Chapter 408: Chapter Seventy-Three: Heaven's Shock

On the twenty-ninth of the twelfth month, as dusk approached, Taira no Kiyomori, exhausted after a day spent arranging matters for the Imperial Guard's rear army, trudged back to camp through the snow in small groups with the other Red Heart Company knights.

After hesitating for a moment—or rather, after recalling that Nihonobu Tadakazu, despite his advanced age, had that very day, in his capacity as a close attendant of the Son of Heaven, personally gone to the Tangut auxiliary troops to offer solicitous care, diligently coordinating various affairs while never forgetting to encourage these men to fight loyally for His Majesty, and that the Tangut auxiliary leaders, whether they held military rank or not, all regarded Nihonobu Tadakazu as their chief and treated him with the deference of children—Taira no Kiyomori decided to go visit his wounded countrymen once more.

However, since he was going to visit, and there were so many wounded, if he wanted to bestow favor like Secretary Nihonobu, he couldn't very well go empty-handed. And at this time, he was serving in the army accompanying the imperial carriage; all his gold and silver assets were back in his official residence in the Eastern Capital, so he didn't have much money on him.

But although Taira no Kiyomori was young, he had nonetheless gained some insight and learned a thing or two by following Lord Zhao. How could this stump him? So he simply took the Persian emerald that had been an imperial gift from that day at Xiangling, discussed it with his fellow officers, pawned the stone to a wealthy officer, and easily raised a good sum of money and silk from his colleagues.

Not content with having hard currency in hand, Taira no Kiyomori then dutifully went to see Liu Yan and Nihonobu Tadakazu, explaining the situation to each in turn. His superior, Liu Yan, was an upright and meticulous man and certainly had no objection. And Nihonobu Tadakazu, who had long known that Taira no Kiyomori was a foreign hostage favored at court, naturally granted him face and directly helped issue the necessary logistical documents.

Thus, armed with the documents, Taira no Kiyomori went to the logistics camp, found an acquaintance, bought a large quantity of medicinal herbs, dried meat, and winter clothing at a fair price, and spent a few coppers to hire some laborers to carry it all on carts. Only then did he go to see the wounded Japanese warriors.

Now, what kind of treatment had these surviving wounded warriors received in Japan, and what kind of treatment did they receive in the Great Song? From the moment they disembarked, they had been shown both authority and respect. Any trace of self-importance they might have harbored had been beaten out of them in that battle a few days ago, sent flying to the Western Liao. By now, they had long discarded those strange notions and only felt fear and submission.

In this state, when Taira no Kiyomori came to visit, they could only feel gratitude.

As for Minamoto no Tameyoshi, whose arm had been struck by a mace, although he had always been jealous of Taira no Kiyomori's father, there was no fundamental conflict between the two families at this point. The usual comradely courtesy among peers still had to be observed, especially here in a foreign land. So he had no wariness toward Taira no Kiyomori at all. He grabbed him with his one good hand and pulled him into a private conversation by the bed in his tent.

From how many troops the Great Song had, to the organization of the Jin State, to the diplomatic relations of the surrounding countries—he threw out all the questions that had piled up along the way. Minamoto no Tameyoshi had asked others these questions before, but his Chinese was very poor, and the answers he got were perfunctory. This time, he finally had a real opportunity to communicate.

After a long conversation, when Minamoto no Tameyoshi learned that the Great Song had four hundred military prefectures, of which three hundred were still in hand; that this campaign fielded a full three hundred thousand combat troops, plus countless auxiliary and defensive forces; and that the annual revenue was tens of millions of strings of cash, he was naturally stunned.

And when he learned that the Jin State was also a vast country spanning ten thousand li, and that their formidable Jurchen armored cavalry had twenty wanhu, with another hundred thousand new troops still being formed, he could not help but sigh repeatedly.

Finally, the two men inevitably turned to the current war.

"If it's as you say, Kiyomori, then the Great Jin State also has the strength to fight. Doesn't that mean this war will drag on?" Minamoto no Tameyoshi, his arm in a sling, sat on the bed and asked seriously in Japanese by lamplight.

"It will certainly drag on," Taira no Kiyomori, standing before the bed, did not deny. "When two vast countries of ten thousand li contend, the gain or loss of a few dozen prefectures means nothing... On the Hedong side, there's Taiyuan Prefecture; on the Hebei East Circuit, there's Great Ming Prefecture; and on the Hebei West Circuit, there's Zhending Prefecture. These three cities must be taken before we can even touch Yanjing City. And besides cities, no matter where, there will have to be a great pitched battle, hard against hard—hundreds of thousands against hundreds of thousands, or at least a hundred thousand against a hundred thousand—and all must be heavily armored warriors."

Minamoto no Tameyoshi hesitated, then lowered his voice and asked seriously again: "Can the Great Song really win?"

"It will certainly win." Taira no Kiyomori did not hesitate.

"Why are you so certain?" Minamoto no Tameyoshi pressed. "Is it because the Great Song's lord is a formidable commander? Or because the Song troops are stronger and their generals braver?"

"Both, but especially the lord himself, who is universally recognized as a renowned general under heaven, far surpassing the Jin commander-in-chief, Prince Wushu." Taira no Kiyomori still did not hesitate. "There are even rumors that the lord received his military strategy directly from the Dao Ancestor. But it's not just that—he is a sage ruler ordained by heaven, accomplished in both civil and martial arts, who understands the past and foresees the future."

Minamoto no Tameyoshi grew even more curious.

And Taira no Kiyomori, being young, could not restrain himself and felt a desire to show off: "Lord Tameyoshi, let me ask you—do you know how many consorts our lord currently has?"

Minamoto no Tameyoshi naturally did not know, but he could grasp the general idea of what Taira no Kiyomori was driving at. So, as the other man held up two fingers, he instinctively lowered his guess and blurted out: "Only twenty?"

"Only two." Taira no Kiyomori sneered. "One Imperial Consort, one Virtuous Consort. After the former empress passed away, he never established a new empress... And this is by no means a pretense, because all the several princes and princesses born in the ten years since the lord ascended the throne were born to these two..."

Minamoto no Tameyoshi was horrified.

"And that's not all." Seeing this, Taira no Kiyomori sneered even more. "The lord's own palace was originally almost half the size of Heian-kyo. But after the war with the Jin began, the palace buildings were either bestowed upon meritorious officials as residences, given to the warriors as a military academy for studying the art of war, or offered to the Empress Dowager. As for the imperial garden where the lord himself resides, he has planted mulberry trees and dug fish ponds... The most honored man under heaven, enduring such hardship, and it's been nearly ten years... Lord Tameyoshi, tell me, how could such a lord not win?"

Minamoto no Tameyoshi opened his mouth as if to speak, but hesitated, clearly uncertain.

But Taira no Kiyomori seemed to have expected this and continued with a laugh: "Lord Tameyoshi, don't you believe me? I didn't believe it when I first arrived either... Both my father and you were Northern Face warriors. Not to mention the current Cloistered Emperor, but when you two were serving the former Cloistered Emperor Shirakawa, you probably knew better than anyone about the sordid affairs between the Cloistered Emperor and Taikenmon'in. Having seen so many scandals among the imperial and noble houses of Japan, it's only natural that you wouldn't believe someone with more power and wealth than the Cloistered Emperor could be like this... But after serving as a Northern Face warrior to this lord for several years, I know full well whether this lord is genuine or false."

