Chapter Nineteen: The World Watches (Part One)

Late at night.

Shi Dao sat alone in his study, a map of the northern border spread out before him. He had marked Taiyuan with a blood-red circle drawn in vermilion.

Footsteps sounded outside the door. Shi Lie entered, carrying a bowl of medicinal broth. “Uncle, it’s time to take the medicine.”

Shi Dao did not take the bowl but instead pointed at the map. “What does this look like to you?”

Shi Lie leaned in to look. Black arrows representing the Jin army’s eastern and western forces converged on the Song territory from all directions, resembling the gaping maw of a monstrous beast.

“Like... like a net.”

“Exactly, a vast net,” Shi Dao whispered, his voice heavy with a sigh. “And the Song dynasty is the fish trapped within. The defeat in the campaign against Liao three years ago exposed our weaknesses to the Jin. Now, the danger is grave indeed!”

Shi Lie hurriedly placed his hand on his uncle’s back, but Shi Dao seized his wrist with surprising strength, then pointed to an old brick on the desk.

“This is a brick from Qingjian City.”

“Your great-grandfather personally laid each brick and tile to hold back the iron hooves of Western Xia.”

Years ago, in 1040, Shi Shiheng, under the orders of Fan Zhongyan, deputy military commissioner of Shaanxi, implemented a strategy of building fortified cities and strongholds across northern Shaanxi. This defensive chain curbed the mobility of Western Xia’s cavalry.

Qingjian City, located north of Yan Prefecture on the banks of the Wuding River (present-day Qingjian County, Shaanxi), was strategically positioned to guard the southern passage of Western Xia, becoming an essential frontline fortress.

Qingjian was the beginning of Shi Shiheng’s military career, and the origin of the Shi family’s martial legacy.

The old man raised his eyes, sharp as a torch. “The Shi family’s generals have never relied on the court’s favor but on blood, on bone, on the walls of frontier cities, and on the souls of generations who died in battle to earn their reputation!”

Shi Lie was shaken to the core and lowered his head in silence.

Though bent with age, Shi Dao’s presence was mountainous. “Lie’er, remember this: the destiny of the Shi family is war! Defend the land, guard the borders, fight to the last soldier, battle until bones break and sinews snap—but never retreat!”

“Now that the Jin army marches south, Taiyuan hangs by a thread, the court is muddled, and the Western Army dwindles,” the old man’s voice trembled but each word was ironclad, “even so, the Shi family cannot tarnish its name! We must not disgrace our ancestors!”

Shi Lie’s eyes burned with emotion as he knelt on one knee. “Nephew understands! The sons of the Shi family would rather die in battle than dishonor our forebears!”

The elder gazed at him steadily and slowly nodded. “Good... good!”

After some time, the old man’s weary voice echoed in the darkness: “Go to sleep. Tomorrow... tomorrow I shall personally write a memorial petition, requesting to lead the expedition.”

“But, Uncle, your health—”

“I am seventy-four years old. It is time I wrapped myself in horsehide and died on the battlefield rather than wither away on my bed.”

...

Meanwhile, all eyes across the realm were fixed on the Jin-Song war.

Thousands of miles away in Bianjing, panic spread like plague. Within the imperial palace, faced with the ever-approaching Jin troops, Emperor Zhao Ji was restless day and night, losing interest even in his beloved paintings and calligraphy.

He secretly planned to flee south with his trusted aides, but to abandon the throne without a fight would stain his name forever. What was he to do?

Gazing at the timid crown prince, he suddenly found a direction.

In the court, the hawkish Li Gang scolded the dovish Bai Shizhong: “The Jin are insatiable. They seek peace today only to claim Bianliang tomorrow!”

War or peace remained undecided, daily debates filled the halls. The hawks demanded fight to the death; the doves insisted war would ruin the nation and urged to follow the example of the Chanyuan Treaty.

In the streets and alleys, families fled towards the city gates, carts and horses blocking the royal avenue. Some cried out, “The Jin soldiers are coming!”

Students gathered outside Xuande Gate, shouting, “Exterminate the six traitors! Resist the Jin invaders!” Fueled by passion, some even set fire to the mansions of pro-peace ministers.

In the Western Xia royal palace of Xingqing Prefecture (present-day Yinchuan), Li Qianshun toyed with a letter sent by the Jin.

