In the heavy snow, carriages rolled through the clamorous streets.

The sounds of running feet, shouting, and weeping drifted through the air. This street led to the northern city wall, and another group of volunteer defenders was being led that way by a small detachment of troops. Along the snow-covered street, women and children were crying—their family members had already died on the wall two days before. There weren’t many such people yet, mixed in among the noise and commotion, stirring pity in onlookers, but in the end there was nothing to say beyond offering comfort.

Because more and more residents were being mobilized toward the wall, the whole vast city of Bian Liang had been enveloped in this atmosphere.

Days earlier, when Li Gang, Qin Siyuan, and others had begun mobilizing the populace to help defend the city, many had been willing. But once this effort was carried out on such a massive scale, all sorts of problems inevitably arose. People who vanished, feigned illness, or simply refused to go—these cases drove the officials in charge to fits of hysteria and rage. When the matter was truly at hand, the wives and children of each household weren’t necessarily willing to let their men go to the wall either, and all manner of disputes erupted from this.

But fortunately, what was at stake this time truly was the direct, personal interest of Bian Liang’s residents. Even though some could not help, the number of residents who were genuinely mobilized was still substantial.

This time the Jurchen were attacking the city in force, with a total strength of over fifty thousand troops, while the soldiers responsible for defending the city numbered around eighty thousand. Counting those who had already gone to help at the wall and those on standby elsewhere, the total number mobilized had already reached a hundred thousand, with tens of thousands more—perhaps over a hundred thousand—ready to be called up at any moment.

Such an enormous mobilization had thrown the entire city into a state of feverish excitement, and in an intangible way, it had actually stirred up the fighting spirit of the defenders. At least in these past few short days, the patriotic fervor rising in Bian Liang was unprecedented. Purely in terms of political achievement, any official who could organize such a thing would have something to boast about for a lifetime.

That unmarked carriage passed through the still snow-drifting city and entered the rear gate of Tong Guan’s princely residence. Here, several carriages and officials were already waiting in the courtyard. The young military officer riding in the carriage got down and walked into the inner courtyard. Tong Guan was entertaining guests; the young officer announced himself, then went over to report on the situation at the wall. In truth, the new reports were much the same as before—fierce fighting, the wall in dire peril.

“…The Jurchen mounted the wall twice, and were repelled both times, but Section B-6 of the wall has suffered major damage, and may become the point where the Jurchen break through with everything they have…”

At this moment, the five or six men in the room could all be counted among the court’s high officials—either military commanders or civil officials who held military authority. Tong Guan studied the diagrams of the wall, brow furrowed, and asked further about conditions within the city. One official inquired: “…No one under heaven understands the art of war better than Your Highness. What does Your Highness think of this battle? Can Bian Liang still be held?”

Another said, “It seems the Jurchen are truly determined this time—they won’t stop until the city falls.”

“Whenever an army is sent to besiege a city, when has it ever not wanted to breach it!” Tong Guan frowned at the wall diagram. He was a broad, powerfully built man, possessed of a natural, unspoken authority. “And in matters of siege and defense, everything changes in an instant. The Jurchen are determined—are we not equally determined to hold this city! In this moment of crisis, we can only unite our strength as one. Let there be no more foolish thoughts. Go back, all of you, and send out your household guards at once. No more delay!”

The Jurchen had begun fighting in earnest, and to defend the city, in just a few days Li Gang had already redeployed the troops guarding the imperial palace itself several times over. Below, the mobilized residents were put to different uses. Ordinary civilians could only help carry bricks and boil water, deliver supplies; but the escorts of security companies, the guards of wealthy households, or wandering men skilled with blade and spear could be organized to actually fight atop the wall. The many officials within the city were naturally mobilized as well, required to send their household guards and retainers up to the wall. Some agreed readily; others sought out their patrons and backers to ask their opinion first.

But at least for now, whether an official had previously been on good terms with the two chancellors or not, none dared openly object to this matter. Tong Guan, Cai Jing, Gao Qiu, and others were even among the first to send out their household guards—though only a portion of them—but in any case, it represented their hope that the wall could be held.

Of course, besides sending out household guards to help defend the city, there was much else being quietly arranged behind the scenes, in case the wall truly fell.

Once this group of officials had been sent off for the time being, Tong Guan frowned again at the diagram, tapping it a few times with his hand, and asked the trusted retainer beside him: “What do you make of how the defense is going?”

