Seven days later.

It was still Denglam County — the very county that had been ravaged by the man Yang Xuanji had sent. Zhuge Jingzhan was right here in this county, and one had to admit, his nerve was truly extraordinary.

Even after that time he had nearly been killed in a single strike by Master Wu, when he had turned and fled in terror, he still dared to appear in Denglam County a third time — and was lodging right in a farmer’s home in one of the villages.

This was the most remote village in Denglam County, perched on a hillside, where villagers rarely ever encountered outsiders.

The people here were simple and honest by nature, especially in a village as relatively isolated as this one. Choosing to hide here was actually quite a clever move.

And Zhuge Jingzhan’s even cleverer move was this: he had come to collect goods.

Silkworm cocoons, raw silk, finished and half-finished bolts of fabric — he wanted all of it. Beyond that, he would also buy old items from any household, things like crocks and bowls that had been passed down through generations.

Quite a few people in the village raised silkworms and spun thread, and his prices were fair, so he was warmly welcomed by the villagers.

He was lodging in the home of an elderly widow living alone, and every day his men would help the old man chop firewood and haul water.

Everyone in the village said this traveling merchant who had come to town had a good heart. He had only been in the village for about ten days, and he had already earned himself quite a reputation.

Cheng Feifan, who had earlier led a group disguised as Tingwei soldiers, came back from outside and glanced over at Master Zhuge, who was in the courtyard chatting leisurely with the old man. He thought to himself that sitting there day after day, making a show of chatting with that completely ignorant, rough-spoken old country bumpkin — what was the point of that?

Zhuge Jingzhan looked back, saw Cheng Feifan coming through the gate, and rose to his feet, telling the old man that he needed to go attend to some business matters. The old man hurriedly stood and nodded repeatedly.

At the gate, Zhuge Jingzhan asked: “Any news?”

Cheng Feifan said: “Things are very bad. The World’s Fourth has died. Fu Baiyu is dead too.”

The color drained instantly from Zhuge Jingzhan’s face.

He found it hard to believe there was anyone in this world who could kill the World’s Fourth.

“How did he die?”

Zhuge Jingzhan immediately pressed for details.

Cheng Feifan replied: “Word is that Prince Ning Li Chi mobilized nearly ten thousand Ning Army combat soldiers to seal off the city, and also deployed several hundred crossbow carriages, and simply blasted the World’s Fourth into a pulp of flesh.”

As he said this, his tone carried a hint of gloating that he had tried but failed to fully conceal.

The death of the World’s Fourth was not exactly bad news for any of Yang Xuanji’s retainers.

The World’s Fourth had been far too vicious and overbearing. Within Yang Xuanji’s manor, who would dare not greet him with a deep, respectful bow?

If you were even a moment too slow, he would smile at you with a warm and gentle expression — a smile that made your scalp crawl.

So Cheng Feifan felt not the slightest grief over the World’s Fourth’s death. If he had to name a feeling, it was a kind of fear.

In the earlier days, their operations throughout Yuzhou’s counties and prefectures had gone far too smoothly, to the point where everyone started to feel they could be even more brazen and reckless.

But now, even the World’s Fourth and Fu Baiyu were dead, and quite a few of Yang Xuanji’s informants inside Yuzhou City had been rooted out. If they didn’t leave soon, something truly disastrous might happen.

After Cheng Feifan finished recounting what had happened, Zhuge Jingzhan’s expression became hesitant.

He knew it was time to leave, but going like this — it was hard to accept.

Before he had come, he had made grand promises before Yang Xuanji, saying he could force Tang Pidi to split his forces and pull back, and even if he couldn’t manage that, at least he could leave Tang Pidi short of grain supplies come summer.

Now, he had accomplished neither.

True, they had burned down a few granaries earlier, but those were just the grain reserves stored in county towns — there hadn’t been much there to begin with.

The supply of military grain didn’t even depend on the small reserves kept by local counties. If it ever truly came to the point of requisitioning grain from the local counties, what would be the need of bringing men to take that risk?

That would only mean Tang Pidi had already run desperately low on military provisions — in which case simply waiting him out would suffice.

“Master Zhuge.”

Cheng Feifan counseled him: “It really is time to go back. Right now we have no way of knowing how many people inside Yuzhou City were captured alive, no way of knowing what they know, or how many will crack under brutal interrogation. If we don’t leave soon, the Tingwei soldiers are very likely to find us.”

Zhuge Jingzhan gave a small nod. “I know. Go rest for now. Give me a moment to think things through — let me see if there’s anything else we can do before we head back.”

Cheng Feifan bowed his head. “As you command.”

Zhuge Jingzhan walked out through the gate alone and stood gazing at the distant fields, where villagers were busy at work. This pastoral scene truly had a way of settling the mind into something quiet and simple.

If it weren’t for the great ambitions burning in his heart, retreating to a small mountain village like this might not be such a bad life.

Zhuge Jingzhan drew a deep breath and walked to the edge of a field berm and sat down.

The air carried the distinctive smell of open country — a bit damp, a bit earthy, with threads of grass fragrance woven through it.

The World’s Fourth is dead…

He thought: if he went back having accomplished nothing of significance, Yang Xuanji would certainly erupt in fury over the World’s Fourth’s death.

The World’s Fourth had not been a likeable person — in truth, Yang Xuanji almost certainly hadn’t liked him either. But he had been useful.

He had been someone capable of turning the tide at a critical moment. For him to simply die like that was far too great a waste.

But what kind of great deed would it take to satisfy Yang Xuanji, to make this journey worthwhile?

