Chapter 56: Armored Ice River

The fires at the Jiangling Ferry stained half of the Han River red. Gan Ning leaped onto the dock, stepping over the burning skeletal remains of a mast. The stench of charred wood mixed with the sharp smell of blood hit him full in the face. His boot heel crushed half a tortoise shell, the cinnabar within its cracks seeping into the gaps of the bluestone slabs. "Yang Dezhu runs fast indeed, leaving even his divination shells behind."

"General!" A water scout rushed over, dragging a blood-stained gray-rat-fur robe. "We found this in the bottom hold of the sunken ship!" As he unfolded the Shu brocade, a water-route map woven in dark thread revealed itself upon contact with water. The waterways from Jiangling to Henei were heavily marked in cinnabar, with tiny, dense annotations beside the postal stations along the route, detailing the garrison rotation schedules of various commanderies.

Gan Ning's iron-fingered guards suddenly tightened around the edge of the brocade, the refined steel piercing the "Jingyuan" watermark. "Send this to His Majesty overnight. The ink on this map changes when heated." He turned his gaze toward the lingering flames on the opposite shore. "Send two more teams of frogmen underwater to salvage all the ballast stones from Yang Xiu's sunken ship."

As the water scout saluted and left, Gan Ning suddenly squatted down, his fingertips picking up a fragment of the tortoise shell. The black mucus oozing from the cracks shone with an eerie luster in the moonlight, bearing an identical resemblance to the poison that had slipped from Yang Xiu's sleeve that day. The river wind swept across his cheeks, carrying the burning ashes of the Shu brocade. Suddenly, he heard the chant of trackers from the opposite shore, the lyrics having shifted from "The Road to Shu is Hard" to "Boundless Imperial Grace."

The warm chamber of the Southern Palace in Luoyang was steeped in medicinal fragrance. Jia Xu stirred an earthen pot with a silver spoon, wolfberries floating and sinking in the decoction like bloodshot eyes. Liu Xie's fingertips traced the dark patterns of the Shu brocade. The garrison schedules drawn in cinnabar transformed under the heat into the locations of granaries. "Yang Dezhu's double-sided embroidery truly has the genuine touch of Empress Yin."

"Your Majesty, an urgent report from Xiahou Dun." Sun Ru lifted the curtain, the melting snow on her shoulders forming droplets that fell onto the map. Wrapped inside the unfurled sheepskin scroll was a pitch-black piece of iron, its edges still stained with the frozen soil of Bingzhou. "Thirty li outside Hulao Pass, Yuan Shao's vanguard scouts have been spotted."

Liu Xie suddenly burst into a fit of coughing, bloody foam splashing onto the ice crystals on the iron piece's surface. "This is Gongsun Zan's dark-iron armor." He dipped his finger in blood and drew a crack across the ice crystals. "Tell Yuanrang to greet them with the new trebuchets—and remember to mix in some Wenshan cinnabar." Before his voice faded, the neighing of war horses echoed from outside the window. A post-horse rider covering eight hundred li dismounted in a desperate roll, the bronze cylinder clutched tightly in his arms already crusted with ice.

When Jia Xu took the bronze cylinder, the piercing cold numbed his fingertips. The unfolded secret letter bore Gan Ning's handwriting, forceful enough to pierce through the paper: "The ballast stones of the sunken ship conceal a roster of human sacrifices, all branded with the official seal of the Yizhou Shepherd." Liu Xie suddenly crushed the medicinal cup, porcelain shards piercing his palm. "Fine Liu Liyu, treating living people as ballast stones!"

The dawn over Hulao Pass was wrapped in the scent of rust, Xiahou Dun's single eye reflecting the outline of the trebuchets. Artisans were pouring fire oil mixed with cinnabar into clay pots, the dark red liquid shimmering with an eerie luster in the morning light. "General, can this thing really pierce dark-iron armor?" The deputy general touched the cloud patterns on the pot's body, his fingertips stained with the viscous liquid.

"Last year in Yanzhou, this fire oil melted even Gongsun Zan's iron heavy cavalry." Xiahou Dun suddenly swung his blade, cleaving through the frozen earth to reveal the iron caltrops buried beneath. A cold flash swept across the scar on his face, reflecting the silvery helmet-tassels on the distant horizon—the vanguard of the White Horse Yicong had arrived within three li.

The trebuchet winch emitted a teeth-gritting screech, and the hemp ropes soaked in fire oil were ignited. "Fire!" Xiahou Dun's roar shook the icicles from the eaves. The burning clay pots tore through the sky, bursting into a bloody rain of fire amidst the White Horse formation. The dark-iron armor melted upon contact with fire, the molten iron mixing with human flesh and splashing onto the frozen earth, the rising steam filled with a charred stench. A young soldier suddenly fell to his knees and vomited, recognizing that one of the melted pieces of armor enveloped his own elder brother, who had been missing for half a year.

"Prepare the second wave!" Xiahou Dun's saber pointed toward the routing enemy forces. "Load the caltrop-bombs newly cast by His Majesty!" Artisans pried open wooden crates, the barbs on the surface of the iron balls gleaming with a blue light in the morning dawn—each barb tip quenched with Wenshan cinnabar mixed with arsenic.

