Xiaocangshui.
Night had already fallen; halfway up the mountainside, in a courtyard made up half of cave dwellings and half of wooden structures, dinner was still being prepared, though the mood in every room had already grown lively.
The master of the household, just returned from beyond the mountains, was at this moment causing a stir in the kitchen—not for the first time, either. In an age that held to the principle that a gentleman keeps his distance from the kitchen, having a great rebel already famous throughout the realm (well, at least someone engaged in great affairs) occasionally wander into the kitchen to offer suggestions on cooking methods, and even insist on personally frying an egg or two, was truly enough to vex both family and cook alike.
Ning Yi was frying eggs; outside in the courtyard, all manner of chattering voices could be heard, as one might expect from a household just returned from beyond the mountains, inevitably drawing a crowd of visitors. Men like Chen Fan, Du Sha, and Fang Shuchang had all come by to mooch a meal. Before the killing of Zhou Zhe, the Bamboo Emporium’s main business had been running taverns, and Ning Yi held rather particular standards when it came to food—not like those great households such as Cai Jing’s, who might slaughter a hundred chickens for a single dish just to fry up a single plate of tongues; he simply had no taste for the generally substandard eating habits of this era.
And so, while in the capital, Ning Yi had gathered up no small number of skilled cooks. Chen Fan and the others, having previously made their way through the region south of the Yangtze without yet joining up with Ning Yi, had missed out on this particular perk, only discovering such benefits existed after finally catching up with the group along the way. Now, having entered the mountains, few of the cooks had followed along—most were needed to handle the communal mess halls instead—but Ning Yi’s own household had, in any case, kept one cook on hand. This particular cook of the Ning household was named Tang Shulie, a man whose true occupation was, in fact, a martial artist of considerable skill, counted among the same circle as Chen Tuozi and the others. It was simply that he also happened to be quite gifted in the culinary arts, and over time, through Ning Yi’s persistent nagging, he had ended up taking on the role of both household steward and cook.
Tang Shulie himself merely enjoyed cooking, considering it a minor pastime. He had originally served as one of Ning Yi’s household guards, alongside Chen Tuozi and the others, and had even taken part in the Battle of Summer Village. In his idle moments while training, he would occasionally trade recipes with the Bamboo Emporium’s head chefs, purely for leisure—and now, having genuinely become the household’s chief cook, he could not help feeling, at times, like a pearl cast into darkness, wasted on an unworthy role. Chen Tuozi and the others had tried persuading him that taking on this duty for everyone else made it easier to keep watch over and protect Master Ning—but privately, his true feelings on the matter were harder to say. And now, with Ning Yi himself intruding into his own domain to fry eggs, the head cook’s expression had grown rather sour.
Chen Fan, Du Sha, and the others stood watching from the doorway, stirring up trouble on purpose: “Put in a few more eggs, a few more! So many people here, and just this little bit—how’s that enough to go around. Old Ning, it’s already so late, and all you’re good for is causing more trouble.”
“What trouble am I causing. The communal pot’s got a different flavor entirely—and here you lot show up uninvited and still have complaints! Don’t eat what I’ve cooked, then!”
“Of course we won’t eat it! Old Tang, fry us up the same thing… look at Old Tang’s face…”
“Brother Tang, Brother Tang, listen, you know me, I’m no troublemaker. I don’t know what your temper’s like, but if it were me, I absolutely couldn’t stand for this!”
“My lord… you’d better step outside…”
“Are you joking! Old Tang, who’s your boss around here, who’s feeding you—don’t you go being soft on the strong and hard on the weak, you hear me. That Chen Fan there, go find him and challenge him one-on-one, I bet you win!” Ning Yi waved his spatula around teasingly, and everyone both inside and outside the room burst out laughing. Tang Shulie wore a look of utter helplessness, while Chen Fan, standing in the doorway, curled his lip in a cold smirk. “I’m not fighting Old Tang.”
