Siege ladders were pushed up against the walls, arrows flew like a swarm of locusts, battle cries shook heaven and earth, and in the dark clouds above, thunder rumbled faintly.
The scene that had played out at Bianliang over a month before was now repeating itself atop the walls of Taiyuan.
After months of siege, the Jurchen soldiers, having rested and regathered their strength, now launched an all-out assault on Taiyuan.
By this point, the city’s food reserves had already grown desperately thin. At year’s end, rations for the soldiers within the city had been cut in half, and for the ordinary residents, cut in half again. In the bitter cold, there wasn’t even enough firewood or coal for warmth, and no small number of the elderly and infirm had already frozen or starved to death. By now, in the early spring of the fourteenth year of Jinghan, though some grain had been conserved through rationing, no one had expected that reinforcements would still fail to arrive even at this late stage.
Yet Zongwang had come back to strike.
With the city’s communications cut off, no one inside knew anything of what was happening in the capital. When Zongwang claimed that the Wu dynasty had surrendered and ceded Taiyuan, naturally no one believed it. On the day Zongwang’s army arrived, Li Pin and the others in charge of logistics restored a somewhat better food supply for the defenders—for a day or two, they were able to eat their fill—and then the brutal fighting to defend the city began once more.
Through months of siege, as the long winter finally passed, the will to defend Taiyuan had not withered away. During this time, the tireless propaganda efforts of Bamboo Records’ members and figures like Cheng Zhouhai had taken effect—both soldiers and officers alike knew that if Taiyuan fell, what awaited them was certain to be a merciless massacre of the entire city.
On the other hand, the fact that Zongwang had withdrawn his forces from the south meant that the fighting there had, for the time being, come to an end—which meant that reinforcements from the court would surely be arriving before long.
On the sixth of the second month, spring rain fell over the region around Taiyuan, a chill that seeped into the very bone settling over the land. The fighting atop the walls had not let up, but for Qin Shaohe, Li Pin, Cheng Zhouhai, and the others taking part in the city’s defense at this moment, there was still a warm glimmer of hope in their hearts.
That afternoon, as the rain intensified, they sent out a group of elite personal guards, choosing a point where the Jurchen defenses were thin and negligent, to break through the encirclement and seek reinforcements.
At that very same moment, news that the Jurchen were once again attacking Taiyuan was spreading south at the fastest possible speed, through every available channel.
The first to receive the news, aside from the remaining scattered forces still holding out in various prefectures, was the Wusheng Army, marching north under Chen Yanshu’s command. By now, the snow in the south had begun to melt, and the hastily assembled force of several tens of thousands of troops was rushing north—but in the cold weather and amid inefficient organization, the army’s pace was less than half that of the Jurchen’s northward march, and they had covered only about a third of the distance so far.
Upon receiving news that the Jurchen had launched their assault on Taiyuan, Chen Yanshu’s state of mind was on the verge of collapse.
He had commanded troops for years, having originally come from a civil-official background before earning a reputation as a man skilled in both letters and arms, adept at seizing opportunities and weighing situations carefully. As for raw courage, it wasn’t entirely lacking in him either—but Zongwang’s unbroken string of victories on the march south had already forced him to confront reality plainly.
Originally, with the Jurchen proving so formidable that no one could stand against them, he had been merely one general among many facing the same predicament. But with Bianliang’s stubborn resistance, and the Wuchi Battalion’s record at Xia Village, men like him now found themselves, in some vague sense, treated almost as though they bore some kind of guilt. Being ordered north with his troops carried with it, from above, the implicit expectation that he redeem himself through this campaign. Chen Yanshu still harbored some hope—if the Jurchen abandoned the attack on Taiyuan and simply left, he might yet salvage some measure of reputation and standing.
That night, he ordered his troops to quicken their pace. It was said that, astride his horse, Chen Yanshu drew his sword several times as if to cut his own throat, but in the end, he never went through with it.
The Wusheng Army’s response to the news, once received, took the form of a letter pleading for reinforcements, sent south with all possible haste.
