Q: Tell me about the place you worked in Bianliang.
A: My lord, it was a large compound, a manor west of Bianliang city, with over a dozen workshops and five or six hundred people, all owned by the same master…
Q: You made gunpowder?
A: Yes. My family had been fireworks craftsmen for generations. We had our own small workshop originally, but unfortunately…
Q: How did you come to enter that compound?
A: People from there came to recruit me first. Making fireworks was a family trade — I didn’t want to leave my own shop. But before long, another fireworks shop opened across the street from us, with more varieties, louder bangs, and cheap prices. I couldn’t compete, and business grew slow. Later, the people from the manor offered generous terms, and I had no choice but to go.
Q: After you went in, did you learn how to improve the gunpowder formula?
A: Yes.
Q: If the gunpowder could be improved this way, why hadn’t you thought of it before?
A: The method of making gunpowder was passed down from my ancestors. It was only after entering that compound that I realized such a refined approach existed. Every rule in that courtyard was extremely exacting — even how to use a single cup, a single measure of water, was strictly regulated. The gunpowder-making process was also quite complex. I never would have thought of any of this before.
Q: Who came up with the improved gunpowder process?
A: I… I’m not sure. The man in charge of the gunpowder workshop was Master Gongsun, and the one overseeing the whole compound was Master Lin. There was also someone in charge named Lin, surnamed differently — a Master Lin (note: presumably distinct individuals) — they were all involved. But some said the improved method was personally taught and passed down by the master himself, with Master Lin and the others simply overseeing the production.
Q: What was your master’s name?
A: Ning Yi, Ning Liheng.
Q: The one who later… killed your emperor.
A: Yes, that… that was him.
Q: Did you ever meet him?
A: A few times. He treated us all to a meal once a year, and sometimes came by to greet us — usually he was there discussing matters with Master Lin, Master Gongsun, and the others. I… probably saw him three or four times in all.
Q: What kind of man was he?
A: He… was young, but carried himself with authority. When he spoke with us, he always smiled, but when discussing matters with Master Lin and Master Gongsun, he smiled less. No one dared act too freely in front of him.
Q: Do you know why he set up a place like that?
A: I don’t know. It was said to be for researching interesting things to sell through Bamboo Notes.
Q: Bamboo Notes?
A: He opened many shops — restaurants, teahouses, selling food and goods, running storytelling performances and magic shows — all under the name Bamboo Notes. From Bianliang outward, many major cities had them, and there were also many carts hauling goods out to sell in the countryside.
Q: In this compound where you worked, roughly how many kinds of workshops were there?
A: I’m not entirely sure — some areas we weren’t allowed into. But I remember gunpowder, textiles, wine, floral perfumes, papermaking, blacksmithing, coal briquette making, fruit preserves, dried meats…
Q: What else do you know about your master’s affairs?
A: I… only know that when the heavenly troops came south, he left the city, saying he was going to… carry out a scorched-earth strategy. Later, it was said he was at Xia Village and won a great victory. I don’t know whether it was true or false, because afterward, word came down that the master was in league with the Right Chancellor’s household, and when the Right Chancellor’s household fell, the master was implicated too.
Q: Indeed — it was at Xia Village that they defeated Guo Yaoshi’s Resentment Army, forcing Guo Yaoshi to retreat west with his troops. And then, later, your master killed the emperor.
A: Yes, yes.
Q: Do you hate your master?
A: Yes, he… no, I — I’m just a lowly commoner, it’s not my place to say, not my place…
Q: If he hadn’t killed Zhou Zhe, do you think you wouldn’t have ended up here?
A: I… don’t know. And besides, the royal army acts on heaven’s behalf — my being brought here is also a good thing…
Q: …What if I told you that your master’s battle at Xia Village genuinely posed a major obstacle to our army’s capture of Bianliang — how would that make you feel?
A: …
…Heh, never mind. I won’t press you further.
…
A booming explosion rang out on the slope beyond the mountain. A group of men in Jin state official robes walked over to inspect the traces of the blast. On the platform nearby, several high officials sat drinking tea, not yet moving.
The highest-ranking among them was Wanyan Xiyin, Deputy Military Supervisor of the Marshal’s headquarters, along with Shi Li’ai, a Han official serving as Director of the Bureau of Military Affairs. Xiyin shook his head. “The power seems to have increased somewhat, but for battlefield use, it still needs further refinement.”
Shi Li’ai nodded. “These craftsmen have only just begun their work — there’s still room for improvement.” Having said this, he frowned slightly. “That regicide, the man surnamed Ning from the Wu Dynasty — I’d heard of him before, but I never expected Lord Gushen would be paying him such close attention.”
