Night. Beneath the moon, cups pass back and forth — men seek to drown their sorrows. Pure, uncomplicated joy is so rare; look, one story of the tower, a second story, a third.

Climb one story higher, add one layer of sorrow; descend one story, add one layer of sorrow — up brings sorrow, down brings sorrow.

Li Chi held his cup and looked at the moon, seemingly lost in thought.

Luo Jing asked him: “Still thinking about what else you can squeeze out of me?”

Li Chi shook his head: “On a quiet moonlit night like this, with the breeze so light and the sky so clear — what mood would I be in for that? I’m thinking about a woman.”

Luo Jing said: “If it’s women you want, just say so. Youzhou city has every kind of woman imaginable. If you want, I can send someone to summon them right now.”

Li Chi said: “No other woman is worth thinking about.”

Luo Jing almost imperceptibly narrowed his eyes, and swallowed back the remark he had been about to make — something along the lines of “I could keep you all company.” Though it had only been a jest, he had bitten it back entirely — and so he found Li Chi rather insufferable. No, more than rather. Exceedingly insufferable.

Luo Jing’s father had been dead only a few months, and naturally he had no interest in wine, women, and song. These past months, he had suppressed his grief, and so suffered greatly.

But with Li Chi and the others here, Luo Jing had found this day unexpectedly relaxing — his spirits had lightened considerably, in a way rare of late.

“Honestly…”

Luo Jing’s voice dropped slightly: “A person like you — why waste yourself as an outlaw? The greenwood is still the greenwood, when all is said and done.”

Li Chi said: “You can’t afford to keep me here. With your resources, I could strip you bare inside of half a year.”

Luo Jing said: “I’ll hold my tongue. Pretend I said nothing.”

The two stood side by side on the high platform. It was a terrace within the General’s mansion — Luo Jing’s father, Luo Geng, had been short in stature, but his greatest pleasure in life had been to climb to high places and survey the view.

Not only had he built a terrace within the mansion that afforded an almost commanding view of all of Youzhou city, he had also constructed such platforms at various spots throughout the city.

In his leisure time, Luo Geng would stand at some elevated point and gaze downward, and no one ever knew what he was thinking — nor what there was to see that he found so absorbing.

Yet he was addicted to it. He could always stand at a height and look out for half a day at a stretch, and no one dared disturb him.

Luo Jing had once asked his father about it. Luo Geng had only said that heights allowed you to see farther.

After a long silence, Luo Jing asked Li Chi: “So what do you plan to do in the end? If it comes to raising armies — as long as you and I are both within Jizhou, a battle between us would seem unavoidable.”

Li Chi shook his head: “You and I will never come to blows.”

Luo Jing asked: “Why not?”

Li Chi said: “You’ll understand in time.”

Luo Jing gave a quiet snort.

But somewhere in his heart, a note of satisfaction had sounded — for that single remark of Li Chi’s: *you and I will never come to blows.*

“We’ll speak of that later, then.”

Luo Jing said: “For now, let’s talk about how to get Jizhou into our hands… Your plan — I think it’s as good as done.”

Li Chi said: “But you should know: whoever takes Jizhou will eventually have to face Prince Wu, Yang Jiju, head on.”

At the sound of that name, a flash of hatred crossed Luo Jing’s eyes.

His father Luo Geng was said to have been killed by rage at Pan Nuo — but had it not all started with Prince Wu in the first place?

If you were going to apportion blame, Pan Nuo and Prince Wu had to share it, and Prince Wu perhaps had the larger share.

“Let him come.”

Luo Jing said: “That white-headed old schemer — he may not even live to march on me; he’ll exhaust himself to death in the south.”

Li Chi nodded. In this empire of Great Chu, the Emperor Yang Jing’s still-useful generals did indeed seem to amount to no more than this one aging commander.

“You should know.”

Luo Jing looked at Li Chi and said: “If the Emperor had kept his word and granted my father the title of king, my father would have held the northern frontier steadfast for him. But the Emperor only wanted to toy with my father.”

“In this world, who can say anything is absolute? The Emperor toyed with my father; Prince Wu and Pan Nuo drove my father to rage and illness. Is there truly no way for me to make the Emperor suffer in return?”

