The sky was just beginning to lighten.

When the maid came in to add charcoal to the brazier, Shishi woke from her sleep; the room was almost excessively warm, and the heat had left her temples burning. Over these past days, she had grown accustomed to the somewhat cold military camp, and now, suddenly back at the Alum Tower, she felt a bit out of place.

“How is Miss Cen doing?” She rubbed her forehead and pushed aside the blanket draped over her, sitting up, still feeling groggy.

“The physician said she — said she…” The maid seemed reluctant to finish.

“As long as her life is safe, that’s enough.” The woman sitting on the edge of the bed gazed at the maid, her expression calm. The two of them had known each other for some time; ordinarily, the maid knew her mistress tended toward a certain coolness about many things, a sense of having seen through the ways of the world. But this time… it was different, after all.

“Miss Cen’s life… is no longer in danger.”

“…She’s lost her hands.” Shishi nodded. What the maid couldn’t bring herself to say was this, but Shishi had already known it.

It was Shishi herself who, the night before, had brought Cen Jiqing — now missing both hands — back to the Alum Tower.

Over this stretch of time, whether through Shishi’s own initiative or the propaganda circulating through the city, some of the women at the Alum Tower had also gone to help near the city walls, following Shishi’s lead. Cen Jiqing was something of a renowned courtesan at the Alum Tower in her own right, plain and gentle in temperament, somewhat resembling Nie Yunzhu, the young woman at Ning Yi’s side. She had once studied medicine and was far more practiced than Shishi at tending wounds and saving lives. The day before, at the Fengqiu Gate front line, a Jurchen soldier had severed both her hands.

It was precisely because she was a woman that she had been rescued at all in that situation. When Shishi had driven her back to the Alum Tower the night before, half her own body was already stained red with blood; Cen Jiqing’s severed hands had received only rough stanching and bandaging, and she had barely a thread of breath left in her.

With the nation in crisis and war raging on every side, though most physicians had been drafted to the front, a place like the Alum Tower could still command better medical resources than the battlefield itself. While the physician tended to Cen Jiqing’s severed-limb wounds, Shishi, exhausted, had returned to her own courtyard, washed herself briefly with warm water, and, half-reclining on her bed, fallen asleep.

The weather was bitterly cold, wind and snow alternating with clear spells. Half a month had passed since the Jurchens’ siege began, and more than three months since their sudden invasion south. The once-familiar songs and dances, the luxurious silks of prosperous times, still felt so real in memory now, as though what was happening before her eyes was merely some inescapable nightmare.

None of this feels real — over these past days, this thought had surfaced in Shishi’s mind many times upon waking from sleep. Those savage, murderous enemies, those scenes of rivers of blood, even when they happened right before her eyes, still left her thinking afterward, unable to help herself: surely this isn’t real? Such a thought might well have been circling through the minds of countless people in Bianliang at this very moment.

A father who had once been the pillar of his household went up to the walls one day and never came back. A husband who had once simply drawn his salary and rations suddenly became, himself, part of this city’s tragic news. A beautiful woman with once-bright eyes and delicate hands, when seen again, had lost both her arms, drenched in blood from head to toe… In this brief span of days, the traces of countless people’s existence, the memories held in others’ minds, had all come to their final period. Shishi had seen her share of hardship growing up, had glimpsed the darkness of the world through years of social maneuvering. But faced with these facts crashing down before her so suddenly, she still felt as though caught in some waking nightmare.

And yet, all of it had truly happened. The Jurchens’ sudden arrival had shattered this land’s beautiful dream, and now, in the midst of this brutal war, they were nearly on the verge of taking this city.

In the earlier days, the propaganda about the Jurchens’ savagery and cruelty, and about their own soldiers and civilians fighting valiantly, had scarcely ever let up, and it had genuinely boosted the city’s morale. But as the toll of the defenders’ deaths gradually spread through the city, sorrow, cowardice, and even despair had begun to ferment within its walls as well.

The death of a single person affects far more than just one or two others — he has a family, relatives and friends, all manner of social connections. A single death ripples outward to touch dozens of people; and now, within any given circle of dozens, the dead were likely not just one or two.

People had begun to grow afraid. The flood of grief, bad news, and rumors of fierce fighting had left families with able-bodied young men weeping and pleading, no longer willing to let their kin go to their deaths. Some who had already gone up to the walls had their families trying to find ways to pull them back down, or have them transferred elsewhere. Those with connections had already begun seeking a way out — the Jurchens were too vicious; it looked as though they wouldn’t stop until Bianliang fell.

