Though it was the eighth month—supposedly “golden autumn” in the south—the north wind in Jin territory never let up, and the closer they drew to Shangjing, the colder it grew; snow was nearly ready to fall.
Fortunately, the Jurchens in Zonghan’s company were all seasoned warriors who had weathered wind and snow their whole lives. Though the temperature kept dropping, wrapped in heavy coats and draped in fox fur, the cold of the north was, if anything, far more bearable than the damp chill of the south. Amuda Lu had more than once heard the officers in the army speak of what it had been like south of the river—summer and autumn bearable enough, but the cold of winter and spring, soaked through with damp, crept into one’s clothes in waves and was truly no pleasant place to be. Coming home, they all agreed, felt best of all.
The mounted company, nearly two thousand strong in total, made its way along the official road toward Shangjing. From time to time, nobles from nearby estates would come to pay their respects to Grand Marshal Nianhan, conferring privately with him; those who had set out from Yunzhong were, one by one, granted audiences with either the Grand Marshal or Gushen—for these were men whose families held connections of consequence, key figures who would soon be moving and networking through the capital.
Amuda Lu, however, had no particular background to speak of. It was only on the seventeenth day of the eighth month that he was among the few summoned along the road—called for by Gushen, Xiyin himself. Though their stations differed vastly, the two had met several times before. This time, Xiyin wanted to hear from him not about matters at the capital, but about the various troubles that had quietly unfolded in Yunzhong over the past two-plus years.
“…Regarding the troubles in the Yunzhong region, before we set out on this campaign, there had already been some consideration given to it. I’d made a point of speaking with various parties—whatever grievances or conflicts existed, we’d deal with them once we returned from the southern campaign. But over these past two years, from what I can see, people’s hearts have grown restless to an excessive degree.”
The army marched forward as Wanyan Xiyin, on horseback, spoke to Amuda Lu riding beside him.
“With the Grand Marshal and myself away, some people were privately provoked and, unable to wait, took up arms against one another. There’s something suspicious about all this, but even now, the official records can’t fully account for it—including that incident two years ago in the seventh month, involving the Qi family and Shi Yuanji. It wasn’t even a battlefield, yet half the city fell into chaos, and several hundred people died. Old Master Shi managed to suppress it at the time, but I’d like to hear your view on it. Who was behind it—who do you think did it, and how—feel free to lay it all out in detail…”
The steady drumbeat of hooves sounded all around them. This journey to the capital concerned the question of the throne’s succession and the outcome of the struggle between the eastern and western courts, and given the Western Route Army’s defeat, the likelihood of the western court losing its standing already loomed before everyone’s eyes. But from Xiyin’s line of questioning, Amuda Lu could tell that what this Gushen before him was actually weighing had less to do with the present moment and rather more with something further ahead.
He considered for a moment, then began recounting the various clues he’d uncovered surrounding the Yunzhong incident of that year.
“…There’s been no shortage of bandits active around Yunzhong these past years—some after money, some after revenge and venting old grudges—but in this humble official’s view, the vast majority of these bandits carry out their business without much care or planning. Over the past decade or more, if we’re speaking of those with real, careful scheming behind them, there were a handful among the Liao remnants, men like Xiao Qing; and before that, there was the old Martial Dynasty’s covert intelligence network. But Xiao Qing was executed three years ago, and the Martial Dynasty’s covert network became a name in title only once it lost the Central Plains. There was also that notorious bandit chief Huang Gan who rose to prominence some time ago—privately rumored to have been placed here by the Martial Dynasty as a leader, though he went years without contact from the south and eventually turned to outright banditry. His pattern of abducting Han slaves and sending them south did seem to fit that story, but he died in an internal power struggle two years ago, and there’s no one left to confirm any of it…”
“Aside from Xiao Qing and Huang Gan’s people, the rest, naturally, would be the Black Banner’s own bandits—these operate with meticulous care, a fine division of labor, and have indeed carried out no small number of major operations over the years… As for the Yunzhong incident two years ago, given how extensive it was, this humble official cannot say for certain whether it was truly their doing. There are indeed a number of clues that seem to point toward the Black Banner—for instance, Qi Yan had incurred a deep enmity with the Black Banner back in the Central Plains, and just before the tragedy struck, he’d even obtained several Black Banner prisoners from the south, meaning to torture them to death for his own satisfaction. There’s certainly reason to believe the Black Banner would have wanted Qi Yan dead…”
