“His Majesty is bedridden. On the Tianhui side, Zongfu and Zongbi wish to gather their forces to move against Jiangnan… According to reports, Lord Alubu has taken his troops south for training and has already moved the main army to the Hebei camp. The new forces that Zongpan and Zongjun trained at Xijin Prefecture are also ready for war. Lord Wanyan Chang submitted a request for military supplies yesterday, double last year’s amount — cannons, ammunition and the like now account for seventy percent of the Dazao Institute’s stores. He’s pressing hard, and the request already bears His Majesty’s seal…” “If he’s pressing so hard, how will it all be shipped out?” “The messenger said that Lord Gushen has, these past two years, been holding back the fine iron meant for Lord Zongbi’s Iron Pagoda cavalry…”

The rain poured down outside. Inside the room at the Marshal’s residence, once everyone had taken their seats, it was Wanyan Shaba’s voice reporting first, followed by a scornful laugh from Gao Qingyi, to which Wanyan Shaba responded with the same line of reasoning back.

Though it’s said the whole year’s plans are laid in spring, in the north the snow and ice melted late this year, and on top of that came the great matter of Wuqimai’s stroke. Coordination between the eastern and western branches of power had, by this point at the turn of spring into summer, still not been settled — on one hand there was the matter of finalizing external strategy, and on the other, the old Emperor’s stroke meant that the crown prince’s ascension was fast becoming a major issue. During this period, maneuvering and jockeying for position, open and covert alike, were underway everywhere. As for the great strategy of marching south, since it was raised anew every single year, this informal gathering had everyone speaking with unusual ease.

“We shouldn’t speak carelessly. The Fourth Prince’s forceful character is a blessing to our Jin state. Plans against the south have been in the works for more than a day or two — if it truly happens this year, it might not be a bad thing at all.” “In that case, we ought to clear the road through the Central Plains for him.” “Last year in the Central Plains, the Black Banner was stirring, and with all that chaos over Tian Hu, we held back and didn’t act. Now it seems it’s time to make a move. Such credit shouldn’t go only to the princes of the west.”

Everyone in the room chimed in with their own remarks; men like Yinshuke, who held actual military command, spoke bluntly about the key points of a southern campaign. The southern campaign was debated every single year, and everyone had their thoughts ready at hand — yet within this casual, joking atmosphere, every word carried some undertone of careful ambiguity. Zonghan had not called this a formal meeting; he simply listened with a smile on his face, while beside him Wanyan Xiyin kept his eyes lowered. Only once the mood had cooled somewhat did he reach out and tap the table.

“Marching south and taking the Central Plains has never been the hard part. Qi has always been our Great Jin’s vassal state — Liu Yu is useless, so we simply take it back. The difficulty is that the Central Plains is vast, and holding it firmly in hand is another matter entirely. His Majesty has governed diligently, and we’ve rested and rebuilt for over ten years, yet our Jurchen numbers have never grown by much. It used to be said that fewer than ten thousand Jurchen could not be defeated — but over these ten-odd years, how many of the younger generation have grown indulgent in pleasure and let our Jurchen reputation slip? Such men exist in both your households and mine. I’ve said this many times before — we must stay vigilant!”

Xiyin’s gaze passed over everyone present — all old generals forged in seas of blood and battlefields, and even the Han among them possessed real courage; they all nodded deeply at his words. Xiyin paused. “It’s precisely because our Jurchen numbers are few that we divided the people under our rule into five ranks, governing them layer by layer, so as to secure stability. Ruling the former territory of the Liao proved manageable enough, but if we mean to swallow the Central Plains, all these rules must be strictly established and enforced. The Central Plains is vast, its Southerner population numbering many millions — if we truly mean to seize full power from Liu Yu’s hands, we must begin, within these next few years, encouraging migration southward. Jurchen, Balhae, Khitan, Han — we will need at least several hundred thousand, if not a million, to relocate there before it takes effect. This was something that could originally wait, but since Zongfu and Zongbi have grand ambitions, we… can only pave the way for them.”

His expression was solemn, and at the end of his words, he glanced at Zonghan; most of the others followed suit, looking over at Zonghan as well. Gao Qingyi rose and cupped his hands. “Gushen speaks with reason.” Others voiced their agreement as well. Zonghan looked at Xiyin, then cupped his hands with a smile. “Gushen speaks like a seasoned statesman with the nation’s interest at heart.” He glanced around the room. “Very well. His Majesty lies ill, the times are unsettled, and a southern campaign… would drain the people and exhaust the treasury. Whether to go through with it or not, we’ll gather the generals in the next few days and settle it properly. Today was just to bring everyone together to talk it over loosely, see what people think. Don’t leave yet — two new cooks have come to the household, and they roast lamb well; we’ll dine together shortly. I still have military matters to see to first.”

