The first day of the eighth month.
Dawn broke faintly, and the morning wind blew across the plain as it always did.
Wanyan Qingjue’s mind was restless, and he had woken early. He sat in the darkness listening to the sounds outside — the Huaxia Army camp had already begun to stir, scattered voices here and there, occasionally a shout, faint light seeping in through the gaps in the prison camp’s fence and the cracks of the wooden huts.
Footsteps sounded on the ground, rustling faintly — to a listening ear, like ants crawling. In the dim barracks, the sounds of people turning over in their sleep could be heard too; most of his companions were already awake, though they made no sound — even the rattle of chains that usually came with turning over in the night was now much reduced.
Wanyan Qingjue thought back to his childhood, learning to listen to the ground in the old forests of the north. Old hunters had this skill, and so did soldiers — when men camped at night, sleeping on the ground with weapons at the ready, the slightest disturbance for miles around could jolt them awake. Those imprisoned here now were also the elite commanders of the Jurchen army — though dawn had not yet broken, the stirrings in the nearby camp felt to them as though they were happening right beside them.
The Huaxia Army’s soldiers were rising one after another — tidying their quarters, washing up, eating breakfast — and mixed in among what sounded like chaotic footsteps were also the sounds of orderly ranks forming and unified calls of response. Such sounds were steeped in a great deal of apparent disorder at first, but gradually, that disordered footfall would resolve entirely into a unified rhythm.
Having been stationed near the Huaxia Army’s camp for nearly two months now, this was the sound they bore witness to first thing, every single day. Such a thing was ordinary and monotonous, but gradually, they had come to understand just how terrifying it truly was. To them, this rhythm of footsteps was oppressive and sinister.
But day after day, it repeated all the same, and today was no exception.
Wanyan Qingjue’s mind wandered back along the thread of memory from when his elders had taught him to listen to the ground, and further still to the first time he had witnessed real slaughter, the first time he had seen an army in action — by his age, the Jurchens were no longer mere hunters; that had been an age of heroes rising one after another, of endless battles and endless victories. He had grown up following Gushen, campaigning down to this very day.
If given the chance to do it all again, how would he face such footsteps?
The morning wind brushed gently past, the shackles on his feet heavy. Perhaps many of the men in that room were turning over the same thought in their minds: they had once made the most vicious of enemies tremble beneath their feet, had made the weak Han people kneel to accept slaughter. They had lost — but that did not mean they could never win again. If only they could have another chance…
The sound of cart wheels came from outside the prison camp — the Huaxia Army’s mess unit delivering breakfast — followed by footsteps approaching from outside, ordering them to rise.
The eastern sky had begun to whiten like a fish’s belly. They lined up and walked toward the small central plaza for their meal; not far off, the lights of the military camp were gradually going out as the sun rose, and the footsteps were steadily settling into perfect unison.
Breakfast tasted decent enough, though it could hardly be called lavish — no meat. Many of them let out a quiet sigh of relief. They stole glances at the soldiers around them; some who understood Chinese and were more sociable even ventured a question or two under their breath, but found no sign of anything ominous.
Not far off, within the military camp, ranks of soldiers had already begun to form.
…
A scarred, burn-marked face reflected in the mirror, fierce and menacing. A writing brush, dabbed with a bit of powder, moved up toward it.
The fierce, menacing face immediately looked embarrassed, shrinking back.
“Hey, I feel like — a grown man doing this sort of thing, is that really necessary…”
“Don’t move, don’t move — it was your idea to want to do something about it in the first place, and you’re the one being all fussy about it now. Mao Yishan, can you just be decisive for once!” Qu Qing gave his big head a twist.
“I’m just saying… this scar on my face looks bad, might scare the children — after all, I walk at the front of our unit. But this, me, a grown man, putting on powder — that just sounds ridiculous, spread the word about…”
“What powder? This is called disguise application. Understand? When we fought Li Touhe, one of our own disguised himself as a young Jurchen prince, and with no effort at all, brought down their army of a hundred thousand… So this disguise technique is a high-level skill, passed down from Brother Yan Qing himself. We may not be experts at it, but trying it out a little on your face, making that scar less scary — that’s no problem at all~”
“I keep feeling like you’re setting me up somehow…”
“We’ve been brothers for so many years, when have I ever set you up? Hey, don’t move, spread it evenly and no one will even notice… See, it’s just like the natural color of your skin… This technique isn’t meant to hide the scar from people entirely — it’s just that a burn scar really does look unsightly, so we’re just making it a little less noticeable. This is a pretty advanced technique, I only just learned it myself recently…”
“Recently… hey, you haven’t even seen that Brother Yan Qing recently — who’d you learn it from… You learned it from Yong Jinrou, didn’t you, that’s still learning powder application from a woman… forget it, I’m not doing this…”
“Don’t move, almost done… This is what they call ‘different paths, same destination’ — stones from other hills can polish your jade — what would a country bumpkin like you know… Almost done, hey, take a look, isn’t it a lot lighter now? Won’t scare the children anymore, right?”
