The Art of War says: an army has no constant formation, just as water has no constant shape.

The battlefield is complex, changing in an instant; though there are, broadly speaking, ways to respond, these are only general patterns, and applying such patterns flexibly to the finer details is, in truth, extremely difficult. A mediocre general knows only how to form ranks by rote: dense spear formations against cavalry, shields raised against incoming arrows. A middling general understands why these things must be done this way, grasps most of the variations and why they arise, and from this can tell under what conditions infantry can clash head-on with cavalry, or how spearmen should respond to a dense volley of arrows…

Much like a person’s growth: as children, people always seek some fixed, universal truth, believing that once they’ve grasped one principle, one meaningful saying, their life will find its direction. But in reality, growth doesn’t happen that way at all. You can find countless seemingly wise sayings, and for nearly every one of them, an equally wise saying that argues the exact opposite exists as well.

Only when people go on to examine what circumstances, what environment, led someone to say a particular thing — and when they can finally empathize enough to understand why some predecessor spoke as they did — does wisdom truly get passed down. Only once a learner can grasp the core of many people’s thinking, and use that understanding to compare and draw broader inferences, has he perhaps only just begun to gain the capacity for independent thought — finally leaving behind the stage of having read a few books and being able only to show off quotations…

That’s the theory, at least.

In most cases, conventional wisdom still holds power — especially on a battlefield of this era, where the two sides in a clash often differ enormously in strength and morale; many battles are, essentially, simple crushing victories, and if you throw in even a slight advantage in unit type matchups, you’ve usually got a fine outcome already.

Most of the world is, in truth, mediocre — much like later ages, where plenty of people know only how to recite famous sayings and inspirational platitudes, and plenty more can’t even manage that, yet still get by, even feeling they’re living rather well. But above that level, there are those who, with direction, purpose, and discernment, put in ten times the effort — drawing on and referencing the wisdom of others, ultimately forming their own coherent system of logic. Only such people can handle any novel, unforeseen situation, and, to be honest, those who truly reach the upper echelons of society, the very top — aside from those born into privilege — without exception, all possess a complete system of independent logic.

The battle at Chaobai River earlier had required only skilled, conventional application of military strategy. This battle at Xia Village, in a sense, was testing something else entirely: wisdom itself.

That Zhang Linghui and Liu Shunren, after the sustained blocking fire of the elm-wood cannons, the arrow harvests, and the crushing charges of heavy cavalry, had still managed to organize repeated long-range assaults, showed that their skill as commanders remained real. But that was all it amounted to. If the fighting had continued that way, their ten thousand men simply wouldn’t have been enough to sustain a war of attrition at Xia Village. Especially facing the threat of cannon fire and heavy cavalry, fighting a siege at a numerical disadvantage with morale that was hardly at its peak — a direct clash risked burying them all here.

It was only Guo Yaoshi’s swift arrival that changed this state of affairs. On the third day of the twelfth month, his sudden intervention had shown, in the clearest possible terms, the caliber of a truly great general. In a remarkably short span of time, he had grasped the limitations of the firearms, used fire arrows to suppress them, then had his charging soldiers spread out from one another, only launching a real assault once they reached the wooden wall. If one wave failed, they withdrew at once. In this short stretch of time, he had genuinely left Xia Village’s side scrambling and disorganized.

But no one’s battlefield wisdom is designed solely to counter the unexpected. Once Xia Village’s defenders adjusted how they positioned and fired the elm-wood cannons, the cannon fire — especially when the Resentment Army was massed in the midst of a siege push, subjected to concentrated volleys — could still deal enormous damage to the enemy’s fighting spirit through its sheer noise and visual shock. The several determined assaults under Guo Yaoshi’s command, even under cover of fire arrows, had still been savagely broken apart by Xia Village’s elm-wood cannons firing at precisely the right moment.

He subsequently changed tactics, beginning a large-scale, single-point breakthrough attempt on the eastern wall, choosing the exact section where eight hundred men had once been killed.

Originally, to lure attacking forces into choosing this spot as their breakthrough point, the outer defenses along this stretch of wall had been made slightly weaker. But with an army of thirty thousand massed together, Guo Yaoshi no longer needed to worry about the threat posed by that hundred-odd heavy cavalry, and so this became the true point of breakthrough.

