Duan Ling wakes with a violent start.
The bell is tolling on and on, one ring after another; from the outside comes the cries of panic. He immediately reaches out for the sword he keeps by the bed, and out of the furor he manages to discern one phrase, “The Mongol army is here!”
This is the second attack by Mongolian forces on Shangjing in two years, and the last time they attacked it was nearing autumn as well; it just so happens that a year has gone by since. Duan Ling straps his sword on at once, and takes down the longbow hanging in the parlour. As soon as he reaches the back courtyard he sees boulders and flaming canisters being tossed into the city. Fire has begun to spread.
People are running around in the streets crying fire, and Duan Ling passes through another street, to join a group passing buckets of water. Soon, another boulder flies into the city.
“This place won’t hold!” Duan Ling calls out, “Everyone, flee to the northern district —!”
The western district of Shangjing is in complete chaos — the Mongol army has somehow made it to the city gates without drawing anyone’s attention. Flames are shooting up everywhere, and siege ladders have already been placed against the western gate; there are even Mongolian soldiers who fought their way into the city, raising their weapons high.
The city hasn’t been captured yet! We were only attacked by surprise! Duan Ling leaps onto the roof, draws his longbow, and kills an isolated Mongolian soldier. Another soldier who’s stolen a horse passes through the back street, setting fires wherever he goes, and Duan Ling shoots him off his horse too.
By the time he fires the third arrow the enemy has already discovered him, and they come at him with loud curses, turning a heavy crossbow on him. Duan Ling steps behind the eaves and does a flip over the edge of the roof. Sword in hand, he detours around the back courtyard, and with one thrust of his sword he kills another man.
The city guard rushes forth from all directions to cut down the invading enemy, and at long last they manage to contain the chaos. And yet the war drums are starting to beat outside the city; Yelü Dashi arrives hurriedly with his troops, closing the city gates entirely, barring all entry.
At daybreak, Duan Ling runs over to Cai Yan’s house. The Cai estate’s gates are closed and barred, and he doesn’t find anyone there; Duan Ling heads to Helian Bo’s house then and no one is there either. The streets are in a state of total disarray, some people are resorting to reciting the sutras while others simply focus on fleeing. Duan Ling is left with little option but to go home again, and when he gets there he finds a girl outside his door waiting for him. He knows that she’s from the Viburnum, but he can’t quite recall her name.
“Mister Duan, the madam would like to invite you over to the Viburnum,” the girl says with a bow.
Duan Ling puts the bow on his back and follows her. Gradually, Shangjing calms down, and occasionally one can hear the whimper of someone crying. The afternoon sun is such a bright white that it stings his eyes. When they arrive at the Viburnum the girl tells him, “Please rest here, Mister Duan. Once the madam finishes the work she has on hand she will ask to see you.”
“Go on,” Duan Ling says.
Before the girl leaves, Ding Zhi has come to see him. They nod at each other and Ding Zhi asks him, “Would you like something to eat, sir? I’ll get something made right away.”
“There’s no need to trouble yourselves.”
Ding Zhi bows and withdraws from the room then. Duan Ling drinks some water, eats a bit of pastry to satisfy his hunger, and puts down his sword and bow before stepping out of the room. He jumps onto the wall hoping to see into the distance but finds black smoke rising in every direction; he simply leaps onto the roof then, and with his feet on the roof tiles he sits there, looking out at the city.
“The madam begs for an audience,” a silvery voice below him says.
Duan Ling glances down; Xunchun has arrived. She sends her attendants away before bowing to him.
“What’s going on?” Duan Ling asks.
“Not long ago, during the civil war in the south, whenHis Highness and Zhao Kui confronted each other before Jianmenguan, Zhao Kui urgently redeployed thirty thousand troops away from the east road’s Yubiguan and made them march south.” Xunchun says grimly, “He was hoping to attack Jiangzhou by surprise and cut off His Highness’s escape, causing him to face enemies on both sides. However, while the soldiers were redeployed, there was no battle. Before the reinforcements arrived, Mu Kuangda coordinated in a plot with His Highness and Jianmenguan surrendered.”
