Fourth Month. Spring had arrived in warmth.

A message came back from Yu Jiuling in Anyang, reporting that the cloth procurement had been essentially completed.

Two months — Yu Jiuling had done well.

With Luo Jing’s assistance, Yu Jiuling had managed to buy up nearly all the black cloth available in Anyang and the surrounding counties.

The new Ning Army uniforms were being rushed to completion in almost every workshop in Anyang; it was estimated they would be ready for transport to Jizhou shortly.

The reason for having them made in Anyang rather than shipping the cloth back to Jizhou was simple enough: the textile craft of any county in Anyang could outstrip Jizhou’s by several measures.

Meanwhile, the unabashedly audacious Li Chi, back in Jizhou, was behaving exactly like an absentee proprietor.

Because everything and everyone had been properly arranged, once the operation was running, he need only sit at the center and hold things together.

Three months later, summer arrived, and Yu Jiuling returned with a great shipment of new uniforms.

Before Yu Jiuling had departed, Li Chi had specified: make at minimum two seasonal sets of uniforms — summer and winter — with at least a hundred and fifty thousand of each.

There weren’t that many soldiers, but it was better to have them in reserve. Surplus was fine.

He had expected to spend a sum of silver. But when Yu Jiuling came back, the grin on his face stretched from one side to the other.

Because not a single copper coin had been spent. Every expense had been covered by Luo Jing.

When Li Chi heard this, he felt slightly embarrassed. He asked Yu Jiuling, “What exactly did Luo Jing say?”

Yu Jiuling said, “Luo Jing said he’s counting this against the silver collected from Anyang’s military, and offsetting a portion of the textile industry’s taxes for the territory under his control.”

Li Chi burst into laughter. “Back at the start, when I said we were borrowing troops to take Anyang, I figured he’d probably want some payment for that. I thought at minimum he’d ask us for money.”

He said with a tone of theatrical regret, “This is terribly embarrassing — Luo Jing not only wanted nothing, but spent all this money on our behalf.”

Li Chi asked Yu Jiuling, “Since things worked out this way… you didn’t ask for a little more while you were at it?”

Yu Jiuling said, “Chief, that pivot came so fast I couldn’t keep up.”

Li Chi smiled. “What’s the situation on Prince Wu’s side?”

Yu Jiuling said, “Prince Wu’s army is bogged down there with Luo Jing. They don’t dare attack, but they can’t bear to pull out.”

“It’s not that they can’t bear to pull out.”

Li Chi said, “He doesn’t dare attack, and doesn’t dare pull out either.”

Yu Jiuling handed Li Chi his uniform. Li Chi took it and looked it over. The craftsmanship from Anyang truly was exceptional — the garment was of finer quality than anything made in Jizhou, and noticeably less expensive.

Following Gao Xining’s idea, all the uniforms were black, but on the right arm there was to be a rectangular patch of red cloth, roughly the size of a palm, embroidered with a single character.

Originally the character had been Li. But on the uniforms now in hand, the character had been changed to Ning.

The idea for the patch had originated with Shen Ruzhan in conversation with Gao Xining — she had mentioned seeing it in a book on Yunyin Mountain, saying she found it attractive and impressive.

Gao Xining had only just relayed this to Yu Jiuling when Li Chi sent word to change the character — and made sure Gao Xining wasn’t to be told.

“Well made. Sturdy too.”

Li Chi said, “Get the troops re-equipped as quickly as possible. Have uniforms sent to Jicheng for Elder Brother Zhuang.”

Yu Jiuling acknowledged the order.

He looked at Li Chi. “Right — Luo Jing also had me pass on a message to you.”

Li Chi said, “What message?”

Yu Jiuling cleared his throat, then directed a single loud, resonant word at Li Chi.

“Ptui!”

Li Chi shook his head, smiling.

He had written to Luo Jing saying: you see, I borrowed troops from you to take Anyang, and it worked. So now you ought to head back to Youzhou — and please return Anyang to me.

That single “Ptui” was Luo Jing’s reply.

Li Chi said, “Little Yu, you handled yourself very well in Anyang this time. There should be a reward.”

Yu Jiuling narrowed his eyes. “What kind of reward?”

Li Chi said, “But then you relayed that spit at me… I’d say honors and demerits cancel out.”

Yu Jiuling said, “That wasn’t me spitting at you — that was Luo Jing spitting at you. Credit where credit is due…”

Li Chi said, “All right then — ride to Anyang right now, spit at Luo Jing, ride back at your own expense, and when you return, the reward will be there waiting.”

