On the afternoon of the first day of the third month, in the space before Lion Ridge where Ning Yi and Wanyan Zonghan had just met, the wind blew neither hurried nor slow.
In the small wooden shelter before the front lines, people from both sides occasionally crossed over to convey each other’s intentions, carrying out preliminary negotiations. Handling the talks were Gao Qingyi on one side and Lin Qiu on the other. About an hour had passed since Ning Yi had declared he would kill Xiebao, and the Jurchen side was doing everything in its power to propose terms, issue threats, intimidate, and even adopt a posture of willingness to shatter like jade, all in an attempt to save Xiebao.
Even in moments when only the two of them were present, Gao Qingyi tried to make conversation with Lin Qiu — first probing into his family circumstances, then tentatively offering great rewards, trying to get him to let slip some bottom-line information. But Lin Qiu remained unmoved.
“Most of my family died in the chaos after the Central Plains fell. That debt is owed to you Jurchens, and it’s no injustice to say so. I still have a sister left, blind in one eye — if General Gao is interested, he’s welcome to send someone to kill her too.”
Sitting there negotiating in Ning Yi’s place, Lin Qiu faced Gao Qingyi, his tone calm and cold. Gao Qingyi understood then that any threat or enticement aimed at this man was largely meaningless.
In the more than ten years since the fall of the Central Plains, most people of the Central Plains harbored bone-deep blood feuds against the Jurchens. Such hatred could not be reached by rhetoric or sophistry. Over these ten-odd years, the Jurchen side had grown accustomed to the cowardice of the enemies before them — but none of that worked on the Black Banner.
Had he been facing some other faction of the Wu Dynasty, Gao Qingyi might have exploited the other side’s guilty conscience or wavering resolve, using overwhelming, irresistible benefits to redeem a hostage who had happened to fall into enemy hands. But before the Black Banner, whatever benefits the Jurchens could offer meant nothing.
This was the group that, even when the whole world was their enemy, could throw out lines dripping with the flavor of a final testament — declaring that though all around looked as fierce as ever, who was to say the Han were already destroyed. Ten years ago, Ning Yi had been able to kill Loushi in the northwest, and had been able to kill Ci Bushi atop the walls of Yanzhou in what was nearly a hopeless situation. Now, when he said he would smash Wanyan Xiebao’s head open, he would smash Xiebao’s head open.
“…The Central Plains fell, and you and we have been enemies for over ten years. What our Great Jin holds captive is not merely the handful of prisoners before you now — there are still members of your Black Banner within Great Jin’s borders, as well as heroes and family members of the Wu Dynasty. Any names you can put forward can be exchanged, or in the future we could provide a list ourselves, to be exchanged for Xiebao.”
After deliberation on the Jurchen side, Gao Qingyi finally put forward this proposal: “I know that if this is to proceed, it will inevitably take a long time. But so long as Xiebao’s life is spared, given his relationship with the Grand Marshal, there is nothing on our side that cannot be discussed. Why must he be killed today… This is not something you can decide — please relay this to Ning Yi, and let him make the final decision.”
Messengers came and went before the front line, all manner of proposals and responses passing back and forth. Those within the Jurchen camp did not waste this oppressive hour: on one hand, they kept proposing conditions that might tempt the Black Banner — even hastily recalling lists of potentially valuable Chinese Army prisoners to send forward to Gao Qingyi as bargaining chips; on the other hand, all sorts of information from within the camp were being sent outward without pause.
Zonghan stood before his command tent, gazing from afar at the figure atop that distant platform. Under the gloomy sky, his sparse white hair danced in the air.
Time crept, minute by minute, toward the hour of the Rooster.
Within the Chinese Army’s camp, groups of messengers also emerged one after another from the rear, running toward the still-weary Chinese Army units.
“…Tell Gao Qingyi: there is nothing to discuss.”
When the sixth negotiation proposal arrived, Ning Yi, having heard it out, gave this answer, then instructed the staff officers: “From now on, respond to every proposal from the other side the same way.”
“Should we tell them not to bother relaying any more proposals?”
