Winter.
The rain fell, soaking everything little by little, turning the already chaotic streets into muddy, waterlogged alleys. As the carriage moved slowly along the road, Shishi lifted the curtain and looked at the shops on either side of the street, most of them showing little sign of life, their owners and the few remaining customers standing by the doors, looking toward some direction in the city. A few children dragging wooden sticks ran splashing through the rain, and when they reached the end of the road, they too stood and looked toward the north. One of the children waved his fist and shouted, “Kill all the Jin dogs! Kill all the Jin dogs!”
The sounds of war were drifting faintly over from that direction.
Bian Liang was an enormous city, home to over a million people, so vast that one could not see from its northern to its southern end. The sounds of battle shook the city walls, then spread through the city like ripples, growing fainter the farther they traveled. But in these recent days, most people in the city had already learned to distinguish what those sounds meant.
Ever since the disastrous failure of the western army’s raid on the twenty-fourth of the ninth month, Wanyan Zongwang had sent out his cavalry in full force, crushing the several hundred thousand troops that had been arrayed on the plains outside Bian Liang. For the residents of the city, this news brought them close to despair, but it also stirred an enormous sense of crisis. The day after the western army’s defeat, students of the Imperial Academy and residents of the city went to petition outside the palace, demanding that the court make proper use of men like Li Gang and Zhong Shidao, and purge the treacherous officials. A student named Chen Dong even drew up a list of “Six Traitors” that included Cai Jing and Tong Guan, demanding that the court deal with them.
After this incident, the court accepted some of the petitioners’ demands, promoting Zhong Shidao and ordering him to assist Li Gang in organizing the defense of Bian Liang. Only after Zhong Shidao appeared before the crowd outside the palace, riding in his carriage, were the petitioners willing to disperse. After that, Li Gang and others carried out a campaign within the city, and several hundred thousand people responded, declaring their willingness to man the walls and stand or fall with Bian Liang. In this way, high and low were of one mind, and the spirit of fighting with no thought of retreat was, for a time, unmatched.
Under such momentum, the faction that had once favored peace no longer had any voice at all. The Jin envoy Wang Rui had died in the riot that night, and the court spared no effort in publicizing the brutality of the Jurchen. Once a city fell, few of its people survived intact. After that, the Jurchen attacked the walls several times, and the people within the city threw themselves actively into the defense preparations, managing to hold the walls firm for more than a month.
Through all of this, prices within the city had already begun to rise.
The first to spike, naturally, were the prices of grain and vegetables. Bian Liang had always been a city of abundant supplies and stable prices; most people had never expected that the Jurchen would suddenly come charging in like this. Before the siege began, although large amounts of grain had been transported into the city, that grain belonged first to the court. Li Gang and the other court officials stirred people to defend the city not only with appeals to righteousness, but also by distributing rations and supplies to those who contributed labor. Because of this, the authorities had not adopted any policy to stabilize prices; those who were young, strong, and had the right connections could join the reserve forces defending the city, taking part in the making of rolling logs, stones, and other siege-defense equipment. But in the process, most people were still, in the end, sorted into different tiers. Only a very small portion of the city’s people ended up with their livelihoods truly threatened by the situation.
The Fan Tower was, of course, not among those threatened with ruin, but since it had not stockpiled large quantities of grain beforehand, it too had begun to worry about food. Shishi had gone out today specifically to find Su Wenfang, who had stayed behind to look after Bamboo Notes, in order to discuss buying grain. When Ning Yi left the city and headed north, Su Tan’er and the rest of the household had already gone south; Su Wenfang had volunteered to remain in the city to continue managing Bamboo Notes, and also served as a runner of sorts for the chancellor’s household. With Shishi handling matters personally, buying grain was naturally no problem.
Having settled things and now on her way back, the sound of the Jurchen assault on the city’s northern wall had still not ceased. Along the way, most of the people she saw had their attention fixed in that direction; even those who appeared composed, snacking and chatting among themselves, surely carried some unspoken unease inside. To everyone, that city wall, though tall and thick, now seemed, when one thought about it, as thin as a sheet of paper. With the fighting going on and on like this, there was little ordinary people could do to help; if the wall ever broke, the whole city would be put to the slaughter.
