Prince Yang Jixing watched it happen. He watched his son Yang Zhuo hurled to the ground. He watched Luo Jing’s foot come down on Yang Zhuo’s head. He watched the skull split and the brain spill across the stones.

In that moment a surge of blood rushed straight to his mind. His eyes turned a sudden, violent red — red enough to bleed.

“Luo Jing!”

Prince Yu screamed, the sound shrill with anguish.

“Kill him!”

He thrust a finger at Luo Jing.

His men charged forward at once, and in moments were locked in fierce combat with Luo Jing’s several hundred Tiger-and-Leopard personal cavalry.

Across the street, on the roof of a timber building, Li Chi and Tang Pidi sat side by side and watched it all unfold.

“Will Prince Yu die?”

Tang Pidi asked it like a man thinking aloud — he was not asking Li Chi, and not asking himself, but something in the question was really meant for Xiahou Zuo.

Before setting the whole thing in motion, Li Chi had thought about Xiahou Zuo countless times. Because no matter how things played out, they led through Prince Yu — or rather, they ultimately pointed directly at Prince Yu.

“He will, I expect.”

Li Chi answered, and his answer too was not really addressed to Tang Pidi — it was meant for Xiahou Zuo.

Tang Pidi drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“If Prince Yu dies, your sworn godmother will grieve.”

This question was addressed to Li Chi.

Li Chi nodded. “Probably so.”

But Prince Yu had to die. From the moment Li Chi heard a certain sentence, he had known that Prince Yu had to die — whatever it took, there was no other way.

Not long after Princess Wang Fei had been killed, Prince Yu had said something to Military Governor Zeng Ling: that he had always known there would come a day when either Xiahou’s mother or the princess would have to die — he had simply not expected that the one who died would be the princess.

Zeng Ling was hardly the sort of man to keep such a secret for Prince Yu’s sake. He had found ways to ensure that Xiahou Zuo heard those words long ago.

That was why Xiahou Zuo had been so insistent on not staying in Jizhou. In truth, Xiahou Zuo had foreseen it all: that some conflict between Zeng Ling and his father was inevitable, and that once such a conflict began, only one of them would survive it.

When Xiahou Zuo told Li Chi those words, Li Chi understood at once what lay in Xiahou Zuo’s heart.

Now Li Chi sat there and let out a long, slow breath, his gaze drifting to the iron-limb bow beside him.

“Are you going to do it yourself?”

Tang Pidi asked.

Li Chi didn’t know. He couldn’t be certain, and so he only looked at the bow for a moment. If Prince Yu had not been Xiahou Zuo’s father, he would already have loosed that arrow in the chaos below.

“Let me do it.”

Tang Pidi looked at Li Chi.

Li Chi was quiet for a moment, then said: “Wait a little longer. Unless I’m mistaken, Prince Yu may be furious enough to kill Luo Jing — but when he heard that Luo Jing intended to kill his son, he must certainly have sent someone to ask Zeng Ling for reinforcements.”

Tang Pidi said: “But Zeng Ling will never actually send troops. If he knows what’s happening, he’d be more likely to order the entire Jizhou army to stay in camp — but release Luo Jing’s Tiger-and-Leopard Cavalry.”

Li Chi said: “That is roughly how I see it. With only these few hundred men, Luo Jing cannot hold off Prince Yu’s people — the manor guards are numerous, and those jianghu fighters have even more formidable individual capabilities. Prince Yu’s top men are nothing to dismiss lightly.”

So Tang Pidi nodded. “Then we wait.”

—

At that same moment, at the military governor’s residence:

Zeng Ling changed his clothes and went out the door. A carriage was already waiting; Jinzu stood beside it and bowed as the military governor appeared.

“Move out.”

Zeng Ling gave the word. The carriage set off at a steady roll along the main street, heading in the direction of Prince Yu’s manor. The distance was considerable, and in the night silence, the sound of wheels grinding over the road surface seemed oddly sharp.

