It was nearly noon, and the ice pellets falling over the city had gradually turned to snowflakes, dusting the streets of Chengdu with a touch of white.
It was the first snow of the year in the southwest. The pedestrians walking through the snow along the roads showed little sign of discomfort; most wore expressions of novelty and delight. Many didn’t even bother opening umbrellas, chatting and laughing as they walked. Children ran about the streets in play, and even when their families called out to them from the roadside, they were reluctant to go home.
At the Sifang Teahouse, the mood in the public discourse was at its most heated. From one private room after another, the sound of debate carried out into the hall.
“…Given the current state of affairs, how much room can Lord Dai possibly have to maneuver?”
“What state of affairs? The Jurchens have already withdrawn north—compared to the times they came south before, surely things are more relaxed now. And you’re talking about how the sage betrayed his own people a second time…”
“But who is Lord Dai facing! The Jurchens to the north, the Huaxia Army to the south!”
“Liu Guangshi was never worth allying with in the first place—all he does is run…”
“…This kind of talk is truly shameless! As Brother Ru said, when Dai Mengwei betrayed his own people the first time, one could still say it was to save the common people. But this time, betraying Liu Guangshi—that’s genuinely shameless!”
“…Don’t play dumb when you understand perfectly well—Confucianism is finished!”
“…Scaremongering. We scholars can still sit here drinking tea, eating, and chatting—how can you say we’re finished? The Huaxia Army may claim to be destroying Confucianism, but in practice they haven’t gone too far…”
“Not too far? Look at what Ning Yi is doing right now—can none of you see it? He’s redistributing the land!”
“So what if he’s redistributing land? The Fairness Party down south is already tearing itself apart with infighting.”
“How can the Fairness Party even be compared to the Huaxia Army? The land redistribution happening in the southwest right now comes with classes, with drills. When he holds classes, he’s pushing a literacy campaign, having every household send their children to school. Once the children of rural farming families enter the schools, their future will be bound to the Huaxia Army. And before the land redistribution, the three rounds of drills were about implementing a so-called militia system everywhere. The literacy campaign binds the children to him; the militia system makes the adults obey his orders. Ning Yi wants to bypass every scholar and man of learning entirely—his destruction of Confucianism is being carried out in earnest!”
“…If everyone could become literate, wouldn’t every man become like a dragon? How could that possibly be a bad thing?”
“Ha! Ha ha! Playing dumb when you understand perfectly well. Is literacy, is teaching people, really such a simple matter? If those children who learn a mere three or five characters could truly grasp the great principles, I’d have nothing more to say. But for Ning Yi this is merely a means of seizing power. Ever since the founding of the Huaxia Army, he’s championed so-called human rights, so-called democracy; then came the imperial examinations, where he selected clerks and stewards; and now he’s mobilizing everyone to become literate—every single one of these moves is meant to bypass men of learning like those of us sitting here. How many people in this world have spent decades studying the words of the sages? He’s courting a group who have never studied at all, teaching them to read, casting all of you aside entirely… Don’t think I say this out of envy—rather, if men like these could truly make the world better, why would we have spent thousands of years studying those subtle and profound truths? But Ning Yi is truly resolved—he means to destroy Confucianism…”
“The Huaxia Army is developing papermaking, wanting everyone to have books to read. These past two years they’ve also been vigorously expanding charity schools and village schools. Naturally, at first they can only manage basic literacy education. Taking it step by step like this—I don’t think it amounts to much…”
“Confucianism has never opposed basic education. It’s only that for the past thousand-odd years, papermaking never developed sufficiently, and the investigation of things progressed too slowly. If Ning Yi truly had no selfish motive, as everyone here well knows, he could simply use the already-mature Confucian system to assist rural education—that would naturally be better. But Ning Yi harbors a deliberate bias. He insists on dragging along people who know only a handful of characters to strike back against Confucianism. His blade draws no blood, yet his hand is more cunning than anyone’s. It’s laughable how all of you have been boiled like frogs in slowly warming water and still don’t seem to notice…”
“Even so, what does that have to do with Lord Dai…”
“How much time does Lord Dai have left? Joining hands with a useless wretch like Liu Guangshi—what could they possibly accomplish going forward? Once the great war in the southwest ends, Ning Yi will sit entrenched in Sichuan, recovering his strength. From the outside it may look lively and bustling, but who doesn’t know that the moment the Huaxia Army marches out of Sichuan, no one under heaven will be able to stand against them? But with this move of Lord Dai’s, doesn’t the whole of the Central Plains suddenly open up? In a game already lost, hasn’t he found a way to keep a living move on the board?”
