In the third year of the Wuzhenxing era, in the third month, the accumulated snow in the south had melted away. Corpses scattered across the wilderness had merged into the spring mud, and here and there, wildflowers bloomed atop the exposed bones.
In southern Zhejiang, at the Xianxia Pass in Jiangshan County, the area had by now come under the control of the southeastern court, falling under the jurisdiction of Han Shizhong’s Zhenhai Army. This made it the southern border of the chaos unleashed by the Fair Party’s turmoil.
As spring warmth arrived and flowers bloomed, refugees of all kinds, heading south from Jiangnan toward Fujian, gathered outside the pass. Most were dressed in rags, skin stretched thin over bone. The court had set up a gruel station outside the pass, providing each traveler who made it this far with a bowl of warm porridge before registering them and admitting them through the gate.
Compared with the great calamity that had begun in Jiangnan the previous year, the number of refugees arriving at Xianxia Pass each day was no longer especially large.
After the start of spring, the internecine warfare among the Fair Party’s factions north of the pass had finally entered its full-scale phase. North of the Yangtze, the territory controlled by the Fair Party’s He Wen still maintained a degree of order. South of the Yangtze, however, in what had once been the wealthiest land in all of Jiangnan, control had fallen to several other Fair Party warlords along with Tie Yan, Wu Qimei, and others based in Lin’an. After the fall of the most fanatical of them all, “King Yama” Zhou Shang, the region had descended into a chaos of dozens, even hundreds, of roving bandit factions devouring one another in a frenzy.
North of Xianxia Pass, along the roads the refugees took south, countless small-scale bands of looters, born of the chaos, still roamed the land. Since the start of spring, Han Shizhong had sent out troops every few days to drive back the various bandit groups to the north, escorting survivors through the final stretch of dozens of li to Xianxia Pass. But in truth, even such “benevolent efforts” could no longer save very many people.
Among the small number of refugees who did make it to Xianxia Pass, conditions varied widely. Some sat on the ground and wailed after drinking a mouthful of hot gruel; some gazed silently northward toward Jiangnan, tears streaming down their faces; some still had family with them, holding their children, weeping together in each other’s arms; and some, in somewhat better shape, had emaciated draft animals pulling carts, surrounded by armed guards—these were mostly members of once-wealthy Jiangnan households, or entire village communities that had fled south together, which was how they’d managed to bring anything with them at all.
In rare cases, there were even armed escort caravans heading south, guarding several cartloads of goods, bringing along large groups of refugees to Xianxia Pass as well. Most of these refugees, picked up along the way, had paid the caravans for the privilege, and in moments of danger might well be used as human shields or cannon fodder. In an age as chaotic as this one, the cargo owners behind such caravans might even be among the fiercest of the warlords currently tearing Jiangnan apart. In any case, in times like these, anything at all was possible.
At the Xianxia Pass checkpoint, both the guarding soldiers and the registration clerks had by now grown accustomed to every kind of tragic sight—after all, most of them had lived through similar hardships themselves just a year or two earlier. Aside from giving extra scrutiny to any obviously well-armed and organized groups, they generally just registered everyone else with minimal fuss and let them through.
On this particular day, amid the chaotic bustle at the Xianxia Pass checkpoint, two young men leading a red-flower-patterned horse mingled with the crowd.
Both young men appeared to be around seventeen or eighteen years old. One of them was somewhat taller, with a melon-seed-shaped face and refined, handsome features. He wore a long scholar’s robe, faded to a mottled white but still neat, with a fan tucked at his waist and a long sword slung at his side—the very image of a well-read, dashing young gentleman from a good family. Such a figure had not been uncommon during the peaceful era a decade or so earlier, but was now an exceedingly rare sight.
Walking beside him was another young man, shorter by about a forehead’s width, with a lively, cheerful expression, though his clothes were covered in patches. He was somewhat sturdier in build than his companion, and in contrast to the scholarly young man’s single long sword, he carried two long blades strapped across his back, giving him the look of someone not to be trifled with. To some in the martial world’s eyes, he looked more like a manservant-cum-bodyguard accompanying the young master of a great household.
Following the two of them was the red-flower horse, its back laden with two large bundles. The bundles were sizable enough to draw a fair number of curious glances, but given the blades each of the two carried, no one at this relatively peaceful checkpoint was inclined to make trouble for them. Having made it this far in such chaotic times while still leading a horse was, in itself, proof enough of their capabilities—enough that even the registration clerk and the gate guards couldn’t help but glance at the pair a few extra times.