He waved over a steward to bring tea, refreshments, music and dance. Xiyin stood up. “I have some matters to attend to as well — I won’t stay for dinner.” Zonghan raised a hand. “I’ll see Xiyin out myself.”

Zonghan wore a great fur cloak, bold and burly in stature; Xiyin too was sturdy and strong, only somewhat taller and leaner. The two walked out together, and the others, sensing they had things to discuss privately, did not follow. As they went, a steward walked ahead, waving away the household servants, and the two men passed through the hall and long corridors in a quiet that felt almost private. They were now two of the most powerful men in the realm, and yet the life-and-death bond forged in poverty and hardship, built with their own bare hands, had not been diluted much by all this power.

They chatted idly along the way. Zonghan mentioned the newly hired cooks. “Balhae women, sent over by Da Yuanxi. Tall and haughty, big-footed, quite rough in bed, and their cooking’s only middling. When word got out that I’d taken them, Da Yuanxi was so pleased he rushed right over to thank me. If you’re interested, Xiyin, I’ll send you one.” “The Marshal jokes.” Xiyin shook his head, then after a moment said, “You saw for yourself today what the generals think. A man may have no wish to harm the tiger, but the tiger may still wish to harm him. The Marshal really ought to take the Central Plains matter more seriously.”

“When has a Jurchen man ever feared bear or tiger?” Zonghan clasped his hands behind his back, unconcerned. After walking a few more steps, he turned his head slightly. “Gushen, all these years fighting north and south — has Nian Han ever clung greedily to power?” “The Marshal has never clung to power.” “Only because I’ve never needed to cling to it.” Zonghan waved a hand. “Wherever I am — that is power itself!”

The rain roared on. “Back when you, I, Aguda and a few thousand troops first rose up, Zongfu and Zongbi were still snot-nosed children. We’ve fought for so many years now…” His expression turned solemn; he gave a small sigh, and clenched his fist. “I promised Aguda I would watch over our Jurchen people. What do these children understand! Without this Marshal’s residence, the Jin state would fall into chaos, the Central Plains would fall into chaos! Even if I handed the Central Plains to him on a platter, he couldn’t manage to hold it down!” “I already knew the Marshal felt this way.” “The Central Plains matters little — but to onlookers, it would look like I’m fighting the younger generation for power. Shameful!” Zonghan swung his hand sharply and turned to walk on. “If this were ten years ago, I’d have slapped Zongbi to death with the back of my hand!” There was fury woven into his voice.

Ever since the founding of the Jin state, though it had swept the field unchallenged, the greatest problem it had always faced was that the Jurchen population was simply too small. Many of its policies stemmed from this single premise.

This was the origin of the twin eastern and western political centers. With such a vast territory and so thin a ruling class, a single core of control simply could not react to everything in time. It was Zonghan’s extraordinary talent and forceful temperament that made up for this deficiency; the Marshal’s residence controlled not only the western Jin territories but also a great deal of Central Plains affairs — a structure that looked unwieldy, top-heavy and hard to rein in, but without it, given how rudimentary Jurchen governance still was, not only would controlling the Central Plains from afar have been impossible, but the Jin state’s own territory would likely have fallen into turmoil.

Beyond this, the Jin state’s current ethnic policy had also been designed over these years to compensate for the scarcity of Jurchen people. Within Jin territory, the first-class people were of course the Jurchen; the second class were the Balhae, who had once been on good terms with the Jurchen — a kingdom founded by Dae Joyeong in the Tang era, later destroyed by the Liao. Some of its remaining people, led by Dae Gwang-hyeon, resisted the Khitan and tried to restore their kingdom, migrating to Goryeo, while others remained under Khitan oppression. When the Jin state was founded, these people were given preferential treatment; Da Yuanxi, who had sent the cooks to Zonghan, was now a prominent social figure among Balhae circles within Jin aristocratic society.

Third among these ranks were the Khitan, whose kingdom had now fallen but who were still counted as valiant. Fourth were the Han — those who had once lived within Liao territory. But the Han were clever, and some of them had done reasonably well within the Jin regime, such as Gao Qingyi and Shi Li’ai, who counted as trusted, capable ministers relied upon heavily by Zonghan. As for the people of the Central Plains south of Yanmen Pass, to the Jin state these were not even considered Han at all — they were generally called Southerners, the fifth rank, and within Jin territory, most of them held the status of slaves.

