After sitting for a while with her simple-minded brother, by the time she left the courtyard, the sky had grown darker still, but the festive atmosphere in the houses along the road had only deepened, with the aroma of Kitchen God offerings drifting from every household.

Getting into her carriage and heading toward her current residence, Lou Shuwan gathered up the brief moment of vulnerability she had allowed herself. Just two streets from her home, she saw a procession of horses and carriages approaching from the other direction, and a dignified-looking middle-aged man dismounted and waved, signaling for her carriage to stop.

The carriage slowly pulled up beside the snow-lined road. Lou Shuwan lifted the curtain and looked at the middle-aged general walking toward her. “A fierce tiger blocking the road—what’s the occasion, General Yu?”

“Just got back from some socializing at the barracks, came looking for you, found you weren’t home, and thought maybe you were spending the New Year in the palace. Didn’t expect to run into you here.”

The man approaching was Yu Yulin, Lou Shuwan’s longtime partner in Jin territory. This general had never been among the most outstanding figures under Tian Hu, and he and Lou Shuwan had not gotten along particularly well at first—it was only after the incident at Qingmu Stronghold that he had grown closer to her under Tian Hu’s command. The two later formed an alliance, and by the time of Tian Hu’s downfall, he had become Lou Shuwan’s most steadfast ally.

In the years since, leading troops through the fight against the Jurchen in Jin territory, this general—not the most naturally gifted of men—had risen to become one of the most powerful figures in the region. In the eyes of some with less than honorable intentions, after Tian Shi’s death, he was the only one whose strength in Jin territory’s political arena could rival Lou Shuwan’s, and given that he was a man holding military power, many believed that, should he wish it, he could become the new sovereign of Jin territory.

And yet, over these years, Lou Shuwan the civil administrator and Yu Yulin the military commander had never developed any serious rift between them. Yu Yulin seemed to hold no ambitions for power, never once truly challenging Lou Shuwan’s effective control over Jin territory—this was one of the most important reasons the regime in Jin territory had remained stable. Many, unable to understand his choice, would sigh with regret, and rumors occasionally circulated suggesting Lou Shuwan and Yu Yulin were secretly involved with one another.

Only a very small number of people knew that Yu Yulin’s restraint actually stemmed from a shadow cast over him back during the events at Lüliang Mountain, when he had witnessed the messy affair between Lou Shuwan and that domineering merchant. The more fiercely the Huaxia Army fought thereafter, the firmer the alliance between him and Lou Shuwan became. It was this same understanding that had, over the following years, allowed a man of modest natural talent, whose achievements might otherwise have been limited, to weather countless storms—even surviving the ravages of the Jurchen invasion—to become, in everyone’s eyes, a formidable power in his own right.

At this moment, the two most powerful figures currently steering Jin territory happened to meet on the street. Lou Shuwan stepped down from her carriage. “Such an important day today—shouldn’t General Yu be hurrying home to prepare? What brings you to me?”

Yu Yulin spread his hands ahead of him, and the two began walking slowly along the snow-covered road together. “We serve at the same court, work as partners—can’t I worry that you’ll be too idle today and come invite you home to celebrate?”

By the customs of the time, men did not worship the moon, and women did not offer sacrifices to the Kitchen God—the Kitchen God being a deity of yang nature, while women belonged to the yin. Just as men did not worship Chang’e during the Qixi Festival, women did not pay tribute to the Kitchen God on Little New Year. As someone living alone, Lou Shuwan, despite her high status and great power, could still find some way to celebrate at year’s end, but Little New Year was, to some extent, a lonely occasion for her. That he had come by now was precisely because he had taken this into account.

Lou Shuwan gave a faint smile. “A holiday for family reunions, and General Yu invites me to his home—could it be you’ve taken a liking to this widow of mine?”

“I wouldn’t dare presume so much. I’m not much to speak of, but I do have a doting wife and concubines at home, plus a whole stable of maidservants just waiting to be doted on themselves. If I brought the Lady Chancellor into my household, they wouldn’t be able to live—they’d all drop dead one by one, and that would be bad for my karma.”

“Am I really so lacking in tact, in your eyes?”

“The Lady Chancellor is naturally full of tact. It’s just that, in that scenario, if they didn’t die, it would be them lacking in tact. So… let’s just say today, you and I are like siblings, coming together for some timely merrymaking. What do you say?”

