“What do you mean?”
Amid the glow of the bonfires, Chen Fan and Qian Luoning spoke in low voices as they walked past corners bathed alternately in light and shadow beneath the eaves.
“It’s simple. In the old order of this realm, local gentry governed the countryside. Even with prefects and magistrates in place, imperial authority never truly reached down to the county level — at the local level, imperial power and the local gentry kept each other in check. For the common people, both the throne and the gentry might oppress them, but the gentry were rooted in the land, and even when they exploited and harmed the people, there was a floor beneath which things wouldn’t fall. But if that balance were to vanish — if all power were seized by the state through the struggle over land — then local officials, no longer restrained by any counterweight, could exploit the people without limit. At that point, it would be hard to say whether land reclaimed from the landlords truly belonged to the state, or simply to the county magistrate…”
“Then is there no way… to seize the land first, without seizing all the power at once?”
“Seizing land isn’t like the state simply taking it to sell off and pocket the profits. Land is the lifeblood of those landlords — if you can’t hold the power, every locality will pay lip service while defying you in practice, and reclaiming land in name only means nothing. But if the land truly can be reclaimed, that in itself proves that the Huaxia Army’s authority has already thoroughly overwhelmed the local gentry. There’s no such thing as seizing power without land, or land without power — it simply doesn’t happen that way.”
“…Go on.”
“And according to Master Ning’s vision, the point of reclaiming land and power is really about building the capacity to organize and mobilize the common people at the grassroots level. With that capacity, you can push them to study, to understand reason — and once they’ve studied and come to understand, that in turn strengthens the state’s ability to mobilize its people from the bottom up. These things reinforce one another, and together they form one possible road toward equality.”
“…”
“By that reasoning, land and power are, in truth, also responsibility. That power exists — you can wrest it from the hands of the gentry — but once you do, you must make a promise: that you will do better than the landed gentry ever did, that you have concrete methods to genuinely safeguard the interests of the common people. Without such concrete methods, even shouting that all men are equal as though it were universal truth accomplishes nothing — you might as well hand the power back to the gentry, which would at least be safer. Equality without method is no more just than exploitation by a country landlord.”
The two of them walked on, Qian Luoning recounting what he had heard from Ning Yi, while Chen Fan listened in silence.
For a long time now, thanks to Ning Yi’s influence, all manner of schools of thought had taken root within the Huaxia Army. Among them, the democratic faction backed by Xigua had pursued the exploration of equality most purely and most deeply, and as an elder of the Miao borderlands faction, Chen Fan had long known that Ning Yi had always spoken candidly with Xigua and the others about the practical means of realizing equality.
And at Xigua’s side, his most perceptive right-hand man, Qian Luoning, understood these matters more deeply than anyone. In fact, during Old Niutou’s experiment, since Xigua himself could not attend in person, it was Qian Luoning who had been sent as observer to watch the entire process unfold in careful detail. That was why the ideas he spoke of now were, in essence, the same as the basic vision Ning Yi had been pushing for all along.
“…We ran the projections many times over,” Qian Luoning said calmly. “In the overwhelming majority of scenarios, the likelihood of local officials becoming corrupt, or of them dragging inspectors sent from above down into corruption with them, exceeds a dangerous threshold. We could hold more meetings, rely on people’s self-discipline, or resort to harsh punishment — but none of the outcomes were especially encouraging. Of course, until we actually try it in practice, we can’t be sure whether we’re simply worrying over nothing, because in these projections people naturally tend to assume the worst…”
“Does Old Ning have a solution?”
