“Damn…”

On the mountainside in the night, a monk in gray robes looked toward the girl, robe sleeves stirring lightly as he sneered and cursed.

“So you’ve stirred up a mess today, and you, girl, were scared out of your wits, is that it? Daring to crack jokes and provoke this old monk right to his face — are you tired of living?”

“But Great Master.” The girl who had just played dead retreated a small step. “It’s already confirmed now — that Sun Wukong really is a man the government planted. In the end, didn’t the Great Master figure out what was going on?”

“Hmph!” Tunyun waved his hand, noncommittal. He had originally admired that young man as the “Four-Foot Lecher” and had even entertained the idea of taking him as a disciple. Now it seemed he had very nearly been played for a fool. He fell briefly silent. “The message you sent this afternoon — was it true or false?”

“Whether it’s true or false, I originally hoped the Great Master would go and judge for himself, but as things stand now, it’s most likely true… Since that Sun Wukong has an official identity, how could his so-called elder brother have been blown up by the government’s cannons? We’ve all been played by the Princess Imperial, or by that Cheng Zhouhai… If only the news had come sooner, Master Fan wouldn’t have died.”

“Hmph, Fan Zhong was an old hand of the world for many years — for a moment he grew arrogant, and he brought death on himself.”

“Master Fan had actually made his preparations. Inside and out, over a hundred skilled men — just to surround that Sun Wukong alone took more than seventy men. Seventy-some men, against just him — how could he possibly… still break out…”

“Guns, and thunder-fire too… the tactics of the army — what would you people know…” Tunyun’s brow furrowed slightly. “In the end, he simply seized the initiative — one shot struck Fan Zhong, then he used thunder-fire to keep you from banding together. Fan Zhong had said before that within ten paces, firearms were useless against him — what a joke that turned out to be…”

Tunyun had heard about the outcome at Yinan Manor that very afternoon. At first he was stunned, and only after gathering with everyone here that night did he gradually piece together the other side’s methods. His lightness footwork was unmatched, worthy of being called a grandmaster, but in his years roaming the world he had never minded relying on outside aid either — not only did he keep iron armor on his body, but in recent years, as firearms had grown steadily more formidable, he too had used all manner of thunder-fire, large and small, when he’d caused trouble in Jiangning the previous year. It was just that the finest firearms under heaven belonged to the Southwest; the thunder-fire he’d gotten his hands on elsewhere wasn’t very powerful, and anything with real power was too unwieldy to carry — what he could carry on his person was only good for show, so he had never truly taken it seriously.

Now, hearing the whole account of the slaughter, he too drew the natural inferences and worked out the crux of it. As for the young man’s martial skill, he had tested it himself in a direct clash and had a good measure of it — the only truly threatening thing had probably been that shot fired at Fan Zhong, but now that he understood the trick of it, the gun posed no great threat to him personally. Hearing Chen Shuangran’s sigh just then, he offered a few offhand remarks of explanation, only to see her gaze grow distant and hazy, as if she hadn’t heard a word of his authoritative commentary as a grandmaster.

“…Are all the grandmasters out there this formidable?”

“…Hm?”

“…I was born in the far south, and I’ve never seen the great experts from outside. I used to hear people talk about the grandmasters out there — Zhou Tong, Lin Zongwu… and I always thought it was all made up. But seeing it today, I finally understand… there really are many extraordinary things, and what people say might actually be true…”

“…I already told you, he simply made good use of firearms against the likes of you, a mere rabble…”

“…Great Master… could you beat him?”

The girl raised her eyes and looked over. In the dim light, the tall monk, halfway through his words, fell silent. The quiet on the mountainside held for a moment. The campfire flickered. Then, all at once, Chen Shuangran was seized by the throat, her whole body lifted into the air. In silhouette, her limbs thrashed, and someone nearby cried out, “Don’t!” One of the river bandits gritted his teeth and charged forward — Tunyun casually swept a hand and snapped his curved blade in two, spun the man around twice, seized him as well, and slammed him to the ground with a boom, dust flying up in every direction.

“Everyone stop… everyone stop…”

Chen Yan rushed forward, dropped to his knees, and kowtowed hard. “Please, Great Master, calm your anger. The young lady is still young — she spoke out of turn. Please, for the sake of others, show mercy…”

“Uhh…”

Chen Shuangran, still gripped by the throat, thrashed and flailed, the whites of her eyes rolling up. Tunyun swept his arm again and flung her more than a zhang away, and she rolled across the ground.

“You dare provoke me.”

Tunyun’s voice was slow now, and at last carried the full weight of a man who held the power of life and death.

Chen Shuangran convulsed and retched on the ground, rolling a few times. After a good while, she finally struggled halfway up. Her voice at first sounded like weeping, but then the others heard it trembling into something else: “Heh heh heh heh… ha ha ha ha…” She was actually laughing. “I knew it… the Great Master wouldn’t kill me…”

“…Oh?”

Tunyun narrowed his eyes, his words drawn out long. This time, he had truly conceived murderous intent.

