The Emperor understood Xiao Jin — just as Xiao Jin understood the Emperor.

Several decades had passed like a dream, and even the reflection of flowers upon the water had, in some measure, carried a trace of truth.

A man already half-buried in the earth — a man who had spent an entire lifetime within these high walls and deep chambers of the palace — even if the plan had truly succeeded and he had become a master, how many days of happiness could he have expected to enjoy?

The sorrow and regret in the Emperor’s heart far outweighed his fury and resentment. He could see that Xiao Jin was determined to die, and said: “In honor of the bond between master and servant that we have shared, We will leave you with a final measure of dignity.”

A young, small palace attendant entered the chamber with trembling hands, carrying a tray.

Whatever the circumstances, it was impossible for the Emperor to spare Xiao Jin’s life — because Xiao Jin’s betrayal extended not only to himself, but to the entirety of the Great Qing, and the Emperor had no right to forgive this criminal on behalf of every subject in the realm.

Two cups of poisoned wine swayed with gentle ripples from the young attendant’s trembling hands. The gold-threaded red silk cloth set the blue-and-white porcelain cups aglow, like the exchange of cups on a wedding night.

Xiao Jin suddenly dropped to his knees. “Your Majesty…” His voice was filled with sorrow.

The Emperor turned and walked back up the dais to the imperial throne. He closed his eyes and said: “There is no need to plead. Drink it.”

This imperial palace was neither large nor small. A person standing entirely alone in it could not be bought by power or wealth — yet a solitary soul could be ensnared in the inner recesses of the deep palace.

Xiao Jin picked up one of the cups of poisoned wine, lightly clinked it against the other cup still resting on the tray — a wordless farewell — and drained it in a single swallow.

As the poison took effect, Xiao Jin did not struggle, did not groan. He simply curled quietly to the ground on his side and gradually grew still — his eyes, which had not closed, let fall two lines of turbid tears.

The Emperor kept his eyes closed throughout, unable to bring himself to watch.

After Xiao Jin had been carried away by the palace servants, the sound of fireworks suddenly erupted from outside the hall, exploding like thunderclaps in broad daylight. Listening carefully and distinguishing their origin, the sounds were coming from beyond the Meridian Gate.

These were signal cannons — it appeared the Southern Garrison Brocade-Garment Guard and the Divine Mechanism Battalion had captured all the rebels.

The Emperor sat on the imperial throne and looked outward through the hall’s great doors. His gaze extended past the golden bridges but was then blocked by a high wall. The several doors opening at the center of that high wall were like small rectangular holes punched into a copper panel.

The coup had been suppressed. The rebels and traitors had all been taken prisoner. The Forbidden City had returned to quiet. Yet the Emperor found he could not feel joy.

On this very day — the day of his birthday celebrations — he should have been seated in the Hall of Supreme Harmony, receiving the congratulatory memorials from the assembled officials, celebrating together with all under Heaven. But the reality was: the Empress with whom he had shared his bed had opened the Gate of Martial Valor to make way for the rebels; his second son had coveted the imperial throne and attempted to kill his elder brother and raise his hand against his own father; and the old palace attendant who had served him for several decades had conspired with a foreign people to lay their schemes — being deceived and manipulated all the way to his dying moment without ever knowing the full truth.

How could he find it in himself to feel joy?

The Emperor walked out of the imperial study, wishing to see the brilliant midday light within the palace grounds. As he moved through the halls, he discovered that the only thing closely following him was his own solitary shadow.

Meanwhile, Pei Shaohuai and Yan Chengzhao were still occupied with urgent matters — working to unearth the ultimate mastermind behind everything.

When they had been in Fujian, the two of them had walked into the opposing side’s trap and been outmaneuvered. This time, with ample evidence in hand, the opposing side’s agents lurking within the capital of the Great Qing had nowhere to flee.

With Wang Gaoxiang dead and Huang Qingxing captured, the “face” of the opposing side gradually became clearer: they were Jin people who had been embedded within the Great Qing dynasty as long-planted spies — a branch of the Jurchen Jin royal family bearing the surname Wanyan.

They had seized upon the early years of the Great Qing’s establishment to slip through the Shanhai Pass, calling themselves “Wang” and passing themselves off as a branch of the illustrious Wang clan of Langya, and had step by step risen to become a distinguished gentry family, extending their reach ever further.

If a capable legitimate son showed promise, the entire clan would pool its resources to send him into government service and help him climb to a high position. If a concubine-born son was obtained, the mother would be discarded while the child was kept — the child would then be abandoned to be raised by farming families, left to fend for himself, so that from infancy he would be filled with bitterness and venom.

On one hand, they were scheming and maneuvering in the capital, cultivating and nurturing their spies over the long term; on the other hand, they were propping up their chess pieces in various regions across the country, directing them to monopolize and accumulate wealth, amassing funds for the rebellion that was to come, and secretly rearing soldiers.

Wang Gaoxiang had been the head of the Crown Prince’s faction; Huang Qingxing had thrown in his lot with Prince Huai; and the opposing side’s ultimate objective was to overturn the entire Great Qing dynasty.

