The next day, Li Diudiu went to the classroom first thing as always — opened the doors, cleaned and dusted, fetched water to brew tea for Yan Qingzhi. Every day a carbon copy of the one before.

He went to the dining hall as usual, went back to his room for a short afternoon rest as usual.

In truth, Instructor Yan’s lessons weren’t particularly heavy or demanding. He had originally assumed Li Diudiu would be the weakest student — and had been accordingly strict with him — only to discover later that the three students from prominent families were each, in their learning, a good deal behind Li Diudiu.

The main classes on the other side had started less than three months ago, and the curriculum there hadn’t progressed very far. The reason the Four-Page Academy was famous across the land was that its students passed their examinations at a remarkably high rate — and the reason for that was question prediction. The Director could reliably anticipate a good number of the questions the court would set for each examination cycle. This, naturally, was not something to broadcast widely — word getting out could bring serious trouble.

In truth, there was nothing mysterious about it. In his early years in the capital, the Director had been involved in building the question bank — many of the questions had been written by him. And then there was the matter of connections accumulated over decades. Old friends, former students, people he had known in those years — many of them now held senior positions at court. When it came time to sit on examination committees, these people naturally bore the Four-Page Academy in mind.

Every afternoon, while the daylight still held, the day’s lessons came to an end. Li Diudiu finished tidying up and went straight to the dining hall — not because it was dinnertime, but to find Auntie Wu.

He asked her to look through her things at home for some black cloth. Dark grey would do if there was no black. He told her he wanted to buy it, but didn’t have money at the moment — he’d pay her back once he’d earned some.

Auntie Wu wasn’t going to quibble over scraps of old cloth. Working at the academy paid well, she didn’t need to buy vegetables for the family — she brought back enough of the kitchen’s leftovers to feed everyone daily. Life was good enough.

Li Diudiu took the cloth back to his room and set about making a night-walking suit. He was skilled with a needle and thread — over the years traveling with his master, once he was old enough, he had been the one mending their clothes when they tore.

In a day he had the night suit finished. The leftover cloth became a hood, with two holes cut at the eye positions. He considered it, then used white paint to draw two rows of teeth at the mouth — then reconsidered the hood entirely and made a face-wrap from the black cloth instead.

In the dark, wearing the hood, something like two rows of teeth floating through the night sky from a distance would have been far too conspicuous.

Over the next two days Li Diudiu kept watch on Sun Biehe. At last he saw him lead a group out through the academy gates — not toward the restaurant this time.

Li Diudiu went to the dining hall for dinner first. No matter how big the business ahead, a meal couldn’t be skipped. He did eat only half his usual amount tonight.

After dark, Li Diudiu changed into the night suit, leaped over the academy wall, and slipped out. Jizhou City had a curfew — though that applied to ordinary citizens. Anyone who spotted Li Diudiu in his academy robes wouldn’t have given him a second look, let alone bother him.

The pleasure houses in Jizhou City were mostly concentrated in two districts on the east and west sides. The eastern cluster was in an area called Willow Leaf Quarter, with twenty or thirty establishments of varying sizes, along with wine houses, teahouses, and inns.

In the days Li Diudiu had spent watching Sun Biehe, he had also taken evening walks to study Willow Leaf Quarter carefully — where to make his move, where to withdraw. He had it all mapped in his mind.

Xiufang House sat near the main gate of Willow Leaf Quarter. A carriage drove through the quarter entrance into the night — any family that could move about by carriage after dark was either powerful or wealthy. The patrol officers of the city watch had sharp eyes; they could identify any family’s vehicle at a glance.

The carriage stopped in front of a pleasure house called Azure Crane House. The reception boy rushed over to open the carriage door. As the carriage turned, Li Diudiu — who had been clinging to the undercarriage the whole time — rolled clear and in a single movement slipped into the shadows between two buildings.

He worked his way around to the back of Xiufang House, moving like a cat, and climbed up. He checked each back window, peering in. In one private room he found Sun Biehe and his associates, drinking freely, each with a woman draped over him.

Li Diudiu listened from the back window for a while, catching a woman’s voice saying: “Tell the kitchen to hurry up — the guests in Listening Rain Pavilion are important people. If the cooks drag their feet, they’ll hear about it.”

Li Diudiu slid back down and made his way to the kitchen. The kitchen was busy, people moving in and out constantly. Li Diudiu crouched at the back window and watched. Presently someone came rushing in: “Order’s in from Listening Rain Pavilion — move quickly.”

Everyone in the kitchen called back: “Yes!”

The head cook turned and directed: “You lot — take the order and start prep!”

Several apprentices and helpers came forward, took the order, and began setting out ingredients, item by item.

When the head cook came over to start stir-frying, the helpers and apprentices stood back to watch. Li Diudiu waited without the slightest impatience — until the moment just before a dish was to be taken from the wok, when he lobbed a piece of brick toward the water jar by the entrance.

A crack, and the jar split. Water flooded the floor. Every eye turned toward the noise. In that split second, Li Diudiu pulled out a small paper packet, unwrapped it, and flicked the single pill inside into the wok.

He had rehearsed every step of this many times. So the pill — borrowed from Xiahou Zuo — wouldn’t catch the cook’s eye, he had even ground it down a little beforehand. Looked at casually, it could pass for a star anise.