Shishi had her carriage head toward the northern part of the city. As a woman, she doubted she could be of much help, and likely would not even be permitted to approach — but still, she wanted to go and see for herself, as close as she could.
The rain kept falling. As the carriage went on, passing along a certain street, a figure suddenly appeared ahead. The figure moved hesitantly forward beneath the eaves, but perhaps having brought no umbrella, was soaked nearly through, looking thoroughly bedraggled. Shishi quickly had the carriage stop, lifted the curtain, and waved. “Lei’er, Lei’er, get in.”
The figure walking ahead was also a woman from the Fan Tower, named He Lei’er — neither the top courtesan of the house nor one who entertained without physical company; the two women’s reputations differed greatly, and in ordinary times they had little to do with each other. The woman was carrying a food box in her hands. She turned her head, and upon seeing it was Shishi, was startled for a moment before climbing into the carriage. Shishi handed her a towel, brow furrowing slightly.
“Sister Lei’er, where are you going in weather like this? The city isn’t safe right now — going out alone like this, something could happen to you.”
With the Jurchen attacking the city, prices rising, and a curfew now in place at night, public order was deteriorating. Shishi was the house’s top courtesan, and went out with a carriage and guards; He Lei’er had no such arrangements. She wiped her face and hair, and after bowing her head in thanks, said a little bashfully, “I — I wanted to go take a look near Suanzao Gate. My — the man I’m close to — he’s defending the wall right now, and I’m worried something might happen to him. I wanted to go see… and I brought him a bit of food, too…”
“Oh…” Shishi nodded. In truth He Lei’er was not one who entertained guests without intimacy, and within the Fan Tower she had little freedom to choose her patrons; if it came to “someone she was close to,” there was hardly just one or two. Under ordinary circumstances, an ordinary soldier defending the walls would never have been counted by her as someone “close” to her — but naturally, none of this needed to be said aloud. As they chatted a little, and with a hint of pride in He Lei’er’s voice, Shishi learned that the man was an officer in the Peng Ri Army leading over five hundred men, named Xue Changgong — a name that struck a chord in Shishi’s memory. In recent days, several officers in the army had become known for their fierce bravery in battle, and this Xue Changgong was one of them; she vaguely recalled having seen him once before at the Fan Tower, and having exchanged greetings with him.
In ordinary times, the guests entertained at the Fan Tower were either high officials and nobles or wealthy, cultured young men of talent, judged mostly by literary refinement, money, and status. Now, with the great war continuing, the standing of military men was rising steadily, and He Lei’er clearly felt a certain pride in having such a man as her intimate companion. As she spoke with Shishi now, quite a bit of information slipped out — she even boasted that Xue Changgong had given her a token that let her visit him near the wall. Hearing that Shishi wanted to go take a look near the wall, she volunteered eagerly to take her there.
Shishi felt this was inappropriate. “There’s fighting going on right now. I only want to go nearby and take a look — surely we really can’t go all the way there, can we?”
He Lei’er said, “I’m not some woman who doesn’t know what matters and what doesn’t. I’ve been to his camp once before — it’s still some distance from the wall. Let me drop this off, and then we’ll go.” She held the small food box in her arms. “There isn’t much left in the house these days. These are a few pastries I saved up — they taste quite good, and I couldn’t bear to eat them myself, but if I keep holding onto them any longer, they’ll spoil…”
In ordinary times, with supplies so abundant, even someone of He Lei’er’s relatively low standing within the Fan Tower would surely not have found herself so hard-pressed. But now, those few pastries had become as precious as the rarest delicacies. He Lei’er wanted to bring them for Xue Changgong to eat, and Shishi could not help but feel somewhat moved by this. Before long, the two of them reached the checkpoint near the northern part of the city, where the sounds of the assault on the walls had grown even more wild and clamorous. Beyond that point, ordinary people were not permitted to go further. Shishi wrapped both their heads and faces with headscarves and veils, wrapped up the food box as well, and after getting out of the carriage, He Lei’er showed her token to the soldiers guarding the street. Only then did the two of them, holding an umbrella, head toward the new Suanzao Gate.
