The roar of voices surged. Around the valley by the banks of the Yellow River, the boiling clamor of countless men set the night ablaze.

It should have been dusk, but the sky had already gone dark. Fire arrows streaked back and forth like fireflies darting through the night sky, illuminating the snow-covered ground in flickering bursts. Along the western ridges, great numbers of shield-bearing soldiers charged across the snow, some carrying ladders, arrows falling upon their shields, their bodies, and the snow around them. Behind them in the forest, fire blazed in patches, and archers who had lit their arrows dashed out in waves, loosed their shafts, and retreated again into the burning, snow-covered woods. At such moments, swarms of light, like a plague of locusts, could be seen raining down onto the walls of Xia Village.

Wave after wave of covering fire fell upon the high points of the wooden ramparts. So many fire arrows struck the timber in this dead of winter that some of it even began to catch flame.

Atop the walls of Xia Village, no sound of the elm-wood cannons rang out. Amid the Ever-Victorious Army’s charges sweeping across the mountainside, the soldiers kept considerable distance between one another. They ran along outside the walls holding their shields, launching sudden, fierce assaults only at certain fixed points. Ladders were thrown up, men swarmed forward, and inside Xia Village, the defenders hurled scalding boiling water down in sheets; a forest of spears thrust out from the ramparts, skewering the elite Ever-Victorious Army soldiers who tried to climb in, right there on the wall. When points of light darted out from the distant forest, attempting to loose a volley at the wall, archers from within the ramparts would answer with fire arrows of their own, aimed at the enemy’s archer clusters.

Sometimes the Ever-Victorious Army loosed faster; sometimes it was Xia Village’s defenders. When points of fire fell upon the wall-tops and the ground both inside and out, and defenders too slow to dodge clutched their wounds, screaming and rolling on the ground, another wave of attack would press in from outside.

While the wounded still writhed on the ground and reinforcements still lingered in the distance, the soldiers behind the ramparts would burst out from cover, locked in close combat with the elite Ever-Victorious Army troops trying to force their way in.

The officer responsible for defending the western wall’s B-2 section was named Xu Lingming. Short and stocky, his body built like a black iron tower, he commanded just over five hundred men, defending forty zhang of wall. At this moment, under wave after wave of assault from the Ever-Victorious Army, his once-ample manpower was rapidly dwindling. Everywhere he looked, fires flickered on and off, figures dashed about, messengers shouted, and the wounded screamed. On the ground within the camp, many arrows stood embedded in the mud, some still burning. Because Xia Village sat in a valley, one could not see outside from the low ground within. He now stood atop the tall lookout tower, gazing outward. On the slopes beyond the wall, the charging Ever-Victorious Army soldiers spread out, shouting, swarming like ants, launching real attacks only occasionally against some particular stretch of wall.

Farther off, countless points of fire flickered in the forest, looking as though they were about to burst out at any moment, though no one knew where they meant to strike.

“They’re going to charge — they’re going to charge… Xu Er, get your brothers ready! Fire arrows — when I say light them, light them! When I tell you to charge, everyone gets on the wall!”

He suddenly bellowed from atop the watchtower. Below, his clansman Xu Er, who led the archer squad, shouted back at once, and the hundred-odd archers around him immediately picked up arrows wrapped in oiled cloth, doused liberally in sticky fire oil, and rushed to the bonfires to stand ready. Xu Lingming flew down from the watchtower, snatched up his shield and long saber. “Xiao Zhuo! Reserve unit, brothers, follow me — charge!”

Standing by in the rear cover were his most elite fifty-odd men. At his command, they picked up shields and sabers and charged forward. As he ran, Xu Lingming kept an eye on the color of the sky, but just as he was halfway there, a soldier on watch atop the wooden wall ahead suddenly shouted something, the sound swallowed by the tide-like roar of battle. The soldier turned back around, shouting and waving. Xu Lingming widened his eyes at the sky — still a solid black — but the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

“Take cover — watch out—”

Xu Lingming crouched down, raised his shield, and shouted with all his strength; the soldiers behind him hastily raised their shields as well. A moment later, a rain of arrows came pattering down through the darkness, and some men were struck down where they stood. Near the wooden wall, some had already been hiding behind cover, but others who hadn’t managed to take shelter in time were shot down.

