In the eleventh year of the Jianshuo era, Lin’an had been under martial law since New Year’s Day.
Those inside couldn’t get out, and those outside couldn’t get in. For days on end, rumors of every kind flew through the city — some claiming Wuzhu had already killed countless people, others that over a million commoners outside the walls wanted in but were blocked at the gates, still others that the Imperial Guard had fired on civilians outside days earlier. Old stories about the horrors of the Jingping Humiliation resurfaced too, with people now trapped inside the city fearing a similarly grim fate awaited them. Rumors of every stripe circulated without end.
People gathered in taverns, teahouses, and private courtyards to talk and trade information. A city of nearly a million and a half people couldn’t sustain permanent lockdown even under occasional martial law. People needed food, goods needed transport; the once-thriving commerce had temporarily stalled but still had to keep running at some minimal level. The city’s temples and Daoist monasteries, large and small, did brisk business these days — much as they always had before and after every major war.
Though Li Pin and the Princess Imperial’s estate’s propaganda apparatus had once loudly publicized the dangers of the old “Heavenly Master Guo Jing” affair, people facing a disaster of this scale still found their sense of helplessness hard to shake. Rumors about “Heavenly Master Guo” and his old defeat spread through the markets again — that though Guo Jing had wielded tremendous supernatural power, the swift rise of the Jurchens suggested they too enjoyed some demonic protection, since how else could someone like “Valley Spirit” Wanyan Xiyin earn such a name unless connected to gods or demons? Cheap pamphlets circulated as well, describing how Heavenly Master Guo had once been seduced by a bewitching demoness, defiling the great power of his heavenly soldiers and leading to utter defeat atop the walls of Bian Liang — an elaborate, salacious tale sold together with illustrated erotic prints, and during these days of martial law in Lin’an, demand for it briefly outstripped supply entirely.
There is nothing new under heaven. Foolish men and women spent their hard-saved money seeking divine protection, buying talismans of safety, then giving them to the family members they cared for most, hoping this time they might make it through the coming catastrophe unharmed. Such humble desperation was pitiable, yet it also stirred something like sympathy.
On the sixth of January, Zhou Pei stood atop the walls of the imperial city, directing the slow ascent of a massive hot air balloon above the city. She pressed her lips together, brow furrowed, staring silently up at the great rising shape, worried in her heart that it might come crashing down.
When Ning Yi had killed the emperor, he had once used a hot air balloon to carry a small group over the palace walls — such a flagrant transgression against the imperial residence that the entire Wu Dynasty court had regarded the devices with deep unease ever since. Since the dynasty’s move south, and since Jun Wu had built the balloon, this was the very first time one had been raised into the sky above Lin’an.
Eight balloons now swayed in the cold winter wind above the city’s four quarters. The whole city stirred; people poured out of their homes, gathering everywhere, craning their necks to gaze up at this near-miraculous sight, pointing and murmuring among themselves. For a while, the crowds seemed to fill every open space in Lin’an.
Zhou Pei took it all in.
She had worked hard to make this happen. With the Jurchens closing in, the city’s mood was anxious and morale low, and among the officials all manner of complicated, treacherous scheming churned beneath the surface. Wuzhu’s fifty thousand light cavalry had come south to wage a war on hearts and minds; in theory, if the court held together, defending Lin’an should present no real problem — but given how complicated the Wu Dynasty’s situation already was, compounded further by Zhou Yong’s disastrous blunders, no one could say with any confidence who might waver, or who might defect.
In a sense, the Wu Dynasty at this moment resembled Liangshan after Ning Yi had once turned its own people against it. Until the true test arrived, no one could know for certain whether it would hold.
Over several days, Zhou Pei lobbied the great ministers on raising balloons to lift morale; most responded with hesitation. Lü Yihao said: “Your servant fears this will accomplish little, and may stir up needless trouble. Of course, if Your Highness believes it worthwhile, your servant supposes there’s no harm in trying.” Most others echoed similar sentiments.
Given this, Zhou Pei had the censors formally raise the proposal at court, then pressured Hou Shao — who had staked his career on a death-defying remonstrance — to get Chen Xiangji, who had since taken over the Ministry of Rites, to publicly endorse it, on the sole condition that balloon operators be forbidden from looking toward the palace during ascent, to avoid any suspicion of spying on the imperial residence. With the court’s silent acquiescence, the matter was settled. During the debate, Qin Hui had actually spoken up in support, arguing that in the face of a great enemy, extraordinary measures were justified, and firmly backed Zhou Pei’s proposal — which left her with a somewhat better impression of him than before.