“Even I can’t say for certain right now.” Qian Luoning shook his head. “In Master Ning’s view, the biggest problem with these projections is distance… Back when the Huaxia Army was at Xiaocang River, Ning Yi alone could keep everything turning — if something went wrong internally, he could respond instantly. By the time we reached the three counties of Hedeng, the response had already slowed, and problems sometimes slipped through. Now that we hold the entire Chengdu Plain, the territory has grown so much wider that news from distant places is much harder to verify — especially from the rural countryside, where all sorts of things can go wrong without anyone noticing…”
“Now that we’ve defeated the Jurchens, with the elite troops of the Fifth and Seventh Armies stationed here, on the surface there’s no one who can stir up real trouble, so pushing land reform, though risky, should still be manageable. But if we look ahead to a day when we hold the whole realm, from Bian Liang all the way to Lingnan — send a work team out, it takes ten days or half a month just to travel; investigate a single matter, it takes months. By the time they return, if problems arise and a second round of investigation is needed, the evidence will already be gone. In that case, if an official far from the center commits some wrongdoing out there, the central authority simply won’t be able to react in time — and the local gentry and landlords, who share common interests with the local people, would end up being the more just force by comparison.”
“Everything comes down to information.” Having said this much, Qian Luoning shook his head and laughed faintly. “Once he said that to me, and afterward suggested we go ask around at the Institute of Investigation — that sometimes the emergence of new technology might be what pushes the world forward. We went and looked into it, came away with a few ideas, though nothing certain yet… Still, we’ve decided the new land policy will go ahead. Even though conditions aren’t ready to apply it across the whole realm, we’re still going to walk the tightrope here in the Southwest and feel out the road ahead. And you can guess — of everyone, Xigua is certainly the strongest supporter of this…”
By now the night lay deep and still, the stars burning thick overhead, while the restless city smoldered beneath a rising haze of war-smoke. It was a moment marking the beginning of yet another great upheaval across Jiangnan. The two men spoke on calmly, discussing the future of the Southwest a while longer. And at that same hour, atop a dark courtyard wall, a scarred woman stood quietly gazing out at the flickering fires rippling across the distant city.
The traces of old Jiangning were being consumed in these burning flames. The streets she had once walked, the once-familiar lanes, were now unrecognizable; the great mansion where she had lived had already become rubble. Should she ever return one day, she doubted even the traces would remain to be found.
This had been her hometown. Now, near and far, only the occasional cry or scream still rose — the sound of this harsh world still devouring its people.
That sound would continue for a long while yet.
…
That same midnight, blazing fires lit up streets that had endured slaughter through the day. Along those long avenues, the solemn rites of the Church of Great Light stretched on and on — chanting sutras, prayers, the dances of shamans, rituals invoking the gods, all mingling together to guide the souls of Deputy Sect Leader Wang Nantuo and the many valiant believers who had died that day onto the road to heaven.
Far, far from that street, in a dark and quiet corner at the city’s northern edge, two silhouettes — one large, one small — could be seen scattering pale ashes into the river ahead of them. In that quiet atmosphere, the large figure was slowly recounting an old tale from the martial world, of the past of the Church of Great Light, of the rising and falling fortunes of several senior and junior disciples, of the journey that had led Wang Nantuo and Sikong Nan into darkness.
Before the young monk, the massive figure’s words remained calm and unhurried, carrying no trace of sorrow.
“A few days ago… I spoke with your senior uncle about you. I told him you’d come to Jiangning and earned yourself a name — ‘the Four-Chi Y Demon.’ He was quite worried for you; I, on the other hand, found it rather amusing… On this trip south, I worried that your gentle temperament might mean you’re not living life vividly enough, while your senior uncle fretted over pettier things. He was called ‘Mad Tiger’ back in his younger days, but in his old age he’d grown as fussy as an old woman. Still, since I took you as my disciple, he’s always treated you like his own nephew. His concern for you was never anything but genuine.”
“You must remember this. But — the matter of avenging your senior uncle… that is not yours to carry.”
In the darkness, Lin Zongwu scattered the ashes in his hand little by little, while beside him the young monk’s voice choked with emotion. “Master…”
“Ping’an.” Lin Zongwu said, “Your master and your senior uncle spent their whole lives roaming free through the martial world, earning the respect of many. But by that same measure, where there are friends, there are also enemies made along the way. Some of these matters, traced back to their roots, can be settled with a clear conscience; others are so tangled by cause and effect that no one can untangle them anymore. Your senior uncle, and the senior brother who passed away more than a decade ago, lived lives of vivid passions and reckoning — even if they couldn’t be called heroes, they were at least formidable figures in their time. Your senior uncle’s death came on the battlefield, in the chaos of war — there was no good or evil in it, only cause and consequence. You must understand this.”
