“Five years ago, I was transferred to serve as prefect of Tanzhou. When I reached the capital, I was received by Elder Mei after a poetry gathering. The old gentleman told me then that this Miao frontier region was full of trouble, no end of problems, and told me to be careful. At the time, the great battle at Xiaocang River had only just ended; the Black Banner Army’s strength had been badly hurt, but their three-year war against the Jurchens had truly forged a stubbornness that shook the realm.”
“This Miao frontier region belonged originally to the Overlord Blade line within the Black Banner forces. In the early days, they had followed Fang La and risen up in the Yongle Rebellion; after that, they lay low, not stirring again until the Battle of Xiaocang River began. In the fifth year of the Jianshuo era, the main Overlord Blade force moved west, preparing for the Black Banner Army’s retreat from Xiaocang River. What remained in the Miao frontier, besides family members, numbered no more than ten thousand combat-capable men—but even so, I never once held them in contempt. It’s just that what followed did not go as I expected. As the ancients said, the trouble of the House of Ji lay not with Zhuanyu, but within its own walls.”
Juling County. Autumn was drawing near, the whole garden turned to gold. In the most luxurious restaurant in the county seat, a young woman played a refined little tune to liven the mood, while a middle-aged official in his forties, holding a wine cup, spoke across the table to a burly, rough-looking military officer opposite him. There was a note of self-mockery in his words now and then, but his tone was, on the whole, quite sincere.
“After my brother was transferred to Tanzhou, I set my house in order, made connections in every direction, gathered intelligence on the Miao frontier, and drew up a plan of blockade first, extermination second. And yet, in the eighth, ninth, and tenth years of Jianshuo, I sent troops out five times—at the least eighty thousand men mobilized, at the most two hundred thousand marching into the mountains—but in the end, it was the people at my own side who held me back.”
The middle-aged official waved his hand slowly. “Three years, five campaigns, and every single one came back with nothing accomplished. On this side we’d say we were going to fight, and over in the southwest, everyone would already be off doing business with them. Once the business was done, they’d start their own private mischief on the side, siphoning off manpower—all of them thinking they’d gotten one over on that Mr. Ning. Brother, my heart aches. It’s not that I was lazy—in the summer of the ninth year of Jianshuo, Brother Zhu, you let me down.”
The rough-featured officer across from him raised his cup. “Drink.”
“Never mind, let’s drink.”
The two clinked cups. The middle-aged official’s face was flushed red; he poured another cup. “I know—I, Yin Changxia, came today to persuade Brother Zhu, and given your temperament, you might well look down on me for it. But, speaking of the bigger picture, you and I are both officials of the Wu Dynasty. I am the prefect of Tanzhou, and by rights you fall under my authority. It’s just that the Wu Dynasty has now sunk into ruin, and everyone has their own thoughts on the matter—no matter. Today, I, Yin, come only as a friend. Take what I say as you will, Brother Zhu; listen if you wish, or don’t.”
The man addressed as Yin Changxia spoke with a note of wine in his voice. The Wu Dynasty’s Tanzhou was, in later ages, the city of Changsha, and served as the seat of Jinghu South Circuit. As Tanzhou’s prefect, he was one of the highest-ranking officials in the provincial capital, and Juling, a small county near Tanzhou, was nominally under his jurisdiction. Emboldened by drink, Yin Changxia spoke this way, and the officer surnamed Zhu raised his cup in apology. “You take this too seriously, my lord. I’ll punish myself with three cups, three cups.”
“Let’s drink together.” Yin Changxia drank three cups along with him, then slapped his hand on the table. “You were about to say you look down on me—never mind that. The Black Banner Army calls me a traitor to my people. What counts as a traitor? Standing against them, apparently, makes you one. Brother Zhu, I too am a Han man. I am an official of the Wu Dynasty, I am the father-official governing Tanzhou. I miscalculated, I admit it. Five years governing Tanzhou, and I never once managed to break into the Miao frontier. Why? No one listens to reason. I admit that too.”
