The clear moonlight cascaded down along the darkened eaves, spreading across the empty courtyard. In the depths of the night, a thin, pale mist drifted and floated like a layer of moving snow, scattered through the silent dark.

On this New Year’s Day — a night that should have seen the whole family gathered together in warmth and celebration, with lanterns bright and cheerful — the Han Manor in the Northern Capital was instead shrouded in an atmosphere of grief and desolation.

A figure in deep blue stumbled out of the study in a daze, then stopped beneath the moonlit eaves and stood motionless, staring blankly at the simple coffin that had been placed in the center of the courtyard.

One by one, like stones dropping into water, the guards — still clad in their battle armor, faces drawn with exhaustion — fell to their knees across the courtyard.

The lead guard pressed his forehead to the ground and cried out in anguish: “Master Han, your subordinates deserve ten thousand deaths!”

The sound of his voice, hovering between a cry and not quite a cry, echoed through the courtyard.

One sound, and then — silence.

Countless foreheads struck the ground, trembling with fear, not one of them daring to lift their heads. After an unknowable stretch of time, faint footsteps finally came from ahead.

Han Fengnian walked on leaden feet, slowly making his way to the coffin of his youngest brother.

His youngest brother’s face — rigid, ashen and white — shattered the last of the hope he had been holding onto. The strength drained entirely from Han Fengnian’s body. He gripped the edge of the coffin and sank down in a half-fall, half-collapse.

He looked at the blackening knife wound on his younger brother’s face and said in a hoarse voice: “……Who did this?”

The lead guard recounted everything that had happened in the course of that chance encounter along the road during the rain — holding back nothing, leaving out nothing.

“……The Second Young Master led twenty men to pursue the three brothers ahead of the group, but by the time your subordinates arrived with the carriage convoy, the Second Young Master had already…… stopped breathing.” The lead guard said mournfully. “Your subordinate dispatched men to Bainiu County, and they have since reported back that no group of three brothers matching the description exists there. In order to allow the Second Young Master to be laid to rest as soon as possible, your subordinate brought a portion of the men back to the Northern Capital along with the Second Young Master’s coffin. The remaining brothers have continued investigating leads and pursuing the perpetrators.”

The lead guard bowed himself to the ground and said in a trembling voice: “Your subordinate is willing to accept death as punishment — please, Master, show mercy to the rest of the brothers!”

“……This was his own doing. You gave your counsel; he chose to press on regardless.” Han Fengnian spoke like a man barely recovered from a grave illness, his voice threadlike and faint. “……It is not your fault.”

“Master——” The lead guard, overcome with shame and gratitude, bowed himself to the ground once more, tears streaming down his face.

“Though Yue’er was spoiled and willful, he was never a person who acted without reason.” Han Fengnian looked at his younger brother’s pale, cold body and said quietly: “Those three men and one woman must have something unusual about them.”

The lead guard strained to recall the events of that evening and added: “Although the Second Young Master invited those three brothers to drink with him, he seemed to pay considerably more attention to the woman.”

“Have the wanted posters been drawn?”

“Please take a look, Master.” The lead guard reached into his robe and drew out four wanted posters, then rose and presented them with a bow.

Four wanted posters — three men, each with distinguishing features: one wearing a distinctive robe with a linked-pearl paired-duck pattern at the collar, one standing nine feet tall, one with red pockmarks on his face. As for the woman, the portrait showed two eyes and a mouth, and beyond conveying that she was of excellent appearance, offered no features of particular use in the search.

Han Fengnian looked at them briefly, committed the faces to memory, and let the posters hang at his side.

“Who are the survivors from the battle?” Han Fengnian asked.

With a single look from the lead guard, three guards crept forward on trembling knees.

“Before and during the battle — did the Second Young Master say anything unusual?” Han Fengnian said.

The three men glanced at one another. After a long moment, one of them said: “There was a line, I believe…… The eldest of the three brothers asked the Second Young Master why he wanted to kill him, and the Second Young Master said…… that if you had to blame someone, you could only blame him for marrying the wrong person.”