“But… he was my senior uncle. He was kind to me. Isn’t that also cause and effect…”
“If your senior uncle could hear you say that, he would surely be comforted.” Lin Zongwu smiled. “But Ping’an, you know that I am the Sect Leader of the Church of Great Light, and your senior uncle was its Deputy Sect Leader. Yet on this trip into the city, why did I not bring you in with me? And why didn’t your senior uncle come looking for you openly either?”
Ping’an wiped his tears, choking back a sob. “I’m still young…”
“It’s because your senior uncle and I hoped you could set aside some of these unnecessary entanglements of cause and effect, and have a future different from ours.” The stout monk patted his disciple’s shoulder. “When a person grows old, a lifetime of tangled cause and effect becomes something whose beginnings and endings can no longer be traced, let alone let go of. The Church of Great Light traces its origins back to Manichaeism, with countless followers scattered across the land — among all of this there is good, and there is bad, and even I have never managed to sort it all out in this lifetime…”
“Even the grudge between us and the Huaxia Army, and Ning Liheng of the Southwest, arose from what happened with Fang La back then — and our quarrel with Fang La, in turn, traces back to the old Manichaean sect leader He Yunsheng, from many years before that…”
Stars drifted across the night sky, and the river flowed on quietly beneath the darkness. That night, Lin Zongwu had already told the young monk a great deal of the past, and now, speaking of He Yunsheng and the old Manichaean faith, he was in no hurry at all.
He said, “…After the Fang La Yongle rebellion was crushed, this Ning Yi outwardly served Right Chancellor Qin Siyuan, but secretly he was already in league with bandits like Liu Xigua and Chen Fan. After Fang La died and Fang Qifo was captured, the constables of the Six Doors were escorting him up to the capital. Fang Baihua, Liu Xigua, Chen Fan, and the others seized the chance to try to rescue him. Your senior uncle and I had already reclaimed control of the sect by then, and at the request of high officials in the capital, we were sent to settle these old scores. But Ning Yi arrived to save Liu Xigua and Chen Fan, and that was how the feud began… He was a ruthless man — seeing that Fang Qifo was slowing the others down, he cut off Fang Qifo’s own head with his own hands, right then and there…”
“…Later, after I emerged from seclusion to travel the realm, visiting master after master, trying to find Zhou Tong to test my skills against his — it was on Mount Lüliang that I discovered he had already, with the backing of the Right Chancellor’s household, laid a second round of schemes along the border…”
“…Later still, when the Jurchens invaded south for the first time, Right Chancellor Qin Siyuan defended Bian Liang. He held the city, but at terrible cost… Outsiders all knew Qin Siyuan as a man who held absolute power, brooking no dissent, ruthless toward any who opposed him. While he held office, even men like Cai Jing, Tong Guan, and Li Gang did not dare provoke him. But when the emperor finally came to his senses and stripped him of his post, exiling him, we answered the call of the martial world and marched into the capital to root out the corrupt — and that was the third round of our conflict… Many of our sect’s finest fighters were hunted down and burned to ash by the army in that time…”
“After Qin Siyuan died, he stormed the palace and killed the emperor with his own hands… Facing the entire assembled court, he said only one thing…”
“…’A hall full of useless men.'”
“Ping’an.” In the darkness, Lin Zongwu clasped his hands behind his back. “When you were young and admired the Huaxia Army, I never thought much of it. But as for Ning Yi, the grudges and entanglements of those years — I never told you much of it. Now that you’ve heard all this, tell me — is this Ning Yi a good man, or a bad one?”
In the darkness, the young monk said nothing. The riverside fell silent for a moment before Lin Zongwu sighed softly.
“These past years, I’ve never worried about you asking after the Huaxia Army, because during those three years resisting the Jurchens at Xiaocang River, he truly accomplished something extraordinary, down to the last detail. And once the dust settled on the war in the Southwest, after he defeated Zonghan and Xiyin, that too was a feat worthy of our people, the Han. All these years, as the Jurchens pushed south and the realm crumbled, any man with true spirit had to fight for breath. I too have led troops into battle, and on the battlefield I am no match for him — yet I cannot deny his worth. But looking back on the past — is he a good man?”
