In the darkness, a bird spread its wings and flew across the night sky. Beneath a half-moon, the mountain ridges rose and fell into the distance, and the waterways, under the starlight, looked like faint pale ribbons scattered across the earth—or like whiskers, or tree roots, sprawling with the contours of the land. The traces humanity left in this darkness were only scattered points of firelight, sometimes clustered together, sometimes sparse and isolated.

In the early hours of the ninth, nearly five days since the fall of Hangzhou, the initial chaos brought on by this great upheaval had at last settled into something with a relatively clear pattern. The lights at night, centered on Hangzhou, had spread outward in every direction since the city’s fall. At first the movement had been restless and dense; by now, it had gradually resolved into distinct streams, while the firelight within the city of Hangzhou itself, after its initial blaze of brilliance, had likewise begun to settle into something steadier.

Blood, slaughter, death—over the preceding four days, these had all but dyed the streets of the city red. But even so, once the initial frenzy had passed, things always settled down eventually, until it came time to wash away the bloodstains. In those four days of killing and looting, there was no way to fully recount how much blood had been spilled. Merchants, gentry, and officials who had failed to escape the city in time were hunted down and slaughtered almost without exception, wiped out nearly to the last person, and even ordinary commoners had by no means been guaranteed to escape the calamity—no one knew how many had been killed for “suspected” resistance, or how many women had been violated. Once the earliest resisters had all been killed off, the survivors who remained had, for the most part, grown numb, letting the various bands of “righteous army” that had come from different places seize one piece of territory after another.

Only a small number of people with real family wealth had proven to be the exception.

Not far from the Hangzhou prefectural offices stood a large mansion, originally belonging to the Chang family, one of the four great families of Hangzhou. Though it too had suffered damage in the earthquake, the damage had not been severe, and repairs had since been made. It was now shortly past midnight, and the mansion, inside and out, blazed with lights—a banquet was just drawing to a close. At the mansion’s front gate, the host was seeing off a large crowd of guests into the street, greeting and bidding farewell to each one in turn.

Ordinarily, in the chaos gripping Hangzhou at this time, anyone able to hold a banquet would almost certainly be one of the rebel leaders who had entered the city. But this time, the participants were not rebel leaders at all—the guests, one after another, appeared modestly dressed and deferential in manner. The middle-aged man serving as host, along with the attendants beside him, carried themselves with considerable poise; this middle-aged man was none other than Fang Qifo, the man currently most trusted among Fang La’s sworn brothers, known to all as Marshal Buddha. Those he was seeing off were, for the most part, the wealthy gentry and merchants who had originally lived in Hangzhou, along with a number of officials who had thrown in their lot with Fang La. Mixed in among this crowd, unmistakably, was none other than Lou Jinlin, head of the Lou family.

As one of the great families of Hangzhou, the Lou family had, in fact, had no prior connection to Fang La. Fang Qifo had only sought him out the night before the city fell. Because the Lou family’s business dealings were so varied, touching all manner of people from every walk of life, Fang Qifo had used his connections to appeal to him with emotional persuasion. Lou Jinlin’s response at the time had not been especially firm, but having previously been harassed by Qian Haiping’s men and feeling some resentment over it, he had not refused either.

And so, when the city fell the following day, he assisted Fang La’s army—unfamiliar as they were with the situation—in taking inventory of Hangzhou’s various resources, and afterward became an honored guest within Fang La’s camp. Now, with the Qian, Mu, Tang, and Chang families all having fled, if Fang La truly managed to hold Hangzhou, the Lou family, having preserved nearly all of its assets, stood to become, in effect, the foremost great family in Hangzhou at this moment.

Of course, whether Fang La could truly hold Hangzhou securely was far from certain, and the outlook for what would come was not especially promising. But for now, this reasoning was all that remained for a bit of self-consolation.

The survivors gathered here had, for the most part, known one another to some degree within the city of Hangzhou, or at least heard one another’s names. Some had secretly colluded with Fang La from the very start; others had been persuaded to join later. Within Fang La’s new regime as it now stood, they might well become the first generation of native-born nobility—but except for those who had firmly joined Fang La’s camp from the outset, the rest all carried some degree of unease. They exchanged few words among themselves, avoided idle conversation, and after bidding a respectful farewell to Fang Qifo, went their separate ways.