Mao Yishan looked at himself in the mirror. “It does seem… about right…”
“Looks a lot better at first glance. But your face was burned, after all — if you want it completely unnoticeable, you’d need a skin graft.” Qu Qing, having finished his work, patted him on the shoulder. “All right, that’s about all a brother can do for you. Look how evenly the powder’s applied — pay attention and it should hold up fine for half a day. Of course, if it really bothers you, you can always wipe it off…”
Mao Yishan stared at the mirror, still fussing. “Maybe I should just wipe it off after all? What is this even…”
“You’re the one who said getting burned like that would scare Shitou when you go home, that’s why I helped you figure something out. And now that I’ve figured something out, you’re acting like this? It’s not that big a deal, it’s just some powder on your face! You’re just feeling guilty about something!”
“Mainly I just don’t really want to be out in front like this — honestly, I don’t want to walk at the head of the line. Fallen comrades and here I am walking up front showing off my achievements, what’s that about — I’m not Zhuo Yongqing, he’s good-looking, people like looking at him…”
“All right, all right, all right, country bumpkin, I’ve never seen you nervous on the battlefield. Anyway, the powder’s on now, and I’ve got other business to attend to — I need to get to the assembly point. Oh, right, there’s something I want to show you first.” Qu Qing, thoroughly unimpressed with Mao Yishan’s performance today, pulled out a booklet and handed it to him. “Take a look — this just got printed these past two days, they’re distributing it this afternoon. It’s got the merits and moving stories of every army and division in this great battle written up inside. Your regiment’s in there too, your name’s right there in it — you’ll go down in history with this one.”
“Really? My… my name… what’s there to even write about me…”
Mao Yishan’s eyes went wide, and he took the booklet, titled Record of Merit in the Huaxia Army’s Southwestern Campaign. He flipped through a couple of pages while Qu Qing waved and left on his own. Mao Yishan hadn’t yet found his regiment’s section, and had thought to say a few more words to Qu Qing, but figuring the man had business to attend to, let it go. After Qu Qing left, he flipped through a couple more pages, then couldn’t help glancing at himself in the mirror again.
He’d probably never much cared about his own looks his whole life — it was just that he felt some reluctance about appearing before the common people, and on top of that, the scar left on his face from the assault on Jianmen Pass was still rather noticeable, which was why he’d complained a bit. He’d only complained offhand, and Qu Qing had casually helped him deal with it — and now that the makeup was on, he felt genuinely conflicted, on one hand feeling that a grown man shouldn’t fuss over such things, and on the other…
“…Actually doesn’t look too bad…”
He looked himself over in the mirror a few more times — the once-obvious burn scar did indeed look considerably fainter now.
Having wavered like this for a moment, he then noticed the powder case and brush Qu Qing had left behind.
Qu Qing’s skill wasn’t quite up to par — he’d probably only learned half of what Brother Yan Qing knew — the scar still looked pretty noticeable. Might as well put on a bit more… well, since I’ve already started, might as well go all the way…
He picked up the brush and added a bit more powder to the scar on his left cheek.
Looked… a fair bit better, it seemed.
Mao Yishan scratched his head and walked out the door.
Dawn’s light spread across the sky, and rows upon rows of soldiers were forming up on the great parade ground. Mao Yishan signaled to his deputy commander, and the nearly hundred men of his own regiment quickly gathered, beginning to fall into formation nearby.
Not everyone needed to take part in the parade ceremony. Mao Yishan’s regiment had brought over ninety-some men in total, a third of whom were reserves. Among these, some soldiers were missing hands or feet — three who had lost their legs sat in wheelchairs. Most of them had earned distinction in this recent battle, and this parade, the first since the defeat of the Jurchens, might well be the only chance these wounded, disabled soldiers would ever have to take part, even though there might be many more battles to come.
Mao Yishan walked to the front of the formation and counted heads. The sun was rising from the eastern horizon, and in the distance, the city was stirring awake.
“Compared to actually fighting the Jurchens, this doesn’t amount to much, but today’s still a big day. You all know the schedule — we’ll set off shortly, gather at the designated point, and enter the city at the third quarter of the hour of Chen, to link up with the Seventh Army for the review.”
