The night the fighting ended, there were no dreams.
The pain never let up, and by now it had nothing to do with whether one was wounded, or how badly. The whole body no longer felt like one’s own. On the first day of the seventh month, as feeling slowly returned through the day, it came as a burning heat all over, as if ten thousand insects were crawling through the blood. That night, the dreams came back.
It was that field of vision under a dark sky, enemies surging like a tide, arrows flying through the air, and something — a blade, or the cold wind, who could say — cutting into his cheek. But that dark sky did not feel oppressive; there were others around him too, riding warhorses at a gallop, all of them charging forward together toward the enemy.
Someone was sweeping a long halberd through the enemy ranks not far off, a familiar shape — no matter how many enemies surged in around him, they never managed to swallow him up. And someone else brushed past him: “This one’s mine.”
“…Follow me into the charge.”
After those few plain words, that habitually silent figure led his men out in a charge. Beside him was his aide, a rather lively young man, unlike his commanding officer — fond of talking, fond of laughing — but at that moment he too was pressing his lips together, his eyes hard as iron and stone.
“Zhou Huan, Little Yu…”
Something inside him told him this was wrong; that river-like column of cavalry swept past him, charging toward the enemy line ahead, pushing on and on, forcing back countless enemies…
In the darkness, Liu Chengzong sat up.
The sound still rang in his ears like some hallucination: “This one’s mine…”
For that hazy instant, it had felt as though they were still alive, still charging toward the enemy. But the tent around him was as silent as the bottom of a well, and he sat there on his cot for a long while. The dead, after all, would never wake again.
Liu Chengzong got up, threw on his clothes, lifted the flap, and went out of the tent. His aide moved to follow him out but was waved off. The previous night’s celebration had gone on for quite some time; now, in the small hours, the campfires around the camp had already begun to dim, and the night lay deep and quiet. Some soldiers had simply fallen asleep beside the fires. Passing behind the tents, Liu Chengzong noticed one soldier sitting propped against a crate, eyes wide open, staring fixedly up at the night sky without moving at all — the night before, some soldiers had died just like that, quietly, without a sound. Liu Chengzong stood there for a while, and after a long moment, saw the man’s eyes blink faintly.
Another soldier sat in the shadow of a tent, wiping down his blade with a strip of cloth, murmuring something under his breath.
The sentry on duty stood atop a high stack of supplies, gripping his spear, motionless. His gaze was fixed on the deep darkness in the distance, and he too seemed lost, staring blankly into nothing.
That night, there was no telling how many men had opened their eyes in the middle of sleep and then simply lain there, unable to fall back asleep for a long, long time.
Liu Chengzong walked over toward the section of camp where the badly wounded were kept, but did not go in — pained groans carried out from inside, and now and then someone tending to them would pass by. This was likely the least quiet corner of the whole camp. As he came out past it, he heard movement in the darkness beyond.
A faint reek of blood drifted over, figures and torches moving out there, and sentries stood watch at the edge of that area. Liu Chengzong went over and asked quietly, “What’s going on?”
“Reporting, sir. A pack of wolves came through. Some of our men went out and killed them — they’re skinning them and taking the meat now.”
“Wolf meat’s not exactly good eating.”
“The men figured, even though we beat the Western Xia army back this time, there probably isn’t much food left in the northwest as it is. Best to take whatever we can eat, the more the better.”
Liu Chengzong nodded, patted the man’s shoulder, and off in the distance the soldiers built up their fire. Someone with a long blade was slitting open a wolf’s carcass. In the silhouettes cast by the firelight, some of them were talking and joking quietly among themselves.
He watched for a few moments, then turned and left.
The dark edge of the sky began to take on a leaden hue, and some soldiers had already come out early. Near the fires where the bodies were being burned, some soldiers sat on the open ground, all of them silent. At some point Luo Ye had come over too — many of the men under his command had also died in this great battle, and no doubt his dreams that night had held their share of undying spirits as well.
Someone stepped forward and silently scooped up a handful of ash, put it into a small pouch. The pale light of dawn slowly brightened over the plain, and Qin Shaoqian silently scattered ashes into the wind; not far off, Liu Chengzong too took up a handful and scattered it, letting them fly out between heaven and earth on the morning breeze.
“After today,” someone called out across the plain, “you and I stand together!”
That morning, each man, in his own way, found some outlet for the grief in his heart. And then, when they gripped the long blades in their hands once more, they understood: this battle — they had won it.
