Chapter One: The Jin Army Marches South

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The second year of Xuanhe (1120), Eastern Capital, Bianliang.
Zhao Ji sat upright before the painting desk in the Yanfu Palace. As his brush danced, a blue phoenix leaped onto the paper.
Outside the hall, Zhu Mian was directing the transport of the "Flower and Rock Network" from Jiangnan. Artisans carved grotesque stones into the shapes of fairy mountains and jade pavilions, embedding them into this insatiable imperial garden.
Yet, a thousand miles away in Jiangnan, the grievances of the people were boiling. To scour the land for exotic flowers and strange rocks, officials tore down houses, destroyed bridges, and forcibly conscripted laborers. On the canals, the grain-tribute boats laden with rocks stretched endlessly, while both banks were littered with the starving dead.
In Suzhou, a merchant’s family was harassed for silk, bamboo, and flowers; the elderly father hanged himself, and his son, blade in hand, charged into the county office, splashing the courtroom with blood.
The north and south were in turmoil. Song Jiang gathered followers at Liangshan Marsh, plundering prefectures and counties; Fang La rose in Muzhou, rallying a hundred thousand men to lay siege to cities and seize territory. The imperial court sent troops to suppress them, but because the Western Army had long been stationed at the borders, domestic military preparedness had withered, leading to repeated defeats.
Eventually, Tong Guan mobilized the elite troops of the six routes of Shaanxi to barely quell the rebellions, but the fertile lands of Jiangnan had been reduced to scorched earth.
However, the true catastrophe of the Great Song was quietly brewing on the northern frontier. Zhao Ji, stubborn and willful, signed the "Alliance on the Sea" with the Jurchens, agreeing to jointly destroy the Liao Dynasty and reclaim Yanyun.
Yet, when the Song army marched north, they were soundly defeated by the remnants of the Liao forces. To cover up the failure, Zhao Ji "bought back" the empty cities, including Yanjing, from the Jurchens with an annual tribute of one million strings of cash.
The people of Hebei and Shandong were subjected to extortion and plunder just to fill the deficit of this absurd transaction.
To scrape together the "cost of redeeming Yan," officials stripped the people of their very last layer of skin.
An old farmer knelt on the cracked ridge of his field, watching the grain intended for planting being snatched away by the requisition team. His clouded eyes reflected the soaring flames—it was the desperate refugees burning down the government offices. In the imperial court, reports of victory were frequent, but the soldiers at the frontier knew that the cities of Yanjing were devoid of even the smoke of cooking fires; there were only wild dogs gnawing on unburied, withered bones.
Zhao Ji continued to admire the snow at Genyue, while Cai Jing polished his memorials on the "Prosperous and Flourishing" golden age.
At this moment, in the cold wind north of Yanshan, the iron cavalry of the Jurchens were sharpening their blades.
Scouts flew back time and again to report the movements at the border, only to have their reports suppressed by the Bureau of Military Affairs. It was not until that winter that the Jurchen troops suddenly tore up the peace treaty and headed south! The entire Song dynasty would be overturned by this!
...
Mid-November, the seventh year of Xuanhe (1125). The wind from the Yunzhong Mountains in the Hedong Circuit (Shanxi) carried ice shards that bit into the face like the edge of a blunt knife.
Li Xiao tucked his frozen, stiff hands into his sleeves. The three patches on his coarse cloth jacket could not block the chill; what little warmth he had was long ago snatched away by the wind.
He glanced at Li Quanwu behind him. The old servant was hunched over, his back trembling under the weight of a burlap sack, yet his hands, gripping a jujube-wood staff, remained as steady as stones driven into the earth.
"Young Master, there is a cave past the Goat Horn Cliff." The old servant’s voice was breathless. He had followed the Li family for thirty years, from the silk shops of Chengdu Prefecture to these godforsaken mountain roads. The wrinkles on his face held a depth of hardship that others could not fathom.
Li Xiao did not respond; his Adam’s apple bobbed.
His stomach felt hollow and frantic. The half-bun he had gnawed on half a day ago was long digested; now, even swallowing his own saliva brought a pang of pain.
