By now, Zhang Village had grown into something like a proper town.

Running from north to south, wrapped by the little river, the town took on a shape like a teardrop. The government offices and family residential quarters were built around the small hill to the north, and from there it stretched south along more than ten li of crisscrossing roads, with several bridges large and small spanning the river.

Before dawn, Ning Yi took a few of the children out for a morning run. Ning Wenwen, fourteen this year, had already grown taller, and she’d inherited Yun Zhu’s good looks — a very pretty girl, though she read so much that her eyes had gone bad, and she wore a pair of foolish-looking glasses. Dragged out of bed by her father every morning for exercise, she was always wobbly and listless.

The younger ones, Ning Shuang and Ning Ning, were bursting with energy, bounding about full of life — especially Ning Ning, gifted in the martial arts, who trained with a wooden sword under Hongti and looked very cute these days with a wooden sword strapped to her back, dressed up like a little female knight-errant. Her stated ambition was to roam the world righting wrongs, just like her second brother Ning Ji — which had, in truth, given Ning Yi more than a few gray hairs, worrying she might one day follow that unfilial Ning Ji and run off to go wandering the martial world herself. The Ning boys could be thrown out into the world to rough it up on their own, no helping that — but when it came to his daughters, he couldn’t help playing favorites in his heart.

Ning Wenwen especially, her figure gradually filling out, read so much — even romance novels — that once Ning Yi found out, he’d nagged at her more than a few times, probing sideways to ask whether she had any early crush going on.

Ning Xi was in Chengdu, Ning Ji in Fujian, Ning He had been sent down to the countryside — the only chicks he still had at home to bring along on his morning run were these three girls. As for the steady, reliable little Ning Ke, she was already up and about, off running to the kitchen to help the cook, saying she wanted to prepare all kinds of good food for her father and mother and the aunts and sisters of the household. Given her devoted filial heart, Ning Yi didn’t have it in him to interrupt her, though Jin’er often felt their daughter had something of a servant-girl streak in her, and made her go running with her father to train instead. But more often than not, Ning Ke would just dash off to the market, buy a few things, and come trotting happily back to get to work.

Ning Ke was eleven now, and could already turn out several dishes good enough to earn Ning Yi’s praise. On top of that, she’d learned all sorts of useful and useless skills — covering Wenwen’s schoolbooks, tying tassels on Ning Ning’s sword and making her wooden swords, mending clothes for her mother — and had a great many good friends at school besides.

Ning Yi had always kept up his habit of running every morning, and had tried more than once to sell the rest of the household on this way of keeping fit. Tan’er, Yun Zhu, and the others put on a show of agreeing but had no real interest in actually doing it, since that sort of thing was simply too far removed from ladylike behavior. Hongti would sometimes run with him, but that was purely out of a sense of duty to protect him. Only Xigua would join him regularly — the two of them often talked about all sorts of things along the way, and Xigua genuinely thought it was healthy — among all the women in his life, she was, frankly, the one with the most modern sensibility, though to put it plainly, she was really more of a tomboy at heart.

He ran several li with the three girls, and on the way back Wenwen was still listless. The four of them stopped by the market to buy four plump white steamed buns; Ning Yi sat by the roadside with Ning Shuang and Ning Ning, munching away and trading notes on how sweet the buns were, while Wenwen ran off to the newsstand to look over the day’s new magazine issues — the kind of pulp fiction that, in the world he’d come from, would have been called Story World. Ning Yi didn’t stop her, only hoping the love stories in them would be kept to a minimum.

Back home, the courtyard was a lively racket — three women already made for one drama, and by the principle of combinatorics, four women could produce five dramas, five women could produce sixteen… Even though his wives were, on the whole, reasonable people, whenever one of them got upset, Ning Yi still found his head buzzing. These days it was Tan’er who was sulking, while the rest of them wore an assortment of rich and varied expressions; all Ning Yi could do was trade looks with them now and then.

