On the evening of the twenty-second day of the intercalary eleventh month in the first year of the Jingkang Era,
Outside Bianliang, within the grand encampment of the Jin army at Qingcheng Stockade—
Since the sharp drop in temperature, a heavy snowfall had persisted for a full day and night. Though it had now abated, thick clouds still loomed oppressively overhead. The winter sun, pale and enfeebled, could not pierce the dense overcast even at midday, casting the land in a dim, gloomy twilight.
In stark contrast to the day's somber skies, Wanyan Zonghan, commander of the Jin's Western Army, strode with a jaunty gait into the command tent of Wanyan Zongwang, leader of the Eastern Army. Ignoring the guards' formal announcements and without waiting for permission, he simply lifted the curtain and stepped inside.
As the flap was raised, a wave of heat surged toward him—not only from the twin bronze braziers seized from a suburban villa, where choice tribute coal glowed with a faint blue flame, but also from the intoxicating scene within that could ignite desire in any man's heart.
Inside the tent, spanning more than ten paces wide, a dozen stunning young women danced in graceful rhythm. Clad only in wisps of gauze, their movements revealed and concealed in tantalizing alternation. In a corner, a beautiful matron softly plucked a pipa, singing a newly popular tune. Around the cushioned divan layered with thick sheepskins, Wanyan Zongwang reclined, surrounded by half-clad beauties who poured his wine and served his food with delicate hands.
Zonghan gave a sweeping glance at the sensual display, then burst out laughing.
"Oli Bu!"—he addressed Zongwang by his Jurchen name—"You certainly know how to enjoy yourself!"
Alas, despite the lively scene brimming with songbirds and blossoms, Wanyan Zongwang remained despondent.
The sudden, uninvited entrance of his old rival only deepened the gloom on his face. A flicker of anger flashed in his eyes, mingled with a heavy dose of shame.
As commanders of the two most powerful factions within the Jin empire—and potential claimants to the future throne—Zonghan and Zongwang had long shared a fraught alliance, marked by rivalry as much as cooperation. Even on the battlefield, their mutual suspicion and backstabbing never ceased.
The Jurchen Wanyan tribe, after all, was a loose confederation of clans. Even among blood brothers, a division of property and people meant the birth of separate houses. Thus, internal strife and factionalism were the norm.
The strongest factions were two: the lineage of Aguda and Wuqimai, which, after Wuqimai's ascension, saw Zongwang and his kin increasingly suppressed to pave the way for the emperor's own heir. The second was the line of Zonghan, scion of the hereditary Guolun Bojilie. Even before the Southern campaign, Zonghan controlled Xijing and Datong Prefecture, wielding autonomous authority akin to a western court.
Zonghan's prestige soared further during the invasion of Song, especially under his fierce general Wanyan Lou Shi. With only twenty thousand men, Lou Shi vanquished the bulk of the Song's imperial forces in a string of decisive victories—at Xionglin, Yuci, Wenshui, and Taiyuan—slaughtering over two hundred thousand elite troops. His exploits were unprecedented and unmatched, solidifying the Western Army's dominance.
This imbalance bred ever-deepening hostility. The Eastern Army, though of imperial bloodline, suffered suppression and was composed largely of irregulars—Han, Khitan, Bohai, Xi, and even Koreans—while the Western Army boasted a larger force of elite Jurchen cavalry and claimed purer lineage.
Naturally, both sides scorned the other. Friction was constant.
—In the original timeline, not long after the fall of the Northern Song, Zongwang would be assassinated by Zonghan's hand...
For now, with Bianliang still unconquered and the Song dynasty yet standing, their rivalry had not yet turned openly violent. But the hostility between them was palpable.
"Not nearly as blissful as you, Nianhan," Zongwang replied coolly, using Zonghan's Jurchen name. "I hear you've recently acquired the famed courtesans of Sweetwater Alley in Dongjing—peerless beauties, each one a rare jewel. Why then covet my petty spoils?"
With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the women. "You may all leave."
The girls, as if granted amnesty, scrambled to gather their scattered garments and flee.
Like many barbarian peoples of the age, the Jurchens were capricious and cruel, treating women as worthless playthings. Since the Jin army's arrival beneath Bianliang's walls, the Qingcheng camp had yielded hundreds of ravaged corpses daily.