“…The Jiangpu post road, also known as the ancient Xianxia Road, is recorded in the histories as having been built during the Tang dynasty by Huang Chao. Starting from Xianxia Pass, it passes through Qinghu, Shimen, Jianglang, Xiakou, and other places, all the way to Fuzhou. I hear there are many mountains worth seeing along the way—Xianxia Ridge alone is said to be quite a sight…”
While waiting in line to be registered and pass through, the taller, refined-looking young scholar was in the middle of telling his companion about the history of the ancient Xianxia Road. The registration clerk, overhearing this, brightened noticeably—these days, anyone able to read and write, and knowledgeable about historical records, was a rare find indeed. And such young talent was exactly what the court in Fuzhou needed right now.
Of course, hearing the scholar’s account, the companion beside him nodded along. “Mm-hm, I’ve heard of Huang Chao, heard of him… my dad told me once. Huang Chao wrote some poem, something like… ‘From now, should I be free to ride the moon at leisure, who’d dare mock Huang Chao for lacking manly resolve!'”
This line, both evocative in imagery and bold in spirit, made both the refined scholar and the clerk registering the travelers ahead of them frown. The clerk racked his brain trying to recall his old studies, while the scholar’s eye twitched slightly before he responded, his tone gentle and cultured. “‘From now, should I be free to ride the moon at leisure’… that first line has quite a nice mood to it—I wonder where it’s from. As for the second half, ‘who’d dare mock Huang Chao for lacking manly resolve’—that surely wasn’t written by Huang Chao himself, and besides…” he lowered his voice, “that’s a seditious line.”
A seditious line—the clerk at the table ahead had already caught on to this too. In peaceful times, hearing such a verse recited on the street would have been a serious matter, but these days, with the court itself barely hanging on, and the source being what seemed like an uneducated young manservant repeating something he’d merely heard, the clerk wasn’t sure whether to make an issue of it. He was in the middle of registering the two travelers ahead in line when the manservant behind him scratched his head and laughed. “Haha, no, that’s not it—I probably remembered it wrong. You’re the one who’s read a lot of books; I never much cared for that stuff growing up. But I hear people talking about Huang Chao all the time…”
That laugh had the unmistakable ring of someone with little education, and the clerk sighed inwardly. As for people frequently mentioning Huang Chao these days, he could understand that well enough. This was, after all, an age of great upheaval—from the troubles of Fang La years ago, to the Black Banner of the southwest more recently, and now even the Fair Party in Jiangnan—all of them had, in one way or another, put forward ideas of “equality.” Whatever their actual practices, tracing this notion back through history inevitably led to Huang Chao’s slogan of “Heaven’s compensation, equal shares for all.” For men of learning, this too had become a topic that occasionally came up in conversation.
By now the two travelers ahead had finished registering, and the two young men leading the red-flower horse stepped forward. The clerk smiled and said, “May I ask the two young masters’ names and places of origin?”
The cheerful-faced manservant leaned in. “What’s ‘place of origin’?”
“…It just means… where’s your hometown…”
“Oh, Jiangning.”
“Jiangning… how’s Jiangning been lately…”
“Wiped clean out—damn that Fair King and his whole rotten family.”
“I heard the Fair King’s whole family’s long since dead…”
“Mm. Serves them right.”
This young manservant clearly wasn’t much for book learning, but his open, cheerful manner made him seem easy enough to get along with. After a few more exchanges, the clerk found himself somewhat setting aside his earlier inward disdain and suspicion. He asked for the two men’s names, and learned that the refined young scholar was surnamed Long, with the rather grand—and admittedly somewhat presumptuous—given name Aotian. His sturdier companion introduced himself as surnamed Sun, given name Wukong, a name carrying more than a hint of Buddhist flavor, which suited his easygoing, carefree manner rather well.
The southeastern court, which held Fujian, had opened the pass to take in refugees—partly, of course, out of the need to maintain the legitimacy befitting an orthodox court, and partly to gather in more of the talented individuals scattered by the chaos. Seeing that the two young men before him were clearly literate, the clerk asked a few extra questions while registering them. When asked their purpose in heading south, the young man surnamed Sun answered breezily that they were traveling to practice medicine and do a bit of trading. The clerk’s eye twitched again upon learning that the bundles on the horse’s back were full of all sorts of sundry goods—the two of them apparently planned to trade along the way as they traveled south.
“…The court in Fuzhou is in urgent need of capable, educated men of talent right now. Seeing how outstanding you two young masters are, if you were to go there, it might well be worth a try.”
