The autumn rain poured down, beating loose the yellow leaves and withered grass on the mountainside, swept into the streams and rivers, gathering into the last torrent before winter’s arrival.
Looking down from the mountainside, Little Cangriver appeared calm in this autumn rain — rows of houses, packed close together yet somewhat monotonous, straight and orderly streets, passersby walking along them, an empty, deserted training ground. Mountain water poured into the river; the heavy rain rippled across the surface of the reservoir. Fan Hongji watched all this, recalling the thunderous roar of water release at the dam by the mountain entrance — lively yet monotonous.
This mission would be hard to bring to a good result.
While entering the mountains, he had already learned that the Jurchen spies originally stationed near Little Cangriver had been wiped out to the last man by Little Cangriver’s people. Though these Jurchen spies might not have anticipated this beforehand, the fact that not a single one had been left alive was proof enough of the extensive preparations Little Cangriver had made for this.
After washing up and straightening his robes in the room arranged for him by Little Cangriver’s soldiers, Fan Hongji, guided by a soldier, opened an umbrella and made his way up the mountain path. The sky was dim, and gusts of wind came now and then through the heavy rain. As he neared the mountainside, he could already see the small courtyard with its warm yellow lamplight. The scholar named Ning Yi was speaking with his wife and child under the eaves; seeing Fan Hongji, he stood up, and his wife said something with a smile, taking the child’s hand and turning back into the house. Ning Yi looked at him and spread his hands. “Envoy Fan, please come in.”
This meeting was different from any of their previous ones.
Though Ning Yi still wore a smile, Fan Hongji could clearly sense a change in the atmosphere within the rain-soaked air. In that face across from him, something was missing from the smile — it had grown deeper, more complicated. In their previous exchanges and negotiations, Fan Hongji had always been able to sense, beneath the other man’s seemingly calm and composed manner, certain intentions and aims, a faint urgency — but at this moment, all of that had completely vanished.
Fan Hongji was no novice at the negotiating table. It was precisely because he had sensed those faint undertones in the other man’s attitude that he had felt this negotiation still had an opening, and he had genuinely believed he could find that opening. But only now, at this moment, did his heart sink with the thought: so it really has come to this.
He stood in the rain, not stepping inside, only clasping his hands in salute. “If at all possible, I still hope Master Ning might return the Jurchen brothers who were originally stationed outside the valley. If so, there might yet be room to turn things around.”
Ning Yi stood beneath the eaves looking at him, hands clasped behind his back, then shook his head. “Envoy Fan is overthinking. This time, we made no particular effort to keep any heads.”
His gaze drifted off into the distance, and Ning Yi turned and walked straight back into the house. Fan Hongji froze for a moment, then, after a beat, had no choice but to follow. It was the same study as before; Fan Hongji glanced around. “In the past, whenever I came, Master Ning was always so busy. Now it seems you’ve become rather idle. Though I expect you won’t remain idle for much longer.”
“Please, sit. Stealing half a day’s leisure from a floating life — but really, life ought to be busy, no need to fuss over such things.” Ning Yi held a brush and was writing on rice paper. “Since Envoy Fan has come, I’ll make use of this idle moment to write you a piece of calligraphy.”
“I hear Master Ning, after defeating the Western Xia, wrote a piece of calligraphy for the Western Xia king — something like, ‘Brothers remain after weathering all calamities, meeting again with a smile that dissolves old grudges.’ The Western Xia king found it deeply shameful, and is said to hang it in his study every day as encouragement. Could it be Master Ning intends to write another piece to provoke, for me to carry back and irritate the various lords of my Jin court?”
“Not at all. Envoy Fan is overthinking.”
Ning Yi smiled. Fan Hongji sat in a chair, watching Ning Yi write. “Under all heaven, there are few who could force Marshal Loushi back on equal terms. The battle at Yanzhou — you fought it well.”
“The Huaxia Army’s formation coordination and the soldiers’ morale performed reasonably well,” Ning Yi said, straightening his brush. “Marshal Wanyan’s command of troops is masterful beyond words — admirable, too. Next, we’ll see who dies on this ancient plain.”