The two of them had been partners for so long that Lou Shuwan’s occasional teasing was something Yu Yulin could always parry with ease. At this point, though, he paused slightly:

“These past few years haven’t been easy. This year, talking about the state of affairs in Jin territory, every household has finally been able to catch their breath. Look at this Little New Year—thousands upon thousands of families have a bit of surplus grain to spare. When I go to the barracks, everyone says life finally feels like it has some hope in it. You’ve been the one managing the household these past two years, so to speak—opening up new revenue streams, cutting costs, drawing in merchants from all over to rebuild Weisheng, bringing the southwest in as partners, building the new East City—all of that is thanks to you. It’s the New Year now, so relax a little. Come offer sacrifices to the Kitchen God at my home—let me thank you, on behalf of the people of Jin territory.”

“If I go to your house at a time like this, by tomorrow the whole of Jin territory will be saying I’m your mistress. If you want to thank me, why don’t you come offer sacrifices at my house instead.”

“If you dare say that, should I show up at your door with my whole household in tow?”

“…I really ought to just nod and agree, just to watch you squirm out of that one.”

Lou Shuwan gave him a sidelong glance, and then the two of them both burst out laughing.

After a moment, Yu Yulin said, “…Honestly, I thought you’d be in the palace spending Little New Year with Tian Shan.”

The two continued walking forward. Lou Shuwan fell silent for a moment, then sighed. “My features are too harsh, I carry too much of a killing air about me—I don’t get along well with children. Tian Shan is afraid of me. It’s the New Year—let’s just leave the mother and son be.”

“…This isn’t the time to be indecisive. Yet here you are, showing a soft heart.”

“Tian Shi was a decent man. If he were still alive, Jin territory would have far fewer troubles.”

“Well, he is dead, after all. These past two years, though there haven’t been many, there have still been those who’d like to use that child for their own ends. If you let things drift, in the end it’ll only hurt him.”

“I dislike children.” Having said this, Lou Shuwan fell silent for a long while before finally looking at Yu Yulin and letting out a sigh. “Elder Brother Yu, when I look at Tian Shan… I just can’t bring myself to like him…”

At this point, she was no longer speaking of politics, but of something personal. Yu Yulin opened his mouth, his expression turning complicated. Lou Shuwan shook her head and kept walking. “And besides, maybe I’ve just been too busy—I don’t really have the time to indulge a child, to try building any closeness with him… Sometimes, when I see how afraid he is of me, how both he and his mother fear me while still having to try to please me, I feel… disgusted.”

“Forget it, it’s not that big a deal…” Yu Yulin sighed as well. “He’s only six years old. If people want to use him as a banner to rally behind, that’s still a few years off yet… Once things stabilize in a couple of years, we’ll think about how to arrange things, send them somewhere else. Preserve Tian Shi’s line, at least.”

“Mm, that’s what I’ve been thinking too.”

“Really won’t come to my place?”

“Actually, I already had somewhere in mind.”

“…Oh?”

“I was originally planning to go this evening, but since we’ve run into each other and it’s still early, let’s go together.” Lou Shuwan glanced at Yu Yulin and smiled. “I’ll make sure you’re home in time for dinner.”

“…Where?”

Lou Shuwan lifted her head.

“Tianji Palace.”

“…”

Yu Yulin fell silent for a moment, then nodded. “Let’s go.”

His words came briskly. He had arrived on horseback, but now he climbed into Lou Shuwan’s carriage instead, sending her original driver off to the side, and took up the reins himself, driving the carriage forward. The procession made its way through the snow-covered city, heading toward the highest point in town.

Tianji Palace had originally stood at the highest point in Weisheng, and by now it was nothing but ruins. But in front of those ruins, in a spot with a view over the city, a small memorial grove had been built from the palace’s old rubble. This was a monument to the fallen, built according to a design from the southwest. Tian Shi’s gravestone was the largest one at the front of the memorial, and around it stood numerous cenotaphs for other fallen souls.

Little New Year was not a holiday for honoring the dead, but with nowhere else to go, Lou Shuwan had already planned for this. Among the accompanying carriages, some offerings had already been prepared. The group made their way through the snow to this place, talking as they went, lighting the torches placed around the grounds.