He waved his hand. “All these years dealing with them, I underestimated their fighting strength. In June, they came out—said they’d take Changsha, and took Changsha; said they’d take Linxiang, and took Linxiang. City defenses in shambles, some people even opened the gates for them. I admit that too. The world has changed—the Huaxia Army is formidable, the Jurchens are formidable, and we’ve been left behind. No use denying it. But what comes next, Brother Zhu?”
Yin Changxia rapped his finger on the table. “In June, when Chen Fan and his men came storming out, saying they’d kill me to sacrifice to their banner, I had no choice but to go into hiding. All around us, everyone talked of joining the Black Banner to resist the Jurchens together—talked a good game too. That Yu Daya of Pingjiang couldn’t wait to go kneel before Mr. Ning in the southwest himself; in the streets of Pingjiang County they called Mr. Ning a sage. Xiangxiang and other places all said they’d join the Black Banner too. But then, by August, things had changed.”
“In June I lost Changsha, Linxiang, and other places, and went into hiding, Brother Zhu. By August I came back out, and everywhere, people began responding, beginning to turn against the Black Banner. Do you think it’s because I, Yin, have such power to rally people?” Yin Changxia shook his head. “I amount to nothing. To be frank, Brother Zhu—the people of Hunan are a fierce, bold folk, quick to lead where others hesitate. I’m an outsider; I couldn’t command any of you. What’s truly moving all of you is something else out there.”
He trailed off, his gaze drifting to the window of the restaurant.
Beyond the small courtyard lay the gray streets and buildings of Juling. Juling was, in later ages, the site of Liuyang; it was no great city, and at first glance showed nothing of splendor, but even so, there was a quiet atmosphere among the people coming and going. Sunlight fell through the gaps in the trees, fallen leaves lay withered and yellow, insects sang, beggars rested by the roadside, children ran past.
Yin Changxia said, “In August, the Jurchen commander Wanyan Xiyin issued the order to advance on Jinghu. Guo Baohuai, Yu Gusheng, and Li Touhe together bring nearly two hundred thousand men—they’ll arrive first. After them will come several hundred thousand more, wave after wave. And commanding from the rear is the veteran Jurchen general Yinshuke—they’ve already taken Lin’an, made their corrections, and are on the road here now. Brother Zhu, what do you have against that?”
He gave a mocking little laugh. “This batch of Black Banner troops in the Miao frontier is a notch weaker than the ones from the Xiaocang River days. A little over ten thousand men coming out and taking Changsha and Linxiang—quite the splash they made. But once several hundred thousand troops press in, and they can’t win, they’ll retreat back into the mountains. Even if they have the backbone to grind it out to the death, no one who stands with them will survive. Look at the northwest even now—still scorched earth.”
The rough-featured officer opposite nodded. “Yes, this is bad.”
“And the Jurchen commander Wanyan Xiyin, the one they call the Spirit of the Valley, is different from those two eastern princes.” Yin Changxia drank another cup. “A veteran of the founding of their state—most troublesome of all. He’s not like Zongfu and Zongbi, who just drive men into battle. He set clear rules of reward and punishment early on. Those who fight well, who earn merit, get land, get people, get weapons and cannon. He’s hinting at something—that someday they’ll all head back north. When that day comes, Brother Zhu, forgive my saying something treasonous—those of us in the south, the Jurchens would actually be glad to see us carve up the land into separate fiefs. That suits them best. Fighting for the Jurchens, no one wants to. Fighting for ourselves, or for the Wu Dynasty—honestly, we could still put up a fight.”
The officer opposite took a drink. “Does that even still count as fighting for the Wu Dynasty?”
