The sky was just growing light.

Dew soaked the morning streets.

At the Tongwen Inn on Ankang’s northeast side, the sound of scholars reciting their morning lessons had already begun. A young street performer named Wang Xiuniang was stretching in the courtyard, waiting for Lu Wenke to appear so she could greet him. Ning Ji, having finished washing up, bounced across the courtyard and trotted out toward the front of the inn.

“Hey, Little Brother Long.”

“Xiuxiu.”

Ning Ji waved a hand — that counted as a good morning — his figure already passing through the corridor beneath the eaves toward the front hall.

He trotted straight out of the inn, stretching his neck and limbs, his body warming with each long breath as he ran down the morning street toward the west side of the city.

Since his current cover was that of a physician, it wasn’t fitting for him to practice boxing or swordplay in front of others. Fortunately, after his time on the battlefield, his progress and insight in the martial arts had already far surpassed his peers — he no longer needed much mechanical drilling of forms, and even complex techniques could be broken down at will. Keeping his body active and alert each day was enough to maintain his combat readiness, which made his morning runs a genuinely useful activity.

He’d heard that back in Jiangning, his father used to run along the banks of the Qinhuai River every morning. That old Grandpa Qin’s residence had, in fact, been right along the path his father used to run — that was how the two of them had come to know each other, and later his father had gone up to the capital and accomplished great things. Later still, after Grandpa Qin was killed, his father had gone out and taken down that Emperor of the Wu Dynasty.

Thinking about it this way, running really was rather stirring.

Ning Ji’s running looked relaxed and casual, but his actual speed was blindingly fast. In an instant he passed the few vendors and pedestrians out at this early hour, cutting past storefronts just lighting their stoves, weaving through the morning market… Even where pedestrians clustered or goods were piled up, no person or object ever collided with this seemingly carefree, wandering youth.

After a night had passed, the fishy smell of Ankang’s streets had faded considerably by morning — but as he ran toward the western side of the city, he began to see soldiers gathered in some streets, yawning, the traces of last night’s chaos not yet fully cleared.

There were pedestrians on the streets too, occasionally gathering to ask about the previous night’s events; some, naturally frightened of soldiers, kept their heads down and hurried past. But the soldiers on the streets weren’t interacting much with the residents. As Ning Ji ran, he could occasionally see traces of the previous night’s fighting — from his observations the night before, the bandits had set fire to several buildings during the fighting, and there were also signs of gunpowder explosions. Now, looking from a distance, the burned ruins of the buildings still stood, though the traces of the explosions could no longer really be made out.

In truth, the previous night, Ning Ji had snuck out of the Tongwen Inn to watch the excitement. But he’d been tracking the group of assassins, and since the two districts of the city were too far apart, by the time he’d crept over in his night-travel clothes, the surviving assassins had already broken free of the first wave of pursuers.

At the time, a group of haughty rivers-and-lakes men had fanned out searching for clues, which meant Ning Ji ultimately hadn’t been able to pick up any scraps left behind. After observing the original site of the fight and confirming that this batch of assassins was clumsy and utterly without method, he’d left, following the principle of safety first.

The Huaxia Army’s intelligence doctrine did not encourage assassination — not that it was entirely off the table, but any assassination of an important target had to have a solid plan and, wherever possible, deploy personnel with special-operations training. Even if some hot-blooded youth in the rivers and lakes wanted to do such a thing in the name of righteousness, so long as there was a Huaxia Army member nearby, they would certainly be talked out of it.

According to his father, hot blood without a plan would always lose to cold cruelty with one. Deep down, Ning Ji, being in the full bloom of youth, probably didn’t much care for such words — but similar examples had already been demonstrated countless times, both within and outside the Huaxia Army.

So once it was fully light, Ning Ji had come running back out again, openly eavesdropping on scraps of information from people’s conversations.

“…Bandits broke into the city last night to carry out an assassination…”

“…A gang of heartless, honorless bandits…”

“…Secretly colluding with the Southwest, selling people off to them, and once we cracked down on it they took a desperate gamble and broke into the city to try to assassinate Lord Dai…”

There were dispirited soldiers on the street, and there were still swaggering rivers-and-lakes heroes, and from time to time one of them would let slip a bit of information. Ning Ji mingled with the crowd, and when he heard the words “Lord Dai,” he couldn’t help himself and popped up, wide-eyed and innocent-looking.

“Lord… Lord Dai…” he said, full of curiosity. “Grandpa Dai… he’s actually here in the city…”

The rivers-and-lakes hero narrowed his eyes — had anyone else asked, he would have grown wary — but seeing it was just a cute-looking youth, speaking with such reverence about Lord Dai, he only waved a hand to smooth things over.

“Ahem… you needn’t ask too many questions about this. The bandits were vicious, but most of them have already been killed by us. The details… should be made public soon. No need to worry, no need to worry… off you go now…”

Ning Ji drifted along with the dispersing crowd, running slowly nearby, observing a while longer out of the corner of his eye before finally leaving the street.