Minamoto no Tameyoshi grew even more bewildered.

Now, although Minamoto no Tameyoshi and Taira no Kiyomori didn't know what the "late Heian period" meant, the corruption of the Japanese nobility at this time was beyond dispute. For instance, between the two powerful Cloistered Emperors that Minamoto no Tameyoshi and Taira no Kiyomori's father, Taira no Tadamasa, had served, there was a tremendous scandal... The former Cloistered Emperor Shirakawa was the grandfather of the current Cloistered Emperor Toba. The former Cloistered Emperor Shirakawa had an adopted daughter, the aforementioned Taikenmon'in, whom he married to his grandson, then-Emperor Toba, as his empress.

Why marry an adopted daughter to a grandson?

Because when the former Cloistered Emperor Shirakawa had previously tried to marry his adopted daughter to the son of the great noble Fujiwara clan, the Fujiwara clan firmly refused... The Fujiwara clan felt they couldn't bear the shame... So the former Cloistered Emperor Shirakawa had no choice but to impose on his own grandson, while also seeking a good future for his adopted daughter.

That's right—the former Cloistered Emperor Shirakawa had been having an affair with his adopted daughter and granddaughter-in-law from the very beginning. This was almost an open secret among the Japanese upper class.

At that time, the Japanese nobility was corrupt to this degree.

So under these circumstances, how could you expect Minamoto no Tameyoshi, who had spent decades navigating among the Japanese nobility, to believe that the Zhao Song lord would endure such hardship and restraint? You could tell him about Wanyan Aguda's frugality and he wouldn't believe that either!

Of course, Taira no Kiyomori couldn't be bothered to prove anything. He simply said calmly: "Lord Tameyoshi, that's just how things are. Although the Great Song couldn't defeat the Jin in the early years, leading to the disgrace of most of the imperial family being captured, it's like the story of Wu and Yue in the ancient books. Now, it's the spirit of 'three thousand Yue troops can swallow Wu.' And our lord has three hundred thousand Song armored soldiers!"

With that, Taira no Kiyomori said no more, nor did he bother to explain what the "story of Wu and Yue" meant, or mention from whom the phrase "three thousand Yue troops can swallow Wu" was plagiarized. He simply cupped his hands in the Song manner and took his leave.

Minamoto no Tameyoshi snapped back to reality, realizing that although Taira no Kiyomori was young, he was already a "Northern Face warrior" of the Great Song lord, no lesser in status than himself. He tried to return the courtesy, but as soon as he raised his arm, it pulled at his wound. He could only manage to stand up slightly and nod.

As Taira no Kiyomori was about to leave, he reached the tent entrance before remembering something. He turned back with a smile: "Lord Tameyoshi, if I were to tell you the stories of our lord, I couldn't finish in a month, and I don't want to say more... Let me just mention one thing about someone else. Do you remember that coarse-robed monk who personally dug the graves and performed the funeral rites for the fallen warriors that day?"

"Of course I remember." Minamoto no Tameyoshi thought for a moment and immediately understood who he meant. "He came to see us yesterday and helped us apply medicine... He seems to be highly respected in the camp?"

"Of course he's respected. That monk is the orthodox dharma heir of the Linji school, the most venerable Purple-Robed Great Dharma Master in the Great Song's Buddhist community, granted the title Great Wisdom Chan Master by imperial decree." Taira no Kiyomori sneered without stopping. "Throughout the Great Song, it's not just the lord who is so sincere and frugal. Today, I won't even mention the marshal who wouldn't eat a single chicken. But if even the monks behave like this, then why shouldn't this war be won?"

Minamoto no Tameyoshi was utterly stunned, so much so that he didn't even notice the other man leaving.

After a long while, he finally came to his senses, but then suddenly realized who the sneer on the other man's face was directed at, and a look of fear crept over him... But it was only fear, with no room for refutation.

Around midnight, after the snow had lightly dusted the land of Hedong with a layer of white, it gradually stopped. At the same time, in Great Ming Prefecture, Hebei, a thousand li away, there had been no snow at all, replaced instead by a biting wind.

For several days, the cold wind howled without cease.

Now, it was on the fourteenth of the twelfth month that Yue Fei had snatched a tooth from the tiger's mouth, defeated Wang Bolong, and thwarted the Jin army's first large-scale offensive. On the fifteenth of the twelfth month, Gao Qingyi had used political and military arguments to persuade the Jin regent Prince Wushu, who was caught in a dilemma, to try to fight on and not abandon Yuancheng.

On that same day, far away in Hedong, Zhao Jiu learned that Niu Gao had breached the Yangliang North Pass and opened the Queshu Valley. He then issued the order for a full-line rapid advance that very night. After eight days of marching, they reached the walls of Taiyuan, and without a moment's pause, began constructing siege positions along the entire front.

Turning back to Great Ming Prefecture, if the Jin wanted to continue organizing their offensive, they had to boost morale. So they had to reward those who had fought bravely in the previous battle.

Among these, the Han auxiliary troops were given a path for advancement. Some of the most outstanding were granted field mouke, field meng'an, or even hereditary mouke and hereditary meng'an status right before the battle. The original meng'an and mouke were directly promised the restoration of many privileges.

Of course, they also inevitably plundered the surrounding treasuries and generously rewarded their troops with goods, gold, and silver.

At the same time, they did not forget to extensively conscript troops through plunder and impressment in the surrounding areas... Previously, it was "one-stick Han"; now it was conscripts with rosters. The difference was that one came from territory considered Song territory, and the other came from the Hebei region, which the Jin regarded as their own territory.

These actions were, in essence, in conflict with the previous Sinicization reforms. One could even say that by doing this, the efforts of the past three to five years were all for naught. But things had come to this point. After Wang Bolong's death and the loss of his army, and after Gao Qingyi's reminder, Wushu had keenly realized that although the decisive battle had not yet occurred, the balance of power between the two sides had already undergone a fundamental shift. He could no longer afford to worry about the pots and pans.

At this moment, it was about survival.

But even these extreme measures took time. It took a full six or seven days of fussing before the troops gradually regained their momentum and new supplies were gathered.

Then the cold wind arrived, followed by an even more brutal war of attrition in the wind—because the biting cold brought immense trouble to both sides.

For the Song army, with their supply lines largely cut off, all their supplies were stockpiles brought in before the freeze. Until the thaw, every day was a classic case of eating through their reserves.

Among these, the problems of fuel and food were particularly acute. With the arrival of the cold wind, consumption of both skyrocketed, catching everyone off guard. After all, Yue Fei and his staff were not gods. They had never experienced a long-term winter camp for an army of this scale while also maintaining combat operations... They simply could not understand how, with the same number of people—even fewer, given the casualties—just a slight drop in temperature could cause such a drastic change in consumption. It was nothing like a winter camp in peacetime.

With no other choice, Hu Yin stepped forward and personally made the division, beginning a planned rationing of food.

Combat personnel were given priority; non-combat personnel below Hu Mingzhong himself had their rations slightly reduced. Everyone began to have a fixed quota, to avoid the risk of not lasting through an overly long freeze.

Under these circumstances, it was inevitable that the Song army's spirits would flag somewhat and their combat effectiveness would wane.

However, the Jin army was not much better off.

