“Since we part today, I wish you well,” said the Marquis of Duanyang earnestly.
“Take care,” Song Huaijin replied with a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
At this moment, her face was ashen, bearing every mark of a terminal illness, with not a trace of beauty to be seen. Yet the Marquis of Duanyang felt that she radiated a brilliance so dazzling that no enchantingly beautiful courtesan, however stunning her looks, could compare.
Outside, the wind and snow grew fiercer. Song Huaijin sat alone in the vast hall, watching the Marquis’s figure disappear into the blizzard, and pressed her lips together ever so slightly.
In truth, Min Chi was far too arrogant. While holding Yang City was not entirely impregnable, inflicting a serious blow on the Wei army would be exceedingly difficult. If Min Chi suffered a crushing defeat in his first battle, Wei would surely hold him to account. Her aim was to force him into such a position that he could no longer remain in Wei – and might even be executed.
The Qin army was a force of tigers and wolves. Yang City lay on the Qin-Wei border, and in a single night, Qin troops from nearby cities could arrive. The Wei forces had endured days in the snow, and their winter provisions were surely running low. Qin would not let such a golden opportunity slip by.
Speed was of the essence in war. If the Wei army entered the city, retaking it would become far more difficult, and Qin might suffer heavy losses. Thus she was certain that Qin would act swiftly.
Song Huaijin rose and walked out into the wind and snow, paying no heed to the frozen and starving dead along the road, and made her way straight toward the city wall.
On the ramparts, the wind howled and snow swept across. Without gripping the parapet, Song Huaijin could barely keep her footing.
“Someone,” Song Huaijin called out, raising her voice.
The white wolfskin robe she wore marked her extraordinary status, and immediately a deputy general stepped forward to receive her orders.
“There is still some stored grain in the Marquis’s residence. Our lord is benevolent – take it out and share it among the troops,” Song Huaijin said, each word uttered with great difficulty against the wind.
The deputy general’s spirits lifted, yet he hesitated. “But…”
“That grain is not even enough for everyone to have a single full meal. But our lord has received word from the messenger sent to Qin – the Qin army will arrive at Yang City by tomorrow morning. Our lord would rather go hungry himself and begs everyone to hold out for just one night. If the Qin troops do not come by dawn, our lord will surrender to Wei and will never disregard the lives of any of you.” Song Huaijin’s voice was not loud, but the soldiers guarding the nearby wall could all hear her. Having said this, she covered her face as if weeping and continued, “Our lord has always been benevolent and would not wish to see any of you die in vain. But Yang City is the legacy passed down by our forebears. I beg you all to lend our lord your strength. On behalf of our lord, I thank you all.”
Song Huaijin then made a deep bow, lowering herself all the way to the ground.
The soldiers nearby quickly stepped forward to help her up. “You are too gracious. Our lord is wise and righteous – we shall defend this city to the death!”
“To the death!”
“To the death!”
Voices rose and fell along the ramparts, mingling with the raging wind and snow – frail in strength, yet unyielding in spirit.
Song Huaijin raised her hand slightly and said, “The matter of Qin reinforcements must not be leaked. If the Wei army should attack early…”
“I understand,” said the deputy general, cupping his hands in salute. He then gave orders that no one was to surrender to Wei today, and that any who deserted without permission would be executed without mercy.
This news would surely reach the Wei army – Song Huaijin knew that. But she needed only one night. Just one night…
The blizzard howled, burying the shattered corpses on the main battlefield. The soldiers of Yang City had eaten their thin porridge and their spirits had lifted considerably.
The grain stored in the Marquis of Duanyang’s residence was all fine white rice -something these men might never have laid eyes on in their entire lives. At this moment, they felt that even if they died now, it would have been worth it.
Song Huaijin sat in a shelter on the city wall tower, narrowing her eyes as she stared in the direction where the Wei army had made camp. The night was deep and heavy, the wind and snow raging – she could see nothing at all. The puffs of mist from her breath only further blurred her vision.
The first half of the night passed quietly. Song Huaijin was exhausted to the extreme, yet sleep would not come. She fixed her gaze unblinkingly on the eastern sky as it gradually grew light, her hands clenched tightly within her sleeves.
