On December 8th, the sky over the Chengdu plain hung gloomy and overcast.
Ahead, the official road stretched out across the lead-grey fields, and off to one side, in a village along the road, villagers in their slack farming season were making their way in groups down the country paths toward the school sheds nearby for lessons, or drilling in formation on the threshing ground.
Closer by, a dozen or so large carts were pulled off to the roadside near a hillside, being repaired — someone hammering away at a broken wheel. Ning Yi stood on the slope, stretching his body, watching the scene in the distant village for a while, brow furrowed, silent.
For him, it was, in truth, a strange sensation.
“…That this could ultimately succeed — the Huaxia Army might well be spoken of in the same breath as the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors.” Beside him, a horse-faced Daoist priest walked over holding a few newspapers, and, following Ning Yi’s gaze, said, “I imagine Master Ning must feel a great deal about this too.”
Though he had always considered himself an easygoing man, these past ten-odd years had been full of misfortune — back in his days at the Secret Investigation Bureau he had already made himself a public enemy of the martial world, and after killing the emperor he had been the target of assassination attempts for years on end, which meant security around Ning Yi had always been a matter of the utmost priority. That this horse-faced Daoist could so easily approach Ning Yi in a camp like this and strike up casual conversation was, in itself, proof enough of his standing within the Huaxia Army — he was an elder statesman of the Huaxia Army’s science institute, Gongsun Sheng.
Back when Liangshan had been destroyed, some of its senior figures had been beaten down, others brought over into the fold. Gongsun Sheng, a Daoist not exactly known for a placid temperament, had at first been half-coerced, half-courted into passing on his gunpowder techniques to a group of apprentices; afterward, the two sides had gotten along well enough working together. Ning Yi had always been generous toward his technical people, and the endless flow of novel ideas and scientific designs had thoroughly delighted Gongsun Sheng, drawing him completely into the fold.
In his younger days he had made his way as a con-artist Daoist out in the world, sharp-witted, able to draw connections between all sorts of ideas and grasp the essence of things quickly; he had also practiced martial arts for many years and had an excellent constitution, working himself hard year-round yet still looking spirited and full of energy. Within the Huaxia Army he had always been one of the most useful men to have around. For a good employee like this, Ning Yi had never been stingy with the kind of doting praise a proud father might give, and seeing him now holding a newspaper full of stories about the new land policy, it was clear the old Daoist too was celebrating this world-shaking reform — rare enough in itself.
The new land policy had begun in late October of this year, and amid all the surging clamor, by early December, the first batch of farming households to complete the lessons and pass the “exam” had already successfully received their allotments of land. Given how uneven the situation was in different places, the numbers so far weren’t large, but the whole affair had already made the newspapers and was passing from mouth to mouth among the people.
“Master Gongsun himself just said it — it has to actually succeed for that to hold. In truth, throughout history, dividing up land by relying on raw power is something anyone can do if they set their mind to it — even back in the days of Liangshan, ‘carrying out the Way on Heaven’s behalf,’ forcing people to hand over their land at swordpoint, no one dared say no. But the problem is, after the land is divided, what people hold in their hands as their means of production still has to be the land itself — not violence.” Ning Yi smiled, his expression complicated. “Right now we’re using force to divide up the land. What we need to worry about next is the real problem.”
Gongsun Sheng had lost much of his interest in politics over the years; what he’d expressed just now was simple, unaffected joy. He frowned slightly now, deep in thought. Ning Yi, hands on his hips, twisted his body from side to side. “Actually, it’s not the land redistribution I’m feeling so much about… I’ve been thinking about the carriages.”
“…Huh?”
“These carriages just aren’t good enough — I’m about to fall apart from the ride.” Ning Yi, who had been out touring around ever since the land policy began, sighed and pointed ahead. “In the future, once we’ve taken back the land, with Chengdu at the center, we’re going to build rail carriage lines along the official roads in a big loop around the city — Chengdu’s third ring road, so to speak. The villages that go through this first round of land reform will be the first to get rich — that’s one of the real things we need to be doing.”
He paused. “But with these rail carriages, the wooden rails wear out fast, and unless it’s somewhere with especially heavy commercial traffic, the upkeep might not be worth it. And it depends on flat terrain, so in the future its practical use won’t be all that broad — for now, it’s really just a large-scale experiment for rail carriages in general. What I mean is, Master Gongsun, the steam engine prototype work at the science institute is the priority. Man-made power sources replacing draft animals — that’s what will really mark the beginning of a new era, the kind of thing worthy of standing alongside the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors. I’ve got a lot on my plate lately and haven’t been able to visit the institute as often as I should — you’ll need to keep more of an eye on things for me. Don’t let it end up like with Lin Jingwei, with that group blowing themselves up.”
