The laughter went on for a long while, and beneath the canopy the atmosphere felt as if it might explode at any moment from the emotions of the two sides facing off.

Beneath the canopy there were only four figures, and only Ning Yi and Zonghan sat at the table—but with tens of thousands of troops and a population running into the hundreds of thousands, even millions, standing behind each of them, the mood over this stretch of time had grown especially delicate.

Zonghan was a warrior who had fought his way up out of the White Mountains and Black River, one who had personally cut down countless enemies on the battlefield. If everything he’d shown before had been the restraint of a commander, even a king, then after Ning Yi’s words, in this moment he truly displayed the wildness and ferocity native to a Jurchen warrior. Even Lin Qiu felt that this Jurchen marshal across from him might, at any moment, flip the table and lunge at Ning Yi to fight him to the death.

As for Ning Yi—though he had looked refined and scholarly these past years, even outside the army he was a man who had faced countless assassination attempts, and had gone toe to toe with martial masters like Zhou Tong and Lin Zongwu without coming out the worse for it. Even facing Zonghan and Gao Qingyi, arriving fresh off the victory at Wangyuan Bridge, he still radiated an open, easy composure and an immense sense of pressure.

Lin Qiu, watching Gao Qingyi, felt something strange rising in his heart at that moment. If the two sides really did flip the table and fight right here, and hundreds of thousands of troops, the future of the whole realm, hung in the balance over such a moment—that would truly be… too dramatic for words.

Zonghan’s hand swung through the air and slammed down on the table with a bang; he snatched up the little bamboo tube in his hand, his tall frame rising abruptly, looming over Ning Yi.

“…For this southern campaign, Gushen has spent years digging into your background. This commander is somewhat surprised—that the great devil Ning Butcher, who killed the Wu emperor and left the land of the Han to burn without a second thought, would show such womanly compassion at a moment like this.” Zonghan’s voice carried a hoarse authority and contempt. “The lives of ten million people on Han soil? Repaying a blood debt? Ning Butcher, cobbling together words like that now only makes you look petty. If the name of your inner demon amounts to nothing more than this kind of nonsense, how are you any different from a woman! It’s laughable.”

“The gift, I’ll accept. Your words, I’ll remember. But my Great Jin, my Jurchen people, owe nothing to heaven and earth.” He took two steps forward at the table, spreading his large hands. “A man born into this world—this world is a hunting ground! The Liao were cruel! We Jurchens, a mere few thousand strong, rose up in rebellion, and within ten-odd years wiped out the entire Liao empire! Another ten-odd years, and we destroyed the Wu dynasty! Ten million lives in the Central Plains? How many Jurchens are there? Even if it truly was us who killed them—ten million people, living on rich and fertile land, and yet able to be slaughtered by a mere few hundred thousand troops, without knowing how to resist! That is squandering what heaven gave them—they brought it on themselves.”

“Ning Butcher—you said these words yourself.”

Zonghan spoke slowly, deliberately, pointing at Ning Yi.

“And now, today, you sit before this commander saying you want revenge for ten million people, to make them pay their debt? Those ten million lives—at Bianliang, you had a hand in the slaughter. At Xiaocang River, you slaughtered even more. It was you who killed the Wu emperor, throwing the Wu dynasty into chaos, which is exactly what let our Great Jin win its second southern campaign—it was you who knocked open the door to the Central Plains for us. The people of the Wu dynasty begged you. Your good friend Li Pin begged you to save all under heaven. Countless Confucian scholars urged you toward goodness. You paid them no mind—you sneered at them!”

“Do you care about these ten million people?”

Zonghan shook his head slowly, but with utter resolve.

“You don’t care about ten million people. It’s just that today, sitting here, you use these ten million lives you don’t care about at all, hoping to make us feel… regret for what we’ve done? Words dripping with false righteousness, Ning Liheng. Womanish conduct.”

He spoke those last four words one at a time, deliberately, while Ning Yi sat there, looking at this contemptuous, disdainful old man before him with something almost like appreciation. Once he was sure the other had finished, he spoke as well: “Powerfully put. The Han have a saying—I wonder if you, Nianhan, have ever heard it.”

“…Go on.”

“A gentleman keeps his distance from the kitchen.” Ning Yi said. “This comes from a man in China long ago called Meng Ke. ‘The gentleman, in his relation to animals: having seen them alive, he cannot bear to see them die; having heard their cries, he cannot bear to eat their flesh. That is why the gentleman keeps his distance from the kitchen.’ The meaning is: meat still needs to be eaten, but it matters to hold on to a measure of compassion. If someone thinks meat shouldn’t be eaten at all, or eats meat without knowing what goes on in the kitchen, that person is mostly a fool. But if someone eats meat, believing that the strong preying on the weak is the natural law of heaven and earth, with no compassion left in them at all… then that is a beast.”

