It was not long past noon; the deep-autumn sunlight filtered through the withered willow shade along the riverbank, and the little black-canopied boat poled toward the shore.
On the street, Chen Fan and Lin Zongwu’s fight crashed through the bamboo sheds, sending a sky full of shattered bamboo scattering.
The muzzle of a sniper rifle tracked the fiercely grappling figures as they moved.
The young man leapt out over the water.
In the midst of their thundering exchange, Lin Zongwu snatched up one of the bamboo poles scattering through the air and swung it out sideways, over the river.
The two grandmasters’ forms flickered like lightning; Chen Fan threw a punch at Lin Zongwu’s back, while Lin Zongwu’s arm swung out, the bamboo pole whistling through the air.
With a crash, cassock sleeves billowed wide across the sky.
At the very same instant.
— Crack, crack, crack.
Rifle shots rang out almost simultaneously, from different directions, all aimed at Lin Zongwu.
Ning Ji twisted his body in mid-air, swinging his steel blade upward with everything he had.
With a crack, the steel blade and the bamboo pole shattered into a spray of glittering fragments that arced across the sky, trailing a line of blood; Ning Ji’s body slammed down onto the prow of the black-canopied boat, and the whole boat reared up high on the river.
Qu Longjun, aboard the boat, was nearly thrown flying by the rearing hull — but in that same instant, Ning Ji, having landed on the boat, drove himself forward again, springing up like a leopard, hurling himself toward the airborne Qu Longjun and pulling her back down safely.
With another crash, the black-canopied boat slammed back down onto the water’s surface, sending violent ripples spreading out. On the other side, Lin Zongwu, cassock and all, plunged into the river, and amid the enormous splash, sank straight down to the riverbed.
Waves crashed against the banks.
The muzzles of the sniper rifles swept back and forth above the water, sealing off any point from which Lin Zongwu might surface. In that brief span before, his fight with Chen Fan had been so tightly interwoven that the three hastily fired shots had likely failed to hit that high-speed, leaping figure.
The distant sound of fighting drifted over the riverbed; the black-canopied boat rocked and pitched wildly, and then, with a cry of “Ahh—,” Ning Ji stood up on it. His clothes torn, half his body stained with blood, blood even seeping from his face, his young features looked almost ferocious in that moment — but as the boat steadied, the shell-shocked look on his face vanished quickly. He grabbed up a bamboo pole that was about to slip off the side of the boat, plunged it into the water, and pushed the little boat backward with all his strength.
In the river’s depths, it seemed as though some great beast were moving forward.
Chen Fan walked along the bank, staring intently at the disturbance in the water; the snipers positioned in various directions held their breath as well, and a warhorse could be seen galloping in from the distance. With a splash, the boat rocked back; then, another splash.
Everyone waited for Lin Zongwu to strike again from beneath the water.
For a grandmaster of his caliber, holding his breath underwater was no great feat — having lost control after Wang Nantuo’s death, the moment he surfaced he would surely unleash another thunderous strike at Ning Ji. But by now, a killing zone woven from rifle fire had already sealed off the airspace above the water; the instant he leapt out, this grandmaster, his speed dulled by the water, would take a solid hit.
But for some reason, no violent disturbance followed in the river. It was as though Lin Zongwu, having plunged to the riverbed, had simply vanished from the water entirely.
One breath.
Two breaths.
Three breaths…
Half-covered in blood, Ning Ji, having poled the black-canopied boat some distance away, finally turned to glance at Qu Longjun, slumped in the cabin, then instinctively glanced back toward Chen Fan and the others on the riverbank. At some point, he suddenly put his weight into it, steering the little boat toward the opposite bank.
The instant it touched shore, he pulled Qu Longjun up and started walking along the road by the river. Only once he’d put about a zhang’s distance between himself and the bank did he finally turn back around.
On the riverbank, Chen Fan, still watching for Lin Zongwu to burst from the water, gazed at him from a distance and tilted his head slightly.