Mao Yishan walked along the front of the formation, straightening a few soldiers’ uniforms as he went, speaking casually. “As for today’s parade, whatever needed saying, we already said it during drills. Our regiment’s sending a few dozen men to march before everyone — that’s an honor, one you’ve earned. But if you ask me, it’s also your good fortune! Why’s that? Because just being alive to do it — that’s the fortune.”
“…Today marks the first time we’ve properly defeated the Jurchens — by rights, it’s not yet time to enjoy the fruits of it. In Chengdu today, we’ve got our own family, friends who’ve come from outside, and enemies with ill intent too — that’s why they call this a ‘review’: first, so our family and friends can see how we’ve trained, what we’ve become; second, so those troublemaking bastards out there can see what we’re made of. So today’s parade is really no different from actual combat… look at your collar, that’s no combat posture at all.”
The soldiers in the ranks laughed.
“…We’ve only just properly defeated the Jurchens once — which means there’ll be plenty more times to come after this…”
Ranks of soldiers were assembling across the parade ground; since it wasn’t yet time to move out, most unit leaders were giving pep talks, or simply having their men stand at ease. Having scolded the soldier with the crooked collar, Mao Yishan fell silent for a moment there at the front of the formation, standing with his hands behind his back, looking over the men, then turning to survey the whole parade ground before composing himself and lowering his head.
“…Well, speaking of which, there is actually some good news — today’s a good day… you marching in the parade will earn you recognition, and people will remember it. I’ve got a book here that’s recorded our regiment’s achievements too. According to what they told me, this is the kind of thing that gets you remembered for generations. Here, this very book — already printed, I got hold of it first, let me have a look — see what it says about our regiment…”
Mao Yishan pulled the book Qu Qing had given him from his uniform pocket and flipped through it in front of the formation, quickly finding the section.
“Here, right here — several pages of it. Though our regiment belongs to the Fifth Division, this time we’ve been awarded a collective First-Class Merit. Look here, it says we’re the Fifth Division’s vanguard regiment — killing E Lili at Yushui Creek, then leading the assault on Jianmen Pass afterward — both great achievements. It says here, regiment commander… deputy commanders Li Qing, Gu A’liu, Li Chuan, Zhuo… Little Zhuo’s given name, it’s this character… so many deputy commanders — doesn’t that make me, the actual commander, look a bit useless?”
Not having properly looked over the booklet beforehand, pulling it out on the spot now made things a bit awkward — one regiment commander followed by the names of five deputy commanders. The reason was simple enough, though: four of them had already fallen in battle, and even the one everyone called “Little Zhuo” had a given name so obscure that Mao Yishan couldn’t even pronounce it. He mumbled through it, his voice gradually trailing off, then reached up to wipe his nose. The book recorded not only the battles at Yushui Creek and Jianmen Pass, but countless other brutal engagements along the way — only, since the fighting had never let up, and the fallen had always been replaced by new men, there’d never been time to dwell on it. Now, seeing it all listed out at once, he realized just how many battles they’d actually been through.
“…Surrounded on all sides… repelled thirteen enemy assaults… Second Battalion Commander Xu San’er held the rear, died a hero… when did I ever report that he’d fallen? That bastard stole my coat and never gave it back…”
“Li Qing, read it out to them — there are some characters here I don’t recognize!” Mao Yishan suddenly bellowed, his voice mumbling and grumbling. His deputy commander Li Qing, next in line, stepped forward, took the book, and began reading from the start. Mao Yishan stood there, his face darkening — but after a while, the assembled soldiers, looking at him, seemed to start whispering among themselves, some looking at Mao Yishan as though trying to stifle laughter.
Mao Yishan frowned and looked back at them, and the man instantly composed a solemn expression — but by then, all the other soldiers were already looking at him too. “C-commander…”
“What!?”
“Y-your face…”
Someone let out a snort of laughter.
Mao Yishan came to his senses, reached up and wiped at his face — his hand came away covered in powder. The burn scar on his left cheek, right below the eye, had mixed with something damp, turning into clumps. Mao Yishan’s expression didn’t change; he rubbed at it hard with his hand. “Damn you, Qu Qing!” He turned and walked away.
He strode over to the pool beside the camp, scooped up water in his hands, and washed all the powder off his face, then walked back with a stern expression. His cheeks had burned a little with embarrassment while washing, but there was no admitting to that now.
The soldiers were still laughing, and even Deputy Commander Li Qing was laughing — some of it was deliberate needling too. Someone spoke up: “Commander, wearing powder really doesn’t suit you.”
“Commander, you’re plenty handsome as it is normally.”