This side of the city was close to what had once been the position nearest the gate. In the distance, the towering city wall rose at the edge of one’s sight, imposing enough to inspire dread. The scenery beyond the wall could not be seen, yet it seemed as though some unseen giant beast were shaking it from the other side. Every now and then came a booming sound — likely a stone from a trebuchet striking the outer wall — enough to make one’s heart tremble. Atop the wall, crowds of people moved back and forth; below, people ran about hauling stones, and the miserable cries of the wounded drifted over from that direction as well.
The place the two women were headed was the nearby soldiers’ camp. Figures moved about them, and every so often someone would turn to glance their way, making their hearts uneasy. The moment they entered this area, He Lei’er already began to regret it — however many times she had come here before, it could never compare to conditions in wartime, and how could women even be allowed near a battlefield like this? It seemed entirely possible they might be dealt with under military law. Shishi, too, felt that this decision had been rather reckless, and just as she was beginning to regret it, several figures suddenly appeared ahead amid the chaos.
The officer named Xue Changgong had fresh blood on him, and was speaking with a few of his personal guards nearby. When he saw He Lei’er, he froze in place. He Lei’er saw him too, and before she could say anything, he came storming over, his gaze fierce and violent, and with a single motion knocked away the umbrella the two women were sharing, his voice low and suppressed with anger. “Why have you come here? How dare you come here! Who is she? Are you not afraid of military law?! How could you dare—”
The rain poured down in sheets. He Lei’er’s arm was suddenly seized and twisted by him, and pain made her brows knit together. “I — I brought you something to eat. You… you’re hurt…”
“You reckless fool!” Xue Changgong ground out through clenched teeth, then turned to glance around, and abruptly raised his hand and pointed off to one side. “Even if you’re women, go help then! Go to the wounded soldiers’ camp! Over there! Go save people — Hou Jing, take them over there to help!”
He Lei’er nodded desperately, still hesitating over the food box in her hands; Shishi tugged at her arm. “Let’s go!” They followed the guard named Hou Jing toward the wounded soldiers’ camp — in truth, this man named Hou Jing was Xue Changgong’s brother-in-law, and had met Shishi once before, though Shishi had no thought to spare for such matters now. The two women followed him toward the wounded soldiers’ camp, Hou Jing picking the fallen umbrella up off the ground to shield them as he half-jogged along the way. When they reached the wounded soldiers’ camp, all manner of anguished cries, the smell of blood, and the smell of medicine filled the air, so thick that even the heavy rain could not wash it away. As they entered through the doorway of the shelter, an even more wretched sight met their eyes. Hou Jing called some people over to take charge of them, exchanging a few words with those nearby, but by this point neither Shishi nor He Lei’er could take in any of it.
Corpses, blood, severed limbs, and screams that could break a person’s spirit. Shishi held up a little better, but He Lei’er was nearly frightened senseless; when she was called over to help bandage a soldier who had been struck by an arrow, she retched and vomited right there beside him…
Because the heavy rain was unfavorable for an assault, the fighting that day came to a halt around noon, but the work in the wounded soldiers’ camp never stopped. Most of those brought in had arrow wounds, and some had been struck by stones from the trebuchets. Caught up in the surrounding chaos, Shishi, who knew a little about bandaging, ended up lending a hand as well. But whenever there was even a brief lull, her body felt almost as though it might collapse, her mind humming and ringing from all the screams and wounds around her.
The man named Hou Jing came over to check on her several times, even helping to treat a few of the wounded himself. Beside Shishi, he was somewhat awkward with words, even breaking into a sweat as he spoke, but through their brief exchanges, Shishi came to understand that the fighting today, by the standards of this siege, was not even considered particularly severe.
