Volume One: In Turbulent Times, Is There a Path for Humanity? Prologue: A Visitor from a Thousand Years Later

Year 1279.

In the second year of Xiangxing of the Song Dynasty, the sixteenth year of Zhiyuan under Kublai Khan, Zhang Hongfan of Song was defeated at Yashan. Lu Xiufu carried the emperor and leapt into the sea; countless members of the imperial household, ministers, soldiers, and civilians followed him into death. For seven days, more than a hundred thousand corpses floated out from the sea.

Wen Tianxiang, imprisoned in Dadu, remained steadfast unto death, refusing to bend. After his execution, a poem was found sewn into his belt—“Inscription of the Belt”: “Confucius spoke of fulfilling humanity; Mencius of pursuing righteousness. Only when righteousness is complete does humanity reach its height. What is the purpose of reading the books of sages? From now on, may I be without shame.”

The Song fell and Yuan rose. Decades later, the Yuan Dynasty had passed down to its final emperor, Huizong, also known as Shundi.

Beside the Yellow River, in a humble household, a sickly child awoke from his coma. He paid no heed to the joyful cries of those in the room, but instead stared at them in bewilderment and uncertainty, eyes wide open. Each face was both familiar and strange. Two distinct memories mingled in his mind—one from a republic a thousand years hence, the other native to this body.

A bright, clean classroom, a teacher lecturing with passion. A shabby hut, a private tutor swaying his head and reciting poetry. Nights ablaze with lanterns and wine, revelry and song. Nights dark with wind and moon, Mongol raiders grinning as they entered the village. Old Liu at the village gate, who had frozen and starved to death last winter. Sister Cui from the neighboring village, taken last month by the county’s Mongol official as his thirteenth concubine. A young boy, riding a lamb, brandishing a wooden knife: “Kill! Kill! Kill!”

He clenched his fists tightly, uncertain whether his fear sprang from the new memories, or from the anxiety of being torn from his familiar world. Sweat poured from him as if waking from a nightmare, yet he felt as though he had plunged into another. The people in the room grew frantic, calling urgently for a doctor, their rough hands gently patting him, comforting him.

At the touch, the body’s own memories took precedence.

The anxious middle-aged man was his father; the burly, fierce-looking man beside him, though genuinely concerned, was Deng San, his father’s sworn brother. Kneeling by the bed, holding his hand, staring at him blankly and awkwardly trying to wipe his sweat, was his childhood friend, named Zhao Guo.

His father had spent everything to send him to the private school. Deng San brought game from hunting, cheerfully tempting him with fragrant meat to call him “uncle.” The day Sister Cui was taken, he grieved deeply; Zhao Guo, unable to comfort him, simply stayed by his side, dumbly, for two days and nights. Moments of warmth and affection surfaced in his heart.

Gradually, he calmed down. His gaze swept over their faces once more, now changed. He released his grip; the sweat subsided. Amid the noise in the room, he heard the storm raging outside.

Outside, rain poured in torrents. In the distance, the river roared.

In the fourth year of Zhizheng under Yuan Shundi, in the fifth lunar month of summer, rain fell for more than twenty days. The Yellow River overflowed, reaching a depth of nearly twenty feet. The embankments along the river burst successively to the north; the following year brought plague, and half the people perished.

This flood destroyed the sick boy’s home. With their home ruined and no means of livelihood, Deng San, his father, and six other brothers gathered a hundred or so men and, driven by desperation, raised their banners in rebellion, becoming bandits. Along the banks of the Yellow River, countless refugees struggling to survive joined them. For several years, they made a great name for themselves—but that tale is for another time.

The disaster grew ever more severe, and the tide of refugees swelled, demanding urgent action. In the eleventh year of Zhizheng, in April, the Mongol Yuan summoned 150,000 people from thirteen routes of Bianliang and Daming, decreeing the reopening of the old course of the Yellow River.

In May, from the northern branch of the White Lotus Sect, Han Shantong of Hebei, claiming descent from the Song imperial line, eighth-generation grandson of Emperor Huizong, declared himself rightful ruler of China. Joined by Liu Futong and three thousand river laborers, they slaughtered a black ox and white horse as sacrifice, swore an oath to heaven and earth, and donned red turbans to drive out the Mongol invaders, rising up at Yingshang.

In August, the southern branch of the White Lotus, led by Xu Shuhui and Zou Pusheng, likewise adopted the red turban and responded in Hubei.

In August, White Lotus followers from Hebei—Sesame Li, Zhao Junyong, and six others—seized the important town of Xuzhou overnight. By morning, they had raised large banners to recruit troops, attracting nearly one hundred thousand followers.

In November, White Lotus followers from Henan—Wang Quan, Zhang Chun, and others—captured Dengzhou and Nanyang, calling themselves the “Northern Red Army,” soon taking Tang, Song, Ru, Henan Prefecture, and other regions.

In the twelfth year, January, White Lotus followers from Hubei—Meng Haima—took Xiangyang, naming themselves the “Southern Red Army,” and swiftly captured Fang, Gui, Jun, Xia, Jingmen, and other states.

In January, White Lotus followers from Anhui—Guo Zixing, Sun Deya, and others—gathered several thousand warriors, raised rebellion in Dingyuan, and within a few weeks amassed tens of thousands.

In the thirteenth year, January, Zhang Shicheng of Taizhou, along with his brothers Shide and Shixin and eighteen others including Li Bosheng, rose with salt workers in western Zhejiang. In May, they captured Gaoyou, the critical hub of the north-south grain transport, severing the supply line to Dadu.

Suddenly, the land around the Yellow River was ablaze with fire. North and south, heroes were stirred by the news, and banners rose everywhere. Figures like Zhou Quan of Huaqing, Deng Zhong of Linchuan, Yu Junzheng of Anlu, Lady Jin Hua of Shaanxi, the Taoist Ou of Jiangxi, Zhang the Fierce of Xiangyang, Zhang the Wild of Yuezhou, Zhao Pusheng of Anqing, Yang Cheng of Feihu, and many more, all raised their flags to restore the Central Plains.

The banners of the righteous armies numbered not in hundreds but thousands and tens of thousands. The whole land was in turmoil; the world trembled.

Our story begins in such an age.