“Does the Huaxia Army truly have to go this far?” Fan Hongji frowned, staring at Ning Yi. “I have always considered myself to have treated Master Ning, and everyone at Little Cangriver, well. I’ve spoken up for Little Cangriver on several occasions — Lord Gushen, Director Shi, and others have already changed their minds; it’s not impossible to share this realm with the people of Little Cangriver. Master Ning should know this is a dead-end road.”
“Mm, most likely so,” Ning Yi nodded.
“Then why?” Fan Hongji looked at him. “Since Master Ning no longer intends to dance around with me or feign ignorance, then whether or not you mean to kill me, before that happens, why not tell me clearly? Even if I’m to die, I’d rather die understanding why.”
Ning Yi was silent for a moment. “Because, you see — you’re not interested in doing business.”
“Haven’t we been negotiating all along?”
“The people of Huaxia do not submit to foreign states. There’s nothing to negotiate there — how could there be?”
Fan Hongji laughed and stood up abruptly. “Such is the great trend of the realm — Master Ning may send people out to see for himself! North of the Yellow River, our Jin state already holds the advantage. This southern campaign, this vast expanse of land, our Jin state means to take it all. As far as I know, Master Ning himself once said that within three years, our Jin state will hold everything north of the Yangtze! Master Ning is no fool — could it be you mean to stand against this great trend?”
He paused. “And yet, Master Ning should also know — this occupation is not that kind of occupation. Naturally our Jin state cannot swallow this realm whole in one bite; in a chaotic age like this, it’s only natural that heroes and strongmen should rise up on all sides. What we currently hold the advantage in, first and foremost, is simply legitimate title and standing — like Tian Hu and the Zhe family, who submitted to us; as long as they’re willing to bow their heads in name, we’ve made no difficulty for them whatsoever! Master Ning, allow me to be bold — please consider, if everything north of the Yangtze, no, even just everything north of the Yellow River, submitted to our great Jin, and you, as someone of standing within Jin, with Little Cangriver as formidable as it is, yet you won’t even bow your head in name — do you truly think our great Jin could possibly let you remain?”
“A great man can bend as well as stand firm. To truly accomplish great things, sometimes one must admit that circumstance is stronger than the individual. Master Ning, when I first came as envoy, I understood little of Little Cangriver, but this time, I truly and sincerely wish to see this matter through. This is the land of the north — Prince Zongfu has already taken Yingtian and is now attacking Xuzhou, Marshal Zonghan has broken through Bian Liang. North of the Yellow River, no one can hold out! You need only nod your head, express your willingness to submit, and everything else can be discussed. For a few years, our Jin state will not interfere with you; and after a few years, who’s to say you and I might not become friends? Give yourself a way out, and give the people of this valley, and the heroes outside it, a way out too.”
Fan Hongji’s tone was earnest; he paused again. “Master Ning may not be aware — Marshal Loushi respects heroes above all else. That the Huaxia Army could force him back outside Yanzhou, fighting him to a draw, means he can only hold the Huaxia Army in high regard, never resentment. After this battle, aside from our Jin state, you are the strongest force in this realm. North of the Yellow River, you are the most likely to rise. Master Ning, give me a way down the steps, give Lord Gushen and Director Shi a way down the steps, give Marshal Zonghan a way down the steps. Go any further, and there truly is no road left. Everything I have to say, from the bottom of my heart, is here.”
He extended a hand, tilting his head to look at Ning Yi, utterly sincere. Ning Yi looked back at him and set down his brush.
“…There was a man once, called Liu Chen — the son of Liu Shan of the Three Kingdoms era,” Ning Yi said slowly, meeting Fan Hongji’s earnest gaze. “Not much of his story survives. In the sixth year of Jingyao, when Deng Ai led his troops to Chengdu, Liu Shan decided to surrender, and Liu Chen tried hard to stop him. After Liu Shan surrendered, Liu Chen went to the Zhaolie Temple, wept bitterly, and took his own life.”
His tone was flat, without much rise or fall; after finishing with a smile, silence fell over the room. After a moment, Fan Hongji narrowed his eyes. “Master Ning tells me this — could it be you truly intend to…”
“Why not?”