Luo Jing said: “Li Chi — just now you said that whoever takes Jizhou will face Prince Wu Yang Jiju. And it is precisely because I know this that I am determined to take Jizhou.”

Li Chi understood what Luo Jing was thinking.

Luo Jing said: “Right now in this empire, the rebel armies have already taken the first step. The regional governors still haven’t dared raise a flag of open rebellion.”

He looked at Li Chi with all seriousness: “In that case — I will be the first. I will take Jizhou, and I will raise a flag, plain for all to see, openly declaring my defiance of the court and the Emperor — so that others may witness it, so that those regional governors may see that I have already taken the first step. Will they really be able to hold themselves back from following?”

“The Emperor raged my father to his death. I will give him a taste of that rage. While others still lack the courage, I will be the rebel who dares to go first in all the realm.”

Luo Jing slowly exhaled, and drained the wine in his cup.

“Li Chi — just watch. Once I take that first step, let’s see whether those regional governors can still sit still…”

Luo Jing pointed to the south and suddenly shouted: “My father only wanted to hold your kingdom for you! Yet you denied him even that! Then I will take your kingdom instead — and if I cannot take it whole, I will at least carve a deep gash into the flesh of your Yang family’s realm, and once the blood starts flowing, wolves and tigers beyond count will come to tear at it!”

His voice cracked as he cried: “Yang Jing! Let me see how you hold your kingdom yourself!”

Far away across ten thousand li — in the capital city of Daxing.

In the imperial palace, the candles of the Imperial Study burned on.

Emperor Yang Jing was not reading memorials. He was staring into space. What distressed him most deeply was in fact precisely the paucity of memorials coming up to him.

He had sat there for a long while, as though his soul had momentarily left his body — utterly still and utterly silent.

The Emperor in this state gave the chief eunuch in attendance, Wen Xiudao, a terrible fright.

His Majesty had not been back in the capital very long, but since his return there had been nothing but bad news waiting for him.

The new policies he had promulgated earlier, when they reached the provinces, had all sunk without a trace — as though a stone dropped into the sea — and no one had paid them the least attention.

Then came reports that regional governors across the realm had been continuously recruiting and expanding their armies, that rebel forces in various quarters had grown ever more powerful, and even that the princes holding territories beyond the capital had begun to harbor ambitions of their own.

What manner of situation was this?

It was a situation where both outsiders and one’s own kin were scheming for His Majesty’s realm, scheming for His Majesty’s throne.

Wen Xiudao even found himself thinking that, were he in the Emperor’s position, he surely would have already buckled under such pressure and despair long ago — and simply fled.

Then he was startled by his own thought. He, a eunuch, had actually dared to think about His Majesty’s affairs. He deserved to die.

“Your Majesty…”

Wen Xiudao ventured a gentle word: “The night grows late. It is time to rest.”

Emperor Yang Jing furrowed his brow slightly, as if only now pulling himself out of that hollow, empty state.

“How long have I been sitting here in a daze?”

Yang Jing asked.

Wen Xiudao replied: “Not very long at all. Your Majesty is simply exhausted.”

“What do I have to be exhausted about?”

Yang Jing cast a glance at the few memorials on his desk, then smiled a smile that was very, very bitter: “Today in its entirety, I have read four memorials. Four. And every one of them is officials attacking and accusing each other.”

Yang Jing let out a long breath.

The entirety of court — civil and military alike — and only four memorials had come up in a single day. All of them just this one cursing that one, that one cursing this one.

“Who do they think they are? Do they take themselves for wronged wives and me for a mother-in-law — blubbering over petty domestic squabbles and demanding I come settle things for them?”

Wen Xiudao immediately bowed: “Your Majesty, please put these thoughts aside. If sleep still eludes you, this servant could accompany Your Majesty on a stroll — the flowers in the imperial garden are in full bloom, fragrant all through…”

Before he could finish, Yang Jing suddenly burst out: “Enough!”

Yang Jing glared at Wen Xiudao: “Those creatures who eat the grain of the state yet hold their posts like corpses know only how to obsess over trifles, and now you would obsess over them too…”

He stopped short mid-sentence.

