The dying sun bled crimson.

The dog was exhausted now; it limped in a slow circle around the blood-splattered mound, then went down into the small courtyard below — half of which had already collapsed — and lay down, licking at its lamed hind leg. Its master lay right beside it; when it turned its head, it saw the long wooden shaft still protruding from the man’s body, nosed forward gently, then whimpered and drew back.

Dog, courtyard, corpse, arrow shaft, blood — and, not so very far off, a din of noise.

It was an old dog, likely with few years left to live. It had always lived beside its equally aged master, in the small courtyard near that great wall — going out for a stroll now and then, coming back slowly when tired, and these days it liked best of all to lie on the flagstones beneath the tree by the doorstep, dozing in the sun and the cicadas’ song. When its old master sat nearby stroking the wiry tendons of its neck and rambling on about this or that, it would sometimes let out a contented “woof.”

Then, a few days back, it had watched the birds all fly off at once, and the earth had shaken, bringing down that great wall. What had followed — people coming and going, all of it beyond its understanding. Where the great wall had crumbled, the shouting had gone on for days on end. Then, that day, dense crowds had poured through the breach, more and more streaming out from every side, colliding into one another. Its old master stood at the gap in the wall, watching the faint stirrings out there, murmuring words it couldn’t understand — and then, without any warning at all, simply collapsed.

It had seen the wooden shaft standing up from its master’s body, smelled the ominous scent of blood pooling out. It hurried over, sniffing and pawing at him, trying to get him to move again, but the aged old man only opened his eyes, glanced at it faintly, and then that gaze froze forever.

The blood kept flowing. It ran out into the street, scrambled up the mound behind, and howled. Some blood-soaked figures rushed toward it; it barked and lunged at them, biting — but it was old now, its leg broken by a sword hilt, and it whimpered off to one side. Some people rushed into the courtyard, then rushed back out again. A long while later, a great crowd was driven out through the breach once more, the din boiling over out there, while this little courtyard fell cold and silent, only the old dog wandering slowly back and forth.

Afterward, people kept charging through the gap in the great wall from time to time, and many fell there too. It hadn’t eaten in days now; occasionally it climbed the mound to look out, dragging its broken leg, barking a few times when it still had the strength, then returning to lie back down in the courtyard, watching flies gather on its master’s corpse.

The heat was fierce that day; the blood-red sun finally sank beneath the churning clouds and distant mountains. Outside the courtyard, a red maple’s half-withered leaves rustled in the evening’s heat and the stench of decay. As night approached, the old dog climbed the mound once more, its silhouette merging with the mound’s own shape into a single, lonely shadow against the orange light.

At some point, the dog stood up straight on the mound, craning its neck to look off into the distance. Countless arrow shadows rose into the sky like locusts.

One of them pierced clean through the old dog’s body with a whistle; its corpse rolled down the slope, the scattered arrows thudding into the mound around it. Then, from beyond the city, a voice rose up: “The Sacred Duke—”

Another voice joined in: “All is equal before the Way! There is no high or low! The Sacred Duke has arrived—”

“The Sacred Duke! He’s here—”

Countless voices merged into one, surging forward like thunder toward this place!

…

It was another heavy, oppressive evening; day by day, the unrest inside and outside Hangzhou had all but become part of the daily rhythm of life. In Taiping Lane, Ning Yi sat atop the still-standing wooden building, gazing out toward the setting sun and the city beyond. The waterway near Taiping Lane was a small branch of the Grand Canal; with the upstream blockage, and given the danger of war these past several days, the water had grown turbid and murky.

Days of chaos since the earthquake, with troubles both within and without, had left the city’s flow of goods and people badly disrupted, and by now a faint, rotting stench had begun to spread.

When several riders came from outside Taiping Lane, Ning Yi finally climbed down from the rooftop. Leading them was a man named Qian Haiping, a nephew of Qian Xiwen’s — nearly forty years old by now, holding a civil post in the Hangzhou prefectural office with considerable real authority. With Fang La laying siege to the city, he’d taken charge of a great many matters within it, and had already had some dealings with Ning Yi over the past several days.

He’d already come to Taiping Lane several times these past couple of days, and those guarding the lane’s entrance recognized him well enough to let him through. Seeing Ning Yi, this travel-worn middle-aged man wasted little time on courtesies, clasping his hands briefly and pulling out a slip of paper. “No need for ceremony, worthy nephew Ning. This morning, bandits attacked Master An’s household in the western part of the city, and a fire broke out — over ten dead. We’ve since gathered some information…” He lowered his voice. “We can now more or less confirm who the mastermind behind this is…”

“But Uncle Qian’s still not entirely certain, I take it.” Ning Yi glanced at the slip of paper, frowned slightly, and gestured for the group to come inside. Su Tan’er, standing beneath the eaves not far off, bowed slightly in greeting but didn’t come over.

