He was, truth be told, a man of contradictions.

Ding Shengyi had come to Li Chi’s service with reluctance. He felt, in some part of himself, that he had debased himself by making this choice — even though he had originally agreed to let Steward Old Liu come ahead to Jizhou as nothing more than a precaution. He had never truly intended to follow. It was only the last resort when all others had closed.

However capable Li Chi was. However formidable. In Ding Shengyi’s eyes, the man was still a rebel — Jizhou’s great bandit. Ding Shengyi had always considered himself a man of clean origins and upright character.

He was military household stock. Not wealthy, not well-connected, but from the very beginning a soldier of the Dachu regular army. A proud regular-army general — and now a subordinate to Jizhou’s great bandit.

This fact sat inside Ding Shengyi like a splinter. When he wasn’t thinking about it, it was fine. The moment he thought of it, he felt the shame of it pressing on him.

But when Li Chi transferred him to Luo Jing’s service, everything felt different at once.

Luo Jing’s family may not have been generations of ministers and princes, but Luo Jing was no ordinary man. Luo Geng, Youzhou’s general, had a name that rang across Dachu, and Luo Jing himself had earned the title of the Northern Frontier’s First.

When Luo Jing had fought alongside Prince Yu at the siege of Anyang City, Ding Shengyi had watched him command troops in battle and found himself deeply impressed.

Serving under Luo Jing felt nothing like serving under Li Chi.

It even sounded better. Say it one way: he was a general who turned traitor and threw himself in with bandits. His name would be mud. Say it another way: he left Anyang and entered the service of Youzhou’s Luo Jing. Far from being a step downward — it sounded like an ascent.

If you were going to serve Li Chi, the most generous framing possible was *compelled by circumstance*. To serve Luo Jing, the least flattering version still amounted to *a good bird chooses its tree.*

So after joining Luo Jing, Ding Shengyi had been quietly pleased with himself.

Luo Jing rode at the front, urging the horses forward. Ding Shengyi followed behind him, looked down at the Youzhou army armor he was now wearing, and let out a long, unhurried breath.

This was fine.

—

On top of the walls of Jizhou.

Xiahou Zuo watched the forces depart through the city gates. He pointed at one of the figures. “Who’s the man riding behind Luo Jing?”

Tang Pidi answered: “His name is Ding Shengyi. He was with the Anyang army. Meng Kedi was going to kill him, so he fled here and sought Li Chi’s protection.”

Xiahou Zuo made a sound of acknowledgment. “I don’t like this man.”

Tang Pidi smiled slightly. “Neither do I.”

“Why don’t you like him?”

Tang Pidi didn’t answer, and turned it back. “You tell me first.”

“His face bothers me.”

“You’re sharper than I gave you credit for,” Tang Pidi said. “I thought you didn’t like him for a different reason.”

Xiahou Zuo smiled. “What reason?”

Tang Pidi shrugged. “That he might compete with you for a certain man.”

Xiahou Zuo stared. Then he narrowed his eyes at Tang Pidi, who put his hands behind his back and wandered off.

“You were thinking that, weren’t you.”

Tang Pidi spoke as he walked away. “A certain person, while you weren’t back yet, was sitting on the city wall every day looking north.”

He glanced back at Xiahou Zuo. “And a certain other person — after coming back to find that first one not here — has also been sitting on the city wall every day looking north.”

Xiahou Zuo spat. “Then you — why do you come up to the top of the walls every day?”

Tang Pidi raised a finger toward the sky. “To contend with the heavens for height.”

Xiahou Zuo blinked.

He thought of what Li Chi had said: *under all of heaven, when it comes to striking poses, no one holds a candle to Tang Pidi.*

Xiahou Zuo fell into step behind him, thinking to himself: the very existence of someone like Tang Pidi was actually proof that the world had some fairness to it. The heavens gave him the ability to perform with such impunity — without it, he would have been beaten to death hundreds of times over by now.