Zhuge Jingzhan’s gaze drifted out again to the distant fields, where the farmers were toiling with sweat pouring from their brows. The sight made him oddly envious.

These people worked hard for a simple meal. Their expectations of life were so low that satisfaction came easily.

He was different…

Yang Xuanji had to become Emperor. And he — he had to become the kind of paramount minister whose name would be written in bold strokes across the history books.

Suddenly, as Zhuge Jingzhan watched those farmers hauling water, something occurred to him. His eyes lit up briefly.

He sat there and carefully turned the thought over again from the beginning, examining it thoroughly, and concluded that it was viable — more than viable, in fact.

So he rose to his feet and strode quickly back into the courtyard. He looked at Cheng Feifan and gave him an order: “We must split up and act separately now.”

Cheng Feifan said: “Has Master thought of something for us to do?”

Zhuge Jingzhan smiled and said: “There is one thing that, if done right, could tip the balance of the entire situation.”

Cheng Feifan immediately asked: “What is it?”

Zhuge Jingzhan shook his head. “I can’t tell you for now. You don’t need to go with me to do it either. You need to help me divert Prince Ning’s people’s attention.”

Cheng Feifan cursed inwardly, but naturally he didn’t dare let any of his displeasure show on his face. He was well aware of the weight Zhuge Jingzhan carried in the Mandate King’s heart — a wandering swordsman like himself couldn’t compare.

Zhuge Jingzhan gave his instructions: “Take a group of men and go make some trouble somewhere — anywhere will do.”

Cheng Feifan’s brow creased slightly. He was thinking: could it be that Master Zhuge hadn’t actually thought of anything at all, and was simply trying to send him off to draw away Prince Ning’s men?

Under these circumstances, he was not above entertaining the most cynical thoughts about one of his own side.

Yet Zhuge Jingzhan seemed not to notice the subtle shifts in his mood at all, and continued smiling as he said: “Find a place to draw the Tingwei Army’s attention, then head straight south and go home. Don’t worry about me.”

These words left Cheng Feifan momentarily stunned.

“Master, if I leave too, there will be no one of any skill left to protect you. That’s not right.”

“It’s fine. What I need to do requires no great fighters. As for my own safety — I have a clever scheme for slipping away.”

Zhuge Jingzhan asked: “How many people do we still have around us?”

Cheng Feifan said: “Most of the people scattered around the area are still out there. Around three hundred or so are with us here.”

Zhuge Jingzhan said: “I only need thirty men. Take the rest with you. I intend to gather up our scattered people along the way as I go, while you simply draw off the Tingwei Army.”

With that, he turned and headed toward the house, looking every bit like a man with a well-laid plan.

About an hour later, Zhuge Jingzhan had gathered his things and set off, taking thirty guards with him.

Most of the three hundred or so men they had with them were hiding outside the village, not daring to reveal their numbers in front of the villagers.

The villagers here might be simple folk cut off from the outside world, but they were not fools.

A merchant caravan — how could it possibly need hundreds of heavily armed guards?

Zhuge Jingzhan had given instructions that Cheng Feifan should wait until the day after he left before departing, clearly to keep too many people from knowing which direction he had gone.

Cheng Feifan cursed the old fox under his breath, and sat to one side, brooding, kicking away the dirty little cat that wandered in front of him.

The cat let out a miserable cry and startled the old man of the house. The old man looked over at that person, and felt that there was something in his eyes that frightened him.

Early the next morning, Cheng Feifan had his men pack up and prepare to leave.

After rising, he moved around in the courtyard for a while. Morning in the mountains brought fog easily, and through the hazy mist he could dimly make out farmers heading early to the fields. Birdsong drifted past his ears — it was like another world.

Cheng Feifan called back to the others to be quick about it, then started walking toward the gate.

Just before he reached the gate, he saw the distant fog shift in a way that set off an inexplicable twinge of alarm in his heart.

A moment later, a young page boy who looked to be about fifteen or sixteen years old, leading an old horse, came slowly walking out of the fog.

On the old horse sat a middle-aged man. By his clothes and bearing, he seemed to be a learned scholar.

Cheng Feifan had no time for men like this — the kind who had a bit of learning and used it to look down on everyone, who liked to wander into wild mountains and countryside, calling it “entrusting oneself to the mountains and rivers” and “finding expression in pastoral life.”

“Excuse me.”

The young page boy, who was strikingly delicate and handsome in appearance, walked up to the gate and politely addressed Cheng Feifan.

He asked: “Sir, are you bad people?”

Cheng Feifan was taken aback.

He looked the two strange figures over carefully again, and a sense of wariness instinctively rose within him.

He looked at the young page boy and asked: “Are you looking for some bad people?”

The page boy nodded. “We’ve been looking for a long time.”

Cheng Feifan asked: “Have you found them?”

The page boy said: “If you are bad people, then we have.”

Cheng Feifan narrowed his eyes. “And if we’re not?”

The page boy said: “If you’re not bad people… then you’re lying.”

Cheng Feifan let out a snort, stepping back while pointing at the two strange figures: “Move quickly.”

The men behind him ripped open their bundles and drew out their weapons one after another.

The page boy looked up at the middle-aged man on horseback and carefully asked: “Master, can I go hide now?”

The middle-aged man gave a small nod. “Watch the horse. Don’t let it get spooked.”

The page boy said: “Master is not worried about frightening *me*, it seems…”

The middle-aged man dismounted from the horse, walking forward as he spoke: “No need to put on an act. You won’t have to do anything anyway.”

The page boy gave a small chuckle, led the old horse back, and quickly vanished again into the thick rolling fog.

—