The clouds overhead remained thick, but the world below had grown clear and bright. It was now mid-November, and these past few days it had been snowing in the capital as well. Today, with the winter snow finally clearing, that expanse of white seemed to have settled solidly over the land; the city looked like a cushion outlined amid the snow, the streets showing a slightly paler white, carving out lines across the urban landscape.

Coming down from a teahouse along the Imperial Way, Li Pin glanced back at the towering palace walls in the distance and exhaled a breath of warm air into the cold.

For two months now he’d been running about the capital on business, and two days ago he’d finally obtained the official documents from the Ministry of Personnel’s Bureau of Evaluations. This meant the shadow of having offended Vice Minister Fu Ying of the Ministry of Personnel had finally lifted; he now held his first substantive post, formally entering officialdom, ready to make his mark at last.

He was to take up his post in February of the following year, heading north to Xingzhou to serve as magistrate of Nanhe County. Nanhe, as it happened, was a fine posting—known even as the “granary of the southern capital region”—holding a pivotal position within Xingzhou, a place where it would be easy to make a name for oneself. For someone newly entering officialdom to land such a post was no small feat; it seemed the letter Elder Qin Siyuan had written for him before he left had indeed done its work.

Thinking of Elder Qin brought to mind the trouble Ning Yi had run into just as he’d been leaving Jiangning—right when the matter of the imperial merchant designation had only just been settled. How the crisis of the Su family being played by the Wu family in that manner would be resolved, he had no idea. Liheng, being a matrilocal son-in-law by status, would likely find it even harder to hold his own within the Su family after all this. But with winter travel being so difficult, and his post starting in February, there was simply no way to make the trip back to Jiangning again before then.

Thinking of all this, he couldn’t help feeling he owed Ning Yi a debt of gratitude, and now that his friend was in trouble, he had no way to help—which weighed on him with a real sense of guilt. Now that he was, for whatever it was worth, a county magistrate—however minor an official—if he could go back and lend a hand, it would surely count for something. Though some instinct told him there was more to this affair than met the eye, that Ning Yi likely didn’t need much help at all, it would at least be the proper thing to do as a friend.

That he’d managed to secure the post of Nanhe magistrate owed a great deal to Qin Siyuan, whom Ning Yi had introduced him to—though certain aspects of how it had all come together struck him as rather strange.

Qin Siyuan was a towering figure. Though Ning Yi had made the introduction with characteristic understatement, Li Pin had understood immediately, recalling the name of this great Confucian scholar who had once served as Minister of Personnel. After all, among the various students of the realm, of the Three Departments and Six Ministries, none mattered more directly to one’s own career prospects than the Ministry of Personnel; and among the six ministries, none carried greater weight—it stood, quietly, at the very head of them all. The old man he’d met back then had, only a few years prior, stood at the pinnacle of the court, second only to the emperor himself, with perhaps a mere handful of others able to rival him.

But the reasons behind his retirement were rather complicated; had Ning Yi not made the introduction, Li Pin would never have known such a towering figure was living in quiet retirement in Jiangning at all. Ever since the Heishui Accord, Qin Siyuan had withdrawn from court without a sound, and in the years since, the old man had even borne accusations of being something like a “traitor to the nation.” When Li Pin had received that letter of recommendation, he’d genuinely wondered whether this old man still held any influence at all—or worse, given the Heishui Accord affair, whether he might have made more enemies than friends at court, even among those who still harbored some old fondness for him. He’d worried that presenting Qin Siyuan’s letter of recommendation might well backfire.

But what followed proved remarkably telling.

It felt as though many things had simply been smoothed over for him at every turn, doors quietly opened, as though the whole two months of effort in the capital had been specifically aimed at securing him a fine post like Nanhe. Throughout his time maneuvering in the capital, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the results hadn’t really come from his own efforts at all—the smiles on the faces of those senior officials had carried a certain knowing quality, and he’d even heard, vaguely, that His Majesty himself had once considered summoning him for an audience, then decided against it—which was, frankly, rather alarming.

With nothing more to his name than a jinshi degree earned a few years back, and not even a top-tier one at that, with no real accomplishments to speak of, he’d rather have believed all this was simply false.

And yet, at certain moments, he couldn’t help connecting all this to certain things he’d been hearing lately.