“I think you overestimate Zou Xu. When it comes down to it, he’s merely Ning Yi’s disciple…”
“He was the disciple Ning Yi valued most in those years. There’s no one under heaven who understands Ning Yi’s methods better than he does. Now Lord Dai commands the way of Confucian learning, and Zou Xu understands the arts of natural science—the Way and the technique united. If anyone is to contend with Ning Yi, there’s no pair better suited than these two…”
“But judging from his words and watching his actions, Ning Yi’s arrangements in Chengdu these past two years carry the air of a sage-king…”
“Indeed, the air of a sage-king. Then let me ask you something today—doesn’t your family have no land!? None of your families have any land, do they!?”
“You—you, you…” “We’re here discussing principles, how dare you make such filthy insinuations…”
“Fine then. Once Ning Yi marches out of Sichuan, the first thing he’ll do is divide up your family’s land—”
From room after room, the noise of argument spilled out. Meanwhile, in a small private room off to the side, Yan Daolun and Yu Hezhong sat drinking tea, listening to the tones drifting over from next door. As the core hub of Chengdu’s public discourse, Yan Daolun and the others who ran the Sifang Teahouse were used to listening to such debates among the crowd. At this moment Yan Daolun sighed. “See, this is how many people outside view what Dai Mengwei has done this time.”
Yu Hezhong took a sip of tea. “That Master Tang Qi usually puts on such a sanctimonious face, and this time he sounds like he’s practically choking with rage. Isn’t he essentially saying that his support for Dai Mengwei and opposition to the Huaxia Army is simply because his family owns land?”
“What he’s saying isn’t only that.” Yan Daolun shook his head. “What he’s saying is—how many people in this world will end up supporting Dai Mengwei… To be honest, Brother Yu, my own Yan family owns land too.”
“What does Brother Yan mean by that…”
“Nothing in particular. It has no bearing on the larger situation. It’s just that overnight, heaven and earth have turned upside down, Brother Yu, and I find myself somewhat unsettled too.”
The two sides had met that morning, and Yu Hezhong’s heart was anxious. He had originally wanted to go straight to see Shishi, but Yan Daolun had kept him there—first chatting about whether there were any senior officials surnamed Long within the Huaxia Army, and then, listening to the commotion next door, rambling on at length about the state of affairs. Yan Daolun was a man of deep, hidden thoughts, and today he’d discussed considerably more with him than usual, but Yu Hezhong’s mind was too troubled to parse every implication.
Over the past year, working as a connections broker in Chengdu, things had gone too smoothly for him. Most people who sought him out simply wanted things done; if there were hidden meanings or ulterior motives behind their requests, he naturally couldn’t be bothered to pursue them. And even if certain people harbored sinister intentions, once they passed through a round of dealings with the Huaxia Army, there was nowhere left for them to hide.
After a meal amid all this rambling talk, by the time he was ready to leave, Yu Hezhong finally gritted his teeth and asked bluntly, “Brother Yan, actually… if this matter truly cannot be resolved, have you considered whether we… might as well just surrender to the Huaxia Army?”
Yan Daolun stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, then sighed. “That matter… let’s discuss it another time.”
Amid the drifting snowflakes, Yu Hezhong left the Sifang Teahouse and headed toward the Propaganda Ministry.
The day before, he had gone to Li Shishi’s residence but ultimately hadn’t managed to see her. Today he went to where the Propaganda Ministry conducted its business, and after giving his name, was told that Deputy Minister Li had not been at the ministry recently. As for what she was doing, they could not say. Yu Hezhong’s relationship with Shishi was, on ordinary terms, a private friendship; though he occasionally asked her for favors, he never brought such matters to the ministry, and he wasn’t especially familiar with this side of things. He left and headed instead toward her residence.