Out of sheer managerial instinct, he gave Gongsun Sheng another shot of encouragement while he was at it.
Gongsun Sheng nodded in agreement.
“…And another thing — shellac is a problem. This material is going to see very wide application in the future, not just for wiring. Take the carriage suspension, for instance — the spring cushions we’ve made so far are one approach, but going forward, if we can use something elastic like shellac wrapped around the wheels — let’s call it a tire — the carriage would jolt less, the frame would wear less no matter whether it’s carrying people or cargo, and it could go faster too. But the current output of the stuff is far too small. We need to increase it, and the science institute and the chemistry institute especially need to pay attention to finding talent in this area…”
Under the gloomy winter sky, with rain seeming to threaten in the distance, Ning Yi went on chattering away at Gongsun Sheng about all this. Over the years, the science institute had, on the whole, been an institution Ning Yi managed personally, and beneath him, only a handful of people — Lin Jingwei, Gongsun Sheng, and a few others — were capable of overseeing the whole operation. Now, with Lin Jingwei recovering from injury and Ning Yi himself having more to attend to, with the year’s end approaching, all he could do was give the others a rough briefing on his plans for the future.
Of course, there were also some things he had no way of putting into words.
For the new land policy to replace the local gentry, the prerequisite was that the central government needed to have the capacity to actually govern the localities — and the prerequisite for that capacity was high-speed transmission of information. High-speed transmission of information required the telegraph; the telegraph required electricity; and the development of electricity required insulated casing, which required rubber.
Rubber was something that wouldn’t reach Asia until after the Age of Exploration — at present, the entire Eurasian continent likely had no such thing at all.
In principle, generating electricity was quite simple; but as for a substitute for rubber, after a long search, Ning Yi had only ever found shellac. This substance, also known as lac, was a secretion produced by lac insects after drawing sap from trees; at present it counted as a kind of dye, and was sometimes used in traditional medicine, but on the whole its production was scarce.
Using insects to draw tree sap, then secrete shellac… relative to the sheer quantity of rubber-like material an industrial revolution of this scale would require, driven by the demands of future capital, it wasn’t impossible that lac insects might one day become an economic insect on the same scale of importance as the silkworm — and that the entire south, including Dali, even the whole of Southeast Asia, might turn into colonies for producing shellac.
Picturing a future world overrun with lac insects everywhere, Ning Yi found the prospect just a touch terrifying.
If he threw his full support behind Jun Wu, far off in the southeast, to push forward the technology for great sea voyages, would there be any chance, within the next thirty or fifty years, of completing a voyage of discovery and bringing back rubber trees from South America?
Of course, such a fancy was getting far too far ahead of things — a private pleasure belonging to Ning Yi alone. As he stretched and chatted with Gongsun Sheng about these fragments of the future, at some point a galloping horse suddenly cut across the official road, where a few merchants and travelers were passing, and came racing toward the caravan camp.
It was urgent intelligence sent from the secretariat.
Whenever Ning Yi was away from headquarters, this kind of intelligence, requiring separate delivery, was naturally significant — but this particular report, it turned out, wasn’t anything especially confidential. After a moment, with a wry laugh from Ning Yi, the report was passed to Gongsun Sheng, and then on to the others. Everyone who had come along that day soon learned of the major events that had just taken place at Bianliang.
“Zou Xu’s let me down,” Ning Yi said with a laugh. “Moving this slowly cost me — now I’ve handed over two extra shipments of goods to Liu Guangshi, and it’s all fallen right into this fellow’s hands instead.”
Gongsun Sheng, who had been about to leave, now frowned and leaned back in. “The world’s political landscape is shifting dramatically — Chengdu, too, may well see unrest before long. Shouldn’t Master Ning… head back to hold things steady?”
Ever since Ning Yi had left Chengdu on this tour, similar advice had already come up more than once within the group; this was simply Gongsun Sheng bringing it up again. In truth, having spent his younger years making his way through the martial world, when he spoke now of “the world shifting dramatically,” there was still, in the set of his brow, a faint echo of the “sorcerer Daoist” holding forth on affairs of state. Ning Yi’s eyes lit up at the sight, and he let out an involuntary laugh, naturally keeping to himself whatever thought that stirred in him.
“…What great shift is there in the world. Small stuff.” he said. “We just need to do our own job well.”