“A few days ago, someone told me you’d mentioned to the Ministry of Revenue that after the New Year, you’re considering relocating people toward Liaozhou and Fenzhou, maybe even moving the capital there. Is that true?”

“Mm, it’s true.”

“What’s the thinking behind it?”

“For now I’m just putting the idea out there, letting people speculate… Elder Brother Yu, Weisheng was never anywhere particularly special—the Tiger King simply happened to choose it back when he rose in rebellion. Then there was fighting everywhere, and there was never time to relocate the capital. In truth, Liaozhou, Fenzhou, and Taiyuan Prefecture would all be far more convenient than here. If I weren’t unsure of our chances, I’d genuinely like to rebuild the city of Taiyuan.”

“Taiyuan is a formidable fortress city. After the Jurchen destroyed it, it probably should be rebuilt—but it’s too close to the Jurchen, right on the main road. If the Jin dogs march south again, first, we might not even be able to hold it, and second… even if we do hold it, we’d probably have to throw all of Jin territory’s resources into it…”

“That’s exactly right… but that man in the southwest was right—take the long view, Elder Brother Yu. Whether we want it or not, we’ve reached the point now where we have the standing to contend for the realm. If we’re going to contend for the realm, sooner or later we need the capability to defeat the Jurchen on our own. Expanding our strength northward, securing everything south of Yanmen Pass—that’s something we’ll have to do eventually. Our troops may not be able to fight now, but they can train. If we can’t hold Taiyuan, we can retreat. As long as we secure the rear, we can always fall back further into the mountains. But if we never even dare to venture outward, then there’s never any hope at all.”

At the memorial grove atop the height, a bitter north wind howled as the two of them strolled along, lighting torches. Their tone was calm, yet what they discussed carried its own gripping intensity.

Yu Yulin smiled. “Even as a woman, the Lady Chancellor truly has the ambition to swallow the whole realm whole. I can’t match that.”

“Just big talk, really. But when it comes down to actually executing it, how we fight in the future, that’s going to require your dedication, Elder Brother Yu. For next year, here’s what I’m thinking: on one hand, we join General Wang in reclaiming the northwest as a way of training our troops. On the other, we need to pick either Liaozhou, Fenzhou, or Taiyuan as a focal point for development…”

“…I’ve learned a thing or two from Ning Yi—if we’re willing to give up some benefits, opportunists will step forward ahead of time to do the work for us. Putting out this word is my way of testing the waters early. But the worry you just raised, Elder Brother Yu, is also shared by many others—if the Jurchen invade again and we can’t hold that ground, everything we’ve invested goes to waste. And even if we do hold on, that means Jin territory exhausting everything it has just to shield the rest of the realm from disaster…”

“So, from the outset, focusing purely on farming and livelihood has to take a back seat—we need to show the whole realm that Jin territory has the resolve to stand against the Jin dogs. At the same time, I’ve been trying to draw the Huaxia Army forces at Liangshan into this as well. If we can let people know that when the Jurchen attack, Zhu Biao and Liu Chengzong’s forces at Liangshan, along with part of the Guangwu Army, will coordinate with Taiyuan, that would take a lot of the pressure off us. I think plenty of people will want a share of the opportunities in a place as strategically central as Taiyuan.”

Yu Yulin nodded. “I understand. Even if it’s just military farming settlements at first, the trade alone would be worthwhile.”

“Right—early investment is preparation for war. Regardless of how long we can actually hold it in practice, the land needs to be ours. Someday, when our troops are tempered there, even if we can’t win outright and have to retreat, that’s still better than hiding here and playing it entirely safe…”

She paused briefly here. “And besides, I have a feeling that the Jin dogs’ western army is about to lose its fighting edge.”

“How so…”

“Intelligence just came in—over ten days ago, Wanyan Zongbi led troops into Yunzhong and, right in front of Nian Han, had the household of Gushen, Wanyan Xiyin, raided, throwing his entire family into prison.”

“I heard back in the first half of the year that Xiyin had gotten into some trouble—so it’s finally come to a head?”

