In Yunzhong Prefecture, crowds bustled and carriages flowed in constant streams; the trees along the roadside dropped their withered yellow leaves. Early winter had arrived, but the bleak atmosphere had not yet penetrated this prosperous great city.
A carriage rolled through the streets. Inside, Chen Wenjun lifted the curtain, watching the city’s clamor; vendors’ calls drifted in from outside: “Fried pastries fresh from old Bianliang! From old Bianliang! Famous fried pastries! Come try some, hey—”
“Pig’s head meat! Authentic southern-style pig’s head meat! Finely made…”
“Southern imperial banquet chef, only at this shop…”
The Jurchens, originally hunters, had endured hardship in their early years; though they had their own traditions and culture, much of it remained rather crude. After destroying the Liao and the Wu Dynasty, they had at first been rather wary of adopting things from these two former dynasties. But as the devastating conquest at Jingping swept away all resistance, and countless Han slaves offered up everything demanded of them, people gradually stopped avoiding the various customs and goods of Liao and Wu culture—after all, they were the rightful conquerors, simply enjoying the spoils; there was no need to feel any inner conflict about it.
By now, numerous luxury goods and dining establishments trading under the names of the old Liao state or the Wu Dynasty had become a common sight throughout the Western Capital region.
Her two sons sat across from Chen Wenjun in the carriage. Hearing the sounds outside, her second son Wanyan Youyi laughingly commented on the relative merits of the shops outside. Her eldest son Wanyan Dezhong asked, “Mother, are you thinking of the south?”
“Before long, this Yunzhong Prefecture will probably become no different from Bianliang.” Watching the row upon row of buildings pass by along the street, Chen Wenjun smiled faintly. “Though talk of ‘old Bianliang fried pastries’ and ‘authentic southern pig’s head meat’… it’s all nonsense, of course.”
“Once this matter is settled, if the realm is pacified, your son will accompany Mother down south to have a look. Father might well be willing to come along too,” said Wanyan Dezhong. “When the time comes, if Mother notices anything amiss in the south, just say the word, and I’m sure there will be some sound way to handle it.”
There was an implication in Wanyan Dezhong’s words that Chen Wenjun understood well enough; she smiled and nodded.
Once the Jurchens had taken the whole realm, given the standing of the Gushen family, even if they wanted to carve out Bianliang or an even larger stretch of the Central Plains to play with as they pleased, that would be no great matter. Their mother cared deeply about the suffering of the Han people; if she went south and spoke up, many people could be spared much hardship as a result, and their mother’s own peace of mind would likely follow from it too. This was the thought behind what the two brothers, Dezhong and Youyi, wanted to do to ease their mother’s worries—and in truth, there was nothing particularly wrong with it.
The carriage passed through the city and stopped before the gates of the Duke of Zheng’s residence. The Duke of Zheng was the title held by Shi Li’ai. The old man, leaning on a cane, came out smiling through the main gate to greet them, extending the highest courtesy for this formal visit by Lady Gushen and her sons.
Back when the Jin destroyed the Liao, Shi Li’ai had entered Jin service as an official. He himself was a renowned Confucian scholar; though nominally under Wanyan Zongwang’s patronage, in practice he worked most closely with Xiyin, who was himself deeply versed in Han scholarship. Chen Wenjun, at Xiyin’s side, was also Han—though from the southern Han lineage generally looked down upon by the Han people of Liaodong. Still, Chen Wenjun was cultured and well-mannered, and through several exchanges with Shi Li’ai, she had eventually earned his genuine respect.
Of course, Shi Li’ai was a high official and Chen Wenjun a private lady of a household—in theory, the two should have had little connection. But the matter about to unfold in Yunzhong was, in the end, somewhat complicated.
Following the great army’s southern campaign, the first batch of Han prisoners sent up from the south—some five hundred or so people—would be arriving in Yunzhong within a few days.
Over more than a decade of warfare, the suffering of slaves seized from the south by the army had been unspeakable; there is no need to go into detail here. This particular southern campaign’s first batch of captured Han slaves carried its own symbolic significance—these five hundred-odd people were all family members of officials or generals who had participated in resistance during this latest Jurchen advance southward.
To the Jurchens, they were the children of the enemy; making them suffer worse than death served as a warning to others.