The clouds overhead kept drifting on, the fields lay grey and hazy in the distance, and in the distant village, the lessons on land redistribution continued as before. After a while, the caravan finished its repairs. As Ning Yi climbed aboard the carriage and gave the order to set off, Hongti came over as well; she too had already learned of what had happened far off in Bianliang, and now said with a smile, “They’re saying you don’t want to go back.”
“An elopement has to look the part, doesn’t it.” Ning Yi said, laughing as he took her hand. After a moment, he lifted the carriage curtain to look at the scenery outside, and said quietly, “I keep feeling that sooner or later, we’ll end up shut away in some little courtyard, never able to leave again, for the sake of the greater cause — so while there’s still time to spare, might as well get out and about while we can.”
“This business between Zou Xu and that Master Dai — is it really nothing to worry about?”
“Everyone ends up where they belong, sooner or later. There’s nothing unexpected in it. It won’t get in our way.”
He said as much, but after sitting in the carriage a while longer, Ning Yi still took out paper and brush and began writing a few things down.
“To the General Staff: The Huaxia Army fought its way through nine deaths to one life to defeat the Jurchens in the southwest, and has built up some measure of renown for it. Dai Mengwei has now twice stabbed his own comrades in the back, and is styled ‘today’s sage,’ now falsely claiming to have retaken Bianliang. On this matter, what is the sentiment among comrades within the army, and how should it be guided? I ask the responsible comrades to discuss and decide as they see fit…”
“To Qin Shaoqian and He Zhicheng: With the year’s end approaching, is homesickness running higher among the soldiers? I think a new round of registration and survey should be carried out within the army, recording every soldier’s hometown, and in light of the current state of the land policy, a round of research and discussion should be held on soldiers’ plans for after returning home, and their expectations regarding land redistribution. These past two years, Sichuan has been peaceful, with rapid development — more meetings than fighting — and there needs to be some vigilance about any slackening of fighting spirit within the army…”
“To the Propaganda Department: …”
Outside, the low-hanging clouds gave the sense that snow might fall at any moment.
Ning Yi bent over his writing. The carriage rolled on across the plain.
“It’s snowing.”
December 11th, Chengdu.
When Yu Hezhong woke, he heard a woman’s soft, gentle voice.
He rubbed his forehead. “What time is it?”
“Just past the hour of Si.” the woman said.
“Ah… why didn’t you wake me…”
“Wake you for what — you’d only turn around and scold me for it.” the woman said. “You know, last night, why did you come by so late? And when I tried talking to you, you wouldn’t even listen, just rushed off to sleep. I thought you must have been staying at Sister Gao’s place — when I saw you’d come here instead, I was so happy, wanted to say a few words to you, but you paid me no mind at all…”
Amid the woman’s chattering, small and delicately pretty, she wrung out a damp cloth with the utmost gentleness. On ordinary days, this kind of idle chatter often struck Yu Hezhong as endearing, but this morning, his mind unsettled, he found it grating for no clear reason. He wiped his face and went looking for his clothes. The woman had taken his clothes over to a chair in the room; only after putting the cloth away did she slowly bring them over to him. “Something on your mind?”
“No.”
“If there’s nothing, then keep me company a while. It was snowing lightly outside just now — in Chengdu, you barely see snow once a year…” The woman rambled on a bit, then suddenly remembered something. “Oh, right — last night you came back and went straight to sleep, and I forgot to mention it — yesterday evening, Master Yan came by here, seemed to be looking for you in quite a hurry, said he’d like you to meet him sometime today when you have a moment. From the look of him, it seemed like something big — was it the thing everyone’s been talking about since this morning… General Liu being killed?”
In the warmly furnished room, the woman’s voice sounded idle and offhand, but Yu Hezhong, in the middle of getting dressed, froze for a moment, turning a sharp, serious look toward the petite woman.
Over more than a year in Chengdu, his standing had risen considerably, and along the way he had formed ties with two “bosom companions” in the pleasure quarters. The woman before him now, named Wei Rou, appeared delicate and gentle, at times even seeming utterly innocent — but in truth she too was a figure of considerable renown in the world of romance and courtship, once called a celebrated courtesan, and now, in social circles, ranked highly enough to be addressed as a certain “mistress of the arts.” News of Liu Guangshi’s death was, of course, enormously significant — raising it now in such an offhand manner, what was really going on in her mind?
Over the course of a year, they had shared a bed many times; once she had formed this bond with a “man of importance” like himself, her everyday demeanor had grown even more relaxed and homely — but at this moment, a flicker of doubt crossed Yu Hezhong’s mind.