Shishi’s official residence in Chengdu was a small courtyard near Moist Pond. This was where the senior officials of the Huaxia Army lived; outside there were unified duty staff, a reception area, and a parlor for visitors. Every day many people came, whether for public or private matters, first waiting in the outer parlor until, after being vetted or announced, they would be led inside. Yu Hezhong was quite familiar with this place by now, and well acquainted with the receptionists outside. It wasn’t yet the end of the working day, and the busy senior officials of the Huaxia Army were usually not at their residences at this hour. Yu Hezhong registered with the receptionist and chatted with him for a while before asking, “Would Deputy Minister Li be coming back tonight, do you think?”
“That… probably, yes…”
“Then how come I waited until night yesterday and never saw her?”
“Which department isn’t busy these days? Just for the land redistribution, they sent out over ten thousand people. Look, with ten thousand-odd people sent out from Chengdu, how many are left here to handle office work? Master Ning hasn’t been in Chengdu lately either…”
“That much I know. But… did Deputy Minister Li come back last night?”
“…” Yu Hezhong had come here often in the past, and getting in had always been simple enough, but seeing him press the question this far, the receptionist hesitated. “Well, Mr. Yu, we have our regulations…”
“Fine, I won’t ask.” Yu Hezhong waved a hand. “When she gets back, tell her I have urgent business.”
The other man nodded and agreed with a smile.
That day, light snow drifted outside, and the waiting room, filled with all sorts of people, had its windows open, yet it wasn’t especially cold. Yu Hezhong sat by the window listening to the bustling voices, watching visitors of every description gather and converse in the room. Some were even discussing the “great events” unfolding in the Central Plains. An old woman in patched clothing had brought three sallow, malnourished country children to sit in a corner of the room, waiting for someone. Two of the children, apparently hungry, began wailing loudly, and a duty soldier brought in some snacks to soothe them—likely some poor relative of a senior Huaxia Army official, judging by their clothes probably having only recently come in from beyond Yanmen Pass, stirring the room into something resembling a marketplace.
Such scenes weren’t uncommon in this waiting room. On ordinary days Yu Hezhong would wander off elsewhere, perhaps to a nearby teahouse for a drink, timing his return for roughly the right hour. But today he had no such peace of mind to spare; he stood by the window with his hands tucked together, enduring the wait, using the snow scene outside as a small distraction from the tedium. He tried to compose a few lines of poetry, thinking hard for a long while, but came up with nothing.
Unbidden, his mind drifted back nearly twenty years to Bian Liang, back when his own literary talent had still been passable, when he’d first come to know Li Shishi, and often joined literary gatherings together with Chen Sifeng. In those days, the seats at the high-end literary gatherings attended by the capital’s great figures were limited, and a crowd of young scholars would often recite poetry and compose rhapsodies in the main hall of Fan Tower, hoping to make a name for themselves. His own literary talent, and Chen Sifeng’s, had only been middling—but with Shishi there, she would often quietly arrange for them to be let in as well. The flourishing atmosphere of that age, when the famous and talented gathered and exchanged verses, was something Yu Hezhong often found himself longing for.
Back then, amid the countless famous figures of the capital, he had still carried dreams for the future—he had even once imagined that he himself might become the man who would bring peace to all generations to come.
In the twenty years since, the realm had collapsed into chaos, and people had been tossed about and scattered across the land. What he witnessed was endless scheming and bloody strife, the rise of warlords, of scoundrels, of every manner of savage and vulgar man. Yu Hezhong had sought connections, had knelt before others, and only these past two years, meeting Shishi again in the southwest, had he once more come to enjoy an environment where he could stand up straight. Yet in his heart, Yu Hezhong still thought of himself as a man of letters—even if only middling in talent, unable to reach the highest ranks, what still brought him genuine comfort, even intoxication, was that bygone atmosphere of Bian Liang.
Toward the governance of the Huaxia Army, and even toward Ning Yi himself, in places no one else could see, he harbored resentment. They were too pragmatic, he felt—lacking the graciousness of cultured men, lacking the ceremonial beauty of literary exchange.
Ning Yi had always been like that. Even though he could write first-rate poetry, he held no reverence whatsoever for the art of letters. Chen Sifeng had once remarked privately that the man wasn’t truly a person of refined romantic sensibility.