But to the Han people, these were the bloodline descendants of heroes.
When the news arrived, Chen Wenjun—who for many years had avoided any open involvement in such matters—came forward. In her capacity as Gushen’s wife, she wished to rescue this batch of five hundred prisoners. In earlier years she would have been unable to do such things, but now her position and status had grown secure; her two sons, Dezhong and Youyi, had also come of age, and it was already clear they would one day inherit the title and accomplish great things. Her stepping forward now—whether it succeeded or not—the consequences would, at the very least, not implicate her.
She first spread word discreetly through various channels throughout Yunzhong Prefecture, then made a round of visits to several government offices and administrative bodies within the city, invoking the current emperor’s strict edict that Han subjects be treated well and that all under heaven be treated as one, delivering this message before officials at every level. She did not scold anyone; before officials of every rank, she gently urged leniency, sometimes even shedding tears. With Lady Gushen adopting such a posture, the assembled officials responded with obsequious deference, yet none dared commit to anything definite. Before long, seeing their mother’s impassioned emotion, Dezhong and Youyi also joined in this campaign of persuasion.
Wanyan Dezhong invoked their father’s usual teachings, expounding on the way of benevolence to the Jurchen officials. Wanyan Youyi, for his part, argued that with the southern Wu Dynasty just destroyed and resistance so feeble, making an example of these prisoners was no longer the most pressing matter—rather, this was the time to show the realm the Jin state’s mercy and magnanimity, which would form the true foundation for the Jurchens’ rule for a thousand generations to come.
Once mother and sons had thoroughly built up this line of public sentiment and struck the right posture, they went to visit the Duke of Zheng, Shi Li’ai, to plead their case. For the two brothers, this was perhaps simply about helping their mother, but Chen Wenjun approached it with considerable deliberateness—all her lobbying had, in effect, been giving Shi Li’ai advance notice, waiting for the old man to have sufficient time to think it over before formally paying this visit.
Shi Li’ai received them with due respect. Once everyone was seated and pleasantries exchanged, the old man asked after the recent thoughts and views of the two brothers, Dezhong and Youyi, before Chen Wenjun finally raised the matter of the prisoners. Shi Li’ai, leaning on his cane, pondered for a long while before speaking, his voice somewhat hoarse.
“I too have thought about this matter for several days now. I wonder, my lady, what outcome you hope to achieve here?”
“If possible, I naturally hope the court might grant amnesty to these five hundred-odd people. In recent years, letting bygones be bygones regarding past grievances has become the general trend. That our Great Jin now rules over all under heaven is a settled fact; the southern Han people too are His Majesty’s subjects. Moreover, times are different now—our great army marched south, and the Wu Dynasty fell at the mere sight of our proclamations. The south is now governed mainly through pacification and reconciliation. If these five hundred people can be treated well, it would achieve the effect of buying a thousand pieces of gold with the bones of a dead horse.”
As a southern Han woman, Chen Wenjun had faced some marginalization early on within Jin high society circles, but as Jin rule over the realm became settled, her standing within the Xiyin household had gradually stabilized. When occasionally attending gatherings, she still generally kept a low profile, and even when she did speak up, it was usually only about matters of romance and refinement—only a few people knew she possessed a mind and ability that rivaled any man’s. Now, speaking with clear logic and considerable persuasiveness, she held Shi Li’ai’s attention; the old man, both hands resting on his cane, simply listened.
“Of course, these reasons are merely the broader picture—before you, my lord, I have no wish to hide anything. My main reason for pleading on behalf of these five hundred people is not entirely for the sake of the realm, but because I myself, after all, come from the south. The Wu Dynasty’s two hundred-odd years have passed like a fleeting cloud, and I cannot help but feel some pity in my heart. Xiyin is a great hero; having been married to him all these years, I never dared speak up about such matters before. But now…”
Chen Wenjun took a deep breath. “But now… the Wu Dynasty has, after all, fallen. Those who remain—whether killed or spared—I have come to beg you, my lord, to think of some way. The southern Han people, incompetent as they were, brought their ancestral realm to ruin, but those who have already died are dead, and those still living must go on living somehow. Granting amnesty to these five hundred could mean fewer deaths in the south, and the southern Han people who remain alive could live somewhat better lives in the future. I… will remember your kindness, my lord.”
