Shen Rujian stood for a long while without speaking, staring into nothing.

The dying words of Mi Xiansheng — don’t tell the others what became of me — may have been the last true kindness she had in her.

And her death would deal devastating harm to that very kindness.

Because Mi Xiansheng understood better than anyone: the women who came out of Yunyin Mountain were all gentle, innocent souls.

What she didn’t want Shen Rujian to share with the others was not the story of her past — it was the story of her end.

She didn’t even want the others to know she had once been their enemy.

Ye Xiaoqian stood at Shen Rujian’s side. She said nothing, so he said nothing. She was silent for as long as she was silent, and he remained silent for as long as she did.

Then he glanced over at the unconscious figure nearby. That was Wen Jiu.

After a long while, Shen Rujian took a deep breath to steady herself.

She was not the kind of person who was easily swayed by the outside world. If she had been, she would have been broken long ago.

But the sight of this shijie had unsettled her heart.

She had once asked Li Xiansheng why it was so hard for women to walk the jianghu — why the jianghu held such tremendous malice toward women.

Li Xiansheng’s answer had been: why are you fixed on the idea that this suffering belongs only to women?

That non-answer had stopped Shen Rujian cold.

Li Xiansheng had continued: this jianghu does not hold exceptional malice toward women. What it holds malice toward is the good. Goodness knows no gender.

He had also said: if you believe that the hardships a woman faces walking the jianghu are the fault of all men, then isn’t that very belief itself a form of malice?

Shen Rujian felt as though she had been jolted awake.

Yes. This world was not cruel only to women. It was the good who suffered — and goodness had no gender.

Li Xiansheng had also said: why does Li Chi pursue a transformation that has never before appeared in the history of the Central Plains?

Because the home Li Chi envisions is a fair one. A warm one. A strong one.

Li Chi wants every person who encounters injustice to have a door they can knock on. And that door must be the door of a new country.

Li Xiansheng had also said that what Li Chi sought was the greatest justice in all the world.

But Li Xiansheng had added: this world, now and in every age to come, will probably never see a time of complete fairness.

Yet as long as the one who stands at the highest place carries the responsibility that must be carried at the highest place — more fairness will come, and more injustice will vanish.

Li Xiansheng had said: he firmly believed that the country Li Chi would one day establish — a country that would certainly be called Ning — would be the beginning of a brilliant era for the civilization of the Central Plains.

“Shifu?”

Lost in thought, Shen Rujian was pulled back by Ye Xiaoqian’s voice. She took another long breath.

“Xiaoqian.”

“Mm, Shifu.”

“Follow the Prince of Ning. Work hard. The road he walks is the hardest road in this world — thorned all the way, danger at every turn.”

Shen Rujian looked at Ye Xiaoqian. “But if the Prince of Ning wins in the end, it will not be a matter of the Ning army defeating its enemies. It will be a matter of light defeating darkness.”

Ye Xiaoqian nodded heavily.

Shen Rujian said, “The Prince of Ning, from beginning until now, has always been tearing things apart, breaking things down, overthrowing things.”

She paused for breath and looked toward the part of the sky where the moonlight shone brightest — that moon, that lone source of light in the darkness.

After a moment, she went on: “Every follower of the Prince of Ning should be proud of that tearing apart, that breaking down, that overthrowing.”

Ye Xiaoqian nodded heavily again. “I know.”

Shen Rujian gave an “mm.” She glanced at the unconscious man lying nearby, then turned and walked to one side of the ship, where she picked up the long bamboo pole used for punting and flung it out across the water. The pole flew and landed on the surface.

Shen Rujian leaped, both feet landing on the pole. With one push of force, she glided to the far bank, light as a drifting cloud.

Ye Xiaoqian was thoroughly in awe of his shifu’s qinggong, and then sank into deep thought.

His shifu had thrown the punting pole away. Every other person on the ship, apart from one unconscious man, had been dispatched by Ye Xiaoqian himself. And his qinggong was not up to his shifu’s — even with such a pole in hand, he probably couldn’t clear the same distance.

But he wanted to try.

So he threw Wen Jiu into the water.

There was a flat smack as Wen Jiu hit the surface. Wen Jiu jolted awake — and before he could figure out what was happening, felt something crash down onto him from above.

Then Ye Xiaoqian sank Wen Jiu, and himself along with him.

Ye Xiaoqian made a mental note to remember three things for next time: first, his qinggong was genuinely inferior to his shifu’s; second, throwing a person didn’t get you as far as throwing the pole; third, even if you threw a person and landed on them correctly, you’d still end up in the water.

