Flames burned fiercely, casting fierce, dancing shadows against the rock walls of the cave; blade-light, fierce and blazing, flashed and turned through the air along with those savage shadows. Within the cave, it was a dance in which raw power and ferocity moved as one.

The man dancing in the firelight was tall and broad, his bare torso corded with muscle, his rugged features and the scars covering his body a testament to his fierce prowess and record of battle. Langge, chieftain of the Mangshan Yi people in the southwest, had hunted the fiercest of prey across these wild mountains and slain over a hundred brave enemies with the hunting knife in his hand — one of the most eminent chieftains among the Yi people of the southwest at present.

His blade flashed as he danced, his body like a hunting tiger or leopard, holding tremendous tension even amid his shouts and strikes, the firelight illuminating his powerful frame as it burned. To one side of the cave, a slight, black-clad old man crouched, watching this display of blade-dancing.

Occasionally, the old man spoke, and Langge would answer in turn. The Yi language was difficult, hard for outsiders to follow, but on this occasion, what they meant, roughly, was something like this:

“Fighting outsiders brings no good fortune. Are you truly certain about this?”

“Outsiders are outsiders. The mountain is ours. Whatever I, Langge, want, I can take!”

“What good would come of it?”

“A couple years back, the tribes over at Dongshan traded with outsiders and got their hands on thunder cannons.”

“We have them too now.”

“We have to take what the outsiders give us, and not much of it either, and still watch their faces while we do it! And half of what they give us is no good besides. Otherwise, why did it blow up some of our own people last year?”

“They said we hadn’t learned how to use it properly yet.”

“The mountain is ours. When outsiders come here, they act like they’ve become the masters of the place — I want to take that back. The scholar from outside the mountains told me: this bunch that came here years ago killed the Han emperor, got hunted by the whole realm, and fled into these mountains, and now they order us around like servants. And when we go buy passage through their territory in the mountains, our tribe, being to the west, gets the smallest share, and keeps having to watch their faces for it… at this rate.”

“When they come through, they still show proper respect, at least.”

“That’s because they’re afraid of us! In any case, I’ve already decided. If it weren’t for these outsiders, I’d already have absorbed Dongshan these past few years — even now it’s not too late. The men from beyond the mountains are willing to help us, Old Uncle — they’re going to send troops in. As long as we can wipe out those black banners and bring back the head of that Han named Ning, the men beyond the mountains have already promised me…”

“…”

“…When that day comes, I, Langge, will be king of all the hundred myriad Yi people of this southern sky! Those thunder cannons — I’ll have as many as I want! Lianniang already backs me on this too — no need to say anything more.”

The blade cut through the air in its fiercest stroke yet, and Langge’s figure came slowly to a stop in the firelight. Flinging his thick braid back over his shoulder, he walked toward the small old man, laughing, and clapped him on the shoulder.

Heading toward the mouth of the cave, a full-figured, beautiful woman came out to meet him — this was Langge’s wife, Shui Luoyisha. Within the Mangshan tribe, Langge supplied the martial prowess, while his wife supplied the wisdom, and had long assisted her husband in building up the strength of the whole tribe; outsiders respectfully called her Lianniang as well. Deep in these mountains, both husband and wife were people of great ambition, and were now at the very height of their prime. Together, they settled on the whole strategy for the tribe.

Leaving the cave, in the lush green mountain forest below, clusters of firelight spread away toward the distance. The powerful Mangshan tribe had already made ready to send out its troops.

…

Time had, in the blink of an eye, come round to June. In Bulai County, in the morning, in the military hall, Luo Ye stepped up onto the platform at the front.

This was a farewell ceremony. Below him, more than two hundred Huaxia Army members sat solemnly, about to leave this place.

A parting, at least, on good terms.

Luo Ye looked around at everyone present.

“Some of you have been here four years, some three. I know most of you personally. The Huaxia Army speaks of the people’s livelihood and the people’s rights, and at a time like this… with a great war about to break out, if you need to leave for the sake of your families, we won’t stop you. But — as always, a few words of parting for all of you.”

