Midnight had already passed, yet the lamps in the room still burned brightly. When Ning Yi pushed open the door, Qin Siyuan, Yao Zunian, Juemin, and Ji Kun were already gathered in the study. The servants had already announced Ning Yi’s return, and as he opened the door, Qin Siyuan came forward to greet him.
“Liheng is back.” Yao Zunian said with a smile, coming over as well.
“You’ve had a hard time of it, a hard time indeed.”
“Heavy snow again tonight…”
The inner circle of advisors at the Right Chancellor’s residence were all familiar faces to one another; though the Jurchen’s siege had kept everyone constantly busy, these past few days had finally brought some relief. Qin Siyuan and the others had spent their days running back and forth, and by this hour, they could finally take a moment’s rest. It was for this reason that, with Ning Yi entering the city, everyone had gathered here at the residence to welcome him.
Having not seen each other for months, it was plain to see that Qin Siyuan, once quite robust, had grown noticeably thinner, his hair entirely white—though still neatly combed, giving him an air of composure. Yao Zunian looked somewhat frail—he was, after all, too advanced in years to keep up such relentless work day after day, though he too showed no sign of ever truly resting. As for Juemin, Ji Kun, and the two other advisors from the Chancellor’s staff who had come, all looked gaunt, though otherwise in reasonably good condition. Ning Yi greeted each of them in turn.
“Liheng’s victory at Xia Village was truly heartening.”
“It was all thanks to Young Master Qin’s fine command.”
“Ah, Shaoqian may deserve some credit for the command, but when it comes to managing the troops and handling the strategy, he still falls far short. Without Liheng backing him up, there’d have been no victory today.”
“Liheng’s return was so sudden—it wouldn’t be proper to drink tonight, otherwise we’d raise a toast in your honor.”
“If only every soldier of our dynasty could fight like those at Xia Village…”
With the ceasefire, the Right Chancellor’s residence had gained some measure of ease, but the hidden troubles remained no fewer—if anything, there was even more to worry over now. Even so, when everyone gathered, the first thing on their minds was still the achievements of Ning Yi and the others at Xia Village. Two other advisors newly brought into the inner circle, Tong Zhiyuan and Hou Wenjing, were also acquainted with Ning Yi from before; both were older than him, and had previously handled other branches of business, only recently drawn into the central command during the siege. Now they too came forward to congratulate him, their expressions carrying a hint of excitement and eagerness.
Through these days of ceasefire negotiations, the frozen surface of Bian Liang seemed calm on the outside, but underneath, undercurrents had long since begun to churn. On the overall situation, Qin Siyuan might have spoken privately with Yao Zunian, and privately with Juemin, but he had not gone into detail with Tong and Hou. With Ning Yi’s return today, and everyone gathered together in the evening, it was, on one hand, an occasion for welcome and congratulation, and on the other, certain to become an opportunity for a deep and thorough discussion of matters both inside and outside the city. What was decided here tonight might well determine the entire course of the political struggle now unfolding across Bian Liang.
Once seated, Ning Yi drank a few sips of tea, then gave a brief account of matters outside the city—the current standoff with the Jurchen, the tense, blade’s-edge atmosphere at the front lines, the ever-present possibility that fighting could resume even amid negotiations. He also mentioned a few minor matters that hadn’t yet reached the city.
“…Negotiation is, at its heart, a battle of wills. The Jurchen’s attitude is extremely firm—even though barely half their remaining troops are fit to fight, they still present themselves as ready to charge at any moment. This Li Zhuo the court has sent out is likely to be thoroughly intimidated by it. Everyone here probably already knows this. Oh, there’s one thing I need to mention to Chancellor Qin—back at the battle of Shouzhang, when Young Master Qin led troops to block Zongwang, he was wounded, losing sight in his left eye. He never reported this himself, and I suspect you still don’t know, sir…”
The matter of Qin Shaoqian losing an eye had, at the time, seemed a small, personal matter; Ning Yi hadn’t sent word of it to trouble Qin Siyuan then, but felt it necessary to mention now. Qin Siyuan paused for a moment, a flicker of sorrow passing through his eyes, but then he shook his head and laughed.
“As a commander leading troops, charging at the front—to lose an eye and still come out alive is already a great fortune. Now, Liheng, what do you think the odds are that the Jurchen, if negotiations fail, would resume the war against us?”
Ning Yi shook his head. “It’s not really a question of whether they will or won’t—it’s a matter of negotiating skill. The Jurchen aren’t irrational; they know exactly how to secure the greatest benefit for themselves. If our forces were to array themselves for battle, ready to fight, they wouldn’t want to fight—but they’d never fear it either. Our trouble is that at the top, there’s a fear of war, and that Minister Li only wants to complete his assigned task and be done with it. If both sides squared off and the Jurchen sensed we weren’t afraid to fight, peace would actually come more easily. As things stand now, it’s troublesome indeed.” He looked around at the others. “What exactly is our bottom line here?”