“You speak too gravely of ‘kindness,’ my lady.” Shi Li’ai lowered his head, saying this first, then fell silent for a moment. “My lady’s thinking is clear and wise. There are some things I won’t dance around.”
Chen Wenjun nodded. “Please, my lord, speak plainly.”
“I entered Great Jin service nominally under Prince Zongwang’s patronage, but in terms of my actual tenure as an official, I have spent the longest time here in Yunzhong. Lord Gushen is a man of vast learning, the superior who has shown me the most consideration and whom I most admire. Given this connection, by rights, when you come to my door today, my lady, I should not hesitate for even a moment to see this matter through for you. But… forgive my bluntness, I harbor a great concern in my heart, and my lady has also been less than entirely candid with me.”
Chen Wenjun looked at the old man without arguing, nodding gently, waiting for him to continue.
“You said just now, my lady, that making an example of the five hundred prisoners for the Han people to see is no longer necessary—that is correct. In the realm as it stands today, though the Black Banner still holds the southwest, the Han people of the Wu Dynasty no longer have any power to reverse their fate. But the direction this realm takes may not depend solely on the Han people. What truly worries people most right now lies within our own Great Jin. In the thirty-some years of the Jin state’s existence, we have enjoyed a rising tide of prosperity like flowers in brocade, fire fed with oil—but now we have reached the most perilous juncture. Officials in the middle and lower ranks may not fully grasp this, but you, my lady, surely do.”
As Shi Li’ai spoke, he glanced at Dezhong and Youyi beside him, in effect instructing and cautioning them as well. Wanyan Dezhong’s gaze grew distant, though he nodded; Wanyan Youyi frowned slightly. Though reasons were being given, sensing the refusal implicit in the old man’s words, both brothers felt somewhat uncomfortable. After all, they had come this time accompanying their mother to make this request, and having already spent considerable effort building momentum beforehand, if Shi Li’ai refused, it would be something of a loss of face for the Xiyin household.
And if the Xiyin household truly lost this face, things would not go well for the Shi family afterward either.
Shi Li’ai’s gaze remained mild, his somewhat hoarse voice speaking slowly. “Our Jin state’s fourth campaign against the Wu Dynasty arose from friction between the eastern and western factions. Even having destroyed the Wu Dynasty, outsiders speak of possible conflict emerging at any moment between our Jin state’s eastern and western courts. His Majesty has been bedridden for a long time now, struggling to hold on, waiting for the moment this great battle concludes. When that moment comes, the Jin state will face its greatest test in thirty years—even its very survival may be decided in that instant.”
“The first batch of five hundred prisoners brought here is not meant for the Han people to see, but for people within our own Great Jin to see,” the old man said. “Ever since our army set out on this campaign, there have been those within our state stirring with ambition, and troublemakers causing mischief from outside. Since my grandson… Yuanji passed away, there have also been people secretly scheming behind the scenes. Those who cannot see the situation clearly assume that because someone in the Shi family has died, there must be things happening in Yunzhong Prefecture worth exploiting; short-sighted people place their bets early—this is common enough on its own, but it’s the instigators behind it who have made things far worse than they should be.”
“Since Yuanji’s death, there have been countless outbreaks of violent infighting from the capital to Yunzhong. In July, Marquis Zhongsheng Wanyan Xiuzhang was even targeted by ruffians during a private feud, and his entire family of sixty-one people was killed. The ruffians who killed the Marquis were themselves nearly wiped out in the ensuing infighting, and the authorities were unable to uncover the truth of the matter. But were it not for someone stirring the pot, given our Great Jin’s current strength, how many ruffians would be so bold as to go and slaughter an entire marquis’s household for no reason? The methods used in this affair share certain commonalities with Yuanji’s death… that talented disciple of the mind-demon from the south…”
The old man’s gaze remained calm as still water as he said this, looking, seemingly casually, at Chen Wenjun. Chen Wenjun met his gaze steadily as well. The old man lowered his eyelids.
“Our Great Jin faces trouble from within and without… These words, I would not say before others. ‘Lady Han’ has a heart of a bodhisattva—the deeds you have done over these years, I admire in my heart as well. Even after Yuanji’s death last year, I did not have anyone disturb you, my lady…”
As the old man said this, there was a barb hidden in his words. Wanyan Dezhong, beside him, stood up and cupped his hands. “My lord, isn’t this remark somewhat inappropriate?”