The retainer was silent a moment, then looked at Tong Guan. “The Jurchen’s will to fight is firm, and the city could fall at any moment. But as Your Highness said, the two chancellors are equally firm, so…”

“In matters of siege and defense, when it comes to the details, there is often no fixed verdict—it depends on the speed with which each side makes mistakes, and the speed with which those mistakes are corrected.” Tong Guan traced the map with his hand, speaking word by word. “The battle before us has been in crisis continuously since three days ago. The Jurchen are trying to find our mistakes through sheer force, and every time they’ve mounted the wall, they’ve found one. The afternoon of the twenty-second was the most dangerous—but Li Gang and Zhong Shidao were both utterly resolute, and before the Jurchen could exploit the mistake further, they filled the gap with human lives. Every time since, it’s been the same. If our side’s will to fight were not so firm, any one of those times could have meant the city’s fall and everyone’s death. When the Jurchen took Shangjing in half a day, it was because of just such a mistake—often it only takes a few dozen men mounting the wall, the defenders’ will weakening a little, the response coming a little too slow, and the whole city is lost.”

Tong Guan was, at present, the highest-ranking man in the Wu Dynasty’s military, and in the eyes of many, also the most skilled in warfare. His guidance was something outsiders couldn’t obtain for any amount of money, and the retainer listened attentively.

Tong Guan paused. “And yet—that we can be provoked into such mistakes again and again also shows that our defense has already been pushed right up against the line where it could break at any moment. Li and Zhong can patch it up a hundred times, but it only takes one moment of hesitation, and Bian Liang will have no hope left. At this level of detail, there’s no way to predict further. That’s why, when they asked just now whether the city could be held, I couldn’t answer.”

Having said this, he sat in his chair, silent for a long moment. “The Right Chancellor is formidable… If not for the Black Water Pact holding Qin Siyuan down for years, our dynasty’s military situation today might not be so dire. These past three days, he has kept an unbroken stream of manpower flowing up to the wall, ensuring the northern section of the city always has sufficient supplies—that is the real reason these gaps have been patched in time. If he weren’t steering things from behind, even with people mobilized, they wouldn’t know where to go; the dead and badly wounded couldn’t be pulled back in time, and would instead clog up positions on the wall—by now, the city would likely have already fallen. Even if Li Gang and Zhong Shidao wanted to act, they’d be like a skilled cook with no rice to cook with…”

“The Right Chancellor…” the retainer said. “Among the common people, his reputation doesn’t compare to Chancellor Li’s or Marshal Zhong’s…”

“He is a man of practical deeds, with real talent, but it’s hard for him to have a spotless name.” Tong Guan glanced at him. “And after the Black Water Pact, he was sidelined for years, bearing infamy the whole while. Since his return to office, he’s run into one crisis after another from the northern campaign, and been burdened by it. Wanting to accomplish real things, he’s sometimes had no choice but to take extreme measures. Officials see him as a cruel official; the common people are ignorant, foolish sorts—what do they understand. Ah, if only he had spent those years focused purely on cultivating his official standing, and never touched the mess of the Black Water Pact—by now, on this court, the only one who could stand as an equal rival to Grand Preceptor Cai would be him.”

He waved his hand over the map, sighing a little. “If that were truly the case, my northern campaign would have gone far more smoothly. We wouldn’t be in such dire straits now…”

Such reflections naturally smacked of hindsight, and were not something the retainer was in a position to comment on. After a moment, Tong Guan gave a few more instructions and sent him back to the wall to keep watch on the fighting at all times.

As for how the battle on the wall would turn out, as Tong Guan had said, there was no way to judge it in the details—but from the broader picture, the Jurchen’s record of victory was known throughout the realm; holding out for a time did not mean holding out forever. This was something nearly every well-informed official in the city understood. And within the palace, Zhou Zhe, somewhat slower than others to catch on, had by now also begun to act.

His slowness wasn’t due to dullness—it was purely because he’d been so infuriated by Li Gang, Qin Siyuan, Tang Ke—and even Tong Guan and Cai Jing—that he’d stopped paying attention out of spite. Earlier, when the Empress had fled the palace ahead of time, he had chased after her, only to be forced by the assembled court officials to stay behind. After returning, he’d sulked and refused to manage affairs any further: if they wanted this mess, they could have it—let’s see what they could do with it!

Holding onto this attitude, he’d holed himself up in the palace, indulging in self-destructive abandon, flipping through the name-tablets of at least two consorts each day, then scolding them away afterward. Even as the Jurchen pressed their attack in full force, some part of him had thought: let’s see you hold them off!

