After dinner, news of the fighting was pouring steadily into the command center in Zizhou City.
Torchlight painted the long streets, the low trees, and the grey-blue walls of small courtyards red in the wake of the rain. Though night had already fallen, half of Zizhou City had already stirred into motion. Facing a battlefield situation growing clearer by the hour, reserve troops set out under cover of darkness, and staff officers moved into the work of planning for what would come next.
How to treat the wounded, how to handle the prisoners, how to consolidate the front, how to organize celebrations and propaganda, how to guard against an enemy’s desperate counterattack, whether it might be possible to press the advantage with another offensive while the great victory was fresh… Many matters had had rough contingency plans drawn up beforehand, but now, faced with reality, still required extensive discussion, adjustment, and detailed coordination down to which department was responsible for which piece of the work.
Many things needed to be settled this very night.
Peng Yueyun hurried along the street near the general command headquarters. From time to time he passed others dressed similarly to himself—some walking in small groups, murmuring to each other as they went, others hurrying alone, their faces harried yet excited. Occasionally someone would nod a greeting to him.
This scene, he thought to himself, was nothing like what the storytellers described.
Having grown up in the northwest as the child of a senior figure in the Western Army, Peng Yueyun’s childhood had been richer than that of an ordinary poor family. Since he was young, he had loved reading and listening to stories, and in his youth he had developed a great fondness for the Bamboo Chronicles. Later, after joining the Huaxia Army, his love of theater and storytelling had stayed with him.
Even in the many stories told by the Bamboo Chronicles, whenever war was depicted, it was usually portrayed as a handful of generals and strategists on either side of the battlefield, scheming brilliantly, one ingenious plot after another. Listening to such tales, people’s hearts would stir, wishing they could take the hero’s place. After joining the General Staff, Peng Yueyun had taken part in the planning and execution of several schemes, and had at times pictured himself as a brilliant strategist matching wits directly against men like Wanyan Xiyin on the other side.
But once the war broke out in full and the Huaxia Army committed itself completely to the campaign, the reality here felt entirely removed from any image of a single brilliant strategist commanding the field with sweeping authority. The command post and the General Staff felt more like the machinery the Huaxia Army had, over the years, steadily invested in its workshops—wooden pegs linked to iron rods, gear meshing with gear, a massive waterwheel turning to set the whole interlocking machine of the workshop into motion.
In rumors among the public, people imagined that the man known as the “Heart Demon,” Mr. Ning, spent every waking hour scheming up vast conspiracies. But in truth, during these years in the southwest, the “schemes and stratagems” personally directed by Mr. Ning within the Huaxia Army had grown quite rare. What he cared about more now was the research into natural philosophy and the construction of workshops large and small in the rear, the establishment of various complex institutions and the planning of their procedures. On the military side, he did little more than a small amount of coordination and final decision-making.
For this reason, in the eyes of the outside world, the situation in the southwest might have looked like Mr. Ning of the Huaxia Army facing off single-handedly against a group of Jurchen heroes—Zonghan, Xiyin, Gao Qingyi, Han Qixian, Balishu, and others. In truth, though, when it came to sheer intellectual force and strength of numbers in strategic planning, it was actually the Huaxia Army’s side that was more complex and more “populous.”
Of course, Zonghan, Xiyin, Gao Qingyi, Han Qixian, Balishu, and the rest were all towering figures of their generation, in many people’s eyes even geniuses the like of which appeared only once in an age. And the Huaxia Army’s “human wave” of strategists also had to contend with the headaches of coordination and a cacophony of competing voices. Until matters were finally settled, whether the Huaxia Army’s General Staff could truly outmatch the natural genius on the other side remained a source of tension within the General Staff. Still, after all this tension, now that the fighting at Rainwater Creek had finally reached a clear resolution, Peng Yueyun’s mood had at last begun to ease.
