The sky hung gray and heavy, in the cold winter wind, as though it were about to change color entirely. Hou Family Village, on the north bank of the Yellow River—an obscure little village of no particular note. It was the end of the tenth month, and the cold was already setting in, when Hou Yuanyong (Big Head) came out of the mountains carrying a great stack of firewood on his back.
Children his own age could not gather so much firewood, let alone carry it back home the way he could. Hou Yuanyong was twelve years old this year, not tall for his age, but sturdy since childhood—children from poor households take on responsibility early, though such a saying was not yet in common use at this time. The Hou family was not truly poor, either; his father was a soldier, following the army, earning his living at the risk of his life, often away from home for long stretches. But with his father’s soldier’s pay, and a hardworking mother, Hou Yuanyong had at least never gone hungry.
In his memory, his father had never studied to read, but having spent so many years away from home, he had, in truth, seen a great deal of the world. His name had been given to him by his father, who had sought out a literate teacher while away to choose it—a name said to carry a certain literary elegance. In their few reunions, his father, though a man of few words, had told him a good deal about the world outside, taught him many principles, taught him to be filial to his mother at home, and had once promised that, when the chance came, he would take him out to see the world.
Their household had struggled in earlier years, but three years ago, his father had been promoted to a minor officer’s rank within the army, and their circumstances had improved considerably. Half a year ago, his father had come home once, bringing back many fine things, and had told him about the fighting. His father had served under a good commanding officer, had won victories in battle, and had earned no small reward because of it.
Hou Family Village sat deep in the mountains, one of the most remote villages of all; word from the outside world, by the time it reached them, was often already blurred and unclear. Hou Yuanyong had never had the chance to attend school, but his mind was sharper than most children’s, and he would occasionally seek out news from travelers passing through. Since last year, word had it that things outside were far from peaceful—the Jurchens had come south, and the realm was in great upheaval. After his father had explained all this to him, he came to understand that in the great battles being fought outside, his father was among those charging at the very front of the line—killing no small number of enemies.
He was tremendously proud of this, and over the past half year had often boasted to his young friends in the mountains that his father was a great hero, and had earned rewards because of it—including the ox their family had newly bought, purchased with those very rewards. Oxen were rare things; the entire village of Hou Family Village possessed only two.
In Hou Yuanyong’s imagination, he would eat plenty and grow strong, then follow his father into the army, killing wicked men in turn, and bring home a pile of rewards himself. Perhaps in a few more years, he would have such a chance.
The chance came earlier than expected.
He would always remember the weather on the day they left Hou Family Village—overcast, the sky looking as though it were about to turn even colder. He had gathered his firewood and come down from the mountain; when he returned home, he found that some relatives and villagers had already gathered—these relatives were all from his mother’s side, since his father had no family of his own, having been a soldier with no household to his name before marrying his mother. These people had gathered inside the house, talking—his father had returned.
His father, tall and broad, still in full military dress, a knife scar across his face, saw Hou Yuanyong return and waved him over. Hou Yuanyong ran to him, wanting to take the blade at his hip to play with. His father unbuckled the sheathed blade and handed it over, then began talking with the others in the village.
“The weather’s already turning; who knows when the mountains will close off with snow. I don’t have much time—the army’s waiting to march, and if I’m late, they won’t wait for me, and that’s a grave offense. Once I reach the city, I still need to settle A’Hong and the child…”
“You won’t even stay for a meal? Traveling through the night like that…”
“We’ll leave tomorrow morning—no traveling by night, in case we run into bandits…”
From what his father said, it seemed he meant to take his mother and himself off somewhere immediately. The other villagers tried to persuade him to stay longer, but his father only smiled. “I’ve fought the Jurchens in the army, come through mountains of the dead—a few ordinary bandits are nothing to fear. It’s only that military orders are strict as mountains, and I have no choice but to hurry.”
