Banners lay scattered and fallen; warhorses let out shrill, mournful cries amid pools of blood, a sickening stench of blood spreading through the air. To the west, the fire-clouds of sunset had burned down to their final ashes; darkness, like some vast living beast, opened its enormous jaws, swallowing the horizon whole.
On one side of the view lay Zhenjiang’s city walls, stretching like a small mountain range; on the other side of the darkness, the fighting within the city still continued. Out on the open field here, the once-orderly Jurchen encampment was now shrouded in chaos and wreckage. Trebuchets lay toppled upon the ground, and the fires from the exploded bombs still burned fiercely.
In places bathed in that firelight, figures could be seen moving through the chaos; soldiers carried stretchers, pulling comrades with mangled limbs from collapsed tents and piles of equipment. Occasionally, a staggering enemy figure would come to among the wreckage of bodies, and small skirmishes would erupt on the spot, as the surrounding Jurchen soldiers closed in and cut the enemy figure down into the pool of blood.
Just a short while before, a fierce battle had erupted here. It had been evening; after fully confirming the crown prince Jun Wu’s location, Wanyan Xiyin had been about to pursue him when five thousand elite cavalry of the Beiwei Army suddenly arrived and launched a fierce, unrelenting assault against the flank of the Jurchen encampment’s defenses.
Tens of thousands of Jurchen troops had gathered at Zhenjiang for the siege, and had not built up much in the way of defensive works. But faced with the sudden charge of cavalry, they were not entirely unprepared either—the infantry swiftly formed up into battle formation, and the cannons were turned around as quickly as possible. In theory, any reasonably level-headed Wu Dynasty army would have chosen to hold position or retreat. But the charging cavalry only veered slightly across the open field before launching their charge at full speed.
Over these eight or nine years, the cavalry force in which the Beiwei Army had invested the most may well have been one of the Wu Dynasty’s finest elite units—but when had the Mountain-Razing Guard, which had ridden roughshod across the realm, ever been shown such contempt? Facing the arrival of this cavalry force, the infantry square closed in without hesitation to encircle them, and what followed was a brutal, all-out clash in which both sides staked everything. The charging cavalry made a slight detour, carving broad swaths of bloody path along the flank of the formation.
As the sun set, some of the horses, their eyes covered, charged into the Jurchen ranks like expendable weapons, while dismounted infantry pressed forward in pursuit. Yue Fei, his figure drenched in blood, cut his way through, trying to break through toward Wanyan Xiyin’s command banner. Facing him, Wanyan Xiyin instantly grasped the reckless intent of the general opposite him—the two sides had clashed before at Xiangfan, where the Beiwei Army had still been at a disadvantage against the Mountain-Razing Guard, driven back several times. In this moment, his hair and beard bristling, he rose with his sword drawn.
“Yue Pengju—you insolent child, I’ll flay you alive!”
By now, Zhenjiang had already fallen, and Xiyin held in his hands nearly the decisive stake that would determine the fate of the Wu Dynasty. Yet the resistance the Mountain-Razing Guard had met within the city had left him somewhat humiliated—though of course, these were all minor matters in the end. Had it been some other, incompetent Wu Dynasty general who had come at him now, Xiyin likely wouldn’t have felt insulted at all; insects deserved nothing more than to be crushed underfoot. But this Yue Fei, among the generals of the Wu Dynasty, was a truly sharp-eyed, skillful commander of note.
At this moment, though half the Mountain-Razing Guard had already entered Zhenjiang, at least twelve thousand or more Jurchen elite troops still remained with Xiyin outside the city, with part of Yinshuke’s forces providing support on the flank. That Yue Fei would charge in recklessly with only five thousand elite cavalry had a very simple strategic purpose: to kill Xiyin himself directly beneath the city walls, and thereby reclaim what the Wu Dynasty had already lost at Zhenjiang.
Such a reckless gamble, staking one’s own life while still managing to carry an entire army along with him, was, objectively speaking, admirable. But faced with it directly, having a young, lesser general make such a gesture against him personally felt, to some degree, like a slap in the face. On one hand he felt anger; on the other, it stirred the same fierce, savage blood that had once driven him during the original conquest of the realm. He personally took command from the officer below him on the spot, rallying the troops’ morale to meet the charge, determined to cut this young upstart who dared pull the tiger’s whiskers down from his horse, and to leave the Wu Dynasty’s finest fighting force buried on this battlefield.
In the space of less than half an hour, what unfolded on this stretch of open field was the most intense confrontation of the entire Battle of Zhenjiang. The two sides clashed like towering waves of blood crashing against one another, and enormous numbers of lives were extinguished in an instant. The Beiwei Army pressed forward with fierce, fearless momentum, while the Mountain-Razing Guard’s defense stood like an iron wall of bronze, holding back the Beiwei Army’s advance on one side while closing in from all directions on the other, trying to limit the enemy’s room to maneuver.
