Chapter 197

Huaihe, Guangzhou, Shaoxi's old fortifications.

This old camp had been left over from decades of Song-Jin standoff, abandoned for years, overgrown with thorns, its broken walls and ruined ramparts crawling with winter-dead vines. Half a month ago, the Privy Council issued an order; the Prefect of Guangzhou hastily conscripted three hundred laborers to repair the camp inside and out. The southern hall hung the official silk banner of Great Song; the northern hall hung the wolf-head flag of Great Jin; a flowered wall divided them. The two nations' flags faced each other across the same ruins, like two sworn enemies forced to sit at the same table, neither willing to speak first.

The Song peace delegation arrived on the ninth day of the twelfth month. The chief envoy was Minister of Rites Li Bi; the deputy envoy was Deng Youlong, recently recalled from the Suzhou front by Shi Miyuan. Deng Youlong had not wanted to come. He had watched from beneath Suzhou's walls as the city he had besieged for two months stood unshaken on the Huaibei plain, as Heshilie Zhizhong stood atop the ramparts, his single eye coldly surveying the Song army's southern retreat—a scene burned into his heart, more painful than an arrow wound. But Shi Miyuan had named him, and his reason was blunt: "You've returned from the front; you know how terrifying that thing on the north is." That sentence silenced all of Deng Youlong's excuses. He did know.

The Jin delegation arrived three days later. The chief envoy was Wanyan Axi; the deputy envoy was Left Minister of the Minister Province Jiagu Heng. Wanyan Axi was a collateral branch of the imperial clan, holding a nominal post in the Ministry of Rites for over a decade, never before handling anything of this scale. Before departure, Wanyan Honglie summoned him for an hour's talk; when he left the mansion, his face was solemn. Back at the Ministry of Rites, he pored over the draft treaty until midnight. Wanyan Honglie had spoken only a few words to him, but each was etched into his mind: "Shi Miyuan wants time. We want silver, grain, and a retreat route. If he won't give it, we keep fighting. If he gives it, we sign. But one point is non-negotiable—the mutual defense clause. This clause is more important than tribute, more important than territorial cession, even more important than Han Tuozhou's head. Because tribute will be spent, ceded land will be absorbed, but this clause binds the Southern Song to Jin's war chariot. If the chariot overturns, he goes down with it."

Wanyan Axi asked: "What if the Song reneges?"

Wanyan Honglie stood in the north wind by the wall, his back turned, silent for a long while before saying one sentence—"Shi Miyuan fears that red flag more than we do. As long as he fears it, he won't renege."

On the fifteenth day of the twelfth month, formal talks began. In the southern hall, a long table was set, covered in red silk, with four chairs on each side. Li Bi wore his crimson court robe, his face lean and calm, like a jade statue meticulously carved—no emotion visible. He had spent decades as a ritual official, most skilled at finding dignified phrasing for humiliating terms. Deng Youlong sat beside him, his expression less refined than Li Bi's—brows knotted, lips pressed tight, one hand pressed motionless on his knee.

In the northern hall, Wanyan Axi and Jiagu Heng sat side by side. Jiagu Heng, over sixty, was a veteran of three reigns, formerly Minister of Revenue, who had managed Jin's finances for twenty years. He had negotiated with the Southern Song countless times on this very table—always he demanded, the Song countered, both sides grinding out a number mutually acceptable. But this time was different. This time he did not seek silver and silk—those were still needed, but the true priority was the mutual defense clause. Before departure, he had told his son: "In my lifetime, I've signed many peace treaties, but never one that placed Jin's lifeline in the hands of the Song. This time, I break the precedent—not because I wish to, but because I must."

Wanyan Axi rose, holding the silk scroll, and began reading the clauses. The first clause concerned tribute and indemnity—"Fifty thousand taels of silver, fifty thousand bolts of silk, plus a one-time military subsidy of three million taels of silver, to be paid over three years." When Deng Youlong heard the figure, his hand on his knee clenched violently. Fifty thousand taels—the entire annual military budget of Great Song before Han Tuozhou's northern campaign had been three million taels. This single payment equaled three years' military expenditure handed over to Jin. But he said nothing. The deepest lesson he learned beneath Suzhou's walls was this: sometimes silence requires more courage than charge.

The second clause concerned territorial cession—"The Southern Song relinquishes all territories recovered during its northern campaign, and cedes Tangzhou and Dengzhou to Great Jin." When Li Bi heard "Tangzhou and Dengzhou," his brush paused. Tangzhou had been taken by Xue Shusi with not a single life lost. Dengzhou had been besieged for two months by the central army's soldiers. Now both were to be surrendered. Li Bi dipped his brush in the inkstone, continued writing, his expression as calm as water.

The third clause concerned the delivery of heads—"The sovereign of the Southern Song shall issue an imperial edict acknowledging 'misrule and provocation,' and deliver the heads of Han Tuozhou and Su Shidan to Jin." This clause had already been executed; the box containing the heads had reached Zhongdu a month ago. Now it was merely formalized, hammering the nail already driven home.

Then came the fourth. At this point in the Jin imperial decree, Wanyan Axi's pace slowed noticeably.

"If the Xinming Party launches a southern attack against Jin, the Southern Song shall provide grain, military pay, and open the Yangtze waterways to assist Jin in establishing a second defensive line along the Huaihe–Qin Ling frontier. Song and Jin shall be 'lips and teeth,' jointly resisting the northern barbarians. This clause shall be permanent, unalterable through generations."