About the same number of times as Yu Jiuling.

Why had Yu Jiuling never been beaten to death? Because the heavens had given him a useful talent too.

Xiahou Zuo caught up with Tang Pidi and asked: “Did you manage to hold your own against the heavens?”

“Not quite,” Tang Pidi said.

“How short did you fall?”

Tang Pidi smiled. “Short by one Li Diudiu.”

Xiahou Zuo stopped mid-stride, then let out a slow sigh.

“He gave you something, didn’t he,” Xiahou Zuo said. “A drug, a curse, or a hex. Otherwise why would someone like you keep saying that he’s just a little bit taller than you.”

“Do you truly not think Li Chi is tall?” Tang Pidi asked.

Xiahou Zuo paused. “Well. He is — a bit.”

The two looked at each other, and burst out laughing.

They walked on side by side.

Xiahou Zuo suddenly remembered something. “That compliment just now — it should have been said to Li Chi, not to me.”

“I can say to you that Li Chi is taller than me by a little,” Tang Pidi said. “But I won’t say it to Li Chi himself.”

“Why?”

“Because it would make him arrogant. After all — the number of people in this world who stand a little taller than me — there is exactly one.”

Xiahou Zuo said flatly, “You’d die if you stopped, wouldn’t you.”

Tang Pidi walked on, hands behind his back. “Without it, life would be boring.”

“Other people perform because they’re performing,” Xiahou Zuo said. “You really are as capable as you claim. Why bother?”

“I know I’m truly capable,” Tang Pidi said. “But other people need to know it too.”

Xiahou Zuo sighed. “Go on your way. I’m done talking to you. Every conversation with you costs me life force.”

—

A few days later.

Li Chi spotted the figure before he was even through the gates — a man sitting on top of the high wall, both legs dangling over the outer side of the battlements with that perpetually careless air.

Li Chi started smiling.

He stopped at the city gate and called up: “Friend sitting up there looking at the view — is it windy up there?”

Xiahou Zuo called back down: “Not bad. Fine for sitting, not for crouching. Sitting, you get a full-face breeze. Crouching, it goes right through you.”

Li Chi: “……”

Xiahou Zuo turned and came running down the slope, then made a show of slamming to a stop at the bottom. After which he affected perfect nonchalance and came strolling over.

Li Chi watched him do this and couldn’t help sighing. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Old Tang these past few days, haven’t you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Look at yourself. You’ve picked up his swagger.”

Xiahou Zuo threw an arm around Li Chi’s neck and hauled him close, strolling along at a rakish lean.

“Betrothed?”

“Mm.”

“How does it feel?”

“Mother said: once you’re betrothed, you’re a grown man — a true man. No more running around with those unbetrothed little brats. Childish.”

Xiahou Zuo hooked his leg and gave Li Chi a kick on the backside.

Then he seemed to catch himself. He let Li Chi go, reached into his collar, and produced a sealed envelope, which he held out. “Here — a gift for you and your future bride.”

Li Chi took it. “What is it?”

“Given how greedy you are — money, obviously.”

Li Chi opened it, looked inside, and blew out a dismissive breath. “That northern wind really does something for a man’s face — yours has grown thick enough to rival mine.”

Inside the envelope was an IOU note: *I owe Li Diudiu one million taels in betrothal gift money.*

Xiahou Zuo waved a hand grandly. “Whether it’s owed or not, that’s beside the point — just tell me, is one million taels in betrothal money impressive or not?”

He spread his arms wide. “From the beginning of history to now, has anyone but me, Xiahou Zuo, ever written a betrothal gift for one million taels?”

Gao Xining reached over and took the IOU from Li Chi’s hand. “I’ll hold onto this.”

Xiahou Zuo’s face reddened. “He can hold it, that’s fine…”

“If he holds it,” Gao Xining said with a grin, “he’ll be too embarrassed to ask you for it. If I hold it — would you be too embarrassed to pay?”

