After Lin Zongwu departed, the rain stopped, and Jin Chenghu and the others set off once more. But the Cinnabar Palace Guard did not pursue them again — likely the sight of Ying Baiyan’s death had broken their nerve.

As for the young monk’s true identity, some of the more perceptive swordsmen went to ask him about it, but the young monk only scratched his head, unsure how to answer, so the others assumed he simply preferred not to speak of it and let the matter drop.

The group did not go to Xiangyang. Within two days, they crossed the Han River at a remote ferry to the south, and further south still, in a small town nearby, they finally found the Chinese Army’s scattered agents in the area. Ping’an traveled with them for half a day; once they found their contact, he parted ways with the group. Yan Yunzhi walked him to the edge of the small town and asked him why he insisted on returning to the region of Jin. Ping’an told her honestly about his parents.

“Miss Yan is headed to the southwest, isn’t she?” Ping’an asked her.

“…Mm.” Yan Yunzhi thought for a long while before making that sound, but then, faintly, shook her head. “I don’t really know where I should go. It’s just…”

“Actually… my elder brother is rash by nature, but he’s also straightforward. What he said back then — it may well have just been aimed at the enemy… trying to unsettle them…”

Yan Yunzhi only gave a bitter smile.

“Looking back on it now, of course I understand that. But no matter how you look at it, that one sentence cost the lives of so many of my kin…” She paused for a moment. “Actually… it’s not entirely his fault either. My family sent me away to be married into the Impartial Party — but from the moment I arrived in Jiangning, something already felt wrong. Later, when things turned sour with Shi Weiyang, that too was partly my own recklessness…”

“Amitabha… for Miss Yan to have thought this through so clearly is already…”

“But regardless, my family is dead, and my clan elders hate me… I fled all this way, telling myself I was chasing after your elder brother to demand an explanation, to seek revenge — but in truth… I don’t even know where I should go. Little Sun, where do you think I could go…”

She stood there, clean and delicate in bearing, her lashes trembling as tears fell. Ping’an, watching her, could only sigh and scratch his head.

In truth, there was little good about being alone in the world for years on end. He himself, a small monk, was often dirty and unwashed, even going hungry from time to time — that was nothing new. But Yan Yunzhi, having made her way from Jiangning into the Central Plains alone, occasionally doing her own chivalrous deeds, had also lived through many bleak and lonely days. The two of them, traveling together on several occasions, had at times both been as grimy as beggars; only now, having found contacts connected to the Chinese Army, had they finally been able to wash up and tidy themselves somewhat.

“Well then… going to the southwest might really be for the best. In this world as it stands now, the southwest is probably the only place that offers any real peace… and you, a woman alone out there — it’s never been easy.” After thinking it over for a long while, this was the only answer Ping’an could give.

“…Mm.” Yan Yunzhi was quiet for a good while before nodding, then asked, “Little Sun, you’re headed to the southwest eventually too, aren’t you?”

“My elder brother and I made a promise to determine who is the best under heaven — once a few more years pass, once I’ve grown taller and my skill has improved enough, I’ll go to Chengdu to settle the matter with him.”

“Then I’ll wait for you in Chengdu — will you still be called Little Sun by then?”

“If not Sun Wukong, then Ping’an — I’ll be attending that grand tournament for the title of First Under Heaven; if you’re there too, we’re sure to meet.”

“Then let’s pinky-swear on it.”

Yan Yunzhi held out her little finger. Ping’an found himself faintly recalling someone else who had once made this same gesture with him, the year before. How did it end up like this again? He found it a little amusing, but in the end, he reached out and hooked his finger with hers.

“Pinky-swear.” He smiled too.

The two of them parted ways there.

Leaving the small town, he retraced his path northward. It was the rainy season now, the sky a dull gray, rain seeming ready to fall again at any moment. His pace was swift, and what should have taken half a day’s journey he covered in little more than two hours. Upon reaching the Han River, the remote crossing was deserted, and there was no telling how long he might have to wait before some smuggler making a living on this waterway happened by. The young monk, in no particular hurry, simply wandered and sat about along the banks of the rushing river.