“Yeah, that’s the kind of thing — different from ordinary people, really distinctive…”
“Ha ha…”
“That’s enough!” Mao Yishan flicked the water off his hands. “Just got burned like that, scared my kid the moment I got home, and then Qu Qing goes and gives me this rotten idea today… Like I said before, being able to walk this parade alive — that’s your good fortune. Today we march representing our regiment, and we’re also marching for… everyone, the living and the dead alike! So all of you, buck up — no one’s allowed to lose face today!”
“Yes, sir!” the men replied.
“Also, none of what happened today leaves this place, understand…”
“Pfft—”
“Atten—tion!”
Mao Yishan barked out the command.
The soldiers snapped instantly to attention, their footfalls shaking the ground.
“Eyes—right!”
Over ninety men turned their heads, the formation snapping straight like tempered steel, falling into order as the morning light spread across the sky…
Similar scenes were unfolding in other places as well.
In the military camp north of Chengdu, Chen Hai was likewise straightening up the ranks for his soldiers. Before him stood a young officer who had lost both arms at the elbow; Chen Hai brushed the dust from his uniform for him.
There were other disabled soldiers in the ranks as well — after this parade, they would be discharged from the army. Perhaps for this very reason, during the earlier marching drills, quite a few of the disabled soldiers had, if anything, practiced their steps with the greatest care of all.
Chen Hai went down the line one by one, inspecting and straightening their uniforms, without a word.
Liu Muxia, Niu Chengshu, and the others were all gathered in the ranks as well.
The sun rose.
Throughout the city, crowds were gathering.
Word of the Huaxia Army’s parade had already spread. Though called a “parade,” what it really amounted to was the Huaxia Army’s Fifth and Seventh Armies making their triumphant return through the streets of Chengdu. The two armies would enter through different city gates, pass along several main streets, and converge at the newly cleared “Victory Square” northwest of Moheh Pool — where a ceremony reviewing the Jurchen prisoners would also take place.
Though there was, of course, no filming or live broadcasting of the parade in this era, and the best viewing spots around Victory Square were reserved by ticket for people of standing, the long streets along the procession route still offered plenty of vantage points for the general public to watch the ceremony pass. Restaurants and teahouses along the road had already coordinated with the Huaxia Army and begun offering “VIP viewing seats” — after a brief inspection, one could go upstairs to the best spots to watch the troops pass by.
Crowd-control units had cordoned off most of the street for the army’s passage, leaving a smaller portion open for pedestrians, though staff wearing red armbands loudly reminded onlookers that when the Jurchen prisoners passed, throwing stones, iron implements, or other harmful objects was strictly forbidden — and even throwing mud, rotten eggs, or vegetable leaves, while not explicitly banned, was discouraged.
Red ribbons and streamers had already been hung along both sides of the road, and red silk flowers, cheaply made, had sold briskly. Dyes of all kinds remained scarce throughout the city at this time, so bright red remained the most eye-catching color available. The Huaxia Army’s hold on the hearts of Chengdu’s people wasn’t yet entirely secure, but with the cheap little red flowers selling out, plenty of people happily joined in this carnival of military support all the same.
Yu Hezhong, Yan Daolun, and the others had eaten breakfast by the roadside, and this time, rather than taking a carriage, walked the whole way, observing the scenes along the streets.
The suggestion to walk had come from Yan Daolun, whose feelings about this trip to Chengdu were, at present, rather complicated. Originally, as Liu Guangshi’s representative, the broad strategy had been to gain some advantage in trade by proactively showing goodwill toward the Huaxia Army — and the current trend hadn’t strayed from that path. But in the details, things hadn’t turned out quite as satisfying as hoped.
In matters of business, even once one has resolved to show goodwill proactively, one naturally hopes that goodwill will carry the greatest possible value to the other party. If other factions were causing the Huaxia Army significant trouble, and one’s own side held some leverage over the Huaxia Army’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities, then extending goodwill at such a moment would yield the greatest possible benefit. But if the other party wasn’t facing much difficulty at all, then such goodwill would hardly seem all that critical or necessary.
For this reason, he had actually welcomed the unrest of the night of the twentieth. If Ning Yi had been killed, all the better; and even failing that, causing the man some trouble would still have greatly increased his own side’s importance.
By now, the Huaxia Army had certainly extended plenty of courtesy and favor toward his side — but Yan Daolun understood, deep down, that the courtesy shown to a side capable of constraining and threatening them was an entirely different thing from the courtesy being shown now.
In dealings between people, what one seeks is mutual non-threat, harmony, and goodwill — but in dealings between factions and powers, only a relationship in which each side can threaten and undermine the other proves truly reliable. If you lack the capacity to play the villain, you’re not far from ruin.