The Alum Tower, sitting at the center of Bianliang’s information network, was the most sensitive to all of this. But as for Shishi herself, having already been to the battlefield, she found she no longer gave such things much thought.

After a brief washing and grooming, Shishi went to check on Cen Jiqing, who was still deep in unconscious sleep. Having spent half a month at the edge of the battlefield, she no longer bothered much with her appearance, though her natural bearing remained. Though she still looked delicate on the surface, having grown accustomed to blades and blood, she now carried, if anything, an added air of resilience, like wild grass growing up through cracks in stone. Li Yun stood outside the room too, glancing at her, seeming to want to say something but holding back.

In ordinary times, none of the girls at the Alum Tower could have borne the sight of someone whose hands had been hacked clean off while still alive. Even the night before, when Shishi had led people in carrying the blood-soaked Cen Jiqing inside, and someone had lifted the cloth covering her to reveal both arms severed at once, drenched in blood, some had fainted on the spot. Even Li Yun found it hard to stomach. Only Shishi remained calm, exhausted but composed, arranging everything, and only once the physician had arrived did she finally go back to sleep.

The sky had not yet fully brightened, but today the wind and snow had stopped — which only meant it would be colder than usual, because Shishi knew this made it easier for the Jurchens to press their assault on the city. Looking northeast from the Alum Tower, a column of black smoke rose in the distance against the grey sky — the smoke from days of burning corpses. No one knew whether the city would fall today, but Shishi packed a few things, preparing to head to the wounded soldiers’ camp again. Before she could leave, He Leier came looking for her.

“Shishi… Sister Shishi, on the battlefield… how is he doing?”

This woman, who held a rather low standing at the Alum Tower, had come to ask Shishi for news, worried about Xue Changgong.

“He hasn’t come by these past few days. I’m afraid something’s happened to him — didn’t you say… the Jurchens don’t attack at night?”

“I made some of the pastries he likes… I wanted to bring them to him, but he told me not to come… and I’m afraid…”

“…Sister Shishi, I’ve only heard secondhand, but the Jurchens are absolutely determined — they mean to break the city no matter what. Lots of people are looking for a way out…”

“He’s stationed at Suanzao Gate, but at least he’s an officer now… Sister Shishi, could you… could you go find him for me, and bring the pastries to him for me…”

He Leier was reasonably attractive, but had never risen very high within the Alum Tower — precisely because looks were all she had. Now she’d come, her mind full of worries, to pour her heart out to Shishi, rambling on about timid, self-centered things. She wanted to find Xue Changgong, but feared the danger of the battlefield; she wanted to please him, and the only thing she could think of was bringing him pastries; she wanted Xue Changgong to arrange for her escape, and, tangled up in indecision, hoped Shishi would speak to him on her behalf…

She didn’t notice that Shishi was on her way out. As she rambled on and on, Shishi felt first anger, then only a sense of resignation. She listened to He Leier for a while, gave a few perfunctory replies, and then told her: Xue Changgong was stationed at the most intense point of fighting; though she herself was nearby, the two sides had no real overlap, and lately she hadn’t even been able to locate him. If she wanted to deliver something, her only option was to go herself with his token, and she might be able to find him that way.

As the flames of war swept in, in this sudden onslaught, some lost their lives in an instant, some fell into chaos, some sank into despondency. And some, in the midst of this war, underwent a transformation. Xue Changgong was one of them.

Ah, well — a man like that, who may have once fancied you, once the fighting’s over and he rises through the ranks, what kind of woman couldn’t he have? You’d be lucky even to become his concubine, I’d wager…

After sending He Leier off, this was what crossed Shishi’s mind. And then, at once, the image of another man surfaced in her thoughts. That man who, before the war even began, had already warned him to leave — who had seemingly foreseen how things would unfold long before, who had gone on quietly doing his own work, and who, in the end, had still stepped forward to meet it head-on. Recalling now the scene of their final parting, it already felt as though it had happened an unknowably long time ago.

Ning Yi…

He wasn’t a man transformed by war — so what category did he even belong to? Even Shishi couldn’t quite say.

Since the first day of the twelfth month, when news had come that the defenders of Xia Village had won against Zhang Linghui and Liu Shunren, the only development Bianliang had been able to learn was that Guo Yaoshi had thrown the entire Resentment Army into the fight.

