of Xinzhou fell, and more than one hundred thousand soldiers and civilians were captured and slaughtered by the Jurchen army.
On the ninth day of the eighth month, the great hero of Shaanxi, “Iron Arm” Zhou Tong, together with Fulu, Zuo Wenying, Qiu Heman, and dozens of other righteous men of the Martial Dynasty, assassinated the Jurchen marshal Wanyan Zonghan, gravely wounding more than a dozen Jurchen commanders before his strength gave out and he died, at the age of eighty-two.
The assassination attempt by Zhou Tong and his companions did not slow the pace of the Jurchen advance southward. Not long after, the western army under Wanyan Zonghan still pressed onward toward Taiyuan, while the eastern army had already crossed the three garrison towns of Hebei and was racing south at great speed. But the impact of their deaths would only gradually ferment and spread afterward, and in the years — even the decade or more — that followed, it would run through and reshape the course of many lives…
But that is a story for later.
Volume Seven: The Realm and the Ruler
Gathering the iron of nine provinces, casting a single character: “wrong.”