The weather was overcast, and the howling wind outside had stopped at some point without notice.

In the small room, the gaunt, stubble-faced Tang Minjie sat curled by the stove, cradling a teacup and lost in thought, when he suddenly snapped awake. He raised his head, listening to the silence that had fallen over the world outside, drank a mouthful of water, reached down to wipe away some marks he’d made in the ash on the floor, and only then slowly stood up.

He struggled to push the door open. The wind and snow outside had stopped, and the faint rustling sounds gradually began to reach his ears, followed by voices from the street and the sound of sparse footsteps.

Judging by the sky it was afternoon, though he wasn’t sure of the exact hour. Tang Minjie closed the door, did a quick mental calculation, and turned to lay out his coat for going outside.

When he put on his hat, his frostbitten ears throbbed with pain, making him want to tear them off. This was the one bad thing about the north — every winter brought frostbite, and his fingers, feet, and ears all suffered for it. Since arriving in the Supreme Capital, it had only gotten worse; his hands and feet itched unbearably.

Lu Mingfang had it better in this regard. Actually, if he’d thought of this earlier, he should have let himself go south to enjoy a few good days — with his own alertness and talent, he wouldn’t have ended up ambushed by Manduluu later, reduced to that sorry state.

Thinking this, he pulled on his gloves with some difficulty, then threw on a tattered cloak with a scarf attached, and his whole figure became nearly unrecognizable.

This was one of the advantages of heavy snow — people on the streets bundled themselves up tightly, making it hard to tell one person from another. And since Lu Mingfang had kept a relatively low profile in the Supreme Capital, not causing open trouble, the checks on residents in this part of the city were somewhat relaxed. He carried Xi identity papers, and most of the time this spared him from harassment.

Leaving the doorway of his temporary lodging, he walked south along the snow-covered road. This day was already the twenty-first of the tenth month. He’d set out on the fifteenth of the eighth month, and by the time he’d rushed all the way to the Supreme Capital, it was already early in the tenth month. He’d originally assumed that with Wuqimai dead for so long, the Eastern and Western Bureaus would already have come to blows to decide the new emperor’s succession — yet the situation hadn’t developed as expected.

For reasons not entirely clear, before his death Wuqimai had revised his previous will. In his final edict, he withdrew his prior designation of the next Jin emperor, leaving the choice of the new sovereign to be decided by a vote among the various clan elders of the Wanyan lineage and the various bojile chieftains in council.

Such deliberative councils had once been the method used in the early years when the Jurchen were still a tribal confederation. In theory, for the now-unified state of Jin to face such a crisis was highly likely to result in bloody division. Yet throughout the entire tenth month, though the atmosphere in the Supreme Capital had indeed turned grim — with emergency troop movements and small-scale clashes occurring several times — full-scale citywide bloodshed had always been checked at the most critical moments.

In the twenty days since arriving in the Supreme Capital, through fragmentary inquiries, Tang Minjie had roughly pieced together the outline of the situation here.

The Supreme Capital was currently locked in a tense three-way standoff. As he’d once explained to Xu Xiaolin, one side was Wanyan Zonggan, the Chief Bojile, backed by Zongfu and Zongbi; another was Wanyan Zongpan, Wuqimai’s legitimate son; and the third party was Zonghan and Xiyin, who had arrived in the Supreme Capital at the end of the ninth month.

In theory, Zonghan’s side had already lost any chance of becoming the next Jin emperor. Upon arriving in the capital, they had first sought an audience with Zongpan, who held the weaker hand yet still commanded considerable influence. Afterward, they went from household to household, playing up the danger and progress of the Huaxia Army in the southwest, and openly demanding that all Jin factions set aside their present disputes and select an emperor satisfactory to everyone, in order to meet the great threat that might soon strike from the south.

Coming from anyone else, such a proposal would likely have been ignored entirely by the Jurchen elite in the capital. But regardless, Zonghan’s decades of fighting for the Jin state had earned him immense reputation and authority. Others might question other things, but now that Aguda, Wuqimai, Zongwang, and Loushi were all gone, no one could truly question his and Xiyin’s judgment on the battlefield. And among the many old-timers still surviving at the top of the Jin hierarchy, the devoted loyalty Zonghan and Xiyin had shown to the Jin state still carried weight.