Of course, this was just spite—he was an adult, after all, and in his heart he still hoped to defeat the Jurchen. It was only with this kind of attitude that he could avoid dealing with the tiresome affairs of lesser men. But once the fighting had gone on for two or three days, he couldn’t help but start paying attention, and finally learned how things stood.

Zhou Zhe was no military man and understood little of warfare. He couldn’t, like Tong Guan, hear the reports coming from the wall and immediately grasp that the battle was balanced on a taut wire. But regardless, with his own intelligence, and with advisors at his side, after three days he too understood: those three old men had already exhausted everything they had, and if the city fell, he would truly need to consider fleeing south.

So he too began to act. The wall itself he had no intention of managing—even if he wanted to, there was nothing he could do about it now; at least he had that much self-awareness. Quietly, he extended his reach and focused his efforts on the roads leading out of the city, eventually deploying a small number of troops and commanders so that the entire route from the palace to the southern city gate would be under men he could control as easily as his own hands and feet. During this, many of the power players in the capital knew perfectly well what was happening and lent their help—men like Cai Jing, Tong Guan, Wang Fu, Liang Shicheng, Gao Qiu, and others. And Li Gang, Qin Siyuan, along with Qin Hui, Tang Ke, Geng Nanzhong, and various other officials who had any hand in things, all did their best to give the green light and secure these escape routes. Only then did Zhou Zhe feel at ease.

And yet, thinking that he, as Emperor, had ended up in such a state—surrounded by treacherous men running amok, forced to act with bound hands and feet as Emperor—having now stifled his pride to hand off so much power, and now stifling his pride again to plan his own escape route—these men, outwardly so obedient, were probably laughing at this Emperor of theirs in their hearts. Every time this thought crossed his mind, his chest grew tighter with rage, and so, once again, he smashed a few more priceless curios in a fit of temper.

Outside the bounds of the palace, in the wind and snow that filled the sky, mobilizing over a hundred thousand people was an organizational task of staggering scale, falling to the Right Chancellor’s office and its subordinate ministries. From Qin Siyuan down through the Ministries of Personnel, Works, Justice, and War beneath him, coordination, operation, and liaison ran in every direction—from officials of the first rank down to the lowest village heads and clerks, orders passed down layer by layer, arranging and allocating. At every hour, hundreds upon thousands of officials moved back and forth through the city; officials at the grassroots level marshaled manpower, mid-level officials screened and selected, the Ministries of Works and Finance prepared vast quantities of logistical supplies, the Ministry of War relayed every piece of news concerning the fighting on the wall, and the advisory staff had to calculate responses to this information, then dispatch group after group of people to the right places, ready to be deployed.

The true battle was sustained by this mass of tedious, thousand-fold operations. When gaps opened in the brutal fighting atop the wall, and Li Gang, Zhong Shidao, and others rushed in with human lives to fill them, what truly decided the outcome—beyond the city’s will to fight—was whether, close at hand, there were enough suitable lives ready to be thrown into the breach.

Sorting through the mixed and uneven masses of the populace to find those fit to fight, those fit to serve as craftsmen or laborers, and swiftly placing them wherever a gap appeared. When each wave of troops on the wall suffered heavy losses, reacting keenly and committing fresh reserves. And beyond that, circulating back through the city to carry out mass propaganda, bolstering everyone’s morale, ensuring everyone had food and drink to eat and drink—all of this, too, was the difficult work of the logistical center.

Qin Siyuan, holding down the command center at the Ministry of War, had not closed his eyes in two days and two nights.

The entire hall—including the courtyard outside it, now covered over by canopies to form one continuous space—was filled with countless voices; officials and scouts rushed in and out. Some matters the officials below could judge on the spot; many others were relayed swiftly to Qin Siyuan. The senior advisory staff then used a massive sand table to reconstruct conditions on the battlefield not far away, before making decisions on deployment.

Under Qin Siyuan’s command, every capacity for organization and coordination had been pushed to its absolute limit—and Ning Yi had played a part in this too. Having spent so many years within the chancellor’s inner circle, his methods of handling affairs with extreme emphasis on efficiency, and his way of understanding problems, had been absorbed by many others among the chancellor’s advisory staff. They were all among the most outstanding minds of this era, and imperceptibly, they had come to apply what they’d learned in countless matters; in many of the details of daily operation, the chancellor’s office carried Ning Yi’s modern-style optimizations.

