Zhù Ying’s gaze moved slowly over the faces and figures of these students.

None had yet reached thirty, and all wore the pale blue robes of scholars. Every young face radiated a stern righteousness, with no intention of yielding. Their number was not great — the prefectural academy had forty students in all, and seven had come here today.

Students were, for any official, among the more difficult groups in a locality to manage. Handle them too leniently and they would develop an inflated estimation of themselves, and youth combined with indulgence tended to breed recklessness and trouble. Handle them too strictly and you both stunted their development and invited criticism. A student was only a student — someone who wore the identity of “scholar,” representing a kind of future possibility, but not a person whose understanding therefore exceeded others by any remarkable degree. When all was said and done, they were ordinary people.

Those who possessed genuine ability would have it whether or not they held the title of scholar; those of limited gifts would not be transformed into capable persons by the title alone.

What officials and the court valued was simply the “student” identity itself, and yet it was precisely this valuation that meant officials could not simply ignore students. Sometimes one found the person wearing the “student” identity deeply irritating, but could not come down on them too harshly.

Once such a person aged out, no longer qualifying as a student, their true nature would become immediately apparent. Stripped of their identity’s luster, they were left entirely to their own abilities or their family’s. Most found it very difficult to enter public service at all, and those who eventually obtained a minor appointment could expect reality to deliver them a sharp and immediate wake-up call.

For the few years during which their identity bestowed its glow upon them, one still had to treat them with particular courtesy. The misfortune was that most such people tended to mistake others’ deference toward the “student” identity for recognition of their own personal worth.

Zhù Ying addressed them genially: “You credit me too highly, and in the meantime you’re neglecting your studies.”

Zou Jinxian and his companions showed no sign of yielding. Over the past two years, they had observed everything Zhù Ying had done. She was true to her word — when she said she would secure quota places for recommended candidates, she secured them; when she promised impartial justice, she delivered it. The people of the Southern Prefecture lived more stable and prosperous lives, without heavy taxation and extortion, and many of the former disorders that had plagued the prefecture were now being addressed. She was a good official.

And since she was a good official, they had a duty to protect her. The tribal peoples coming down of their own accord — that was fine. Contact with tribal peoples who had already accepted suzerainty — that was just about tolerable. Venturing into wild and uncivilized territory — that was too dangerous. Absolutely not.

If the Prefect came to harm in the mountains, how would they even begin a rescue?

Zou Jinxian and the others believed their concern was well-founded. Zhù Ying’s preparations for this journey had been more conspicuous than usual — since she planned to travel farther and be away longer, she had made more extensive preparations, and this had been noticed by one of the academy’s students. They had spoken quietly among themselves and all agreed something was wrong about it.

They were certainly aware of the Flower-Cloth tribe — farther away than either the Liji or Qixia tribes, deep in the forested mountains. Even merchants from these parts rarely ventured in that direction.

“The terrain is mountainous,” Zou Jinxian said. “What appears as a single inch on a map may take half a day to traverse. You, my lady, cannot afford to be heedless of this.” The geography and transportation of the Southern Prefecture already made it among the most mountain-bound and difficult of regions — those who came from the north found it hard to adapt. To venture even deeper into the mountains was worse still. They considered this simply impracticable.

“It is not your station, so it is not your place to question the decisions of your superior.” Zhang Jiong had come to see Zhù Ying off and, seeing Zou Jinxian overreach himself so egregiously, felt that Zhù Ying’s temperament was far too mild. Did these pups have any idea that any official who wished to accomplish anything had to toil without rest? Looking back on the past two years, Zhù Ying’s ability had proved sufficient to handle any number of challenges and crises, and the officials throughout the Southern Prefecture, though kept busy, had all been able to build their records of achievement alongside her. No one wanted to go back to their former listless and dispirited days.

“If we scholars only read our books and cannot hold the realm in our hearts, what is the use of reading?” Zou Jinxian retorted, unconvinced.

Zhang Jiong thought: and you believe your reading has actually produced any great results so far?

He was about to upbraid the young man further when Zhù Ying spoke: “A crumbling wall? Is that a reason to stand by and watch it fall? Just wait for it to collapse? A physician who sees a patient does not wait for them to die — a mother who sees her child is hungry does not leave the child to find food on its own. I want to reinforce the crumbling wall and rebuild it so it won’t collapse. How can I not go near it? Even to tear it down and rebuild it from scratch, you must first approach it.”

“But it’s still too dangerous,” Zou Jinxian said. “You, my lady, should not put yourself in harm’s way.”

“Then who should go in my place? If I myself refuse to go, who can I send? I cannot simply recline in comfort at the yamen and expect to command anyone’s respect. When people’s hearts are not won over, they carry out their duties in a perfunctory manner and cannot do the work properly.”

Her words left Zou Jinxian without a retort, yet he still felt this was unsafe. He said, “You should at least increase your escort.”