On the afternoon of the fourth day of the twelfth month, vast numbers of Ever-Victorious Army soldiers, literally trampling over the heads and corpses of their comrades, began their assault, while the surrounding walls came under wave after wave of fire arrows. Xia Village’s defenders answered in kind with their own arrows. By evening, at the height of the assault, a side gate on the upper section of the wall suddenly swung open, and over a hundred heavy cavalry formed up in neat ranks. A moment later, more than twenty elm-wood cannons on the southern wall fired simultaneously, and a massed volley of arrows accompanied them, striking a counterblow against the attacking army — while the cavalry made only a feint, then withdrew back through the gate before long.

After that, both sides settled into an ongoing contest of wits and endurance. The Ever-Victorious Army’s soldiers were indeed stronger in individual combat than Xia Village’s defenders, and their numbers — thirty-six thousand strong — gave them an enormous advantage. But relatively speaking, in terms of tactical flexibility, influenced by his time in the north, Guo Yaoshi’s strength as a commander lay chiefly in solidity rather than adaptability.

Meanwhile, on Xia Village’s side, thanks to the flourishing literary culture of the Wu Dynasty, all manner of military treatises circulated widely; such texts, once truly understood, could always help someone absorb and internalize the thinking of past strategists. Qin Shaoqian, though rough in manner, was, in fact, of scholar-general background; influenced by his father, he too had studied extensively in military texts and did not cling rigidly to convention in tactics — it was only that in the past, no matter how flexible his tactics, his troops simply weren’t capable of executing them, rendering it all moot. This time, at Xia Village, things were rather different.

A large body of genuinely capable soldiers had replaced the once-bloated, hollow structure of the old Wu Rui Camp; in solid defensive arrangements, combined with the flexible support of the elm-wood cannons, even though individual soldiers were somewhat inferior to the Resentment Army’s men, he was, for the first time on this battlefield, able to bring to bear everything he had spent a lifetime learning. Repeated counterattacks, mutual support, anticipation of battlefield conditions, and the use of tactical schemes made Xia Village’s defenses as unyielding as an impenetrable iron cage. When Guo Yaoshi charged in, he had genuinely had his teeth knocked out, so to speak.

Much as Guo Yaoshi had felt facing Zongwang at Chaobai River, being able to fight freely on the battlefield, to clash gloriously with the finest heroes of the realm — especially after years of having his hands tied, never once given free rein — left Qin Shaoqian, after several such engagements, with an indescribable sense of exhilaration in his chest. Yet in a battle like this, both sides were also accumulating enormous pressure in their hearts.

With the capital’s situation hanging by a thread, and the siege of Bianliang still ongoing, this battle at Xia Village — sudden and unexpected to so many — was bound to have a tremendous impact on the situation at the capital. And however brutal this battle had seemed from the very start, if it were to end, it would certainly not end with either side fighting down to the very last man.

Guo Yaoshi was, after all, a surrendered general; the strength of the Resentment Army itself was the very foundation of his standing. He acted decisively, throwing everything into the assault on Xia Village — this was the way of a true commander — but he inevitably had some psychological threshold for losses that he could not afford to cross. For Qin Shaoqian, Ning Yi, and the others, it was precisely this threshold they were waiting for. On this battlefield, once Guo Yaoshi’s forces were broken, no matter how formidable Zongwang remained, he might well be forced to withdraw and seek peace.

And on Guo Yaoshi’s side, though Xia Village’s defenders were tougher than most Wu Dynasty units, they were, in the end, still just a Wu Dynasty force — this army too had its own psychological threshold for losses. Once the brutality of the fighting truly crossed that line, the army would inevitably collapse. And once it collapsed, once chaos set in, what Xia Village would then face would be slaughter and annihilation.

Both sides were, essentially, waiting for the other’s breaking point to appear.

But this time, both sides seemed to be showing a resilience beyond anyone’s expectations.

On the fifth day of the twelfth month, the first elm-wood cannon burst during firing on the battlefield. Guo Yaoshi seized on this to launch even larger-scale, repeated assaults; with his ample manpower, he could afford to expend more men to push the elm-wood cannons to their firing limits. And due to this sudden mishap, Xia Village’s side was forced to reduce its use of the cannons, and for a time, the tide of battle began tilting toward the Resentment Army.

On the sixth day of the twelfth month, the Resentment Army breached the wall for the first time; Yue Fei led elite troops into the fight, while simultaneously having the hundred-odd heavy cavalry dismount, using their advantage in heavy armor to slaughter the Resentment Army soldiers who had broken through the defenses.

