Martial-world folk loved a lively scene.

Not long after nightfall, the area along the Qinhuai River centered on the Golden Tower blazed with lantern light, and the martial-world men coming and going had already stirred up a lively atmosphere.

This was now one of the most prosperous spots in Jiangning. The long riverside street was overseen by men appointed by the “Wheel-Turning King” Xu Zhaonan, while many of the shops and restaurants along it — the Golden Tower among them — had investments from the “Equality King” Shi Baofeng and the “Fair King” He Wen as well.

Because it involved so many different factions, this area had become one of the more sensitive districts in the city — the sort of place where various parties came to negotiate, spar, and trade barbs, and where important banquets and receptions were often held as well.

By night, this stretch became a melting pot of every sort of person imaginable. Martial-world men looking for revenge or seeking fame wandered through it; some threw open lavish “hero banquets,” greeting whoever approached with broad smiles and mutual flattery; others, their tempers flaring suddenly, settled scores with duels in courtyards or out in the street.

Some beggars, having paid protection money or simply swum secretly across the river, knelt by the roadside asking for a meal. Occasionally some wealthy patron, fond of putting on a show, would toss them silver, and the beggars would shower him with praise, helping to build his reputation.

Historically speaking, this area was of course not the original heart of the old Qinhuai River district — that had been burned to the ground in a raid some months earlier — but the fact that this particular spot had survived, centered around this Golden Tower, had its own peculiar reasons.

According to those with a taste for such trivia, this Golden Tower had, over a decade ago, been the last of the Bamboo Record wine houses established in Jiangning by the “inner demon” Ning Yi. After Ning Yi killed the emperor and rose in rebellion, the Bamboo Record’s establishments were seized by the court and placed under the property of Princess Chengguo’s estate, renamed in the process. After the Fairness Party arrived, “Martial Overlord” Gao Huiyun, under the Wheel-Turning King’s banner, renamed it the Golden Tower in keeping with the simple wishes of the common folk, opening it for banquets and receptions — and over the following months, it grew prosperous as people fell into the habit of coming here to dine and negotiate.

People generally avoided discussing the connection between the Golden Tower and Ning Yi in open settings, but in private circles, the story naturally continued to circulate. Setting foot in the very wine house Ning Yi had once built, holding forth and cracking jokes there, felt to many like a kind of private insult aimed at that man in the southwest — at the very least, it seemed to prove they were “no less capable” than him. This private psychological satisfaction meant that when someone got into a fight here, it somehow felt all the more impressive.

That night, “Undying Guard” leader Chen Juefang was hosting the banquet, welcoming Meng Zhutao, leader of the “Assembly of Grudges” (another of the Eight Executors), who had just arrived in the city, offering him a proper welcome. Joining them, besides “Heavenly Blade” Tan Zheng of the “Wheel-Turning King” side and “Monkey King” Li Yanfeng, were Jin Yongsheng and Shan Lifu from the “Equality King’s” side, as well as Guo Shengtian from “Heavenly King Gao’s” faction and numerous other skilled fighters — an occasion of considerable prestige.

Beyond the Fairness Party itself, that same day the Golden Tower also hosted Dai Mengwei’s delegation, which had come bearing its own mission. The delegation’s leader was a man named Lü Zhongming, Dai Mengwei’s most trusted disciple; his deputy envoys included figures once renowned across their respective regions — “Edgeless Sword” Wei He, “Flower-Fist King” Chen Bian, and “Soul-Severing Spear” Qiu Changying.

Since entering the city, this delegation had been promoting Dai Mengwei’s idea of a “Chinese Martial Arts Assembly.” Though they inevitably met with some private mockery, Dai Mengwei’s side had promised to let everyone see the outcome of the battle for Bianliang before making their final decision, which came across as rather magnanimous.

This was, in essence, something akin to the hunger marketing tactics of later ages — Dai Mengwei’s proposed “Chinese Martial Arts Assembly” wasn’t to be fulfilled immediately, nor did it require anyone to commit right away. And yet, correspondingly, simply by participating, one immediately found oneself swept up in a wave of mutual flattery and favor.

