Wanyan Wushu, the King of Wei and the fourth prince of the Great Jin Dynasty, had a dream at night.
In the dream, he became the winner of the Huaishang battle. Emperor Zhao abandoned the city of Jiankang and fled all the way, while he followed closely, crossing the river to the south, chasing him step by step, chasing him to Lin'an, chasing him to Mingzhou, and chasing him out to sea. Seeing that the corner of the clothes of Emperor Zhao Song was about to fall into his hands, he still escaped! He was left seasick and capsized in the waves, sighing in despair... The strong resentment and frustration in the dream swept Wuzhu, making him sink continuously and sink to the bottom of the sea. This even turned into despair.
Even in his fantastic dreams, he still couldn't catch him...
A burst of crying power exploded in Wuzhu's scalp like a sudden burst of light. His eyelids fluttered and he suddenly opened his eyes, finding that his whole body was cold, his forehead and chest were wet, and the only sound in the room was his rough breathing.
Outside the tattered window, the night was dark and moonless, but Wuzhu felt depressed and anxious, like a bottle of wine turning over and over in his heart. For several consecutive nights, he dreamed of the big banner more and more often, and when he woke up, he could often hear the faint sobs of his personal soldiers. He was almost like a frightened bird, as if in the next second, the symbol of the Zhao family would surge from the horizon like a black and white tide, surrounded by the army, and overtake and swallow him.
It was a pity that in his dream, he successfully crossed the Huai River, searched the mountains and the sea, and had a bright future, but he could not catch up with Emperor Zhao. It seemed... this was destined! His ambition to destroy the Southern Song Dynasty was destined to be a mirage.
Thinking of this, Wuzhu burst into tears. It seemed as if the cold wind outside the window was also sad with him. For a moment, even his buttocks began to ache slightly.
But he couldn't possibly know how to tell others about this inexplicable heroic sadness and feeling of being at the end of the road. In the middle of the night, Wuzhu held his head, feeling a splitting headache and irritability. Ten years after the Jin Dynasty started its war, it destroyed the Liao Dynasty, and two years after it destroyed the Song Dynasty. Three generations of emperors were captured as slaves and put into the cellar. A great country with a vast territory and a large population. How come the Jurchens, who have always been invincible, have become like this now? What is it about them that is not as good as the weak and untrustworthy Song Dynasty?
Now that things have come to this, at which step and in which battle did he do something wrong?
Everything shouldn't be like this. Wuzhu felt it was unbelievable and couldn't help but think wildly that something must have happened...
The young Emperor Zhao.
Many years ago, when Wuzhu first met the King Kang who came to negotiate on behalf of the Song Dynasty in the army of his second brother Zongwang outside the city of Bianjing, he felt that he was not like a descendant of the Zhao family at all. Facing the mighty army of the Jin people, the prime minister Zhang Bangchang beside him was already scared and crying, but he remained calm and looked at them coldly. The angry second brother Zongwang said that the Song people were cunning and might have sent a fake prince to deal with us.
Since then, this Zhao official, who was not like his father or brother, had repeatedly and stubbornly opposed Wuzhu, and he did not look like a man with the surname Zhao at all!
Thinking of the Zhao official who almost got it and then flew away a few years ago, now his scabies have turned into a serious disease. But his Dajin seemed to be born with an unlucky star, and his fortune went against him and took a sharp turn for the worse.
But where did his Jin Dynasty fail? Why did it rise so suddenly, and why did it fall so suddenly?
That night, Wuzhu covered his face in pain and anxiety. A cold starlight shone on the ground, but darkness engulfed him. In what way was Wanyan Zongbing inferior to the official of Zhao Song? Was it that his military strategy was not as good as that of the frivolous man, or that his powerful generals and the Iron Buddha were weaker than him? Was it that the unity of the Jurchen nobles was not as good as the intrigue of the imperial court, or that the rewards given to the servants were not enough, including money, goods and beauties?
In fact, during the days when he was fleeing in panic and unable to sleep at night, Wuzhu had been looking around the court repeatedly, thinking about this problem, but the more he thought about it, the more puzzled he became. He could only use "If there is Yu, why is there Liang?" to comfort himself. Heroes always die for heroes.
If Emperor Zhao heard Wuzhu's question, he would probably sneer at him for a long time.
Zhao Jiu would tell Wuzhu that the answer was not in the imperial court he looked around, nor in the former "Emperor's Fortress" and now the Shangjing Huining Prefecture. The real answer was under Wuzhu's disdainful feet, on the land stained red and black with blood and the bones of the people in the land. The answer was in the anger soaked in the blood of the millions of Han people who were massacred and killed in the war, and in the roaring hatred of the people.
What Wuzhu could not see was the invisible power of the people's hearts. In fact, it was not just Wuzhu, most people in Zhao Jiu's court often could not see this weak power.
But Zhao Jiu knew very well that it might be broken up again and again and turned into sorrow and tears, but it would not disappear. Instead, it would always grow in the most humble mud and in the heart of the weakest mud-legged people. They would also hate, love, cry and laugh. After a few years, decades or hundreds of years, this power would stubbornly grow out of the damp and dry loess and black land. The people above, such as Wuzhu and his ministers and nobles, might forget the blood, or disdain to say that the people of Qian are stupid and cannot know. But Zhao Jiu is different after all. After all, he is not a bastard of the Zhao family raised by a brocade-forged woman. He also grew out of the mud in the past.
But it is undoubtedly ridiculous to ask Wushu such a question. After all, Wushu was just a nobleman born in a barbarian tribe. From birth to the age of fifteen when he followed his father Aguda to join the army to fight against Liao, he saw the shamans in the tribe making human skulls into wine vessels. Wushu's name also means head in Jurchen. In his world, people are either two-legged sheep slaves or wolf masters.
But wolves want to eat meat after all, so wolves will never see meat.
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