The fighting was fierce…

Thirty-six thousand of the empire’s finest troops against a scraped-together force of some eighteen thousand — just how fierce that fighting must be, Shishi herself had no way to judge. All she could do was watch the deaths on the walls of Bianliang and occasionally imagine the battle unfolding by the Yellow River. In any case, no news of defeat had come — perhaps that, in itself, counted as good news.

However brutal the fighting, as long as he could keep his life… perhaps that alone would already be good news…

…

Tap, tap, tap, tap…

The sound of hooves cut through the snow, coming fast.

One rider, ten riders, a hundred riders — a cavalry unit’s silhouette galloped across the snowy plain, then passed through a small patch of forest. Several hundred riders behind followed dozens of figures ahead, finally closing in for the encirclement.

When the two sides made contact, the lead rider changed direction, turning to close in on his pursuers. A black-robed figure reached out a hand and, as though simply taking a step off the horse’s back, launched himself forward — with a whoosh, the rider who collided with him spun through the air and flew off; the black-robed figure landed on the ground and slid backward, his feet kicking up great clouds of snow. The two mounted pursuers charging toward him from the front nearly collided head-on, but a moment later, both galloping steeds lost their footing — one leapt high to the left, screaming as it toppled and crashed to the ground; the other rolled off to the right. The black-robed man grabbed the rider on horseback by the hand and flung him backward; the man flew off, tracing a startling arc through the air, and did not land in the snow until he had tumbled dozens of zhang away.

“Stop! Everyone stop! This is a misunderstanding! A misunderstanding!” someone shouted.

The black-robed man had already come to a stop in the snow, hands clasped behind his back. It was Fulu, his gaze sharp, his expression stern. And among the several hundred riders behind him, surrounded and escorted by the crowd, was Chen Yanshu, Military Commissioner of the Wusheng Army. This man, in his forties, had an upright, dignified bearing; he had come up through the civil examination system but now served as a military officer as well — precisely the type of scholar-general the Wu Dynasty favored most. Watching Fulu send three charging cavalrymen flying in a single step, he felt a jolt in his heart. He was always amazed by the martial prowess of these masters of the martial world, but it was a pity — even a man like this before him was of no use to him.

The martial world flouts the law with its swordsmanship — these men, acting purely on a moment’s bloody impulse, could never understand the bigger picture, nor the helplessness of those, like himself, who had to safeguard that bigger picture…

“Elder Fulu, please stop. Chen has told you — you misunderstand my meaning…”

“There’s no misunderstanding at all.” The old man said clearly, cupping his fists as well. “Master Chen, you have your thoughts, I have my resolve. When the Jurchens marched south, my master died attempting to assassinate Nian Han. Now that the battle for Bianliang has come to this, you dare not go to Bianliang’s walls, and you’re unwilling to send troops to Xia Village either. Whatever your reasons, I can understand them. But this old man has only half a life left, and I mean to spend it for this cause — you cannot stop me.”

“The situation is complicated, Elder!” Chen Yanshu drew a deep breath. “I’ve explained the matters of Bianliang and Xia Village to you in detail before! Bianliang faces a perilous, bloody siege, the Jurchens are savage and cruel — who doesn’t know that? It’s not that I’m unwilling to send troops — I truly cannot! These tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of men, newly defeated — if we rashly march out again, we won’t get halfway before the ranks scatter. My Wusheng Army remaining here still holds some deterrent power over the Jurchens and the Resentment Army; as long as Bianliang can hold out, our presence alone will force the Jurchens to consider negotiating peace, out of concern for us. As for Xia Village — how is that any different? The Resentment Army is one of the finest forces in the realm; when the court once accepted their surrender, it offered up the Six Prefectures of Yanyun and half the court’s own strength to support them — and who could have known Guo Yaoshi would play both sides and turn traitor to the Jurchens! Xia Village? A few days ago, perhaps by catching the enemy off guard, they scored a temporary advantage, but sooner or later, they’re bound for utter defeat. Elder, must you insist we throw everything we have into that pit as well?!”