“Emperor,” whispered the minister Wei Ming An Hui, “the Jin have already encircled Taiyuan. The Song cannot hold out much longer.”

Li Qianshun sneered. “Let them bite. The harder, the better.”

He looked south with greedy eyes. “Order the border forces: if Taiyuan falls, immediately send troops to seize Hengshan!”

Western Xia cavalry had gathered at the border, like vultures smelling blood, waiting for the Jin and Song to weaken each other before swooping down on the spoils.

The construction of Pingxia City by Song Zhezong and the decisive battle there had shattered the Great Baigao Kingdom. It was time to avenge that defeat.

In the northern desert, at Kedun City,

the cold wind howled. Yelü Dashi stood atop the walls, gazing southward toward his homeland.

“Commander Linya, the Jin main forces are all engaged in the Song territory. Our homeland is vulnerable!” his deputy, Xiao Wolila, said excitedly.

This place was so remote that even after two or three months of war, news had only just arrived.

Dashi was silent for a long moment before speaking slowly, “No, now is not the time.”

He turned to the map, tracing the old Liao lands. “Let the Jin and Song exhaust each other. We wait for the outcome.”

“Send orders to prepare the cavalry of the seven prefectures and eighteen tribes.”

“When Jin and Song are both crippled, that will be our moment to restore the kingdom.”

Outside the tent, the remnants of the Liao army shouted in unison, their voices shaking the snowy plains. Their eyes seemed to pierce across the vast desert, watching every attack and defense on Taiyuan’s walls. This was their only hope for revival.

How could the vast Liao Empire accept such a fall?

In the Wuhua Tower of the Dali Kingdom, Duan Heyu rubbed a gilt seal sent by the Song court.

The five characters “Military Commissioner of Yunnan” gleamed under his touch. Below, on the ancient Tea Horse Road, a caravan just returned from Yongzhou was unloading goods, bringing news of the Jin’s advance south.

Duan Heyu gazed out over Erhai Lake, its surface thinly iced, reflecting the snowy Cangshan Mountains.

The Jin-Song war might also be an opportunity for the Dali Kingdom to advance.

“The mountains and waters of Dali are distant and high; even self-defense is a challenge,” he recalled the ancestral injunction: “Guard the borders and pacify the people; do not compete with the Central Plains for supremacy.”

Yet he still ordered the thirty-seven tribes of eastern Yunnan to heighten vigilance, watching movements to the north and south. Should the Song fall, would Guangnan West Circuit (Guangxi) become prey to the Jiaozhi? This game he could not ignore, even if he chose not to intervene.

In Kaiju (present-day Kaesong, Korea), at the Goryeo royal palace,

the powerful minister Li Ziqian dragged his sick body and issued orders to the border armies: “If the Jin retreat, immediately advance north and reclaim Helan Dian (Hamhung, South Hamgyong Province)!”

The former lands of Goguryeo had long tantalized the Goryeo people; their blades were well sharpened.

Elsewhere, the Lý dynasty in Thăng Long, the Tibetan plateau of Xueshan, Japan across the Eastern Sea, and the Uyghurs in the Western Regions all gradually received news. The Jin-Song war touched them all in some way, and each plotted how to gain the most advantage from the conflict.

Besides Bianliang, their eyes were drawn to one city: Taiyuan, the lone fortress blocking the Jin’s left flank.

As dusk fell, torches lining Taiyuan’s walls formed a long fiery dragon. Soldiers and civilians sharpened their blades on the bricks.

Below the walls, Jin trebuchets adjusted their aim; the stones whistled through the air like the wails of evil spirits.

The wind and snow intensified, blending the shouts atop the walls, the roars below, and the distant schemes and hopes into the boundless cold night.

Taiyuan was like a spark watched by millions of eyes, burning tragically bright at the end of the seventh year of the Xuanhe reign.

...

At Tianmen Pass northwest of Taiyuan, guarding the route from Ninghua Army (Ningwu) and Xianzhou (Jingle County) into the Taiyuan Basin, Li Xiao and his companions had finally received supplies after crossing mountains and ridges. The garrison commander here was already on edge; if the Jin had attacked earlier, the defenders might have fled.

Sun Yi obtained over a hundred warhorses after revealing his identity here. When asked about Taiyuan, all he heard was that it was swarming with Jin soldiers, with cavalry raiding everywhere and refugees fleeing in all directions.