In the last days of the sixth month of the second year of Jingping, an army of just over nine thousand Black Banner troops had utterly defeated a Western Xia force numbering one hundred sixty thousand in total, striking the first blow of a battle that shook the whole realm, there in the northwest.
……
At Yuanzhou, the Zhong family army, over six thousand strong, was pushing south, advancing steadily toward the walls of Yuanzhou city. On the morning of the third day of the seventh month, the army came to a halt.
“Li Qianshun is busy gathering grain, and busy chasing down that ten-thousand-strong Black Banner force — he can’t attend to everything at once. What’s left holding Yuanzhou isn’t crack troops. The real trouble is Li Yimai, following behind us — his forces outnumber ours twofold, and he has cavalry besides. If we can defeat him, it will cost Li Qianshun dearly, and we can seize the moment to take Yuanzhou.”
Atop his warhorse, Zhong Lie tapped the map and spoke these words in a low, steady voice. He was forty-six this year, having spent half his life in the saddle. Since the Jurchens’ two southern invasions, the Zhong family army had suffered defeat after defeat; after the fall of Qingjian city, even the Zhong family’s ancestral graves had been dug up, and the once world-renowned Zhong family western army now numbered only six thousand men. His hair and beard had gone half white; the whole ordeal seemed to have aged him twenty years all at once. And yet, here in the ranks, he still carried himself with a steady bearing and a clear head.
Li Qianshun had chased him relentlessly, forcing this remnant of the Zhong family to keep shifting and retreating, and it was only once Li Qianshun’s main force had turned back east that he had finally gained something of a reprieve. The Western Xia force still trailing behind him now numbered some twelve or thirteen thousand, commanded by Li Yimai, himself a powerful general of the Western Xia royal clan.
The western army’s deputy commander beside him frowned slightly. “Defeating Li Yimai might be doable for now. But we’ve only got this many men left as it is — if we go on to take Yuanzhou too, never mind the losses, once Li Qianshun drives off the Black Banner force, he’s bound to bring his main army crashing down on us, and we’ll have nothing left to fight with by then. Why not use this chance to pull back somewhere else, catch our breath, recruit and build up our strength, and then make a bold move later?”
Zhong Lie glanced at him. “As long as the Zhong name still stands with this western army, is there anywhere Li Qianshun won’t follow us? That Black Banner army is starving for supplies, and yet they still had the nerve to press the attack after taking Yanzhou. With an opportunity like this in front of us, what is there to hesitate over? So long as we can cause Li Qianshun some real trouble, that’s already to our advantage — we can recruit troops while we fight, both at once. And that Black Banner army fought so fiercely they dared take on the Iron Sparrowhawks head-on — if we, flying the Zhong family banner, can’t even take Yuanzhou, won’t people laugh at us for the rest of our days!?”
Over all these years, the Zhong family’s western army had always carried itself with tremendous spirit; even after being defeated before the Jurchens, that spirit had not faded. Or perhaps it could be said: so long as the Zhong family still stood, that spirit would never die out. The men went on to discuss tactics and odds against Li Yimai, and midway through the discussion, a scout arrived.
—Li Yimai’s army was withdrawing east.
“Withdrawing east?” The officers frowned. “Is he laying some kind of decoy, meaning to swing around and hit us from the flank?”
“Swing around to where, though…”
“Send men to keep close watch on them at once…”
“Put the whole army on high alert…”
Anything out of the ordinary demanded caution, and these were all men seasoned in war; they began preparing defenses at once while trading guesses about the enemy’s intentions back and forth. Nearly half an hour passed this way before another scout arrived.
“What’s Li Yimai doing now!?”
“Word from the Dongzhi Plateau…”
A moment later, a strange atmosphere settled over the group.
“This is… where did this come from…”
As the news spread through the Zhong family army, for a time no one believed it — and the very same report was spreading outward in every direction at once, east, north, and south. When it reached the She family army moving south, what awaited it there was the same eerie disbelief, the same slow process of that word “real” sinking in. The She family’s scouts rode north through the night, and that afternoon delivered similar word into She Kejiu’s hands. Atop his horse, She Kejiu fell silent for a long moment and said nothing. Only in places closer to the scene did the news arrive with anything like speed.