Chen Wenjun waved a hand at her son. “The Duke’s concern for the bigger picture is admirable. Over these years, I have indeed, privately, saved a number of southerners who were suffering—Gushen knows of this as well. I won’t hide it from you, my lord: both people from the Wu Dynasty and from the Black Banner have made overtures to me privately on several occasions, but I have been unwilling to have much dealing with them—partly because it wouldn’t be right for me to do so, and partly, I admit, out of self-interest: I wanted to protect them, at least I didn’t want anything to happen to them because of me. I trust your discernment on this, my lord.”
“Common human feeling.” Shi Li’ai’s cane tapped the ground as he nodded slowly, then sighed faintly. “A single life, set against family and nation, is truly too small a thing. The affairs of this world surge like rivers and seas, and once the tide passes through, no one can withstand it. Yuanji was my most beloved grandson, meant to inherit the Shi family estate—and suddenly, he was gone. I am eighty-one years old now, and lately I often feel that my time is drawing near; I fear I won’t live to see the storm yet to come. But you, my lady, must go on seeing it through, and Dezhong, Youyi, you too must go on seeing it through—and moreover, you must be the ones to turn the tide. It will be very difficult indeed.”
Only now did the others realize that the sharpness in the old man’s words had also been meant as guidance and caution for Wanyan Dezhong and Wanyan Youyi. Chen Wenjun had the two express their thanks, and they rose and bowed. Shi Li’ai paused for a moment.
“The five hundred prisoners were brought here in haste to show everyone that we have won victories in the south, that this is the fate awaiting all enemies of us Jurchens—and also, to demonstrate to others the western front’s capability, should any friction arise in the future. Because of this, when you say to release them, my lady, they cannot simply be released. My city of Yunzhong needs these prisoners paraded through the streets, displayed publicly outside—they are the family members of criminals, and some will be beaten to death in the process, and perhaps some will even be sold. All of this, in one way or another, must be carried out.”
Having said this, Shi Li’ai produced a list from within his robes. Before he could unfold it, Chen Wenjun spoke up: “My lord, regarding the matter of the eastern and western courts, I once asked Gushen for his views. Most people feel a great upheaval between the two sides is inevitable, but Gushen’s view is somewhat different.”
“Oh?”
“Gushen once said that our commander is a proud man who has spent his whole life acting only for the sake of the Jurchen people, not for power or position. Even if, one day, the situation should truly shift, our commander would not take part in such a struggle for power. This southern campaign is precisely his attempt to use battlefield achievements to suppress these hidden tensions.”
“…And if Princes Zongfu and Zongbi should make trouble, would the commander simply sit and wait for his fate?”
“If the commander can win this battle, the two princes may well not make trouble at all.”
“…” Shi Li’ai fell silent for a moment, then placed the list on the tea table and pushed it toward her. “Even granting that what you say is true, my lady, that would only hold if the western front achieves victory—only then would the realm avoid great calamity. The public parading of these five hundred prisoners is meant to add to the western front’s leverage. For this reason, forgive me, my lady, for not being able to easily concede on this point. But after the public display, aside from certain key individuals who cannot be released, I have drawn up a list of two hundred people whom you may take with you, my lady, to arrange as you see fit.”
Four-tenths of the five hundred prisoners—this was the face given to the Xiyin household. Chen Wenjun looked at the list, remaining silent, not reaching for it; she still wished to save more people. The old man had already opened his hand:
“…And it’s not only these five hundred. Once the great battle concludes, the Han people brought up from the south will still number in the hundreds of thousands. Who can truly say which matters more—the lives of these five hundred, or the lives of over a hundred thousand? My lady, though you come from the south, you are unlike the southern Han people in their sly, timid ways—I admire this in my heart. But before the great tides of this world, even if you, my lady, saved a thousand or ten thousand lives, it would still amount to little more than a game. All feeling brings suffering in the end—take care of yourself, Lady Wenjun.”
Chen Wenjun slowly reached out and took the list. “As you say, my lord, a single life is too small a thing—the affairs of the world sweep past like great rivers and seas, and we small, insignificant people can do little more than act to console ourselves. After all, I come from the south—there’s no changing that—and having married into a Jurchen family, that too will likely never change in this lifetime… These willful requests of mine have put you in a difficult position, my lord. I know I ought not to have made them, and I hope you can forgive me a little.”