“The most significant part is that Nian Han tried his hardest to protect Xiyin, but couldn’t save him. Back in the day, Xiyin rivaled the Eastern Court in influence—now he can no longer maintain his grip on power in the Western Court at Yunzhong… Also, Gao Qingyi, a senior official of the Western Court, is now implicated and under investigation as well. Once Wanyan Dan took power, it seems he’s already joined forces with the Zongpan and Zonggan factions, preparing to move against Nian Han first. Once the old general is gone, the troubles caused by the Western Court should ease considerably.”

“That whole Jin clan was supposed to be so united, and yet here they are, scheming and backstabbing each other too…”

“It’s unavoidable, really. Within the Jin clan, Zongpan is Wuqimai’s son, Zonggan is Aguda’s son—but who is Zonghan? Just a powerful minister, nothing more. While Aguda and Wuqimai were still alive, their old comrades-in-arms could split power between the Eastern and Western Courts. But once someone like Wanyan Dan, a younger generation, comes to power, naturally the ruling family wants to clear out any servants whose achievements have grown to overshadow their masters.”

The bitter north wind howled, the lit torches hissing in the gale, as Lou Shuwan and Yu Yulin walked slowly onward, pausing before each gravestone, their conversation calm.

“There’s also an interesting piece of news going around—that Xiyin’s imprisonment came about because the Huaxia Army used some poisonous scheme, framing Xiyin’s wife. This rumor’s been circulating since the second half of the year—apparently Xiyin himself had it spread, saying the Huaxia Army stops at nothing, has no bottom line, and will betray even its own people at any time… Quite an amusing thought.”

“I’ve heard that rumor too… do you think it’s true or false?”

“Does it even matter whether it’s true or false? When people from the Huaxia Army are arguing with me, I firmly believe it’s true. When we’re behind closed doors… dealing with the Jurchen behind closed doors, naturally I treat it as false. Can you really trust anything the Jin dogs say… just watch me curse them to death…”

The woman spoke playfully, smiling faintly. She stopped before one gravestone, the name inscribed on it reading Zeng Yuhuai. The stone was covered in snow, but she still remembered that fiery autumn, the courtyard scattered with fallen yellow leaves and lantern flowers, when that overly earnest scholar had confessed his feelings to her.

“…Having given myself to the nation, I can no longer give myself to any man.”

She reached out and brushed the snow from the top of the stone.

A short distance away, Yu Yulin murmured something to Tian Shi’s gravestone. In this moment, amid the howling north wind, the memorial grove of Tianji Palace looked down over the city below, where people beat drums and gongs in the streets, and lights came on in more and more homes as the sky darkened.

She heard Yu Yulin murmuring to Tian Shi about the achievements of the past year, and then say: “Look at all these lit windows tonight. If your spirit has any power left, watch over this fierce woman of ours, would you.”

Lou Shuwan nearly kicked him.

She laid out the small offerings—modest, like something any ordinary household might prepare—murmuring a few words as she did, then lit several sticks of incense from one of the blazing torches. The incense sticks trembled as she raised them above her head.

“…Please accept this offering.”

She said it quietly, calmly.

Yu Yulin watched her, and looked out at the warmly lit city below.

The hardest times were already behind them. Everything would get better from here.

In this moment, that was what they believed.

And so the wisps of pale smoke rose on the heavenly wind, drifting up into the vast blue expanse…

…

Chengdu.

Nie Xinyuan, known as “That Makes Sense,” from Xigu Village, was staying at an inn, not yet having returned home. He was still waiting for his very first article to be published in the newspaper.

Ever since he had first witnessed the power of “electricity,” he had glimpsed, in his heart, a future the sages of thousands of years past had never seen. Having come to Chengdu, his heart stirred with passion, and he wrote with fervent enthusiasm—only to be told his writing was thin, his phrasing clumsy, his word choices affected, and altogether off-putting.

So he sat holed up in the inn, revising his article again and again.

During this time, Xu Shiyao and a number of other advocates of the new culture came by. They gathered together, discussing their views on the future, and helped Nie Xinyuan polish his unpolished prose.

The day before, a small newspaper had finally accepted his first article, promising to publish it in the supplement on the twenty-sixth of the twelfth month. He wanted to wait here until the twenty-sixth, take the first copy of the paper in hand, and only then return to Xigu Village for the New Year.

