Jiangning city was like the corpse of some enormous beast.

A stretch of the western city wall had partially collapsed, and no one had repaired it. Autumn had come; wildflowers had bloomed atop the ruins, some white, some yellow.

Ning Ji stood near the city gate for a good while. It was rare for a boy of only fifteen to feel so wistful, but after looking at it for so long, all he could think was that this whole city had simply given up on maintaining its own defenses.

Crowds bustled near the city gate, trampling the entire road into broken mud. Though soldiers were present trying to maintain order, arguments and commotion still flared up from time to time over congestion and people cutting in line. The line waiting to enter the city stretched along the road beside the wall—gray-clad and black-clad figures of every sort, looking from a distance like ants gathering and scattering across the corpse of a beast.

He recalled how, last year in Chengdu, his elder brother had told him about something he was studying with their father—how many people a given city road could handle passing through at once, how to keep pedestrians moving at maximum flow, and when the road wasn’t wide enough, how to expand it or redirect traffic. Ning Ji had found it boring and said, “Just build another one. If that’s not enough, build another.”

His brother had only shaken his head, looking at him the way one looks at a foolish child, hands clasped behind his back as though he understood everything. “Ah, urban planning and governance is quite the problem.”

Who does he think he’s looking down on—I bet his wife doesn’t understand it either, Ning Ji had thought at the time.

…

“Ah, urban planning and governance is quite the problem.”

Ning Ji sighed amid the crowd, shuffling slowly forward.

In the past, he had always been the most impatient of the children, hating slow-moving lines. But in this moment, little Ning Ji felt none of that old restlessness in his heart. He moved along with the crowd, watching the wind sweep in from the open fields, stirring the reeds among the farmland and the willows by the little river, gazing at Jiangning’s tall, dilapidated gate, its blackened bricks bearing the scars of war…

Back home, it was usually his mother who spoke in detail about Jiangning.

His father was a man who did great things, and was often away from home. When they were small, there had even been a period when rumors spread that their father had died. Later, though he had returned home, his time with each child was mostly scattered and brief—sometimes sharing amusing tales from the martial world, sometimes sneaking them off to eat something delicious. Looking back, those moments felt light and easy, but they hadn’t come often.

His eldest mother managed many of the family’s businesses at home and often had to oversee and inspect them. When she was home, what she cared about most was all the children’s schoolwork. Ning Ji was a poor student, and whenever he saw his eldest mother smile and ask, “Xiao Ji, how’s your schoolwork been lately?” a flush of guilt would rise in him.

His eldest mother never struck him, though—she would only pull him aside and talk earnestly at length, sometimes pressing her forehead as she spoke. Ning Ji knew this was from exhaustion. For a while she had even tried tutoring him personally, sitting with him through his homework for several days, though her own schoolwork wasn’t strong either—apart from mathematics, the two of them would get stuck on other subjects and have to go ask Auntie Yunzhu.

Eventually, his eldest mother seemed to have finally given up on the idea of improving his grades, and Ning Ji breathed a sigh of relief. Only occasionally would she still ask about his schoolwork, and when he gave her a brief answer, he could tell she genuinely cared about him.

Auntie Hong had by far the most formidable martial skill, but an excellent temperament. She came from Lüliang, and though she had lived through no end of killing, her swordsmanship had grown ever more tranquil over the years. On rare occasions she would join the children in playing with mud, and it was usually she who fed the family’s flock of chickens, clucking away at them. A couple of years earlier, Ning Ji had thought Auntie Hong’s swordsmanship had grown increasingly plain and unremarkable, but after experiencing the battlefield himself, he had suddenly come to understand the terror hidden within that tranquility.

Because of her duties, Auntie Hong didn’t spend much time with everyone either. She would sometimes watch over the surroundings from a high point in the house, and often made rounds to check on the sentry positions nearby. Ning Ji knew that during the Huaxia Army’s hardest times, there had often been attempts by others to capture or assassinate his father’s family, and it was Auntie Hong who had kept constant, vigilant watch over the household throughout.