In an age of chaos like this, anything was possible, and this was hardly out of the ordinary. Having offered this suggestion out of a sense of duty, the clerk added, “Also, this time of year, the mountain roads heading south aren’t entirely safe. Every few days, a company of soldiers escorts travelers from the pass to Jian’ou. The next group should be departing in three days. If you two aren’t in a hurry, you might consider waiting a couple of days and setting out together with them.”
Hearing this, the refined young gentleman frowned slightly. “This area… isn’t entirely safe either?”
“Along the road south, there are occasionally some bandits causing trouble—not surprising, given the times,” the clerk said with a smile. “I understand you two intend to explore the mountains along the way. Just—caution never hurts, that’s all.”
The clerk’s warm, considerate manner, with its air of a cultured man, left a favorable impression. A short while later, the two of them took the travel permit the clerk had written up and passed through the checkpoint. Soldiers came to search the bundles on the red-flower horse’s back as well—the discipline of the Zhenhai Army here was evidently quite strict. The young man calling himself Sun Wukong produced ten copper coins he’d prepared in advance; the soldier accepted them only after some hesitant show of reluctance, without pressing for more.
The two young men who had just appeared here—Long Aotian and Sun Wukong—were, of course, none other than Ning Ji and Qu Longjun, who had left Jiangnan and made their way into Fujian.
The previous year, when the great upheaval of the Fair Party had begun, the two of them had lived together for over five months in a corner of the mountains in Jiangnan. During the heavy snows that sealed off the mountain, they had gotten by largely on the wild game Ning Ji occasionally went out to hunt. By this February, as the ice and snow in the mountains began to melt, Ning Ji had also gone out to gather more news from the outside world.
Having survived the winter, which had claimed countless lives through starvation, the various Fair Party warlords had already begun a fresh round of infighting and maneuvering.
He Wen, the Fair King, having prepared well in advance, was said to have suffered the least losses that winter. The strict laws he’d established, backed by relatively ample supplies, had drawn in large numbers of refugees as fresh recruits. After a sweeping purge and replacement of a number of his internal leadership, a governing team built around the ideals of the reading societies had gradually taken shape under He Wen. Though that winter had also seen several instances of internal chaos and even assassination attempts against him, his position north of the Yangtze had begun, with great difficulty, to stabilize.
As for the other three warlords not under He Wen’s banner, along with the many scattered, so-called Fair Party factions, they had undergone a brutal culling through the heavy snows of winter. Now, as spring warmth returned and flowers bloomed, a fresh round of alliances and betrayals had begun. On one hand, they devoured the surviving scattered able-bodied men; on the other, three factions—Shi Baofeng, Xu Zhaonan, and Gao Chang—while still guarding against He Wen, had also begun turning their spearheads toward Tie Yan and Wu Qimei, who were still clinging to a precarious existence in Lin’an, intending to swallow them up first to bolster their own strength. This had all, in truth, been set in motion the previous year and came as no great surprise.
Only, further away, news had spread across all of Jiangnan that Zou Xu and Dai Mengwei, having jointly killed Liu Guangshi, were likewise preparing to hold a grand gathering.
Drawing the attention of the entire realm through a grand, bustling assembly, and then using that attention to put forward one’s own political views, establishing one’s name and reputation before the whole world—since the Chengdu Assembly, Dai Mengwei’s effort here wouldn’t even rank as the second such event. But regardless, it was clearly shaping up to be a major event on the horizon for the realm.
Knowing Ning Ji’s fondness for a lively spectacle, Qu Longjun had once asked him whether they should go to Bian Liang first to see what this martial gathering was all about. But for some reason, after careful consideration, Ning Ji declared that he had become a man devoted to peace, and after some preparation, the two of them set off south toward Fujian regardless.
By this spring, in the third year of the Wuzhenxing era of the Wu dynasty, this young couple, far from home, consisted of Qu Longjun, now seventeen, and Ning Ji, who was in the transition from fifteen to sixteen. The two of them had lived together in the mountains for several months. The small shelter, built in the crook of a mountain ridge, though tiny, had been Qu Longjun’s first “home” since her father’s death. Before leaving, she had carefully cleaned the room, hoping it might serve as a resting place for hunters passing through the mountains, and looking forward to some future day when the two of them might come back to see it again.
