According to mythology, the reason the mortal world has the distinction of day and night traces back to three divine beings in ancient times: two brothers, both sons of a god father, each serving their own purpose — though which goddess was their mother varies depending on which version of the story is told.

Some stories say she was the Dark Lady of the Ninth Heaven. Others say she was the incarnation of a celestial bird.

The divine father governed all things in the world. Only after his two sons had grown did he find himself with a measure of leisure. The two brothers took turns standing watch in their father’s stead.

One of these gods was known to the people as the Zhen God, and the other as the Ji God. The Zhen God compiled time based on the movements of the sun, moon, and stars. The Ji God compiled the calendar of seasons based on the growth cycles of all living things.

The people all said both gods were masterful inventors — but neither could match their father in that regard. The whole mythological tale revolved around how remarkably inventive Zhen, Ji, and their father were.

So went the tale.

When Xiahou Zuo told Li Diudiu this myth, Li Diudiu would have believed every word of it — if the phrase “Zhen, Ji, and their inventive father” hadn’t eventually appeared. The moment it did, the illusion was shattered.

Li Diudiu was no stranger to the night. He and his master had wandered the jianghu year-round, sleeping in all manner of places. From the time scattered memories first began forming — from around age three or four — any memory involving nighttime was one of being jolted awake, nightmare after nightmare.

From the time he could remember, Li Diudiu had been old enough to take care of himself. So whenever he and his master slept in the open, even when he was startled awake, he never cried. He would just blink his beautiful wide eyes and gaze up at the night sky. His master’s snoring was the best comfort there was. He’d quietly tuck himself against his master’s arm, trying not to wake him. The stars were there. His master was there. With fear nearby, drawing closer helped.

That was what Li Diudiu told himself through every single night.

But fear was never far from Li Diudiu. He felt his fear was always lurking somewhere nearby, his heart pounding fast — so he’d hold his master’s arm just a little bit tighter.

So Li Diudiu had never liked the night. Not ever.

Countless poets had bestowed the night with all manner of beautiful qualities, and the ornate words they’d piled up could circle the moon three and a half times.

Yet no matter how many poems he’d read, how many he’d memorized, Li Diudiu still didn’t like the night. It had even made him dislike the beautiful words those poets used to praise it.

“What’s wrong?” Xiahou Zuo asked the daydreaming Li Diudiu.

The two sat side by side on the rooftop. A night breeze swept past. Li Diudiu felt the summer night wasn’t just cool — it was cold.

“Nothing. Just watching Jizhou engage in a bit of self-deception.”

Li Diudiu pointed toward the west side of the building. They were currently positioned atop one of Jizhou City’s largest taverns, a place called Twin Stars in Moonlit Company. The name came from its structure: two wooden buildings connected by a suspended corridor roughly twenty feet long. The one on the left was called Twin Stars Tower. The one on the right was called Moonlit Companion Tower.

Moonlit Companion Tower was the tavern, and that was where Li Diudiu and Xiahou Zuo were sitting on the roof. The building beside it, Twin Stars Tower, was a pleasure house.

The poets who were so talented at praising the moon would gather in Moonlit Companion Tower to drink and sing, then sway their way across the suspended corridor to sleep in Twin Stars Tower.

“Sleep” can typically mean one of two things, depending on the context. One meaning is: I want to sleep. The other is: I want to sleep with you.

By “self-deception,” Li Diudiu was referring to the so-called curfew in Jizhou City. The government’s rules were a laughingstock in the face of silver. The rot within Dachu was plain to see.

Carriages bearing official emblems could roam the city’s night streets at will. Any commoner on foot caught by the patrol would be arrested on the spot and thrown in prison — along with a thorough beating for good measure.

In Dachu today, breaking the rules wasn’t remarkable at all. It all depended on who was doing the breaking.

Xiahou Zuo shook his head and said, “That’s not what you were thinking just now. Just now I saw fear in your eyes — and that’s the first time I’ve ever seen that look on you. Even when you killed that man, you didn’t have that expression.”