Toward this group, Fang Qifo’s manner was, in fact, gentle and courteous. He was nearing forty this year, tall in stature, and himself possessed formidable skill—as a commander in battle he had killed countless enemies, yet as a strategist he also carried a steady, restrained composure. Among Fang La’s ranks there were no shortage of proud and unruly characters—Shi Bao himself was given to fits of madness, Deng Yuanjue had a touch of wildness about him, Li Tianrun was steady but arrogant, Si Xingfang was fierce and quick to take offense—each with his own particular skill, and yet before Fang Qifo, all of them were exceedingly deferential. Even the moody, temperamental young woman who called herself Liu Dabiaozi, or the equally accomplished and deeply calculating Wang Yin, would generally follow his orders without much argument when facing him.

Having just seen off the guests who had attended the banquet, he turned to head back, and a young man serving as his attendant followed behind him. “Master, you think so highly of them, but in my opinion, they might not appreciate it at all. A good many of them looked rather gloomy, probably worried this business of ours won’t last long. If you ask me, the ones who never truly submitted to us in the first place—might as well just kill them off… and make a tidy profit doing it.”

Perhaps Fang Qifo was already accustomed to this disciple’s manner of speaking, for he only glanced at him mildly, not particularly angered, and gave a faint smile. “Chen Fan, we’ve already taken Hangzhou now—you need to shed these bandit habits of yours. What do you mean, ‘this business of ours,’ what do you mean, ‘a tidy profit.’ Once the Sage Duke takes the throne, you’ll be at the very least a general someday—don’t keep chasing after petty gains.”

“Tch, Master, chasing after petty gains is more fun, that’s all. Those emperors and generals and whatnot—just thinking about it gives me a headache…”

The young man called Chen Fan seemed rather lazy in manner, but Fang Qifo paid it no mind, only continuing to speak as he walked. “Hangzhou is a vital crossroads of the Jiangnan region. Once the Sage Duke takes the throne, Hangzhou will become the capital—a place this important can’t simply be burned and pillaged into ruin. The autumn harvest is coming, the rice needs to be cut, we’ll need manpower for it. Afterward, this city will need to be rebuilt—there’ll need to be order, there’ll need to be trade, and if we’re to have an emperor, someone needs to hold up the ceremony and appearances of it too. None of this is something the men who marched into the city with us are any good at—all they know how to do is burn and loot. This is our own home now—it’s time to hold ourselves back a little.”

Fang Qifo sighed. “The things we don’t understand, they understand. It doesn’t matter if they’re unhappy right now—as long as they’re willing to work, I’ll give them status, I’ll give them power, and they’ll come to like it… Now that we’ve taken Hangzhou, I’ll be setting out in a few days to attack Jiaxing. Before then, I need to get all of this arranged properly. Once I’ve left, you’ll stay here and see that they’re not harassed or troubled. Remember that, understand?”

“Master, I want to go with you to attack Jiaxing—I don’t understand any of this stuff. Why not leave General Wang or An Xifu behind instead, and send me out in my place? I don’t mind going to Huzhou either…”

“It’s not that you don’t understand it—you just can’t be bothered to think about it, or you wouldn’t have started off by suggesting we kill them all… Right now Wang Yin needs to oversee the situation to the south, and An Xifu is heading north to Huzhou. It’s best that you stay here—you’re my disciple, and unreasonable enough for the job.”

“I’m not unreasonable. I think I could swap places with An Xifu, come to think of it—that girl from the Overlord Blade family is even more unreasonable than I am when it comes to getting things done, isn’t she? I could swap her back in instead.”

“Those men heading north to Huzhou are a disorganized rabble, a mixed bag of good and bad. Sending them there serves two purposes—one, to stir up trouble in Huzhou, and two, simply to give them a chance to loot and plunder. Xifu is going along with them so that, when necessary, she can keep this rabble under control. Do you know that at midday today, Lu Qiao and Yao Yi nearly came to blows? It was only thanks to Xifu arriving in time with the Black Plume Guard that the matter was settled. If it had been you sent along instead, I imagine you’d have just added to the chaos… As for the Overlord Blade—where has she been these past few days?”

Chen Fan tilted his head and scratched at his eyebrow. “The past few days… while the city was in an uproar with all the killing, she was out on the streets being neighborly, handing out steamed buns to people, and wouldn’t let us kill anyone. Yesterday she headed north too—I heard she and her men are looking for someone called Ning Liheng. That’s the one who tricked her and General Shi both, isn’t it, and killed Gou Zheng and the others? Anyway, if you ask me, that girl seems to have a lot of time on her hands…”

Fang Qifo frowned, thinking it over. “The day the city fell, the largest number of people fled north. I heard that this Ning Liheng had made contact with a great many people beforehand, arranging to break out to the north together with them. Today, it seems Yao Yi and the others have set their sights on a column of refugees as well—could he be among them?”