She would often watch the group of children playing from a distance, and as long as she was there, no one else needed to worry much about safety. It was only after experiencing the battlefield himself that Ning Ji came to understand just how reliable those watchful wings had been—Auntie Hong, who so often observed everyone from not far away without ever coming to play with them.

Auntie Gua’s martial skills stood at the opposite extreme from Auntie Hong’s. She too was rarely home, but with her lively personality, she often played the role of ringleader among the children at home—after all, “Household Tyrant Liu Dabiao” wasn’t an idle nickname. Occasionally she would lead a pack of children in challenging their father’s authority. In this regard, Auntie Jin’er was similar, the only difference being that when Auntie Gua provoked their father, it often escalated into a full verbal battle, and the specific outcome always had to be settled “privately” between the two of them, ostensibly to spare her dignity. When Auntie Jin’er tried something similar, though, she would usually end up on the receiving end of their father’s teasing instead.

His mother was the family’s chief household manager.

She didn’t concern herself much with matters outside the home, focusing instead on looking after everyone’s daily life within it. The meals the children needed prepared for school, the clothes the whole family wore each day, the bedding for the changing seasons, every meal at every mealtime—whatever concerned the household, it was mostly his mother who handled it.

When the children were still young, or during holidays at home, they would often gather around their mother. In spring she would take them under the eaves to make green rice cakes; in summer, after they’d tired themselves out playing in the courtyard, they’d drink sour plum juice beneath the eaves. At times like these, their mother would tell them about the family’s years in Jiangning.

The courtyard with its white walls and gray tiles, the little flower garden once so carefully tended within it, the antique two-story building, the wind chimes and lanterns hanging from it, the dusk after a sudden shower when the sky turned an inky blue-black and lanterns lit up one by one across the courtyard… There were also the grand scenes of festivals and market days, the pleasure boats crowding the Qinhuai River, parades with dancing dragon processions and fireworks lighting up the sky. Back then, according to their father, their mother had still been a silly but adorable little maidservant with her hair done up in two buns…

Of course, their mother insisted she hadn’t been silly at all. She had grown up alongside Auntie Juan and Auntie Xing, following their eldest mother, close in age and as good as sisters. In those days, many people in the Su family hadn’t yet amounted to much, including uncles Wenfang and Wending, who are now extremely formidable figures but were then just young men lounging about the house living off the family. Their eldest mother had been interested in business since childhood, so their old grandfather had often taken her along to the shops, and later let her manage part of the family’s holdings.

Back then, their eldest mother and their mother had been only thirteen or fourteen when they first got involved in these affairs. One year, when they were around fifteen, several carts of goods had gotten stuck outside the city in heavy rain and couldn’t make it back. The mistress and her attendants had gone out into the rain themselves, urging the group to get moving. One of the large carts had slid into a low, muddy hollow beside the road, and the exhausted men escorting the shipment had simply stood by the roadside slacking off, mocking the girls with careless jeers, unaware of the trouble they were courting. Their eldest mother, along with their mother and Auntie Juan, had waded into the mud in the pouring rain to push the cart themselves, while sending Auntie Xing to buy hot tea and food from a nearby farmhouse. Eventually the escort workers couldn’t bear to watch any longer and helped the girls haul the cart out of the mud in the downpour. From that day on, their eldest mother had officially begun managing the shops. Thinking about it now, their eldest mother, named Su Tan’er, and their mother, named Chan’er, had been just about the age he was now.

Their mother would also tell them about when their father first came to the Su family—how, as their eldest mother’s little spy, she had followed him around, wandering the streets of Jiangning. Back then their father had been struck on the head and lost his memory of the past, but his temperament had turned quite pleasant; sometimes he’d ask this and that, sometimes he’d deliberately tease her, though never in a way that made people dislike him. And sometimes, even facing scholars of great learning, he could hold his own in conversation and joke with them without ever coming out the worse.

