Beneath the clear night sky, the chaotic night market inside Jiangning was wreathed in smoke from cooking fires, every stall alive with the clamor of voices.

Beneath a wooden stall selling vegetarian braised food, several members of the “Undying Guard,” dressed in gray-black, had called for food and wine, and had a nearby familiar vendor bring over a plate of meat as well. Eating and drinking, talking loudly, they seemed quite at ease.

The Fairness Party had grown so quickly that its internal structures had become chaotic across the board. Under the “Wheel-Turning King,” the main combat force was the so-called “Rebirth Army,” with its elite core forming the “Undying Guard” — originally intended to serve as elite enforcers, bodyguards, a law-enforcement corps, and even scouts. But as numbers swelled far too quickly, all sorts of people — relatives, connections, or those who simply planted their own flag and declared themselves members — had flooded in as well.

This was, in fact, a problem faced across the board by the “Wheel-Turning King’s” entire “Eight Enforcers” structure. When Xu Zhaonan, originally from the Great Illumination Sect, had first divided up the “Eight Enforcers,” there had been a clear division of labor — the “Rebirth Army” as the core military force, the “Undying Guard” as elite enforcers and a secret agency, “Resentment of Meeting the Unloved” handling internal security, “Separation from Loved Ones” covering civil affairs, and so on. But after the Jurchens withdrew, all of Jiangnan had descended into chaos, and once the Fairness Party rose up, refugees flying every conceivable banner in a desperate bid to survive had sprung up everywhere — leaving no time at all for anyone to carefully sort and organize new recruits.

For instance, a village hundreds of li away might declare itself part of the Fairness Party and casually plant the “Wheel-Turning King’s” “Resentment of Meeting the Unloved” banner. By the time they eventually made contact with the actual faction, no mid-level official of the “Resentment of Meeting the Unloved” was going to tell them they’d planted the wrong flag — of course they’d just collect the protection fees and hand over the banner in return. After all, once you’re in this business, why would you ever turn away money and manpower? That was simply human nature.

And so, while the “Eight Enforcers” divisions still maintained some degree of complementary structure at the upper-middle levels, things grew increasingly chaotic further down the chain — by the lowest levels, every single banner amounted to its own little power center. This same pattern, scaling further upward, was really the state of the entire Fairness Party as a whole.

Of course, judging purely by the quality of their clothing, these particular “Undying Guard” members currently gathered here ranked fairly high up — proper core members, by the look of it. These types typically had no fixed daily duties like patrolling the streets; with night having fallen and the day’s business mostly finished, they were now enjoying a leisurely meal and drink, their talk drifting toward where to go for a good time that night, and which particular half-open doors around town were known for the most… accommodating hospitality.

After about half an hour of this, two more gray-clad “Undying Guard” members arrived from down the street, exchanging a few words with the group. Their expressions shifted slightly, and someone muttered a curse under their breath: “Damn our luck.” They hastily finished their food and rose together, heading off down the other end of the street.

You Hongzhuo, who had already moved to another stall to drink tea, rose leisurely and followed after them.

Jiangning, having endured repeated waves of war, had long since lost whatever order it once had. Beyond the night market lay a street scarred by past fires, its houses and courtyards reduced to mere skeletons, which waves of refugees had since divided up among themselves, setting up shacks or pitching tents to live in. There was little light here in the darkness — only a bonfire burning at the far end of the street, where the “Wheel-Turning King,” having risen through religion, had arranged for someone to recite religious tales. Local families and children had brought stools to sit and listen, or to play nearby. Everywhere else lay in near-total darkness, with only the vague outlines of people visible up close.

In markets like this, outside refugees tended to band together in groups, occupying territory under the Fairness Party’s banner in the form of gangs or village clans. In ordinary times, the “Wheel-Turning King” or whichever faction controlled the area would hand out a meal of gruel now and then, which made life here somewhat more bearable than for other displaced refugees.

