“…Uncle Mao, let’s not talk about that. Let’s talk about you killing Elili instead — guess who’s going to be most unable to sit still when they hear about it?”
Night had fallen, and the simple room still held a trace of winter’s chill. At the question, Mao Yishan and Hou Wu looked at the young man who had spoken, then exchanged a glance, and both broke into laughter at the same moment.
“Brother Luo, eh…”
“Speaking of which, he went to Shandong and joined up with Army Commander Zhu Biao — that’s a fierce one too. Who knows, maybe he’ll manage to take some big shot’s head down the line.”
“Before New Year I heard he killed someone named Liu Guangji.”
“That was just the head of the puppet troops, doesn’t count for much. Brother Luo’s always wanted to kill a real Jurchen general… Talan? That’s the name of the one the Jurchens left behind to hold the eastern route through the Central Plains, right…”
Mao Yishan and Hou Wu both held fairly senior ranks in the Huaxia Army by now, and could certainly have found things out if they’d wanted to make inquiries — but one was wholly absorbed in fighting, and the other had shifted over to logistics, and neither had looked too deeply into news from a front that remained hazy to them. After a bit of laughing back and forth, Hou Yuanyong, who now worked in intelligence, picked up the thread from his elders.
“Uncle Luo really is around the Liangshan area now, but taking on Talan might be a problem for a while yet. They already beat back several hundred thousand of the puppet troops, and after that they defeated Gao Zongbao too. I heard Uncle Luo went on the offensive specifically to try to claim Gao Zongbao’s head, but the man saw the danger and fled too fast, so in the end Uncle Luo never managed to take it.”
Hou Yuanyong found it amusing. “And it’s not just Gao Zongbao — last year in Xuzhou, Uncle Luo also proposed a strike to kill Wang Shitong. He had the whole plan worked out, but Wang Shitong got turned by the other side first. So up to now, Uncle Luo’s only managed to kill this one Liu Guangji — if he hears about Uncle Mao’s achievement, he’s going to be insanely jealous.”
Among the five men who had survived after killing Wanyan Loushi, Luo Ye had gone on and on for years about his ambition to kill a great Jurchen general himself — a fact the others had only gradually come to learn over time. Zhuo Yongqing had, almost by accident, been the one to cut down Loushi, and Luo Ye had grumbled about it endlessly for years afterward; whenever anyone else in the army managed some notable kill, Luo Ye’s mouth would water without fail. What had started as a harmless personal fixation had, over time, become a running joke everyone liked to bring up to tease him.
Of course, joking aside, Luo Ye came from a great family, was progressive in his thinking, equally skilled in both scholarship and combat, and was one of the core young officers Ning Yi had personally raised. The unit under his command was, in truth, one of the Huaxia Army’s genuine spearhead regiments, having repeatedly taken first place in various training competitions, and it never showed the slightest weakness in actual combat either.
It was widely said in the Huaxia Army that the roughly twenty thousand troops trained in the Tibetan region had the highest combat power, but that “highest” referred to the average — Dayang’s units were made up entirely of veterans, while the southwestern forces had a great many new recruits mixed in, leaving some inevitable weak points here and there. But if you pulled out only the strongest units from each side, the two forces were still roughly at the same peak level.
As one of the representatives of that peak, Mao Yishan’s regiment was extremely solid in both offense and defense and could certainly be counted among the best; Luo Ye’s unit, built on the same foundation as Mao Yishan’s, added a further quality of flexibility on top, making it a truly top-tier formation. His kill count in each engagement was never lower than Mao Yishan’s — he simply tended not to kill anyone particularly famous. Over the three years at Xiaocang River, Luo Ye had made a running show of sighing and lamenting about this, and over time it had become something of a running joke.
At this point Mao Yishan, Hou Wu, and Hou Yuanyong couldn’t help laughing again, and after a while Mao Yishan finally asked, “So… what’s the actual situation over in Shandong, Xiaoyong? Why do you say he just can’t manage to kill Talan?”
“It’s mostly a guess.” Hou Yuanyong’s smile faded. “Uncle Luo, Division Commander Liu, Army Commander Zhu, and the others out there — it’s brutal where they are. From the reports coming back from the front, the local economy has basically collapsed. There are no crops, and there might not even be seed for next year. The people around Liangshan are barely hanging on eating whatever they can pull out of the water, and even so, they’re all starving.”