More than ten years since the fall of the Central Plains, endless years of war had left the fields overgrown with weeds and the villages fallen into ruin. Beneath the dim sky, across the whole sweeping view of the great river’s flow, there seemed to be no one else in sight but himself.

He waited a full two hours; by the time evening drew near, it seemed no boat would come after all. Ping’an finally waved a hand, shouldered his pack, and decided he might as well head for Xiangyang instead, where there was a major crossing — even if they checked identities there, he wasn’t particularly worried about that anymore.

He had walked on for a while when a sound like a shout, almost illusory, drifted to him on the wind.

Ping’an stood still and listened carefully; only the howling wind swept across the open field.

He walked a few more steps, then stopped again and looked back. Across the gray, hazy wilderness, a figure seemed to be running toward him from the direction of the ferry — slight and slender, cutting across the road, through the weeds, stumbling now high, now low, at times seeming to sink into the tall, swaying grass. But the voice, at least, had grown clearer.

It was Yan Yunzhi.

She came running from across the wind, unable to make out the path through the wild field, sometimes stepping straight into the mud, the swaying wild grass nearly swallowing half her body. Ping’an, too, broke into a run toward her; the ground near the riverbank offered only a little solid footing, mostly mire, and he had to circle around. The two of them ran until they were close, separated only by a stretch of standing water.

The wind howled past. Yan Yunzhi, holding up her mud-soaked trouser legs, stood in the gray grass. “Little Sun—” she called, “I have nowhere to go—”

“Why not—”

Ping’an stood before the pool of water, needing to go around it, and paused for a moment.

“I don’t want to go to the southwest! My skill is too poor — I’d go there to demand an explanation, and I’d only get thrown out—”

“No… it won’t be like that—”

“Little Sun! I have nowhere to go—” she cried, choking in the wind.

The surroundings fell quiet. The gray, dim grass swayed like an ocean, swallowing the two figures within it. Ping’an scratched at the back of his head, where a little hair had begun to grow, unsure of what to say. He could only watch as Yan Yunzhi, holding up her trouser legs, called out loudly, bent nearly double with the effort.

She said, “Little Sun, you’re wandering alone too, with no family left — let’s go to the region of Jin together, all right? We can look out for each other—”

Ping’an thought it over for a while, then shook his head. “The region of Jin… is about to fall into chaos—”

Yan Yunzhi, still bent over, called back through the wind.

“But what does that matter—”

The wind howled on, and then thunder rolled across the sky once more. The rain was coming again.

…

But what does it matter, after all…

…

Far in the southeast, Fujian still lay under the heat of summer. Along the middle reaches of the Han River, the seasonal thunderstorms of the flood season swept across the land now and again, and both the Yangtze and the Yellow River were entering their season of flooding.

However heavy the rain, people carried on with their labors regardless — goods flowed in every direction by cart and by boat, and travelers on foot and on horseback carried countless messages across this vast land, giving rise to wave after wave of fresh activity.

Ding Shu and Yu Hezhong delivered the intelligence they had carried out into the Chinese Army’s information channels, and before long, the messenger bearing word set out despite the heavy rain, passing through sheets of downpour and then through clear skies, crossing the great rivers along the way, through the Sword Pass, until at last he arrived in another land, likewise shrouded in gray drizzle.

Chengdu.

During the flood season, even when it wasn’t raining continuously, Chengdu was often covered in a layer of gray mist — and this had lent the city, of late, an atmosphere both oppressive and severe. But of course, this grim mood also had another cause behind it.

On the first day of the sixth month, upon arriving in Chengdu, even Peng Yueyun could sense something like a tense, high pressure rippling through the air. Because of his military background, the paperwork for settling in the members of his work group who had accompanied him took an extra step more than usual. Once the rooms had mostly been assigned, he went to find Tang Minjie.

“Brother, the duty report isn’t until tomorrow. I’m going to see Jingmei now — come have dinner with us?” “Jingmei wants to see you too, and I’ve got some things I want to discuss with you.”

