Chapter 5: An Atmosphere of Unease and Alarm (Part I)

Inside the city of Taiyuan, the northern wind whipped sand against the crenellations of the city walls, emitting a mournful howling that sounded chillingly like the weeping of ghosts from the northern frontier.

In the main hall of the Hedong Pacification Commissioner’s office, Zhang Xochun, the Pacification Commissioner and Prefect of Taiyuan, swept a military report from his desk. A celadon brush washer shattered against the blue bricks with a crisp, jarring sound, mingling with his heavy, labored breathing and causing the guards standing in the corridor to tremble.

"Ungrateful curs! A pack of ungrateful curs!" He pounded his fist against the desk, his knuckles turning white as frost. "The Yisheng Army! I said long ago that these surrendered Jurchen-frontier troops were untrustworthy—utterly untrustworthy!"

The map of the Hedong Circuit spread across his desk shuddered under his blows. The ink-drawn outlines of Shuozhou and Wuzhou had already been circled in red by his vermilion brush—two bright, bloody wounds spreading southward. Looking across the map, the line from Yunzhong (Datong) to Taiyuan, once densely marked with mountain passes and fortresses, now appeared like a mulberry leaf ravaged by silkworms, riddled with holes.

Shuozhou and Yunzhong lay in the same basin, meant to be a wedge driven into the eyes of the Jin invaders. Wuzhou, to the southwest, sat atop the mountains, overlooking the vital route to Yanmen Pass. Yet, the reports arriving one after another were devastating:

As soon as the commander of Shuozhou, General Sun Yi, led his troops out of the city to engage the enemy, the Yisheng Army inside the city lowered their banners. General Sun fought until his last arrow, only to be stabbed in the back by his own men.

Wuzhou had been even more swift. While the commander was still supervising the defense from the battlements, the Yisheng Army had already prepared a banquet behind the city gates to welcome the Jin forces.

"Traitors! Vile traitors!"

Zhang Xochun’s voice rose sharply, laced with the tremor of tears. "When Tan Zhen recruited these people, I submitted a memorial stating that these defectors from Liao still harbored loyalty to their homeland—how could they ever be used by us? Yet, they insisted on arming them and providing rations even more generous than those of the Imperial Guard, enough to make troops everywhere else green with envy! And now, look at what we have done: we have raised a pack of grave-digging thieves!"

As he was cursing, a flurry of footsteps sounded outside. A staff officer stumbled in, his robes dusted with snow. "Commissioner! An urgent report from Daizhou: three days ago, the Yisheng Army commanders breached the city!"

With a thud, Zhang Xochun felt the world spin, only managing to steady himself by gripping the edge of his desk. With the fall of Yanmen Pass, Daizhou had become a lamb exposed to the blades of the Jin army. And south of Daizhou lay Xinzhou—the final northern gateway to Taiyuan. The words from the Daizhou report, "The Yisheng Army rebelled, and the city fell overnight," were still wet with ink, yet they had already come to this.

Taiyuan, once prosperous, had lost its former glory.

On the streets, cold winds swirled dead leaves past boarded-up storefronts. At the few grain shops still open, crowds of citizens clutching copper coins pushed and shoved. The prices on the signs climbed three times a day; coarse rice had reached a string of cash per peck.

"Have you heard? When Shuozhou fell, the Jin soldiers killed everyone they saw. The corpses were piled up to the base of the city walls!"

"My relative worked in Wuzhou. He escaped back the day before yesterday and said those 'Han-er' led the Jin soldiers in looting houses, sparing not even the old or weak..." The Song people spat the term 'Han-er' at the Han people of the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan-Yun.

Whispers spread like a plague through the crowd. Some covered their faces and wept; others carried bundles toward the south gate. The guards could not stop them; their own families had already sent word that they were fleeing to Luoyang the previous night.

In a shack at the foot of the city wall, an old charcoal seller was tying his belongings to a wheelbarrow. His son, who served in the Imperial Guard, hadn't been home in three days, having only sent word: "Father, head south. Don't look back."

On the parade ground in the distance, Imperial Guard soldiers practiced in thin armor, their faces purple from the biting cold, yet none dared to slacken. They had all witnessed it: yesterday, a young soldier had secretly wiped away tears, only to be whipped across the face by his squad leader. "What are you crying for? If the city falls, who will protect your parents, wife, and children back home?"

An old soldier roared with bloodshot eyes, "The Yisheng Army eats meat every meal, while we’ve been gnawing on chaff for three days! What is the point of defending this city?" The squad leader raised his whip, but was blocked by a group of soldiers. In the ensuing scuffle, someone threw their helmet to the ground: "You defend it if you want! I’m going home to protect my wife and children!"

The squad leader turned his head away, his own eyes wet.