Jinzu sat across from Zeng Ling and, after a long silence, could not restrain himself from asking: “My lord — if Prince Yu is also killed by Luo Jing…then Xiahou will come back?”

He left the question unfinished, because it was difficult to ask properly.

Zeng Ling smiled. “Think about why Xiahou refused to stay in Jizhou. He may seem arrogant and reckless, but he has a good heart — and it was precisely that good heart that made it so hard for him to refuse so many of his father’s demands.”

Jinzu understood.

“My lord means: Xiahou had long since prepared himself for his father to die. He simply needed that man to be — not him.”

“Yes.” Zeng Ling said. “All these years, Prince Yu has always said that what he cares about most is Xiahou. But think on it: if Xiahou and that Yang Zhuo had both been men of no particular talent, would Prince Yu have valued Xiahou so much?”

Jinzu grasped it immediately.

“He only cared because he knew Xiahou was exceptional — whether in martial skill or in military talent, a hundred Yang Zhuos could not match him. So he kept telling Xiahou: what I truly care most about is you.”

“He was using Xiahou,” said Jinzu. “And he understood Xiahou’s character perfectly. Push Xiahou hard and Xiahou pushes harder back — but treat Xiahou with warmth and affection, and Xiahou finds it impossible to harden himself.”

Zeng Ling said with a smile: “Prince Yu has said to me, and to others, more than once, that if they ever won the realm, he would pass it to Xiahou — no matter how many times he said it, I never believed a word of it.”

“I no longer believe it either,” said Jinzu.

By now the hour was late. Zeng Ling looked somewhat weary; he raised a hand and pressed his fingers to his temples to keep himself alert.

“Prince Yu agreed to let Xiahou go to the northern frontier — again, only to use him. He knew that with Xiahou’s talent, Xiahou would certainly seize control of military power there.”

Zeng Ling said: “Prince Yu once told me that with Xiahou holding military authority on the northern frontier, he would not need to fear Luo Geng of Youzhou so much.”

Jinzu sighed. “So what he has always truly cared about most is that useless son of his — Yang Zhuo. A legitimate son is a legitimate son in the end.”

Zeng Ling gave a quiet sound of agreement, then drew back the window curtain and gazed out. What a silent night in Jizhou City — and yet it seemed as though it were on the verge of being torn apart.

“Li Chi is a remarkable man.”

Zeng Ling said slowly, letting out a long breath. “Today is the third day.”

Jinzu said: “And yet he still hasn’t received those hundred thousand taels from you.”

Zeng Ling said: “Because he knows perfectly well I would never default on the debt.”

Jinzu turned that over in his mind for a moment until the significance became clear — and his admiration for Li Chi deepened yet again.

He found himself thinking suddenly that the several young people in Li Chi’s company were all, in their own ways, frightening — and so very young.

In the span of two short days Li Chi had laid out and completed a stratagem of this complexity. Even veteran operators who had spent decades in official circles could not have managed it.

And Tang Pidi’s ability to lead troops — Jinzu admired that beyond words.

One excelled at reading people and laying plans; the other excelled at combat and command. And both of them — how old were they now? Given a few more years, the storms they could stir up would be enough to terrify anyone.

“In time.”

As if reading Jinzu’s thoughts at that very moment, Military Governor Zeng Ling said those three words.

Jinzu thought carefully about their meaning and understood. Men like Li Chi and Tang Pidi were far too dangerous a threat to leave unchecked.

Right now the military governor did not dare to move against the Yanshan Camp, and so he left Li Chi and Tang Pidi alone — even sought their friendship. But the military governor understood perfectly well that given Yu Chaozong’s ambitions, a clash between the Jizhou army and the Yanshan Camp was inevitable sooner or later.

Before that great confrontation arrived, the military governor would find every means at his disposal to eliminate Li Chi and Tang Pidi. Because as long as those two were alive, the military governor feared he did not have a single chance of winning — what man with any sense would not be wary of men like Li Chi and Tang Pidi?

“We’ve arrived, my lord.”

The coachman said softly.