Among the snipers, several who recognized Ning Ji — Yuwen Feidu among them — also frowned slightly, but quickly turned their attention back to the water’s surface.
Qu Longjun, her hand held by Ning Ji’s, felt something sticky all over it — nothing but blood. She gently touched his bloodied arm and said quietly, “You, you…”
Ning Ji turned to her. “…Let’s go.”
“…Huh?”
Qu Longjun blinked, and was then pulled by Ning Ji into a narrow side alley; before long, the two of them had vanished from the sight of everyone still watching the riverbank.
“Little… brat…”
Chen Fan muttered through gritted teeth.
But there was nothing to be done about it — for now, everyone, himself included, could only keep their eyes fixed on the riverbed, waiting for Lin Zongwu to burst out again…
At the heart of the city, the fierce fighting around the old martial yamen went on for more than half an hour before dissolving into an even more chaotic mess, spilling out across the entire city.
Before noon had fully passed, the sound of the injustice drum began ringing out at the yamen gates, announcing that the Four Kings’ defensive lines had fallen. After a little more fighting, the great mass of green-forest fighters, now without leadership, began surging in confusion toward the outskirts northwest and northeast of the old martial yamen.
Covered in blood, one arm mangled by shrapnel, Lu Xian retreated toward the rear, flanked by a few sturdy young men from the Li family village, surrounded on all sides by wounded fighters. The Black Banner and the Fair King’s banner now flew above the yamen, and as word spread of the Great Brightness Sect’s leader Lin Zongwu’s crushing defeat and flight, the resolve of the fighters who had once occupied the center of the battlefield began, one after another, to crumble.
The Heavenly King’s “Mountain-Opening General” Luo Yan, and “Avici Butcher” blade-chief Peng Tiangang, had both been killed in succession, and the Undying Guard’s leader, “Cold Crow” Chen Juefang, had been gravely wounded in the fighting — these were the main reasons for this collapse.
The surging crowds poured through the streets and alleys, everything in disarray — people screaming, cursing at each other. Jin Yongsheng, chief steward on the side of the “Equality King,” sent some of his men to shout from high ground, trying to restore order — but not only did the green-forest fighters from the other three factions refuse to listen to him, even some of the masters who had originally been won over by the “Equality King” now found their loyalty wavering.
In the distance, one plume of smoke after another rose across the city, explosions billowing upward.
“What in the world is going on?” Lu Xian, still somewhat dazed from his wounds, snapped to attention at the commotion in the distance and told the man beside him, “Go find out.”
The man hurried off.
Before long, scattered bits of news made their way back.
“Word’s out that the Fair Party’s Five Kings have split — the news about the Black Banner is out too. Everyone’s saying all-out war has broken out across Jiangnan, and every faction in the city is now looking out only for itself, they’ve started fighting each other…”
“Every faction in the city… the city only has five factions…”
Halfway through saying this, Lu Xian suddenly understood something, and his face went pale.
The Fair Party had far more than just five factions within the city.
The various groups that had clawed their way out of the chaos across Jiangnan, flying the banners of the Five Kings, numbered in the dozens, even hundreds, all gathered in Jiangning — some waiting to be formally organized while grabbing whatever advantage and territory they could along the way. Among them were, of course, the direct followers and tightly controlled branches of the Five Kings — but more than half were groups that had carved out their own turf purely through blood and violence.
While the Fair Party’s fortunes had seemed on the rise, these groups had waited to be absorbed into proper, regular military units. But no one had expected that the Fair Party would splinter apart like this — and now, a fresh round of choosing sides was beginning.
Before they had to pledge loyalty again, they now had a choice — they had regained their freedom.
“Ahh…” Lu Xian let out a long, mournful cry, turning to look south, toward where the Black Banner still flew — all manner of other banners had already fallen there one by one, and the corpses of a great many friends and kin, Li Duanwu among them, still lay unburied.
