The early part of the second month had just passed. Outside Bianliang, the fields that had so recently endured the ravages of war were stirring awake from their slumber, blades of grass racing to sprout, all manner of trees vying for spring.
By a small stream in the distance, a group of young people who had come out from the city were gathered for a picnic on the grass, guards posted watchfully around them; from afar, one could faintly catch the scent of poetry and letters drifting from their gathering.
Ning Yi and Hongti walked up a grassy slope at the edge of the woods.
“…Taiyuan has been under siege for nearly ten days now. And yet, when I saw His Majesty this morning, he never once mentioned sending troops. Han Jing spoke up, but all he said was to be patient and not act rashly… I heard you had matters going on in the city, and I’ve been a little worried.”
“His Majesty means to move against old Qin.”
“Hm?”
“Qin Shaoqian commands the Wuchi Battalion, Qin Shaohe holds Taiyuan, and Qin Siyuan is the Right Chancellor with real power in hand… I’ve made careful inquiries these past few days—word has already leaked out from within the palace that the Emperor intends to strip away their authority. But the situation right now is awkward—the war has only just ended, and old Qin is a man of great merit. He wants to step back, and the Emperor won’t allow it.”
“…Does he not want to keep Taiyuan?”
“He wants to. But… he’s hoping the Jurchen simply can’t take it.”
“…”
The wind swept across the grassy slope. Over by the river across the way, someone burst into laughter, another recited poetry, the sound carried on the spring wind: “…the valiant warrior leans on heaven and swings his blade to slay the horse, the loyal soul bathes in blood, dancing with his long halberd… he comes against ten thousand swords and a thousand blades, treading down jackals and wolves with a laugh…” It sounded like something rousing and hot-blooded, and the group let out a cheer together.
Ning Yi watched from a distance. Before long, he sat down, plucking a few blades of grass in his hand. Hongti sat down beside him. “Then… what about you, Liheng? Your foothold in the capital rests on the Right Chancellor’s faction…”
“Not sure yet how deep the cuts will go.”
“His Majesty… mentioned you today.”
“Hm?”
“He seems to have some suspicion about our relationship. This trip, the deployment and command of the men from the stronghold has mainly been handled by Han Jing—the Emperor’s been courting him, offering official posts and promises, urging him to settle down in the capital. He also encouraged me to pick a husband from among the officials here.”
“The Emperor has his own intelligence network… You’re a woman, and he can still try to win you over this way—looks like he’s willing to invest heavily. It seems he plans to offer you a position as a commanding general. But privately, there’s some intent to sow discord too, I’d wager.”
Ning Yi said this with an expressionless face. The inspection of the Wuchi Battalion had taken place that very morning. Two days earlier, Qin Shaoqian had been summoned back to the capital to report to the throne, in an attempt to hollow out his command over the battalion. At today’s inspection, Zhou Zhe had lavished official titles and honors on the Wuchi Battalion’s ranks, and had shown particular favor above all to the righteous army from Lüliang Mountain.
In this southward campaign of the Lüliang forces, Han Jing had been the de facto commander, while Hongti, though nominally the leader, held little real authority in practice—she was formidable in martial skill, but weak when it came to commanding troops in formation. Ning Yi knew that some in the capital suspected Han Jing was, in fact, the true leader of Green Wood Stronghold. But Zhou Zhe was no fool; after the inspection, when he received the group in audience, he could tell almost at a glance, the moment they took their seats, Hongti’s true bearing, and the pecking order among them. The rewards granted to Green Wood Stronghold that day were left for Hongti and the others to decide and fill in the names themselves—by Confucian standards, more than enough to bring honor and glory to a thousand men’s ancestors.
Beyond that, though, what truly mattered was the substantial property and honors granted in the capital itself—he wanted these people to settle near the capital, guarding the Yellow River defense line. This intention had not yet been formally decided, but it had already been hinted at, none too subtly.
Ning Yi had not taken part in the inspection himself, but he had a clear picture of the general shape of things.
