defection
Three months later, Qin Hui was brought out of the dungeon. The long-awaited sunlight blinded him. Wanyan Zonghan had him dressed in clean clothes and led him to a richly decorated tent.
"Master Qin has suffered so much." Wanyan Zonghan personally poured him a glass of wine. "I invited you here today because I wanted you to meet some old friends."
The curtains were lifted, and several men dressed in Song Dynasty clothing filed in. Qin Hui's eyes widened. He recognized these men: former colleagues like Zhang Bangchang, the Minister of Works, and Wang Shiyong, the Editor of the Privy Council. But now they were all dressed in Jin Dynasty clothing, with fawning smiles on their faces.
"Brother Qin!" Zhang Bangchang shook his hand warmly. "I haven't seen you for a long time. You've lost weight!"
Qin Hui abruptly pulled his hand back: "You...you actually defected to the Jin people?"
Wang Shiyong waved his hand disapprovingly: "Brother Qin, why are you so stubborn? Now that the two saints have been captured and taken north, the Song Dynasty is doomed. Marshal Wanyan treated us well, not only saving our lives but also promising us high positions..."
"Shut up!" Qin Hui interrupted harshly, "You have been living off the Song Dynasty salary for so many years, yet you are so shameless!"
Zhang Bangchang's expression changed, and he sneered, "Qin Hui, how noble do you think you are? Wait until you've been locked up in this dungeon for a year or two, and then we'll see if you can still boast like that!"
Wanyan Zonghan observed the dispute with great interest and suddenly clapped his hands: "Come here, take Lord Qin to bathe and change clothes. I want to host a banquet tonight to entertain all the Song officials."
At the banquet, Qin Hui was seated at the end. He watched as his former colleagues toasted and flattered the Jin generals, some even composing poems on the spot praising the might of the Jin army. A singing girl, holding a pipa, began to sing "□□ Flower," and Zhang Bangchang clapped his hands and sang along, completely oblivious to the sound of his nation's demise.
Qin Hui clutched his wine glass tightly, his knuckles turning white. He suddenly thought of his mother. On the day the city fell, he hadn't been able to return to see her one last time. Now, a year later, he wondered if she was still alive...
"Why don't you drink, Lord Qin?" Wanyan Zonghan's voice brought him back to reality. "Do you think my Great Jin's wine isn't fragrant enough?"
Qin Hui slowly raised his head and noticed that all the guests were staring at him. He raised his glass and, under everyone's expectant gaze, suddenly poured the wine onto the ground: "This is a toast to the fallen soldiers of the Song Dynasty!"
The tent fell silent. Wanyan Zonghan's face darkened to a terrifying gloom. Just as he was about to explode, a guard hurried in and whispered something in his ear. Wanyan Zonghan suddenly smiled strangely, "Okay, very good. Lord Qin, I'll take you somewhere to meet a few people tomorrow."
The next morning, Qin Hui was blindfolded and taken to a carriage. After a bumpy ride for half a day, he was taken off the carriage. When the blindfold was removed, the glaring sunlight made it difficult for him to see clearly.
"Qin Qing, how are you?"
This voice startled Qin Hui. He squinted his eyes and finally saw clearly that the person standing before him was none other than Huizong Zhao Ji! But the once elegant and graceful emperor was now wearing a Jurchen fur robe, his hair combed in the Jurchen style, and holding a swaddled baby in his arms.
"Your Majesty... Your Majesty?" Qin Hui's voice was trembling.
Huizong smiled and pointed to a few young men shooting arrows not far away: "Look, Heng'er's archery skills have improved a lot now, and he can even speak fluent Jurchen."
Qin Hui followed his finger and saw Emperor Qinzong Zhao Heng competing in archery with several Jurchen nobles, a relaxed smile on his face he had never seen before. Further away, several princes drank and enjoyed themselves in the company of Jurchen women, completely bewildered by the grief of a king who had lost his country.
"This...this is impossible..." Qin Hui staggered backward and bumped into the fence behind him.
Huizong Zhao Ji sighed. "Qin Qing, I was just like you at first. But over time, I came to my senses. The Jin Lord has treated us well, gifting us houses, servants, and even allowing us to marry and have children. Look..." He looked lovingly at the baby in his arms. "This is my youngest son, born to Wanyan. The Jin Lord has promised to make him a prince."
Qin Hui's stomach twisted. He recalled the unyielding look in the eyes of the Imperial Student Zhou Yanning on the day Bianjing fell; he remembered Li Ruoshui's final screams in the water dungeon; he remembered the words he had carved on the wall: "I will never surrender until I die." And now, the king he had sworn allegiance to was marrying and having children in the Jin Kingdom, content with the status quo?
"Why does Qin Qing look so unhappy?" Huizong asked with concern, "Are you feeling unwell? I'll call the imperial physician right away..."
"No need." Qin Hui's voice was so hollow that it seemed to come from far away.
On the return carriage, Qin Hui remained silent, reflecting on the torture he had endured in the water dungeon for a year, all because he felt he was a minister of the Song Dynasty, and that the Song Dynasty's enduring rule required loyal and resolute ministers. Yet, the Zhao emperor could remain so servile and lingering before a thief who had insulted his wife and daughter, trampled on his imperial dignity, and sought to seize the Zhao dynasty. Was life really that important? He could abandon his family, his faith, his dignity, just to survive.
