The snowing has stopped, but the field is still deep under a thick layer of snow, waiting for the approaching spring time to reveal it.
A Zhao soldier stumbles out of the prisoner camp, his hands tied together.
He looks feeble, his body covered by battle marks and wounds all left by the preceding battle.
Those battle marks and wounds represent his pride as a Zhao soldier that once fought valiantly for his homeland.
He stumbles a couple steps forward as a Qin Soldier pushes him from behind.
He stumbles under Qin soldiers’ escort.
Finally, he stumbles into a valley, in which thousands of pits are dug.
In those pits lie countless Zhao captives, their hands and feet tied up tightly.
The sound of roars, cries and curses permeate the air in the valley, while tens of thousands of Qin soldiers stand silently next to those pits.
Glaring at the scene, driven by anger and hatred, the captive’s blood vein drastically pops under the tight strain, his eyes stretching open so hard that his eyeballs seem to pop out.
For a long while, the man lowers his head.
“You, all of you, deserve a gruesome death…”
His curse is heavy but not loud, as if squeezed out between his teeth. His jaw clenches, teeth grinding so hard that blood dribbles out from the corner of his mouth.
“A gruesome death…”
Unexpectedly, the Qin soldiers are not angered by it, as they pushed him to the edge of one of the pits.
“Sorry…”
Saying so, they pushed the man off the edge.
Bai Qi stands in front the thousand men pits, his hands behind his back. Behind him silently stands Gu Nan, as she wearily realizes that the course of history cannot be changed.
Only after witnessing it with her own eyes can she realize how horrible it is to bury alive a hundred thousand men.
She can do nothing, and she will do nothing.
Even she, herself, does not realize that she has changed so much in her temperament, not due to her ruthlessness, but as a result of her realization that she is too powerless to make a difference.
Turning her sight to Bai Qi standing at the front, she sudden notices that the once prideful and upright old man at this moment stoops, his back bent forward just like any regular old man would be.
The Zhao Captives down in the pits glare at the Qin soldiers at the outside, their sights brim with hatred and rage.
Bai Qi breaks his words that he would spare those who surrender. Showing mercy was never his intention from the beginning, making it a shame that Zhao Kuo actually believed him.
Nobody would spare any mercy to the raging Zhao soldiers. Bai Qi raises his hand. The hand that has taken countless lives looks so feeble at the moment.
“Burry them.”
And he drops his hand heavily.
The Qin soldiers about to carry out the order swallow.
The once merciless soldiers on the battlefield are now shaking, hands unsteady, but still starts filling the pit, carrying out the order.
Sands and rocks fall onto Zhao Soldiers. Their hands and feet are tied up but they still struggle, despite knowing that it will not change the outcome.
Deafening cries louden and then quiet down, as pits are filled, one by one.
Eventually, the valley returns to silence, as if those hundred thousand men were never there in the first place.
“Thump.” A Qin soldier falls onto his knees, shaking, his head in his hands.
“Leave.” Bai Qi says.
After the order is passed down, two soldiers step forward, pull up the one on his knees, following the rest of the army and leaves the valley.
Gu Nan gives that land a final glance.
There she sees an arm, half it under the ground half above, powerlessly hangs there, as if trying to grab something but still miss it.
Spear in her hand, Gu Nan turns her sight away from it.
She doesn’t know what’s in her mind, and she doesn’t have the courage contemplate it.
The early year 229 B.C. marks the end of the battle of Chang Ping. At the cost of two hundred thousand Qin Soldiers’ lives, the Qin eliminated the whole four hundred thousand Zhao army leaving no survivor, two hundred thousand of which buried alive, their general Zhao Kuo killed.
In three days after the battle, the Qin army occupied Chang Ping and returned victorious. Wang He personally saw Bai Qi and Gu Nan off.
The snow finally melts away, and the once frozen river flows freely again.
Blackie has a feast of three bundles of fodder, making Gu Nan concerned about its fitness.
But she leaves Blackie to it; after all, if not for Blackie, she would have already been killed in the battle.
