Chapter 72: Split into Two Paths

Upon hearing the news of the Song dynasty’s fall, Li Ping wept—a woman renowned for her resilience, now streaming with tears, her heart swallowed by boundless grief, her sobs like beads severed from a string.

Through all life’s hardships and setbacks, she had never shed a single tear. But now, her tears surged like a raging river, unstoppable; her wails tore at the soul, heartrending.

Wasn’t her husband Guo Xiaotian, a brave man from Shandong, driven to flee to Niujia Village near Lin’an precisely because the Jin people were cruel and brutal, refusing to treat Song people as human?

If the Song has fallen, is there still any place left for Song people in this world?

“Isn’t the fall of the Song dynasty only natural? This was expected all along—why are you so heartbroken, Mother?”

Li Ping stared at Guo Jing in disbelief—these words had come from the son she had raised to serve his country with unwavering loyalty.

Guo Jing ignored his mother’s gaze and continued: “I admit there are many among us Song people, and many heroes among us—but even if we had countless heroes, even another Yue Wumu, what good would it do? A corrupt emperor and treacherous minister can kill them with a single move.”

“Why is this so? Because the Song is not our people’s Song, not the Song of heroes like Yue Wumu—it is the Song of Zhao Gou, the foolish emperor, and Qin Gui, the traitorous minister. Everything we do only serves to let Zhao Gou and Qin Gui continue exploiting us. Let the Song fall—it’s better this way.”

With a sharp crack, a bright red palm print appeared on Guo Jing’s face. Li Ping, eyes bloodshot, choked out: “How can you speak such treason? You’ve shattered my heart.”

“Treason? Good. That’s exactly what I intend to do. Mother, I’m not here to ask your permission—I’m here to tell you. I will devote my limited life to the boundless cause of serving the people. Whether you agree or not, I’m going.”

“I will throw off the bloodsuckers clinging to the people—the slave masters of the Mongolian steppes, the Jin’s Meng’an-Mouke, the Song’s scholar-officials and bureaucrats—all of them must vanish into the river of history, drowned by the ocean of the people.”

When Guo Jing spoke these words, his tone was more resolute than ever, as if each syllable had been forged in iron and stone. In his eyes burned a blazing fire, as if ready to consume all around him—not mere passion, but an unyielding conviction, deep as molten lava, unstoppable.

Seeing her son so determined, Li Ping sighed and said nothing. She turned and rummaged through the Mongolian yurt, finally pulling out a money pouch. She pressed it into Guo Jing’s hands and said: “If you’ve made up your mind, then go. Take care of yourself on the road. Take this money.”

Nie Huaishang smiled beside her: “Mother, you needn’t do this. Before we came here, we already decided—we’ll split into two groups. Zhang Chu’an and Zhang Xiaofan will establish revolutionary bases under Jin rule. Brother Guo and I will stay in the desert to open our own base. You and your son will have plenty of chances to meet again.”

“Won’t I be a burden to you?” Li Ping asked hesitantly.

“How could you be? Brother Guo and I will need your knowledge of the local conditions to build our base,” Nie Huaishang replied, and rightly so—establishing a base required understanding the land, and Guo Jing had left the desert as a child; Li Ping knew it far better.

“What’s there to know? Every few days, small tribes fight over pastureland. Every ten or twenty days, a small tribe joins a big one to fight another big tribe.” Li Ping’s voice grew somber, but she pressed on:

“When war breaks out, they seize our cattle and sheep. Men are dragged off to fight. None of my sisters’ husbands have ever returned.”

“Worse still, every year the Jin dogs come to burn, kill, and plunder. They kill anyone they see. The tribal chiefs act so mighty day to day—but when the Jin dogs arrive, they don’t even dare to speak.”

At this, Li Ping erupted in curses—how could there be a Duan Tiande out here in the desert, a traitor helping the Jin oppress his own people?

The four said nothing, waiting until Li Ping calmed before beginning their discussion.

“It seems the political system here is still primitive slavery. Compared to feudalism or capitalism, slavery is cruder, more thorough in its exploitation, and the class contradictions are even sharper. I believe this is the perfect place to establish a revolutionary base,” Nie Huaishang spoke first.

Guo Jing nodded in agreement:

“Beyond class conflict, rule here is loose. Small tribes are highly autonomous—beyond paying tribute on schedule and joining big tribes in battle, they’re left alone. This means we won’t immediately draw a full-scale crackdown when we build our base.”

“Of course, every advantage has its difficulty. The people here are still ignorant, blindly believing in gods and religion. We’ll need to work harder to awaken them.”

“Also, if we establish a revolutionary base here, we’ll inevitably face a class war with Temujin. He, as a class ruler, will never allow a revolutionary base to exist. This will be a fight to the death—and Temujin, who has swept across Eurasia, means this war will be brutal.”

“But does that mean we won’t fight because it’s hard?” Zhang Chu’an countered, then continued: “If we’ve chosen the path of building a new world, we won’t fear hardship. I admit Temujin is powerful—but even the greatest commander needs soldiers to wield his strength. His slaughter of other peoples and his enslavement of his own people’s lower classes will inevitably place him against the majority. I believe we can defeat him.”

Though the Mongol cavalry swept the world, the common Mongols lived in misery—they had to supply their own food, gear, and weapons, yet surrendered all plundered wealth. As a result, Mongols under the Yuan often became servants to Han scholar-gentry.

In short, the glory and power of the Mongols belonged only to the Golden Clan and the Mongol nobility—nothing to do with the Mongol people.

The four held a long meeting, discussing current conditions and future prospects, and formulated the following measures:

One: Split into two groups to establish bases in the desert and under Jin rule.

Two: Recruit comrades from among the broad masses of laborers—anyone willing to fight for the poor is our comrade.

Three: Uphold the principle of the united front, uniting all possible forces on our side—such as the Red Robe Army, the Beggar’s Gang, and the Quanzhen Sect.

Four: Do everything possible to kill Temujin and cripple his power so he cannot grow stronger.