Such outstanding capability had originally been prepared for the northern campaign—no one had imagined that at the moment of greatest urgency, it would instead be used to hold the capital. Amid the endless busyness of responding to one report after another, Yao Zunian and others occasionally came to urge him to rest a little, but he waved them off every time. Like a man burning through his own life, the old man, in this moment, felt no fatigue.

Nor was this some ill omen. Though he had long shouldered a vast burden of affairs, Qin Siyuan had attained a high level of mastery in matters of health preservation and cultivating the mind. In a sense, strength of learning and spirit had brought about a corresponding harmony within the body. In these recent years, the event that had struck him hardest was probably the reversal surrounding Zhang Jue’s death—but now, having already braced himself, he could still endure this kind of exertion.

And every command he gave remained utterly lucid.

In the present situation, both sides attacking and defending seemed to be burning through every ounce of their own strength, exhausting each other’s very lives—only the Jurchen were like a young man of boundless potential, while the Wu Dynasty side was already old and failing. Even as Qin Siyuan exhausted every last effort in handling each matter, what he felt was an almost limitless pressure. In circumstances where a single wrong step meant utter ruin, the only choice was to keep walking forward—and, what was more, without much hope in sight.

Amid the endless stream of incoming reports, one at last arrived that was different in nature—something meant, it seemed, to bolster morale, something he needn’t worry over. That message was of the highest level of secrecy, brought to him by Yao Zunian, an entire letter written in cipher.

The method and authority to decode this cipher belonged to Qin Siyuan alone, but Yao Zunian did know its origin—it had been passed in from outside the city, from Ning Yi and the others.

Qin Siyuan swiftly finished decoding it. After a moment of silence, he told Yao Zunian what it said.

“…Over four thousand men… launching an attack on their own initiative?” Yao Zunian asked with his eyes, since several urgent reports had already come in beside them.

“Seal it,” Qin Siyuan said, tapping the coded letter, then turned to look at the other reports.

Yao Zunian put the letter away, and after a moment said quietly, “Even in the midst of such ferocious warfare, this amounts to sending them to their deaths. Should we tell them not to act rashly, to gather their remaining forces first, and plan another attack later?”

Over these past two-plus months of fighting outside the city, just how formidable the Jurchen truly were had been laid utterly bare. At this moment, with them assaulting Bian Liang in full force, the situation was already dire—but for these four thousand-odd men to strike now, no matter how one looked at it, it seemed a desperate, all-or-nothing gamble. And with Qin Shaoqian among them, it looked all the more like a sacrifice—laying down one’s life for righteousness, dying for the country.

In a sense, though the more than three hundred thousand men outside the city had all been scattered and driven to flight in various directions, if they could all be gathered back together to attack Zongwang’s besieging army, the siege of Bian Liang could still be broken. It was just that, easy as it was to say, it simply couldn’t be done.

The new report remained in Qin Siyuan’s hand; the old man pressed his lips together tightly. After a moment, he shook his head. “A gamble with everything on the line, a desperate army fights hardest to win… And if they don’t win, that is their own choice, and heaven’s will besides… For now, all we can do is fight to the death to hold Bian Liang. We must not spare thought for anything else.”

His gaze was resolute, and he turned his mind back to matters within the city. From his expression, it was impossible to know what the old man was truly thinking—but one could well imagine: at this very moment, his eldest son was trapped in the besieged, isolated city of Taiyuan, his fate unknown, while his second son was somewhere outside the city, braving this sky full of wind and snow on a road toward death…

Leaving the hall of the Ministry of War, through the white city, messengers and riders bearing reports streamed endlessly north toward that great wall, and countless crowds and soldiers surged toward that wall as well. And above the wall, the fighting and slaughter continued without pause, until the blood had nearly stained every inch of it red.

Along the battle-scarred wall near the New Suanzao Gate, at the section marked B-6, a stretch of the parapet had already been smashed into rubble by a hurled boulder. Jurchen soldiers were charging into this breach; below, on the snowy plain, Jurchen cavalry loosed volleys of arrows covering both ends of the gap. On both sides of the wall, great numbers of Wu Dynasty soldiers, bearing blades, shields, and spears, pressed forward toward the breach under the threat of the arrow rain. The frontmost soldiers pushed a war cart, screaming themselves hoarse as they advanced; the arrow rain occasionally knocked men down, and those behind pressed forward to take their place. On the other side, the Jurchen had formed a forest of spears, the foremost warriors pushing two great iron shields forward as they advanced.