“…The Jurchen are savage and their forces vast; our army is resolved to unite as one and fight to the last, sparing nothing of ourselves in resistance… We beg the court to send reinforcements at once…”
Messengers from every faction rode hard, and the news spread. From Taiyuan to Bianliang, the straight-line distance was nearly a thousand li, and with the fighting still spreading and the postal relay stations not yet fully operational, and the snow only half melted, it was not until the night of the seventh of the second month that the first wave of news—that the Jurchen appeared intent on assaulting the city—finally reached Bianliang.
On the eighth of the second month, all manner of news came pouring into Bianliang like a landslide.
There was no longer any room for wishful thinking. The Jurchen’s full assault on Taiyuan had become an established fact.
At the upper levels of the court, officials hurried into the palace one after another, the atmosphere so tense it seemed almost to have solidified, while among the common people, the mood remained ordinary as ever. Ning Yi waited at Bamboo Records for word from the court—he knew, of course, that as soon as news of the Jurchen’s assault on Taiyuan arrived, Qin Siyuan would once again rally whatever officials he could persuade and mount another round of remonstration.
Time was running out. The great army had to move.
Even Tang Ke, Wu Min, and the other members of the peace faction found themselves, in this round of remonstration, standing on the side of those advocating for troops to be sent. Besides them, a great many court officials, as well as previously idle minor officials, all submitted memorials pressing the matter upward, coordinated through the workings of the Right Chancellor’s household. Over this past month or so, Ning Yi had no idea how much silver he had sent out, having all but emptied the coffers of the Right Chancellor’s household, including Bamboo Records itself—all of it, layer by layer, in the effort to push this deployment through.
In the days when the Jurchen were expected to reach Taiyuan, both inside and outside Bamboo Records there was a constant stream of people coming and going. One shopkeeper and steward after another played the role of persuader, going out to distribute money and treasures, promising all manner of benefits, some even coordinating with Yao Zunian and others to send gifts to even more exalted quarters.
At the same time, propaganda within the city continued without pause, and had by now reached the point of maximum readiness—the moment the court decided to send troops, news of the Jurchen’s assault on Taiyuan would be released in coordinated fashion with the deployment, stirring up the will to fight. And if the court continued to hesitate, Ning Yi and the others had already begun considering the possibility of using public sentiment to force the court’s hand—though, of course, this was a delicate and risky move he had no wish to resort to unless it truly came down to the last resort.
Time slipped into the afternoon. Ning Yi stood by the second-floor window looking down into the courtyard, a cup of tea in hand. He only used the tea to quench his thirst, drinking from a large cup; having stood there a long while, the tea had gone cold. Juan’er came over to offer him a fresh cup, but Ning Yi waved her off.
“Are you worried about Taiyuan, young master?” Juan’er asked quietly beside him.
“A little,” Ning Yi said, then gave a slight shake of his head. “But that’s not the main thing.”
“Hm?”
“The situation at Taiyuan is perfectly clear—the fighting’s already underway. Worrying about it does no good.” Ning Yi glanced faintly toward the north. “It’s the situation here in the capital that’s the real problem. On the surface it seems clear enough, but something in my gut keeps telling me there’s more to it.”
“I heard a few of the gentlemen say that even if troops aren’t sent to Taiyuan in the end, the fact that His Majesty has firmly rejected the Chancellor’s repeated resignations shows that his favor still runs strong. Even in the worst case, as long as the army trained up at Xia Village can be preserved by precedent, there’s still hope of rising again in the future. And besides… this time, most of the court favors sending troops, so the chances of His Majesty accepting it are still fairly high.” Having said all this, Juan’er pressed her lips together. “Well, that’s what they said, anyway.”
Ning Yi glanced at her and laughed. After a moment, though, he nodded. “As for something being wrong behind the scenes—that’s just some idle speculation of mine, and even I haven’t fully worked it out. Rationally speaking, we’ve followed the proper steps, done everything we could, and the response has been decent enough… let’s just wait for word. Outside the city, preparations are also in place—if all goes smoothly, the troops could move out within the next two or three days. Of course, before that, His Majesty may hold an inspection.”
He paused. “The matter of Taiyuan marks the end of this war. Once it’s past, a bigger undertaking begins. By then, the scale and nature of the Chancellor’s household and Bamboo Records will probably look quite different. Oh, and Juan’er—tell me honestly, did you find anyone you liked, back at Xia Village?”