Lost in these thoughts, as he reached the area near the side entrance of the command post, he saw someone just then coming out. The woman walking ahead carried an ancient sword on her back and held a straw raincoat, leading two attendants toward war horses already saddled and waiting outside. Peng Yueyun recognized her as Mr. Ning’s wife, Lu Hongti—a woman of formidable skill who usually served as part of Mr. Ning’s personal security. That she appeared now to be leaving the city under cover of night clearly meant something important was afoot.
Before Hongti had mounted her horse, another figure came jogging out from behind, calling softly, “Sister Hongti.” This, too, was a woman—Juan’er, who worked at Mr. Ning’s side. Over the years, this composed, striking woman had come to oversee half the work of Mr. Ning’s secretarial office, and had dealt with the General Staff on numerous occasions as well.
Juan’er, holding a small bundle, caught up and exchanged a few quiet words with Lady Hongti. Hongti smiled and said something in return—Peng Yueyun couldn’t tell what—then took the bundle from her. As Peng Yueyun crossed from the other side of the road toward the side entrance, Juan’er spotted him and waved. “Little Peng, hold on a moment. There’s something.”
Peng Yueyun stopped. The two women exchanged a few more quiet words; Hongti and her two attendants rode off on horseback, and Juan’er watched the horses go before turning and walking toward Peng Yueyun. As she walked, her expression grew cold. Over the years at Ning Yi’s side, involved in so much strategic planning, there was now a hint of worry and a touch of killing intent at the corners of her eyes, giving her a chilling, striking look. But it clearly wasn’t directed at Peng Yueyun—something else was clearly on her mind.
“Sister Juan, what’s going on?”
“You’ve heard the reports from Rainwater Creek, right?”
The two of them walked inside together. Peng Yueyun nodded. “Yes, I’m actually here for the meeting about it.”
“This afternoon, more than twenty men launched a raid on the wounded soldiers’ camp behind Rainwater Creek. They were after Ning Ji.”
“…Is he all right?”
Only now did Peng Yueyun understand where the killing intent at the corners of Juan’er’s eyes had come from. Among Mr. Ning’s family, Juan’er and Ning Ji’s mother, Xiao Chan, were as close as sisters, and young Ning Ji was practically like her own child. Thinking it over now, it made sense that Lady Hongti had just been heading for the front—and no wonder Juan’er had come out carrying a bundle…
These thoughts flashed through his mind as Juan’er shook her head beside him. “Word from over there is he only took some minor injuries… All the scouts, whether lightly or severely wounded, are stationed together at the main wounded soldiers’ camp. Anyone who goes in there—even if it were Zhou Tong reborn, or Lin Echan himself leading a group—wouldn’t be able to get out alive. But that they went to such lengths, sending men specifically to assassinate the child—I won’t let them get off easy for that.”
Peng Yueyun nodded. Nowadays, the scouts on both sides were the elite of the elite; the Huaxia Army’s scout corps in particular included special operations personnel, many of them once-famous masters from the martial world, or the disciples such masters had trained. Nearly every champion of the army’s individual combat tournaments came from among their ranks. Most of them could trade several moves even with someone as renowned as Lin Echan, said to be the greatest under heaven. Twenty-odd men going into a camp like that—even if all twenty had been the greatest under heaven, it would have been nearly impossible for them to escape unscathed.
Still, given all that, if the young master had ended up with even minor injuries, it was probably because he’d itched for a fight and charged straight in himself—anyone close to the Ning family had heard about that earlier counter-ambush incident back in Zizhou.
Seeing the fierce look on Juan’er’s face, Peng Yueyun kept these speculations to himself and only said, “So what does Sister Juan plan to do?”
“Given what’s happened, Little Peng, I want you to plan something—put word out to the Jurchens that we want the heads of Zhenzhu and Baoshan.”
Ruthless indeed, Peng Yueyun thought privately. “An actual organized act of revenge?”
“No need to risk lives just for revenge. Just spread the word, give them a scare. Whether we actually kill them or not, either way—just find a way to keep them on edge for a while.”