“If I settle in the capital, and the husband I choose is you, I suppose he’ll have to decide that for me too,” Hongti said, sitting beside him with a smile, then quickly let the joke drop. “Liheng, I don’t much like this news. What are you going to do?”
“Taiyuan is still holding on—I don’t know what state it’s in by now.” Ning Yi’s expression darkened as he spoke, striking the ground once with his fist, then shook his head. “People’s hearts can change, but they’re also the hardest thing to change. As for the Emperor, it’s not that there’s nothing to be done—old Qin is still sending him information through every channel he can. If the Emperor can pull himself out of this dead-end thinking, there might still be a turnaround. But time’s running out. Chen Yanshu’s troops still haven’t reached Taiyuan, and we haven’t even set out ourselves. No news has come yet that Taiyuan has fallen, but honestly, from this point on, I wouldn’t be surprised no matter when that news arrives.”
“Liheng…”
He had always been a man of careful calculation, known for his composure, rarely letting his emotions show. But now, before someone as familiar to him as Hongti, that dark, brooding look on his face had persisted for some time—clear evidence of how much had been building up inside him, different even from how he’d been at Xia Village. Hongti didn’t know how to comfort him. Ning Yi glanced at her, then smiled, letting the shadow on his face dissolve.
“Don’t worry. I don’t feel any particular attachment to this empire. It’s just that, for the sake of certain people, I think it’s not worth it. When the Jurchen came south, men like Zhou Tong gave their lives trying to assassinate Zonghan. So many died in the battle for Bianliang, and outside the city, at Xia Village, so many died right in front of me. And in the end, over the matter of holding Taiyuan, all that’s left is scheming and infighting. Honestly, I’ve been through this kind of scheming and infighting myself before…” As he said this, he smiled again. “If it were for the sake of some grand cause, some great state of the realm, scheming and infighting would be nothing unusual—that’s just how it goes. It’s only when I think of those who died that something in my chest just… won’t sit right.”
Hongti drew up her knees, wrapping her arms around them as she sat there, saying nothing. Over at the poetry gathering across the way, someone must have said something, because the group burst out with a shout of approval, and someone else called out, “Of course we should go back and petition!”
Someone shouted, “Who’s willing to come back with me and the rest of us!”
These past few days, calls for war had been swelling louder and louder throughout the capital, and with the Emperor’s inspection of the meritorious troops outside the city today, some were already taking it as a sign that the deployment was imminent. These young gentlemen at their poetry gathering were clearly discussing much the same thing, and after a round of rallying calls, they began climbing into their carriages to head back into the city and join the petition. Ning Yi and Hongti watched the scene unfold, feeling a complicated mix of emotions.
“If there’s still a way through this, we’ll do as we planned before. If it truly can’t be done…” Ning Yi paused. “After all, it’s the Emperor himself who’s meddling recklessly. If it can’t be done, I need to start planning Bamboo Records’ next move…”
“Hm?” Hongti turned her head to look at him.
“Split Bamboo Records from the intelligence bureau, sever our official ties as much as possible, and rebuild through old Qin’s connections in officialdom instead. Going forward, the center of things needs to shift away from the capital—and I need to leave too…”
“…Where would you go?” Hongti looked at him for a moment before asking.
Ning Yi gave a faint, bitter smile. “Maybe back to Jiangning. Or maybe… I’d need to find somewhere I could avoid the chaos of war. I haven’t quite decided yet.”
“Then what about Lüliang…”
“I won’t leave you behind. I’ll always find a way.”
Ning Yi smiled, as if he’d finally come to a decision, and stood up. “Sand you can’t hold onto, you might as well let it scatter in the wind. I couldn’t make up my mind before, but if things above are going to be reckless to this degree, then the decision has to be made—there’s simply no other way. Lüliang Mountain sits right on the border, but the terrain isn’t well suited for military use. As long as we strengthen ourselves, if the Jurchen do come south and swallow up the land north of the Yellow River, we can play along for appearances’ sake, nominally submit to the Jurchen—no real harm in that. We can accept whatever benefits come our way, and if they turn out to be more trouble than they’re worth, we throw them right back. If they want more, we can fight again then, or relocate again—either way, it’s manageable.”
