At the exact hour of Si on the first day of the eighth month, the sound of ceremonial cannon fire rang out from the eastern and western city walls of Chengdu, shaking both earth and sky. Under the bright autumn sunlight, this massive, rhythmic booming spread across the ancient Shu city from two directions at once.

The Huaxia Army’s first military parade formally began. The Fifth Army entered from the west, the Seventh Army from the northeast, their banners embroidered with their respective unit numbers unfurling in an unbroken line. To the steady, unified tread of the Huaxia Army soldiers, the procession advanced in grand fashion down the long street lined with onlookers on either side.

A parade was nothing like a temple fair — no knife-juggling acrobatics, no dragon or lion dances to be seen. But in an age generally lacking in large-scale communal events, many of Chengdu’s residents had staked out their spots along the road early. People waved red flowers in their hands; parents brought their children, all eager to see for themselves what this powerful army — the one that had crushed the once-invincible Jurchens — actually looked like.

Half the crowd had come simply for the spectacle; the other half had already begun to genuinely support this army. The Jurchens had ravaged the land for over a decade, and the Wu Dynasty had been turned upside down. Though Chengdu, tucked away in the southwest, had never experienced the fighting directly, over more than ten years the number of refugees who had fled here was hardly small. On top of that, though the Huaxia Army had held Chengdu only a short while, and some of their measures — given the looming threat of war — could hardly be called especially considerate of the populace, there were nonetheless genuine policies that had truly won the people’s hearts.

“See those women there?” In a teahouse along the main road on the north side of the city, where the Huaxia Army’s procession had already entered, a middle-aged scholar holding forth pointed toward the crowd below, gesturing to his companions.

“After the Huaxia Army took the southwest, one of their measures was to encourage women to go out and work… There used to be a few small workshops around here too, with merchants regularly collecting silk and cloth from farming households, and some women would do embroidery work during the agricultural off-season to supplement the family income. But the profits from such work were always uncertain, since the pricing of goods was mostly determined by the merchants’ word alone, and from time to time incidents of women being exploited would arise…”

“…This Mr. Ning of the Huaxia Army built his fortune in trade — his wife’s family, the Su clan, started out as a cloth business. After the Huaxia Army took Chengdu, they aggressively encouraged farming women to come work in the workshops, coordinating everything centrally, with substantial subsidies. I’ve been in Chengdu over a month now, and I’ve made some private inquiries — before these women start working, they go through something called ‘training,’ where instructors teach them proper methods, unifying the craftsmanship. This way, they’ve avoided the old problem of merchants collecting silk and cloth of wildly inconsistent quality. On top of that, this Mr. Ning has enforced strict rules ensuring these women’s wages aren’t skimmed off — and he’s genuinely had people killed over it, mind you…”

“As a result, in these households, both men and women can now earn money to support the family — and in just over a year’s time, you can already see them growing more prosperous. These women’s families have profited from this, and by working for the Huaxia Army, the Huaxia Army profits too — which is exactly why their support runs so high now. Why? Because they’ve bound themselves together with the Huaxia Army.”

“And the Huaxia Army’s enterprises aren’t limited to weaving alone — papermaking, printing, glasswork, brickmaking, perfume-making — every trade has its workshops, and everyone who joins these workshops ends up standing alongside the Huaxia Army too… What we’re watching pass by today is just the army — in truth, the Huaxia Army’s roots run far deeper than that.”

“…We’ve always said merchants practice a lowly trade. But looking at it now — is it really so lowly? You give people food to eat, and they’ll work for you. As I see it, from now on, the right to conduct trade throughout the realm ought to be gathered up and managed by the court — not just critical trades like salt and iron, but every trade should be led by the court. Once you’ve given people money, they’ll stand with you against a common enemy. When I leave Chengdu, I intend to write up everything I’ve seen here…”

Below, the crowd waved their red flowers and cheered, while above, the scholars held forth, summing up the lessons of their visit. At every street corner, propagandists arranged by the Huaxia Army loudly proclaimed the achievements and battle records of the passing troops.