“…If he were a good man, he never should have taken up the power of the Right Chancellor’s household back then to shelter rebels and conspire with bandits. If he were a good man, he never should have secretly run a bandit stronghold like Qingmu in the northwest during a time of peace. If he were a good man, he never should have colluded with the Right Chancellor’s household, forming factions and enriching himself at others’ expense for the sake of power — yet he did all these things too…”
“…Ping’an, that great hero of the Southwest today is, in truth, nothing more than a man who thinks only of himself — a self-serving yet unmatched, domineering warlord. When the emperor stood in his way, he cut off the emperor’s head without hesitation. When the entire court displeased him, he called them all useless before everyone. And yet, after killing the emperor, he marched north to Xiaocang River and, with barely ten thousand men, held the northwest alone for years — first crushing the Western Xia, then killing Loushi, holding back the Jurchens and the armies of the whole realm, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, for years on end, before slaying Cibushi and departing without a backward glance. He looks down on what others accomplish, speaks with wild arrogance — outsiders say that by killing Zhou Zhe he brought about the humiliation of Jingping — and yet, he truly did accomplish what he set out to do. His arrogance is unmatched, and that too, I cannot deny…”
“…So tell me, Ping’an — this grudge between us, how should it truly be reckoned? Before he defeated the Jurchens, I could say I was killing a tyrant for the sake of all under heaven. But in the end, he was the one who defeated the Jurchens — something all those virtuous, righteous men of the court, forever preaching benevolence, never managed to achieve. Such a stubborn, self-willed man accomplished it in the end. If I had killed him, and the Jurchens came again, who would be left to defeat them? What then?”
Lin Zongwu patted the young monk’s shoulder and walked slowly forward along the dark riverbank, hands clasped behind his back.
“Some things in this world are very complicated. Whether Ning Yi was good or evil, whether Qin Siyuan was good or evil back then — a hundred years from now, someone will judge it. But for now, it’s too tangled to trace. Whether it’s me, or your senior uncle, our feud with the Huaxia Army, traced back far enough, cannot be untangled or resolved. But we meet force with force, water with earth — when he comes against us, I stand as his enemy; when he fights the Jurchens, I stand with him. If our paths don’t cross, I do not go seeking vengeance. That is the code a man of true spirit should hold to.”
“But Ping’an, this is a meaningless legacy of cause and effect that my generation — your senior uncle’s and mine — has left behind. There’s no clean right or wrong to it. When I learned of what happened with you, and that you’d made a friend of the Huaxia Army’s ‘Five-Chi Y Demon,’ I was somewhat worried. But your senior uncle told me not to worry — he said our generation’s old grudges needn’t be passed down to you. Ping’an, this was your senior uncle’s wish — that you live a clean, unburdened life, and not spend all your days now thinking of revenge. The one who killed your senior uncle, that ‘elder brother’ of yours — if I catch him, I will kill him. But you are not to lay a hand on him.”
As Lin Zongwu spoke these words, his voice had remained slow and calm throughout — only at this final line did it turn sharp and decisive, each word landing with weight. In the darkness, a cool night wind swept past, and tears fell once more from Ping’an’s eyes. Just as he reached up to wipe them away, the massive figure ahead of him paused, then lifted him up and set him upon his shoulders.
Lin Zongwu had always carried himself with great severity, demanding the utmost rigor in matters of martial skill — such gentleness had happened only a few times, back when Ping’an was very small. But now, sitting atop Lin Zongwu’s shoulders, he saw that dignified figure, solemn as a Buddha, pointing off into the distance.
“Ping’an, look out at this world. Open your eyes wide and look at it.”
He said.
