Chapter 56: Every Man for Himself

Sometimes fate intervenes in mysterious ways. After delivering a devastating blow to the Khitan reinforcements outside the outer city of Jinyang and achieving the strategic objective of besieging the city while cutting off its aid, the isolated Northern Han defenders should have lost all hope. The Song troops, buoyed by high morale, ought to have pressed their advantage and swiftly captured the inner city of Jinyang.

Yet...

The heavens did not favor them. On the very afternoon of the Song army’s crushing victory over the Khitan Liao forces, the sky, which had been gloomy for some time, suddenly unleashed a fierce cold wind accompanied by the season’s first heavy snowfall. By the following morning, when the skies cleared, the western Lüliang Mountains and eastern Taihang Mountains were shrouded in a vast expanse of ice and snow, the land transformed into a frozen wilderness with drifts several feet deep.

The bitter cold was relentless. Even Zhao Dezhao, clad in one of the finest fur coats of the era, felt the chill bite into his bones once he stepped outside his tent, warmed only by a charcoal fire. Despite his well-nourished frame, he shivered uncontrollably and sneezed twice in quick succession.

If someone as well-equipped as Zhao Dezhao suffered so, then the ordinary Song soldiers fared far worse. Though the seasoned commanders Li Jixun and Ding Deyu had prudently prepared ample winter clothing in anticipation of a sudden cold snap, the unexpected severity of the weather still left countless soldiers trembling, wailing in misery.

After all, cotton-padded garments were exceedingly rare in this era, and leather clothing was an expensive luxury. Despite the Song Dynasty’s renowned economic prosperity, most frontline soldiers had to rely on coarse linen and hemp garments stuffed with willow floss, reeds, and straw for warmth, their courage and spirit the only real defense against the piercing cold.

The Song army's overall commander, Li Jixun, was an optimist. During a military council convened in the central command tent with Zhao Dezhao and other generals, he burst into laughter and declared loudly, “Gentlemen, fortune smiles upon us. Had this heavy snow fallen a day earlier, yesterday’s battle would have been far more difficult. The heavens delayed it until after we routed the Khitan Liao forces—this snow is a divine boon helping us carve out a great victory.”

The generals laughed heartily in agreement. After this brief moment of levity, Li Jixun ordered the tally of yesterday’s battle results to be read aloud. The staff officer responsible unfolded the freshly compiled casualty report and announced the figures so all might appreciate the true gains and losses.

The numbers were indeed heartening. The Song army had lost just over 1,600 soldiers, yet they had cut down more than ten thousand Khitan warriors, captured nearly ten thousand prisoners, and seized over fifteen thousand warhorses, along with countless supplies, weapons, cattle, and sheep. The defeated Khitan forces had fled to Xizhou, temporarily removing any immediate threat to the Song.

There was, however, a lamentable shortfall: little grain had been captured, leaving the Song army’s already strained supply situation only marginally eased.

After praising the generals for their valor during the battle, Li Jixun steered the discussion to the pressing matter at hand. “Gentlemen, as you know, the Khitan Liao forces have retreated to Xizhou and are unlikely to threaten us again soon. How shall we proceed with our campaign?”

“Commander,” General Kang Yanze responded promptly, “there’s no question—we must press the advantage and take the inner city of Jinyang in one decisive push! Your Majesty, please use the new gunpowder bombs again, just like last time, to blow open the city gates and storm inside to eliminate the Northern Han rebel Liu!”

“Not so simple,” Zhao Dezhao interjected to dampen Kang’s enthusiasm. “First, the urgent shipment of saltpeter from Bianliang is insufficient to produce enough gunpowder for a large-scale assault. Second, the Northern Han prisoners we captured yesterday revealed that Liu anticipated this. He had his men block the city gates with earth, stones, and sandbags, only clearing them temporarily when preparing to sally forth. So even if we blast open the gates, we won’t be able to pour directly into the city.”

“Is that true?” Kang Yanze was taken aback. Gao Jiao, standing nearby, confirmed, “Indeed. His Majesty had tasked me with investigating the inner city’s defenses. It was from questioning Northern Han captives that I personally learned about the blocked gates.”