After breakfast, the children went off to school, and everyone else went about their own work. Ning Yi headed to his office, with Hongti or Du Sha as his escort, depending on the day.

Most of his daytime hours no longer belonged to him personally.

Living in Zhang Village, the major affairs of the entire Southwest funneled every day into his office through the secretariat.

Because of Zou Xu’s actions, land reform had fallen somewhat behind schedule, but even so, a great many villages were still steadily being carried through the process. Precious young shoots selected along the way, those who supported land reform for the peasants and had even developed a theoretical awareness of it, were being steadily brought into study groups — these young people, chosen from the countryside, were some of them simple, some radical, and many of them not even literate, but they believed, from the heart, in the Four Peoples and in the redistribution of land. If it weren’t for the problem Zou Xu had created, Ning Yi would have kept them under wraps for a while, letting them mature further through study before letting them take on major responsibilities — but as things stood now, he could only think about slotting them into the next cycle.

Whether it was himself or He Zhicheng and the others who ended up leaving Sichuan, this method of using land reform to sift out true believers, then using those true believers to drive reform forward, was the only — relatively healthy — method he had to choose from.

There would be some radical people, some extreme incidents — but that was simply unavoidable. He had preached the Four Peoples throughout the Huaxia Army for years; after crushing Zonghan, he had spent two years spreading the idea across the realm, and in Chengdu, quite a few educated men had by now come to accept this line of thought. But most educated men, or those of a more moderate bent, hoped the whole affair could stay in a state of impartial fairness while still moving in a positive direction. In truth, though, Ning Yi had come to understand: if all they were doing was hoping for gradual reform pursued in an atmosphere of harmony and goodwill, the progressive tide the Southwest’s society could accept had very nearly run its course already.

He would have to push things further, toward something more radical — only, as someone with the experience of another world behind him, he also hoped he could keep this advance from spiraling out of control.

The world was like a giant spring; he had dragged it forward for twenty years, and certain ideas and currents of thought had taken root and begun to sprout. But if all he wanted was a peaceful, pleasant future, he could more or less stop right where he was today. The Huaxia Army’s productive capacity and combat power could, without question, sweep the whole realm — even with reforms still incomplete, the moment he marched out, the whole realm would be willing to kneel. He could become an emperor, or something functionally identical to one under a different name, and a thousand years from now might even be remembered as one of history’s great emperors, thanks to the enlightenment brought by the investigation of things.

But as the first-mover advantage of the investigation of things grew ever larger, the chance for genuine enlightenment among the Four Peoples would grow ever slimmer. At least in his own generation — or within his own dynasty, so to speak — there would basically be no chance for it to take root at all. Material development would spur some degree of intellectual enlightenment, but its effect and direction weren’t guaranteed; once the investigation of things reached a state of “good enough,” academic aristocracy, academic cliques, academic corruption, and academic monopoly would likely blanket everything, and Confucian scholarship would simply transform itself into a liberal-arts discipline dressed up in borrowed technical jargon, spouting nonsense with confidence. Thinking it through, the empire he was building might end up resembling, in some ways, the Warhammer Empire from a game in his previous life.

It was an amusing thought in the abstract — but if it actually came to pass, it wasn’t the kind of future he much wanted to choose.

Twenty-some years into this world, he had, for the first time, arrived at a place where his past self had no experience to draw on at all.

If he could just drag it forward twenty years…

he thought.

Push forward twenty years, and certain things would take root and sprout.

And then he himself could withdraw.

Beyond land reform, some of the working groups that had finished their assigned stage of work had already been gradually pulled back. The army’s logistics reserves and preliminary mobilization had, in fact, largely been assembled — preparations that had actually begun back in April, even earlier than the Jurchens’ own mobilization in the north — only, no one yet knew who exactly would be sent out.

Ning Yi’s idea had only been shared with a handful of people, including Qin Shaoqian and Su Tan’er, and of course, the first reactions he’d gotten had all been opposition.