Yin Changxia’s cup paused in his hand. After a moment, he picked up the wine jug and drank several cups in a row, his voice growing low. “Brother Zhu, it doesn’t. But given the state of things now, how are we supposed to explain it to everyone? The late emperor abandoned the city and fled, Jiangnan fell apart completely, everyone surrendered. The new emperor wants to make a stand, and good for him—word came a few days ago that he broke Wanyan Zongfu at Jiangning. But what comes after that? Not even he knows how he’s going to get out. Brother Zhu, if we roused the whole realm and marched on Jiangning, drove back the Jurchens—do you think that’s even possible?”
He shook his head. “Jiangnan is already on its knees. A million-some men, surrounding their own crown prince, took up arms against him. Jiangnan West Circuit—tens of thousands more surrendered. The richest region of the Wu Dynasty, and the Jurchens took the profit of its autumn harvest. Risk everything to fight—who wouldn’t want to? I spent years in Tanzhou wanting to risk everything against the Miao frontier too. That’s just how this world is. The other day I went in person to meet Yu Daya at Pingjiang—you think it was me who convinced him? He’d already seen it for himself: once the Jurchens come, Pingjiang’s tens of thousands, its hundred-thousands, will all die, Brother Zhu. Those are the common people out there.”
“If it weren’t for this Black Banner rabble, none of these people would have to die. The Jurchens wouldn’t see this place as a thorn in their side to be crushed. Ten thousand Black Banner soldiers, Brother Zhu—a million people will die alongside them. What did the common people ever do to deserve that?”
As Yin Changxia said this, tears stood in his eyes. Across from him, the rough-featured provincial army commander Zhu Jing rose to his feet and stood at the window, gazing out, murmuring to himself, “Yes… ten thousand against a million.”
“And it’s not only the lives of those ten thousand.” Yin Changxia sat at the table eating, wiping at his face. “It’s the lives of a million innocent people too. From Yu Daya at Pingjiang, to Lou Xian at Miluo, to Liu Qusheng—everyone has decided to steer clear. Brother Zhu, to the east there’s only Juling left. You have over ten thousand men under your command, plus Juling’s population of forty or fifty thousand. Once Guo Baohuai and the others arrive, there’ll be no holding them. Of course, I’m only laying out the stakes plainly. Brother Zhu, look at the common people out there—I can’t bear to see them die for the sake of these Black Banner bandits.”
The rough-featured Zhu Jing pressed both hands against the windowsill, brow furrowed, gazing off into the distance, saying nothing for a long while. Yin Changxia could tell his words had reached the man’s heart; he affected an air of ease, eating from the dishes on the table, suppressing the tension inside him.
When Chen Fan attacked Changsha and Linxiang in June, Yin Changxia’s first instinct had naturally been to fight back. Who could have known the Huaxia Army would break through pass after pass within days—he hadn’t even had time to figure out who had betrayed him before Changsha and Linxiang had their gates opened before them. Linxiang fell at night; it was said the bandit chief Chen Fan led men straight for him, coming to take his head. Yin Changxia, disheveled and in a panic, fled and hid outside for two months, not daring to show his face.
By August, Elder Mei, Wu Qimei, now holding high rank in the small court at Lin’an, sent him a letter, and only then did he dare come out and start persuading the various local powers. By then, Jurchen momentum pressed hard on Tanzhou, and because the Huaxia Army’s strength in this region was too thin to fully unite the surrounding factions, many had grown fearful of the million-strong army that might descend on them at any moment. When Yin Changxia came out to persuade them, both sides found common ground at once, deciding to stay as neutral as possible in the coming clash between the Jurchens and the Huaxia Army.
Even if complete neutrality was impossible, at the very least, he had to secure some path to survival for the tens of thousands of innocent common people under his charge.
That, at least, was how he saw it.
Right now, if he could just persuade Zhu Jing to give up Juling, the road east of Tanzhou would be wide open.
And he himself would truly have fulfilled his responsibility as Tanzhou’s father-official.
That was how he thought of it.
In the sunlight outside the window, the last of the falling leaves drifted down.
The officer named Zhu Jing gazed out the window, silent for a long, long while.