By dividing people into ranks and granting privilege accordingly, managing them layer upon layer downward, the Jin regime could maintain its hold — but once the Jurchen moved to formally subjugate the Central Plains and Jiangnan, the difficulty involved would double again. Even after ten years of rest and recovery under Wuqimai’s rule, the Jurchen population remained, in the end, insufficient.

Now, with Wuqimai bedridden with illness, Zongfu and the others were, on the one hand, pressing to have the power of Zonghan’s Marshal’s residence curtailed, and on the other, secretly preparing a southern campaign — all in order to seize military credit and build up their own influence, hoping to subdue the Marshal’s residence before Wuqimai passed from this world.

For the Marshal’s residence, the response was simple enough in principle — but Zonghan, a man who had spent his entire life in war and who was immensely proud, had been second in rank only to Aguda himself even while Aguda still lived. To be provoked now by a few children left him seething with anger.

On the one hand, they were judging a noble heart by the standards of petty men, measuring him against their own filthy ambitions. On the other — no matter how much these children schemed, what could they possibly do to him!?

Touched on this raw nerve, he had fallen somewhat silent in the face of his subordinates’ subsequent reminders. Xiyin and the others approached the matter obliquely, partly to advise him toward the most rational course of action, and partly — as only Xiyin and a handful of his closest confidants would admit — out of fear that the Marshal, in a fit of rage, might do something rash. The succession of power within the Jin state was not, at least for now, a straightforward passage from father to son, and there was no guarantee it never would be some other way in the future — but precisely for that reason, all the more caution was needed. Of course, such thoughts could never be spoken aloud at all.

Having spoken for a while now, Zonghan, though somewhat angry, had in front of Xiyin at least shown his hand in some measure. Xiyin smiled. “As long as the Marshal keeps this in mind, that’s enough. Beauties grow old, heroes age too, and the younger generation is just now at the age of tigers and wolves… If it were Zongfu, whose temperament is gentler, it wouldn’t matter so much. But Zongbi has been suspicious and self-willed since childhood, and now that Zongwang is gone, no one can restrain him easily. Ten years ago I beat him until he howled — ten years from now, I may have to be more wary of him. One day, when you and I are gone, our own children may find themselves chased down and beaten by him.”

“You’ve read too many books, Xiyin, and it’s given you too many worries. Deal with them yourself.” Zonghan laughed and waved a hand. “Zongbi can’t stir up much of a storm. But since they mean to act, how could we not keep a watchful eye. I’m old now, and my temper’s grown a bit large, but I still know when to let something go.”

By the time this exchange had run its course, they had drawn near the outer edge of the Marshal’s residence. Xiyin nodded, exchanged a few more idle words, then hesitated slightly. “Actually, there is one more matter I’ve come to confess to the Marshal today.” Zonghan turned back, and found Xiyin already cupping his hands and bowing low. Zonghan’s expression turned serious as he reached out to stop him. “What earth-shaking matter is this?” “Trouble in my own household, some things that need handling, which also bear some relation to the Marshal… I’m on my way to deal with it now.”

Zonghan studied him seriously for a moment, then raised a hand with easy nonchalance. “Whatever’s wrong in your household, go handle it yourself. Between the two of us, what need is there for such words… Related to me? Do you need to deal with anyone from the Marshal’s residence?” “That won’t be necessary…” “Then off you go. I have too many affairs of state to attend to — I don’t have time to hear about the domestic troubles of your household, Xiyin.”

He saw him as far as the gate, saying, “The rain’s heavy — I won’t see you further.” He watched as Xiyin put on his cloak, hung his sword at his side, and climbed into his carriage. Only after cupping his hands in farewell did Zonghan’s expression turn serious again for a moment.

Xiyin’s wife was Han, a fact occasionally discussed among the Jurchen upper class. Could she have done something that had now come to light? That would truly be a headache. Marshal Wanyan Zonghan shook his head and turned back toward the residence.

… In the dim light, the sound of the pouring rain drowned out everything else. The cave reeked of damp and decay, blood mixed into the stench, and amid the downpour, he woke from a stupor. By the faint light seeping in, he knew he was not yet dead.

Ever since ten years ago, dying had become far harder than one might imagine.

Perhaps it was because of that assassination ten years ago — everyone else had died, and only he had lived. Because of that, those heroes seemed to remain with him always, as if determined to keep him alive in just this way.

Still, he wasn’t the only one. Over the years, he had heard word that another had survived that day’s assassination attempt on Nian Han — Senior Fulu, who had stood at Grandmaster Zhou’s side. He had carried Grandmaster Zhou’s head out from that great battle, and later buried it, telling the location afterward to the Heart Demon, Ning Yi. It was said that once the realm was finally settled, the Black Banner Army would make public the site of Grandmaster Zhou’s remains, so that later generations could pay their respects.

