Chapter Sixteen: Treacherous Mountains and Rivers (Part Three)
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The snow on Yunzhong Mountain thickened relentlessly, filling every footprint left by the fleeing refugees. Li Xiao stepped carefully on the heels of the person ahead, each step sinking half a foot into the snowdrifts. The half-frozen biscuit in his arms pressed painfully against his ribs.
All around him were coughs, punctuated occasionally by curses—cursing the Jin dogs, the inept Song soldiers, and the cruel fate of the world.
Zhang Maitun pushed his way back through the crowd, ice crystals clinging to his beard falling with his labored breaths. “Chief Li, finally got the news! Xinzhou has surrendered. The south is now swarming with Jin cavalry!” He spat a mouthful of bloodied saliva. “Damn officials—no proper resistance at all! I heard they just flung open the city gates and welcomed them in!”
“Beyond here is Black Wind Pass, and after that comes Tuhe Village. An old man fleeing told me that village is now nothing but corpses starved to death.”
Without a doubt, the Song army had lost the village.
Lu Fenghu cursed, “Better to starve than be caught by the Jin dogs!”
Geng Gu slammed a fist against a withered tree, shaking loose snowflakes. “What about my family?” His eyes were bloodshot, his waist knife humming in its sheath. His family lived in Qingyuan County under Taiyuan’s jurisdiction. Now that Xinzhou had fallen, what was to become of Taiyuan?
The Shi brothers paced anxiously like trapped beasts.
Suddenly, the crowd halted like a frozen river.
Screams rolled in on the wind. From a vantage point, Li Xiao saw over thirty men brandishing knives and spears blocking the road. At their head was a one-eyed man, a long scar slicing from brow to chin. He brandished a rusty ghost-headed saber, its tassel stained with dark, sticky grime.
“This path I open, this tree I plant!” The one-eyed man slammed his saber into the ground, sending a cloud of snow swirling. “I’m Zhang Biao, the ‘Mountain Tiger’ of Black Wind Village! Anyone wanting to pass must pay toll!”
His underlings laughed, hats askew and blades slung over their shoulders. One skinny man toyed with an iron chain, a broken shoe dangling from its links. “Tiger Lord says, we want money and grain! Wise ones pay up quick, or don’t blame me if the chains don’t recognize you!”
The crowd stirred nervously. A trembling man dug into his pouch and handed over his coins, only to have a burly thug snatch it and kick him. “That’s it? What, you think we’re beggars?”
“I really have nothing left!” The man wept, face down in the snow. “The Jin dogs took my home, looted everything. This is all I have to run with…”
“Lies!” Zhang Biao stepped on his back, glaring at the rest of the people. “Listen well! Copper coins, food, women—hand it all over! If not, this old geezer will be an example!” His saber pressed to the man’s neck, snow quickly tinged red.
The people held their breath, terrified.
An elderly man clutching his grandson knelt in the snow. “Brave sir, have mercy! This is our last ration, for me and my grandson. If we give it all up, we won’t survive!” A cloth bag revealed half a sack of millet, grains mixed with sand.
“Won’t survive?” The scar-faced man behind Zhang Biao sneered and kicked the old man down. “In this world, living’s worse than dying!”
He grabbed the bag, eyes cold and cruel. “But I do like this world—stealing is free, killing is free, doing whatever you want feels good!”
“Before, we feared the officials when we robbed. Now the Jin have killed them all, this world belongs to us!”
“Scar Boss speaks true!” The thugs licked their lips. “Better to join the Jin! Then we can wear official robes, steal women, and drink every day!”
“Nonsense!” Another spat. “Are the Jin freer than us? Now we rob and kill at will—that’s real freedom!”
Their laughter was cut short by the distant thunder of hooves rolling across the snow.
“Cavalry! Jin cavalry!” someone screamed hoarsely.
The crowd erupted. Those just begging on their knees now fled madly into the gullies on either side.
One man was trampled and left lying face down; he struggled to reach out but soon fell still.
The Black Wind thugs panicked. “Stalky Liu” dropped his chain and ran, only to stumble and fall, tripping on his own shackles. “Scar Face” tried to dart into the woods but snagged his coat on branches, stomping anxiously.