“Of course they should keep relaying them.” Ning Yi rose from his seat and put on his coat. “The act of sending messages is itself a form of probing. To save Xiebao, the bargaining chips the Jurchens are offering — aren’t there quite a few things we don’t yet know about, hidden in there? Besides, we should give them a bit of hope.”
So saying, he walked out of the room.
Along the roads cutting through the battlefield, across the hills, through the Chinese Army’s positions standing at full readiness, Ning Yi walked along the steps and up onto the simple wooden platform. Xiebao was being held up there, his face covered in blood, several teeth missing from his mouth, the corner of his eye split open, bound and kneeling on the platform. Xiebao was a northern man of enormous build, and even beaten into such a wretched state, as he stared straight ahead now, there was still a stubborn, tragic dignity about him.
On the other side of the front, one could faintly make out the figures before the Jurchen great tent — Wanyan Zonghan was over there watching his son, and Xiebao here was watching his father.
Ning Yi stood off to the side, gazing into the distance for a moment as well, then sighed.
“Yes, war really is a cruel thing… who could say otherwise.”
He said this while pulling out a handkerchief, wiping quite perfunctorily at the blood at the corner of Xiebao’s eye, then tossing the handkerchief aside. A great commotion was building up on the Jurchen camp’s side. Ning Yi took a wooden stool and sat down beside him.
“Your side has put forward a lot of exchange terms, hoping to get you back. Your elder brother is mobilizing troops right now, wanting to charge straight through and rescue you. Your father, too, hopes such a show of force will have some effect — but they also know that charging in here would just mean throwing their lives away.”
Below the wooden platform, weapons stood at grim readiness; the Chinese Army had long since prepared to meet any attack, and had not let its guard down simply because the other side’s show of force might be a bluff.
Xiebao turned his head to look at Ning Yi. Ning Yi tore off the cloth gag from his mouth, and Xiebao, in halting Chinese, said, “Great Jin… will avenge me.”
Ning Yi shook his head. “The biggest problem facing all of you is how to get out of these mountains and back home. You’ve marched your army far, deep into enemy territory — go any further and you won’t be able to get back. If I kill you today in front of your father and brother, your father and brother will have no choice but to retreat. After that, Jurchen morale will collapse, and if things go badly, none of you will make it back to Huangming County or Yushui Creek.”
Xiebao’s gaze flickered with a moment of stunned blankness. Having been dragged up onto this platform, he had probably already imagined something of the fate awaiting him — but Ning Yi’s casual, offhand statement of the fact that he would die still struck him with some force. After a moment, he began to laugh loudly.
Ning Yi’s gaze was indifferent. He picked up his telescope and looked ahead, paying no attention to Xiebao’s laughter at that moment. After Xiebao had laughed for a while, he said, “Fine, if you want to kill me, fine! I underestimated the enemy, advanced rashly, lost troops and generals, and brought this great mistake upon myself — I deserve to atone with my death, Ning Yi, don’t you forget it! In what dire straits did our Great Jin’s foundation get carved out! Just right — use my blood alone to rouse the fighting spirit of our Great Jin! A grieving army fighting with its back to the wall is bound to win! I’ll wait for you in the underworld!”
“Don’t go around mouthing off about ‘a grieving army.'” Ning Yi lowered the telescope. “The saying that a grieving army is bound to win means making every soldier understand that he is at a disadvantage, and that unless he fights with everything he has, things will only get worse — that’s when it applies. Just yesterday you all thought yourselves unrivaled under heaven, robbing money, grain, and women, planning to go home and enjoy the spoils. You brought thirty thousand troops here to kill me, and today suddenly you’re saying you’re not unrivaled under heaven anymore, and that you’re a grieving army instead. Grieving your mother — say a thing like that out loud, and it’d be strange if the whole camp didn’t panic and flee.”
“In the Battle of Wangyuan Bridge, thirty thousand men were wiped out in a single engagement — you have no chance left on the open field. But right now, the only ones who know this are your father, your brother, and a small number of the upper echelon. Your father has the resolve to face reality — how many will die is what he needs to weigh. Of course, I do hope your father and brother can truly be roused into a grieving army, and stay behind to cover the retreat of the main force. If I could kill the three of you, father and sons, I’d feel a good deal more satisfied.”