At present, whatever threat General Liu could pose to the Huaxia Army was limited, and whatever help he could offer was limited too — even though the other side extended courtesy, such courtesy was, in truth, hollow. This was the source of his complicated, conflicted feelings.
On the other side, these past days, Yu Hezhong’s own state of mind had grown increasingly troubled as well.
With Shishi’s encouragement and the Huaxia Army’s assistance, his position as the “mouthpiece” between the Huaxia Army and Liu Guangshi’s faction had grown ever more secure — but at the same time, the initial burning warmth in his heart had gradually cooled, and he had come to feel that the distance between himself and her seemed to keep growing.
After the twentieth, Shishi had been rather busy, and he had only managed to see her once. Though she remained just as warm toward him, over the course of their negotiations he had gradually come to sense the sheer power the Huaxia Army projected, and Shishi’s own standing within it.
Some things are hard to see clearly from a distance, and only become apparent up close. Take, for instance, the deal that might be struck between the Huaxia Army and General Liu — this was an operation of enormous consequence, and he himself, in truth, could do little to influence it. Yet throughout the entire negotiation process, whatever power actually secured his position had, essentially, all come from the Huaxia Army’s side. Shishi had only needed to say one word to that official named Lin Qiu, and the rest of the negotiations would proceed with the Huaxia Army more or less bringing him along for the nod of approval. If not for that, how much importance could he possibly demonstrate in all of this?
In the depths of night, waking from restless dreams, he could see this problem clearly enough. Especially after the unrest of the twentieth, when the Huaxia Army’s power had been laid bare within the walls of Chengdu, he couldn’t help but wonder — if one compared it to the old capital of Bianliang, what position did Shishi now truly occupy within all this? If one were to think of Ning Yi as the emperor…
He had once thought that, by becoming the bond between these two factions, he might one day be able to interact with Shishi on equal footing. But now, he felt the distance between them more clearly than ever. Both Shishi’s warmth and her aloofness left him anxious, torn between hope and despair.
She was now such a capable, high-standing person… if she truly did care for him…
Various thoughts intertwined in his heart as he followed Yan Daolun through the crowd, walking onward.
Like them, many others had already left their homes, making their way through the crowds in the morning breeze toward Victory Square — some excited, some full of curiosity, some with stern expressions and reluctant resentment. But even those with reluctance had come all this way to Chengdu — how could they possibly miss out on the Huaxia Army’s “grand spectacle”?
…
At the hour of Chen, outside Chengdu, Wanyan Qingjue and the others, shackled in chains, were loaded onto the prisoner transport carts — this time, during the parade, they wouldn’t even need to walk.
…
Escorted by his household retainers and disciples, Yang Tiehuai walked out through the gates of Xiangwu Hall.
He wore a neatly pressed blue-gray robe and a tall cap, his lips pressed tight, his gaze stern. Tucked in his hand was the invitation the Huaxia Army had sent him for the viewing ceremony.
…
Birdsong drifted in from the courtyard.
Qu Longjun opened her eyes and caught a glimpse of a figure slipping out of the room, which startled her badly.
She had no idea when that figure had come in — clearly not the plump Auntie Gu; had she not happened to wake just then, she likely wouldn’t have seen it at all.
Dr. Long Aotian…
Qu Longjun lay prone on the bed, unable to understand why he would come into her sickroom so early in the morning. These past few days, though he’d brought her meals and medicine, the two of them had barely exchanged more than a few words — his occasional inquiries about her condition had seemed like the most ordinary of check-ins.
Lying beneath the blanket, warm, with no sign that her clothes had been disturbed, she listened for a while, but no footsteps came from outside — that fleeting glimpse a moment ago seemed almost as though it had never happened.
She quietly turned her head to look around. Outside the room, the sun had come out, but the room itself was still not very bright. On the small cabinet beside the bed… there did seem to be something new. She reached out and touched it, then picked it up — it was a book.
In the dim light, Qu Longjun, having only just woken, had to look several times before she could make out the characters on the cover. The title was rather unrefined — one of those popular pamphlets the Huaxia Army had put out since taking the territory. Wen Shoubin had once criticized this sort of book: vulgar language, utterly without literary merit, a disgrace among books…
The title of this book was: Women Too Hold Up Half the Sky.
Qu Longjun turned the book over a few times. There was nothing hidden inside it, no strange objects tucked between the pages — the smell of fresh ink even suggested it was brand new.
Why would that little death-god of a doctor leave something like this by my bed?
…I’m not exactly “a woman” like that.