Two days had passed since the day of the assassination attempt on the long street and Tong Guan’s appearance. The atmosphere in the capital had gradually begun to warm.
This warming, of course, did not refer to the weather.
When the Jurchen had come south and the calamity of a doomed city loomed, it had not been especially difficult to rouse the fighting spirit of the populace in the face of such an existential threat. But after that spirit had been roused, and a great many people had died, once the external pressure receded, many households had already been utterly ruined. By the time people came to their senses, the future had turned pale and colorless. Just as people facing crisis draw out their own hidden potential, once the danger has passed, those who have overexerted themselves will inevitably collapse in the end.
How to help people recover afterward was a great problem.
In truth, during this period after the siege had come to a lull, a great many deaths among family members who had not taken part in the defense of the city—whether from starvation or suicide—were steadily being reported. Once the propaganda system of the Right Chancellor’s household and Bamboo Records had gotten fully underway, although the number of discovered deaths kept rising, the face of this overexerted giant that was Bianliang had at least regained a trace of color.
Reports of the tragic solemnity of the dead, the sacrifices of the brave, the continuity of will, and warnings that danger had not yet fully passed, all continued to spread and ferment within the city through the efforts of the Chancellor’s household and Bamboo Records. For this era, directing the spread of public opinion was, in truth, a relatively simple matter, because the channels through which ordinary people obtained information were simply too narrow—hear something enough times, with a little cooperation from the authorities, and it would often solidify into unshakable fact.
And so, over the course of several days of cultivation, at least in terms of the social atmosphere in the aftermath of the great battle, a certain degree of success had already been achieved.
First, the authorities began compiling registers of the identities and life circumstances of the war dead, and would build a shrine to the fallen heroes afterward. To the families of the dead, they also indicated that arrangements would be made—though the specifics were still under discussion, they had already begun soliciting the opinions of the local gentry and elders. Even if it was still only a promise on paper, it was, at least for now, a promise made with some apparent sincerity.
Second, under the coordination of the authorities and the promotion of Bamboo Records, gentry and wealthy households with resources to spare began distributing porridge and grain, and expressed their willingness to look after the families of those who had died defending the city. This came about for three reasons: first, the Chancellor’s household called for it publicly; second, Bamboo Records publicized the leading households for it, earning them reputation; and third, the court was discussing granting the families of the dead great convenience in the future, whether in trade, in officialdom, or in farming—much like the preferential policies for the disabled in later ages. Those who took in the disabled to work for them would, of course, receive substantial benefits as well.
Third, scholars’ attention to this matter had not waned. Because of Bamboo Records’ heavy emphasis on the Jurchen threat, how to respond to this crisis became the primary topic of conversation for those concerned with the fate of the nation and its people. These scholars either discussed casting aside their pens to join the army, or gathered in one teahouse or restaurant after another to discuss reforming the ills of current governance. Small groups of scholars with names like “Society of National Crisis” or “Plum Society” quietly formed, recruiting members everywhere, cultivating a sentiment of concern for the nation and its people. In the past, such groups had not been uncommon either, mostly poetry societies—but this time, they had taken on far more radical goals.
Of course, whatever the stated goal, the ultimate meaning of most of these groups came down to one thing: seize wealth and rank together, and don’t forget each other once you have it.
Fourth, the martial artists and soldiers within the city saw their standing rise considerably as well. In the past, rough types from the martial world had not been well liked, but now, in teahouses, anyone who spoke of having taken part in the city’s defense, or who still bore wounds from it, would often be looked upon with far greater regard. The soldiers of Bianliang had originally not been much different from ruffians and vagrants, but now, with the deliberate promotion by the Chancellor’s household and Bamboo Records, and the strengthening of public recognition, they had begun paying more attention to their own image whenever they appeared in public.
These developments reinforced and fed into one another, and over the course of a few days, the atmosphere within the city grew positive and harmonious. Instances of people caring for and helping one another gradually increased, and at the porridge-distribution sites, warm-hearted moments occurred from time to time. In the various taverns and teahouses, including those run by Bamboo Records, though the food remained coarse, people spoke of the Jurchen outside and the state of the city within, expressing their determination to pull together as one—scenes that were, in themselves, uplifting to witness.
Amid all this, Yue Fei too often felt a warmth in his heart.