Li Diudiu shrugged noncommittally. He wasn’t particularly inclined to answer that question.

“Nothing will happen tonight. Same as every other night.”

Xiahou Zuo said, “The proprietor of Twin Stars in Moonlit Company is a registrar official under the Military Governor — a man named Yu Mingyue. Even without the Azure Formation keeping watch here, no one would dare cause trouble.”

Li Diudiu said, “A registrar official already holds quite a high rank with considerable authority. So why would he still need the Azure Formation here?”

Xiahou Zuo explained, “A registrar’s authority is substantial, yes — but he’s still one of the Military Governor’s subordinates. And the Azure Formation is under the Military Governor’s command. So… you understand now?”

Li Diudiu gave a quiet hum. “Understood.”

He leaned back and lay flat on the rooftop, watching clouds race across the moon. He recalled the few words Xiahou Zuo had once spoken about the convergence of wind and clouds, and a sudden wave of feeling washed over him.

Just then, Ruan Chen climbed up to the rooftop, lowered his voice, and said, “Li Chi — you’re in luck. Guess who showed up at Twin Stars Tower today?”

Li Chi replied without a moment’s hesitation: “Wang Heita.”

Ruan Chen nodded. “It’s him.”

He pointed downward. Li Diudiu sat up and looked below. Beside a carriage at the base of the building, several men stood talking, their voices too low to make out. Among them, a massive figure built like a tower of black iron caught Li Diudiu’s attention.

The man stood at least half a head taller than Xiahou Zuo, built like a great bull, his two arms thicker than Li Diudiu’s thighs, his neck roughly as wide as Li Diudiu’s waist.

Li Diudiu looked the man up and down, then gave a rueful smile and asked, “Is there any punishment for quitting the Azure Formation before you’ve even been a member for a full day?”

Xiahou Zuo said, “For quitting without cause, by regulation, the offender is to be buried in sand up to the soles of their feet.”

Li Diudiu let out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness…”

Xiahou Zuo added, “Buried upside down.”

Li Diudiu: “…”

Ruan Chen said, “Wang Heita rarely leaves the Changxing Gambling Den. Even when he wants company, he generally has women sent to him there. He never keeps a woman overnight and is extremely careful in his habits. Whatever brought him out tonight is serious business.”

Xiahou Zuo explained to Li Diudiu, “Wang Heita was the second-in-command of a rebel band that had been operating outside Jizhou City. The leader was called Song Feng — they were sworn brothers. At some point they had a falling out, Song Feng tried to kill him, and Wang Heita took a large sum of gold and silver and fled into the city, offering it all to Assistant Magistrate Zheng Chun. Zheng Chun, seeing the generous tribute and recognizing that Wang Heita was a capable fighter, took him in.”

Ruan Chen pointed downward. “Notice anything?”

Li Diudiu gave a quiet hum — he’d already seen it.

At the entrance to Twin Stars Tower was one carriage, the one Wang Heita had arrived in. On both sides of the building’s entrance, positioned about thirty feet from Wang Heita, were two more carriages. Those carriages, along with their occupants, were certainly all Wang Heita’s men. A rough count suggested more than twenty of them.

“There’s no chance of making a move tonight.”

Ruan Chen said, “Just get a good look at him, memorize his face. We can figure out the rest later.”

Li Diudiu gave a quiet hum and said nothing.

Below Twin Stars Tower, the powerfully built Wang Heita looked down at the small, thin man before him, his expression carrying a trace of distaste. The man barely reached his chest, gaunt and bony, his face all skin and sharp angles — the sort of person who was instantly unpleasant to look at.

What made him even more unpleasant was that he was one of Governor Lian Gongming’s men.

“Brother Wang.”

The middle-aged, seedy-looking man smiled and said, “I know this is presumptuous, but since Brother Wang has already come all this way — why not step inside and have a chat? I’ve already arranged for the ladies and the food and wine.”

