Late in the night, Li Chi let out a long breath. After a full day of riding, then the excursion to Bor Teh Chi Na’s livestock grounds, from the early morning departure to now — when he could finally rest — it was already past the hour of zi.

Food was set out on the table. Gao Xining had fallen asleep on top of it, face down. Li Chi walked quietly over and was about to drape a coat over her when Gao Xining suddenly sat bolt upright.

“Bet that startled you!”

Li Chi gave a perfunctory flinch. “Terrifying.”

Gao Xining curled her lip. “Not convincing at all.”

Li Chi sat down and lifted the cloth covering the dishes. “Did you make this yourself?”

“I personally carried it here from Auntie Wu’s,” said Gao Xining. “Auntie Wu knew you’d be busy, so she waited up. I saw you were nearly done at Bor Teh Chi Na’s place, so I came back first and told her — she made you dumplings, and stir-fried the dishes you like.”

Li Chi laughed. “And did you eat?”

Gao Xining shook her head. “No.”

Li Chi reached over and wiped a smear of soup from the corner of her mouth. “Didn’t eat — or didn’t eat enough?”

“Didn’t eat enough,” said Gao Xining. “And ‘didn’t eat enough’ and ‘didn’t eat’ are the same thing, aren’t they?”

Li Chi picked up a dumpling and put it in Gao Xining’s mouth. “Just because I feed you doesn’t mean you have to eat it.”

She ate it anyway, chewing and muttering, “Yes, yes I do.”

Li Chi took a bite, and the familiar taste flooded his mouth — full and warm and satisfying. He was content in an instant.

That one dumpling brought back, all at once, the memory of the first time he had ever eaten them at the Academy. He had even bought uncooked ones from Auntie Wu to bring to his mentor as a gift, and the old man had hidden from him…

Thinking of it, the corners of Li Chi’s mouth curved up without him noticing.

Gao Xining smiled at him. “There were no drugs in the dumplings, yet you have a spring-warm look on your face — why?”

“I was thinking of my mentor,” said Li Chi.

“Ah.” Gao Xining pulled back the phrase. “Then I’ll take back that description.”

Li Chi only then registered what she’d said, and looked at her. He raised a hand and rapped lightly on her head. “What kinds of things is that little melon-head of yours thinking, with spring-warm flying out of your mouth like that?”

Gao Xining sat up very straight and said, with great seriousness, “I am a mature woman now.”

Li Chi fell quiet.

After a moment, Gao Xining spoke again. “So I’ll wait a bit longer — just in case you haven’t grown up yet.”

Li Chi: ?????

A beat of silence. Then he looked down. “Let’s eat dumplings. Eat dumplings.”

Gao Xining, suddenly inspired, said, “How about you call me Sister-in-law tonight? Then you’d have a sister-in-law and dumplings right in front of you at the same time.”

Li Chi: ……

“Play along?” she asked.

“I won’t…”

By the time they finished eating it was past the second half of the night, yet somehow both of them were wide awake, so they decided to go outside to look at the moon.

They stepped out and tilted their heads back — nothing. Not the moon, not a single star. The sky had gone overcast without anyone noticing.

Gao Xining rummaged around in her pocket. “I came out and forgot to bring the moon. Did you bring yours?”

Li Chi patted his own pockets, then shook his head. “I didn’t bring mine either.”

“What do we do now? The moon found out we were coming to look at it and has gone and hidden itself.”

Li Chi grabbed Gao Xining’s hand and they bolted. “It can’t look at us either then — we’ll go hide.”

The two of them ran behind a haystack and sat down. Gao Xining asked, “Now that we’ve hidden — what then?”

Li Chi leaned close to her ear and whispered, “I was thinking—”

Gao Xining shoved Li Chi flat onto his back. “What do you think you’re thinking, thinking about — wasting time on that, when we should be talking about—”

Then she ducked down and stopped his mouth with hers.

Li Chi’s limbs went rigid all at once, his eyes rolling upward slightly. Quite undignified.

Just at the crucial moment, a patrol squad marched past. The two of them immediately went still — neither daring to make a sound.

Something wretched and bird-like seemed to pass overhead, calling as it went:

Stupid melon. Stupid melon. Stupid melon.

—

That same night — lit by an entirely different quality of moonlight — at the summit of Mount Tai, five thousand li from the Ning army camp, Master Li was looking at the moon.

The moon of his homeland seemed exactly the same as the moon here, which had led Master Li, for a long time, to question where in the world he actually was.

He had been waiting a long while. He did not know when they would come, but he knew — whoever needed to come would come.

And then, just now, a faint sound stirred near him. Master Li looked back. In the moonlight, a figure came walking slowly — tall and slender, his shadow equally long.

Master Li smiled. He didn’t know this person, and yet felt not the least hostility or wariness.

Fang Zhuhou walked to Master Li’s side and sat down — naturally, as if the two of them had known each other for years. He reached into his robe and produced a flask of wine.

“You’ve been looking for me for a long time?” Master Li asked.

Fang Zhuhou nodded. “The world is vast, so the walking took long. Mount Tai is vast, so the searching took long.”

“The King of Ning sent you?” asked Master Li.

“The King of Ning told me,” Fang Zhuhou replied, “that Master Li would certainly do something foolish, and would persist in that foolishness stubbornly.”

Master Li smiled. “When a wise man does something foolish, the stubbornness is understandable. Nothing wrong with that.”

“So by searching stubbornly until I found you,” said Fang Zhuhou, also smiling, “I qualify as a wise man too. I’m also stubborn.”