Swear an oath now, and build one’s reputation first; if Dai Mengwei should later fail to take Bianliang, then naturally the promise would be void, and those who’d joined in would suffer no loss whatsoever. But if Dai Mengwei truly did retake Bianliang, then the promise made now would bring real benefits — for the opportunists currently in Jiangning, this was, in truth, a proposition with all upside and no downside.

Beyond this, whenever someone occasionally accused Dai Mengwei of “selling out the nation for personal gain,” Lü Zhongming, as his disciple, would cite historical precedent and speak at length about the dangers of the Huaxia Army reopening old wounds.

The world under heaven, long divided must unite, long united must divide — but if the Huaxia Army thrashed about for fifty years without result, wouldn’t the whole realm simply suffer another fifty years of chaos and slaughter? Dai Mengwei’s territory had, by now, developed a fairly complete body of theory to support this line of reasoning, and Lü Zhongming, eloquent and passionate, with his scholarly bearing and dignified appearance, managed to win nods from many who listened to him. People couldn’t help but feel that, given the Huaxia Army’s radical approach, there really was a risk that things might not be reversible down the road.

And so, with this empty promise thrown out, Dai Mengwei stirred up considerable momentum within Jiangning. A crowd of eager martial artists rushed to the front, declaring that if Lord Dai should one day reclaim the old capital, they would certainly come to congratulate him — and this sort of bandwagon atmosphere only further amplified the spread of Dai Mengwei’s ideas. Lü Zhongming hosted banquets for guests every couple of days in the city, skillfully steering this ongoing wave of public opinion to keep it fermenting — genuinely commendable work in terms of strategy.

That day, he had rented out an entire floor of the Golden Tower, and among the guests were members of the delegation sent by Liu Guangshi as well — Liu Guangshi’s chief envoy, a man named Gu Anhe, was already well acquainted with Lü Zhongming, and Gu Anhe’s deputy envoy happened to be none other than “Monkey King” Li Yanfeng, who was attending the banquet upstairs that very day. And so, on one side sat representatives of the various major factions within the Fairness Party, and on the other, important figures among the visiting envoys — with connections being forged on every level, the whole of the Golden Tower had been booked out, tables and chairs set up in the front courtyard downstairs as well, drawing in heroes from every corner, and turning the entire Golden Tower into the site of a grand gathering of heroes.

Ever since the storytellers of the Bamboo Record had popularized martial-arts fiction, over the past decade or so, what the martial-world heroes of the realm loved most had been just this sort of “hero’s gathering.” Over the past month or so in Jiangning, gatherings large and small had sprung up one after another, from a chance meeting of three or five friends by the roadside to a full debate among a crowd of martial-world men in an inn’s main hall — every one of them had to be dressed up with the trappings of heroism.

People would discuss the spread of northern boxing styles to the south, the notion of “learning martial arts to save the nation,” or set up sparring matches in open ground — anything with even a hint of flair would soon be spoken of among attendees as a “fine tale for the ages.”

By this night, aside from the five great kings themselves, nearly half of the second-tier power-holders in Jiangning had gathered at the Golden Tower — truly a convergence of heroes worthy of the name. Word spread, and heroes and men of insight walking nearby all came to pay their respects and take part, while the “Wheel-Turning King,” Lü Zhongming, and the other hosts stationed people at the entrance to receive guests. Anyone from the martial world who came out of admiration would be greeted with a handshake and asked to give their name; anyone recognized as a scholar of some renown would likewise be announced by name and welcomed inside.

And so it went, as one name after another, each carrying some formidable nickname or notable background, was called out and announced, the seats on the Golden Tower’s ground floor, as well as the newly added tables in the courtyard outside, gradually filled with heroes from every corner.

Amid the clinking of cups, some of the more socially adept heroes and scholars stepped forward — some spoke of their respect for the “Fairness Party” and their admiration for Meng Zhutao and the others; some loudly proclaimed their feelings about national and familial grievances; others offered flattering words to Dai Mengwei, Liu Guangshi, and the like. As the crowd murmured its assent, Meng Zhutao and Chen Juefang basked in the attention, Lü Zhongming’s promotion of Dai Mengwei’s ideas gained further traction, and the assembled heroes enjoyed the hospitality on offer — altogether, it was a scene of hosts and guests alike thoroughly delighted, warm and harmonious.