Hou Yuanyong sighed. “Our Third Division was actually doing well fighting in Xuzhou, and even absorbed a few tens of thousands of troops along the way — but before they crossed the Yellow River, their food supplies had already run dry. The situation on the other side of the river was even worse, with no support waiting for them; many would have starved crossing over, so the absorbed troops couldn’t be brought along at all. In the end they had to swallow their pride and go begging to Jin territory, borrowing grain, before the main force of the Third Division could make it safely to Liangshan Marsh. After defeating Gao Zongbao they seized some supplies, but it was barely enough to get by, and most of it went toward repaying the debt to that lady chancellor in Jin territory.”
“It’s that bad…” Mao Yishan murmured.
Hou Yuanyong nodded. “Life around Liangshan was already hard to begin with — even before the war started, people there could barely scrape by. Over more than ten years of fighting, cases of people resorting to cannibalism have shown up every year. The year before last, when the Jurchens came south, Talan swept through the Central Plains region again — his whole intent was to leave nobody alive there. So that’s the situation now. I heard from some friends at general staff that the best-case scenario for next spring is borrowing some seed grain from Jin territory, and maybe by autumn things could recover a little — but there’s another problem: before autumn arrives, Zongfu and Zongbi’s eastern route army is due to head back north from the south. Whether they can hold that off is a huge question in itself.”
Hou Yuanyong drew a rough sketch on the ground with a stick. “The situation right now is that Shandong is barely holding on. It looks like the only option is to break out and attack, but that’s not really realistic either. Division Commander Liu, Army Commander Zhu, plus the Wu Dynasty troops under that Wang Shanyue, along with all their dependents — they barely have enough to eat as it is. And the tens of thousands of puppet troops around them are in the same boat, with no food of their own, so all they can do is prey on the common people, and occasionally cause trouble for Uncle Luo and the others. If it comes down to fighting, Uncle Luo could beat them a hundred times over — but what then? There’s no way to absorb them afterward, because there’s simply nothing to feed them.”
“Talan is currently holding Datong. Getting from Liangshan to Datong is a problem in itself — logistics is a problem, and fighting is a huge problem too. A direct assault definitely won’t take it. As for tricks and stratagems, Talan is known for being extremely cautious. Back at the Battle of Daming Prefecture, he simply held firm and let events play out, and nearly wore Army Commander Zhu and the others down to nothing in the process. So all things considered, the situation in Shandong is probably going to be the toughest spot going forward. The only real hope is that once the situation in Jin territory is resolved, that lady chancellor might be able to help out again.”
Among the Huaxia Army, seasoned old soldiers like Hou Wu and Mao Yishan, whose habits of mind were long since set, tended not to think in especially intricate terms, relying more on experience than analysis to get things done. But among the younger generation, thanks to Ning Yi’s deliberate encouragement, discussing current affairs and exchanging new ideas at gatherings had become something of a fashionable pastime.
Watching Hou Yuanyong hold forth on the state of affairs with such fluency, the two older men, though they had their own differing views on some points, still felt a quiet satisfaction. Mao Yishan said, “That’s right… the year of the uprising, when Yuanyong first came to Xiaocang River, he must have been only twelve, I remember… and now look at him, he’s really grown into something…”
Hou Wu shook his head, smiling. “Young people lack a bit of drive. Since there’s no other path forward, might as well play the schemer when needed — who knows, maybe the folks in Shandong are already plotting something against Datong.”
Hou Yuanyong laughed as well. “Dad, it’s not that simple. Talan really is watertight in everything he does. If he’s dead set on holding a position, underestimating him could cost you dearly.”
“Still have to try, or are you just going to wait to die?” Hou Wu said. “Besides, you’re still young, always thinking about relying on others. That bunch of traitors causing trouble in Jin territory under Liao Yiren is more or less finished now — going and begging a woman for help isn’t exactly dignified. Going by your own analysis, I’d guess the risk at Datong will have to be taken regardless.”
In his heart he actually thought his son had a point, but scolding him a little at this moment was simply the instinctive behavior of a father. To his surprise, at this remark Hou Yuanyong’s expression suddenly grew far more animated, and he scooted closer with obvious excitement.
“No, no, Dad, Uncle Mao — you two old fogeys just don’t know. Mr. Ning and that lady chancellor have got a thing going on…” He made a crude gesture with both hands, then quickly dropped it. “…There’s a whole story there.”
“What story?”