Outside Qingzhou city, on a slow-moving column of horses, a woman turned her head back. “Ha ha, a hundred thousand men…”
Her laughter carried a faint edge of something close to madness. “A hundred thousand men…”
In half a month, that single blade swung out of the mountains in the northeast had shattered everything standing in its way. That man’s methods seemed set to sweep away even people’s most basic assumptions about what was possible. She had once thought that the many obstacles ringing Small Cangriver ought to have formed an inescapable net.
She had also once thought that by attaching herself to Tian Hu, by relying on his power, sooner or later that great tiger would land a blow on him he would never forget. And yet, in this very moment, as she imagined that scene — the Tiger King’s entire might standing arrayed in the enemy’s path — she suddenly felt… powerless…
“A hundred thousand men…”
……
On the fourth day of the seventh month, the news had by now spread completely across the whole of the northwest. She Kejiu’s forces pressed forward to Qingjian city, and as he turned to look back at his own army behind him, he suddenly felt as if the whole world had taken on a desolate cast.
That army of fewer than ten thousand had, with one savagely decisive strike, shattered Western Xia’s force of over a hundred thousand. Now that such an army had appeared on the soil of the northwest — where did that leave him?
Outside Yuanzhou city, Zhong Lie gazed toward the walls not far off, his chest full of a similar feeling. That regicide army of rebels — how had they managed something on this scale…
At Green Wood Stronghold, which had lived under a grim, oppressive mood for quite some time now, a tremendous roar of celebration suddenly swept out from the gate that day, setting the whole valley boiling with excitement. On one side of the valley stood a set of quarters set aside for those of special standing. A little girl with a scar across her face went dashing down the plain-looking street. “Third Grandfather! Third Grandfather—”
In the quarters nearby, members of the Su family stood whispering to one another, their faces full of shock, confusion, even disbelief.
“Little Seven.” Su Yu, his face aged and his spirit somewhat listless, sat in his rocking chair, narrowing his eyes, and caught hold of the little girl running toward him. “What is it? You’re in such a hurry.”
“Third Grandfather, Third Grandfather, Third Grandfather…” The little girl waved her arms about excitedly, launching into a garbled, breathless recounting of the news she’d just heard. The old man smiled at first, and then the faint smile faded, replaced by something calm and solemn. When the girl finished telling it all through once, he reached out and gently stroked her head, then turned his ear to listen to that roar of celebration rising into the sky. He reached for his cane and, trembling, slowly rose to his feet.
Ever since Ning Yi’s rebellion, when the Su clan had been forcibly relocated here, Su Yu’s face had shown no smile at all except when he was with a few of the children. He did not understand Ning Yi, nor did he understand Su Tan’er; compared to the rest of the clan, who either feared them or cursed them, the old man had always been the more silent one. These were matters the old man had never, in his whole life, imagined he would face — they had lived here a full year now. During that time not a few members of the Su clan had been kept under watch and restriction, and now, with the Jurchen threat looming to the north over Green Wood Stronghold, the mood in the stronghold had turned grim, and not a few of the Su family had been quietly discussing things better left unspoken.
The old man had seen all of it; he knew how foolish they were. But the children he cared for most had already joined the ranks of the rebellion — what else was there left for him to consider? And so, it was only now, at this moment, that Little Seven, who had always stayed close by Su Yu’s side, saw an air about the old man that was suddenly, unmistakably different from his usual self.
He walked slowly forward to the edge of the path. The valley lay in tiers, and from here he could see the crowds below and hear the cheering more clearly. The old man nodded, and nodded again, tapped his cane once, and after a long while, the little girl finally heard, carried on the mountain wind, a low, hoarse voice.
“Remarkable…”
“My Su family’s son-in-law… remarkable…”
“Third Grandfather…”
The little girl went over and took hold of his hand…
……
At Small Cangriver, in the afternoon, it began to rain.
The old man walked briskly along the slick mountain path; the steward accompanying him held an umbrella and tried to help him along, but he shoved the man’s hand away. In one hand he held a slip of paper, and it kept trembling.
The courtyard halfway up the mountainside was just ahead. The old man strode in just like that, rainwater on his normally stern face, his lips trembling faintly. Ning Yi was standing beneath the eaves, gazing out at the heavy rain, lost in thought; seeing the man come in, he stood up.
“Elder Zuo, what’s got you in such a hurry?”