Although the Jin army was fighting on interior lines, with theoretically inexhaustible manpower and no regard for the lives of corvée laborers, some things were not without problems just because they were unrestricted.

For example, at the repeated insistence of the Zhao sovereign, the Song army had successively included ear muffs, gloves, and even face masks as military supplies. In this preparation for war, these were part of the stockpile, just like army provisions—all personally inspected by the Zhao sovereign. Moreover, compared to other weapons and armor, the cost was low, basically in the millions, something everyone had. Yue Fei naturally had stockpiles here too.

And the Jin army? Although the Jin army, from top to bottom, had long known about this through normal civilian channels and had indeed begun issuing them in the military—in fact, the Jin state's fur ear muffs and gloves were widely acknowledged to be more effective than the Great Song's linen products—the Jin army lacked the awareness to stockpile them uniformly on a million-scale.

It hadn't been obvious before, but now that the cold snap had arrived, having or not having those items was a major problem. Although they had countless gold and silver in Yanjing, and countless weapons and armor stockpiled in Zhending Prefecture—even storing large amounts of fur for warmth in Zhending itself—they couldn't instantly produce large-scale gloves and ear muffs in finished form.

The small amount of stock could only satisfy the regular troops, and not even all of them.

In short, it was similar small matters. For the passively defending Jin army, because of a little something here and a little something there, the army's combat effectiveness began to rapidly diverge.

The elite and regular soldiers could barely maintain their fighting strength, but the lower-level auxiliary troops and conscripts fell into difficulty... However, a war of this scale had long exceeded everyone's previous understanding. The auxiliary troops and conscripts had unknowingly become a necessary component of the war effort. When the latter could not effectively perform their duties, the war itself was also affected.

The most intuitive manifestation was on the river battle line. No matter how hard the Jin army tried, these auxiliary troops and conscripts could not play an effective role in attrition. Often, preparations for a single offensive would consume most of the day. And if these conscripts and auxiliary troops couldn't effectively wear down the enemy, who would be willing to commit their regular troops en masse again to the Song army's defensive line, which was covered in ice?

Therefore, after the cold snap arrived, the Jin army discovered with alarm that although morale was gradually recovering, their own speed and ability to organize large-scale offensives was becoming increasingly difficult.

On the twenty-sixth day of the twelfth lunar month, the day the Zhao sovereign began cutting off the Fen River channel west of Taiyuan city, the Jin army's second large-scale offensive, although it did not suffer a severe setback like Wang Bolong's, was still, unsurprisingly, barely held off by the Song army.

However, from an overall perspective, this result seemed to place the Song army in an even more dangerous and awkward position, and also plunged the Song high command into a certain unease.

"Marshal Yue."

Late at night on the twenty-ninth day of the twelfth lunar month, a grim-faced Hu Yin appeared in Yue Fei's tent. He immediately stretched out his nearly frozen hands by the brazier and spoke directly. "I have something to say."

Yue Fei dared not be negligent. He immediately rose and bowed respectfully, then gestured for his attendants and staff officers to leave together.

As soon as they left, Hu Yin spoke up: "I heard that the Jin state has started cutting off both sides of the Yellow River channel in the south. Is that true or not?"

"It is true." Yue Fei had no intention of hiding anything. "For the Minister's information, the Jin army's offensive was thwarted the day before yesterday. Starting roughly yesterday, they directly changed their plans, concentrating a large number of corvée laborers in the south, attempting to cut off the two river channels beside us by digging through the eastern branch of the Yellow River's north course and the western branch of the Yellow River's east course... Because of the massive scale, our scouts only figured out the enemy's intentions this morning and reported back."

"What do you think?" Hu Yin did not question why he hadn't been told sooner, but directly pressed for the implications.

"Hard to say." Yue Fei sighed, a rare occurrence. "I am originally from Hebei and understand the local hydrology... Simply cutting off the river is not a problem. The key is the enormous cost of this undertaking. It's almost New Year's now; I don't know if they can finish in time... If they can complete it before the thaw, then they will succeed. Otherwise, if the project is unfinished when the river opens up, it will be a path to self-destruction."

"So, this means leaving success or failure to the Jin people?" Hu Yin retorted coldly.

"Regarding this matter alone, it is indeed so." Yue Fei confessed frankly.

"This is also why I came to find you." Hu Yin put down his hands, which he had been warming, and spoke seriously. "If the Jin army succeeds, our logistics will be cut off, and we must make long-term plans... Starting tomorrow, let's change the food rations again... What do you think?"

"Minister Hu." Yue Fei stepped forward a few paces, squinting, lowering his voice, and breathing slightly heavily. "Minister Hu, to be honest... I think you've got it wrong, even backwards."

Hu Yin was slightly startled.

And Yue Fei quickly explained: "Firstly, after their setback, the Jin people are doing this. On the surface, it's to cut off our logistics, and they might indeed have that intention. But considering the timing, it's actually ninety percent too late... Nine times out of ten, they have another purpose."

Hu Yin was first confused, but then suddenly became alert. He stared in shock at the general with the mismatched eyes before him, then slowly responded: "You mean... their real intention is more to destroy the Yellow River dikes, so that after spring, the water will flood Hebei... preventing us from advancing properly? But what about Hebei? Don't they want it anymore?"

"This is throwing caution to the wind." Yue Fei sighed. "If they cannot stop our two-pronged advance with the sovereign, Hebei will be Song territory. What do they have to lose?"

Hu Yin was momentarily speechless... Not to mention that if this war was lost, Hebei would no longer be Jin territory. To put it bluntly, wasn't the disastrous "Three Changes of the Yellow River" something the Great Song dynasty itself had done while controlling Hebei?

To condemn the Jin people at this point would be laughable instead.

Moreover, this matter was truly impossible to guard against... Unless they drove the enemy away before the ice melted and promptly blocked the dikes. But that would only be a temporary fix... With four or five river channels stretching all the way to Yanyun, they could dig anywhere. Unless they kept the enemy suppressed from tomorrow onwards, not giving them a chance to breathe, the mere thought was hair-raising.

With this thought, Hu Yin's heart felt almost frozen.

"And then?" After a long while, Hu Mingzhong came back to his senses, suppressing his inner unease and pressing on. "The Marshal said 'firstly,' so naturally there is a 'secondly,' right?"

"Secondly..." Yue Fei looked directly at Hu Mingzhong and spoke earnestly. "The more this is the case, the less we should plan for the long term. Instead, we should loosen the rations, give the soldiers and corvée laborers full strength, use offense as defense, tie down their forces, and even scare them with our offensive!"

Hu Yin thought for a moment and immediately understood: "Fiercely attack Yuancheng?"

"Yuancheng has been besieged for forty or fifty days, and attacked for the same period. In the previous battle with Wang Bolong, Gao Jingshan even sent out nearly half of the city's elite. It's already on the verge of collapse." At this point, Yue Fei had no need to hide anything. "If I wanted to take the city, I would have done so long ago. The reason I haven't is for two things: first, to tie down the main Jin force in Hedong; second, I have an agreement with the sovereign to try to take the city together with him tomorrow, if possible!"

"Tomorrow?" Hu Yin responded dazedly.

"Tomorrow." Yue Fei calmly clasped his hands. "It's only because the Jin army only started trying to dig the river dikes yesterday, and one more day doesn't make a difference, that I didn't mention it to the Minister earlier."

Hu Yin was silent for a moment, then pressed again: "What city is the sovereign trying to take tomorrow?"