Of course, being a gathering of heroes, there naturally had to be some martial demonstrations and sparring matches as well. This Golden Tower had originally been designed by Ning Yi himself, and its spacious courtyard had excellent drainage and landscaping, paved with a mix of large flagstones and smaller pebbles — so despite days of unrelenting autumn rain having turned the roads outside into a sea of mud, the courtyard here had avoided becoming a muddy mess, and from time to time confident martial artists would step forward to spar.

Whenever someone showed impressive skill and fought a fine match, Chen Juefang, Meng Zhutao, and the others would wave grandly, inviting them upstairs to drink together. This martial artist would thereby earn a kind of letter of introduction, praised and helped to build a reputation by the assembled masters upstairs — a path to advancement considerably easier than grinding through arena matches around the city.

“This humble one is You Mingming of Hedong, known in the martial world by the bandit name ‘Mad Blade of a Chaotic Age.’ Has my brother perhaps heard of me?”

Having scouted the surrounding streets for a while and seeing that quite a mixed crowd had already entered the Golden Tower, You Hongzhuo finally went over to give his name and enter. The man stationed at the door, himself a fairly capable fighter of the Great Luminous Sect, exchanged a brief test of strength with him — evenly matched — and immediately broke into a smile, pointing him toward a seat and having someone announce him loudly.

“From Hedong Road! Mad Blade of a Chaotic Age, You Mingming — Hero You has arrived!”

In this era, the names of great heroes weren’t nearly as carefully chosen as in the storybooks, and so despite the grandiose title “Mad Blade of a Chaotic Age” being attached to the rather plain name “You Mingming,” it drew little particular attention — at most, someone on the second floor asked “Heavenly Blade” Tan Zheng:

“Master Tan, in your day you were renowned throughout Hebei and Hedong, famed above all for your blade skill — have you any impression of this ‘Mad Blade of a Chaotic Age’?”

Tan Zheng merely shook his head with a smile. “Given the words ‘chaotic age’ in his title, he’s likely a young hero who’s only recently made a name for himself. I’ve never heard of him — my own ignorance, I suppose. But these past years, Hebei and Hedong have seen endless war and chaos, and anyone able to fight his way out of that region must possess some remarkable ability. Not to be underestimated.”

By now something of a regional power in his own right and a veteran of the blade, Tan Zheng understood well the value of mutual flattery, and tended to speak generously of younger figures he didn’t personally know.

You Hongzhuo found a seat and settled in, watching several martial artists debate the finer points of bladework from across the realm before descending to spar in the courtyard for the assembled crowd’s judgment. He merely applauded, taking no part himself. Then, using a trip to the outhouse as an excuse, he carefully observed the sentries and security arrangements throughout the Golden Tower.

Anyone bold enough to throw open the doors like this to welcome guests from every quarter could certainly build a reputation and establish authority quickly — but naturally couldn’t guard against infiltration by those with hidden motives, or against rivals coming to disrupt the gathering. Of course, at this moment in Jiangning, the world’s greatest master Lin Zongwu was himself the true power behind the “Wheel-Turning King” faction, while the men currently presiding here — Chen Juefang, Meng Zhutao, Li Yanfeng, Tan Zheng — were all first-rate fighters in their own right, backed further by the combined might of the “Undying Guard” and the “Assembly of Grudges.” If anyone truly dared cause trouble here, whether through one-on-one combat or by rallying outside forces, they would surely come away the worse for it.

The hosts, well aware of the risks involved in such matters, had arranged security to appear relaxed on the surface while remaining tight underneath. Throughout the Golden Tower, numerous watch-posts kept a close eye on the kitchen, the serving of dishes, and every other stage of the process to guard against the risk of poisoning, and even martial-world men wandering about under the pretext of taking a look around couldn’t avoid drawing a few extra glances.

You Hongzhuo took a brief walk around and then returned to his seat without pressing his luck further. He had grudges against Tan Zheng and Kuang Wenbai that could wait — no need to rush. This time, he intended to find a way to eliminate Chen Juefang instead, though the man’s lightness footwork was formidable and his instincts sharp, so a good opportunity would need to present itself first.

