The sky was a pale grey-blue, rain falling from above, soaking through people’s clothes, bringing with it the biting chill of early winter.

Outside Jianmen Pass, a crowded column of refugees filled the valley; the wailing of women and children dissolved into one continuous, desolate sound in the rain. Old men climbed the towering slope before Jianmen Pass, kneeling on the ground, begging the garrison within to let them pass.

This wretched scene had already continued for more than ten days. Most of the refugees driven to the area north of the pass had already fallen ill, with many elderly, weak, and disabled among them. Lacking food, clothing, and medicine, hundreds upon thousands died each day—even given how hard life in the mountains of Sichuan already was, Jiange had not seen such a desolate scene in many years.

Soldiers atop the walls, wrapped in straw raincoats, stood holding their spears, hardly able to bear the sight. As the heavy rain fell, the old, weak, and infirm in the valley before them would slowly collapse and breathe their last, right before their eyes. What lay before them was nothing short of hell on earth.

And yet, the gates could not be opened.

Wanyan Zonghan’s army of over two hundred thousand had already entered Lizhou, camped just a few dozen li away. Jianmen Pass was the most crucial checkpoint in the Sichuan region.

For now, with Si Zhongxian’s twenty thousand elite troops, together with over ten thousand local forces, holding the pass, as long as Jianmen Pass remained in his hands, he could fight if he chose to fight, negotiate if he chose to negotiate—whatever choice he made carried tremendous strategic value.

Under these circumstances, even amid the negotiations, both sides continued probing Si Zhongxian’s bottom line.

The Huaxia Army side was comparatively more honorable—partly because there was no need to seize the pass by force. At most, they continued quietly persuading various parties in the name of righteousness, forming alliances behind the scenes.

The Jurchens, meanwhile, pursued a two-pronged approach. On one hand, Wanyan Xiyin had dispatched an envoy delegation, led by Si Zhongxian’s father Si Wenzhong, offering Si Zhongxian terms so generous as to be almost unimaginable. On the other hand, Wanyan Zonghan, positioned right outside Jiange, displayed a resolute will to fight and a growing impatience by the day. Even as the delegation continued negotiating, they drove large numbers of sick and weak civilians toward Jianmen Pass, inciting them with the promise that once they passed through, the Huaxia Army would give them food and treat their illnesses.

Opening the pass and cautiously letting people through might seem, to an ordinary person, like a reasonable choice—even if one or two spies, or even a squad or two, mixed in among the crowd, it seemed unlikely to break through a formidable pass held by over thirty thousand troops. But logic like this never holds on a battlefield. Seasoned hunters use every means to test their prey’s limits; sometimes, a single step backward can determine bloodshed several steps down the line.

Wanyan Zonghan and the other Jurchen generals outside Jianmen Pass were clearly hunters of this caliber. Even holding the substantive upper hand in negotiations, they spared no effort in projecting their own ruthlessness and confidence: even if you don’t surrender, we will still crush you mercilessly!

By late September, the sick and weak Han civilians driven to the northern end of Jianmen Pass already numbered over thirty thousand.

Heading northeast from the stronghold of Jiange, the continuous drizzling rain stretched on for more than thirty li. The already-fallen ancient city of Zhaohua was the core of Wanyan Zonghan’s encampment; roughly eighty thousand Jurchen main force troops were stationed at the Zhaohua camp. On the western outskirts of Zhaohua, more than a hundred thousand people driven forward by the Jurchens huddled, shivering, in dilapidated camps and under tents.

In the drizzling rain, over two thousand people were driven out of the camp by Jurchen troops—these were prisoners in the refugee camp who had already fallen ill and could not be treated. To avoid having them die within the camp, the Jurchens drove the sick out along with their families, directing them to head west toward Jiange.

The Jurchen army didn’t bother much with oversight of these sick and weakened Han civilians. Patrols did exist, and anyone encountered would simply be shot with arrows from a distance. Hiding or circling around through the nearby mountains and forests wasn’t impossible as a way to avoid the Jurchen main force—but on one hand, the patients’ conditions worsened by the day, and on the other, wherever the Jurchen army had passed, there was nothing left but ruins and dead land. This autumn, the Jurchen main force had swept through all the way from the Xiangfan direction; whatever could be plundered for this coming great battle had already been plundered long ago.