Qin Hui sighed deeply. Since the Emperor of the Zhao family could achieve such a situation, why should he, a person of an outsider, insist on doing so? The Song Dynasty belonged to the Zhao family, not to him, Qin Hui.
Wanyan Zonghan didn't urge him, but simply looked at him meaningfully. As the carriage passed through a birch forest, Qin Hui suddenly spoke: "Marshal... I'll write the surrender letter."
Wanyan Zonghan smiled triumphantly, "Master Qin, have you figured it out?"
Qin Hui didn't answer. He stared at the shadows of the trees passing by the car window, thinking of himself, the man who had refused to yield on the rack a year earlier. That Qin Hui was dead, dead the moment he saw Huizong Zhao Ji smiling while holding the mixed-race baby.
That night, in Wanyan Zonghan's tent, Qin Hui knelt before his desk and trembled as he lifted his brush. The ink dripped onto the snow-white rice paper like a black tear.
"Your servant, Qin Hui, respectfully reports: Heaven's mandate is unpredictable, and only the virtuous can hold it. The current Emperor of the Great Jin..."
Halfway through writing, Qin Hui suddenly paused. He felt dizzy, as if he could hear countless voices shouting in his ears: Zhou Yan's dying words, Li Ruoshui's screams, the wails of the people of Bianjing. But when he looked up and saw the jade seal, originally belonging to the Song Dynasty emperor, hanging from Wanyan Zonghan's waist, all the sounds faded.
The brush fell again, the handwriting becoming increasingly fluent. Towards the end, Qin Hui even took the initiative to polish the surrender letter, adding a few words of praise. When he put down his brush, Wanyan Zonghan patted his shoulder with satisfaction: "Excellent! Your Excellency Qin is indeed a brilliant writer! From today on, you will be a guest of honor in my Great Jin!"
Qin Hui bowed his head in thanks, his eyes terribly empty. At that moment, he felt a corner of his heart suddenly collapse. That was his backbone as a Song official, his integrity as a scholar, and his last bit of dignity as a human being.
Outside the tent, the north wind howled, stirring up a cloud of yellow sand. Qin Hui gazed at the dancing dust, and in a trance, he saw again the heavy snowfall on the day Bianjing fell. Only this time, the snowflakes landed on his palms and instantly turned to blood.
The winters in Wuguo City were exceptionally long. By the second year of his imprisonment, Qin Hui had become fluent in the Jin language. He discovered that mastering the enemy's language also meant, to some extent, beginning to understand their thinking.
Wanyan Chang often visited the dungeon. This Jin Dynasty deputy marshal, deeply interested in Song Dynasty culture, would sometimes discuss poetry with Qin Hui. Once, he brought a pot of wine.
"Mr. Qin, I heard that you were a strong advocate of war back then?" Wanyan Chang poured him a glass of wine.
Qin Hui didn't answer immediately. He had seen too much in the past two years: he'd seen empresses and princesses sent to be prostitutes in laundry houses, ministers fighting over half a piece of naan, Emperor Huizong Zhao Ji barking like a dog to curry favor with his guards... The once passionate Qin Huizhi, like the city of Bianjing, had been reduced to ashes.
"It's just the arrogance of youth." Qin Hui drank it all in one gulp. The wine was very spicy, like swallowing a ball of fire.
Wanyan Chang laughed heartily. "I like that about you Southern Dynasty scholars. You know what's happening." He patted Qin Hui on the shoulder. "Would you like to move to a warmer place?"
Qin Hui knew what this meant. Surrender, betrayal, becoming a running dog of the Jin people. He should have been furious, should have cursed, but at this moment he just felt tired.
"What do I need to do?" he heard himself ask.
Wanyan Chang's smile widened. "It's simple. I will let you go, but you must find a way to make Emperor Zhao Gou of the Southern Dynasty give up resistance."
A few months later, Qin Hui successfully went south under the arrangement of Wanyan Zonghan and returned to the Song Dynasty that he had longed for day and night.
However, everything changed. He became flattering, cunning, and treacherous, becoming just like those he once despised the most, such as Tong Guan and Cai Jing, and even worse than them. He hated the Song Dynasty as it was. It was the weakness of the Song Dynasty that made him become the person he hated the most. He wanted to completely overthrow the entire Song Dynasty.
........
In the following days, the entire city of Lin'an was in an uproar. Groups of people gathered in the streets and alleys, discussing the matter and passing Hu Quan's memorial around. The ministers in the court also praised Hu Quan.
Seeing that everyone was talking about it, Qin Hui became much more restrained than before. He hid in the sedan chair when going to and from court and dared not show his face, enduring the occasional discussions.
Under tremendous pressure from the people and his ministers, Zhao Gou demoted Hu Quan to a commoner and issued an edict, strictly stating that he had humbled himself and sought peace in order to fulfill his filial piety and protect the people, and asked everyone not to be misled by Hu Quan. Gradually, the fire of public outrage was extinguished.
At the pavilion outside Lin'an, an autumn breeze carried the fragrance of osmanthus across the stone steps. Liang Hongyu, dressed in a turquoise dress, dressed as a young gentleman, poured scalding rice wine into a celadon cup.
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