The lesson, in summary: the thing he’d thrown was no good. So after dragging Wen Jiu to the bank, he beat him again. Once more.

That felt much better.

By dawn, back in Dragonboat Town.

Lu Chonglou saw Ye Xiaoqian returning and strode out quickly to meet him, the urgency in his heart written plainly on his face.

When he saw that Ye Xiaoqian still wore the same careless, untroubled expression, he let out a quiet breath of relief.

That expression on Ye Xiaoqian meant nothing had gone seriously wrong.

When he saw Ye Xiaoqian drop a man at his feet, Lu Chonglou, though he’d half expected it, still felt a jolt of surprise.

“Wen Jiu — Vice Prefect of Yuezhou Prefecture.”

Lu Chonglou murmured the name under his breath.

Ye Xiaoqian gave him a small shake of the head, signaling not to say that name aloud in public.

Keeping Wen Jiu was for the future — if the Prince of Ning ever chose to act against Xu Ji, this man would be the most vital witness.

But for now, his name could not be allowed to spread.

Ye Xiaoqian lowered his voice: “Back inside to talk.”

Lu Chonglou acknowledged this at once.

Ye Xiaoqian gave his Bureau agents the order. A cloth sack went over Wen Jiu’s head; he was bound again and led away.

Back in the room, Lu Chonglou let out a low, barely restrained curse: “It really is that way. His heart — his heart is rotten through.”

For a gentleman like Lu Chonglou to say something like that — it took some doing.

Ye Xiaoqian couldn’t help but laugh. It was the first time he had ever heard the Deputy Lord use that kind of language.

“My lord, please write a letter as soon as possible. I’ll arrange for Bureau agents to deliver it to Shuzhou at maximum speed.”

Lu Chonglou’s hand paused in the act of reaching for his brush. He looked at Ye Xiaoqian.

Then he set it down.

“Why not write it?” Ye Xiaoqian asked.

Lu Chonglou smiled. “Because it isn’t necessary.”

He didn’t share what was in his mind with Ye Xiaoqian. Because this kind of thinking — it was better for Ye Xiaoqian not to know, not to understand.

The Bureau’s people should not concern themselves too deeply with such things. Their task was to carry out the Prince’s orders.

If this letter reached the Prince’s hands, the Prince would not act against Xu Ji anyway — and such a letter would only make Lu Chonglou look eager for retaliation, eager to remove Xu Ji.

“Don’t send Wen Jiu back to the capital, and don’t bring him to the Bureau either,” Lu Chonglou told Ye Xiaoqian.

“Have him conveyed in secret to Yuzhou. Deliver him to the Young Marquis Cao Lie, who is stationed there.”

Ye Xiaoqian gave Lu Chonglou a puzzled look. Lu Chonglou smiled. “As long as you hand the man to Cao Lie, Cao Lie will understand what it means. Trust me.”

Ye Xiaoqian nodded. “As my lord says.”

Lu Chonglou exhaled a long breath and said, “Now we can send the grain to Shuzhou in peace.”

After all, they were heading to Shuzhou regardless — they had to go before the Prince. Sending a letter ahead of their arrival would indeed look as if Lu Chonglou were rushing ahead of himself.

“My lord.”

Though Ye Xiaoqian hadn’t fully grasped everything Lu Chonglou was thinking, he had grasped some of it.

He said with a touch of feeling in his voice, “Being an official is so hard.”

Lu Chonglou let out a genuine laugh, and when it had run its course, said: “It is. Being an official — especially one who needs to satisfy the ruler above, satisfy the people below, and still survive among one’s peers — is very, very hard.”

Ye Xiaoqian said, “At least I’m not the kind of official you are, my lord… though my own difficulties are considerable enough.”

To make sure Xu Ji couldn’t be certain Wen Jiu had been captured alive, he had set fire to the ship. Wen Jiu’s complete disappearance would certainly unsettle Xu Ji — but that unease would gradually fade once some time had passed without any reaction from the Prince.

Lu Chonglou looked toward the sun in the window and rose: “We should set out.”

Ye Xiaoqian gave an “mm.” “Did my lord sleep at all last night?”

Lu Chonglou nodded. “A little.”

Ye Xiaoqian said, “Then my lord should ride. I’ll need the carriage to sleep.”

Lu Chonglou gave him a single look and said nothing.

When they reached the carriage, before Ye Xiaoqian could react, Lu Chonglou got in first.

He lay down inside, then patted the space beside him: “I’ll give you half.”

Ye Xiaoqian was startled for a moment — and then he burst out laughing.