Victory Square, newly built northwest of Moheh Pool within the city, had once been a derelict lot belonging to the county government, complete with an old training ground — now completely cleared out, widened, and opened to the public. The return of the Fifth and Seventh Armies would still take some time yet, but already vast crowds had gathered.

Within the viewing hall on the south side of the square, the guests specially invited by the Huaxia Army were now gathering upstairs. These were delegations representing various large and small factions willing to openly accept the Huaxia Army’s goodwill — An Xifu, come from Jin territory; Zuo Xiuquan, representing the Zuo family; the official representative sent by Liu Guangshi; along with merchants and intermediaries who traveled constantly between regions, all mingling and conversing with one another. Most had come with their own purposes in mind, carrying themselves with flexible, adaptable manners — even if they gained nothing from the Huaxia Army here, they might well do business with one another again in the future. Among them were even some on good terms with figures like Dai Mengwei and Wu Qimei, though such connections were generally not spoken of directly; everyone simply understood.

On the viewing platform on the east side of the square, meanwhile, gathered the various renowned scholars and great Confucians who had come to Chengdu this time. The invitations for this occasion made no distinction between civil and martial figures — martial-world elders such as Lu Liutong and his son Lu Xiaolun were included, along with a number of relatively well-known greenwood heroes who had not caused trouble on the night of the twentieth, selected after screening; and various other notable Confucian scholars, along with rising young talents whose reputations had recently grown, had also received their share of invitations.

Yang Tiehuai climbed the stairs, invitation in hand, and looked around, spotting a number of familiar Confucian scholars he knew from before — Chen Shichun, Guan Shanhai, Lang Guoxing, and others. Among these scholars, some had never seen eye to eye with him and had argued with him before, like the empty talkers such as Chen Shichun; others had once discussed “great matters” together with him, only to later discover that he had never actually acted, such as Guan Shanhai and Lang Guoxing. Now, seeing him come up, all of them wore expressions of open contempt.

No one cursed him outright — perhaps out of fear that, provoked, he might blurt out even more than intended — and no one came to strike him either; among scholars, words rather than fists were the weapon of choice. But Yang Tiehuai knew he had been thoroughly ostracized by these people.

His gaze was cold and clear as he lifted his chin and adjusted his robes, utterly contemptuous of their hypocrisy. His own reason for never having acted was that he had seen clearly the matter could not be accomplished — the difficulty of it was something the ignorant masses could never understand, and that was fine, but what were the rest of you all putting on such airs for?

He looked up toward the square. That devil Ning and his fellow villains had not yet appeared. But no matter…

He gripped the invitation in his hand tightly.

The decision had already been made — there was no other path left. So Yang Tiehuai thought to himself. Once those villains appeared, he would carry out a deed that would shock everyone present.

“Old Master Yang, please, follow me. This is your seat.”

A soldier on the viewing platform led him toward the back rows, indicating his assigned place.

Ahead, the crowd murmured and conversed among themselves, some arguing seriously, others speaking loudly and at length. The old man sat there… none of it concerned him anymore.

…

After twenty-eight rounds of ceremonial cannon fire from the city walls fell silent, a heavy, rhythmic drumbeat took over, guiding the procession forward. The crowds along both sides of the road cheered, and some tried to throw flowers into the ranks.

The soldiers’ steps were perfectly synchronized, striking an almost identical rhythm and sound down the long street. Even the soldiers who had lost both arms kept step exactly with the rest; ahead of not a few columns, wheelchairs carried soldiers who had lost their legs, sitting upright and dignified, a keen, killing edge still faintly glinting in their eyes.

Mao Yishan marched within the ranks, occasionally catching sight of figures kowtowing by the roadside. Over more than a decade, far too many had died at the hands of the Jurchens.

The Fifth Army’s parade contingent numbered three thousand men, stretching for several li down the long street. Toward the rear of the procession, one hundred and forty-six Jurchen prisoners of war, confined in thirty prisoner carts, were being paraded through the city streets. The announcers responsible for narrating the proceedings gave a general account of their identities; some onlookers hurled mud and other objects at them, and though the soldiers maintaining order quickly called a halt to it, plenty of mud, vegetable leaves, and rotten eggs still found their mark.