In the time before this, the Ever-Victorious Army had been using fire arrows continuously to suppress Xia Village’s defenders — partly because burns could indeed inflict severe injury on soldiers, and partly in response to the elm-wood cannons that, two days earlier, had been able to halt the Ever-Victorious Army’s advance. As the supreme commander of this army, and one of the great generals of the age, Guo Yaoshi had shown no excessive awe toward this new invention.

While in the north, he had already had dealings with the Wu Dynasty’s immature firearms. Arriving now at Xia Village, he had immediately devised a response to the elm-wood cannons: massed fire arrows concentrated on the high points of the wall where the cannons were positioned.

Xia Village’s side had made some effort to shield those positions, but with arrows flying everywhere, they simply didn’t dare open the firing ports for the cannons — if an arrow actually struck through the muzzle and ignited the powder, the consequences would be unthinkable. And with soldiers spread out in front of the wall as much as possible, the elm-wood cannons couldn’t inflict enough damage to be worth the risk. For this stretch of time, then, Xia Village’s side had temporarily held off firing the cannons, instead sending men to withdraw the nearby gunpowder and shells as much as possible.

And as the sky gradually darkened, the repeated waves of fire arrows had essentially conditioned the men behind the wooden wall into a reflex — the moment they saw a trail of flame streaking toward them, they dodged at once. But this time, what came down were not fire arrows.

Xia Village’s side suffered heavily for it in that instant.

“Xu Er — light them — up the wall — follow me, kill—!”

Xu Lingming shook his head and bellowed savagely. Beside him, several wounded men were screaming; one, hit in the thigh, was crawling across the snow ahead. Farther off, the Resentment Army’s ladders were already up against the wall.

The soldier who had given the warning grabbed his saber and turned to fight, but a Resentment Army soldier had already surged in, hacking down with his blade and severing the man’s arm. The defenders around him rose on the wall-top to fight, and Xu Lingming let out a furious roar as he charged toward the wall.

In the blood-spattered melee, an Ever-Victorious Army soldier leapt over the wall, his saber slashing down mid-leap. Xu Lingming raised his shield and struck the blade aside; his tower-like frame collided with the burly northeastern man’s body, and the two of them slammed into the wall together, bodies locked, before blood burst out violently between them.

“Kill the enemy—!”

In the shadows, the Resentment Army soldier fell. Xu Lingming drew his blade and roared. Ahead, more Ever-Victorious Army soldiers were pouring over the wall; behind him, his own elite troops and the archers with their lit fire arrows were swarming toward this spot as well. The men surged up onto the wall-top, churning up a bloody storm of close combat, while the archers rushed to the walls on either side and began raining arrows down on the concentration of Ever-Victorious Army soldiers.

Similar scenes were unfolding, over and over, at different points along this stretch of wall. In front of the camp’s main gate, several carts draped in heavy shields had been temporarily stalled by the two ballistae and the archers atop the wall. To the east, large-scale harassment of the camp’s defenses, trampling over heads and corpses in the snow, had not let up for even a moment.

Though Zhang Linghui and Liu Shunren had temporarily slipped from Guo Yaoshi’s control during the battle at Chaobai River, now, with the option of surrender wiped away, this commander of the Ever-Victorious Army had regained control of the entire force the moment he arrived. Under his direction, Zhang Linghui and Liu Shunren had likewise found their resolve again, throwing themselves fully into supporting this assault.

As for the elm-wood cannons and the hundred-plus heavy cavalry that had proven so effective earlier, Guo Yaoshi showed himself sharper and more decisive than Zhang and Liu in his response — largely because he had far more troops at his disposal. At this point, outside the valley of Xia Village, the Ever-Victorious Army’s forces had swelled to thirty-six thousand men, all elite troops who had followed the march south. But within Xia Village itself, the actual defending force numbered only a little over eighteen thousand. The hundred-plus heavy cavalry could gain a local advantage on a small scale, but on a battlefield of all-out assault, the moment they sortied, Guo Yaoshi would commit without hesitation to wiping them out, whatever the cost. Once the enemy’s trump card was eliminated, their morale would inevitably collapse.