In this way, the delicate balance within the Supreme Capital held throughout the entire month, with no side yet triumphant.

Of course, if one were to examine the details, the whole affair was far too complex to be summed up in so few words. From the ninth month through the tenth, countless negotiations and clashes had erupted throughout the capital. Since every clan elder of the Wanyan lineage now held a vote, a number of highly respected elders were brought out to lobby on all sides. Where persuasion failed, threats — even assassination — were naturally employed to settle matters. Twice this balance had nearly collapsed out of control, yet each time Zonghan and Xiyin, working tirelessly behind the scenes, managed to pull key figures over to their side at the critical moment, stabilizing the situation while spreading their “Black Banner threat theory” ever more widely.

If the Supreme Capital had an operations team skilled in covert action, or if this had happened within Yunzhong, Tang Minjie might well have taken a desperate gamble by now. But his own situation was far from ideal. Although Lu Mingfang’s former post here had passed to him, he wasn’t familiar with the intelligence network Lu Mingfang had built in this city, and under the policy of “entering dormancy,” he had no wish to broadly awaken the comrades stationed here.

In all his time in the Supreme Capital, he had only one trustworthy source of intelligence, and out of caution, contact between them was sporadic — genuine firsthand news was extremely hard to come by. Of course, even if he obtained it, he had no action squad to act on it anyway — thinking of it that way brought a certain resignation.

Leaving the small alleys of this residential district and entering the main street, he found a certain prince’s carriage passing by, with soldiers clearing the way nearby. Tang Minjie knelt with the crowd by the roadside; looking up, he saw it was Wanyan Zongfu’s great carriage hurrying past under military escort, though he had no idea what was happening this time.

After this small interruption, he rose and continued on, turning down a street to a relatively secluded little square blanketed in snow. He wandered the area for a while with his hands tucked in his sleeves, checking for anything suspicious. After about an hour, his target — a figure in a bulky grey coat — approached from the far end of the street, opened the door of a shabby little courtyard, and went inside.

Tang Minjie kept circling the area, and after another half hour or so, finally approached the courtyard gate and knocked. The door opened at once — the figure in grey had apparently been peeking out to check the street — and Tang Minjie slipped inside; the two of them walked toward the inner room.

The person in grey was a woman who looked to be around thirty, fairly dignified in appearance, with a small mole at the corner of her mouth. After entering the room, warmed by charcoal, she took off her outer coat and poured two cups of water. Once the freezing Tang Minjie had taken his cup, she picked up the other and took a sip.

“How are things outside?” Tang Minjie’s voice was slightly hoarse. His frostbite itched unbearably, and he couldn’t help but pick at the scabs on his hands.

“No progress to speak of,” the woman said. “All I’ve been able to gather are some minor rumors from below. The two children of the Wodai family took Zongbi’s gifts and threw in with Zonggan’s side. Wanyan Zongpan is trying to win over Wanyan Zongyi and Wanyan Ahuli and others. Word is that Duke Sui and Muzong’s line will arrive in the capital within the next couple of days — once they do, all the clan elders will finally be assembled. But privately, I hear Zonggan’s side still hasn’t secured the most support, and someone may not want them entering the city too quickly. That’s about all… do you trust me?”

As she said this last line, Tang Minjie, who had unconsciously leaned toward the fire, paused slightly and looked up; the woman’s gaze was steady on him as well. Her Han name was Cheng Min. Years ago Lu Mingfang had saved her life; in the Supreme Capital she worked in a brothel, and she had gathered a good deal of intelligence for Lu Mingfang over time, gradually being brought into the network. Though Lu Mingfang had said she was trustworthy, he was dead now, and having met her only a handful of times, Tang Minjie still harbored some wariness.

Their eyes held for a moment, then Tang Minjie tilted his head slightly. “I trust Old Lu.”