Zhù Ying thought: if I had a larger escort, you’d have been thrown out before you even got close enough to speak to me. She said, “I have my own arrangements. All of you go back to your studies and don’t make your academy tutors worry further.”

She had already spotted the tutors and instructors stumbling and rushing toward the yamen from a distance — they had clearly just discovered their students had slipped out to do something grand.

Zhù Ying addressed the senior tutor: “I’ll leave them in your hands. Speak reason to them — don’t just scold without explanation.”

Having said her piece, she turned away from Zou Jinxian and made a few parting exchanges with Zhang Jiong. Zhang Jiong said, “You are too indulgent with them, my lady. These students love nothing better than to make a scene and call attention to themselves. They forever want to offer their opinions on everything, as though no one has better judgment than themselves. They always want to be listened to, viewing the world as a chessboard and everyone in it as pieces to be moved, forever pointing this way and that, wanting to play some grand and sweeping game.”

Zhù Ying laughed. “Losing my temper with them wouldn’t demonstrate much dignity either. I’m leaving the prefecture in your hands — with you steady here, I can focus on what needs to be done out there.”

“Return early, my lady,” Zhang Jiong said. “We still need to go to the prefectural capital to deliver the grain tax to the Prefectural Commissioner.”

“I’ll be back before we need to depart for that.”

The small delay at the yamen gate meant that when Zhù Ying arrived at the inn, both pairs of uncle and nephew were already packed and ready. Zhù Ying’s party also included Qiu Wen and several merchants from various tribes. Xijin and Luguo didn’t know any of these merchants, yet one of the merchants knew both of them — he was himself of the Flower-Cloth tribe. The others were of Jima and Xika stock, whom the two uncles had even less chance of recognizing. These merchants all spoke at least two or three languages; without such skills, commerce and communication would have been impossible. Their dress already bore considerable influences from the flatlands — a certain blended quality to their appearance.

Lang Kunwu asked, “What are these people here for?”

“Interpreters,” Zhù Ying said. She had paid to hire them for this journey. The flatlands were in the middle of the harvest season, trade was in a lull, and it was an ideal time to bring people on for hire. By the time of the New Year festivities, anyone wanting to hire such skilled interpreters would have to pay a premium — and even then might not find so complete a group.

Of this group, she had designated Qiu Wen as a sort of informal leader, for he was the most literate among them.

Su Mingluan felt a pang of regret. She should have recommended Su Qingtian or Su Deng. It was clear Godfather intended to bring the various tribes together, and for that she needed someone with exactly this kind of role near her. But Su Mingluan herself had Asu County to govern — that was her foundation — and Su Zhe was still too young. Mother and daughter couldn’t offer themselves for this one.

Zhù Ying felt much the same way. Her available personnel was limited. Those around her each had their distinct strengths and weaknesses; the more well-rounded ones, like the Xiang siblings, were already stretched — Xiang An was minding the sugar factory, while Xiang Le needed to remain close at hand for various assignments. High-quality subordinates were rare, and there was nothing to be done but be patient.

She smiled at the four of them and said, “Shall we set out?”

They all said: “Let’s go!”

The party rode on horseback, not at a gallop. The constables still managed the carts, and Marshal Mei had recently made an offer — now that Zhù Ying needed people, he selected two squads of sturdy soldiers under two squad leaders, along with one of his own personal guards, twenty-one men in all, each bearing a blade and following along.

Lang Kunwu and the others felt a faint unease upon seeing the armed flatland soldiers, but seeing Su Mingluan show no reaction whatsoever, they settled themselves.

They were heading first to Luguo’s home, and Xijin still persisted: “You’ll pass right by my home on the way — it’s another three days from there to his place!”

“I drew the longer stick,” Luguo said.

The two bickered away. Zhù Ying and Su Mingluan exchanged a smile with Lang Kunwu. They bypassed Asu County and instead passed through Talang County. Zhù Ying was far less familiar with Talang County than Asu County — she had visited all the larger strongholds in Asu County and had a reasonably good grasp of its geography.

The mountains in Talang County were more rugged than those of Asu County, and once past the Talang family’s main stronghold and heading further into the mountains, the paths became increasingly difficult. Lang Kunwu’s attendants drew their blades and began hacking away at the branches encroaching on the path to clear the way. Before long, Xijin’s attendants joined in. They wielded long blades resembling woodcutting knives, bringing them down with swift, practiced strokes. Marshal Mei’s personal guard took note, called out to the others, and they too drew their sabers, widening the path a bit further. Su Mingluan said, “It’s hard to build roads in the mountains.”

“This road has already been built,” Lang Kunwu said.

Zhù Ying nodded. Building roads in the mountains was no easy task — even the official roads maintained by the court faced obstructions from the terrain, which made the work costly in both time and labor. Here, where mountains were everywhere, the difficulty was self-evident. She turned and said, “Jin San.”