“Reporting!” A man stands at the entrance of the palace, spreading out his sleeves, folding his hands at front as a salute, and announces himself, “I, Fan Ju, beg for an audience of your highness!”
“Come in.”
Given his long beard and wrinkled face, Fan Ju must be getting on in years. Dressed in black ceremonial robe, Fan Ju carries with him an upright temperament.
“My gratitude to your highness!” Fan Ju bows slightly, and then enters the palace with a bundle of bamboo slips in his hands.
An old man in a gorgeous robe waits in the study, working on documents.
“What is it?”
“The briefings from Chang Ping.
“Huh?”
The old man raises his head, rubbing his eyebrow, looking tired. Yet, his stare stays sharp such that Fan Ju hesitates to look up and meet them.
“Bring it forward to Gua (me)”
(Gua is a pronoun in ancient China for a king to address himself)
“Yes.” Saying so, Fan Ju delivers the bamboo slips to the old man.
“Hua,” following the sound of extending the bamboo slips, the old man reads them carefully.
“Hahaha.” After some times, he laughs; a sense of relief can be heard in his laughter.
“Your highness?”
“In the battle of Chang Ping, four hundred thousand enemies were eliminated at the cost of two hundred thousand Qin soldiers’ lives. Among the four hundred thousand dead enemy soldiers, two hundred thousand were captured and buried alive by Bai Qi.”
The old man laughs over the astonishing numbers. “Bai Qi really has the guts to do it.”
That’s two hundred thousand! Fan Ju makes a hard swallow.
“Your highness,” Fan Ju continues, frowning, “given what the Wu An lord (Bai Qi’s title, meaning lord of war and prosperity) has done, I am afraid…”
“You are afraid of what?” The old man gives Fan Ju a look of contempt and interrupts him.
“I have overstepped my bounds with my words, please forgive my offense.”
“Huh,” the old man snorts gently.
“However, two hundred thousand lost soldiers are still too big a loss to us.” The old man casts his glance at Fan Ju, and asks, “Mr. Fan, in your opinion, should my great Qin wage another invasion up north?”
The snowing has stopped, but the field is still deep under a thick layer of snow, waiting for the approaching spring time to reveal it.
A Zhao soldier stumbles out of the prisoner camp, his hands tied together.
He looks feeble, his body covered by battle marks and wounds all left by the preceding battle.
Those battle marks and wounds represent his pride as a Zhao soldier that once fought valiantly for his homeland.
He stumbles a couple steps forward as a Qin Soldier pushes him from behind.
He stumbles under Qin soldiers’ escort.
Finally, he stumbles into a valley, in which thousands of pits are dug.
In those pits lie countless Zhao captives, their hands and feet tied up tightly.
The sound of roars, cries and curses permeate the air in the valley, while tens of thousands of Qin soldiers stand silently next to those pits.
Glaring at the scene, driven by anger and hatred, the captive’s blood vein drastically pops under the tight strain, his eyes stretching open so hard that his eyeballs seem to pop out.
For a long while, the man lowers his head.
“You, all of you, deserve a gruesome death…”
His curse is heavy but not loud, as if squeezed out between his teeth. His jaw clenches, teeth grinding so hard that blood dribbles out from the corner of his mouth.
“A gruesome death…”
Unexpectedly, the Qin soldiers are not angered by it, as they pushed him to the edge of one of the pits.
“Sorry…”
Saying so, they pushed the man off the edge.
Bai Qi stands in front the thousand men pits, his hands behind his back. Behind him silently stands Gu Nan, as she wearily realizes that the course of history cannot be changed.
Only after witnessing it with her own eyes can she realize how horrible it is to bury alive a hundred thousand men.
She can do nothing, and she will do nothing.
Even she, herself, does not realize that she has changed so much in her temperament, not due to her ruthlessness, but as a result of her realization that she is too powerless to make a difference.
Turning her sight to Bai Qi standing at the front, she sudden notices that the once prideful and upright old man at this moment stoops, his back bent forward just like any regular old man would be.
The Zhao Captives down in the pits glare at the Qin soldiers at the outside, their sights brim with hatred and rage.
