The year’s end was drawing near, and this year would soon be over.

After the heavy snow came the deep cold of winter. Once the snow stopped, the north wind began again in Bijiang. It blew in through the pass at Sanmu Gate, sighing from daylight all the way through to midnight.

Magistrate Sun’s compound had been built with great care — the northern walls were several cun thicker than the southern ones, and in winter the cold wind could not penetrate so much as a crack. Yet Xiao Nanhui often woke in the middle of the night still believing she was out in the wilderness surrounded by howling wild dogs, and it would only be after she got up to light the lamp that she came back to herself — then she would sit alone by the window until dawn.

Her wounds healed quickly. Within a few days she was able to move about freely, and she had thought on several occasions of setting out at once on horseback to rejoin Xiao Zhun in Bijiang — but for one thing, Suibei’s camp kept relocating, and it was likely that the moment she found them based on a military dispatch, they would have already moved on. For another, she now held a legitimate official post. Upon returning to camp she would be in command of three divisions of troops by regulation, and was no longer the small, lowly squad leader she had once been who could come and go as she pleased. Without a suitable pretext, she had no grounds to act on her own initiative.

Then there was a third matter: the Emperor had used the excuse of recuperation to excuse her temporarily from returning to camp, but had assigned her two personal guards, stating it was required by regulation and could not be refused. She was accustomed to going her own way — and at most she could tolerate a Bolao who was always darting about and disappearing — but having those two fixed to her side staring at her all day long was genuinely awkward.

What was more, she was not certain it was her imagination, but she always felt that while those two were nominally her close guards, they were in reality the Emperor’s eyes and ears.

But what could the Emperor want to watch her for? She had never been someone worth spending that kind of attention on.

She turned this over without finding any answer, and she did not dare dismiss them openly. She simply found an opportunity to hand them over to Wu Xiaoliu to “deal with.” “Dealing with” meant only finding them something to do — at the very least, that they not spend the whole day staring at her. After all, she was not afraid of those two men; she was afraid of the man who had sent them.

After returning from the so-called council hall that day, she had made a point of watching for developments in the surrounding area. She did not miss any of the important military dispatches, and even — quite out of the ordinary — received a verbal message from Lu Songping, relayed along with the military report.

The message told her that Mo Chunhua was safe and well, and she felt relieved, though also felt it was what she had expected. In the predawn hours of the day of the First Snow, she had solemnly entrusted Lu Songping to look after Mo Chunhua’s life through the coming chaos. She did not have the shrewd and agile mind of a civil official. She tended to size people up through sparring and exchanging blows. Lu Songping was naturally subtle and meticulous — devious, perhaps, but not necessarily unworthy of a grave trust.

If there was a single person in the world who could have protected Mo Chunhua through that chaos, she believed it was certainly him. At times she felt there was some likeness between Mo Chunhua and herself. They were not precious or delicate blooms — but whatever soil either of them was cast onto, they would put down roots and grow. And because of this resemblance she felt a deep closeness to her, though she did not know whether they would have the chance to meet again.

Lu Songping had apparently not said much in the letter — perhaps because he had taken note of her proximity to the Emperor. But she felt that some things were separate matters, and when she returned to Quecheng she ought perhaps to send a gift of thanks in the name of the Marquis Mansion. Of course, this time she absolutely could not let Dujuan handle it.

Victory reports came flowing into Xiao Nanhui’s ears one after another. Among them were many familiar place names that she herself had once mapped and drawn into charts with her own hands.

On the coldest day after winter set in, she heard the military report announce: of Bai Heliu’s seven sons, six had now been confirmed killed in battle. The youngest, barely six years old, had been caught along with his wet nurse while trying to flee and was now being held in the prisoner camp.

The Emperor’s reaction to this was entirely cold. He only instructed that the boy be properly looked after, without a single word about what was to be done with him.

Indeed, aside from those moments of exhaustive calculation and sharp perception when commanding troops in the field, those around the Emperor could detect almost no sign of personal concern in him — and no joy, either, for this great victory.