Zhang Biao fled fastest, eyes wide, even discarding his saber, shouting, “Run! The Jin kill without blinking!”
The hooves grew louder. Over a dozen riders swiftly overtook the last few thugs.
Blades flashed, screams pierced the air, and the thugs fell, bleeding profusely. Blood quickly froze dark red on the snow.
“Stalky Liu” barely got up before a rider caught him and with a single stroke severed half his head; blood and brain matter splattered the snow.
“Scar Face” collapsed, clutching his head, begging, “Master Jin, spare me! I surrender! I’m willing to serve the Great Jin!”
The rider snorted coldly, thrusting a spear through his chest, driving it out his back.
Scar Face’s eyes bulged, blood foaming from his mouth, staining the snow beneath.
Zhang Biao, nearest to the mountain pass, heard a furious shout behind him: “Bandits have their own code! Those who break all rules, do they deserve to live?”
He turned to see a rider on a gray horse bearing down, sword raised.
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Terrified, Zhang Biao dropped to his knees in the snow, looking up at the horse’s spurs, bowing and beating his head like a drum. “I surrender! I surrender!”
“Bah!” the rider spat disdainfully. “If you were just a Song bandit, maybe I’d spare you!”
The blade fell. The last thing Zhang Biao’s one eye saw was snowflakes swirling.
In moments, the riders had wiped out the thugs. Over thirty bodies lay scattered and twisted in the snow, blood mingling with the cold wind.
“Everyone up!” Li Xiao called.
The villagers, huddled in the gullies, dared not move.
The riders removed their helmets. At their front stood Li Xiao, blood still splattered across his face.
The old man who had been kicked into the ditch was helped up by his son, trembling and staring at the bodies, lips quivering without words.
Li Xiao dismounted, the blood in the snow soaking his boots.
He looked at the still-shaken crowd and sighed. “Keep moving. We must find shelter before dark.”
“What about the grain?” someone asked, voice trembling, pointing to scattered millet on the ground.
“Gather it up and carry it,” Li Xiao said. “We’ll need every bit of it to survive what’s ahead.”
Lu Fenghu kicked Zhang Biao’s corpse. “Those bastards deserve to die.”
“But after killing these, how many more Black Wind villages are ahead?”
Li Xiao said nothing, staring at the mountain road swallowed by the storm.
The refugees slowly regrouped, supporting each other through the deep snow. Some collected the spilled grain, others carried wounded loved ones, their footsteps carving deep pits into the drifts.
The old man who lost his bag crouched in the snow, carefully gathering the scattered millet—even the grains stained with blood—into his arms.
“This world…” Geng Gu’s voice was low. “Living is harder than dying.”
“Hard or not, we must live.” Li Xiao sheathed his blade. “Come on, take the mountain path south.”
The official road south was occupied by the Jin. To use it, they’d have to detour far around Tianmen Pass, but their supplies wouldn’t last that long. The only choice was the mountain trail, to cross Yunzhong Mountain.
The sound of hooves rang out again. The riders skirted around the refugees and vanished into the blizzard.
The bodies of the Black Wind thugs were soon buried by fresh snow, as if they had never existed.
Only the scattered grain bags and broken chains remained, silently telling of a chaotic age where human life was cheaper than grass.
...
At the southern foothills of Yunzhong Mountain, Sun Yi’s iron spear carved a deep furrow in the snow. The blood frozen on his spear tassel was blackish-purple.
He glanced back: over three hundred shattered soldiers writhed like a frozen snake along the mountain path.
At the very rear, a man’s leg twisted unnaturally; blood seeped from his trouser leg, dragging a long scarlet line in the snow. Suddenly he collapsed into a snowdrift, silence swallowing him.
No one stopped or looked back. They had seen too much like this in the past month.
“General, the brothers can’t go on,” the commander Ding Liangcai reported. His armor was stained black with dried blood.
“Rest for half an hour... just half an hour...” Sun Yi’s face was weary as he stared toward a distant mountain pass.