Jin San was a middle-aged man with a darkened complexion and thick, calloused hands, his back slightly stooped. He trotted forward: “My lady.”

“Look at these mountains.”

Zhù Ying had done engineering work herself and understood something of the field, but she could not do everything personally. She had instructed Peng Sishi to prepare craftsmen, and among those he had sourced, all were considered skilled workers for the Southern Prefecture. Jin San’s specialty was road-building.

Jin San surveyed the terrain and said, “Steeper grades than what we deal with. Building roads here will be harder.”

Lang Kunwu said, “If the mountains weren’t so high and the roads so treacherous, the rivers so broad and the currents so swift, how could we hold back the northerners?”

The last two words Zhù Ying didn’t catch clearly — they were surely nothing complimentary. Many terms used exclusively as slurs for flatlanders were not the sort of thing anyone would trouble themselves to teach her.

Zhù Ying made a mental note of how the phrase was pronounced.

Past the Talang family’s main stronghold, after another day’s travel, they rested at a smaller village — also Talang territory. The village chief was a distant kinsman of the Talang clan. He and Lang Kunwu greeted each other with an embrace. Lang Kunwu introduced this kinsman to Zhù Ying. The fellow was cheerful and open-natured, and looked at Zhù Ying with undisguised curiosity, offering her a bow. “They all say you can speak Liji.”

Zhù Ying smiled. “Would you like to test me?”

After hearing her speak it herself, the young man still stared in astonishment: “You really can?!”

Lang Kunwu punched him in the arm. “Didn’t you just hear it for yourself?”

Since Zhù Ying could speak Liji, she and this kinsman found plenty to talk about. She asked about the geography further west into the mountains, about their crops — what yields of rice they had gotten before, acre by acre — and about the farming tools commonly used in the village. The Talang family had far less contact with her than the Asu family, who had been gradually replacing their tools several years earlier.

Looking over the farming tools here, the first few items she examined were passable, but as she continued, she began to frown. Some implements still included hoes and sickles fashioned from stone flakes and polished animal bone. She picked one up and turned it over in her hands. “Working with tools like these is exhausting and produces poor results.”

“My stronghold has more and better ones,” Lang Kunwu said.

“They always say,” Zhù Ying replied, “that if you want to do good work, your tools must be fit for the task. The faster and more efficiently you work, the more you harvest.”

“These slaves — too much idle time is bad for them,” Lang Kunwu said.

Zhù Ying gave a quiet smile and shook her head. She made no rebuke of Lang Kunwu’s attitude, but said instead: “What a pity — there’s so much more that could be harvested. The low yields in the mountains come partly from the land not being very fertile, and partly from this very problem.” She turned to Lang Kunwu. “Your own people — even those without slaves — do they have proper tools? Give them better ones first. They pay you in grain, and with better tools you’ll get more in return. I look at your harvests and feel genuinely distressed.”

Lang Kunwu said, “That’s actually something I wanted to raise with you. Could you have carpenters teach us?”

“Of course.”

Their conversation naturally shifted to the journey itself, and Zhù Ying said to the two Flower-Cloth representatives, “There is one more thing you should know.”

Luguo asked, “What is that?”

Zhù Ying gestured toward Su Mingluan and Lang Kunwu. “I have agreements with both of them — we do not shelter each other’s criminals…” She laid out the terms of her agreements with both tribes, one by one. Xijin said, “The ‘Precious Blade’ already told me about this. That’s perfectly fine — I wouldn’t shelter anyone who had wronged him anyway!”

“What I’m saying,” Zhù Ying clarified, “is that in the future, all four families will agree not to shelter each other’s criminals.”

Xijin and Luguo exchanged a glance and said together: “Agreed!”

In Zhù Ying’s experience, this was always the easiest term to settle. She and the others formalized this first agreement at the smaller village, and on the road the next day they continued talking as they traveled, with Zhù Ying steadily drawing out information and cross-referencing it with what she had previously gathered. Traveling was wearisome and monotonous, and having someone to talk with suited both men perfectly.

Zhù Ying was a gifted conversationalist, and within half a day had extracted the full origin legends of their tribes — including the detail that the embroidered flower-cloth designs of the Flower-Cloth people had supposedly been taught by “a beautiful girl who came from beyond the mountains.” Given Zhù Ying’s experience composing folk epics, this was almost certainly a refugee from the flatlands — whenever taxes grew heavy or powerful households grew predatory, refugees would proliferate. Many people fled into the deep mountains, bringing their skills with them. Constrained by their new environment, those skills could rarely be developed further, and in the course of transmission they would gradually transform. Where the numbers of such refugees were small and scattered, even language was difficult to maintain — they would eventually abandon their mother tongue.

Zhù Ying also extracted another important piece of information: both families were seeking to marry the daughter of yet another family, not only because the daughter was beautiful, but because her father occupied a stretch of relatively fertile flat land. A piece of flat ground in the mountains was a rare thing — it was convenient for growing anything. These two families could not take it by force.