In this brief span of time, Yue Fei led his forces through several attempts, and in the end, the entire path of battle and slaughter cut straight through the Jurchen encampment. The soldiers lost nearly half their number in this large-scale assault, and in the end could only fight their way out along the road they had cut; the losses among the Mountain-Razing Guard’s elite troops, who had failed to hold back the Beiwei Army, were even more severe. Not until that blood-soaked cavalry force had swept away into the distance did any Jurchen unit dare to give chase.
Wanyan Xiyin’s expression shifted gradually from fury to a settled darkness, until at last he gritted his teeth and forced himself calm, turning to clean up the wreckage left behind. And because of this desperate strike by the Beiwei Army, the plan to pursue Jun Wu’s forces was also delayed.
Along the road leading south from Zhenjiang, the way was thick with fleeing crowds; after nightfall, scattered points of firelight stretched like a long dragon along the roads, the fields, and the banks of the canal. Some of the common people paused briefly to rest by campfires, then set off again before long, hoping to leave this land of war and danger as quickly as possible.
By the time Yue Fei and Wenren Buer’s escort rejoined the crown prince’s main camp, it was already close to midnight. In the fierce battle just past, Yue Fei himself had suffered several wounds—one between his shoulders, another cut across his forehead—and he was now covered head to toe in blood, wrapped in only a few scant bandages, an air of stern, forbidding intensity radiating from his whole body, enough to make anyone who saw him uneasy.
“This subject has come too late to the rescue.” Yue Fei and Wenren Buer already knew each other well, and after only brief pleasantries, Yue Fei asked, “I heard earlier that His Highness had been struck by an arrow and wounded—how is he now?”
“His Highness’s arrow wound is not deep, though it slightly injured his internal organs—no serious danger. It’s only that, after days of the Jurchens besieging the city, His Highness has been rushing about day after day, rallying morale, without a moment’s sleep. He’s pushed himself far past his limits, and I’m afraid he’ll need a good many days of rest and recovery.” Wenren said. “His Highness is still unconscious now, has not yet woken. Would you like to go see him, General?”
“That our nation has such a prince is the great fortune of our Wu Dynasty. Since His Highness is still unconscious, and I am covered head to toe in blood, I won’t go in to see him. It’s only a pity… that I failed to kill Wanyan Xiyin…”
The two of them walked together through the camp. Wenren Buer glanced around. “I heard of your valor, General—cutting down Aluba is truly something to be heartened by. It’s only… that some in the camp say charging headlong at Wanyan Xiyin with half your cavalry force was rather reckless.”
Both of them had ties to Ning Yi, and both were trusted confidants under the crown prince. Wenren, speaking in a low voice now, meant this not as reproach but simply as a way of passing along word to Yue Fei. Yue Fei’s expression turned grave and dark. “Once I confirmed that Xiyin was attacking Zhenjiang, I sensed at once that something was wrong, and so I led over five thousand cavalry here at once—but it was still, in the end, one step too late. Once news of Zhenjiang’s fall and His Highness’s injury reaches Lin’an, this realm may well face great upheaval. Sensing how critical the situation was, I felt I had no choice but to act as I did… In the end, I acted on a gamble. Brother Wenren, how stands the situation in the capital? I’ll need you to help think it through carefully…”
As a general, Yue Fei was most attuned to how swiftly the situation could shift. As he spoke these words, Wenren Buer’s expression grew grave as well. “…In the two days after the city fell, the crown prince rushed everywhere, rallying everyone’s spirits, and the soldiers within and around Zhenjiang fought with everything they had—I too was deeply moved by it. Once the crown prince was wounded, with so many people gathered around, before long not only did the army adopt the fierce resolve of a grieving force, pressing bravely forward, but the common people wept for the crown prince too, and rushed toward the Jurchen forces in great numbers. I know that containing the news should have come first, but witnessing that scene with my own eyes, I could not help but feel my own heart stirred as well… And besides, given what happened, there was really no way to contain the news in any case.”
He paused. “Once things had settled somewhat, I sent a letter to Lin’an, and reported your achievement in cutting down Aluba as well, General. For now, I can only hope the Princess’s household can still keep the situation under control… As for what happened at Zhenjiang, it’s true that the crown prince himself was determined and refused to leave, but as one of his trusted attendants, that I did not remonstrate more forcefully to stop him is itself a grave failing on my part. Once this crisis has settled, even if only for a time, I will submit a report taking responsibility for this… Actually, thinking back on it now, at the very start of the war last year, the Princess herself once instructed me that, should the situation ever grow truly dire, she hoped I would be able to forcibly remove the crown prince from the battlefield to keep him safe. She had already foreseen this, even then…”
As he said this, he closed his eyes in some pain. In truth, as one of the crown prince’s trusted attendants, how could Wenren Buer not know what choice would have been wisest? But over these past few days, what Jun Wu had done had truly been deeply moving. It was the process of a young man truly growing and transforming into a man. Having crossed this threshold, his future prospects were beyond measure—one day, as emperor, he would surely be the kind of brilliant, heroic ruler that Confucian scholars could only dream of. But within all this, danger was, of course, inherent as well.