Fang Shuchang, watching the fun from outside the door, came over and threw an arm around his shoulder. “One-on-one, what one-on-one? Since when has our Chen Fan ever feared a one-on-one fight. Little Fan, I’m no troublemaker either, I don’t know what your temper’s like, but if it were me, I absolutely couldn’t stand for this either…”
“Stand for what, can’t stand for. A real man knows when to bend and when to stand firm—if I fight Old Tang one-on-one, will I still get fed afterward…”
Over these past few months, everyone had grown used to living together, and now the area near the kitchen buzzed with lively chatter; the courtyard and surrounding rooms were likewise full of comings and goings. Several leaders of the Overlord Blade Camp were present, along with a few members of the Su family clan such as Su Wending, as well as Zhu Biao, Chen Tuozi, He Zhicheng and Liu Chengzong who had come to see Ning Yi, and even a few former disciples from his days in Hangzhou, like Zhuo Xiaofeng, who had come to join in the fun. Su Tan’er, along with Xiao Chan, Juan’er, and the other women of the household, busied themselves arranging tables, chairs, bowls, and utensils; the four-year-old Ning Xi darted about among the crowd, having just gone to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of water to bring back for her little brother.
Her little brother—Xiao Chan’s child—one year and four months old, Ning Ji, was slowly making his way along the eaves on the other side of the courtyard, babbling “Papa, Papa!” as he toddled about like a little penguin. When he seemed about to topple over, Xigua, who sat nearby with a stern expression, reached out to catch him. Ning Ji swayed his little head, and once he made out who it was, opened his mouth to reveal his baby teeth. “Heh heh, Gua—Auntie!”
“My name is Liu Dabiao,” Xigua said, picking him up and correcting him with great seriousness. “Now, say ‘Auntie Dabiao.'”
“Xi—Gua!”
“I’m not playing with you anymore.” She set the child back down and returned to sitting beneath the eaves, arms crossed, resuming her stern expression. Ning Ji wobbled his way toward her once more, mouth open, grinning without a care in the world. Xiao Chan came over from not far away, and seeing Xigua’s exasperation, hid a smile behind her hand, choosing not to intervene further.
Yun Zhu was already pregnant, her belly just beginning to show, though it went unnoticed beneath her thicker winter clothing. Jin’er accompanied her in the room, setting out bowls and chopsticks; their little circle didn’t mix much with Chen Fan’s group of rebels for the time being, but they had their own affairs to attend to. Since moving north, Yun Zhu had mainly taken charge of organizing and managing the books brought out from the capital; her greatest talent lay in music, but as for the arts of the zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting, she had dabbled deeply in nearly all of them—and when it came to orthodox understanding of ancient texts and classics, she might well surpass even Ning Yi himself.
Because of this, ever since arriving at Qingmu Stronghold and later at Xiaocangshui, alongside her ongoing work cataloguing the books, she also spent half an hour to an hour each afternoon teaching orthodox lessons on the Four Books and Five Classics.
To stabilize morale among the ranks, the entire Xiaocangshui community held frequent gatherings of various kinds. At the lower levels, these mostly covered the crisis facing the Wu Dynasty and explained the developing situation, meant to instill a sense of urgency; at the upper levels, Ning Yi himself often led sessions on efficiency, management techniques, and the finer points of organizing various affairs, aimed at those involved in administration. For the soldiers, the sessions were mostly aimed at steadying morale, laying out various principles and reasoning—incorporating some techniques not unlike those used in multi-level marketing or religious proselytizing, methods for stirring people’s emotions and offering them comfort—but on the whole, these were all short- to mid-term practical courses, not unlike modern-day management short courses or motivational seminars for successful people.
As for genuine learning, true engagement with knowledge for its own advancement, those with that particular need remained few. Back in Hangzhou, Ning Yi had taught some proper Confucian knowledge to Zhuo Xiaofeng and the other children of the “Everlasting Joy Youth League” and the “Righteous Spirit Society,” giving them a basic education. He had also used various analogies and modern teaching methods to help them quickly grasp certain principles. After these young people later went to the Miao territories, most of their learning had come through self-study; on this journey north, some of the children had shown interest in orthodox scholarship, in “principle” and “reason,” and Ning Yi had assigned them to Yun Zhu, to be taught from the proper classical texts.