His tone shifted abruptly toward the end. Juan’er froze, her face flushing red for a moment before going pale again, stammering evasively for a while. Ning Yi burst out laughing. “Come here, look down there.”
He pointed down at the courtyard below, where figures passed back and forth now and then—a spring afternoon, the sound of voices loud and lively.
“The people who were at Xia Village—them, in particular—if nothing unexpected happens, most of them will become important, influential figures in the years to come. Because the years ahead, the next several, perhaps even the next decade or more, may well be spent fighting. If this country can find the will to rise, they’ll ride that wave upward. And if, in the end, it can’t rise to the occasion… well, they might still live lives worth singing about.”
“Fi-fighting?” Juan’er’s eyes went wide.
“Mm.” Ning Yi looked out a while longer, then turned and walked back to his desk, setting down his teacup. “The Jurchen’s march south was only the beginning, not the end. If your ears are sharp enough, you can already hear the stirring melody of what’s to come.”
He smiled, looking at Juan’er’s faintly puzzled expression. “Of course, I’m just talking. You don’t need to listen for it, Juan’er. Still, in times like these, living out a good, peaceful life may not come easily. If there’s someone you care for…”
The room fell silent. In the end, he didn’t finish the thought.
After Juan’er left the room, Ning Yi sat back down at his desk, looking over the charts on the wall and the material gathered before him, continuing to work out what lay ahead. Now and then someone came up to report information, most of it inconsequential—the court’s decision remained unmade, likely still mired in argument. It was around the hour of Shen when a slight commotion broke out below; someone came running in, knocking over an advisor on the way, and pounded up the stairs. Ning Yi, in his room, heard it all clearly, and by the time the man reached the door to knock, Ning Yi had already reached out and pulled it open himself.
It was the steward in charge of palace intelligence.
“What’s happened?”
“We’ve—we’ve received word…”
Ning Yi frowned. The steward stepped closer and murmured a few words in his ear. Ning Yi’s expression shifted subtly.
“Is it true? Did they say anything else on that end?”
The man shook his head. “Everything was returned…”
“Has word been sent to the Chancellor’s household?”
“It has, but the Chancellor is still in the palace in deliberation. The household should also be passing the news along to the palace by now.”
“…I knew something was wrong, I just didn’t guess it would be at this level.”
Ning Yi murmured this softly to himself. The steward, not quite catching it, asked, “…What was that?”
“Nothing. Keep sending people to call on him—until he finally accepts something. Look into who else around him might have some connection, and ask them to act as go-betweens… no, don’t just ask anyone at random, or this could blow up and tip our hand… find people we can trust.”
He hurriedly gave a few instructions. The steward nodded and hurried off.
Ning Yi stood in the room for a moment.
Even before his meeting with Tong Guan, he had already sensed a certain unease in his heart. It was only the news of Qin Siyuan’s rejected resignation that had let him push that unease down for a while. Now, at last, that uneasy feeling had begun to surface in earnest.
He had tried to predict what kind of melody would follow—but he had never imagined it would take this particular turn.
However he looked at it, there was something absurd about it all.
…
Within the palace, the deliberations had come to a temporary pause, and the ministers were resting in a side chamber off the Chuigong Hall, still arguing and debating loudly amongst themselves.
Qin Siyuan stood off to one side speaking with someone when an official hurried over and murmured a few words in his ear.
The old man froze for a moment, standing there, blinking.
It was a long while before he finally absorbed what he’d heard, gathered himself, and turned his attention back to the deliberations at hand.
…
That evening, Ning Yi’s carriage entered the Right Chancellor’s residence, passing through the side courtyard gate and heading straight in. In the study, he found Yao Zunian and Jueming waiting.
“How did things get to this point?”
“It could be big, or it could be small…”
“I heard that as soon as word got out, the monk came straight back…”
“Someone’s already been sent in to inform the Chancellor.”
“At such a critical moment…” Ning Yi said, brow furrowed. “This isn’t a good sign.”
Not long after, Qin Siyuan himself returned.
The decision on troop deployment remained unmade.
Over this past month, the Chancellor’s household had exhausted virtually all of its resources and influence in an effort to push the deployment through. Ning Yi had long overseen the household’s finances, and had a hand in matters involving gifts and favors of every kind. There was, of course, a deep art to giving and taking bribes—naturally some accepted and others refused. But what had happened today carried a different weight entirely.