Further back along the wall, soldiers of the Divine Archer Battalion strained to fire down at the Jurchen cavalry below, trying to suppress their mounted archery. Yet even as soldiers occasionally toppled from their horses, the Jurchen cavalry never left that spot, maintaining intense arrow coverage on the wall.

Behind the wall, Tang Yao had been shooting down at the enemy for a long while now; among the cavalry, he had confirmed three Jurchen kills—he was one of the finest archers in the Divine Archer Battalion. But just as he shouted and loosed another arrow at the ground below, an arrow struck him in the shoulder with a hiss.

Gritting his teeth, he crouched back behind the wall, sweat pouring from weakness and pain across his brow, his hands trembling uncontrollably—though almost none of this was because of the arrow now lodged in his shoulder. His hands, especially all five fingers, were already raw and torn open, covered in blood. Four of them were wrapped in cloth, though blood still soaked through; the unwrapped middle finger bled in a steady stream, nearly down to the bone.

“Ah…” he cried out once, then let out another loud “Ah—”, his jaw still chattering uncontrollably, his fingers shaking without end.

For an archer, the bowstring is what wounds the fingers. Though there were many ways to protect them, after days of running back and forth along the wall, endlessly loosing arrows, every one of his fingers had become a horrifying wound. And yet he couldn’t wear thick gloves, because then he wouldn’t be able to feel the bowstring.

As a soldier of the Divine Archer Battalion, in this kind of extreme-range exchange, it wasn’t enough simply to loose arrows—if that were all it took, what difference would there be between him and an ordinary soldier?

Beside him, more soldiers were rushing up the inner stairs to reinforce the line; one of them was clearly an ordinary militiaman who’d been organized into the group—a fat man, carrying a spear, who for some reason had ended up mixed in with this unit. He now stood hunched over, gripping the spear shaft, sweat pouring down his face, looking at Tang Yao with an expression close to tears—staring at the arrow lodged in his shoulder.

The two men looked at each other for a moment. Tang Yao was in a wretched state—blood on his hands, blood on his shoulder, blood spattered across his whole body, hair disheveled, his mouth full of crimson blood when he opened it to speak. And all around, along the wall, what should have been even more shocking were the bodies still lying uncollected—seeing them, the fat man’s mournful expression deepened further. Tang Yao drew two breaths, then suddenly let out another cry of “Ah,” reached back with his free hand, and yanked the arrow out of his shoulder with force. He stood, turned, drew his longbow open with a resounding twang, and loosed the arrow with a hiss.

He stood glaring, waiting until he confirmed the arrow had struck someone, before turning back and crouching down again, looking at the fat man with a terrifying, ferocious grin, waving his bloodied, mangled fingers: “One.” he said hoarsely.

The fat man’s face still wore that mournful expression, but then, gripping his spear, he let out a roar and charged toward the breach in the wall where everyone else was rushing to reinforce.

“Hahaha…”

The arrow had been barbed, and when he’d yanked it out with force, it had torn the blood vessels in his shoulder, blood now flowing in a steady stream. Tang Yao pressed a hand to his shoulder, watching the fat man’s charging figure, and began to laugh. He then slumped down against the parapet, watching the fat man rush further and further away, laughing in a strange, unstoppable way: “Hahahaha… hahahahahaha…” By the time the fat man’s figure disappeared into the crowd ahead, tears were streaming from his eyes along with the laughter.

The wind and snow howled; inside the wall, countless figures surged toward it like ants…

Outside the wall, at the Jurchen encampment, Wanyan Zongwang found it rather beyond his expectations that, faced with such a brutal siege, the cowardly Wu Dynasty men could still hold on. He had already lost his temper several times. Now he stood on a high platform within the camp, gazing far off at that small breach in the wall, watching the fierce fighting there. He issued orders without pause, and then issued more, and still more…

…

Crossing mountains and ridges, cavalry and infantry alike advanced together through the snowy fields. The wind and snow held steady in strength—not light, but never too fierce either; it was no trouble for fighting a battle.

This force of just over four thousand men had a clear objective, and every one of them had already prepared himself for battle. They pressed rapidly toward Moutuo Ridge; and if one extended their chosen direction further, it led straight to Bian Liang.

“Whose troops are these?” At the Moutuo Ridge encampment, those currently responsible for the garrison were Wanyan Amu, in charge of logistics, and the general Shuliesu. Hearing that an army had suddenly appeared, coming on the offensive, they were quite taken aback.