Yue Fei rarely smiled: "What does the Minister think?"

Hu Yin shook his head slightly, momentarily incredulous.

It was past midnight. Outside Taiyuan city, the snow had long stopped. Wanyan Zhehe, a veteran general of the Jin state, fully armored, came to the gate tower of the southern barbican of Taiyuan city to survey the Song army camp. But he remained silent for a long time because of the strange sight before him.

It turned out that in the dead of winter, in the deep of night, with the snow having just stopped, the Song army camp suddenly became shrouded in rising mist, forming a stark contrast with the surrounding white snow-covered ground and the pitch-black night sky.

"Wanhu..." The trusted Meng'an in charge of the southern barbican couldn't help but step forward and add his opinion. "It should be because there are too many Song soldiers. It might also be that Wu Jie led his troops over today, and with the New Year approaching, the army is indulging in food and drink, feasting without restraint."

"That Zhao Song sovereign is not one for unrestrained feasting." Wanyan Zhehe looked at the strange mist ahead, his voice cold. "It's simply too many people. The south side is the main camp. Today, another twenty thousand arrived, and it just snowed... Breath forms clouds, exhalation becomes mist."

"Indeed, it must be so." The Meng'an nodded heavily, then asked cautiously. "Should I take the opportunity to raid their camp?"

"No need." Wanyan Zhehe shook his head without hesitation. "The city defenses are not in crisis, and below the city are all famous and veteran Song generals. There's no need to waste troops easily... However, I am indeed prepared to raid their camp when they are exhausted or forced to, but I intend to personally lead the troops to raid Yonglijian."

"Indeed, if we are to raid the camp, we should go for their rear camp." The subordinate Meng'an suddenly understood, but then smiled wryly. "However, perhaps it will be the Commander-in-Chief who does this, or General Salihé?"

Wanyan Zhehe looked at him and replied seriously: "Salihé won't come. As for the Commander-in-Chief, it's only a fifty-fifty chance."

The Meng'an's expression changed abruptly.

"I don't want to hide it from you." Zhehe continued seriously. "If Salihé had the courage and ability to raid a camp, he wouldn't have let the Zhao Song sovereign arrive so quickly, nor let Wu Jie come so fast... And since he let the Song army come so fast, that bastard Salihé is already useless, completely hopeless." Saying this, Zhehe's expression remained unchanged. "As for the Commander-in-Chief... I have personally seen the situation map of Great Ming Prefecture he drew for me. Either he annihilates the Song army at the city walls, then moves on to Dongjing and the Heluo region; or he is completely stymied, tied down at Great Ming Prefecture... But regardless of which, we have to rely on ourselves to hold out."

"Indeed, since we are defending the city, we should rely on ourselves to hold out." The Meng'an forced a smile. "The Song could defend this city for two hundred days; can't we defend it for a hundred? In a hundred days, the Commander-in-Chief will have already advanced to Dongjing, and the Song army should have retreated on their own."

Wanyan Zhehe nodded, still serious: "Attacking and defending cities is traditionally the Song's specialty; we prioritize field battles... Although Taiyuan city is sturdy, I truly haven't prepared to defend it for a hundred days. Being able to hold for fifty days will be enough... If the city is lost before fifty days, it is I, Zhehe, who has failed the Commander-in-Chief, and I will die with regret. After fifty days, it is the Commander-in-Chief who has failed me, and I, Zhehe, will die without regret... This was the exact words I spoke to the Commander-in-Chief when I first accepted this task."

The Meng'an beside him finally pursed his lips helplessly and stopped saying "indeed"... Meeting a general like this, let alone the talk of fifty or a hundred days, the key was that he spoke so dully, how could anyone bear it?

Time passed easily, just a few hours. Amidst the biting cold wind, the thirtieth day of the twelfth lunar month arrived. In the vast camp below Yuancheng in Great Ming Prefecture, early in the morning, Yue Fei, together with Hu Yin and Zhang Rong, convened a military council and announced the decision to launch a major assault on the city that day. Subsequently, Hu Yin, citing the New Year, announced the temporary suspension of rations, opened up the logistics, and distributed the stored dried meat and fermented wine as rewards.

When the news spread, although the soldiers knew they would be attacking the city that day, the entire army erupted in thunderous cheers.

Next, the Song army, unhurried, first calmly ate breakfast, then, while making preparations for the assault, also lit large cooking fires to prepare an extra meal for the attack.

Unlike the misty steam rising from melting snowflakes under Taiyuan city, beneath the dry and cold walls of Yuancheng, only water vapor rose and churned into clouds. The Jin army, separated by a river channel, saw the cooking smoke and steam on the opposite bank and heard the constant commotion. Knowing the Song army was making a move, they hastily regrouped their forces.

Subsequently, Wushu and Basu led the generals up the tall earthen mound that had been hastily erected on the west bank of the river over the past few days. Gazing at the situation from afar, they immediately realized the Song army intended to attack the city today.

However, these high-ranking officers looked at each other without any particular surprise... A few days earlier, upon hearing the news of the Zhao Song sovereign's rapid advance in Hedong, and after their own hasty attack failed, they had resolved to cut off the river channels. They knew then that the Song army would react.

And the most direct reaction of the Song army was, of course, to attack the city.

Only, since the decision had been made at that day's military council, everyone tacitly understood that they had essentially abandoned Gao Jingshan and Yuancheng.

However, these words were destined never to be spoken, especially with Shaohe and Pusuyue both present in the army.

And so, the Song army's four-character command banner and the Jin army's five-colored sun-holding command banner each flew atop the earthen hills on either side of the river channel. Both commanders had a clear view of the situation. Beyond this, Gao Jingshan should also have been fully armored and mounted on the city wall, but to avoid being recognized and targeted for elimination, he displayed no banner and wore no overly conspicuous attire.

Of course, the Song army also had an extra hot-air balloon, but since battle had not yet commenced, it had not been raised.

And in this state, the Song army openly prepared all manner of siege equipment, then openly took an extra meal in their positions, while the Jin army inside the city had long since gathered behind the city walls, ready to meet the attack. The main force of the Jin army west of the river, moreover, decisively sallied forth before the Song army launched its formal assault.

However, this sally was, without question, easily suppressed by the Song army relying on the riverbank fortifications.

In the afternoon, as the Song army's hot-air balloon rose, the battle officially began. Trebuchets roared first, bombarding the few remaining corner towers and temporary structures on the city wall, while more stones fell directly onto some already crumbling weak points of the wall. Immediately afterward, under the cover of the trebuchets, Song troops from multiple directions on three sides advanced almost simultaneously. Beneath a forest of banners, the gleam of armor and blades shimmered like sparkling waves. Countless Song soldiers armed with bows and crossbows pressed forward, maintaining a constant barrage, while siege towers also began to move, heading straight for the city.

A so-called "goose cart" was a siege vehicle with four wheels, covered in iron sheeting. It could be fitted with a battering ram below, or the ram could be omitted, allowing it to simply protect men advancing to weak points at the city base for engineering work—such as digging tunnels, undermining walls, or even just establishing a safe point beneath the wall to facilitate subsequent siege operations. It was a basic piece of siege equipment.

