Street after street divided the ancient city.
Great crowds of people were streaming toward the city’s outskirts.
Meanwhile, in the city center, another portion of the population was converging toward the old Wu Dynasty administrative office in Jiangning.
Street after street, and at the junctions where they met, small plazas had formed at these intersections. The vendors had long since packed up their carts and vanished, leaving only the curious, the spectacle-seekers, and those still unclear on what exactly was happening, gathered at these street corners, crowding into the handful of taverns and teahouses that had, for whatever reason, stayed open nearby, even filling the balconies and rooftops of surrounding residences.
Clamor rose from every street corner.
Centered on the old martial administration building, within a radius of several li, across seven or eight streets and more than a dozen intersections, renowned martial-world masters now held position, and from time to time, their voices could be heard proclaiming against He Wen’s decree.
“…This is a reckless, unlawful order. If there is a genuine grievance, someone will attend to it another day…”
Whether anyone would actually attend to it another day, or whether “another day” would simply never come, no one could say for certain — but the imposing barricades, the wooden horse barriers, and the sheer number of banners on display already made clear where the four Great Kings stood on the matter. This was the site of the rupture, and those who had erected these barricades clearly weren’t limiting themselves to gentle persuasion…
…
Crack—
A steel blade whirled through the air trailing a spray of blood and flesh, and the plaza rang out with the sound of violent slashing, even bones being shattered. A tall martial artist, his chest split open, was sent flying backward through the air, while ahead, a somewhat shorter but iron-tower-built blade-wielder slowly lowered his weapon, the dripping edge flecked with bits of bone and flesh, the stench of blood already spreading through the air.
On the rooftops and along the roadside, people watched this scene unfold, and one martial artist murmured under his breath, “I heard this ‘Camel God’ Jiang Lian used to be a pig butcher — but the force behind that blow could probably split stone. No wonder he’s the vanguard under ‘Heaven’s Executioner’…”
“Anyone else?” the man called “Camel God” Jiang Lian bellowed, blade held horizontally. “Our Fair Party acts in accordance with Heaven’s will — in broad daylight like this, who else dares cause trouble! Where’s this so-called grievance?”
From the crowd, someone rushed forward — a white-haired old man, advanced in years, his gait already unsteady, and now trembling further, whether from agitation or fear, his steps faltering and uneven. He coughed twice, his voice hoarse. “I… I… this old man…”
He had only managed a few steps into the small plaza when, suddenly, from a courtyard wall in the distance, an arrow came whistling through the air and struck him directly in the side of the neck. Mid-stride, it was as if something had suddenly appeared at his throat — before he could even react, he collapsed where he stood.
The rooftop from which the arrow had been fired stood a good thirty or forty zhang away — hitting a target from that distance truly deserved to be called marksmanship of the highest order.
“That’s ‘Divine Hand’ Zhu Yang…” murmured some of the watching martial artists.
In front of the small plaza, including the old man who had just fallen, there now lay eight or nine corpses in pools of blood — this was the toll of those who had refused to believe the warnings, who had stepped forward to argue or to speak up on someone else’s behalf.
…
“Coming to Jiangning this time, Lord Zuo must have been lobbying on behalf of His Majesty in the southeast. Judging by how radiant you look now, I take it you’ve achieved your goal?”
“Ah, one eats the ruler’s salary and serves the ruler’s cause faithfully — why must Eighth Brother press this old man to give away secrets? Though speaking of which, has Eighth Brother truly come this time representing Master Ning, standing with He Wen?”
“Isn’t that a secret too?… But since Lord Zuo is here, we’re all friends — why don’t we trade a bit of information…”
“He Wen’s got a big mouth — the news is already all over the realm, Eighth Brother…”
“You know full well He Wen’s got a big mouth — can you really trust whatever comes out of it? You’d best treat that as no news at all. As for you, old sir, which side have you actually placed your bet on?”
“Hahahaha…” the old man laughed. “…Actually, He Wen has already privately confirmed matters on your side with us.”
“Heh heh heh… He Wen has also privately told us your own target.”
“Hahahahaha… that little scoundrel He Wen…”
“Hahahaha… He Wen truly is a bastard…”
At the southern street corner, cheerful laughter rang out from the teahouse above, while ahead in the great plaza, voices clamored and fierce fighting raged. The tea table fell quiet for a moment, then the old man turned his head back.
“Do you all genuinely believe He Wen can still be saved?”
