In the second year of Jingping, on the seventeenth of the sixth month, it was overcast in the northwest.

The city walls of Yanzhou were ancient, worn, weighty and solid, standing grave and silent beneath the dim sky. Along the official roads on all four sides of the city, Western Xia soldiers escorted carts back and forth. Aside from that, there were no idle refugees left on the roads—all the “rebellious populace” had already been rounded up to harvest wheat; on official roads everywhere, ordinary people were forbidden to travel. Anyone found outside without cause was either captured or killed on the spot.

The wheat fields around the city had been about eighty percent harvested. In theory, the grain would be at its most ripe and full if left a few more days, but because the Western Xia had only just taken this territory, they had chosen to begin the harvest early. Over the ten days from the seventh to the seventeenth of the sixth month, tragic and desperate incidents had occurred here and there across this land, though scattered resistance meant little against an organized army—only more bloodshed, serving as material for the Western Xia to make an example of the disobedient.

By these past two days, even the once-frequent acts of resistance had grown numb and rare. The corpses of the killed lay along the field ridges and roadsides, rotting under the blazing sun and rain, their bones showing white, while the commoners driven to reap the wheat continued their work amid the stench.

The wheat fields, villages, roads, and waterways spread outward from Yanzhou, and about thirty li to the east, they gave way to wild mountain terrain. Suishi Manor was the farthest outpost in this direction, marking roughly where the wheat fields ended. To guard this mountain pass, intercept refugees, and oversee the grain collection, the Western Xia general Jila Saile had stationed two units here, some eight hundred men in total—already a fairly sizable defensive post.

In the morning, the general Kui Hong was ordering a unit of his soldiers to drive several hundred civilians through the final round of harvesting in the nearby fields. Most of the wheat here had already been reaped; what remained would likely take just over a day more. But with the sky growing overcast and no telling whether it would rain, he ordered his men to press the harvesters harder—which, naturally, meant more vigorous whipping and cursing.

Beneath that overcast sky, the constant sound of whips and curses mixed with the crying and cries of pain, and objectively speeding up the work—there was, in fact, something like a fever-pitch efficiency to it, which satisfied Kui Hong well enough.

The general responsible for the surrounding defenses was named Meng Shengke, a relatively strict military man who had never once skipped his daily inspection since being stationed here. That morning he had already made his usual rounds of the nearby sentry posts. Under his command were four hundred men in total—two hundred garrisoning the manor along the main official road, and the other two hundred, split into companies, patrolling the roads within roughly five li every day.

Naturally, ever since taking this area at the start of the year, up through this past half-year, the region had faced no major disturbances. The Wu Dynasty was in decline, the Zhong family army had fallen, and the Western Xia was on good terms with the Jin state—their rule over the northwest was, as it seemed, the mandate of heaven, unopposed by anyone. Even though the Zhe family army remained a lingering threat, the Western Xia had already sent many scouts to watch them. With the surrounding wheat fields now all but harvested, the Zhe family army, occupied with defending Fuzhou and busy with their own harvest, was unlikely to come.

After this routine patrol, Meng Shengke returned to the manor.

Just as the hour of Si arrived, two hundred-man companies of the Black Banner Army’s vanguard from the Little Cang River appeared on the slopes outside Suishi Manor.

The warning horn had only just begun to sound when Kui Hong, near the wheat fields, turned to see the attacking crowd already surging into the manor like a flood.

…

The full Black Banner Army had set out from the Little Cang River on the morning of the sixteenth of the sixth month. That night, the lightly equipped vanguard reached the edge of the mountainous region; after a night’s rest, at dawn the next day, the lead unit made for Suishi Manor.

At the very front was the Second Regiment’s First Battalion, under Regimental Commander Pang Liu’an and Battalion Commander Xu Lingming. Under Xu Lingming were three companies of over a hundred men each; the First Company’s commander was Luo Ye, founder of the Huayan Society, who held himself to a high standard and demanded the same of the soldiers under him—naturally, he had requested to be in the front ranks this time.