He thought of the taverns in Chengdu, of the grapes offered by the beauties in his arms. The sensation of sweet juice sliding down his throat was a world away from the ice shards currently in his mouth.
Pain, it was too painful!
"Father's words were right after all," he felt bitter inside.
Before he passed away, his father had gripped his hand and said, "Keep the family assets and live a peaceful life," but he had refused to listen, determined to carve out his own world.
Before leaving Shu, he had drawn a top-tier fortune at the tomb of Zhao Zilong. The old Taoist had said, "A dragon in shallow water can only transform when it encounters the wind and clouds," and he had even had a strange dream—an armored general in silver, charging on horseback with a spear, clouds of dust billowing behind him.
He had taken this as a sign that trading horses would bring him success.
Ten Khitan horses were what he had exchanged for his remaining family fortune in Shuozhou.
They were fine warhorses—smaller in stature but possessing immense stamina, adapted to the severe cold and harsh environment. They were also temperamental and had caused no shortage of trouble along the way.
If he could just get them to Taiyuan Prefecture to sell, he could make at least ten times the profit, and he would be a man of standing once again.
It was laughable; after slipping and falling on the Xiling snow mountain, he had woken up lying before the tomb of the Marquis of Shunping, Zhao Zilong, in this strange era. Recalling that dream now, the strangeness of it all was beyond words.
Fortunately, his family in this life was also a wealthy merchant clan from Shu. He had thought he would spend his life as a wealthy profligate, riding through the streets by day and feasting in brothels by night, holding young maidens and lecturing them on the Confucian Analects...
Who would have known that heaven has unpredictable storms!
Thinking back, these past few years felt like a long dream.
After the Bureau of Imperial Supplies in Suzhou and Hangzhou placed a seal on his vast family business, his goods were confiscated as "Imperial Property" to be sent to Bianliang. He had spent a fortune pulling strings to get them back, but before he could catch his breath, Fang La started an uprising in Jiangnan. The chaos made business go from bad to worse.
When the Western Army moved south to suppress Fang La, he thought things would improve, but he never expected the Western Army to scour the battered Jiangnan once more. Afterwards, the Flower and Rock Network continued to operate as usual, leaving the people with no way to survive.

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The Li family completely lost their business in Jiangnan and could only retreat to the Shu region. But business in Shu was also declining day by day. The government issued endless amounts of worthless paper currency to rob wealthy merchants, and with bandits constantly roaming the roads, the Li family's business finally collapsed.
The great dream had come to nothing.
Li Xiao was beyond tears. He had thought that with his knowledge, he could quickly rise in this era, but reality had given him two resounding slaps in the face. It made him realize that he was truly a survivor of a grand national educational scheme—he understood a little bit of everything but didn't grasp anything thoroughly. Whatever he did, he was like a half-full bucket making a loud noise, a typical case of having high standards but low abilities. He was truly inconsolable.
Now, his hair was as messy as a bird's nest, and the stench of sweat on his body mixed with the smell of horse manure. He was even afraid to curse the "thieving heavens" for fear of attracting the patrols.
"Master Li, do you see that stone shaped like a lying ox?"
Geng Gu, walking at the front, stopped. He was in his early thirties, lean and wiry, with eyes as startlingly bright as a mountain fox. He could talk a dead man into living.
"Yang Wudi once split the cliff here!"
He claimed to have traveled every inch of the Hedong Circuit. He knew which trails could avoid the patrols, where the mountain springs were sweetest, and even which widow in which village was the prettiest.
Li Xiao had initially hired him just as a guide, but now he felt the money was well spent; at least the long, winding mountain road wasn't so boring.
There were five of them in the group, including himself and the old servant Li Quanwu, as well as Geng Gu and the two Shi brothers, who served as guards.
The ten Khitan horses were tied in the middle of the group, their hooves wrapped in coarse cloth to prevent slipping and to keep their movement nearly silent.
Geng Gu grew animated, gesturing wildly. "One night, the Liao army launched a sneak attack. In his urgency, Yang Wudi split the cliff with a single strike of his blade; that stone was what broke off back then!"