He was one of the attendants accompanying Ning Yi into the city, and over these past few days, Ning Yi had brought him along to secretly meet a good number of military officers in the capital. As a minor commander of local militia, the fact that Ning Yi had specifically brought him to meet these powerful and highly placed generals in the capital, ostensibly just to become a familiar face, carried an unmistakable intent to promote and help him. Amid his gratitude, what moved him most, in these past few days, were still the warm-hearted scenes he had witnessed around him.
Though he was not directly involved, he was of course well aware of the purpose behind what Bamboo Records and the Chancellor’s household were doing. A man who has suffered a grave wound cannot fall asleep at once—no matter how much it hurts, he must grit his teeth and endure. The actions of Bamboo Records and the Chancellor’s household, though the daily storytelling looked simple on the surface, were, as Yue Fei could see, part of a whole range of efforts by Ning Yi beyond merely meeting with the generals—meetings with various prominent households, choices of locations for porridge and food distribution, planning of the storytelling propaganda and various relief activities. These things that seemed to occur naturally and spontaneously had in fact all been carefully planned, with Ning Yi at the helm and the managers and advisory staff of Bamboo Records working diligently behind the scenes.
Treating the manipulation and stirring of people’s hearts as a discipline in itself, with so many matters and steps interlocking and carefully arranged—Yue Fei had never heard of such a thing being done before, and yet he did not feel it to be hypocritical because of that. Being in the midst of it, he understood that the purpose of the Chancellor’s household and Bamboo Records was to extend the life of this city, and as one hopeful sign after another emerged, he felt within it a vigorous vitality and a joy that came from the heart.
If they could keep doing this, then perhaps the world still had hope…
Over these past few days, the only thing that had left him truly indignant was still the assassination attempt against Ning Yi on the long street two days earlier. He had studied martial arts under Zhou Tong since childhood, and in a sense counted as half a member of the martial world himself, though his ties to that world ran shallow. Because of his connection to Zhou Tong, he had some acquaintances there whose impressions were, for the most part, decent enough. But this time, he genuinely felt those men deserved to die.
Of course, thankfully there had been even more formidable people around Young Master Ning to protect him.
With things around him mostly going smoothly, he felt fairly at ease about how matters would unfold going forward. As long as things kept developing this way, however many battles were won or lost afterward on the march to Taiyuan, what did it matter? Chatting with a few familiar managers at Bamboo Records, he often said as much.
“People often need to suffer deeply before they can truly wake up. If my late master were still alive to see the state of the capital now, he too would find comfort in it.”
As he said this, he was sitting on the second floor of a Bamboo Records shop, chatting idly with a Bamboo Records advisor named Cui Hao. Cui Hao had come from a background as a licentiate scholar; both his parents had died young, and he had had a wife who joined Bamboo Records while ill—sadly, she had passed away in the end. Ning Yi had recruited mostly people with nothing left to tie them down when leaving the city, and Cui Hao had gone along with them. On the battlefield, Yue Fei had once saved his life, and the two had grown close since then.
“Everyone treasures their own life, but there are still those willing to go bravely to their deaths, if it means dying for a worthy cause.” Cui Hao’s temperament had turned somewhat gloomy after his wife’s death, but after surviving several brushes with death on the battlefield, he had brightened up again. He now gave a slightly guarded smile. “During this time, the authorities really have gone all out to help us—even those who used to hold grudges against us haven’t tried to trip us up.”
“With the state the nation is in, they still know what matters most,” Yue Fei said with a hearty laugh. “And besides, the Guangyang Commandery Prince himself met with Young Master Ning this time. I heard from a few generals yesterday that the Prince, privately, had nothing but praise for Young Master Ning.”
“…That matter is still open to question,” Cui Hao said quietly.
“Hm?”
“Nothing.” Cui Hao turned his head to look out the window. This part of the city, by this point, had recovered somewhat and taken on a slightly livelier atmosphere. He paused for a moment before adding, “Our own affairs seem to be going well enough, but the situation at the higher levels of court still isn’t clear. It sounds like things are odd there, and the proprietor himself seems to be troubled by it. Of course, that’s not something the likes of us need to worry about.”