Mao Yishan and Hou Wu were both in the Second Company. Qu Qing had experience commanding troops and a sharp mind—originally he could have led the Second Company, or even contended with Xu Lingming for the battalion commander’s post, but for certain reasons he had instead been absorbed into the Special Regiment, being groomed as a staff-type officer. This time, though he had gone up into the mountains to gather intelligence and his wounds had not fully healed, he had insisted on forcibly joining the expedition, and now traveled alongside the Second Company.

These two hundred-odd men, after rising that morning, had marched briskly for over an hour under Qu Qing’s guidance, then, nearing Suishi Manor, slowed their pace and advanced in stealth.

None of them were green recruits anymore. They had once drawn pay and rations and clashed with the Jurchen; they had felt the humiliation of defeat and the threat of death; they had been gathered together at Xia Village and tempered through the fires of life and death, standing firm against the Grievance Army; and later, following Ning Yi’s uprising, they had fought several more battles along the way. Yet this time, coming out from the mountains, nearly everyone felt something different—call it incitement, call it brainwashing if you like. Over these past six months and more, a sense of oppression that had grown from a vague unease into something ever more intense had left them eager, for a long while now, to do something about it.

In the days before, the mountains had stopped assigning labor and shifted to full-army training, and everyone had begun to guess at the reason. Then, when the march began the day before, after Qin Shaoqian and Ning Yi’s rallying speech before the troops, those who had already guessed were trembling with near-uncontainable excitement. As the whole army marched out, crossing mountain after mountain, river after river, the fire burning in their hearts never once dimmed.

That’s right—there was no other way. This was the only path forward.

If, in earlier battles, everyone had still fought only reactively—meeting orders and blades with pure instinct—this time, for the first time, the vast majority of the army had come to embrace this offensive, even to long for a slaughter in their hearts. At the same time, over these past six months and more, through highly efficient cooperation and intense labor, they had come to know and identify with the comrades around them; each man needed only to do his own part well, and the rest, he knew, his comrades would surely handle.

In the morning’s march, the blood in their veins buzzed loud enough, it seemed, to be heard. Luo Ye, Mao Yishan, Hou Wu, and the others occasionally brushed a hand across their sword hilts, itching to draw them. A faint tension and coiled readiness hung over everything. On the road approaching Suishi Manor, Qu Qing had already worked out a plan with Xu Lingming, Luo Ye, and the others.

“I have a plan,” Qu Qing said, holding a simple map as he walked briskly, already having pointed out the manor’s two entrances and the positions of the watchtowers beside them. “We charge in from both sides, at top speed, and kill everyone—no stopping, no matter the alarm. That’s it.”

He made a cutting motion on the map with the edge of his hand, indicating the routes. For a moment there was only the soft rustle of footsteps; Xu Lingming turned to look at him and blinked, but Qu Qing’s expression was dead serious, not like a man who’d just told a bad joke—I have a plan, charge in and kill everyone. What kind of plan was that? On the other side, Luo Ye had already nodded gravely. “Fine, that’s the plan. I’ll take the left.”

The two units split apart and closed in on the manor. Scouts in camouflage moved through to snipe the sentries on the watchtowers; the instant the first arrow flew, Luo Ye swung his arm down, and his men burst from the ravine. On the other flank, Mao Yishan and Hou Wu drew their blades, raised their shields, and stepped out from the mountainside, their pace steadily quickening—

Shields, steel blades, and shadows of men surged down the slope. Outside Suishi Manor there was still a Western Xia patrol of seven men making its rounds. As the arrows flew overhead toward the sentries on the watchtower, before the patrol could react, Luo Ye and the others were already closing in with blade and shield. The seven men turned to flee, shouting warnings, but Luo Ye’s group closed the distance in an instant. The lead Western Xia soldier spun around, blade raised to meet them, but Luo Ye’s shield, carrying the full weight of his charge, sent him flying; the man rolled across the ground, and a shadow fell over him, followed immediately by a single downward cut.

