Ding Shengjia’s estate had long since been stripped bare. Meng Kedi’s people had searched it several times already, and what remained of the great compound now had a hollow, emptied look that could not help but stir a pang of feeling in anyone who saw it.

Standing in the wide courtyard, Shang Qingzhu looked around in all directions, still able to make out, in a dim and ghostly way, traces of what had once been splendor.

Measured against the full breadth of Great Chu’s territory, Anyang was no more than a speck on the map — barely worth a pinprick of ink.

Yet its singular geography had transformed that speck into a pivot point for everything around it.

Even without raising a banner or calling his forces to arms, Meng Kedi’s position here in Anyang was not something anyone could afford to overlook.

And Ding Shengjia, as Meng Kedi’s foremost commander, had been second only to Meng Kedi himself in all of Anyang — one step below one man, ten thousand steps above the rest.

“Sir.”

One of his men leaned close and lowered his voice: “If Meng Kedi doesn’t invite you to the General’s Estate, are we moving tonight?”

Shang Qingzhu gave a nod. “By tomorrow, when those assassins are still nowhere to be found, someone will start asking questions.”

“Meng Kedi is deeply suspicious by nature. Once he gets even a whiff of something wrong, he’ll go on high alert — even if nothing has actually happened yet.”

Shang Qingzhu said: “So tonight may well be our last chance. If we fail tonight, it will be very difficult to find another opportunity afterward.”

He said no more.

What he was truly turning over in his mind was not the all-or-nothing gamble of tonight. What Shang Qingzhu most hoped was to accomplish this alone — to let all the Magistrate soldiers under his command withdraw safely to Jizhou.

But from early morning it was already nearly noon, and still no one had come to find him.

The contempt Meng Kedi bore for Guo Ruren was a fixed factor — there was no changing it.

—

At the same time, inside the General’s Estate.

Meng Kedi had finished dealing with the matters at hand and glanced at the sun outside, only then realizing it was almost noon.

He suddenly remembered the dossier Guo Ruren had sent over. He glanced at it — he’d tossed it on the desk that morning and immediately forgotten it.

He got up and moved to take a walk, but stopped at the doorway and found himself turning back.

When he opened the dossier, his expression was still one of undisguised disdain. But as he read on, his eyes grew steadily brighter.

“Now here is a man of talent.”

He finished reading and could not help but murmur the words aloud.

There was no denying it: the plan Guo Ruren had put together was, in every respect, close to flawless. It was the most likely to succeed.

The plan was this — Guo Ruren himself would personally lead the assassins to Jizhou and spend six months completing the assassination of Li Chi.

Guo Ruren’s reasoning: at the present time, Jizhou was actively recruiting. Men like these — posing as wandering martial artists — could go and offer their services.

At first, they would naturally be viewed with suspicion and would find it nearly impossible to get close enough to act.

But getting accepted into the Ning Army should not pose any real difficulty, given the personal capabilities of those involved.

To lull the Ning Army’s wariness, they would do absolutely nothing for the first six months — train diligently, draw no attention to themselves.

Six months to make the Ning Army lower its guard. By the time six months had passed, it would be just before the summer harvest.

Li Chi would certainly deploy troops to protect the fields, guarding against any renewed incursion by the Anyang forces.

At that moment, should Li Chi make a tour of inspection through the garrisoned farmlands — how could he possibly suspect his own soldiers?

These men would have spent a full six months embedded within Li Chi’s army. They would be able to move openly, as Ning soldiers, weapons in hand without raising so much as an eyebrow.

To strike then and kill Li Chi — the odds of success would be very high indeed.

Meng Kedi sat down and thought through the plan again from beginning to end, carefully and slowly.

He put himself in Li Chi’s place, and when he did, he was certain: even he himself might well be killed by a plan like this.

It was just as when he returned to the Anyang garrison. The soldiers standing watch at the gate would salute him, and he would walk past without giving them a second glance.

How could he ever suspect that the man standing guard outside the gate, saluting him, might strike in the very next breath?

Within ten feet — with no need for many — three or four men firing crossbows simultaneously: unless a person were some manner of immortal or demon, no one could dodge every bolt.