Fulu was clumsy with words; besides, out of respect for Zhou Tong’s teachings, even now that their paths had diverged, he had no wish to expose Chen Yanshu’s true motives in front of the troops. He only cupped his fists. “Master Chen, to each his own ambitions. I’ve already said—”

“Furthermore! Those who would accomplish great things must know when to let go, if the matter cannot be achieved! Elder, to rally the troops’ morale, have I, Chen Yanshu, done nothing at all? I spread your name throughout the army precisely so that all the officers and men might carry on Master Zhou’s dying wish, rise up in renewed courage, and strike at the enemy with all their might. But such things take time! Now you mean to simply walk away — what becomes of the morale of tens of thousands of men?!”

Seeing that Fulu had no real counterargument, Chen Yanshu pressed on, point after point, each one striking home with conviction. But no sooner had he finished speaking than one of the dozens of pursued riders spoke up first: “Shut your mouth, Chen Yanshu!”

On horseback, the man drew his steel blade and pointed it forward; in an instant, the several dozen martial-world men who had left with Fulu likewise drew their weapons. “Smooth talk and empty flattery! Shameless boasting! Are you finished? Tens of thousands in your army, and not an ounce of fighting spirit among them — what use is such an army to the court? And you dare treat this as something to boast about, saying it so shamelessly! Let me tell you — General Long Hui may command barely six thousand men, but they’ve got far more backbone than your forty or fifty thousand…”

“Long Hui!” Chen Yanshu reined in his horse, giving a cold laugh. “Let’s set aside the fact that he’s merely a subordinate general who gathered a few thousand stragglers amid a rout, with no proper authority to command troops at all — if we’re speaking of true generalship, this man has courage but no strategy. Leading a few thousand men is nothing but throwing their lives away! I’ve caught up to you precisely because I don’t wish to see the Elder and all of you die alongside such a fool—”

“Chen Yanshu, you—”

“Enough!” The man on horseback made to speak further, but Fulu raised a hand to cut him off, then, his expression turning cold, cupped his fists once more toward Chen Yanshu.

“Master Chen, there’s no need to say more. Our minds are made up on this matter today. Even if we die at Xia Village, it has nothing to do with you, Master Chen. If our deaths truly bring you trouble, then once we’re dead, I can only ask your forgiveness. To each his own ambitions — if Master Chen is unwilling to forgive us for this, then I’m afraid we cannot accept your way of doing things either. You may order your men to strike us down today if you wish. If any of us are fortunate enough to escape, we won’t be going to Xia Village anymore in any case — for the rest of our lives, we’ll count ourselves enemies of Master Chen’s family alone. This old man’s skills may be lacking, but if I were purely seeking to survive, I daresay I could still escape today. Master Chen, it’s your decision to make.”

His words left no room for compromise. His comrades around him brandished their blades and spears. “Just as he says! Elder, if they really come at us, don’t worry about us!”

“If it truly comes to killing our own — then let us die here!”

“Chen Yanshu, do you hear me?! If I live — I’ll kill your entire family—!”

As the crowd shouted, Chen Yanshu’s expression grew uglier and uglier by the moment, until finally, a tense, awkward silence fell over both sides. After a long while, Chen Yanshu finally drew a deep breath and slowly rode forward. His guards moved to escort him, but he waved them off. He rode alone toward Fulu, dismounted in the snow, and, standing before the old man, at last cupped his fists with solemn dignity.

“Elder, you have misjudged me deeply.” He said slowly, gravely. “But things have come to this, and there’s no use arguing further. This Long Hui — great ambition, no ability. If you all go to attack Guo Yaoshi, you go to certain death. Xia Village is no different — a moment’s reckless courage, and holding out a few more days accomplishes what, exactly? Perhaps by now, that place has already fallen… Chen has pursued you this far and done all that duty and conscience require. Since I cannot keep you here… ah, all of you, then — take care of yourselves…”

He finished speaking these words slowly, then bowed, and, his face grave, walked back to his horse.

Not long after, in the snow, the two groups gradually parted ways, heading off in different directions.

…

Across the snowy ground, a long column of soldiers wound its way forward.

“Yesterday it was wind and snow, but today, as we set out, the sky has cleared — this is an auspicious sign, Heaven itself aids us! Brothers! Rouse your spirits! Our brothers at Xia Village have held out for days now under the Resentment Army’s fierce assault. Once our army arrives without warning, striking front and back together, we will surely crush those traitorous dogs! Onward! Once we win, honors and rewards will follow as a matter of course! You are all heroes of this realm—”

On the snowy slope where the ranks marched, a general on horseback rode alongside them, bellowing encouragement at the top of his voice. He too had martial training, his inner strength driving his voice to ring out like a great bell; combined with his imposing physique and upright character, his shouts along the way proved deeply inspiring.