“…After the tragedy occurred, this humble official personally examined the scene of the fire and found several traces that appeared to be man-made. For instance, Qi Yan and his two great-grandsons had hidden inside a water vat to escape the danger, only to be boiled alive when the fire raged out of control—but how could anyone submerged in scalding water not struggle desperately to climb out? Either they’d been drugged into total helplessness, or something had been weighted down on top of the vat’s lid… It’s possible, of course, that they climbed in and sealed the lid themselves, only for something to fall and pin it shut afterward by pure chance—but that would be far too great a coincidence to credit…”
“Of course, this matter later came to involve Old Master Shi, and the trail from Wanyan Wenqin’s side pointed toward Lord Zongfu himself, so those below were forbidden from investigating further. It would be no surprise if this were indeed the Black Banner’s doing, but on the other hand, the whole affair was so tightly interwoven, involving so much—on one side, a Han slave named Dai Mo who manipulated Wanyan Wenqin, and on the other, a scheme that drew together bandits of every stripe along with Old Master Shi’s own grandson. Even working backward from what happened, such a scheme would be extraordinarily difficult to construct, and so, without a thorough investigation, this humble official cannot be certain either way…”
At this point, Xiyin, listening beside him, said, “What if it was a disciple of the demon-heart himself?”
Amuda Lu said, “The south spreads word that this demon is formidable, possessed of the power to sway men’s minds and stir the masses—but in this humble official’s view, even the swaying of hearts must leave traces to follow. All I can say is, if the Qi family tragedy two years ago was indeed deliberately orchestrated by someone from the Black Banner, then this person’s methods are ruthless and his scheming runs deep—not to be underestimated in the least.”
Xiyin smiled. “And yet, in the end, you still managed to catch him.”
Amuda Lu thought it over. “I dare not deceive my lord—the man I killed was indeed the Black Banner’s leader in the north, but it seems he’d resided at Shangjing for a long time. Based on years of investigation, the Black Banner has another formidable leader in Yunzhong, one who goes by the alias ‘The Clown.’ Whether the Qi family tragedy can truly be traced back to him remains uncertain, but after it occurred, this man moved behind the scenes to coordinate, secretly spreading rumors that Lord Zongfu and Old Master Shi had fallen out and that one side meant to strike first—stirring up several violent clashes as a result, with no small number of deaths.”
“Tell me in detail about whatever you found suspicious.”
“Yes, my lord…”
The column marched on, and Amuda Lu laid out for him, one by one, the many events that had unfolded in Yunzhong over the past two-plus years. He had initially worried he might be rambling on too long, but Xiyin listened closely throughout, occasionally asking a pointed question here and there. When the conversation turned to the more recent past, Xiyin asked about the killing of Han slaves within Yunzhong Prefecture following the Western Route Army’s defeat, and after hearing Amuda Lu’s account, fell silent for a moment.
“…In this world, even the most docile dog will bite if pushed too far. The Han people were weak in the past—but after ten, twenty years of oppression and humiliation, they’ve finally forged something like the Black Banner out of it. Lu, someday, our great Jin and the Black Banner will surely meet in one decisive, all-out battle. Before that day comes, the Han people we’ve captured in the north will farm our land for us, build things for us—yet for the sake of a moment’s petty spite, we insist on driving them to the very brink of death, and sooner or later, that will produce men unafraid to die, men willing to stand against us. That Dai Mo, who stirred up Wanyan Wenqin and ultimately brought about that tragedy in the Qi family case—perhaps he was exactly that kind of man… What do you think?”
Xiyin turned his head to look at him. Amuda Lu cupped his hands in salute. “My lord speaks with great wisdom.”
“I’ve heard that the way you captured that Black Banner leader also involved setting a trap using a Han woman, is that right?”
“That is correct,” Amuda Lu said. “Though the circumstances of that woman were rather unusual as well…”
He gave a full account of the woman’s situation. Xiyin nodded. “Once this business at the capital is concluded and we return to Yunzhong, how to counter the Black Banner’s spies and maintain order within the city will be a matter of great importance. As for the Han people, there must be no more excessive slaughter—but how to properly manage them, and even how to identify a group of capable men among them who might help us hunt down that ‘Clown’ and his people, is also something that needs careful thought. At the very least, I want the Shi Yuanji case to reach some resolution—it’s the least I owe Old Master Shi as an explanation.”