“…The Jurchen haven’t been attacking in earnest. Lately they’ve mostly been testing their trebuchets, and today there was heavy rain besides. These wounds are nothing at all — if they ever really got onto the wall, that would be truly terrible…”
Even wounds considered “nothing at all” — an arrow driven into flesh and then pulled back out — brought with it some of the most unbearable pain a person could endure…
Having spent an entire afternoon in such surroundings, Shishi was half-covered in the smell of blood. Hou Jing brought her a steamed bun, but she naturally could not bring herself to eat; her body swayed unsteadily, as though all her strength had left her. Now and then, in the brief exchanges she had with Hou Jing, he would tell her about the earlier days of the siege, about the brutality of the fighting. When Shishi looked again at the city wall, that towering, squared-off wall seemed once more to have become as thin as paper.
More than a million people, all penned in behind these square walls — once the wall was breached, this fate might well await every one of them…
Even in a day’s fighting like today’s, considered relatively mild, quite a few people had still died; on other days, naturally, there were far more. And out on the plains beyond the wall, the numbers of the dead were greater still, far greater.
In these recent days, Shishi had occasionally found herself imagining the fates of these people, and she thought back to the last time she and Ning Yi had seen each other, before he set out. She was here inside the city, having seen scenes like this today — out there beyond the walls, what sort of things was he going through?
Over the course of more than a month, news of reinforcements and armies coming to the emperor’s aid had reached the city from beyond the walls several times. But the Jurchen struck again and again without mercy, and in that span of time had defeated these relief forces one after another, utterly.
“…Out there, several hundred thousand troops, all defeated by the Jurchen. Those Jurchen — I hear they’ve already swept across the plains north of Bian Liang several times over by now. So many people have died, and I’d guess the bodies are probably still lying out there… nowhere even to bury them… Those Jurchen aren’t so skilled yet at attacking city walls, but out on open ground, their cavalry is simply unstoppable — you can’t even outrun them…”
Hou Jing told her about the fighting in the terms he understood — several hundred thousand troops coming one after another, being defeated one after another; within the walls of Bian Liang, there was no one left to place any hope in. As things stood now, that stretch of land to the north had likely already been turned into a wasteland stretching a thousand li, stained red with blood…
A thousand li of blood-red wasteland…
Shishi gazed at the city wall, imagining the countless people who had already been killed out there beyond it, not knowing whether Ning Yi was among them. And yet the several hundred thousand troops sent to relieve the siege had already either been routed or slaughtered. In this stretch of open country, around this single lonely city, a million people, utterly isolated, might well have no one left who could save them.
That night, after she returned to the Fan Tower, she fell ill. She was sick for five days. Once she recovered, she sought out advice from a physician at the Fan Tower on how to treat wounds, and then went back to the wounded soldiers’ camp to help once more.
At times, Yu Hezhong, Chen Sifeng, and others would come by to see her, and they would talk about the war. She often found herself thinking of Ning Yi — someone she knew was out there on the battlefield, and she had no way of knowing how he was, whether he was still alive, or what he might be doing. If he was alive, had he felt fear in such surroundings, had he ever thought of running? She did not know these things either. Nor did she know, herself, whether she hoped he had fled and survived, or that he had died bravely instead. And so the days in Bian Liang passed, one after another, in this atmosphere.
Meanwhile, at Moutuo Gang, in the Jurchen military camp, the soldiers had not slowed their pace simply because the weather had turned cold; a great many siege engines were being built there in urgent haste. The Jurchen were skilled in cavalry warfare, and although they had gained some experience in siegecraft during the conquest of the Liao, it remained their weak point. Taking advantage of the opportunity presented by the siege, Wanyan Zongwang intended to use this time to train his forces in it — in the future, once the Jin fully conquered the Wu dynasty and pushed south, there would be many more cities left to take.
During this period, the cavalry under his command had displayed almost unmatched fighting power across this stretch of open plain; aside from this one city, which remained the sole target still to be taken, there was, in essence, nothing else for him to worry about.
After several engagements, he had already taken the measure of the Wu dynasty’s fighting strength. That a nation’s power could be reduced to such a degree was, to be honest, beyond even his own expectations.