Returning to the present scene, faced with this situation, Gao Jingshan, clad in the ordinary lamellar armor of a low-ranking officer, did not choose to descend from the wall. Instead, he stood with his hand on his sword on the bare northern wall... Ever since he had sent Pusuyue away, he had shed that set of armor and no longer wore furs when mounting the wall. Instead, he had been standing on the front line in ordinary armor like today, to steady the morale of the troops in the city.

However, as trebuchet stones rained down and siege carts rushed toward the city, Gao Jingshan's gaze remained wavering... because he had yet to identify the Song army's primary siege method for today.

If the Song army intended to launch a saturation attack, they would have cooked meals during the fourth watch and begun the assault at dawn. But here, in the depths of winter, when darkness fell early, they had delayed the attack until noon. That meant there had to be a core, primary, key trump card.

Yet the trebuchets rumbled only in a general bombardment, not concentrated on any specific weak section of the wall. The siege carts were the same—one was deployed before each gate, and also before several sections of wall where fortifications had been smashed, but no reserve siege carts were prepared for any particular gate or specific wall section. There was only one each... On the north side, for instance, seven or eight siege carts advanced together, almost parallel toward the city, with no depth or follow-up.

"Movement has been detected in all four of the tunnels we were monitoring," an officer reported, ascending the wall. "Both the eastern and western ones north of the city are very clear."

This left Gao Jingshan increasingly bewildered... The Jin army had long since dug inner trenches inside the city. What use were tunnels? And if this was the Song army's trump card, then perhaps today could be endured.

But would Yue Fei, who had been so decisive and swift in devouring Wang Bolong that day, and so ruthless and direct in moving his camp right up to the city walls, place his hopes in tunnels?

Did the other side think he was a fool, unaware of how to dig inner trenches?

Could there be an inside agent?

As his mind raced, the Song siege carts had already closed in on the city wall. Gao Jingshan had no time to think further. He turned and ordered his subordinates to ascend the wall for defense, preparing to drop rocks... Stones were very precious, mostly those that the Song army had fired into the city over the past few days. And the Song army was cunning: after grinding down the fortifications on the wall, most of their projectiles had become hard, sun-dried mud balls. These mud balls were still highly lethal to men, and once they hit the ground, they shattered, preventing the Jin army from using them in return.

Against siege carts, mud balls were mostly useless. They would need stones and grappling hooks, and more importantly, gunpowder and oil for burning.

"Marshal, perhaps you should apply a bit more force!" Several li to the west, although he could not see the specific details, Jin Wushu could still clearly make out the Song army's offensive surging. He could not help but lean in and speak in a low voice to the Bolisu beside him, amid the biting wind. "Some things still need to be explained to the several Bohai Wanhu... Besides, there must still be reserves in the city. If Yue Fei suddenly takes it and there's no time to burn them, it will be unfavorable to the situation."

Bolisu was silent for a moment, then turned to look at a Wanhu from Datong. The latter understood and shook his head as he left.

Incidentally, what had finally caused the Jin army to change its strategy was not really the failure of the second general assault under the cold wave, or rather, there was another reason for the failure of that second general assault—scouts from the rear reported that after the Song army had broken through Queshu Valley, they suddenly launched a swift attack northward at an astonishing speed.

Simply from the time sequence of messengers being sent out before several key towns were surrounded, and the time sequence of several passes in the Taihang Mountains being blocked, the Jin army also realized that the Song army's main force, including the Zhao Song Emperor, that man who liked to sign his name as Zhao Jiu of Cangzhou, had already arrived directly beneath the walls of Taiyuan.

This news, combined with the speed of their march and the scale of troop deployment, had indeed caused great shock among the upper echelons of the Jin army in Hebei. In particular, several Wanhu from the Hedong Circuit, including Marshal Bolisu, had rapidly shifted their stance, abandoning their insistence on Yuancheng. And it was around that time that Bolisu had given his support to the plan to cut the river—if they failed, they could also release the river water to obstruct Yue Fei's forces from advancing north.

But as the saying goes, while everyone was more worried about Taiyuan, and a few had begun to think about Zhending or Hejian, there were still those who remained concerned about Yuancheng... The newly appointed Wanhu Pusuyue could be set aside, but Shaohe's attitude was exceptionally resolute. The Jin army's high command had to consider the stance of this powerful Wanhu.

The Jin army suddenly intensified its offensive on the river, catching the Song army somewhat off guard. But this could not delay the advance beneath the city walls. Finally, two enormous siege towers, fully matching the height of Yuancheng's walls, were also set in motion.

Gao Jingshan grew somewhat tense, his attention more focused on these two siege towers. However, the good news was that he could clearly feel the sun beginning to gradually tilt westward.

This meant time was passing. He only needed to hold out.

Now, if Gao Jingshan at Damingfu was persisting in despair, then at Taiyuanfu, Wanyan Zhehe was in a strange mood. Because the Zhao Song Emperor south of the city seemed to be holding a banquet and conducting a clearly performative array of troops.

The scene was grand. On the earthen platform that had been hastily tamped down just two days before in front of the Song camp, tables were spread wide, and countless officers, close ministers, and staff sat in separate rows. Although the specific actions were unclear, under the afternoon sunlight, amplified by the slight reflection of the snow, the view was distinctly clear. From the gate tower, Wanyan Zhehe could clearly discern that someone was seated behind the table placed under the dragon banner in the very center, and that many things seemed to be laid out on that table.

In truth, holding a banquet at this time was not entirely incomprehensible. The New Year was approaching. Holding a banquet below the city, parading and reviewing the troops, then distributing generous rewards to boost morale, while displaying military strength and supplies to intimidate those inside the city.

Thinking this way, even Wanyan Zhehe, who had said the previous night that the Zhao Emperor was not one to feast on the eve of battle, found it somewhat reasonable.

Yet he remained mired in a complex tangle of confusion, vigilance, suspicion, and astonishment, his brows deeply furrowed.

Because he still could not accept that the Zhao Song Emperor who had defeated Wanyan Loushi would do such a thing—at that very moment, countless Song army laborers were still digging pits and building embankments by the Fen River west of the city as usual, while dozens of newly built siege carts were advancing from the east, north, and south, continuing the work of removing abatis and destroying the sheep-and-horse walls.

This sort of work had been carried out every day before. Judging by the progress, it would take at least another four or five days to complete the destruction, and that was under the premise that he, Wanyan Zhehe, had held back and not used the trebuchets inside the city.

And that Zhao Emperor, in such a situation, came out in public to feast, then watched these mundane things as if watching a play.

At the same time, tens of thousands of Song armored soldiers sat in formation on the snowy ground on either side of the platform before the camp. They had already eaten and drunk in full view of the Jin army. Now, clad in full armor that would have no use today, holding spears, crossbows, and great axes that would also have no use today, they acted like an honor guard, putting on a show for the man beneath the dragon banner in the center, and followed that Emperor on horseback to watch those auxiliary troops and laborers do these ordinary tasks.

But what was there to see in this?

Even with the cover of siege carts, casualties were unavoidable... What meaning was there in eating and drinking while watching one's own soldiers die?

Was the man beneath the dragon banner truly that Zhao Song Emperor who, according to legend, had planted mulberry trees in the rear palace for seven or eight years, sworn to destroy the Jin state, and indeed, step by step over ten years, had risen from an emperor on the verge of losing his kingdom, established a foothold in Nanyang, recaptured Dongjing, then defeated Loushi, annihilated Xixia, and had become a sword hanging over the heads of nearly all Jin nobles?