Hongti frowned. “But you, in the capital—if the Right Chancellor truly does fall from power, won’t you be in danger?”
Ning Yi’s brow furrowed slightly too, but he shook his head. “In matters of officialdom, I doubt they’d go so far as to wipe us out entirely. As long as old Qin stays alive, no one can say for certain he won’t rise again someday. Stripping him of power would be one thing… though, of course, we haven’t reached that point yet. Old Qin has shown weakness, and the Emperor hasn’t accepted it—going forward, he could still plead illness and retire on those grounds; the Emperor can hardly refuse that indefinitely without seeming unreasonable. I have a sense of where things stand—you don’t need to worry.”
“Then… what about us? What if we said the siege of the capital has already been lifted, and we simply marched our troops straight back north to Taiyuan?”
“That would be very difficult to pull off,” Ning Yi said with a wry smile. “You’ve got just over a thousand men. Marching them all the way to Taiyuan would be sending them to their deaths. Better to stay in the capital and collect what benefits we can.”
Hongti nodded in agreement. “It’s good to have some support here too, I suppose.”
There was a great deal happening in the capital these days—not just tension within the city itself, but also within the Wuchi Battalion, where various factions were pulling and dividing with increasing intensity. The men who had come down from Lüliang Mountain, though they had gone through the strictest discipline and training, still required daily political education under the current circumstances, and Hongti’s steady presence remained essential, even now. Fortunately, since Ning Yi had taken over affairs at Lüliang, conditions for Green Wood Stronghold’s people were no longer so poor, and the outlook was, if anything, quite promising—Ning Yi was not only generous in how he treated people, but his talent for painting a bright future for them was second to none—otherwise, upon arriving in this glittering southern world, there was no telling how many might have refused to leave.
The two of them talked together a while longer, sharing a few tender moments, before finally parting ways.
Back within the city, the rain had begun to fall again, and the atmosphere within Bamboo Records felt correspondingly grim. For those in charge of propaganda at the lower levels, and indeed for the ordinary residents of the capital, the situation within the city seemed wonderfully encouraging—everyone united in resolve, hearts bound as one, a stirring, inspiring mood. To all appearances, given such fervent enthusiasm, sending troops to Taiyuan seemed a foregone conclusion. But for those with even partial access to the deeper currents of information, receiving word at this critical juncture of the scheming and infighting unfolding at the upper levels of court felt like a sudden blow to the head, chilling to the heart.
To have arrived at this point was, in itself, nothing entirely new for the Right Chancellor’s household—they had weathered storms before. But this time, the nature of the threat was clearly different. It’s a common enough principle that a tree which stands out from the forest draws the wind’s wrath, and equally common that surviving hardship brings greater power in the end. But this time, with Taiyuan still under siege, that word of an effort to curtail the Right Chancellor’s authority had leaked out from within the palace itself left everyone feeling nothing but helpless, a cold dread settling in their hearts.
From here on, it was no longer a matter of maneuvering, but simply a matter of hoping the emperor, at the very top, might soften his heart and grant some leeway. In political struggles, such reliance on another’s sympathy was hardly uncommon—whether playing the loyal minister or the loyal dog, both were ways of winning the ruler’s trust, and it was often the case that a single word could make or break one’s fortunes. That Qin Siyuan had risen this far surely meant he had some skill in reading the Emperor’s temperament—but whether he could turn the tide this time was, for those standing on the sidelines, simply a matter of waiting to see.
After all, at this court, with men like Cai Jing and Tong Guan wielding overwhelming power, backed further by powerful officials like Wang Fu, Liang Shicheng, and Li Bangyan, and with sycophants like Gao Qiu who survived purely by currying the Emperor’s favor, however formidable Qin Siyuan might be, however skilled his methods, there was simply no possibility of confronting this bloc of interests head-on—let alone anything so drastic as holding the Emperor hostage to command the other lords.