“With something this big, who can say…”
“Over these two years, the Fair Party’s people have already tasted the sweetness of unchecked plunder — and that sweetness is also poison. Getting people to turn back through slogans and reasoning alone… I’d say that’s… difficult…”
“Lord Zuo speaks wisely. However fine the slogan, it’s always only the first step forward. Since ancient times, the gap between a movement that makes progress and one that actually succeeds has always been vast beyond measure.”
“So you all…”
“The second step is discipline, the third is consistent method, and then there’s a fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth…”
“Does He Wen have any of that?”
“Why don’t you go ask him yourself, old sir, and find out.”
“…When do you all plan to make your move?”
…
Passing through the chaotic crowd, three figures slowly made their way along the city streets.
Fighting crowds swept past them; several figures dragged riders down from their horses and killed them by the roadside, blood-soaked leaflets scattering through the air.
Along both sides of the road stood tightly shut courtyard gates and collapsed, abandoned houses; garbage and the stench of blood mingled together on the road, and the corpse of a beggar lay sprawled at the mouth of a dark alley.
Xue Jin walked with an unsteady gait, picked up a leaflet from the ground, held it close to his eyes, and read it silently to himself.
“Hey, drop that thing. Looking to get yourself killed?”
A blood-stained martial artist approached from that direction, radiating menace. “You lot might as well try talking some sense into your old man…” In his eyes, this was nothing more than two young beggar boys and a lame, elderly beggar.
His longsword closed in.
The older of the two boys grabbed hold of the back of the blade as it came at him, twisted his wrist, and wrenched the sword away. The man’s expression instantly turned savage, and he grabbed forward with both palms. In the next instant, the boy’s left hand caught the man’s right palm, gave it two sharp twists in midair, spun the man around, and forced him down to his knees on the ground. The man’s arm bent backward, and as he still struggled to resist, the boy pinned him to the ground with a foot and, with his right hand, twisted the arm behind him into a huge, sickening angle — it had already snapped.
The remaining men charged forward. The boy, wielding his steel blade, began smashing the flat of it against a man’s head on the ground, again and again, as if striking a watermelon, blood seeping out with each blow. Several more blade-wielding figures rushed in close; the little monk retreated backward, while the boy swung his blade forward, blades clashing in the air.
Like crashing waves against the shore, kicking up mountains of white foam.
Several figures lay sprawled haphazardly across the street, amid the garbage and corpses.
By the roadside, Xue Jin folded up the leaflet.
His gaze trembled and grew unfocused, his lips moving silently — but at last, something seemed to occur to him.
He clasped his hands together slightly and, trembling, bowed.
“You two… you two young benefactors… I… I have a request…”
“…Go ahead.”
Ning Ji and the little monk were stripping matching clothes off the dead and wounded lying on the ground. The first blade-wielder who had charged them had the most intact clothing; as he struggled to crawl forward, Ning Ji and the little monk, talking as they worked, dragged him back over.
“I… this humble old man… would like to ask for some paper and ink, and then…” he said slowly, tears gradually welling up in his eyes, “then, I ask you two young benefactors… please, no longer concern yourselves with me…”
The little monk rose and looked at him solemnly. Ning Ji, still stripping the man’s clothes and trousers off him, nonetheless nodded.
“…Very well.”
…
There had once been a good life.
Had it been built on the mistreatment of others? Even Xue Jin himself could no longer say for certain.
He had once been a pampered young playboy in the city of Jiangning.
He had witnessed a life of extravagance and indulgence.
He too had once been among the young bloods of the noble quarters, vying to shower courtesans with silk brocade, spending countless hours over a single song.
He had once been infatuated with a young lady named Su Tan’er, heir to a cloth merchant’s fortune, and had once smashed the back of another man’s head over her…
He had witnessed the emergence of “a night of dragon and fish dancing,” and had also, during one gathering or another, behaved in wretched and unseemly ways…
He had seen the gentle, flowing waters of Jiangning, had seen the deep old courtyard houses wrapped in the boundless drizzle of spring…
He had also, while performing charitable acts of dispensing porridge — whether for show, or simply following the crowd — seen starving refugees shivering in the rain and snow outside the city, and the withered bones scattered across the wilderness that filled every spring…
Everyone bears their own sins…
Perhaps it was the weeping of others tucked into the cracks between so much laughter, the hunger and cold in the wilderness threaded through so many splendid scenes, that finally caused that flourishing age of prosperity to collapse into nothing…
He had married a wife, only to grow tired of her face before long…
He had lingered in the pleasure quarters, chasing after one night’s thrill after another, gradually falling for something new each time…
People always assumed that everything they gained would come without cost…
Assumed that a life of smooth sailing was simply their due…
Assumed that today’s happiness would last ten thousand years…
…
The three figures walked through the chaotic streets, heading toward the old martial administration building while searching for somewhere to find paper and ink.