He didn’t know whether this was true, but judging from the Heart Demon’s character and conduct over these years, he doubted the man would lie about something like this. Even though killing an emperor was something the whole realm reviled, even those who hated the Heart Demon most had to admit that, in certain respects, the man truly stood as tall and upright as any hero could.

He himself could never match that, and so all he could do was come here and play the role of a common man doing what he could. He wondered where Senior Fulu was now — ten years had passed; was the man even still alive in this world?

His wounds tangled and throbbing, his spirit weary, he let his thoughts wander for a while, wondering whether he might simply never die at all. He had made two attempts on Nian Han’s life already; once he recovered from this one, he would have to go make a third.

To survive and strike at Nian Han three times running — such a feat would drop everyone’s jaw!

Just as his mind wandered like this, amid the sound of rain outside, some faint, fragmentary noise suddenly rose up. Shi Jin gripped his bronze staff and forced himself to stand. Then someone began knocking haphazardly outside the cave. —Her? Shi Jin frowned. Then the person slowly came in. Shi Jin moved close, resting his hand lightly against the newcomer’s throat without pressing down, since it was a woman — but if she meant him any harm, he could snap her neck in an instant.

“…H-hero… you really are here.” The woman gave a start at first, then steadied herself. “How did you find your way here?” “This humble woman told you already, I would bring the hero medicine.”

This strange woman was someone he had encountered on the day of his second attempt. She was Han, wearing a veil, and clearly knew the terrain outside Datong extremely well. After Shi Jin had fought his way out of the city and fled, she had found him. His first thought had been to kill her, but instead she had given him medicine for his wounds and pointed him toward two places he might hide. Distrustful of who she really was, Shi Jin had taken the medicine but examined it with extreme care before using it, and had chosen not to hide in either of the places she’d suggested. He had not expected that, two days later, she would find him again.

“I was originally the daughter of a Wu Dynasty official’s household, taken captive and brought north. Later, a great Jurchen figure saved me, and that’s how I’ve managed to live here. Over the years, we’ve also saved a good many Han slaves and sent them back south. I know the hero doesn’t trust strangers, but you’re badly wounded, and if it isn’t treated, you surely won’t survive. These medicines are all of good quality and simple to prepare — the hero has walked the martial world a long time and surely has some knowledge of these things; you can examine and mix them yourself…”

This time the woman had brought raw ingredients for wound medicine, all of fine quality and not difficult to verify. Shi Jin had her taste a bit of each ingredient before he mixed the doses himself. While he applied the medicine, the woman couldn’t help sharing news from in and around Datong, and offering suggestions of her own — that Nian Han’s guard was formidably tight and hard to breach, and that with skills like his, rather than risk another assassination attempt, he might do better helping to gather intelligence and other tasks more useful to the Wu Dynasty, and so on.

Shi Jin listened to her chatter for a while, then asked, “Black Banner?” “This humble woman is not with the Black Banner.”

The woman shook her head, then spoke again of hiding places, pointing Shi Jin toward two new locations. “If the hero doesn’t trust me, we may find it hard to meet again. But if the hero comes to trust me, we can discuss other things in detail when next we meet. The northern lands are treacherous, and it’s never easy for those from the south to survive here. Take care, hero.”

With that, the woman rose and left. Shi Jin, having applied the medicine, felt somewhat more settled, and watched her gradually vanish into the curtain of rain before preparing to sleep again. But having moved through killing fields for so many years, even in his most relaxed moments he never fully let down his guard, and before long something in the woods outside began to feel amiss.

Shi Jin threw on his camouflage made of leaves and branches, left the cave, and moved stealthily for a moment before spotting search parties combing the mountainside from every direction. “That wretch!” He cursed under his breath without thinking, then his form flowed like water, vanishing into the rain that filled the sky…

… The rain went on falling. In this early-summer evening, darkness came early, and torchlight already flickered in the prison on the outskirts of Datong.

Torture was already underway. The whip flew through the air, tearing away flesh with every strike; the woman bound to the frame screamed hysterically, begging for mercy. Her clothes had already been shredded into rags by the lash, and her interrogators had simply torn off what remained. Her figure was fine, and in such interrogations, sexual abuse was common enough — but for now, at least, the interrogators were too eager to extract information to put their own lust first.

Now and then they paused the beating to question her, and amid her sobbing she would shake her head and continue to beg — though eventually she no longer even had the strength left to beg.

The door was flung open with a bang, and a tall figure entered, flanked by a retinue front and back. The figure wore a black cloak, a dark-gold longsword at his hip, and moved with vigorous steps. The interrogators in the cell hastily dropped to their knees in salute.