“Ha ha…” Chen Shuangran sat on the ground, clutching her stomach, laughing. “The great matter is at hand, and the officials behind us haven’t died yet. I’m nothing but a pawn — why would the Great Master kill me now? If you killed me, how would you explain it to those officials…”

“After what happened today, with Fan Zhong dead, do you still truly believe there’s anything to be accomplished?”

“The one who laid out the plan wasn’t only Master Fan. That he died today is a pity, of course, but this way, the Great Master’s side should be all the more pleased — from now on, all that tremendous renown will fall on the Great Master alone…”

“…” Tunyun narrowed his eyes.

“Cough… cough…” Chen Shuangran coughed a few times. “It’s only that what happened at Yinan Manor was beyond belief. Not just this humble girl, but many of the others who took part have already been frightened out of their wits… Great Master, with so many people scattering like birds and beasts, the next steps will be hard to push forward — especially with that name, Sun Wukong. Before long it’ll likely spread across all of Fuzhou. He hacked Fan Zhong to pieces, and since the Great Master acted together with Master Fan, I’m afraid people will start comparing the two of you…”

Tunyun looked at her. “As long as that final matter succeeds in the end, whatever he’s done for now won’t amount to anything.”

“If there’s no one left for what comes next, then how is that final matter to be carried out…” Chen Shuangran paused. “This humble girl can’t command the Great Master, so… I only wish to know what the Great Master plans to do next — and whether… this humble girl’s side can be of any help…”

The stars and moon made no sound. A faint wind passed over the mountainside. Tunyun looked at the girl on the ground, and this time, after a good long while, he finally spoke. “Up to this point, I’ve truly come to admire you a little. What exactly… are you thinking…”

“Since arriving in Fuzhou, I’ve met that Sun Wukong twice…” Chen Shuangran leaned against the ground, rubbing her throat, her words slow. “Both times we met, he tried to kill me — I very nearly died both times… He’s close to my age, formidably skilled, utterly full of himself. At first, seeing him, I rather liked him — I even thought about taking him in. Isn’t the Great Master’s own thinking much the same as mine…”

“…Don’t you dare put yourself in the same class as me.” Tunyun found this ill-omened.

“I wanted to knock him down from his high place, to humiliate him, to let him know how harsh this world can be… Great Master, perhaps I can’t kill him now — nine times out of ten, the world doesn’t go the way we wish, and that’s fine too — but at least we can find out where his weak point lies…”

Chen Shuangran began to laugh. “If that Long Aotian is really, as the rumors from Jiangning say, an even worse lecher than the Four-Foot one — a Five-Foot Lecher — then he wouldn’t need to hide this person behind the pretense of the cannon fire. Since he needs such an elaborate cover to hide her, only then can he come out and deal with us without restraint — the news that reached us is very likely true after all… Great Master, if you can just go and confirm this one thing…”

“As long as you can confirm it…”

“Sun Wukong is a woman…”

“Then I could think of a hundred ways… to deal with her, easily, gently… The Great Master understands what I mean, don’t you — am I right or not…”

In the dimness, Chen Shuangran laughed, her low chuckle gradually rising into open, delighted laughter. Tunyun’s brow furrowed slightly. He understood, of course, exactly what this dark-skinned girl was talking about — in his own life, he had done similar things more than once. But just this once, hearing it spoken aloud by someone else, he found it left a foul taste.

At last he only said:

“Damn…”

Not long after, Pu Xinguī came over to discuss with Chen Shuangran the plans for tomorrow, speaking of the people’s flight and the collapse of morale. Chen Shuangran comforted him: “Great Master Tunyun will handle whatever comes next…” Tunyun regarded them all with a look of pity and contempt.

Thinking that the other side was simply angry about the defeat at midday, Pu Xinguī felt a faint stab of shame…

…

A pleasant breeze passed through the whole quiet night.

When he woke, it was the darkest hour before dawn. The white-clad girl holding a fan lay quietly at one side of the bed. Ning Ji sat up, feeling a body still weary and aching, yet a mind perfectly clear.

Years ago, the first time he had killed a man, he had lain in bed for days, feeling utterly without strength — the wound was part of it, but the depletion of his vital energy affected him even more. When people fight to the death, their essence and spirit gather to the very peak of a lifetime; many times, throwing out a single punch, he could feel his strength pour out entirely. Though he had long since adjusted to all this, after every great battle his body would still feel, for a time, the aftershock of exhaustion.

The inner-strength techniques passed down in his family from various grandmasters were extraordinarily potent, and he could clearly feel how these energy-cultivating arts benefited his body. He sometimes even wondered — might there come a day when, exerting himself fully, his inner breath could still turn without end, like a cart wheel, like the endless sea? He wondered whether that fat old fellow Lin Zongwu had a physique capable of such a thing.

He also thought of the deeds of Zhou Tong — it was said that in his old age, at the very peak of his strength, that master could strike three fatal blows against Aunt Hong. If that were so, then in his middle years, might Zhou Tong have been able to kill without pause on the battlefield, fist after fist, kick after kick?