His mother was busy packing things inside the house; Hou Yuanyong went in holding his father’s blade to ask about it, and only then learned that his father had bought a house in the city this time, and since the army happened to be passing nearby, he wanted to take him and his mother along while the heavy snows had not yet sealed the mountain passes. Such good fortune was not something the villagers would try to obstruct; everyone offered warm words of farewell. His father, meanwhile, entrusted many of the family’s unwanted belongings—including the house itself—to his mother’s relatives to look after for the time being. In a certain sense, this amounted to simply giving it all away.
And so the family began packing. His father fitted out the ox cart, loading it with clothing, grain, seeds, kitchen knives, a plow, spatulas, and other valuable tools; even the few chickens in the household were caught and loaded up as well. His mother made some flatbreads for the road; Hou Yuanyong, unable to resist, ate one right away. While he ate, he saw his parents huddle together, speaking in low voices, after which his mother hurried out toward his grandparents’ house.
Before long, his mother returned, along with his grandparents, and the family shut the door behind them. His father spoke quietly with his grandfather; his grandmother, who understood little of such matters, held him and wept. Hou Yuanyong overheard his father say to his grandfather in a low voice: “The Jurchens have reached Bianliang… it can’t be held… we’re in mortal danger.”
His grandfather asked a few more questions, and his father said: “If you all mean to leave, head south… a certain gentleman said that once you cross the Yangtze, you might find peace. Didn’t we say before that we have distant relatives in Bazhou?”
Hou Yuanyong did not understand much of this exchange. Before evening fell, the family of three set out. The ox cart moved at a decent pace; they spent the night resting in the mountains, and continued traveling the full day on the second and third days as well—not along the road toward the nearby city, but they did cross a main road partway through. By the fourth day, they reached a mountain ridge where a good number of people had already gathered.
Over these past few days of travel, Hou Yuanyong had heard his father speak of a great deal. Half a year earlier, the dynasty had changed hands; a month ago, the Jurchens had come south, and they had gone to resist them but had been crushed in a single blow. Now the capital could not be saved, and perhaps half the realm would be lost—they were going to seek shelter under some great figure, reportedly their former commanding officer.
Hou Yuanyong was still young, with little sense of what “the capital” truly meant, and even less sense of “half the realm.” Beyond this, his father had also said something about corrupt officials who had ruined the nation and ruined the army, though of course Hou Yuanyong had no particular opinion on this either—officials, naturally, were all villains. In any case, the more than two hundred people gathered on this ridge were, like his father, soldiers and their families.
More than two hundred people, amounting to perhaps fifty or sixty households, with no small number of children and women among them, and carts of every kind—horse-drawn, ox-drawn, mule-drawn—loaded with all manner of belongings. Though it looked like a column of refugees, each family seemed to still have some measure of means; one household even had a physician among them, hauling half a cart of medicinal herbs. His father seemed to be something of an officer among this group—people frequently came up to greet him—and another officer named Qu Qing came over during dinner to chat with their family for a while.
That night, Hou Yuanyong played with the other children for a bit, but couldn’t sleep once it grew late. He crawled out of the tent and found his father sitting by the campfire outside, and sat down beside him. Around the fire were this Officer Qu and a few others, talking; seeing the child approach, they teased him a little, not minding his presence as he listened. Hou Yuanyong couldn’t understand much of what they said, but he curled up against his father’s leg, hugging the long blade, dozing off, the voices drifting in and out, the firelight warm.
