The dank, gloomy prison cell carried the stench of decay, flies buzzing in a chaotic din, dampness and stifling heat mingling together. As the searing pain and misery briefly subsided, Su Wenfang, his clothes in tatters, curled up in a corner of the cell, trembling uncontrollably.

From somewhere far off in the Zizhou prison, wailing cries still carried faintly. He had been held here for a day and a half now; nearly a full day of interrogation had already left Su Wenfang utterly broken — at least, in whatever fragment of clarity remained to him, he felt certain he had already broken.

Perhaps it would have been easier, in the end, to have simply died back then…

Sustained pain and suffering can wear away a person’s grip on reality, and at such times, all manner of memories and hallucinations tend to surface before one’s eyes. After a full day of continuous torment, his captors finally tossed him back into the cell to rest briefly, and that small measure of relief gradually cleared his mind somewhat. His body trembled uncontrollably as he wept silently, his thoughts a chaotic tangle — at times wishing for death, at times consumed by regret, at times numb, at times drifting back through the years of his own past.

This was the first time in his life he had ever endured anything like this — whipping, clubbing, the ankle press, even branding irons, beatings and repeated waterboarding. From the very first blow, he had felt certain he wouldn’t be able to hold out.

He had never once thought of himself as a strong person.

Over the years, from his earliest days working at the Bamboo Records, to later joining the war effort as a member of the Huaxia Army, his path had not been an easy one — but relatively speaking, it hadn’t been especially harsh either. Following his sister and brother-in-law, he’d had the chance to learn a great deal; though it had required real effort and dedication on his own part, compared to most others living in this age, he had already been fortunate beyond measure. Over these years — from the hard work at Bamboo Village, through the regicide at the golden palace, the long journey to Little Cang River, the defeat of Western Xia, then three years of bloody warfare and years spent building up the southwest — as an administrator within the Black Banner Army, he had witnessed a great many things, yet had never truly experienced the raw brutality of hand-to-hand combat, the terror of standing at the boundary between life and death.

Many times, passing by the wretched sight of the field hospital, he had felt a chill run through him.

Over the years, he had seen many people as unbreakable as steel. But out in the field, deep down, Su Wenfang had always carried a private fear within him. The only weapon against fear was rational analysis, and when the situation beyond Greater and Lesser Liangshan began closing in and chaos took hold, Su Wenfang had indeed feared what he himself might have to go through. But his rational analysis told him that Lu Qiaoshan, whether choosing war or peace, could clearly see the bigger picture, and that his own group’s safety served Lu Qiaoshan’s own interests as well. And in the southwest as things currently stood, the military genuinely held enormous sway.

But in the end, things had spiraled beyond anyone’s control.

Once thrown into the prison, his interrogators demanded he give up the names of Huaxia Army members still operating beyond the mountains. Naturally, he refused, and the torture that followed was unbearable with every passing second. Su Wenfang thought of the comrades who had died before his very eyes, telling himself over and over, “hold on, just hold on a little longer” — yet within less than half an hour, he had already begun begging for mercy.

Begging for mercy bought him a brief moment’s respite, but no matter what he said, so long as he refused to confess, the torture would inevitably resume. His skin was soon torn open in places; at first, Su Wenfang had clung to the hope that Huaxia Army members hidden within Zizhou might come to rescue him, but that hope never materialized. His thoughts swung wildly between confessing and refusing to confess — most of the time he wept and begged, occasionally lashing out with threats instead. The pain from his wounds became unbearable; salt water was poured over them, and he was repeatedly plunged into a water barrel until he choked and lost consciousness. After more than two hours of this, Su Wenfang finally began to break and confess.

The words of confession rose to his lips — but never made it out.

The faces from all those years on the battlefield, the Black Banner soldiers who had died fighting the Jurchens, the ghastly screams from the field hospitals, the severed limbs, the veteran soldiers who had survived those brutal battles only to live on maimed — all of it flashed before his eyes. He simply could not understand how these people had endured so much pain and suffering, and yet still declared themselves willing to go back to the battlefield. But it was precisely these images that kept the words of confession from ever leaving his mouth.

He sat there trembling at the table for a while, then began weeping again, raising his head to cry out, “I can’t tell you…”

What followed, naturally, was even crueler torment.