Whenever some money-making opportunity arose within the city — say, dividing up the spoils from some wealthy household — the people here would rush in as well, and those with good luck might, over time, accumulate some money or valuables, which they’d hide away in their run-down shelters, waiting for the day they might return to the countryside and live a somewhat better life. Of course, having eaten someone else’s food, whenever the “Wheel-Turning King” clashed with a neighboring faction, they were expected to shout support or even charge into battle themselves — and sometimes, if a rival faction offered a better deal, an entire street or faction might simply switch allegiance to another Fairness Party banner altogether.

In markets like this, the general state of order usually depended entirely on whichever local “gang leader” or “elder” happened to be keeping things in check. Some streets were perfectly safe to walk at night; in others, an ordinary person who wandered in after dark might never come back out again, stripped of every last possession. After all, in an age as chaotic as this one, people could die even in broad daylight — to say nothing of whatever might happen unseen, in some dark corner where no one was watching.

The “Undying Guard” members clearly knew this area intimately. As they crossed through the district, people even called out greetings to them at one intersection. You Hongzhuo followed behind, slipping through the darkness like a ghost. Turning down another street, he saw several more “Undying Guard” members already gathered ahead. The two groups converged, and now numbering over a dozen, their voices grew a little louder.

“Who’s the target?”

“Don’t know yet. We’ll grab them first and ask questions after.”

“It’s just one person — and they need this many of us?”

“The one who caused the trouble is Miao Zheng. You all know his skill.”

“Everyone stay sharp. Don’t forget what’s been going around lately — someone trying to summon the spirit of the Yongle uprising…”

Those who’d risen to become core members of the “Undying Guard” were all fairly skilled fighters, and their tone carried a certain arrogance as they spoke. But the moment someone mentioned the words “Yongle,” the very air in the dark alley seemed to grow noticeably colder.

For anyone who had spent enough time within the Great Illumination Sect, the words “Yongle” represented a wound that could never quite be gotten past. And over these past ten-odd years, the memory had had plenty of time to grow into something of a legend.

Legend told of the “Sacred Duke” Fang La, and of “Nine Manifestations of the Cloud Dragon” Fang Qifo — how heroic and dominant they had been in their day, towering over their era. They hadn’t even needed the Jurchen invasion as an excuse; on their own, they had been capable of raising a massive uprising that swept across all of Jiangnan.

Legend held that the Yongle uprising back then had foreseen the weakness and accumulated rot of the Wu Dynasty, sensing the great calamity to come, and had struck with everything they had — and that had that uprising succeeded, the sons of the Han would long ago have defeated the Jurchens, and there would never have been these ten-odd years of endless war.

Legend held that today’s Fairness Party, and even the domineering Black Banner of the southwest, both carried forward the unfulfilled will of the Yongle era.

There were even rumors that the mantle left behind by the Sacred Duke had never truly been broken — that descendants of the Fang family still lived on quietly within today’s Great Illumination Sect, silently building their strength, waiting for the day they could raise their arms and truly realize Fang La’s vision: “All under the law are equal, none above another; root out evil, crush the tyrant, and bring the people eternal joy.”

The Great Illumination Sect, having inherited the legacy of the Maitreya Sect, had never lacked for all sorts of people over the years — and where there were many people, all sorts of talk was bound to follow. Ordinarily, no one paid the rumors about “Yongle” any mind, but the moment someone brought it up, people always seemed to recall having heard something of the sort from someone, somewhere, before.

The group fell silent for a moment before Kuang Wenbai gave a cold snort. “The Yongle uprising fell apart into pieces back then, and everyone involved died out long ago — what spirit is there left to summon? This is nothing but the Sacred Preceptor’s recent arrival stirring up trouble for people with agendas to push. The rest of you had better stay sharp and stop spreading these gutter rumors — if word of this reaches the higher-ups by accident, none of you will survive it.”

At this point the group was walking down a secluded alley, and Kuang Wenbai’s words rang out with particular clarity in the night air. You Hongzhuo, following behind, felt an odd sense of contentment wash over him at the sound of that voice — the night air itself seemed to grow fresher. He hadn’t yet decided what to do, but simply knowing the man was alive, limbs intact, speaking with such forceful bluster, filled his heart with quiet satisfaction.