“Since we set out on this journey south, I have told you before — you must think clearly about what it is you truly want. You must see the good and evil within your own heart — attachment to self can be goodness, and it can be evil too. Ask your own heart what it is you truly wish to do in this world. Do you want to kill, or do you want to save? Do you want to act the chivalrous hero, basking in others’ fleeting smiles of gratitude, or do you want to save the world and bring about an age of lasting peace? You ran through the city chasing and fighting alongside that young man from the Huaxia Army, wanting to kill Zhou Shang, kill Wei Xuwen, kill Li Yanfeng, even kill Shi Baofeng and Xu Zhaonan — do you truly think they are irredeemable villains? If so, I will support you in going to kill every last one of them someday. Or if what you want is to make a name for yourself, I will support that too — go and do it with your whole heart.”
He felt the figure beneath him break into a run, charging up over walls, across rooftops, up onto ever-higher towers, the wind roaring past as the young monk rode upon the old monk’s shoulders.
“Look at this world — it is devouring people, and relishing every mouthful, about to feast without restraint. Jiangnan is about to fall into full-scale war; countless will die, countless more will be driven from their homes. The Central Plains, too, are locked in slaughter — that man who betrayed the Black Banner Army is now scheming against Liu Guangshi and Dai Mengwei, and blood will flow before it’s done. Though the land of Jin enjoyed a brief peace, bandits still run rampant there, and the Jurchens to the north still watch hungrily, unwilling to let the realm rest… And someday, sooner or later, the Huaxia Army will leap forth from the Southwest to contend for supremacy over all under heaven. In an age of such great contention, there will be countless extraordinary things to witness. You must go and see them, go and feel them, find the one thing you most want to do — and then go and do it well…”
Overhead, the boundless river of stars flowed like slow-moving water, and the world turned beneath them as the massive old monk carried him toward the very highest tower.
“…Whether you kill or you save, whether you do it for fame or for wealth — if you wish to find your father again, you may return to the land of Jin and keep searching. If you cannot bear to watch the suffering of all beings yet wish to avoid trouble, you may withdraw into the deep mountains instead. But Ping’an — all conditioned phenomena are like a dream, a bubble, an illusion. Only the stillness within your own heart can prove that you have truly lived this one life of yours well.”
They surged up onto the highest rooftop, the river of stars overhead sweeping down around them, the city spread out before them dotted with scattered fires, the great river beyond flowing on and on. For some reason, the young monk suddenly burst into loud sobs.
“…Ping’an, you are Lin Zongwu’s disciple, Wang Nantuo’s nephew in spirit — you must live the most unrestrained, most fulfilling life, one without regret, and remember them always. This is…”
“…the thing your senior uncle wished for you, more than anything else.”
The night wind rolled across the rooftop like distant thunder, the heavens and earth spinning before his eyes, and Lin Zongwu’s words rang through him like a bell struck at the crown of his head, surging clear and vivid through the depths of his heart. In that moment, Lin Anping wept uncontrollably, loudly — but this weeping held no sorrow, no suffering at all. It was like the first cry of a newborn seeing the world unfold before it for the very first time — the trembling, overwhelming emotion of a mind shaken loose by awakening, and then gathered back together again.
The immortal touched my crown. I bound my hair and received eternal life.
The night sky shifted, and rolling clouds drifted on beneath the stars.
At some point, the sun began to rise. The young man calling himself Long Aotian and the girl disguised as a little beggar had spent a night resting within the city, and now they tried to make their way out of it.
A day later, they finally found their chance and slipped out of the ruined, war-torn city of Jiangning, following countless refugees toward an unknown destination.
The great war of Jiangnan had already begun. Rumors spread thick across the land — some refugees starved to death by the roadside, others fled into the mountains. The young pair traveled together like two ordinary beggar children, hiding, moving, stopping, moving again.
News of the Huaxia Army gradually grew more distant to them as they left Jiangning behind, heading back toward the Southwest three thousand li away. It would be years before Ning Ji would learn that Hei Niu and the others had actually been in Jiangning at the same time, searching an extra day for them before reluctantly giving up and returning with the unit — Hei Niu had sworn she would give him a proper beating when she found him.
“Why didn’t you go back with them?” Qu Longjun once asked him about this.
“I still have things I need to do,” the young man replied.