As for the firearms — in the past, the Wu Dynasty’s firearms had been flashy but useless, practically unusable. Even now that they had reached a usable level, this newly emerged weapon made a great deal of noise but had little real power; in a spread-out skirmish line, it might not even kill a single man with one shot — how was that any different from an ordinary bow and arrow? He grew bold, and by suppressing with fire arrows once more, in the blink of an eye, he had already neutralized the soft underbelly of this new weapon.

“So much for a name that precedes itself…”

Amid the Resentment Army’s assault, the valley of Xia Village was likewise filled with chaos and clamor. The outer soldiers had already engaged in combat, the reserve units had their nerves stretched taut, and up on the central platform, all manner of reports came pouring in. As he weighed his options, watching the fighting unfold along the perimeter and the arrows flying back and forth across the sky, Ning Yi couldn’t help but feel a grudging admiration for Guo Yaoshi’s skill.

His own real-time command of the battlefield was, in truth, not particularly strong. In this valley, the men who truly understood how to fight and command were Qin Shaoqian and several former officers of the Wu Rui Camp, along with a budding great general like Yue Pengju. As for Hongti and Han Jing, the squad leader who’d come from Mount Lüliang, in a battle of this kind, their overall command ability fell short of these professionally trained men.

Once he’d come to understand this, he had placed the heavy responsibility of command entirely on Qin Shaoqian’s shoulders and no longer offered unnecessary opinions. As for young officer Yue Fei, though his experience was still somewhat lacking, and he still fell short of Qin Shaoqian in overall strategic command, he showed decisiveness and sharp instincts in responding to small- and medium-scale situations. Ning Yi had entrusted him with commanding the elite units to respond to shifting conditions around the perimeter and plug any gaps.

At this moment, no major breach had yet appeared near the walls, but the pressure was gradually becoming apparent. In particular, the suppression of the elm-wood cannons made clear to Ning Yi that this new weapon — all thunder and little rain — could never fool a truly skilled commander for long. Though Ning Yi had never pinned his hopes on it dominating the battle, he was still taken aback by just how quick and accurate Guo Yaoshi’s response had been.

That the enemy was this formidable meant that what lay ahead for Xia Village would be the most difficult stretch yet…

Of course, this didn’t mean there was no way to fight back at all.

Amid the chaos of battle, Yuzhi Bo, along with several other highly skilled members of the Bamboo Registry, dashed through the ranks. Though the boy’s leg still limped, somewhat affecting his running, his own cultivation remained intact, and he possessed sharp enough instincts that stray arrows posed little threat to him. Though these elm-wood cannons had been shipped in from Mount Lüliang, the men most skilled at operating them were, in fact, currently at Xia Village, among the ranks of the Bamboo Registry. Yuzhi Bo, with his youthful, impulsive temperament, was one of them — during the master’s duel at Mount Lüliang, he had even once shouldered an elm-wood cannon to threaten Lin E Chan.

The boy ran past the wall near section B-2, where fighting still raged along the outer wall. He casually loosed an arrow in passing, then dashed toward a nearby section of wall where an elm-wood cannon was positioned. Most of these cannons had outer walls and canopy roofs for protection; the two elite Lüliang men responsible for operating this one didn’t dare open the firing port carelessly and were instead shooting arrows to fight off attackers, sheltering behind the wall. They greeted the running boy as he approached.

Xu Lingming was still fighting atop the wall. As an officer commanding five hundred men, he wore armor half of iron, half of leather; in the fierce fighting, he had taken a blade to the shoulder, and blood was trickling down steadily. He smashed aside the spear-tip of an Ever-Victorious Army soldier climbing a ladder with his shield, and out of the corner of his eye, saw someone hauling an elm-wood cannon up to the canopy at the top of the wall. Then came a thunderous boom.

Flame shot straight into the crowd gathered outside the wall, exploding outward; sparks scattered in every direction, dark red blood sprayed, limbs flew through the air — a ghastly sight. A moment later, another sound rang out from the other side, and several more shells landed one after another among the crowd. Amid the boiling roar of battle, the men operating the cannon carried it back down; a moment later, another wave of fire arrows came sweeping in to cover them.