The woman nodded. “You’re frostbitten — don’t sit so close to the fire.” She then picked up a wooden basin from the room, ladled in hot water, added some snow, and brought over a towel.

“Sit,” she said, pushing him down onto a stool. “With frostbite like this, don’t just warm yourself by the fire — it’ll only make it worse. You can’t wash it with cold water or hot water, only lukewarm, and slowly…”

As she spoke, she crouched down and gently wiped his hands several times, then stood and cleaned the frostbite and oozing pus from his ears. Her movements were light and practiced, yet firm — there was little of the coquettish manner one might expect from a brothel woman, which left Tang Minjie somewhat unsettled. Once she’d finished cleaning his hands and ears, she took out a small cloth bundle and produced a small box from it. Only then did he ask, “What’s this?”

“For frostbite. Smell it.” Understanding his wariness, she handed it over directly. Tang Minjie sniffed it but couldn’t tell anything from the scent alone. She said, “You’ve been here several times now. If I really had betrayed you to the Jurchens, I could have had you caught long ago, couldn’t I?”

Tang Minjie looked at her. “I’ve left a fail-safe. If something happens to me, you’ll die too.”

“Well then, that settles it.” The woman smiled easily, took out the ointment from the box, and began applying it to him. “This sort of thing doesn’t heal in a day or two — mostly it depends on taking care of it regularly.”

Once she’d finished applying medicine to his hands and ears, she set the basin down and reached for one of his feet to remove his shoe. Tang Minjie resisted. “There’s nothing wrong with my feet.”

“I noticed the moment you walked in that your feet itch too, same as your hands and ears. No need to be shy about it.”

“I’ll go back and deal with it myself—”

Before he could finish, she had already pulled off his boot, and the room immediately filled with a foul smell. Living far from home brought all kinds of inconvenience — Tang Minjie hadn’t bathed in nearly a month, and the smell from his feet was beyond words. But she only turned her face slightly aside and, slowly and carefully, removed his sock.

Frostbite sores on the feet often stuck to the socks with oozing pus, and Tang Minjie felt rather embarrassed, but Cheng Min didn’t seem to mind. “All these years in the Supreme Capital, the only thing I’ve learned is how to wait on people. You men are all the same. It’s fine.”

She removed his shoes and socks, soaked his feet briefly in the warm water, then took a cloth and gently scrubbed them clean. Tang Minjie remained wary. “You’re very observant.”

“If I hadn’t learned to read people, how would I gather intelligence? Men don’t say everything out loud.” The woman sitting before him smiled faintly. “By the way — how exactly did Old Lu die?”

“I got him killed,” Tang Minjie said. “He could have gone south alone, but I had rescued a woman on my end and asked him to look after her a bit on the journey south. I didn’t realize the Jin dogs had been watching her for years…”

At this, the room fell silent for a moment. Her hands never stopped moving, but after a while she asked, “Did he die quickly?”

“He wasn’t caught.”

“Then that’s something, at least.”

“You and Old Lu…”

“There was nothing between us.” The woman wiped his feet, applied the ointment, and looked up with a smile. “Someone like me — I couldn’t sully a hero like him.”

“…”

Tang Minjie found himself at a loss for words. Once she finished applying the medicine, she picked up the basin and stood. “I can tell you’re the same kind of person as him — even more wary than Old Lu, always on guard from start to finish. That’s a good thing. People like you are the ones who accomplish great things. The careless ones are all dead. Don’t put your socks on yet — let me see if I have any scrap cloth to sew you a new pair.”

His socks had been worn so long they were filthy beyond repair, but Tang Minjie shook his head. “No need. It’s getting late — if there’s nothing else important, let’s meet again in a few days.”

She nodded. “No rush. At least let your feet air out first.”

With the ointment on, his feet felt pleasantly cool, and Tang Minjie found he wasn’t in a hurry to leave after all. Though at the same time, this physical comfort stirred a certain unease and discomfort in his heart — in enemy territory, he distrusted the feeling of comfort.

As she brought in more water, Tang Minjie asked, “Why do you insist on staying in a place like that…?”