The other two offered no disagreement and nodded their confirmation.

“Anything else?” Han Fengnian asked.

The three men thought and thought, then shook their heads with blank expressions.

“Good.” Han Fengnian said slowly. “You betrayed and abandoned your master — you may end this yourselves, before Yue’er.”

The air went utterly still.

The three guards took a moment to process his words. One immediately went limp all over. One threw himself to the ground at once, kowtowing and weeping and begging for mercy. The last one’s face drained of all color as he stared toward the coffin.

“……In doing so, I will spare the lives of your families.” Han Fengnian said calmly.

A moment later, the ashen-faced guard drew the long sword at his waist and slowly brought it to rest across his own throat.

“Master!” The lead guard’s eyes were filled with tears.

Han Fengnian’s face remained still and unmoved, his gaze resting quietly on the only blood kin of the same mother lying in the coffin.

The sword turned. Blood shot out like an arrow.

In the full wash of moonlight, as clear and still as water, a line of red appeared across the pale stone ground.

Han Fengnian’s expression did not change.

The sobbing ceased. The remaining two guards, hands trembling, brought their blades to their own throats.

More lines of red appeared across the ground — and before long, they were all swallowed into the spreading pool of blood.

The lead guard pressed his head to the ground once more, and tears of anguish fell, merging into the slowly spreading crimson below.

“Master, these three have now met their end — please, Master, spare their families as promised.”

“Give their families a sum of silver and see them out of the Northern Capital.” Han Fengnian said.

“Many thanks, Master!” The lead guard’s face was awash with gratitude.

Han Fengnian let out a long sigh and said: “The rest of you may withdraw — send Zichang in.”

The guards carried out the three bodies and withdrew as one.

The courtyard was left with only the silent Han Fengnian and an equally silent corpse.

He looked at his youngest brother — stripped now of all his arrogance and imperious bluster — and said softly: “Yue’er, in the end, you brought this on yourself…… Rest easy now. This debt of blood — your elder brother will repay it for you.”

A man in a long robe of ink-grey water silk hurried into the courtyard, bowed in greeting, and knelt before Han Fengnian, his gaze sweeping briefly over the coffin.

“Brother Han, please accept my condolences……” he said in a voice of grief.

Han Fengnian waved his hand and used the coffin to push himself to his feet. Ji Zichang quickly rose to support him.

“Zichang — is the envoy from Xiangzhou still in the manor?” Han Fengnian said.

“He is. Just today he came again to sound me out, wanting to know when he might be granted an audience with Brother Han.” Ji Zichang said. “From the urgency in his manner, it is clear the Prefect of Xiangzhou is truly at a dead end.”

“Tomorrow, find some pretext and send him back.” Han Fengnian’s expression turned cold. “My younger brother died a violent death within the bounds of Xiangzhou — and Fan Wei still expects to borrow grain from my Northern Capital? What a fantasy.”

“As you command.” Ji Zichang replied with deference. “As for General Chunyu……”

“I will persuade the General myself.” Han Fengnian said. “Once a popular uprising breaks out in Xiangyang, the General can hold up his commander’s pennant and take Xiangzhou in a manner that is fully justified and above reproach.”

“Brother Han’s brilliance is peerless.” Ji Zichang bowed with clasped hands.

“If I recall correctly — before you came out to serve, you had the fortune of studying under a great master of the yin-yang arts?”

Ji Zichang shook his head: “To my shame, although I trained under my master for eight full years, I remain only barely versed in the surface of the yin-yang and five-elements doctrines.”

“That is enough.” Han Fengnian gave him a pat on the shoulder. “The matter of choosing a resting place for Yue’er’s spirit, and the various funeral arrangements thereafter — could I trouble my worthy brother to oversee it all?”

“That Brother Han would entrust this to me — Zichang will not fail the commission!” Ji Zichang bowed at once until his hands touched the ground.

“It is New Year’s Day — Zichang need not linger here. Go home early and be with your family.”

“But……” Ji Zichang looked toward the coffin on the ground.