With the court’s resistance cleared, weather still stood in the way of launching the balloons. The winter air over Lin’an remained bitterly cold, with strong winds aloft, raising the risk of malfunction once airborne. By the sixth, with Wuzhu’s cavalry already circling past the defense lines and closing in on Lin’an, the technicians at the Institute of Natural Science finally decided to take the risk during a brief lull in the wind. Eight operators, ready to stake their lives on it, raised the balloons at the second quarter of the hour of Wei.
More than a decade had passed since the first hot air balloon flight over Lin’an, but few had ever actually seen one in person. Every street and alley in the city erupted in noise; some elderly people cried out “Heavenly soldiers and generals!” and dropped to their knees. Zhou Pei watched it all, silently praying nothing would go wrong.
This time, fate finally favored the Wu Dynasty. The eight balloons hung in the sky for a full quarter hour before slowly descending again, with no malfunction the entire time. The propaganda networks of the Princess Imperial’s estate and Li Pin’s operation swung into action as well, sending speakers out street by street to calm public sentiment, with more newspapers to follow the next day.
Beyond this, now that Lin’an had witnessed its first balloon ascent, the influence of natural science would surely keep growing from here. Zhou Pei’s own feelings on the matter weren’t as deeply invested as her brother’s, but she could easily imagine how delighted Jun Wu would have been to hear of it, had it happened before the war began.
Having arranged what needed arranging and offered encouragement to the day’s balloon technicians, Zhou Pei returned to the estate and began a letter to Jun Wu.
At this time Jiangning was under fierce assault from Zongfu’s forces, with Zhenjiang sending repeated reinforcements; Jun Wu himself, together with Han Shizhong, had gone there in person to bolster morale. In her letter she urged her brother to look after his health, reassured him not to worry too much about the capital, and told him she and Cheng Zhouhai would see to everything here. She mentioned today’s balloon launch too, noting with some amusement how the common folk had mistaken the balloons for heavenly soldiers descending — but for boosting morale, the effect had been considerable. Its true impact would only be felt over the long run, but she thought it might bring some comfort to her brother, far off as he was in danger.
The letter went out that night; by the next morning, Cheng Zhouhai arrived with far more significant news. The Huaxia Army had passed a resolution on New Year’s Eve, spent a peaceful New Year’s Day, and on the second day of the new year had openly issued a fierce declaration of war: that the Jurchens now waged an unjust war, that the Central Plains suffered in misery, that the south burned in continuous conflict, and that all Chinese people under heaven ought to unite against this common threat — yet there were cowards who, in fear of Jurchen might, turned their blades on their own countrymen, and against those who had crossed this final line, the Huaxia Army called on all Han people everywhere to strike them down together…
The declaration listed a considerable number of “war criminals” — mostly warlords formerly of the puppet Qi regime now leading troops south under Jin command, along with several Wu Dynasty factions secretly colluding with the Jin state. Against these people, the Huaxia Army had already sent an elite force of some ten thousand men out of Shu territory to carry out targeted strikes. While calling on righteous men throughout the realm to join the cause, it also urged all Wu Dynasty citizens to remain alert against any shameless traitors trying to defect amid the chaos of war.
In the morning light, Zhou Pei read the declaration through quietly, then looked up at Cheng Zhouhai, her face giving nothing away. “…Real, or a bluff?”
“There’s genuine movement within the Huaxia Army. By the time this news went out, several elite teams had already been confirmed assembling and departing Shu from different directions — teams ranging from a few dozen to one or two hundred men, part of the ‘special operations’ corps Ning Yi has specifically cultivated over the years, built on Zhou Tong’s old formation tactics, designed specifically to counter forces of a hundred or so in the greenwood…”
Zhou Pei blinked. “He was often the target of assassination himself, back in Bian Liang…”
“Mm. His concern for greenwood affairs back then earned him plenty of enemies too — my teacher always said he neglected his proper duties over it… The men around him were originally trained with exactly that threat in mind, and once they formed the Black Banner Army, this kind of training came to be called special operations — devastatingly effective at decapitating enemy leadership in major engagements. Two years back near Xiangyang, a team of over a hundred Jurchen masters kidnapped General Yue’s son and daughter, only to run straight into Ning Yi on his way back from the Jin region — nearly all of them were wiped out. There was a notorious killer, Lu Tuo, known as a grandmaster of the martial world — he too died to a single strike of Ning Yi’s palm the moment they crossed paths.”