“Within two days.” Xunchun looks into the courtyard. “The entire Xichuan road was recovered. The bells were tolled nine times at Mount Wenzhong; his Third Highness took charge of the city of Xichuan.”
“At the same time, since the garrison within Yubiguan had been greatly weakened, the Mongolians climbed over the natural border of Mount Jiangjun to invade Liao. They went right past Huchang and came directly for Shangjing. Three days ago, they dispatched a squad disguised as foreign traders and sent them into Shangjing. Once inside the city, they launched an ambush and killed the gate guards, opening the city gates. Thankfully, they were discovered in time and the western gate remains secure.”
Xunchun finishes, “There are ten thousand Mongolian soldiers outside, marching without hindrance. All that’s left inside the city are two thousand city guards and ten thousand troops. Before the enemy could surround the city, the Northern Prince sent messengers toward south and west asking for reinforcements.”
“What about my grandfather?”
“He’s dead. Before His Highness left, he told me that as soon as the situation in the south is set, whether the one to accede to the throne is himself or the Fourth Prince, you will be the heir-apparent. We must treat you with all the courtesy one would give the emperor.”
Duan Ling gives her a nod.
“That’s why Your Highness mustn’t do anything dangerous. If you need anything, please ask.”
“Thanks.” Duan Ling jumps down from the flying eaves. Xunchun turns away and leaves with graceful steps.
He has no idea where Cai Yan has gone. Duan Ling begins staying at the Viburnum from that night on. Inside its walls it feels like nothing ever happened; outside it’s as clamorous as before, but the women are making Double Seven Festival pastries in the Viburnum’s garden. Duan Lilng notices that whenever he passes through an occupied place, whether men or women, everyone at the Viburnum would stop and bow to him.
He worries about Cai Yan, worried that after Cai Wen’s death he’ll seek revenge for his older brother without regard for his life, and so he sends people to search for his whereabouts.
Xichuan.
Li Jianhong is sitting on the imperial throne; the chair itself was brought here all the way from the former capital, but alas the land where this chair used to sit has already become Khitan territory.
“Even years ago, father was already in ill health,” Li Jianhong says.
Li Yanqiu stands in a corner looking through the window panes. Shafts of twilight slant into the room one by one.
“I still remember how we used to chase each other around in front of that chair when we were little.” Li Yanqiu says, “In the blink of an eye, so many years have gone by.”
“You be the emperor,” Li Jianhong says.
“You do it.”
“You do it. Not another word out of you. It’s decided.”
Li Yanqiu shakes his head helplessly, but Li Jianhong begins to smile.
“I have a son. You’ll like him when you meet him.”
“Where are you hiding him?”
“Shangjing. In a few days, once you accede, I’ll go get him.”
“I will treat him as my own.”
Li Jianhong nods. The brothers are silent for a long time before Li Yanqiu speaks again, “Are we moving the capital?”
“When it comes down to it, Xichuan is the Mu family’s domain, so let’s leave it to them.” Li Jianhong says gravely. “I have always been opposed to the idea of moving here to Xichuan.”
“You need to be on guard around him.”
“We absolutely cannot hurt him right now. The new court isn’t yet stable, the gentry class have their roots dug well into the government, so all we can do is lie in wait.”
Li Yanqiu heaves a long sigh.
Li Jianhong whistles; it sounds especially abrupt within the palace hall. A guard opens the door and enters.
“Bring that guy in here,” Li Jianhong says. “It’s been long enough.”
Li Yanqiu says, “You should’ve just let Chang Liujun kill him. Why go through all this trouble?”
“I don’t want to kill anymore.” Li Jianhong says wearily, “I’ve killed enough people along the way. And whether or not the Mus want to kill me has nothing to do with this man.”
Soon, his subordinate brings in Wu Du. Wu Du’s face is covered in bruises, all his wounds have been dressed and his hands are wrapped in bandages.
“Speak.” Li Jianhong leans back in the Dragon Throne. Li Yanqiu sits near him, watching Wu Du.
“Your words will decide who lives, and who dies.” Li Jianhong’s eyes are closed. “This includes your own life. Speak.”
