A blizzard rages over a seemingly boundless field of snow. The army weaves through the whiteness like a twisting snake; cavalry a thousand strong fall forward like a tsunami in pursuit of a single warrior. Clad in an armour of jet black iron, his steed is foaming blood at the mouth from all the running. Dense volleys of arrows rains down at him through the sky, thickly blanketing the snowy plain.
“You overestimate yourself! What utter foolishness!” Some distance away, the enemy’s leader shouts, “If you have any sense you’ll stop fighting right now and let us arrest you. Return to the eastern capital to stand trial!”
The warrior bellows, “Even you betrayed me!”
“Jianhong.” Another battalion of soldiers arrive at his flank, and the two sides look intent on surrounding him. All at once, the enemy troops seem omnipresent.
“My prince, everyone has turned on you. You cannot do this alone; why can’t you just let it go? If you keep stubbornly resisting like this, it’s going to do nothing but make these officers throw their lives away.” In the enemy’s reinforced formation, one resounding voice rings out, “Does the friendship you used to have with your fellow brothers-in-arms mean half as much as it used to?”
“Friendship? Brothers-in-arms?” The warrior returns his sword to his scabbard and sneers. “Past vows are now naught but lies. Who can remember what promises we made before all this?! Even if it means sacrificing these men here today, must you overthrow me at all cost?”
“Life or death, it’s all the same in the end!1 The world may be big, but there’s no room in it for you any longer!”
Snow swirls, twirling; the war drum marches on.
The drumming sounds like a god-like giant marching into the mortal world from the edge of the horizon, each step it takes whipping up a frenzy of gale and snow.
“Let it go, my prince. You’ve nowhere left to run.”
The third battalion of pursuers takes shape in the blizzard. A handsome young warrior takes off his helmet, throwing it down onto the snow.
It makes a splash of white powder. The man’s voice rings out across the field.
“Why don’t you hand over the Zhenshanhe2 you’re holding, drink a cup of wine, and let me send you on your way?”
“Everyone dies,” says the voice that resonates, “Why do you have to make this so hard for yourself?”
“You’re right.” The edges of Li Jianhong’s gown flutters beneath his armour. His back is straight as he sits on his horse against the roaring wind, and he calls out in a clear voice, “Everyone dies, but I know my time isn’t up yet. The one who dies here today will not be me!”
Yubiguan3 is far from civilisation, but someone, somewhere has started playing the qiang flute;4 its lonely melody drifts through the air, falling onto the land alongside powdery snow. Mounted soldiers raise their spears in unison to the war drum beat. As soon as the drumming stops, three battalions of soldiers will come together and throw their spears towards Li Jianhong, the Prince of Beiliang.
“That’s enough rubbish out of you,” Li Jianhong says coldly. “Who wants to be the first to come meet his death?”
“If you want to fight to the death here and relinquish all your former glory, that’s fine too.” The young man’s voice suddenly rises in an angry howl, “A thousand taels of gold to the one who manages to cut off Li Jianhong’s head today! I’ll make you a marquis!”5
The drumming stops. The cavalry roars, but Li Jianhong’s snarl of fury echoes from the earth to the sky. He spurs his horse on then, until it can go no faster, and turns, dashing up towards the hillside. Troops defending higher ground cry out and charge towards him.
More than ten thousand men are trying to capture one man, their battle formation complete. They gather towards its centre. Li Jianhong grips his horse with his legs, and dragging a spear in his left hand and drawing a sword in his right, he races head-on at the overwhelming force charging down at him as though swimming against a raging current. With a rumble the top of the snow hill collapses; the relentlessly pursuing soldiers are drowned beneath a frenzy of white powder and mist.
Blood spatters. Li Jianhong chops the blade coming at him in half with a single swing of his sword, and trips the galloping cavalry with his long spear, his sword leaving a trail of severed limbs in its wake. His sword, that cuts through iron as easily as it does through mud, somehow cuts clean through the avalanche rushing down at him.
Ten thousand against one, and yet Li Jianhong is like a tiger charging through a flock of sheep, tearing through the enemy’s formation amidst the chaos.
On the snowy hill, all that can be heard is the neigh of war horses, the thud of boots coming to a halt, the roar of an avalanche; darkness rolls towards them from the sky like ominous storm clouds, covering the great north. The mounted leader of the rebel troops stops before the precipice. Snow comes down fine and dense, leaving a dusting of white on his red copper armour.
“General, we’ve lost the traitor’s trail.”
“Forget it. Withdraw for now.”
There are a lot of quotes from ancient texts in this story. When quotes happen, I’ll note with italics, and I’ll translate them when they feel out of context. This is from a poem by Bai Juyi; it’s about Daoism and the transience of life. ↩︎
鎮山河 Zhenshanhe means “guardian of the land”. It’s a heavy broadsword that Li Jianhong holds in one hand. ↩︎
Literally means “Jade wall gate”. ↩︎
Here’s a picture of a Qiang flute. They’re not Han; it’s an instrument of one of the many minority tribes in China. ↩︎
萬戶侯 / sometimes translated as marquis. Literally means “lord of 10,000 households”. ↩︎
A blizzard rages over a seemingly boundless field of snow. The army weaves through the whiteness like a twisting snake; cavalry a thousand strong fall forward like a tsunami in pursuit of a single warrior. Clad in an armour of jet black iron, his steed is foaming blood at the mouth from all the running. Dense volleys of arrows rains down at him through the sky, thickly blanketing the snowy plain.
