A Loosened Rein, Half an Inch

In the seventh year of Yongchang, on a snowy night at Qishan Post Station, defeated general Shen Jue crouched beneath the covered walkway, mending a loosened horse rein. Three years earlier, when the city fell, Lu Huaijin's sword had missed by half a fraction, sparing his life. Three years later, on the banks of the Wei River, Shen Jue's arrow missed by half an inch, shaving only the corner of a flag. One wielded a sword, the other kept the accounts. Separated by the distance between ruler and subject, and the divide between friend and foe, they both chose to fight over that half inch. A loosened rein could be tightened, an arrow gone astray could be mended with a needle, but the score between them had gone unsettled for three years. Then turmoil erupted along the northern frontier, supply lines were cut, suspicions spread through the court, and the censor accused them of being "overly close." In court, Shen Jue gave only one reply: "He cauterized the burn in my sleeve. He knows which stitches are crooked." This is the story of two stubborn men who refused to yield, holding on with pine branches, old reins, and arrows that missed by half an inch. Snow fell on the eaves of the post station without a sound. The copper bell fell silent, and the horse moved first.