“…When Master Ning left the capital, he’d originally meant to sweep the place clean before departing, but that old fox Cai Jing managed to break the deadlock. Still, afterward, Cai and his people didn’t have an easy time of it either—once their scheme to ransom back the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan and Yun came out, along with their tricks of skimming disaster relief funds, the situation in the capital has stayed tense ever since… And with Master Ning’s judgment about how things would unfold, you all already know—now, the first round of it has come true…”
“…Bianliang falls within a year, everything north of the Yellow River falls within a year, and within three years, everything north of the Yangtze will be lost to the Jurchens, ten million common people left to be slaughtered like pigs and sheep. Some will say, if not for Master Ning’s regicide, things wouldn’t have collapsed this fast—but you and I have both been in the Wurui Battalion, we know the truth of it… Whatever slim chance we had, these scheming little men squandered it, utterly and completely…”
“…When General Qin was stripped of his post, I already thought, this realm is finished, damn them all…”
“If not for my wife and children, I would have followed Master Ning and the others from the start…”
“I was afraid too… making an enemy of the whole world, Master Ning’s side won’t have it easy either, will it…”
“It was said back at Summer Village—your life is something you fight for yourself. Trouble, of course, we’ll have plenty of it, but at this point, the court doesn’t have the strength left to bother with us anymore. General Qin and Master Ning’s situation may not be good either, but he’s already made arrangements. Of course, this is rebellion, this is war, not child’s play—so those who’re truly afraid, those with large families, we’ve let them head toward the Yangtze instead.”
“I’ve no relatives south of the Yangtze…”
“There are some, but with the Jurchens moving this fast, how long can the Yangtze hold?”
“The Jurchens are few in number, after all. Master Ning says that resettling south of the Yangtze might buy a few years, maybe even a decade or more. Actually, there’s a place south of the Yangtze too, where the remnants of Fang La’s rebellion have their stronghold in the south—those who go there can be taken in as well. But General Qin and Master Ning chose to base themselves in the northwest for good reason—the north may be chaotic, but it’s no longer really Wu Dynasty territory anymore, so there won’t be much effort put into hunting rebels there. In the future, if the north grows chaotic enough, we might find a crack to survive in. Go south, and we might well run into the full force of the Wu Dynasty’s suppression instead… But whatever happens, brothers, a chaotic age is coming, and everyone should be prepared in their hearts.”
“I’ve been a soldier these past few years, fled and fought both. Last year when the Jurchens came south, I saw firsthand what a chaotic age looks like. I’ve got only these few family members—I thought about hiding them away, but I fear there’ll be nowhere to hide. Better to follow General Qin and the others, and fight for our own lives ourselves.”
“Heading to the northwest—are we going to Lüliang Mountain? To Qingmu Stronghold?”
“No. Can’t say for now. Just follow along with me, all of you.”
“So… does this mean we’re following General Qin and Master Ning to rebel, to fight for the realm?”
“That’s right. In truth, I used to think, we’re only a force of one or two ten-thousands, and we couldn’t even beat the Jurchens before. But in just a few months at Summer Village, Master Ning had us defeating the Grudge Army. If we had more men, and stood united, what would we have to fear from the Jurchens!”
“…What Master Ning says now is that he wants to save the Chinese people. This realm is finished, and so many good people have lived on this land—are we just going to hand it all over to the Jurchens? We’re doing what we can to save ourselves, and to save this land too. As for talk of rebellion, of fighting for the realm—do you really think a man with Master Ning’s learning is the kind to talk like that?”
“Oh…”
“Ha ha, that’s true enough…”
“Actually… Brother Qu, I was thinking, if it’s rebellion, why did he have to kill the emperor? If Master Ning hadn’t killed the emperor, this time when the Jurchens came south and he wanted to leave, we’d all have followed him without hesitation, wouldn’t we—wouldn’t it have been better to do it slowly, without alarming anyone?”
“Master Ning actually spoke about this too. Some of it I don’t quite understand, some of it I do. First point—this Confucian scholar business, all these tangled relationships running every which way, I don’t understand Confucianism myself, just those scholarly tricks and games, all that scheming and bickering—we can’t outplay them at that game. They’re too skilled at it, they’ve made a mess of the Wu Dynasty like this, and if you want to reform things, it drags on forever. If you can’t cut that web of relationships off, then whenever you try to accomplish something in the future, they’ll keep pulling you back. Including us—we’d start thinking, oh, we should give the court some face on this matter, that other thing isn’t quite proper, and before long, things would go right back to how they were before. To do something this great, you can’t have any illusions left. Kill the emperor, and whoever’s still willing to follow after that—you and I, neither of us will have any illusions left. And as for them, the emperor and his ministers, you won’t even need to worry about them anymore… And as for the second point, Master Ning put it in five words…”
“What were they?”