Behind the thirty carts carrying the Jurchen prisoners of war, four more prisoner carts followed. These held the most vicious Han traitors and war criminals to have emerged during the conflict, as well as several criminals who had caused unrest and committed murder in the rear areas of the southwest — among them, two who had once been among the foremost dignitaries of Chengdu itself.

At every street where the announcers gave their account, quite a few people recognized these figures for who they were.

…

Wanyan Qingjue gripped the bars of the prisoner cart and looked out.

He had already taken a few clumps of mud to the body and been struck by several rotten eggs, but as a captive, such humiliation was hardly worth dwelling on anymore.

Throughout the procession, he listened carefully to what the street announcers were saying — how the Huaxia Army was presenting them, what fate awaited them. Wanyan Qingjue hoped to catch some clue from start to finish.

Unfortunately, since he was in the very first cart, the announcer would only just be beginning each account before the cart had already rolled past — so each time, he could only catch the opening lines.

Much of the time, he couldn’t hear very clearly at all. The crowds along the road were in an agitated state, their faces twisted with hatred, hurling curses; and since objects occasionally came flying at him, Wanyan Qingjue could only turn his body sideways and glance at the crowd out of the corner of his eye. He felt no fear of these people — they were the weak among the Han, and if the cart door were opened and his shackles removed, there was no telling how many of them he could kill in his day. He had, after all, seen countless of these people kneel and beg for mercy in tears.

They’re merely riding on borrowed might…

he told himself in his heart, as another clump of mud struck his head.

These people, in all their lives, would probably never experience a moment as glorious as this one before them now. And as for his own life, up until this point, he had spent the better part of it basking in glory — thinking of it this way brought him a measure of calm.

Bang!

A rotten egg burst against his head. He wiped at it with his hand, the stench thick around him, but his expression barely changed.

“…Even Han Xin once endured the humiliation of crawling between another man’s legs.” The words his teacher — a man who had once looked down upon the entire realm — had spoken to him rose in his mind. “Those who rise above others have almost always tasted the bitterest of hardships first…”

This is… my hardship to bear… once I’ve endured it…

Once I’ve endured it…

The war drums, mingled with the voices of the crowd, spread throughout the city of Chengdu.

Ning Xi jogged along, passing through the security perimeter around the outer edge of Victory Square, through the great drum tower to the west, and into the three-story building to the north.

Entering the small hall inside, she found Ning Yi, Qin Shaoqian, Chen Fan, and the others still there, drinking tea and discussing matters. Once Ning Xi entered, she gave a general report on the latest round of security checks throughout the city.

“…I made another full circuit from start to finish. As for those looking to stir up trouble, we’ve caught three groups in total so far, no major problems have arisen yet. Traffic along the parade route hasn’t been too badly congested in the districts it passes through — as planned earlier, several key checkpoints were reopened once the procession moved through. In any case, I’ve made my full round, and the officials responsible for each district have all signed off and made their notations…”

Ning Xi had made a complete circuit of the entire city since morning, and by now beads of sweat had formed on her forehead from exhaustion. Ning Yi nodded. “Mm, the parade’s just a formality — proceeding as planned, there shouldn’t be any major issues from here on. Go pour yourself some water and freshen up — you’ll need to go out to meet some people shortly… Also, on the matter of the militia, I have some thoughts of my own…”

He dismissed Ning Xi without much further ado, turning back to discuss administrative matters with Qin Shaoqian. Ning Xi pursed her lips, turned, and went out to tidy herself up.

…

At the third quarter of the hour of Si, the thunderous drumming seemed to be drawing closer to the square.

On the viewing platform, several Huaxia Army members assigned to host and provide commentary began urging the assembled elders and great scholars to take their seats and settle down. Yang Tiehuai looked ahead — to the north, Ning Yi and the others seemed to have already emerged.

He rose to his feet, preparing to make his way toward the edge of the viewing platform ahead.