Wang Heita looked at him and said, “Master Lu, I appreciate the Governor’s kind intentions. When the Magistrate gets out of prison, I’ll speak to him directly — tell him the Governor has taken a liking to me and wants me to come work for him. I’ll ask whether the Magistrate agrees. If he does, we can discuss things further. After all, the Governor outranks him.”

Master Lu — his full name was Lu Jishui. He was named so because when he was born his parents consulted a Daoist diviner, who calculated his birth characters and said his fate lacked water, so it would be best to have the character for water in his name.

Looking at his dry, shriveled frame, it did seem he was genuinely lacking in water — quite a lot of it.

Hearing Wang Heita’s words with their veiled barbs, Lu Jishui was naturally displeased in his heart. In his view, the Governor had already given Wang Heita tremendous face, yet this man hadn’t returned even a scrap of courtesy — someone like that deserved to die. Still, he kept smiling and said, “I know your temperament well, Brother Wang, which is precisely why I hold you in the highest regard. And Brother Wang, you know — all it takes is a word from the Governor on the Magistrate’s side. Why refuse so directly?”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “We who serve others don’t always have a say in our own affairs. If you hold firm now and the Magistrate agrees to it — then you come to the Governor’s side — that would be rather… awkward, wouldn’t it?”

Wang Heita said, “Master Lu, there’s no need for pleasantries between us. Let me speak even more plainly…”

He paused, as if choosing his words, then said, “When my sworn brother Song Feng and I took our oath, we both swore to Heaven that we would never harbor suspicion of each other, let alone turn on one another like kin. But he could survive hardship and not prosperity. Once he had some money in his hands, he acted like it was all his and no one else could have any.”

“He was afraid I’d take his wealth from him, so somehow his mind became clouded and he tried to kill me. I endured it once, but as it happened again and again, I finally took half his silver in a fit of rage and came to Jizhou City.”

He looked at Lu Jishui. “Do you understand?”

Lu Jishui thought to himself: understand what? What does your falling out with Song Feng have to do with your situation with the Magistrate or the Governor? You’ve been rambling on and this makes absolutely no sense.

But he kept smiling and said, “I’m not entirely sure what Brother Wang means.”

Wang Heita gave him a contemptuous look and said, “My point is: Song Feng tried to kill me countless times, and all I did was take half his silver. I never thought about killing him. The Magistrate took me in and showed me kindness. You think I’d betray him?”

He raised his hand and clapped it down on Lu Jishui’s shoulder — two solid blows that seemed to shrink the already small man by another inch or two.

“Go back and tell the Governor: Wang is grateful for his regard, but has no fortune worthy of receiving such a blessing. I am a stubborn man, a dense one. If the Magistrate himself tells me to go to the Governor’s side, I’ll go — but it has to come straight from his own mouth.”

Wang Heita turned and climbed back into the carriage, lifted the curtain and added one final word: “Wait until the Magistrate is out. Then come talk to me. Until then, don’t waste each other’s time.”

Lu Jishui’s face turned ugly. In his heart he thought: then you can just wait for death.

Up on the rooftop, Li Diudiu and Xiahou Zuo couldn’t make out what was being said below. They gave up trying to watch and turned their attention elsewhere. Tonight offered no opportunity anyway.

Li Diudiu suddenly noticed something rather interesting and pointed across the street. “That’s a pleasure house over there, isn’t it? Called Spring River. The one next to it is also a pleasure house — Summer Blossom Creek. And the one beside that is called Morning Dew River. Why do pleasure houses always like to use words like rivers and creeks in their names?”

Xiahou Zuo considered this gravely for a moment, then replied, “Probably… because there’s a lot of water.”

Li Diudiu truly did not understand.

But he sensed this was probably not a decent remark.

At that very moment, Li Diudiu watched as Wang Heita raised his head and cast a glance in their direction. Even inside the carriage, with the window being small, Li Diudiu still felt it.

He felt Wang Heita had looked over deliberately — as if to say: do you think hiding over there means I can’t see you?

“Very solid,” Li Diudiu murmured with a faint sigh.

—