Across the vast battlefield, the sky-shaking clamor of combat raged as tens of thousands of men from every direction crashed together; the occasional boom of cannon fire, flames and snowflakes dancing through the sky, human blood boiling and draining away. Viewed from the night sky, the shape of the battlefield seemed to shift and change constantly. Only within the inner slope of the valley, at the center of the battlefield, did the thousand-odd rescued captives huddle together, trembling with each burst of fighting and shouting. A few sat with hands folded, murmuring prayers. Elsewhere in the valley, most people rushed forward, or stood ready to rush forward at any moment. In the wounded soldiers’ camp, screams, curses, crying, and shouting mingled together, and the severely wounded who had finally succumbed to their injuries were carried out from behind and laid down on cleared patches of the pure white snow…

…

As the fighting in the night gradually died down, the smell of blood and scorched flesh lingered in the air. Mao Yishan sat down inside the wall. The wall bore thick, sticky bloodstains, though most of it had already begun to freeze. He paid it no mind; his body felt only overwhelming exhaustion and a tearing pain — at first he thought he’d been cut somewhere on his back, but he soon realized he had simply spent every ounce of his strength.

As his taut nerves began to loosen, what followed was still that same intense pain. He grabbed a small patch of untrampled, blood-free snow in the corner of the wall and, without thinking, put it in his mouth, wanting something to eat.

That night, he had killed three men, and by good fortune had come away unhurt, but the intense focus of the fighting had drained every bit of strength from his body.

From here and there, comrades from the rear came hurrying over to search for and tend to the wounded. Mao Yishan felt he ought to go help too, but he simply had no strength left to stand. Not far from him, a middle-aged man sat by a large rock, tearing strips from his clothing to bind a wound on his leg. All around that spot lay mostly corpses and blood; there was no telling how serious his wound was, but he had simply bound his own leg and now sat there, catching his breath.

The man glanced at Mao Yishan, then went on sitting there, looking around. After a moment, he pulled a steamed bun from inside his robe, broke off half, and tossed it to Mao Yishan.

“Th— thanks…”

Mao Yishan said. The man waved the bun he still held without a word, then began gnawing on it.

A moment later, people came by searching for the wounded, and along the way finished off any still-living Resentment Army soldiers among the corpses with an extra stroke of the blade. Mao Yishan’s superior officer passed by nearby too: “You all right?” he asked, one by one. When he reached the middle-aged man, the man shook his head. “I’m fine.”

The relief troops came up, and the nearby men withdrew. Mao Yishan struggled to his feet. The man tried to get up too but, given his injured thigh, waved at Mao Yishan instead: “Brother, give me a hand.”

Mao Yishan went over and, swaying, helped him up. The man’s body swayed too, but a moment later he no longer needed Mao Yishan’s support. “New recruit?” He glanced at Mao Yishan.

“Been a soldier — been a soldier six years. Killed my first man the day before yesterday…”

“No wonder… You were too panicked, put too much force into it — you can’t keep fighting long like that…”

The middle-aged man walked forward a few unsteady steps, bracing himself against things around him. Mao Yishan hurried to keep up, wanting to support him, but was waved off.

“Brother… you’re an old campaigner, aren’t you…”

“Wouldn’t call myself an old hand. Just fought under Prince Tong in the campaign against Fang La — nothing as brutal as this. But at least I’ve seen blood before.” The middle-aged man sighed. “This one… this one’s hard.”

In the time fighting the Jurchens, countless armies had been routed, and the men gathered at Xia Village were likewise a mixed assembly from every unit imaginable, most of them scattered from their original commands, some not even having recovered their officer status. This middle-aged man was clearly rather experienced. Mao Yishan said, “Brother, is it hard? Do you think we can win? I… the officers I served under before, none of them were half as capable as this. Fighting the Jurchens before, our formation would break before we’d even laid eyes on the enemy. I’ve never heard of us holding our own against the Ever-Victorious Army like this. I think — I think maybe this time we can actually win…”

“An officer like this — I really am seeing one for the first time. And fighting like this — also a first for me. Maybe we can win…” The middle-aged man’s gaze swept the surroundings as he spoke, then, after a moment, turned around to look at what had been the battlefield. “But this is only the beginning, you see over there…”

They now stood on slightly higher ground, and Mao Yishan turned to look. Inside and outside the walls, corpses and blood stretched on and on; arrows planted in the ground stood like autumn grass, and farther off, fires stretched endlessly across the snowy mountains and ridges, the shapes of the Ever-Victorious Army layered upon layer, a vast military formation encircling the entire valley. Mao Yishan drew a breath, the smell of blood still lingering in his nose.