In the year and more since arriving in Chengdu, he had never taken the initiative to visit Ning Yi, whom everyone else longed to meet. At bottom, in his heart, he had always felt that he and Ning Yi belonged to two entirely different kinds of people. He himself had grown up steeped in Confucian culture, wanting to write fine poetry, wanting to help the world and save its people, wanting to distinguish himself at one gathering after another, wanting to uphold everything worthy of respect and reverence. But Ning Yi…
Ning Yi… brilliant in letters, formidable in martial skill, and yet from beginning to end a frivolous man—he had married into a wife’s family, engaged in trade, schemed, killed, and even Shishi herself had once said he was too reckless and undisciplined, that he would even criticize the poetry found in the most elegant essays. And yet in a world like this, why did men like him always end up walking ahead of everyone else?
And when he thought of Shishi…
That was the most resplendent dream in the depths of his heart.
Facing reality wasn’t difficult.
But every so often, waking at midnight, even with a beautiful woman lying beside him, he would still think, with unbearable bitterness, that Shishi… had in the end been claimed by that reckless, undisciplined man.
In life, at twenty-odd years old, gazing upon the splendor before you, you always feel the future holds infinite possibility, your heart always full of hope. But gradually, those possibilities narrow before your eyes, until at some critical juncture you suddenly realize your own inadequacy, realize the future holds only one or two narrow paths forward—that is the darkest moment of all.
Coming to the southwest, seeing Shishi again, heaven had all but granted him a second chance. If there were even the faintest possibility that Shishi held a place for him in her heart, then his life, now gradually reaching forty, would suddenly be so complete—even the more than ten years of displacement and hardship since he was twenty would seem to have gained a fuller meaning.
But these thoughts were ultimately only illusion. Not long after their reunion, the rumors circulating outside about Shishi and Ning Yi began to prove true, and once, amid Shishi’s easy laughter, she skillfully confirmed it—and the completeness of his life finally slipped away from him for good. If there was a thread running through it all, Yu Hezhong’s life amounted to nothing more than this: in his early twenties, having won Li Shishi’s favor, he had gotten to attend a few grand literary gatherings; then more than a decade of mediocrity and dejection followed; and now, nearing forty, pitied once more by Li Shishi, he had scraped by as an unremarkable hanger-on among the upper ranks.
No splendor of poetry. No sweetness of love.
In his entire life, there wasn’t a single thing worth writing down.
He didn’t know why, but at this moment, gazing at the snow drifting outside the window, these were the thoughts that came to him.
Amid the light, drifting snow, the afternoon light gradually dimmed, and the noisy waiting room slowly emptied as people were led out one by one—a sign that the senior Huaxia Army officials living in this area were returning from work. Yu Hezhong watched these departing figures, guessing who each visitor had come to see, guessing their status, their position, their purpose… When the bell tolled the hour of You, lamps gradually lit beneath the eaves of the nearby courtyards, and more people were led out. Those brought in during this time slot were likely being invited to dine together with their hosts—a clear mark of closeness. Laughter and chatter drifted over, but no one came to summon him.
Shishi still hadn’t returned.
Past the hour of You, the receptionist had tea and refreshments brought to the room, and came to ask Yu Hezhong to close the window. Yu Hezhong asked once more about Shishi’s schedule. “Still not back?”
The man’s expression turned complicated, evasive. “Ah, well, who knows, really… Oh, Mr. Yu, you haven’t eaten yet, have you? We have a canteen here—why not go grab a bite?”
“No, no need.” Yu Hezhong thought it over and stood up. “Someone’s waiting for me. I’ll go eat, and come back later.”
He didn’t want others to think his desire to see Shishi was too urgent, so he left, hastily ate a couple of mouthfuls at a nearby old-fashioned commercial street, and once the hour of Xu had passed a little, tidied his appearance somewhat before heading back.
“Is Shishi back yet?” He felt enough time had passed.
“No word yet,” said the receptionist.
Yu Hezhong thought it over. “No word yet… you mean she hasn’t come back, or she’s back but hasn’t sent for me?”
“Er, anyway… your registration on this end, I sent it over long ago…”
“Then… is Xiaoling around right now?” Yu Hezhong asked after the whereabouts of Shishi’s personal secretary.
The receptionist thought about it. “Er… haven’t seen her all day.”
That night unfolded just as the previous one had: deep into the night, still no one came out to tell him he could go in.
As the hour of Hai drew to a close, the receptionist began ushering out the three or five people remaining in the waiting room. Yu Hezhong left in a daze, a foreboding sense finally welling up within him: something had happened.
Perhaps the fallout from Liu Guangshi’s downfall was greater than he’d imagined—so much so that even Shishi no longer wished to see him?