He simply sat there, looking at Zonghan the way one looks at an animal. “The people of the Wu dynasty ate the meat and forgot there was a butcher wielding the knife in the kitchen. Having driven off the butcher and the cook, they call themselves virtuous—they’re fools. Nianhan, I’m different. When I can keep my distance from the kitchen, I can be a gentleman. But once there’s no butcher and no cook left… I’ll pick up the knife and cook myself.”

“If kindness were of any use—if kneeling down and begging would make you stop killing—I could be a kind man too. But there’s no road left ahead of them.” Ning Yi slowly leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting into the distance. “There’s no road ahead of Zhou Zhe. There’s no road ahead of Li Pin. There’s no road ahead of the ten million good people of the Wu dynasty either. When they came to beg me, and I sneered at them, it was for just three words: can’t be done.”

“So from start to finish, for all the Wu dynasty’s ten years of proclaimed revival, in the end not a single one of them ever stood before you the way I’m doing today, forcing you to walk over here and speak to me as an equal. Had they acted the way the Wu dynasty acted, they’d have had another ten million slaughtered waiting for them, and you would never, from beginning to end, have seen them as human beings. But today, Nianhan, you stand there looking at me—do you feel superior? Are you looking down on me? Gao Qingyi, and you?”

Only then did he turn his gaze slowly back to Zonghan’s face; of the four people present, he alone remained seated. “So you see, Nianhan, it’s not that I feel no pity for those ten million people. It’s only that I know saving them takes more than pity on the surface. If you think I’m joking… you’ll come to regret everything I’m about to do to the both of you.”

There was a moment of quiet all around. Then Gao Qingyi, who had provoked him earlier, glanced at Zonghan and laughed. “Now that’s a rather interesting speech. Though, perhaps you’ve got a few things wrong…”

“Of course—General Gao is about to say I’m just talking empty words.” At this, Ning Yi smiled, and with a wave of his hand let the earlier gravity drain away. “The reason the two of you came here to Lion Ridge today isn’t because either side has reached the end of the road—on the southwest front, your numbers still hold the advantage, and even if you were at a disadvantage, the Jurchens who fought their way up out of the White Mountains and Black River have never lacked for that before. Put plainly, the two of you came because of the defeat at Wangyuan Bridge and Xiebao’s capture—to talk things over.”

“No problem. What happens on the battlefield isn’t decided by words. We’ve said enough—let’s talk about the negotiation.”

He suddenly shifted topics, palm pressed flat on the table. Zonghan, who’d clearly had more to say, frowned slightly, but slowly sat back down all the same. “Very well. Time to discuss real business.”

“The real business is already done. What’s left is just details.” Ning Yi looked at him. “I’m going to kill your son.”

He said this slowly, one word at a time, then turned slightly and pointed toward the raised platform behind him. “In a moment—right over there—my men will bring Wanyan Xiebao up onto that platform, and in front of everyone on both sides, I will smash his head in with my own hands. We will announce his crimes—war crimes, murder, rape, crimes against humanity…”

Ning Yi’s words came out mechanically, one after another; the atmosphere was so quiet it felt suffocating. Neither Zonghan nor Gao Qingyi’s faces showed much emotion, until, after Ning Yi finished, Zonghan spoke slowly. “Kill him, and then what do we talk about?”

“We talk about a prisoner exchange.”

“You kill Xiebao, and then we talk exchange?”

“Killing your son and the prisoner exchange are two separate matters.”

Zonghan leaned back in his chair. Ning Yi leaned back too. The two men stared at each other for a moment, then Ning Yi slowly began.

“The war’s gone on four months. Han soldiers who’ve surrendered to us bit by bit tell us you’re holding roughly nine hundred and some prisoners. At Wangyuan Bridge I captured over twenty thousand—these twenty thousand are your elite troops. Here’s how I see it: among them, there must be many with distinguished fathers, various clans and families behind them—they’re the backbone of the Jurchens, your core supporters. They’re exactly the ones who ought to bear primary responsibility for every blood debt owed by the Jin state. I ought, by rights, to kill them.”

“But today, here, it’s just the four of us. You two are men of importance, and I’m being polite—I’m willing to do a little of what important men are supposed to do. I’ll hold back my urge to kill them, set aside for now the blood debt they owe, and let you decide which of them to trade back. Of course, given your habit of mistreating prisoners, for Huaxia Army prisoners who are disabled versus those unharmed, we’ll exchange two for one.”

Ning Yi spread his right hand out in front of him. “You’ll find that doing business with the Huaxia Army is quite fair.”

“We want General Xiebao back,” Gao Qingyi said first.

“Xiebao’s not for sale.”

“Then there’s nothing to exchange,” Gao Qingyi said.