Wanyan Xiyin was, among the Jurchen elite, the one with the deepest grasp of Han scholarship — accomplished in both letters and arms. This Han official, Shi Li’ai, had himself once been a renowned talent from the Yanyun region, from a family of considerable local standing; he had originally served under Zhang Jue, and when Zhang Jue intended to betray the Wu Dynasty, Shi Li’ai had immediately resigned and returned home. When the Wu Dynasty later reclaimed the Yanyun prefectures, they had sent envoys several times to invite Shi Li’ai back into service, but knowing full well how deeply corrupt and decaying the Wu Dynasty had become, he’d refused. Only once Yanyun had fallen entirely into Jurchen hands did he finally take office, now heading the Bureau of Military Affairs under Marshal Zonghan — a position of the highest authority. Among the court’s high officials, Xiyin and Shi Li’ai got along particularly well, and could be counted as genuine friends.
“I hadn’t paid him much attention myself, but with the recent dispatches from the Western Xia front these past two days, I learned a few things — that’s why I asked about this gunpowder matter.” Xiyin smiled. “As it happens, I actually had something of a grudge with this man before.”
“Oh? Lord Gushen crossed swords with him?”
“Not directly — only that when our army entered Bianliang, while everyone else was busy collecting the Wu Dynasty’s gold and silver, I specifically had people gather up rare books and manuscripts. What we found wasn’t much, and it was only later I learned why — this man, having risen in rebellion and murdered the emperor, held Bianliang for two or three days, and when he left, he didn’t just seize a great quantity of weapons and military supplies, but also thoroughly searched several of Bianliang’s book repositories, loading over a dozen carts full and carrying them off — beating me to it. A genuine pity.”
Shi Li’ai laughed. “It sounds as though Lord Gushen and this man share something of a kindred spirit.”
“‘Kindred spirit’ may be too strong a word. The southern culture is vast and brilliant, like a river of stars, an ocean without end. Sometimes what happens in the south is regrettable, but such a culture can still produce men who inspire real admiration. Take this one — years before this, he was already laying groundwork for Bianliang’s affairs. When our army marched south, he personally went to the front, even survived certain death and defeated Guo Yaoshi — Guo Yaoshi’s two brothers both died at his hands. Having achieved such merit, he returned home only to be slandered and suppressed, and then killed the emperor with his own hands right in the Golden Hall — truly a remarkable figure of his generation, worthy of real applause.” As he spoke, he lightly patted his thigh. “I never witnessed Zhou Zhe’s expression at the moment of his death myself — rather a pity.”
Wanyan Xiyin held an exceptional standing among the Jurchens, and having spoken his mind so openly, Shi Li’ai’s expression grew complicated; he lowered his voice. “Lord Gushen, do choose your words carefully — this man did, after all, commit regicide…”
“Ha ha, Director Shi, you’re simply too cautious by nature.” Wanyan Xiyin laughed without the slightest concern, clapping him on the shoulder. “The Jurchen court is different from the Han courts — we fought our way out of the White Mountains and Black Waters through unity between ruler and subject, through soldiers willing to give their lives, not through flattery and sycophancy. That the Wu Dynasty had a sovereign like this was already a sign of its coming ruin — striking him down with a blade was cause for real satisfaction! Our Jin state, in taking the realm, has no guarantee of lasting a thousand generations either — if one day a Jin emperor turns out this way, it would simply mean our own Jin state has reached the point of ruin as well. This is a fundamental truth, and we ought to say it aloud, as a warning to ourselves. If anyone tries to twist my words into something treasonous, all the better — I’ll cut him down with my own sword myself, and spare our Jin court such vermin.”
Though he was the very creator of the Jurchen script, he had spent his life on the battlefield; ordinarily refined and scholarly, when he took up his sword he carried an imposing authority without even raising his voice — even several of Aguda’s own sons had felt the sting of his hand. The Fourth Prince, Wanyan Zongbi, had some history of friction with him and feared him like a tiger. As the two of them spoke, others stood nearby as well; Shi Li’ai, deeply steeped in Confucian teaching, urged caution — but when Wanyan Xiyin’s gaze swept across the group, most fell silent at once, not daring to meet his eyes.
Wanyan Xiyin’s manner here wasn’t really excessive — the Jin court at this time genuinely did allow such candor. Even Wuqimai himself had once been struck with a rod by a minister for a mistake he’d made. Wanyan Xiyin was a genuine founding hero of the state, ranking among the top ten in the Jurchen court’s hierarchy, and cared little for a few blunt words. Having said his piece, though, his expression grew solemn again, tinged faintly with wistfulness.