Going back was death. Hiding in the mountains was a slow death. Going to Jiange—perhaps one day the Han general guarding Jianmen Pass truly would show mercy, give them food, allow them treatment? Or perhaps the pass would open, letting them cross to the other side to take refuge with the Huaxia Army, said to fly the banner of benevolence and righteousness?

Perhaps only as this faint hope faded day by day into a dead end would people realize that the dead end had, in truth, already arrived.

A column of dark blue-clad cavalry stood atop a hill west of the city. Wanyan Zonghan, draped in a large cloak, watched several thousand people leaving the camp, stumbling forward. Wails rose on all sides; some fell into the mud, kneeling and begging.

At the time of their capture, they had still had some meager belongings; within the camp, the Jurchens had provided a small amount of food each day. But now, driven out, they had nothing left at all. Exposed to rain, some already sick, with no medicine and no certainty of a next meal, surrounded by the mountains of Sichuan—every sick person, even one with no more than a minor cold, would, within a few days, gradually die before the eyes of their loved ones.

Zhenzhu Dawang Wanyan Sheyema arrived from the other side of the slope with his retinue—he was Wanyan Zonghan’s eldest son, who had followed Nianhan on campaigns since childhood. When the Jurchens destroyed the Liao, he had been only in his teens, not yet having made his mark; by the time of the second Battle of Bianliang, twenty-seven-year-old Wanyan Sheyema, along with his younger brother Baoshan Dawang Wanyan Xiebao, were already senior generals in the army.

In another history, during the humiliation of the Jingkang Incident when the Jurchens destroyed the Northern Song, Emperor Huizong, taken captive in the Jurchen camp, had once tried to plead with Wanyan Zongwang; Zongwang had seized the opportunity to propose marriage on behalf of Nianhan’s son Wanyan Xiebao, requesting that Huizong’s thirteenth daughter, Princess Huifu, be given to Xiebao as a concubine. Huizong had agreed.

Not long after, the Jingkang catastrophe grew even more severe; the women of the imperial clan in the capital, the wives, concubines, and children of ministers, all fell into slavery and prostitution. Both Emperors Huizong and Qinzong, along with the empress and princesses, lived a life worse than dogs and pigs as slaves of the Jin state. Only this Princess Huifu, called Zhuzhu, became the sole concubine the Jurchens actually married into their household. In later ages, this became the perfect template for domineering-general romance fiction, giving rise to stories told from the perspective of women in such households—but at the time, whether this sole married concubine actually had a better life and situation than her parents and siblings is difficult to verify.

In any case, in this world, the humiliation of Jingping had also passed more than ten years ago. Now, in their thirties, the two brothers Zhenzhu and Baoshan, though their fame didn’t match that of veteran generals like Yinshuke and Balishu, had nonetheless become pillars among the Jin generals. In this southward campaign of the western route army, aimed at the southwest, both brothers had followed their father. This might also be the last time the Jurchen Western Court would be so fully assembled, which showed just how seriously they regarded this campaign.

“Having been in the north so long, it’s rare to see scenery like this. Father, your son has arrived.” Sheyema spoke as he dismounted and bowed to Zonghan. Zonghan glanced at him and raised a hand. “How many more days until the siege equipment is ready?”

“According to Father’s and the uncles’ instructions, to have everything fully prepared will take half a month.”

“Good.” Zonghan nodded, then looked ahead. “Sichuan is mountainous, but beyond this lies a fertile plain, blessed by nature. The Han lands are vast, the scenery beautiful too. If Gushen were here, he might share the same feelings as you. It’s just that after this great battle, Gushen and I probably won’t come here again. You and Baoshan will have the chance to walk this land again someday. I only hope that by then, our Jurchen people will be thriving, and that you will prove worthy of this land and rivers.”

Sheyema cupped his hands. “I will remember Father’s teaching. But what your son just said wasn’t actually about the mountain scenery before us. What I meant was the crowd of people down there. Southerners are small and weak, petty-minded, mouths full of talk of gentleness, modesty, and thrift, but in truth they’re all cowardly and fearful of trouble. To come to this and still only know how to weep is contemptible. Your son thinks this scene is, in fact, the greatest advertisement for our Jurchen cause.”

Sheyema’s earlier words had carried a note of arrogance; Zonghan glanced around, but by the time his son finished speaking, he nodded. Among the Jurchens, Wanyan Zonghan had always been the most resolute and forceful advocate for war; his aggressive, forward-pushing attitude had in fact run through the entire rise of the Jurchen people from the very beginning.