Beside him, the few remaining young men from the Li family village looked off into the distance, not yet grasping what they were about to face. Lu Xian gritted his teeth and finally forced himself to speak. “Quick, go back,” he said. “Home.”
“But Uncle Duanwu and the others—”
“Quickly—”
He gave a low growl.
The green-forest fighters gathered here in disarray; on the outer fringes of the crowd, those who had seen the fires burning across the city had already begun scattering in different directions, like a vast sandbar dissolving away. Lu Xian and the few blood-covered young men made their way through a city that had already begun to descend into widespread unrest — small factions, some tens strong, some hundreds, had already begun facing off and fighting each other, and those with a nose for trouble had already begun large-scale looting.
Back at the market district the Li family village folk had seized earlier, a group of bandits in all manner of ragged clothing had already launched an assault on the marketplace, some firing lit arrows into it; the women and children inside were crying out to fight the fires, while the few young men and elders who remained were holding off the attackers from behind their fortifications.
Blood spread everywhere.
The few sturdy blade-wielding young men beside Lu Xian ground their teeth in fury; one of them said, “It’s ‘Great Dragonhead’ Cao Xiang’s bunch — they’re taking advantage of the chaos—” Someone shouted and charged forward.
Cao Xiang and his “Great Dragonhead” gang had always been extorting protection money around this marketplace, and had always shown proper deference toward the “Heaven’s Slaughter” faction, never daring to cross them. But this time, the man called Cao Xiang narrowed his eyes, sizing them up — and seeing the pitiful, battered state Lu Xian and his men were in, he burst out laughing.
“Hahahaha… The Black Banner Huaxia Army has already entered the city, come to help the Fair King put you rats down. Lu Xian, you’re staring death in the face and you still don’t know it — today, we’re going to raise our banners and act on Heaven’s behalf—”
As he spoke, he had someone bring out a black, charcoal-colored banner from behind him, waving it through the air; the many vicious men around him immediately felt their spirits soar, shouting as they surged toward the marketplace, in an instant filling the bloody scene ahead of Lu Xian.
Lu Xian let out a howl of despair.
And charged in…
…
The chaos and conflict within the city spread wider still; along some of the main roads leading out of the city, fighting among the various small and mid-sized factions had already sparked a string of raging fires.
The news of the Black Banner’s appearance, and the increasingly clear shape of events, was setting off a complicated chain reaction throughout the city.
In the afternoon, around the hour of shen, countless followers of the Great Brightness Sect came howling in, overwhelming everything around the old martial yamen.
It was said that Lin Zongwu, the Great Brightness Sect’s leader, who had once been defeated by Chen Fan, had vanished for nearly two hours before mobilizing every follower he could still summon, and struck back at this place with everything he had.
Everything here had already been reduced to ruin. The Black Banner troops, having briefly appeared, suppressed the Four Kings, and accomplished their objective, had already withdrawn without a trace. They had no interest in tangling repeatedly with the vast rabble still remaining in the city.
The forces of Long Xianfu Fu Pingbo, amid the runaway chaos within the city, had likewise begun pulling back and shifting toward the north of the city.
By the time the pale light of evening had settled over the ruined battlefield, the massive, freshly defeated “world’s foremost fighter” walked among the wreckage and found the body of his junior brother Wang Nantuo, and gathered up his remains for burial.
A weeping little bald head followed at his side, helping him through the entire process of laying his brother to rest.
Meanwhile, representatives of many other factions were withdrawing beyond the city walls in the fading twilight.
At several courtyards in the northern part of the city, still under Fu Pingbo’s control, the delegation from the southwest and the elite of the 29th Army from Miaojiang had gathered together, along with the envoys from the small southeastern court in Fujian — Zuo Xiuquan and the others. Off to the side, Yue Yun and Yin Ping watched Chen Fan, Qian Luoning, and the other masters, whispering to each other; Chen Fan waved Yue Yun over, tested him with a few sparring moves, and then passed on some pointers on his boxing technique.