The north was growing restless; everyone sensed that war was brewing—something he’d already felt back in Jiangning, but here in the capital, with officials gathered from everywhere, that same sense seemed to draw the nerves even tighter. Beyond that, there were those digging up the old matter of the Heishui Accord again, claiming the court had planned it all with great foresight, laid the groundwork six or seven years in advance—that the recent conflict between the Jin and the Liao, while certainly driven by Aguda’s own ambition and unwillingness to remain subordinate, had also been quietly engineered from within the Martial Dynasty, secretly trading various goods and resources with the Jin to stoke their ambitions, an almost open scheme dressed up as circumstance. The way people told it, it sounded like something straight out of a storybook.

But… the particular atmosphere he’d sensed in the capital these past days made him want to believe that this wild, fantastical tale might, in fact, be true. Officials in the capital had a far sharper nose for such things than those posted elsewhere, and lately word had been spreading everywhere that the Martial Dynasty and the Jin had been secretly conspiring, with the Liao repeatedly sending envoys to beg the Martial Dynasty for aid. If this groundwork really had been laid seven years ago, right when Qin Siyuan had resigned his post, then the treatment he himself had received upon arriving in the capital bearing Qin Siyuan’s letter of recommendation might actually make sense after all.

In fact, there had already been quiet talk of this back in Jiangning last year—that the humiliating-seeming Heishui Accord had, in truth, been a scheme to sow discord, to use one tiger to devour another, letting two great powers clash so as to reclaim the Sixteen Prefectures of Yanyun. Of course, back then, hardly anyone would have believed such a dreamlike claim… the whole affair was simply too enormous, and even now, Li Pin couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it fully. But a clash between the Jin and the Liao seemed all but inevitable, and if the Martial Dynasty joined in, then Xingzhou, lying along the northward route, with prosperous Nanhe sure to become a key transit point—well, if he managed things well there, making a name for himself would be all but guaranteed.

Turning these thoughts over these past two days, he couldn’t help feeling his blood stir with excitement. And if that rumor really did prove true, then perhaps… Qin Siyuan, after seven long years in quiet retirement in Jiangning, might yet clear his name entirely and rise again. If a man of such sharp competence as this former Minister of Personnel returned to court, a chancellorship would surely be his for the taking—only a question of which seat, left or right. And when that happened, Liheng too would likely be swept along into the court’s ranks, which would be nothing short of wonderful.

Thinking of this, he couldn’t help but laugh. On this rare, bright winter day in the eighth year of the Jinghan era, Li Pin stood on the Imperial Way, gazing up at the sunlight, narrowing his eyes slightly against the glare.

Drive out the strong enemy, reclaim Yanyun, restore the rivers and mountains of the Han homeland, wash away a century of shame. The realm’s fortunes had already grown chaotic; what lay ahead might well be a magnificent, turbulent age.

He couldn’t help but feel… that in an age like this, there might be a chance to accomplish something truly great…

On this day, the small county magistrate who had not yet even taken up his post found himself thinking such thoughts…

…

As it happened, Ning Yi too had begun to notice certain things lately—that the number of visitors to Elder Qin’s household seemed to be growing.

With late November approaching, Ning Yi had been kept busy as well. As in the previous year, this mostly meant accompanying Su Tan’er on her rounds of visits to various merchants, new and old alike. Last year, this had still been mostly a formality; back then, his status had been nothing more than a son-in-law married into the Su family. This year, however, he’d earned himself the reputation—or perhaps notoriety—of “calculating within ten steps,” and no one dared look down on him now, which, if anything, made things more troublesome. Still, accompanying his “newlywed” wife on such errands was only natural, and besides, they’d already consummated the marriage, so there was nothing left to complain about.

Not even a month into sharing a bed, the two of them were now, like any newlywed couple, deep in the honeymoon phase, and these days the place they most enjoyed spending time together was, without question, the bed. Su Tan’er had her own sense of reserve and propriety, but given that her temperament was such that she’d burn down an entire building just to push their relationship forward, once certain matters had become normalized between them, she really wasn’t the type to remain coy about it for long.

In the afternoons and evenings, she’d handle business matters in their room, every bit the formidable businesswoman, and once finished, she’d pull Ning Yi aside to talk about smaller, more personal things—much like their dates before, except the conversation now had grown considerably more intimate, touching on things like the layout of where they’d live in the future, names for children they might have someday. They’d talk about household trivialities, business matters too, and somewhere along the way the conversation would drift toward the bed, at which point Ning Yi would strip her clothes off—well, it was winter, after all, and rolling around under the covers was good for one’s health—and what followed from there needed no further explanation.