Wu Du stares at the white jade bricks on the floor in silence; its white tiger pattern is detailed and life-like.
“I didn’t keep you alive because I wanted to see a mute.” Li Jianhong asks, “How much of a hand did Mu Kuangda have in Zhao Kui’s plans?”
“None. Master Wangbei had a disciple who’s also a killer.”
“Mu Kuangda said that?”
“The general said that. He wanted to hire this man to deal with Your Majesty.”
“Did Chancellor Mu agree to this?” Li Jianhong asks.
“No.”
“Did he refuse?” Li Yanqiu asks.
“Not that, either.”
Li Yanqiu laughs. “What an old fox.”
“What else is there?” Li Jianhong says, “If you were one of my people and gave me one answer for every one question like that, I may have chopped off your head before I get to the second question.”
“From the beginning to the end he only ever said he won’t do it. There’s no evidence. But he does intend to be disloyal.”
“If we can convict people for disloyal intentions, who knows how many people would be dead already. Forget it, I’ll let him live for now.”
Wu Du raises his head and looks up at Li Jianhong.
“You can go.” Li Jianhong says, “Go wherever you want.“
Wu Du takes a step back, hesitating. Right then, the palace doors open wide and a panting messenger dashes in. He drops to his knees in the hall and raises a dispatch with both hands above his head.
“Mongolian forces have marched south, ten thousand cavalry besieges Shangjing, Yelü Dashi would ask for your help! Your Majesty, please aid Shangjing break the siege!”
Li Jianhong has just come back to Xichuan only to find that his back courtyard has suddenly caught fire; he’s momentarily stunned and at a loss.
The Mongolians really have come too quickly. Zhao Kui had barely redeployed the troops garrisoned at Yubiguan before they flooded in and breached Liao territory. Most troubling of all is that the Khitans seem to utterly lack the strength to resist them — a wide stretch of territory to the north of Huchang is now occupied. Zhongjing has dispatched troops as reinforcements, and Yelü Dashi has immediately recalled the army Li Jianhong borrowed, hoping he can aid them in this dire predicament.
“I believe we should not send troops,” Mu Kuangda says.
The Xichuan palace has waited for nearly ten years, but now they finally have someone in charge whom every functionary must bow to.
However, Li Jianhong’s position hasn’t been made official yet, and his personality also greatly differs from successive emperors who came before. The court functionaries have just managed to escape a purge by Zhao Kui, and now they argue with great devotion to the empire that now is the best opportunity to seize both Liao and Yuan — the reason is quite simple: when the sandpiper and the clam are at war, the fisherman merely has to wait to catch both.
They’ve been waiting to see Yuan and Liao declare war on each other since the Battle of Huai River. Shangzi and the loss of their capital hasn’t been avenged as of yet, so how can he take the liberty to send troops?
Let’s put it this way: all he has to do is return the Khitan army he borrowed.
He can’t break faith with Yelü Dashi and become an object of ridicule, but he can at least take his time getting there, can’t he?
Your Majesty, you defended Shangjing for Yelü Dashi so it’s only right for the Khitans to pay you back.
Li Jianhong merely listens to them impatiently, with the furrow between his brows deepening into a knot.
“Your Majesty?” Mu Kuangda asks tentatively.
“Are you all quite done?”
The officials in the palace hall stare at Li Jianhong. They’ve already heard the rumours regarding Prince of Beiliang’s stubbornness, and it turns out he’s just as obstinate as rumoured.
“Your Majesty.” Mu Kuangda says, “The former emperor is dead, and a nation cannot go without a sovereign even for a single day. You must accede to the throne as soon as possible in order to placate the masses. As for whether to send troops, we can consider that at length. There’s no country in the world who’d send troops to aid its neighbour when it doesn’t even have a lord. Whether for sentimental or logical reasons, it is highly inappropriate.”
“Let’s not be so hasty with the ‘Your Majesty’ — did I agree I’d do it? Go make preparations now. The Fourth Prince will be enthroned tomorrow. Ministry of War, make inventory and get provisions ready. We march by tomorrow afternoon.”
“But we must always choose an auspicious day for the ascension …” says the Director of Astronomy.
