The one and only condition under which these three old men could exist in perfect harmony was when they were united in lecturing Li Chi and Gao Xining.

Getting them to stop required considerable effort — mainly because Old Daoist Zhang kept pouring oil onto any fire Li Chi managed to smother. For every handful of water Li Chi threw, Old Zhang tossed in another armful of kindling.

In the end, Li Chi had to grit his teeth and promise two jars of aged wine delivered to each of them tomorrow before the three men agreed to be quiet.

Old Daoist Zhang said: “You could have just said so from the beginning.”

He looked at Long-Brow Daoist: “You’re a sensible man. How did you manage to raise such a dense disciple?”

Long-Brow Daoist: “The density wasn’t taught. It’s in the bone.”

Then, very sincerely, he added: “Look at Ning’er — she’s dense too. Can you blame Old Gao for that?”

Headmaster Gao: “Certainly not.”

Long-Brow Daoist: “Exactly. It can’t be taught. It’s in the bone.”

Headmaster Gao thought this over, then: “You old scoundrel!”

Just as another quarrel threatened to erupt, Old Daoist Zhang called out: “Wine. Good wine.”

Both old men fell silent at once.

Li Chi and Gao Xining looked at each other with the shared understanding of people who had just participated in something deeply disrespectful.

Li Chi decided he had to cut this short before it spiraled further.

“Grandfather.”

He looked at Headmaster Gao and called him that — he usually said Headmaster, but this time chose differently.

Headmaster Gao paused, then smiled — warm and gentle. “Good child. What is it?”

Gao Xining thought privately: That face. What a disgrace to our Gao family…

Li Chi laid out the matter of the Marquis of Guanting in full. Headmaster Gao thought carefully for quite some time but could recall nothing definite.

The conditions given were simply too sparse. A student who entered at five and left at fifteen, who had once traveled to Daxing City in the interim — that described seven or eight tenths of the Academy’s students.

Li Chi himself had not arrived until he was past ten, which was considered late. And whether this person had truly spent all ten years at the Academy specifically, or merely in Jizhou, was still uncertain.

The people Gui Yuanshu had captured were not truly anyone of consequence — merely the Marquis of Guanting’s outer-ring guards. Had they been genuine confidants, they would not later have lost contact with him.

Children of noble families began their studies at four or five — that was entirely unremarkable, even for families of moderate means.

Headmaster Gao searched his memory earnestly. Nothing surfaced.

“Among students who studied at the Academy for ten years, I could name the background and origins of any exceptional one. There’s not one I couldn’t place. As for students who were neither excellent nor poor…”

Headmaster Gao glanced at Xiahou Zhuo. Xiahou Zhuo pursed his lips.

“As for students who attended only as day students — that becomes even more difficult. Sons of prominent families from all over would come to study at the Academy, but they rarely stayed ten years. Three years at most, one at the least, then they’d leave to seek their fortunes.”

Since nothing could be found, there was no point wasting more time. They let the matter rest.

While they had been talking, Auntie Wu arrived with her helpers carrying food — and was startled to find so many people present. During wartime she mostly managed meals only for the three elders; there was no accounting for this crowd. She decided on the spot to make noodles — quick and practical.

She worked and listened to their conversation. Then, without particular fanfare, Auntie Wu put in:

“This person you’re describing — is he Master Xiao?”

Headmaster Gao froze, then turned to her. “Which Master Xiao?”

Auntie Wu said: “The more I hear, the more it sounds like him. Master Xiao was one of the very few students — besides the Master and the General — who came to the dining hall for nearly every meal. His name was… Xiao Yue?”

She looked at Li Chi. “He was there for about two years after you arrived, Master, before he left.”

“Ah,” said Auntie Wu, “Master Xiao was very interested in you, Master. Every day he’d come to the dining hall only after you’d finished eating, but he always made a point of asking me exactly what you had eaten.”

Li Chi’s brow furrowed.

Auntie Wu added: “He also used to take food from the dining hall up to the Book-Forest Tower.”

Yan Qingzhi came to attention suddenly. “I remember now — there was someone like that. He kept trying to ask Teacher Li for advice on things, but Teacher Li never paid him much mind.”

Li Chi searched his memory. Nothing.

Which, to him, was precisely why this Marquis of Guanting was remarkable. With Li Chi’s acuity and wariness, to have someone that interested in him without his ever noticing a thing — the man’s self-concealment was extraordinary.

A person of privileged background who could nonetheless move through the world without drawing attention. The depth of that discipline was already visible in outline.

Scholar Yan said: “He came to study at the Four-Page Academy and yet left so little impression. He probably only wanted the Academy’s certificate of completion.”

Li Chi nodded to himself.

Then, for no clear reason, he thought back to what Tang Pidi had said earlier — that the Marquis of Guanting’s manner of operating resembled Li Chi’s own.

Yet the more he considered it, the less sense it made. At that time, Li Chi had been nobody of significance. The Marquis of Guanting would have had no reason to model himself after an obscure student.

Besides, the Li Chi of those days was still becoming himself — hardly the shameless operator he had grown into.

