The white snow had fallen silent, blanketing the land in all directions.
In the morning, the sunlight had glared fiercely off the ground, turning the expanse into a blinding white that made eyes ache. But by the afternoon, as cold winds stirred dark clouds once more, the snow underfoot began to harden. To the men of Northern Chu who had fled south from the Huai, it was painfully clear that the most treacherous kind of snow—all too familiar to them—had now arrived in Jiangnan.
The encampment in the valley was in disarray. Everywhere were swirls of mist, shifting shadows, arguments, and shouts. Come dusk, as campfires flared against the dimming light, the chaos seemed only to deepen.
At this hour, having finished their gruel, Liu Cheng, Liu Jili, and Liu Huzi sat using tree boughs as crude benches beside a secluded fire pit tucked in the valley. Each was lost in his own thoughts, paying no heed to the commotion outside.
Because of the sudden, unseasonable blizzard that had struck Jiangzuo the day before—and because Liu Cheng and Liu Jili had secured recommendations from the foremost gentleman of their day and were about to depart—Liu Ren Gong and his people had ultimately been forced to turn back to the camp. This time, the reason was beyond dispute: if they did not return, there would be no one left to manage the place.
Gao Jian, true to form, said little. Once he had a clear picture of the situation, he provided Liu Cheng with the address of his elder brother, Gao Rou, in Kuaiji, inviting Liu Cheng to pay him a visit when time permitted.
It was plain to see that Gao Jian was an exceedingly pragmatic leader among the lower-tier gentry.
Still, returning inevitably meant trouble. Handing over money and grain was straightforward enough. Nor did it matter that some, like the household of Liu Ren Gong's cousin, were reluctant to return for the moment; it was only natural for the women of Ren Gong's household and some of the mothers and children to remain behind. But how were they to arrange quarters for the chaotic return of over a hundred households? Should there be a redistribution? And what about those looking to fish in troubled waters—drifters who pretended they had left this camp, trailed back alongside the folks from Jiangsheng, occupied shanties, and were only recognized after the fact?
As for the expansion of the grounds, where they had only managed to level the earth, and the half-built watchtower—should work continue? Should the original guard patrol be disbanded?
Matters were tangled in a mess. Liu Cheng and Liu Jili had handed over as much as they could, and Liu Huzi had thrown his weight around as usual, yet none of it could prevent the outside from devolving into an uproar the moment the meal ended.
As for why the three Lius were idling here instead of helping at such a critical juncture, the reason was ordinary enough: they were about to part ways. In times like these, a farewell might mean meeting again next month, or it might truly mean never laying eyes on one another for the rest of their lives. A sense of ceremony was only proper.
Yet to Liu Cheng, the three of them sitting here felt as awkward as prospective college students pretending to be deep on their high school athletic field after graduation. It went far deeper than the gloom brought on by the falling snow.
Affection was certainly there. They had endured hardship together, shared the sting of contempt, hunted a tiger side by side, and even shed blood together in this very place. Yet from their first meeting until now, barely a season had passed from autumn to winter—how deep could such bonds truly be?
If one spoke of shared interests, those existed as well. All three were of the Pengcheng Liu clan, members of the so-called lower-tier gentry. Now that each had prospects of a sort, they would naturally look out for one another in the days ahead. But the trouble was that none of them had yet secured an actual official post; to speak of mutual support was far too premature.
Even among themselves, their dynamic was awkward. Liu Cheng was fifteen or sixteen, Liu Huzi was nearing eighteen, and Liu Jili was in his early twenties. Yet Liu Cheng possessed by far the oldest mental age, constantly coaxing the other two. There was no natural order of seniority.
And so, after trading a few brief remarks, the three sat in silence, unsure of what else to say.
Could they say, *Let’s not leave; let the three of us stay and make a stand here*?
Impossible. They had to leave. Even when it came to the direst crisis before them—the freezing snow—only by departing quickly could there be any hope of a remedy. For now, the best and most logical course was to turn to Cai Mo, urging him to blast Yin Hao and Xun Xian in court, point to the snow and freezing cold, and press them to throw open the granaries for relief. That might resolve the crisis.