Luo Ye stepped over the corpse without slowing his stride, still holding his shield high as he sprinted forward. The seven Western Xia soldiers were swallowed up in an instant, as if they’d stumbled into a swarm of army ants. The blade-line pressed on; some men sheathed their swords and drew crossbows, firing before drawing steel again. Inside Suishi Manor, the alarm horn sounded, and the two surging columns had already broken into the settlement, thick blood beginning to spread everywhere. Western Xia soldiers formed ranks in the manor’s streets and charged forward, colliding head-on with the invading Little Cang River soldiers, only to be cut down and scattered by steel blades and spears; through the windows of nearby houses, Little Cang River soldiers also charged in, cutting down the hastily-armed Western Xia soldiers within before bursting out the other side.

Luo Ye charged in the lead, having discarded his shield, gripping his steel blade with both hands, hacking a bloody path forward, eyes red, leading the men around him toward the courtyard flying the Jurchen-style banner. This young officer, normally calm and thoughtful, had now unleashed every ounce of ferocity in his body onto the battlefield. Several Western Xia soldiers, chased out from a side path ahead, thrust their spears at the group; Luo Ye charged straight into those four spear-points without a flicker of hesitation and swung his blade with brutal force, cleaving a fierce-looking Western Xia warrior in his thirties nearly in two, through both arms and chest, sending him flying.

“Don’t get in my way—!”

Before the roar had even finished, the remaining Western Xia soldiers had already been swallowed up by the men around him.

“Whose head is that Western Xia dog’s going to be—”

He strode forward, pointing at the Jurchen-style banner not far off. Everyone around him shared the same fevered look.

“—Mine!!!”

Meng Shengke was still retreating from the courtyard at this moment, surrounded by dozens of personal guards, with more of his men rushing up from behind. But the sound of slaughter, like some great beast, was devouring lives and spreading with every step; all he saw was a black banner flash by not far off.

“Who’s there? Who’s there? Light the beacon fire, quick! Hold them back! Has the Zhe family attacked us—”

Then he saw the young general with the blood-red eyes charging down the road toward him. He raised a crossbow and fired a shot, then retreated with his men behind a house.

Seeing Meng Shengke’s guards had already formed ranks, Luo Ye led his men to strike from the flank, calling out as he went: “Get more men over here!”

Meng Shengke watched this group cut through everything like carving melons and dicing vegetables, his own small unit wiped out the moment they engaged, and felt a flicker of real fear rise in his chest. This battle had come far too fast, and he still hadn’t figured out who these attackers were—but as a Western Xia commander, he could tell their fighting strength. Every one of these men had eyes as fierce as tigers; they were nothing like ordinary soldiers—if placed within the Zhe family army, they’d rank among Zhe Kequ’s own elite troops. If it truly was the Zhe family attacking, his only option was to run and save his life.

He formed ranks to deny the enemy an opening while slowly withdrawing his guard—but before more than a dozen breaths had passed, someone suddenly leapt out from among the houses on the other side, hurling something into the crowd. It was a porcelain jar, a burning cloth strip tied around its mouth.

With a boom, three of his guards were suddenly engulfed in flame!

On the other road, more than a dozen men had finished forming up; behind the shield wall, spears thrust forward, Mao Yishan crouched slightly behind his shield and let out a breath: “Hah… aaaaaaaah—”

The formation surged forward at a mad pace!