Jinzu stepped down and held the curtain aside. Zeng Ling descended from the carriage and looked toward the distance — the direction of the young lord’s residence was bright with firelight, and the sounds of battle carried with startling clarity.

This was Shengde Tavern, the finest vantage point from which to watch the fighting in the young lord’s residence — a four-story timber building with decades of history behind it. Standing at a window on the fourth floor, one had a perfect view of the situation inside.

It should be remembered that the young lord’s residence had been arranged by Zeng Ling himself.

Zeng Ling’s guards had come on ahead; the tavern’s owner, staff, and all other occupants had already been roused and cleared out.

Zeng Ling climbed to the fourth floor. Guards were posted along both sides of the staircase. At the street-facing room on the fourth floor, the two guards at the door pulled it open — they had already checked, and the room was empty — then stepped back to keep watch outside.

The door opened. Zeng Ling stepped inside — and found two people already seated in the room, their presence utterly undetected by the guards outside.

At that moment Zeng Ling’s gaze sharpened, and the two guards who had opened the door went pale — both men drew their sabers instantly.

“Stand down.”

Zeng Ling gave the order; the guards went still immediately.

“They’re friends of mine.”

He waved a hand, and the two guards bowed and withdrew.

By the window stood two chairs. Li Chi and Tang Pidi sat in them and turned simultaneously to give Zeng Ling a casual wave of acknowledgment.

Zeng Ling did not comment on the breach of courtesy from these two young men, but smiled and walked toward them. “You two certainly arrived early.”

Li Chi said: “We were originally lying flat on the roof — with something like this, one does worry about being spotted. Then we saw your guards arrive, and thought: with your men here, no need to hide. So we came into this private room to watch in comfort.”

Zeng Ling walked over, Jinzu close behind.

Li Chi moved his chair to one side and gestured. “There’s room for one more.”

Zeng Ling smiled and shook his head. “Can’t sit still — standing is better. Standing gives you height; height gives you range; range gives you clarity.”

He reached out his hand. Jinzu passed him the brass telescope he had been carrying.

Zeng Ling looked through it and said: “A scheme of this scale, Li Chi — my hundred thousand taels was well spent.”

Li Chi was too embarrassed to admit that the actual outlay had been two thousand taels, and that even those two thousand had barely been worth it.

Li Chi had assumed that Young Lord Yang Zhuo, upon taking action, would at least follow certain protocols — the custom being, you don’t catch a thief empty-handed. He had supposed Yang Zhuo would have the patience to wait until the young woman from Shuang Xing Tower came out before making a move. But it turned out Yang Zhuo had no patience whatsoever, and so those two thousand taels had in the end been entirely unnecessary.

Zeng Ling smiled and continued: “To mobilize the people in the manor, no sum of money would have been enough. Luo Jing is a young man of fierce pride — no sum of money would have moved him either. Yet with those hundred thousand taels, Li Chi, you brought both sides to the table.”

Li Chi said: “If you feel it wasn’t quite worth it, you’re welcome to add a little more — any amount you like.”

Zeng Ling said: “Business should be conducted in good faith.”

Li Chi said: “Business should also turn a profit.”

Zeng Ling thought it over, then laughed. “True enough — the purpose of doing business is to make money, not to demonstrate good faith. Good faith is merely the means.”

He looked toward Jinzu. “Give me the letter.”

Jinzu reached into his robe and produced a letter, which Zeng Ling took and passed to Li Chi. “This letter, for Li Chi, should be worth another hundred thousand taels.”

Li Chi took it and read it carefully from beginning to end, then looked at Zeng Ling. “Using this letter to offset the hundred thousand taels — that is entirely out of the question.”

Zeng Ling only now realized that Li Chi thought he meant to cancel the original debt with this gift, so he laughed. “No — this is on top of it. The hundred thousand taels will be sent to your residence.”

Li Chi let out a breath of genuine relief.

In that moment, it flickered through Zeng Ling’s mind — almost with certainty — that if he had said the hundred thousand was cancelled, Li Chi might well have struck him down on the spot.

—