Given all his years of accumulated experience in the martial world, the thing he feared most was searching the length and breadth of the realm and never finding his target — but once found, there were very few people in this world who could slip away from him easily.

Fourth Brother Kuang seemed to hold something of a deputy position within this group, and his words carried real weight — the man who’d first mentioned Yongle immediately conceded the point. The group’s leader spoke up. “These past few days, with the Sacred Preceptor here, our Wheel-Turning King faction’s momentum has grown considerably — believers coming to pay their respects are everywhere, inside and outside the city. Just watch — the Preceptor’s martial skill is unmatched in the realm. Give it a few more days, and he’ll likely smash right through Zhou Shang’s Five Directions Arena.”

The current head of the “Undying Guard” was the man nicknamed “Cold Crow,” Chen Juefang, who bore a deep personal grudge against Zhou Shang’s faction over a matter involving his own family. So naturally, everyone present regarded Zhou Shang as their imagined rival — and with the world’s foremost martial artist, Lin Zongwu, now arrived in Jiangning, the natural next step would surely be to bring the “Yama King” down a peg.

Someone asked, “Is the Sacred Preceptor’s martial skill really that formidable?”

Kuang Wenbai said, “Back in my days in the Jin region, serving under Protector Tan, I had the honor of meeting the venerable Preceptor twice in person. As for his skill… heh, the old man could crush either of us dead with just his little finger.”

The “Protector Tan” he referred to was none other than the once-famous “Heavenly Blade of the Yellow River” Tan Zheng. Though back then Tan Zheng had only held the rank of lodge master — it seemed he must have been promoted since.

Someone asked, “How did Protector Tan fare against the venerable Preceptor?”

“They say Protector Tan’s swordsmanship had reached a level so refined it could stand alongside the ‘Overlord Blade’ of that era. Even if he didn’t win outright, surely he must have—”

“They fought, once, years ago,” Kuang Wenbai said, shaking his head with a smile. “But I’m not in a position to go into detail about matters up top. I hear the Preceptor’s been over at the new Tiger Palace these past couple of days, training the others in martial arts. If you get the chance, find someone with the right connections to get you in to watch — that’s about all I can say.”

The group leader spoke up. “These past few days, all the big leaders have already been personally instructed by the Preceptor.”

“And how did that go?”

“Our own boss, I won’t speak for — but you all know how skilled ‘Martial Overlord’ Gao Huiyun is. Master of all eighteen forms of weaponry, unstoppable charging the enemy line on the battlefield. He faced the Preceptor holding his spear, and the moment the Preceptor laid a hand on it, he couldn’t even stand back up. Later, the Preceptor let him charge in full armor on horseback — and that horse… one punch from the Preceptor, and it just died outright. According to witnesses on the scene, the horse’s skull was shattered completely.”

“…And General Gao himself, how did he fare?”

“When the venerable Preceptor gives pointers, how could he really strike someone with full force? That one punch was simply a way of measuring strength against each other, so both sides would understand just how formidable he is. Point is, according to our boss, the Preceptor’s martial skill has already surpassed the very peak that ordinary men can reach. The only one in this world who might stand as his equal would be old Master Zhou Tong from back in the day — even the Sacred Duke Fang La himself, at the height of his power more than a decade ago, would probably have fallen a notch short. So take this as a lesson — don’t go believing nonsense about summoning Yongle’s spirit. Even if you really did summon it back, it’d get beaten to death all over again.”

The group nodded vigorously in agreement. Just then, someone asked, “And if the Demon of the Heart from the southwest were to step forward, how would that match go?”

The leader thought it over, then answered solemnly, “That Demon of the Heart from the southwest is obsessed with political scheming, so naturally his martial training suffers for it. His skill is, at best, on par with the Sacred Duke and his contemporaries back in the day — compared to the Preceptor, he’d inevitably fall a notch short. But with the Demon of the Heart’s forces as strong and fierce as they are now, if it ever really came to blows, he certainly wouldn’t step into the ring himself.”

The group nodded again, finding this thoroughly reasonable.