She set down the basin and answered plainly, without any change in expression. “I was abducted when I was barely into my teens, defiled by those beasts. I survived by luck. By the time I met Old Lu, I’d already… spent six or seven years living that kind of life. Honestly, I got used to it. You said it yourself — I can read people. Being able to gather information for Old Lu, I felt like I was getting revenge. I hate them, you know?”

She spoke frankly, with an easy smile, and Tang Minjie nodded slightly.

“…Later, Old Lu found a way to get me registered as a Bohai woman, so I wouldn’t be bullied in the capital the way Han women are. He did urge me to go back south, but what would I even do back there? My whole life is here — if I really went back, all I’d have is pain whenever I thought of it. But staying here, gathering intelligence, I feel like I’m cutting flesh off these Jurchens bit by bit. Thinking of it that way makes it easier to bear.”

She paused. “This courtyard, by the way, belonged to a Bohai family originally. They died unexpectedly, and I took over their household registration, so I come here now and then…”

Just then, an urgent gong sounded from somewhere far off outside. Neither of them knew what had happened. Tang Minjie’s expression tightened and he moved to stand at once. Across from him, Cheng Min pressed a hand down. “I’ll go take a look.”

She threw on her outer coat and slipped out. Tang Minjie quickly put his shoes and socks back on, pulled on his hat, and grabbed a nearby firewood cleaver before stepping out the door. In the distance, the gong continued its urgent clanging, though it didn’t seem aimed at this location. He hid behind the courtyard gate to look out — people on the street were hurrying back the way they’d come. After a while, Cheng Min returned.

“Something’s happened,” she said in a low voice, though her eyes carried a flicker of excitement. “They say the army’s on the move — the Tiger Guard has taken the city walls. Maybe someone’s decided to make a move, seeing that Duke Sui and the others are about to arrive!”

The clan elders of the Wanyan lineage didn’t all live in the Supreme Capital. After Wuqimai’s will had been formally announced, they had begun gathering there. Once everyone had assembled, the clan council would convene, and the question of succession might finally be settled — under such circumstances, it wasn’t surprising that some wanted them to arrive quickly while others hoped for delay. And in the midst of this maneuvering, large-scale bloodshed could erupt at any moment, potentially triggering a great internal split within the Jin state.

This was exactly the kind of upheaval Tang Minjie had come here hoping for. He thought for a moment. “Can we still get around out there?”

“The army’s under martial law. Fewer people on the street stand out more. If you live far from here, or get stopped for questioning…” Cheng Min frowned, then said, “I think you’d better stay here for now. I can’t easily get back either — we might as well stay together. If someone comes knocking, or if something really happens, we can look out for each other. What do you think?”

She looked at Tang Minjie, who hesitated for a moment. Since arriving in the Supreme Capital he’d trusted no one completely, and so he’d taken precautions — finding lodging through the black market so he’d have a fallback when dealing with Cheng Min. Though there wasn’t yet a large-scale manhunt for Black Banner spies within the capital, other rumors were tense, and if he were stopped and questioned, there was no telling what trouble might follow.

Thinking it over, he finally said, “All right. Sorry for the trouble.”

Cheng Min looked at his freshly re-shod feet and gave a helpless little laugh. “Let me find some scrap cloth to make you socks, then find something to eat.”

By now it was dusk, dark clouds gathering overhead, still looking as though snow might fall again at any moment. The two of them went back inside, ready to wait patiently for whatever this night might bring. In the dim city, scattered points of light were beginning to flicker on.

“…The story going around these days is this: the succession of the next Jin emperor was originally a matter between Zonggan and Zonghan, but Wuqimai’s son Zongpan was too ambitious and insisted on claiming the throne. Wuqimai, of course, hadn’t agreed at first…”

Outside, troops trudged through the snow-covered streets, the atmosphere growing grim. In this small courtyard, the lamplight flickered as Cheng Min took out needle and thread, mending socks from scrap cloth while chatting with Tang Minjie, telling him the story of Wuqimai.

This was the beginning of a long night…