“You overestimate yourself! What utter foolishness!” Some distance away, the enemy’s leader shouts, “If you have any sense you’ll stop fighting right now and let us arrest you. Return to the eastern capital to stand trial!”
The warrior bellows, “Even you betrayed me!”
“Jianhong.” Another battalion of soldiers arrive at his flank, and the two sides look intent on surrounding him. All at once, the enemy troops seem omnipresent.
“My prince, everyone has turned on you. You cannot do this alone; why can’t you just let it go? If you keep stubbornly resisting like this, it’s going to do nothing but make these officers throw their lives away.” In the enemy’s reinforced formation, one resounding voice rings out, “Does the friendship you used to have with your fellow brothers-in-arms mean half as much as it used to?”
“Friendship? Brothers-in-arms?” The warrior returns his sword to his scabbard and sneers. “Past vows are now naught but lies. Who can remember what promises we made before all this?! Even if it means sacrificing these men here today, must you overthrow me at all cost?”
“Life or death, it’s all the same in the end!1 The world may be big, but there’s no room in it for you any longer!”
Snow swirls, twirling; the war drum marches on.
The drumming sounds like a god-like giant marching into the mortal world from the edge of the horizon, each step it takes whipping up a frenzy of gale and snow.
“Let it go, my prince. You’ve nowhere left to run.”
The third battalion of pursuers takes shape in the blizzard. A handsome young warrior takes off his helmet, throwing it down onto the snow.
It makes a splash of white powder. The man’s voice rings out across the field.
“Why don’t you hand over the Zhenshanhe2 you’re holding, drink a cup of wine, and let me send you on your way?”
“Everyone dies,” says the voice that resonates, “Why do you have to make this so hard for yourself?”
“You’re right.” The edges of Li Jianhong’s gown flutters beneath his armour. His back is straight as he sits on his horse against the roaring wind, and he calls out in a clear voice, “Everyone dies, but I know my time isn’t up yet. The one who dies here today will not be me!”
Yubiguan3 is far from civilisation, but someone, somewhere has started playing the qiang flute;4 its lonely melody drifts through the air, falling onto the land alongside powdery snow. Mounted soldiers raise their spears in unison to the war drum beat. As soon as the drumming stops, three battalions of soldiers will come together and throw their spears towards Li Jianhong, the Prince of Beiliang.
“That’s enough rubbish out of you,” Li Jianhong says coldly. “Who wants to be the first to come meet his death?”
“If you want to fight to the death here and relinquish all your former glory, that’s fine too.” The young man’s voice suddenly rises in an angry howl, “A thousand taels of gold to the one who manages to cut off Li Jianhong’s head today! I’ll make you a marquis!”5
The drumming stops. The cavalry roars, but Li Jianhong’s snarl of fury echoes from the earth to the sky. He spurs his horse on then, until it can go no faster, and turns, dashing up towards the hillside. Troops defending higher ground cry out and charge towards him.
More than ten thousand men are trying to capture one man, their battle formation complete. They gather towards its centre. Li Jianhong grips his horse with his legs, and dragging a spear in his left hand and drawing a sword in his right, he races head-on at the overwhelming force charging down at him as though swimming against a raging current. With a rumble the top of the snow hill collapses; the relentlessly pursuing soldiers are drowned beneath a frenzy of white powder and mist.
Blood spatters. Li Jianhong chops the blade coming at him in half with a single swing of his sword, and trips the galloping cavalry with his long spear, his sword leaving a trail of severed limbs in its wake. His sword, that cuts through iron as easily as it does through mud, somehow cuts clean through the avalanche rushing down at him.
Ten thousand against one, and yet Li Jianhong is like a tiger charging through a flock of sheep, tearing through the enemy’s formation amidst the chaos.
On the snowy hill, all that can be heard is the neigh of war horses, the thud of boots coming to a halt, the roar of an avalanche; darkness rolls towards them from the sky like ominous storm clouds, covering the great north. The mounted leader of the rebel troops stops before the precipice. Snow comes down fine and dense, leaving a dusting of white on his red copper armour.
“General, we’ve lost the traitor’s trail.”
“Forget it. Withdraw for now.”
There are a lot of quotes from ancient texts in this story. When quotes happen, I’ll note with italics, and I’ll translate them when they feel out of context. This is from a poem by Bai Juyi; it’s about Daoism and the transience of life. ↩︎
鎮山河 Zhenshanhe means “guardian of the land”. It’s a heavy broadsword that Li Jianhong holds in one hand. ↩︎
Literally means “Jade wall gate”. ↩︎
Here’s a picture of a Qiang flute. They’re not Han; it’s an instrument of one of the many minority tribes in China. ↩︎
萬戶侯 / sometimes translated as marquis. Literally means “lord of 10,000 households”. ↩︎