The two also offered a brief assessment of this family’s military strength: “Not as strong as Little Sister’s / Precious Blade’s family.”

But this family lived far from the Qixia and Liji peoples, who were the more formidable fighters and couldn’t easily reach over to seize that stretch of land. They could in theory do so, but only by abandoning their current homes and relocating the entire tribe — a cost far too high — and so it had been left at an impasse. Though Zhù Ying suspected that if both families were further pushed by armies from the flatlands, it might well set off a chain reaction, with each driving the other deeper into the mountains to seize the “good land.”

“There are places like that in the mountains?” Zhù Ying asked.

“Yes,” both men replied in unison. “Just difficult to get to.”

“How fascinating. Is it far? I’d quite like to see it for myself.”

Luguo and Xijin both said: “Not far.”

“Are there other flat areas beyond their family’s land?”

“There should be.”

Zhù Ying thought: that’s worth investigating! Even if it takes ten or twenty days to reach, if there’s a location suitable for settlement, it would be extraordinarily valuable!

As they walked and talked, a comfortable rapport developed between them. Both Luguo and Xijin admitted that their peoples did occasionally practice human sacrifice, though not as grimly nor with the same fixation on a single method as their nephews’ people. Sometimes it was simply a matter of grabbing a slave — male or female, old or young — taking the head, placing it as an offering, and calling the ritual done.

Zhù Ying was just about to raise the abolition of human sacrifice when the scouts at the front suddenly gave a sharp whistle, and the whole column came to a halt in silence. From the other direction came an answering whistle, then a voice: “Who goes there?”

In Liji.

The response came that this was the Talang family’s party. From the other side: “Is that my son-in-law?”

Lang Kunwu pushed forward. “It is me. Is that my father-in-law?”

His own father had died. The man approaching was his father-in-law. His father-in-law’s family name translated as “Mountain Sparrow.” Having heard from his daughter of the rapprochement with the flatlands, and finding it not entirely unappealing, he had nonetheless been passed over when Lang Kunwu reached out first to his own maternal uncle’s family. The father-in-law, unwilling to lose out, had positioned himself along the road ahead.

And now they had walked right into each other.

He had been speaking in Liji, and with a great burst of laughter, rode over and drew up alongside Lang Kunwu before coming before Zhù Ying. Lang Kunwu grinned: “This is my father-in-law.” Zhù Ying could make out the small embarrassment lurking beneath Lang Kunwu’s smile — the rumor about “one tribe, one family only” might be mistaken, but within the same tribe, being the first to take two extra steps forward was still the right idea.

Zhù Ying greeted the father-in-law in Liji too, saying, “Your daughter’s eyes look very much like yours.”

The father-in-law was delighted. “You truly can speak our tongue! That girl takes after me in every way! She speaks plainly, acts decisively, and never conceals a thing. I’m even more so! It’s because of that we get along so well.”

Lang Kunwu said, “That’s true. It’s why I and my father-in-law get along so well.”

Su Mingluan barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. The father-in-law noticed her too — they had few occasions to meet, but since they were frequently in opposition to each other, they had crossed paths several times.

“And what are you about?” the father-in-law said to Su Mingluan. “The Mountain Sparrow family is far easier to deal with than the Suoning family.”

The Suoning family was also Qixia, but the relationship between them and the Asu family was a hostile one, though it was difficult to say who bore more fault. By contrast, the Mountain Sparrow and Talang families were entirely different — they even intermarried.

“No matter how unreasonable the Suoning people are,” Su Mingluan replied, “they still have to speak properly when they face me.”

Zhù Ying mediated smoothly: “I rather wish everyone would speak properly.”

The father-in-law had intercepted the group mid-route and insisted Zhù Ying come and have a look at his stronghold. Xijin said, “This is my guest.” Luguo added, “My guest as well.”

“A guest of one family is a guest of all families!” the father-in-law returned. “You won’t reach either of your homes today anyway — you need to rest somewhere. What difference does it make where you rest?”

Xijin thought: you cunning old fox! No wonder your daughter always argues with my elder sister! And he quietly filed away that phrase “what difference does it make where you rest” for future use — the Mountain Sparrow family was closer than Luguo’s!

Ha.

With the father-in-law as guide, they arrived at the Mountain Sparrow stronghold. At the stronghold gate, Zhù Ying saw a row of stakes — human heads displayed atop several of them.

The party entered the Mountain Sparrow stronghold. Luguo was noticeably more tense than Su Mingluan — he kept a fixed eye on Zhù Ying, determined not to let the Talang family’s in-laws steal any advantage. The father-in-law found no opportunity to pull ahead, and had to content himself with raising his own interests at the banquet: “I hear the Prefect is willing to speak on our behalf.”

“Of course,” Zhù Ying said.

“The same for everyone?”