Could the real Zhao Song Emperor have gone directly to Hebei? Had Yelu Ma Wu surrendered?

But even so, shouldn't he have taken the army with him?

So many armored soldiers were right under his nose—they could not be faked. The Zhao Song Emperor beneath the dragon banner must also be real!

Time passed bit by bit. Zhehe grew increasingly bewildered, increasingly uneasy, to the point of sweating profusely. But he looked around—the Song army's trebuchets had clearly not yet been built; they still lay in the workshops within sight, and indeed were still being assembled.

Even the small trebuchets the Song army had used in Queshu Valley were nowhere to be seen.

Zhehe grew more and more uneasy. On the platform before the southern camp, beside the Zhao Emperor, apart from a few commanders who spoke with ease, almost all the seated ministers and officers had long since grown restless... This was indeed a banquet, with wine and meat in abundance, so they found it even harder to accept that the Zhao Emperor would suddenly do such a thing, and they had even more conjectures and vigilance.

Especially since this Emperor, from start to finish, had not touched the chicken, duck, or fish before him. He simply sat there with his hands tucked into his sleeves, urging others to eat, conversing with the commanders, as if he were merely waiting for something.

And this unease and vigilance reached a peak when Yang Yizhong returned, covered in dust and looking disheveled.

"His Majesty has issued an edict!"

The eunuch attendant Shao Chengcheng stepped forward and announced loudly beneath the dragon banner. "Today's New Year's banquet is hereby concluded. Han Shizhong, Prince of Yan'an Commandery; Li Yanxian, Commander-in-Chief of the Central Army; and all Commanders are to return to their respective units and await orders!"

As the edict was issued, the fully armored officers on the platform rose one after another, then suddenly realized that their so-called "respective units" were mostly right on the vast open ground on either side of the platform. So they turned and headed toward the two sides of the platform, while Han Shizhong and Li Yanxian went east together, preparing to return to the east and north of the city.

In an instant, only a few close ministers and the three men—Wu Jie, Wang Yan, and Ma Kuo—who were still calmly eating, remained on the platform... These last three were definitely in the know, given their positions.

Because immediately afterward, the Zhao Emperor, who had not spoken all along, suddenly reached out with his own hands, tore apart a duck that had long since gone cold, and began to devour it ravenously... At this juncture, all the close ministers were horrified, but Wu, Wang, and Ma merely paused for a moment, showing no great reaction.

Of course, the commotion of the many officers leaving the platform below the city, and Han Shizhong and Li Yanxian taking their own command banners back to their respective sectors, also made Wanyan Zhehe on the southern gate tower increasingly vigilant. He too keenly sensed that something was about to happen, so he focused even more intently and began to hesitate over whether to deploy the trebuchets early to drive off these siege carts south of the city and eliminate future trouble.

"Reporting to the Commander! The sound from the tunnel west of the city has stopped!"

"Commander, the offensive south of the city is slackening!"

"Commander, the sounds from the two tunnels on this side have also stopped. They should have detected the inner trenches."

"Commander, the offensive west of the city has also eased. Most of the Song troops have begun to abandon the siege carts and withdraw."

"Commander, the Song trebuchets northwest of the city have stopped."

One report after another brought immense relief to the already exhausted Gao Jingshan. Ever since the battle with Wang Bolong, he had held no fundamental hope of holding Yuancheng. Therefore, with the Song army withdrawing today, he did not want to think any further. He only felt that he had gotten through another day.

"How many siege carts still have men inside?"

He swept a glance over the open ground north of the city, which was bound to be the main direction of attack, and Gao Jingshan felt increasingly relieved, because as far as the eye could see, even the Song troops on this side were beginning to slacken and calm down... Two siege towers had been destroyed mid-approach when several catapults he had held back fired together. This should have been the battle's turning point that made the Song lose their desire to assault, and now the Song catapults had gradually stopped, with only a few paltry goose carts still clattering beneath the wall, as if a handful of soldiers were still hammering at the base of the wall.

"Four... three... only two left!" The _meng'an_ beside him observed carefully and gave an answer. "The one right below us in the gate tunnel hasn't moved in a long time, and it never even got deep into the gate. The one farthest west just fled too..."

"Use gunpowder!" Gao Jingshan now only wanted to end this battle quickly. "First throw firewood, then scatter gunpowder, then toss torches down. Burn those last three carts. Burn the one in the gate tunnel beneath our feet too!"

The _meng'an_ beside him, also already strained to the limit, immediately acknowledged.

Moments later, the Yuancheng defenders, who had long been prepared, fetched firewood, oil, gunpowder, and other materials, scattering them directly onto the several goose carts below the wall. As these things were thrown down, the last few threatening Song squads abandoned their carts and fled recklessly, only to have several shot dead by Jin troops from the wall, which then drew a counterattack from the covering Song crossbowmen.

But all that was trivial. What was most astonishing was the spot right beneath Gao Jingshan's feet—from that goose cart, which had been utterly still, several men also scrambled out as the firewood fell... Who knew what they had been busy with all this time.

"Go check the other goose carts that haven't moved!" Gao Jingshan snatched an unlit torch from the officer beside him and barked sternly. "There might be men inside too, waiting to launch a night raid!"

The officer dared not delay and turned to leave.

And Gao Jingshan did not hesitate either. As soon as the soldiers beside him threw down a bag of gunpowder, he lit the torch and tossed it straight down.

On the distant earthen mound, Bolisu and Wushu and the others had also long since relaxed somewhat as the Song offensive eased... No matter what, they too hoped Yuancheng could hold out a while longer.

"Marshal..."

Wushu, his gaze leaving Yuancheng, called out to Bolisu and pointed toward the direction of Yue Fei's banner beneath the hot air balloon in the Song camp. He was about to say something when suddenly, in the clear sky beneath the cold wind, something like muffled thunder erupted, drowning out his voice.

At the same time, the earthen mound beneath the Jin generals' feet rumbled and trembled. Then the warhorses between their legs began to neigh and rear. Yet strangely, though the horses beneath them were screaming, the sound was as faint as summer mosquitoes, replaced by a distinct ringing in the ears and a continuous yet compact rumbling that came from nowhere in particular.

Wushu was momentarily baffled. He struggled to control his bucking horse, then turned to look back, only to see nearly all the cavalry on the earthen mound in the same turmoil, everyone fighting to control their mounts, while many caught off guard were thrown from their panicked, bolting horses.

The mountain had collapsed!

Wushu finally caught the "cause" of the matter from the corner of his eye—a large section of the earthen mound had suddenly caved in, and some men and horses had already tumbled straight down.

There would certainly be heavy casualties from this. If even a rammed-earth mound couldn't be built solidly, the officer in charge of the mound must be executed!

Still awkwardly restraining his horse, Wushu was half furious, half speechless, the thought flashing through his mind.

But then—and this was the thing—in the very next instant after the Fourth Prince had grasped this so-called truth and had that thought, suddenly, amidst the cold wind, a wave of inexplicable heat rolled in from the due east. This left Wushu utterly stunned, and he instinctively looked east.

But at just one glance, this Jin ruling prince fell straight off his horse.

Yet immediately, Wushu, his face and head covered in blood, struggled to his feet, climbed onto some unknown soldier's horse, and looked again, carefully.