As they talked, their pace never slackened, and before long they reached a storehouse, where they collected fishing nets, grappling hooks, lime powder, and other capture equipment. Checking the time, they made their way to a district where the buildings were still mostly intact. Their target was a courtyard bordering a waterway — not a particularly large one, originally just an ordinary family’s residence, but in present-day Jiangning, it counted as a rare, tranquil haven.

Judging from what the group had been saying, the man responsible for the trouble was the owner of this house, one Miao Zheng — apparently meeting privately with someone, which was why they’d been accused of “summoning the spirit of Yongle.”

By the time Kuang Wenbai and the others arrived, a lookout had already confirmed the target was inside, meeting with someone. The group leader surveyed the surroundings, gave a series of instructions, and the more than a dozen men immediately spread out — some blocking the front gate, some watching the back alley, some keeping an eye on the waterway. Kuang Wenbai, an old hand at this sort of thing, understood that this operation would either end with the enemy caught in one clean strike, or else the enemy’s most likely escape route, if cornered, would be the narrow waterway less than two zhang wide right nearby. He led two companions to the opposite bank, sending one up onto the roof of a nearby building to keep watch with a small flag, while he and the other took up positions with a fishing net, waiting patiently for their prey.

The rooftop lookout’s flag was a dull gray-black color, nearly impossible to spot in the darkness unless one was specifically watching for it; from this rooftop, one could also catch glimpses of the activity inside the courtyard across the way. Once he lay down and began watching intently, he had no idea that, not far behind him, another figure had already climbed up and was crouching there, watching him.

After a while, a black-clad figure emerged from within the courtyard’s building and headed toward the gate. The lookout on the rooftop waved his flag. Those below, who had been watching for exactly this signal, immediately snapped to attention, exchanging hand signals, all eyes fixed on the movement near the courtyard gate.

You Hongzhuo rose and stepped forward, driving his blade into the lookout’s side just above the hip, pinning him down with a knee to the back while his other hand grabbed a roof tile and hurled it silently toward the far side.

The group focused intently on the courtyard gate suddenly heard a scream of “Ah—!” ring out from the darkness off to one side — it turned out to be a resident of a nearby courtyard, inexplicably struck on the head by something flying through the air. In that instant, every figure both inside and outside the courtyard froze for a split second. The group leader immediately signaled several rapid commands, charging forward, stepping off a companion’s back to leap over the courtyard wall — but the black-clad figure inside had already darted to the side, using the wall for leverage to vault straight over the side perimeter fence.

The two “Undying Guard” members at the gate slammed into it hard, but the owner of this courtyard, apparently feeling insufficiently secure, had reinforced the wooden door — the two men crashed against it and fell back in an undignified heap. Across the way, on the rooftop, You Hongzhuo nearly couldn’t hold back his laughter, having to clap a hand over his own mouth.

The black-clad figure being pursued vaulted over the courtyard wall and landed in the narrow passage running alongside the waterway. The moment their feet touched ground, the “Undying Guard” members stationed on both sides drew their blades and closed in to cut them off. With both sides converging, the figure didn’t simply leap for the small river below — instead, with a snap of both arms, a blade and a sword swept out from beneath the cloak, whirling to block one side’s attack while pressing hard against the other.

You Hongzhuo’s brow furrowed slightly. There was something oddly familiar about this cloaked figure appearing by the waterway.

Among martial-world wanderers, blade-users were common and sword-users far rarer, and those who wielded both blade and sword together were rarer still — a distinctive martial trait, easy to spot. And the sword this cloaked figure wielded was both wide and long, while the blade in the other hand was somewhat shorter by comparison. As the figure’s arms suddenly opened wide in a whirling motion, what emerged was unmistakably the technique that had once stunned the realm — the “Peacock King’s Seven Unfurling Feathers” of the former Yongle-era Minister Wang Yin, now known as the leader of the Chaos Masters, Wang Juyun.

The Peacock King Sword had once flourished across Jiangnan in its day; after the failure of the Yongle uprising, Wang Yin had fled far to the north. As the world changed at a dizzying pace after that, the Jurchens’ repeated invasions south had shattered the Central Plains into fragments, and Wang Yin had ended up preaching in the most desolate, hard-to-survive region south of Yanmen Pass, gathering a ragged army of beggars around him, seeking to save the common people.