“It depends on how many people you have and how much land. I don’t look down on small populations and small territories — but if you have a hundred people and want your voice to carry the same weight as someone with a thousand, that’s not fair either. Consider a household with only one person: that person eats their fill and the whole family is fed, so they’d say one jar of rice is enough for a family. Another household has ten people — give them only one jar and they’d starve. That kind of situation cannot be allowed to arise.”

The father-in-law considered this. His own population was not small — certainly more than Xijin’s — so he naturally placed himself in the larger group and said, “You make sense.”

“And furthermore…” Zhù Ying laid out several more terms of agreement. Gu Tong took the draft he had prepared from inside his robe and handed it to Zhù Ying. Su Mingluan craned her neck for a look, then murmured something to Luguo. Lang Kunwu caught Qiu Wen’s eye frantically; Qiu Wen kept his gaze lowered for a moment, then edged slightly forward, took a look himself, and gave Lang Kunwu a small nod, indicating all was in order.

“What is that?” the father-in-law asked. “We can’t make sense of such things.”

“A written agreement,” Zhù Ying said. “The other four families have all agreed to it.” She then recited the terms aloud for the Mountain Sparrow. He had heard his daughter speak of these conditions and had found them acceptable — it was precisely because he’d heard and found them reasonable that he’d positioned himself on this road today.

He said, “Excellent! Then I—”

Luguo and Xijin both nearly leapt to their feet. Zhù Ying calmed them down and said, “I’m not as familiar with the three of you as I am with those two — that doesn’t mean I don’t trust you. It’s that you and I have had little time together, and you don’t quite trust me yet either, do you? No need to rush. We can talk as we travel. Watch how I go about things; once any doubts in your minds are resolved, we can discuss the next steps. Someone who can’t be trusted will break any promise made and take back anything given. Only once trust is established can a lasting relationship be built. I want to build lasting relationships with all of you.”

She was in no hurry, and gradually the other three settled as well.

The father-in-law made a decisive pronouncement: “Tomorrow I’ll walk a stretch of the road with you!”

“Excellent,” Zhù Ying agreed.

The traveling party grew larger and larger, and the road ahead became somewhat more difficult. Zhù Ying was not troubled by the slow pace — going out, the path was unfamiliar and travel would always be slower. On the return journey the party would be lighter and move considerably faster. Her estimate of twenty days round trip still held. They were on schedule.

After two more days they reached Luguo’s home. Luguo’s and Xijin’s territories were adjacent, and beyond both of them lay the territory of the “Yigan” family they had mentioned wanting to court into. Xijin tried to use the father-in-law’s own tactic and intercepted the group to visit his stronghold first. Luguo kept a sharp eye on him, and they nearly came to blows.

Xijin grumbled and muttered. Zhù Ying said, “I will visit every family — I won’t favor any one person.”

She arrived first at Luguo’s home. The mountains here were less steep than those of the Talang territory, though still full of rises and dips. Luguo’s stronghold was not small, and unlike the Liji tribe, they didn’t set up poles with human heads displayed outside the village perimeter.

Zhù Ying made careful inquiries into local customs. For flatlanders, the greatest challenge was not that customs differed from those below — it was that each tribe’s customs differed from every other tribe’s as well. One could not generalize from any single tribe’s habits to all the others. Her excellent memory served her well here, and since she now understood the languages of the three tribes she was dealing with — apart from Su Mingluan, everyone else was growing increasingly astonished. Even Lang Kunwu had come to believe she was genuinely committed to getting along with each tribe in their own way.

And so when Zhù Ying abstained from drinking, they accepted it without comment. When she raised the abolition of human sacrifice, none of them overturned the table.

Only the Mountain Sparrow father-in-law said, “If we don’t make offerings to the gods and spirits, the spirits of our ancestors and the gods themselves will be angered. If disaster falls upon us, what then? The rituals you described may be impressive, but I’m not sure they’re what the gods prefer.”

Zhù Ying turned to Xiang Le. “Bring it over.”

Xiang Le produced a small ceramic jar. Zhù Ying had a bowl brought and poured out a dish of sugar. “Have a taste.”

“Sugar?”

“A grown person’s head weighs roughly seven and a half jin. By that reckoning, three heads, at five major ceremonies a year — I’ll give you a hundred and twenty jin of sugar. To buy back the lives used in sacrifice.”

In the most impoverished places, human life was least valued, and it was precisely there that human sacrifice was most prevalent. Replacing a human head with an equal weight in sugar was a high price — not just for slaves, but for ordinary people of the stronghold, if you were talking about buying a person outright.

Zhù Ying added: “Every year.”

Then she turned to Su Mingluan and Lang Kunwu: “This applies to you as well. I didn’t have this to offer before — now I do. Consider this retroactive.”

Su Mingluan quickly said, “I don’t need it. I have learned much from Godfather’s teachings, and I have gained greatly from them. Besides, human life is precious — it should never be treated this way.”

