The world turned as it always had.
The tenth of April, the eleventh… the twelfth. Not long after entering the side courtyard of the Yunzhong prefectural office, Mandu Dalu ran into Gao Puhu hurrying out with his men. The two groups paused briefly, facing each other. Gao Puhu, who looked like he hadn’t slept well, bowed and stepped aside to let them pass. Once Mandu Dalu’s group had gone by, the man slunk out through the office gate, what looked like a flatbread — his breakfast — still tucked in his sleeve.
“How’s old Gao doing over there?”
Back in the office room assigned to the constables, having waved the others off, Mandu Dalu spoke with a few of his trusted men. “Doesn’t look good.”
“Got chewed out, I bet — still had that flatbread in his sleeve and already rushing back out.” The one who spoke was an old army comrade of Mandu Dalu’s, nicknamed “Old Blade” — tall, heavily pockmarked, skilled at interrogation and equally skilled at observation. Clearly, he too had noticed the tell in Gao Puhu’s sleeve.
“These past two days, I heard the higher-ups nearly came to blows. That young master who went missing — his father’s no pushover, running around everywhere. Last night Prince Liang even used the chance to pick a fight with the Marshal. Probably the prefect got an earful too. If the master got scolded, how could Gao Puhu have it easy?”
A well-informed constable nearby brought up the matter, and someone else laughed and said, “Good thing our side’s clear of it.”
There was a reason their side was clear of it — when Wanyan Xiyin had promoted Mandu Dalu, he’d already spoken with Yunzhong Prefecture, making clear his most important task now was hunting Black Banner spies to ensure the May duel went smoothly. So the matter of the missing noble, for the time being, wasn’t going to land on their desk.
Mandu Dalu thought for a moment. “Still no progress? Have we found anything on our end? If it’s an ordinary kidnapping, someone should have made demands by now.”
“That’s the strange part — no demands at all. Honestly, given the current situation in Yunzhong, who’d dare stir up trouble like this just for money right now? What worries me is that the waters might run deeper — it’s even possible the easterners did it themselves. A grown man, out browsing an antique shop, guards right outside — and suddenly he’s gone. Everything about this reeks of something off…”
“Could be the Black Banner too…”
“Possible, but… kidnapping a few nobles to stir up more quarrels between the two sides? Taking that risk of exposing themselves? What’s the payoff really…”
After some discussion, Mandu Dalu said, “Hard to say for now. Keep digging. If he can’t find the man and we do, that’d be a fine thing too.”
The twelfth of April passed quietly, and then the thirteenth. Office affairs were full of trivial matters, and the pursuit of leads on the Black Banner and the Clown continued without pause. He knew results would come eventually, but for now, all he could do was keep accumulating.
On the afternoon of the thirteenth, he suddenly received a summons from Gushen’s residence. Mandu Dalu hurried over, and Xiyin received him in his study, asking briefly about his work before turning to another topic.
“Have you heard about Wanyan Linqi?”
“This humble servant has heard of it…”
“Do you think there’s a chance the Black Banner did it?”
“This humble servant thinks… there’s indeed… a certain possibility… this humble servant has actually been quietly investigating leads on this matter these past few days…” Mandu Dalu answered carefully.
Xiyin nodded. “Look into it more.” Then he waved a hand. “You may go.”
Mandu Dalu understood, and after leaving, gathered his men to investigate, with full effort, the case that Gao Puhu was handling. His investigation was already running somewhat behind — most of the primary evidence was concentrated in Gao Puhu’s hands, and he couldn’t very well ask Gao Puhu for it directly, so he had people quietly ask around instead.
By the night of the fourteenth of April, the two groups crossed paths again on the road by the office’s side courtyard. Gao Puhu hesitated for a moment before still stepping aside and cupping his hands in salute — this time the gesture was much more decisive. Mandu Dalu walked past with his chin raised, and once Gao Puhu’s group had vanished down the corridor, he finally turned back, brow slightly furrowed.
“Old Gao’s up to something.” Old Blade drew close beside him, speaking in a low voice.