Yu Jiuling: “…”

Strange to say: in the years before Li Chi became lord of Jizhou, the region had suffered disaster after disaster. Spring floods, summer droughts, autumn harvests stripped bare, winter calamities arriving in turn.

But since Li Chi had taken control of Jizhou, the weather had been unreasonably well-behaved for two consecutive years.

Rain fell when rain was needed, wind blew when wind was needed, and when neither was needed, neither appeared.

The heavens themselves had stopped being troublesome. Two years of bumper harvests in a row.

In Shen Ruzhan’s words: Li Chi was at it again with his magic.

Tang Pidi had left Jizhou in the first month. By now it was the seventh — six months had passed — and Li Chi’s Ning Army had taken in thirty thousand new recruits.

Li Chi himself hadn’t thought much of it, but the common people couldn’t help thinking deeply.

And so the rumors about Li Chi being the Sovereign of Men spread through all of Jizhou, growing more and more extravagant with each retelling.

Some swore with absolute certainty that the fall of Dachu was the Sovereign of Men’s doing. When the Sovereign of Men was born, he let out a single wail, and that cry snapped the dragon vein of Dachu.

Li Chi thought to himself: if that cry of mine snapped anything, it certainly couldn’t have snapped my master’s stream of piss. So was my master’s stream thicker than the dragon vein of Dachu?

He shared this thought with his master, all while staring fixedly into his eyes.

His master asked why he was staring. Li Chi said — just looking, the eyes aren’t even that big, so how could it be thicker than the dragon vein?

His master took a moment to catch up, then whacked him out through the door with one blow of the walking staff.

Others said that when the Sovereign of Men was born, a great star fell from the sky and lit up the darkness of night. The Sovereign of Men was born already appearing to be ten or more years old, and at night his body glowed, radiating the same light as that great star falling through the dark.

Li Chi reflected: apparently I am a lamp of some wisdom. I light up automatically at night.

Others said the Sovereign of Men had descended to help the Yang imperial clan restore the glory of Dachu. In a dream he visited the Emperor, telling him: the Sovereign of Men has arrived — from now on, you must heed the Sovereign’s counsel, and Dachu will neither fall nor perish.

But the old Emperor had flown into a rage, and in the dream moved to strike down the Sovereign of Men — who in return struck back with a single pointed finger, shattering the Emperor’s soul. At daybreak, the old Emperor died.

When Mister Yan relayed this rumor to Li Chi, Li Chi’s response was: if I were that old Emperor, I’d take the fight straight to the Sovereign of Men — go all in…

At that point Mister Yan laughed so hard he couldn’t contain himself, and released a rather audible punctuation.

On that vast and ancient stretch of land that was Jizhou, there had always been countless tales of gods and spirits. But now every story, without exception, needed a version featuring the Sovereign of Men.

Take the legend of the Medicine God, who tasted a hundred herbs to select those that could heal the people.

That legend had been adapted for the Sovereign of Men as follows:

The Sovereign of Men tasted a hundred herbs, absorbed several hundred different poisons, and yet refused to die — but his body turned every color of the rainbow.

Li Chi thought: so apparently I’m five colors and also glow at night.

Though he couldn’t say why, just picturing it gave him an irresistible urge to leap to his feet.

I am truly remarkable.

Absurd as all this was, the Sovereign of Men’s influence within Jizhou had gradually begun to surpass that of the Yellow Immortal, the Fox Immortal, and the other longtime frontrunners.

But not everything went as one might wish.

Not long after Yu Jiuling’s return, word arrived from the northwest.

In the northwest, something resembling the old East Ridge Sect had appeared — a cult organization, recruiting aggressively and expanding its influence at speed.

Li Chi suspected it was connected to the false Daoists of East Ridge who had escaped earlier.

Since Li Chi had moved the main base from Yanshan to Jizhou, his grip over those dozen-odd counties in the northwest had grown tenuous.

Though they were no longer calling themselves the East Ridge Sect, Li Chi believed they were East Ridge risen from the ashes.

Beyond that, in the southeast of Jizhou — a full two thousand li from Jizhou City itself — another rebel force had sprung up.

This group flew the banner of the Sovereign of Men.

A man by the name of Chang Xing, who had been a mountain bandit by trade with some ten thousand followers, had heard the legend of the Sovereign of Men, renamed himself Li Chi, and declared he was the Sovereign of Men incarnate.