“I still have documents to sort through tonight. I won’t go,” Tang Minjie declined. “Besides, you finally get to come back to Chengdu — it’s a reunion for you and your wife, why would I need to be there?”

“I have something I need to discuss with you.”

“Discuss what?”

“Do I even need to say it? This whole affair has kicked up such a storm — I’m not at ease about it… what’s going to happen next up top, Brother, you’re smarter than me, help me think it through.”

“Don’t try to slip out of it that way.” Peng Yueyun draped an arm over his shoulder, murmuring close, but Tang Minjie wouldn’t take the bait and shrugged him off with distaste. “You’ve got a whole household of Western Army elders back home — go ask Jingmei, and you’ll have your answer clear enough.”

“But if this time… if they have to pick a side…”

“Pick your side, my foot.” Tang Minjie borrowed a phrase he’d picked up from Ning Yi. “Things looked chaotic when it broke, but the arrests and response haven’t actually been in any real disorder. If I’m not mistaken, the Teacher had already prepared for this. What kind of small fry are you, talking about picking sides — whoever picks a side dies…”

“Really?”

“Don’t overthink it. It’s not your turn to worry.”

“That’s why I always say you’ve got the sharpest mind, Brother — you’re my Zhuge Liang.” Peng Yueyun grinned. “But what about General Qin — what’s really going on with him…”

“That, I don’t know either. Not my concern.”

“Fine, then I’ll go ask around when I get back, and once I’ve got word, I’ll come discuss it with you.” The clingy fellow finally turned to leave, but just as he reached the door, Peng Yueyun turned back. “One more thing, let’s settle it now — after the duty report’s done, come to my place for dinner. This is a proper family meal — I’ll have Jingmei cook something good, just the three of us. You have to come this time.”

“…Fine.” Only then did Tang Minjie nod.

Peng Yueyun left with a smile.

Peng Yueyun currently belonged to the Discipline Inspection Committee; in late March, Tang Minjie had joined his section as a group leader, and ever since, Peng Yueyun had made a habit of pestering him.

Through the month of May, land reform remained the Chinese Army’s central focus, but the atmosphere within the military had grown somewhat strange — rumors had begun circulating quietly, flowing through the shadows, mostly playing up a supposed rift between Ning Yi and Qin Shaoqian over ideas and disagreements during this round of land reform — because, since the reform began, Ning Yi had already dealt with a large number of war heroes similar to Fang Lu, and word had it that Qin Shaoqian and Ning Yi had clashed repeatedly over it.

On the twenty-first of May — ten days earlier — a number of hot-blooded junior officers within the army, perhaps sensing they were about to face disciplinary action themselves, staged an armed mutiny during Ning Yi’s inspection tour of the land reform effort, causing a stir. Though the incident was quickly suppressed, all sorts of information and interpretations kept surfacing in the aftermath. What the middle ranks understood was that General Qin’s old illness had flared up and he was confined to bed; but privately, rumor and speculation ran wild, the most sensational conspiracy theory holding that the idea for the mutiny had come from Qin Shaoqian himself — and that he had therefore been placed under house arrest, or even killed.

Over these ten days, the internal investigation and purge within the army had continued, and externally, the pace of land reform had also been affected to some degree. On the twenty-eighth of May, Peng Yueyun received orders in Zizhou to bring his group back to Chengdu to report for duty, likely to take on a new round of assignments — and similar summons had gone out to various regions of the land reform effort. Given recent events and his own background, the focus of the coming assignment could well be imagined.

And so Peng Yueyun, too, felt uneasy at heart — if the West Army had truly been involved in this mutiny, he might well end up being the one sent to move against West Army-affiliated officers.

It was afternoon. He went to the Commerce Department to find his wife, Lin Jingmei, who worked there. Before long, from his wife’s own mouth, he learned of a piece of news — one that, perhaps, was circulating only among the highest ranks of the Chinese Army — shocking, and deeply saddening.