Chapter 168: Playing Roles

Lin'an, Duting Posthouse.

Wanyan Honglie's envoy entered the city on the third day of the twelfth month.

This entry ceremony had been meticulously arranged by the Jin. The envoy consisted of only three hundred men, but each one had been personally selected by Wanyan Honglie from the northern frontier troops—every man over eight feet tall, armor polished to a shine, sabers hung at their saddles, not a single scratch on the scabbards. Their horses were not the common short-legged Mongol steeds of Jin, but superior Hequ horses seized from Xi Xia—tall shoulders, long legs, glossy coats, iron horseshoes striking Lin'an's blue stone paving with every step, sparking fire.

Wanyan Honglie himself rode at the head of the column. He wore no princely ceremonial robes, but a suit of black iron armor, its plates faintly bearing old scars from sword and blade. The straight saber at his waist had a leather-wrapped hilt worn smooth by years of grip.

This was no envoy come to negotiate—it was a leopard come to patrol its hunting ground.

The streets of Lin'an emptied. Crowds pressed against both sides, held back by imperial guards behind barriers, necks craned to gaze at the Jin cavalry. In storytellers' tales, Jin soldiers were monstrous creatures with blue faces and fangs, but these riders were neither blue-faced nor fanged—they were silent, orderly, their eyes cold as winter well water. That silence was more unnerving than any roar.

Han Tuozhou did not come to greet them himself. He sent Vice Minister Li Bi and Chief Secretary of the Privy Council Su Shidan to wait at the posthouse gate.

Wanyan Honglie dismounted with a motion as swift as a warrior's, utterly unlike a pampered prince. He glanced at Li Bi, then at Su Shidan, and his lips curled slightly.

"Only the two of you?"

Li Bi's face flushed crimson. By protocol, a Jin prince's visit warranted an escort from at least a chancellor-level official of the Southern Song. Han Tuozhou had sent only two vice ministers—this was blatant disrespect.

Wanyan Honglie did not wait for Li Bi's reply. He walked straight into the posthouse. At the threshold, he suddenly stopped, turning to look south—toward the imperial palace.

"Tell Grand Tutor Han," he said, voice low but each word clear, "I brought three things. One is the state letter. One is the deployment map of thirty thousand troops on the northern border. And the third—"

He tapped his waist saber.

"Is my blade. Which one does Grand Tutor Han wish to see first?"

When the message reached Han Tuozhou's mansion, he was feeding fish in the garden. After hearing Su Shidan's report, he spilled half his fish food into the pond; the koi surged wildly to fight for it.

"A blade?" Han Tuozhou laughed, a chill beneath the smile. "Interesting. Wanyan Honglie spent years fighting steppe nomads on the northern border—he came back with the manners of a bandit chief."

"Grand Tutor," Su Shidan lowered his voice, "the three hundred guards Wanyan Honglie brought are all northern frontier elites. I examined them closely—their armor is not standard Jin design, but modified specifically for cavalry charges—thickened shoulder plates, higher neck guards, arrow quivers mounted on the right saddle for quick access, and short crossbows slung at the saddle. These are not ceremonial guards—they are combat troops."

"I know," Han Tuozhou tossed the rest of the fish food into the pond and clapped his hands. "He's here to flaunt his strength. He brought his finest cavalry to Lin'an to make one thing clear—look well, this is Jin's main force. How many of your northern expedition troops do you think can stand against them?"

He paced twice by the pond, then halted.

"But the more he does this, the more it reveals one thing."

"What?" Su Shidan asked.

"He's afraid," Han Tuozhou said, eyes narrowing. "If Jin truly had the strength to fight on two fronts, Wanyan Honglie wouldn't need to come to Lin'an to intimidate me. His presence proves Jin lacks sufficient troops—so he relies on bluster to buy time."

"Then what should we—"

"Stick to the original plan," Han Tuozhou said, voice ironclad. "He plays his part. I play mine."

News of Jin's troop buildup on the northern front arrived in Lin'an almost simultaneously with Wanyan Honglie's entry.

Spies on the Huaihe front sent confirmed intelligence: Jin had deployed at least fifty thousand additional troops along the Yellow River north of Kaifeng, added palisades and arrow towers at every river crossing, requisitioned all merchant ships for military use, and erected temporary beacon towers every fifty paces along the river dike. More strikingly, a massive new encampment had been erected outside Xuzhou, its banners blotting out the sky, the shouts of daily drills echoing over ten li away.

"We cannot estimate the strength of the Xuzhou encampment," Su Shidan reported at the military briefing, voice heavy. "The camp is enormous, its banners far exceeding normal regimental numbers, and daily troop rotations deliberately create the illusion of constant movement. This is tactical deception—using exaggerated camp size and banner counts to conceal true troop strength."

"So we don't know how many Jin troops are in Xuzhou?" asked Minister of War Xue Shusi.

"We don't know. Could be thirty thousand. Could be a hundred thousand. Jin placed this camp in the most visible spot on the southern front precisely to make us overestimate."

Han Tuozhou gave a cold laugh. "More theater. The northern troop buildup is real. This Xuzhou camp is staged for us. They've moved troops from the north to the south to put on a show, scare us, then quietly return them to defend the north. This trick—Wanyan Honglie used it countless times against the steppe nomads. Now he thinks it'll work on me?"

"Your analysis is sound," Su Shidan hesitated, "but the problem is we cannot confirm it. If the Xuzhou camp truly holds a hundred thousand Jin troops—"

"There aren't a hundred thousand," Han Tuozhou cut in. "If Jin had a hundred thousand troops stationed in Xuzhou, Wanyan Honglie wouldn't have come to Lin'an. He'd have crossed the Huaihe with that army—no state letter needed. His presence proves the Xuzhou camp is a hollow shell—at least not fully manned."

His logic was flawless; none in the hall could refute it. But Su Shidan's brow remained furrowed. Something felt wrong—Wanyan Honglie had held the northern frontier against the steppe nomads for years, never letting the Xin Ming Party gain an inch. Would such a man resort to a trick so transparent?

He said nothing more. Han Tuozhou had already decided; further words would shake morale.

On the third day, Wanyan Honglie shut himself inside the Duting Posthouse, refusing all banquets and visits. Li Bi arrived with gifts and was turned away at the gate; only a message was sent back: "Prince Zhao says he came to discuss matters of state, not to drink wine."