In the afternoon, Xu Shiyao came by to invite him out to a gathering. He stammered, “I… I still have writing to do…” but Xu Shiyao, without further argument, dragged him out anyway—in truth, having had his article accepted had left him too stirred up to focus on writing anything else.

Those attending the gathering were all members of Chengdu’s present-day “new culture” circle, coming from all walks of life—some young masters, some merchants, some accountants, some laborers, some scholars fallen on hard times who had drifted in from elsewhere. Most had their own views on the new prospects for the world, and in discussing them, they might find themselves treated as comrades, or drawn into fierce arguments, forming small clusters of like-minded people. But in this moment, even among people with differing views, there was a shared warmth between them.

The socially anxious Nie Xinyuan stammered through conversations about electricity with quite a few people. That night, he drank a fair amount of wine, forgot his stutter entirely, and sang out passionately in front of everyone…

…

Near the ancient capital of Bianliang, heavy snow blanketed the land.

A young monk, holding a bronze bowl and carrying a staff, took shelter in a dilapidated temple, using the medicinal herbs he carried to treat a dying military officer.

Though they had met purely by chance, once the officer—who had fled from some unknown battlefield—had recovered somewhat, he drew his long blade and moved to kill the young monk, intending to steal the well-stocked bundle he carried.

The staff shot out, striking the man’s body, easily over a hundred pounds in weight, and sending him flying with a whistling force through the air. The officer’s body, along with half his armor, crashed through the back wall of the ruined temple, scattering snow in every direction.

The young monk watched him with pity in his eyes.

Ever since leaving Jiangning, the little monk named Ping’an had reached the age of nearly fourteen. Having left his master and bid farewell to his elder brother, his martial skill was now advancing rapidly alongside his physical development—over these two months of travel, it seemed that with every strike, he grew stronger.

The growth in his martial skill did not stir much feeling in him. Along his journey, what he saw remained the same chaos and misery he had witnessed back in Jin territory—the Fair Party fighting in Jiangnan, Zou Xu and Liu Guangshi fighting at Bianliang. One battle ended, and another began; people were displaced everywhere, and it all seemed to go on without end.

The only real change was that, after spending time with that Brother Dragon, his skill in using medicinal herbs to save people had improved somewhat.

He wanted to return to Jin territory, to pursue the one remaining wish left to him—to uncover his own origins—but he had no idea how to go about it. Only the endless scenes of hellish suffering rose and fell around him, wherever he went.

He recalled his master’s words: “All conditioned phenomena are like a dream, an illusion, a bubble.” Perhaps that was simply how the world was—before fate arrived, all human struggle was, in the end, meaningless.

But every now and then, he thought of how his elder brother, Dragon Ao Tian, had always carried a drive to push forward. Back in Jiangning, he had never seemed moved by the suffering of ordinary people—only when discussing the southwest had he shown any real conviction, as though saying that saving people through small acts of mercy amid this living hell meant nothing at all, and that only doing things the way the southwest did offered any real hope for the future.

For a long time now, he had held a certain longing for the legends of the southwest. In the tales told outside, descriptions of the southwest varied wildly, and he thought that someday he would go see it for himself—especially since his elder brother had made a vow that they would one day spar together in the southwest.

Having now reached Bianliang, with no more restraints binding him and his master having set him free to do as he wished, he found himself pondering: should he return to Jin territory, or go take a look at the southwest? He turned the question over in his mind.

…

Huainan, Hailing County.

Braving the wind and snow, the cloaked Yan Yunzhi took shelter in a teahouse. Inside, the wandering martial artists occasionally spoke of happenings here and there, and she listened carefully.

During the final chaos in Jiangning City, having witnessed so many of their clan members die, her Second Uncle Yan Tiehe had placed the blame for the disaster squarely on her. Though the Huaxia Army’s Chen Fan and others had later spoken up for her fairness and tried to mediate, Yan Yunzhi had grown thoroughly disheartened. After inquiring about the whereabouts of that Dragon Ao Tian and learning he had not returned to the southwest, she had quietly slipped away from the main group and set off on a journey to track him down.

She couldn’t say for certain whether he counted as an enemy to her, and she knew that even if she found that brash, spirited young man, her own martial skill likely couldn’t withstand more than a couple of his blows. And yet, with so many members of the Yan family clan having suffered at the hands of Shi Baofeng during their journey east, her Second Uncle’s accusations, however hurtful, weren’t entirely without basis—even in her own heart, she couldn’t quite get past that hurdle.