Saying this, he picked up the telescope again and smiled: “Your style of command is rough but has some subtlety to it, your head’s not bad. Everything I’ve said, you must understand perfectly well.”
Xiebao was silent for a moment, then again showed a bloody smile: “I trust my father and my brothers — they are heroes without equal in this generation. Whatever difficulty they meet, they are bound to overcome it. As for you, Butcher Ning — if you want to kill me, then kill me. Calling me here to say all this is like a petty man gloating over his good fortune. It’s honestly rather laughable.”
Ning Yi did not take it as an insult, and nodded. “The staff department’s orders have already gone out. The terms of negotiation at the front are these: either you’re exchanged for captured Chinese Army personnel…” He briefly repeated to Xiebao the dilemma being posed to Zonghan at the front.
“As I said, war is cruel. Look at your father — he clawed his way here through hardship after hardship, and in the end he must bear the pain of a white-haired man burying his black-haired son. You too have spent your whole life fighting and killing, and now you kneel here, watching your Jurchen people walk into a dead end… The southwestern campaign has come to nothing, and once Zonghan and Xiyin return to the Jin state, you’ll become meat in the mouths of Zongfu and Zongbi as well. But there are far more people who, over these past ten-odd years, have endured suffering far greater than yours.”
“Fathers watching sons die, sons gathering their fathers’ bones, husbands and wives torn apart, entire families wiped out… After so much has happened, letting you feel this pain is, to me personally, a form of respect and remembrance for the dead. Out of a humanitarian standpoint, this pain of yours won’t last very long. But you can die in despair all the same. Zonghan and the rest of your family — I’ll send them along to see you as soon as I can.”
“Hahahaha…” Xiebao understood now, and opened his mouth to laugh. “That’s right, Ning Yi — it was me, I killed plenty of your people, countless Han died at my hands! I violated their wives and daughters, sometimes with others joining in! I don’t even know if I ever got to some relative of yours! Hahahaha, Ning Yi, the way you talk about this so painfully, surely someone of yours was killed or violated by me too? Say it, and make me happy — let me tell you—”
Just as he was about to continue in high spirits, Ning Yi reached out, gripped his chin, and with a crack, snapped his jaw out of place.
Xiebao’s face twisted into a hideous grimace, his whole body trembling with pain. Ning Yi took out the handkerchief and wiped the blood and spit from his hand: “Yes, that’s how war is. Those who lose, lose everything. Those who win only win the chance to sit here mourning their comrades. What you said… makes sense.”
He looked off into the distance, staying quietly beside Xiebao, saying nothing more. After a while, someone began loudly proclaiming Xiebao’s crimes — “murder,” “rape,” “arson,” “torture”… and so on and so forth.
……
Gao Qingyi slammed his fist onto the wooden table. “If Xiebao dies, then every Chinese Army soldier we hold alive in Great Jin will die as well! When our army marches north again, I will have them killed one by one!”
Lin Qiu nodded. “We still have twenty thousand people we could exchange.”
“No one but Xiebao will be exchanged! Go tell Ning Yi at once — if he kills Xiebao, I’ll make sure you all regret it to the end of your days—”
“Fine.” Lin Qiu summoned a messenger. “Is there anything else you’d like to add? I’ll have it relayed along with the rest.”
“Xiebao must not die—”
Gao Qingyi’s shouting nearly carried all the way to the platform on the other side.
……
Within the Jurchen camp, Wanyan Sheyema had already gathered his troops and was pleading fervently with Zonghan for permission to fight.
“…If the talks come to nothing, Ning Yi really might kill him. Father, don’t place all your hope on negotiation alone. Let your son personally lead the troops for one final push… If we can’t save Xiebao, I’ll never sleep easy again, Father—”
Zonghan stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing at the platform, lips pressed tight, saying nothing.
Han Qixian and the others were not present outside this great tent — under Zonghan’s orders they were busy arranging and deploying the rest of the army, countless commands being issued in tense succession. As the hour of the Rooster drew near, someone stepped out from the tents and gazed from afar at that distant platform.