As for Ning Ji, though he found their time together relaxing, he wasn’t given to much sentimentality. Ever since leaving the southwest, he had constantly worried over the bad reputation he’d left behind. But after reuniting with Qu Longjun, for some reason, he no longer felt much anger over the helpless events of his time in the southwest—only a different kind of feeling had risen up in him. Having settled on a direction for the two of them, he had been continually worried about Qu Longjun’s lack of any means to defend herself.
He never showed this worry outwardly, but over the past winter, whenever he practiced his forms, he would occasionally teach Qu Longjun some techniques and basic self-defense. Having had a foundation in dance, Qu Longjun’s body was supple and her physical condition good, and she picked up many of the movements quickly, executing them quite beautifully—though she had no real strength behind them, nor any instinct for reacting to an opponent’s moves in real combat.
There wasn’t much Ning Ji could do about this, so in the end he mostly taught her a few underhanded tricks that could serve, at a stretch, for self-defense—things like telling an attacker “I’ve always liked you,” then stabbing them to death with a knife. This particular trick was, apparently, a classic case study among the upper ranks of the Huaxia Army, devised by some unscrupulous mind or other, and counted as an advanced technique in women’s self-defense.
Once the two of them left the mountains, Ning Ji had Qu Longjun dress as a man, strap on a long sword, and put on the air of a martial arts master. He even fashioned her a suit of “soft-girl armor” out of various barbed scrap metal plates. He himself dressed in a way that made his role as her more visible bodyguard unmistakable.
These days were no longer the kind of peaceful era where staying out of trouble meant trouble stayed out of you, so there was no harm in drawing a bit more attention instead. His body had by now matured considerably, beginning to shift from agility toward raw strength, and having gone through a series of intense battles in Jiangning—including his confrontation with Lin Zongwu—his martial skill had, in some subtle way, begun to make further breakthroughs. Though some of his insights remained somewhat obscure even to himself, he was now confident he could cut down most of the current “first-rate masters” of the martial world in a direct confrontation.
Leaving the mountains, they found Jiangnan in a state of widespread chaos, but Ning Ji, with his rigorous training as a scout, moved carefully—stopping and starting, resting by day and traveling by night. In some stretches, he had Qu Longjun ride the horse; in others, he carried her on his back. The two of them even skirted the edges of a few battlefields at one point, watching the spectacle from a distance. At first Ning Ji was somewhat tense, but Qu Longjun was cooperative and easy to guide, and before long she’d grown accustomed to this kind of travel. Along the way, Ning Ji taught her the rules of survival amid chaos, sharing bits of martial experience and tales from the martial world, while Qu Longjun, drawing on what she’d once studied, told him about poetry, geography, and history.
And so, by the middle of the third month, the two of them had left the war-torn region behind and arrived at Xianxia Pass, the crossing point from Hengzhou into Fujian. —
Built at the mountain pass, Xianxia Pass consisted of a series of four gates rising up the mountainside. Though it looked simple enough, it truly deserved its reputation as a stronghold so formidable that a single man guarding it could hold off ten thousand. Leading their horse, the two of them climbed the mountain path, looking left and right, with Ning Ji mentally calculating how many troops it would take to storm the place, while Qu Longjun spoke softly of the stories connected to Huang Chao and this very location, reciting a few beautiful lines of poetry that drew admiring praise from Ning Ji.
“…But why exactly is that line, ‘From now, should I be free to ride the moon at leisure, who’d dare mock Huang Chao for lacking manly resolve,’ considered seditious?”
Qu Longjun laughed until her nose wrinkled, narrowing her eyes. “Those two lines definitely aren’t from the same poem. Huang Chao rebelled against the throne back in his day—if the person who wrote this dared to mock Huang Chao for lacking manly resolve, then clearly they had even greater ambitions than Huang Chao himself. Naturally, that makes it seditious.”
“Oh, I see…”
“Though—do you think it might have been written by Mister Ning? If it was him, then it wouldn’t be so strange at all.”
“Mm, that makes sense. I think it’s quite likely.” Ning Ji rubbed his chin thoughtfully, deciding the suspicion was well-founded, then added, “You really do know a lot more than me. How many books did you have to read to know all this?”
“What I know is mostly useless stuff, not like you, Little Long, who can do just about anything… actually, you know, I never much liked reading back then either, but in our household, if you didn’t study, you got beaten for it. I took plenty of beatings myself…”
“I got beaten too… no humanity in this world!” the academic underachiever grumbled, doing his best to bond with the star student over their shared suffering, before adding, “Heh heh.”
Seeing Ning Ji break into a grin, Qu Longjun laughed as well.
And so, after passing through the checkpoint, the two of them arrived at a small encampment in the mountains.