A few days earlier, Ning Yi had, for the first time, poured everything he had into rallying whatever support he could persuade and mobilize from several nearby streets — this could reasonably be counted as work done for his own sake, first and foremost. When he’d met with Qian Xiwen again, he’d mentioned a few of his own ideas in passing. It was clear enough that whoever was orchestrating things on the other side had already been active in Hangzhou for some time, and was evidently a formidable strategist in his own right — the idea of both defending against the attack from outside and combing the city clean of infiltrators at the same time simply wasn’t realistic.

But since the other side had already come into the city and gathered intelligence on it, they were bound to have identified a handful of truly viable targets to strike. When it came to strategy and psychological warfare, the thing this world truly had to fear was the sort of madman who struck without any warning at all, on pure impulse — as had happened, for instance, when Ning Yi himself had once been kidnapped at Gu Yanzhen’s instigation, with absolutely no prior sign of it. But if the other side had gathered a great deal of intelligence too, their range of viable choices would actually narrow considerably — and if they couldn’t be rooted out all at once, one could instead simply lure them into a trap.

Wherever a strike would sow the most chaos in the current state of Hangzhou — that was precisely where it made sense to deliberately show weakness. As for this, all Ning Yi really knew was the southern harbor; anything more detailed would need someone truly familiar with Hangzhou to handle. Letting them make their move, even luring them into making it, while preparing enough contingencies for the aftermath in advance, and using the whole process to pin down the enemy’s own patterns — Ning Yi had laid out several simple plans along these lines, one of which was deliberately allowing the southern docks to fall into disorder once. He’d said as much on the third day of the fighting, and that very afternoon, chaos had indeed broken out at the southern docks as predicted, an official trying to flee, bandits hidden in the crowd seizing the opportunity to strike — and the spies planted among the crowd had, for the first time, managed to catch hold of the enemy’s trail.

That lead had gone cold within the hour, but the follow-up had been handled well enough that no major disturbance had come of it. Since then, Qian Haiping, under Qian Xiwen’s instruction, had taken to seeking out Ning Yi, running various ideas and intelligence past him. For now, Ning Yi’s real experience lay only in seeing the bigger picture; when it came to plans requiring detailed knowledge of local customs and conditions, he remained extremely cautious, never speaking rashly, and often discussed matters over with Su Tan’er first. After several exchanges, Qian Haiping and his men had come to hold the couple in considerable regard.

Ning Yi finished reading the note and called his wife over to look as well. Su Tan’er simply nodded silently, then handed it back to Qian Haiping once she’d finished. Over these past several days, the net Qian Haiping’s men had cast throughout the city had by now drawn considerably tighter, and they could now identify the information on several of the ringleaders.

“…Nearly all of these men were once famous figures of the martial underworld. That Shi Bao is said to be extraordinarily skilled with the great blade — we can now confirm he’s the one who killed Deputy Yuan with a single stroke during the fire in the north. And two days ago, someone spotted a tall, gaunt man in the city with long, loose hair, wielding a spear — that would be Wang Yin. He’s ruthless and cunning, his skill matching, if not exceeding, Shi Bao’s own. What’s more, Wang Yin is known for exceptional strategic thinking, and we now suspect he may be the one directing operations from inside the city. But there’s another possibility too — Fang Qifo, Fang La’s own subordinate, known as the ‘Commander Buddha,’ second only to Fang La himself in standing among the rebel forces. Some even say he’s a man of profound learning, able to speak to both the past and present, something like a Zhuge Liang figure. Unfortunately we still haven’t been able to confirm whether he’s actually inside the city — if we could root him out and net the whole lot at once, it would be like severing one of Fang La’s own arms.”

Qian Haiping spoke as he entered and sat down; when Su Tan’er personally brought over tea, he nodded in thanks. “There is one thing, though, that strikes me as rather odd — this Liu Dabiao fellow. He was once fairly renowned in the martial underworld of the southwest, known as the ‘Overlord Blade.’ But I have information here suggesting the real Liu Dabiao actually died several years ago. According to this, he was described as rough and hot-tempered, a full beard covering his face, with an odd habit of taking pride in his notably hairy chest, always dressed in short, plain clothing regardless of the season. When you saw the man that day, Liheng, this fellow — a man past forty — had no beard at all. And given his standing, to have joined the rebels while apparently deferring to a young girl as his leader — could that girl possibly be Fang La’s own daughter? If so, capturing and executing her would count as a considerable feat.”

By now the table in the room was covered with various pieces of intelligence, most of which Ning Yi had already reviewed many times over. He added the new slip to the pile. “It’ll probably take another day or two yet. Rabbits keep more than one burrow, and the city’s simply too chaotic right now — we’ve only managed to confirm one gathering point. Moving in rashly would likely come to nothing.”