Chen Fan possessed prodigious natural strength, similar in aptitude to Yue Yun, and their exchange about boxing technique proved quite valuable for the young man.
As the group conversed, a young woman with sharp, spirited features stepped forward, accompanied by Hei Niu and the others, and, gathering her courage, put a question to Chen Fan.
Chen Fan’s disposition was open and amiable; toward a junior of such modest martial skill, he showed no airs whatsoever. But once she had finished laying out her question, and he had asked her a few more things in return, an expression of complicated feeling crept even across his weathered face, despite his years of experience as a general with no small amount of worldly wisdom.
The young woman’s name was Yan Yunzhi, and she had come looking for a young man in the Huaxia Army named Long Aotian. During today’s fighting at noon, he had charged straight through the center of the battlefield; she hadn’t been able to keep up with him, and hadn’t wanted to seek him out at the time to settle any private grievances — but as things went on, this young man had angered Lin Zongwu, and had been chased relentlessly by that fat monk. After everyone had chased and fled far into the distance, the young man and Lin Zongwu had never returned. Now the Black Banner was putting word out that Lin Zongwu had fled, gravely wounded — but as for…
“Then Long… where is Long Aotian…”
Lin Zongwu’s martial skill bordered on the supernatural; had it not been for the rifles today, he might well have overwhelmed the entire battlefield single-handed. That he had, in his fury, gone chasing after a mere greenhorn — even with Chen Fan throwing everything he had into blocking him, it seemed he hadn’t truly managed to keep hold of him. Afterward, the Black Banner had only put out word that Lin Zongwu had fled — as for what might have happened to that young man, the girl had her own private guesses, and now, asking the question, she found tears suddenly welling in the corner of her eye, so consumed by her need for an answer that she didn’t even notice her own reaction.
Once he’d gotten the full picture of the situation, and understood the consequences of “Young Hero Long’s” careless lie back in Tongshan County, Chen Fan instinctively reached up and rubbed his face, trying to keep his expression as innocent-looking as possible, at a loss for words.
“This… well… that…” His gaze swept over Qian Luoning, Hei Niu, and the others nearby, circling around before he finally said, “Actually… little Long, he… he’s suffered a bit of an injury, and… and we’ve sent him off somewhere else, to carry out a mission. Miss, Miss Yan, about your family’s business — I think… this… he bears some responsibility, and we’ll do our best to… hm, give you an accounting, this…”
His words came out hesitant and stammering, which only opened up more room for complicated imagination on the young woman’s part; there was no telling what she’d concluded, but she blinked, her dark pupils trembling. “He… he’s off on a mission… where did he go… Commander Chen, you…”
“Uh… well… the mission has to stay confidential, after all… we hadn’t anticipated he still had unfinished business either… this…”
“Is he… is he dead?” Yan Yunzhi stared at him; in this moment, her frame seemed impossibly thin and fragile, her voice choked.
“No — no, he’s not.” Chen Fan furrowed his brow. “That’s absolutely not the case… Miss Yan, this matter, well…”
“You don’t have to lie to me, I’m just… I’m just…”
“Ahh…” Chen Fan smacked his own forehead. “It’s really not that, Miss Yan, he really isn’t dead…”
The hall descended into a flurry of chaos; Qian Luoning’s eyelid twitched, his expression grave; Hei Niu and the others clapped their hands over their mouths and turned their heads away. Yuwen Feidu, who had witnessed Ning Ji’s earlier flight firsthand, had no choice but to step forward and chime in, “It’s not that, it’s not that…” — but the truth of the matter was impossible to explain in any detail, and how could it possibly have convinced anyone? Yue Yun and the others watched the whole scene, confused and anxious.
Not long after, the group finally managed to calm Yan Yunzhi down and gently talk her into leaving. Chen Fan and Qian Luoning exchanged looks heavy with complicated meaning; with Zuo Xiuquan and the others still present, the full account of that runaway brat’s illustrious exploits along the way would have to wait until they could discuss it privately… just thinking about it already gave them both a headache.
