#夏日创作营 From Beijing, heading north, crossing Yanshan, you can see the grasslands of the Mongolian Plateau. The mountain-fed streams in the northern foothills gather into one highland lake after another—those “nuor” (“淖尔”) of Mongolian place names.

Between one nuor and the next, the rivers grow rich in meanders. The most beautiful is the Lightning River. It would seem the first person to name it must have been on the mountains, watching lightning rip through the night sky, merging with the bend of the river.

The Lightning River winds its way downward, carving out fertile grasslands as it washes through the mountain ranges. It was ideal for herding and for taking summer retreats—an area heavily managed during the Liao and Jin dynasties. In the height of summer, this land blooms with golden lotus flowers. That is why the Jin emperor named it “Golden Lotus Chuan.”

The Golden Lotus Chuan truly stepped onto the stage of history after Kublai Khan took overall command of the regions south of the Mongolian steppe. Kublai Khan established the Golden Lotus Chuan “mu-fu” (a staff headquarters) there, appointed Han Chinese officials as advisers, and ultimately built a city there, then ascended the throne—known in history as the Yuan Shangdu. At that time, even as the golden lotus still flourished on this land where Liao and Jin nobles went hunting, the Liao and Jin were already gone; only the name Golden Lotus Chuan remained, to be carried forward for the Mongol-Yuan. Facing the Mongols directly, there was only the Southern Song.

In 1233, the Mongols formed three routes to encircle the Jin dynasty’s capital, Kaifeng. The following year, the Jin fell. But 93 years earlier—before that—Yue Fei of the Southern Song’s northern expedition had advanced like a torrent; his vanguard, the Beiyong Army, had already pushed to Zhuxianzhen, only a hair’s breadth from Kaifeng. The Jin court was already planning to abandon the city and cross the river to flee. Yet the Song’s rulers in power recalled Yue Fei with twelve gold-inlaid command plaques; the next year, Yue Fei died at Fengbo Pavilion. And Genghis Khan was not born until 22 years later. History has no “what if.” But if history did have “what if,” Golden Lotus Chuan might have been another chapter.

After Yue Fei was executed on a charge that amounted to “having no evidence,” not only the loyal forces but even regular troops who defected to the Jin were numerous. Later still, as long as Southern Song generals suffered internal persecution and then turned to the Jin, that became the preferred way out. The Song’s loyal soldiers drowning at sea, of course, leave a lingering ink-and-brush tragedy—but the first domino fell at Zhuxianzhen, at Fengbo Pavilion.

The red banners of the Yue Family Army were buried in the soil of history for 200 years. Then, a group of Red Turban troops—heads wrapped in red cloth, flying the same crimson banners—marched north along the same road: they struck the Yuan Shangdu twice, and every palace, wall, and rampart was destroyed; the Yuan’s vitality was finally exhausted.

Zhao Gou, who issued twelve gold-inlaid command plaques in the 10th year of Shaoxing, could not have imagined that the Jin—what he feared—would fall to the Mongol-Yuan. He could not have imagined that the golden ruling family meant to destroy the Jin—Genghis Khan—had not yet been born. And even more he could not have imagined that such a powerful Mongol empire would actually perish under “the birth of the Ming king” (明王出世).

What Zhao Gou worried about was simply that if Yue Fei fought farther north, it would become uncontrollable. Yet he did not know that the current of history, though it may seem manipulated again and again, still eventually rolls forward relentlessly.