“If you refuse it,” Zhù Ying said, “the others will feel embarrassed to accept.”

Lang Kunwu thought it over. Refusing felt awkward, but accepting felt not quite right either. He finally said, “I’ll accept it for this year only.”

“I intend to give it,” Zhù Ying said, “and a man of his word gives what he promises. You personally may not want it, but you owe your people an accounting. If the old practices are suddenly abolished with nothing in their place and some small misfortune happens, people will start murmuring. With something tangible in hand, their voices will be quieter.”

The Mountain Sparrow father-in-law said, “Then it’s agreed!”

Zhù Ying smiled. “Agreed.”

The Flower-Cloth tribe had no written script and no meaningful record-keeping to speak of. Zhù Ying looked and looked again at Luguo’s territory and found not a single ledger to show her. She could only rely on experience to estimate a rough figure.

Among the three tribal groups and five families now before her, only Asu County had begun introducing some basic forms of systematic administration. The others had all watched from a distance over these past years and noted that Asu County had grown significantly stronger. Xijin was therefore eager to hurry Zhù Ying along to his home.

Zhù Ying spent two more days in the mountains near Luguo’s territory, inspecting farming tools and looms, surveying their fields — the rice here was nearly ripe as well — and examining their various crafts: fruit shells crafted into attractive ornaments, leatherwork, silversmithing, and copperwork. Luguo’s territory had one notable “specialty product”: cinnabar — though extracting it was difficult and transporting it more difficult still.

She also examined their diet and learned that only a man of Luguo’s standing could afford sugar and honey, while ordinary people could rarely obtain even salt.

She sighed. “Even getting salt is hard for the common people.”

Luguo said carelessly, “We can get a little hauled in from the north.”

Zhù Ying nodded. Salt, unlike sugar, was a genuine necessity — going without salt was truly difficult. I need to get more salt into the Southern Prefecture. A pity we have no coast nearby — sea salt is impossible; and salt still costs a great deal.

Having now gone as deep as Luguo’s territory allowed, further investigation would not be possible in just a few days — a single hillside could take a full day to climb. River crossings and other obstacles added further complications. For now, she could only follow the already-cleared mountain paths for a general survey, taking note of the terrain, geography, and human customs — better than nothing.

Between Luguo’s and Xijin’s territories ran a long mountain valley, with sheer cliffs rising on either side, like two facing walls, the valley floor between them like a narrow lane between walls. Zhù Ying thought: I know nothing of military strategy, but if the court ever truly sent an army deep into these mountains, this would be an ideal place for an ambush.

Seeing her peer forward along the valley, Luguo said, “Go past this pass, another day’s travel, and you reach the Yigan family’s territory.”

Xijin immediately said, “Come to my home first — I have another route that leads to the Yigan family!”

Luguo let out a derisive snort.

“Very well,” Zhù Ying said.

Xijin’s territory differed from Luguo’s in that instead of cinnabar, he possessed a copper mine. His stronghold was adorned with copper ornaments in abundance: copper drums, copper bells, and copper censers. There was even a large bronze altar table used for ritual offerings.

Their smelting techniques were not highly developed. Zhù Ying herself knew nothing about copper-smelting, but the Court of Judicial Review had once handled a case of illicit copper coin casting — a case that Su Kuang had gone to investigate, and Su Kuang’s work on cases was quite reliable. Zhù Ying had read through the records and examined the physical evidence, and so had a basic layperson’s knowledge of the grades of copper, its classifications, and the processes involved.

Compared to flatland craftsmanship, the copper objects Xijin’s people cast themselves were rather rough in finish. Xijin’s one advantage was that he had copper in abundance — some tools were made from copper here, and very little need for bamboo or stone implements.

After two days at Xijin’s home, ten days had elapsed since setting out, and the accompanying party began approaching Zhù Ying about the return journey. She calculated the distances and said, “Let’s press ahead a little further and have a look at the Yigan family.”

She asked Xijin to serve as guide, and specifically requested they take the route through the valley. The valley was long — it didn’t look so from a distance, but once inside, a distinct chill settled in. The mountains on either side seemed to lean inward as though they might close in at any moment, giving one a sense of standing beneath crumbling walls. The soldiers Marshal Mei had sent, having some experience of such things, raised their shields and closed in on either side of Zhù Ying.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

“In case loose rocks fall,” the guard replied.

Zhù Ying nodded.

It took half a day to pass through the valley. Once through, the terrain opened up only slightly, and another half day’s travel brought them to a comparatively level small plain. Ringed by mountains on all sides, the people there lived mostly along the mountain edges and river courses.

Xijin and Luguo were acquainted with the Yigan family’s chief, and word was sent ahead. The Yigan family showed far less interest in the court than the others. The Yigan chieftain laughed when he heard: “Those two are at it again with their nonsense. When did any official from outside the mountains ever come to these parts? The only reason they’d say such a thing is to talk up their own importance while their foolish sons try to win my daughter’s hand. A man who can’t win the woman he loves himself and has to have his father intervene on his behalf — what kind of man is that? Not even as good as the Suoning family’s boys.”