“I thought Master Ning was a clever man… you might have other reasons, but surely not for this…”
“A clever man…” Ning Yi smiled, murmuring the words over. “What good is being clever? The Jurchens march south, and everything north of the Yellow River has indeed fallen — yet has Envoy Fan truly never seen those who look death in the face without flinching? One here, one there — somewhere, every single day. In this world, much can be negotiated, but there are always certain bottom lines. On the very first day Envoy Fan arrived, I already told you: the people of Huaxia do not submit to foreign states. Your Jin state is indeed formidable, cutting a swath through everything with little to stand in your way — but a line is a line. Even if everything north of the Yangtze is taken by you, even if everyone else submits, Little Cangriver will not submit — that too remains the line. Envoy Fan, I too would like very much to be friends with you all, but as you can see, it cannot be done. I suppose I’ll simply have to give this piece of calligraphy to your Lord Gushen instead — I hear he’s quite fond of Han scholarship. Pity the ink hasn’t dried yet.”
Fan Hongji did not look at the calligraphy, only at him. After a moment, he tilted his head again. His gaze drifted to the rain outside the window; he weighed things over for a long while before, at last, nodding with great difficulty.
“I understand…” he said, somewhat hoarsely. “I made inquiries about Master Ning’s reputation while I was outside. Here in the Wu Dynasty, they call you the Demon of the Heart. I had thought you were a man of endless cunning and stratagem, but watching the Huaxia Army’s style on the battlefield, that’s simply not the case. I had my doubts, and now I understand — it was mere rumor spread by the world. Master Ning, so this is truly the kind of man you are… and it must be so, otherwise you would never have killed the sovereign of the Wu Dynasty and brought things to this point.”
Ning Yi smiled. “Envoy Fan is mistaken again. On the battlefield, it’s only when one can win head-on that scheming and stratagem have any room to be useful. If there’s not even the possibility of winning head-on, then to resort to schemes and tricks would only invite ridicule. The armies of the Wu Dynasty relied far too much on scheming and tricks — I fear that sickness hasn’t been fully rooted out yet, and so I dare not rely on it too much myself.”
The room fell silent again. Fan Hongji’s gaze idly swept across the characters on the desk, and then suddenly froze at a certain spot. After a moment he raised his head, closed his eyes, and let out a breath. “Master Ning — there will be no living souls left in Little Cangriver.”
He said it word by word. “You — your family here — none of them can survive. Whether it’s Marshal Loushi or anyone else who comes, the people here will die. This little place of yours will become a pit of ten thousand corpses. I… there’s nothing more I can say.”
As Fan Hongji strode out of the courtyard, the autumn rain across the whole valley showed no sign of stopping, falling on and on toward the horizon. He walked back to the guest room where he was staying, spread out the calligraphy Ning Yi had written, and looked at it again. His fist slammed onto the table. In his mind rang Ning Yi’s final words.
“No, Envoy Fan, we can make a wager — this place will certainly not become a pit of ten thousand corpses. It will be a pit of a hundred thousand, a million.”
—Take the poem; send the men.
On the paper, the ink had not yet dried.
…
Lord and vassal alike bent the knee in shame, one son alone was left in grief. Gone now the affairs of western Shu, yet how heroic, that Prince of the Northern Land! He gave his body to repay his fallen sire, scratched his head and wept toward heaven’s vault. Stern and unyielding, as if he still stood among us — who says the House of Han has truly perished?
—In that small valley, Fan Hongji felt the air itself ring with the scent of war and death. At that moment he no longer knew whether this man named Ning was clever or a fool; he only knew that this place had become a land of no surrender, no rest, until death. He no longer had room to negotiate, and wished only to leave as quickly as possible.
…
History is often unchanged by the participation of ordinary people, yet the changes of history are, just as often, brought about by the participation of countless ordinary people.
As Zhuo Yongqing trudged up the muddy mountain path, his chest still ached. All around him, his comrades in the squad were still climbing up one after another. Squad leader Mao Yishan stood in the rain, wiped his mud-streaked cheek, and spat. “Damn this weather…”
Not far off, the first company’s commander, nicknamed Luo the Madman — Luo Ye — had slipped and fallen, and was now covered head to toe in mud, looking even more wretched. Someone shouted in the rain, “Which way now?”
