Chapter 13: The Landscape of the Central Plains

Qiu Zhiqin vaulted onto the gate tower at the village entrance, watching the five riders gradually vanish into the night. He slumped down, then lay back, gazing up at the waxing gibbous moon sliding toward the western mountains and the eternal, unchanging river of stars.

The mental restraint he had been exerting shattered in an instant. Even the "Quanzhen Internal Technique," which he had kept in constant operation for years, ground to a halt. His heart hammered like a war drum, as rapid as rain pelting against banana leaves.

He dared to swear to the Three Pure Ones! In this life—no, in both his lives combined—his heart had never raced with such violent intensity. At this moment, he had no desire to force himself into tranquility. Instead, he stared at the galaxy, emptying his mind, listening to the rhythm of his own heart, and feeling the pulse of all things.

Within the village, the headman peered through a crack in the gate. Seeing the Mongol cavalry repelled by the kind young Taoist—who had then chased after them and disappeared—he immediately began organizing the village’s able-bodied men to set up defenses, while the women began preparing food. He then led a few men to inspect the fourteen corpses left behind by Qiu Zhiqin. Why fourteen? Because the man first struck down by the arrow Qiu Zhiqin had flung had not died instantly; he was merely severely wounded and unconscious.

Soon, the village defenses were in place, and the captives were dragged away for interrogation. Everything proceeded with such order, as if it had been rehearsed a thousand times.

The noise below pulled Qiu Zhiqin’s thoughts back from the stars. As his mood settled, his internal energy began to circulate once more, now with a touch more natural fluidity and less mechanical artifice.

Qiu Zhiqin vaulted down from the gate tower, only to be instantly surrounded by several long spears. Once the men recognized him, they quickly lowered their weapons. The leader, his voice a mix of excitement and grief, said, "It is the young Taoist! Thank goodness you are safe. Quickly, someone notify the headman!"

After ordering the men to heighten their vigilance, Qiu Zhiqin asked with curiosity, "Since the fort's defenses are not weak, how were you breached by a mere twenty riders?" The leader stammered, unable to answer, his face dark with shame.

At that moment, the headman walked over, holding an arrow. "Allow me to explain, young Taoist."

Upon reaching Qiu Zhiqin, the headman bowed deeply in the traditional Confucian manner. Seeing Qiu Zhiqin offer only a casual one-handed salute in return, the headman shook his head with a bitter smile. "Is the Taoist unhappy with our inaction earlier?"

Qiu Zhiqin shook his head. "I am not a petty man. You were unarmed, and I would not blame you. But the reality is that you are well-equipped, yet you huddled like quails, necks stretched out for the slaughter. I truly cannot condone such behavior." With a flick of his sleeve, he turned aside.

The headman’s weather-beaten face shifted through a whirlwind of emotions—indignation, then sorrow.

Before the headman could speak, the leader who had been so respectful moments ago retorted with dissatisfaction: "What do you know? You wanderers have no home, no fixed path. You act on whim, killing or burying as you please. Have you ever considered what happens to us? It was only Northern Tatars this time. If it had been the government troops, you could just turn and walk away, but what of us? One Xihe Fort would not be enough for them to slaughter!"

"How could government troops..." He had intended to ask how government troops could come here to plunder, but a second thought made him realize that his modern mindset had led him to assume "government troops" meant those of the Southern Song. He now understood they were referring to the Jin Dynasty forces—the Jin-An Army, currently stationed at Tongguan in Huazhou. This matched what Qiu Zhiqin had heard along his journey: that the Jin-An Army was forcibly conscripting refugees to build fortifications.

Though Qiu Zhiqin felt there was some logic to the man's words, he found them biased. "If it had been these so-called government troops, would you have simply stretched out your necks to die without a thought of resistance? How would that honor your parents or your wives and children? How would it honor the spears in your hands?"

The leader slammed his spear onto the ground, his knuckles white. The words had struck a nerve. He roared at Qiu Zhiqin, "You who live in reckless freedom, what do you know of the value of a life?..."