A tremor, mingled with the sound of the wind, rapidly drew closer. Song Huaijin’s eyes opened slightly as she looked down. In the distance, where sky met earth, great clouds of snow and dust were rising – the red-armored Wei army surged toward Yang City like a tidal wave.
“Master Huaijin! The Wei army is attacking the city!” The deputy general rushed in to report.
Time waits for no one… She slowly closed her eyes. After a long silence, she spoke in a hoarse voice, “Open the city gates. Let them surrender.”
It was not that Song Huaijin was unwilling to sacrifice the innocent – in her heart at this moment, there was only strategy, not sentiment. But a man like Min Chi, unexpectedly launching a swift assault, must have had many collaborators within the city, and he was fully confident of victory. Looking at the vast disparity in strength between the Wei army and the defending troops, even if they did not surrender now, they would not last half a moment.
“Open the main gates wide,” Song Huaijin added. “Send word to open the north city gates as well.”
The main gates thrown wide open were a ruse of the empty city – though it would be seen through eventually, it could still buy a little time. And the north city gates were left open for the Qin army… She could only hope the Qin forces would seize this opportunity.
The deputy general pressed his lips tightly together and did not move.
Song Huaijin looked up at him. In the flickering, leaping light of the torches, she saw a resolute and handsome face. “I would rather die than surrender,” he said.
“A man of stature in this world lives for two things: loyalty and ambition. The Marquis of Duanyang is not worthy of your loyalty, and this tiny patch of land called Yang City cannot fulfill your ambitions. If you die, you die for nothing,” Song Huaijin said weakly. “Do not be foolish.”
After a moment of silence, he cupped his hands in salute. “Yes.”
Song Huaijin watched his sturdy figure vanish into the wind and snow, and was still for a long time. Then she reached into her sleeve pouch and took out a handkerchief. Unfolding it revealed a pill the size of a fingernail, exuding a rich fragrance.
She picked it up with her fingers and placed it in her mouth, frowning slightly. Squinting, she gazed out at the vast, wind-whipped snow beyond. A pungent heat slid down her throat, gradually gathering into a searing pain in her belly. A warm current surged back up her throat, and her mouth filled with a salty, metallic sweetness.
Song Huaijin had already reached the end of her strength. Death was merely a matter of a day sooner or later. But she could not bear the thought of seeing Min Chi every day in the time she had left – just the thought of it made her chest tight with suffocation.
In strategy, there is no scheme without deception. If she had lost, it was because she, Song Huaijin, had been outmatched. But she could never forgive that.
“Chuyi.” A familiar figure stepped into her sight.
Song Huaijin gave him a brief once-over. Min Chi was dressed in a smoke-colored wide-sleeved robe and a black raccoon-fur cloak, his shoulders dusted with snow – still every bit the elegant, graceful man she remembered.
The moment he saw Song Huaijin’s condition, his face flooded with shock. He murmured, “Chuyi, I’ve come to take you home.”
Min Chi did not want her dead. Even though he had used her, even though he had betrayed her, he had never intended to bring her to her grave.
Seeing her lips move as if she wanted to say something, he snapped out of his daze, strode into the shelter, and steadied her. His phoenix-like eyes glistened with tears. “Chuyi, what do you want to say?”
Song Huaijin coughed up a mouthful of blood, leaned closer to him, and with great difficulty breathed out, “Min Chi… I… fuck… your ancestors.”
Hearing this final utterance, Min Chi stared blankly at her clear eyes losing their light -and then, despite himself, he let out a laugh.
Song Chuyi, styled Huaijin, originally styled Yinyue.
“Having jade in one’s bosom” – a metaphor for the fine virtue of a gentleman. This was because she was coarse in speech and behavior, with a difficult temperament, so when she took a master, her teacher bestowed this name as a hopeful aspiration for her. Yet until her very death, she had never lived up to those two words in the slightest.
As his laughter faded, a tear suddenly slipped from the corner of Min Chi’s eye, searing his cheek with its heat amid the frozen wastes.
“Sir! Qin troops at the north city gates!” a soldier reported urgently from outside the shelter.
Min Chi’s body tensed. He lowered his gaze to the peaceful face in his arms – the bloody corner of her mouth seemed to curl up ever so faintly, as if mocking him. He frowned slightly, gently laid Song Huaijin down, raised his head to look at the eastern sky just beginning to brighten, and slowly uttered, “Prepare for battle.”