“He said… ‘in the end, the grievance won’t ease.'”
The campfire burned on, the air warm, an occasional cold gust of wind blocked off by the mountain ridge nearby, its sound only faintly reaching them. Hou Yuanyong didn’t know when his father had carried him into the tent; the next day, they waited there for a full day, and more people gradually arrived. By that day’s end, over a hundred had gathered, and by dawn, the group set out under Qu Qing’s leadership.
The party headed northwest, and the road grew increasingly difficult along the way; occasionally they encountered other groups likewise fleeing. Perhaps because the core of this group was made up of soldiers, their pace remained steady; after roughly seven days of travel, they encountered a band of roving bandits, who, seeing this group’s abundant goods, planned to strike that night. But the column already had scouts positioned ahead, arranged by Qu Qing, who had discovered the bandits’ intentions—and so, that night, the group struck first, ambushing and cutting the bandits down along their route.
Only around thirty men from the group took part in the attack, led by Hou Yuanyong’s father, Hou Wu. After his father set out, Hou Yuanyong could not settle down; he had heard his father speak before of the fighting on the battlefield—the fervor and bloodshed of it, and the terror of fleeing as well. These past few days, having grown accustomed to seeing all these uncles and elder brothers in the group, being so close to it now, he suddenly realized his father might be wounded, might even die. That night, he waited three full watches at the heavily guarded campsite, and when a figure appeared in the darkness, he ran over—only to see his father at the front of the returning column, his body stained with blood, leading a thin horse by the reins, carrying an air Hou Yuanyong had never seen on him before, one that left him too frightened, for a moment, to approach.
His father came alone, crouching down before him, raising a hand in a gesture for silence. “Your mother’s over there?”
Hou Yuanyong nodded. His father continued, “Go tell her I’m back, we’ve finished off the horse bandits, I’m not hurt. Don’t say anything else. We’re going to find water to wash up, understand?”
Hou Yuanyong nodded again, and his father waved him off. “Go on.”
Before long, the group returned, most of the blood already washed from their bodies, though a faint metallic scent still lingered—no longer as terrifying as before.
This encounter left the group with a few more horses, and everyone’s spirits lifted considerably. In this way, they traveled several more days, crossing many desolate ridges and rugged paths, occasionally delayed by problems with the various carts, and picked up another group of over two hundred people along the way. On a day when the weather had grown especially cold, as they made camp, someone had everyone gather together.
Hou Yuanyong liked the feeling of these gatherings. He stood atop his family’s ox cart, gazing off into the distance ahead; his father stood there too, and the man called Qu Qing began to speak.
“…Before we reach our destination, there are some things I need to say to all of you. Listen if you can understand, and it’s fine if you can’t… Ever since General Qin and Master Ning killed the benighted emperor, there have been no small number in the court who want their lives. I know they’ve already assigned men, planted people among us. Some of you might be among them. That’s alright.”
He continued: “Master Ning has asked me to tell you—if they’ve been controlling your families to make you do this, know that with Bianliang now under siege, and likely to fall before long, if your families are there, this is a difficult matter indeed. The court cannot protect Bianliang, and they cannot protect your families either. Master Ning knows that if they come looking for someone like this, you might be forced into it—that’s alright too. We’ve all been through life and death together on the battlefield! We defeated the Grudge Army together! We won’t look down on any of you for one moment of being forced into something. So if any of you here have been in this position, been threatened, or approached about this—take these next few days and think it over carefully.”