This was precisely why men crawled and scraped their way upward. Once you climbed a single rung higher, the people and resources within your reach were entirely different. Therefore, they had to go, and they had to go cleanly and decisively.
Provided, of course, that Cai Mo proved willing.
As for Kuaiji, the Xi family ought, in theory, to spare some attention for Jingkou. However, under normal conditions, the journey from Jiankang to Kuaiji took some ten days. With snow blanketing the roads, by the time one arrived, located the Xis, persuaded them, submitted petitions, and awaited word, the New Year would nearly be upon them.
In the end, it was a fourth person who broke the awkward silence.
"Big fellow, you went to the trouble of seeking us out—what is it?" Liu Cheng asked with an easy smile upon seeing the newcomer.
"I want to go with you, A Cheng," Liu Yehu said plainly beside the campfire, bundled in winter garb.
"Why? The same reason as last time?" Liu Jili asked with a faint smirk. "Because following A Cheng gets you a bolt of cloth?"
"Aye," Liu Yehu said, holding his head high. "I said before, I’ve been a down-and-out commoner since I was small. I never held a bolt of cloth in my hands until I was grown, but A Cheng shared one with me, so I chose to stay. It's the same now. Every winter of my life I froze, but this winter I eat my fill, dress warm, and even look after others... I still want to follow A Cheng."
Liu Cheng glanced at Liu Huzi, whose expression remained impassive, and nodded directly. "You may, but not just yet. Wait until spring. Once I send word, you can come find me. For one, travel will be easier then. For another, you can bring me news from here. And third, you must properly hand over the freight escort duties before you go."
Liu Yehu nodded, grunted in agreement, clasped his fists toward the three of them, and strode off, crisp and decisive as always.
With his coming and going, the atmosphere among the three Lius eased somewhat. Liu Cheng thought for a moment, then turned to Liu Huzi with a suggestion. "Brother Hu, when we parted before, Ren Gong, Third Grandpa Liu, and the others all came out to see us off. There is no need for that this time. If they wish to come tonight, stop them. It will spare us the sorrow. Tomorrow at dawn, we need only pay our respects to Ren Gong before taking our leave."
"Understood," Liu Huzi replied with a nod.
"Truth be told, though we speak of leaving, I will be in Jiankang, which is fairly close," Liu Jili remarked with a sigh. "You, on the other hand—you are heading to Kuaiji. If you follow the path of cultivating a reputation, who knows when we might meet again?"
"It matters not. So long as we climb upward, we will cross paths sooner or later. Why fret over a temporary parting?" Liu Cheng offered consolingly, though his eyes drifted toward Liu Huzi, and he finally decided to offer some counsel. "Brother Hu, Brother Jili has spent years in Jingkou and now has backing. If you encounter difficulties here, go to him without hesitation..."
Liu Huzi hesitated, words caught in his throat.
"Brother Jili." Liu Cheng paid no heed to his hesitation and turned directly back to Liu Jili. "I know now that you come from the highest background among us, yet rare is the man of your standing who understands the hardships of the common folk. Even when you rise to greatness in the future, you will still feel for people like us. But if a man wishes to accomplish great things, he must have help. If you wish to sweep clear the Great Jin, you will need allies at your side, will you not? If you intend to carry on your granduncle's ambitions, you ought to learn from his downfall... When the blades are drawn and the fighting turns real, who will hold Stone City for you?"
Caught completely off guard, Liu Jili could only nod. "Rest easy, A Cheng. Since I will be in Jiankang, I will look after this place as best I can. The same goes for Huzi—whatever trouble arises, come find me. We are of the same clan; there is no need for ceremony between brothers."
Without prompting from Liu Cheng, Liu Huzi gave a natural nod in return.
Evidently, the fact that Liu Huzi had strained with all his might without securing so much as a place among the stout soldiers, only for Liu Cheng and Liu Jili to effortlessly resolve it through their maneuvering—all while paving the way for his own family to rise—had left a profound impact on him.
Having brought the conversation to this point, Liu Cheng was at a loss for words, so he closed with a jest: "To tell the truth, if we weren't already clan brothers, we might as well have sworn an oath of brotherhood as men of different surnames, just like Liu, Guan, and Zhang!"