Though Yun Zhu lacked a particularly broad or expansive perspective in this area, her teaching of the material itself was thoroughly orthodox and correct. To Zhuo Xiaofeng and the others, this gentle, delicate teacher’s wife possessing such profound learning seemed almost equal to that of a great Confucian scholar, and their respect for her grew all the deeper because of it. Over this period, a number of children belonging to core members of the Bamboo Emporium had gradually joined these lessons as well; though the group remained small, Yun Zhu’s own daily life had grown considerably richer and more fulfilling because of it.
Amid all the laughter and chatter, Ning Yi cooked up a small dish, then stepped away from the stove, careful not to get in Tang Shulie’s way any further. He went to sit with Du Sha, Chen Fan, and the others in a side courtyard to discuss business, the topic naturally circling back to the fall of Bianliang, or the various situations they’d encountered while out and about. Before long, Qin Shaoqian arrived as well, wearing his eye patch, dressed in military attire; the men gathered in one room, filling two large tables, while the women and children took another room. Though Xigua counted as one of the leading figures among them, she sat with Su Tan’er in the other room, occasionally teasing little Ning Ji, who had only just begun to talk—until she made him cry, at which point she’d hold him with an embarrassed expression, trying awkwardly to soothe him, her face still stern.
As they took their seats, exchanged pleasantries, and the dishes were served, when Qin Shaoqian asked about the recent trip beyond the mountains, Ning Yi shook his head slightly.
Xiaocangshui faced no small number of problems.
Of course, whoever it might be—killing an emperor and raising an army in rebellion—the problems one encountered were never going to be small ones…
…
Half a year earlier, after Ning Yi and the others had assassinated the emperor, the primary challenge they’d faced hadn’t actually been external pursuit—though in the Golden Chamber, Cai Jing and the others had broken through Ning Yi’s stalling tactics by loudly proclaiming that “His Majesty has been assassinated and has died.” What followed, though, was that the Lüliang cavalry had charged straight into the palace city, engaging the Imperial Guard in a fierce clash; then, as planned beforehand, they had bombarded the soldiers sent to reinforce or restore order within the city in several waves. In the confined environment of Bianliang, the elm-wood cannons’ bombardment had, at times, utterly broken the defenders’ nerve.
Afterward, several thousand Wurui Battalion soldiers, turned by Qin Shaoqian, had marched into the city, and amid the greater chaos, had even stood in standoff against the city’s Imperial Guard for two full days and nights.
With the emperor now dead, the assembled ministers left without a head to follow, Ning Yi and the others seized the opportunity to plunder several key locations within the city—the Hanlin Academy, the palace’s book repository, the Ministry of War’s arsenal, the Fire Weapons Bureau, the Ministry of Revenue’s granaries, the Ministry of Works’ storehouses—making off with vast quantities of books, gunpowder, seeds, and medicinal materials. By then, Tong Guan, who had commanded the troops, had already been killed by Ning Yi; Cai Jing, deeply calculating and experienced through countless storms, was certainly capable of decisive action—but in his desperate bid to save his own life, his act of ordering the Imperial Guard to loose arrows within the palace had itself become a weapon Ning Yi could use against him.
Within the city, Ning Yi not only widely publicized the scandal of the ransomed Sixteen Prefectures of Yan and Yun and the hidden dark secrets of every great household, but also arranged for men to shout the truth of the regicide throughout the city, eighty times a day. Cai Jing’s disciples were spread throughout the realm, and he knew this was the most critical moment of all—had it been only Tong Guan’s death, he might well have seized the moment to consolidate power and stand against Ning Yi directly. But Ning Yi’s tactics had thrown the legitimacy of his command over the army into doubt, leaving every faction hesitant, watching and waiting. Ning Yi and the others, meanwhile, calmly packed up their plunder, loaded it onto carts, and set off down the road.