Where exactly the right balance lay in all this, Wenren Buer found impossible to judge; in the end, he could only defer to Jun Wu’s own will.
Yue Fei let out a sigh. “There’s no need to feel this way, Brother Wenren. As Mr. Ning has said, in matters of this world, what’s needed is the effort of everyone in it. The crown prince, you, I—we have all done our utmost. Mr. Ning’s way of thinking is as cold as ice; though it is so often correct, it leaves no room for compromise. Back then, between my master and myself, there was, in the end, always some difference of view. My master was upright and unyielding by nature, spending his whole life striving in the name of good and against evil, and in the end died attempting to assassinate Nianhan. Though he failed, he went to it without a moment’s hesitation, because he believed, in his heart, that beyond mere human strength, there existed a spirit and a righteousness that transcended man. He went to strike down Nianhan without hesitation, believing to the end that the Wu Dynasty, having ruled this land for more than two hundred years and brought benefit to countless people, would in the end see this world set right again.”
The bloodstains scattered across his body, he smiled faintly as he spoke. “My master has been gone more than ten years now, and his spirit still influences the world to this day. Though the Wu Dynasty is now in chaos and disorder, I too always believe that, in the end, people will give this world a chance at survival.”
Having said this, Yue Fei patted Wenren Buer on the shoulder. Wenren Buer was silent for a moment, then finally smiled, turning his gaze toward the scattered points of firelight beyond the camp. “The battle for Zhenjiang is gradually settling, but outside, hundreds of thousands of common people are still fleeing south, and the Jurchens could descend upon them in slaughter at any moment. If His Highness wakes, he will surely want to see them all reach safety—so the forces withdrawing south from Zhenjiang are still guarding against this even now.”
“As it should be.” Yue Fei nodded, then cupped his hands. “The main force under my command will be arriving soon as well—we will not let the Jin dogs harm our Wu Dynasty’s people. Brother Wenren, this realm still has hope yet—I ask that you look after His Highness well. I will do everything in my power to wrest the righteousness of this land back from the hands of the Jin dogs.”
In the dim light, the two men, both utterly exhausted, cupped their hands to one another with smiles. At this very hour, scouts carrying dispatches and envoys urging surrender were already making their way, one after another, down the roads leading south…
In Lin’an, the night lay deep and dark as ink.
Qin Hui jolted awake from a nightmare. He quietly got out of bed and turned up the lamp; from outside the door came the knocking that only ever meant urgent news.
“Your robe is on the screen…”
Unable to find his outer coat, Qin Hui was about to go answer the door in just his inner garments when his old wife’s voice came from the bed. Qin Hui nodded. “Go back to sleep.”
He opened the door a crack; a servant outside handed him something. Qin Hui took it, closed the door, and turned back to fetch his robe.
“I’ll be over in a moment—go back to sleep.”
He repeated this quietly, put on his robe, took up an oil lamp, and sat down in a corner of the room before finally breaking the seal on the message.
He read it over and over for a long while, his eyes gradually losing focus, until he simply sat there in the corner, silent, as if slowly dying. At some point, his old wife had gotten up from the bed. “…You have something urgent—let me have someone bring you water.”
Qin Hui looked at his wife, wanting to say something but not knowing how to say it. After a long while, he raised the paper in his hand slightly. “I was right. The Wu Dynasty is finished…”
Qin Hui had often grumbled like this before, and his wife paid it no mind; only once the hot water for washing his face arrived did Qin Hui slowly stand up. “Mm. I need to wash and prepare myself… I’ll have to go in shortly.”
“Go where?”
“Into the palace.” Qin Hui answered, then murmured to himself, “There’s no other way, no other way…”
With his wife’s help, he combed his white hair carefully into place; in the mirror, his face appeared upright and resolute. He knew he was about to do what could not be avoided. He thought of Qin Siyuan, and before long, thought too of Tang Ke during the humiliation of the Jingping era, and said, “You see—between Tang Qinsou and myself, there’s more than a little resemblance…”
His old wife had no idea what he meant.
Before long, someone came from the palace, and Qin Hui followed them out. The carriage left the Qin residence; out in the street, the watchman’s fifth drum sounded through the night. The city of Lin’an remained dark.
From this point on, it would never brighten again.