Nothing else—at this moment, over the entire northern face of Yuancheng, within a distance of nearly a hundred paces centered on the gate tower, seven or eight white clouds still hung in the air, undispersed. And beneath those clouds, the once towering city wall, gate tower, and everything on and in front of them—all of it had vanished.

As if by magic, it was all gone.

The warm wind faded, hearing gradually returned. The earthen mound was still in chaos. Uncontrolled horses charged recklessly at its base. Many men in heavy armor had been thrown to the ground, in unbearable pain. Many more had bruised faces and swollen noses, or were bleeding profusely like the Fourth Prince. Some had even tumbled straight down from the collapsed section of the mound and lay motionless.

At the same time, the troops in and behind the river channel were already in utter disarray. The Jin camp was in near mutiny, chaos boiling over like a pot. Countless men ran and screamed, for they could not possibly know what had happened.

Nor was the Song camp any better. Countless Song armored soldiers and laborers blundered about within their respective camp sectors like headless flies. The most absurd was the hot air balloon, which had broken free of its ropes and drifted northward with the elite officer aboard.

But Wushu and Bolisu and a few other high-ranking officers—some still on horseback, others standing or sitting on the earthen mound—showed no reaction at all. No one paid any heed to the chaos. Everyone just stared blankly at the vanished northern wall of Yuancheng.

After a long while, Wushu finally came to his senses after several deep breaths. With his blood-streaked face, he turned dazedly to Bolisu, who was sitting on the ground of the mound: "Marshal... that smell is saltpeter smoke... What the Song wrote in their gazette a few years ago was true... Their gunpowder is as powerful as heavenly thunder!"

Bolisu, his face covered in mud, opened his mouth to reply from the ground, but suddenly, this great Jurchen commander remembered something. Grabbing Wushu's horse's leg, he stood up like a madman and blurted out:

"Taiyuan! Taiyuan! If Yuancheng is already like this, what the hell is it?! My Taiyuan is lost!!!"

Wushu froze. He felt a third wave of dizziness surge to the back of his skull and nearly tumbled from his horse, but he braced himself against Bolisu's body to keep from falling a second time.

Beneath the walls of Taiyuan.

After a thunderous roar, Minamoto no Yoshitada fled in panic from the tent of the Purple-Robed Great Dharma Master. A warrior's instinct made him grip a mallet firmly in his still-usable left hand... The Great Wisdom Master had just been using it in the tent to pound rice cakes for the kitchen. Quite a few men in the army's Imperial Guard Left Army were southerners.

But this was not the time for that. Minamoto no Yoshitada led the way, mallet in hand, with the Great Wisdom Monk empty-handed behind him. The two staggered out of the tent, dazed and reeling, to see the entire camp filled with laborers and auxiliary troops running in all directions!

Minamoto no Yoshitada glanced at the inexplicably huge cloud in the northwest of the camp. Paying no mind to whether the Great Wisdom Master understood Japanese, he turned back and shouted urgently in Japanese:

"Master, this is either an earthquake or a volcano—I've seen it before. Let's hurry and guard His Majesty!"

Even the Great Wisdom Monk, whose Buddhist Dharma reached the heavens and whose skill with doggerel was even more transcendent, was now bewildered and panicked. He could only instinctively follow the studious Japanese warrior ahead.

But they had walked less than half a quarter of an hour, just leaving the camp, when their tinnitus faded and their wits slightly returned. Suddenly, dozens of horns sounded together from all directions—the horns for advancing on the march. Hearing this, all the panicked men, including some of the armored soldiers who had been trying to form ranks in the camp, turned to look. Amidst the chaos, they glimpsed the dragon banner atop the command platform suddenly rise and then slowly move forward.

Then countless shouts came from the command platform—the Imperial Guard on the platform were all yelling and screaming. At first it was chaotic, but as the dragon banner advanced a few steps, the voices gradually became orderly. The Great Wisdom Monk heard clearly: the guards on the platform were all shouting—"The city is breached! His Majesty is taking the field!"

"The city is breached! His Majesty is taking the field!"

The Great Wisdom Monk repeated it several times in a murmur, stumbling forward with his palms pressed together. "The city is breached, His Majesty is taking the field... His Majesty is taking the field!"

Not only that, but at the same time, from all directions around Taiyuan, the cry seemed to spread across the sky and earth—"The city is breached! His Majesty is taking the field!"

And those armored soldiers arrayed before the camp south of the city—tens of thousands of them, soldiers with long spears, soldiers with long axes, soldiers with bows, crossbows, swords, and shields—all, like the Great Wisdom Monk, turned to follow the direction of the dragon banner's movement, surging toward the west side of Taiyuan.

The Great Wisdom Monk and the bewildered Minamoto no Yoshitada emerged from the camp gate and quickly ran to the side of the command platform. There, beneath the dragon banner, they saw the Zhao Emperor himself. He wore no armor, only a military-style cotton coat. His hands, for some reason, were glistening with oil, spread at his sides. He carried no sword, mounted no horse, and drew no bow. He simply walked forward slowly, yet with unwavering determination, preparing to descend the command platform.

Countless close ministers and Imperial Guards crowded around him, stumbling and rushing forward impatiently, unable to contain themselves.

The highest-ranking among them were, of course, the sallow-faced Wu Jie and the dark-faced Wang Yan. Both were fully armed, one with a horizontal saber, the other with a hand on his sword, standing to left and right. For every step the Emperor took, they took three forward, then turned back two, all the while looking down and passing the military order to every officer and soldier within sight:

"The city is breached! His Majesty is taking the field! Follow! Follow!"

Wu Jie and Wang Yan did this, and below them, Ren Baozhong and countless close attendants and Imperial Guards all imitated the same posture. Only Yang Yizhong and Liu Yan remained silent, one ahead and one behind, following the Zhao Emperor step for step. Fan Zongyin, Mei Li, Yu Yunwen, and other civil officials were also behind, stumbling along on foot.

Taira no Kiyomori was among them. He turned his head and saw Minamoto no Yoshitada there, and disregarding decorum, he shouted in Japanese: "The city is breached! His Majesty is taking the field! Lord Yoshitada, follow!"

At this, Minamoto no Yoshitada finally understood. He hurried forward, but already beside himself, he had no time to think. His entire mind and eyes were filled with only one thought—to catch up to His Majesty. Instead of going around the platform to follow from the front, he tried to climb the platform in a straight line, mallet in hand, dragging his injured right arm, and fell flat on the spot.

And the Great Wisdom Monk seemed to have lost his wits as well. Instead of pointing the way, he lifted Minamoto no Yoshitada from below, dragged and pushed him up the platform steps, then climbed up himself.

Stepping onto the now bare rammed-earth command platform, Minamoto no Yoshitada instinctively swept his gaze around. What met his eyes were Song banners and Song armored soldiers on every side. These elite troops of the age, like a river of iron, surged forward from all directions regardless of everything. Behind the armored soldiers, countless red-clad auxiliary troops and laborers poured out of the camp like madmen, following close behind.

Everyone was repeating those two sentences. Everyone was shouting those two sentences, as if they held some magic power.

The camp, the city, the gleaming frozen river, the white snow-covered ground, the countless surging iron tide of armored soldiers, the red tide behind them, and that slow but steadfastly advancing dragon banner.

Focusing again on that dragon banner, Minamoto no Yoshitada immediately ran forward, mallet in hand, while a thought more intense than any before surged in his mind—This is a warrior! A true warrior! This is war! True war! This is an emperor! A true emperor! This is the world! The real world!