Amuda Lu bowed his head. Xiyin reached out with his riding crop and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Once we return, I intend to put you in overall charge of security and policing matters in Yunzhong. You’d best give careful thought, over these coming days, to how you’ll go about it.”
A rush of hot blood surged to Amuda Lu’s head; he swung down from his horse and knelt halfway to offer his thanks. Xiyin laughed and waved a hand. “No need for such formality—get back up, let’s press on!”
Amuda Lu swiftly remounted and fell back into pace alongside him.
…
The company led by Zonghan and Xiyin continued marching north; along the way, the mood among the men mixed boldness with unease. Amuda Lu had originally come along merely to be questioned before Gushen, but now that he’d been promoted, he naturally found himself all the more anxious over what fate might await the Grand Marshal and the others going forward.
Rumors circulated that the late Emperor Wuqimai had already died at Shangjing, but with the succession still undecided, the court was keeping the death secret, waiting for Zonghan, Xiyin, and the others to arrive before making a final decision. But could such a matter really unfold so neatly? Zongfu and Zongbi had returned to the capital in triumph, and were surely already maneuvering within Shangjing at this very moment. If they managed to persuade the court to install the new emperor ahead of schedule, this company of fewer than two thousand men might well find itself surrounded by tens of thousands before it even arrived—and even with the Grand Marshal and Gushen present to command, should a change of emperor come to pass, the men in this company would likely have little chance of surviving it.
As a veteran soldier and constable who had always occupied the lower and middle ranks, Amuda Lu couldn’t puzzle out exactly what was happening at the capital, nor guess who might be holding back Zongfu and Zongbi’s inevitable move against them. But every night, as they made camp, he could clearly sense that this army was keeping itself ready at all times for battle, even for a breakout if it came to that—proof enough that they hadn’t failed to consider the worst possibility.
“Once a man’s dead, he doesn’t care which way the bird faces—but living on forever isn’t in the cards either…”
With matters having come this far, worry was inevitable, but all Amuda Lu could do each day was sharpen his blade, prepare provisions, and wait—on one hand, bracing for the worst to come, and on the other, hoping that the Grand Marshal and Gushen, heroes of their age, might yet find some way to turn the tide even in such a situation.
On the twenty-fourth day of the eighth month, light snow began falling from the sky. The attack never came. Their company drew near the borders of Shenzhou, having already covered more than half the journey…
…
At that very same moment, several thousand li away in the southwest, in Chengdu, the autumn sun fell warm and mild. In a quiet clinic tucked away from the bustle, Ning Ji hurried back from outside, a small parcel in hand, and found Aunty Gu. “…Could you pass this along to her for me?”
He gave a rough explanation of what was inside the parcel. Aunty Gu took it, hesitating slightly. “Why don’t you give it to her yourself…”
“Doesn’t matter who gives it to her, it’s hers to begin with anyway. Aunty Gu, you’re both women, it’ll be easier coming from you. Besides, I still need to pack—I’m heading back to Zhang Village tomorrow.”
Aunty Gu laughed. “You’re really going back to school?”
“Mm. If I don’t go back, my mother will beat me.” Ning Ji rubbed his nose, then grinned. “Besides, I miss my mother and my little brother and sister too.”
“So… you’re not going to say goodbye to her?”
“Mm, I’ll go take a look later… what’s there to say goodbye about, anyway…”
Ning Ji bounded off inside, leaving Aunty Gu behind with a faint sigh.
…
The afternoon sunlight slanted into the courtyard, falling through the open window. After a while, the young medic, now dressed in a white doctor’s coat, knocked on the door of the sickroom and stepped inside.
“Doctor Long, you’re here.”
Qu Longjun, sitting up on the bed, gave the young man a smile.
A month had passed, and the two of them hadn’t exchanged much conversation, but Qu Longjun had finally overcome her fear enough to smile at this Doctor Long, and in turn, his own expression seemed to ease a little as well. He gave her a natural nod.
“Mm. Let me check your pulse.”
He sat down at the bedside, and Qu Longjun extended her hand, letting his fingers rest against her wrist, followed by the usual round of routine questions and small talk. Toward the end, Qu Longjun said, “Doctor Long, you seem very happy today.”
“My brother’s getting married.”
“Oh, congratulations to them.”
And there, their exchange ended…