After leaving the capital, the column had not moved especially fast, and along the way, pursuing armies had caught up with them more than once. At that time, Ning Yi’s forces consisted of sixty-five hundred Wurui Battalion soldiers, eighteen hundred Lüliang cavalry, and over two thousand Overlord Blade Camp fighters—just over ten thousand men in total. Those pursuing them, by contrast, often numbered forty to fifty thousand strong; some commanders, recognizing the value of heavy cavalry, had even outfitted what few cavalry they had with armor—but none of it made any difference.
Ning Yi and his forces had repeatedly scattered the pursuing armies two separate times, showing no particular intent to slaughter the common soldiers, simply breaking their formations and moving on—only the Lüliang cavalry pursued the commanding officers of these two forces relentlessly to the death. He Ping, commander of the Wuhui Army, along with his personal guards, was chased down by Han Jing all the way to the banks of the Yellow River, captured, and beheaded; after that, the armies sent in pursuit only went through the motions, without any real effort behind it.
An army that had already defeated the Grudge Army, had held its own against the Jurchens, and had then stormed through Bianliang and killed the emperor besides—its fighting strength stood at its very peak. But this peak carried within it a note of near-hysteria. The truly enormous problem lay in the question of this army’s future and its ideology—few among them truly dared to think seriously about it. Once they did begin to think about it, confusion was bound to follow; and if this state of affairs persisted, within half a year, the army itself would surely collapse.
The core of Ning Yi’s response could be summed up in a single statement: “Within a year, the capital and everything north of the Yellow River will fall. Within three years, everything north of the Yangtze will be lost entirely. This is the great tide of the Jurchen advance, and the Wu Dynasty’s court is powerless to turn it back. When that day comes and heaven and earth turn upside down, we will do everything we can to preserve as many of the Chinese people as possible…”
To ensure this message permeated every level of the army, Ning Yi had undertaken a great deal of effort at the time—beyond having men spread the great households’ incriminating secrets throughout every prefecture and district along the road, to unsettle people’s hearts and set them against each other, the true work of ideological indoctrination unfolded within the army itself. Through top-down meetings, these ideas were broken down piece by piece, thoroughly digested, and driven directly into every soldier’s mind. Only once these ideas had truly taken root could the predictions and pronouncements that followed find genuine footing to stand upon.
The prophecy concerning the Wu Dynasty’s fate established both short-term and mid-term goals, laid down the principles and legitimacy of their actions, and simultaneously implied that once the court fell, they would face nothing but enemies on every side. In this way, the morale of the Wurui Battalion’s soldiers had, for the time being, been stabilized by this line of reasoning. Had this prediction failed to come true within the year, the soldiers’ morale might well have held only until that point and no further. But in the end, the Jin forces truly did advance south once more.
That an army’s morale should hinge upon its greatest enemy’s own victory was, admittedly, a touch ironic—but whatever the case, that was simply how things stood. The Jurchens’ southern advance had given this army’s “rebellion” its initial footing to stand upon, and it was precisely because of this that, when word of Bianliang’s fall reached them, morale within the valley had surged so dramatically—because their own righteousness had, once again, been reaffirmed, and everyone’s faith in Ning Yi would undoubtedly grow all the stronger for it.
And yet, however ironic this early foundation had proven to be, for Ning Yi and the other leaders, the problems, one after another, had only just begun to unfold. Among these, the first great challenge they now faced was that Qingmu Stronghold was about to lose its geographical advantage.
Before deciding to kill Zhou Zhe, Ning Yi had spent two full years planning and developing Qingmu Stronghold. As a merchant tycoon by trade, his understanding of and skill in coordinating supply and demand were, in truth, second nature to him. Though Qingmu Stronghold’s core business had always been smuggling, under Ning Yi’s guidance, every aspect of accommodating passing merchants—their strengths and weaknesses, what they could obtain, what they needed—had been actively analyzed and advised upon within the mountain stronghold. In this era, it wasn’t merely a matter of doing business with people, but of teaching them how to do business—actively coordinating supply and demand between Wu and Jin territories. For merchants, the convenience this offered was immense, and the profits, naturally, immense as well.