Although over the past years the Chinese Army had already shown all manner of hostility toward the Jurchens, killing men like Loushi and Ci Bushi on the battlefield was, after all, still something different from what was happening now.
To kill Zonghan’s son Xiebao right in front of Zonghan was both an insult and a provocation — something that had not happened anywhere under heaven in decades. As long as Zonghan lived, his son was a bargaining chip that could be tied to countless interests; after all, over these past decades, Zonghan was a hero who had truly crushed all under heaven.
……
In the southwest the days were long. As the hour of the Rooster approached, the setting sun broke through the clouds, casting pale light slanting toward this side. Wangyuan Bridge, Lion Ridge, Xiukou… Ning Yi’s orders, along with those of the command headquarters, were being passed unit by unit through the ranks.
“…After the Battle of Wangyuan Bridge, the Jurchens’ path forward is nearly exhausted, and next they will surely seek a route of retreat. But all units of our army must not let their guard down. Under the most likely projection, the Jurchens will certainly organize and launch a large-scale offensive, the purpose of which will be to draw the Han army units to the very front lines, while positioning the Jurchen units in the best possible spot for withdrawal…”
“…Therefore all units must be prepared to withstand an assault, and cannot rule out the possibility that elite Jurchen troops may fight for real under the guise of a feint, throwing themselves in with their backs to the wall. While preparing to repel the enemy’s first wave, organize elite units to plan for every possible forward thrust and encirclement. From Xiukou to Yushui Creek, from Lion Ridge to Huangming, these will be key zones for annihilation in the coming days — resolve and planning for battle must be firmly established…”
“…Toward the Han army units, adopt a strategy centered on inducing surrender, driving them off, and turning them against their own side. Carry out resolute infiltration and severance at every key road and pass, racing the enemy for time and cutting off their retreat…”
“…Intelligence and scout units are to use every available means to contact, liaise with, and turn any Han army officers who might be willing to switch sides. Even those who cannot be turned must have the reality of this battle conveyed to them clearly and forcefully…”
“…Second Division, Second Brigade, in the coming battle, is responsible for routing Li Rulai’s unit…”
“…Fifth Division is responsible for attacking Dalai’s unit ahead, coordinating with Qu Zhengyan’s and Chen Tian’s units in a thrust toward Yushui Creek, applying maximum pressure on the enemy so that they cannot easily turn around…”
“…All units at Wangyuan Bridge…”
All manner of orders passed down layer by layer, from headquarters to division, from division to brigade, from brigade to regiment. In the aftermath of the Battle of Wangyuan Bridge, every unit had already entered a state of even greater readiness and restless anticipation — blades and spears sharpened, guns and cannons loaded, and along the riverbank near Wangyuan Bridge, boats guarding prisoners patrolled back and forth…
……
The evening sun shone in from the far end of the mountains.
In the small shelter, Gao Qingyi held his breath. Over on the platform, Ning Yi had already come down. At the gate of the camp on the other side of the front, Wanyan Sheyema, clad in armor and gripping his spear, charged out of the great camp, running with all his might and shouting loudly.
Before the great tent, Zonghan’s eyes did not blink, his body utterly still, his fists clenched tight. Many people, from many different positions, looked over that way.
No small number still harbored a bit of wishful hope in their hearts — perhaps this was just Ning Yi putting on a show.
Perhaps he would keep Xiebao alive, to exchange for even greater gains.
Perhaps he would let Xiebao live, leaving both sides a way out.
After all, this was a war between nations — a rational leader ought to leave a little room to maneuver.
The long barrel of the rifle was aimed at the back of Xiebao’s head. The setting sun was pale, and beneath it, the wind blew neither hurried nor slow.
Bang—
——
——
Xiebao’s head burst open, and his body toppled over.
Roars of fury and howling erupted across the battlefield; a great uproar broke out within the Jurchen camp. Ning Yi listened to this furious roaring — over the years there had been countless such furious roars — and he closed his eyes, drawing a long breath of that day’s air.
“Send the head… to his father…”