After Li Chi finished speaking, Cui Tai’s expression had gone extremely grim. He had once declared, with full confidence, that no one in Jizhou — no matter how shrewd — could see through this plan. The great family patriarchs who could be called old foxes would certainly never guess it. And yet here he was, having been seen through by a Li Chi using what amounted to little more than inspired guesswork.

After a long silence, Cui Tai looked at Li Chi and said, “In other words — my people should already be walking into the trap you’ve set for them.”

“Most likely.”

Li Chi answered, “I arrived somewhat early, so I don’t have the latest word yet. But once there’s news, my people will come and tell me immediately — probably faster than Mister Cui’s people can report back. Perhaps…” He paused. “Perhaps Mister Cui’s people won’t be coming back.”

Cui Tai fell silent again.

After a while, Cui Tai looked at Li Chi. “Even if you’ve anticipated all my arrangements and prepared against every one of them — you still shouldn’t have come to the Sanyue River Pavilion alone. At the very least, I could still kill you.”

Li Chi shook his head. “Mister Cui doesn’t have many people left at his disposal. And you’ve already seen me fight.”

Cui Tai had.

What he didn’t know was that the last time had been entirely deliberate. The Li Chi who had snapped the iron-limbed bow that day had already been carrying an old injury — he had endured the searing pain and forced the draw partly for this very moment. At the time, Li Chi might not have been certain this moment would come, but he had done it anyway. More importantly, Tang Pidi had been humiliated in the Sanyue River Pavilion, and he was going to stand up for him.

And so here and now, Cui Tai had no idea that Li Chi was bluffing. The Li Chi who had snapped that iron-limbed bow with raw force had sent his old wound flaring; right now, Li Chi couldn’t even climb a wall without being carried on Yu Jiuling’s back — there was no way he could actually fight.

Li Chi looked at Cui Tai, wondering whether he would dare try.

Cui Tai looked at Li Chi, wondering whether Li Chi would strike first.

The two men held each other’s gaze for a considerable time. In the end, it was Cui Tai who let out a long, heavy breath.

“I did not expect that a man of my years would find himself so thoroughly at a loss before someone as young as you. At this moment I have no one at my side — because my people have all gone out to do what they were sent to do. And you presumably have no one at your side either, because your people have all gone out to stop mine.”

Cui Tai gave a long sigh. “And so when only the two of us remain, the final step of this intricate sequence of strategy and counter-strategy — the most elaborate game of planning and un-planning — comes down to something so primitive, so crude. So undignified.”

Li Chi shrugged, lifted the tea cup, and took a sip — not to drink, but to rinse his mouth.

That was lotus-heart tea of considerable value. By silver-weight calculation, that single rinse was worth ten taels. Possibly more.

Cui Tai asked Li Chi, “Then what is the second thing you saw through?”

Li Chi said, “I had assumed the Cui Family’s chief decision-maker would be inside the granary. But he wasn’t. Someone identified the man standing on the granary wall holding a saber as a person named Cui Qing — a man second only to the Cui Family head in authority and influence.”

He looked at Cui Tai. “I’m right, aren’t I — head of the Cui Family.”

This time Cui Tai showed no surprise. Instead he smiled — the smile carried a note of release, and also of bitterness. Li Chi had already seen through his plan; seeing through his identity as well was hardly anything extraordinary. And besides, the things he had said during their conversation were not things a mere Cui Family steward could have said.

Li Chi said, “And so I have considerable respect for Mister Cui — you were always in plain sight, and yet no one ever suspected.”

Cui Tai said, “The circumstances within the city clearly belonged to me from the start — I had earlier preparation, earlier action. And yet Li Chi has been one step ahead at every turn. I can only say: my admiration.”

Cui Tai looked at Li Chi and said, “But you have not won completely, nor has my Cui Family lost completely. The Qingzhou Military Governor is my brother. Whether I die, or whether every Cui in this city dies — as long as he lives, the Cui Family will stand again.”

He paused for a moment, then said, “In truth… I genuinely wanted to be that healer.”

Li Chi nodded. “And so after hearing what you had to say, I found myself feeling respect for you. What I am blocking is not your desire to be a healer — it’s that…”

He looked at Cui Tai. “I also want to be a healer.”

Cui Tai burst into laughter — a laughter edged with something almost unhinged.

After a long while, Cui Tai said to Li Chi, “Just now, when you first came in, I said something to you: in this world, the most frightening thing is not the cunning of the old, but the talent of the young.”

Li Chi smiled. “And that’s why, when you said it, I thanked you for the praise. I didn’t say it was undeserved.”

Cui Tai felt that there was a kind of arrogance to what Li Chi had said that made him envious.

“Youth.”

Cui Tai said. “It should never be underestimated.”

Li Chi said, “Many people, like Mister Cui, only understand that after they’ve paid the price.”

He rose to his feet. “Mister Cui believes this has reached its end — but that’s not quite so. The Cui Family’s people, if they wish to be healers who save the world, should not be doing it in Jizhou. I said so earlier, and Mister Cui didn’t notice — didn’t understand what I meant.”

He cupped his hands. “I’ll take my leave. If Mister Cui wishes to leave the city, as soon as the Qingzhou forces withdraw, every member of the Cui Family may depart Jizhou safely and without interference.”

Cui Tai rose with Li Chi as Li Chi spoke — that final sentence made him feel as though he had become a prisoner, this his own Sanyue River Pavilion turned into Li Chi’s cell, holding him here to await judgment.

Li Chi stepped out of the Sanyue River Pavilion. Cui Tai walked with him all the way to the front gates. As they emerged, the curious women of the Sanyue River Pavilion were still watching the young man leave — they had no idea what their master and that young man had talked about. They only saw their master personally see the young man out to the street.