Such camps were common at crossing points scattered across the land, some growing into small towns thanks to the flow of merchants traveling north and south, others springing up around post stations to serve traders. The trade route through Xianxia Pass had never been especially prosperous—in another course of history, it would have taken several more years before the Southern Song, driven by the need to develop trade with Fujian, began recruiting laborers to repair this ancient Xianxia Road. As things stood now, everything here still felt hastily thrown together.
The refugee encampment was chaotic, the ground muddy, filthy water running everywhere. Simple shacks lined the road, serving as makeshift shops, with two pawnshops boasting the largest signboards. There were also grimy food stalls and escort agencies, along with a number of strange-looking factions recruiting men, which had caused several long lines to form throughout the camp. Sallow, emaciated children crouched or lay by the roadside—some fighting, some shouting, some crying.
The refugees arriving from the north all needed to start new lives here, and to do so, many had to pawn or sell off whatever belongings they still carried. Even among those who looked utterly destitute, skin stretched over bone with nothing to their name, some still carried the last treasured possessions of their families. Many set up small stalls along the roadside, carefully selling off these last vestiges of hope, while others stood by watching, lost in thought as they took in the scene.
Amid the noisy crowd, Ning Ji had Qu Longjun lead the horse and stay close behind him as he walked forward, keeping an eye on their surroundings. Within this camp inside Xianxia Pass, government soldiers maintained order, so no open conflicts had broken out. Some of the methods used to keep the peace bore traces of southwestern influence, though not applied nearly as thoroughly—likely due to a simple shortage of manpower. A few of the Zuo family’s brothers and sisters, who had once served in the Huaxia Army, were now among the officials of the small southeastern court, and this camp’s arrangements might well have been their doing, in some simple way.
Whenever arriving somewhere new, assessing the situation was always the first order of business. After walking about half a circuit through this camp of some one or two thousand people, Ning Ji finally brightened up, ready to put into action the grand scheme he’d already been planning back in the mountains of Jiangnan.
He led Qu Longjun to an empty patch of ground by the road, first tethering the red-flower horse, then spreading out the bundle wrappings on the ground. He opened each of the smaller packages one by one, laying out needles and thread, gold and silver jewelry, even porcelain vases and iron bowls, preparing to open up shop.
Beside them, he raised two flagpoles.
On the flag to the right was written: Hua Tuo Reborn, Cures Every Ailment.
On the flag to the left was written: Zhuji Branch Office, All Manner of Goods for Sale.
Not all the refugees arriving from Jiangnan were entirely without means or education—many, in fact, could read. The old man running a stall nearby, selling ancient texts, wore a mournful expression that grew even more pained upon seeing the boastful claim about Hua Tuo reborn and curing all ailments. He looked ready to scold them, but then, catching sight of the equally head-chopping-worthy slogan about the “Zhuji Branch Office,” he simply sighed and held his tongue. After that, the young man in the patched clothing began calling out with great flourish and swagger.
“Fellow villagers, all you uncles, aunties, and grannies passing through, come take a look, come see! Pulse readings, treating illness, buying and selling all manner of curios and goods, we accept barter too—all fine items collected along the way, come take a look, come see!”
The general mood of the camp was a subdued, oppressive one, and no one quite knew where the young man had picked up such an exaggerated, showy way of hawking his wares—it clashed sharply with the surrounding atmosphere, and even Qu Longjun standing beside him couldn’t help but blush. She’d heard him talk before about the idea of buying and selling goods along the way to make a living, and had long since resigned herself to the idea, thinking that traveling while running a small stall together sounded like a fine way to go. But this was, after all, the first time she’d had to shout out like this in front of a crowd, and given how different the mood around them was, she couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed.
But after a moment, she gritted her teeth, cupped her hands around her mouth, and called out loudly as well: “Selling goods! Come buy!”
This was the afternoon of the twelfth day of the third month, in the third year of the Wuzhenxing era—the first time the two of them had set up a stall together. Their rather inconsiderate hawking amid the noisy camp drew a somewhat awkward atmosphere, and a few passersby glanced curiously at the stall. Some of the items Ning Ji had scavenged from battlefields were indeed quite valuable, but in this particular camp, they weren’t exactly in short supply, and so his exaggerated calls didn’t bring in much business—that afternoon, they only managed to sell a bit of needle and thread. A few people came over to ask, “Young fella, can you treat illness?” but in the end, none of them chose to have young Ning Ji examine their children.
It left them with a memory, at least.