But he had already put a fair amount of groundwork in place around this plan — men like Peng Yueyun, like Tang Minjie, and a few other groups posted to key positions. If he himself was not in Sichuan, there would still be people stationed at the critical junctures of critical events, keeping things from spinning out of control.

Around noon, Ning Xi came by carrying a lunchbox to find him, and father and son sat down together to eat. Ning Xi had made an excellent side dish himself, and the two of them ate with real enjoyment.

“How’s Chuyi doing? Should she just come straight back to Zhang Village?”

“She’s doing all right, she says she still has work on her hands, she’d rather come back in a couple months. But Mother’s not happy about it — told me if she doesn’t come back next month, she’ll march straight to Chengdu herself.”

As the family’s eldest daughter-in-law, Min Chuyi was already four months pregnant. She was a formidable martial artist with an excellent constitution, so the family wasn’t overly worried, but there was still, naturally, some tension in the air.

“There’s no need for her to go to Chengdu. Have Chuyi come back — spreading everyone out too thin makes security harder to manage. As for you, why’d you come running back here?”

“Mother said you’re getting restless and want to go out somewhere. She doesn’t agree, and I’m not too sure about it either.”

“You think you’re in charge of me now?”

“Well, since I’m the one eating your food, figured I’d offer a suggestion.” Ning Xi smiled, then went on. “Actually, there’s another reason I came back. These past few days, going through the news from outside, I saw an article…”

As he spoke, he pulled a newspaper clipping from inside his robe and handed it over. Ning Yi looked at it once, then again, brow furrowing — it was a report from a Fujian newspaper in the southeast, recording the death by explosion of a five-foot pervert named Long Aotian in the Huaiyun district.

Ning Yi took a deep breath, thought it over for a moment, and looked up at his son with a furrowed brow. “Anything else?”

Ning Xi shook his head.

Ning Yi said, “How reliable can news like this really be, splashed about so openly — and firing cannons at someone right in the capital… that has the smell of misdirection about it more than anything.”

“…That’s what I thought too.”

Ning Xi took a breath as well. Reading that report had, in truth, set his nerves on edge; bringing it here now was really just father and son consoling each other. “But… Father, I’m worried about my second brother. You know how worried Mother would be if you went out there. If Zou Xu got the chance, you’d be the trump card in his hand — killing you might not be easy, but it would certainly be a great deal easier than defeating the Huaxia Army…”

Ning Yi frowned slightly, looking at the young man before him — his own, his very first child in this world. Ning Xi had once been an obedient, well-behaved child, the kind who’d never given the family much trouble growing up. But now, after handling no small number of matters himself, he had finally reached a point where he could turn around and offer his own father opinions and advice in turn.

He thought of Ning Ji, then turned back. “If I go out there, you’d more or less be the crown prince. What do you think about that?”

“I… never thought about being crown prince.” Ning Xi thought it over, then laughed. “It’s not just that you’ve said I shouldn’t think of myself that way — mostly it’s that you and Mother are both just too formidable. You laid out a road for me that’s practically flat the whole way. I’ve dealt with a lot of people these past two years, read a fair number of history books too — the emperors in history who actually accomplished great things all came up through deep hardship and bitter grievance. Maybe they went through so much in life that they understood just how seductive power could be. But in our family… you look at it, from the aunts to the brothers and sisters, they’re all whole, complete people… I… don’t feel like being emperor is all that great. That’s what I talked over with Chuyi before.”

He paused slightly here, his expression turning serious. “Of course, after Chuyi got pregnant, I thought this over very carefully all over again. I think the one thing I’m actually afraid of is — Father, if you set down power someday, and other people won’t let our family go, what then… That’s what worries me.”

His words were candid. Ning Yi nodded.

Father and son had spent a fair amount of time together these past few years, but with Ning Yi now voicing this idea of moving, this meeting had taken on an unusual weight. After they finished eating, the two of them went out for a walk. Ning Xi said, “Father, I think Ning He is going to turn out well.”