“Then we don’t exchange.” Ning Yi stared at Zonghan, not even glancing at Gao Qingyi, hands clasped together. After a moment: “Once you’re back north, you’ll still have a lot of people to answer to, and you’ll still have to arm-wrestle Zongfu and Zongbi. The Huaxia Army has no such factional cliques—if we hand back prisoners, it comes purely from good will. To us, that’s icing on the cake. To you, it’s help in the dead of winter. As for your son—a man of importance should carry a man of importance’s burden. Business comes first; you’ll just have to swallow your grief over your son. After all, plenty of people in the Central Plains have lost sons too.”

Zonghan said, “Your son isn’t dead.”

“One miscarried,” Ning Yi said. “And besides, right around the New Year, you sent people to sneak in and try to assassinate my second son. Lucky for you, it failed. Today, it’s my turn to succeed—Xiebao has to die. We’ll exchange the others.”

“Without Xiebao, we exchange no one,” Gao Qingyi pressed closer.

“Then we don’t exchange. Get ready to fight.”

Zonghan gave no response. Gao Qingyi said, “Marshal, we can talk about other things now.”

“There’s nothing else to talk about,” Ning Yi said.

Zonghan stared at Ning Yi, who sat there waiting for his response. Gao Qingyi murmured a few more words under his breath. In truth, only he could be the one to voice such firm resolve. Time ticked by, second by second. Ning Yi glanced behind him, then stood up. “We plan to kill your son at the hour of You. I’d hoped for a sunset, but it looks like it’s going to be an overcast day. Lin Qiu will wait here—if you want to talk, talk to him here. If you want to fight, go back.”

“Yes, sir,” Lin Qiu said, saluting in acknowledgment.

Ning Yi tapped his fingers on the table, glanced sidelong at Zonghan and Gao Qingyi, then looked again. “Some things are better accepted cleanly than dragged out. On the battlefield, it’s always fists that do the talking. Xiebao is already lost—refusing to accept it in your heart will only add to your suffering. That said, I’m a merciful man. If you truly feel that watching your son die before your eyes is too much to bear, I can offer you a proposal.”

He turned to face them squarely, looking at the two men, and paused briefly. “Afraid you won’t be able to stomach it.”

“Let’s hear it,” Gao Qingyi said.

“Don’t say later I didn’t give you a chance. Two paths.” Ning Yi held up a finger. “First: Xiebao alone, in exchange for every single Huaxia Army prisoner you hold. With hundreds of thousands of troops and countless eyes, I’m not worried about you playing tricks—from this moment on, if even one Huaxia Army soldier in your custody suffers further harm, I’ll cut off Xiebao’s hands and feet and send him back to you alive. Second: trade Huaxia Army prisoners for the men taken at Wangyuan Bridge, judged purely by physical condition, not rank—that’s giving you plenty of face already…”

Before he’d even finished speaking, Zonghan’s palm came down on the wooden table with a heavy bang. Ning Yi didn’t flinch, his gaze locked right back on him.

“No need to get angry. In a war between two armies, it’s kill or be killed—of course I want to wipe every last one of you out. This prisoner exchange now is so that, going forward, everyone can at least die with a bit more dignity. What I’m offering you is bound to have poison in it, but whether you swallow it or not is up to you. This exchange is a bad deal for me—General Gao’s been playing good cop, bad cop with you, Nianhan, and I haven’t called him out on it, I’ve given you an out. That’s already plenty of face. No more haggling from here. This is the exchange—once every prisoner on your side has been traded back, if even one is missing… I’ll kill all twenty thousand and build a mountain of skulls out of them as a gift for you bastards.”

With that, he flung his sleeve back and turned to walk away. Zonghan rose to his feet, and Lin Qiu stepped forward to stand off against the two of them. The afternoon sunlight had turned a ghastly, bloodless white.

The moment Ning Yi returned to camp, over on the Jin side, a great scattering of leaflets was launched from several points in the woods, sailing thickly through the air toward the enemy camp. By the time Zonghan and Gao Qingyi were only halfway back, someone came running up with one of the leaflets, on which were written the two “options” Ning Yi had offered Zonghan and Gao Qingyi.

Turning back to look, on the wooden platform in front of Lion Ridge, someone had been dragged up and forced to kneel there—it was Wanyan Xiebao.

He tried to resist even up on the platform, and was beaten mercilessly by Huaxia Army soldiers wielding clubs until his head was bloodied, then hauled up and bound.

It was now the first quarter of the hour of Shen that day, with the hour of You not far off.

This might have been the most humiliating moment the Jurchens had faced in twenty years at the height of their power. At almost the same moment, even harder news to accept had already reached Xiyin, Zonghan, and the others in the Jurchen camp, one report after another.

Balishu’s elder brother, the great Jurchen general Yinshuke, had died at Chen Fan’s hands in the Battle of Changsha.

And the man who had truly decided the outcome of the Battle of Changsha was an obscure, insignificant figure whom almost no one had ever noticed.

—A Wu dynasty general, Yu Mingzhou.