Since the end of the great battle in the Southwest, quite a few outside powers had been studying the Huaxia Army’s methods of training troops, and had started paying more attention to how effective it was to gather together heroes of the rivers and lakes. But more often than not, it was just one or two leaders bringing along a band of third-rate fighters, trying to instill discipline and build an elite scouting force. Ning Ji had heard plenty about this sort of thing within the army, and after his casual observation the previous night, he already understood that these rivers-and-lakes men were Dai Mengwei’s own “special forces.”

That big, sturdy fellow throws a hard punch, but his stance is unstable — put him in an army and he’d be a dead weight in coordinated combat. Ground-fighting techniques could take him down in three moves at most, Ning Ji thought to himself, and having learned that Dai Mengwei himself was in the city of Ankang, he suddenly felt a stirring of restless energy.

He continued to run slowly through several more streets after that, observing a number of people. There did turn out to be a few fighters on the streets whose skill he couldn’t quite see through, which reined in his restlessness somewhat.

At a place where a house had burned down, the affected residents knelt in the street, weeping hoarsely, decrying the arson committed by the bandits the previous night.

By the time he reached Ankang’s largest vegetable market, the sun had already risen. Ning Ji saw a crowd gathering, and then carts were pushed forward carrying the corpses of the slain bandits. Ning Ji squeezed into the crowd to watch for a while; midway through, a pickpocket tried to steal something off him and got knocked flat into the mud of the market square for his trouble.

By the time he ran all the way back to the Tongwen Inn, the hall was already full of scholars and merchants eating breakfast. Lu Wenke and the others had saved him a seat; he ran over, catching his breath, and immediately started grabbing steamed buns. Wang Xiuniang came over and sat beside him. “Little Doctor Long, you go running out every morning — is it for exercise? Don’t you doctors do that thing, the Five Elements Fist… Five Elements Play or whatever it’s called? Why not practice in the courtyard?”

“It’s the Five Animal Frolics,” Lu Wenke put in with a smile. “Has Little Long learned it?”

“Mm-hm.” Ning Ji nodded, a bun in one hand, using the other to demonstrate a few simple motions. “There’s the Cat Fist, the Horse Fist, the Panda Fist, the Monkey Fist, and the Rooster Fist…”

“Huh? Really?” Lu Wenke looked somewhat puzzled and turned to ask the others; Fan Heng and the rest nodded along, adding, “Mm, passed down from Hua Tuo.”

The mood at the table was warm and lively; everyone else was talking about the disturbance from the previous night. Aside from Wang Xiuniang, who was counting off on her fingers to remember this new “Five Animal Fists” knowledge, everyone was thoroughly absorbed in discussing politics.

The Tongwen Inn counted as one of the finer establishments in the city, and most of the guests staying here were scholars and merchants stranded in transit, few of whom left the same day, which meant breakfast conversation and debate tended to run long. After a while, some of the scholars who had gone out that morning came back with more detailed inside information.

The main figures behind the assassination attempt were now clear; the leader was a notorious river bandit who had terrorized the Han River region for years, known by the nickname Old Eight — the rivers-and-lakes crowd called him “Eighth Master.” Before the Jurchens marched south, he had already been a well-known “settler of accounts” in these parts — for the right price, this man would kill and burn without hesitation.

After the Jurchens withdrew, this territory under Lord Dai’s control had already been a hard place to survive, and this money-hungry Old Eight had teamed up with lawless men from the Southwest, secretly opening a trafficking route to sell people for profit. And under the instigation of “powerful figures” from the Southwest, he had long wanted to kill Lord Dai and claim a reward there.

The previous night, Lord Dai had entered the city on urgent business with only a small escort, and Old Eight had seen his chance, sneaking into the city to carry out the assassination. Who could have known that his scheme would be discovered by righteous men under Lord Dai’s command, who fought bravely to stop him — several of these righteous men died in the fighting. Seeing his plot exposed, Old Eight had abandoned his companions and fled, setting fires indiscriminately throughout the city along the way, burning countless ordinary people — truly a man devoid of conscience or humanity.

Following the failed assassination, the ringleader Old Eight, along with Jin Chenghu and several others, remained at large. The city had already issued large numbers of wanted notices bearing their portraits, offering rewards for their capture…

As this account made the rounds, the inn buzzed with discussion. Some loudly condemned the bandits’ brutality; some began debating the ecology of the rivers-and-lakes world; some grew concerned with the matter of Dai Mengwei’s presence in the city, wondering how they might get an audience with him to pitch their own learning; and as for the coming war, some began discussing that too — after all, if one could work out some incisive grand strategy beneficial to the front-line situation, one might just earn Lord Dai’s favor…

At this same hour, Ding Songnan, who had already worked out a preliminary plan with Dai Mengwei, was still dressed in his lean, practical short jacket. He had left Dai Mengwei’s residence and, together with a few trusted followers, headed toward the northern part of the city to catch a boat, moving swiftly to leave Ankang.