Having sat for a while like this, he listened to a group of martial-world roughnecks at his table telling stories about how well acquainted they supposedly were with some martial-world elder called “Six-Powers Old Man,” and how effortlessly they conversed with him. By the time the hour approached the second half of the second watch, the current round of sparring in the courtyard had come to an end, and the crowd upstairs was inviting the victor up to drink, with everyone congratulating each other in a warm, convivial atmosphere — when the sudden turn of events at the banquet finally arrived.

At a square table facing You Hongzhuo, four people who appeared to be traveling together suddenly produced plain white mourning cloth and put it on right then and there. The four were three men and one woman; the woman, who appeared to be barely in her twenties, led the group, while the three men beside her, somewhat older, pulled several steel whips from cloth bags they carried.

Putting on mourning attire in a setting like this was clearly meant to provoke a confrontation, and by the time the nearby security personnel moved to intervene, it was already too late — the woman leading the group had already stepped forward holding up a memorial tablet, while the oldest of the three men shouted furiously into the courtyard: “Meng Zhutao, you beast who betrays his own master! We’ve come — dare you come down and face us—”

Another of the men shouted: “Senior brother, come pay respects to our late master’s spirit tablet!”

The commotion on the second floor momentarily fell silent, while down in the courtyard, the crowd began murmuring among themselves, a buzz of whispered speculation rising up. Everyone sensed that there was a good show about to unfold. A steward affiliated with the “Wheel-Turning King” moved to intervene, but some in the crowd spoke up in the group’s defense: “Let them say what they came to say.”

“That girl’s not bad looking, either…”

In a place like this, firmly under the “Wheel-Turning King’s” control, anyone trying to cause trouble through sheer bravado would simply be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. That these four dared to step forward at all meant they surely had something worth saying, and the man who had spoken first began loudly recounting the full story behind their visit for the benefit of the crowd.

It turned out that Meng Zhutao, now one of the “Wheel-Turning King’s” Eight Executors and leader of the “Assembly of Grudges,” had originally been a disciple of a minor sect that had migrated south from the north — a school known for its single- and double-whip techniques. The previous head of the sect had been a man named Ling Shengwei, and Meng Zhutao, having already trained elsewhere before joining, had become his senior disciple, with several junior disciples beneath him, as well as Ling Shengwei’s own daughter, Ling Chu, who was the youngest and most junior of the group.

Though Ling Shengwei’s small sect had never been particularly renowned, he had treated Meng Zhutao with great favor — not only passing down the sect’s full martial teachings without reservation, but even, some years earlier, considering taking him as a son-in-law, betrothing his daughter Ling Chu to him as his intended bride. He had originally planned for the two to marry once Ling Chu was a little older, but Meng Zhutao turned out to be both formidably skilled and restless of ambition; some years back, he began consorting with bandits of every sort, rising to become a major figure of the criminal underworld, which brought him into serious conflict with Ling Shengwei.

Then, with the Jurchens’ fourth invasion from the north, the world descended into misery, and Meng Zhutao gathered underworld forces to wreak havoc across the region. Ling Shengwei went to confront him about it several times. On the last occasion, master and disciple came to blows, and Ling Shengwei was gravely wounded by Meng Zhutao. He returned home and, in a state of despondency, lingered for a year before finally dying.

In the martial world, such stories of resentment and betrayal, when it came down to it, were nothing new. Especially in these past two years, with war and calamity everywhere and the realm in turmoil — never mind master turning against disciple, even brother turning against brother was common enough in these times. The man speaking, one of the four, showed a look of sorrow as he reached this part of the story.

“…While our late master, Elder Ling, was still alive, he did his best to cover up this matter, and even stopped us from seeking revenge, forbidding us from stirring up further trouble! I know why — he could see how powerful our senior brother had become, first claiming a mountain stronghold as his own, then joining the Fairness Party and rising to become one of Marshal Xu’s very own ‘Eight Executors.’ For us to confront him would be like throwing eggs against a stone — we might well be buried without a trace before anyone even noticed, let alone have anyone hear our grievance.”

“…But a teacher is like a parent — how could we not avenge this wrong! After our master passed away, we happened to hear news of this grand gathering in Jiangning, and knew that today, with heroes from across the realm gathered here, surely the standing and moral authority of the elders present would not allow Meng Zhutao to cover the sky with a single hand!”