“Once you’ve decided, you can come tell me, or find someone else in the mountain camp you feel you can trust and tell them. Once it’s said aloud, the matter is settled, wiped clean—we’re still brothers. Truth be told, if such a thing has happened, Master Ning might even turn it to our advantage, tracing it back to the source—so there’s no point hiding it, better to help us use it against them instead! Once we’re in the mountains, what we’re doing is saving the realm! No games, no false hopes. If your families are truly still trapped in Bianliang, think of them—will the court really care whether they live or die?”
“For the brothers who sacrificed themselves at Summer Village fighting the Jurchens, for the Right Chancellor who poured out his heart and soul only to have it all trampled by the court—Master Ning walked straight into that hall and killed the benighted emperor himself, right there before everyone. We are all brothers here, and he will treat your families as his own family too. Right now, near Bianliang, we already have brothers stationed there. When the Jurchens attack the city, they may not be able to save everyone, but they will do everything in their power.”
“Alright.” Qu Qing waved a hand. “Think it over.”
Nothing happened that day; the group set out again, and three days later, Hou Yuanyong and the others reached their destination—a valley nestled deep among desolate mountains, a small stream flowing quietly through it, its current unhurried. Along both sides of the stream, all manner of crude structures had already begun to cluster together, though their layout already sketched the outlines of what would become distinct settlements. Winter had arrived, and everything still awaited rebuilding.
On one side of the river had once stood a small, abandoned village. An hour after Hou Yuanyong arrived, he learned the name of this river—it was called Xiaocangshui, the “Little Cangchuan,” and the abandoned village by its banks had once been called Xiaocangshui Village. Now, an encampment of nearly ten thousand people was under continuous construction here.
The sky hung cold and overcast, but along the riverbank and throughout the hills, the groups of people coming and going about their work moved in orderly fashion. Hou Yuanyong and the others first gathered on the western side of the valley; before long, people came to assign each family a wooden cabin—among the more well-established structures on the valley’s western side, given first to those newly arrived from outside the mountains. His father, Hou Wu, went with Qu Qing and the others to gather elsewhere, then returned to help unload the family’s belongings.
“General Qin might come by later; Master Ning’s been away for a while now,” Hou Wu said to Hou Yuanyong as they carried belongings into the cabin. He had told his son a bit about these two men along the way, but Hou Yuanyong, delighted with their new home, hadn’t paid much attention.
Before long, something seemed to be spreading through the valley. After Hou Wu and Hou Yuanyong finished unloading, they saw many people throughout the valley whispering to one another; over by the riverbank, someone shouted: “Then get back to work already!”
This didn’t sound like a scolding, exactly, because a good number of people immediately called back in unison: “Yes—” their voices ringing loud and clear.
Just as he was puzzling over this, Qu Qing walked over, accompanied by a young, simple-looking fellow. Hou Wu greeted him: “Yishan, come here. Yuanyong, say hello to Uncle Mao.”
Hou Yuanyong called out a greeting, his eyes still curious, and Mao Yishan waved back at the child. Qu Qing’s expression was complicated as he said, in a low voice, “Bianliang has fallen.”
Hou Wu stood stunned for a long moment. “…So fast? They just took it by direct assault?”
“They found some Heavenly Master, who cast the Six Jia Divine Soldiers spell…”
Qu Qing spoke in a low voice, recounting the whole affair of Heavenly Master Guo Jing and his Six Jia Divine Soldiers defending the city. Hou Yuanyong blinked, and in the end never quite understood how the Six Jia Divine Soldiers had actually been defeated. Hou Wu clenched his fists. “So… a thing like that… that’s how the city fell?”
“Mm, the Jurchens had spent half a month preparing outside the walls, and none of it was even needed.”
“…General He was right to shout what he did.” Hou Wu murmured this, then turned and walked toward the cabin. “They’re finished. Let’s get to work quickly—no more waiting around…”
This day was the twenty-fourth day of the eleventh month of the first year of Jingping—the day young Hou Yuanyong first arrived at Xiaocangshui Village. And it was also on the afternoon of this same day that Ning Yi, returning from beyond the mountains, learned the news that Bianliang had fallen…
Volume 8: The Old Cangchuan