He said this in a low voice, and after he finished, the two of them fell quiet. At the other end of the tavern, a table of people had begun speaking loudly, discussing the fighting against the Jurchen—several of them were preparing to head north with the army to Taiyuan. Overhearing a few words of this, Yue Fei laughed and raised his teacup in a gesture.
“With the nation in crisis and His Majesty so wise and enlightened, there’s much for us to accomplish. What a pity there’s no wine—otherwise we too should drink deep like them.”
“The battle for Taiyuan won’t be an easy one. As for what comes next, there’s been internal discussion—we may be asked to stay behind to help stabilize the situation in the capital. Pengju, if you head north, take care of yourself. There’ll be plenty of wine waiting for you when you come back.”
Supplies in the capital were scarce, and since the two of them had come back to work under Ning Yi, they had been ordered not to drink. So the two raised their teacups in place of wine. After drinking, Yue Fei smiled. “Brother Cui need not worry about this. As for the battle for Taiyuan, so long as we’re willing to fight to the death, it’s far from a hopeless fight. By my estimate, once Zongwang and Zonghan join forces, a direct confrontation is certainly coming—but as long as we dare to fight, with the advantage of terrain and the support of the people, the Jurchen will surely be forced to retreat, to try again another day. This time our dynasty suffered a heavy defeat, but so long as we learn from the pain, better days may yet come.”
Having said this, he turned to look out the window, at the white expanse of snow stretching out before him. This winter, the city of Bianliang had truly suffered too much hardship—but looking out now, he could faintly feel an unyielding will stirring between heaven and earth.
Then his thoughts turned to his master, who had died at the very start of the war attempting to assassinate Zonghan. The old man’s face rose gently before his mind’s eye.
If he could march north and fight, what was there to fear in death!
Afterward came another simple day, and after that day passed, it was the twenty-sixth of the twelfth month. From the previous day through today, Ning Yi had not gone to meet any more military officers in the capital, so Yue Fei had not needed to accompany him at all times. Near noon, he went to the courtyard where the Bamboo Records advisory staff held their meetings, and found a strange atmosphere hanging over the place. The men were arguing heatedly, some even cursing openly, their voices tense and subdued. Yue Fei found Cui Hao and asked what had happened.
Cui Hao hesitated for a moment. “Today at the imperial court, the Right Chancellor submitted his resignation.”
“Wh—what?”
“The Right Chancellor submitted a memorial, requesting to retire due to old age…”
Yue Fei stood stunned for a long moment. He knew that Bamboo Records was, in essence, an arm of the Right Chancellor’s household’s influence, and over this period he had been directly contributing to that cause. Since returning to the capital, he had seen for himself that the Second Chancellor, currently in charge of the capital’s defense, was at the very height of his power—so at hearing this news, he found it hard to believe. But he was not a fool, merely inexperienced in official politics, and soon enough certain thoughts occurred to him. “Could it be that the Right Chancellor’s achievements have grown too great?”
“It’s not quite that serious a matter,” Cui Hao said, still fairly calm. “As you might guess—with the Right Chancellor holding down the capital, General Qin at Xia Village, the Chancellor’s second son at Bianliang, and his eldest son at Taiyuan—if I’m not mistaken, the Right Chancellor, seeing that the negotiations are about to be settled, is advancing by retreating: giving up his position to safeguard Taiyuan. Among the great officials at the top of the court, which one hasn’t risen and fallen several times over? Even Grand Preceptor Cai Jing has been dismissed several times. So long as this campaign can be brought to a complete success, and his eldest and second sons come through safely, the Right Chancellor can naturally rise again in the future—perhaps even further than before. Retiring now is, in a sense, an act of biding one’s time in seclusion.”
“And what about His Majesty…”
“Rejected,” Cui Hao said with a smile. “In matters like this, at a time like this, there always has to be some back-and-forth of deference first.”
…
Though the fighting was not yet fully over, the Right Chancellor’s request to resign on grounds of illness caused no small stir among the upper echelons of the court. The Emperor even lost his temper, saying, “Am I so jealous of talent, so unwilling to reward merit?” He reprimanded Qin Siyuan severely, then offered kind words of comfort afterward, and the matter was, for the time being, brought to a close.
In truth, for those at the center of the political scene during this period, Qin Siyuan’s move brought them some measure of relief. Ever since the negotiations began, the political situation at court over these past days had left many people bewildered—even for great officials like Cai Jing, Tong Guan, Li Gang, and Qin Siyuan, the future seemed shrouded in a kind of fog, with some parts visible and much still hidden.