"Keep bragging," Shi Yong sneered. "If he were that divine, how could he have been captured by the Liao?"
"You don't know anything!" Geng Gu was agitated. "He was betrayed by treacherous officials! My grandfather saw the descendants of the Yang family coming to offer sacrifices with his own eyes..."
Li Xiao listened to their bickering, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
Although Geng Gu was full of tall tales, he truly knew this terrain like the back of his hand. If it hadn't been for his insistence on taking that small, snow-covered path three days ago, they would have been caught by the patrols.
"Shh!" Li Quanwu suddenly gave a low command, his staff striking the ground heavily.
Everyone fell silent instantly. Even the ten Khitan horses seemed to sense something, pawing the ground uneasily.
A faint, lingering scent of cooking smoke drifted on the wind.
In this godforsaken northern section of the Yunzhong Mountains, the smell of cooking smoke was more terrifying than a blade.
Their current venture carried too much risk. Privately smuggling warhorses out of Liao territory—if discovered, the best outcome was the confiscation of goods, and the worst was losing one's head. But the profits were truly tempting.
If they took the main roads, they would first have to obtain a "Horse Permit" from the Tea and Horse Bureau, which was not only prohibitively expensive but also not available to just anyone.
After buying the warhorses from the Khitans and passing through the checkpoints on the way south, another large sum had to be paid to the officials. When it was all calculated at the end, they only made a pittance for all their hard work.
That was why some people took the risk of using mountain paths, much like smuggling salt.
Geng Gu crawled onto a rock, crouching low. A moment later, he slid down, his face pale. "It's... it's retreating soldiers. By their attire, they look like they're from the Yanmen Pass."
Li Xiao’s heart sank. Disorganized troops were even more terrifying than mountain bandits; they followed no logic.
Yanmen Pass was over a hundred miles away. How could retreating soldiers have made it into these deep mountains? Before he could think it through, the sound of hooves thundering over frozen earth hit everyone like a heavy hammer.
It wasn't the slow, rhythmic pace of a merchant caravan, but the frantic, panicked sound of iron hooves.
"Hide!" Li Xiao commanded in a low voice. The group dragged the horses into the forest.
The tree branches scratched his face painfully, but he stared fixedly down the mountain. More than twenty cavalrymen were fleeing this way. Their armor was skewed and battered, and many had dark, dried blood staining their plates. The core armor of the man in the lead had a massive dent in it.
"That’s imperial army armor!" Shi Yong’s voice trembled. "Look at the banner—it’s the garrison from Yanmen Pass!"
The garrison of Yanmen Pass? Everyone’s pupils contracted.
That was a formidable pass. The mountains on both sides were steep, forming a natural barrier with only one narrow gorge (the Ancient Yanmen Path) for passage. The fortress was built at the narrowest point of the valley, creating a position where "one man holds the pass, and ten thousand cannot enter!"
How could the garrison have become such a pack of stray dogs? Was there an internal mutiny?
The cavalry did not head up the mountain; they fled blindly southward, the ice shards kicked up by their horses spraying everywhere.
Just as the group breathed a sigh of relief, cries of agony rose from below. A crowd of people was running southward like madmen, old and young huddled together. An elderly woman fell on the ice, and those behind her continued to charge forward without even looking back to help her up.
"I'll go take a look." Before Shi Yong finished speaking, he had already darted out.

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That reckless fool, always thinking he was something special because he had practiced a few years of fist-fighting.
Every moment of waiting felt like being fried in a pan of oil. Li Quanwu took a piece of frozen hard bun from his sack and handed it to him, but he had no appetite. The ten Khitan horses pawed the ground uneasily, their breath vanishing instantly in the cold air.
A quarter of an hour later, Shi Yong came scrambling back, his lips trembling so violently he couldn't get a word out.
"Speak!"
"Yan... Yanmen Pass has fallen!" Shi Yong’s voice cracked. "General Li Sibon was killed in battle, and the three thousand defenders... they're all gone!"