Such relentless resolve, with every step meticulously calculated — it sent a chill running straight down Pei Shaohuai’s spine. If his father had not gone to Taicang Prefecture as an official, if he had not discovered that the Zhenhai Guard was harboring bandits for its own benefit, and if Prince Chu’s forces had grown stronger with each passing day — would this day’s coup have added yet another player to its cast?

If the port of Quanzhou had been allowed to continue its monopoly and accumulation of wealth — by the time the Jin people had amassed a fortune worthy of ten thousand gold, the Great Qing’s treasury was reduced to barren emptiness — when that day came, would the Great Qing’s generals and soldiers have listened to whose orders? Would they have risen to fight, or would they have raised their hands and surrendered?

If the Little Ice Age had brought one long winter after another, with devastating harvests for the people of the north — if the court’s relief arrived too slowly — and if the Jin people had taken the opportunity to bestow small favors upon the people, would they have risen up to proclaim the Jin people as their rulers?

The policies the opposing side practiced were policies of keeping the people ignorant. Should this realm fall into their hands, one could well imagine what the common people would be made to suffer.

Pei Shaohuai and Yan Chengzhao arrived before the Wang family’s residence, which had already been surrounded on all sides by the Brocade-Garment Guards.

A thick and suffocating smell of lamp oil drifted outward, making it inadvisable for them to storm in by force — not out of fear of death, but out of concern for damaging vital evidence.

They pushed open the great gate and walked inside. In the main hall below, a large mat of animal felt had been spread on the floor, and upon it sat an elderly man, cross-legged.

The old man wore the Jin people’s conical peaked cap and was dressed in a straight-collared, narrow-sleeved robe. Even in the summer heat, he had not forgotten to layer over it his fox and mink fur coat, to display the noble standing of his Wanyan surname.

Strands of white hair lay scattered across the ground around him — one could infer that beneath the peaked cap, his hair had already been braided into the Jurchen style.

Surrounding him were stacked piles of miscellaneous objects, doused in lamp oil. At his feet burned a single small flame, flickering quietly — as if one slight kick would send it toppling into the oil-soaked surroundings.

Seeing the old man in this full display, Pei Shaohuai said: “It seems the mastermind behind all the scheming and strategizing has already calculated today’s outcome and made his preparations well in advance.”

He then asked: “Pei is curious — do you not care even slightly about whether your two sons live or die?”

“This branch of our clan exists for the purpose of carrying out the plan.” The old man had white eyebrows and a white beard, with a pair of narrow triangular eyes hard with wolfish malice. Without the slightest shift of emotion, he replied: “They may die. And I may die as well.”

“And to die in a losing hand — is there not even a trace of regret?” Pei Shaohuai asked.

“A losing hand? You believe this is a losing hand?” Pei Shaohuai’s words had clearly struck a raw nerve with the old man. He spoke with wild and arrogant pride, saying: “Pei Shaohuai — you are not the only clever person in this world. If I dared to mount this stage and play out the entire performance with you, it is because my Great Jin dynasty will not lose.”

“You may kill those two sons of mine. You may kill me. You may even kill every one of the thousands of sworn-to-death loyalists who infiltrated the palace. But can you change the reality of two princes locked in contention for the throne, and the disorder this has brought upon the court? Those officials who took part in the coup and raised Prince Huai as Emperor — does the court still dare to keep them and employ them? And it is not only them — among all the civil and military officials of the court, can you tell apart the genuinely loyal from the falsely loyal?” The old man said with satisfaction, “It is not as if arresting a few scapegoats means this coup has been fully accounted for. The matter is far from over.”

He was plainly very pleased with the board he had laid.

He then laughed loudly: “The more difficult choices are still ahead of you.”

With that, the old man delivered a kick to the lamp at his feet. The flame shot suddenly and violently upward. His face set with resolute determination, he waited to be consumed by the roaring fire — but at that moment, Yan Chengzhao leaped into the air, simultaneously unfastening his own cloak. With a single sweeping motion, he spread the cloak wide and brought it down over the fire, smothering the flames.

In matters of agility and swift response, who could match Yan, the chief commander of the Brocade-Garment Guard?

“The difficult choices you speak of — are you referring to whether to send troops to engage in battle or to fall back and hold the defensive line?” Pei Shaohuai asked. “You took great pains to lay this scheme. Would it not be a pity if you did not live to see with your own eyes the choice my Great Qing chooses to make?”

“Besides retreating to the auxiliary capital of Jinling, do you think Great Qing still has any other choice?” The old man struggled and shouted as Yan Chengzhao held him in restraint, “The northwestern frontier has the Tatar tribes rising in rebellion. Those brutes who know nothing but herding sheep and riding horses have already seen through Great Qing’s trade strategies. As long as the three great tribal groups unite their forces once more, I ask you — can Great Qing’s frontier garrison posts withstand wave upon wave of iron cavalry charging across ten thousand miles? And with that, will the garrison troops protecting the capital dare to refrain from marching to reinforce the northwestern frontier?”