After the great battle, some would rise and some would fall, and if a major court conflict were truly to erupt, no one could say for certain whether it would be Cai Jing and Tong Guan who fell, or Li Gang and Qin Siyuan. Everyone was holding still for now, quietly making connections behind the scenes, including on the matter of Taiyuan after the negotiations—no one had full confidence, no one held a sure thing in hand.
It was precisely for this reason that, as the negotiations drew to a close, Qin Siyuan finally made his formal move. His resignation came as a relief to many. Of course, there was still confusion to go around. Among the advisory staff at Bamboo Records, there was no small amount of heated debate over it. At the Chancellor’s household, when Ning Yi and Jueming and the others gathered, what they remarked on was: “The old ginger is still the spicier.” That night, Ning Yi had urged Qin Siyuan to take a step forward and seize power—even to become a powerful minister like Cai Jing—reasoning that if a long period of chaos and warfare lay ahead, that path might not be entirely a dead end. And now Qin Siyuan’s clear, decisive move seemed, by comparison, all the more measured and sound.
Throughout the court, many others were likely making the same sort of remark.
That afternoon, Qin Siyuan submitted his resignation memorial a second time, and once again it was rejected.
On the twenty-seventh of the twelfth month, he submitted it a third time. Rejected.
On the afternoon of the twenty-seventh, Li Zhuo and Zongwang finally settled the terms of the peace agreement, which included the Wu dynasty addressing the Jin state as elder brother, an annual tribute of a million strings of cash, and provisions to compensate the Jurchen for their return journey’s supplies. That afternoon, the handover of provisions began.
On the twenty-eighth, Qin Siyuan submitted his resignation a fourth time. Rejected.
On the twenty-ninth, the Wuchi Battalion’s request for an inspection by Zhou Zhe was approved, though the timing of the inspection was to be decided at a later date.
Zhou Zhe’s firm and unwavering support for Qin Siyuan gave the Chancellor’s household some measure of relief, with many speculating that the Emperor had firmly resolved to keep the Right Chancellor in his post this time. And with the Right Chancellor’s own position made clear, he no longer pressed the matter of resigning further.
Another day passed, and it was New Year’s Eve of the thirteenth year of Jinghan. That day, snow began to fall again. Outside the city, great quantities of provisions were still being delivered to the Jurchen camp, while the Right Chancellor’s household, in charge of logistics, worked at full capacity, scraping together every last grain that could be gathered, preparing for the great army’s march north to Taiyuan—though much still remained vague and uncertain at the top, the necessary preparations still had to be made.
On the second day of the first month, the Jurchen army struck camp and withdrew north. Outside the city, in the camps they left behind, the siege equipment they had abandoned was set entirely ablaze, the great fire lighting up the northern sky red. That night, Bianliang erupted into an even grander celebration—fireworks rose into the night sky, exploding in great clusters, the walled city and snowy ridges glowing all the more magnificent for it.
On the third and fourth, calls for the army to march grew louder and louder, one wave after another, and by the fifth, Zhou Zhe issued the order: with Chen Yanshu of the Wusheng Army in the lead, a force of forty thousand troops marched north, joined by local militia and righteous armies from the surrounding areas as well as the Western Army, to project force toward Taiyuan. The Wuchi Battalion’s request to join the campaign was rejected.
On the sixth, memorials urging an all-out push north to save Taiyuan flew up to the throne like snowflakes, one after another, and every single one was rejected. Zhou Zhe once again flew into a rage on the throne. “The Jurchen are eager to leave, and besides, we have already signed the agreement for a million strings of tribute annually—why must we make a great fuss out of a small matter, mobilizing hundreds of thousands of troops and exhausting the people and their resources! Are we even to have a New Year at all!” Qin Siyuan submitted his resignation once more, and was once again reprimanded and rejected.