“What do you want to know?” asked Master Li.

Fang Zhuhou leaned back, drank a long pull from the flask, then asked Master Li, “Can people fly through the sky?”

“They can,” said Master Li. “Not the people themselves — but people can ride inside things that fly.”

“Will people still fight the way we do now?” Fang Zhuhou asked.

“No,” said Master Li. “Even the most capable fighters will max out at a few dozen opponents.”

Fang Zhuhou nodded. “So everything is relative.”

That phrase made Master Li turn to look at him. The thinking behind it demanded a second look.

“So,” Master Li said, “even if the King of Ning hadn’t sent you — once you knew, you would have come anyway.”

“Yes,” said Fang Zhuhou with a smile. “I definitely would have come.”

Master Li said nothing more, because he understood.

He had come to this place and waited, because he believed this was the choice that someone from that era was obligated to make. It was his mission.

Fang Zhuhou had come, because the strongest person of this era was obligated to make such a choice. It was his mission.

At this thought, Master Li felt, all at once, the truth of the saying: with great power comes great responsibility.

“We might die,” said Master Li.

“Who doesn’t?” Fang Zhuhou raised the flask.

“Still — I should go first,” said Master Li. “You come after me.”

Fang Zhuhou shook his head. “This is my home.”

The two men looked at each other, and smiled at the same moment. They raised their flasks together, knocked them against each other, and drank side by side beneath the moon.

—

The next morning. Ning army camp.

Li Chi stepped out of his tent with a stretch, shook out his arms, and looked toward the direction where the sun was about to rise.

A clerk from Gui Yuan Shu’s Military Intelligence Office came jogging over and murmured a few words close to Li Chi’s ear. Li Chi gave a nod, then looked back at Yu Jiuling. “Jiuling, I have something to hand to you.”

“Where to?” Yu Jiuling immediately asked.

Li Chi pointed southeast. “Far.”

The previous night’s brief sweetness with Gao Xining had been interrupted too many times by the camp’s constant patrols. In the end, the two of them had been left with nothing but longing.

Longing — Gao Xining’s word. She had said the more you long, the thirstier you get, and the plum you’re longing for was practically urging you to come pick it.

Li Chi had said: not picking, not picking, I’ll wait until the flowers are in bloom.

He had barely started to move around when Tang Pi Di sent someone to fetch him — time to go see the results of the stampede trial.

Li Chi and Gao Xining both hurried over to Bor Teh Chi Na’s camp, and even before they arrived they heard cheering. Clearly there had been a result.

Seeing Li Chi approach, Tang Pi Di and the others came forward at once.

“Firecrackers work,” Tang Pi Di said. “Tie a string of firecrackers to a bull’s tail, and it will charge forward like it’s gone mad.”

The truth was, it was hard not to feel a pang sending so many cattle off like this.

Now all that remained was to wait. Wait for Tantai Ya Jing to send word back from Daxing City — once he had things in hand, once he was confident the Chu forces could be led out to fight, the decisive battle would begin immediately.

When Tantai Ya Jing had set out for Daxing City, Tang Pi Di had already instructed him to dispatch scouts south to reconnoiter.

This was, no matter how one looked at it, the final great battle for control of the Central Plains — every precaution was worth taking.

Once this battle was won, the south of the Yangtze still held scattered small-scale rebel forces, but they were no cause for concern. With Tang Pi Di’s capabilities, sweeping through the Yangtze south to pacify the entire region was only a matter of time.

But finishing the south wouldn’t be the end.

Two places, if they refused to submit to Li Chi, would be even harder to take than Daxing City. The first was Shuzhou — mountain roads impossible to traverse, fortified passes at every turn, deadly for any invading force. The second was Yongzhou — even if Han Feibao was defeated, Li Chi suspected resistance elements would remain in Yongzhou. The difficulties of Yongzhou and Shuzhou both came down to geography: one a land of unbroken mountain ridges, treacherous and impassable; the other situated on a high plateau — reportedly so elevated that ordinary people arriving there could barely breathe.

Once someone in Yongzhou declared independence, Li Chi could not let it go — but marching onto the plateau was a genuine challenge.

Tang Pi Di stood before the army, eyes on the horizon, and raised his hand to point into the distance. “Once Daxing City falls, the south — ten thousand li of rich, prosperous land — will be yours too.”

Li Chi smiled slightly. “Counting from when we left Jizhou, how many years have we been fighting?”

Tang Pi Di shook his head. “I never kept track. When we win, someone else will keep it for us. When we lose — there’d be no point remembering.”

“After the south is finished, let’s go back to Jizhou and take a look,” said Li Chi.

Tang Pi Di shook his head again. “After the south comes Shuzhou. After Shuzhou comes Yongzhou. While I can still fight—” He glanced over. “Where is there that I cannot fight?”

Li Chi laughed.

Tang Pi Di turned serious. “Now that we can almost see the end, I want to say something I haven’t said before.”

“Go ahead,” said Li Chi.

Tang Pi Di said, with full sincerity, “When the realm is won, I am going to ask you for a great reward. You cannot refuse. You cannot decline. Whatever I ask for, you must give me.”

Li Chi nodded. “Whatever you ask for, I will give.”

Tang Pi Di made a short, satisfied sound and extended his hand. “To keep you from going back on your word later — let’s pinky promise.”

Li Chi: “I’m the King of Ning. You’re the Grand General. Pinky promise — in front of the army?”

“This is the only thing I trust,” said Tang Pi Di.

Li Chi extended his own hand. “Then let’s… can we at least turn our backs to them first? Slightly shameless…”