“My lord Yin—you grew up in Jiangnan, didn’t you?”
“My family’s ancestral home is Suzhou,” said Yin Changxia.
“When the Central Plains fell, I was butchering pigs in Bianliang.” The rough-featured, slightly heavyset officer looked out at the autumn scenery, speaking quietly. “Later I fled with everyone else back to my hometown, and that’s when I started soldiering. When the Central Plains fell, how a million, ten million people died—I saw it all with my own eyes. My lord Yin has been fortunate—always living in Jiangnan.”
“When they combed the mountains and searched the seas, I saw how people died too. So—it can’t be that they died for nothing.”
“Right, they have to die for something worthwhile.” Zhu Jing struck his fist into his palm. “I was butchering pigs in Bianliang—even that trade meant staying on good terms with both the underworld and the authorities, sometimes even fighting with a blade to survive. There’s a saying on the road—’a man who’s not ruthless can’t stand firm.’ There’s truth to that. The Central Plains fell ten years ago. My lord Yin, what you’ve said today has truly made me understand something. Even hiding away in a small place like Juling, it seems the deaths of those hundreds of thousands, millions back then, have finally caught up with me.”
The corner of Yin Changxia’s eye twitched. “Brother Zhu, can this still be avoided?”
“My lord Yin, why is it always the Han people who have to look for a way to avoid it?”
“You’re overthinking this—this isn’t something one person can decide alone.”
“Two years ago, I broke Shuangqiao Stronghold. That stronghold sits deep in the mountains, easy to defend, hard to attack. These past two months, I’ve fixed it up. If Juling can’t be held, I’ll take my men into those mountains, and just like you said about the Miao frontier, we’ll grind it out until we die.”
Zhu Jing turned his head. This quietly named but rough-featured man had a look in his eyes now, wild enough to frighten Yin Changxia. Yin Changxia stood up. “You, you’re—”
“Yesterday, Chen Fan came to ask me for safe passage. What he said made sense. If the army keeps fighting the way it used to, we’ll never beat the Jurchens in a hundred lifetimes. The Black Banner Army doesn’t force cowards like Yu Daya to join up, because it wouldn’t do any good even if they did. Only those who can still stand at the front when the whole world has fallen into ruin deserve to be called brothers.”
Zhu Jing’s mouth opened, revealing a grim white grin. “General Chen is a true hero. Mad as hell, and I admire that. I, Zhu Jing, don’t just intend to join up—I’ll hand over every one of my more than thirteen thousand men, all of them, to be trained and reorganized by the Huaxia Army from now on. My lord Yin, you came here today and said a great deal, but you were too stingy by half. Let me at least let you die with your eyes open.”
“Chen Fan, you—” Yin Changxia’s mind reeled for a moment. That he had been able to come here in person meant, of course, that he’d had reliable intelligence and assurances. Who could have known he’d run into a situation like this. He took a deep breath, forcing his scattered thoughts to steady. “Chen Fan asked you for safe passage—passage to where, to do what?”
“Just as you said—Yu Gusheng and Guo Baohuai are about to arrive. General Chen is going out to meet them.”
“He has barely ten thousand men—not even enough to hold two cities. How is he supposed to march out to attack?”
“Ha ha, my lord Yin, you’re quite right. He has barely ten thousand men, holding two cities isn’t even enough—why would he just sit and wait for a million-strong army to descend on him? You see, my lord Yin, the Huaxia Army are all madmen. If Chen Fan hadn’t come to ask me for passage, I might really not have had the resolve to seize you here, my lord, to sacrifice to the banner!”
Sunlight streamed through the window; even the dust in the air seemed to carry a note of foreboding. The music in the room had long since stopped. Yin Changxia looked out the window; in the distance, passersby walked along. He steadied his nerve, forced his gaze to look righteous and stern, and struck his hand on the table.