Xia Village had been pressed into this valley by the enemy’s entire formation; aside from the Yellow River, there was nowhere left to go. Anyone looking out from here would feel an overwhelming sense of pressure.

He took in that sight, his gaze nearly captured by the glow of that encircling formation, but then a group of men passed by beside them. Voices rang out nearby. The middle-aged man patted his shoulder and had him look behind as well — the entire valley, too, stretched on with unbroken military formations and bonfires, people moving about, the smell of porridge and vegetables already drifting through the air.

“This is… two armies facing off, a true fight to the death. Brother, you’re right — before, all we could do was run. Now, we can fight.” The middle-aged man walked forward, then reached out a hand, finally allowing Mao Yishan to come support him. “My surname’s Qu, given name Qing — as in ‘celebration.’ And you?”

“Mao Yishan.”

“Good name, easy to remember.” As they crossed a stretch of flat ground ahead and made their way toward a small slope and stairway, Qu Qing, pressing forward with effort, said in a low, somewhat wistful voice, “That’s right. Who doesn’t want to win, if they can? Though… winning means a lot of people have to die too… but a win is still a win… Brother, you’re right, what I said just now was wrong… The Resentment Army, the Jurchens, us soldiers… if we don’t win, what else is there? If we don’t win, we get slaughtered like pigs… The capital’s about to fall, the dynasty’s about to be finished… We have to win, there’s no choice but to win…”

His words seemed directed at Mao Yishan, but sounded more like he was talking to himself. Mao Yishan didn’t quite understand, but once they’d climbed the stairs, the middle-aged man turned to look back at the Ever-Victorious Army’s camp, then turned to keep walking. Mao Yishan felt him pat his shoulder: “Brother Mao, kill plenty of them…” Mao Yishan nodded, then heard him add, in an even softer voice: “…and stay alive.” Mao Yishan nodded again.

All our brothers, everywhere across these mountains… of course we have to stay alive, he thought.

At that moment, this soldier who had once always run had not yet considered how difficult those two words truly were; at that moment, he wasn’t quite willing to think about the hardship behind them either. Countless enemies filled the mountains, but so too did countless comrades — everyone was fighting for their lives, for the very same thing.

After this day’s fighting, Mao Yishan had made one of the few good friends he’d found in the army. In the Ever-Victorious Army’s camp outside the walls, Guo Yaoshi, who had rushed here with lightning speed, was reassessing the fighting strength of this Wu Dynasty force at Xia Village. This renowned general of the age remained calm and composed; even in the midst of directing the assault, he had arranged for the main army’s encampment, and now, in a terrible silence, he was revising his plan of attack against Xia Village.

Upon receiving news of the firearms, he had already understood: it was this very Wu Dynasty force before him that was behind the plan to breach the Yellow River’s dikes. Because in the letter sent to Zongwang, the plan to break the dikes had involved the use of gunpowder.

Meanwhile, at the command post above Xia Village where the senior generals had gathered, everyone had likewise come to recognize just how formidable Guo Yaoshi and the Ever-Victorious Army were, and just how difficult this fight had become; the light-hearted mood following their victory two days earlier had vanished entirely. Everyone was earnestly revising and reinforcing their defensive plans.

On a slightly higher platform, Ning Yi stood in the wind and snow, gazing toward the distant enemy encampment, then down at the crowds in the valley below. Juan’er’s figure moved briskly through the crowd, directing preparations to distribute food; seeing this, he couldn’t help but smile. Before long, someone slipped past the guards to his side, gently taking his hand.

It was Hongti. Being a woman, she looked somewhat slight amid the wind and snow. The two of them stood together hand in hand, looking, in truth, very much like a married couple.

“What are you thinking about?” Hongti said softly.

“I was thinking it would be difficult.” Ning Yi smiled gently, his gaze dropping slightly before rising again. “But seeing them actually bearing down on us, I felt a bit afraid too.”

“…Me too.” After a long while, Hongti finally said softly.

