After that venture into the Yan Mountains—having hunted nothing, but having witnessed an assassination—Li Diudiu thought on the journey back: apparently scheming and treachery were not the exclusive province of government offices. Rebel armies had just as much of it.

He was fairly certain the one in the wrong in that assassination attempt was definitely not a man like Yu Chaozong. An elder brother who always throws himself in front of his brothers—what wrong could such a man possibly have done?

Back at his tent, his master was not there. He asked the men outside and learned that his master had been invited by Prince Yu.

His master had told Li Diudiu before that he was actually not terribly keen on dealing with powerful figures like Prince Yu and Prince Wu. Li Diudiu understood why.

When dealing with jianghu wanderers, or with common folk, there was no fear of life and death—a word too many or too few didn’t matter, one could act freely and naturally.

But when dealing with people of such immense power, who knew which word said wrong might displease them? For people of such standing, displeasure had a way of leading to very bad consequences.

With that thought, Li Diudiu felt somewhat regretful about having brought his master along. He still didn’t think things through carefully enough. He should pay more attention going forward.

Just as he was thinking this, his master Changmei came strolling back. Seeing that his master’s expression looked fine, Li Diudiu felt relieved.

Li Diudiu asked: “Prince Yu called you over to read fortunes and tell fates again?”

Changmei shook his head: “Not Prince Yu. It was Prince Wu. He wanted me to divine whether his journey to the Yan Mountains would bring any gains.”

Li Diudiu asked curiously: “What did Master say?”

Changmei sat down. Li Diudiu poured him a cup of water and passed it over. Changmei moistened his throat and then replied: “I said: Your Highness should obtain on this journey what you are meant to obtain—but do not expect any unexpected blessings. If such blessings arise, they would likely come from encountering someone who alters the fate of this journey. Similarly, if what Your Highness is meant to obtain on this journey fails to materialize—that too would be from encountering someone who alters the fate of this journey.”

Li Diudiu laughed: “Prince Wu actually believed that kind of circular talk?”

On the surface it sounded like a remark of some sophistication. But think it through carefully and it was complete nonsense—absolutely useless.

Changmei said: “What else could I say? Better to do nothing than to do something wrong. He knows in his own heart what the situation is. A great man like that, who has led armies for decades—does he not have everything thought out and prepared in advance?”

He looked at Li Diudiu and explained: “To your ears that sounds like nonsense—but Prince Wu doesn’t see it that way. He’ll feel my words have merit, because he already feels confident himself, yet also fears something going wrong. What I said was to tell Prince Wu: even if something unexpected happens, it’s not Your Highness’s fault—it’s the fault of whoever altered the fate of this journey. The point of saying that was to tell Prince Wu: if there’s any change, don’t blame yourself—blame someone else.”

Li Diudiu thought about it and decided his master’s artistry with words had grown by yet a few more degrees. He himself clearly still had a long way to go.

Changmei said: “People always carry two kinds of mentality with them. When they’re about to undertake something big, both mentalities emerge at once. Doesn’t matter if it’s the highest official or the lowliest commoner—everyone is the same.”

Li Diudiu asked: “What mentalities?”

Changmei answered: “The first is a credit-claiming mentality—roughly meaning: if this succeeds, it’s to my credit. The second is an absolution mentality—if this fails, none of it is my fault.”

He looked at Li Diudiu: “A man like Prince Wu—he can’t escape it either. However, here he’s the greatest, so his word is law. That means his absolution mentality is different from other people’s. For those beneath him, the absolution mentality means ‘don’t hold me responsible.’ For Prince Wu, his absolution mentality means ‘I need to find someone to hold responsible.'”

He shrugged: “Different positions.”

Li Diudiu made a sound of acknowledgment: “Did Prince Wu say anything else?”

Changmei shook his head: “Nothing more. What would he just casually say to me? His reason for summoning me was purely psychological comfort. Once I understood that, giving him comfortable answers wasn’t difficult at all—just follow the direction of his own thinking.”