“You’re all mad, not valuing your own lives at all—fine, that’s your business. But the tens of thousands of people in Juling! The hundred-thousands, the millions of people of Tanzhou, of this whole Jinghu South Circuit! How dare you drag them all to their deaths with you! What right do you have to do such a thing!”
His voice rang out, sharp and startling. Zhu Jing looked at him and licked his lips.
“That’s exactly it. If they don’t want it, then they’ll have to pick up a blade themselves and find some way to kill me. In this world, there has never been a second path.”
Far off in the ravines, smoke rose from a small village, and red leaves fell from the mountaintops. A broad-shouldered, kindly-faced monk in a wide cloak made his way up a mountain path, greeting the few people at the edge of the camp among the hills.
Waiting at the edge of this camp for the heavyset monk’s arrival were none other than Zhuo Yongqing and the wounded Qu Qing. The moment he saw the man, Zhuo Yongqing’s expression darkened. “You’ve got some nerve showing your face, you Feng. So it was you who sold us out to Yu Daya yourself, wasn’t it—a thing this big and you didn’t even discuss it with us first?”
“Now, now, calm down, hero Zhuo. I heard Brother Qu got wounded, so I brought some fine medicine with me.” The plump monk, all smiles, pulled a package of medicine out from under his cloak and offered it up to Zhuo Yongqing as if presenting a tribute. Zhuo Yongqing reflexively took it. Only after taking it did he realize this made it awkward to keep venting his anger.
Ever since dozens of special-operations teams had broken out of the southwest at the start of the year, Zhuo Yongqing’s group had received the most attention of all, and was also considered especially significant. Qu Qing and Zhuo Yongqing led the visible face of the operation, while one or two teams operated in the shadows to support them. Feng Zhen, nicknamed “the Honest Monk,” was a well-known information broker across Jinghu South and Jiangnan West. Over these nine months, he had worked secretly alongside Qu Qing and Zhuo Yongqing, helping to eliminate no small number of people; the two sides had built a solid working relationship, though of course urgent situations occasionally arose.
Feng Zhen smiled broadly. “Things were urgent, there wasn’t time to discuss it in detail. Yin Changxia’s people had already been in secret contact with Yu Daya many times, and Yu Daya was wavering. There was nothing else for it—I just went with the flow and arranged for the two of them to meet. And didn’t I send word right away about Yu Daya sending troops after you? No harm done—I knew with Brother Qu and Brother Zhuo there, nothing bad would happen.”
“Still no harm done? If we’d reacted just a bit slower, they’d have surrounded us on all sides—four thousand against two hundred! Even reacting in time, we still had to fight off over a thousand of them—”
“Just a thousand-some, no big deal, small matter. It’s not like it’s the first time for you, Brother Zhuo. Let me explain, let me explain—I had no choice either. Yin Changxia is a wary man, and timid too—without giving him some incentive, he wouldn’t have taken the bait. Now that I’ve brought him and Yu Daya together, arranging his next moves will be much simpler. A few days ago I set up for him to meet Zhu Jing—if I’ve calculated right, that fellow’s walked right into the trap and should already be captured by now.”
“Is Zhu Jing reliable?”
“In this whole region, he’s probably the most reliable there is. Deputy Commander Chen’s side also asked in detail about Zhu Jing’s situation. As it happens, Chen asked him for passage yesterday—if things went as planned, he shouldn’t be far from us now.”
Feng Zhen spoke quietly, gesturing toward the rear of the mountain slope. Zhuo Yongqing frowned. “Yu Gusheng and Guo Baohuai aren’t far from us either—together, about a hundred thousand men. How many has Deputy Commander Chen brought?”
“Seven or eight thousand, I’d say,” said Feng Zhen with a smile, “which is why I’m here to pass along the order too—time to gather according to plan.”
The group exchanged bows, and Zhuo Yongqing turned back. The setting sun shone down over the ravine with its rising cooking smoke; the villagers living peacefully there probably felt none of this at all. He glanced at Qu Qing, then touched at his still-aching wound. Over these nine months, the two of them had taken turns getting wounded, again and again—but this time, the mission was finally shifting from small-scale operations into a large-scale gathering of forces.