Then their father had written that remarkable poem, which had shocked everyone, and gradually he had become known as the foremost talent of Jiangning, astonishingly so…

Ning Ji’s hazy memories began around Little Cang River, then moved on to Liangshan, Zhang village, and Chengdu. He had never been to Jiangning before, but his mother’s memories of the place were so vivid that he could effortlessly picture it all in his mind.

When he’d left the Southwest, he had thought he was simply tagging along for the excitement of coming to Jiangning, but only now did he realize that it was probably his mother who had always been the one longing for this place.

His mother had followed his father through the ravages of the Jurchen invasion, through the chaos of war, through a life of upheaval and displacement. She had seen soldiers drenched in blood, seen common people fallen in pools of gore. For everyone in the Southwest, that bloody struggle had an unquestionable justification, a necessary fight that had to be waged; his father, leading everyone against the invaders, had unleashed a fury as vast as molten lava. And yet, at the same time, his mother, who arranged the daily life of everyone in the household, surely still cherished those days back in Jiangning. In her heart, she perhaps still longed for the calmer version of their father from that time, and for the memory of herself and their eldest mother rushing into the muddy roadside to push that cart—in that rain, there had also been her youth and warmth.

Ning Ji had never lived through days like that, and whenever he came across the concepts of youth or peace in books, he had always found them somewhat sentimental and remote. But now, standing at the foot of Jiangning’s walls, recalling these vivid memories in his mind, he found he could understand them a little better.

The wish to return to Jiangning had, in truth, come far more from his mother’s will than his own.

He looked up at the crumbling city before him.

His mother was still in the Southwest for now. There was no telling when his father might bring her back here again…

After waiting a long while in line, he finally entered through Jiangning’s western gate. Inside was a chaotic marketplace near the gate—originally a small square, but now packed with all manner of wooden stalls and tents. Members of the Fair Party, their eyes strangely furtive, seemed to be waiting here to sell things, though no one spoke openly about it. Shi Baofeng’s banner hung at the center of the square, marking this as his territory.

Past the little square lay streets that had suffered the ravages of war but were now shabby yet relatively lively—shops patched up here and there, the kind of place that in Chengdu would only qualify as a slum awaiting renovation. Everything was dominated by dirty grays and blacks; filthy water ran freely along the roadside; most of the trees in front of shops had withered, some bearing only half-yellowed leaves that fell to the ground, soaking in the dirty water and turning black almost instantly. People of every stripe moved through the streets.

Ning Ji asked around for the direction of the Qinhuai River and headed that way.

Back in Liangshan, besides his mother, who often spoke of Jiangning, Auntie Zhu had occasionally mentioned things about the place too. She had bought her own freedom from a brothel and lived in a small building by the Qinhuai River; his father would sometimes go jogging past there—a rather strange thing to do at the time. She hadn’t even known how to kill a chicken, and after spending all her money, she had set up a small stall at his father’s encouragement. His father had painted pictures on her little cart, and quite well too.

Auntie Zhu had had some friction with their eldest mother back then, but after Little Cang River, the two of them had stood by each other through everything, and those old grudges had long since dissolved. Sometimes they would badmouth their father together, saying he was the type to eye the pot while still eating from the bowl, but often they also said that if they hadn’t married their father, their lives might not have turned out well either—might even have been worse. Ning Ji couldn’t quite follow this kind of talk, so he never joined in on these gossipy discussions.

When Auntie Zhu talked about Jiangning, what she mentioned most was old Master Qin, who used to set up a chess stall by the Qinhuai River. That his father had managed to become friends with old Master Qin was an extraordinarily impressive and unusual thing, because that old man had truly been a formidable figure, and no one quite knew why he had become friends with his father, who at the time was merely a matrilocal son-in-law. According to Auntie Zhu, it was probably a case of a discerning eye recognizing a hero in the rough.