Li Jianhong shoots him a look. The Director of Astronomy falls to his knees. “This goes against the customs!”
“Your Majesty.” Mu Kuangda insists, “Seniority is important to the hierarchy. We cannot overstep these bounds. Even the celestial family has to abide by the rules.”
“When Zhao Kui’s underlings had me on the run all over the north,” Li Jianhong blurts out, “How come I didn’t hear any of you say ‘seniority is important to the hierarchy’?”
The hall descend into a solemn silence. There is an obvious threat in what Li Jianhong said — if you won’t let me send troops, then just you wait for me to excavate old grievances.
“Even so, Your Majesty must be enthroned first.” Mu Kuangda finally makes a compromise. “In these desperate times we can finish the ceremony as quickly as possible. Then once Your Majesty can oversee the court, you can send out troops from Yanzhou, and send the Imperial Palace Guards along with the falcon unit to attack the Mongolian defensive perimeter at Yubiguan. Ögedei will then have to turn his army around to save themselves. That way Liao will be out of danger.”
“Liao will be out of danger.” Li Jianhong says coldly, “But there won’t be anything left of Shangjing.”
“The Mongolians are attacking a city, so of course they will massacre that city. Such karma will come back to haunt their descendents. It is no different than how the Khitans’ iron horseshoes trampled Great Chen’s sovereign territory back then. Your Majesty, in all likelihood, Shangjing cannot be defended.”
Li Jianhong doesn’t try to argue with him. Instead, he says, “Let’s dismiss this assembly. Forego the pagentry at tomorrow’s ascension ceremony. Ministry of War, get the provisions ready tonight. If you’re still dragging your feet and haven’t issued the provisions by noon tomorrow, come see me with your own severed head. Assembly dismissed.”
Li Jianhong has listened for ages without letting a single argument move him, and if anyone should pay him lip service without doing any of the work, he’ll surely become the first emperor in history to walk the palace hall with sword in hand to cut his functionaries down where they stand. The officials look at each other, knowing that an era is now past. They each shake their heads and sigh wistfully, but have no choice but to leave.
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Duan Ling wakes with a violent start.
The bell is tolling on and on, one ring after another; from the outside comes the cries of panic. He immediately reaches out for the sword he keeps by the bed, and out of the furor he manages to discern one phrase, “The Mongol army is here!”
This is the second attack by Mongolian forces on Shangjing in two years, and the last time they attacked it was nearing autumn as well; it just so happens that a year has gone by since. Duan Ling straps his sword on at once, and takes down the longbow hanging in the parlour. As soon as he reaches the back courtyard he sees boulders and flaming canisters being tossed into the city. Fire has begun to spread.
People are running around in the streets crying fire, and Duan Ling passes through another street, to join a group passing buckets of water. Soon, another boulder flies into the city.
“This place won’t hold!” Duan Ling calls out, “Everyone, flee to the northern district —!”
The western district of Shangjing is in complete chaos — the Mongol army has somehow made it to the city gates without drawing anyone’s attention. Flames are shooting up everywhere, and siege ladders have already been placed against the western gate; there are even Mongolian soldiers who fought their way into the city, raising their weapons high.
The city hasn’t been captured yet! We were only attacked by surprise! Duan Ling leaps onto the roof, draws his longbow, and kills an isolated Mongolian soldier. Another soldier who’s stolen a horse passes through the back street, setting fires wherever he goes, and Duan Ling shoots him off his horse too.
By the time he fires the third arrow the enemy has already discovered him, and they come at him with loud curses, turning a heavy crossbow on him. Duan Ling steps behind the eaves and does a flip over the edge of the roof. Sword in hand, he detours around the back courtyard, and with one thrust of his sword he kills another man.
The city guard rushes forth from all directions to cut down the invading enemy, and at long last they manage to contain the chaos. And yet the war drums are starting to beat outside the city; Yelü Dashi arrives hurriedly with his troops, closing the city gates entirely, barring all entry.