The one reason he remained out here was to find Yu Xiao’er and clear the false charges against himself — and perhaps, further still, to make a name for himself and shake off the humiliation of being called the “Five-Chi Y Demon.” But he never explained any of this in detail to Qu Longjun.
The blow from the bamboo pole Lin Zongwu had thrown at him had actually done real damage. After leaving Jiangning, the fires of war in Jiangnan spread on and on, and medicine was hard to come by along their way. Though Ning Ji’s medical skill was decent, his body’s condition still wavered, good some days and poor on others. He decided to take Qu Longjun’s property deed and bring her back to properly settle by the shores of Lake Tai, but while recuperating along the way, the two of them found a small, run-down hut in the mountains and settled there for the time being.
There were still small animals in the hills, and fish in the nearby river. When Ning Ji felt well enough, he could go out and bring back food to prepare. Once, passing refugees tried to rob them, but Ning Ji’s skills held up, and he ended up robbing a bit of rice and grain back from them instead. Ever since being reunited with Ning Ji, Qu Longjun had felt at ease in her heart, no longer troubled by where they might go next. The two of them settled in like a small married couple; clever with her hands, Qu Longjun gathered scraps, vines, and bark, and somehow made their little broken-down hut feel almost cozy.
It was the era of the Little Ice Age, and winter came early to Jiangnan that year. One day it snowed lightly. Ning Ji’s internal injuries had flared up somewhat, leaving him in poor spirits, and the household’s food stores were running low. Qu Longjun had gone out to gather firewood, and when she returned home, she found a small monk in gray robes sitting not far from Ning Ji, breaking sticks to feed the fire. In front of Ning Ji lay his steel blade, set to one side.
Startled awake, Qu Longjun instantly drew the dagger from her robes. Ning Ji looked up, seemed to realize something, and set the blade aside. “It’s fine, it’s fine, he’s not a bad person.”
The small monk stood up. “Amitabha. This humble monk’s dharma name is Wukong.”
“Wu-, Wukong…” Qu Longjun thought for a moment, then remembered. “You… you’re the Four-Chi—”
“This humble monk is indeed the Little Sage Equal to Heaven,” the small monk said with a smile.
Qu Longjun gave a small bow of greeting — she understood that the two of them had been good friends back in Jiangning.
By midday, she dug out the dried fish she had hidden away and set to preparing a meal. Ning Ji said, “Make plenty — he’s a bottomless pit.” The little monk only gave a sheepish “heh heh” in silent agreement.
Knowing the proper etiquette of hosting a guest — the kind of thing she had been raised from childhood to preserve a man’s dignity — Qu Longjun measured out a generous amount of rice, heartache notwithstanding, and cooked a full pot despite the loss. As she cooked, she listened to the two of them talking — mostly the small monk speaking, slowly and unhurriedly, telling the story of a hot-tempered “wandering hero” from years past. Once or twice she caught the name “Wang Nantuo” and sensed something was not quite right, but since Ning Ji showed no reaction, she chose not to say anything more.
The three of them then sat down to eat, and the little monk produced a whole roast duck from the sack on his back. “This humble monk brought roast duck along the way.” In such weather and amid such turmoil, no one knew where he’d managed to find it, but Ning Ji took it, tore it in half, and the two of them split it between themselves without offering any to Qu Longjun.
The little monk’s appetite, it turned out, was enormous, and Ning Ji ate his fill alongside him that meal, the two of them finishing an entire pot of rice between them before long, and picking the roast duck clean to the bone. As they ate, the little monk slowly finished telling the story of Wang Nantuo, ending with his sudden death. The three of them sat quietly for a while, and then Ning Ji stood, stretched his limbs, and picked up his steel blade. “So, story’s over. Time to fight?”
The little monk stayed where he was, unmoving.
He was silent a moment, then pressed his palms together. “I don’t know whether my master’s Church of Great Light is good or evil. I don’t know whether my senior uncle was good or evil either. But he was kind to me, and I want to remember him. I wanted to tell you his story too. You killed my senior uncle — I want you to know that you killed someone who was kind to me.”