Qin Siyuan frowned. “At the outset of negotiations, His Majesty demanded that Minister Li settle things quickly, but insisted there would be no concessions on terms—the Jurchen were to withdraw at once, cross back over Yanmen Pass, and return the Six Prefectures of Yan-Yun, with no further reprisals on our part.”
Ning Yi smiled faintly. “And then?”
Yao Zunian gave a bitter laugh as well. “After two days of talks, Li Zhuo came back saying the Jurchen’s position was unyielding—they demand we cede all territory north of the Yellow River, that our dynasty address Jin as elder brother while we take the role of younger, that we pay vast compensation in goods, and an annual tribute besides—otherwise, the war continues. His Majesty flew into a rage, but soon relented—no ceding of land, no acknowledging Jin as elder brother, but compensation in gold and silver could be granted. His Majesty wants them sent off as quickly as possible…”
“I understand.” Ning Yi nodded. “If it were me, I’d insist on peeling off a few more layers of skin before I’d agree to leave…”
He fell silent, and the others fell silent as well. Juemin rose from his seat and poured himself more tea. “Amitabha. The affairs of this world are far beyond what two or three of us could ever hope to manage perfectly. Once the fighting stopped, the Right Chancellor’s residence was already caught in the crossfire—there are no shortage of people working against us and setting traps behind the scenes, as I’ve already mentioned to Chancellor Qin and the rest of you before. In the present negotiations, His Majesty has sidelined Chancellor Li, and Chancellor Qin, too, has little room left to influence matters. These past few days, Elder Yao and I have discussed this, and the most troublesome matter, we believe, lies neither in the tribute payments nor in the question of the ‘elder brother’ title. As for where it truly lies—with Liheng’s intelligence, surely you can already see it?”
“Taiyuan.” Ning Yi’s gaze dropped slightly.
“The war for Bian Liang may soon come to an end, but Taiyuan is not yet resolved.” Juemin nodded, taking up the thread. “In these negotiations, there’s very little left for us to influence directly. If there’s something worth preserving above all else, it must be Taiyuan—and yet, with the eldest young master trapped there, on this particular matter, Chancellor Qin has very little room left to speak freely at all. The eldest and second young masters, and Chancellor Qin besides—here in this capital, it’s hard to say just how many people are actually hoping for Taiyuan’s safety.”
Before taking his vows, Juemin had, in fact, been of imperial descent; he held few of the usual restraints others observed in what could and couldn’t be said. And yet, even now, in raising the question of how many actually wished Taiyuan well, he paused slightly before finishing the thought.
Ning Yi said, “While outside the city, Young Master Qin, Wenren, and I discussed this matter as well. Setting aside for the moment whether or how the siege of Taiyuan could even be lifted, the mere question of how to go about it is already a tremendous problem. The ten-thousand-odd troops at Xia Village, once reorganized and marched north, combined with the current ten-plus thousand battered remnants here, still can’t be counted on with confidence against Zongwang—let alone against Nianhan outside Taiyuan. Though not of the Jurchen imperial family, this man stands second only to none, and may well prove even harder to deal with than Zongwang. Of course, if the court had the resolve, there would still be ways forward. The Jurchen’s southern campaign has already dragged on far too long; if a large enough force pressed forward, threatening the region between Taiyuan and Yanmen Pass, the Jurchen might well choose to withdraw on their own. But as things stand now: first, the negotiations lack resolve; second, there’s endless scheming and infighting among the leadership of these hundred-thousand-plus troops; third, whether the higher-ups will even let Young Master Qin continue leading these ten-thousand-odd men at Xia Village remains uncertain… These are all real problems…”
His tone was cold and grave; what he was saying now was, in fact, an entirely different matter from what he’d told Shishi earlier that night.
Ji Kun, who had remained silent throughout, spoke up in a low voice: “Perhaps it isn’t entirely hopeless.”
“But with every problem we resolve, we all take another step closer to the cliff’s edge,” Ning Yi said. “There’s also something even more troubling that Wenren and the others and I discussed outside the city…”
He paused, then continued: “How to deal with the Jurchen’s second southern invasion, which will surely come within a few years.”
At these words, Qin Siyuan raised an eyebrow, his expression growing even graver. Yao Zunian, seated beside him, closed his eyes; Juemin fidgeted with his teacup. Clearly, this was a question they too had already been turning over in their minds. In the room, Ji Kun, being the one responsible for handling concrete matters, had no need to dwell on such questions; but beside him, Tong Zhiyuan and Hou Wenjing both furrowed their brows in that instant—not because the thought hadn’t occurred to them, but because in these past few days they simply hadn’t yet had time to begin considering it.