“Director Shi, do you know — that battle in the Wu Dynasty’s northwest brought back memories of when I first rose up. In the early years, our tribe suffered greatly under Liao oppression, and we knew a great battle was coming sooner or later. At Chuhedian, the Liao brought a hundred thousand troops, while our own armored soldiers numbered barely three thousand. The late emperor led us in a night raid — heroic, magnificent — but standing there in the ranks, knowing the enemy numbered a hundred thousand — that feeling, you could never truly understand…”
He paused briefly. “At Hubudagang, the Liao brought seven hundred thousand men, our own army only twenty thousand. People say it’s because ten thousand Jurchens are unstoppable, or because the Liao fell into internal chaos, this reason or that. But standing there on the battlefield, who among us wasn’t gritting his teeth and pressing forward? Whatever strategy or tactic people talk about, the truth is, even without any strategy at all, we had no choice but to keep advancing — we had no home to fall back to; one step backward, and we’d all have died.”
Wanyan Xiyin spoke these words with a calm, level gaze, yet with the steadiness of a man who had crossed through life and death on real battlefields. “I once told everyone not to underestimate the Han people. But regrettably, I valued them, and yet the Han never once gave me any real reason for pride — until now, at last, I can finally say the Han do have their own heroes too. Director Shi, to share this age with such a hero, to contend for the realm alongside him — we can well count ourselves fortunate.”
“Lord Gushen speaks wisely.” Shi Li’ai, his hair streaked with gray, nodded, then after a moment said slowly, “Only, since ancient times, one who murders his sovereign rarely achieves lasting greatness. Even if he shines brightly for a time, I fear it will prove no more than a fleeting bloom, unable to endure. In my view, he might manage to hold a corner of territory for himself, but as for contending for the realm at large — I doubt he has the standing for it.”
Wanyan Xiyin tapped his thigh with his hand, falling silent for a moment, then laughed. “What Director Shi says is not without merit… Someone, come here.” He called over an official standing behind him. “Among the Han craftsmen brought north this time, every single one skilled in gunpowder and fireworks — wherever they currently are — I want them all.”
“Yes, my lord.” The man acknowledged the order and withdrew.
Wanyan Xiyin rose, and Shi Li’ai and the others rose with him. After a final look around the platform, he turned and began walking down. Shi Li’ai walked alongside him; Xiyin leaned his head toward him, speaking in a low voice, the faint breeze carrying fragments of their conversation.
“The Wu Dynasty enthroning a new emperor again… hardly wise…”
“…attack the Wu Dynasty… wait until next year…”
“Small Azure River, and the Zhong and Zhe families… I intend to send men…”
The appearance of this name in their conversation perhaps signaled that Ning Yi had finally begun entering the field of vision of men like these, on something approaching equal footing. The words were spoken lightly enough, but the consequences that would follow were, for now, impossible to fully measure. Before long, the group left this desolate hillside and made their way back along the road toward the city.
Jin state, fourth year of the Tianhui era.
The Western Capital, Datong — formerly known as Yunzhong Prefecture — was, following the Jin state’s second campaign against the Wu Dynasty, now rapidly flourishing. It housed Wanyan Zonghan’s Eastern Route Marshal’s headquarters and Bureau of Military Affairs; not long before, following the death of Liu Yanzong, head of Zongwang’s Western Route Bureau of Military Affairs, the Jin state’s military command core — originally split between east and west — was now rapidly consolidating here in Datong.
The vast influx of slaves had filled the population and labor gaps left by the war, while the concentration of nobles and merchants drove the city’s prosperity forward. Though this remained, for now, primarily a garrison town of military importance, all manner of commerce within the city had already grown considerably vibrant.
In every pleasure house in this city, one could now find women of the southern Wu Dynasty’s nobility reduced to prostitution; in every shop, one or two slaves seized from the south, roped and branded on the cheek, could be found forced into labor. This was, at present, truly the age of the Jurchens’ unrivaled dominance over the realm, and their ambitions had not yet been exhausted. Rising stars and men of talent gathered in this city in great numbers — but of course, the dealings and transactions of every stratum, in every hidden corner, never once ceased either.
In a courtyard on the city’s east side, two groups were meeting.
“A few months back, when people came in great numbers, it was easy enough to manage. Lately the inspections have grown stricter, so the price has gone up a bit from before.” A stern-faced Jurchen official took the gold and silver from the other man’s hand, frowning as he counted it, still talking as he did so. “Besides, what you’re asking for this time are specifically men skilled in this particular trade — that can certainly still be arranged, only… it’ll likely cost more still. Don’t say I didn’t warn you in advance.”