“Unclear. They seem somewhat different from the Wu Dynasty troops we’ve faced before—they look… somewhat ragged, but they’re coming on fast.”

“Four thousand men, half cavalry, half infantry?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds like some righteous army scraped together by some wealthy household somewhere… a fool’s errand…”

In these past few months outside Bian Liang, besides the regular Wu Dynasty army, there had also been several righteous militias that had come to fight the Jurchen. Generally these were small in scale, but mostly made up of hot-blooded young men eager for battle—since the Jurchen had come, righteous militias had risen up all across the Wu Dynasty, all declaring they would never live under the same sky as the Jurchen. In terms of sheer numbers, six or seven hundred thousand men could be counted, and in later ages, one might get the mistaken impression that the entire court had been loyal and heroic. But in truth, those who truly dared to strike without fear of death were, in the end, not many.

Moreover, if this were a regular Wu Dynasty army, two thousand cavalry would either come without infantry at all, or be paired with at least twenty thousand infantry. This mismatched force of four thousand men now charging in could only be some fragment of these hot-blooded volunteers.

To Shuliesu, the supply line from Moutuo Ridge to Bian Liang had to be kept intact at all costs. He was not an arrogant or reckless man, but he didn’t think too much of this force of four thousand men before him either.

“Order Husongxiu to lead two thousand cavalry out to engage. Pulu, take two thousand infantry and follow up in support. Have the scouts widen their search—if it’s confirmed there are only four thousand of them with no reinforcements, then use full strength to scatter them and bring back their horses. Also, reinforce the camp’s defenses—everyone on patrol, stay sharp, don’t let the Wu Dynasty men find any gap to exploit!” Shuliesu gave his orders, then added, “And once you’ve scattered them—leave no one alive. Bring me their heads, mounted on stakes!”

At present the Moutuo Ridge camp still held twelve thousand men, of whom twenty-five hundred were cavalry, with a little over six thousand infantry; the rest were craftsmen handling logistics. There were also several thousand captured Han Chinese—women kept for amusement, and men kept as slaves.

With the enemy bringing four thousand men, sending an equal force of four thousand in response already amounted to a lion pouncing on a rabbit. On one hand, he meant to scatter these men completely, to sternly warn off any other Wu Dynasty forces with similar ideas; on the other, with Zongwang’s main army entirely deployed, what remained under his own command—aside from the two thousand-odd cavalry, which counted as elite—was of far lesser fighting strength. If he could seize two thousand horses in the bargain, his own side would become considerably more formidable.

The cavalry rode out into the wind and snow, and before long, they sighted the enemy ahead. The Jurchen general Husongxiu was a fierce warrior; leading the men behind him, he charged straight at the enemy cavalry formation ahead.

Iron hooves thundered like rolling drums, snow swirling up in their wake! In this era, a Jurchen cavalry charge was a force that even mountains would give way before. The reason Husongxiu did not employ the mounted-archery tactics of the “hobbled horse” formation was that he feared the enemy would break and flee under the arrows—in which case, though the enemy infantry could be wiped out entirely, chasing down cavalry across the snowy field would mean he’d have no way to capture their warhorses.

He hoped the enemy were hot-headed fools who wouldn’t be frightened off by his charge.

Sure enough, the enemy wasn’t frightened—they charged straight back at him.

This only made the charging Husongxiu even more displeased.

Damn them—how dare they resist!

“Brothers, don’t think of running, and don’t think about what happens if we lose. If we can’t even beat the Jurchen in front of us, then everything else afterward is nothing but empty talk. So this time—it’s either victory, or we all die right here!”

The cavalry was led by Qin Shaoqian, while command of the infantry, over the objections of many, had been given by Ning Yi to the young officer Yue Fei. Their declaration before the charge was hardly stirring or eloquent. After a single simple volley of arrows amid the wind and snow, they charged straight out.

In the heavy snow, the shooting wasn’t very accurate; the moment they entered arrow range, the charge closed the distance in an instant.

A thunderous crash rang out as the charging cavalry crashed together like ocean waves colliding. Those in front—no more than a hundred riders—carried the greatest force of impact. Long weapons clashed together, and sparks flew up amid the wind and snow.

“Waaah—” Husongxiu, in the lead, swung his long blade at the riders ahead of him, most of them wrapped in tattered cloaks, their horses not running especially fast either.