The woman’s gaze remained just as clear as ever. Having asked her question in that offhand way, she wrung the cloth dry in her hands and hung it up on the wooden rack, then turned back, and, noticing his stare, blinked. “Why are you looking at me like that…” — then her voice dropped a little lower, taking on a note of concern. “If my lord doesn’t want to say, I won’t press — but if General Liu really is gone, are you… going to be all right?”
Soothed by this show of concern, Yu Hezhong thought it over and continued dressing.
“What’s there for me to worry about — it’s old Yan and the rest who are in real trouble this time.”
His words and expression grew calm.
After a while, once he had finished dressing, Yu Hezhong ate a light breakfast, served by Wei Rou. Through the meal, he did his best to appear composed; just as he was about to finish, he heard the woman idly remark, “With something this big happening, shouldn’t my lord find time to go see Sister Li?”
“We’ll see.” Yu Hezhong said casually. “The Huaxia Army’s busy with the new land policy, and Shishi has her hands full with a thousand things — I can’t very well just ask to see her on a whim.”
“Something as big as General Liu’s death…”
“How big can it possibly be, to the Huaxia Army? The land policy is a matter for the ages — I doubt they care all that much about this, honestly.” Yu Hezhong offered up this line, sounding for all the world like a man with intimate knowledge of the Huaxia Army — and indeed, this was the pose he habitually struck in social settings. “Of course, what to do next — I’ll need to go ask around about that…”
Having finished breakfast, Yu Hezhong left the villa with an air of composure, as icy snow pellets fell from the overcast sky, melting into what looked like a thin coat of oil across the road. A newsboy in a straw rain cape ran down the street.
“…Extra, extra! The situation in the Central Plains grows clearer — General Liu Guangshi betrayed by all sides…”
“…Special edition! Dai Mengwei plays both sides again, betrays his comrades once more…”
“…The truth behind the so-called recovery of Bianliang — the Wu dynasty’s several rival courts, laid bare…”
“…Extra, extra! Excerpts from Dai Mengwei’s so-called manifesto denouncing Liu Guangshi…”
News of the shifting situation in the Central Plains had already reached Chengdu since yesterday morning. By afternoon, some newspapers had already printed supplementary editions, and by today, the news must have already swept through every corner of the city’s public discourse like a raging tide.
What Yu Hezhong hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell Wei Rou was this: yesterday afternoon, upon learning the specific news that Liu Guangshi was dead, he had gone straight to find Li Shishi, but from afternoon until evening, Shishi’s side had never managed to spare the time to see him. This was an exceedingly rare thing by past standards, and he had no way of knowing whether this meant something about Shishi’s own attitude, or that of the Huaxia Army as a whole.
In the end, he had returned to the villa in a daze, not even responding to what Wei Rou said to him, and had fallen into a heavy sleep. Only now, waking up, did the complicated feelings that had built up over the previous day gradually crystallize into something concrete: things had taken a turn for the worse.
After the Huaxia Army’s campaign in the southwest concluded, he, a down-on-his-luck minor official, had come to Chengdu to seek his fortune, and thanks to his connection with Shishi, had risen meteorically — an opportunity that had felt to him like something out of a dream. But now, with Liu Guangshi suddenly dead, the dream was about to end.
Over the past year and more, he had experienced no end of decadent pleasures, and had, all the while, been rubbing shoulders with some of the era’s most eminent figures; his outlook on the world had, to some degree, been elevated by it. He knew that the reason he’d been able to hold such a high position in the dealings between the Huaxia Army and Liu Guangshi was, above all, thanks to the care shown him by Shishi, and even by Ning Yi — but also, in part, because this particular deal had required someone in his position to exist at all.
For a long while now, he had felt grateful for the bond Shishi had shown him — but if one side of that deal was no longer around, once the whole business came to nothing, would Shishi, or Ning Yi, still keep him propped up in this position for the sake of some slight sentimental attachment?
On this point, he had little confidence.
Especially given that last night he had waited outside Shishi’s office courtyard deep into the night, and she had still not let him in — this alone left him with the gravest, most uneasy suspicions about how things might unfold.
Of course, for now, all he could do was try his best to stay calm.
Boarding his carriage, he made his way across the city, snow just beginning to fall lightly, and arrived, discreetly, at the Sifang Teahouse at the southern edge of the city, entering through the back door. This was now one of the core hubs of public discourse in Chengdu, and behind the scenes it was in fact partly funded by Liu Guangshi’s side — a place he and Yan Daolun had long used to meet. Though it wasn’t yet noon, the atmosphere inside, visible even from outside, was already intensely animated. He went upstairs from the back; Yan Daolun was already waiting for him in a private room on the third floor. The members of the Liu family’s forces who usually accompanied Yan Daolun were, this time, nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Wenzhai and the others?”