Though initially disheartened, Kang was undeterred. After a moment’s thought, he declared, “No matter! If we can’t blast the gates, then we’ll find other ways to breach the city. The outer city of Jinyang is filled with countless houses and courtyards; their beams and pillars can be repurposed to build siege engines. If need be, we will raze the outer city and use all the timber to craft our weapons. I refuse to believe we cannot take the inner city of Jinyang!”

Kang’s plan was eminently practical, and the other generals quickly voiced their support. Even Zhao Dezhao, hardened by years alongside the cunning Li Jixun and Ding Deyu, found himself tempted by the idea. Desiring the glory of delivering the death blow to the Northern Han, Li Jixun pondered briefly before nodding his approval. Ding Deyu, the Song army’s deputy commander, offered no opposition but prudently advised, “Commander, for caution’s sake, we should send more scouts to closely monitor every move of the Khitan Liao forces.”

“Are you worried they’ll still pose a threat to us?” Li Jixun asked offhandedly.

“No,” Ding Deyu shook his head, then made a startling observation: “I fear the Khitan Liao will seize the opportunity to exploit the remaining Northern Han territories and claim the spoils for themselves.”

Li Jixun suddenly realized the truth and nodded briskly. “Indeed. If I were the Khitan commander, faced with these circumstances, I too would choose to loot the Northern Han’s lands, abandoning any attempt to rescue the doomed regime and instead consolidating my gains for future battles.”

With Li Jixun and Ding Deyu having expressed this reasoning, even the less perceptive Zhao Dezhao understood the implication. He quickly agreed, “Gentlemen, you speak wisely. Should the Khitan exploit our siege to swallow the Northern Han’s remaining lands, even if we capture Jinyang, it will never know peace. Furthermore, the Hetao region, so vital for the Song’s horse breeding, would be gravely endangered.”

Li Jixun closed his eyes in thought. After a brief pause he said, “We shall proceed cautiously—forge siege engines while keeping an eye on Khitan movements—and then decide our next course of action.”

For the Song army, it was indeed preferable that the defeated Liao forces retreat north of Yanmen Pass, allowing them to focus solely on extinguishing Northern Han. Yet, the Khitan commander Yelü Sha was no fool. Recognizing Jinyang’s impending fall, he promptly moved to seize the remaining Northern Han territories. By the second day, scouts reported that a portion of the Khitan army had already occupied Xizhou, with the Northern Han garrison withdrawing and handing over control to their allies.

If Xizhou was lost, then Yanmen Pass, a critical strategic point, was certainly at risk. Upon receiving this intelligence, Li Jixun wasted no time and conferred with Ding Deyu and Zhao Dezhao to analyze whether capturing Jinyang’s inner city now would ultimately hurt or help the Song cause.

As if their plight were not dire enough, urgent reports came from Que Shu Valley: the heavy snow had blocked mountain passes, making supply lines precarious and threatening famine for the already scarce grain reserves on the northern front. There was a real possibility that supplies would run out before year’s end.

Moreover, the extreme cold had already caused frostbite and illness among the troops. If conditions persisted, the outcome was unpredictable.

After weighing the pros and cons, Deputy Commander Ding Deyu made a bold proposal: “Commander, Your Majesty, should we consider cutting our losses and withdrawing? If we retreat now, we would avoid the risk of starvation and deny the Khitan the chance to profit from our misfortune.”

“Withdraw when we’ve just taken the outer city? Are you serious?” Li Jixun rolled his eyes. “And do you think the emperor will agree?”

“I would gladly do so, and once we explain our reasons, the emperor will surely consent,” Ding Deyu asserted confidently. He elaborated, “Jinyang’s terrain is a double-edged sword for us—long north to south but narrow east to west. This favors infantry combat but hampers cavalry maneuvering. Fighting here is far easier than on the expansive Yan-Yun plains.”

He emphasized the battlefield’s advantages, then continued, “Consider this: if we risk pressing the siege despite dwindling supplies, even if we succeed, the northern cities will fall to the Khitan. Retaking them by force would be exponentially harder. Moreover, the Hetao horse pastures vital to Song cavalry would come under grave threat.”

“But if we withdraw decisively, the Northern Han lord Liu must reclaim his northern lands. The Khitan, concerned about their reputation and wary of pushing Liu into our arms, will be compelled to relinquish their gains. When our forces regroup and return in strength, the Khitan will be forced to come to Jinyang and meet their doom once more. Thus, withdrawal now offers far greater benefits than disadvantages.”