Of course, if their father ever joined in on these conversations, he would sometimes bring up another elderly matrilocal son-in-law within Jiangning city—old Master Kang Xian of the Princess Chengguo estate, who played a rather shameless game of chess and had quite a sharp tongue, but who was nonetheless an admirable, good man. When the Jurchen had come, old Master Kang had died a martyr’s death defending the city.

The Qinhuai River, Auntie Zhu’s little building, the Su family’s old estate, the spot where old Master Qin had set up his chess stall, and the home of old Master Kang of the Princess Chengguo estate—these were the landmarks Ning Ji had mentally mapped out within Jiangning city.

He first headed toward the most obvious landmark, the Qinhuai River, passing through bustling streets and alleys and also through more remote, out-of-the-way paths. The city was in shambles—black houses, gray walls, foul-smelling mud along the roadside. Aside from the various banners of the Fair Party, the only splashes of brightness left in the city were the fallen autumn leaves; there were no more beautiful lanterns or delicate street decorations to be found.

He arrived at the Qinhuai River and saw crooked, leaning houses still standing in some places, blackened skeletal remains of buildings burned to their frames, small makeshift shelters still lining the roadside, refugees from every direction occupying stretch after stretch of the area. The river gave off a faint stench, with strange patches of duckweed floating on its surface.

For a while, it seemed impossible to find the little building or the chess-stall spot Auntie Zhu had described.

Putting on a friendly, harmless manner, he made further inquiries at a small food stall by the road. This time, asking about the original residence of “Demon in the Heart” Ning Yi and the location of the Su family’s old Jiangning estate, he got answers easily enough.

“…You want to go sightseeing at the Demon’s old estate, eh? Let me tell you, young fellow, that place isn’t peaceful at all—there are two or three warlords fighting over it as we speak.”

“Why is that?” Ning Ji asked, wide-eyed, feigning innocence.

“Oh, that’s hard to say for sure. Some say it’s a place of dragon ascension—whoever holds it gets the dragon’s aura. Others say it’s good for business, that it was once home to the God of Wealth, and if you take a brick from there to place in your own home, your business will flourish forever after. And apparently some also want to burn the whole place down just to make a show of force… Hah, who knows who’s right…”

Ning Ji had nothing to say to this. Having gotten clear directions, he headed that way.

By the time he reached the Su family estate, it was already the second quarter of the hour of shen in the afternoon—not yet dusk, but getting close, with the lazy autumn sun casting a weak, powerless light. The original Su family estate had been quite an expansive property, with side courtyards attached to the main compound; at its peak it had housed three hundred people, made up of dozens of separate courtyards. What now met his eyes was a jumble of uneven courtyard walls, most of the outer walls collapsed, with dilapidated buildings remaining in the surrounding outer quarters. In some places tents had been pitched, street-stall style; in others, shops had been opened up using the original buildings, one of them clearly flying the banner of the “King of Hell.”

There was no gate tower, no signboard—the original archway and door frame of the estate had been completely torn down.

Ning Ji stood outside looking in. Many of the inner courtyard walls looked ragged and uneven too, but unlike an ordinary ruin left by war, this particular estate looked as if something had come and torn much of it away by hand—all manner of things had been carted off, more than half of it gone. Compared to the other houses along the street, the whole place looked as though some strange beast had “eaten” away most of it, leaving only a half-consumed remnant sitting amid the rubble.

And yet the surrounding houses, even the ones that had been burned, still looked somehow “complete” in their ruin…

He remembered the times, during those hard years, when his mother had sat in their own courtyard and told him and the other children about Jiangning.

Little Chan’s voice had been gentle as she spoke of everything they’d lived through in those turbulent years, of that warm hometown and place to return to, while the small children listened beside her.

All of it, no longer existed.

Might as well switch topics entirely.