The pill was in. Li Diudiu immediately climbed to higher ground. The kitchen erupted. The head cook bellowed in fury, sending people to find out what bastard had thrown the brick.

A group rushed outside to search. Li Diudiu lay flat on the roof, watching, and murmured a silent apology.

They found nothing. Grumbling, they went back inside. Running a wine house in Jizhou City required money, but not necessarily power — running a pleasure house required both money and power, and in abundance. The men who patronized such establishments were none of them soft.

Li Diudiu waited a while, confirmed everyone had gone back inside, then slid back down along the wall. Wooden buildings like this had no indoor privies — Li Diudiu had scouted this earlier. All the establishments had their latrines in the open yard at the back. Even the most distinguished backsides had to make that walk outside.

Of course, for those simply needing to relieve themselves, there were attendants with chamber pots — but for anything more substantial, there was no alternative.

Li Diudiu got down and found a hiding spot not far from the latrine. The pill was Xiahou Zuo’s. He’d said one dose could lay out an elephant, let alone a person.

He waited. And waited. The first to appear was one of Sun Biehe’s underlings, half-running with one hand pressed to his stomach, a pitiful urgency in his stride.

A while later, the man came out of the latrine with an expression of mild, lingering discomfort. Li Diudiu stepped from behind him and brought his club down. The man gave a muffled grunt and crumpled. Li Diudiu dragged him behind the latrine, where he had earlier stashed a sack. He bound the man, gagged him, and stuffed him in the sack. Then he went back to his hiding spot and waited.

The next two came together. Talking as they walked, alternately breaking wind with considerable enthusiasm — competing, almost, in volume. Li Diudiu, in a spirit of basic human decency, let them finish their business before acting. They came out of the latrine still chatting, and Li Diudiu knocked both down in two clean strokes — one apiece. He tied their hands and feet, gagged them, and into the sacks they went.

Finally, Sun Biehe came. When Li Diudiu saw him jogging toward the latrine, the corner of his mouth curled up.

Sun Biehe ran muttering: “Where in hell did those idiots go? Taking this long just for a latrine trip!”

He was barely inside when Li Diudiu followed him in. For Sun Biehe he had no intention of extending any basic human decency.

He brought the club down directly. Sun Biehe yelped in pain. He had barely started to turn when the next blow landed, and with a grunt he went down.

Li Diudiu beat him thoroughly, then bound him and got him into the sack. Then he made his way to the back courtyard of Xiufang House — the place where the carriages were kept. The coachmen, waiting for their employers to finish their evening’s pleasures, stood about in small groups chatting. No telling when the gentlemen inside would want to leave — better to talk and pass the time.

Li Diudiu moved quietly. The carriage nearest the gate had no one tending it — its driver had wandered off to chat somewhere. But then, what would they need to worry about? If their gentleman wanted to leave, a page would come running to fetch them well in advance. Places like this knew the value of keeping the drivers and attendants of important men happy.

Li Diudiu untied the reins from the post, took hold of the horse, and walked the carriage out through the back gate. Remarkably, no one thought to question it.

He drove to the latrine and grunted and heaved, loading the sacks one by one into the carriage. Then he climbed to the driver’s seat, shook the reins, and the horse moved forward.

Li Diudiu lit the storm lanterns on either side of the carriage. The lantern covers bore markings that the city watch’s patrol officers recognized immediately — they didn’t ask a single question.

He drove to the academy gates and unloaded the men onto the street, arranged them in a tidy row. Then he gave the horse a firm pat on the flank: “Go home.”

The horse seemed to understand. It started off at a slow, unhurried walk.

Li Diudiu felt the satisfaction of having settled the score. He turned to leave — then paused, feeling something was missing. He went back and gave each man one additional kick.

Throughout all of this, Li Diudiu had felt not the slightest nervousness. He had thought through nearly every detail in advance, running the whole sequence in his mind over and over. The only genuinely risky moment had been driving the carriage out — and his luck had held.

He climbed back over the academy wall and changed out of the night suit. He’d thought about discarding it, but decided it might be useful later. Before all of this, he had already pried up two floor tiles in his room, dug a hollow beneath, and scattered the displaced dirt under the plants by the window. He put the suit inside, laid a board over it, and set the tiles back in place.

When everything was done, Li Diudiu’s mind remained calm — even the excitement had already subsided.

He sat on his bed and thought carefully about whether what he had just done contradicted his master’s teachings.

It certainly did. His master, the Changmei Daoist, had always said to avoid trouble. Don’t provoke people when you don’t have to. If you’ve been wronged and can let it pass, let it pass.

Then why had he done all of this?

Li Diudiu fell into thought again. After a moment, he laughed.

Because this is who he is.

Not because of Xiahou Zuo’s influence. If he weren’t already this kind of person, could Xiahou Zuo have shaped him more thoroughly than his own master?

“They deserved to be punished.”

Li Diudiu said it quietly to the room.

He lay back on the bed — and found, suddenly, that he had regrets. The way he’d gone about getting even had been too calculating, too underhanded.

Not above-board.

He let out a long breath and told himself: next time someone wrongs you — hit back in the open, face to face.

This academy — rather than let those despicable people run roughshod through it, better that it be me, Li Diudiu, who rules the roost.

Yes. That’s how it should be.