“Mr. Ning and Lou Shuwan from Jin territory knew each other from way back, before the war even started — back when Fang La rose up in Hangzhou, that’s how far back it goes, you two probably don’t know this… Back then that lady chancellor came representing the Tiger King to do business at Xiaocang River, but their story goes way further back than that… Mr. Ning actually killed Lou Shuwan’s father and brother, way back when…”
This was the downside of the overly high frequency of information exchange that Ning Yi had promoted. A bunch of young people who enjoyed piecing together clues for fun would gather together, and while matters of military secrecy might still be kept under wraps, on the level of gossip, plenty of things inevitably got exaggerated and blown up into something almost mythical. Things that Mao Yishan and Hou Wu’s generation might have only heard faint hints of back in the day had, by the time they reached Hou Yuanyong’s generation, become a full-blown, overwrought romantic legend.
The two middle-aged men were half-skeptical at first, but as the story went on, though deep down they only took it as a tale, they couldn’t help getting caught up and animated by it all the same.
“…I’m not making this up, Dad, Uncle Mao — this was before the Battle of Xiacun even happened, before either of you had ever laid eyes on Mr. Ning. Mr. Ning already knew Lady Hongti of Lüliang Mountain back then… At the time that lady had quite the fearsome reputation around Lüliang — they called her the Blood Bodhisattva, and she’d killed a lot more people than you have, Uncle Mao…”
“That’s true, that’s true — I’ve heard of the name Blood Bodhisattva too…” Hou Wu stroked his chin, nodding repeatedly.
“…Back then, Mr. Ning was already planning to go train troops in the Lüliang Mountains, and the time he came out here, Miss Lou came representing the Tiger King to Green Wood Stockade for the first time… I’m not making this up either, plenty of people know about it — Army Commander Zhu, who’s in Shandong now, was actually the one in charge of protecting Mr. Ning at the time… And there’s someone who saw it with his own eyes too, Instructor Yuwen, the one who trains people to shoot, Yuwen Feidu…”
“Instructor Yuwen really has been with Mr. Ning since very early on…” Mao Yishan nodded repeatedly, his eyes shadowed with thought.
“…So this is something Instructor Yuwen told people himself, someone can confirm it… That day, when Miss Lou saw Mr. Ning again, she asked for a private room to meet, and the moment they were face to face, that lady chancellor’s temper flared and she started throwing teacups and pillows and whatever else was at hand at Mr. Ning — people outside could hear it. She cried and told Mr. Ning, you good-for-nothing, why don’t you just go and die… Dad, I’m not making this up…”
“Go on, go on…”
“…So the business we run in Jin territory, isn’t that being looked after by our own people too… Back when the Tiger King wanted to kill Lou Shuwan, even the head steward Dong Fangxian went in person — chop, took out the Tiger King himself… Dad, Uncle Mao, you two don’t even know the inside story — Mr. Ning was supposedly faking his death out here, wasn’t he? He was actually in Jin territory himself. When the unrest broke out there, Mr. Ning was right in the middle of it, that’s the word going around… With Mr. Ning and Steward Dong both there, what a lineup — how was the Tiger King ever going to hold out against that…”
Chattering on and on.
“…So, yeah, everyone at general staff says Miss Lou is one of our own…”
“I’m only telling you and Uncle Mao this, mind you…”
“…Mr. Ning’s a bit thin-skinned about it, doesn’t like it being talked about, but it’s really no big deal…”
“…So asking Jin territory for some grain, what’s the issue with that…”
…
“Hem, well, it’s not quite that simple.” In the silhouette cast by the firelight, Hou Wu rubbed his chin, unable to resist offering his son a bit of life wisdom. “Asking your own woman for that kind of favor — there’s a bit of loss of face in it, after all.”
“Brother Wu’s got a point there.” Mao Yishan chimed in.
“What’s there to be embarrassed about.” Hou Yuanyong frowned, looking at the two old fogeys. “…It’s all for the sake of Huaxia!”
The three of them sat in the room chatting about this idle gossip, and even the cold, windy winter night grew warmer for it. Hou Wu, the eldest of the three, had gradually grown old, and now, softened with age, even the knife scars on his face no longer looked so ferocious — once a man of considerable killing intent, he now seemed, laughing like this, almost like an old farmer. Mao Yishan, bandages still wrapped around him, remained sturdily built; over the years he had killed a great many enemies and no longer hesitated in the slightest when facing an opponent, while in front of friends and family, he had become an unusually dependable elder and pillar of support.
Hou Yuanyong was now twenty-four. In front of the older generation, his eyes still held a hint of youthful naivety, but there was already stubble on his chin, and among his peers he could stand as a reliable comrade heading into battle. Over these past ten-odd years, he had lived through the growth of Xiaocang River, through the years his elders spent holding the line in grueling battles while he stayed behind, through the desolate great migration, through the oppressive, barren years in the Hedeng Three Counties followed by the great construction that came after, through the exhilaration of breaking out of Liangshan — and had, at last, arrived here…