But most of the shops along the road had already closed; some had had their doors and windows smashed open, fires now burning within.
Shops specifically selling stationery had vanished without a trace — in a “fair” world thrown into such chaos, who would even have use for pen and paper anymore?
The corpses along the roadside, however, were fresh.
Paper, too, could be found.
The little monk pointed at a corpse and said:
“Why don’t we just write it in blood, then.”
Xue Jin lay flat on the ground, dipping his fingers in blood, and began writing what needed to be written onto the paper.
But what should he write?
…
He thought of Yueniang, the last one to come into his life.
An unremarkable girl from the pleasure quarters.
Unremarkably pretty.
Unremarkably talented.
Unremarkably the object of many men’s affections.
And also, unremarkably, in love with some impoverished young scholar.
She hadn’t been the most sought-after girl in Jiangning, but it had still taken Xue Jin considerable effort before he’d finally, in front of everyone, won her favor.
She’d wanted to earn money to redeem herself, hoping that someday, she might be able to escape that life of entertaining men with smiles.
Xue Jin had spent a great deal of money to be the first to formally take her hair up, marking her transition.
She’d forced a smile, and he’d felt pleased. Having spent so many years in the pleasure quarters, how could he not understand exactly what was going through her mind?
But gradually, he’d come to be allowed to stay the night with her.
Gradually, she’d given up whatever hopes she’d once harbored — how many things she couldn’t bring herself to tell others had happened along the way, Xue Jin honestly hadn’t wanted to know.
He’d had plenty of standing to show off with, and so he’d married her and brought her into his household — and once she was inside his home, he’d gradually begun to grow tired of it all…
Jiangning had been buffeted by the chaos of war, and at times they’d left the city to escape the worst of it.
They’d even weathered two rounds of Jurchen raids.
Then the Fair Party had come, sweeping across all of Jiangnan, and this time, there had been no escaping the disaster. They’d watched wealthy households raided, entire families wiped out, and so had decided to surrender, awaiting whatever judgment came.
In that first wave, someone in the household had been killed, someone violated — but the number of people affected hadn’t been too great overall. Chaos had already arrived, and people simply had to endure such trials — but in the days that followed, people had come again and again, round after round, dragging them to that public square, where a woman called “White Rakshasa” wailed and denounced the wicked deeds of the Xue family…
Stones rained down like a storm, people laughing and killing and looting, and any woman with lingering beauty was dragged out — Yueniang had been dragged screaming into a nearby alley, followed by shrieking cries and desperate pleas for mercy…
People said the past had been unfair…
Those people said this now was fairness…
All sins would surely meet with retribution eventually…
His mind buzzed and rang…
Jiangning’s mist and rain of the past, the eastern wind on a splendid night lighting up a thousand trees in bloom, people’s smiles blossoming before his eyes — those were things he’d never deserved. Was that why they’d both fallen into this hell?
Yueniang had survived — though she could no longer speak, trembling in his arms. His own voice had grown hoarse, his leg lame, his hand broken; he’d gently held her beneath the bridge archway, watching the misty rain outside. He’d gone out to beg, gone out to gather firewood, and sometimes he’d come back beaten, crawling slowly home covered in blood. The scene beneath the bridge archway gradually changed shape as the flowing river water grew turbid and foul-smelling.
For some reason, they’d still managed to survive, like cockroaches…
They’d huddled together, and sometimes, Yueniang would open her eyes wide and look at him. What had she been thinking, when she looked at him like that? Had there ever been a time of genuine love between them? Had there ever been true, heartfelt devotion?
And sometimes, she’d open her eyes wide and gaze off into the distance beyond the bridge archway. What had she been thinking about then? Was she thinking of the hopes and dreams of her girlhood? Of some promise made with that poor young scholar, of their love?
They’d once sat side by side on the riverbank, wanting to watch fireworks together.
The city had never set off fireworks again…
Living amid blood and slaughter, living in a city that grew ever more rank with decay, living amid hopes that made no sense… he didn’t even know why he himself had survived, let alone why Yueniang had — had she, even just a little, been struggling to live on for his sake?
And now, finally, she had died.
At the moment of her death, she had gazed at him with her eyes wide open.