In the past, Xiao Nanhui would have found this rather puzzling. But having spent some time in that man’s company now, she actually felt the Emperor’s state of mind was not so difficult to read. Recovering Bijiang was perhaps simply something he was required to do — not so different from the day he had ventured deep into the north with only a single guard, following just a few faint clues to the secret seal.

The heart of an emperor, in many ways, was the same as the heart of the realm.

For Tiancheng, the recovery of Bijiang was only a matter of the inevitable shifting of power — something that would have happened sooner or later. But for the people of Bijiang among whom she had once lived, it meant that their entire world had changed.

Her feelings were complicated — but what she felt more than anything was relief and joy that a great matter had at last reached resolution.

In a certain sense, she had confidence in the Emperor. He had the ability to recover the lost southwest, and the ability to make it better.

She had already begun to imagine what the Qinghuai Marquis Mansion would look like, once the fighting was truly over.

Xiao Zhun held no attachment to power and had long since grown weary of the killing. Once the matter of the family’s massacre was resolved, he could ask the Emperor for permission to retire. He would likely have to relinquish the title of Qinghuai Marquis — and the monthly stipend allotted by regulation would naturally be greatly reduced. But none of that mattered. What mattered was that Xiao Zhun should be happy.

She had already decided: if they stayed in Quecheng, she could look into a quiet post in the Guangyao Camp — the salary would be modest, but with the Marquis Mansion courtyard to call home, there would be enough to eat and drink. If they followed Xiao Zhun back to his mother’s hometown, she would resign her commission entirely and find work with a caravan escort agency — enough to support the few of them. Whatever remained each month could all go to Dujuan, to hire a few more servants and maids so that Dujuan too could live without worry. Uncle Chen’s legs had been getting worse with every passing year — now was a good time for him to return to his hometown and live out his days in peace.

These plans ran through her mind every single day, by now so well-worn she could have staged them as a play.

She would occasionally mention them to Bolao, who would always respond by digging a finger in his ear and affecting an air of complete indifference.

Early one morning, after waking from another dream unable to fall back asleep, she shook off the guards assigned to “watch” her in her usual manner and pulled Bolao along to climb the steep cliffs of Sanmu Gate to let the wind blow through them.

The sky had not yet brightened, and there was nothing around them but the sound of the wind. She chatted with Bolao in a desultory sort of way, and before long was speaking again about the future — but Bolao, out of character, began to look displeased.

“Xiao Nanhui, why is there no place for this young lord of mine in your grand plans for the future?”

She paused, genuinely seeming never to have considered this, and answered instinctively: “Don’t you always follow me around? Naturally that will continue.”

Bolao pouted, apparently having waited exactly for this reply: “That’s not necessarily true. When the Marquis originally assigned me to you, wasn’t it because he was afraid that someday he might not be able to protect you himself? Looking at things now, that fear was excessive. When the time comes I’ll go ask him — maybe he’ll release me from our contract with you. And then, with open skies and wide waters, and with a bit of silver in my pocket—”

As he spoke he couldn’t help grinning, just about to let out a foolish laugh — when a smack landed on his head without warning. He looked up in fury and found himself staring directly into Xiao Nanhui’s expressionless face.

“Isn’t it said that the An Dao Academy is a house of devoted loyalty, that they serve but one master in this lifetime? Or are you looking to challenge Xie Li, take the head of the Academy, and rewrite the rules?”

Bolao glared furiously at her, gnashed his teeth, flailed his limbs threateningly for a moment, and finally threw out a parting shot: “When I see the Marquis, I’m absolutely going to report you!”

Now it was Xiao Nanhui’s turn to dig a finger in her ear: “Go ahead. We’re both charity cases in the end — at worst we both get thrown out to sleep on the streets. You think I’m scared of you?”

These words she spoke with such shameless ferocity, without leaving herself even a shred of dignity, that Bolao found himself with nothing to say in return.

Xiao Nanhui’s lips curled up, pleased with herself.