On one hand, she’d already grown accustomed to these things—no longer shy in front of Ning Yi, if anything rather fond of it by now. On the other hand, her body turned out to be remarkably sensitive; when the sensations grew intense, she’d furrow her brow and clench her teeth as though enduring torture, though she’d stubbornly refuse to make a sound. Tormenting this formidable businesswoman was, frankly, rather amusing—sometimes Ning Yi would deliberately pause, and after a moment she’d glance at him, then give him a small punch, pouting with a bit of petulant annoyance, before shutting her eyes, turning her head aside, and gripping the sheets again to endure it further. “Hurry up, hurry up already…”

She’d occasionally take a small initiative of her own, then immediately grow terribly embarrassed afterward, as though she’d done something enormous—and Ning Yi rather liked that feeling too.

The pleasures of the bedchamber brought no shortage of amusing episodes. Su Tan’er’s embroidered bed had, after all, seen quite a few years of use, and after the two of them had shared it for about half a month, one night it suddenly began making small creaking noises. The next day, when Ning Yi came home, he found the bed had already been completely dismantled, with several servants quietly carrying in a sturdy, clearly unshakeable new bed frame, assembling it with careful, muffled movements. The reason for their careful quiet was that Su Tan’er sat at the writing desk nearby, head down, absorbed in her paperwork—having apparently instructed the group to try not to disturb her—leaving the servants no choice but to move as slowly and quietly as possible.

And so it was that, though it had clearly been Su Tan’er herself who’d ordered the bed replaced, she sat right there beside it pretending to notice nothing at all, leaving the poor servants to assemble the bed frame in agonized silence. Ning Yi found the whole thing rather funny; he pulled up a stool and sat down nearby to watch, only to realize he was in the way, and so, with a series of small thumps, scooted his stool over next to Su Tan’er instead, saying nothing. Su Tan’er’s face turned entirely red, though she kept her head down, still absorbed in her “official business.” Looking back on it, their very first time together had unfolded amid exactly this sort of elaborate pretense.

Aside from his time with Su Tan’er and the various social calls, there was, in fact, still plenty of time left over. During this period, Ning Yi requested a group of craftsmen from Kang Xian, intending to research cement, mainly to prepare for building himself a house.

He hadn’t put a great deal of effort into this particular project himself, only outlining a general direction—something along the lines of mixing and firing lime and clay, running various experiments with different raw materials—leaving the rest to the craftsmen to work out gradually on their own.

The difficulty of the task was neither trivial nor overwhelming. Various substitute methods already existed for using cement-like materials in building houses and city walls; once the general direction was settled, producing a batch wasn’t especially difficult. Without a proper dedicated production line, though, the cost of research and manufacturing would certainly be high—but no matter, money could simply be thrown at the problem. He’d build himself a small villa first and worry about the rest later; benefiting the masses could come after benefiting himself first, to get things started. If Elder Kang or the craftsmen themselves later took an interest, they could develop it further as they saw fit.

During this period, Ning Yi visited Elder Qin’s household twice, and both times found guests already present—officials from out of town, it seemed, visiting Jiangning either in passing or on a visit home, coming by to pay their respects to Elder Qin. This was quite different from how things had been the previous year, a sign that certain things had already begun to shift noticeably.

The second visit was on the twenty-first of the eleventh month, still amid heavy snow, and this time he met Qin Hui.

By now the ban on alcohol had been lifted in Jiangning, and Yunzhu’s small workshop had begun brewing its first batch of high-proof liquor, with promising results. Ning Yi had come from Yunzhu’s pavilion and, on his way, picked up a jar of it to bring to Elder Qin as a gift. When he arrived, he found guests already inside; he handed the jar over to Madam Qin, mentioning a few words of caution about the drink’s high potency, and was about to leave when Madam Qin, having long since come to regard him as a trusted junior member of the family, insisted he stay. “Wait a moment, I’ll go get a few things for you to take back.”

The old lady, well aware of Ning Yi’s temperament, didn’t press him to go meet Qin Siyuan directly, but instead quietly went to inform the old man first, then pulled Ning Yi in to meet the guests. Elder Qin had, after all, once held high office himself, and his wife was no stranger to the workings of officialdom; she knew that letting Ning Yi meet these officials could only do him good, and with Elder Qin present, Ning Yi wouldn’t come to any harm from it either. Arranging things this way was, in fact, a rather affectionate gesture on her part, and Ning Yi could only accept the kindness graciously. Under Elder Qin’s introduction, he exchanged names with the two middle-aged men inside.

