Chapter Thirteen: Every Word Bleeds, Yet No Soul Understands

The group had grown to more than forty people, including the survivors from the village and those who had fled earlier. Most wore expressions of numbness, their clothes tattered and dirty; they supported injured companions and clutched bundles tightly, perhaps containing worn garments or half a hard biscuit. Several elderly villagers stubbornly refused to leave, sitting lifelessly on their doorsteps with vacant eyes watching the snowflakes drift down.

Li Xiao silently left them millet for the winter and said no more. The journey ahead was uncertain—life or death—and staying might only prolong survival by a few days. The wooden door creaked and was pushed shut again by the wind and snow. A Yan still knelt beside her parents’ corpses, a pair of scissors deeply embedded in Han Qi’s throat, the blade bent.

Two aunts tried to drag her away, but she was like a statue, her toes dragging through the snow, carving a long furrow. “A Yan, come on!” Her eyes flickered, gazing beyond the crowd and the broken walls, as if her parents still sat on the doorstep, smiling at her. She tore off a scrap from their clothes, clutching it as if to hold onto the last warmth, then staggered forward.

“Let’s go!” The group began to move, slow and arduous, like a wounded snake struggling through the snow. More than thirty elderly, weak, women and children, mixed with ten exhausted and injured men, burdened with heavy loads, stepped unsteadily into the wind and snow beyond the village.

The mountain path was rugged, with snow ankle-deep. Soft sobs rose and fell amidst the group, soon swallowed by the howling wind. Who could have imagined that just two hours ago, this was a peaceful, self-sufficient village—not prosperous, but secure? Smoke curled from chimneys, and the sounds of chickens and dogs filled the air.

In an instant, the home was shattered, lives lost, kin forever parted, forced onto an unknown, desperate journey through endless snow. Some, in a trance, still believed it all a nightmare, hoping to wake moments later back in the familiar mud-brick house, beside the warm kang stove.

Geng Gu and his son Gong Hongchang walked alertly at the rear, frequently glancing back with sharp eyes like hawks, wary of any lurking threats. Night fell like a vast black velvet blanket, heavy and oppressive. After much effort, they found a sheltered steep mountain hollow where everyone collapsed in exhaustion.

Tattered earth-colored cloths were hastily pulled up to shield them somewhat from the wind and snow. A small fire was carefully kindled in a hollowed stone, its weak flames barely emitting a wisp of blue smoke. In this faint light and warmth lay their sole comfort and luxury.

Several women set up a rusty iron pot, into which they threw chunks of horse meat cut from the dead Song army mounts during the day, already frozen stiff, along with several frozen radishes and turnips. They added a handful of precious salt and some hard, dark, pickled mustard lumps.

Snowmelt slowly thawed and boiled in the pot, releasing a strange aroma—a mixture of meat fragrance, earthy musk, and the distinct sour smell of pickles—spreading through the cold air. In this wild mountain wilderness, amid wind and snow, this odd stew was their only hope for survival.

The firelight flickered against the rock wall, casting Li Xiao’s shadow in shifting, ghostly shapes. The copper waist badge in his hand was warmed by his body heat; it had been taken from a Song soldier’s corpse. He rubbed the inscription on the front repeatedly: “Deputy Pacification Commissioner of Dai Prefecture Border Defense, Shi,” while the back read “Fifth Day of the Fifth Month, Xuanhe Fourth Year.”

“This Shi must have been an important figure,” said Li Quanwu, leaning on his cane. The old servant’s eyelashes were frosted with ice crystals; his breath formed mist as he spoke. “A Pacification Commissioner commands the military forces of a whole prefecture like Dai Prefecture.”

Li Xiao was not well versed in court rankings beyond knowing county magistrates, prefectural magistrates, and governors, then officials of the Three Departments and Six Ministries, with the highest being the chancellors of the Eastern Government’s Administrative Hall—the pinnacle of imperial service. Then came the Western Government’s Privy Council, with its commanders and deputy commanders.

The Song dynasty’s official hierarchy was complex. If it were Qin, Han, or Tang officials, one could roughly understand their ranks at a glance, but Song officials were bewildering to anyone not in the bureaucracy or aspiring to officialdom. In fact, after Emperor Shenzong’s Yuanfeng reforms, the system was greatly simplified; before that, it was even more complicated.

Following the Yuanfeng reforms, the Pacification Commissioner became a permanent post overseeing military, security, and border defense, also handling civil affairs like disaster relief and pacifying refugees. In border areas such as Hedong, Hebei, and Shaanxi, the Commissioner held greater authority, commanding local troops, though major military operations still required imperial approval.

The Pacification Commissioner managed military and political affairs, the Transport Commissioner handled finances, and the Judicial Commissioner oversaw legal matters—forming a tripartite local governance model. The Deputy Pacification Commissioner assisted the Commissioner with some military duties, acting as a check and balance, and in border regions, might independently manage a single prefecture.