Along the way, he told one of his companions the results of the meeting, and midway through his account he fell briefly silent before saying, “Dai Mengwei… he’s really no simple man.”

“What makes you say that?”

“…Once we’re back, pick a group of men. I want you to lead them to Jiangning.”

“…That heroes’ gathering?” His companion looked puzzled. “Going to join He Wen’s little party?”

“Dai Mengwei was right about this,” said Ding Songnan. “There are some major events yet to come, and they’re going to happen in Jiangning…”

“Then we’re… not going just to give He Wen face, are we…”

The Han River flowed on quietly, his companion’s puzzlement echoing through the cabin, and Ding Songnan went on to explain the reasoning behind it…

“…From here on, some of the events that will decide this world’s future are going to take place in Jiangning…”

In the afternoon, at the hour of wei, in a courtyard in Ankang, Dai Mengwei leaned on his cane, walking slowly forward. Beside him was Lu Zhongming, one of his most trusted disciples from years past — a middle-aged scholar nearing forty, who had recently been in charge of the detailed logistics of gathering grain.

“…I intend for you to lead a delegation to Jiangning. Wei He, Chen Bian, Qiu Changying, and the other heroes will all be under your command… I’ve thought it over, and you’re the only one who can manage them,” said Dai Mengwei.

“…Jiangning… the heroes’ gathering?” Lu Zhongming knit his brow in thought. “Isn’t that just He Wen copying someone else’s idea…”

He hesitated, clearly not understanding. Dai Mengwei shook his head.

“News of this only reached us a few days ago, and at first glance it does seem absurd — but if you think it through more deeply, it isn’t hard to see the sense in it…”

News of the Jiangning heroes’ gathering had spread here only recently; some grew excited over it, others secretly laughed at it behind closed doors. Because, when it came down to it, the Southwest had already held its own World’s Number One Martial Arts Tournament the year before, and for He Wen to hold one this year clearly smacked of petty imitation.

And besides, however grandly the storytellers might speak of the so-called heroes of the rivers and lakes, anyone actually in a position of power already understood that it would not be these common men who decided the future of the realm. The Southwest had held its tournament riding on the momentum of its victory over the Jurchen western army, using it to recruit and expand its forces, and Ning Yi had even specifically arranged the founding ceremony of the Huaxia People’s Government alongside it — before the things that truly mattered, the so-called tournament was nothing more than an accompanying spectacle. And now that He Wen was holding one of his own this year, it was, if anything, just a way to gather up glory-seekers and profiteers for a bit of excitement — perhaps drawing a bit of attention, recruiting a few more roughnecks into the fold. But could he really use the occasion to set up some “Fairness People’s Government”?

Lu Zhongming pondered this, head lowered, as Dai Mengwei walked ahead of him, his cane tapping the ground slowly and rhythmically.

“…The Jurchens marched south four times; the Jianshuo Emperor fled out to sea, and the Wu Dynasty fell apart at the seams. In today’s world, it looks as though the warlords have risen everywhere, and anyone with even a little ability has raised a banner of their own. But in truth, this is merely a period of confusion following a sudden great calamity — no one yet truly understands the shape of this world, or where they themselves stand within it. Some raise their banners, then hesitate; some appear loyal on the surface while secretly probing and testing beneath. The Wu Dynasty stood settled for two hundred years, after all — whether what follows will be an age of chaos, or whether things will somehow reunify again within a few years by some strange twist, no one can guarantee.”

Dai Mengwei smiled. “And so, many who look powerful now are, in fact, nothing more than fleeting, counterfeit warlords… The affairs of the world are like great waves sifting sand — over the next year or two, these fakes, these unsteady ones, will inevitably be washed away. South of the Yellow River, this patch held by myself, Lord Liu, and Zou Xu is, in a sense, a place where true gold is being refined. And the Fairness Party, Wu Qimei, even the little court in Fuzhou — sooner or later, they too will have to determine who wins and who loses. All of this, on the surface, already seems clear enough to see.”

Lu Zhongming nodded.

“But have you ever considered — that the shape this world takes in the future might be one where all the various warlords together turn against the Black Banner?”

Dai Mengwei paused. “The world sees myself, Lord Liu, and Zou Xu as one bloc, and the Fairness Party, Wu Qimei, and the rest as another. And the Fairness Party’s development looks chaotic — it sweeps forward and expands even more aggressively than the Black Banner, showing no deference to anyone’s face. So at first hearing, this heroes’ gathering does sound absurd, and we scholars might well laugh it off. But in truth, however absurd this gathering may seem, the Fairness Party has, nonetheless, opened its doors…”

Too late for tonight — over four thousand characters is enough for one chapter. The rest tomorrow.