“Mm. These men are all formidable fighters — without a truly foolproof plan, moving against them now risks getting cut down ourselves.” Qian Haiping nodded, then, recalling something, laughed. “Oh, that reminds me — I heard you and the Lou family have some bad blood between you, Liheng. I had some free time today, so I sent men over to shake them up a bit — ha, smashed in their front gate, to vent a little steam on your behalf, worthy nephew.”

Ning Yi frowned slightly, looking at Qian Haiping’s evidently pleased expression. “It’s a minor matter, no real grudge to speak of. Now especially, we ought to be standing united against the outside threat — I worry Uncle’s action might…”

“Ah, no matter, no matter.” Qian Haiping waved a hand. “That Lou family may fancy themselves a force to be reckoned with, but to us Qians, they’re no more than dogs and chickens. I hadn’t known before about the slight you’d suffered, Liheng — now that I do, it’s my concern. If they hold a grudge over it, so be it — I’ll take the chance to settle the score on your behalf! I know you’re too kind-hearted to want any part of it, ha ha, but there’s no need to trouble yourself over this. Your affairs, Liheng, are now the Qian family’s affairs as well… Well, nothing else to report today, I’ll be off. Hopefully I’ll have good news to bring tomorrow.”

He rose with a laugh, and Ning Yi saw him out. Outside, the dying sun bled crimson, and from somewhere near the western part of the city came the distant, boiling roar of shouting voices.

“There it goes again…” Qian Haiping shook his head, sighed, and left, seemingly unconcerned.

Ning Yi looked up at the sky, frowning.

…

“The Sacred Duke has arrived — it looks like the city will fall within a day or two!”

Someone was speaking. In the sunset’s glow, this was a mostly intact courtyard; Shi Bao came bursting in, laughing loudly.

Wang Yin, his long hair loose, sat by the well cleaning his spear, apparently lost in thought. He glanced west now, listening carefully to the wind, and didn’t seem particularly pleased. “I’d thought this would be settled within a couple of days — didn’t expect it to drag on this long. Something’s felt off about how things have gone in the city these past several days.”

“Off? What’s off about it?” Shi Bao blinked, then sat down beside Wang Yin, clapping him on the shoulder. “Hey, Stone-Chiseler, you’re always like this — overthinking things. We’ve had a grand old time killing these past few days, the city’s in complete chaos, seems solid enough to me. Commander Fo’s said it before — you scholars, you overthink everything, which is why scholars trying to lead a rebellion never manage it in ten years. Not saying that about you, mind…”

Wang Yin smiled faintly, swinging his spear in a straight line; every water droplet on it burst apart at once, letting out a sharp crack even through the air. “Complete chaos, is it? Something feels wrong to me… It’s not chaotic enough. Every move we’ve made has gone off without a hitch, but somehow the results never come out clear afterward. It’s like striking a wad of cotton — the force goes in, but somehow someone always manages to patch up the gap after. Makes me feel like there’s someone watching us from the shadows…”

“No way. Stone-Chiseler, you sure about that?”

“Heh, maybe I’m overthinking it. I’d hoped to break through the city from inside and out before the Sacred Duke arrived, but now that he’s here, taking the city will be simpler regardless. Next… oh, right — where are Xu Fang, Gou Zheng, Liu Dabiao and the rest?”

“On their way over, probably. Word’s already been sent to them.”

Just as they were speaking, someone pushed open the door and hurried in — a man named Xu Fang, fairly familiar with both Shi Bao and Wang Yin. He entered the courtyard, his expression grave. “We need to move.”

“What’s happened?”

“Liu Dabiao’s group’s been spotted, tailed. They caught an official spy. It’s… rather serious.”

Shi Bao and Wang Yin rose together at once, grabbed their weapons, and headed for the door, adjusting their disguises as they went. The group left the courtyard, cutting through ruins, streets, and passersby. Two streets over, lamps had begun to be lit here and there; some residents who’d lost their families were cooking over open fires by the roadside, children running back and forth. They entered another courtyard. Dusk had fallen by now, leaving the courtyard rather dark; beneath the eaves along one corridor, a girl in a blue floral-print skirt and a black gauze bamboo hat sat quietly hugging her knees in the shadows, while on the other side, a burly man carrying a long wooden case was washing his hands at the well, blood soaking into the grass beneath him. In the front room, a bean-sized oil lamp burned, and blood pooled on the floor.

Wang Yin went in first, finding a badly mangled corpse; when he turned back, the burly middle-aged man, done washing his hands, had already come over, clapping them dry and speaking quietly. Wang Yin’s frown deepened gradually, then, after a long while, he laughed. In the evening wind, fragments of their conversation could be faintly heard.

“Ning Liheng…”

“The one who married in… ha…”

“To think Hangzhou has a man like that too…”

“I’d genuinely like to meet him…”

A moment later, Shi Bao tossed his prized blade into the air and caught it again.

“Heh. So, how about tonight?”