“The prefectural constables stay. Everyone else, out!” Looking at the bloodied body of the woman before him, Wanyan Xiyin waved a hand, dismissing the bulk of his retinue. The interrogators remained; Mandu Dalu, who had earlier overseen the executions in the city and was responsible for this assassination case, along with several other constables, also stayed behind, kneeling half-crouched in the back, watching it all.

“Qiuhe… Wu Qiuhe. You were once the true niece of the Kaifeng prefect of the Wu Dynasty. When you came to the Jin state, my wife took you in and saved you, sparing you the worst of the dangers out there. I am Jurchen, Wanyan Xiyin — if in your heart you don’t respect me, I can tolerate that. But if you have even a shred of conscience left, let me ask you… how has my wife treated you? Has she ever mistreated you, even the slightest bit?”

This woman named Wu Qiuhe had originally been a maidservant to Xiyin’s wife, Chen Wenjun. Over the years, Xiyin and Chen Wenjun’s affection for each other had run deep, and naturally he had seen Wu Qiuhe daily as well. Now, blood trickling from her mouth, Wu Qiuhe shook her head. “No… no mistreatment…”

“Then why did you do such a thing?” Xiyin spoke each word deliberately. “Consorting in secret with the assassin who tried to kill the Marshal — do you have any idea how much trouble this will bring down on me!?”

Wu Qiuhe stared blankly at Xiyin for a moment, then, her bloodied mouth open, suddenly let out a hoarse laugh. “It’s… it’s got nothing to do with my lady…”

After saying this, she paused, then said, “I… I confess, I confess… it was… it was Lord Gao Qingyi…”

“Shut your mouth—” The moment the name Gao Qingyi left her lips, Xiyin’s voice suddenly cracked out like a thunderclap, trying to cut her off.

But her voice pushed through anyway: “…he pitied me, loved me, said if he killed the Marshal, he could become Marshal himself, could marry…”

“Wretch—” “My lord, don’t—” At that instant, Mandu Dalu’s deputy blurted this out without thinking, and Mandu Dalu reached over and gripped the man’s throat, choking off the rest of the words in his mouth. Torchlight flickered in the cell as Xiyin, with a ringing hiss, drew his longsword and struck downward in a single stroke.

Blood sprayed outward, the torchlight wavered, and the reek of blood spread through the air. Wu Qiuhe was now dead beyond any doubt.

“Bury her!” Xiyin said, and turned to leave, the bloodied sword still in hand. Only once he had walked far enough away did Mandu Dalu and the others rise, and only then did Mandu Dalu quietly release his deputy’s throat. The constables looked at the corpse in the room, each of them at a loss for words.

“M-my lord…” “That woman was clever. She knew the moment she spoke Lord Gao’s name, there was no way she’d ever live.” Mandu Dalu said in a low voice, frowning. “Besides, how could you ever know whether Lord Gushen wanted her alive or not. Don’t mix yourself too deeply in the affairs of great men, or you’ll end up with no good death of your own. Enough — have someone see to the body…”

Outside, the search of the mountains continued in the pouring rain; perhaps because the afternoon’s exhaustive manhunt had come up empty, the commanders leading the parties had fallen into disagreement and gotten into a small quarrel. In a valley some distance off, Tang Minjie, already soaked through by the rain, crouched on the ground, watching a figure and a staff lying fallen in the mud not far away.

“Chen Wenjun, Wu Qiuhe… really something, you two truly are local snakes on your own turf, managing to find the man even so…” he murmured under his breath. “Pity I got the jump on you…”

In earlier years, the Black Banner’s intelligence network in the north had been built up through the efforts of Lu Yannian and his son Lu Mingfang. After Lu Yannian’s death, Lu Mingfang made contact with Chen Wenjun, and only then did the northern intelligence network truly begin to develop smoothly. But Chen Wenjun had originally been the most secret and highest-level informant within the Secret Investigation Bureau; after Qin Siyuan’s death and Ning Yi’s regicide, though Chen Wenjun continued to help the Black Banner, the interests of the two sides had, in truth, always remained distinct. As a subject of the Wu Dynasty, Chen Wenjun’s loyalty lay with the larger body of the Han people as a whole; the dealings between the two sides had always been a matter of cooperation, never a single unified system.

This was why Tang Minjie called Chen Wenjun and her underling Wu Qiuhe “local snakes.”

“Idiot.” Given the chance later, he’d have to mock Wu Qiuhe about this. That was what he thought. By this time, Wu Qiuhe was already buried beneath the dark earth.