Beyond maintaining a stance of continued training, the Jurchen army had another purpose during this time as well — curiosity, and plunder. In the course of sweeping the surrounding countryside, the Jurchen had gathered no small amount of valuable goods and taken many captives; good food and interesting novelties were now circulating freely through the camp. Fortunately, Wanyan Zongwang’s prestige remained more than sufficient, and even as things relaxed somewhat, his commanding officers still kept their men under enough training and discipline to maintain a proper sense of readiness.
In the eleventh month, with snow expected any day, on an otherwise unremarkable day, as the commander of the Han troops Liu Yanzong and the general Huoligai were making their rounds of the camp, Huoligai happened to mention something in passing.
“There are fewer and fewer Han people around here these days.”
“Oh?” Liu Yanzong frowned.
“Yesterday we sent out three thousand men to scout fifty li in every direction, and they came back with nothing at all,” Huoligai said. “Empty-handed.”
Liu Yanzong laughed. “Our great army has been camped here for quite some time now. Those who were going to leave have already left — what’s so strange about that?”
Huoligai shook his head. “In the past, the land around here was fertile, and even with a great army passing through, no small number of people would hide themselves away in the mountains. But now, even searching the mountains turns up no one. I’m not worried that they’ve been frightened off or killed — it’s just that, from some of the people we’ve captured, I’ve heard that among the Wu officials, there are still those who are actively evacuating the surrounding population and their grain, and that the range of this may already extend a hundred li or more. Their purpose is a scorched-earth strategy, to cut off our army’s supply of grain. If that’s true, perhaps it deserves more attention.”
Liu Yanzong furrowed his brow in thought, but then laughed easily again. “A scorched-earth strategy is naturally something the Wu people would attempt. Our army’s grain supply is enough for several more months as it stands; sending men out to patrol is mostly just to keep them limber. There’s no need for excessive worry over the grain supply right now.” He lowered his voice. “The Wu lands lie farther south — the winters here are cold enough to chill one to the bone, though nothing like our homeland in Liaodong. Still, it’s nothing insurmountable in the end. Once the siege engines are finished, the army will move on the city at once. The Wu army has no fighting spirit left at all — they’re relying purely on the strength of their walls, just like the Liao capital at Shangjing. If it weren’t for wanting to make use of these siege engines, this city would probably have already fallen. For now, let’s just wait a while longer.”
When the Jurchen had attacked the Liao capital at Shangjing, they had spared no cost, and though it too had been a formidable, well-defended city, it had fallen within half a day. There were, of course, many complex reasons behind that outcome, but after defeating several hundred thousand troops one after another beneath the walls of Bian Liang, the Jurchen had, for the most part, developed this same confidence. If it were not for the commanding general’s wish to train his men in the use of these siege engines, and were the army instead willing to spare no cost in the assault, Bian Liang too would probably not have held out more than a few days. Under such circumstances, there was naturally no need to take any small, jumping clown seriously.
This was nothing more than a small aside, and no one gave it much thought at the time. Though Huoligai had mentioned it, in his own heart he was not especially worried either — the words had come out more from habitual caution than anything else. After that, the matter was not taken seriously again, and by the time it was brought up once more, a good while had already passed — by then, it was a matter the Jurchen could no longer afford not to take seriously…
…
The northern bank of the Yellow River.
A column of cavalry was crossing the river.
This column numbered roughly two thousand men. The formation on the riverbank was neat and orderly, the ranks silent and grim, with carts pulling supplies behind them.
The boats responsible for ferrying them across had been arranged by the local county magistrate. Being situated at a crossing point of the Yellow River, and with the war ongoing, the boat crews in recent times had already lost count of how many men they had ferried across, and how many they had ferried back. Only, those who went across were whole armies, while those who came back tended to be routed soldiers, wounded men, and corpses.
Having transported so many troops by now, the boat captain had grown fairly skilled at judging the caliber of soldiers at a glance — but this column in front of him seemed somewhat odd. The soldiers among them all looked like seasoned veterans, hardened by exposure and killing; in the armies of the Wu dynasty, such men were usually elite troops or personal guards. But it was often precisely these elite units that also produced soldiers who were careless and indifferent, not caring about much of anything, while those who remained solemn and cautious tended to be new recruits. Such recruits might look obedient and orderly, but once they actually got onto a battlefield, entire units like that would often collapse completely, with some not even managing to flee in any organized way — their casualties tended to be the highest of all.