“Master, want me to catch up and give them a warning? Clearly this Ning Liheng fellow is quite something. And while I’m at it, I could swap Liu Dabiaozi back too?”

“What is there to warn them about? Even if there’s an army among that fleeing crowd, it’s already been broken in spirit and worn down. That Ning Liheng only got lucky that one time. What can one man alone accomplish, against something like this… As for swapping Liu Dabiaozi back, go tell her yourself. If you can make your case clearly enough that she agrees to come back and hold the situation in the city together, then I’ll allow you to head north.”

“Master, then you’ll need to give her an order to that effect, won’t you…” Chen Fan said, tilting his head, but Fang Qifo only waved a hand and kept walking without pause. After waiting a good while for a reply, Chen Fan finally burst out in frustration. “But I can’t hold the situation in the city together either! You… Master, isn’t this just asking the impossible of me? I want to go fight!”

…

Clusters of campfires burned low and dim; the camp had entered its resting hours.

The small camp perched on the hilltop was set up without much order—no fences, little in the way of sentries or patrols, and few tents. Exhausted soldiers, clutching a hodgepodge of weapons of varying quality, lay sleeping in the open around the campfires. Though various insects bit at them, they were all too worn out to notice.

Lu Qiao lay in his tent, supposedly asleep—though in truth he was not. He lay on his cot, gnawing on half a roast chicken, staring up at the tent’s ceiling, occasionally spitting out a bone.

“Damn it…”

The nameless anger he’d swallowed at midday still gnawed at him. Several of his own brothers had been beaten up, ambushed just like that in the valley, and that Yao Yi had the nerve to insist he’d been the one to attack him!

Truly, when you want to pin a crime on someone, there’s never any shortage of excuses. It was infuriating…

This march north, though its main purpose was to stir up trouble in Huzhou and keep it from reinforcing Jiaxing or Hangzhou, was not, in truth, a heavy responsibility. Right now, on the northwestern front, the only force truly capable of coming to Huzhou or Jiaxing’s aid was the Wuzhou Camp, originally under Kang Fangting. But ever since Fang La took Hangzhou, the Wuzhou Camp had been pinned down in the northwest by Fang La’s sister, Fang Baihua. As long as Fang Baihua did not lose, Huzhou’s meager forces would be powerless to deal with threats on two fronts at once.

To run into this kind of undeserved trouble during what should have been an easy job of killing and looting had left him thinking he had to strike back somehow, but of course, in the end, he hadn’t managed to. Once that black-clad military law unit had arrived, both sides had fallen silent at once.

Within Fang La’s ranks, though most units were made up of homeless refugees, some of them not even fully armed—Lu Qiao himself had raised his own band from his home county of Tong, then joined the Sage Duke’s army and been granted a banner and formal ranking—there were, in the end, a few genuinely elite forces as well.

Setting aside the troops under men like Fang Qifo, in order to prevent excessive routs on the battlefield, the military law unit established by Fang Baihua was indeed a true elite force without exception—its members, dressed in black, were ruthless killers who thought nothing of slaughter. In several battles, whenever the front lines began to collapse, heads had rolled by the batch from the rear. The current commander of this unit was a young man named An Xifu, who carried a silent, scholarly air about him—but Lu Qiao had to admit, seeing him in person left him more than a little unsettled.

It had to be said that among the rebel forces as they now stood, most of the men still operated on the old logic of turf and factions—whoever had the biggest fists, the rest feared. Lu Qiao naturally couldn’t afford to cross men like Deng Yuanjue, Shi Bao, or Si Xingfang, nor could he afford to cross the Black Plume Guard. But he followed Li Tianrun, and Yao Yi, who served under Si Xingfang, was someone he could afford to provoke. Today he was in a foul mood over it, and lying there unable to sleep, he cursed to himself for a while.

Just as he was in the middle of venting his frustrations, he suddenly heard a faint commotion outside his tent. His heart jumped—could Yao Yi be coming to cause more trouble? He grabbed his broadsword and pushed through the tent flap, only to see a group of people crossing through the camp, heading his way. At the front walked a slight, petite figure—a young woman wearing a skirt and a black-veiled bamboo hat. Behind her walked a tall, broad-shouldered man carrying a case on his back, and behind him still, a group of vaguely visible figures approached as well. Their footsteps disturbed the campfires along the way, sending flecks of light swirling up into the air. Lu Qiao tried to work out just who this group might be, and by the time it dawned on him, he found himself utterly stunned.