Before long, small bands of soldiers came to join them, and as they gradually merged into the main column, the whole procession grew even more fervent. This was the eighth day of the twelfth month; by afternoon, Fulu and the others arrived as well, and the mood of the column grew all the more heated.

That the battle at Xia Village had drawn so much attention outside Bianliang was, in large part, thanks to Fulu, who had secretly canvassed and rallied support from many quarters, setting this whole situation into motion. In truth, once Guo Yaoshi had concentrated the Resentment Army at Xia Village, the brutal yet evenly matched fighting there had genuinely frightened many people — but it had also inspired them.

This leading general, named Long Hui, was one of them. Whether ambition for power played some part in his fervor was, admittedly, hard to say — but at this moment, none of that mattered.

“Commissioner Chen looking out for himself, unwilling to act — we already expected as much. The state of the realm has decayed to this point; even if we curse and complain here, it changes nothing. If he doesn’t want to come, then so be it.” Having heard Fulu recount what had happened, Long Hui, standing on the snowy slope, only gave a hearty laugh. “But Elder, you’ve just come from Xia Village — how goes the fighting there in the village?”

“Clear skies today, hard to stay hidden — I only managed a quick look… it was quite brutal,” Fulu sighed. “The Resentment Army seems to have broken through the walls…”

The news he brought left Long Hui silent for a moment. By now it was the sixth day of the pitched battle at Xia Village; by earlier reports, the defenders and the Resentment Army had traded blows back and forth, the Resentment Army employing all manner of siege tactics, yet the defenders, aided by their firearms, had never truly been breached. Who would have thought that today, that sturdy defense had finally given way after all.

Of course, it was only a wooden wall, however well-built; to hold out five days under fighting like this was already extraordinarily fortunate. As far as being mentally prepared went, it wasn’t entirely unexpected — it was simply that, as outside allies, none of them wanted to see it happen.

Outside Xia Village, on the snowy ground, Guo Yaoshi sat on his horse, gazing at the fierce fighting ahead in the distance. Red, white, and charred black seemed to fill nearly everything in view; at this moment, the battle line was pushing in from the southeast through that crooked, broken gap in the wall. And on the mid-slope, a reserve unit had rushed to the scene, locked in brutal close combat with the Resentment Army soldiers who had broken through, trying to push the breach back out.

Ning Yi charged across the blood-soaked slope, his long saber sweeping out, sending a tall Resentment Army soldier flying, blade and body together. Beside him, Zhu Biao, the Qi brothers, Tian Donghan, Chen Tuozi, Nie Shan, and others fought their way into the enemy ranks with the ferocity of tigers. In a sense, these men were the personal guard Ning Yi kept close by, and something of a reserve cadre as well.

His earlier injuries had mostly healed, but the accumulated internal damage from breaking through the sixth meridian gate, even with Hongti’s treatment, had not fully recovered; fighting now at full strength, his chest inevitably gave the occasional dull throb of pain. Not far off, Hongti wielded a great spear, leading a small group of elite troops, fighting her way toward Ning Yi. She feared for his safety, and he feared for hers; he fired off another strike and pushed forward with all his strength toward her. Blood splashed onto their heads and bodies from time to time; amid the surging tide of battle, both their figures had already turned entirely red—

“Damn it—” Hacking open the neck of a Resentment Army soldier with all his strength, Ning Yi staggered toward Hongti, wiping a hand across the blood on his face. “Fairy tales are all lies…”

With a whoosh, a spear like a great serpent shot past Ning Yi’s side, thrusting at someone behind him. Hongti heard his muttered complaint: “What?”

“Aren’t they supposed to break at ten percent casualties? How many have we lost by now—”

Over these days of grueling battle, the casualty rate between the Resentment Army and Xia Village’s defenders had long since exceeded a mere ten percent, and yet, by this point, neither side had any idea how much longer they’d have to keep fighting before any sign of victory emerged.

But at this moment, within the valley of Xia Village, the Resentment Army’s strength still, on the whole, held the upper hand. Only, in contrast to Ning Yi’s fighting and grumbling, within the Resentment Army’s ranks, as he watched the battle unfold, what Guo Yaoshi kept murmuring to himself was: “What other tricks do you have — bring them out…”

Over these past days, the Ever-Victorious Army, even while holding the advantage, had encountered no shortage of unexpected surprises in pressing its attack…