The two factions had long borne each other ill will. Just two days earlier, Gao Puhu had been so busy running around over the Wanyan Linqi case that he hadn’t even finished his breakfast after being chewed out — and upon seeing Mandu Dalu, had grudgingly given way. Tonight, though the light was dim, the man had again yielded the road as he had the past two days, but there was clearly something different in his complexion.
Had he really cracked the case that fast?
Then why not make it known?
Weren’t the higher-ups still squabbling over it?
Mandu Dalu felt a stirring of doubt. After a moment, he arranged for men — on one hand to look into Gao Puhu, and on the other to go observe and inquire near Wanyan Linqi’s father’s residence, to see whether the abducted young noble had actually come home.
On the fifteenth of April, word came back. Wanyan Linqi had not returned, but the prison currently under Gao Puhu’s control in the northern part of the city had had extra guards added — it seemed quite possible they’d caught someone.
Vast as Yunzhong Prefecture was, its prisons weren’t limited to the one at the prefectural office — the small jail in the north of the city had long seen little use, and had over time become something of a private stronghold used mostly by the north gate’s chief constables. Mandu Dalu hesitated a moment, thinking back to Xiyin’s summons two days earlier, then immediately mustered his men and headed toward the north gate.
Thick white clouds were gathering in the city’s sky, sunlight cutting through the gaps like blades, and pedestrians came and went along the streets as usual. At that very moment, the blade falling toward the Western Court had already plunged into the heart of Yunzhong.
In the afternoon, arriving near the walled prison by Yunzhong’s north gate, Mandu Dalu saw several squads of private soldiers from various princely households already surrounding the area. Though they hadn’t openly displayed their formal honor guard, more than a few passersby who knew how to read the wind had already taken a detour around.
“Something’s happened…” It felt as though countless ants were crawling at the back of his skull. Mandu Dalu ordered his men, “Go inform Gushen — something’s happened…”
Past noon on the fifteenth of April, Wanyan Chang arrived at this walled compound containing the prison in northern Yunzhong. Entering the somewhat spacious main hall, he saw Zongbi along with two other Jurchen princes, and shortly after, two more princes arrived together.
“Setting up a private tribunal on Nianhan’s own ground — isn’t that improper?” he questioned.
Zongbi replied, “It’s a major case. Without a private hearing, it can’t be properly tried.”
Wanyan Chang had arrived in Yunzhong on the eighth. On the ninth, he’d learned of the young Wanyan Linqi’s abduction, after which Zongbi had used the matter to keep causing trouble — unsurprising, since from the moment he’d arrived in March, there had been daily tension and clashes between Zongbi and Zonghan’s side. This time, after all, he had come to divide up the Western Court’s power, and Wanyan Chang wasn’t opposed to this kind of fierce contest over every inch of ground.
From the ninth in the afternoon to the fifteenth — a mere six days — Zongbi’s side claimed to have already cracked the case, one that might even prove decisive in this contest between east and west. Wanyan Chang had his doubts, but he could roughly guess that the whole affair might already have reached the very top of Yunzhong’s leadership.
The stack of old case files the clerks brought in stood about half a chi high. On top were several freshly recorded confessions, along with bloodstained blades, tallies, and other items serving as evidence, gathered from who knew where. Following that, four prisoners were brought in, along with the rescued young noble Wanyan Linqi.
The interrogation began before the six Jurchen princes.
The course of events was not complicated.
One of the four prisoners, a member of the Black Banner, had conspired with a woman from Gushen’s own household to abduct Wanyan Linqi on the afternoon of the ninth. When chief constable Gao Puhu had found them, the woman from Gushen’s household had fled in the chaos, while the Black Banner member had been captured. After half a day of brutal torture, this Black Banner member had confessed to a series of shocking revelations:
For over a decade, “Han Furen” Chen Wenjun of Gushen’s household had used her position to continuously pass important intelligence about Jin to the south. She had first colluded with the Wu Dynasty’s Bureau of Covert Affairs, and later, while still cooperating with the Wu Dynasty, had also allied herself with the Chinese Army.