The vicious flash of his blade came with a thunderous crack; the recoiling force struck back at him. The rider he’d struck had tried to block, but was still cut down by the blow—his cloak flew open, and beneath an iron helmet, a pair of eyes stared back at Husongxiu. A heavy guan-blade rose up through the wind and snow, and came slashing down with a cry—

In this first clash of the battlefield, the vicious sound of blades hacking rang out in a frenzy; horses fell, men fell, and under the tremendous force of impact, even iron-armored warhorses stumbled and collapsed. Countless streams of thick, warm blood surged and flowed across the snowy ground.

More men and horses came crashing in through the wind and snow…

…

Bian Liang, the field hospital.

Shishi’s head was spinning slightly.

Wave after wave of horrifying casualties were being carried in, while the dead were dragged out—because there was no more room to lay them down.

She had endured this staggering stench of blood for a long time now. The field hospital wasn’t far from the city wall, and she could sometimes glimpse the brutal scenes atop it—something impossible for her to put into words. She felt she’d grown somewhat used to the bloodshed, even to the sight of severed limbs, but she still wanted to retch—she simply couldn’t manage it anymore.

She hadn’t eaten anything in a day. There was no time to stop, and even if she did stop, she couldn’t have eaten anyway. At one point, a young officer named Hou Jing came running over—one of his ears had been sliced off, and Li Shishi had no idea how much that must hurt, but he’d come to have it bandaged with a smile on his face, seeming almost thrilled: he’d finally been wounded.

But Shishi knew he was only putting on a brave face.

His brother-in-law—the lover of that woman He Lei’er—Xue Changgong, had already been promoted, and Hou Jing had risen along with him, which was no small thing. But not long after being bandaged, Hou Jing had gone right back up to the wall. During this time, Su Wenfang of the Su family had come to find her once—Su Wenfang was now running all over the city on behalf of the chancellor’s office, mainly seeking out wealthy households once acquainted with the Bamboo Registry, pleading with them to send their household guards to help defend the wall. When he’d passed by the Fan Tower, Mother Li had asked him to look in on her.

Shishi had asked after Ning Yi.

She had wondered countless times how Ning Yi was faring, and this time Su Wenfang had brought her good news—Ning Yi was fine. But as for what Ning Yi was doing right now, Su Wenfang wouldn’t say, only letting slip a little at the very end.

“Brother-in-law is fighting the enemy outside the city. He was badly wounded a while back, but he’s recovered now, so don’t worry about him… What he’s doing out there on the battlefield is no smaller a matter than what you and I are doing here.”

“I knew it…”

That was what she’d said at the time—but after seeing the brutal scenes on and beneath the wall, she found it hard to imagine: was he really out there, caught up in fighting this fierce?

The clash of battle, almost heart-rending in its intensity, both within and beyond the wall, had continued without pause these past few days, and could be heard even in the field hospital. But at some point, without her noticing when, that sound seemed to have grown quieter—though she wasn’t sure if it was just her imagination, because more and more wounded were being carried into the hospital all the time. She was brewing medicine, carrying a bowl of it over to someone, when someone called out to her: “Miss Li, Miss Li.” She looked up—it was Hou Jing, running over. “The Jurchen have retreated for now. The Jurchen have been driven back.”

Shishi kept walking forward; listening to what those around her were saying, it did seem to be the same news everywhere. She was about to smile when her legs suddenly gave way beneath her, and she fell. The medicine bowl shattered, the scalding brew spilling onto her hands and splashing onto a nearby patient, who flinched back: “Careful there!”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” Shishi kept apologizing. Hou Jing had already rushed over: “Miss Li, you…” He wanted to help her up but didn’t quite dare touch her. Shishi struggled for a moment before getting to her feet on her own, still murmuring apologies. Hou Jing said anxiously, “Miss Li, how long has it been since you slept? You haven’t eaten anything, have you? I—I have some steamed buns here, they’re cold, but rest a moment, I’ll go get you something hot…”

“I’m not tired, I’m not tired.” Shishi shook her head. “You just said the Jurchen retreated? Really? I still have work to do…”

“The Jurchen retreated, it’s true, for now at least. You should rest a while.” Hou Jing watched as Shishi turned to leave, then suddenly reached out and grabbed her sleeve, turning to call out loudly: “Everyone! Everyone! The one taking care of you all is Miss Shishi from the Fan Tower! Li Shishi, Miss Li! She’s been helping in the field hospital these past several days, and hasn’t rested in a day or two now! She hasn’t even eaten anything! Everyone, tell me—shouldn’t she rest a bit?”