“You weren’t the Huaxia Army’s original members. When we first met, we might well have still been enemies. The battle at Xiaocang River tangled us all together, and after coming to the southwest, plenty of you were homesick. In the past there were those who slipped away quietly; later, once we’d made things clear, there were those who left on good terms after we’d talked it through. Over these years, at least ten thousand people have gone back to the Central Plains, but the Central Plains right now is no good place to be. Liu Yu, the Jurchen, and the Huaxia Army are all bitter enemies of one another — if anyone finds out about your history here, you all know what the consequences will be. These past years, in the Central Plains, many who had once come through the southwest have been found out this exact way, and it’s gone very badly for them…”

“You’re free to speak about the Huaxia Army’s affairs — that’s no problem. What ideals we hold, how we train our troops, what discipline we keep — you can speak of all of it freely. There’s nothing about our Huaxia Army out there that can’t be seen by others! But that doesn’t mean, just because you’ve told them, that they’ll let you go… Word that’s come back through the Bamboo Registry says that those caught up in this kind of thing have fared very badly.”

“So there’s nothing else for it but this one thing: hide who you are, or if you have the means, bring your parents, your brothers and sisters, south with you. You can come to the southwest, or if you feel the southwest isn’t safe enough, you can certainly go to the Wu Dynasty instead. Find somewhere you feel safe, and live out your life there. Of course, I’d much rather you bring your family and brothers back here with you. Defeating the Jurchen and saving this realm is a difficult task, and without you, it will only be harder still…”

As he spoke, someone below shouted out: “We’ll come back!”

Others echoed the sentiment, and Luo Ye nodded. “Of course. If you come back too late, or can’t come back at all, then the credit for defeating the Jurchen will just be mine, that’s all…”

The farewell in the hall was not a grand affair. Among the Huaxia Army in Bulai, many had been taken in after the battle at Xiaocang River, and quite a few of them still resented seeing others leave. When they had first come to the southwest, most of these men had still been prisoners; for a time, the number quietly slipping away had probably exceeded even the ten thousand Luo Ye mentioned, but once the ideological work had properly taken hold, the numbers leaving gradually dwindled, though a trickle had continued all along. Now, with tensions across the realm tightening, those who still had family left behind in the Central Plains whom they’d never managed to bring south, driven by homesickness, had raised this request once more — and these were, by now, among the finest soldiers in the whole Huaxia Army. Their superiors had approved some of these requests, and these past days had involved a great deal of last-minute instruction; today was finally the day of their departure.

In truth, most of these men, originally pressed into service, had come from poor, hard-laboring families in the Central Plains, people who in their ordinary lives had lived in poverty and seen little of the world. After coming to the southwest, life in the Huaxia Army’s camps had, in many ways, resembled something like a university of a later age — meetings, training, lectures, storytelling, discussions, plays — things that had, for the most part, never been part of their lives before. Having learned to express themselves better, to communicate, to think to some degree, having gained a group of brothers-in-arms — these were bonds not easily severed.

The crowd, some weeping, some encouraging one another, was seen off by Luo Ye to the mountain pass outside the county. He watched their figures vanish completely, when a group came down from the hillside toward him. He looked closely, then hurried over and saluted. “Teacher.”

“This is today’s group leaving, is it.” Ning Yi came over, returned the salute, then clapped him on the shoulder.

“Yes.” Luo Ye said. “They should all come back, I think — and even if some can’t make it back right away, I imagine they’ll be like seeds, and someday they’ll surprise us.”

“They’ll all be a pleasant surprise.” Ning Yi smiled. “Those who left before will be too.”

“The very first ones to run off didn’t really have much feeling for us, though.”

“As long as there’s fear, that’s enough.” Ning Yi waved a hand and gestured for him to walk up the mountain with him. “The people, the nation, the livelihood, the rights of the people — the Huaxia Army’s ideas sound fine when you say them, but of those leaving today, how many really understand them, truly believe them in their hearts?”

“…” Luo Ye was taken aback for a moment.