After the fall of the Central Plains, this “Han Furen” had not only passed countless pieces of critical intelligence south, but had also directly or indirectly helped a great many anti-Jin patriots and Black Banner members escape danger within Jin territory. It was precisely the crucial information she had transmitted that had allowed the Black Banner in the south to learn the true state of the Jurchens’ fourth southern campaign. According to the confession, without the aid of this information, the Chinese Army’s victory in the southwestern campaign would likely have been several times harder to achieve.
Based on this Black Banner member’s confession, Gao Puhu had subsequently unearthed a large body of evidence he’d kept regarding the passing of messages and the arrangement of escapes for Han slaves and captives. Three more underworld figures with ties to the affair, who hadn’t managed to flee in time, were then captured, further corroborating the truth of it all. Some clues even pointed, faintly, toward Gushen Wanyan Xiyin himself, long known for his fondness for Han scholarship…
Wanyan Chang and the others pored over these confessions and pieces of evidence, one thread after another weaving together into a web within the words and testimony. After a long while, Wanyan Chang set down the files, slammed his palm on the table, and stood up.
“What a coincidence, that the moment he’s caught, every piece of evidence is ready and waiting, one after another. In these confessions, not a single important figure from the Black Banner or the Wu Dynasty appears — just these three petty thugs left to corroborate the story… What exactly are you playing at!”
He strode toward the Black Banner member among the four prisoners. The man knelt on the ground, half his body covered in blood, his frame gaunt, hands hanging limp — up close one could see that all ten fingernails had been torn away, the flesh beneath a bloody mess. Wanyan Chang raised his foot and stamped down on the man’s right hand. The man let out a scream of agony, collapsing to the ground, convulsing and wailing, blood and spittle spilling from his mouth.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaah…”
The wailing echoed through the entire room.
The Black Banner prisoner gave no answer. Behind them, Wanyan Zongbi rose to his feet instead. “Uncle — does that even matter?”
Wanyan Chang turned to look at Zongbi, then at the expressions of the other four. After a moment, he let out a faint sigh.
“…No. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
He released his foot and walked toward the door. Outside, wisps of white cloud drifted across the sky. The Black Banner captive lay in a pool of blood on the ground, his stripped right hand beginning to bleed anew. He simply lay there, gaze fixed on the world outside, letting out a few more groans, blood and saliva still trickling from his mouth. The other three prisoners were all well-known outlaws of Yunzhong, and the hatred in their eyes toward him was plain — yet watching him convulse on the ground, none dared approach him.
“Aaaah… heh heh heh…”
He seemed to have lost his mind entirely — after the agony, he let out a few bone-chilling laughs.
Mandu Dalu still had no idea what had actually happened. All afternoon and evening, he’d been running around outside. After noticing the unusual presence of guards outside the jail, he’d realized the matter had slipped beyond his control, and had quickly sent someone to inform Gushen. But the man he’d sent soon returned to report that Gushen wasn’t at his residence — and even if he had been, with so many officials calling on him daily, a lowly constable would have no way to push through and report anything.
Toward evening, he spotted Zongbi’s figure among the crowd emerging from the compound, and hurried, turning at once, toward Gushen’s residence. As night gradually fell, he waited there until nearly midnight, when Xiyin’s carriage at last appeared on the road outside. Mandu Dalu, no longer minding propriety, rushed straight at the carriage, calling loudly for an audience.
The procession came to a stop. Wanyan Xiyin lifted the curtain there and let Mandu Dalu come speak. Mandu Dalu reported to him what he had seen that afternoon. The old man’s expression inside the carriage was stern and cold; once Mandu Dalu had finished speaking, he looked him over for a moment with a complicated expression.
“I understand,” he said. “You may go.”
“…”
Mandu Dalu was briefly stunned, but the carriage then set off, and he bowed and stepped back.
By now it was nearly the dead of night. Mandu Dalu returned to the office, carrying his questions with him, and ran into two comrades who hadn’t yet dispersed. One of them told him that in the afternoon, a relative of his had come by, urging him to go to his cousin’s house at once — it seemed something had happened to someone. Mandu Dalu, in no mood at that moment to deal with distant relatives, waved the matter off. Then, gritting his teeth, he took out the old set of night-travel clothes he’d once used from the office.