In the cellar of the Yizhou official granary, Liu Xun's sword tip pried open the last bundle of bamboo slips. As the moldy hemp rope snapped, the scroll rolled out a yellowed piece of silk—it was none other than a secret pact between his father Liu Yan and Yang Xiu, stamped at the bottom with the official seal of the Yizhou Shepherd and the Vermilion Bird crest. "The twelfth month of the second year of Jian'an, taking advantage of the water transport..." His fingers trembled over the characters "human sacrifices," only to be pressed down suddenly by Sun Ru.

"Does the young lord know now why His Majesty wanted to burn the towering warships?" Her gilt dagger pried open the floor tiles, revealing crates upon crates of Jingyuan Tongbao coins beneath. Each coin's square hole was stuffed with a wax ball the size of a rice grain; when split open, they contained the names of the water transport commissioners of various commanderies. "Yang Xiu used these to bribe the entire Han River waterway."

Thunder rumbled across the sky, causing the clay urns to hum in resonance. Liu Xun suddenly grabbed a torch and hurled it toward the coin crates. The moment the flames surged, the wax pellets burst open from the heat, countless slips of paper covered with names curling into ash in the fire. "I want to see His Majesty!" As he turned, he knocked over the tung oil lamp, and the flowing serpentine fire spread along the water transport map, scorching the characters "Jiangling" to a crisp.

Sun Ru suddenly whipped out an iron chain, wrapping it tightly around his waist. "The young lord would do well to see them first!" The secret door burst open with a crash, and the cold wind rushed in carrying wails. Hundreds of emaciated women and children were huddled in the adjacent warehouse, the brands of "Yizhou Water Transport" burned into their ankles.

Beneath the waning moon at the Jiangling Ferry, Yang Xiu was tearing at the rotting flesh on the back of his hand—the toxicity of the fierce fire oil he had touched that day was beginning to take effect. "My lord, Yuan Shao's vanguard has reached Henei." A man in black knelt in a pool of blood, holding the severed head of the frogman sent by Gan Ning.

"Just in time." Yang Xiu carved away the rotting flesh, skin and blood together, revealing bare white bones. "Fill the remaining transport ships with 'human sacrifices,' and coat the ship bottoms with cinnabar." He dipped his finger in blood to draw incantations on the tortoise shell. "When Yuan Shao's iron-armored troops board the ships..."

Fires suddenly lit up on the opposite shore, and Gan Ning's new-style towering warship broke through the mist. The bed-crossbows mounted on the bow gleamed with a dim blue cold light, and the Jingyuan Tongbao coins tied to the arrow shafts were spinning rapidly. "Yang Dezhu!" Gan Ning's roar shattered the thin ice on the river surface. "His Majesty has sent you a grand gift!"

Amidst the screaming whistle of crossbow arrows leaving their strings, the letter cylinders tied to the tails of the arrows burst into a sky full of paper fragments. Every single paper sheet was printed with a copy of the secret pact between Yang Xiu and Liu Yan, the cinnabar official seal glaring like blood in the firelight. The trackers at the ferry suddenly grew restless, recognizing that the "human sacrifices" trafficked on the papers were none other than their own wives and children. An old tracker suddenly swung his oar, smashing it against a transport ship. The tung oil ignited instantly upon contact with fire, swallowing the banners bearing the character "Yuan" in a heartbeat.

The clepsydra in the Southern Palace warm chamber pointed to the Yin hour as Liu Xie pressed a blood-stained chess piece onto the position of Henei. "Your Majesty, victory report from Xiahou Dun." Jia Xu's voice swept in amidst the wind and snow. "The White Horse Yicong has retreated thirty li, and Yuan Shao's dark-iron armor..."

"Has been melted into farm tools," Liu Xie finished, his fingertips fondling the newly delivered model of the curved-shaft plow. "Tell all commanderies and prefectures that anyone bringing fragments of dark-iron armor in exchange for farm tools shall be exempt from taxes for three years." He chuckled, coughing slightly. "And have the Shadow Guard paint the scene of Yang Xiu carving away his own flesh, posting it as notices all along the Han River."

It was at this moment that Sun Ru dragged Liu Xun in. The young administrator's official robes were still stained with the mildew ash of the cellar, and the half-secret pact clutched tightly in his hand was soaked through with blood. "Your Majesty! Yizhou is willing to surrender all water transport routes, if only you will..."

"The young lord is mistaken." Liu Xie suddenly tossed a dagger at his feet. "What I want is not the waterways, but the hearts of the people." He pushed open the lattice window, and in the morning light, porridge kitchens stretching outside the city of Luoyang came into view. The steam of hot porridge intertwined with snowflakes, and refugees held ceramic bowls exchanged for Jingyuan Tongbao coins, the words "Imperial Grace" clearly engraved on the bottom of each bowl.

The ninth bud of the green calyx plum blossomed in response, the plum fragrance mixing with the scent of saltpeter drifting toward the Han River. Gan Ning stood at the bow of the ship, watching the people on both shores burn the notices of Yang Xiu, the "Jingyuan" watermark in the ashes gleaming with golden light in the morning sun. As the last transport ship loaded with human sacrifices was scuttled, he suddenly heard the trackers singing a newly composed work chant: "The Han River is clear, clear as can be, bearing the imperial grace to bless ten thousand people."