“Of course, of course.” The Jurchen man in fine robes, the one paying, laughed. “As long as Seventh Lord can help me secure sole rights to the fireworks trade in the Upper Capital, money is no object. Mm, Seventh Lord, these contracts here — there shouldn’t be any problems with them, should there?”
“Of course not. They’re all official contracts — you’re welcome to examine them yourself, right here.”
“If Seventh Lord says there’s no problem, then there’s no need to look.” The finely-dressed man tucked the documents into his robe.
“Going from here back to the Upper Capital, you’ll be fine — just don’t go wandering off wherever you please along the way.” The other man frowned slightly. “To be honest, once I’ve taken your money, what you do with these matters is your own business. These little piglets — use them however you like. If they refuse to work, beat them; if you beat one to death, just go pay the authorities. But if you cause trouble along the way and things go wrong, don’t you dare drag my name into it. If it weren’t for that fellow Wuyan vouching for you, I wouldn’t be doing this business with you at all.”
“Understood, Seventh Lord, don’t worry. Business, you know how it goes — the first deal is always a bit awkward, the second goes smoother. If this one goes fine, there’ll be more to come next time. Now’s exactly the right time — why would I stop at just a few piglets?”
“I can see you’re not that kind of man. Ah, but is the fireworks business really that good?”
“The Upper Capital is different from the Western Capital. Here in the west, it’s all rough soldiers — what do they know, besides pleasure houses and taverns? The people of the Upper Capital love a good spectacle — setting off fireworks and firecrackers at night. I used to have a few Liao craftsmen, but how could the Khitans possibly compare to the Wu Dynasty in this? That’s where the real mastery lies. Just you watch — I’m going to make a fortune on this.”
“Well, you deserve to profit from it.”
The two shared a laugh, and then went to the back to bring out the goods: five Wu Dynasty craftsmen in total, their faces branded with tattoos. One of them, having apparently offended someone, was still bruised and battered about the face; another had a broken arm at the elbow. The five stood there chained together, dressed in rags, their eyes vacant, skin stretched thin over bone.
The finely-dressed man expressed some displeasure over the man with the broken arm, but accepted the delivery all the same. He and his five subordinates led these five slaves out of the courtyard, heading toward the city’s east gate — a group of eleven in all — and before long, they were stopped for inspection.
That afternoon, Wanyan Xiyin returned home, spending some time with Chen Wenjun, technically his concubine but treated as his true wife. Before long, someone requested an audience — a trusted general he’d assigned to round up the gunpowder craftsmen. Wanyan Xiyin, showing no particular discretion, had the man brought right into the courtyard. The general bowed to Chen Wenjun, then reported quietly to Wanyan Xiyin: “There have been a few strange occurrences…”
Having heard him out, Wanyan Xiyin’s expression grew grave. After a moment, he waved a hand. “Understood. Look into it further.” The trusted general took his leave and withdrew. Wanyan Xiyin stood there, lost in thought a moment longer, before Chen Wenjun came over. “My lord, what is it?”
“…Nothing.” Wanyan Xiyin considered it a moment, then shook his head with a smile. “Just some clown making noise… Oh, that’s right — something significant happened recently in the Wu Dynasty, I haven’t told you about it yet…”
The setting sun deepened toward red. In the courtyard planted with all manner of flowers and trees, this general whose name shook the realm held his wife close, speaking softly with her; she laughed occasionally, and the two of them, leaning together in the glow of sunset, formed a silhouette of quiet happiness.
…
Late in the seventh month, the city of Yanzhou bustled with activity.
Li Pin sat on the stone steps by the small plaza, watching a crowd nearby weeping and protesting. Tie Tianying, disguised as a merchant, stood beside him, frowning. “This Ning Liheng — what exactly is he up to…”
By late June, the battle at Dongzhiyuan had, over the following month, spread and taken hold across the realm, shaking everyone to their core. Li Pin had left Small Azure River in a state of near-total despair, but upon hearing this news, he too had been utterly astonished. A man who spoke of overturning Confucianism itself, in that tone he’d used back in Small Azure River, naturally gave the first impression of madness. Yet when the Black Banner Army, with a mere ten thousand men, crushed an army of over a hundred thousand Western Xia troops, single-handedly reversing the entire strategic balance of the northwest in the midst of such crisis — whatever this madman said or did, it could no longer simply be ignored.