“Hm?”

“On the way here, I went to see him,” Ning Xi said. “He’s been helping Old Uncle Cui with land-reform study, and he’s even taught the two neighboring families to read, got them through the land-reform exam. Last month a few families got their land allotted, and when I was there, Ning He kept going on about equality, saying everyone’s born the same, so everyone should have land… He’s doing pretty well.”

“…He’s only eleven. Does he really understand all that?”

“Maybe he’s parroting some of it without fully understanding — but wasn’t that the point of sending him out there to learn, Father? I think… you should bring him back. When it comes to actual schooling, Zhang Village teaches it better anyway. Sister Hong would feel at ease about it too.”

“Mm, I’ll think about it.” Ning Yi paused briefly. “As for the matter of Old Two — in a few more days there should be more detailed intelligence coming through… whether he’s dead or not.”

“…I think so too.”

At the mention of Ning Ji, they both fell silent for a while.

Father and son left the main office and walked out. It was an overcast afternoon in Zhang Village, the mood calm; aside from a few officials delivering documents, they came across some children lined up along the roadside being counted off. Seeing Ning Yi, they saluted, and he returned the salute. Ning Xi went over, called a few of the children’s names, and had them fall out of line.

“Actually, I’ve thought it all through carefully too,” Ning Yi said once they’d reached a spot with no one around, “what the Huaxia Army would look like after I’m gone. And by gone, I mean after I’ve disappeared for good… The Huaxia Army would turn into a powder keg, blowing outward in every direction, and the whole realm wouldn’t be able to withstand the shock of its fracturing — after all, men like Zou Xu, or even someone who might surpass him under the right conditions, aren’t lacking here either.”

Ning Xi frowned. “Then… Father, just don’t disappear.” He clearly didn’t like hearing this kind of talk.

“But, well…” Ning Yi looked at him, weighing his words. “But, well… a dynasty, or a regime, if you like — a great many of the decisive things about it, its direction, its slogans, need to be laid down as early as possible, in the founding generation. If they’re laid down then, the next several hundred years will always have something to draw on. Take the next few decades, for instance — as the investigation of things develops ever faster, and internal ossification sets in ever more too, when people want reform, they’ll remember that I left them the banner of the Four Peoples. Two hundred years from now, when some reformer wants to push through a round of changes, he’ll be able to pick up the Four Peoples and carry it as a banner to get things done.”

“Didn’t you say, Father, that you hope the Huaxia Army isn’t just another three-hundred-year cycle?”

“Of course that’s what I hope. But what if I can’t manage it?” Ning Yi smiled. “This world… this society, if you want to describe its true state, it isn’t some fixed, conceptual thing — it’s in motion, in conflict, every single moment. Everyone’s desires, everyone’s short-term wants for material things, are constantly washing over this world. So should people just not have short-term wants? No. The whole point of a nation existing is to let people satisfy their wants. But if you want long-term satisfaction, if you don’t want the distribution to fall out of balance, then someone has to be there, every single moment, holding back those short-sighted, unsustainable wants. So you see, Ning Xi, what a nation exists for is really quite simple — it’s to let everyone’s desires be satisfied over as long a stretch of time as possible, nothing more. Whoever’s in power is like an accountant, forever calculating the balance sheet of this society’s income and expenses. Years ago, when I talked to your Uncle Qin about positive and negative numbers, that’s what I was really talking about.”

“This conflict, these desires — they exist inside every one of us. Every stage a society passes through needs people who understand the long view to be produced from within it — and how do you produce them? Through great goals, through ideals… So once we’d created the investigation of things and capital, we also had to find something that could counterbalance them.”

“Father, Confucianism has something like that too.”