She had come pressing her case, relying on the authority of the Xiyin household, which had surely placed the old man in a difficult position. But Shi Li’ai was also a wise man; his words carried a subtle edge—some things he made plain, others he left unspoken. For instance, whether Chen Wenjun truly had ties to the southern Wu Dynasty or the Black Banner, what Shi Li’ai actually thought of this, no one else could know. Even with his grandson dead, he had never once pursued the matter with Chen Wenjun—this restraint, out of consideration for the bigger picture, was itself a mark of wisdom and breadth of mind.
With a list of two hundred people, both sides managed to preserve some measure of face and substance. Chen Wenjun accepted the list, a faint bitterness in her heart—she knew that all her efforts might end here. Shi Li’ai smiled. “If you weren’t so clever, my lady, and had simply come pressing your case willfully instead, perhaps things might have gone somewhat better for you in the future.”
Chen Wenjun smiled bitterly but did not respond, saying instead: “Once this matter is settled, if there’s still room to spare the remaining three hundred, I hope you’ll look after them a little, my lord.”
Shi Li’ai nodded. “Certainly.”
With this said, there was no more serious business to discuss. Chen Wenjun inquired after Shi Li’ai’s health, exchanged a few more pleasantries, and the old man rose, leaning on his cane, slowly seeing the mother and her two sons out. Given his advanced age, after speaking for so long, visible fatigue had already set in; along the way to see them off, he coughed from time to time. A servant carrying medicine came to remind the old man to take it, but he waved the servant off, insisting on seeing Chen Wenjun and her sons off first before attending to it.
Though people of this era were divided by their various origins and allegiances, in truth, whether Jurchen, Liao officials, or Han officials, the men and women of Great Jin at this time each possessed their own formidable qualities. Back in the final years of the Liao dynasty, Shi Li’ai had also been a high official; later, when the Liao fell and the Jin rose, and the world changed dramatically, the Wu Dynasty made every effort to recruit Han officials from the north—Zhang Jue defected to them because of this—but Shi Li’ai remained resolutely unmoved. Though he was Han himself, he had never held the southern Han people’s habits and ways in any regard.
In his years serving the Jin, Shi Li’ai had offered counsel to the court and accomplished a great deal on its behalf; though now advanced in age, he still stood firmly at his final post, a pillar of strength in Yunzhong.
Last year, Tang Minjie had killed his son, secretly stirring up trouble and sowing discord in various ways, but most of his schemes had ultimately been pushed to unfold outside Yunzhong Prefecture—it had to be said, Shi Li’ai’s own maneuvering had put considerable pressure on his adversary.
This July, several factions involved in the human trafficking trade on the eastern side of Yunzhong Prefecture had erupted into a massive brawl; Marquis Zhongsheng Wanyan Xiuzhang, a former military commander, and his household of sixty-one people had been caught up in it, nearly the entire family—men, women, young and old—slaughtered. Though Chen Wenjun had never asked about it directly, she could guess that only that madman Tang Minjie could have been capable of such a thing.
Had Shi Li’ai not been holding Yunzhong steady, that madman might well have caused enough chaos in the city to actually tear down the great mansion of Yunzhong Prefecture itself.
With these thoughts in mind, she quietly put away the list Shi Li’ai had given her. A day later, she secretly arranged a meeting with the Black Banner’s contact in the city. This time, Lu Mingfang was not in Yunzhong either; when she again met with Tang Minjie, who came forward as the responsible party, he appeared in ragged, unkempt clothing, eyes downcast, back stooped, looking like some Han slave laborer—it seemed he had long since left behind his melon-and-vegetable shop guise, and was presently scheming something or other.
Chen Wenjun hoped the two sides could join forces to save as many as possible of the five hundred heroes’ family members being brought in this time. Since this was serious business, Tang Minjie showed none of his usual glib manner. He listened quietly to Chen Wenjun’s proposal, then nodded. “If Lady Chen is willing, as long as there’s a workable plan and some hope of success, the Huaxia Army will naturally do everything it can to help.”