“…Heroes, elders, all of you here!” The man cupped his fists and looked around at the crowd. “Today, facing Meng Zhutao’s overwhelming power, the few of us care nothing for our own deaths. We only ask that all of you remember what happened here, that you spread word of this man’s conduct in the days to come, that you make today’s events known far and wide! We believe that heaven’s justice is clear-sighted, and that someday, someone will see justice done for our master. With that, we offer our thanks and take our leave!”

His words, delivered with great passion, ultimately amounted to a stance of no longer hoping for justice today, but only that the truth be made known to the world. This was a deliberate provocation, and at once some among the martial-world crowd spoke up: “Since you’ve come today to reason this out, you needn’t necessarily die for it.”

“In matters under heaven, nothing outweighs the principle of reason…”

Another added, “Master Meng, a matter like this really does need to be clarified.”

“The ‘Assembly of Grudges’ holds the power of judgment and punishment among the Eight Executors — if this can’t be reasoned out properly, the Fairness Party will struggle to win the people’s trust!”

Amid this rising tide of public sentiment, You Hongzhuo, hidden within the crowd, chimed in with a few words of his own: “Meng Zhutao betrayed his master and forsook his ancestors — don’t be afraid!”

“I, Carved Hero Huang Ping, will back you up!”

Highly skilled himself, he deliberately stoked the flames from within the crowd, and when he spoke, no one could pinpoint exactly where his voice had come from. This was partly because no particularly skilled fighters were paying close attention at that moment; having stirred things up a little, he kept himself in check, while privately admiring how composed Meng Zhutao upstairs remained — allowing this whole speech to run its course without interrupting by force partway through.

After the commotion below continued for a while, the silence from upstairs left everyone puzzled as to what was happening — until, as the initial wave of noise finally began to subside, a figure emerged, descending slowly from above.

The Golden Tower had been built on a grand scale, its ground-floor hall quite lofty, but for most martial-world men, leaping straight down from a second-floor window would hardly have posed a challenge. Yet this figure instead descended step by careful step from inside the building. The guests on the ground floor cleared a path, and once the man stepped out of the hall into the courtyard, everyone could finally get a clear look at him — tall in stature, with broad, imposing brows and a build like a tiger’s back with an ape’s waist. Anyone looking at him could tell at once he was a man of natural, born strength — even without any martial training, with a physique like that, three or five grown men would likely be no match for him in a brawl.

Some who’d been in Jiangning for several days and had grown familiar with the “Wheel-Turning King’s” faction couldn’t help but think of “Martial Overlord” Gao Huiyun, who carried a similarly imposing, mountain-like presence — said to charge into battle wielding a great spear with especially fearsome momentum, sweeping aside all who stood before him. Even Lin Zongwu, the world’s greatest master, had a build like a mountain himself, though somewhat rounder.

This man, Meng Zhutao, as leader of the “Assembly of Grudges” overseeing internal and external punishments, had an upright, dignified face, and carried across his back a great iron ruler-staff, longer than a steel whip but shorter than a staff. Some in the crowd, seeing this weapon, suddenly recalled his old nickname: “Heaven-Measuring Ruler.”

He appeared before the crowd like this, his gaze calm as he surveyed the scene, and the quiet authority in that calm alone was enough to settle the murmuring voices, everyone waiting to see what he would say. He looked toward Ling Chu standing at the center of the courtyard, holding the memorial tablet, then slowly walked several steps forward, lifted the hem of his robe, knelt down on the flagstones, and, with three solemn, resounding thuds, kowtowed three times before the tablet.

After this solemn display of respect, Meng Zhutao remained prostrate for a moment before rising to his feet. His gaze swept over the three men and one woman before him, and then he spoke: “You’re still alive — that’s a good thing. But why come all this way to stir up trouble?”

The man who had spoken earlier said, “How could we not come, for the sake of our parents’ murder!” His voice rang out, startling in its intensity.

Meng Zhutao’s gaze swept over him. “Yu Bin, you’re the second disciple. After Master and I parted ways, you should have protected our younger martial siblings and kept them out of danger. And yet, to my regret, your thinking remains so petty — twisting the story, leaving out what doesn’t suit you. It’s shameful.”

Only then did the crowd learn that this outspoken second disciple was named Yu Bin.