The three of them drove a cart back to the north of the city, changed into their gear near the jail, and climbed over one side of the courtyard wall. All three had once served as scouts in the army, and now, as men of the yamen, this kind of infiltration came easily to them. Once inside the prison, they knocked out the two men on night watch and headed toward the innermost cells, mostly emptied of prisoners.
The innermost cells mattered most. Working their way down the corridor, they found lamplight still burning within — two jailers had pulled up a table and sat there eating and chatting. Mandu Dalu rushed forward and knocked one man out before he could react, while pressing his blade to the other’s throat.
His comrade Old Blade came up right behind him and subdued the second jailer.
Only then did Mandu Dalu have a chance to look around the cells. There were four prisoners held in the innermost block, each kept separately. In the cell on the left was one man he actually recognized — a prisoner who had been tortured under interrogation. He frowned, found the key, and approached.
“Mountain Dog, what’s going on? How did you end up in here?”
The man nicknamed Mountain Dog had long been an information dealer, and the two of them even had something of a personal acquaintance. Though Mandu Dalu still wore a mask, the man recognized his voice, and after looking closely, rushed forward, reaching through the bars to grab at his clothing, his voice low and urgent.
“Something’s about to happen — something’s about to happen — we’ve all been set up, that Black Banner bastard…”
“What about the Black Banner?” Mandu Dalu grabbed the man’s hand in return.
Mountain Dog pointed to the innermost cell, where the half-bloodied prisoner, unlike the other three, showed not the slightest curiosity at the sight of someone breaking in. He simply sat quietly on the straw, leaning against the back wall, gazing at the small window above, watching the starlight seep in through it.
He seemed to be softly humming something.
“That fellow’s Black Banner… it’s a trap… the eastern and western courts are going to fight — they won’t even wait for the duel…”
“What are you talking about, why would they fight?”
“He gave up the Han Furen — the evidence is airtight, there’s no escaping it, and Gushen can’t escape it either… he gave up the Han Furen…”
As Mandu Dalu listened to him, everything around him suddenly seemed to go quiet. “He gave up the Han Furen” echoed in his mind, slowly settling into reality. Something churned in his stomach, as if he might vomit. He thought of Wanyan Xiyin’s expression on the street not long before. Then he let go of Mountain Dog’s hand and walked quickly toward that cell, key in hand, meaning to open the door to where the Black Banner captive sat — he would end the man himself, right there!
The lock clicked open, softly. He heard the young man in the cell still humming something, then heard another sound come from behind.
“—Killing him won’t do any good now, sir.”
People had begun filing into the cell block from behind, led by Gao Puhu, several of them carrying crossbows. Mandu Dalu took two steps forward, aiming his blade at the captive’s head, and heard the man let out something like a hum from his throat…
“…on the shore, dwelling.”
Turning his head, Gao Puhu spread his hands and walked over. “It’s already been laid out before the six princes! The evidence is mountain-high! Come, sir — you’re the chief inspector Lord Gushen himself promoted. Now go ahead and kill him, and kill off Gushen’s witness!”
Mandu Dalu hesitated a moment. Outside, his two comrades had already taken up defensive stances. Gao Puhu paid them no mind and walked straight into the cell.
Mandu Dalu held his blade to the Black Banner captive’s throat, his eyes fixed on Gao Puhu. “This animal really… bit Gushen?”
Gao Puhu smiled. “If it weren’t for him, we’d never have known — turns out it was because of Gushen that our Western Route Army lost so much intelligence, that so many of us died in the southwest.”
“Do you have any idea, without Gushen, our Great Jin…”
Mandu Dalu ground out the words one at a time through clenched teeth, but before he could finish, the Black Banner captive he held at knifepoint seemed to slowly lift his head, a hoarse voice coming from his mouth: “Man-du-da-lu?”
Mandu Dalu turned to look at him. The Chinese Army captive sitting there had a face bruised purple and blue, hands a bloody mess, and clearly had suffered torture elsewhere on his body as well. Amid his tangled hair, only his weary eyes still reflected a bit of light. He gazed at him quietly, then rasped, “You’re the one who killed Lu Mingfang, aren’t you?”