“So what?”
Tears welled in the little monk’s eyes. “We can’t be brothers now. But that’s no one’s fault. I’m sad about it, and I wanted you to know that too.”
“Uh…”
“My master won’t let me seek revenge… I still haven’t worked all this out for myself. But before long, I have to go back to the land of Jin. My parents disappeared suddenly one day, when I was still small — I don’t remember much of it, but I’ve spent years searching for them, and I need to keep going back to look. But if, someday, I’ve worked all this through and found a way — Dragon… Young Master Dragon, I might come find you in the Southwest, to settle this score between us. And when that day comes, we might have to fight.”
“Uh…” As the information in the little monk’s words settled into his mind, Ning Ji brightened up. He put his hands on his hips. “Ha, why not! I’ll tell you now — in this whole lifetime, I, Long Aotian, have never once feared anyone in single combat! Well, you’re Fatty Lin’s disciple, and I’m… heh heh, either way, by the time that day comes, we’ll probably be among the top fighters in the realm. So how about this — once you’ve worked things out, come to Chengdu for the Grand Martial Tournament of the Realm. If I see you show up, I’ll enter too, and we’ll have a proper match, and see once and for all who really deserves to be called the number one fighter under heaven.”
“Um… actually, I’m not all that interested in being number one under heaven…”
“Well, it’s decided then! A gentleman’s word, swift as a galloping horse!” Ning Ji declared firmly, sticking out a hand. “Come on, pinky swear!”
The little monk scratched the back of his head and, somewhat awkwardly, went along with it, hooking his little finger with Ning Ji’s. Though he’d decided to hold off on revenge for the time being, his expression still carried some reluctance — he clearly wasn’t quite sure how the conversation had suddenly turned so light and strange.
“How’s your injury?” he asked.
“What does that matter — even beating someone like you would still be easy for me!”
Ning Ji then took the opportunity to say a few unflattering things about Lin Zongwu, at which the little monk protested, “Don’t talk bad about my master… now that you know he’s my master, you shouldn’t say bad things about him…”
Ning Ji pursed his lips. “With a personality like yours, you’re bound to get bullied wherever you go.”
“I can be fierce with other people too.”
The two of them chatted on for a while longer, with Ning Ji lecturing him at length on the proper rules of conduct for venturing into dangerous places — namely, that one must always strike first with whatever underhanded tricks are necessary. Ping’an, listening to all this, found it quite eye-opening, and could only say, “You’re way worse than my master…” After a bit more of this kind of talk, he finally stood to take his leave.
He went outside, and before long came back in carrying a sack of rice and grain.
“We’ve known each other several days now, and I’ve been eating your food this whole time — this sack of rice is my way of paying you back. I have to go now. There’s fighting coming to this area soon… you two… take care of yourselves.”
Ning Ji walked over, spread his arms, and suddenly pulled the little monk into an embrace.
“You take care too!” His voice was steady as he said this, and then he let go.
“Amitabha.” Ping’an pressed his palms together. “This humble monk will take his leave.”
He turned and walked out of the shabby little room, into the cold gray-and-silver world outside, where the snow was beginning to fall harder. They watched the young figure disappear from view.
Ning Ji and Qu Longjun stood shoulder to shoulder, their hands clasped together — from the tension of the moment just past, Qu Longjun’s palm was warm and soft against his. It was a long while before either of them thought to let go.
Bidding farewell to the old and the past, before long, everyone would set out on new journeys. And by this time, half the realm had already been swallowed into the raging flames of war.
It was the winter of the second year of Wu Zhenxing, and Ning Ji’s journey through the martial world carried on. At that same moment, far away in the Southwest, Ning Yi — amid his own overwhelming burden of work and life — had just learned of the great feats his second son had accomplished out in the world.
The Ning family’s reputation had already been damaged by half, teetering on the edge, and at the very same time, a world-shaking upheaval was quietly brewing and gathering here without pause. This was a transformation more intense than any war being fought beyond it — the Huaxia Army had already set its pieces in motion…
More than eight thousand characters — I’m rather proud of that.