Zhou Pei listened quietly. Over the years both the Princess and the Crown Prince had earned considerable goodwill among the common people, and Zhou Pei herself commanded no shortage of skilled fighters and heroes drawn from those who’d mastered scholarship and martial arts in service of the throne — the death agents she occasionally deployed for decisive action typically came from these ranks. But by comparison, the “professionals” on Ning Yi’s side seemed more like living legends within their own field — much like the Huaxia Army as a whole, which always managed to produce terrifying results despite being vastly outnumbered. In truth, Zhou Yong’s fear of the Huaxia Army surely stemmed from exactly this.
Having finished, Cheng Zhouhai paused. “It seems Ning Yi has truly staked everything on this.”
“How do you mean?” Zhou Pei asked.
Cheng Zhouhai smiled faintly. “A declaration this bloody and hardline, openly announcing intent to kill — it doesn’t fit the Huaxia Army’s current situation at all. However well we’ve been fighting on our end, the Huaxia Army remains, after all, confined to a corner of the southwest. By issuing this declaration and sending out assassination teams, Ning Yi will certainly give pause to those still wavering — but he’ll also push those who’ve already sided with the Jurchens to commit even more firmly. And what’s more, their first concern will no longer be the Wu Dynasty at all, but rather… this man whose word carries real weight across the realm, the demon-slayer Ning. He’s pulling the burden onto himself…”
Zhou Pei smiled faintly. In public reputation, this demon-slayer Ning was mostly spoken of with infamy — the result of years of joint suppression by both the Jin state and the Wu Dynasty. But among the upper echelons of every faction, was Ning Yi’s name really only worth “some” weight? He had killed Zhou Zhe first; then directly overthrown Tian Hu’s regime in the Jin region, leaving that once-celebrated hero, the Tiger King, dead in a dark cell; later still, he had driven the nominal “sovereign” Liu Yu to madness, seizing him from the imperial palace in Bian Liang, his whereabouts unknown to this day, with the blame conveniently pinned on the Wu Dynasty…
How was that only “some” weight? In truth, if this demon-slayer Ning ever truly set his sights on someone and vowed a vendetta to the death, few people in the realm could sleep soundly at night.
The smile on Zhou Pei’s face flickered and vanished. “He’s only afraid we’ll collapse too soon and drag him down along with us, hiding away as he is in the southwest.”
Cheng Zhouhai nodded. “Strange, too… well, it’s also a consequence of what His Majesty did earlier, which left him no other choice. The declaration claims ten thousand men were sent — surely an exaggeration to bluff the enemy — but even a few thousand would still represent elite forces the Huaxia Army has struggled mightily to build up in these hard years. Having committed them, there will certainly be losses — which, in a way, is also good news. However this plays out, both the Crown Prince’s situation and ours may see some relief because of it.”
Zhou Pei nodded, her eyes tracing the large map before her, mind working through the implications. “He’s sending this many people to stir up trouble for the Jurchens — the Jurchens certainly won’t sit idle, and those who’ve already defected will see him as a thorn in their side too… Good. This means the whole realm is about to be at war, and no one gets to sit this one out… Mm, Master Cheng, I’m thinking we should arrange a group of our own people…”
Cheng Zhouhai smiled. “I was thinking the very same thing…”
Zhou Pei walked over to the map. “Over the years quite a few factions in the Sichuan region have done business with the Huaxia Army. I’d guess that if the Huaxia Army is willing to move out of Shu, they must be relying on these connections first, fighting their way outward step by step. Flying the banner of purging traitors as they are, most people will likely look the other way rather than deliberately obstruct them under the circumstances — but there will still be bloodshed along various routes regardless. We should send our own people — first, to make sure local authorities along the way don’t obstruct the Huaxia Army’s operations, and where useful, cooperate with and assist these teams, clearing out as much of the filth secretly colluding with the Jurchens as we can, including those we’ve already identified ourselves. If it’s awkward for us to act directly, we can simply let the blame fall on that demon of Ning’s.”
By the time she finished, she was already smiling. Cheng Zhouhai nodded. “Ren Shangfei… old Ren is meticulous by nature, he can take charge of this. While cooperating with the Huaxia Army…”
“We investigate them, and keep records.” Zhou Pei finished the thought for him with a smile, her gaze fixed on the great map. “That way, even if the day comes when the two sides end up fighting each other…”
Her voice lowered. “…We’ll have something to go on.”
“…” Cheng Zhouhai stood behind her a moment, his expression complicated, then gave a faint smile. “I’ll go arrange the men.”