Not long after, someone came to report that Lin Zongwu had reappeared.
In the hall, Zuo Xiuquan smiled and said, “Commander Chen came all this way for this very matter — I wonder if he intends to seek out Master Lin again, to finish that unfinished duel.”
Chen Fan shook his head. “Collecting on an old debt from the fat man was just a passing whim. We had our fight, and the bond between us is settled now. Besides, his own cultivation really is profound — aside from that one gentleman in the southwest, I doubt there’s anyone else in this world who could take his life in single combat…”
“Oh.” Zuo Xiuquan’s expression turned solemn, and he nodded.
In that moment, he finally understood the true hierarchy of martial artists in this world: the only person in the entire realm capable of taking Master Lin’s life in one-on-one combat was Ning Yi — and since Chen Fan himself believed this to be so, then, in all likelihood, there could be little doubt about it.
He couldn’t help but sigh inwardly — truly, a man of great ability can accomplish anything. He had, until now, harbored some private doubts about Ning Yi’s supposed martial prowess, but at this point he could only concede that there truly did exist, in this world, geniuses one could only look up to in awe.
Chen Fan, unaware of what the old scholar was thinking, paused for a moment. “But… after today’s fight, the fat man now knows the limits of his own strength. From here on, he won’t be able to boast of his personal prowess anymore…”
The chase along the riverbank earlier — after Lin Zongwu had plunged into the water and gradually vanished, not resuming his pursuit — had nothing to do with any grand awakening on his part, nothing to do with letting go of his hatred. The only possible explanation was that he had realized: the moment he leapt out of the water, he would be shot dead by rifle fire.
Over the years, Ning Yi had steadily advanced the craft of rifle-making, and had, in preparation for facing a master of Lin Zongwu’s caliber, conducted a great deal of contingency planning and simulation. In theory, there had been confidence that they could take him down — but none of it had ever been put into actual practice, until now.
After today, the threat that a rifle killing-zone posed to a master of Lin Zongwu’s caliber had finally been proven in reality.
The romance of the jianghu had, for people living in the real world, receded one step further.
Zuo Xiuquan’s original intention in bringing this up had been to offer Chen Fan some well-meaning advice — but hearing that he’d already given up any thought of continuing the duel with Lin Zongwu, he let the matter drop. Instead he said, “It seems the Huaxia Army still holds great hopes for He Wen. When I return to Fujian, I’ll report this to His Majesty — and given his temperament, he may well propose forming an alliance with He Wen.”
Chen Fan smiled. “According to Ning Yi, the Huaxia Army holds great hopes for anyone with promise and ambition. I hear the southeast has placed its bets on General Gao — perhaps, in time, we could help bring the two of you together.”
“We’ve only just killed one of the Heavenly King’s chief commanders — what are you saying, Commander Chen?” Zuo Xiuquan smiled pleasantly, then clasped his hands in a bow. “The affairs of this world are treacherous, and men’s hearts hard to fathom — anything is possible. The Fair Party’s situation is chaotic right now, and the southeast may not be able to make many promises either — but if there’s ever hope of cooperation in the future, this old man will do what he can to make it happen, in the hope that both sides might benefit.”
“Let’s hope so.” Chen Fan nodded. “That little emperor of yours down there — I rather like him. Give him my regards. And Zuo Wenhuai’s a good man too — we worked together back at Tanzhou. I hear he’s gone to Fujian; tell him to come back and visit whenever he has the chance. The 29th Army will always be his home too.”
“I’ll certainly pass that along, certainly.” Hearing Chen Fan say this, Zuo Xiuquan laughed heartily, bowing repeatedly. “His Majesty has long heard of Commander Chen’s deeds, and has praised the Battle of Tanzhou more than once with great admiration — if he hears what Commander Chen has said today, he’ll surely be delighted. As for Wenhuai — it’s thanks to Commander Chen’s care for him in the past that our whole family remains deeply grateful; this debt of kindness, we shall not forget. Whenever he returns to the Huaxia Army to visit family, he must absolutely pay Commander Chen a visit, hahahaha…”
The two of them chatted a while longer along these lines, and before long turned to discussing the state of affairs, the situation across Jiangnan. Zuo Xiuquan asked, “I wonder when the Huaxia Army plans to leave this place?”