This marked the beginning of the fourteenth year of Jinghan, and after this day, chaos broke out in the throne hall. The military faction raised the matter of commendations and compensation for this campaign. The Wuchi Battalion, having earned the foremost credit, received nothing but glowing endorsement and lavish praise from Zhou Zhe, every request approved without exception, and he prepared to personally receive the meritorious officers and inspect the troops in the days to come. On the other hand, he held firm that troops had already been dispatched for Taiyuan and that there was no need to make a great fuss over it further. Meanwhile, a great deal of pushback also began to emerge—memorials on the importance of Taiyuan kept pouring in without end, while the factions of Cai Jing and Tong Guan began to step back and watch from the sidelines.
On the ninth, the Grand Academician Li Li argued forcefully for the critical importance of Taiyuan and the urgency of the moment, warning that the opportunity would not come again. He got into a heated argument with Zhou Zhe in the throne hall, and in his agitation struck his head against the palace steps, blood flowing freely. After treatment by the imperial physicians, his life was saved, but he was subsequently thrown into prison.
Time slipped by, thread by thread. Some thought Li Li and others were making too much of a fuss over nothing; others clung to wishful hope. Indeed, the Jurchen had already decided to leave, and with the annual tribute settled, and troops already dispatched regarding the siege of Taiyuan, there seemed no need to make such a great matter of it. As the Jurchen continued marching north through the wind and snow, discussion of Taiyuan in the capital gradually fell into silence. Though there were still those who kept petitioning for troops to be sent to seize this last chance, the voices grew fewer and fewer as time went on.
The Lantern Festival, on the fifteenth of the first month, arrived.
This was the liveliest festival of the fourteenth year of Jinghan. On New Year’s Day, with the city curfew not yet lifted and supplies still limited, there had been no way to celebrate on a grand scale. But now that the Jurchen had left, vast quantities of supplies had already been transported in from every direction, and the survivors within the city celebrated with genuine heartfelt joy at having driven off the Jurchen. Fireworks lit up the entire night sky, radiant light swirling through the city, a night of dragons and fish dancing in splendor.
At the palace, Zhou Zhe walked up onto the city wall, gazing quietly at the scene of splendor and bustle before him. After a while, the Empress arrived, carrying a large cloak, meaning to drape it over him.
“These past days, I’ve heard the court has been in great disarray. Your Majesty has worked so hard—can you not relax even on a festival night?”
Zhou Zhe waved off the cloak, his gaze still fixed on the fireworks and the bustling streets outside.
“I have already wasted too much time. If I wish to rouse myself to action, how can I complain of weariness…” He paused, then turned his head. “I’ve been reading old ci poetry lately, and often find myself moved by it. There’s one I like best of all—would you like to hear it, Empress?”
“Your Majesty is so concerned for the nation and its people—surely, with Bianliang having just suffered the calamity of war, it must be some verse mourning the chaos and suffering of the common people?”
“Wrong guess.” Zhou Zhe shook his head, and after a moment, drew a deep breath, his gaze distant and unfocused. “Homeward I shall return! The fields and gardens lie overgrown—why should I not go back? Since I have let my heart be enslaved by outward form, why should I linger in sorrow and melancholy alone? I understand now that what is past cannot be corrected, but what is yet to come may still be pursued. Truly I have not strayed too far upon the wrong path; I have come to know that today is right, and yesterday was wrong…”
“Your Majesty…”
“Today is right, and yesterday was wrong!” Zhou Zhe sighed, his tone suddenly rising. “In days past, I thought that as ruler, what mattered most was the employment of men, was the balance of power! These officials and scholars, however petty and unworthy they might be at heart, each had some talent of their own. I need only sit calmly upon my high throne and let them compete against one another, let them test each other, and in the end something worthwhile would surely come of it—there would always be someone capable of accomplishing something. But who could have known that, through all this balancing of power, they lost their fighting spirit, lost their backbone! They think of nothing but weighing my own intentions, think only of getting by, of passing the buck! Empress, these past ten-odd years, I have been wrong in everything I’ve done…”
“Your Majesty…” The Empress froze where she stood, never having imagined that Zhou Zhe would say such things.