Two Huaxia Army soldiers stepped forward and put out their hands to stop him.

“Old Master Yang, it’s almost time — please, take your seat and watch the ceremony.”

“I just want a look.”

“Please be seated for the viewing. Wouldn’t want to block anyone else’s view, would we?”

“Haven’t they not even arrived yet…”

“Our apologies.”

The two Huaxia Army soldiers blocked him with smiling faces, their bodies strong and sturdy — the old man simply couldn’t get past them. Though dressed in military uniform, their smiles didn’t look like those of genuine frontline soldiers, and their apology had been offered far too casually.

The old man thought it over and sat back down in his seat.

Before long, the first two waves of soldiers entered the square from different directions, almost simultaneously.

The old man rose again, took a few steps forward, and once more the two soldiers approached.

“I— I need to use the outhouse.”

“Please, allow me to take you. The toilets are this way, down below…”

The soldiers escorted him down.

…

Yu Hezhong sat in the front row of the viewing section, watching the soldiers march into the square in orderly ranks.

Though he and Yan Daolun had come on assignment from Liu Guangshi, since they had not officially joined any envoy delegation, they had been seated on the same eastern viewing platform as the assembled scholars and elders.

At that moment, he failed to notice the strange stirrings of the old man named Yang Tiehuai seated toward the rear of the platform. He knew little of warfare or military matters, and watching the army march in with such perfect unity, he found it all somewhat showy, only vaguely sensing that this army differed from others in some way.

Those in the know could appreciate the finer points; those outside it could only watch the spectacle. Since most of those present were scholars, someone among them soon spoke up: “Their spirit does seem a bit different, but to spend all that training time on marching in step — how much good does walking in perfect unison actually do on the battlefield? If you ask me, it’s just fussing over trifles…”

“After all these years of fighting, the Black Banner’s finally got something worth showing off, and with so many watching from up here today, it’s understandable they’d want to march in step. Though I do wonder how long they trained specifically for this occasion…”

“The wounded soldiers at the front of the formation are rather interesting — surviving the battlefield with severed hands and feet in such numbers speaks well of the Huaxia Army’s field doctors. I’ve had a look at quite a few places under Huaxia Army control lately, and they’ve made real advances in treating wounds and fractures…”

“From a single glimpse, Brother Xu can already see the whole picture — truly impressive.”

Amid all this talk, Yu Hezhong found himself nodding along despite himself. Then someone else spoke up: “The Huaxia Army’s discipline is strict — if they can train even something you all consider utterly useless, like marching in step, to this degree of perfection, it shows that their orders are obeyed to the letter within the ranks. Once on the battlefield, when the army is ordered to advance, every soldier knows that no one beside him will retreat. For all your frivolous talk — tell me, is there any army outside the southwest capable of achieving this level of discipline?”

This remark gave Yu Hezhong a jolt of alertness, but it was quickly drowned out by the general chatter — everyone simply pretended not to have heard, and no one responded.

Lu Xiaolun sat on a bench off to the side and behind, quietly relieved that the Overlord Blade faction hadn’t actually pulled strings to get him a position as an instructor in the Black Banner Army — doing some other job would have been fine, but as an instructor, he would surely have been beaten to death before long. Seeing this, it seemed his father and the Overlord Blade faction truly did share genuine ties — he’d nearly misunderstood them at the start.

…

Having finished at the outhouse, Yang Tiehuai came back up, “escorted” once more by the Huaxia Army soldiers back to his seat at the rear.

He watched the soldiers gathering in the square, the countless voices seemingly shouting throughout the city. Time slowly passed; not far off, two Huaxia Army soldiers watched him with something between smiles and smirks.

The crowd talked and mingled among themselves; occasionally someone would turn to glance back at him, seeming to mock him too with that same half-smile. Given his former standing in the martial world, he had always sat in the front row before — only this time had he been placed toward the back…

He looked north, toward that devil Ning, Qin Shaoqian, and the rest of that villainous lot — it was they who had trampled the Wu Dynasty’s legitimate order underfoot, they who had used every manner of scheme to drive wedges among the people of the Wu Dynasty. He longed to rush over that very instant and smash himself against that devil Ning’s face with all his strength — but how could such villains possibly be so easy to deal with? They had surely already prepared for this, had already set their sights on him — how absurd that not a single person on this so-called viewing platform had realized it.