A month ago, he was the Seventh General of Hedong, serving as Defense Commissioner of Shuozhou with around five thousand troops—actually three thousand two hundred—guarding the front line.
When Jin soldiers reached the city gates, he raised his spear and shouted “Follow me to fight!” But just as blades clashed, cries came from behind.
The Yisheng Army had betrayed them. Han Yanchang stood atop the city wall waving to the Jin.
“Damn traitor! I’ll slaughter your whole family!” Sun Yi struck a nearby dead tree, snow falling into his armor, chilling his wounds.
He remembered Han Yanchang offering wine, vowing “General, rest assured, we’ll die alongside the Song.” And how the Yisheng Army’s blades stabbed their comrades in the back at the city’s fall.
Was he wrong to trust that man?
No—it was the court he trusted. Those men were recruited by the court!
The exhausted soldiers slumped in the snow, stuffing chunks of ice into their mouths and groaning in pain.
An old soldier unbuckled his armor, revealing an arrow wound beneath his ribs. The shaft was broken inside, flesh swollen and shiny. He bit his teeth, trying to pull it out, but pain made his hand jerk. Eventually, he leaned against a stone and fell asleep. Everyone knew he might never wake.
“General, look!” Ding Liangcai pointed toward the mountain mouth.
Over a dozen riders emerged from the blizzard, leading sturdy Khitan horses. Their curved sabers gleamed coldly in the snow.
More striking, behind them followed a group of civilians—old and young—carrying bundles.
“Prepare for battle!” Sun Yi suddenly raised his spear. The wounded struggled to rise, grasping broken spears and battered swords. Cries of pain from torn wounds echoed.
The strange group made their intentions uncertain.
The riders came closer, then stopped, pulling armor from their packs and donning it. Dark plates and fierce breastplates—clearly Jurchen soldier gear!
“The Jin dogs are coming!” a wounded soldier shouted, raising his broken sword to charge, but Sun Yi pulled him back.
Squinting, he saw signals exchanged among the riders, and one was sent forward.
Soon the scout returned, breathless, clutching a copper badge. “They say they serve under Pacifier Shi. The armor was stripped from Jin soldiers!”
Sun Yi’s hand trembled.
Shi Kang, Deputy Pacifier of the Daizhou border, the hard man who always slammed the table swearing “The Jin are wolves with wild ambitions.”
He took the badge, tracing the character “Shi” on its face; the date engraved on the back was clear. This was real.
“Let them come,” Sun Yi’s voice was hoarse.
Two groups faced each other on the mountain road.
A man from the other side rode forward, his armor askew, his salute awkward—but his accent unmistakably Hedong. “My name is Geng Gu. This is a letter from Pacifier Shi.”
The wax seal was cracked; Shi Kang’s handwriting was bold and resolute, as if preparing for death.
“Pacifier Shi,” Sun Yi dropped his iron spear with a clang, crouching and pressing his hands into the snow, knuckles white.
Last winter, Shi Kang poured him wine atop Daizhou’s wall and said, “Brother Sun, in these times, if we can’t hold the city, we must hold our spirit.”
Now that spirit was gone.
“General, my condolences.”
Sun Yi looked up to see a young man with a rough face and stubble, eyes bright and piercing. Despite the Jurchen armor he wore, it was ill-fitting and worn.
“We’re mountain folk fighting our way out, heading south.”
Sun Yi’s nose tingled. “Pacifier Shi always said the people of Hedong are tougher than soldiers. Now I believe it.”
He gestured to the wounded men behind him. “When Shuozhou fell, we had armor and spears but nowhere to go. You…”
“We have knives,” Li Xiao patted the blade at his waist. “And these people.”
Sun Yi picked up his spear, pointing it south. “Taiyuan city still stands.”
Li Xiao nodded. “Brothers who fought their way out must be accompanied home and settled.” He gestured to the Shi brothers, Geng Gu, and the villagers.
The battered soldiers slowly stood, supporting each other.
Sun Yi looked at this band and suddenly felt perhaps these frozen bones could hold out a little longer.
The snow in the mountain pass didn’t feel so cold anymore.