On the seventh day of the twelfth month, Ning Yi and the others had already begun rushing about the battlefield themselves…

By this point, Xia Village’s defensive system was, broadly speaking, divided into five sections — following Wu Dynasty convention, designated A, B, C, D, and the main gate in the center. Section A of the wall was under the command of Liu Chengzong, with just over two thousand men. Section B’s defending officer was named Pang Liu’an, with three thousand five hundred men under him; Mao Yishan and his superior Xu Lingming were also stationed on this section. Li Yi commanded two thousand men in the central section, while He Zhicheng, with three thousand men, and Sun Ye, with two thousand, were responsible for sections C and D respectively.

Among these thirteen thousand men, by the eighth day of the twelfth month, the casualty rate had already reached twenty to thirty percent. In particular, the eastern wall under He Zhicheng’s command, having borne the brunt of the fiercest assaults, had likely already lost more than a third of its men — dead or too gravely wounded to keep fighting — on the eighth day alone. This was precisely why Ning Yi had voiced his frustration once the wall was breached. By this point, the reserves and fresh troops had all, essentially, already been committed. Along the southeastern front, virtually every remaining able-bodied man their side could scrape together had converged here as well.

And there were things that couldn’t be precisely calculated, though Ning Yi and the others had some rough guesses. The Resentment Army’s own casualties had, by now, also reached nearly twenty percent — more than six thousand men dead or gravely wounded, no longer able to fight. Guo Yaoshi’s heartache over this could well be imagined, but just how much he was willing to pay for this victory remained impossible to know for certain.

“What other tricks do you have — bring them out…”

Watching the fierce fighting at the distant breach in the wall from the edge of the battlefield, Guo Yaoshi murmured this almost unconsciously. Within the battle-circle inside the walls, Ning Yi, listening to the earth-shaking roar of combat, glanced at a figure atop the distant watchtower, and finally gritted his teeth. “That’s enough.” He pulled a signal-flare arrow from inside his robe.

At that moment, Hongti had already charged ahead into the fighting; an arrow cut through the crowd and shot toward Ning Yi with a hiss, and then a figure rushed over and slammed into his side…

With a whoosh, far off, Guo Yaoshi, Zhang Linghui, and the others watched a beam of light rise into the sky; their scalps prickled. Zhang Linghui immediately said, “Pull them back!”

Guo Yaoshi swept his hand out sharply. “Archers forward! Cavalry forward! Press the assault, support them—”

He gave no order to withdraw — but of course, such a response, in the end, had already come too late. Just outside the breach in the wall, a tremor suddenly rose up from the ground; heat and light roiled through the earth’s surface, as though the soil itself had come to a boil — a stretch of ground more than a zhang wide and several zhang long, now packed full of men charging in.

The explosion hurled blood, dirt, and limbs into the sky, forming a grim curtain like a barrier, iron caltrops scattering shredded flesh in every direction. This was the effect of three rows of landmines buried in a line outside the breach, all detonating at once — mines that had lain quietly buried beneath this ground for several days. Ning Yi and the others had once worried the fuses might fail, but fortunately, their research into firearms over this stretch of time had finally borne fruit.

This sudden explosion inflicted only twenty or thirty casualties on the battlefield, but the crucial thing was that it cut off the retreat of those who had pushed into the defensive perimeter. As the massive blast rang out, the nearly two hundred soldiers who had charged through the breach turned back to look, only to find a curtain of upturned earth and blood hanging high, severing their connection to their comrades.

However brief that moment might have been, the psychological pressure it created was more than enough.

Guo Yaoshi watched all of this from afar, his face twitching; Zhang Linghui had already gone slack-jawed with shock.

“Kill them…” Inside the wall, Ning Yi, drenched in blood down half his body, his expression fierce and savage, supported a fellow soldier equally soaked in blood, raising his blade and shouting: “Kill them, kill them, kill them—!”

Beneath the sky, the glint of blades and waves of blood surged forward…

…

At Bianliang, evening was drawing near. That afternoon, because an assault had been launched at an ill-timed moment and the Jurchens had been repelled, no further attack followed — for the city’s defenders, this meant it was finally time to clear the battlefield.

Several regular units of defenders still held position atop the walls, while some conscripted soldiers climbed up to carry away the dead. Occasionally there was talk, someone shouting loudly; otherwise, screams of pain were the dominant sound atop the walls — the sound of the wounded, whose pain not everyone could bear silently.

Weeping, meanwhile, could be hidden away in some empty corner.

The logistics corps had already brought up porridge, rice, and steamed buns early; some carried them up to the walls, others began distributing them at fixed points; the carts carrying away corpses stopped at the edge of the wall, one after another, moving to and fro as carefully as possible.