Just then a guard entered escorting a newcomer — a young man of three or four years’ age who looked pale, evidently nervous.

“My Lord,” the guard said with a bow. “This man claims to be an envoy of the Marquis of Guanting, come from Yangzhou with a personal letter for you.”

Li Chi looked at the messenger. “Don’t be afraid. Give me the letter.”

The messenger quickly drew a letter from his lapel and presented it with both hands. “This is General Guan’s letter in his own hand. He instructed me to deliver it personally to the Ning King.”

Li Chi took it. “See to his rest.”

He broke the seal. The letter was thin — one sheet of paper.

The first line: I hold the Ning King in great admiration. I presume to write this letter because I have certain difficulties of my own life that I have long puzzled over and wished to ask the Ning King to illuminate.

The second line: Does the Ning King believe in fate?

The third: If the Ning King does not believe in fate, yet finds himself directed by another’s hand, what then should he do to break free?

Reading these three lines, Li Chi’s brow creased slightly.

A man of true spine stands on his own feet, is moved by no one, used by no one, coerced by no one — that is a man’s pride.

Among the world’s men of ambition, the Ning King stands foremost. I wish to ask: when one’s strength falls short, is it better to feign compliance and bide one’s time, or to cut clean when the moment demands?

Li Chi’s frown deepened.

He wasn’t sure what the Marquis of Guanting meant by sending this — a gesture of goodwill, or deliberate misdirection?

Someone has fitted you with a pair of wings. Does that mean you are obliged to fly?

That was the letter’s final line.

Li Chi read it through and passed it to Xiahou Zhuo, whose brow also furrowed. “That last line — is he asking about you, or himself?”

He passed it to Tang Pidi.

Tang Pidi read it in silence, then after a moment said: “If one does not want to fly, wings are only a burden.”

Li Chi nodded. That sentence cut deep.

It brought to mind a certain kind of child — one whose family drills them relentlessly, stuffing knowledge in like force-feeding a goose. Did those children truly want to fly?

If they didn’t, what weight did a pair of great wings become?

But then — if you did want to fly, and had no wings, how would you manage?

There were no absolutes in this world. Every position, viewed from the right angle, had its logic.

“Ignore him,” said Tang Pidi. “This man may have something knotted up inside him. But whether he wants to fly on his own or is being driven into the air against his will, he is still the enemy.”

Li Chi was quiet for a moment, then called for paper and brush. He wrote a single sentence on the back of the letter, then handed it to Yu Jiuling: “Give this to the messenger and send him back.”

Yu Jiuling looked down at what Li Chi had written:

Someone gave you wings and forced you into the sky — but can they force you to choose which direction to fly?

Tang Pidi smiled. “If it were me, I would have said nothing. But precisely because you are not me, you are the Lord and I am the General.”

Li Chi said: “That compliment was rather heavy-handed.”

Tang Pidi said: “I don’t often pay compliments.”

Li Chi said: “Lucky for you, then. All the smooth-tongued flatterers who are secretly treacherous are on my side — otherwise you’d have been dragged down with them.”

Yu Jiuling: “If that was aimed at me, Master… you’re absolutely right.”

Just then another man came running — a Ning Army scout.

He came before Li Chi, bowed, and reported: “My Lord, the scouts dispatched toward Daxing City have sent back word. A force of several hundred thousand troops is moving from the city in our direction. At their current pace, they should arrive within half a month at most.”

Li Chi looked at Tang Pidi, who asked: “That was fast. Do we know who commands?”

The scout answered: “The Chu army’s banners are flying the colors of… Prince Wu.”

Everyone froze.

Luo Jing, who had been silent until now, said: “Could this be the old schemer’s trick? Is the Prince Wu trapped on Mangdang Mountain a decoy?”

Tang Pidi shook his head. “Impossible.”

He considered for a moment. “The Chu army flying Prince Wu’s banner isn’t meant to deceive us. It’s meant to be seen by Prince Wu inside the mountain.”

Li Chi said: “They want him to know the court is determined to save him.”

Tang Pidi murmured agreement. “With no capable battle commanders left at the Chu court… flying Prince Wu’s banner… Could it be Princess Wu?”

As he said it, he looked at Li Chi.

Xiahou Zhuo also looked at Li Chi.

Cao Lie was still in Yuzhou and had not come on this campaign — his connection to Prince Wu made his absence the more appropriate statement. If only Prince Wu’s fate were in question, Cao Lie’s non-appearance was already his answer.

But if Princess Wu was truly coming, that was different.

Prince Wu was of the Yang family. Princess Wu was of the Cao family. Cao Lie could remain unmoved by whatever happened to Prince Wu. Once Princess Wu was pulled into this, Cao Lie would inevitably be moved.

“Given Princess Wu’s way of doing things,” said Xiahou Zhuo, looking at Li Chi, “if she truly came to rescue her husband, she would certainly dispatch someone riding hard for Yuzhou to send Cao Lie word.”

Li Chi said nothing, just nodded.

This was not a difficulty for Li Chi. It was a difficulty for Cao Lie.