Chapter 166: The Jin

Zhongdu, Daxing Prefecture.

Emperor Zhangzong of Jin, Wanyan Jing, had not slept well for three consecutive days.

More precisely, since receiving the urgent report from Shaanxi Road three days ago. The report was brief: a red flag never seen before had been raised atop Xingqing City’s walls; the He Lan Mountain ironworks burned day and night; and large numbers of carts and horses were moving along the Xiao Guan Road, their destination unclear. Signed by the Commander-in-Chief of Shaanxi Road, Heshilie Zhizhong. This old general had commanded troops for thirty years and never used exclamatory language in military reports—but the final line of this urgent message contained four characters: “Your servant fears.”

The last time Heshilie Zhizhong had uttered the words “fears” was thirty years ago, when the Song army had marched north all the way to the banks of the Yellow River.

Wanyan Jing laid the urgent report on his desk and did not show it to anyone. He needed to digest it himself. But the very next day, Song spies sent back even more alarming news: Han Tuozhou in Lin’an had obtained the imperial edict authorizing a northern campaign; the three armies of Jianghuai, Jinghu, and Sichuan were assembling, and the war might begin as early as this winter.

Two fronts. Simultaneously.

Wanyan Jing sat on the dragon throne, feeling as if a layer of cotton had been pulled from beneath his cushion—the seat was hard, and no matter how he sat, it was uncomfortable.

“Summon Wanyan Honglie.”

He spoke the four words softly, but the eunuch standing beside him trembled violently and nearly ran out. Everyone in Zhongdu’s court knew what the name Wanyan Honglie meant. He was a direct descendant of Emperor Taizu Wanyan Aguda, heir to the title Prince of Zhao, yet he never acted like a prince. He spent his years traveling among the northern garrisons, personally surveying terrain, training border troops, and gathering intelligence from the steppes—the only man in the Jin court who truly understood the northern situation. But he was also the most unpopular man—because every time he spoke, he said unpleasant truths.

When Wanyan Honglie entered the hall, the senior ministers had already gathered.

Left Chancellor Jiagu Heng, Vice Minister Tudan Yi, Deputy Chief of the Privy Council Wanyan Anguo, Minister of Revenue Xu Chiguo, along with several vice ministers and staff from the Grand Marshal’s Office—over a dozen men stood in two lines, each with a grim expression.

Wanyan Honglie wore his faded, worn-out battle robe, a plain straight sword hanging at his waist, his boots still caked with the yellow sand of the northern frontier. As he entered the hall, every eye turned to him—but he looked at no one, walking straight to three paces before the throne, dropping to one knee, and delivering a crisp, clean military salute.

“Your servant, Wanyan Honglie, pays homage to Your Majesty.”

“Rise,” said Wanyan Jing, his voice weary. “Prince of Zhao, how much do you know of the northern situation?”

“Everything,” replied Wanyan Honglie, standing without waiting for the emperor’s permission to sit, walking straight to the map and pointing at the position of Western Xia. “Western Xia is gone. Not destroyed—swallowed. Worse than destruction.”

The hall fell silent. Tudan Yi’s face changed—he had handled intelligence on the Song for years and had heard rumors of Western Xia’s collapse, but he had never expected Wanyan Honglie to describe it as “worse than destruction.”

“How so?” asked Wanyan Jing.

“Your Majesty, look here.” Wanyan Honglie’s finger swept eastward from Western Xia. “Western Xia’s army is being reorganized. According to our covert agents in Xingqing, once reorganized, the Western Xia army will no longer be a Western Xia force—it will become a vassal army of that organization. Their equipment is being replaced: iron comes from the He Lan Mountain ironworks, standardized in design, superior in craftsmanship to our own weapons. Once reorganized, whose orders will they follow? The puppet king in Xingqing? Or the young man named Zhang Chu’an?”

His finger moved further east, stopping at the Jin’s western frontier—the Fengyan Road of Shaanxi.

“With Western Xia lost, our western frontier is exposed. Previously, the Heng Mountains lay between us and Western Xia; both sides held passes, attacking and defending, neither able to break the other. Now Western Xia has become their corridor—the natural barrier of the Heng Mountains is meaningless. They can now advance from Western Xia through Xiao Guan Road into Shaanxi, or strike straight down the Suide and Yan’an line into Fengyan Road. Worse still—they now have Western Xia’s ironworks and granaries as logistical backing, drastically shortening their supply lines. Our western defenses, by contrast, have a depth of only three hundred li. Three hundred li—cavalry at full charge can breach it in two days.”

He turned to face the ministers, his voice low, but each word hammered into every ear in the hall.

“And our knowledge of them? Nearly zero. We don’t know their troop strength, their command structure, their logistical capacity, or even where they will strike next. The only thing we know is that this organization swallowed the steppes in under two years, and Western Xia in under six. What that speed implies—no need for me to say; Your Excellencies already understand.”

Tudan Yi could not hold back: “Prince of Zhao, they conquered the steppes and Western Xia through field battles and infiltration. Our Jin fortress system has been perfected for nearly a century: the northern frontier has walls and moats, the western frontier has the remnants of the Heng Mountains’ passes, the eastern frontier has the Yellow River’s natural barrier, and Zhongdu has a complete city defense system—”

“Fortress defense?” Wanyan Honglie cut him off, his tone suddenly sharp. “Minister Tudan, have you ever been to Western Xia? Their Iron Eagles were once famed as the finest heavy cavalry in the world. Their fortress system was no weakling either: Xingqing’s walls stood thirty-six chi high; the passes at He Lan Mountain were built into the mountainside, one man holding the pass against ten thousand. And yet? That organization did not besiege, did not storm, did not even fight a single major battle. They simply sent a ‘consultant team’ into Xingqing, and within months turned Western Xia into a dish served straight to their table. Do you think walls can stop such a method?”

Tudan Yi fell silent.

Wanyan Honglie took a deep breath, turned to Wanyan Jing, and bowed. “Your Majesty, Your Excellencies, before this meeting begins, I ask you all to answer one question.”

He held up two fingers.

“We now face two enemies. To the south: Han Tuozhou’s northern campaign. To the north: the Xinming Party. Our forces are only sufficient for one major front. If we fight on both fronts simultaneously, our defenses will stretch like a sheepskin pulled from both ends—eventually, it will tear.”

“Therefore,” he slowly drew his two fingers together until only one remained, pointing straight north, “we must choose: who is the true enemy?”

The hall remained silent for a long time.