What had he been doing for the first half of his life? Playing the dog for nobles who only fucked their own daughters and daughters-in-law?!

Yet the pent-up indignation and excitement, as they turned into sound, only came out as that oddly accented sentence—"The city is breached! His Majesty is taking the field!"

Mallet in hand, Minamoto no Yoshitada ran forward, chasing the Zhao Emperor's dragon banner like a madman toward the huge smoke cloud, southwest of the city. And finally, together with the other Japanese warriors, Mongol princes, Tangut auxiliaries, Tibetan cavalry, and the truly nearly a hundred thousand Song armored soldiers and Han laborers, he became part of a vast tide.

At the same moment that Minamoto no Yoshitada was eagerly merging into the era, the Great Wisdom Monk, whose hair was already half an inch thick, stood frozen on the command platform, palms pressed together, staring at that smoke cloud, the city beneath it, and the dragon banner, smelling that scent, and hesitating slightly.

Clever as he was, combining it with rumors from the military review a few years ago, he reacted on the spot and realized the truth of the matter.

Thus, he began to instinctively fear and hesitate… because this power was too great, so great that he did not know whether it should have come into being, and the Emperor beneath the dragon banner, who wielded this power so adeptly, was also too formidable, so formidable that he did not know what indescribable things that man might rely on this power to do in the future.

But at the same time, a thought was also stirring to emerge—was this not precisely the karmic opportunity that the Buddha had sent him to witness?

Had this power not already been born?

At this point, was he to fear and flee from things that already existed?

Whether things that already existed were karmic obstacles or blessings, as a cultivator, should he avoid them?

With a certain resolve, Dahui finally moved his steps again, yet he also uttered the one voice on the battlefield that stood apart from all others.

As the saying goes:

"When body, speech, and mind are pure, that is called a Buddha appearing in the world.

When body, speech, and mind are impure, that is called a Buddha entering nirvana."

"Quick, back to the inner city!"

Seemingly jolted back to clarity by Monk Dahui's doggerel, on the pass wall south of Taiyuan, Wanyan Zhehe, gripping the crenellation and feeling his chest tighten, suddenly turned to look at the Meng'an commander beside him.

That Meng'an commander, his face pale, was chanting the Buddha's name but seemed not to have heard.

Wanyan Zhehe did not blame the other man, nor did he forcibly drag him away. He simply turned around at once, descended the pass wall alone, found a startled horse below, and galloped straight through the drawbridge of the pass's inner gate into the city.

Once inside the city, he already noticed a huge breach and a pitch-black crater in the southwest corner of the city, while a large number of Song armored soldiers had already poured in from there. At this moment, on the western streets of Taiyuan, teams of heavy axe infantry had already begun sweeping in formation, and from all four sides of the city came the shouts of Song troops calling for entry.

That phrase—"The city has fallen, the Emperor has taken the field!"—shook heaven and earth.

But Zhehe paid it no heed, only desperately whipping his horse, trying to return to the inner city before the Song troops.

However, just as he whipped his horse to that famous T-shaped intersection in Taiyuan and was about to turn, suddenly, from the northeast corner of Taiyuan—the spot between the eastern and northern pass walls, which should have been the most heavily defended—another thunderous explosion rang out.

This sound was far less earth-shattering than the one from the southwest corner a quarter of an hour earlier, but it still startled his mount, throwing Zhehe to the ground.

After struggling to his feet, Wanyan Zhehe, ignoring his bodily pain and tightness, quickly climbed up to a small tavern by the roadside, then leaned on the railing to look into the distance. Through the smoke, he saw Han Shizhong's troops, marked by their distinctive red bronze masks, swarming in densely through the breach.

As they entered the city, they kept repeating that phrase—"The city has fallen, the Emperor has taken the field!"

Zhehe turned his head to look at the inner city wall of Taiyuan, which was no different from the outer wall, just ahead of him. With just one glance, he realized that going to the inner city no longer mattered.

Then, he looked up to heaven and sighed. He no longer hurried into the city, nor did he turn back to the sturdy pass wall, nor did he attempt to flee. Instead, he began to calculate in his mind.

Not a hundred days, not fifty days, not even ten days—the key to the realm, the heart of Hedong, the city of Taiyuan, had held out for only eight days?!

At this thought—whether because he had been too close to the first explosion, or because he had been thrown from his horse and fallen in full armor, or because he had glimpsed the dragon banner driving countless armored soldiers pouring in through the southwest breach—this veteran Jurchen general only felt a tightness in his chest, and then he collapsed, sitting down in that tavern at the T-shaped intersection.

Yet, a full quarter of an hour later, after watching many armored soldiers enter the city, the Zhao Emperor, standing outside the breach with his hands hanging limp, finally walked up to the edge of the gap. But then, just as he reached the inner rim of the crater, he suddenly stopped, reached out, and rubbed his hand against the blasted rammed-earth wall, coating it with grease.

That was from the duck he had been eating earlier.

After wiping off the grease, this Zhao Emperor, who was not wearing armor, turned back at the breach, his hands covered in black soot, and looked at the civil and military close ministers in the crater behind him, who had long since regained their composure, and declared openly:

"Ministers, the city has fallen!"

Hearing the Emperor's words, Wu Jie was the first to react. He stepped forward half a pace, took off his glove, imitated the Emperor by wiping soot from the ground with his hand, and then bowed respectfully within the breach to reply:

"Reporting to Your Majesty, congratulations to Your Majesty, the city of Taiyuan is indeed already broken!"

The people around followed suit, all wiping soot and bowing. Zhao Jiu said nothing more, only gave a wry laugh, then turned and walked into Taiyuan city.

A thousand li away, Yue Fei, caught off guard, spent a long time stopping the chaos among his subordinates before calmly ordering the advance into the city, yet he was still half an hour later than the Zhao Emperor.

The poem says:

"Gather the sow-thistle, on that new field, on this newly cleared ground.

Fang Shu came to oversee, his chariots three thousand, the troops in their trial.

Fang Shu led them, riding his four black-maned steeds, the four steeds in perfect order.

The great chariot was grand, with bamboo screens and fish-skin quivers, with bronze reins and trappings.

Gather the sow-thistle, on that new field, in this central district.

Fang Shu came to oversee, his chariots three thousand, the banners in the center.

Fang Shu led them, with curved shafts and inlaid crossbars, the eight bells chiming.

He wore his appointed robes, the red knee-covers splendid, with tinkling jade pendants.

The swift falcon flies, it soars to heaven, yet also gathers and alights.

Fang Shu came to oversee, his chariots three thousand, the troops in their trial.

Fang Shu led them, the gong-men and drum-beaters, arraying the host and addressing the troops.

Illustrious and trustworthy Fang Shu, his drumming was deep, his army marched in order.

Foolish are the Man and Jing, making enmity with the great state.

Fang Shu, the grand elder, could enlarge his plans.

Fang Shu led them, capturing prisoners for interrogation.

The war chariots rumbled, rumbled and thundered, like thunder, like lightning.

Illustrious and trustworthy Fang Shu, he campaigned against the Xianyun, and the Man and Jing came to fear him."

End of this volume.

PS: Continuing to offer up a new book, "Returning to the Ming Dynasty as a Benevolent Ruler"... the protagonist is Wanli...