It seemed a fantastical thought, and yet it was the very fantasy Ning Ji most yearned for in his heart.

Inside the Princess Imperial’s residence, the sky was pitch black, all around utterly still. Ning Ji could feel the throbbing of his own blood vessels, the surging of blood through his body — his powerful heart pumping blood out to his limbs, his body’s warmth gradually mending the damage of yesterday’s battle. Since returning to the residence, he had slept through an entire afternoon and then a whole night besides; this was the moment he felt best, and in his mind he could recall, with perfect clarity, every instant of yesterday’s fight.

There was still much to review, to reflect on, to improve…

Back in Zhang Village, he had gone through countless hunts of this kind, fighting alone against many, but back then, though the enemies were even stronger, he had known in his heart that they wouldn’t actually kill him — and so, however much that repeated tempering had helped him, it was still not as beneficial as this one true fight to the death. A real warrior always gains the most, steals the greatest insight, from battling against pure malice — and in the composure he’d shown in this fight, he could especially feel just how much he had grown over the more than a year since leaving home.

Having sat in meditation, regulated his breath, and reviewed the battle for some time in this way, he gradually began, amid the quiet of the night, to hear the sounds of the residence stirring awake. Not wanting to wake Qu Longjun, he quietly slipped out through the window.

The Princess Imperial’s guards were gathering and changing shifts some distance off. In the courtyard next door, the Yue siblings were already awake as well. Ning Ji poked his head out and glanced that way; the two of them, brushing their teeth, sensed his movement and looked over. Ning Ji waved a greeting and walked over.

“So early?”

“Busy today, no time for you.” Yue Yun, foam still in his mouth, gave him a sideways glance. “What’s up? Still up for a fight?”

“No fighting today — I need to rest.” Ning Ji was quite well-behaved just now. He had just been through a battle of life and death, and for the next ten days or half a month or so he would be in a period of growth, and his body needed to recover. This wasn’t a time to keep training. It was vacation time.

“I heard about what happened yesterday. I went and saw Yinan Manor too,” said Yinping. “Impressive. Really something.”

“Heh heh heh.” Ning Ji scratched his head and grinned.

“Come by the Beikui Army sometime and play around a while.”

“Sure thing, no problem.”

“All right — let’s get through the next few days first.” Yinping nodded. “Are you going to the palace today?”

“Not going.”

“There’s really not much fun to be had there anyway.”

It was the tenth day of the sixth month — the day the Emperor was to take a new consort. There wasn’t going to be much of a grand ceremony; more or less, once the ritual was done, it would count as finished. But whether on the side of the court or the rebels, the mood had already built to this point, and there was no way this day would be short of troublemakers, so every department was already mobilizing to try to suppress what might be the biggest disturbance yet.

“Then there probably won’t be much going on at the residence today,” said Yinping.

Today the Princess Imperial was to go hold court at the palace, and the little princess Zhou Fuyang was going as well; the Yue siblings would go along to help, and the residence’s guards would likely be sent out in numbers to various key locations to await orders. There wouldn’t be any important figures left here, which suited Ning Ji’s mood just fine — he had no complaints about it at all.

The two siblings finished washing up and were about to go receive their orders when Ning Ji finally asked, “By the way, where’s Cheng Zhouhai right now?”

“Mr. Cheng… he’s probably at the residence around this time…”

Yue Yun thought it over, then led Ning Ji off toward the front of the residence, and before long they did indeed learn that Cheng Zhouhai had come to the estate.

After being announced, they arrived at the study where Cheng Zhouhai was working. There was no one else about, and all the windows around were open, showing openly and aboveboard how he handled his affairs at this hour. Outside, the eastern sky had already begun to show a faint fish-belly white, and the tree canopies beneath the eaves gave off a picturesque sense of life. Cheng Zhouhai stood by the desk writing, and looked up at him.

“Body doing all right?”

“The residence’s physician already checked me over. He’ll tell you himself, surely.”

“Wouldn’t that make it seem like I actually care about you?”

“Then thank you, Uncle Cheng.” Ning Ji smiled easily, as if he’d turned into a good, obedient child.

“It’s ‘Uncle-in-arms.'” Cheng Zhouhai looked up again, dipping his brush in ink, emphasizing the point. “I’m older than your father — back then he called me elder brother.”

“Ehh.” Ning Ji gave some meaningless reply, and before Cheng Zhouhai, brow slightly furrowed, could look up again, he casually went on. “After the fight yesterday, there were too many people around to say anything. When I was following Pu Xinguī into the village, someone brushed past me and took the risk of bumping my hand, to warn me. I didn’t kill him afterward — took some trouble instead to cut down the eyes that might have seen it happen… That was your man, wasn’t it? How is he? Any progress?”

The morning air carried a pleasant coolness, and the leaves stirred lightly. Cheng Zhouhai finished the character he was writing, straightened up, and drew a light breath.