Even more distressing was the activity on the streets. From dawn, a long line had formed at the south gate. Wealthy families with carriages drove their livestock south, while commoners without vehicles carried their packs on foot. Cries, the rumble of wheels, and the braying of animals merged into a chaotic din.

In the back courtyard of the Pacification Commissioner’s office, Zhang Xochun’s wife was directing servants to pack valuables into chests. Seeing him enter, her eyes reddened. "Husband, couldn't we... let the children go to Fenzhou to take shelter?"

Zhang Xochun didn't answer, merely staring at the old locust tree outside the window. Its branches were bare, much like the defenses of Hedong at this moment.

What was to become of this land of the Three Jins?

"Madam," he said, his voice hoarse, "have the steward take the children to the south." He paused, then added, "Tell the children: their father is the Prefect of Taiyuan. As long as Taiyuan stands, their father stands."

When he turned to leave, his footsteps were much heavier than when he had arrived.

Passing through the noisy streets, the commoners saw his entourage and knelt in panic. Some cried out, "Your Excellency, can the north be held? What should my family do?" He pulled on the reins, wanting to offer words of comfort, but found his throat blocked as if by stone.

In a tavern on the street corner, several merchants surrounded a peddler who had fled from the north, listening to how the Jin slaughtered cities and how the Yisheng Army led the way. Terrified, they immediately decided: "Leave tonight! Go to Bianliang! Even if we have to sell our houses and land, we must get our families across the Yellow River!"

Tong Guan’s residence sat in the most opulent section of Taiyuan, but it was currently filled with an unusual, frantic activity. The gatekeeper, seeing it was Zhang Xochun, dared not stop him but whispered, "Commissioner, the Prince is packing his luggage..."

"Packing his luggage?" Zhang Xochun’s heart sank, and he pushed the doors open, storming inside.

In the main hall, servants were packing jade into brocade boxes and carrying trunks to carriages. Several concubines were wiping away tears. Tong Guan stood with his back to him, dressed in purple robes with a golden fish pouch hanging from his waist—the regalia of the Prince of Guangyang, conferred only in the sixth month.

Hearing footsteps, he turned slowly, a habitual smile plastered on his face, though he could not hide the panic in his eyes.

"Yongxi has come," Tong Guan said, twisting his mustache, his tone light. "What is the rush?"

"Your Highness!" Zhang Xochun bowed, his voice carrying uncontrollable anger. "Shuozhou, Wuzhou, and Daizhou have fallen one after another. Yanmen Pass is breached, and the Jin army is only a hundred miles from Xinzhou! As the Pacification Commissioner of Hedong and Hebei, in charge of all northern military affairs, why are you packing your luggage instead of organizing the defense?"

Tong Guan’s smile stiffened, and he gave a hollow laugh. "Yongxi, calm yourself. I have caught a slight cold these past few days and my legs are aching. I intend to return to Bianliang to recuperate. As for the defenses, with you here, I am at ease."

"At ease?" Zhang Xochun took a step forward, practically roaring. "Does Your Highness know that the people are in a state of panic? Do you know the Imperial Guard is guarding the city on empty stomachs? Your household has mountains of wealth, yet the army hasn't been paid in months, and you refuse to release the funds! You let the Yisheng Army hold the passes, ignoring all rumors of their collusion with the enemy! Now the northern line has collapsed, and we are relying on Xinzhou to hold for a while. If you flee south now, the morale of the army and the people will surely shatter, and Taiyuan will fall in a single day!"

Tong Guan’s expression darkened. He flicked his sleeve and said, "Yongxi, you are mistaken. I am a high official of the imperial court, and the safety of the entire realm rests upon me; how can I be trapped in a single city? With you in charge of Taiyuan, that is sufficient." He pointed to the map on the wall. "Besides, the Jin army is merely a small raiding party. Once I return to Bianliang and ask the Emperor to mobilize reinforcements, we will surely drive them back."

"You want me to take charge?" Zhang Xochun stepped forward, pointing outside. "Does Your Highness know how those Yisheng troops were fattened? It was you and Tan Zhen who insisted on recruiting them against all advice, giving them better rations than the Imperial Guard and allowing them to run wild in Shuozhou and Daizhou! Yuwen Xuzhong warned long ago that the Yisheng Army was unreliable. Did you listen? Now they have turned their blades against us and the northern line is gone, and you want to leave?"

His voice grew louder, shaking dust from the rafters. "Once Xinzhou falls, Shiling Pass is the final hurdle. There are plenty of Yisheng troops at that pass too! How do you expect me to hold it?"

Tong Guan was rendered speechless, his face flushing red after a long silence. "Insolent! I am a prince appointed by the court! Is it your place to lecture me? If Taiyuan cannot be held, the state law will deal with it!" He whipped his sleeve around. "Someone, bring the sedan chair!"

Zhang Xochun looked at him, suddenly finding the face before him entirely alien. Was this the "hero" who claimed to have "recovered Yan-Yun"? The "Marshal Tong" whom the Emperor had dubbed a prince?