The Suoning family was in proximity to the Yigan family; the Flower-Cloth tribe and the Suoning and Asu families formed a three-way boundary arrangement. Further north, the Talang, Mountain Sparrow, and Xijin families were in a similar configuration.

When asked whether to receive the visitors, the Yigan chieftain said, “Invite them in for a drink, then send them on their way. My daughter won’t be given to cowards.”

And so Zhù Ying rode the wave of “liars and cowards” right through the gates of the Yigan family’s stronghold, while her companions all quietly held their breath.

Zhù Ying’s party was immediately conspicuous by their dress — different from any of the local tribes. The Yigan family lived deep in the mountains but had encountered a few merchants from beyond. They had never seen anyone quite like Zhù Ying. Going further back in their collective memory, the last time they had seen respectable outsiders from beyond the mountains was when they had all been lured out and burned. That had been long ago, and most of the young people looked at Zhù Ying’s party with an expression that mingled admiration with bewilderment.

The Yigan chieftain came out laughing to receive them, and when he saw Zhù Ying he stopped short: “You’re from outside the mountains!”

“I am,” Zhù Ying said.

“You… how can you speak?”

“I’m not mute,” Zhù Ying replied with a smile.

The chieftain asked cautiously, “You’re truly an official from outside?”

“Yes.”

Xijin and Luguo both stepped forward: “Would we lie to you?” Su Mingluan, Lang Kunwu, and the Mountain Sparrow father-in-law all said: “He is.”

The Yigan chieftain stood where he was, and after a long moment said: “Please come in.”

“Pardon the intrusion,” Zhù Ying said.

The banquet had already been prepared. Now he quietly directed that it be served.

The Yigan chieftain harbored a “once bitten, twice shy” wariness toward court officials. In the dynasty’s founding years, the armies had swept southward like dry kindling set ablaze, and the hundred peoples had submitted. Twenty years on, with the court grown powerful and now investing genuine effort in its administration, the tribal leaders had been willing to heed a Southern Prefect’s summons and gather beyond the mountains — only to walk into a trap, where their heads and lands were wanted, their people to be enslaved.

The Yigan family had suffered greatly from that. They also lay further from the Southern Prefecture than the others and had less regular contact; at the moment they had no desire to take risks.

“I’m doing quite well right here,” the Yigan chieftain said. Given these roads, any dealings with the outside world would carry too high a cost.

Su Mingluan, Lang Kunwu, and the others all felt Zhù Ying’s arrival here had been somewhat rash.

Zhù Ying had long since thought through a contingency. “Their interest and willingness is what makes the formal investiture possible. You and I have not met before and have no grievance between us. Since you have no desire to take that step, I cannot expect you to do as they have done. I came here today for a different matter — there are merchants from the Flower-Cloth tribe in my city, and I cannot simply ignore them. If they become embroiled in disputes with your stronghold or your people, or if there are casualties, I must involve myself in those matters. Better to settle now, while I’m here in the mountains, how such things will be handled, than to argue about it later.”

The Yigan chieftain considered. “Such things happen rarely.”

“Exactly. But whenever they do, I must see to them. I have already made agreements with the others here.”

Su Mingluan said, “Even when Father was still alive, he and Godfather had already agreed on how to handle those who committed offenses. That was before I even became an official.”

“You truly did accept a person from outside the mountains as your godfather,” the Yigan chieftain said.

“A’Jie entrusted his children to me,” Zhù Ying said, “and so I must look after them.”

The chieftain studied Su Mingluan for a moment. Her adornments were finer than anyone else’s, especially her blade. Under the pretense of drinking, the Yigan chieftain thought it over, then said: “How do we settle it?”

Zhù Ying had gone through this agreement with so many families by now that she recited it with complete fluency.

“We will not shelter your criminals, and you will not shelter ours.”

The chieftain didn’t need to think long. “That’s fine. You’re a very earnest official.”

“I’m doing it for myself. And one more thing — if you’re willing, rather than using people from any of the other families here as human offerings, I’ll trade sugar for them. Consider it a ransom for the sacrificial victims.”

The chieftain’s interest was piqued. “How do you propose to trade?”

“A hundred and twenty jin of sugar per year.”

“Every year?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want sugar,” the chieftain said. “I want salt.”

“You’ve agreed then?” Zhù Ying asked.

The chieftain nodded. “I’ll agree to this much with you.”

“You want salt, so that’s a separate negotiation.” People needed salt far more than sugar, and she would need to bargain accordingly.

The chieftain was just preparing to counter-offer when a commotion broke out outside. They looked toward the doorway. Someone had run from outside the stronghold all the way to the chieftain’s door: “Chieftain, the Suoning family has arrived!”