This was the question on everyone’s mind. Luo Ye, bracing his leg, caught his breath for a moment and pointed ahead. “Forward! Catch up with the main force!”
“Forward where, Luo the Madman?”
“…Just forward for now!”
The cold, driving rain soaked everyone through to the bone. This was already the territory of Qingzhou. The great battle between the Huaxia Army and the Jurchen Western Route Army was still raging without pause.
The first two days of this great battle had been more or less a continuous chase and standoff — the Huaxia Army, relying on tenacious formation discipline and high morale, tried to drag the Jurchen army, burdened as it was by infantry, into a bogged-down frontal engagement, while Wanyan Loushi harassed with cavalry, fighting as he withdrew. By the third day, all sorts of intense friction and small-scale fighting had begun to break out.
Wanyan Loushi used cavalry in the smallest possible units, harassing the Huaxia Army almost around the clock from every direction. The Huaxia Army, meanwhile, while escorting with its own cavalry, clung tenaciously to the enemy’s infantry formation. In the middle of the night, they also repeatedly pushed the artillery formation toward the enemy camp. This style of fighting could not wear down the enemy’s cavalry to death, but it could keep the Jurchen infantry in a constant state of high tension.
Deterrence was not merely deterrence — several skirmishes and high-intensity clashes nearly escalated into full-scale charges, but each time, Wanyan Loushi feinted and disengaged. By the third day, this state of affairs had begun to wear down willpower as well. The Huaxia Army preserved its strength by resting in rotation each day; the Jurchens, too, found the harassment extremely difficult — the enemy did have cavalry, and its formation was like a tortoise shell; once a charge began, with strong crossbows firing, even their own cavalry could hardly avoid losses. By the fourth and fifth days, the entire situation in the northwest was quietly shifting.
The Zhong family’s army, hauling supplies and provisions, had caught up. In Yanzhou and other places, large-scale agitation for resistance against the Jin had begun. Every day the Huaxia Army pressed the Jurchen army, that flame burned hotter still. Wanyan Loushi, too, had begun sending men to summon those who had submitted from various places to gather toward this front, including the still-watching Zhe family — envoys had already been dispatched, merely awaiting their arrival.
While people everywhere were stirring into motion, it was the friction at the central battlefield, some twenty-odd thousand men on each side, that remained the most intense of all. Wanyan Loushi, while constantly shifting position, had already begun sending troops to try to strike at the Black Banner Army’s rear, at the supply and provision units coming from Yanzhou city, while the Huaxia Army had likewise sent men out, using formations of roughly a thousand men each to intercept and cut down Jurchen cavalry units at various points, trying to sever and scatter the Jurchens’ reach across the mountainous terrain.
Over these past few days, every battle, whatever its scale, had been intense enough to leave people gasping. It had started raining the day before, and after nightfall the fighting that erupted suddenly was especially fierce. Luo Ye, Qu Qing, and others led their units in pursuit of Jurchen cavalry, and it eventually turned into a sprawling melee. Many people became separated from their units; Zhuo Yongqing was knocked down the mountainside by a Jurchen warhorse during the fighting, and it was a long while before he found his comrades again. It was still morning now, and occasionally they came across scattered wounded Jurchens nearby, whom they rushed over to kill.
A group gradually gathered together, and after considerable effort searching the area, the assembled Huaxia Army soldiers numbered some forty or fifty — enough to show how chaotic the previous night had been. Only after climbing this hillside did they realize they were lost.
The Huaxia Army’s advance was mainly aimed at the Jurchen forces — as long as they kept pressure on them for even a day, the anti-Jurchen momentum in the northwest would grow stronger. But Wanyan Loushi’s troop movements were unpredictable; after last night’s great battle, this group had ended up at the edge of the battlefield, and they couldn’t say for certain which way the Jurchens would shift, or which way the Huaxia Army would pursue.
After a brief pause, the group decided to keep heading in the general direction they’d been going before — forward. In any case, first get out of this muddy stretch of land and dry themselves off.
And so, in the endless rain, a group of mud-yellow figures made their way forward along this mountain path…