Liu Huzi chuckled, then asked in all seriousness, "Liu, Guan, and Zhang... you mean Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei? They were sworn brothers of different surnames?"
"It must be a tale from the northern folk, where barbarian customs hold sway," Liu Jili volunteered by way of explanation. "All because Liu Bei treated Guan and Zhang like flesh and blood. Still, A Cheng is right—we are indeed clan brothers, so there is no need to trouble ourselves with such notions."
"Brother Jili speaks the truth," Liu Huzi finally addressed him as an elder brother.
"Then let us disperse," Liu Cheng said, rising to his feet now that there was truly nothing left to say, and urged Liu Huzi along. "Brother Hu, go help your father over there. Brother Jili and I should rest early as well."
Liu Huzi had nothing to add and could only nod.
Leaving aside Liu Cheng and Liu Jili retiring to rest, Liu Huzi returned to the central fire pit, where matters were indeed a chaotic tangle. He had just barked reprimands at several men when Third Grandpa Liu intercepted him, asking where Liu Cheng had gone. Having received his instructions, Liu Huzi stopped him in his tracks, stating plainly that Liu Cheng had to travel tomorrow and had already gone to sleep; whatever business remained could wait until the morrow.
Left with no alternative, Third Grandpa Liu and the others could only seek out Liu Ren Gong.
Time slipped by. Perhaps because the grounds had been cleared and expanded, people continued to bustle back and forth despite the falling night, creating an endless commotion. Liu Huzi managed, with rare restraint, not to drive them away—only to be summoned by his father.
"Huzi, was it A Cheng who told you to keep the others from seeing him off?" Liu Ren Gong asked gravely before a wooden stump.
"Aye," Liu Huzi answered candidly. What reason did he have to hide anything from his own father?
"I understand what A Cheng means," Liu Ren Gong sighed. "The last time we parted, the straw sandal band remembered his kindness and gave him a good deal of coin, and we shared silver with him as well. This time he has little need for money and worries we will squander the camp's funds, which is why he refuses to let anyone see him off. But to my mind, your Third Uncle had the right of it: propriety must never be abandoned. The poorer one is, the more one must mind proper ritual."
At this, he turned toward Third Grandpa Liu. "How many know the performance?"
"It was too rushed, and it has been so long since anyone performed it. We only found a dozen or so..." Third Grandpa Liu answered awkwardly. "Mainly because we have no mules or horses left."
"Even if we had them, there would be no room to maneuver here," Liu Ren Gong said, shaking his head. "Still, a dozen or so is too few."
"Truth be told, those garrison bondservants A Cheng brought back know the steps too, but their style is different from ours," Third Grandpa Liu grumbled. "We can hardly send off a lad of our own clan by having outsiders dance while we look on, can we?"
"Fair enough. A dozen it is, then. Remember, the final verse must not be sung." Liu Ren Gong nodded, then looked toward his youngest son. "Huzi, go fetch A Cheng... and that Jili fellow as well."
Liu Huzi already knew what they were planning. He nodded eagerly and rushed off to fetch them.
Liu Cheng had not yet fallen asleep, though his mind was growing hazy. When Liu Huzi arrived with the invitation, he was taken aback. "What is a *shehuo*?"
"A shehuo is a performance of song, dance, and variety plays staged during sacrificial rites or seasonal festivals," Liu Jili explained readily, thoroughly familiar with the custom. "It differs from place to place. Since Huzi came all this way to fetch us, their local shehuo must surely be tied to send-offs. Isn't that a fortunate coincidence?"
"Precisely!" Liu Huzi nodded at once. "You'll understand once you see it, A Cheng. I've loved it since I was a boy, but I haven't seen it in years."
Liu Cheng realized the irony. Had he not leveled that central ground precisely to keep spirits from withering in the dead of winter? He had originally thought of playing the flute or telling tales from the *Romance of the Three Kingdoms*, but it turned out the common folk had customs of their own.
Moreover, since the people understood his reluctance to meet and wished only to show goodwill, he ought all the more to go and witness it.
Slipping into his outer coat, he washed his face by the stream, donned his headwrap, and hurried off behind Liu Huzi.