These posts were usually held by civil or military officials ranked from junior fifth to senior sixth grade, such as Court Attendants or Court Gentlemen. Famous figures like Fan Zhongyan and Han Qi once served as Deputy Pacification Commissioners in Shaanxi, assisting the Commander Xia Song in defense against the Western Xia during Li Yuanhao’s formal declaration of empire and invasion of Song territory. The infamous battles of Haoshuichuan, Sanchuankou, and Dingbianzhai occurred then.

The Song suffered three defeats, losing tens of thousands of elite troops, and households in Guanzhong hung white flags, with cries echoing through Qin Chuan.

“Still haven’t read the letter?” Gong Hongchang squatted by the fire clutching his bow, his son gnawing on a chunk of horse meat but staring fixedly at the paper in Li Xiao’s hand.

Li Xiao’s thumb pressed on the envelope’s seal. It was sealed with red clay, the stamp soaked in blood, now a blackened blob bearing the great seal of the Pacification Office.

He knew the letter’s weight. A personal letter from the Deputy Pacification Commissioner of Dai Prefecture, who commanded all the military forces there, would never contain trivial matters.

“Open it and see,” urged Shi Yong eagerly. “Whether good news or bad, if Shi really had important news, it might be in the letter. If we survive, we can bring the news back. Losing it would be a disaster.”

Li Xiao broke the seal and withdrew three letters, which the group read together:

“Under the lamp, respectfully submitted on the twentieth day of the ninth month, Xuanhe Seventh Year, from the Military Office of Dai Prefecture.

To His Majesty and the esteemed ministers of the court:

I have recently patrolled the border thrice and received repeated reports: the Jin are no longer acting ordinarily.

This is not a mere early warning.

Since last year, I have observed the enemy stationed on the city walls of Dai Prefecture gazing north; the Jin are like wolves and tigers, their actions and intentions clear as day. I have submitted several memorials, and now I must plead once more with bloodied words.

From Yun Prefecture, scouts report that Wanyan Loushi’s cavalry, numbering over ten thousand, has been training daily along the Sanggan River since last month, armor shining in the sun, dust thickening the sky.

The trading post at Weizhou suddenly closed; Jurchen caravans that used to come and go have vanished, save for spies disguised as monks mapping terrain between Dai and Xin Prefectures. I have captured three; their maps mark Yanmen Pass, Shiling Pass, and other strongholds with red circles and the words ‘urgent capture’.

More alarming, desertions within the Yisheng Army have increased recently.

Captured defectors say the Jin envoy has visited their camp thrice, promising land grants, noble titles, and jade gifts for their children. I personally inspected the camp; though their armor is intact, their eyes flicker nervously—no longer our soldiers.

Last winter I petitioned about border affairs but received no reply. Since August this year, this is my tenth memorial: the Jin have stockpiled supplies at Yun Prefecture; spies infiltrate like a web; small-scale raids on Shuozhou border are numerous, all pillaging grain and fodder before retreating! This is no mere provocation, but probing our strengths and weaknesses!

I watch the Jin’s wolfish ambitions by day and observe the barbarian horses’ movements by night. Despite my many reports, they vanish like mud bulls into the sea.

Now, in Yun and Wei Prefectures, the Jin have concentrated over thirty thousand troops and more than fifty thousand horses; supplies pile like mountains.

Spies come and go like shuttles; those captured confess that the Jin have set a date for their southern invasion...

The Jin sharpen their blades; the Hedong Route is as fragile as piled eggshells.

Though I am but a dull-witted man, I am willing to sacrifice my body to defend this national gate, yet a lone hand cannot clap.

I earnestly implore His Majesty and the ministers to dispatch the capital’s elite troops and the Lin Mansion’s formidable forces to our aid, to send an additional million bushels of grain and five thousand sets of armor, and to strengthen the defenses of Taiyuan and Yanmen Pass.

Otherwise, once the city falls, my death would be insignificant, but the vast lands and tens of millions of lives in Hedong will fall to the Jin invaders!

Respectfully, Shi Kang, Deputy Pacification Commissioner of Dai Prefecture.”

The readers’ eyes reddened as they absorbed the letter. Someone had already reported the Jin’s movements.

Geng Gu slapped his thigh fiercely. “Damn it! He reported so many times! Is the court blind or deaf? The Jin dogs are already at our doorstep, and they pretend not to hear or see!”

The court should have prepared, so why were they still breached so easily? They continued with the second letter:

“Under the lamp, respectfully resubmitted on the fifth day of the tenth month, Xuanhe Seventh Year.

To His Majesty and the ministers of the Three Departments:

The border warnings I previously submitted have surely reached the throne.

I will not repeat the signs of the Jin’s southern invasion.

But I fear the chronic failings of the border army; without swift reform, even with reinforcements, defense will fail. Thus I risk my life to report again.

What I write now is more chilling than the Jin themselves: the Dai Prefecture army is no longer fit to fight.

Army pay has been half a year in arrears; the capital troops receive only two liters of millet per day, mixed with sand and husks. Many soldiers faint from hunger during drills.