The thought crossed his mind, but on further reflection, he refused to believe Shishi could really be like that.
That night he forced himself to remain composed, then returned to rest at the residence of another close female companion, Gao Wenjing. This Gao Wenjing was a northern woman, her looks carrying a certain cool, aloof elegance, bearing some resemblance in temperament to Shishi as she had been over a decade ago, always smiling amid the literary gatherings. Yu Hezhong had pursued her for a long time before she finally gave herself to him. That night, as she tended to him before bed, Gao Wenjing asked about the matter of Liu Guangshi. “Now that Marshal Liu is gone, what’s the Huaxia Army’s attitude? Did you go ask that Sister Li of yours?”
“Of course I’ll go ask.” Yu Hezhong said. “But the Huaxia Army’s been busy lately—for the new land policy alone, they’ve pulled over ten thousand people just for the work teams. These next few days, I’ll find a good time to go see her. Honestly, this matter doesn’t concern me all that much. It’s Yan Daolun and the others who are truly… Now that Lord Liu is gone, they’ve become genuinely rootless duckweed…”
That night he tossed and turned, drifting in and out of sleep, and by the next morning he pushed down his tangled thoughts and, not long after daybreak, set off once more for Moist Pond.
He spent another whole day in the reception room, his mind in turmoil, thoughts churning every which way.
The thirteenth of the twelfth month—the same routine repeated.
By now it was the fourth day since news of Liu Guangshi’s death had reached Chengdu, and every kind of opinion in the public sphere kept fermenting further. Yu Hezhong even felt that the way the reception staff looked at him had grown somewhat haughty. He and Yan Daolun had become prominent figures in Chengdu precisely because of the largest arms deal between Liu Guangshi and the Huaxia Army; now that the furnace beneath that deal had gone cold, they had become among the most awkward people in the city. Even though he hadn’t deliberately gone probing these past few days, Yu Hezhong could well imagine how others were talking about them.
And if even Shishi no longer wished to see him, then what sort of figure was he, Yu Hezhong, really, in Chengdu?
All manner of thoughts tangled together in his mind. At one moment he thought of simply making a scene right there, saying that Li Shishi turned her back on people the moment they fell on hard times, that she was far too realistic—but in the end he was too timid to act rashly. At another moment he thought of simply finding some excuse to go see Ning Yi himself, if only to try to curry favor with him—but on further thought, he realized Ning Yi hadn’t even come back…
The Central Plains had already been turned upside down, the Huaxia Army’s two greatest enemies were about to join forces and form an alliance, and yet Ning Yi, over some trifling matter involving a hundred villages, still hadn’t come back to take charge of the overall situation!
The Huaxia Army was this arrogant—sooner or later, they’d come to ruin.
On the fourteenth, as he shaved before the mirror, his hand slipped, and he cut his face, the blood flowing freely. That morning, when he went again to see Yan Daolun, Yu Hezhong studied the other man’s expression closely, but his face remained as composed as ever—aside from a few remarks about the difficulty of the times, there was little sign of anxiety to be seen.
“The Huaxia Army’s side is probably just too busy with things—I’d guess Shishi isn’t in Chengdu at all right now. This kind of thing has happened before. It’s fine, I’ll go again soon—three or five days at most, and there’ll be word.”
Yu Hezhong spoke as calmly and casually as he could manage.
Yan Daolun didn’t seem to mind either way. “That’s certainly true. The Huaxia Army’s sense of priorities is different from ours—look at Master Ning, he hasn’t rushed back either.” He then went on to tell Yu Hezhong about the changes in Chengdu’s public discourse over the past few days.
Events unfolded much as expected. Those “new cultural figures” aligned with the Huaxia Army began, with one voice, to attack Dai Mengwei’s act of betrayal, while among both the old and new Confucians, the general consensus had split—yet those on each side had also grown more resolute in their respective positions. Some of the old Confucians began citing the classics ever more extensively to analyze the great principles of the realm; some argued Dai Mengwei had no other choice, others praised the cleverness of his alliance with Zou Xu. Some of the new Confucians, pushed by Dai Mengwei’s actions, broke away from the alliance, but others, after careful thought, began attacking the Huaxia Army’s land redistribution all the more fiercely.
