Chapter 52: Refugees Part 3

Elsewhere, Xiang Xian reached the Imperial Palace after morning court. Officials greeted him: “Lord Xiang!”

“Where’s Lord Xiao?” Cai Jing hobbled out on his cane, heading to the Imperial Study to see Zhao Huan. “A rare guest.”

“Lord Xiao’s still sleeping at home.” Xiang Xian scanned and grasped Great Song court shifts: Cai Jing back in power, balancing with Li Bangyan, Tong Guan. Nearby generals: Han Shizhong who quelled Fang La, capital defender Li Gang, and War Minister Sun Fu, Guo Jing’s ally.

Xiang Xian exchanged pleasantries with Cai Jing, then greeted Li Gang. Most officials once scorned Guo Jing the charlatan but treated Xiang Xian civilly.

Months ago, Demon Race breached Wansui Mountain Imperial Palace—an unheard-of event. Seeing Xiang Xian now tensed everyone.

“Lord Xiang, a memorial today?” Li Gang asked.

“Yes.” Xiang Xian cut to the chase. “How does General Li plan to handle the five hundred thousand Liao refugees outside?”

“Hey—Xiang Xian!” Gao Qiu arrived. “Where’s your brother? Haven’t seen him in ages.”

Xiang Xian least wanted to see this man now but brushed him off amid busyness, thinking to settle accounts later.

“The Demon Race summoned hundreds of thousands of Ba Army in the Western Regions,” Xiang Xian announced to all. “Our Chief Emissary and the Gaochang King crushed them together. You all witnessed the Wansui Mountain crisis months ago. Now, the Demon Race repeats it: using Liao commoners outside as food to brew Baleful Qi and birth the Heavenly Demon. To avert Kaifeng’s doom, we must handle this properly.”

Gao Qiu looked blank: “What’s that? Ba what?”

All eyes stayed on Xiang Xian.

He continued without explaining: “I know the ministers weigh Song-Liao enmity, positions varying. Allow this official to remind: this concerns Great Song’s survival. Don’t act on impulse.”

“Xiang Xian,” Zhao Gou arrived. “Let’s go.”

Xiang Xian saluted with clasped fists, took leave of the generals, and followed Zhao Gou to the Imperial Study.

Civil officials whispered about Xiang Xian’s words; generals exchanged glances. Li Gang sighed. To the Song Court, Xiang Xian entered via literary talent but held the martial post of Exorcism Division Envoy. Generals saw him as one of their own, protective to a degree.

Yet Guo Jing’s scheming and factions bred wariness toward Xiang Xian.

At noon, Xiao Kun reached the North Gate, bought flour, rice, and supplies, hired a cart, flashed his seal, and entered the plains outside.

Ten li north of Kaifeng, untilled fields became refugee camps. They clustered under trees in groups of three or five or built crude plank shelters against wind and rain. Uprooting them failed; numbers daunted, fearing riots.

Liao people, fleeing south to the world’s greatest city, endured hardship but survived barely. Kaifeng folk sympathized, offering aid. Outside, they dug grass roots and field mice for sustenance.

Song Army patrolled warily, awaiting court decision for final action.

Ragged Liao people rose one after another, watching as Xiao Kun’s cart passed along the main road.

Xiao Kun stopped the cart by the roadside and shouted in the Liao tongue:

“Come on over!”

The refugees surged forward at once, scrambling wildly. Someone who seemed to be their leader shouted loudly, “Don’t tear the bags! It’s grain! Grain!”

Many women rushed ahead frantically, kneeling on the ground. As Xiao Kun moved to help them up, he saw that they were picking up scattered grains of rice and wheat from the dirt. When the crowd of refugees swarmed in, they pushed Xiao Kun aside instead, trampling and shoving one another.

“Which friend is this?” the leader called out in the Liao tongue. “Thank you! Thank you for your great kindness and virtue!”

Five hundred thousand people—fully five hundred thousand. This one cart of grain was but a drop in the bucket. Once the food on the cart had been snatched clean, the driver feared the hungry mob would take the horse too. With the language barrier and the national enmity between Song people and Liao people, he said at once, “My lord! I must head back first!”

The driver fled back into the city. The refugees gradually dispersed, leaving Xiao Kun standing alone in the open wilderness, his eyes bloodshot.

Not long after, the Liao leader approached and said, “My friend, we’re all fellow Khitan kin from the old country. Come, let’s talk.”

Moved by the scene, Xiao Kun choked up after a long moment. Both men were overcome with sorrow. Xiao Kun grabbed the stranger’s arm, and they embraced.

In the Imperial Study, Zhao Ji held the memorial Xiang Xian had written overnight and read it aloud.

“Heaven and earth show no mercy, treating all things as straw dogs. The sage shows no mercy, treating the people as straw dogs.” Zhao Ji said, “You understand the Heavenly Dao, Tanhua Lang. Why cling to such obsessions?”

Zhao Ji’s mood was deeply conflicted. He both admired and praised Xiang Xian as a man, yet hated his lack of worldly wisdom. The memorial was heartfelt and sincere, rich with citations and profound talent. It was a pity that Xiang Xian refused to join the Wenyuan Pavilion and insisted on becoming an exorcist.

Zhao Huan sat to the lower left, with Cai Jing and Tong Guan attending at the side. Xiang Xian had been granted a seat, while Zhao Gou stood by the door inside the Imperial Study.

“The peril of national ruin,” Zhao Ji said after finishing the memorial, “has ever been thus since ancient times. The sages spoke of ‘Heaven’s benevolence in cherishing life,’ which is well and good. But if the Great Song were destroyed by the Liao, do you think the Liao people would show mercy to the Great Song’s remnants?”

Xiang Xian thought to himself that Zhao Ji wasn’t mentioning curses of national ruin at a time like this.

“Official Family, Your Highness,” Xiang Xian waited for a pause in the conversation before explaining, “This is not merely a matter of benevolence. Has the Official Family ever considered why the Heavenly Demon keeps reincarnating on the Shenzhou Great Land?”

Zhao Ji tossed the memorial aside and laughed. “I have never laid eyes on the Heavenly Demon myself—only heard tales, with scant records in the histories. You ask the impossible.”