“…That’s right, me. So what?”
“I’ve been thinking, how to get back at you.” The Chinese Army captive’s words came flat and even. He turned his head away, continuing to watch the starlight seeping through the small window above. “Later I looked into it — you have a son…”
“A son…” Mandu Dalu’s brow furrowed. Beside him, Gao Puhu, hearing the tone in the captive’s voice, seemed a little startled himself, glancing between the two men. “He doesn’t have a son…”
“Left the army, became a constable, and for the sake of advancement and standing, made a lot of enemies — didn’t dare have children. Actually you did have one, sent off to your distant cousin’s family to raise, said to be the orphan of a fallen comrade. You rarely visit. He’s eleven now, and honestly looks quite a bit like you…”
His gaze turned back to Mandu Dalu. “Go take a good look at him when you’re not so busy. I’ve already arranged everything for you both — as for what happened to Lu Mingfang, we’re even now…”
The words came out calm and even, leaving both Mandu Dalu and Gao Puhu momentarily stunned. Mandu Dalu suddenly remembered what his comrade had told him at midnight, about a distant cousin coming by… In his ears, low laughter began to rise.
“Heh heh heh heh… heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh…” The Chinese Army captive, blade tip pressed to his forehead, watched Mandu Dalu, and slowly began to laugh, the laughter rising from low to high, turning the grim cell into something like a haunted den. “Heh heh heh hah hah hah hah… look at him, look at him, look at his eyes, hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah, Little Gao, Little Gao did you see it, Mandu… hah… Dalu, hah hah hah hah… look at him, everyone come look, isn’t he about to cry…”
The “Little Gao” he spoke of was, of course, Gao Puhu — who now looked every bit like a child who’d just found an amusing new toy, not caring in the least that a blade was pressed to his own head, reaching out to grab at Gao Puhu’s trouser leg. Mandu Dalu’s hand trembled, and Gao Puhu lunged forward, wrestling the blade from his grip. The two scuffled briefly in the cell, while the Chinese Army captive, heedless of the flashing blades, sat there laughing.
“Hah hah hah hah, Mandu Dalu, your son’s eyes look just like yours, don’t they — kill him, finish him off, go quick and see your son, wait too long and I don’t know if he’ll still have eyes, hah hah hah hah hah hah, hurry up and fight—”
Gao Puhu wrenched the blade from Mandu Dalu’s hand and kicked the eerily, chillingly laughing Chinese Army captive into the corner. The man curled into a ball, still wheezing with laughter on the ground, humming some impossibly strange tune through it all.
“Heh heh heh heh, a great river, wide with rolling waves… Mandu Dalu… cough cough… can’t reach the shore, heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh… a great river…”
This might have been the last thing that ever brought him joy. Starlight fell through the small window; inside the cell the lamplight flickered, casting everyone’s shadows against the grim walls. Gao Puhu stood stunned for a moment amid this eerie atmosphere, but in the end still placed himself between the prisoner and Mandu Dalu. Mandu Dalu himself seemed to freeze for a moment as well, then slowly pulled the black mask from his face, swept his gaze over everyone present, and walked straight out of the cell block.
They had come in secret, and the constables had originally meant to seize them — but at this moment, everyone now knew about Mandu Dalu’s son, and they could only exchange awkward glances. Gao Puhu hesitated for a moment, then finally waved his men aside to let them pass. Once Mandu Dalu’s figure had gone, he waved a hand and said quietly, “My condolences…”
“Hah hah hah hah hah hah—” Beside him, the mad laughter burst out again. “My condolences, hah hah hah hah, Little Gao you sure know how to talk, hah hah hah hah hah hah, my condolences hah hah hah hah hah, look at that, I like you — don’t hit me… cough cough cough cough…”
That unrestrained laughter carried far, reaching Mandu Dalu’s ears. The veins on his forehead bulged, and he nearly seized a blade to charge back in without a second thought — but in the end, he held himself back. He hurried out of the prison, rushing toward where his cousin lived…
It could have been drawn out much longer here, stretched across several chapters from each character’s point of view — but I’ve decided not to do that with scenes outside the main character. Let’s get straight to the point.