Moments later, they arrived at the clearing, where a dozen or so stout men of the Liu clan stood in a neat rank. Each held a pair of torches raised in both hands, while Liu Ren Gong, Third Grandpa Liu, and the clan elders stood before them, looking for all the world like generals reviewing an army.
Around the perimeter gathered a dense crowd—both the refugees from the Huai who had returned today and those who had remained throughout. Seeing Liu Cheng and Liu Jili arrive, they began to shout in eager unison: "They're here! They're here!"
Upon their arrival, Liu Ren Gong directed them at once: "You two, go stand by the fire pit behind. This is the custom of our Pengcheng countryside, performed especially to pray for peace on a journey."
With nothing left to say, the pair obeyed.
No sooner had they taken their places and exchanged glances than the surrounding crowd fell silent under Liu Huzi’s stern commands. Soon, the only sound left was the crackle and pop of wood in the fire pit behind them.
Liu Cheng saw Liu Ren Gong jerk his chin toward Third Grandpa Liu. The latter started, touched the scarred corner of his mouth, but after glancing at the expectant crowd, turned in a fluster, strained his voice, and began to sing:
"Hard it is—"
Yet he managed only two words before his tune broke completely, drawing bursts of laughter from the onlookers. Even the torch-bearing men in front lost their composure.
"A lad would be a warrior bold!" came a resonant voice from behind Third Grandpa Liu—perhaps Old Wang, or perhaps someone else; it was impossible to tell in the torchlight—taking up the song with purpose.
The line rang out like an aria from an opera in a past life. Though still rough and unfamiliar, it brought immediate shape to the performance.
Sure enough, as the voice carried, the dozen stout men sprang into motion, lowering one torch at an angle while raising the other high aloft.
"Needs not a crowded band!" Two or three voices now joined the singing, Third Grandpa Liu among them, adding his cracked voice to swell the sound.
As the verse rang out, a man at the head of the formation led the way, circling the fire pit at a steady trot.
"The sparrowhawk soars across the sky; the flocks of sparrows scatter wide!"
By now, the leader spread both torches wide, and the men behind fell into a flying-goose wedge, holding aloft only their outer torches. After completing a full circuit, the rank split smoothly into two lines, facing each other across the flames.
When they reached the line, "Turn loose the steeds in the great marsh; lush grass fattens the horses fine," the men swayed from side to side, torches held firm.
As they sang, "Shield and iron lamellar vest, crane feathers atop the helm," they brought their torches level to their shoulders to mimic the iron vests, then raised a torch to their brows to signify the tall helmets adorned with crane plumes.
The next lines were even more direct:
"The vanguard looks upon the rear, all clad in iron lamellar vests! The front looks back upon behind, all crowned in iron helms!"
At these words, the torchbearers fell into swift, disciplined ranks, using their torches to mimic donning the iron armor and fastening the iron helms.
It was at that very moment that Liu Cheng finally grasped, to the depths of his being, what it had meant for Liu Ren Gong’s father, Xi Gong, to serve as Governor of Yanmen and General of the Household for the Protection of the Xiongnu in the days of the Western Jin.
And he could almost picture how this martial dance had survived as a village rite in the settlements around Liu Ren Gong's home—and what the lands along the Huai had endured over the preceding decades!
By now, countless voices were singing along in the regional tones of Northern Chu. Liu Ren Gong clearly wished to stop something, yet found himself powerless to stem the tide.
Then came the final verse. Though the melody remained unchanged, the spirit of the song shifted violently, turning into the stark opposite of where it had begun:
"A wretched creature is a man, marching forth with thoughts of death! His corpse falls in the narrow gorge, his white bones left ungathered—"
As the line ended, the dozen dancing men dropped to the earth as one, laying their torches crosswise before them like corpses fallen in battle.
For reasons he could not fathom, Liu Cheng—who had maintained his composure ever since crossing into this world, never once losing control despite moments of lapse—suddenly covered his eyes with his hand, tears streaming unbidden down his cheeks. Beside him, Liu Jili sank directly to the ground, weeping bitterly. Among the surrounding refugees humming along, many too broke into tears, their wet faces glistening brightly in the firelight.