Ning Yi nodded. “To establish the heart-mind for Heaven and Earth, to secure life and fate for the common people, to carry on lost teachings for past sages, to open an age of great peace for ten thousand generations… If it didn’t have that, it never would have lasted two or three hundred years either. But Confucianism’s way of doing scholarship isn’t rigorous — an empirical field of learning grounded in practice is bound, sooner or later, to slide into academic cliques and academic corruption. Once academic corruption sets in, scholarship inevitably breaks away from practice, and once it’s broken away from practice, it can no longer grow itself. The only path left, then, is to castrate and attack rivals in search of a self-contained, self-satisfied closed loop. Ning Xi, remember this: that’s the direction any field of learning without a clear standard of measurement is inevitably bound to go. The reason Confucianism has worked at all is that it’s a shell — inside it holds thousands of years of the self-awareness of individual elites and a great mass of social experience drawn from practice. But it’s also wrapped in a mass of bloated, useless metaphysical jargon, with a very low ceiling, unable to keep pace with the development of the investigation of things and rational thought.”

As he spoke these rather long-winded words, his gaze rested on the short-haired young man beside him.

Ning Yi could still recall this child when he was small, sneaking sips of fruit juice out of greed, remembered him slowly growing up, remembered the way he’d frowned from hunger back at Xiaocang River, remembered him falling and bloodying his head chasing after a rabbit… This was his own child. Ning Yi had once felt that the children in this household were like NPCs — that they would grow up around him, enjoying his care, always circling back around him, listening to what he said, while he himself would smoothly resolve every problem that came along. But things had come to this now: Ning Ji had run off, and Ning Xi, before he knew it, was about to become a father himself — and might well have to shoulder even more responsibility than that.

“I want wisdom to be able to come up from among the millions of common people, want there to be a force rising from the bottom up, gradually joining in the workings of this society, want everyone to be able to answer for themselves, and so be able to safeguard their own interests… For the sake of this, the people’s inborn, unquestionable rights need to be given formal recognition…” Ning Yi said. “But me, well, I’m not exactly brimming with confidence either. Even now, there are times I feel a kind of trembling uncertainty.”

“This time, going out of Sichuan — if I’m the one leading it, the ceiling on what this realm can become might just be raised a little higher. If I don’t go, the shape of the future is more or less already clear to see…”

Father and son walked on together, gradually passing by the side gate of their own residence, when they saw three young men and two young women, five of them in all, coming out from there, carrying large and small bundles in their hands. Seeing them off were Nie Yunzhu and Yuan Jin’er. Ever since Ning Yi had first raised his rebellion, the two of them had mostly worked as teachers at the Huaxia Army’s schools — so had Ning Yi himself, which made them colleagues, in a manner of speaking, though Ning Yi taught the advanced classes.

Teacher Nie and Teacher Yuan had, by now, students scattered far and wide; from time to time, former pupils came to visit them. These five had all entered Nie Yunzhu’s class as small children — some came from families that ranked among the Huaxia Army’s senior leadership or founding cadre, and some had no family at all; among the five, in fact, one young man and one young woman were orphans whose parents had died at the hands of the Jurchens. Having grown up in the Huaxia Army’s care since the days of Xiaocang River, they had, essentially, come to think of their teachers as parents, and every time they passed through Zhang Village, they made a point of stopping by to visit.

Yun Zhu waved and called a greeting from over there; the five young people, spotting Ning Yi and his son, came over as well to pay their respects and exchange a few words. Ning Yi understood at once that they were among the cadres being recalled for this coming campaign; he chatted with them briefly, waved to Yun Zhu and Jin’er, and then left with Ning Xi.

A moment later, light footsteps came hurrying up from the road behind them — Jin’er, running over with two umbrellas in hand, held them out to Ning Xi. “The two of you out here walking, and no umbrellas?”

Clouds had gathered overhead. Ning Yi watched her turn and head back.

Years ago, he had gone running along the banks of the Qinhuai River; once they’d grown close, on the occasions it was about to rain, Jin’er had brought him an umbrella just the same way.