“Surely Ugly Lord doesn’t have a ‘but’ he hasn’t mentioned yet?” Chen Wenjun said with a smile, needling him a little. Over the past year or two, as Tang Minjie’s activities had grown more numerous, the name “Clown” in the northern territories had come to mean far more than just a formidable bandit—it had become a name that made many people’s faces change color at the mention of it. Chen Wenjun’s use of the term “Ugly Lord” here was, in fact, a form of proper etiquette among those in this line of work making contact.
Tang Minjie’s gaze remained calm. “But, since this affair is going to happen in Yunzhong Prefecture, Shi Li’ai will certainly have made preparations for it—I imagine Lady Chen already understands this. As for saving people, the Huaxia Army trusts you. If you already have a foolproof plan, tell us what help you need, and we’ll provide it. If you don’t yet have a foolproof plan, then I’ll need to ask you another question.”
“These five hundred people are being escorted north through the pass to Yunzhong—it involves all sorts of complications, and the escort force numbers no fewer than five thousand. How could there possibly be any foolproof plan? Ugly Lord is skilled at scheming, masterful at manipulating people’s hearts—I’d like to hear your thoughts on this.”
“That depends on how resolute Lady Chen’s determination is in doing this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean—in your heart, my lady, are these things you’re doing something you regard as a leisure-time pastime, a small diversion to console yourself? Or do you still regard this as a war between two nations, where anything goes, a fight to the death?”
In this meeting, Tang Minjie’s expression was serious and deep, appearing earnest and professional—which in fact considerably improved Chen Wenjun’s impression of him. But at this point, she still frowned slightly. Tang Minjie paid it no mind; he sat on his stool, head lowered, looking at his own fingers.
“Of course, as for my lady’s intentions, I have no other thoughts on the matter—whichever it may be, you have already done everything within your power, and as a Han person, I would surely regard you as a hero either way. These thoughts of mine only concern the difference in method.”
Tang Minjie continued: “If it’s the former—if my lady wishes to save these five hundred people but doesn’t want to excessively harm herself, doesn’t want to risk being dragged down with them—then on our end, we’ll also proceed with a sense of proportion. Once the matter becomes untenable, we’ll pull back, seeking to withdraw fully intact.”
“…If it’s the latter”—Tang Minjie paused—”if my lady regards these matters as an all-out fight to the death, if my lady anticipates that what she’s doing is, in fact, harming the interests of the Jin state, that we mean to tear it apart, crush it, with the ultimate goal of bringing down the Jin state entirely, reducing everything your husband has built to ashes—then our people will be willing to take on considerably more risk. We’ll consider killing, kidnapping, threats… even sacrificing ourselves. The stop-loss point my teacher spoke of would be set considerably lower. Because if that is indeed your expectation, we would certainly be willing to see it through to the very end with you.”
Tang Minjie kept his head lowered. Chen Wenjun stared at him; the room fell silent for a long while before she finally spoke. “You truly are that mind-demon’s disciple.”
“It’s only for the sake of coordinating our efforts. If things escalate and some push forward while others pull back, in the end a great many people will die for nothing. It’s just business, my lady—you speak too gravely.”
“…Do you all truly believe you could bring down the entire Jin state?”
“That’s precisely why we’re here, isn’t it?”
“…Can you actually do it?”
Tang Minjie looked up at her, smiled, then lowered his head again to look at his fingers. “Times are different now. The relationship between the Jin state and the Wu Dynasty, and the relationship with the Huaxia Army—it’s grown very difficult to achieve the kind of balance that once existed between Liao and Wu. We won’t get two hundred years of peace this time. So in the end, the outcome must be a fight to the death, one side or the other. I’ve imagined the scene of the entire Huaxia Army’s defeat, I’ve imagined the scene of my own capture—thought about it hundreds, thousands of times. But my lady, have you ever considered the consequences of what you’re doing? Wanyan Xiyin will die. Your two sons will die as well. You’ve chosen a side—that is the consequence of choosing a side. If you don’t choose a side… then at the very least, we need to know where to stop.”
Chen Wenjun’s fists had already clenched tight, her fingernails digging into her palms, her body trembling slightly. She looked at Tang Minjie. “Is there some pleasure in laying all of this bare? Does it make you feel clever? Would it please you if I simply did nothing?”