"A lad would be a warrior bold!"
Soon, the song began anew. This time, no one needed to set the tune; voices rose by the dozens and scores. Several spirited youths, swept up in the fervor, seized torches and joined ranks behind Liu Huzi.
"Needs not a crowded band!"
"The sparrowhawk soars across the sky; the flocks of sparrows scatter wide!"
"Turn loose the steeds in the great marsh; lush grass fattens the horses fine!"
"Shield and iron lamellar vest, crane feathers atop the helm!"
"The vanguard looks upon the rear, all clad in iron lamellar vests!"
"The front looks back upon behind, all crowned in iron helms!"
"A wretched creature is a man, marching forth with thoughts of death! His corpse falls in the narrow gorge, his white bones left ungathered!"
Amid the blazing torchlight, as every heart poured out its pent-up grief, none could say how many times the song was sung that night.
***
That same evening, thousands of li away in Yecheng, fires blazed just as fiercely. Soldiers clad in iron lamellar vests and iron helmets brandished torches and gripped their blades and halberds, swarming up the Southern Terrace—one of the famed Three Terraces.
Within the hall known as the Ruyi Belvedere atop the terrace, Shi Zun, who had reigned as Heavenly King of Great Zhao for merely a few months, sat motionless, idling away the time playing flick-chess with a trembling woman.
Momentarily, General Zhou Cheng strode in, hand resting on his pommel. Only then did the Heavenly King release the woman before him and turn to the intruder. "General Zhou, who is it that rebels?"
Zhou Cheng hesitated for a beat, lowered his head in thought, then clasped his hands solemnly. "Shi Jian, Prince of Yiyang, is fit to take the throne."
Shi Zun shook his head weakly at the words. "I could only manage a few months as Heavenly King; how many days will A-Jian last?"
By now, Zhou Cheng had collected himself and promptly signaled the armored men behind him.
Two trusted guards, bearing long halberds and helmets adorned with crane plumes, stepped forward from the left and right, running the legitimate Heavenly King of Great Zhao straight through atop the chessboard.
Pandemonium erupted through the palace halls across the terrace. Zhou Cheng severed Shi Zun’s head and gave his men free rein to plunder before joining General Su Yan, who had overseen the operation elsewhere. Together, they made for the camp of Shi Min, Duke of Wuxing, to deliver their report. Arriving at the military encampment within the city, they found not only the immensely brawny Shi Min, but also Li Nong, the other Chinese commander in the army, along with Wang Ji, General of the Right Guards, who should have been guarding the Southern Terrace.
Ignoring Wang Ji, Generals Su and Zhou bowed first to Shi Min, then to Li Nong, presenting the severed heads they had been tasked to claim.
Beside Shi Zun lay Crown Prince Shi Yan, as well as Meng Zhun, Wang Luan, and Zhang Fei—the close confidants who had urged Shi Zun to purge Shi Min. There were also the severed heads of two women.
Advanced in years, Li Nong initially thought his eyes were playing tricks on him in the dim candlelight. He stepped forward, wiped the blood from one woman's visage, and turned back in astonishment. "Duke of Wuxing, did not that eunuch say Empress Dowager Zheng sent him to warn you in secret? She sought to save your life—why did you slay her?"
Shi Min sat behind the candles, his expression unchanging. "Elder Li, I intend to reclaim my original surname. From this day forth, call me Ran Min! None of those state barbarians can be trusted; you alone are my pillar of support!"
Understanding dawned upon Li Nong. Indeed, matters had come to this: Shi Min—no, Ran Min—had no choice left but to establish his own rule. If so, what further use was an empress dowager of the Shi clan?
"Cut them down! Let nothing go amiss! Ride with all speed to Fangtou to join Father!" At that very moment, by the western city gate, several dozen Di armored warriors, newly clad in full harness, seized upon the chaos under the spirited command of a man in his early thirties. Striking at the lightly guarded gates, they hacked their way through and broke out into the night.
By daybreak, they were already on the road south.
And by that same dawn, Liu Cheng, having boarded the carriage train of the Way of the Celestial Masters, was also on his way south.
Chapter 37