Every moment he felt certain he was about to die. And the next moment, more pain still continued on, his mind already buzzing into a haze of red, weeping mixed with curses and pleas. At times, weeping, he would try to appeal to his tormentors’ feelings: “We fought the Jurchens in the north — do you have any idea how many died, how they died… During the siege of Little Cang River, do you know how the battles were fought, how when food ran short, people starved to death right in front of us… retreats, people who never made it out… ah— we’re doing good, righteous things…”

“Please… stop hitting me…”

“Please…”

This weak, pleading voice gradually escalated into: “I’ll tell you…”

And then, again, into: “I can’t tell you…”

Around and around this cycle went. His interrogators changed several times over, and eventually even they grew tired. Su Wenfang himself didn’t know how he’d managed to hold on, yet those horrific memories kept reminding him, kept preventing the words from leaving his mouth. He knew he wasn’t a hero; before long, some weaker version of himself might well break and confess after all, but until then… hold on just a little longer… he’d already endured this much… just a little more…

Maybe rescuers would still come?

At some point, he was tossed back into his cell. As the pain from his wounds briefly eased, he curled up somewhere in the corner and began weeping silently again, resentment building in his heart — why hadn’t his rescuers come yet, if they didn’t come soon he wouldn’t be able to hold on any longer… Then, at some point, someone suddenly threw the cell door open.

Su Wenfang, already utterly exhausted, jolted awake all the same, his body instinctively curling further into the corner of the cell. But two officers approached and dragged him bodily toward the door.

Su Wenfang struggled with all his remaining strength, but before long he was hauled, half-dragged, half-carried, back into the interrogation room. His body had barely begun to recover some strength, and at the sight of those instruments of torture once more, his terror surged even higher. The interrogator walked over, had him sit down at the table, and set down paper and brush. “You’ve had plenty of time to think it over, brother. Do me this favor — just write down one name. Doesn’t have to be an important one.”

Su Wenfang trembled all over. The man’s hand came down on his shoulder, right against one of his wounds, sending fresh waves of pain surging through him. Su Wenfang began sobbing again. “I can’t tell you — my sister will kill me, my brother-in-law will never let this go…”

“They won’t know.”

“Oh, they’ll know all right… heh, you have no idea. You’ve got people close to you…”

“…Who?”

“I don’t know, but they’ll find out. I can’t tell you, I can’t tell you — you didn’t see how those people died… fighting the Jurchens, the Wu Dynasty couldn’t stand against them, they died resisting the Jurchens, why, why are you doing this…”

Before he’d even finished speaking, the interrogator slapped him hard to the ground and barked, “Tie him up—!”

Several men bound Su Wenfang to a frame. The interrogator stepped closer. “You won’t talk — well, a tongue’s no use to us then, but you’ve only got one of those. I gave you the chance. You wouldn’t write it down. But you’ve got ten fingers. We’ll take our time with you.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, please don’t do this…” Su Wenfang’s body thrashed and struggled, his voice rising to a scream, as the man seized one of his fingers, a needle of iron already in his other hand, closing in.

“Talk or not—”

“We fought the Jurchens! So many of us died! I can’t tell you!”

“Give me one name—”

“My brother-in-law will kill you! He’ll kill your whole family, kill your whole family — let me go, I can’t tell you, I can’t—”

His frenzied screams came laced with bloody froth from his mouth, and after a while, the iron needle plunged in — a shriek, raw and hoarse, tore out from the interrogation room…

What followed after that belonged entirely to hell.

…

Deep within Greater and Lesser Liangshan, the campaign to encircle and suppress the Mangshan Yi had already begun in earnest.

The autumn harvest was still underway; the Huaxia Army forces at Jishan had already been mobilized, though they had not yet formally set out. Amid the heavy, oppressive autumn air, Ning Yi returned to Hedeng, waiting for word from beyond the mountains.

On the surface, Lu Qiaoshan’s stance on war or peace remained ambiguous. Outwardly, he maintained a respectful attitude toward Ning Yi and was willing to hold a face-to-face negotiation with him, though he continued to haggle over the finer details. But this time, the Huaxia Army envoy who had gone out beyond the mountains had received firm instructions from Ning Yi, and under this pressure, Lu Qiaoshan ultimately conceded some ground.

The negotiation date was pushed back two days for preparations, with the location set at a valley on the outer edge of Lesser Liangshan. Ning Yi would bring three thousand men out of the mountains, and Lu Qiaoshan would bring three thousand men of his own — whatever either side truly thought, the matter would be settled openly and squarely, four-six on the terms, as Ning Yi had insisted most firmly. If no agreement could be reached, then war would follow as swiftly as possible.