Not far from the wall, beside the wounded soldiers’ camp, a stage had already been set up, torches were being lit, and quite a few soldiers had gathered here. There were plenty of wounded, along with exhausted-looking men holding steamed buns and porridge, sitting down wherever they found space nearby.

Though it was wartime and the area near the walls was under considerable restriction on many matters, this particular spot was somewhat more relaxed — likely because it had received the tacit approval of some senior military official. As for ordinary people, if they truly managed to walk in here, what they’d find would mostly seem chaotic and noisy. At this moment, several figures were walking this way; because they wore the uniforms of a general’s personal guard and did nothing out of the ordinary, no one stopped them.

The one leading them walked with a steady gait, his expression resolute, carrying a certain dignified bearing. As he walked, he surveyed his surroundings, occasionally nodding, or murmuring a word or two to those accompanying him.

If any senior military official present had actually recognized who he was, their first instinct would likely have been to kneel.

“Du Chengxi, I know your concerns, but set them aside. These past few days, the Jurchens stop their assault once night falls. I… I thought this through carefully before coming. I only want to look, that’s all. See, those wounded soldiers there… I don’t want to make a show of it. I just want to see with my own eyes, so I know in my heart, that’s all.”

The one who had quietly come here in disguise was none other than Emperor Zhou Zhe of the Jinghan reign. With his grip on power, once he’d made up his mind to come and see for himself, Du Chengxi had no way to stop him. In a sense, coming here to look, unwilling to make it public, was, in Zhou Zhe’s own heart, precisely a way of engraving the bearing of these heroic men in his memory. Though he was accustomed to a life of comfort and ease, at this moment, catching the scent of blood, even witnessing all manner of gruesome sights, he found he wasn’t particularly troubled — at most, he occasionally frowned.

As one standing at the very pinnacle of power, his composure genuinely wasn’t shaken by a little blood, even though this was the first time he’d witnessed a scene of such severity — this, too, was part of what it meant to have the bearing of an emperor.

“But… what’s this stage set up beside the wounded soldiers’ camp for? Are they putting on some kind of show?”

“Your servant thinks perhaps some official means to give a speech, but that doesn’t seem right either.” Du Chengxi looked around. “Let this servant go ask.”

Du Chengxi trotted off ahead. Zhou Zhe walked straight toward the crowd, which was still filled with a mixture of noisy chatter. After a while, Du Chengxi came running back and found Zhou Zhe and the others in the crowd.

“Young… Young Master, it seems the girls from the Alum Tower are putting on a performance, to reward the men for their hard work — it seems Miss Shishi and the others are among them…”

“A performance? What foolishness.” Zhou Zhe frowned, lowering his voice. “In the midst of war and peril, they’ve brought in prostitutes to perform by the city walls? Who authorized this…”

He certainly hadn’t expected to encounter something like this on his outing. Just then, someone struck a gong up on the stage, and almost instantly, the surrounding chatter fell silent for the most part. Someone shouted: “Quiet down! Quiet down! Miss Shishi is here!”

“Maybe we should let Miss Shishi rest a while…”

“Quit your yammering—”

Amid such calls, the crowd finally settled down. Zhou Zhe, hands clasped behind his back, frowned again. “Let Miss Shishi rest — is she taking clients here, or…” Since the stage was a simple affair, climbing onto it was simple too. Zhou Zhe watched as a woman of unremarkable appearance and dress climbed up — she looked as though she had just finished some task, her hair still somewhat disheveled, her clothing plain, apparently just changed into recently. She carried a zither. The woman set the instrument down and bowed.

“Hello, everyone, brothers. I’m Li Shishi. I just finished up something and rushed straight over, so I might seem a bit low-energy — please bear with me. I have washed my face, at least.” The woman smiled, and the crowd laughed along with her… Her voice was quite pleasant, though most women of the Alum Tower wouldn’t greet people with words quite like these.

Zhou Zhe walked forward; dressed as he was in an officer’s uniform, no one dared stop him. He heard the woman continue: “Honestly, I’m not quite sure what everyone wants to see. I’d thought about doing some tumbling, but I haven’t got the strength for that anymore either. Well, I won’t ramble on — let me just play something for you first.”

“That’s a zheng, not a qin,” Zhou Zhe murmured. “Still, the ringing tone of a zheng does suit the mood of a battlefield well enough. I’m curious to hear how she plays it… What a farce, truly.”

On the wooden stage, the woman sat down, turned to glance at something beside her, let out a breath, and then simply let her fingers fall.

At the first note, Zhou Zhe raised his head slightly, pressing his lips together.

The Prince of Lanling Enters Battle.