“I’m twisting the story?” Yu Bin said. “Senior Brother, let me ask you this — didn’t Master disapprove of what you were doing? Every time he went to reason with you, didn’t he come back disappointed and unhappy? And that last time — wasn’t it because the two of you came to blows, and you were the one who gravely wounded him? When he came home, at first he told us he’d been ambushed by refugees along the way and ordered us never to go looking into it. If he hadn’t let it slip later, we never would have known that wound was your doing!”

“And there you have it — that’s exactly the part you’ve twisted.” Meng Zhutao sighed. “You want to ask me that, then let me ask you this in return — every time Master came home after going to reason with me, wasn’t he always carrying back a great deal of rice, grain, and vegetables? You say you disapprove of what I’ve done — then let me ask you, over these past several years of war and calamity, how many people from Yu Family Village stood with me, and how many stood with you? When the Jurchens came south and the entire village was destroyed, everyone turned into refugees — let me ask you, how did the few of you manage to survive, and how did you manage to live better than everyone else? Let everyone here take a good look at your faces…”

Meng Zhutao paused, then his voice rang out through the courtyard like distant thunder. “Junior brothers, junior sister — do you know what it means to trade children to eat? Have you… ever eaten a child?!”

His question echoed through the entire Golden Tower, and among the crowd, some faces instantly turned pale. In truth, during the years the Jurchens ravaged the south, how many unspeakable horrors had occurred? During the two years of Jurchen devastation, resources of every kind had been looted bare, and even now that they had withdrawn, the shattered production capacity of Jiangnan was recovering only slowly — people had survived by preying on the wealthy, and on each other. It was simply that such matters were rarely spoken of in polite company.

At that moment, torches burned around the courtyard, and by their flickering light, when people looked more carefully at the four seeking revenge, they noticed that their figures were, indeed, not gaunt or emaciated at all. Going by Meng Zhutao’s account, they had likely been living quite comfortably all along, thanks to his support.

Seeking revenge for one’s master was, of course, the mark of a righteous person — but if one had been living off the very enemy one sought revenge against all along, that became rather laughable.

Yu Bin’s expression shifted several times. “Is this your excuse for killing your own master?”

Meng Zhutao gave him a look of disdain, then let his gaze sweep across the crowd before speaking again, his voice carrying clearly.

“I understand many of you here have doubts about today’s events. They say I, Meng Zhutao, cover the sky with one hand — but I don’t. Today, here, I let them finish saying what they came to say. But I too have my own account of how things unfolded, and I’ll lay it out for all of you to judge. As for what follows — right and wrong — I leave that to your own judgment.”

He faced the crowd, cupped his fists solemnly, and bowed.

“I, Meng Zhutao, began studying martial arts as a child. From my earliest schooling up to now, I’ve followed three masters in total. Of these, I stayed longest with the last — the old hero Ling. He taught me the art of the steel whip, holding nothing back in passing down his finest techniques. I regarded him as a father — this much is true.”

Currently commanding tens of thousands of men under the “Wheel-Turning King,” he spoke with a natural, commanding presence that far outshone the junior disciples and martial sister confronting him in the courtyard. Many of the martial-world men present, hearing that he’d studied under three separate masters, found nothing strange in it — a man of his build was clearly cut out for martial arts from the start, and it seemed only natural that ordinary masters, delighted at the sight of such raw talent, would pass on their finest skills to him without reservation.

Others, looking between the two sides facing off, considered how obscure and unremarkable Ling Shengwei’s sect had been, and how mediocre his other disciples seemed by comparison. That Meng Zhutao had built such an imposing reputation for himself now was clearly not because the Ling family’s whip techniques had made him great — rather, it seemed more that the Ling family’s whip techniques were fortunate enough to have fallen into his hands, gaining their own luster because of him.

Meng Zhutao continued: “Because I came to him already trained elsewhere, though Elder Ling and I were close as father and son, our views on the state of the world sometimes differed. Elder Ling and I often discussed these matters, and while these several junior disciples here may have thought otherwise, ours was a proper debate between men of principle, not simply a master issuing commands and a disciple obeying without question… Let me make this clear to everyone — by the time I took Elder Ling as my master, the Central Plains had already fallen, and our sect had already fled south. At that time, those of you standing here now were either children or barely more than boys. What could you possibly understand of the relationship between Master and me?”