“These past years, even with our record at Xiaocang River, we still haven’t been able to expand our territory — partly because we’re surrounded by minority peoples, and partly because we’re afraid of expanding too fast and muddying the waters. But at bottom, what can we really offer people? However beautiful the principles sound, if they’re not tied to people’s own interests, it’s all just empty talk — why would anyone follow you, smash up the good life they already have, and risk taking up a blade against you for it… Still, things are about to be different.”

“The Jurchen…”

“Once war breaks out in the Central Plains, it’ll turn into an absolute mess. Even if you only spent a month in the Huaxia Army and then ran back home and survived, once the Jurchen come, you’ll remember the Huaxia Army. The slogans might not make sense to you, but you can use them first anyway — once you start using them, you’re not far from actually believing them… Whether we can move forward doesn’t depend on how well we talk — the people, the nation, the livelihood, the rights, what even are those things — it depends on how badly the Wu Dynasty fails.”

Luo Ye’s eyes lit up. “The Wu-Xiang Army is about to besiege Xiaoliang Mountain, and the Mangshan tribe is already stirring too. Teacher, have you decided to fight? When do we move — Luo Ye is willing to lead the vanguard.”

“Don’t be so small-minded about it. However badly the Wu Dynasty has failed, we don’t necessarily need to prove it by beating them in battle. A few days ago, Li Anmao’s men came to Hedeng from Xuzhou, asking us to send troops to help hold the city for them.”

“Xuzhou?” Luo Ye frowned. “That’s too far, and why would they want us to send troops — it’s east and we’re west…”

“It is a bit far-fetched.” Ning Yi smiled. “Xuzhou’s a battleground on every side, the gateway that will take the first brunt of the Jurchen’s southern advance, a thousand miles from us — by any reasonable logic they should be throwing in with the Wu Dynasty instead. But Li Anmao’s envoy said, precisely because the Wu Dynasty can’t be relied on, for the sake of Xuzhou’s survival, they had no choice but to turn to the Huaxia Army for help. Xuzhou’s changed hands several times, but its stores of military equipment are said to be quite substantial, and plenty of the local great clans are willing to put up money — so the price on offer is rather high. Heh, a place that’s been picked over by the Jurchen time and again, and they can still come up with this much — these people really do know how to hide their private stashes.”

“Teacher’s thinking of taking the offer?”

Ning Yi looked out toward the mountains beyond. “Over these years, a great many people have left the Huaxia Army — gone back to the Central Plains, to Jiangnan. Some have been caught, some have survived. The survivors are seeds. Xuzhou is bait, but we’ve considered it, and this bait might just be worth taking. My initial thought is to send General Liu Chengzong east with around eight thousand men — the supply train won’t be able to carry much on this route, and there’ll be danger along the way, but it still needs to be done well. I want you to go along with the unit, leading an elite company. If you’re the flame that lights it, a single spark can set the whole prairie ablaze.”

Luo Ye nodded. Over these years, the Huaxia Army’s confinement to the southwest, unable to expand, had had its own objective reasons. Talk of Huaxia, of nationhood, of the people governing themselves — to the outside world, in truth, such talk might not carry much weight at all. The Huaxia Army’s original core, the Wurui Camp, had been crack troops who’d fought the Jurchen, their fighting spirit forged in the battle at Xiacun; the Qingmu Stockade had fought for its life in a position with no way out; and later, the Central Plains had descended into misery for its people, and the northwest had likewise suffered terribly. As for the more than two hundred thousand people now willing to listen to these slogans, even beginning to think for themselves, somewhat different from before — nearly all of them had come to accept these ideas only in the depths of desperation. Whether what they’d truly accepted was strength itself, or the ideas behind it, remained an open question.

Since coming to the southwest, spreading talk of nationhood and the people’s livelihood among outsiders had proven inefficient; the strength that came from people fighting for themselves could only truly be felt by people forced into a corner with no choice but to fight. Even after three years of bloody fighting at Xiaocang River, the Huaxia Army’s strength remained confined within, unable to genuinely reach and move the outside world — and even if a few towns were taken, what would that really achieve? It would likely only breed more hatred of the Huaxia Army, or else corrode the Huaxia Army itself from within.