“I sent them out to gather information. I’ll wait for you here.” Yan Daolun’s expression seemed calm enough.
“Is the news confirmed? Has something really happened to Lord Liu?”
“Word of Dai Mengwei’s rebellion manifesto actually reached us a bit earlier than that — something must have happened. And now that the news has spread this widely, with all sides more or less agreeing, there’s not much room for doubt left.”
“That old cur, Dai Mengwei!”
“Dai Mengwei built his fortune betraying comrades — and this time he’s betrayed Lord Liu too, with practiced ease. What a shame Lord Liu was such a poor judge of character…”
“I heard some people out there even calling him today’s sage, comparing him to Zhuge Liang…”
“A petty man like that isn’t worth conspiring with!”
After trading a few token complaints, the two of them sat down at the tea table in the room, and Yan Daolun poured the tea before finally turning to Yu Hezhong. “News from the Central Plains would reach the Huaxia Army’s channels a good two or three days ahead of us. Has Brother Yu been to see Miss Li lately?” This was the very core of why he’d sought Yu Hezhong out.
Yu Hezhong shook his head. “Once the land policy started in late October, she’s been hard to reach. I heard the news from the Central Plains only last night, and had originally planned to go see her today — but hearing that Brother Yan was looking for me, I came straight here first.”
In front of Yan Daolun, his manner was composed enough. In the past, it had always been Yan Daolun who served as the chief officer handling dealings with the Huaxia Army, while Yu Hezhong had risen through connections — psychologically, he had always felt a step behind the other man. But now, with Liu Guangshi gone, Yan Daolun had lost his backing entirely, while on his own side, at least, his ties to Ning Yi and Li Shishi remained unbroken — for the first time, psychologically, he found himself with the upper hand, and felt his composure settle in.
“Mm.” Yan Daolun nodded. “I know Brother Yu’s family is back in Shishou. What do you make of this business with Dai Mengwei?”
“This… surely it wouldn’t go so far as to kill my wife and children?” Yu Hezhong frowned.
“Hard to say, Brother Yu.” Yan Daolun took a sip of tea, holding the cup in his hand in silence for a while, then looked up. “With General Liu suddenly gone, the rest of us he left behind here find ourselves in an awkward position — we’re all in the same boat now, so I won’t dress this up. Brother Yu, our families are all still back there. Being sent out here to the southwest — this was, after all, work entrusted to those Lord Liu himself considered his most trusted confidants. Even if we wanted to defect to Dai Mengwei’s side now, there’s likely no chance of it.”
“Naturally. Dai Mengwei is vicious and scheming — I never cared for the man myself.”
“Then after this round, our own families back home are probably all in danger. Among us… Brother Yu, think about it. Dai Mengwei made his name opposing the Huaxia Army; Zou Xu is a general who defected from the Huaxia Army’s own ranks. With the two of them joined together, there’s no longer any possibility of reconciliation between the Central Plains and the Huaxia Army. Once Dai Mengwei has stabilized his position, if he traces this whole line of connection down to us in the southwest, Brother Yu — as for you—”
Yan Daolun looked at him, seeming to want to say more but holding back. Yu Hezhong opened his mouth, then suddenly froze. It struck him all at once — once Dai Mengwei and Zou Xu had fully joined forces, among this group of them here in the southwest, Yan Daolun and the others might still find some way to reconcile with the Dai-Zou side, sparing their families back home. But he alone, known to be connected to both Ning Yi and Li Shishi, would become the one man singled out for particular scrutiny.
Yan Daolun reached out and gripped his hand.
“It’s precisely because of this that I came to find you first, last night.” Yan Daolun said. “Right now this concerns all our families — no matter what, we need to start making arrangements soon.”
Yu Hezhong’s gaze flickered; he was silent for a moment. “I’ll… I’ll go find Shishi…”
He said this and made to rise, but Yan Daolun patted his hand. “Brother Yu, when facing a great crisis, you need to keep a steady head. There’s no rush on this — rushing won’t help anyway. Let’s finish lunch first before you go. There’s something else I need to discuss with you, brother.”
“But…”
Waving a hand to calm Yu Hezhong, who by now looked rather anxious, Yan Daolun lowered his head and went on brewing the tea. After a moment, he finally spoke again, his expression calm.
“By the way, Brother Yu, you and Miss Li have always gotten along well — have you ever heard her mention, among the Huaxia Army, any important figure surnamed Long?”
“…Long?”
Not understanding why the man would suddenly raise such a question, Yu Hezhong looked over at Yan Daolun, thought about it for a moment, and found himself puzzled.