Yesterday, I found an old soldier curled up in a drafty barrack, patched clothes layered upon patches, his skin blue and purple with cold. He wept upon seeing me and said, ‘General, I am willing to die in battle, only to eat a full meal before I go.’

In the armory, of ten thousand sets of armor, fewer than three thousand are wearable.

I inspected them personally; some iron plates were so rusted they fell off at a touch; some chest plates were mere cardboard painted over. Of ten bows and crossbows, six had broken strings; many arrows were ceramic painted to look like iron tips but fell after thirty paces.

Worse, eighteen beacon towers in Dai Prefecture are mostly ruined.

The lookout tower at Ninghua Fort collapsed; guards burned wood pillars for fire. Half the bridges on connecting courier roads were washed away, making supply wagons immovable.

Last month I ordered repairs on Yanmen Pass; the officers sold the timber for wine, covering the work with straw roofs. Such fortifications can be destroyed with a single push by the Jin!

Though the garrison has been expanded to over ten thousand, many are refugees counted in numbers, untrained for days.

I tested their combat skills; more than half could barely hold a sword. When asked if they dared to fight the Jin, all lowered their heads in silence.

Most survivors are old or weak; over half are above fifty years old. Even fifteen-year-old boys are counted, but their draw strength is less than five dou, and their spears unsteady.

Previously, I sought bricks and stones to reinforce Dai’s walls; the Transport Commissioner replied, ‘The treasury is empty, wait a while.’ I requested winter clothing; officials said, ‘The palace takes precedence.’

The border people see this and say, ‘The official army is worse than bandits; if the Jin come, perhaps we might survive.’

With such morale, how can we hold the line?

This thought keeps me awake at night.

The Jin watch hungrily; our border troops are rotten wood. If the court continues to ignore us, withholding grain and armor, failing to punish corruption and increase troops, when the Jin cavalry turns south, Hedong will collapse.

I swear to die for this cause: all my words are true; if any are false, I accept the penalty of being cut in two.

Every night I climb the walls and see more fires in the north; I know the Jin will come any day.

But without pay, armor, or spirit, even with three heads and six arms, I could not stem the tide.

I beseech His Majesty to urgently allocate funds from the imperial treasury for army pay and dispatch skilled craftsmen to repair equipment, or Hedong will become Jin pasture!

Respectfully, Shi Kang.”

At this point, the handwriting was blurred in several spots, resembling tears or bloodstains.

“Damn the dog court! I’ll kill your whole family!” Shi Yong shouted, eyes bloodshot.

Everyone seethed with anger. For a moment, silence reigned except for the crackling fire. Each felt a heavy stone pressing on their hearts.

They understood Shi Kang’s desperation, but the court’s coldness was even more chilling.

Li Xiao continued to the third letter:

“On the tenth day of the eleventh month, Xuanhe Seventh Year, moments before the fall of Dai Prefecture.

To Ji Gu and Ji Zhe, my sons:

By the time you receive this, I fear I am already at the front lines.

This morning, the Jin attacked the city; cannon and stones thundered, walls crumbled.

I climbed the tower and saw the Yisheng Army raising white flags at the East Gate, inviting Jin cavalry inside. I knew they could not be trusted, but the court would not listen—how painful!

Your mother has hanged herself; do not grieve.

Your father has defended Dai Prefecture for three years, petitioning a hundred times, yet no aid came. It is not for lack of effort, but the court has drained the border to the bone, leaving only an empty shell.

Now soldiers fight with wooden sticks, gnaw snow from hunger, and hug stones for warmth.

They die fighting for the Song, for the people; how could I survive alone?

When I was young, I read the Spring and Autumn Annals and knew ‘A ruler’s disgrace is a minister’s death.’ Now, as a Song official, I have a duty to defend the land; to bow would be unthinkable.

If you break through the siege and escape, remember: forget family grudges, but remember the nation’s hatred.

The Jin are brutal; where they pass, bones fill the fields. If you flee south and meet Zhang Xiaochun’s household, inform them that the fall of Dai Prefecture was not due to battle failures, but deep-rooted corruption and decay. Without pay, armies disperse; without good equipment, they collapse; with corrupt officials, the people rebel—these three cannot be fixed overnight.

I have divined through the Six Ren system and know I will die for the country today.

Yet I die with purpose: born here, defending here, buried here—that is my fortune.

If you meet fleeing soldiers, tell them that though Shi Kang has fallen, Dai Prefecture’s blood still runs hot.

If the court can awaken, reform the military, purge traitors, there will be a day when the Jin are driven out.

The sound of blades draws near; I speak no more.

Remember: live as Song men, die as Song ghosts; do not betray your home and country.

The bones of the Han must not bend; the land of the Great Song must not be lost.

If a future comes, we shall reclaim our rivers and mountains!

Your father, Shi Kang.”

(Below the letter was a bloodied fingerprint.)

The fire crackled, shadows dancing over the faces of the weary and broken. The fate of a fallen land lay heavy in the bitter winter air.