Back when Jurchen strength was still weak, long oppressed, Aguda, commanding barely two thousand men, had hesitated over rebellion—it was Wanyan Zonghan who had firmed his resolve. Later, once the Jurchen rebellion against the Liao had gained some strength, it was again Zonghan who urged Aguda to declare himself emperor, rallying popular support with a single call. Later still, when Emperor Tianzuo fled west, Zonghan, without even waiting for orders, raised troops on his own initiative to pursue, ultimately driving Tianzuo to a dead end, capturing Loushi alive, and annihilating the Liao…

On the path of the Jurchens’ rise, Zonghan’s boldness and decisiveness had been one of the most prominent hallmarks of the Jurchen spirit. As Zonghan’s eldest son, Sheyema had always followed in his father’s footsteps; though outwardly he carried an arrogant, flamboyant temperament, in practice he was no less careful and steady—and in a broader sense, the entire atmosphere of the Jurchen western route army was the same. Although Wanyan Xiyin remotely oversaw the negotiations at Jiange, within the western route army, generals like Balishu and Saba never showed the slightest carelessness in their preparations for war. Mobilization for battle proceeded daily, and a fervent atmosphere stirred through the camps.

“After this battle, wherever the eye can see, north to south, east to west, will all belong to us Jurchens! Once we level this stronghold, there will be no more great wars under heaven! We Jurchens will establish an achievement for the ages—bringing glory to your ancestors, fame lasting ten thousand generations—right here, right now! Ahead lies Jianmen Pass—we shall level Jianmen Pass! Ahead lies the Black Banner Army—we shall sweep clean the Sichuan Four Circuits, cutting a path from south to north—”

Indeed, conquering the southwest would bring nearly all the wealthy, claimed lands under heaven into Jurchen hands. Amid the fervent mobilization and pre-war preparations, the battle-hardened veteran generals naturally each had their own assessment of the difficulty Jianmen Pass presented, but none would voice it openly. Having fought campaigns across the land their whole lives, they wouldn’t be deterred before this final stronghold just because of its formidable defenses or its refusal to surrender. In the capital, Wuqimai too was straining to sustain this great war—this was something everyone understood in their hearts.

Regarding the campaign against the southwest, Zongfu and Zongbi showed little enthusiasm, feeling it was beyond their reach; it was the resolve of Zonghan, Xiyin, and others that would determine the future fate of the Jin state!

In late September and early October, humiliating news arrived from the east.

Xiyin had mobilized over a hundred thousand Han Chinese troops to converge on Changsha, but Chen Fan, leading a force of barely eight thousand men, had taken the initiative to strike, defeating these three columns of Han troops—one hundred and forty thousand men in total—one after another. These three consecutive great victories, through ambush or stratagem, one triumph after another, shocked the realm; the Huaxia Army’s Chen Fan, riding light cavalry into battle, had all but created a reputation that made a hundred thousand troops scatter before the sight of his white robe.

At this time, the main Jurchen cavalry force under Yinshuke at the Changsha front had not yet even engaged, yet the defeat of over a hundred thousand Han troops felt like a slap across the face of the Jurchens. When the news reached Zhaohua, the assembled Jurchen generals felt deeply humiliated, and public sentiment surged, with many wanting to attack Jianmen Pass immediately to save face.

This clamor continued for several days. On October 5th, Si Zhongxian opened the pass and surrendered to the Jin.

In the hearts of Zonghan, Balishu, Saba, Sheyema, Xiebao, and the others, there was a quiet sense of relief.

On the day the surrender was received, rain fell from a darkened sky. Wanyan Zonghan rode his tall warhorse up to Jianmen Pass and saw, in the rain, the pale-faced Han general said to have quite a reputation for loyalty and righteousness. He dismounted, looked at the man for a moment, then patted his shoulder and walked past him.

The formidable stronghold of Jianmen Pass now lay beneath his feet.

The road to defeating the Black Banner Army was now half complete.

On October 22nd of the eleventh year of Wu Jianshuo—the year Zhou Yong died and the Wu Dynasty existed in name only—the Southwest Campaign began without any suspense, on the border between Lizhou and Zizhou south of Jianmen Pass. With no probing, no surprise attacks, no unexpected turns, none of the maneuvering that had characterized the effort to persuade Si Zhongxian to surrender Jianmen Pass, both sides simply made their preparations and then, resolutely and decisively, plunged into battle…