He had not quite known which character was used for “chi” in Li Chi’s name; the way people spoke in that region distorted it in his ear.

So he became Li Chi — written with a different character.

He also declared that the Li Chi in Jizhou was a false Sovereign — a demon taking human form — and that he was the true Sovereign.

And there were people who believed him.

Defying all rational explanation.

After Chang Xing rechristened himself, he spread his message far and wide, enlisting men in droves. By the time the news reached Jizhou, nearly a year had passed.

By then, he already commanded no fewer than a hundred and fifty thousand soldiers — motley, of course, and not to be compared with Li Chi’s Ning Army. But numbers were numbers.

Perhaps emboldened by the size of his force, Chang Xing concluded that he was formidable.

In the Jieshi region of southeastern Jizhou, he proclaimed himself Emperor, displaying a confidence that left onlookers at a loss for words.

After his proclamation, Chang Xing’s first order of business was to announce the selection of an auspicious date on which he would march on Jizhou, destroy the false Sovereign of Men, and rescue the people of Jizhou.

After Li Chi heard the whole account from his people, he was in a somewhat complicated mood.

Li Chi said, “Actually, I had a similar thought once.”

Everyone froze, looked at Li Chi. What similar thought — about any of this?

Li Chi said, “Back when we were studying at the academy, the vegetables in Mister Yan’s courtyard always looked good enough to steal. I mean eat.

“I thought about how I could pull up those vegetables without Mister Yan noticing. Eventually I figured out that if I waited for a rainy day and wore Xiahou Zuo’s boots, the footprints I left would be his.”

Mister Yan said, “So why did you never do it?”

Li Chi said, “Because Miss Ruoling watered your garden every day.”

Mister Yan froze. Ruoling, seated nearby, went faintly red.

Li Chi smiled. “From before Tang Pidi left for Yanzhou, I’ve been thinking about how to train the troops. Drilling endlessly at the parade grounds, running exercises outside the city — honestly, none of that compares to an actual fight. This Li Chi fellow, if he really does come marching over, that’s not a bad thing.”

As they were still speaking of this, far to the southeast, in Jieshi Prefecture:

Chang Xing — who was over forty years old, and had lost twenty jin from exhaustion since declaring himself the Sovereign of Men — was on his knees, trembling violently. He was trembling so hard that the clothes on his back rippled like little waves, one after another in unbroken succession.

He was genuinely moved to his core.

Standing before him was an official sent from Daxing, bearing an imperial edict.

A sixth-grade official, admittedly small — but as he came bearing a decree, he was an imperial envoy all the same.

The Emperor of Dachu had issued an edict enfeoffing Chang Xing as the Prince of Northern Frontier, tasking him in service of Dachu to pacify the rebels of Jizhou.

The edict was specific: the rebels were the Jizhou brigand Li Chi and the Youzhou insurgent Luo Jing.

The Emperor further stated that once Li Chi was destroyed, he would confer additional honors and rewards, and after the fighting was done, Chang Xing would be summoned to Daxing for an imperial audience.

This Sovereign of Men had well and truly shamed the name of Sovereign.

He kowtowed again and again in gratitude.

The common people said the former Emperor — the old Emperor, the father of the current one — had been killed in a dream by the Sovereign of Men.

The current Emperor had a broad mind indeed: he was willing to grant a title to his father’s killer.

And the Sovereign of Men had a broad mind as well — overjoyed to kneel and accept a rank that reduced him several grades below Sovereign, enthusiastically setting aside the imperial title he’d just claimed.

The envoy who had read the decree accepted a handsome collection of gifts, saw no reason to linger further, and departed the following day.

Once seated in his carriage, the envoy glanced back at the scene behind him, and felt a slight ache behind his eyes.

There were still more than ten decrees sitting in the carriage, and he’d brought plenty — they never seemed to be enough. Since leaving Daxing, he had been making his way northeast, and by the time he passed through Qingzhou — where several dozen princes already held court — he had minted three more.

After entering Jizhou, Chang Xing had been the first. Ahead still lay the road to Yanzhou.

The Emperor had reportedly heard that there was a great brigand in Yanzhou named Di Chun, so he had prepared a decree enfeoffing Di Chun as the Prince of White Mountain.

The envoy exhaled a long sigh. Weary to the bone.

And frightened.

There was always the chance he’d run into someone with a short temper, who would simply have him killed on the spot.

—