“…After the Jurchens combed through the mountains and scoured the seas, and the great chaos that followed, master and disciple settled at Yu Family Village north of the Yangtze — and it was only then that our second disciple Yu Bin here joined the sect… After the Jurchens withdrew, during the years of the Jianshuo court, the situation in Jiangnan looked bright and prosperous, flowers blooming atop brocade, oil poured onto flames — and with the northerners who’d lost their land and property, Jiangnan grew rich and extravagant, some even loudly calling for a march back north to retake the homeland. But I always knew that if the Jurchens ever came south again, all this prosperity would prove nothing but a castle in the air, ready to collapse at the first push.”

“…Elder Ling was a man of unbending principle. When people outside said ‘southerners belong in the south, northerners in the north,’ he’d say the south didn’t welcome us, and he insisted on staying in Yu Family Village rather than crossing further south. All of you — the Wu court later trained its troops in places like Jiangning and Zhenjiang, calling this stretch their ‘Yangtze defense line’ themselves. And though plenty of territory north of the Yangtze remained theirs as well, who could have held it once the Jurchen host arrived? Elder Ling insisted on staying in Yu Family Village, and though I honored him as my master, I could not persuade him otherwise.”

“…But living in a place for years, one comes to feel for it. Master and I spent several years at Yu Family Village, and Yu Family Village wasn’t home to just the two of us! There were over seventy households of three surnames living together there! I knew the Jurchens would come eventually, and these people had no way to leave beforehand — so for the greater good, starting in the eighth year of Jianshuo, I began preparing for the war that was sure to come one day. All of you, I am a man who came from the north — I know exactly what it feels like to lose one’s home and family!”

Meng Zhutao’s words rang out with conviction, and the crowd listening felt a stirring of admiration. In those most prosperous years in Jiangnan, everyone had believed that retaking the Central Plains was only a matter of time — who would have guessed that Meng Zhutao had already foreseen, even then, that military defeat was inevitable one day? Even You Hongzhuo, standing in the crowd, couldn’t help but feel a flicker of admiration. What foresight was this?

No wonder the man had risen to the position he now held.

“As for the matter of the Jurchen invasion coming south, Elder Ling had his own view — he believed that when the day came to face the Jin army, one need only fight with all one’s strength and die a righteous death! Everyone here, that kind of thinking is the mark of a true hero, and I, Meng Zhutao, admired it in my heart, and agreed with it as well. But in this world, alongside those willing to die righteously, there also need to be those who work to find another way through, so that more people might live — just as with the people around me, just as with these junior disciples here, just as with the people of Yu Family Village. Elder Ling and I might not have minded dying ourselves, but were we simply to throw everyone else onto the battlefield too, and let them all die together!?”

“On this matter, Elder Ling and I discussed it at great length. I understood his thinking, and he understood mine. It was only in the actual doing that our paths diverged — my master’s way was straightforward: sit at home and wait for the Jurchens to arrive. But I needed to prepare for far more in advance.”

“Back then, before the Jurchens had come south, I made connections with heroes across the north, claimed territory in the mountains, and stockpiled grain — and honestly speaking, the methods involved in all this were not always clean, black as well as white. I, Meng Zhutao, will not make excuses for it. I was out doing this work, and would occasionally return to Yu Family Village, where I’d see these junior disciples of mine… living their innocent, carefree lives, which brought me comfort too. Including my junior martial sister here, Miss Ling Chu — she is Master’s daughter, and was betrothed to me as well. Because I was rarely home, she and I… were never particularly close. She spent her days playing with her senior brothers instead. And I’ve long known that she and this fourth senior brother here are especially close.”

Meng Zhutao’s gaze swept the crowd, and among the three men who had come today, the one of middle age was, perhaps, Ling Shengwei’s fourth disciple. Meng Zhutao looked at Ling Chu, then at him. “The two of you — have you already married, by now?”

The mourning-clad Ling Chu’s body shook slightly, and the fourth senior brother’s gaze flickered as well, neither able to answer for a moment.

Meng Zhutao nodded.

“Well then. That’s a good thing too.”

A stir rippled through the crowd.