Li Chi left. Cui Tai returned to the grand hall on the ground floor and sat. He glanced at the place where Li Chi had been sitting — beside it, the cup of lotus-heart tea was still steaming gently. Li Chi had only drunk from it once, and that had been to rinse his mouth.

The Sanyue River Pavilion’s head housekeeper was intensely curious. She edged carefully to Cui Tai’s side and asked in a soft voice, “Master — who was that young gentleman?”

Somehow, Cui Tai found himself thinking of the words Tang Pidi had spoken when he left the Sanyue River Pavilion that time.

He repeated them to himself, as if in a murmur.

“In time, the whole world will know. And so will you.”

—

Half an hour after Li Chi had left the Sanyue River Pavilion, Qin Zhuo and Wei Xianzhen came stumbling back. Both men were wounded — it was hard to tell how badly, but they were both covered in blood.

“Master.”

Qin Zhuo made it through the door, then his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees.

“We… lost.”

Wei Xianzhen’s injuries appeared slightly less severe — he was still on his feet. He clasped his hands toward Cui Tai. “Master, if we sort ourselves out now, we can still protect you and get out. Find somewhere safe to lie low — and once the great army takes the city, we can…”

He hadn’t finished speaking before Cui Tai cut him off. Cui Tai shook his head. “Stop deceiving yourself. You already know: the great army is not going to take this city.”

He said to them, “Sit down. Xingniang — bring the medicine chest. See to these two.”

The woman who had been standing at Cui Tai’s side earlier — perhaps in her mid-thirties by appearance, with a quietly magnetic quality — nodded and led the maids away to retrieve the medicine chest.

“Master, we…”

Qin Zhuo started to speak again. Again Cui Tai stopped him. “The medicine has failed. Seizing the gate with our strength alone has also failed. It’s not that I’ve stopped wanting to fight — it’s that I won’t have the Cui Family’s name dragged through the mud. I know what you were going to say.”

What Qin Zhuo had wanted to say was exactly that: we still have some forces left; we could move through the city streets and cause havoc — set fires in multiple places, enough to stretch the garrison forces defending against the Qingzhou army’s assault, and perhaps create an opening after all.

“That won’t win anything. And it would look desperate and ugly.”

Cui Tai sat down, exhaled slowly, and said, “From the beginning, when Governor Zeng Ling came, he held himself above everyone in Jizhou — but he never treated Jizhou as his home. Then Prince Yu came, and he held himself above everyone the same way — and he likewise never treated Jizhou as his home.”

He looked at Qin Zhuo. “I am different. Jizhou is my home. I will not destroy it — not now, not ever.”

—

That night, the city grew quiet — but the killing on and beneath the walls never stopped. The Qingzhou army waited in vain for the city gates to open. Still unwilling to accept defeat, they hammered at the walls through the entire night. How many died on both sides in that darkness is impossible to calculate.

When the sun rose, the Qingzhou army withdrew at last. They had no choice but to accept, after giving everything they had, one undeniable truth: the people inside had won.

On the city wall, Xiahou Zuo glanced at Tang Pidi, who showed not the slightest sign of exhaustion. He let out a breath of relief and asked, “Why don’t you look tired at all?”

Tang Pidi glanced at him in turn. His reply was entirely matter-of-fact. “Better constitution than you.”

Xiahou Zuo said nothing, but his expression said clearly: *Nonsense.*

After a while, Xiahou Zuo asked, “Li Chi still hasn’t come up. Where do you think he is right now?”

Tang Pidi considered this. “Sleeping.”

Xiahou Zuo laughed — he thought Li Chi was entirely capable of that.

But Li Chi was not sleeping. He was making wontons.

At the carriage depot, in the kitchen — when he came back, he found Gao Xining sitting in the kitchen, flour everywhere: on her face, her clothes, her apron, which looked as if it had been decorated by an enthusiastic amateur. He had gone through a sleepless night. So had she.

He walked in and she looked up. Their eyes met, and there were small bright stars turning slowly in both pairs.

“Let me.”

Li Chi sat down beside Gao Xining and asked with a smile, “What masterpiece are you creating?”

Gao Xining knocked her shoulder into his. “Ever had wontons the size of a fist?”

Li Chi looked at the few wontons sitting on the tray beside them and asked, “Why are they so large?”

Gao Xining said, “They… they kept breaking. So I patched them. The patches piled up and they just got bigger.”

Li Chi said, “This isn’t a wonton anymore. It’s a tangyuan. The buns I ate yesterday — was that how those came about too?”

Gao Xining answered with complete dignity, “Of course not. The bun wrapper is thicker, it doesn’t break as easily.”

Li Chi said, “True. The wonton wrapper is thinner to start with, but with enough patching you’ll eventually outpace the competition.”

Gao Xining laughed without a care, knocking her shoulder into him again. “Sure of yourself, are you? You think you can do better?”

Li Chi said, “Undoubtedly a bit better than you.”

Two quarter-hours later, they both looked at the tray of wontons before them — varying wildly in size, the largest the size of a fist, the smallest the size of a thumb tip.

“Can they all be cooked together?” Gao Xining asked.

Li Chi said, “Put them in by seniority.”

Another quarter-hour later, two bowls of wontons sat before them. They looked at each other, then each reached out and lightly knocked their bowl against the other’s.

Gao Xining said, “Here’s to you — one bowl!”

She took a first bite, and those pretty brows of hers drew together. Then she burst out laughing and asked Li Chi, “Were yesterday’s buns this bad too?”

Li Chi answered, “Impossible.”

Then he added: “They were worse.”

And then he ate an entire bowl.