From the southwest to Xuzhou lay a thousand miles, and along the way all manner of difficulties might well arise — but handled well, this might truly be a spark, one that, before long, could draw a response from across the realm. As for a great showdown against the Wu Dynasty here in the southwest, the effect would be far smaller by comparison.

I wonder how things stand in the Central Plains now…

Luo Ye thought to himself, his fist silently clenching.

…

In the Central Plains, a scorching wind swept up clouds of dust into the sky, human figures trudging across the land in an unbroken line, and in the distance, great pillars of smoke rose into the air.

This procession of figures stretched on and on, crowding into view — men, women, the old, children, all skin and bone, swaying figures gradually swelling into a tide, people falling now and then, swallowed up in the flow.

Hungry ghosts — these swaying, seemingly mindless lives surged, as if with a single will, toward one direction.

Bianliang. Once the most prosperous city under heaven, now the target ahead of them.

The horns of war had already sounded. On the plain, the Jurchen had begun to form their battle lines. Ali Gua, the general holding Bianliang, had gathered the troops under his command, and after more than thirty thousand Han soldiers ahead of him had already been swallowed up, took up a blocking position. But when he caught sight of that approaching mass that was in no sense an “army” at all, he let out a silent, long breath.

“Damn it… Bodhisattva of the Earth Treasury…”

This old general, past sixty, with countless lives already on his hands from a lifetime of slaughter, was in fact a believer in the Buddha.

Perhaps this was an “army” the likes of which he had never seen before.

Since the spring, this had run rampant, and by summer, the ranks of these hungry ghosts had spread ever wider through the surrounding area. Ordinary people could scarcely imagine the sheer desperate resolve of these refugee bands. Under the leadership of Wang Shitong, this army of hungry ghosts advanced from town to town, seizing everything and burning everything in its path; what little grain remained stored in the granaries was plundered clean, cities set ablaze, even the newly planted rice in the fields destroyed entirely.

Having already lost everything, having tasted hunger to its fullest, these people ruined whatever hope remained for others without hesitation, and as everything in their own homes was destroyed as well, the local residents along their path had no choice but to join them. This army knew no discipline; if there was vengeance to be had, they took it without limit, and there would be no one left to pay for anything anyway. Those who survived joined the ranks; as they passed through the next town, unable to control the tide of destruction at all, more people were forced to join in as well — as many as possible — if only to fill their own stomachs.

The ranks of the hungry ghosts soon exceeded what the surrounding towns could bear, sweeping through and devouring everything like a plague of locusts — the more people, the hungrier the stomachs, and the hungrier the stomachs, the greater the destruction; cannibalism among family members, trading one’s own child for another’s to eat, had already appeared within this horde, and those who fell within the ranks would, before they could even rot, be swiftly turned into sustenance for the rest. How many months of hunger does it take before a person turns into a beast? The true answer is not something measured in months at all…

After several months of this accumulation, Wang Shitong finally led the masses in a charge on Bianliang.

The Jurchen’s elite troops, however, were nothing like the armies of Great Qi.

The hungry ghosts pressed forward in a crush, and Ali Gua likewise led his cavalry in a charge to meet them.

At the very front rode what were, among the relatively few Jurchen heavy cavalry, known as the “Iron Pagodas.”

Tall warhorses, laden with heavy iron armor, charged into that dense sea of humanity; the hungry ghosts at the very front were terrified into retreat, but those behind kept pressing forward. When the two tides collided, the hungry ghosts’ straw-thin bodies were sent flying and shattered outright, the reek of blood spreading through the air, the cavalry cutting a bloody path through them like a meat grinder.