Zhou Zhe smiled. “To entrust the affairs of state to others—how laughable. Our Wu dynasty has cultivated scholars for nearly three hundred years, and these men have learned the art of scheming and manipulating people’s hearts better than anyone else—each one playing the loyal minister and worthy general before me! Scheming behind each other’s backs, evading responsibility through endless calculation! They have reduced my kingdom to ruin and decay. Had it not been for this great battle, I would never have come to my senses—there are men of true passion and courage among the common people after all! It is often the lowly who prove most righteous! Look at Cai Jing—eyes lowered, ever compliant. I have not treated him poorly, and yet, faced with this near destruction of the nation, he keeps his eyes lowered and says not a word! Look at Tong Guan, the Guangyang Commandery Prince—I have not treated him poorly either! When the Jurchen came south, seeing things turn ill, he turned tail and fled! Look at Qin Siyuan—his second son in Bianliang, his eldest son holding Taiyuan, and he himself holding the chancellorship! And now, of late, he resigns, seeking to leave his post—does he think I cannot see through it? Advancing by retreating! First he secures his sons’ safety, and then he retains his influence over the court all the same, just like Cai Jing! He reads my intentions so cleverly, doesn’t he! This is him… this is him trying to use me, trying to manipulate me!”
“Taiyuan!” He waved his hand. “When have I ever not known the importance of Taiyuan, when have I ever not known we must save it! But what kind of battle are they fighting… Pushing everyone toward Taiyuan, saving Taiyuan, and the Qin family would then have their hand over everything! I’m not even afraid of him holding sway over everything—but what if they lose? If Zongwang and Zonghan join forces and the Jurchen strike back with everything they have, and all of them are buried there together, what would I have left to defend this realm with! Staking everything on a single gamble, they say it so lightly! They’re gambling with my kingdom! If they lose, they’re loyal martyrs and heroes; if they win, they’re the pillars of jade and beams of purple gold holding up the heavens!”
“If they hadn’t fought this kind of battle to begin with! If Qin Shaohe hadn’t been at Taiyuan! If they hadn’t forced my hand, how could I have been driven to such a desperate measure!”
“I have been wrong for thirteen years.”
He spoke slowly, placing his hand upon the snow atop the parapet. The snow was ice-cold, yet it gave him a feeling as though his blood were burning.
“This realm, these people… I can no longer let them be trampled and squandered by these men…”
“My realm, my people…”
“…I shall guard them myself.”
In that firm, resolute tone, the fireworks rose and burst, illuminating his stern and determined face.
…
A thousand li to the north, in Taiyuan, there were no fireworks.
Qin Shaohe, his face gaunt and thin, walked up onto the city wall, gazing at the Jurchen camp across the way—the lights of the encampment stretched on in an unbroken line, as if reaching all the way to the wall itself. The city, too, seemed a little livelier today; at least around the barracks, the fires burned somewhat brighter than usual.
“Cough, cough… doing all right?” he said, patting a soldier on duty on the shoulder. “Today’s the Lantern Festival—there are rice dumplings down below. Go have some in a bit.”
He walked on, saying the same to everyone he passed.
The siege had dragged on so long that the city’s provisions were beginning to run out. Since a month ago, food rations had already been cut in half, and though there was still something to eat, most people now lived in a state of half-hunger. With heating supplies in the city also dwindling, standing watch on the walls in this condition still left people shivering.
After a while, he came upon Li Pin, who was on duty on the wall. Though currently in charge of the city’s logistics, as a Confucian scholar who upheld the way of the gentleman, he too went hungry like everyone else, and his face now showed a sallow, malnourished pallor.
Qin Shaohe handed him a small food box.
“Rice dumplings—I brought you a few. Go off to the side and eat them quietly.”
Li Pin declined a few times before finally accepting, though he did not open the box right away. The two of them walked on for a while, speaking quietly of the situation, and gazed off toward the south for a time as well.
“It’s the Lantern Festival now—I wonder how things stand in the capital, whether the siege has been lifted.”
“Judging by how still things are outside the city, there’s probably been little progress.”
“The city is starving and freezing,” Qin Shaohe said quietly. “Though there’s still grain left, we dare not distribute it freely—we can only ration it and tighten our belts. A good number of the elderly have already frozen or starved to death… I don’t know how much longer we can hold out.”
“As long as the Wu dynasty holds out, we hold out too,” Li Pin said with a bold smile, glancing at the enemy camp outside the walls. “We men would never yield this magnificent land to another.”
“Cough, hah… well said!” Qin Shaohe reached out and clapped Li Pin firmly on the shoulder, making him stagger a little. A moment later, the two men on the wall both burst out laughing.
Their laughter, bold and hearty, carried far across the wind and snow atop the city wall.