Chapter 18: A Thorn in the Throat (Part II)

As night fell, the Jin army’s assault finally ceased.

Behind him came the rustling sounds of the militia hauling away corpses. A soldier leaned against the battlement and had fallen asleep, clutching a broken spear, a frozen drool crusted at the corner of his mouth.

Zhang Xiaochun stood atop the north gate tower, his finger tracing the carved marks on the bricks—signs the soldiers made daily to count the days they had defended the city. The seventh mark was already etched.

Outside the city, the Jin campfires flickered like ghostly flames scattered across the dark night, stretching for ten miles and casting a red glow over half the sky.

“Commander Wang,” a voice carried a chill, “the provisions can still hold, but the incendiary oil…”

Wang Bing was inspecting the defenses with his head bowed. Hearing this, he straightened, ice crystals falling from his armor.

“There are only fifty barrels left in the oil stores, mixed with tung oil to stretch the supply. We can hold out a while longer,” he paused, eyes sweeping over the houses below the city walls. “But what I fear won’t run out first isn’t supplies—it’s the spirit of the people.”

Before he finished, a shout came from below.

At the foot of the tower stood a scholar in a blue robe, tied to a basket that was slowly being hoisted up.

“It’s a surrender envoy.” Zhang Zhiyuan nocked an arrow and aimed at the basket. “One order from the commander, and I’ll shoot him through clean!”

“Wait.” Wang Bing pressed on his bow. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

The basket rose closer, and the man’s face became clear—about forty years old, sporting a goatee. Though fearful, he forced a calm demeanor.

Seeing Zhang Xiaochun on the tower, he bowed. “Prefect Zhang, I hope you are well. I am Xi Shuhan, a scholar from Xinzhou Academy, sent to offer a way out for you and the people of this city.”

Zhang Xiaochun’s brow twitched sharply. Xinzhou scholar? A man of letters, yet willing to act as a messenger for the Jin dogs!

“We have no ties, so why do you speak of a ‘way out’?” Zhang’s voice was cold as ice. “You found a fine way out indeed. When Xinzhou fell, if you had led your students to fight to the death, you wouldn’t be here pleading for a way out now.”

Xi Shuhan’s face darkened but forced a smile. “Prefect, the Jin commander Yinsuoke has decreed that if Taiyuan opens its gates and surrenders, all past offenses will be forgiven! No slaughter, and the people will remain safe as before—”

“Safe as before?” Wang Bing laughed, his voice echoing atop the wall. “Making the people slaves to the Jin dogs counts as ‘safe as before’? Last month, when Shuozhou fell, the Jin strung up three-year-old children on their spears for sport. Do you think we don’t know?”

Shrinking back, Xi Shuhan withdrew a scroll from his sleeve. “The Jin marshal presents this oath! He promises to enfeoff Prefect Zhang as Prince of Yunzhong Commandery, and Commander Wang as the governor of Taiyuan, positions to be inherited without fail! Jin silver and riches, beauties and jade, as much as you desire!”

“Bah!” Yang Keshi slammed his iron mace heavily on the battlement, sending snow flying into Xi Shuhan’s face. “You who study Confucius and Mencius—do you even know what honor and shame mean?”

Startled, Xi Shuhan shivered but gritted his teeth. “Those who recognize the times are wise! Taiyuan is besieged like an iron bucket. Where are your reinforcements? The court has long forgotten you! Why condemn the entire city to death?”

He pointed toward the Jin encampment below. “The Jin cavalry crushed the Liao kingdom—can they not crush Taiyuan? If you hold out to the end, you’ll only pile up corpses!”

His words struck like needles into everyone’s hearts.

The city walls fell silent for a moment, even the sound of wind and snow grew distinct.

A soldier lowered his head, trembling. He had dreamt of his parents in their hometown in Daizhou, unsure if they still lived.

“A mountain of corpses indeed!” Zhang Xiaochun spoke softly, but every word struck like a hammer. “Do you know the weight behind the characters ‘Taiyuan,’ or rather, ‘Jinyang’?”

“In the Warring States period, Zhao Xiangzi defended Jinyang. The enemy flooded the city with water for three months, walls submerged half a zhang deep. The people cooked in hanging pots and exchanged children to eat, yet not a single soul opened the gates to surrender. Eventually, they turned the tables and killed the enemy general, founding the Zhao state.

“At the end of the Sui dynasty, Liu Wuzhou led a hundred thousand Turkic cavalry to besiege Jinyang. Tang general Li Zhongwen and his remaining troops made a last stand. The pile of corpses the Turks left beneath the walls was higher than the walls themselves, yet they never breached the gates. Relief eventually came!”

He pointed to the pockmarked arrow scars on the bricks—rusted indentations from wolf-tooth arrows fired by the Khitans a century ago. “See these dents? They were carved by the Liao invaders. But Jinyang’s walls have never bowed to barbarians!”