Every charge, every stroke of the blade, cleared or cut down whatever enemy stood in its way without fail. In the fighting, the hungry ghosts surged forward with meaningless wails, and in that first watch of the hour, the Jurchen soldiers cut down these utterly disorganized Han refugees like a scythe through wheat — yet still the hungry ghosts came on, endless as the tide. Soldiers of the Iron Pagodas were crushed to the ground under the sheer weight of bodies pressing in, and rose again to keep fighting as more people surged forward; some hurled stones at their armor, and where a breastplate was pried loose, skin-and-bone hungry ghosts leapt upon the exposed flesh, tearing it open with their teeth and eating it…

In most places, it was still a one-sided slaughter, as people who had lost all reason and choice in their hunger kept surging forward regardless. The great battle lasted a whole afternoon; the vanguard of the hungry ghosts was finally broken, corpses strewn across the entire plain, blood flowing like a river — and yet the Jurchen army did not cheer in victory. Many among them found their sword-hands trembling, a mixture of fear and utter exhaustion.

As one of the oldest generals among the Jurchen, Ali Gua had once followed Aguda into the Battle of Huburda, where twenty thousand men had chased down and slaughtered an army of seven hundred thousand — a moment of pride the Jurchen would never forget for the rest of their lives. But today, everything felt different. Eight thousand elite troops had broken through nearly sixty thousand men, at the cost of over a thousand of their own consumed in that grinding slaughter, and no one felt any joy of victory.

On that battlefield, in that sea of blood, there were still refugees with severed hands and feet, moaning, weeping. And still more hungry ghosts were gathering from beyond.

That night, Ali Gua withdrew back into Bianliang, holding the towering walls; the tide of starving refugees swept on past the great city, as if brazenly flaunting their strength, ravaging the land on every side…

…

Tibet.

At this moment, the quietest place under all heaven.

The climate of the high plateau was hard to bear, but after so many years here, he had long since adjusted to it.

In the great tent, Guo Yaoshi sat over roasted meat, looking over the news that had come in from the Central Plains.

The situation was chaotic, and every move made by every faction carried the weight of enormous bloodshed. A great war was about to break out, and it kept bringing back to him the memory of more than ten years ago — the Jurchen’s rise, the Liao Dynasty’s decline — a time when he had been brilliant and bold beyond measure, wanting to seize the moment as the realm crumbled and make his own extraordinary mark.

He had been the first Han to defy the Jurchen, nearly defeating on an open field the man called the Jurchen’s god of war, Wanyan Zongwang.

All of that had come quickly and gone just as quickly. The betrayal by Zhang Linghui and Liu Shunchen, the incompetence of the Wu Dynasty, had left him no choice but to submit to the Jurchen; and then the battle at Xiacun had utterly shattered whatever hopes he’d held of building a legacy within the Jin army. After killing off Zhang Linghui and Liu Shunchen, he had led his army west into Tibet, hoping to rest and recover, to start anew from scratch.

Ten years spent facing the wall in hopes of breaking through it — if such a thing were truly possible, then that decade had already come and gone.

With Jin and Wu on the brink of a great war, and those in the Central Plains whose blood still ran hot seizing this last chance to take part — if he too came out of seclusion, might he too shine forth with his own brilliant light upon this realm? These days, he found himself thinking this more and more often.

The more he thought about it, the more his thoughts would drift toward that valley to the south…

Dayang…

From the intelligence coming out of the Central Plains, the world, whenever it thought of the Black Banner, mostly thought of the three counties in the southwest where Ning Liheng held sway — its trade with every region, Ning Liheng’s stratagems, his hand that could turn clouds to rain and back again — but only Guo Yaoshi, here in far-off Tibet, understood that this was not, in truth, the Huaxia Army’s main strength at all.

Ever since marching south from Xiaocang River, fighting the Jurchen in bloody battle, and killing Loushi and Cibushi in the process — that main force of the Black Banner Army… Guo Yaoshi, leading the Resentment Army, had once come into conflict, in the depths of frustration, with the forces stationed toward Dayang.

Only he understood just how terrifying the fighting strength of this army was, one that had lain low, biding its time, all this while. When would it finally emerge? And on that day, when the Jurchen faced it once more — what would become of them then?

Every time he thought of this, Guo Yaoshi found himself, little by little, giving up on the idea of leaving.

Since ancient times, it’s said, great beauties are like famous generals — neither is permitted to live to see white hair. This realm, in the slow course of its waiting, had by now become something even he could no longer fully understand…