Bai Qi breaks his words that he would spare those who surrender. Showing mercy was never his intention from the beginning, making it a shame that Zhao Kuo actually believed him.
Nobody would spare any mercy to the raging Zhao soldiers. Bai Qi raises his hand. The hand that has taken countless lives looks so feeble at the moment.
“Burry them.”
And he drops his hand heavily.
The Qin soldiers about to carry out the order swallow.
The once merciless soldiers on the battlefield are now shaking, hands unsteady, but still starts filling the pit, carrying out the order.
Sands and rocks fall onto Zhao Soldiers. Their hands and feet are tied up but they still struggle, despite knowing that it will not change the outcome.
Deafening cries louden and then quiet down, as pits are filled, one by one.
Eventually, the valley returns to silence, as if those hundred thousand men were never there in the first place.
“Thump.” A Qin soldier falls onto his knees, shaking, his head in his hands.
“Leave.” Bai Qi says.
After the order is passed down, two soldiers step forward, pull up the one on his knees, following the rest of the army and leaves the valley.
Gu Nan gives that land a final glance.
There she sees an arm, half it under the ground half above, powerlessly hangs there, as if trying to grab something but still miss it.
Spear in her hand, Gu Nan turns her sight away from it.
She doesn’t know what’s in her mind, and she doesn’t have the courage contemplate it.
The early year 229 B.C. marks the end of the battle of Chang Ping. At the cost of two hundred thousand Qin Soldiers’ lives, the Qin eliminated the whole four hundred thousand Zhao army leaving no survivor, two hundred thousand of which buried alive, their general Zhao Kuo killed.
In three days after the battle, the Qin army occupied Chang Ping and returned victorious. Wang He personally saw Bai Qi and Gu Nan off.
The snow finally melts away, and the once frozen river flows freely again.
Blackie has a feast of three bundles of fodder, making Gu Nan concerned about its fitness.
But she leaves Blackie to it; after all, if not for Blackie, she would have already been killed in the battle.
“Reporting!” A man stands at the entrance of the palace, spreading out his sleeves, folding his hands at front as a salute, and announces himself, “I, Fan Ju, beg for an audience of your highness!”
“Come in.”
Given his long beard and wrinkled face, Fan Ju must be getting on in years. Dressed in black ceremonial robe, Fan Ju carries with him an upright temperament.
“My gratitude to your highness!” Fan Ju bows slightly, and then enters the palace with a bundle of bamboo slips in his hands.
An old man in a gorgeous robe waits in the study, working on documents.
“What is it?”
“The briefings from Chang Ping.
“Huh?”
The old man raises his head, rubbing his eyebrow, looking tired. Yet, his stare stays sharp such that Fan Ju hesitates to look up and meet them.
“Bring it forward to Gua (me)”
(Gua is a pronoun in ancient China for a king to address himself)
“Yes.” Saying so, Fan Ju delivers the bamboo slips to the old man.
“Hua,” following the sound of extending the bamboo slips, the old man reads them carefully.
“Hahaha.” After some times, he laughs; a sense of relief can be heard in his laughter.
“Your highness?”
“In the battle of Chang Ping, four hundred thousand enemies were eliminated at the cost of two hundred thousand Qin soldiers’ lives. Among the four hundred thousand dead enemy soldiers, two hundred thousand were captured and buried alive by Bai Qi.”
The old man laughs over the astonishing numbers. “Bai Qi really has the guts to do it.”
That’s two hundred thousand! Fan Ju makes a hard swallow.
“Your highness,” Fan Ju continues, frowning, “given what the Wu An lord (Bai Qi’s title, meaning lord of war and prosperity) has done, I am afraid…”
“You are afraid of what?” The old man gives Fan Ju a look of contempt and interrupts him.
“I have overstepped my bounds with my words, please forgive my offense.”
“Huh,” the old man snorts gently.
“However, two hundred thousand lost soldiers are still too big a loss to us.” The old man casts his glance at Fan Ju, and asks, “Mr. Fan, in your opinion, should my great Qin wage another invasion up north?”