Su Mingluan’s hand went to her blade. She fixed her gaze on the Yigan chieftain. A bead of cold sweat appeared on his back. Lang Kunwu and the others tensed as well — their relations with the Suoning family were not friendly.

Only Zhù Ying said, “More guests?”

Behind her, the soldiers from the marshal’s escort were ready to stuff her into a sack and carry her out of the mountains.

“Indeed,” the Yigan chieftain said. “Ha, ha…”

The newcomers meant trouble.

The arrival was a young man from the Suoning family, a few years younger than Lang Kunwu, with a heavily muscled body, tall and broad, with thick brows and large eyes — a powerfully built man of the kind rare among southerners.

The Suoning family lived closer to the Yigan family than the Asu family did. The Yigan chieftain regarded Su Mingluan with wariness, but toward the Suoning family he added a measure of respectful awe.

He murmured, “It’s the Suoning chieftain.” His expression made it clear this was not particularly welcome.

Before the words were even out, the young man had swept through the door like a gust of wind. Zhù Ying thought: he wasn’t stopped at the stronghold gates — you two have some history.

The Suoning chieftain wore large silver hoops in his ears, a blue garment with embroidered borders, and on his feet a pair of cowhide boots with upturned tips. He strode in and visibly startled upon seeing Zhù Ying. “There really is an outsider here! I thought it was nonsense!”

“Now you’ve seen it for yourself?” Zhù Ying said.

The young chieftain glanced at Su Mingluan. “So what if you’ve come? Your kind will do anything to fool people — fatten up the pig, then slaughter it at New Year. Only an idiot would trust you.”

Su Mingluan said, “You’re just jealous of us.”

“Ha! Jealous of becoming a roast pig?”

Even Su Mingluan fell silent for a moment at that.

Zhù Ying looked at this young man from the Suoning family and found him utterly charming.

She said, “You still remember that great fire from long ago, don’t you?”

The young man gave a cold laugh. “Your kind has done it before — pretended to be generous and kind, then turned around and harmed us. Who can say this isn’t more of the same pretense? Who starts out looking anything other than good? We were deceived once. Why should we be deceived again?”

With that one remark from the young man, the unspoken misgivings stirring in every heart in the room came rushing to the surface.

But Zhù Ying was not angered — she was delighted. She turned to the Yigan chieftain. “Is there any open land nearby?”

The chieftain blinked. “Pardon?”

“I want to build a courtyard here. My own courtyard.”

She had brought craftsmen with her for exactly this reason — to build a small compound. The maps among these tribes were wildly inaccurate; no one could say clearly where anyone’s boundaries actually lay. Zhù Ying intended to exploit that vagueness, choosing a plot of land for herself at the junction of several tribes’ territories.

The site would need to be near the Yigan family, with access to a stream, and naturally it would be surrounded by mountains — everything here was surrounded by mountains. All she required was a location safe from landslides and rockfalls, with a small path connecting it to the outside world and a water source. From road-builders to wall-builders to furniture-makers — what craftsman didn’t she have?

She had her people stake out a patch of ground as the camp site. She then directed the craftsmen to cut bamboo and construct a simple bamboo structure as a temporary shelter.

She turned to the Suoning chieftain: “I’ll be staying here tonight. I’ll come back again next month. If you think I’m deceiving you, feel free to come and find me.”

Gu Tong was horrified: “Teacher?!”

“Am I not allowed a private country villa?” Zhù Ying said.

Su Mingluan called out: “Godfather.”

The Suoning chieftain was also taken entirely aback. “You…”

“My household is in the middle of the autumn harvest — I need to go back and check on things. Once the harvest is done, I’ll come back. When I do, I’d like to invite you for a drink. Or you can invite me — either way is fine.”

This is far too reckless, Gu Tong thought, but he couldn’t undercut his teacher in front of everyone. He paced anxiously, like an ant on a hot griddle.

The Suoning chieftain gave a cold smile: “Is this how you intend to seize our lands?”

“You could also come down the mountain,” Zhù Ying said. “You could buy a house and live there. Ah — but you’re not yet a subject of the court, so let’s do it this way: as long as you accept the agreements we’ve already settled, when you come down the mountain I’ll guarantee your safety.” She smiled gently and made a gesture to Qiu Wen.

Qiu Wen stepped forward and recited the terms of Zhù Ying’s agreements with the various tribes. The Suoning chieftain frowned as he listened — and found, to his surprise, that he could not identify a single term he objected to. He looked this way and that, then said to the Yigan chieftain, “I’ll come back and drink with you in a few days.” And with that, he turned and walked briskly away.

“Youth,” the Yigan chieftain remarked.

Zhù Ying smiled. “Indeed. Chieftain, I’ll leave my private villa in your care while I’m away. And if you’d like to establish a residence down in the flatlands, you’re most welcome. I’ll be back next month.”