Finding that young man surnamed Dragon, and killing Shi Baofeng and his son Shi Weiyang—these were now the clearest thoughts in her mind.

Having witnessed the skill of so many masters within the Huaxia Army, she understood that her own abilities still fell short. So, on one hand, she traveled through Jiangnan gathering information, and on the other, she honed her skills along the way, diligently practicing her family’s sword techniques. A young woman traveling alone through Jiangnan as it now stood had to be prepared, at any moment, to die.

Huainan was currently the territory of the Fair Prince He Wen, and was considered one of the more peaceful regions among the various Fair Party factions. In the teahouse, the many wandering martial artists chattered on about news from Bianliang.

At the great assembly in Jiangning, the great scholar Dai Mengwei had sent a delegation to pay respects to various heroes at the gathering, lobbying on multiple fronts. Among all the factions who had sent envoys, what Dai Mengwei’s people said was the most peculiar of all—he promised that before long, he would bring Bianliang under his control, and that if this goal were achieved, he would hold a so-called “Grand Chinese Martial Arts Gathering” in Bianliang, hoping that heroes from every corner would come to attend.

Such a promise hadn’t seemed to place much pressure on anyone—many had agreed to it almost offhandedly, seeing it as a chance to build up some reputation in advance. At the time, most people had assumed Dai Mengwei was making such promises simply to help build up support for Liu Guangshi. Who would have guessed that he would turn around and cooperate with Zou Xu instead, doing away with Liu Guangshi entirely. Now, with Dai Mengwei handling civil affairs and Zou Xu handling military matters, the two of them were feasting heartily on the remains of the Liu faction’s former holdings, and it was said that the promised “Grand Chinese Martial Arts Gathering” would soon become a reality.

Come the new year, Bianliang was set to see quite the grand spectacle.

That Dragon Ao Tian seemed to love nothing more than joining a crowd, building his reputation…

Yan Yunzhi committed this thought to memory.

Outside the window, the sky was filled with drifting, cotton-like snow…

…

At the same time, in another inn not far from Yan Yunzhi, three siblings-in-arms who had fled from Jiangning were listening to the inn’s storyteller recount the tale of “Sky-Measuring Ruler” Meng Zhutao.

Ling Chu and his two fellow disciples listened, eyes wide.

During the great chaos in Jiangning, Meng Zhutao had killed their Second Senior Brother, Yu Bin, before sending the three of them out of the city.

After that, Jiangnan had descended into chaos, overrun everywhere by rampaging soldiers, bandits, and refugees. The three of them had drifted through the turmoil, and had only recently found the chance to cross the Yangtze River and escape the terror-stricken war zone.

After a brush with death on more than one occasion, all three had grown considerably in their martial skill. In their hearts, they still carried their hatred for Meng Zhutao.

But arriving here, listening to the storyteller’s account, they finally came to understand what exactly Meng Zhutao had done that night.

It turned out that their eldest senior brother had joined the Reading Society. After sending the three of them away, he had gone to kill Xu Zhaonan, and afterward had died in a magnificent, hard-fought duel against the number one fighter under heaven.

It turned out that this unfilial, treacherous eldest brother of theirs had, in fact, already become a formidable master capable of standing on equal footing with the number one fighter under heaven…

The things Meng Zhutao had left behind in the end had been passed on to He Wen by Ling Xiao, who had stayed by his side all along. As a result, the propaganda version that had circulated in He Wen’s territory gave the most detailed account of his journey of confusion and searching along the way. Only now did the three siblings begin to dimly glimpse just what kind of judgment and torment had lain behind that man who, after killing his own master, had once seemed so righteously unrepentant.

The great river’s song has ended, but even a hero of noble spirit may still sing a mournful tune.

They had set out carrying their hatred forward, only to find that the object of their hatred had already fallen, on that darkest of nights.

As the story drew to a close, the storyteller began speaking of the Reading Society…

…

He Wen, in his own territory, was spreading propaganda about Meng Zhutao.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield, in the territory of “Wheel-Turning King” Xu Zhaonan, Lin Zongwu was training a group of skilled fighters in the wind and snow.