Back in the pleasure quarters, what had always drawn people’s attention most had been that same pair of wide, large eyes…
Yueniang… were you my family?
Did you, even a little… come to think of me as family, too?
He thought of all this…
…
His trembling, blood-stained finger hung suspended in the air, for a long, long while.
He wailed… and finally…
pressed it down onto the paper.
…
Amid the clamoring city, the spectators went on watching the spectacle.
The masters holding position at each street corner established their reputations before the crowd through their consummate skill.
Occasionally, someone charging the barricades would be cut down in a pool of blood, the eighteen weapons of the martial arts blooming like flowers in midair.
A few restless masters attempted to sneak through, only to be killed and driven back out.
The banner of the greatest master under heaven stood like an anchoring pillar, suppressing the turmoil throughout the city.
Dozens of li away, out on the waters of the Yangtze, He Wen stood on the deck of his vast fleet, sailing off into the distance.
Xue Jin walked slowly and shakily toward an intersection on a southern road.
His nearly toothless mouth hung open, tears already blurring his eyes.
Among the onlookers around him were armed martial artists as well as ordinary bystanders — some spoke with righteous indignation, others waited tremblingly to see how things would unfold. He and the two young men stood by the road for a while, watching.
“Is this the road to the government office…”
“Why won’t they let us through…”
They wanted to understand the situation here, and soon enough, through some whispered exchanges, they pieced together most of it.
Those who’d rushed forward to cry out their grievances had been cut down among the corpses…
Trembling, Xue Jin took his leave of the two young men.
“I beg you, my benefactors… please, no longer concern yourselves with me…”
They remained silent for a long while, and finally, nodded.
“Someday, when I go back to the southwest, I might see Ning Yi — the man you once struck on the head. Is there anything you’d want me to tell him?”
The boy asked this.
Xue Jin thought about it for a while, and at last, a faint smile crossed his face.
“That Daoist who recited those two poems was deceiving me,” Xue Jin said. “I hope… he lives to see many children and grandchildren, blessed with long life and good fortune. Tell him… he absolutely must live well.”
“I’ll tell him…” the boy nodded. “From here on, I won’t concern myself with you any further.”
Having said this, he added finally: “If someone blocks your path, don’t try to force your way past.”
“…Mm.” Xue Jin, cradling the paper in his hands, nodded through his tears.
…
By now it was a quarter past noon, and news of the Oversight Bureau had already spread throughout every part of the city.
At a street-corner plaza more than a li south of the old martial administration building, people up in a teahouse noticed an unusual target.
The boy and the little monk parted ways, the boy walking toward the entrance of a nearby teahouse.
A figure came down from upstairs — a delicate-featured woman with a scar on her face. The boy approached and called out to her: “Seventh Aunt.”
“What’s the matter?” The woman, once known as Little Seven, a senior figure of the Huaxia Army who had likewise returned to Jiangning after a long absence, smiled at him gently. “What’s happened, that you’ve become so reckless as to walk straight into the lion’s den?”
Ning Ji looked around; Black Girl and the others had also gradually appeared nearby, watching him with faintly teasing expressions.
“Seventh Aunt, I… I saw some things, and I want… to get something from you all…”
The woman’s expression grew calm, and then serious. “What did you see?”
…
At a quarter past noon, above the teahouse, Zuo Xiuquan was talking with Qian Luoning when they saw the scarred woman come up beside them and speak quietly to Qian Luoning for a moment.
“…Did you give it to him?” Qian Luoning asked.
The woman smiled and nodded.
“What time is it now?”
“…A quarter past.”
“…A bit earlier than planned… but no matter… tell all the teams to prepare to move.”
He waved a hand and made several hand signals.
The old man laughed. “Didn’t you say earlier… you weren’t here to fight?”
“That’s right.” Qian Luoning rose to his feet and let out a long breath. “We’re here to wage war.”
“…But this particular breach is held by Yama King’s faction,” the old man said, pointing off into the distance. “What about Sect Leader Lin? Who could possibly hold him down?”
The crowd upstairs in the teahouse was already flowing downward like a stream. Qian Luoning looked at Zuo Xiuquan for a long moment, then began to laugh…
…
At a quarter past noon, amid the crowd, “Monkey King” Li Yanfeng narrowed his eyes and spotted a familiar figure not far off.
Yan Yunzhi stood at a street corner, watching the killing unfold ahead in the plaza. Standing beside her was presumably Yan Tie, Second Elder of the Yan family.
Both of them were now the subject of a massive bounty issued by Baofeng Trading Company.