“I’ll leave it to you, Master Cheng…”
Having said this, Zhou Pei stared at the map in silence a long while. When she finally turned around, Cheng Zhouhai had already left the room. Zhou Pei sat in her chair, looking over the declaration again along with the accompanying intelligence — the declaration read properly enough on its surface, yet the content beneath it carried a frightening ruthlessness and violence.
For a long time now, faced with the tangled complexity of the realm’s affairs, Zhou Pei had often felt a sense of powerlessness. Proud by nature, she wasn’t, at heart, particularly strong-willed. Before a world locked in ruthless, all-out struggle allowing no room for luck — especially before the Jurchens, decisive and merciless, and before the man she had once called teacher, Ning Liheng — Zhou Pei could only feel her own distance and smallness. Even with half the strength of the Wu Dynasty behind her, she had never once felt she truly possessed the standing to contend with such people on the scale of the realm itself.
In this regard, her brother, who charged forward heedless of everything, might well possess a far greater strength than she did.
When the Huaxia Army had, without the slightest hesitation, pinned the blame for the puppet emperor Liu Yu onto the Wu Dynasty itself, what Zhou Pei had felt was the icy coldness of how the world truly worked — on the level of realm-spanning strategy, had her teacher ever once let sentiment guide him? By last year, her father’s cowardice and fear had forced Zhou Pei to confront that same cold reality, and she had sent Cheng Zhouhai to the southwest, willing to compromise, using whatever means necessary to strengthen her own position. And now, on the eve of Lin’an facing Wuzhu amid crises within and without, the Huaxia Army’s actions had, to some degree, left her feeling something like warmth.
Even though the demon in the southwest surely acted out of cold calculation, even though she understood full well the two sides would eventually clash — in this moment, he had, after all, been “forced” to extend a helping hand. She could easily imagine her brother, once he heard this news, along with the soldiers around him, would likewise feel comforted and encouraged by it.
And yet, in the deepest part of her heart, she also found herself wanting, rather wickedly, to laugh. Though this was, on its face, a terrible affair, she had never once imagined that her father’s mistaken actions could force the man far off in the southwest into making such a decision. She could almost picture the expression on his face at the moment he made that decision — perhaps he had even cursed her father out loud.
However one looked at it, this surely counted, for the demon-Ning, as a strange sort of comeuppance. Something no one else in the realm could manage, her father had achieved through sheer misstep — the thought of it made Zhou Pei rather pleased with herself.
This pleasant mood lingered for quite some time. The following day, the eighth of January, Wuzhu’s cavalry arrived at Lin’an, driving off some commoners who hadn’t managed to leave in time and launching small-scale harassing raids against the city. Zhou Pei, stationed at the estate, kept close watch on the situation within Lin’an and at court while methodically issuing orders beyond the walls, instructing the relief forces under Xu Liejun, Shen Cheng, and others not to rush, to hold their positions steady, and to slowly complete the encirclement and pressure against Wuzhu.
Even when some within the estate showed anxiety before her, Zhou Pei answered only with calm, confident reassurance:
“We will hold this city.”
In her own heart, the rational part remained complicated and uneasy. But after all these years, after living through such prolonged suppression and despair, this was the first time she had glimpsed something like real hope.
So many years had passed since that midnight farewell in Bian Liang; Zhou Pei had never seen Ning Yi again since. She had gone back and married, staying in Jiangning, while he had gone to Liangshan, wiped out the bandit scourge there, worked under Grandfather Qin, and later killed the emperor, defeated the Western Xia, resisted the Jurchens, even stood against the entire realm. He had grown steadily more a stranger to her, standing now opposite the Wu Dynasty, and that filled Zhou Pei with fear.
And yet, at the same time, deep in her heart, there remained always the image of the young girl at their parting, and of the teacher she had known then.
Back then, Ning Yi had turned and walked away, and she had watched his retreating figure, understanding in her heart even then: however difficult things became, so long as he was there, there would always be some thread of warmth and hope.
That night, she dreamed of that evening long ago.
The next morning, as various new reports came in, Zhou Pei paused over one piece of news in particular. It was simple enough: the previous afternoon, her father had summoned Lord Qin Hui into the palace for an audience.
Ever since falling out with his ministers, Zhou Yong had shut himself away in the palace, too weary to deal with anyone. The day before, following Wuzhu’s mild, inconsequential assault on Lin’an, Zhou Yong had summoned Qin Hui — there was, of course, some significance worth noting in that, which was why the intelligence agents had passed the news up. But on the whole it wasn’t anything especially major; it was enough simply to be aware of it.
Zhou Pei filed the impression away in her mind, then set it aside for the moment…