At that thought, Meng Kedi actually rose from his writing desk and positioned himself in the middle of the room, imagining men on both his left and right sides unleashing crossbow fire simultaneously.

In the instant it began, he might be able to kill one, perhaps even two — but there was absolutely no way to avoid every bolt aimed at him.

“Six months. Six months is also the perfect window.”

Meng Kedi murmured to himself.

If Li Chi were to be assassinated before the summer harvest, the blow it would deal to the Jizhou forces was not difficult to imagine.

With the Jizhou garrison thrown into chaos and uncertainty, he could lead his forces in a second assault — and the Jizhou Army would assuredly be broken.

He exhaled slowly, and it was only now that he grasped how badly he had underestimated this man Guo Ruren.

The fellow was of servant stock, and had just killed his own master — of course Meng Kedi had looked down on him.

But the more he thought about it now, the more he felt that Guo Ruren was someone who could be put to real use. With a mind that meticulous, an approach that steady and careful, and a ruthlessness in action that sharp — he could absolutely become a capable and trusted lieutenant.

This was an era of urgent need for capable men, and having someone like this at his side would be of great benefit to everything Meng Kedi intended to do next.

Just as Guo Ruren had predicted — he did indeed intend to declare himself king.

When Prince Wu returned, he would deal with him. Even if he stopped short of killing him, he would certainly demote him and transfer him away from Anyang.

Prince Wu lived by a particular principle: the less your enemy knows about you, the better your odds in the first engagement. As a consequence, he almost never gave his subordinates a second chance.

Meng Kedi had lost to Li Chi once, and Li Chi now had some measure of his measure.

Prince Wu would reason that if Meng Kedi lost once, the likelihood of losing a second time was equally high.

That was one reason why the pressure of competition among Prince Wu’s generals was so intense.

So in all likelihood, Meng Kedi would be reassigned to some unfamiliar posting, reduced to a fifth-rank general, left to slowly claw his way back up.

How could Meng Kedi possibly be willing to abandon the position he had built? The wealth and resources of a single city like Anyang were roughly equal to an entire prefecture like Jizhou.

Li Chi was building up his forces in Jizhou — pouring every ounce of ingenuity into it, spending years at the effort — and he still couldn’t match what Anyang could produce in a single year. On resources alone, Jizhou simply couldn’t compare to Anyang.

“Someone, come.”

Meng Kedi turned toward the door and called out.

A moment later, one of his personal guards came running in and bowed.

“When Guo Ruren came earlier — did he come alone?”

The guard answered: “In reply to the General — the men on watch at the gate said Lord Guo came alone this morning. When the General did not see him, he went to Ding Shengjia’s residence, saying he wanted to go and look for any other leads.”

Meng Kedi murmured to himself: “What could possibly be left at Ding Shengjia’s place?”

Ding Shengjia had already fled — nine chances in ten, he’d gone to Jizhou to defect to Li Chi.

That man knew Anyang far too well. If he joined Li Chi’s side, the threat to Anyang would be enormous.

And so it suddenly occurred to Meng Kedi: Guo Ruren going to Ding Shengjia’s residence to look for leads — he might be thinking that when the time came to eliminate Li Chi, he could also deal with Ding Shengjia in the same stroke.

With Ding Shengjia still alive, Anyang would never be secure.

“Send someone — go to Ding Shengjia’s place and bring Guo Ruren here.”

Meng Kedi calculated the distance. From Ding Shengjia’s residence to his General’s Estate — roughly a quarter of an hour’s travel.

“Tell the kitchen to start preparing. I’m going to have Guo Ruren stay for a meal. Have them make a proper spread — and bring out two jugs of good wine.”

When Meng Kedi finished speaking, he stretched his arms wide, thinking that perhaps this was heaven making amends to him.

Xue Chunbao was dead. Ding Shengjia had run. Now, in their place, heaven had sent him Guo Ruren.

That was why the ancients always said: good fortune never lasts forever, but neither does bad.

—

At the same moment, at Ding Shengjia’s residence.

Shang Qingzhu was sitting in the courtyard, the Magistrate soldier posing as his driver standing at his side.