The southern hall fell utterly silent. Li Bi's brush froze mid-air. This was not tribute, not territorial cession, not the delivery of heads. This turned Great Song into Great Jin's logistical base. Jin would build its second defensive line along the Huaihe–Qin Ling frontier using Song's grain, Song's waterways, and Song's territory. Jin had, in black and white, admitted it might not hold—and Song had, in black and white, agreed to one thing: if Jin fails, we shall house and supply its retreating troops on our own soil.

Deng Youlong leapt to his feet. The chair legs scraped the brick floor with a shrill screech. Li Bi did not look up, only reached out and pressed his hand on Deng Youlong's arm. That hand was dry and thin, yet astonishingly strong.

"Lord Deng," Li Bi's voice was barely a whisper, "these are already settled terms. We are here only to sign."

"But—"

"It is the court's decision. Chancellor Shi and the Son of Heaven have both approved." Li Bi released his grip. Deng Youlong stood there, chest heaving. He recalled Xin Qiji's letter from Qianshan: "Jin abandons small towns to hold large ones not because they cannot defend them, but because they refuse to waste strength against our army. Their elite forces remain on the northern border; the southern front is merely a delaying tactic." He had once thought Xin Qiji was merely analyzing tactics; now he understood Xin Qiji had seen the entire strategic picture. Jin was not defending the southern frontier—Jin was hoarding resources for the northern showdown. And the peace treaty Great Song was signing was, in effect, helping Jin hoard those resources.

Yet he finally sat down again, fists clenched, fingernails digging into his palms, saying not another word.

The talks lasted less than an hour. No clause was contested, for every clause had been predetermined by higher wills. Shi Miyuan in Lin'an had already surrendered everything he could; Li Bi's task was not to negotiate, but to wrap the humiliation in the most dignified guise of "two nations reconciled, jointly resisting the northern barbarians." On the Jin side, their Ministry of Rites officials also conceded—because they knew the real value lay not in whether every written term could be fulfilled, but in the mere existence of this document: it meant the Southern Song was now bound to Jin's war chariot.

At the moment of signing, on the afternoon of the fifteenth day of the twelfth month, the wind blowing across the Huaihe was dry and cold. Wanyan Axi signed for Great Jin, Jiagu Heng countersigned, using the wolf-head imperial seal of Jin. Li Bi signed for Great Song, Deng Youlong countersigned, using the Son of Heaven's imperial seal. Two copies of the treaty were made—one preserved by Jin, one by Song. After verifying their textual identity, the two sides exchanged documents. As Li Bi handed over the copy, he suddenly spoke a line not in the protocol: "May this treaty bring no more warfare between our nations." Wanyan Axi paused a moment, then replied: "May the northern barbarians never come south."

Two dynasties that had been enemies for eighty years, in an abandoned camp by the Huaihe, bound together by fear of the same foe, called each other "lips and teeth." The Minister of Rites of Song and the Jin royal envoy bowed to each other across the long table. Their smiles were formal, ceremonial—but in their eyes lay the same unspoken thought: "Please, don't collapse."

When news of the treaty reached Lin'an, Shi Miyuan was reviewing documents in the Political Affairs Hall. After reading Li Bi's report, he fell silent for a moment, then picked up his brush and wrote across the document: "Peace treaty concluded. Border defenses must be strengthened. Notify all circuits: cease hostilities, nurture the people."

He offered no celebration, no banquet, not even a word of self-satisfaction to his advisors. One of them could not help asking: "Your Excellency, this treaty certainly stabilizes the Jin, but what if the northern barbarians truly attack—" Shi Miyuan glanced at him. "When the northern barbarians attack, the Jin die first. When the Jin are all dead, we die. So our only task now is one thing—make the Jin die slower." He paused, then added, "Preferably, not at all."

The advisor froze. Then he suddenly understood Shi Miyuan's meaning. If the Xinming Party marched south, Great Song must jointly defend the northern border with Jin, must preserve Jin as this "shield." Tribute, ceded land, indemnities—these were not the true cost. The true cost was that Great Song had staked its fate on a Jin dynasty already gasping for breath. And the most tragic part was this—no better alternative could be offered.

That evening, Li Bi departed Guangzhou with the signed treaty. Inside his carriage, he looked back at the Huaihe's old fortifications beneath the setting sun, and said to Deng Youlong, who rode beside him: "How will history write today, a thousand years from now?"

Deng Youlong, mounted on horseback, did not turn. He gazed at the dusk-heavy plains north of the Huaihe, silent for a long while, then said: "A thousand years from now, history will probably write only one line: 'Song-Jin peace treaty, tribute as before.' As for this mutual defense clause—" he shook his head, "may a thousand years from now, no one understand why it was written. Because if someone understands it, it means the war we fought so hard to delay has already come."

The carriage rumbled across the Huaihe's floating bridge. The setting sun burned the river half-red; the water, dyed by twilight, flowed like a vast crimson banner. On the north bank, Jin's flag snapped in the north wind; on the south bank, Song's flag hung limp in the dusk. For decades, the two flags had faced each other across the Huaihe—today, for the first time, they were no longer enemies. Nor were they allies. They were two dynasties under the same shadow, clasping hands before darkness fell.