Though Zongwang had a reputation for benevolence, praised as the "Bodhisattva Prince," even he was a perilous master to serve for these abducted Song women—especially when his mood soured, as it did now.
Zonghan, still grinning, pinched a few of the fleeing women's cheeks and hips, fully enjoying the moment before casually dragging over a brocade cushion and seating himself with a swaggering air.
"Oli Bu," he began, "that treacherous cur Guo Yaoshi—has his mess been cleaned up yet?"
"It's been handled," Zongwang replied with weary disdain. "A pack of ungrateful wolves, every last one of them. I ought to have slaughtered them all."
The sudden betrayal of Guo Yaoshi and his so-called Ever-Victorious Army had left both Zongwang—caught off guard—and Zonghan—watching with schadenfreude—deeply puzzled.
—In the days of Jin's rise and war with Liao, the Khitan court, weakened and desperate, had raised an "Army of Resentment" from among Han and Bohai refugees. Later renamed the Ever-Victorious Army, it was led by northern warlords like Guo Yaoshi, who were believed to harbor deep hatred toward the Jurchens.
But from the start, the army seemed treacherous at its core. Condemned by Khitan lords as traitors who hated their own more than the enemy, Guo Yaoshi led them in a shocking defection to the Song, dealing a fatal blow to Liao. The grateful Song court richly rewarded him, making him a bulwark in the north.
Yet when the Jin invaded, Guo Yaoshi once again switched sides, becoming a guide for the Jin's southern advance and attacking the very empire that had once embraced him. His Ever-Victorious Army ravaged the land with unmatched cruelty, hated even more than the Jurchens themselves.
The idea that such a man might suddenly seek to return to Song, especially with the capital on the brink of collapse, was beyond belief.
—But with the bizarre power of Doraemon's causality-defying gadget, the "Truth-From-Lies Mouth," nothing was impossible.
Thus, earlier that afternoon, Guo Yaoshi, for reasons unknown, gathered his officers and declared his intention to defect once more. Chaos ensued—some loyalists panicked, while others, opportunistic and treacherous, seized the moment.
Before his plot could unfold, Guo was arrested by scheming subordinates, who seized his command tent, disarmed his guards, and consolidated power. They then decapitated their commander and delivered his head to Zongwang in a bid for recognition.
But Zongwang, suspicious of their tale, believed the mutiny was a ruse for ambition.
Such lawlessness could not be tolerated. If junior officers could murder their superiors on flimsy pretenses, discipline would crumble.
Feigning praise, Zongwang lured the conspirators into his tent, had them arrested, and sent Jurchen cavalry to suppress the chaos. After a bloody crackdown, order was restored—but the Ever-Victorious Army, now broken and demoralized, was effectively destroyed. Whether Guo Yaoshi truly meant to rebel remained a mystery.
This absurd episode left Zongwang deeply troubled. The confusion in the ranks jeopardized the upcoming siege of Bianliang. Small wonder he had retreated into drink, nursing his anger alone.
Zonghan, naturally, had come to mock his rival.
But regardless of his mood, the battle still lay ahead.
After trading a few barbed jests, Zongwang straightened and spoke of war.
"The other day, I feigned peace talks with the Song to lull their garrison into complacency. Meanwhile, I've rallied all forces from Luoyang and Hebei to prepare for a decisive assault."
Pointing to a model of Bianliang on the table before him, he continued,
"Our siege engines are in place. At dawn tomorrow, the Ever-Victorious Army will lead the charge. If we succeed, the city falls and the Song perishes. If not, we purge the mutineers and sap the enemy's strength. A victory either way."
"Well spoken!" Zonghan clapped in approval. "A stratagem that reaps benefit win or lose. Still, I wonder if our battlefield arrangements…"
He never finished.
Both men suddenly felt the earth convulse beneath them.
A wine jar toppled and shattered, spilling strong liquor across a priceless camel-hair carpet. Zonghan, quick to react, tried to rise by grasping the table—but it too collapsed, dragging him down.
As the ground split open and the tent caved in around them, a panicked chorus erupted outside:
"Run! Everyone run! Earth dragon's flipping—it's an earthquake!"