“Though this city isn’t the old Jinyang, the strongest fortress of Hedong still stands here. Such a mighty city—if it falls, how can we face our ancestors? Would it not be a shameful mockery?”

Xi Shuhan’s face turned ashen, yet he argued, “But... the Jin marshal said if you don't surrender, the city will be slaughtered! Then—”

“Then we die!” Wang Bing drew his blade, its gleam reflecting on Xi Shuhan’s terrified face. “I, Wang Bing, am a son of the Great Song in life and a ghost of the Great Song in death! My son Wang Xun is here. If he utters a single word of surrender, I’ll strike him down myself!”

“Father! I will never surrender!” came Wang Xun’s clear voice from afar, like a trumpet blast.

“Never surrender!” Yang Keshi’s iron mace sparked against the bricks.

“Fight to the death!” Zhang Zhiyuan’s archer squad shouted in unison, their arrows whistling in the wind.

The soldiers atop the walls straightened, wiped their faces, and gripped their bows tighter.

Xi Shuhan was thoroughly panicked, babbling incoherently: “Are you mad? These are only the vanguard troops below. When the main army arrives, supported by siege engines, what will you do? Your incendiary oil is nearly gone! Provisions are running out! Holding out means death!”

“Better to die cleanly!” Wang Bing seized the basket’s rope and shoved it outward. “Go back and tell Yinsuoke this: the gates of Taiyuan are propped open by our bones. To come in, you’ll have to trample over our corpses!”

The basket plummeted, Xi Shuhan screamed, kicking wildly.

Wang Bing’s voice thundered behind him: “Today you live, but if you come to persuade us again, it won’t be as simple as pushing you down!”

In the Jin front lines, Yinsuoke watched the basket fall. Supported by others, Xi Shuhan collapsed onto the snow, trembling.

The cold sneer on his lips stiffened, while the shouts from the city walls drifted on the wind like a branding iron, burning his ears.

“Commander,” a subordinate whispered, “Taiyuan will be difficult to take.”

Yinsuoke said nothing, only staring at the tattered Song banner atop the city. In the howling wind and snow, the flag snapped defiantly, mocking his foolish hopes.

On the city tower, Zhang Xiaochun turned from the slowly retreating Jin envoy and shouted to the soldiers and citizens: “Fellow countrymen, brothers! The Jin dogs may destroy our homes, but they cannot destroy the bones of the heroes of Shanxi!”

Wang Bing raised his sword in response, its gleam piercing the twilight.

The cries shook the bricks beneath them. The townsfolk hidden in alleys poured out, kowtowing to the walls, holding bark and baskets of dug roots, shouting “Fight to the death!”

Because this is their home, and there is nowhere else to go.

Watching this, Wang Bing felt the fire in his heart burn fiercer.

He turned to Zhang Xiaochun with a smile. “As long as the spirit holds, this city will not fall.”

Zhang looked toward the Jin camp below and nodded. Though the smoke was sparse, the unyielding spirit of the city was worth more than any supplies.

Night deepened, and the torches atop Taiyuan’s walls were rekindled, burning brighter than before.

Wang Bing knew crueler battles still awaited, but as long as this spirit endured, Taiyuan would remain Taiyuan of the Great Song.

Below, the screams and cries mixed with the wind and snow—the harshest melody of this late winter. No one knew how long the city could hold, only that each day gained meant another day soaked with blood.

Across Hedong, the scattered forces could barely defend themselves, powerless to relieve Taiyuan.

All awaited the imperial order to dispatch troops.

...

The snow fell ever heavier.

Zhong Shidao stood on the walls of Chang’an, his aged fingers gripping the weathered bricks. The biting cold wind whipped his face, but the chill in his heart was far colder still.

“Brother, return,” Zhong Shizhong draped a cloak over him, voice low. “You’ve stood here half an hour; be careful not to catch cold.”

The old man did not answer, staring fixedly toward Hedong. The war situation worsened; many critical passes were falling before the Jin onslaught.

“Report—!”

A guard hurried up to the tower, kneeling on one knee. “Urgent news from Taiyuan! Jin vanguard Yinsuoke has fully encircled the city. Wang Bing and Zhang Xiaochun are barricading the gates, repelling multiple enemy assaults!”

Zhong Shidao slowly closed his eyes, as if seeing the tattered Song banner fluttering fiercely in the wind and snow atop Taiyuan’s walls.

“Any news from the Zhe family? Have they cut off the Jin supply lines?” His voice was hoarse.

The Zhe clan, located northwest in Shenmu, Shaanxi, could, if they deployed eastward into the Datong-Shuozhou basin, intercept Jin provisions, slowing their advance and buying Taiyuan precious time.