Zhang Maitun led a group of elderly, weak, and women out of the mountains. Each clutched a dry biscuit, their faces showing a flicker of life.

Along the way fleeing from Yunzhong Mountain, six elders and five children had died. The survivors’ eyes were clouded with dust, only brightening at the mention of “going to Shaanxi.”

Delivering the old and weak here was their mission’s end. From here, crossing the Yellow River westward led to Shaanxi; circumventing the Jin forces was possible by going around the western side of the Lüliang Mountains.

“Brother Li, you’re leaving now?” Zhang Maitun strapped two sets of rusty Yisheng Army armor onto his back, the clinking metal echoing over the mountain pass.

His younger brother, Zhang Qiushuan, helped an old woman tighten her bundle. She always clutched half a piece of unfinished cornbread.

Li Xiao nodded, pulling out a document written by Sun Yi. “Take this. When crossing the Yellow River, give it to the soldiers guarding the ferry. Say it’s signed by the Tianmen Pass commander and General Sun.”

He glanced at the weathered Zhang brothers and frowned. “You two are almost thirty. Stop calling me big brother. It sounds awkward.”

Zhang Qiushuan grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. “You’re the leader who’s fought the Jin. You’re more responsible. What’s wrong with calling you big brother? After we settle the villagers, we’ll come find you. Then we’ll still call you big brother!”

Li Xiao had no retort. He turned to see Ayan standing at the back of the group, still clutching the polished scissors. Her once lively eyes were now filled only with deep hatred. She gripped the scissors tightly, as if they burned in her hand from countless nightmares.

The image of her parents’ brutal deaths haunted her each night, often waking her with screams. Several times, she had nearly stabbed someone in her sleep.

They had become somewhat familiar during the journey, exchanging a few words now and then.

At this moment, she looked at Li Xiao and the others like a steel needle forged in fire. “Brother Li.”

Suddenly her hoarse voice, scarcely feminine, broke the silence. She stepped before Li Xiao’s horse. Zhang Maitun tried to stop her but she brushed his hand aside.

“Say nothing more,” Li Xiao interrupted, pulling out half a bolt of cloth from his bundle. “Take this. Make a new garment in Shaanxi. Forget all those bitter memories.”

Ayan refused the cloth, staring hard at him. “The day my parents died, I saw that man—Han Qi—smile. He was very happy.”

She raised the scissors, the blade’s tip pointing at her chest. “I have no power to avenge them. Will you kill a few more of my enemies for me?”

Li Xiao’s heart sank. He was about to speak when she knelt down, the scissors clattering to the ground.

“I have no treasures of value. Anyone who helps me kill a few more foes to avenge my parents, I will serve as their slave or maid in repayment!”

Her words fell like a stone breaking the ice, and silence swept over the mountain pass.

The guards stopped shrinking back in fear. Zhang Maitun’s brothers gaped, and even Li Quanwu was stunned.

All eyes fixed on Ayan kneeling in the snow. No tears stained her face, only a desperate resolve as if she wagered all her vitality on that single vow.

“What you’re doing...” Li Xiao’s tongue tied itself. He knew this girl was gripped by hatred, her only hope resting on revenge.

“I’ll wait!” Ayan cut him off, picking up the scissors and tucking them at her waist. Then she turned and walked away.

“If you don’t hear from me in three years, I’ll find the Jin dogs myself to avenge my parents. I’d rather die.”

Her back was straight as a wild grass bent but unbroken by wind and snow. She followed the group slowly out of the pass, disappearing at the mountain road’s end.

Li Xiao watched her retreating figure, his chest tight with unease. Li Quanwu sighed beside him. “This woman truly clings to her hope.”

“What hope?” Li Xiao tugged the reins.

“Some hopes have nothing to do with who you are,” Uncle Quanwu patted his leg. “Her parents are gone, flame in her heart nearly extinguished. She must grasp something to keep the fire burning. Whoever helps her avenge them becomes that spark.”

Li Xiao complained, “Uncle Quanwu, what is this? I only wanted to trade horses, make a comeback, and live happily in Bashu—riding by day, feasting in the brothels by night. How did it end up like this? It’s ridiculous.”

But in this chaotic age, where was there peace or business to be had? The iron hooves of the Jin had shattered everyone’s dreams.