Just look at those two Huaxia Army soldiers — they were the ones Ning Yi had arranged to deal with me.

No one saw it.

Yang Tiehuai sat there in a daze for a long while.

At last, he took a deep breath and rose to his feet a third time. He straightened his robes and walked out of the viewing section.

The soldiers approached him again. “Old Master Yang, and where might you be off to this time…”

“I’m going down. I have business to attend to. I won’t be watching anymore.” Yang Tiehuai fixed him with a cold, hard stare. “Is that all right?”

“Oh, of course. Allow me to see you down.”

The soldier escorted him out of the viewing platform, then out through the inner perimeter of Victory Square.

By this time, over four thousand soldiers representing the two armies had already assembled in the square, and the carts holding the prisoners had arrived as well — the prisoners were being unloaded batch by batch, lined up on the open ground at the side of the square. The streets around the square were packed with people, a virtual sea of humanity.

Sunlight hung in the sky. Yang Tiehuai drew a deep breath. The sky above stretched vast and empty, and Chengdu below was awash in vivid color — but in that moment, to him, everything appeared entirely gray.

His retainers and disciples nearby had already spotted him and were struggling their way over through the crowd. The old man lifted the hem of his long robe and hurried off toward the tallest teahouse in the area apart from Victory Square itself.

That teahouse stood three stories tall — counting the rooftop, four levels in all. The old man paid his fee at the entrance, passed inspection, and made his way up.

The crowd on the upper floors of the teahouse was gazing out at the commotion not far off; at that moment, no one noticed him at all.

The banners of the Huaxia Fifth and Seventh Armies formally converged in Victory Square. After a brief ceremony, they were raised high into the sky alongside the black banner emblazoned with the morning star that represented the Huaxia Army as a whole, surrounded by dozens more flags bearing the numbers of individual regiments, arranged in a protective ring.

Wanyan Qingjue was dragged down from the cart and led by soldiers to stand on the open ground at the southeast side of the square. From where they stood, they could only watch from a distance as the banners rose and the joining ceremony proceeded — though of course, he understood in his heart that all of this was merely a formality, a piece of theater.

Enormous crowds had gathered along the nearby streets, though they had been kept at a distance by the Huaxia Army. Some threw mud in this direction, but at this point it could no longer reach the Jurchen prisoners. Some knelt by the roadside, weeping and cursing loudly — perhaps because their own family members had been killed by these men. A few even tried to rush forward, but the Huaxia Army stopped them.

In truth, Wanyan Qingjue didn’t much care about enduring a bit of humiliation — but the Huaxia Army was simply always so strange about things like this, and there was nothing to be done about it.

Not far off on the street, an announcer was loudly relaying the proceedings in the square out to the crowd. Wanyan Qingjue paid it little mind, only listening carefully for anything concerning himself and his fellow prisoners.

At some point, he finally heard it…

…

The old man made his way through the third floor of the teahouse, then climbed up an unattended side staircase to the rooftop.

The rooftop was tiled in gray, and since it hadn’t rained recently, the surface was reasonably dry — but for a man of his age, it still felt frighteningly precarious.

He stood there for a moment.

From here, he could see the open ground of the square where the prisoners stood, and further off, a corner of the parade ceremony itself. That devil Ning and his fellow villains were surely over there right now, reveling smugly in their triumph.

You will pay for this!

he thought to himself.

Not far below, in the crowd, his own retainers and disciples still seemed to be making their way toward him.

He thought of many things.

He thought of the will he had written in his room at Xiangwu Hall.

He thought of the instructions he had left in that will regarding how his death should be used.

He thought of the scene of everyone’s regret afterward, coming to realize they had wronged a great Confucian scholar.

He wanted to take that step forward…

But it was too steep.

The old man turned to glance back at the stairs behind him.