“The Zhe family requests to hold position. The Xia have recently reinforced Hengshan, so the Zhe dare not act rashly...”

Hengshan lay in the Sixteen Prefectures between Song and Xia.

Zhong Shizhong waved the messenger off and said quietly, “Brother, restrain your anger. It’s not that the Zhe refuse aid; the court’s system binds them. Without orders from the Privy Council, deploying troops independently is a capital offense.”

The Song dynasty had strict military protocols: imperial edicts and Privy Council seals were required to legally mobilize forces.

“Opportunities pass quickly. The front is already soaked in blood!” The seventy-four-year-old man coughed violently.

Zhong Shizhong hastened to support him but was pushed away. The elder’s voice trembled, “In Taiyuan’s walls, Wang Bing is holding the gates with bones! And what are we doing? Waiting for a written order! Waiting for the decrees of those drunken, gluttonous fools in Bianjing!”

His white hair whipped wildly in the wind and snow.

Back at the residence, Zhong Lie had prepared hot wine.

The charcoal fire blazed in the hall but could not dispel the chill in everyone’s hearts.

“Uncle,” Zhong Lie poured tea, “the western army is ready; we only wait for the court.”

“Wait?” Zhong Shidao slammed his cup onto the table. “Three years ago, when we attacked the Liao, we also ‘waited’ beneath Youzhou. What came of it? Two hundred thousand troops routed at Yanjing! Have we not learned?”

Silence filled the room.

Zhong Shizhong knew his brother was recalling those two humiliating defeats—in 1122, the Song army’s two assaults on the Liao remnants were crushed by Yelü Dashi and Xiao Gan.

“Do you know why we lost?” Zhong Shidao’s eyes swept over the assembled nephews and generals.

Zhong Lie spoke first. “The Liao were cunning; Yelü Dashi—”

“Nonsense! What does the Liao have to do with it?” Zhong Shidao interrupted sharply. “We lost to ourselves!”

The old man suddenly stood and moved to the center of the room. The firelight cast his stooped figure on the wall.

“The first defeat was because of that eunuch Tong Guan’s blind command! I advocated first seizing Yizhou and Zhuozhou, steadily besieging Yanjing. But he ordered Yang Keshi’s light cavalry to strike Yanjing head-on and fell into an ambush! Of three thousand elite troops, fewer than three hundred returned alive!”

His voice grew louder, as if to pierce the snowstorm all the way to the imperial palace in Bianjing.

“The second defeat was because the court treated the western army like beggars! Of two hundred thousand troops, fewer than fifty thousand were real fighters; the rest were untested militia from Hebei! On the march, I saw Hebei soldiers who couldn’t even ride horses properly!”

“And that fool Liu Yanqing, terrified by enemy feints, burned his camps and fled, losing all supplies. Overnight, the ten thousand troops scattered. How could we win such a war?”

Zhong Shizhong nodded silently.

He remembered the joke circulating then: Hebei soldiers needed three men to mount a horse and five to dismount—how could such troops fight?

“The third defeat,” Zhong Shidao’s voice lowered, “was because our generals lacked backbone. Knowing Tong Guan was a calamity, no one dared oppose him. Yang Keshi... came to me before departure and said, ‘Commander, this mission is doomed.’ I... I could only pat his shoulder and send him off...”

His voice choked with emotion; the room fell silent, heads bowed.

After a long pause, Zhong Lie cautiously asked, “Uncle, what of Taiyuan now?”

“Now?” Zhong Shidao forced a bitter smile. “Now it’s worse than ever!”

He counted on his fingers: “The western army’s elite were decimated in the Liao campaign; the Zhong, Zhe, and Yao clans distrust each other; the court delays pay and soldiers can barely eat.”

He grabbed a cup and hurled it against the wall, shards scattering.

“Most infuriatingly, the emperor still obsesses over that damned Genyue Mountain! The Jin are almost across the Yellow River, and he’s still collecting rare flowers and stones!”

His furious shout drained all his strength.

The disastrous Huashigang tax, which sparked rebellion in Jiangnan, had only paused. After the Fang La uprising, the Suzhou-Hangzhou tribute bureau reopened, showing the emperor’s utter disregard for the people.

And those self-righteous civil officials? When have they ever stood up to stop this? If they truly internalized the teachings of the sages, no one would dare hold office in this court today!

“My family has served as generals for generations, loyal to the emperor and country, but this Great Song is already fatally ill.”

“Command is chaotic, rewards and punishments unclear, the military distrusted, and civil officials only know how to amass wealth... Even if the western army is wiped out, what then?”

Tears streamed down the old man’s face—the first time his family had seen this iron-willed warrior weep.

He staggered and was caught by others. They noticed that the once-feared general of Western Xia was now nothing but skin and bones.