“Guess it’s finally about to kick off for real,” he said, letting out a breath, and left it at that.
The idea that things were “about to kick off”—among the great armies marching this way, there was still hardly any sense of it at all.
As the sky gradually darkened, Yu Gusheng, leading the roughly forty-five thousand men of the former Wufeng Battalion, made an early camp among the hills. Once they crossed into Jinghu South Circuit’s territory, the army had begun to slow its pace—advancing steadily on one hand, while waiting for the slightly slower armies of Guo Baohuai and Li Touhe to catch up on the other.
After nightfall, Yu Gusheng took his son Yu Mingzhou to make rounds of the camp, father and son discussing their strategy as they walked. As Yu Gusheng’s eldest son, Yu Mingzhou, who had set his sights on military command since childhood, was twenty-one this year—tall and upright, sharp-minded, and long regarded as the pride of the Yu family. This young officer, clad in armor, a longsword at his waist, spoke eloquently as he walked alongside his father.
Compared to Yu Gusheng, who had spent his whole life scraping by within the corrupt system of the Wu Dynasty’s military, the young Yu Mingzhou had come of age in what was both the worst of times and the best. Though the realm had fallen, the status of military men had risen considerably; Yu Mingzhou no longer had to spend his whole life deferring to scholar-officials the way his father had. At this moment, the younger Yu Mingzhou carried himself with real confidence and spirit—exactly the sort of bearing that most satisfied his father.
“For this campaign against Tanzhou, in your son’s view, we shouldn’t cross the Pingjiang-Juling line right away. Although in the Tanzhou region we outnumber them greatly, and the surrounding areas have gradually submitted, facing the Black Banner Army—tens of thousands, even over a hundred thousand of a ragtag force—we still can’t be certain of an easy victory. For now, the priority for whoever arrives first should be avoiding getting picked off piece by piece, while winning over the surrounding factions and steadily consolidating the front line.”
“To answer to the Jurchens at our rear, your son will prepare a formal report—Father, it would be best if you could pass it directly to the Spirit of the Valley himself. As a great hero of his generation, the Jurchen commander will surely appreciate the necessity of this strategy. Of course, on the surface he will certainly urge us to hurry—by that time, our side will already have joined up in one line with Lord Guo’s and Lord Li’s forces, and we’ll have finished absorbing the local forces in the surrounding area as well.”
“Actually, there are other considerations at play here too. Although the realm has fallen, there are still no small number of people whose hearts remain loyal to the Wu Dynasty. Though we have no choice but to go to war against the Black Banner, in your son’s judgment, it would be best if we’re not the first army to draw blood—we shouldn’t look too eager to throw ourselves into the Jurchens’ service. That way, many things down the road will go much more smoothly.”
The autumn wind was pleasant, the campfires burning bright, and Yu Gusheng nodded repeatedly as his son spoke. Having made a full round of the central camp, he found himself all the more approving of his son’s steady, careful approach to setting up camp. Although Tanzhou still lay far ahead, a good commander had to remain cautious and attentive to every detail at all times—and with a son like this, though the realm had fallen into ruin and decline, he found in his heart at least some measure of comfort.
Just as Yu Gusheng was making his rounds of the peaceful camp, Chen Fan was resting briefly with his men in the dark mountains, tucked into a hollow in the rock face, holding a fire-striker as he studied a piece of intelligence he had just received.
Ji Qian’er came in from outside, carrying a small bag of dry rations. “How’s it going—are we really moving tonight? Seems a bit rushed.”
“Since I was young, my teacher taught me: know yourself and know your enemy, and you’ll never be in danger in a hundred battles.” Chen Fan handed the intelligence report and fire-striker to his wife in exchange for the bag of rations. He fell silent for a moment, a strange look crossing his face.
“This is the first time I’ve ever come across such detailed intelligence on an enemy.”