Two years was not a particularly long time—the first year could only be called a starting point. But the Bureau of Covert Affairs held vast troves of information, and through the disaster relief operations, the Bamboo Emporium had also formed partnerships with a great many merchants—those willing to work formally with the Bamboo Emporium did so directly, and for those who weren’t, Ning Yi would send men from Lüliang Mountain to negotiate. By the second year, when the Jin forces came south, breaking through Yanmen Pass and bringing border trade to a standstill, Qingmu Stronghold had already grown explosively in size and strength.
Had Ning Yi never rebelled, and had the Jurchens never advanced south a second time, by the winter of the fourteenth year of Jinghan, Qingmu Stronghold would likely have begun carving off a substantial share of the border trade revenue flowing through Yanmen Pass, eventually forcing the army into open confrontation.
For the moment, at least, this particular worry no longer applied. But with the Jurchens now advancing south, seizing everything north of the Yellow River, and breaching Bianliang, once they began formally digesting and consolidating this territory, north-south trade would no longer count as “smuggling” at all—and Qingmu Stronghold would find itself completely bypassed and rendered irrelevant by the Yanmen Pass corridor.
Over the course of a year and more, Qingmu Stronghold had gathered and consolidated a substantial store of resources, but even something as remarkable as this had its limits. The two thousand cavalry that had come out of Lüliang Mountain, including nearly two hundred armored heavy cavalry, formed the very core of these resources. Next in importance, Qingmu Stronghold had also stockpiled substantial reserves of grain—this wasn’t entirely deliberate foresight, but simply that the environment on Lüliang Mountain had always been harsh, and its people, having all known hunger before, tended to hoard grain as their first priority once they found themselves with any surplus.
Since its rise to prosperity, Qingmu Stronghold had taken in nearby mountain folk, refugees, and deserters fleeing north and south, and now numbered over twenty thousand people; taking in another ten thousand and holding out for roughly a year wouldn’t be much of a problem in itself. But already, the fading light of dusk had begun to show.
The ordinary soldiers, of course, knew nothing of these considerations, but it was precisely because of them that Ning Yi had chosen to shift the base of operations westward—using Qingmu Stronghold as an initial foothold, while pushing further into the territory held by the Western Army. This region’s folk were fierce and hardened, but their sense of loyalty to the imperial court had never run particularly deep; and given that Zhong Shidao and Qin Siyuan had once shared a deep mutual respect and understanding, Ning Yi and the others believed the man might be willing to extend some small measure of consideration toward Qin Shaoqian, and not press the matter to its bitter end—at the very least, until the Western Army found itself truly unable to do otherwise, they likely would not act so ruthlessly.
Over these past two to three months, Ning Yi had deployed every storyteller under the Bamboo Emporium’s employ who had come along with the group, sending them into several prefectures and counties within Western Army territory, disguised as survivors, to recount the story of the court’s regicide, the truth of the ransomed Sixteen Prefectures of Yan and Yun, and other such matters, while also, in the process, publicizing the heroic sacrifice of Zhong Shizhong. During this period, the Western Army had made no particularly forceful effort to suppress this—though given the region’s fierce local temperament, there had been occasions when locals, taking offense at a storyteller speaking ill of the court, would simply beat the man and drive him off. Yet no small number of others, out of genuine admiration for Zhong Shizhong, felt real indignation at the court’s cowardice.
At the same time, Ning Yi had already begun laying the groundwork for a preliminary commercial network in the surrounding area. He still had on hand a great deal of information about various merchants—those who had once dealt with the Bamboo Emporium, and those who hadn’t—though of course, none of them dared openly associate with Ning Yi now. But that hardly mattered; so long as there was desire, so long as there was need, he could always find some way to work things out among them.
If the Western Army’s territory could grant him even a year or so of time, then with his skill in commerce, he might well be able to weave together, across this northwest region where Tibet, Western Xia, and the Jin all converged, a network of interconnected interests linking every party involved—and perhaps even extend his reach through Tibet all the way into Dali…