“Your men, your men…” Zuo Duanyou held out the slip of paper — it was intelligence sent by his own Zuo family, and he had not hesitated for a moment before bringing it straight over. “Your men — ten thousand of them — defeated Western Xia’s army of a hundred thousand. You people defeated Western Xia’s hundred-thousand-strong army…”
“Yes.” Ning Yi took the report, held it in his hand, and nodded. He did not look at it — clearly, whatever needed knowing, he already knew first.
“This old man was worried, truly, that you’d lose every one of your men out there, and never imagined… never imagined you people could pull off something like this. You — you’ve saved the entire northwest…”
By temperament, Zuo Duanyou had always been a stern, somewhat extreme old man, sparing with praise for anyone. But in this moment, he made no effort to hold back his admiration and excitement over what had happened. Ning Yi nodded once more, sighed, and smiled faintly.
“Yes… I was wondering myself whether they’d manage it. It’s good. They did it.”
Zuo Duanyou kept nodding, standing there under the eaves, looking out at the rain, then back at Ning Yi, frowning slightly. “Young man, a victory like this calls for a good laugh. You’ve won a great battle — what are you playing coy for, in front of an old man like me!”
Ning Yi laughed, looked at Zuo Duanyou, and kept laughing for a moment. “And yet, many people died. I don’t need to read the battle report to know that — many people must have died.”
“Is there ever a victory without deaths?”
“They were good men. Men of worth. And also… men who deserved to live.” Ning Yi looked out at the pouring rain and said, “Some people always think of one person as much the same as another — I’ve never believed that. Between one person and another there can be a gap of ten times, a hundred times over; there are gradations among people. You always say, Elder, that what I teach them at Small Cangriver isn’t necessarily wisdom — and I agree. And yet, to be able to serve as soldiers, to throw their very lives on the line, and to bring things to this point, to win a victory like this one — they deserve, more than most, to go on living.”
Zuo Duanyou looked ahead and nodded as well. “On that point, this old man agrees with you too.”
“Take someone mediocre, drifting through life with the current — if the executioner’s blade never reaches him, well and good, that’s fine, but if it does fall on him, I’ve never felt much grief over it either. A man in this world has to pay a price for his own survival. These men paid that price — and that is exactly what makes it so painful. They, of all people, deserved to live. If everyone in this world could be like them — or even manage some small part of it — then none of them would have had to die.”
Zuo Duanyou’s brow furrowed slightly.
“So — I’m glad for the victory, and at the same time, it aches. And I think that ache is a good thing too.”
The rain poured down, and Ning Yi’s voice stayed calm as he laid out this thought, both complicated and simple at once. From the room beside them, Jin’er poked her head out. “Husband.” Seeing Zuo Duanyou there, she lowered her voice, a little embarrassed. “Everything’s packed.”
“You’re heading out…” Zuo Duanyou glanced over that way, then, after a moment, nodded. “Right, of course — you’ve won, you’ll need to take over Yanzhou now…”
“Not necessarily.” At the front of the courtyard, a small squad of guards was gathering in the rain, along with carriages and horses. Ning Yi tilted his head, watching them assemble. “The fighting’s done — the men who nearly died for this deserve some rest.”
He went on: “…Now it’s time for the dirty tricks and schemes to take the stage.”
Hearing Ning Yi’s words, the old man’s brow slowly, faintly furrowed…
In the seventh month, the Black Banner Army set out on the road back to Yanzhou. Across the northwest, great numbers of Western Xia troops were fleeing and advancing in chaotic disarray, scattering in every direction. In the days when the Western Xia king remained unaccounted for, several units had already fallen back to the Hengshan defensive line, while some forces continued holding onto the cities they had captured. But before long, the fury that had been building across the northwest for so long was about to erupt, ignited by the outright collapse of that hundred-thousand-strong army.
The final resolution of this whole Western Xia southern invasion was, perhaps, still a long way off. At Small Cangriver, the greatest rebel of all had emerged from seclusion following the Black Banner Army’s victory, and was now making his way toward Yanzhou. In the middle of the seventh month, the new imperial court, by now nearly arrived at Yingtian Prefecture, received this news out of the northwest. One year after the regicide committed in open court against the sovereign of the Wu Dynasty, the rebellious ten-thousand-strong Wurui Battalion had, amid all that chaos in the northwest, struck a single blow — a blow that had broken the full national might of Western Xia.
The realm was about to fall, and only then would the demons truly begin their dance. The most chaotic age of all was, in truth, only just now arriving.