He lay down on the camp bed, watching the sky outside the tent gradually darken, falling quiet.

“Diudiu.”

“Mm?”

“Do you truly want to join the military?”

“Yes. I want to.”

“When the time comes I’ll try asking Prince Yu—see if he might be able to arrange a position for you in the Jizhou Army. But that will have to wait until after you finish at the academy.”

Li Diudiu didn’t argue back or say much more. He knew his master didn’t want him following Xiahou Zuo to the northern frontier army. In his master’s view, the Black Martial people were all demons with red brows and green eyes, and the northern border forces of Dachu were fighting a war against a horde of demons—the dead piling up in numbers enough to pave the wilderness outside the frontier passes with white bones.

Beneath every inch of frontier earth lay bones of those who had fallen.

His master also didn’t dare help him inquire with Prince Wu: first, because their relationship and standing were insufficient; second, because the Left Martial Guard fought constant campaigns and faced life and death the same as the frontier army—just marginally less so. Asking Prince Yu whether he could help Li Diudiu enter the Jizhou Army was already the greatest concession his master could make.

His master had always wanted to help Li Diudiu change his fate. But his master felt he had already succeeded—in terms of temperament, Changmei had always been content with modest comforts. Li Diudiu was reading at an academy, owned a house in Jizhou—wasn’t that a changed fate already?

In truth, yes—it truly was a changed fate.

Changmei looked at Li Diudiu. He had raised this child, and he could read whatever was on that young face as clearly as written words.

“I know you’re handling me—just the way I handle other people.”

Changmei sat up and lit his pipe, taking a few draws.

“Diudiu, our trade—put it simply, it’s saying one thing to people and another to spirits; put it even more plainly, it’s handling people. But it is a craft. How to handle everyone and leave them feeling comfortable about it—that is a profound principle. A man who achieves this, even without reading sutras or Daoist texts, is already half an immortal.”

He pointed to himself: “I just went out and handled Prince Wu—left Prince Wu feeling perfectly comfortable and content. That is your master’s depth of cultivation. You just now kept your silence and handled me—but your cultivation isn’t deep enough.”

He looked at Li Diudiu: “You learned handling people from me, and now you think you can handle me?”

Li Diudiu let out a long breath: “Master… but I want to become a formidable person.”

“Formidable?”

Changmei laughed: “How superficial. Tell me then—what does a formidable person look like in your eyes?”

Li Diudiu thought for a moment and answered: “Xu Qülu.”

Changmei shook his head: “Second-tier formidable.”

Li Diudiu asked: “What is second-tier formidable?”

Changmei smiled: “If he were first-tier formidable, he wouldn’t have died so unjustly. Diudiu, in your master’s eyes, first-tier formidable is: I myself know exactly how formidable I am—but I simply don’t want to stand out. I’m formidable, and I live without desire or ambition, and nobody can destroy me.”

Li Diudiu felt this definition of first-tier formidable was utterly consistent with his master’s personality.

Changmei glanced at him and said: “I can tell you don’t accept that. So—what is first-tier formidable in your eyes?”

Li Diudiu answered: “I don’t know yet. Because my idea of first-tier formidable keeps changing.”

He looked at his master and smiled: “There was a time when I thought someone like Xiahou Zuo was first-tier formidable.”

Changmei took a draw on his pipe and said: “In that case, let me go find Xiahou Zuo and tell him—Li Diudiu says you’re nothing special.”

Li Diudiu sighed like an old man: “Didn’t Master say: to demean others without benefiting oneself—how foolish a thing that is, and how foolish a person that makes.”

Changmei narrowed his eyes and looked at Li Diudiu: “Are you insulting me?”

Li Diudiu said: “No, no—Master isn’t that kind of person. Master, I haven’t asked you before—have you heard of Yu Chaozong?”