Qin Siyuan drew a breath. “What do you and Wenren think, Liheng?”
“If we withdraw now, we might still get out cleanly. Push further ahead, and truly no one can predict the consequences.” Ning Yi rose as well, pouring himself another cup of hot tea.
The room fell silent for a moment.
“The Jurchen are like tigers and wolves—we’ve weathered this round, but they’ll surely come again. They’ve destroyed the Liao, and their power is at its height; this southern campaign, too, has achieved remarkable results, falling just short of breaching Bian Liang itself. To resolve this problem, the core issue comes down to… we need to start valuing our soldiers.”
Ning Yi spoke slowly, then sighed. “In the best case, we preserve Xia Village, preserve the seed that is the Western Army, preserve the fighting men gained through this campaign, and don’t let them be scattered. Then we reform the military system, give military men some standing—and a few years from now, when the Jurchen come south again, we might have some capacity to fight back. But every part of this is difficult—and the latter is harder still than the former…”
Juemin took a sip of tea. “Two hundred years of favoring civil administration over military strength in this dynasty.”
Beside him, Yao Zunian opened his eyes and sat up, looking around at everyone. “If reform is to happen, now is the moment.”
“If this were a stage play, applause would be due right about now, Elder Yao.” Ning Yi smiled, and the others chuckled softly as well—but the smiles quickly faded. “It’s not that favoring civil administration over military strength is inherently wrong—it’s that we’ve reached the point where change means survival, and stagnation means death. Elder Yao is right: after a battle as devastating as this one for Bian Liang, with such catastrophic losses, if there’s ever going to be an argument for giving military men some standing, this is precisely the moment to make it. But even with a compelling case, all of you know full well how much resistance there’ll be. Every army commander is a civil official, everyone who leads troops is a civil official—to give military men standing means taking a share of benefit away from them. If the Right Chancellor’s office tries to push this through, with just the strength you and I command, we might well end up with nowhere left to bury our bones…”
Qin Siyuan and the others hesitated for a moment; Yao Zunian said, “The key to this matter…”
“The key lies with His Majesty.” Ning Yi looked at the old man, his voice low. Beside him, Juemin and the others nodded slightly as well.
Once the conversation turned to the Emperor himself, many things could no longer easily be spoken of. The Emperor was the Son of Heaven, supreme and sacred; any attempt to maneuver or scheme involving the Emperor himself was, by definition, treasonous. The room fell into silence once more.
The moment had settled onto an awkward, difficult point—and not just within this room, but perhaps within this entire era as well. The soldiers of Xia Village, the soldiers of the Western Army, the soldiers who had defended the city—all of them, in this war, had been tempered through hardship. If the fruits of that tempering could somehow be preserved, then within a few years, they might yet be able to stand toe-to-toe with the Jin state; and if that strength could be further expanded, it might even change the fate of an entire era.
But the difficulties standing in the way were all too apparent. Favoring civil rule over military strength was the founding principle of the dynasty itself; under this policy, a vast number of vested interests had already entrenched themselves in positions of power. The battle for Bian Liang, and the pain it had inflicted so directly, might have created some opening for a different voice to be heard—but to actually push that opening forward was still far beyond what a few men, or even a group of men, could accomplish alone. Changing the very foundation of a nation was like trying to change an entire ideology—it was never something that could be filled in simply by sacrificing a few lives, or even a few families’ worth of lives. And if it couldn’t be achieved, then what lay ahead was an even more perilous fate still.
A step forward led to the cliff’s edge; a step back was already hell itself.
Ning Yi had long since spoken of the cost of reform; he had said as much before, to others as well—he had never been willing to stake his own life to push such reform forward. When he had first set out north, all he’d wanted was to handle problems as they came, one at a time; if the effort proved futile, he would withdraw. But now that matters had been pushed right before his eyes, it had, in the end, come to this point: to press forward meant utter ruin, to retreat meant leaving the Central Plains to suffer catastrophe.
He had never placed himself in the position of believing that without him, no one else would ever act. If this had been before, he might simply have set the matter aside and let Qin Siyuan and the others face their own ruin. But having come this far, even the mere thought of stepping back had, strangely, become this difficult.
The passing of a life carries weight. Years ago, he had told Yun Zhu, who was about to go open her own shop, that sand held in the hand slips away no matter how you try to hold it, and that he’d let it go without a second thought. He had, in his life, already lived through many great and terrible things—but after witnessing the deaths of so many, after wading through so much bloodshed, even he could no longer simply let such things go with a careless toss of the hand.
Compared to the troubles that lay ahead, those matters that had worried Shishi earlier—a few dozen petty clowns backed by over a hundred thousand defeated, scattered remnants—amounted to nothing at all.