Within the palace, the Chief Eunuch, Du Chengxi, had refused and returned the gifts sent by the Right Chancellor’s household.
For several hundred years, the Wu dynasty had always been governed by civil officials, and eunuchs had never held much power. Since Zhou Zhe’s ascension, he had, if anything, pursued an even stricter policy of suppressing eunuch influence. But regardless, anyone who stayed close to the Emperor’s side—whether dropping a passing word or two, or passing along a piece of intelligence—held enormous value.
This Chief Eunuch Du Chengxi had always conducted himself with great caution and restraint. Though he never dared speak carelessly in front of Zhou Zhe, he was, by comparison, a man who understood the greater good, and leaned toward favoring Li Gang and Qin Siyuan. In his usual dealings, he accepted certain favors, but always with caution. Which was precisely why, in the current situation, his sudden decision to return the gifts carried such an unsettling and cautionary weight.
Before this, everyone had considered the problem posed by the military faction, by Cai Jing, by Tong Guan—had weighed every conceivable source of resistance. But no one had imagined that matters would suddenly escalate, through Du Chengxi of all people, to the point of returning gifts outright.
Thinking it over carefully, it felt like some vast, dark omen slowly rising to the surface of everyone’s minds.
…
Within the palace, Zhou Zhe swept a pile of memorials off his desk.
“Wolfish ambition!” he shouted. “I knew all along the Jurchen couldn’t be trusted—I knew all along… they meant to attack Taiyuan!”
The pile of memorials scattered across his desk were, almost without exception, petitions urging the deployment of troops. He stood there, staring at the words scrawled across the fallen documents on the floor.
“Wolfish ambition, these Jurchen…” After a long moment, he repeated the words again, his eyes bloodshot.
As Zhou Zhe made his way back behind his desk, Du Chengxi gestured to a young eunuch to gather up the scattered memorials. Zhou Zhe paid it no mind, sinking into his chair and leaning back for a good while before finally speaking in a low voice.
“I let myself hope against hope…” he said. “Du Chengxi, look at me—I let myself hope against hope, and in the end, I’ve paid the price for it…”
Du Chengxi hesitated a moment. “Then… Your Majesty… why not send the troops?”
Zhou Zhe’s gaze fixed on him for a long moment. “What would a eunuch like you know.”
He paused briefly, then lifted his head, his voice low. “I have no wish to lose Taiyuan, still less to squander everything I have on it. And there’s also… the precedent of Guo Yaoshi. Du Chengxi, a cart overturned ahead is a warning to the one behind… Du Chengxi, you understand what I mean by that, don’t you?”
He murmured this half to himself. Du Chengxi lowered his head. “This servant… this servant should not be discussing matters of state with Your Majesty…”
“Speak, go on and speak! Everyone else has been talking all day!” Zhou Zhe stood up, his gaze suddenly turning fierce, and pointed at Du Chengxi. “Look at Guo Yaoshi! I treated him so generously, poured the resources of the entire realm into raising his army, even meant to enfeoff him as a prince! And what did he do? He turned around and defected to the Jurchen! At Xia Village—never mind that they had only a little over ten thousand men—among that ten-thousand-odd, the most formidable of them, by all accounts, were the righteous army that came down from the north! Du Chengxi, I haven’t even fully brought this force under my control yet, haven’t won their hearts, and now I’m supposed to send them out into the field? Tell me, should I let them go?”
He spread his hands. “Our dynasty is vast and rich in resources, and yet we have no army fit to fight. Now that we’ve finally scraped together a few men capable of real combat, if I send them out, who knows how many variables could go wrong. I want to use them as seeds for the future—if I lose Taiyuan, I still have the rest of the nation. But if I lose the seeds themselves, I’m afraid. In a few days, I’m to go inspect this army. I want to win their hearts, keep them in the capital—whatever they want, I’ll give it to them. I paid dearly for their bones once before with Guo Yaoshi—I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Besides, Taiyuan may not necessarily fall yet.” He closed his eyes, muttering to himself. “The Jurchen are exhausted, and Taiyuan has already held out for months—who’s to say it can’t hold out longer still. I’ve already sent Chen Yanshu north to relieve it, and given the order for him to march with all possible speed. Chen Yanshu is redeeming himself through this campaign—he knows full well what’s at stake. If he fails again this time, I won’t spare him—I’ll have his entire family put to death. He won’t dare not fight.”