At daybreak, Duan Ling runs over to Cai Yan’s house. The Cai estate’s gates are closed and barred, and he doesn’t find anyone there; Duan Ling heads to Helian Bo’s house then and no one is there either. The streets are in a state of total disarray, some people are resorting to reciting the sutras while others simply focus on fleeing. Duan Ling is left with little option but to go home again, and when he gets there he finds a girl outside his door waiting for him. He knows that she’s from the Viburnum, but he can’t quite recall her name.
“Mister Duan, the madam would like to invite you over to the Viburnum,” the girl says with a bow.
Duan Ling puts the bow on his back and follows her. Gradually, Shangjing calms down, and occasionally one can hear the whimper of someone crying. The afternoon sun is such a bright white that it stings his eyes. When they arrive at the Viburnum the girl tells him, “Please rest here, Mister Duan. Once the madam finishes the work she has on hand she will ask to see you.”
“Go on,” Duan Ling says.
Before the girl leaves, Ding Zhi has come to see him. They nod at each other and Ding Zhi asks him, “Would you like something to eat, sir? I’ll get something made right away.”
“There’s no need to trouble yourselves.”
Ding Zhi bows and withdraws from the room then. Duan Ling drinks some water, eats a bit of pastry to satisfy his hunger, and puts down his sword and bow before stepping out of the room. He jumps onto the wall hoping to see into the distance but finds black smoke rising in every direction; he simply leaps onto the roof then, and with his feet on the roof tiles he sits there, looking out at the city.
“The madam begs for an audience,” a silvery voice below him says.
Duan Ling glances down; Xunchun has arrived. She sends her attendants away before bowing to him.
“What’s going on?” Duan Ling asks.
“Not long ago, during the civil war in the south, whenHis Highness and Zhao Kui confronted each other before Jianmenguan, Zhao Kui urgently redeployed thirty thousand troops away from the east road’s Yubiguan and made them march south.” Xunchun says grimly, “He was hoping to attack Jiangzhou by surprise and cut off His Highness’s escape, causing him to face enemies on both sides. However, while the soldiers were redeployed, there was no battle. Before the reinforcements arrived, Mu Kuangda coordinated in a plot with His Highness and Jianmenguan surrendered.”
“Within two days.” Xunchun looks into the courtyard. “The entire Xichuan road was recovered. The bells were tolled nine times at Mount Wenzhong; his Third Highness took charge of the city of Xichuan.”
“At the same time, since the garrison within Yubiguan had been greatly weakened, the Mongolians climbed over the natural border of Mount Jiangjun to invade Liao. They went right past Huchang and came directly for Shangjing. Three days ago, they dispatched a squad disguised as foreign traders and sent them into Shangjing. Once inside the city, they launched an ambush and killed the gate guards, opening the city gates. Thankfully, they were discovered in time and the western gate remains secure.”
Xunchun finishes, “There are ten thousand Mongolian soldiers outside, marching without hindrance. All that’s left inside the city are two thousand city guards and ten thousand troops. Before the enemy could surround the city, the Northern Prince sent messengers toward south and west asking for reinforcements.”
“What about my grandfather?”
“He’s dead. Before His Highness left, he told me that as soon as the situation in the south is set, whether the one to accede to the throne is himself or the Fourth Prince, you will be the heir-apparent. We must treat you with all the courtesy one would give the emperor.”
Duan Ling gives her a nod.
“That’s why Your Highness mustn’t do anything dangerous. If you need anything, please ask.”
“Thanks.” Duan Ling jumps down from the flying eaves. Xunchun turns away and leaves with graceful steps.
He has no idea where Cai Yan has gone. Duan Ling begins staying at the Viburnum from that night on. Inside its walls it feels like nothing ever happened; outside it’s as clamorous as before, but the women are making Double Seven Festival pastries in the Viburnum’s garden. Duan Lilng notices that whenever he passes through an occupied place, whether men or women, everyone at the Viburnum would stop and bow to him.
He worries about Cai Yan, worried that after Cai Wen’s death he’ll seek revenge for his older brother without regard for his life, and so he sends people to search for his whereabouts.
Xichuan.
Li Jianhong is sitting on the imperial throne; the chair itself was brought here all the way from the former capital, but alas the land where this chair used to sit has already become Khitan territory.