“Why am I blaming you? You are only a eunuch. What you are meant to do is truly nothing more than attend to my needs…”

Yang Jing rose: “Very well then. Let us go for a walk.”

The path from the study to the imperial garden was a long one. Yang Jing simply could not sleep, his mind restless, and so it made no difference where he walked.

“Little Knife.”

Yang Jing asked: “I’ve forgotten — where is your hometown?”

Wen Xiudao answered at once: “Reporting to Your Majesty — this servant’s hometown is Wen County, under the jurisdiction of Jizhou. But this servant has never once returned — after this servant’s grandfather brought the whole family to settle in the capital, no one has ever gone back.”

Yang Jing calculated — it seemed that on this last journey he had just skirted the edge of that area, passing near Wen County without actually passing through it.

“Why did you not say so? If you had, I would have let you go back and see what your hometown looks like now.”

Yang Jing remarked offhandedly.

Wen Xiudao replied: “Your Majesty, it is no matter — going back or not going back makes little difference. There is no one who knows me there, and no one who knows me would be there…”

Upon hearing this, Yang Jing paused, as if in thought.

After a moment, Yang Jing murmured to himself: “In my realm, there are also many who do not know me. And I no longer know them.”

Without noticing, they had drifted to the inner palace. Yang Jing looked around — everywhere else had lights burning, but one place alone was dark and desolate.

“What place is that?”

Yang Jing asked without thinking.

Wen Xiudao answered at once: “Reporting to Your Majesty — that is the Palace of Jade Beauty. It is sealed now, and no longer receives the monthly household allotment from the palace — so there may not even be candles. Hence the darkness.”

“The Palace of Jade Beauty?”

Yang Jing suddenly recalled — that palace had once housed Noble Consort Yuwen Yan. After the Yuwen family had been searched and their estates seized, a large number had been executed and a large number more sent into exile. But Yuwen Yan was a noble consort, and one his imperial father had been greatly fond of, so Yang Jing had not dealt with her too harshly — merely ordered the palace treated as a cold palace.

“The Yuwen family…”

The Emperor turned to Wen Xiudao and asked: “I seem to recall — does Yuwen Yan have a nephew? Word was that the boy was a young warrior of talent.”

Wen Xiudao searched his memory carefully, and did indeed recall such a person. When the Yuwen family had fallen, the principal offenders — Yuwen Chonghe, Yuwen Chi, Yuwen Cong, and others — had all been dealt with. Yuwen Chonghe’s grandson and Yuwen Chi’s son, Yuwen Shangyun, had been only fourteen or fifteen at the time, and had been sentenced to exile. This Yuwen Shangyun had a reputation among the young for martial prowess. His grandfather Yuwen Chonghe had been the Minister of War, and had used his authority to summon many of the finest martial talents from the military to instruct the boy. By all accounts, at the age of fourteen, Yuwen Shangyun had stood in the Ministry of War’s training ground and defeated more than ten accomplished military fighters in succession.

“Send someone to investigate.”

Yang Jing said: “Find out where this Yuwen Shangyun was exiled to. If he is still alive, bring him back…”

Yang Jing paused, then continued: “Remind me tomorrow — the Yuwen family produced many fine military commanders. Even among those sent into exile, there are men of talent. I will grant them a special pardon and recall them…”

He fell into thought for a moment, then went on: “Not only will I pardon them — I will also pardon a batch of condemned criminals and serious offenders. I will entrust them to Yuwen Shangyun, and send him to the north… My royal uncle has taken his army to Shu. The north cannot be left unguarded.”

Wen Xiudao nodded promptly: “This servant will remember.”

After a moment, Yang Jing looked at Wen Xiudao and said: “No — do not raise this in court. Those scoundrels will certainly try to stop me, and I am weary of their noise. Take my edict directly out of the palace tomorrow and bring the man back yourself!”

Yang Jing slowly exhaled: “Since those sanctimonious, high-minded men cannot serve me, I have no choice but to make an exception — to use those who under normal circumstances I could not and should not use. I will found a Nirvana Camp. I will give these people a chance to be reborn through fire.”

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