Ning Yi turned to look at her plain, unadorned face and laughed. “But being afraid doesn’t help now.” Then he added, “I’ve been afraid plenty of times, but there’s nothing to do but get through it…”

Hongti only smiled. Her fear of the battlefield was certainly no ordinary fear, but that didn’t stop her from having ordinary feelings too. “The capital’s probably even harder.” She said, after a moment, “If we hold on here, and the capital falls — will you go back to Lüliang with me?”

“I could consider it.” Ning Yi looked toward where Bianliang likely lay, toward that expanse of driving wind, snow, and darkness. “At the very least, I’d have to take all these brothers back for you.”

“That’s true — and Tan’er and the others too…” Hongti smiled faintly. “Liheng, you once promised me you’d give me an age of peace and prosperity. You went to Mount Lüliang and set up a stronghold for me; then you came to help Chancellor Qin, hoping to save Bianliang. I’m your wife now — I know how much you’ve done, how hard you’ve worked. What I wanted, you’ve really given me, in the end. Now I want you to think about yourself. If Bianliang really does fall, what will you do next? I… I’m your woman. Whatever you do, I’ll follow you for the rest of my life.”

Ning Yi looked ahead, raising their joined hands slightly, his gaze growing solemn. “…I haven’t thought this all the way through, but if I really had to — if Bianliang falls, there are two possibilities. Either the Emperor and all the ministers go south, hold the line at the Yangtze, and split the realm in two; or, within a few years, the Jurchens push through again, and the Wu Dynasty falls entirely. If it’s the latter, I’d think about taking Tan’er and everyone else to Mount Lüliang… But whichever it is, the days ahead on Mount Lüliang will only get harder. The peaceful days we have now — I’m afraid even those may not last.”

He fell silent a moment. “Either way — either we hold on now, fight the Jurchens for a while and figure out the rest later, or… we fight for the rest of our lives.” Then he waved a hand. “Actually, there’s no point thinking too much about it. Look — none of us can escape this place now. Maybe, just like I said, this place will run with rivers of blood.”

He gestured toward the Ever-Victorious Army’s camp. Hongti nodded. Ning Yi then added, “But I do have a bit of a selfish wish, actually.”

“What selfish wish?”

“Look down there.” Ning Yi gestured toward the crowd below, where a familiar figure moved among the people. He said softly, “I want to send Juan’er away.”

Down in the crowd, Juan’er seemed to sense something, and looked up. Hongti smiled; a moment later, Ning Yi smiled too. He reached out, pulled Hongti close, and held her in front of him. In the wind and snow, the two of them pressed close together. After a long while, Ning Yi closed his eyes, then opened them, exhaling a breath of white mist, his gaze now fully restored to calm, rational clarity.

It was only human. Everyone feels fear. But at a time like this, there simply wasn’t much room left for fear to linger. As for Ning Yi, even if Hongti hadn’t come, he would have recovered his composure quickly enough — but of course, having that warmth, and not having it, were two entirely different things.

The wind and snow stretched on. The two armies, having just fought a battle to the death, faced off beneath this night sky; in the distance, at Bianliang, the Jurchens too had already withdrawn their troops for the night. Across the land, this entire theater of war lay as cold and indifferent as frozen ice. To the north, equally on the verge of collapse was the isolated city of Taiyuan, cut off and receiving no resources whatsoever through the entire winter; the people within had long since lost all contact with the outside world, and no one knew when this long battle would finally come to an end.

On the fourth day of the twelfth month, the Ever-Victorious Army launched a full-scale assault on Xia Village’s defenders. A desperate struggle raged and spread across the snow-covered valley; inside and outside the walls, blood soaked nearly everything. In a contest of strength like this, almost no conceptual cleverness could hold up; even the elm-wood cannons’ firepower could only be reckoned as equivalent to a few extra bowshots. The generals on both sides maneuvered against each other at the highest level of warfare, and all that remained visible before them was the tragic crimson soaking this entire stretch of heaven and earth.

Arrows flew across the sky, war cries shook the earth, countless men and countless blades clashed together, death and suffering ran rampant through every corner of the fighting — inside and outside the walls, across the fields, in the ravines, along the ridges, by the woods, beside the great boulders, along the streams… By afternoon, the wind and snow had both stopped, yet amid the unceasing shouts and charges, blood continued to flow from every place where men fought…