As the Song’s foremost general in the campaign, Li Jixun had to consider his future position carefully. Though he agreed with Ding Deyu’s analysis, he was reluctant to bear sole responsibility for a retreat. Turning to Zhao Dezhao, he asked, “Your Majesty, what say you?”

Self-interest was a potent motivator. Zhao Dezhao’s mind raced. Though he had earned some credit in the northern expedition, he was far from the principal architect of victory. Even if they took the inner city, the glory would belong chiefly to Li Jixun and Ding Deyu, leaving him little chance to shine again.

“Then why not go with Ding Deyu’s plan?” he thought. “First, his argument is sound; fighting the Liao cavalry in Jinyang is easier than on the open northern plains. Second, with time, I can build the prestige to claim the glory of capturing Jinyang and destroying Liu.”

Resolute in his selfish scheme, Zhao Dezhao nodded emphatically. “Uncle, I too find Deputy Commander Ding’s proposal convincing. Rather than risk starvation and allow the Khitan to profit, better to withdraw, regroup, and return stronger to command Jinyang.”

Li Jixun welcomed this confirmation. “Very well. Since Your Majesty also sees the wisdom in retreat, we shall do so. When the emperor questions us, I trust Your Majesty and General Ding will explain our reasons.”

“Commander, rest assured. This was my suggestion; I shall share both honor and blame with you,” Ding Deyu pledged loyally.

Though Zhao Dezhao had intended merely to agree casually, a sudden thought struck him—one that reminded him of a famous historical figure: Attila the Hun.

“Strange,” he mused. “Why does Attila come to mind? What connection could there be?”

Though puzzled, Zhao Dezhao’s quick mind soon grasped the reason and smiled slyly. “Uncle, Deputy Commander Ding, before we retreat, have you ever heard this saying? ‘A thief never leaves empty-handed.’ It means that whenever there is profit to be made, even a wild goose flying overhead will have a few feathers plucked!”

***

Later that afternoon, inside the palace inherited from his maternal uncle, Liu Jiyuan watched the snow swirl through the air and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Secretly, he prayed, “Let it snow harder, let the cold deepen. Only then might the Song invaders choose to withdraw, sparing our Han dynasty a sliver of hope.”

Caught between two fears like a wolf trapped by spears, the Song forces outside worried about their inability to quickly seize Jinyang’s inner city, while within the city walls, the Northern Han court and populace fretted over the city’s defense. After the Khitan rout, many Northern Han officials and civilians had quietly resolved to surrender should the city fall. Some prudent elites had begun secretly transferring their wealth and burying treasures to avoid total ruin.

Liu Jiyuan himself was mentally prepared for the city’s fall and his own demise. To preserve his lineage, he entrusted his infant son to a trusted confidant, instructing him to flee the city should disaster come, ensuring the family line would not be extinguished.

Though surrender had crossed his mind, history had shown that Liu Jiyuan capitulated only after Emperor Zhao Guangyi personally arrived outside Jinyang and promised fair treatment. Now, with Zhao Kuangyin still enjoying pleasures in Bianliang and the promises of Li Jixun and Zhao Dezhao lacking weight, Liu Jiyuan’s resolve wavered but did not sway.

What Zhao Dezhao and the others failed to realize was that they lacked the authority to compel a sovereign’s surrender.

While Liu Jiyuan admired the snowy garden, a eunuch hurried to his side with a bow. “Your Majesty, the Song King Zhao Dezhao has sent his retainer Liang Zhouhan to the city gates requesting an audience.”

“Come to persuade me to surrender, no doubt,” Liu Jiyuan sneered.

The eunuch shook his head. “Your Majesty misunderstands. Liang Zhouhan publicly declared he is not here to demand surrender, but to save the countless soldiers and civilians within the inner city. He hopes Your Majesty will recognize the situation and meet with him soon.”

“A bold claim! First instill fear, then offer comfort—a classic tactic of envoys. I have seen such tricks countless times!” Liu Jiyuan scoffed.

Still, recalling the recent plague relief, he relented, “Very well. For that favor, bring him into the palace.”