“Even years ago, father was already in ill health,” Li Jianhong says.
Li Yanqiu stands in a corner looking through the window panes. Shafts of twilight slant into the room one by one.
“I still remember how we used to chase each other around in front of that chair when we were little.” Li Yanqiu says, “In the blink of an eye, so many years have gone by.”
“You be the emperor,” Li Jianhong says.
“You do it.”
“You do it. Not another word out of you. It’s decided.”
Li Yanqiu shakes his head helplessly, but Li Jianhong begins to smile.
“I have a son. You’ll like him when you meet him.”
“Where are you hiding him?”
“Shangjing. In a few days, once you accede, I’ll go get him.”
“I will treat him as my own.”
Li Jianhong nods. The brothers are silent for a long time before Li Yanqiu speaks again, “Are we moving the capital?”
“When it comes down to it, Xichuan is the Mu family’s domain, so let’s leave it to them.” Li Jianhong says gravely. “I have always been opposed to the idea of moving here to Xichuan.”
“You need to be on guard around him.”
“We absolutely cannot hurt him right now. The new court isn’t yet stable, the gentry class have their roots dug well into the government, so all we can do is lie in wait.”
Li Yanqiu heaves a long sigh.
Li Jianhong whistles; it sounds especially abrupt within the palace hall. A guard opens the door and enters.
“Bring that guy in here,” Li Jianhong says. “It’s been long enough.”
Li Yanqiu says, “You should’ve just let Chang Liujun kill him. Why go through all this trouble?”
“I don’t want to kill anymore.” Li Jianhong says wearily, “I’ve killed enough people along the way. And whether or not the Mus want to kill me has nothing to do with this man.”
Soon, his subordinate brings in Wu Du. Wu Du’s face is covered in bruises, all his wounds have been dressed and his hands are wrapped in bandages.
“Speak.” Li Jianhong leans back in the Dragon Throne. Li Yanqiu sits near him, watching Wu Du.
“Your words will decide who lives, and who dies.” Li Jianhong’s eyes are closed. “This includes your own life. Speak.”
Wu Du stares at the white jade bricks on the floor in silence; its white tiger pattern is detailed and life-like.
“I didn’t keep you alive because I wanted to see a mute.” Li Jianhong asks, “How much of a hand did Mu Kuangda have in Zhao Kui’s plans?”
“None. Master Wangbei had a disciple who’s also a killer.”
“Mu Kuangda said that?”
“The general said that. He wanted to hire this man to deal with Your Majesty.”
“Did Chancellor Mu agree to this?” Li Jianhong asks.
“No.”
“Did he refuse?” Li Yanqiu asks.
“Not that, either.”
Li Yanqiu laughs. “What an old fox.”
“What else is there?” Li Jianhong says, “If you were one of my people and gave me one answer for every one question like that, I may have chopped off your head before I get to the second question.”
“From the beginning to the end he only ever said he won’t do it. There’s no evidence. But he does intend to be disloyal.”
“If we can convict people for disloyal intentions, who knows how many people would be dead already. Forget it, I’ll let him live for now.”
Wu Du raises his head and looks up at Li Jianhong.
“You can go.” Li Jianhong says, “Go wherever you want.“
Wu Du takes a step back, hesitating. Right then, the palace doors open wide and a panting messenger dashes in. He drops to his knees in the hall and raises a dispatch with both hands above his head.
“Mongolian forces have marched south, ten thousand cavalry besieges Shangjing, Yelü Dashi would ask for your help! Your Majesty, please aid Shangjing break the siege!”
Li Jianhong has just come back to Xichuan only to find that his back courtyard has suddenly caught fire; he’s momentarily stunned and at a loss.
The Mongolians really have come too quickly. Zhao Kui had barely redeployed the troops garrisoned at Yubiguan before they flooded in and breached Liao territory. Most troubling of all is that the Khitans seem to utterly lack the strength to resist them — a wide stretch of territory to the north of Huchang is now occupied. Zhongjing has dispatched troops as reinforcements, and Yelü Dashi has immediately recalled the army Li Jianhong borrowed, hoping he can aid them in this dire predicament.
“I believe we should not send troops,” Mu Kuangda says.