“…Quite the opposite. I admire the sacrifice you’ve made.” Tang Minjie looked at her. “For you to have come this far took great difficulty. My teacher once said that most of the time, people hope they can just bury their heads in the sand and things will get better the next day—but in reality, that’s impossible. Whatever you avoid today will come back to collect from you someday, with interest included. You are a remarkable heroine among women. The sooner you understand clearly what you’re doing, the easier things will be for you going forward.”
His words stung Chen Wenjun. She rose from her seat, took a few steps around the room, then said, “Do you really think there’s any ‘going forward’ to speak of? The great battle in the southwest is about to begin. From here in Yunzhong, you’ve seen Nianhan from a distance, seen Xiyin from a distance—but I have spent my entire life with Xiyin! We know exactly what kind of men they are! I know how they crushed the Liao state! They are the greatest men of this age—resilient, unyielding, looking down on all under heaven! If Xiyin were my enemy instead of my husband, I would tremble with fear from head to toe!”
Chen Wenjun’s voice was tight with suppressed emotion, her teeth clenched. “Jianmen Pass has already fallen! The southwest war has already begun! The one leading the army is Nianhan—half the Jin state’s territory was conquered by him! He is no mediocrity like Zongfu or Zongbi! In this southern campaign, the Wu Dynasty was merely an afterthought—the Black Banner in the southwest is the real target they’re determined to wipe out, at any cost! Do you really think there’s any ‘going forward’ for you? When the Han people’s realm is gone, you’ll all have to thank my good grace!”
“If it truly comes to that, the surviving Han people may indeed have to depend on my lady’s kindness. But my lady also doesn’t know what kind of man my teacher is. Nianhan, Xiyin—even if Aguda himself were resurrected, I still believe my comrades in the southwest will achieve victory in this battle.”
Tang Minjie remained unmoved by Chen Wenjun’s words, speaking on calmly. “Lady Chen, if the Huaxia Army truly suffers a crushing defeat, that may well be the best outcome for you personally. But if things go even slightly differently, the moment the great army returns north will mark the beginning of internal strife between the Jin state’s eastern and western courts. We will do many things—even if we fail, someday in the future the Huaxia Army will still come marching in. My lady is only in her forties—you may well live to see that day. And if that day truly comes, with Xiyin dead and your two sons unable to escape either, could you accept that it was you yourself who led them to that fate?”
“If you foresee such an outcome and wish to cooperate, we’ll give our lives for you. If you don’t want such an outcome and are only doing this to console yourself, we’ll certainly still do everything we can to help save people. And if we step back even further… my lady, given the standing of the Gushen household, saving over two hundred people is already remarkable. Lady Han, savior of the suffering, a living bodhisattva to ten thousand households—everyone will be grateful to you.”
Having said this, Tang Minjie fell silent, quietly waiting for these words to take root in Chen Wenjun’s mind. Chen Wenjun was silent for a long while, then suddenly recalled the conversation at Shi Li’ai’s residence the day before, the old man saying: “Even when my grandson met with misfortune, I did not have anyone disturb you, my lady…”
That remark had carried an implicit barb. At first, Chen Wenjun had thought it was Shi Li’ai’s way of pushing back somewhat against her having come pressing her case. But now, she vaguely sensed that the old lord, too, had seen the Jin state’s precarious, storm-tossed state, had seen the dilemma she herself would inevitably face from wavering between two sides—and had spoken up to make her see it clearly.
Of course, Shi Li’ai’s purpose in pointing this out had been to hope she would henceforth recognize her position as Lady Gushen and not stir up any great trouble. Tang Minjie’s pointing it out now, perhaps, was meant to harden her resolve against the Jin, to push her toward doing more, more unconventional things—perhaps even, ultimately, shaking the very foundations of the Jin state itself.
Clever people, whatever their differing positions, arrived at remarkably similar methods.
“…Do you really believe you all have a chance of winning?”
“I don’t know.”
“…”
Chen Wenjun closed her eyes, unable to decide. The pulse of Yunzhong Prefecture’s prosperity throbbed faintly beneath her feet, carried on the wind—this was the accumulation of over twenty years of the Jin state’s founding, built by countless people through war and conquest into this vast, wealthy behemoth that now dominated the realm. Few could yet imagine its collapse.
“…I need to think about it.”
“You should think about it.”
Tang Minjie said.