Peng Yueyun nodded, his mind already turning. “Sister Juan, in that case… let me have some people draft a proclamation, taking advantage of this great victory at Rainwater Creek, denouncing the Jin dogs for sending assassins after… a thirteen-year-old child. Let them think Mr. Ning is truly furious—that he’s lost all reason. Not only has he already organized men to assassinate Wanyan Sheyema and Wanyan Xiebao at any moment, he’s also put up a bounty, offering it to any puppet troops willing to defect, for these two dogs’ heads. We’ll find a way to get the proclamation to the front lines. That way, with the Jin forces already faltering, we can drive a wedge between them and the puppet troops around them…”
Hearing this idea from Peng Yueyun, a smile gradually spread across Juan’er’s face; a moment later, her gaze turned cold and clear again. “Then I’ll leave it to you. I’ll go ask around about what bounty amount would be appropriate. In times of chaos and confusion, who knows—maybe by sheer coincidence we really do get them to turn on each other. That would be best of all.”
“Right, I’ll formally raise this idea at the meeting.”
The two of them worked out the details for a moment longer, and Peng Yueyun, his expression now serious, hurried off to his meeting. He hadn’t voiced this idea purely to go along with Juan’er—he genuinely believed it could have some real effect. Assassinating Zonghan’s two sons had always been a plan of enormous difficulty, bordering on impractical, but with this pretext now available, getting the Jin side paranoid and suspicious of each other could only be a good thing.
In his heart, though, he made himself a private note: never, ever cross a woman.
Peng Yueyun had his own meeting to attend, and Juan’er, back at the secretarial office, naturally had a great deal of work of her own—every move made by the Huaxia Army as a whole would pass through her for a round of reporting and coordination. Though the news that had come in that afternoon had already settled the overall direction of the whole matter, what followed would still be a sleepless night.
The air after the rain was clear, and by nightfall, faint starlight had appeared in the sky. Once Juan’er had compiled the information to a certain point, she crossed the courtyard of the command post—several meetings were still underway in the nearby rooms, and the faint smell of flatbread being baked for a late-night meal drifted over from the kitchen staff’s area. Entering the courtyard where Ning Yi was currently staying, she found the room dark, unlit. She gently pushed the door open and set the two summary reports she carried down on the desk. On the bed at the far side of the desk, Ning Yi lay curled around his blanket, snoring away.
She smiled, turned to leave—then a voice came from behind her: “What time is it… Is it over yet…”
“Not even the Hour of Hai yet. News won’t come that fast… Go back to sleep.”
“Mm… don’t stay up too late either, get some sleep too.”
“Everyone else is still up, waiting for news too. I’ll go see about the late-night meal.”
“Young people… no patience…”
Ning Yi mumbled from the bed, and Juan’er, smiling faintly, went back out. Outside, the courtyard was still lit bright; as the meetings wrapped up, people trickled out one by one while others arrived, the General Staff’s night-duty personnel waiting and discussing among themselves in the courtyard.
As the Hour of Zi drew near, Juan’er came back in from outside, closed the door, and walked toward the bed, unbuttoning her blue cotton jacket as she went. She took off her outer coat, sat down at the edge of the bed, removed her shoes and stockings, slipped off her long skirt, and as Ning Yi shifted aside under the blanket to make room, Juan’er—her figure looking rather slender now—slipped into bed beside him.
Past the Hour of Chou, three in the morning. Ning Yi quietly rose from the bed; Juan’er woke as well, but he gestured for her to keep resting.
He went out to wash up briefly, then came back into the room and picked up the summary reports from the desk, taking them to the next room to look over roughly by lamplight. At a quarter past the Hour of Yin, half past four in the morning, someone came hurrying in from outside the courtyard.
“Reporting…”
“Keep your voice down. Is the fighting at Rainwater Creek over?”