The Xichuan palace has waited for nearly ten years, but now they finally have someone in charge whom every functionary must bow to.
However, Li Jianhong’s position hasn’t been made official yet, and his personality also greatly differs from successive emperors who came before. The court functionaries have just managed to escape a purge by Zhao Kui, and now they argue with great devotion to the empire that now is the best opportunity to seize both Liao and Yuan — the reason is quite simple: when the sandpiper and the clam are at war, the fisherman merely has to wait to catch both.
They’ve been waiting to see Yuan and Liao declare war on each other since the Battle of Huai River. Shangzi and the loss of their capital hasn’t been avenged as of yet, so how can he take the liberty to send troops?
Let’s put it this way: all he has to do is return the Khitan army he borrowed.
He can’t break faith with Yelü Dashi and become an object of ridicule, but he can at least take his time getting there, can’t he?
Your Majesty, you defended Shangjing for Yelü Dashi so it’s only right for the Khitans to pay you back.
Li Jianhong merely listens to them impatiently, with the furrow between his brows deepening into a knot.
“Your Majesty?” Mu Kuangda asks tentatively.
“Are you all quite done?”
The officials in the palace hall stare at Li Jianhong. They’ve already heard the rumours regarding Prince of Beiliang’s stubbornness, and it turns out he’s just as obstinate as rumoured.
“Your Majesty.” Mu Kuangda says, “The former emperor is dead, and a nation cannot go without a sovereign even for a single day. You must accede to the throne as soon as possible in order to placate the masses. As for whether to send troops, we can consider that at length. There’s no country in the world who’d send troops to aid its neighbour when it doesn’t even have a lord. Whether for sentimental or logical reasons, it is highly inappropriate.”
“Let’s not be so hasty with the ‘Your Majesty’ — did I agree I’d do it? Go make preparations now. The Fourth Prince will be enthroned tomorrow. Ministry of War, make inventory and get provisions ready. We march by tomorrow afternoon.”
“But we must always choose an auspicious day for the ascension …” says the Director of Astronomy.
Li Jianhong shoots him a look. The Director of Astronomy falls to his knees. “This goes against the customs!”
“Your Majesty.” Mu Kuangda insists, “Seniority is important to the hierarchy. We cannot overstep these bounds. Even the celestial family has to abide by the rules.”
“When Zhao Kui’s underlings had me on the run all over the north,” Li Jianhong blurts out, “How come I didn’t hear any of you say ‘seniority is important to the hierarchy’?”
The hall descend into a solemn silence. There is an obvious threat in what Li Jianhong said — if you won’t let me send troops, then just you wait for me to excavate old grievances.
“Even so, Your Majesty must be enthroned first.” Mu Kuangda finally makes a compromise. “In these desperate times we can finish the ceremony as quickly as possible. Then once Your Majesty can oversee the court, you can send out troops from Yanzhou, and send the Imperial Palace Guards along with the falcon unit to attack the Mongolian defensive perimeter at Yubiguan. Ögedei will then have to turn his army around to save themselves. That way Liao will be out of danger.”
“Liao will be out of danger.” Li Jianhong says coldly, “But there won’t be anything left of Shangjing.”
“The Mongolians are attacking a city, so of course they will massacre that city. Such karma will come back to haunt their descendents. It is no different than how the Khitans’ iron horseshoes trampled Great Chen’s sovereign territory back then. Your Majesty, in all likelihood, Shangjing cannot be defended.”
Li Jianhong doesn’t try to argue with him. Instead, he says, “Let’s dismiss this assembly. Forego the pagentry at tomorrow’s ascension ceremony. Ministry of War, get the provisions ready tonight. If you’re still dragging your feet and haven’t issued the provisions by noon tomorrow, come see me with your own severed head. Assembly dismissed.”
Li Jianhong has listened for ages without letting a single argument move him, and if anyone should pay him lip service without doing any of the work, he’ll surely become the first emperor in history to walk the palace hall with sword in hand to cut his functionaries down where they stand. The officials look at each other, knowing that an era is now past. They each shake their heads and sigh wistfully, but have no choice but to leave.
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