“Did I ever tell you about what happened by the Qinhuai River, back then?”

“You’ve mentioned bits of it,” Ning Xi said quietly. “Mother will get jealous.”

Ning Yi laughed at that, and told Ning Xi the story of what had happened back when he used to go running — how Nie Yunzhu had come out of the pleasure quarters back then, living with her maid, spending money freely, and by the time the money ran low and she wanted to earn some, she couldn’t find a way in. Ning Yi had helped her plan it out, and with a single handcart, they’d founded Zhu Ji together.

The two of them walked to the pavilion by the river and sat down. Outside, a fine drizzle had begun to fall.

“‘Sand you can’t hold, let it scatter with the wind.’ That’s what I said to your Aunt Yun Zhu, back then,” Ning Yi said. “At the time, I hadn’t given a single thought to the Four Peoples, hadn’t thought I’d ever end up killing an emperor and raising a rebellion.”

How the world had changed. Looking out now over the whole realm, the Huaxia Army had already risen above every mountain in sight.

In the misty rain of the pavilion, father and son talked over a great many more things. Some of it, Ning Xi had heard since he was small and could understand well enough; some of it, young as he still was, he couldn’t quite grasp — but Ning Yi went through it all with him regardless, more or less. That afternoon, after going back to the office to work for a while longer, Xigua returned to Zhang Village, and the two of them talked about the matter of leaving the pass. Among all his wives, she was the one who understood best what Ning Yi thought about the people of this world, and the one who most supported his reforms.

“Even with you going out there, there’s not much real danger to speak of,” she said. “But it’s understandable that Big Sister worries.”

“Whatever you do carries some risk, but you can’t just not do something because there’s risk involved — I think that holds here too,” Ning Yi said with a smile. “So does that mean you support me leaving the pass?”

“I’ve always supported you…”

“But there’s one thing I want to tell you ahead of time.”

“What’s that?”

“Given that my physical condition is in good shape right now, with long-term training behind me, and enough well-coordinated security forces, plus the current strength of the Huaxia Army — leading the troops out really doesn’t carry much risk. But just because the risk is small doesn’t mean it’s not worth thinking through…” Outside the office, the rain kept falling. Ning Yi spoke slowly, and paused briefly. “…So before I leave, I’m going to leave behind a will.”

“…”

“If I go out there, and die out there,” Ning Yi said, each word deliberate, “…Ning Xi will take over the rule of the Huaxia Army in my place, setting aside my own attachment to the Four Peoples on my behalf. In other words, someday, he’ll become the emperor of the Huaxia Army, to hold back the tendency toward fracture the Huaxia Army would face once I’m gone.”

“…Why?”

“Because… I’m very arrogant…” Ning Yi said. “Arrogant enough to believe that only I can pull the landing of the Four Peoples to just the right point, because I was born already knowing it. Whereas the rest of you, if you tried to force this through, you don’t have the experience — you wouldn’t manage it properly.”

“…”

Xigua frowned, turning his words over in her mind. The two of them had been together nearly twenty years now; Ning Yi had said many strange and unusual things in front of her over that time — sometimes she’d questioned him, sometimes she’d written his words down and even shared them with other comrades to think over together. But no matter how she turned this particular speech over in her head, she couldn’t make sense of it.

It was a long while before she finally, slowly, gravely shook her head. “I… I don’t accept that.”

Ning Yi sat there, watching the serious, solemn look on her face, listening to her refusal, and after a moment, he began to laugh — laughter that grew louder and louder. He spread his arms wide, and Xigua, bewildered, moved over and settled into his embrace. Ning Yi held her and laughed for a good long while. Xigua said, “You know it too… what you said… it wasn’t reasonable.”

“Of course I know that. That’s exactly why I’m glad you refused,” Ning Yi said. “It means that even an ideal that sounds unrealistic has already taken root and sprouted.”

“Ning Liheng, that’s my ideal too,” Xigua said solemnly.