“Yes. Last night, at the Hour of Zi, the battle at Rainwater Creek came to a pause. Marshal Qu sent me back to report…”
The people in the courtyard lowered their voices and talked for a while. The night was quiet and still; inside, Juan’er rose from the bed, dressed in her cotton jacket, skirt, shoes and stockings, and went out. Ning Yi was sitting on a low stool beneath the eaves in the corridor, an oil lamp in hand, reading the letter in his grip by its light.
Juan’er heard a strange, distant cheer carried faintly on the air. She dragged over a stool and sat down beside him.
“Rainwater Creek—we won.”
Ning Yi handed her the letter. Juan’er took it and read: enemy killed, over ten thousand; prisoners taken and turned, over twenty-two thousand. In the night assault on the Jurchen main camp, Qu Zhengyan and the others, relying on the Han troops within the camp who had been turned to their side, had broken through the enemy’s outer perimeter. In the fighting within the main camp itself, several veteran Jurchen commanders had rallied their troops to fight to the death, holding the inner camp that guarded the mountain road; at the same time, Jurchen routed troops still stranded in the mountains, unable to make it back in time, had seen the main camp breached and rushed in for a desperate, all-or-nothing rescue attempt. Qu Zhengyan had temporarily abandoned his plan to wipe out the entire Jurchen camp that same night.
Preliminary counts of Huaxia Army dead had already surpassed twenty-five hundred, with over four thousand wounded requiring treatment—and some portion of these numbers might later be added to the list of the dead. The lightly wounded and utterly exhausted were beyond counting… And on top of all this, over twenty thousand prisoners now had to be guarded. It was no wonder that, as soon as word reached Zizhou that the operation had begun, reserve troops had already been dispatched in successive waves. At this very moment, the Fourth and Fifth Divisions in the mountains of Rainwater Creek were themselves stretched as taut and precarious as a wire pulled to its limit.
“…Qu Zhengyan calls this offensive operation ‘Fire-Swallowing’—the idea being to strike the enemy down hard at their very strongest point. That crushing the enemy would also mean taking heavy losses of our own was something he’d anticipated from the start. As for the exchange ratio this time—it’s still bearable. Very good, really…”
Ning Yi sat there, saying this. Juan’er thought for a moment, then said quietly, “Marshal Qu withdrew his troops at the Hour of Hai, and even now he’s still watching over more than twenty thousand prisoners. Will he be all right?”
“He pulled back on his own initiative—he’ll be fine. Qu Zhengyan, hah, walking the tightrope again.” Ning Yi laughed. “Rainwater Creek had close to fifty thousand troops, with twenty thousand of them Jurchen main force, and our fifteen thousand crushed them head-on. Considering the exchange ratio, Zonghan’s two hundred thousand main force isn’t nearly enough to trade for this—he won’t even be able to cry about it…”
Beneath the eaves in the clear winter night, Ning Yi said this, his gaze now relaxed and calm. Over a decade of tempering, the accumulated toll of blood and fire, two months of planning in the midst of this great war—the battle at Rainwater Creek carried a significance far deeper and more complex than what had just been said, but there was no need to speak of it now.
Juan’er sat holding the letter for a while, then laughed softly. “Zonghan should be running by now, shouldn’t he?”
“He won’t run.” Ning Yi shook his head, his gaze seeming to pierce through layer upon layer of night, fixed on something vast and formless far away. “Through hardship and toil, biting and clawing for every inch, it was Zonghan’s generation, fighting for decades, that built the foundation of the Jin state. If this southwestern campaign fails, the Jurchens’ power will fall from its very peak—Zonghan and Xiyin don’t have another ten or twenty years left in them. They won’t allow the great Jin they built with their own hands to be destroyed on their own watch. The only road left before them is to stake everything on one final throw. Just watch…”
“…What comes next will be a far more composed counterattack.”
Ning Yi spoke quietly. For what was bound to happen, he had nothing to complain about.
In this world, a person will, sooner or later, encounter a tiger.
—And when that happens, you kill the tiger.