“It is of no matter.” Han Fengnian revealed a bleak and wan smile. “I have been too occupied with official affairs on ordinary days to look after Yue’er as I should have. Tonight — let me stay by his side.”

Ji Zichang opened his mouth as though to speak, then in the end let out a long sigh, bowed, and took his leave.

Han Fengnian looked at his youngest brother in the coffin — the face now rigid and unfamiliar — and said quietly: “Come.”

“……Master.”

A figure who had been almost entirely absorbed into the shadows stepped silently out, kneeling on one knee before Han Fengnian.

“Qianli, this debt of blood cannot go unanswered.” Han Fengnian murmured as though speaking to himself. “The families of those three — once they have left the Northern Capital, see them on their way.”

“Your subordinate receives the order.” Zhou Qianli bowed his head and accepted without a flicker of expression.

“Take this with you.” Han Fengnian held out the four wanted posters he had been clutching, and passed them to him. “Whoever took Yue’er’s life — bring me that person’s head.”

“As commanded.”

The four wanted posters disappeared from Han Fengnian’s hand.

A moment later, the courtyard held only his shadow once more.

Great Yan welcomed its darkest New Year’s month — and the long, long night had only just begun.

A thousand miles from the Northern Capital, people were enduring a brutal snowstorm.

Snow had buried the ground, and with it had been buried the last of the hope within the hearts of people long ravaged by famine.

Wild greens were gone. The rivers had frozen. Birds and beasts had retreated deep into the forests. Beyond gnawing tree bark and swallowing mouthfuls of mud, there seemed to be nothing left that could pass the lips.

Once, a wild fruit falling to the ground would not have attracted a single glance; now, people were willing to risk their very lives and come to blows over a single wild fruit.

When survival itself became a luxury too great to fulfill, human life — was worth less than a blade of grass.

At the foot of a mountain on the border between Shouzhou and Luzhou, a campfire blazed steadily inside a sheltered cave.

Fine flakes of snow drifted down like jade dust, wrapping the dense trees in a coat of silver.

Li Wu’s brow was furrowed deeply as he counted and re-counted their remaining provisions.

They were stretched perilously thin.

No matter how carefully they rationed, there was no way to make it to the border of Luzhou.

And beyond Luzhou, there was still a vast Xuanzhou to cross before reaching Huzhou. Xuanzhou bordered Huzhou, and the food shortage there might well have eased considerably, but before that, they would need enough food to sustain them until they entered Xuanzhou.

Two fist-sized steamed buns. That was all they had left.

All the grain shops they had passed on the road were shuttered tight. Rice prices had reached an astronomical figure, and even at those prices there was no stock to be had — even with silver coins in your pocket, you could not find a single person willing to sell you a ladle of rice.

“They’re back!” Shen Zhuxi cried out with delight, her shoulders hunched against the cold, still stubbornly keeping her vigil at the cave entrance.

Li Wu quickly wrapped up the buns again, settled back against the cave wall, and feigned a casual air: “Oh, is that so.”

Li Kun and Li Que walked in, shaking the snow from their coats.

“……Well?” Shen Zhuxi looked at the two of them with eager expectation.

Li Que shook his head, his expression downcast.

“No luck — the households in the village have no stores left themselves, they won’t sell no matter how much you offer.”

The brightness in Shen Zhuxi’s eyes dimmed as well.

“You haven’t asked me yet!” Li Kun said with enthusiasm.

Even Li Que had come back with nothing — what could you expect from Li Kun? Neither Li Wu nor Li Que paid his words much mind, but Shen Zhuxi pulled herself together, smiled, and asked: “Did you buy something to eat?”

“No.” Li Kun shook his head, but immediately followed it with: “I found something!”

He held up the fist he had been clutching at his side and, his face filled with pride, spread his palm open for Shen Zhuxi to see.

Nestled in Li Kun’s palm were two fuzzy little chestnuts. “I picked them up from the snow!”

Shen Zhuxi smiled: “Diao did wonderfully.”

Li Kun broke into a gleeful grin.

Night fell quickly. A wind laced with fine snow howled outside the cave, causing even the flames inside to flutter and flicker. The dry firewood occasionally sent a spark shooting out, which winked out almost instantly against the cold earthen floor.