Meng Shengke’s eyes blazed with fury as he swung his arm down. “Kill—”

Luo Ye, having just cut down a squad of Western Xia soldiers, was drenched in blood from head to toe. Turning his head, he saw Meng Shengke’s thirty-odd personal guards suddenly broken through; he opened his mouth soundlessly. “I’ll be damned—”

Then came a mad roar: “Charge—”

He led over a dozen comrades in a wild charge straight at Meng Shengke! These several dozen guards were themselves no pushovers under ordinary circumstances. But with one side charging in with total disregard for death, and the other coming on like tigers seizing prey, the whole formation collapsed in an instant. Just as Luo Ye bellowed “Don’t get in my way—” and cut down the more than a dozen men rushing toward him, the man who was clearly the Western Xia commander had already been turned into a pincushion by more than a dozen men of the Second Company.

“Brother! Much obliged!” Hou Wu, a squad leader in the Second Company’s first platoon, wiped a hand across the blood on his face and shouted at Luo Ye, then swung his arm again. “Charge—”

“No need to thank me!” Luo Ye, eyes still red, growled his reply. He watched the group surge past him, glanced at the Western Xia general’s corpse on the ground, spat once, and looked around at his comrades. “What are we waiting for! Is there any Western Xia man left alive!?”

Everyone, drenched in blood to the waist, gave their armor a slap. Luo Ye raised his blade and pointed toward the distance. “I remember—there’s still one more like him.”

His eyes burned with a fierce glow as he nodded and spoke. “Think of a way—let’s go take that one too…”

…

In the great stretches of already-harvested wheat fields, the ragged laborers stopped their work and turned to look toward Suishi Manor. Elsewhere, Kui Hong was hurriedly rallying his men, unable to gather his scattered forces in time. The invading enemy had already cut straight through the entire village; fleeing soldiers who ran outside were chased down and cut down in the fields, and in the distance, the Western Xia banner over the village burned in the flames.

This army pressed forward with barely a pause, its ranks carrying the stench of blood and towering killing intent, racing toward them at a mad pace—out front, no more than a few dozen men, it seemed, but in the village behind them, more were still surging forward in pursuit, faces alight with fervor. Some Western Xia soldiers, too slow to flee, were cut down like chickens.

Soldiers no longer dared resist—that was when morale broke.

Kui Hong watched, heart pounding, and ordered the soldiers in front to form ranks. Then he saw more than a dozen horses come charging out of the village—draft horses normally used to haul grain, but now, mouths wide, nostrils flaring, running no slower than warhorses. The man at the front, drenched almost entirely in blood, was jabbing his steel blade into the horse’s rump with all his strength; before long, these dozen-odd horses had become the vanguard of the charge.

Mao Yishan and Hou Wu, sprinting at full speed, watched the dozen-odd riders overtake them and gave a slight twitch of the mouth. “Damn it, these lunatics.”

Luo Ye dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and pointed his blade toward Kui Hong in the enemy’s formation. “That’s the one—”

Even at that distance, a chill crept into Kui Hong’s heart.

Under the overcast sky, before the eyes of hundreds of civilians, this suddenly-arrived army, its dozen-odd riders leading the charge, surged into the Western Xia ranks in a wedge formation. The bladework spread, thick waves of blood rolling to either side, and before long this entire Western Xia force had completely collapsed.

Farther off, the garrison forces that had already spotted the beacon fires were rushing this way, but before they could arrive, more troops bearing the black banner with the star had already flowed out from the mountains…

To the southeast of the Little Cang River, in the mountains, many figures of the martial underworld were gathering as well. In a cave, Li Pin listened to a scout’s report, unable to speak for a long while.

“This is impossible… madness…” he murmured.

Nine thousand men, charging out of the mountains, hurling themselves at an army of two hundred thousand outside… He thought of Ning Yi’s face, and a chill of trembling dread rose unbidden in his heart.

No one commits suicide like this—which was exactly why it was so shocking.

By now, east of Yanzhou, the advancing army was carving out a bloody path—beacon fires, stampeding horses, routed soldiers, slaughter, and a contracting battle line, all pressing steadily toward Yanzhou. And outside the city, many units had not even received the order to return.

The black banners stretched on, invading like fire!