According to the plan laid out for him, he was to train the “special forces” he had promised Xu Zhaonan.

Even though Wang Nantuo, who had originally planned this project with him, was no longer around, and the disciples he had kept close by his side for years had also set off on new paths of their own.

He was now, truly, alone.

There was nothing left to do but hold on to what remained, and keep moving forward…

…

Up in the mountains, Dragon Ao Tian and the little bitch went through a proper little ritual, offering sacrifices to the Kitchen God.

Qu Longjun sat kneeling on the bed nearby, watching the young man solemnly address a few words to the Kitchen God.

Their dinner was laid out at the stove.

According to folk belief, the Kitchen God descended from the Jade Emperor to watch over the livelihood of every household, and through the smoke rising from each family’s cooking fire, he came to know whether that household was thriving, whether they worked hard. On Little New Year, he ascended to heaven to report back to the Jade Emperor, and to those who labored diligently and lived their lives well, the Jade Emperor would grant blessings for the coming year.

This was a beautiful hope held by people in times of peace.

And from another angle, every hearth that housed a Kitchen God represented one family of ordinary people in this world.

She no longer had a family of her own.

But he had promised, the day before, that he would take her with him.

Sitting there, thinking of all this, she smiled—so sweetly, so sweetly…

…

Fuzhou.

Within the palace, strung with lanterns and festive decorations, the diligent young Emperor Jun Wu warmly received the many officials who had devoted themselves to serving him faithfully over the past year.

Holding firm control over the military, promoting new talent, honoring the throne while resisting outside threats, gradually reclaiming power from below—these various initiatives were beginning to bear fruit. Several reckless great clans had been struck down hard, forced to bow their heads, and having sensed the new emperor’s unwavering resolve, a number of older officials, loyal and skilled in strategy, had begun offering up all manner of tactics for winning over and dividing the various noble families below. Those who had once proceeded with anxious uncertainty were, for the first time, beginning to see real hope.

Among the common people, those who supported honoring the throne and resisting outside threats, and who wished to serve the new emperor despite having no established standing, continued to grow in number.

The first fleet of maritime merchant ships had already departed, sailing toward the distant Southern Seas.

Like every other power across the realm, they too now had a moment of respite to catch their breath.

This was the second winter of the Martial Dynasty’s revival.

Amid the auspicious snow, an omen of a bountiful year to come.

…

The clouds in the sky seemed to have melted into a single expanse of ash-gray.

Below, the plains lay covered in a thin layer of snow.

A long road stretched across this snow-covered plain, and in the distance, faint and peaceful, lay scattered villages. The overcast gray sky made it feel as though evening had already arrived, and here and there among the villages, fires had been lit, their orange glow adding a touch of festive warmth and life to the scene.

The carriage rattled slowly along, making its way down the long road.

Ning Yi and Shishi sat by the carriage window, watching the scenery pass, talking quietly. Juan’er sat a little further inside, sorting through documents.

Ning Yi wore a dark robe; Shishi, beside him, wore a white fur-lined coat, her warm boots trimmed with white fluff.

They hadn’t talked for very long about the matter of Li Rulai’s arrangement. Ever since the land reform policy had begun, Ning Yi had been away from Chengdu, and it had been over a month since he had last seen the people around him. Even the complicated new land policy wasn’t something that needed much discussion right now—instead, they mostly talked about Yu Hezhong for a bit, shared a few jokes at Dai Mengwei’s expense, and otherwise spoke only of small, trivial things.

Amid the peaceful, snow-covered plains and the tranquil atmosphere of Little New Year, the troubling questions, the worries weighing on their minds, didn’t need to be dwelt upon too much. After enduring such a long stretch of war and chaos, this journey home suddenly brought to mind memories of springtime outings in Jiangning, of poetry gatherings in Bianliang from years past—times when the world had certainly had its own troubles and turmoil, but when, for the most part, people had still lived in relative peace and contentment, most of them spared the suffering of the decade-plus of displacement and loss of life that had followed.

This journey felt like the surging current of a great river, like the sweeping verses of some grand, epic song.

They would never return to the world as it once was.

Instead, they were moving forward, toward a profound and uncertain future entirely unlike the one they had known before.

And before they found the right path forward, perhaps there still lay ahead of them a long, long night…