“Well…”

“You could try to buy me off,” she said. “Bribe me into giving it back. That would settle things, wouldn’t it.”

“How would you need to be bribed?”

“This note is for one million taels — so if you bribe me with too little, I obviously can’t accept. So… at the very least… fifteen taels.”

Li Chi: “The family fortune is ruined.”

Xiahou Zuo burst out laughing. “Why fifteen?”

“I asked around,” Gao Xining said. “The finest banquet at Jizhou’s Songde Pavilion — wine, food, everything included — comes to fifteen taels.”

She looked at Xiahou Zuo: “I was going to ask what the price was so I could treat you when you got back. But now you’re treating us instead.”

Xiahou Zuo said, “Fifteen taels…”

Li Chi said, “Jizhou’s number one great wastrel, and fifteen taels makes you pull a face like that?”

Xiahou Zuo sighed. “Think about how much silver I’ve borrowed from you altogether. Should be several hundred thousand taels by now.”

He looked at Gao Xining, steeling himself. “How about I write you an IOU for fifteen taels.”

“Sir,” Gao Xining said, “you tossed out a one-million-tael IOU without batting an eye — and yet writing a fifteen-tael IOU looks like it costs you everything you have?”

“Because,” Xiahou Zuo said, “fifteen taels is something I can actually repay…”

He reached into the deer-hide pouch at his side and rummaged for a moment. He produced a pair of jet-black jade pendants.

Black jade was not particularly valuable. He had dug these from the mountainside in the northern frontier himself, shaped them himself, and carved them himself.

He handed one to Gao Xining. On its face, carved in a single character: *Home.*

He handed one to Li Chi. On its face, carved in a single character: *Nation.*

He looked at them both with a smile. “I thought about it, and I couldn’t find anything bigger than these two words.”

Gao Xining held her pendant in both hands and looked at it for a long moment. Then she placed it around her neck.

“These two pieces,” she said to Xiahou Zuo, “will be our family’s heirloom from this day on.”

Xiahou Zuo was visibly moved. “When you put it that way, I’m almost overcome.”

“Heirloom is heirloom,” she said, “but don’t forget about the fifteen-tael IOU.”

“The way you said that,” Xiahou Zuo said, “you’re starting to sound like him—”

Li Chi had put his pendant on, tucked it under his collar, and patted it against his chest. Then he gave a sharp shudder.

“Ugh! That thing is absolutely freezing.”

Gao Xining kicked him in the backside. “Watch your mouth!”

Then she walked off at a quick pace.

Li Chi watched her go and called after her: “Isn’t yours cold too?”

She didn’t look back. Walking on ahead, she was secretly smiling to herself.

“Mine doesn’t—!”

She muttered it under her breath, and then dissolved into helpless, light-hearted laughter.

Behind her, Xiahou Zuo had his arm hooked around Li Chi’s shoulder, walking close, and said: “I was talking with Old Tang the other day, and he said there’s something about you that no one else in the world can match.”

Li Chi asked: “Nobody’s is bigger?”

Xiahou Zuo’s eyes narrowed.

“Or is that not the only thing?”

Xiahou Zuo’s eyes narrowed further, edging toward action.

“Let’s just talk about what he actually said.”

“He said: luck. Old Tang said your luck is better than anyone else’s — and so it’s become something more than luck. It’s become fate.”

He pointed ahead at Gao Xining’s retreating figure. “Now I believe it. Without the finest fate under heaven, how could you have found her?”

Li Chi called out: “Hey — you up ahead! This fellow’s flattering you — says I must have heaven’s own luck to have ended up with you.”

Gao Xining let out a burst of laughter, and walked on ahead, hands behind her back, bouncing with each step, her long ponytail swinging left and right.

Li Chi watched her back, grinning like an idiot.

“That woman,” he said softly, “is something else.”