Chen Fan said, “We only brought so many men to begin with, and the job’s done. Staying longer only invites trouble — probably a day or two more, and then we’ll set off.”
“The Huaxia Army has planted its banner here in Jiangning, and yet, it seems, has no intention of cleaning up the mess it’s leaving behind.”
“Tanzhou and Jiangning are thousands of li apart, and Chengdu even farther still — we simply don’t have the manpower to deal with the aftermath here.”
“The reasoning is sound enough, of course, only… Jiangning is Master Ning’s hometown, is it not. After this turmoil, it’ll be even more ravaged than before.”
The old man trailed off with a faint sigh; hearing this, Chen Fan hesitated for a moment as well, then looked out at the commotion beyond the courtyard and let out a sigh of his own.
“Yes… it is.”
Beyond the courtyard, the chaos and clamor within the city were growing ever more intense — this was a city that had already lost all order, and fire, war, and lawless slaughter and confusion would sweep through it again. Today at noon, the fierce fighting that had erupted around the old martial yamen would go down as part of the Fair Party’s ongoing propaganda in the days to come — but the true, central focus of attention had, by this point, already moved elsewhere.
Nearly a hundred li from Jiangning, out on the surface of the Yangtze River, a great fleet, having gathered together along the way, was sailing forward in imposing formation; the rustling river wind already carried a hint of early-winter chill. Beneath the pale hues of the setting sun, He Wen, wrapped in a single thin robe, stood on the deck of the tower ship, gazing out at the world that was about to turn grim and desolate, having stood there, lost in thought, for a long while now.
At this moment, the layout of forces at Jiangning had already been set in motion, and perhaps was already nearing its end — the Black Banner would rise over the skies of Jiangning, as though announcing the brief presence here of that Master Ning from the southwest, along with the clash against Lin Zongwu and the masters of the other four kings.
It would be a battle to set the blood of every martial artist racing — but to him, the outcome of that battle no longer really mattered.
In the second year of Wu Zhenxing, on the twenty-second day of the ninth month, as this small skirmish in Jiangning got underway, across the hundred-odd towns and cities stretching from Xuzhou in the north to Lin’an in the south — across the thousand-li fertile plains on both banks of the Yangtze and the Tai Lake basin, through the crisscrossing waterways — the hundreds of thousands of troops belonging to the Fair King, already deployed there long in advance, launched simultaneous assaults on the major strongholds and key regions controlled by the other four kings.
With the Fair Party’s Five Kings now split apart, the entire thousand-li expanse of Jiangnan had, at this moment, been plunged into a wave after wave of infernal warfare.
The river wind came howling in.
He Wen stood there, looking down at his own palm.
In this moment, he did not know whether what he had done was right or wrong, nor whether he would live to see this same sun rise again a year from now.
He found himself recalling the words Ning Yi had sent along through Qian Luoning — as though Ning Yi himself were standing right in front of him, looking at him with cold detachment.
Whatever else, this was a movement of progress.
Even a movement that takes only a single step forward is still progress.
But…
You still have to take the right second step, and the third…
…
He lowered his hand.
…
And yet, whatever wrong steps had already been taken in the past, could now only be washed clean with blood…
These were the words Ning Yi had never spoken aloud…
And they were also the sin he could never atone for…
…
Had Ning Yi ever taken a wrong step himself…
What would he do, in this situation?
…
Would he feel guilt, for the deaths of so many?
He stood there, quietly turning the thought over in his mind.
…
The fleet cut through the waves, carrying its great demon-king onward, sailing through the heart of an inferno.
Everything, by now, was beyond recall.