Had she spent all that time with the Emperor for nothing?

Hah — so it turned out that talking really was something of an art, that one could make someone eat their words without lifting a hand or drawing a blade. What a satisfying feeling.

She was floating along in this self-congratulation when her ears suddenly caught a sound. She opened her eyes and saw a small column of black horsemen filing out from the direction of Magistrate Sun’s compound, moving toward the exit to the southwest out of the valley.

“Hmm, isn’t that—” The sky was still too dark; she suspected her eyes were playing tricks. She flipped over and landed in a closer spot, confirming what she had just seen. “Isn’t that the Emperor’s carriage?”

In a marching army there were rarely carriages — only supply carts — so that black carriage with its distinctive style and appearance was very recognizable. But what was most telling was that Ding Weixiang was riding alongside it.

“Where is the Emperor rushing off to in such a hurry? Going out in person — has something major happened?”

Bolao glanced at it, his tone still carrying traces of the earlier displeasure: “In all likelihood there’s news of Bai Heliu.”

Bai Heliu? That she hadn’t quite expected.

But to make the Emperor go himself — that was the only possibility.

“It seems this war is truly coming to an end.” Xiao Nanhui wiped Ping Xian by habit, still with a somewhat unreal feeling.

“Isn’t a swift resolution better? If it dragged on for three to five years, that would be the real disaster.”

Of course it was better. Those who had never set foot on a battlefield would never know how terrible a thing war was — but she had known since she was a teenager.

Now it seemed everything was going to come to a smooth and successful end — and she ought to be glad.

Yet for some reason she kept feeling a vague unease she could not shake. She did not know if it was because she had been waking from dreams night after night lately, or whether it was the unease that was causing the nightly dreams.

As if in response to her worry, the next instant she saw yet another group of horsemen riding swiftly out from the direction of the military camp beyond Magistrate Sun’s compound.

Thunder-like hoofbeats rolled through the mountain valley, signaling a cavalry unit of at least several hundred.

Her heart clenched, and she strained to make out who was at the head of the column.

The cavalry moved fast, flashing by at the base of the cliff in an instant. She suspected her eyes were tricking her — but Bolao beside her seemed entirely certain.

“Isn’t that Su Pingchuan? I could pick out that hateful wretch’s face from ten thousand miles away.”

In an instant, the cavalry reached the fork in the road where she had once been hunted by Ke Sang, and without pause turned toward the depths of Bijiang.

That was the direction of the Bijiang battlefield — but since Tiancheng had broken through Sanmu Gate and pushed deep into enemy territory, the strategy had moved away from using small-scale units for mopping-up operations in order to prevent the enemy from exploiting terrain advantages in localized engagements. Once they struck, it was typically with forces of ten thousand or more.

Her mind rapidly sifted through every dispatch large and small from the last few days, and still she could not determine what Su Pingchuan was actually up to.

Based on what she knew of Bijiang, the local people were extraordinarily skilled at using the terrain. Even an ordinary village, if they had made preparations and laid ambushes, could wipe out a thousand well-trained soldiers in a single engagement.

Su Pingchuan had stumbled once before. How was he still acting this way?

The more she thought about it, the more unsettled she felt.

“I have to go after them and see.”

Bolao gave her a sideways look. “You’re not afraid of the Emperor giving you trouble?”

She almost blurted out: He just left, didn’t he? But the words made it to her lips and she stopped them there.

Somehow she didn’t feel quite willing to admit, even to herself, the degree to which she was wary of the Emperor. He hadn’t expressly forbidden her from going out — but she inexplicably felt that if she acted unilaterally, she would be overcome by a guilt she couldn’t quite name or explain.

“So much nonsense. I’ll go by myself.”

Xiao Nanhui said this, picked up Ping Xian, and turned to leave — but Bolao had already patted himself off and gotten to his feet.

“I only said one thing. What’s the hurry? Sitting around here these past few days has made my bones ache — this is the perfect chance to stretch them.”