The area where he had settled was poor in resources and suffered the worst from Jurchen incursions — hardly an ideal place to build a following — yet Wang Juyun had stubbornly put down roots there regardless. He took in a great many adopted sons and daughters, and to those with real talent, he taught the Peacock King Sword freely, sending capable subordinates out to gather gold and supplies from all over to support his forces. This situation had only somewhat improved once he later allied with the Female Chancellor of the Jin region.

Years earlier, when Jin forces under Liao Yiren and others had attacked the Jin region, Wang Juyun had led his own troops in fierce resistance; his many adopted sons and daughters had often led the fiercest charges on the front lines, their fearless, self-sacrificing spirit deeply moving to witness.

Because of the whole affair with Luan Fei, You Hongzhuo had never had especially deep contact with Wang Juyun’s faction during his time in the Jin region, but he had fought alongside these adopted sons and daughters on several battlefields. He still vividly remembered, during the fall of Zhaode, a woman not far from the section of wall he was defending — wielding both blade and sword, charging into battle again and again, drenched in blood — and he remembered, too, the sight of that same woman cradling her already-dead brother’s body, wailing up at the sky amid the carnage.

Liang Siyi…

That should have been the woman’s name.

The two parties were rather far apart now, so You Hongzhuo couldn’t be entirely certain. But thinking it over, there surely couldn’t be many people in the world who combined the Peacock King Sword with a paired blade — and at this moment, if the Great Illumination Sect’s people were already whispering about someone “summoning the spirit of Yongle,” then aside from that former Minister Wang himself getting personally involved, there likely wasn’t anyone else in the realm it could be.

As for Chen Fan, currently entrenched in the southern Jinghu circuit, said to be the direct disciple of Fang Qifo — he had long since joined the Huaxia Army, had defeated the Jurchens head-on in open battle, and had personally killed the Jin general Yinshuke. Even if he himself came to Jiangning in person, no one would ever claim he’d come to restore the Yongle cause.

As these thoughts turned over in his mind, the black-clad figure across the way, wielding superb swordsmanship, had already cut down one “Undying Guard” member and was charging to break free — but the men closing in were clearly seasoned fighters too, cutting off the escape with practiced efficiency. The outcome remained uncertain. You Hongzhuo, well aware of just how dangerous these battle-hardened madwomen of the martial world could be, wasn’t especially worried in the short term. His gaze drifted to the fallen “Undying Guard” member on the ground, and he found himself silently entertaining the grim joke of an “Undying Guard” member actually dying on the spot, waiting to see if the man would get back up.

Just then, in the darkness at the edge of his vision, a figure suddenly moved — streaking across a rooftop not far off at incredible speed, closing the distance in the blink of an eye.

You Hongzhuo had spent a long stretch of his time in the Jin region lying in ambush, hunting down assassins sent to kill the Female Chancellor, which had left him acutely sensitive to exactly this kind of sudden development. The figure must have approached from a distance — even You Hongzhuo hadn’t noticed when it had first gotten up onto the rooftop — and it seemed to have only now reacted to the commotion below, which was the first moment he’d even registered its presence.

Below, in the chaos of the fight, the cornered figure darted left and right like a monkey, making it difficult for her pursuers to close the net, nearly breaking free of the encirclement entirely — even as this new figure came rocketing in at tremendous speed. A name flashed through You Hongzhuo’s mind.

The chief of the “Undying Guard.” “Cold Crow” Chen Juefang.

Reputedly the finest lightness-skill master in the realm.

You Hongzhuo pressed his lips together and gave two sharp whistles — “Chirp, chirp.” Across the way, the figure wielding the Peacock King Sword suddenly changed course, while the figure suspected to be “Cold Crow” Chen Juefang vaulted over the courtyard wall, executing the move “Eight Steps to Catch the Cicada,” and shot directly toward the opposite side of the waterway.

You Hongzhuo let out a sigh, then leaped down from the rooftop straight toward Kuang Wenbai and his underling.

Catch me if you can…

He landed with a heavy thud, driving the underling holding the fishing net straight into the ground.