This particular column, however, combined both traits somehow. On one hand, their formation was as neat and precise as if it had been drawn with a ruler; on the other, looking at each individual soldier, none of them appeared to be a novice either.
After looking over their organization, the boat captain realized this was one of the righteous armies from the north that had accepted the court’s offer of amnesty and surrendered — but honestly, that only made it stranger still. So-called righteous armies were usually made up of bandits and mountain outlaws, and such forces tended to have far worse discipline. Wherever the Jurchen struck, righteous armies sprang up everywhere in response, but very few of them actually dared to pursue the Jurchen and fight them head-on — most of it was just talk. By Ning Yi’s own way of putting it, such men were models of being “at least patriotic” — but, put more harshly: how many wicked deeds must a man have already done, to end up being merely “at least patriotic”?
In any case, the boat captain still dutifully ferried this column across the river as arranged. As they parted ways, he also gave them a detailed account of the Jurchen situation, warning them to be careful, lest they meet the same fate as the armies before them.
“We’re different,” said a deputy commander in the column named Han Jing, as he placed several ingots of silver into the boat captain’s hand as payment for the crossing. The boat captain thought to himself that he certainly hoped so, though naturally he said nothing to contradict it aloud; still, he found himself remembering this column, said to have come from the Lüliang Mountains. He stole a glance toward the front of the formation, where the leading officer, cloaked in a mantle, looked, to his surprise, as though it might be a woman.
He had gotten a glimpse of her earlier, on the other side of the Yellow River, and when that gaze beneath the cloak’s hood had turned toward him, he had felt as though his eyes were being pricked by needles, startled by it. The killing intent that radiated from that female general kept him from daring to look her way carelessly again for a long while…
…
This was a valley on the southern bank of the Yellow River, its woods and ravines stretching on and on; by now, this place had become a temporary garrison. Around the outer edges of the valley, rows upon rows of anti-cavalry barricades and trenches extended in every direction, turning this place into ground least suited to cavalry warfare.
Since the night of the twenty-fourth of the ninth month, when the Jurchen had launched their offensive, up until now, in the eleventh month, several hundred thousand troops on the plains north of Bian Liang had all been crushed. Many men’s bodies now lay scattered across that plain; many more routed soldiers had scattered and fled, vanishing without a trace. But there remained a few forces still able, for the time being, to gather men back together.
The area before them had originally been part of the Wu Rui Camp; under that name, it had absorbed a considerable number of other scattered, defeated units, and had finally settled and garrisoned here. Now, the days here were spent entirely on training.
This location was somewhat difficult to attack, not being especially far from either Moutuo Gang or Bian Liang itself. The Jurchen knew of its existence, but upon seeing the layers upon layers of trenches and barricades surrounding it, had, for the time being, grown reluctant to mount a full assault.
Ning Yi stood on the riverbank, his face somewhat pale, coughing lightly a few times. Beside him were several people belonging to Bamboo Notes — not warriors, but mostly accountants, strategists, and men of that sort.
“…I asked around. This is the dry season, so the water level is this low right now; once spring comes, it will rise again.” Ning Yi turned and pointed south. “If the levee is breached when the water level is at its highest, the Yellow River will change course, and the floodwaters will rush straight toward Bian Liang. By then…”
He paused, drew a breath, and waved his hand. “By then, once the water recedes, the land will be fertile for a thousand li in every direction… enough to feed a great many people.”
The others all looked toward the river water; only Ning Yi faced the direction of the valley, toward the rows of trenches, barricades, and defensive works in the distance, and all the people scattered throughout the valley. His face was pale, and there was a certain paleness in his gaze as well — the color of death.
Though he had always thought of himself as ruthless and hard-hearted, and had once held sway over the lives of many people, in this past month or so, the deaths he had witnessed had already far surpassed everything he had seen before, combined. Even he himself had, more than once, walked right up to the edge between life and death.
On that night in Qi County, the wound on his body had still not fully healed even now — and far more people than him would never even have the chance to heal at all.