"What?!" Geng Gu’s legs went weak, and he nearly collapsed. "That fortress was built into a crevice in the mountains; even the gods couldn't break it..."
"It’s the Jurchens!" Shi Yong stomped his feet in desperation. "They used Liao defectors to lead the charge and snuck up from the side trails! They... they slaughtered everyone in the pass!"
Jurchens? A buzzing sound filled Li Xiao’s head.
He recalled rumors he had heard in Shuozhou. The Liao Emperor, Yelü Yanxi, who had been playing cat-and-mouse while fleeing earlier this year, had finally been captured. The iron cavalry of the Jin Dynasty had trampled the five capitals of the Liao... Had the Great Liao, which had stood for over two hundred years, really fallen just like that? He hated himself for not paying more attention in his history lessons, leaving him completely in the dark now.
He never expected that the Jurchens, having just destroyed the Liao, would dare to turn around and march south while their own footing was still unstable!
"They destroyed the Liao, and now they’re coming for the Great Song!" Shi Yong’s voice was filled with panic. "The people below said the Jin dogs kill anyone they see, not even sparing newborn infants..."
Before he could finish, a more intense sound of hooves crushed the ground. This time, the sound was heavy and steady, like rolling thunder.
Everyone quickly flattened themselves, lowering their breathing, fearing they might make a sound. Li Xiao parted the withered branches and stared fixedly down the mountain. More than twenty Jurchen cavalrymen were flowing across the snow like a black tide.
Their fox-fur hats were stained with blood; their left-fastening war robes were open, revealing chests covered in thick black hair, and the curved blades at their waists were still dripping with blood.
The Jurchen general in the lead had a face full of raw muscle. He pulled his horse to a sudden stop, kicked his leather boots against the horse's belly, and the long spear in his hand darted out like a venomous snake, precisely piercing the heart of a running man from behind.
The man let out a howl as he was hoisted into the air, his legs still kicking uselessly. Blood dripped from the spear shaft onto the snow like a string of red beads.
The Jurchen general grinned savagely and swung his spear violently, throwing the corpse toward the rocks by the road.
With a dull thud, blood splattered everywhere.
"Look! How fast this pig runs!" The Jurchens roared with laughter in the Jurchen language, their horse whips lashing the backs of the commoners, producing crisp, sharp sounds.
A woman holding a child was tripped to the ground, and the child began to wail in terror.
The general pulled his horse to a halt, bent down, and grabbed the child by the hair, lifting the delicate, doll-like infant into the air.
The child’s crying sounded like a tiny kitten, but the general tapped the child’s face with the back of his blade. Suddenly, he flipped his wrist, and blood spurted out, covering the mother’s face.
The woman froze for a moment, then let out a scream that sounded inhuman. She lunged at the general like a madwoman, only to be kicked away, rolling into a snowdrift like a ragdoll.
The general turned his horse around, and the hooves trampled down—once, twice, until the snow was stained a deep, bruised purple.
"Satisfying!"
The Jurchens laughed, untying their wine skins to gulp down strong spirits. Their gazes swept over the people kneeling to beg for mercy, as if they were selecting livestock.
A white-haired old man knelt on the ground holding a cloth bundle containing a few copper coins and half a bun, likely hoping to offer his family's last savings. He mumbled, "Spare us, good sirs," but before he could finish, the Jurchen cavalry rode over him, their horse hooves crushing his skull directly.
Red and white mixed with the snow, smearing the ground.
A few young men, unwilling to accept their fate, picked up rocks and wooden sticks from the road, hoping to fight the Jurchens.
But they were empty-handed; how could they be a match for armored cavalry?
One young man had just picked up a rock and was charging toward the cavalry with a roar when an arrow pierced his throat. He clutched his neck and fell to the ground, blood bubbling out through his fingers.
Another youth was knocked down by a horse; before he could crawl away, his leg was snapped by a hoof. He rolled in the snow, screaming in agony. The general walked over slowly and used his blade to slice off the young man’s arms one by one, as if he were butchering livestock, humming a strange tune all the while.
Miserable wails echoed across the wilderness.