"Enough!" A sharp shout cut him off. The headman exhaled deeply and said, "Go patrol! Strengthen the watch!" The leader gripped his spear and stormed off.

After a moment of silence, the headman smoothed his emotions and said to Qiu Zhiqin, "I apologize for my son; his wife was lost in this disaster, and he is prone to emotional outbursts. I hope you will forgive him. You must be hungry after such a battle; come, have some late-night porridge, and I will tell you the story."

Qiu Zhiqin felt a pang of regret and remained silent. As he ate the millet porridge with salted vegetables, the women passing by looked at him with gratitude. He nodded in response while listening to the headman.

The headman recounted the origins: "It all stems from the Battle of Wild Fox Ridge in the third year of Daan." Seeing Qiu Zhiqin’s confusion, he added, "That was nine years ago, the fourth year of the Song Jiading era. Who could have imagined that the imperial court’s 450,000 elite troops would be defeated by a mere 100,000 Tatar cavalry? Half were lost, and only because the remainder retreated in time to hold the line from Zhangjiakou to Juyong Pass was the Central Capital preserved..."

Qiu Zhiqin thought to himself: *You call an army routed by 100,000 men "elite"? Isn't that a bit cheap?*

The headman continued, unaware of his thoughts, "Surprised? I was a transport official in Jiangzhou at the time, and I was shocked. But what came next was worse. When the Tatars couldn't break the Zhangjiakou-Juyong line, they turned to the Western Capital. Failing there, they moved south, breaking through Yanmen and plundering Taiyuan. The prosperous Hedong region was swallowed by the flames of war. And the imperial court? Instead of reclaiming Hedong, they withdrew their forces to guard the Taihang passes, claiming it was to prevent the Tatars from raiding Hebei. The intentions of those at court were clear: they simply hoped the Tatars would eat their fill and return to the grasslands. It was utterly foolish..."

Qiu Zhiqin was confused. The headman seemed like a patriot, but his patriotism felt misplaced. Shouldn't he be loyal to the Song? Why did he sound so loyal to the Jin?

He held his questions. The headman reached the crux of the matter: "With the north and south of Hedong left undefended, I resigned my post to return home and protect my own. Who would have thought that the Western Xia, formerly allied with the court, would also throw their lot in with the Tatars? Every time Western Xia attacks the northwest, the Tatars follow the Hedong route to plunder. This time was due to the attack on Gongzhou, though I didn't expect the Tatars to cross the Yellow River into Guanzhong. It was likely just a scouting party."

Qiu Zhiqin finally asked: "Headman, forgive my bluntness, but you are a man of letters. Why serve a puppet regime? I do not understand."

The headman looked at him in surprise. "Did you just ask that, young Master?"

Qiu Zhiqin sighed and nodded.

The headman, assuming he was a wandering Taoist from the Song, said with melancholy, "If the Song court could reclaim Guanzhong, what would it matter if I gave my loyalty to the Zhao family? But can they? Each of the three northern expeditions by the Zhao Song emperors was met by the common folk with wine and food to welcome the royal army. When Yue Wumu marched north, where in Hedong, Hebei, or Shandong did the people not raise the banner of justice to support him? And yet? The Battle of Zhuxian Town—with Yue Wumu’s forces advancing and the volunteer armies flanking the Jin, they were forced to call off the march and return south!"

He gulped down the cold porridge. "The Zhao Song troops come and go as they please, but have they ever thought of the fate of the volunteer armies? Once they leave, the volunteers are scattered or forced to surrender. The Zhao family has betrayed far more than just General Yue..."

Qiu Zhiqin remained silent. He could not refute this. His own sect’s founder in this world had been one of those anti-Jin volunteers, betrayed by the Song imperial court.

After the headman said more, Qiu Zhiqin found himself speechless. Finishing his bowl of cold porridge, he left Xihe Fort alone. He had once dreamed of changing the world, but it seemed he was not cut out for it.

Qiu Zhiqin did not know that in the original history, the Jin Dynasty was reduced to only Henan and Guanzhong by this time; it was already a miracle that Hebei had not yet been lost in this world.