At least on Ning Yi’s end, he knew old Qin had already tried a great many approaches. In his letter of resignation, the old man had written movingly and at length, recalling his long history and friendship with the Emperor—the great ambitions the Emperor had held even before ascending the throne, the strategy to destroy the Liao that followed, and later, the Emperor’s own diligent efforts at governance, all the painstaking labor poured into it on his side, and so on and so forth. None of it had done any good. Qin Siyuan had also personally called on Zhou Zhe several times, offering genuine, substantive concessions, submitting his resignation again and again… but none of it had worked.
At first, everyone had assumed the Emperor’s refusal to accept the resignation meant he intended to rely on Qin Siyuan even more heavily going forward. Now, it seemed instead that he had firmly resolved to suppress him.
If matters truly reached that point, Ning Yi would have no choice but to leave.
He had already begun making preparations along those lines, and at the same time, upon returning to Bamboo Records, he began gathering the elite fighters around him, assembling a force of several dozen men, and ordered them to set out for Taiyuan at once.
If Taiyuan fell, they were to do everything possible to bring Qin Shaohe safely back south. As long as Qin Shaohe survived, the Qin family would retain that much of a foothold.
Amid the gloomy spring rain, countless matters buzzed about like flies in chaotic flight, disturbing people’s nerves from two entirely different directions. If things could be brought through safely, it would be one step toward paradise; if not, all the effort poured into it would collapse into ruin. Ning Yi had never had any direct dealings with Zhou Zhe, but based on his past analysis of this emperor, this time, there was simply too little cause for optimism.
Originally, he had only intended to assist Qin Siyuan, never to enter court politics himself. Only now did he truly grasp the sheer frustration of watching a thousand efforts undone by a single stroke of someone else’s whim—and worse still, even without having witnessed it directly, he could well imagine what Taiyuan must be enduring at this very moment, lives perhaps vanishing by the tens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, even as, in this pocket of relative calm, a group of men scrambled about in pursuit of power.
If the cause could not be won, then leaving was for the best.
That night, he sat by the window and let out a soft sigh. His journey north, in the beginning, had never truly been about ambition—it had only ever been for the sake of the dead he had seen amid the chaos of war, and the faint stirring of compassion in his heart. He was, after all, a man from another age—no matter how much darkness he had already witnessed, he still could not bring himself to accept such naked brutality and death with indifference. And now, it seemed, all his efforts might ultimately prove meaningless after all.
With such thoughts running through his mind, he turned back to the great pile of material from the intelligence bureau spread before him, continuing the work of sorting and compiling. This material consisted entirely of the hidden secrets of various high officials involved in the campaigns north and south—Cai Jing’s abuses of power and corruption, his selling of official posts; Tong Guan’s collaboration with Cai Jing and others in sending money north and buying off cities—every detail, every piece of evidence, meticulously filed and cross-referenced. If all of it were brought out into the open at once, the resulting fallout would touch nearly half the court.
The Emperor might already know some of this—but surely not in such thorough detail.
Cold as his heart had grown toward the whole affair, a final resort still had to be kept in reserve.
Material of this kind, once brought to light, could prove either minor or catastrophic—there was simply no way to predict which. All he could do was compile it; how it would ultimately be used was entirely up to Qin Siyuan to decide. And so he worked on, bent over his desk, until the roosters began to crow and the eastern sky slowly paled. The twelfth of the second month passed forever into the past, and the thirteenth of the second month, in the fourteenth year of Jinghan, arrived, followed by the fourteenth and the fifteenth, the situation in the capital shifting day by day.
To the north, it was not until the seventeenth of the second month that Chen Yanshu’s forces finally reached the vicinity of Taiyuan. They drew up their formations, attempting to relieve the siege. Across the way, Shuliesu held his position and made no move, while Chen Yanshu sent out one letter after another pleading for reinforcements, and so the two sides settled into a standoff once more.
Several days passed, and at last a reply to his plea for reinforcements found its way back to Chen Yanshu.
By then, Taiyuan, under the Jurchen’s relentless assault, had already become a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood. The reinforcements the city’s weakened, fading defenders had hoped for in their final gleam of light would never come.