If the three great tribal groups of the Tatars were to reunite, their combined strength would indeed be formidable and not to be taken lightly.

“A hundred mountain passes and rivers overgrown with grass, unrestrained — ten years of warfare had brought a shadow of darkness upon the capital region” — if war were to erupt on the northwestern frontier, the court would be compelled to dispatch additional troops to the northwest in order to prevent the iron cavalry from running rampant. Sending troops to the northwest would mean that provisions and supplies would be prioritized for the northwest, and the consequence would be that the defenders at the Shanhai Pass and around the capital would be greatly reduced in number, with a significant weakening of defensive strength.

The opposing side had worked to drive a wedge between the Great Qing and the Tatars’ tea-horse trade, and had spread rumors in the Qin and Jin regions to incite civil unrest — all in order to break apart the entire northwestern frontier. The more chaotic the northwestern frontier, the more advantageous it was for the Jin dynasty.

The old man was full of self-congratulation. The conical peaked cap atop his head tilted and fell away, revealing his Jurchen braids in their colored silks. He declared: “My Great Jin dynasty can at least reclaim the Sixteen Prefectures of You and Yun — and every inch of that ground is worth ten thousand gold. Can that be called a losing hand?”

The capital of the Great Qing was located in the ancient You Prefecture, and the city of Datong was the ancient Yun Prefecture — the Sixteen Prefectures of You and Yun referred to the region stretching from the capital to Datong in Shanxi, a region of critical strategic importance. It was not without reason that Great Qing had established its capital in “You Prefecture.” The founding Emperor had established the nine frontier garrison posts and built and reinforced the Great Wall with the specific purpose of holding the Sixteen Prefectures of You and Yun.

With the northwestern frontier embroiled in unrelenting warfare and the capital’s garrison forces depleted, Great Qing, for the sake of its own survival, would have no choice but to retreat to the auxiliary capital. The Jin people would then seize the opportunity to amass heavy forces in the northeast, attack and break through the Shanhai Pass, and with the pass breached, the entire northeast along with the Sixteen Prefectures of You and Yun would naturally pass into the hands of the Jin people.

The old man continued: “I advise everyone present not to waste any more time here with me. Go back into the palace and report the full truth to the Emperor — begin discussing the matter of retreating to the auxiliary capital without delay. If you move too slowly, I’m afraid you won’t even have the option of Jinling — you’ll have no choice but to fall back all the way to the old homeland of Fengyang.” With that, he burst into loud laughter, heavy with contempt.

Pei Shaohuai reflected that as he had suspected, the opposing side had not only joined forces with the Tatars to tie Great Qing down, but had also allied with the maritime raiders from the sea, intending to use them to stir up trouble along the southern borders.

Huang Qingxing’s base of operations had been in Jinling City — now that Prince Huai had been defeated, the rebel elements in Jinling City would be like a wasp’s nest that had been stabbed open, scattering and fleeing in every direction. The maritime raiders would come by sea and, taking advantage of the chaos, enter the city to burn, kill, plunder, and pillage — and ultimately occupy Jinling City.

“Pei Shaohuai — do you think you have captured the mastermind behind all of this?” The old man shook his head and said with provocation: “Your opponents are not limited to one person.”

Since the opposing side’s scheme was not far removed from what had been surmised earlier, this made things easier to deal with. Pei Shaohuai responded with a smile: “As it happens, Pei is also not alone.” He paused briefly, then continued, “You would do well to watch closely — Great Qing will not relocate its capital to the south, and the Jin troops will never be able to breach the Shanhai Pass.”

Yan Chengzhao then locked the old man in irons and had him shut inside the iron cage used to transport serious criminals.

Amid the thick and pervasive smell of lamp oil, the Brocade-Garment Guards conducted a meticulous, top-to-bottom search of the entire residence. Apart from the old man, all other members of the household had taken their own lives rather than surrender — only three or five maidservants and female servants, hiding in a cellar, had managed to escape the fate that had befallen the others.

Pei Shaohuai was unable to find any genealogical records of the “Wang family,” but in Wang Gaoxiang’s study he discovered a bundle of old letters. Drawing on what Wang Gaoxiang had said in his dying moments, Pei Shaohuai was able to piece together the general outline of the story.

After personally witnessing his father kill the concubine and cast out the illegitimate son he had fathered with her, Wang Gaoxiang had sworn that he would never take a concubine in his own life. Yet in his very first year in official service, he had fallen in love with a Han woman. He thought he could keep the matter hidden from his father, and secretly kept her as a private mistress, with whom he had a second son — but the secret came to light, the mistress was given poisoned wine, and the child in his swaddling clothes was, in keeping with family rules, cast out to be raised by farming families.

Pei Shaohuai had little interest in this sorrowful tale as such — except that when he came to the last letter Wang Gaoxiang had written to his mistress, he was brought to a sudden halt, unable to recover his composure for a long while.

The letter recorded where the child had been abandoned — and which family had taken him in.

“Ai Wan — this farming couple regards Zhi as if he were their own flesh and blood. They have not even let him know that he is adopted. You may rest in peace in the world beyond…”