He opened his mouth to say, "He Quan in Xinzhou has no heart for battle," or "The Yisheng Army at Shiling Pass is already restless," or "It will be too late if you don't send more troops," but it all dissolved into a long, heavy sigh.

When he stepped out of Tong Guan’s residence, twilight had deepened. The long, rhythmic tolling of drums echoed from the watchtower of Taiyuan, beating against everyone’s heart. Cold winds brought sleet that struck Zhang Xochun’s face, biting and icy.

He looked toward the north, toward Xinzhou. Were the lights still burning there? He whispered to himself, "Xinzhou, you must hold out..." But he did not know that, at that very moment, in the city of Xinzhou, Governor He Quan was hesitating over the Jin army's letter of surrender.

...

"Reporting to the Prefect, the various officials have arrived at the second hall," the clerk reported softly.

Zhang Xochun adjusted his cap and strode toward the council hall. As he pushed the doors open, more than a dozen civil and military officials stood in unison to salute. In the flickering candlelight, he saw the pale face of the Vice Prefect, Wang Yi, and the iron-cast countenance of Wang Bin, the Deputy Commander of Taiyuan and Controller of the Shengjie Army.

"Please, sit," Zhang Xochun signaled, his voice steadier than that of a man who hadn't slept in three days. "The situation is urgent; omit the formalities."

Wang Bin spoke first, his voice like a booming bell: "I have ordered the Shengjie Army to place the entire city under martial law and double the sentries at all four gates." Although the old general was over fifty, the murderous aura in his brow was sharper than that of any young man. Wang Bin, still wearing his chainmail, stepped forward, his iron boots thudding on the floor. "I swear that even if we are reduced to the last man, I will not let the Jin soldiers step a single foot into this city."

The scar at the corner of his eye caught the cold light of the candles—a souvenir from the suppression of the Fang La rebellion, now seeming destined for this final, desperate battle.

"Thank you, Commander Wang," Zhang Xochun nodded slightly, turning to the civil officials. "Vice Prefect Wang, how is the inventory of provisions?"

Wang Yi stood and bowed, his voice trembling. "Reporting to the Prefect, there are sixty thousand shi of grain in the official granaries. Based on the current population, it is only enough for three months. I have ordered the requisitioning of grain from the wealthy families in the city..."

"Not enough," Zhang Xochun interrupted. "If the Jin invaders besiege the city, it will be a protracted war. Order an immediate forced levy by household rank: first-class households must provide twenty shi, second-class ten, and third-class five. Those who resist will be treated as colluders with the enemy!"

The hall fell silent. The brush in the record-keeper’s hand dropped onto the inkstone with a clatter.

"Commissioner Ji," Zhang Xochun’s gaze, sharp as lightning, shot toward Ji Jing, the Military Commissioner of Taiyuan. "How many defenders are currently at Shiling Pass?"

Ji Jing stood abruptly. "Reporting to the Prefect, there were originally eight hundred stationed there, and five hundred more were sent today."

"Too few." Zhang Xochun pounded his finger against the edge of the sand table. "If the Jin invaders break through Xinzhou, Shiling Pass is Taiyuan’s last barrier. You are to lead eight thousand elite troops there immediately and hold it for fifteen days at all costs!"

Ji Jing’s expression changed. "But the Taiyuan garrison..."

"Taiyuan has Commander Wang to hold it."

Ji Jing raised his thick eyebrows but did not argue. "I will obey the order."

"Record-keeper," Zhang Xochun’s eyes swept across the civil officials. "Grain rations are to be distributed at a ratio of two for the military to one for the civilians. Any wealthy household found hoarding will be charged with treason. The accounts must be reported daily; we must not let our soldiers defend the city on empty stomachs."

The record-keeper bowed hastily. "I have ordered the household department to compile the registers overnight. Starting tomorrow, we will issue grain tickets by neighborhood. The military and civilians will collect their rations by ticket; there will be no errors." Behind him, officials held books containing the names of able-bodied men from each neighborhood. Last night, they had already organized the local militias based on the "one man from every five households" rule, and now they were waiting to be assigned to their defensive sectors.

"Report!" A messenger rushed in, disheveled and panicked. "An urgent envoy from Xinzhou!"

The man, covered in blood and grime, threw himself to the ground. "Governor He commands me to report: the Jin vanguard has reached the city walls. Xinzhou... Xinzhou is unlikely to hold for three days!"

Zhang Xochun stood up abruptly, knocking over a teacup on his desk. The tea bled into the military report like a dark red stain.

"Pass the order!" His voice was hoarse but resolute. "All militia units are to mount the walls immediately and reinforce the defensive fortifications."

"Understood," Wang Bin said, already adjusting his armor. "I am going to arrange the defensive deployment now."