One of them was named Qin Hui, courtesy name Huizhi, currently serving as Vice Censor-in-Chief—Elder Qin didn’t need to spell this out, as Ning Yi had already more or less guessed as much. The man was tall and imposing, with fine, regular features, a gaze that seemed quite perceptive, and a bearing and manner of speech that conveyed remarkable composure—the kind of presence that instantly inspired both goodwill and trust. Both of the men being high officials, and evidently assuming Ning Yi to be some junior relation of Elder Qin’s, the conversation proceeded pleasantly enough; small cups were poured, and each sampled the high-proof liquor, offering a few remarks on it, the exchange going smoothly and amiably.

The meeting was, on the whole, unremarkable, and Ning Yi found he had little to say about it either way.

Separately, as the academy was preparing for its break, Zhou Pei mentioned to Ning Yi the matter of a formal discipleship ceremony. Prince Kang’s original plan had been to make a grand affair of it—bringing along a large entourage and visiting the Su household under the banner of his princely title, turning the discipleship ceremony into an extravagant occasion that would give the Su family and Ning Yi tremendous face, ensuring the Su family would have a powerful patron in Jiangning from then on. Ning Yi, however, firmly declined the idea.

The web of human relationships could be curious at times—when one occupied a lower tier, those at higher tiers rarely turned their attention that way of their own accord; but the moment one suddenly displayed a higher standing, people’s attention would shift accordingly and actively seek you out. Much like the contrast between how people had treated Ning Yi last year versus this year—once that kind of active attention arose, grudges and rivalries would gradually follow in its wake. Enmity, of course, was ultimately a matter of probability, but given that such a high-level connection already existed, Ning Yi had no desire to flaunt it deliberately; there was no point in doing so. After all, such things could be kept in reserve as leverage—if the Su family ran into trouble again in the future, the connection to the princely estate could be brought out to sweep the matter aside. But if the connection to the princely estate were revealed now, any trouble that arose afterward would simply operate on that same elevated level instead.

Still, though he’d declined such a grand discipleship ceremony, come the year’s end, Ning Yi did plan to bring his wife to pay a visit to the Prince Consort’s estate and to Elder Qin’s household. Su Tan’er was extremely nervous about this and spent a long while preparing, though in the end the visit itself turned out to be perfectly ordinary, just casual family conversation. The Prince Consort’s estate was, to Su Tan’er, an extraordinarily grand and lofty place; afterward, when she asked Ning Yi how he’d come to be on such friendly terms with the Prince Consort, Ning Yi answered with a smile, “Because we’re both men who married into our wives’ families, of course.” Su Tan’er gave him a light punch for that.

Though Ning Yi himself didn’t mind the label, Su Tan’er disliked hearing him constantly bring up his status as a matrilocal son-in-law.

The wind and snow seemed to drift down without ever quite stopping, and amid the pure white snowdrifts, the firelight in the small courtyard’s room remained ever warm and golden, the five of them seeming to huddle together there, passing this winter as one. On the other side of the city, the small pavilion by the bend of the Qinhuai River, too, remained ever warm; Ning Yi would often go there in the mornings, where the woman waiting by the steps, wrapped in a cloak, her face flushed red with cold, would rub her hands together and breathe out warm puffs of air. She’d never agree to go inside and wait for him there. Sometimes another lively, energetic woman would be there too, bouncing about by the steps; the two of them would build snowmen together beside the pavilion, and the lively one, upon spotting Ning Yi, would busy herself picking fights and bickering with him.

The Qinhuai River had frozen over, and one could occasionally spot that same lively woman sliding around on the ice. But this was, after all, a bitterly cold winter, and most of the time Yunzhu and Jin’er stayed indoors, huddled together by the stove, talking about who knew what, giving off a real sense of two people relying entirely on each other.

If only that man wouldn’t come around… Jin’er, wanting to keep Sister Yunzhu all to herself, would sometimes think this way.

December passed by swiftly in this atmosphere, and the year’s end arrived. As firecrackers rang out to bid farewell to the old year, the eighth year of the Jinghan era of the Martial Dynasty at last drew to a close, giving way to the ninth year of the Jinghan era.