Li Wu took out one of the buns, divided it into four equal portions in full view of everyone, and handed them out one by one. The final quarter, he broke again into halves — keeping only one half for himself and distributing the other half equally between Li Kun and Li Que.

Li Kun accepted without hesitation. Li Que looked at it for a long moment, as though lost in thought, and in the end accepted his as well.

Li Wu looked toward Shen Zhuxi, and she quickly said: “I’m not hungry — this is plenty for me.”

He did not press her, and leaned back against the cave wall, slowly eating the pitifully small piece of bun.

Shen Zhuxi quietly broke her own quarter of the bun in half and tucked one half into her pouch.

Li Kun had finished his piece of bun in two bites and carefully picked up every crumb that had fallen to the ground and ate those too. Under ordinary circumstances, Shen Zhuxi would have scolded him for it — but now, she and the others looked on in silence as Li Kun gleaned the last scraps from the floor.

After sweeping the ground clean of every last crumb, Li Kun clenched his fist and, with bare hands, cracked open both chestnuts.

He carefully picked out the shells, cupped the chestnut meat in his palm, and held it out to Li Wu first: “Elder Brother…… Elder Brother, eat.”

Li Wu did not decline, and took the two smallest pieces of chestnut meat. Li Kun then turned his palm toward Shen Zhuxi. Not bearing to refuse, she too took the single smallest piece. Then Li Kun turned his palm toward Li Que.

Li Que grabbed more than half in one go.

“You——” Li Kun’s expression changed.

“You held it out to me yourself.” Li Que said with a breezy grin.

“……Hmph!” Li Kun sat down in a huff. “I’m Second Brother…… I won’t stoop to arguing with you!”

A cold gust swept in through the cave entrance. Shen Zhuxi shivered and hugged her arms tight. Li Wu, sitting beside her, noticed and re-fastened her robe, pulling the collar tightly closed.

“Still cold?” He took her hands in his.

Shen Zhuxi tucked her icy fingers into her palms and smiled: “Not cold.”

Li Wu said nothing.

“Elder Brother, let Second Brother and me take the night watch tonight.” Li Que said. “You’ve kept watch for two nights already — you won’t be able to hold on much longer at this rate.”

“……Alright.”

That night, Shen Zhuxi slept at the innermost part of the cave. Li Wu slept beside her, with Li Que and Li Kun, who were on watch duty, seated around the campfire.

Li Kun was still sulking over Li Que snatching away the greater portion of his chestnut meat and refused to say a single word to him.

Li Que’s manner was as composed as ever, seemingly unbothered by the large, sulking child across from him.

Over the last few days, Shen Zhuxi had been eating little and moving much, compounded by endless days on the road. The wound on her inner thighs would heal only to break open again, and break open only to begin healing again. By nightfall she was always utterly spent. She had barely lain down when she was already asleep.

In the night, she felt herself drawn into a warm embrace — a blazing, heated warmth, like a sheltered harbor from the wind. It blocked out the cold air and the hardness of the ground, and Shen Zhuxi instinctively burrowed closer and closer, wanting to burrow her whole self into this heat source.

As dawn broke, pale morning light fell across her eyelids and drew her up from sleep in a hazy, half-awake state. The warmth of the night before was like a dream — she was still lying on cold, hard ground, with Li Wu’s outer robe draped over her, and no one at her side.

By instinct, she looked for Li Wu.

Li Wu was sitting at the cave entrance, his gaze — unreadable — fixed on the campfire that had burned through the night and was now nearly spent.

Li Kun and Li Que were nowhere to be seen. The horses tied at the cave entrance were one fewer; the pile of luggage was exactly as it had been.

“What’s wrong?” Shen Zhuxi rubbed her eyes and sat up. “Where are Li Kun and the others?”

Before the words had fully left her mouth, she saw what Li Wu was looking at.

He wasn’t looking at the campfire. He was looking at a line of lopsided, uneven characters written in the earth beside it:

“See you in Huzhou.”