In the past, whether it was the Huaxia Army’s efforts to destroy Confucianism or the scholars’ attacks against them, both had largely remained at the level of lofty talk. Indeed, after experiencing the prosperity of Chengdu, some scholars had even begun offering the Huaxia Army advice, hoping such prosperity could be replicated elsewhere. But the Huaxia Army’s “examination system” had been one round of minor escalation; now, with the land redistribution being carried out in full, a far more decisive escalation had arrived.
Most people had to choose a side. Some might not believe Dai Mengwei to be a sage, but if it meant stopping the spread of land redistribution, how could Dai Mengwei not be a sage? Even the claim that he was a divine figure who knew the past five hundred years and the future five hundred years was being spoken aloud—and a supernatural tale carrying this very claim had already begun serialization in the supplement of the Tiandu Gazette.
After exchanging a jumble of scattered information and eating lunch, Yu Hezhong once again headed for Moist Pond.
He sat there until nightfall, exhausted in body and mind.
On the fifteenth of the twelfth month, Yu Hezhong didn’t want to go again. He left Gao Wenjing’s courtyard and had a servant drive a carriage aimlessly through the city. In the past, as a celebrated figure of the public sphere, he could go anywhere when his heart felt heavy—but now there was nowhere good to go. After much deliberation, he had the carriage turn back toward Gao Wenjing’s residence, stopping by the roadside for a while, yet not daring to go in.
Gao Wenjing, and Wei Rou too, though called close female companions, were in truth also curious about how his pursuit of Li Shishi would turn out—could he go back to them, could she offer him some comfort?
But he couldn’t go back.
That day the light snow had turned to heavy snow, and pedestrians on the road hurried along in haste. Yu Hezhong lifted the carriage curtain to watch the straw raincoats of the passersby, and after a while, saw a carriage pull up not far from Gao Wenjing’s courtyard gate. A man he vaguely recognized knocked on the door, then went inside.
Yu Hezhong froze for a long moment.
Since the Huaxia Army had taken the southwest, Chengdu lacked the mature brothel system that existed in Jiangnan, because the Huaxia Army’s laws forbade forcing good women into prostitution, and severely punished the practice of raising young girls to become courtesans or “thin horses.” But law was one thing; on the other hand, the Huaxia Army hadn’t stopped various women of the pleasure quarters from coming to Chengdu from elsewhere—perhaps a necessary expedient for economic development—but in any case, various renowned courtesans, ladies of accomplishment, and high-class companions still existed in the southwest.
Gao Wenjing and Wei Rou had both once belonged to such establishments; only after Yu Hezhong spent a great deal of money did they become, in effect, kept women—two cultured, talented women no longer working publicly, appearing only when Yu Hezhong needed to entertain friends, which had given him no small amount of face.
Now the courtyards both women lived in had been bought by Yu Hezhong, and all their food, clothing, and expenses were provided by him—yet who would have thought that, behind his back, someone else would come calling?
His mind went blank for a moment. He sent a servant to fetch some muscle, then made his way, unsteadily, toward the side gate of the small courtyard.
Since Gao Wenjing had been with him, the courtyard wasn’t staffed with many hands. Yu Hezhong quietly opened the side door and slipped in, avoiding the servants, making his way toward the front hall. There, in the reception hall, he saw Gao Wenjing actually serving the man tea. The visitor was named Sun Kang, a major merchant in Chengdu who, it was said, had been a general under the Wu Dynasty; after the dynasty’s collapse, he had brought his capital to the southwest to make a living. Coarse and boorish by nature, he had never been well liked by Yu Hezhong.
At that moment, the man was rambling on and on to Gao Wenjing.
“…Childhood friends, my foot—you actually believe that Yu fellow? Let me tell you, Wenjing, now that the times have changed, you’ll finally see who’s a person and who’s a ghost… He says Yan Daolun is even more nervous, what nonsense—look at Yan Daolun’s background, his abilities, what ability does this Yu Hezhong even have… I’m telling you, everyone knows that Li Shishi belongs to Master Ning Yi—what kind of attitude do you think Master Ning would have toward Yu Hezhong? Not having him killed outright is already generous enough… And now look, Liu Guangshi’s croaked, and Li Shishi won’t even see Yu Hezhong. You think she’s just busy, that she’s not in Chengdu? Ha! Let me tell you—someone saw Minister Li just yesterday. Her not seeing Yu Hezhong, what does that tell you? Wenjing, think about it, really think about it… I’m telling you, sticking with him, there’s no future in it, Wenjing…”
At some point, a buzzing roar rose in Yu Hezhong’s head, his eyes flushed red, and he snatched up a vase and strode out. The two people in the hall both rose to their feet. Gao Wenjing wrung her hands together. “My… my lord…”
Yu Hezhong ground his teeth and walked toward Sun Kang. “You two, this—”
Sun Kang stood tall, chest out, rolling up his sleeves, muscles bulging all over. “What do you want?”