After a moment, she added, “You’re my ideal too. So… I will never let you die.”

“Nonsense talk. I’m invincible under heaven — how would I ever die.”

The summer rain fell the whole afternoon. As night drew near, there was still work to finish; Ning Yi sent Xigua on ahead to meet up with Tan’er and the others at home. After a while, Ning Ke arrived carrying a food box, and father and daughter ate dinner together by lamplight.

Once the work was finally cleared away, Ning Yi didn’t rush to head home. He opened the bottom drawer of the office cabinet and took out a box — inside were some of his most confidential belongings: theoretical essays he’d written but never published, large manuscripts titled “On such-and-such” or “The Program of such-and-such,” and a number of wills and letters he’d set down over time.

Having reached this point, a great many things needed preparing in advance — and even writing a will wasn’t necessarily some grim, defeatist act. As far back as the Xiaocang River days, he’d already written no telling how many of them.

Only, every time he sat down to write one in earnest, it brought on a strange, singular feeling. As though he had come to this era like a visitor from beyond the stars, and might, at some moment, leave it again the very same way.

He spread out a sheet of paper, dipped his brush in ink, and, in the light of the oil lamp, considered his words for a long while.

“A’Gua, if these words could reach you as though face to face:”

He wrote out this familiar form of address on the paper, then went on:

I once told you that I had seen the light of another world. Today, I want to tell you the fuller story of it, as a solemn point of reference for what comes after — for you, for this world…

Sorry for the delay these past few days — there’ll be a bonus chapter along shortly.

Afterword

Some thoughts after Chapter 1257.

First, there’s one thing I should mention — for the sake of where the plot is headed, some of the more modern-sounding terms in the book have been revised and replaced. As for which words those are, I think you’ll recognize them once you see them; no need to spell it out.

Second, I’m sorry the last chapter took a few days longer than usual. I rewrote it several times, and honestly my head was spinning the whole time, turning over the question, again and again, of what it really means for a modern person to try to reform ancient society after crossing over.

What I actually want to talk about here is how much I loved the comments from the last few chapters — mainly Chapter 1256 — and I’d like to say a bit about that.

When Legend of the Concubine’s Son-in-Law first started, there were already a lot of stories online about reform in ancient settings, and almost all of them followed the same formula: drop modern policy into the ancient world, and the people just wake up, and every villain and every backward idea gets swept away in one clean stroke. That certainly reflects a kind of confidence in the modern world that a lot of readers share. But at the time, I found myself wondering — is it really that easy? In the comments a couple chapters back, so many of you laid out exactly why this era leans the way it does, why so many things simply can’t move forward — and the reason lies within each and every one of us. One reader, for instance, said something like: if I were a soldier in the Huaxia Army, the moment Ning Yi left, I’d side with the enemy and help finish him off, because I want to live the good life. I very nearly hit “like” on that comment. Everyone, don’t be too quick to condemn it — I think that seemingly extreme remark is, in fact, an extremely honest piece of social observation. Along with every optimistic view and every pessimistic one in the comments, they’re all an honest reflection of where our society actually stands right now.

Over these last several chapters, whenever I’ve touched on the painful pressure points of reform, the comments have left me full of admiration. As the writer, I can put a story down on the page, I can let the protagonist succeed or fail on a whim — you could call that the author’s own stubbornness. But set against your thousands upon thousands of comments, it becomes possible to more or less see clearly just what Ning Yi is actually running up against as he pushes this reform forward — and matched with all your thoughts, these chapters have taken on so much more depth and texture. I know I’ve got a reputation as a rather proud, even arrogant author, but honestly, these last few chapters, I really do feel it’s your comments that have deepened these chapters several times over.

Thank you all, truly, so much, for your comments.

Mm. That’s about it.

Oh, and the plot will certainly have its ups and downs ahead, but longtime readers should already know I don’t write tragedies in the conventional sense. Feel free to keep reading without worry.