This year, the prosperous regions remained at peace, while the regions where the people already struggled to survive grew only more desperate still.

This year, the great currents of the realm stirred and shifted, and natural disasters along with man-made calamities came thick and fast.

This year, uprisings broke out in region after region, only to be swiftly suppressed each time.

This year, war broke out.

…

North. North. North.

The sky hung dark, the wind and snow howling as gusting wind and heavy snowfall buried everything across the grasslands beneath them. In this brutal weather, with visibility barely reaching three meters, faint, discordant sounds drifted through the air, almost illusory.

Our view sweeps forward, drawing close to the ground, where corpses and blood suddenly come into view. The dead had not been dead long, but the blood had already gone cold, beginning to congeal in the wind and snow.

It was not just one corpse—bodies stretched outward in every direction, each in some different state of ruin: limbs hacked off, torsos run through, arrows lodged in skulls, blood and torn flesh mingled together. At the center of the battlefield stood two large carts, everyone around them already dead; one corpse had even been pierced clean through the chest by a spear and pinned to the side of the cart, feet dangling off the ground.

The view continues onward. Amid the wind and snow, three figures flee desperately forward, dressed in Liao attire, their footsteps kicking up flurries of snow with each step, though nothing at all can be seen ahead. Suddenly, an arrow streaks out from within the blizzard. With a wet thud, the man running to the side is struck through the chest, his body flung into the air before crashing down onto the ground.

Through the hazy view, a massive shape looms in the swirling snow to the side. The remaining two have already run past it, but there is nowhere left to flee—they know more men are closing in from this direction.

The man running behind swings the blade in his hand, glancing back—he appears to be a Liao military officer. “Who are you people! Which tribe! How dare you slaughter… an imperial envoy.”

All at once, the wind and snow surged, a warhorse let out a long neigh, and behind him a peal of thunder seemed to crash down, along with the screams of his companion and the wet sound of a body being crushed to pulp. As he turned his head, in the periphery of his vision, a massive black warhorse reared up and brought its hooves down with tremendous force, crushing his companion’s entire body beneath them—and before he could even finish his sentence, something pierced straight through his own body!

He felt the wind and snow suddenly stop. But it wasn’t that at all—the figure atop the black warhorse loomed like a mountain, momentarily blocking out the howling, snow-filled sky entirely. Yet he felt his body rising upward, a sharp pain in his chest—a great spear had run him through from front to back, and the rider atop the horse lifted him up one-handed on its length.

“Your Liao nation is already finished.”

He heard the figure on horseback say this. More figures were converging from all directions, like this demon’s own retinue.

“Who… who are you…” Blood spilled from his mouth as he tried to grip the spear shaft with both hands, mechanically repeating, “Which… tribe, how dare you slaughter… an imperial envoy…” while the demon atop the warhorse gazed down at him coldly.

“Borjigin…” The blood ran cold—this was the last thing the Liao officer heard, as the wind and snow howled on and his pupils began to dilate; he never managed to hear the final three words carried within the storm.

“…TEMUJIN!”

Darkness fell.

…

Lüliang.

Heavy snow had sealed off the mountains, though the snowfall itself had stopped. Lu Hongti sat on a large rock beside the stronghold, its surface swept clear of snow, gazing out at the endless white expanse of mountains rolling off into the distance—all mountains, wherever one looked, looking utterly wild and untamed. She wondered what winter in Jiangning might look like.

But there were some things even the mountains could offer. She listened to the sound of children playing and squabbling somewhere behind her; a snowball sailed past over her head. Ha—missed. Er Hong and Liu Zi had married yesterday, and today the festive mood still lingered, felt everywhere both within and beyond the stronghold.

She had recently turned down an offer of amnesty from the imperial court, and also declined recruitment overtures from Tian Hu, the self-styled “Tiger King of Hebei” who controlled the Mianshan region. The people of the stronghold couldn’t quite understand what she wanted. Refusing amnesty made sense—amnesty rarely ended well for anyone—but refusing to join an uprising too? That made no sense at all; what they were doing was already rebellion, after all.

Those at the top needed an air of mystery about them.

The setting sun cast its lingering glow across the mountain ridges. She found herself thinking of that scholar back in Jiangning—she should have just dragged him up the mountain with her back then.

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

A timely snow promises a bountiful year. This year would be a good one.

So long as there was no war, every year, really, was a good year.

She hoped there would be no war…