Yu Hezhong stopped where he was.
It was only then he realized the man had trained in martial arts, standing a full head taller than him, and had once led troops and suffered defeat on the battlefield—he, a mere scholar, stood no chance of fighting him.
In fact, in the current situation, with everyone watching for changes on the part of himself and Yan Daolun, this wasn’t even a scandal he should be catching in the first place. Catching an affair while wealthy and prosperous, giving the adulterer a beating—that was expected. But catching one while already fallen on hard times, everyone would only see you as more pathetic still, and if the attempt to catch them failed and he ended up beaten instead, he’d become an utter laughingstock across the entire public sphere.
Yu Hezhong pointed a trembling finger at Sun Kang, then at Gao Wenjing. He could barely make out what Gao Wenjing was trying to explain, nor did he know how to curse them properly. After a moment, he simply said, “This courtyard belongs to me…” He smashed the porcelain vase in his hand onto the floor and strode out the door.
Leaving the courtyard, he waved off the muscle the carriage driver had summoned. He didn’t even know how he’d gotten into the carriage, or why it later headed out of the city. That day, the wind and snow howled outside, the white snowy landscape sweeping past beyond the curtain. He only felt cold—cold in his heart first, and by the time he came back to himself, the sky had darkened, and his body, too, was cold with hunger. He had the driver find him some inn to stay at, ate little, and in the unfamiliar room, the blanket others had used before was filthy and reeked, strange things hanging from the dark rafters. Yu Hezhong curled up into a ball, thinking of Gao Wenjing, then of Wei Rou—both women were probably laughing at him now, the whole city of Chengdu was probably laughing at him.
Tossing and turning through half the night, his thoughts drifted to his wife and children far away in Shishou, which was Xiao Zheng’s territory. Now that Xiao Zheng had joined Dai Mengwei in killing Liu Guangshi, there was no way to bring his family over. In the southwest, he had truly become an utterly solitary man—though he still had some money left, from now on no one would think highly of him, and no one would care about him either.
By the time he returned to the reception room at Moist Pond, it was already the morning of the sixteenth of the twelfth month. The snow had stopped in Chengdu that day, and on his way there he again saw various scholars hurrying toward the arena of public discourse—perhaps his humiliation at Sun Kang’s hands yesterday would today become one more piece at the center of the discourse. Yu Hezhong didn’t want to dwell on it. He waited in the reception room until afternoon, watching all sorts of visitors come and go, ate dinner in the canteen, and at some moment, as the lamps came alight, a thought suddenly struck him: among these senior officials of the Huaxia Army, so many had no family with them—if they had wives or parents at home, they could receive visiting relatives during the day, and wouldn’t need to make people wait until night.
He fell into a heavy sleep in his seat.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when someone gently patted his arm, and he woke, wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth, about to speak to the receptionist: “Is it time already…” But it wasn’t the receptionist who had come.
Shishi crouched beside him. She wore a simple set of blue-grey robe and trousers, her hair tied back behind her head, holding a stack of something in her hand, the tops of her shoes dusted with snow as if she had just come back from somewhere—she reached out and patted him lightly.
For a dazed moment, Yu Hezhong seemed to see another “Li Shishi” from more than a decade ago, still just as clear and sweet as she had been then, putting him instantly at ease. Yet there was also a strange quality about her now, utterly different from how she’d been back at Fan Tower—a quality the entire age before had never possessed, a quality visible only within the Huaxia Army. For a moment he couldn’t even quite place what he felt, looking at it.
“Come in.”
She led him along the snow-laden path, into a courtyard simply yet grandly furnished. In the study, a small stove had been lit. Shishi had the duty soldier Xiaoling boil a bowl of hot noodle soup, then poured Yu Hezhong a cup of hot tea.
Yu Hezhong said nothing. Shishi sat across from him, watching him, and after a good while, finally spoke.