Li Yanfeng smiled.
He then noticed that Yan Yunzhi seemed to have spotted something too, rising up on her toes, looking toward the center of the plaza. Li Yanfeng followed her gaze…
…
The surrounding corpses lay in grotesque poses, the stench of blood filling the air…
The dead lay with their eyes open, as if still lingering, unwilling to let go of this mortal world…
Those eyes reminded him of Yueniang’s eyes…
He had once glimpsed a beautiful world…
Had once lived a life worth cherishing…
But now…
Xue Jin began weeping aloud amid the crowd…
Clutching the paper in his hand, he slowly walked forward…
Ahead, in the plaza, someone pointed toward him and shouted something loudly…
Between life and death, there is a line.
Cross that line, and this life will end…
At last… he was going to walk back to the place where Yueniang had gone.
He raised the paper in his hand.
And so the people over in the plaza understood, too, what he was about to do…
Xue Jin’s feet stepped into the zone of bloodshed…
Not far off, people watched all this unfold…
This was not the first person to fall in that plaza this morning, and it would certainly not be the last…
From far away, an arrow came whistling through the air.
…
Xue Jin closed his eyes and walked forward.
A figure darted past him, leaping high into the air before landing again, clutching in hand the arrow that had been fired from dozens of zhang away.
The little monk tossed the arrow aside.
Across the plaza, the martial artist responsible for guarding this position, holding a red-tasseled spear, broke into a smile:
“Haha, another one who thinks he knows kung fu…”
The little monk waved a hand behind him. “Big Brother.”
The boy named Ning Ji, carrying a bundle in one hand and a blade in the other, walked toward them.
Taking slow, trembling steps, Xue Jin wept as he walked forward, holding up the blood-written paper.
In the crowd behind him, Yan Yunzhi caught sight of that figure.
And not far off to the side, “Monkey King” Li Yanfeng also noticed the appearance of these two. Killing intent spread across his brow, and with a flick of his hand, the staff strapped to his back whipped forward as he called out to the martial artist guarding the front of the plaza.
“Brother Lü. Of these two little brats, one of them is mine.”
Whispers spread far and near.
“‘Monkey King’s’ making his move…”
“That one guarding the plaza is ‘Divine Spear’ Lü Fan…”
“Who are these two children…”
“Now this’ll be a clash of dragons and tigers…”
Ning Ji walked forward, paying little mind to Li Yanfeng approaching from the side, nor to the guard stationed ahead in the plaza. His gaze had already turned savage, and with a swing of his hand, he flung the bundle he’d been carrying forward.
The little monk, somewhat puzzled, caught the bundle.
“Find a flagpole,” Ning Ji said. “Raise it up.”
Li Yanfeng strode toward them with agile steps.
“Divine Spear” Lü Fan gave his spear a shake and took up a stance: “This road’s closed today — no one’s getting through, no matter who they are!”
“Aaaaaaaaaah…”
Xue Jin wept and walked forward.
Behind him, Ning Ji dropped low, and in an instant, unleashed a burst of power — his whole body surging forward like a tiger pouncing, sunlight flashing as the distance between him and the man ahead in the plaza suddenly closed. Lü Fan’s spear whipped forward in a shower of feints, and then came a series of clanging sounds — the spear’s attack coiled like a giant serpent, but the mass of blade-light shattered straight through the spear’s central line. After several successive slashes, one final cut smashed the spear’s shaft down onto the ground. Stone chips sprayed up from where the spear shaft struck the earth, and the boy seemed to leap upward as if stepping off the spear itself, both hands gripping his blade as it came down like a thunderbolt.
Lü Fan’s body was sent staggering backward, crashing into a pile of wooden horse barriers behind him, the steel blade slicing diagonally into his body from the side of his neck, nearly cleaving his entire upper body open — thick fluid burst forth as if from an explosion.
The boy stood before the corpse and drew his blade back out.
That morning, before the fortress formed by the four Great Kings of the Fair Party, some had charged forward, some had protested, some had been cut down in duels — but against the dominant four-king faction, no one had dared deal such a ruthless blow to one of the guards stationed at the front, right in front of them all.
But in this moment, blood gushed forth like a crimson pool.
“Today, this road stays open… I’ve said so.”
Facing the countless figures before him, he declared this.
Ahead, someone on a pavilion smashed a wine cup and rose to their feet.
A master leapt forward to attack.
Behind him, Xue Jin staggered forward.
Death had not yet arrived.
The raging tide surged on.