Chapter 124: Temujin

“Prince, may I ask why you’re so eager? Though forty thousand troops require vast supplies, the Jin state’s resources should easily sustain them.” Temujin asked, puzzled, sensing that Wanyan Honglie’s question hid something major.

“How to put it? This time, as the forty-thousand-strong army marches against the Mongols, the Inspectors of several provinces along the route are all revolutionaries. I fear they’ll sabotage us once the war begins,” Wanyan Honglie sighed slowly.

Time froze. No one knew what to say. Fighting an enemy while the logistics officers supplying your army were their own people—it was certain defeat.

Why bother fearing sabotage? They’ll definitely sabotage. As soon as the army crosses the northern frontier, all grain and supplies must be cut off.

“Prince, your Jin state commands a million troops and holds absolute control over your territory—how did these people grow so powerful?” Temujin asked, biting back his anger.

“Actually, our Jin state doesn’t fully control every inch of land. In the countryside, we rely primarily on gentry rule. Since ancient times, Han dynasties have always done this—we’ve merely adapted to local customs.”

“When these people first rose, they never attacked county seats. After county magistrates sent troops to suppress them and failed, seeing they didn’t assault the cities, they didn’t report it—waiting until their term ended to pass the mess to the next magistrate, who, seeing no attacks, ignored them entirely.”

“Though county seats are political and economic centers, the countryside is vast and densely populated. Moreover, our Jin state has been truly unstable—rebellions against us erupt constantly. Many Jin officials have even risen in revolt. Compared to those uprisings, the Revolutionaries’ disturbances are no more than banditry—naturally, no one pays them attention,” Wanyan Honglie finished. Temujin’s heart tightened. The man who devised this strategy of encircling cities from the countryside was a true master.

This was too brilliant—growing power without drawing imperial attention. But why didn’t your Jin state crush them? Why let them hold official posts?

Wanyan Honglie chose not to answer. Since he didn’t reply, Temujin didn’t press further.

Right now, what troubled him was that he’d been dragged into Jin court politics. Just from today’s banquet, Wanyan Hongxi must already have labeled him as Wanyan Honglie’s man.

Yet judging by Wanyan Hongxi’s reckless appointments of Revolutionaries, the man was utterly foolish. Dealing with him shouldn’t be hard. But why, then, did Wanyan Honglie—so composed, so poised at today’s feast—lose to such a fool?

Though Wanyan Honglie didn’t wish to speak, the struggle for succession was too massive for the Jin court to conceal. They’d find out easily.

For gathering intelligence, he entrusted the most reliable man: Muqali. True enough, within a day, Muqali returned.

Muqali’s expression was strange. Temujin knew he’d learned something terrible. He hurried to reassure him: “Muqali, don’t look like that. We survived far worse yesterday. Can things be worse now?”

“Great Khan, please let me finish,” Muqali said tersely, recounting how Wanyan Honglie lost his princely title, how Niujia Village was ambushed by Qiu Chuji, how Bao Xiruo saved him, how he conspired with Song officer Duan Tiande to murder Guo Yang’s family, leaving them utterly destroyed.

At that time, Bao Xiruo was already pregnant. Yet Wanyan Honglie still married her as his princess. And over the years, he had only one son: Yang Kang.

Temujin went numb. His mind went blank. Earlier, he’d wondered why Wanyan Honglie—so dignified—lost to Wanyan Hongxi. Now he wanted to gouge out his own eyes and stomp them into the ground.

Adopting another’s son isn’t shameful—after all, his own eldest son, Jochi, wasn’t his. But the problem is, you can’t have only one son. Isn’t that son bound to inherit your princedom?

Your ancestors, like Wanyan Aguda, fought hard to build this empire—now you’re handing it to a stranger. Temujin thought the Jin emperor must truly love Wanyan Honglie. If it were him, he wouldn’t even be sure his son deserved to live.

The real question was: how do you fight this scenario? Temujin scratched his head and asked Muqali: “Muqali, how likely is it that Jin will ally with Song to crush the Revolutionaries?”

Muqali gave a bitter smile: “Great Khan, I knew you’d ask. So I investigated their relations. Put it this way: whoever cripples or destroys Jin, Song will step in to help.”

“That much hatred? But isn’t it normal for warring states to have grievances? Would Song really help the Revolutionaries fight Jin—even if Jin faced annihilation?” Temujin asked, bewildered.

“It’s entirely possible,” Muqali muttered, recalling the Jingkang Humiliation, his lips twitching.

The two Song emperors and countless imperial family members were captured and sent to Wuguo City—no need to elaborate.

They were forced to perform the “Sheep-Driving Ceremony” before the temple of Emperor Taizu Wanyan Aguda. A Jin custom: bare-chested, draped in sheepskin, ropes tied around their necks, led like livestock.

Worse still, after the Song emperors died, their bodies were rendered into corpse oil.

Officially buried, their coffins contained only wooden planks—no corpses. Emperor Gaozong of Southern Song had demanded their remains back, but by then, the trail was gone.

Song princesses and noblewomen were openly auctioned: princesses and imperial consorts at a thousand taels each, noble daughters at five hundred, common women at one hundred. Even Emperor Gaozong’s mother, Empress Wei, was assigned to the Washing Courtyard—forced to labor bare-chested by day, and used for nightly pleasure by Jin men.

A woman nearing fifty, forced to serve over a hundred men daily—she was the biological mother of the Southern Song’s next emperor.

Emperors Huizong and Qinzong were stripped of their titles, demoted to commoners, and given the mocking titles “Duke of Stupid Virtue” and “Marquis of Heavy Stupidity.”

Emperor Qinzong was reportedly forced to ride horses with Emperor Tianzuo of Liao, for Jin entertainment.

“Riding horses” meant they were prey. Eventually, they were trampled to death by galloping horses.

Temujin was stunned. Patricide, wife-stealing, and the national humiliation—any one of these three was a blood feud. You had them all—and upgraded them.

Temujin recalled his own bitter life: at nine, his father poisoned; he and his mother cast out by their clan, hunted by his father’s enemies.

His wife was captured to save him, bore him a child that wasn’t his; he finally became Great Khan—only to face the Revolutionaries.

My life has been walking on thin ice—can I ever reach the other shore?