Changmei glared at Li Diudiu and said: “Changing the subject—that little trick you also learned from me. Yu Chaozong? Don’t know much. Just hearsay from the streets, may not all be reliable. But given that he holds the title of Heavenly King—and didn’t claim it himself—one can only imagine how much loyalty he commands in others.”

Li Diudiu asked again: “Then is someone like him first-tier formidable?”

Changmei shook his head: “No—he’d be second-tier at best. He cares too much about brotherhood and forgets himself. Diudiu, remember this—a person ought to have loyalty to one’s brothers, but don’t let that loyalty cost you your own life. If Yu Chaozong is truly as loyal as they say, he’ll most likely lose his life on the altar of that loyalty.”

Li Diudiu was unconvinced. He had never believed everything his master said was right.

He said, half to himself: “A man is born for brotherhood, and dies for brotherhood…”

Before he could finish, Changmei cut him off: “Half fool, half hero.”

He looked at Li Chi: “Throughout history, those who have accomplished great things—not one of them was a hero. They were all powerful men without scruple. Heroes die with tragic grandeur; it is only the powerful without scruple who triumph. What is a powerful man without scruple? Take the foolishness away and replace it with cunning. Half cunning, half hero—that kind of person is the other variety of first-tier formidable.”

Li Diudiu fell quiet. This time not because he thought his master was wrong, but because he felt his master’s words carried a certain depth worth pondering.

Changmei looked at Li Diudiu: “If you truly have ambitions of being someone who stands above others, remember your master’s words: half cunning, half hero.”

Li Diudiu shook his head: “I already have one half.”

Changmei said: “The cunning?”

Li Diudiu: “Hah!”

He looked at his master and said: “The *heroic*.”

Changmei smiled and said: “As if anyone isn’t…”

Li Diudiu said: “Can you take this seriously?”

Changmei laughed and asked: “And the other half?”

Li Diudiu said: “The other half is… the *outstanding*.”

That young man, when he said those words, was not flexing his tongue or boasting carelessly. He was in earnest.

The outstanding stands above the crowd by virtue of exceptional talent; the heroic dares to act where no one else dares.

Changmei looked at the light shining in his apprentice’s eyes. For a moment, he didn’t have the heart to say anything more to dampen his spirits. After all—was it not his own doing? He was the one who had taken Li Diudiu along since he was ten to witness all the bitterness and grief the world had to offer.

His intention, more than anything else, had been to make Li Diudiu a person who could endure, who could know contentment, who could bide his time. But that greater intention had never taken hold.

As for the smaller intention—had he not always wanted his own apprentice to be a hero?

Because he himself was not a hero. And in his own youth, he too had wanted to be one.

Just then Xiahou Zuo came in from outside. He looked at the master and apprentice sitting in silence, glancing from one to the other, and assumed the two of them had had some kind of falling out.

“Li Chi—did you upset your master again?”

He asked.

The tone carried a mild reproach, but the actual intent was to hint to Li Diudiu: if apologies are in order, apologize.

Li Diudiu smiled and shook his head: “Not at all. We were just discussing life’s great questions. We got to a rather profound point just now, so we’re both reflecting.”

Xiahou Zuo said: “Life’s great questions? That means finding a wife? Then you two can’t possibly have much to talk about—one’s a bit early, the other’s a bit late.”

Li Diudiu said: “Master—show him out!”

Changmei said: “With pleasure.”

Xiahou Zuo chuckled and then said: “Tomorrow there may be major developments. My father has asked us to leave the military camp for the time being. There’s a county town not far from here, said to have all sorts of mountain goods on sale. Want to take a look?”

Li Diudiu laughed: “We couldn’t hunt anything, so now we’re going to buy some—and then go back and brag that we hunted it ourselves?”

Xiahou Zuo snorted: “As if I’d think that?”

Then he started laughing—like a great simpleton.

“Hahahaha… I really was thinking exactly that.”