Li Pin had no idea how to defeat him, didn’t even know where to begin — but after much deliberation, he decided to come see for himself. Along the way, by sheer coincidence, he’d run into Tie Tianying, and the two had traveled together from there.
After taking Yanzhou, the Black Banner Army had also seized the vast quantities of grain the Western Xia had previously harvested from the area. They’d then done something peculiar within the city: going household by household, they’d compiled a complete census, and had announced these past few days that anyone whose name appeared on the register could come write the two characters for “Huaxia” and receive a fixed grain ration per person.
Writing two characters in exchange for grain — this was something never before seen in the entire northwest, and some people were overjoyed by it. But there were also plenty of longtime residents here — originally wealthy households — who’d been hoping that once the imperial troops returned, their original lands would be restored to them; now, reduced to nothing more than a fixed per-person grain ration, how could they possibly accept this? Before long, these local gentry and great households had put forward representatives, attempting to make contact and negotiate with the Black Banner Army’s leadership — a process that had already dragged on for several days, and was still ongoing.
During this same period, outside Yanzhou, the Zhe family’s army had reclaimed Qingjian City, and the Zhong family’s army had taken Yuanzhou; the Black Banner Army, having taken Yanzhou, had made no further moves. And after Western Xia’s king Li Qianshun’s crushing defeat, most of his forces had begun retreating north; before long, Li Qianshun himself had appeared, already on his way back to his own country — for the clan-based Tangut people, having suffered such a devastating defeat, with their emperor missing for several days on top of it, there was nothing to do but return and stabilize the situation, contending with the various chieftains for control.
Yet Qingzhou, along with several other smaller towns captured earlier, still remained under Western Xia military control for the time being. Though the forces left there now were of weak fighting capacity, the Zhe family, ever cautious, and the Zhong family, its strength already spent, still found taking Qingzhou no easy matter.
Everyone at this point was watching closely to see what the Black Banner Army would do next. If this army genuinely pressed toward Qingzhou and displayed the same invincible combat power and novel firearms as before, crushing these Western Xia forces would surely present no great difficulty at all. And if a battle of this scale could happen once more, it would give the various factions watching from the sidelines an even clearer picture of the Black Banner Army’s true strength.
The Western Xia envoy bearing the Han name Lin Houxuan waited in the courtyard; before long, someone came to invite him inside, and he found himself once again face to face with the man who had once been the regicide of Small Azure River.
This still rather youthful leader of the Black Banner Army was writing at his desk when Lin Houxuan glanced over — the line he could faintly make out read something like “Having crossed through calamity, brothers still remain; meeting again, we laugh together…” — the rest unfinished, and Lin Houxuan couldn’t tell for whom it was intended. As Lin Houxuan bowed in greeting, the man looked up, set down his brush, and came forward with a smile.
“Ha ha, Brother Lin, we meet again. No need for formalities — please, sit, sit.”
“Greetings, Master Ning.”
“I said no need for formalities. Sit, I’ll pour you some tea.”
Ning Yi remained standing, so Lin Houxuan stayed on his feet as well. Before long, Ning Yi had simply brewed two cups of hot tea, sat down, and waved a hand — only then did Lin Houxuan finally take his own seat beside him.
“I won’t beat around the bush.” Once seated, Ning Yi spoke directly. “Over these past few months, there have been some misunderstandings, some unpleasant incidents. Neither side has had an easy time of it since — under these circumstances, I’m glad Brother Lin was willing to come.”
Lin Houxuan fell silent a moment. “The Huaxia Army is formidable. I admit as much.”
“But I have a rather unpolished view on these misunderstandings — would Brother Lin care to hear it?”
“…Please, go on.”
“I think it’s all your fault.”
“…”
Hearing this from Ning Yi, Lin Houxuan frowned, blinking, apparently unsure what expression to wear. Ning Yi set down his teacup.
“Here’s how it is — we in the Huaxia Army never wanted a war at all. We just wanted to do business. Before you came to Small Azure River, our people had been reaching out on all sides, and we’d made contact with you Western Xia too. Then you show up and demand our surrender, telling us that the people of Huaxia don’t submit to foreign powers — that’s a matter of principle. We won’t submit, but we can cooperate. You people were too domineering, insisted on blockading us, even reached out to the Jurchens — what were we supposed to do? We only wanted peaceful coexistence, never wanted to fight, and yet it all came to this…”
Ning Yi’s tone remained calm, but as he continued, his gaze had already begun to grow stern and cold. “But it’s fortunate, at least, that we both value peace above all. Everything can still be discussed.”