He rambled on in this vein, and Du Chengxi listened respectfully. Once Zhou Zhe finally walked out the door, he hurried to follow after him.
…
That night, Ning Yi returned to Bamboo Records, gathered several of the stewards, and gave out a number of instructions—mostly arrangements for quiet, private outreach, sending gifts, working connections through back channels. Afterward, he also gave the order for Bamboo Records’ propaganda arm to hold off on any major moves for the time being, with no need to further amplify matters concerning Taiyuan.
He sat alone in the courtyard, carefully turning everything over in his mind—the whole tangled sequence of events, cause and consequence. Near dawn, Yue Fei stepped out of his room and heard a loud crack in the courtyard. Ning Yi stood there, having just struck down the trunk of a tree with a single blow of his hand—it seemed he had been practicing his martial arts beforehand.
Yue Fei, a direct disciple of Zhou Tong, could naturally recognize the layered meaning behind that single strike. He hesitated, then approached. “Young Master Ning… something weighing on your mind?”
Ning Yi glanced at him. “The fighting at Taiyuan is likely still ongoing at this hour.”
“Has something changed regarding the deployment of troops?” Yue Fei asked, testing the waters. “I’ve heard some rumors circulating tonight…”
“…Hard to say,” Ning Yi said. “Something has indeed happened, and it doesn’t look good. But exactly how bad it’ll turn out to be, that’s still unclear.”
“Young Master Ning… is this something even you can’t resolve?” he asked.
“Hahahaha.” Hearing this, Ning Yi paused for a moment, then burst out laughing. “You really do have faith in me.”
Yue Fei cupped his hands in salute. “Before the great battle at Xia Village, I didn’t know what you were truly capable of, sir. But after that battle, you became someone I, Yue Fei, have come to deeply admire. Just as you said at Xia Village, sir—there are things that can’t be reasoned through, that leave no room for retreat; if you can’t get past them, then you simply must. If Taiyuan falls, the Central Plains will be plunged into suffering, and the Jurchen will come again, driving straight through unchecked. At such a dangerous moment, sir, you mustn’t lose heart. If there’s anything that needs doing, I, Yue Fei, will do it though it cost me my life a hundred times over!”
He spoke with fervent conviction, his words ringing with sincerity. Ning Yi looked at him for a moment, then smiled faintly. “You’re right. Whatever needs to be done, I’ll do my utmost…”
With that, he walked over, reached out and patted Yue Fei’s shoulder, then passed by him and went upstairs.
The next day, though Bamboo Records made no deliberate effort to intensify its propaganda, certain things happened regardless. News of the Jurchen’s assault on Taiyuan spread, and a group of Imperial Academy students led by Chen Dong marched to the palace to petition, demanding that troops be sent.
At the same time, the ongoing debate over whether to send troops still failed to move Zhou Zhe. He merely listened quietly to the arguments raging among the assembled officials, and afterward, went ahead with something he had apparently already intended to do: in three days, he would hold an inspection outside the city of the troops who had distinguished themselves in the recent great battle.
Qin Siyuan sought a private audience with Zhou Zhe and once again raised the matter of his resignation, and once again Zhou Zhe rejected it with the same gentle, gracious manner as before.
On the matter of the Jurchen, he continued to show flashes of irritability and anger—but whenever it came to Qin Siyuan’s resignation, this same emperor never failed to comfort the old man with warmth and kindness.
The great battle at Taiyuan continued, and because of the delay in how news traveled, no one could know for certain whether, by the time word arrived that the city still stood safe that day, the northern city might already have fallen to the Jurchen.
Compared to the quiet, watchful waiting of the previous month, time now seemed to have bogged down into the same kind of mire—only now, the faint stirrings of some malicious undercurrent had already begun to show themselves, and the further things progressed, the more difficult they seemed to become.
Three days later, Zhou Zhe held his inspection of the Wuchi Battalion outside the city…