By now it was the twenty-first day of the seventh month, in the ninth year of the Wu Dynasty’s Jianshuo era. That morning, the autumn wind had turned somewhat cool, sweeping across the grasslands beyond Lesser Liangshan. Ning Yi and Lu Qiaoshan met beneath a weathered pavilion out on the grassland, their respective forces of three thousand men each stationed farther back on either side. After exchanging greetings, Ning Yi caught sight of Su Wenfang, whom Lu Qiaoshan had brought along — dressed in a robe that looked outwardly clean but was patched here and there, his fingers wrapped in bandages beneath his sleeves, his steps unsteady and weak. Su Tan’er had also come along for this negotiation, and the moment she saw her brother’s condition, her eyes reddened at once. Ning Yi walked over and gently embraced Su Wenfang.

A flicker of pain crossed Su Wenfang’s face; his weak voice seemed to come from deep within his throat, as though forced out with great difficulty. “Brother-in-law… I didn’t tell them anything…”

“I know. Focus on healing.”

“…It was those scholars who did this — they wanted to force Lu Qiaoshan into war…”

“Good.”

Having managed to force out these few words in a low, strained voice, Su Wenfang finally let go of Ning Yi and made his way over to Su Tan’er.

Ning Yi turned to face Lu Qiaoshan, who cupped his hands together, his smile ingratiating. “A misunderstanding, purely a misunderstanding — none of this was ever my intention, Master Ning, truly a misunderstanding.”

Ning Yi nodded and gestured for him to sit, then glanced back once before speaking. “He is, after all, my wife’s brother. I appreciate the trouble General Lu has gone to on his behalf.”

“Ah, it was only right — this was entirely caused by those pedantic scholars, worthless fools not worth reasoning with. I trust Master Ning won’t let his anger get the better of him.”

Ning Yi nodded and smiled, and neither man sat down yet. Lu Qiaoshan merely cupped his hands in greeting. After a moment’s thought, Ning Yi said, “That’s my wife over there, Su Tan’er.”

“I’ve long heard of your good lady’s talent and virtue, sister-in-law.”

Ning Yi didn’t respond directly to this, continuing on instead in the same tone as before. “My wife originally came from a merchant family in Jiangning — the third-ranked cloth merchants in the city. When I married into the family, it had accumulated several generations of wealth, but had reached a rather critical juncture. None of the third generation had amounted to much, and in the end, her grandfather, Su Yu, decided to put my wife Tan’er in charge of running the household, with Wenfang and the others helping out with minor affairs, doing odd jobs under her. Back then, the thinking was simply that if these branches of the family could manage to hold onto what they had, that alone would count as good fortune.”

Lu Qiaoshan nodded along.

“Of course, later on, for various reasons, that’s not the path we ended up on. The old man passed away a few years back — in his heart, he never much cared for grand affairs of state, his mind was always on the family right around him. He passed peacefully, because even though we ended up raising a rebellion afterward, the Su family still managed to raise a child who truly amounted to something. A decade or so ago, this young man was nothing more than an idle wastrel, cockfighting and dog-racing his way through life, a man of unremarkable talent whose whole world would likely never have extended beyond the walls of Jiangning. But the truth is, General Lu, look at him now — my wife’s brother has become a truly upright man, someone who could stand tall and unashamed measured against anyone in the entire realm.”

Ning Yi looked at Lu Qiaoshan, who fell silent for a moment. “Indeed. The moment I received Master Ning’s message and made up my mind to go rescue him, he’d already been beaten nearly beyond recognition. And yet he said nothing at all.”

Ning Yi raised his eyes to the sky, then gave a slight nod. “General Lu, over these past ten-odd years, the Huaxia Army has endured tremendous hardship — in the northwest, at Little Cang River, surrounded by a million-strong army, facing off against the Jurchens’ finest, they’ve never once truly been defeated. Many died. Many others became truly upright men who could stand tall against anything. In the days ahead, they’ll face the Jurchens again, and there are still countless battles to be fought, countless more who will die — but let their deaths mean something… General Lu, the Jurchens have already marched south. I beg you — give them a way to live. Give your own men a way to live. Let them die somewhere their deaths will truly mean something…”

“…What do you say?”