He didn’t know why, but he had already walked several steps out onto the rooftop.

That side was too steep as well.

Somewhere on the streets nearby, the announcer seemed to be saying something, and immediately the crowd’s voice surged and spread.

Hatred welled up in the old man’s heart, intertwining with the thought “too steep” running through his mind.

Up in the teahouse, people murmured to one another.

“What did they say? What was that about…”

A sound of “whoosh—” and “ah—” rang out, and a dark shadow, trailing loose roof tiles, suddenly streaked past below. Then came a crashing, clattering sound from further down.

Those upstairs leaned out to look, and only then discovered that someone had lost their footing and fallen from the rooftop, smashing a noodle vendor’s cart below to splinters — one of the wooden poles supporting the cart’s awning had run clean through the body, leaving the corpse twisted grotesquely on the ground, blood spreading crimson beneath it.

Both upstairs and down, the crowd fell silent for an instant, some turning to look up at the rooftop, others down at the ground below… and then, at last, screams began to rise.

…

At some point, Wanyan Qingjue heard the announcer’s words — the very thing he had been listening for all along.

But for a moment his mind seemed to knot up, and even after the surrounding noise suddenly surged louder, he still couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of what was being said.

“…Following the conclusion of the southwestern campaign, our forces have, after rigorous screening and verification of the Jurchen prisoners captured in this operation, arrived at the following decision…”

“…Regarding those war criminals who have accumulated a heavy debt of blood through their prolonged campaign of aggression, the Huaxia People’s Tribunal has identified one hundred and forty-six of the most vicious among them, whose crimes will today be publicly sentenced before all present, with the verdicts to be carried out immediately!”

“…The first of these criminals — Wanyan Qingjue—”

A ringing sound went off in Wanyan Qingjue’s head.

He still did not know exactly what the Huaxia Army intended to do with him, but certain signs had already begun to surface in his mind.

“The most vicious among them.”

…Me?

Confusion filled his mind. He looked at the others around him — surely they were the truly vicious ones. Throughout the entire war, he had maintained the dignity of a scholar from beginning to end. He hadn’t even achieved victory before falling into their hands twice — how could he possibly count among the most vicious?

He thought back to the last time he had seen Ning Yi.

Ning Yi was a man who valued profit above all — not a man who killed for the pleasure of it…

Ning Yi was right there in the square at this very moment; for an instant he genuinely wanted to rush in and see for himself.

Surely Ning Yi remembered him.

That rabbit-faced man surnamed Zuo, and the others too — surely they had passed his letter along to Ning Yi by now…

Could he really not have seen it?

The announcer’s sentencing went on at considerable length. After a general account of his background, it began recounting his conduct in Lin’an.

“…Assisted Wanyan Xiyin in opening the gates of Lin’an, directly leading to the subsequent massacre of Lin’an — bringing untold suffering upon the living—”

Wanyan Qingjue remembered the sound of the signal whistle in the wind that day, the slaughter that had erupted within the walls of Lin’an. Many had tried to stop the Jurchen envoy from entering the city; they had killed a false envoy — and then Wanyan Qingjue himself had stepped forward, corpses covering the ground, a crimson carpet spread before his eyes.

That had been the greatest triumph of scheming in his entire life. He had walked into the imperial palace of Lin’an, the Han people prostrate on the ground everywhere, the entire realm of the Wu Dynasty bowing in submission before him — followed by countless intoxicating cries and the scent of blood…

“…By judgment of the Huaxia People’s Tribunal, the sentence for this criminal is death. To be carried out immediately—”

The crowd around him erupted in noise.

Wanyan Qingjue stood there. He wanted to say something, wanted to do something, wanted to flee, wanted to charge into that square, wanted to scream curses at the top of his lungs, wanted to struggle with all his might… He knew the shackles on his feet did not fully restrain his movement, and around him stood over a hundred other “most vicious” former Jurchen generals — though each was flanked by Huaxia Army soldiers, resistance was not entirely impossible… He wanted to resist, wanted to start inciting the others…

He stood there, eyes wide.

Unable to move a muscle…