“Jiang Mo.”

Shang Qingzhu looked over at the young soldier. “Where are you from originally?”

Jiang Mo answered: “I’m from Qianlie County, sir. My uncle was in the Yanshan Camp back in the day.”

He instinctively turned his gaze northward.

“My uncle was a scout in the Yanshan Camp back then, and he worked as a helper at a physician’s clinic in Qianlie County — the physician was also connected to the Yanshan Camp.”

Jiang Mo said: “I was young at the time, but I saw the Chief once — that is, the Green-Browed Heavenly King Yu Chaozong.”

“He’d been wounded and came to the clinic for treatment. Afterward, my uncle said he thought the Chief must have sensed something was wrong at the stronghold, which was why he’d come all the way to Qianlie County to tend to his wounds.”

Jiang Mo exhaled slowly, smiled a little, and said: “Back then, I never imagined I’d end up becoming the same kind of person my uncle was.”

“You are better than your uncle.”

Shang Qingzhu said: “Every person who gets into the Magistrate’s Army is exceptional enough.”

Jiang Mo ducked his head with a bashful grin. “I’m nowhere near the Centurion Officer. That’s the goal I’m working toward.”

Then he felt even more embarrassed, as though he’d said something he shouldn’t have.

Shang Qingzhu laughed. “Setting me as your target is setting your sights a little low. You should have a bigger goal than that.”

He stood and stretched, looked at the sky — noon already.

“Head back for now. Go to the house and tell the brothers to get ready for tonight’s operation. For something this big, no amount of preparation is too much.”

“Then come back here. On the way, pick me up some lunch — anything will do, but make it something in the flavor that Guo Ruren is used to eating.”

Shang Qingzhu said: “No need to hurry back either. It looks like Meng Kedi isn’t sending anyone for me today. I just can’t quite bring myself to give up yet — I’ll wait here a little while longer.”

“I deliberately mentioned coming to Ding Shengjia’s place, hoping that just hearing Ding Shengjia’s name would make Meng Kedi stop and think a little more. But he doesn’t seem to have given it a second thought.”

Shang Qingzhu shook his head. “This man is not as clever as all that. Go on — rest a bit before you come back.”

“Then wait for me, sir — I’ll be quick.”

Jiang Mo set off at a jog through the outer gate, leaped onto the carriage, and cracked the whip.

Shang Qingzhu stood in the gateway watching the carriage go, thinking: if someone like Jiang Mo could make it through this assassination of Meng Kedi alive — how good that would be.

But he knew this was a dangerous business. Any one of them could meet with an accident.

And yet every single one of them understood clearly: this was the duty of the Magistrate’s Army.

He watched the carriage turn at the corner and disappear, then sighed softly, turned, and walked back into the courtyard.

He had taken no more than a few steps when he suddenly heard footsteps behind him.

Shang Qingzhu spun around at once.

And then he saw Meng Kedi stride in through the gate, and upon catching sight of him, Meng Kedi burst into laughter.

“Ha ha ha ha! Lord Guo, you really are still here!”

Meng Kedi kept advancing with wide, easy strides, laughing as he spoke: “I was about to send someone to come and fetch you, thought we could sit down and have a couple of proper drinks — but then I thought, by the time you made your way back, I’d likely have forgotten what I wanted to say. So I came to find you myself.”

He gestured toward the attendants who had come with him — four personal guards following behind, two of them with food boxes hanging from their hands.

Evidently Meng Kedi had had the kitchen prepare the food and simply brought it with him directly.

In that instant, Shang Qingzhu knew: the best opportunity had arrived, sudden and unannounced.

Meng Kedi had left his General’s Estate, and at this moment he had only four personal guards at his side.

And he himself—

Was alone.

But was this not precisely the situation he had most hoped for?

He was Centurion Officer. When there was no choice but to face life and death, the Centurion Officer went first.

Master Ye had said: every squad of Magistrate soldiers sent out to carry out a mission was a lone unit.

He was Centurion Officer — the commander of this lone unit. He had a responsibility to let those young brothers of his come home alive.

All of them.

Except him.

—