His voice carried far, and everyone froze for a moment before someone finally spoke: “Li—Li Shishi? Miss Shishi from the Fan Tower?”

“Yes, that’s her, that’s her.” Hou Jing said. Beside him, Shishi grew flustered.

“I… I thought she looked familiar.”

“Right, right, I’ve seen her before, I think it’s really… Miss Shishi…”

“Miss Shishi came to take care of me too?”

“I saw her—she’s been here, hasn’t rested for a whole day. Is she really Miss Shishi?”

All around, a storm of murmurs suddenly rose up. In this age, few had ever actually seen Li Shishi, but most had at least heard her name. Though she had labored these past few days, blood on her clothes, her hair somewhat disheveled, if one looked closely, that beautiful, delicate face was still enough to stir longing in anyone. Even some soldiers with severed limbs found themselves instinctively turning to look, asking about her.

After a moment, someone called out: “Miss Shishi, you should go rest.”

“How can you come to a place like this, Miss Shishi…”

“Go rest, quickly. Just seeing you come to a place like this to look after us makes us happy—you don’t need to do all this. Look, the Jurchen have even been driven back—I feel like I could still go kill a few more—”

The crowd’s emotions surged; some were joking, others visibly moved. Shishi looked at these men—some missing limbs, some so weak from blood loss they seemed on the verge of death—and tears began to spill from her eyes, impossible to stop. She wiped at her eyes, sobbing softly for a while, then finally nodded: “I—I’ll go eat something first. Thank you all, truly—it’s all of you who’ve suffered the most. I—I can’t wield a blade, I can’t go to the battlefield…”

“Wielding a blade is our job!”

“…Miss Shishi, just wait and see—once I can get up again, I’ll go straight up and kill a few Jurchen dogs for you.”

“…Do it in Miss Shishi’s name!”

Hou Jing nodded furiously, guiding Shishi away as he said, “I’ll go get you a hot bun, there should be some ready by now.”

Shishi shook her head. “A cold one is fine too. Just give it to me.”

So Hou Jing pulled out a steamed bun wrapped in silk cloth from inside his robe. It was coarsely made, and by now cold, hard as a stone. Hou Jing looked a bit embarrassed, but Shishi took it anyway and began nibbling at it in small bites. They walked out of the field hospital; the sky was still filled with snow, the towering wall still standing high above, but the sounds of battle had finally stopped. On the open ground around them, groups of people—hundreds, perhaps thousands upon thousands—were resting, with all kinds of supplies laid out nearby. Their bodies bore wounds and blood; corpses were being carried down and out, the bearers moving in long lines.

Before this, Shishi had never felt the world around her to be so peaceful, nor had she ever realized just how precious such peace could be.

…

The line of blood spread forward. As evening approached, the daylight began to dim, and the brutal traces of battle stretched on, pressing toward Moutuo Ridge.

Behind Moutuo Ridge, across a frozen lake, a force of over a hundred men crossed through the mountain ridges and stopped at the edge of the forest and the lake, concealing themselves.

Far off, a gyrfalcon soared through the snow-filled sky.

These hundred-odd men were dressed entirely in white, their close-fitting white garments resembling a fisherman’s waterproof gear—meant both to keep warm and to repel water.

The woman leading them was the “Blood Bodhisattva” of Mount Lüliang, Lu Hongti.

For now, the hundred-odd men remained at the forest’s edge, waiting quietly.

Amid the wind and snow, evening was approaching, and the thin daylight was just beginning to dim…

…

Bian Liang.

In a small house near the field hospital, Shishi had fallen into a deep sleep.

She was woken by a terrifying clamor.

She pushed open the door and went out; the last light of day was fading in the wind and snow, bonfires had already been lit within the city, and ahead, countless figures were rushing about.

She was still a little dazed—she had seen this kind of running before—but then, as the shapes of men locked in slaughter came spreading toward her, through her stiff, numbed emotions, she could vaguely understand what was happening.

“Waaaaaaaaaaaah—”

Two groups of men were locked in combat not far ahead of her; a tall, rough-looking foreign warrior wielding a pair of blades was roaring madly, leading several companions against the charging soldiers.

Blood sprayed through the air.

Several Wu Dynasty soldiers were cut down; amid the flickering firelight, the enemy spotted someone here, and began coming this way…

In the distance, atop the wall, the sound of fighting boiled and surged, as though the entire city were churning.

The Jurchen… had breached the city…

Shishi’s mind went utterly blank—only that single thought flashed through it…