The young woman drew out a token and gave it a shake. Lu Qiao hurriedly bowed in greeting, but before he could speak, the middle-aged man carrying the case behind her spoke first. “General Lu, there’s no need to stand on ceremony. We’re looking for a scholar by the name of Ning Liheng—he may be among the fleeing columns heading north. Has General Lu heard anything of him?”

Lu Qiao was taken aback. “No… I haven’t, no…”

“You must have caught a few stragglers along your way here—people who fell behind or got separated from the group. Where are they being held? Would you take us to question them?”

Refugees scattered fleeing in every direction, and along the way, some were bound to be caught—some killed outright and robbed, others captured and interrogated. Lu Qiao quickly nodded and led the group over. Looking off into the distance, he could make out dark shapes scattered among the hills—it seemed there were even more men lying in wait out there. Once he had brought them to the prisoners, the young woman and her companions had no need of him standing guard nearby, so he withdrew, sitting by the campfire and watching from a distance.

This group before him was entirely unfamiliar to him—he had only ever heard of them by reputation. It was the famed Overlord Blade Camp, led by the well-known figure of the southwestern martial world, Liu Dabiaozi. This Liu Dabiaozi had originally been a hero of the martial world, not a bandit at all, but had ties of friendship with Fang La and had risen up in support when Fang La first launched his rebellion—an elite force of the righteous army, on par with the Black Plume Guard.

Of course, whereas the Black Plume Guard’s reputation had been forged purely through killing, the Overlord Blade Camp’s fame rested squarely on Liu Dabiaozi’s own legendary name. This man, it was said, wielded a single overlord’s blade with a skill matched by almost no one in the martial world of Jiangnan—a hero standing eight feet tall with an eight-foot waist to match, his chest thick with hair, a figure few among the rebel ranks could rival.

When Lu Qiao had first joined the rebellion, he had held this Liu Dabiaozi in tremendous admiration. But as his own standing within the rebel ranks grew, he came to realize that although the soldiers of the Overlord Blade Camp could occasionally be seen about, Liu Dabiaozi himself had never once been sighted. This man seemed to take no part in the usual scramble for power and territory within the rebel ranks—mysterious in nature, commanding in manner. But eventually, Lu Qiao came to hear, in hushed whispers, that the real Liu Dabiao had died some years earlier, and that the one now issuing orders in his stead was his daughter—who stubbornly insisted on still being addressed as “Liu Dabiaozi,” as if determined to carry her father’s name forward. When he first heard this, Lu Qiao had found it rather amusing, but he later came to sense that something about the whole matter was not to be taken lightly.

It was said that although this daughter of Liu Dabiao’s had an eccentric temperament, her martial skill was extraordinarily high—so much so that almost no one among the rebel leadership dared to make light of the name “Liu Dabiaozi,” precisely because she had already come to blows with a good number of the leadership over exactly that. Slight and slender in build, she wielded her family’s fierce, forceful overlord blade in a style entirely her own, and it was said that even Shi Bao and Wang Yin, among the most skilled fighters currently in the army, might not be a match for her. Fang Qifo’s own disciple, Chen Fan, was said to possess strength enough to uproot a willow tree by hand, a veritable demon on the battlefield—but even he, it was said, had only managed a draw against her in a duel.

Whether there was more to it than that, Lu Qiao did not quite know, but those who fought her to a draw, at least, lived to tell of it. Within the army, it was said there were a good number of men who had truly been killed by this Liu Dabiao. Afterward, though few ever saw the woman herself, no one dared address her by any name other than Liu Dabiao. Over time, her legend had grown almost supernatural in the telling. Seeing her for the first time today, Lu Qiao hadn’t sensed much overtly imposing about her, but at least she showed no sign of disrespect either.

After a while, it seemed the interrogation was finished, and the group came back this way. The young woman gave him a slight nod of thanks; he hastily returned the gesture. The middle-aged man behind her spoke. “We’ve asked our questions—nothing much came of it. We just came from General Xue Dounan’s camp. General Yao should be somewhere near here too—have you seen him, by any chance?”

This group, in fact, was quite courteous. Hearing the question, Lu Qiao realized that the young woman and her companions had been asking their way northward, group by group, and he nodded quickly. “Yes, I’ve seen him. Yao Yi—their column should be just over that hill, to the west from here. Oh, and the Black Plume Guard, under Master An’s command, should already have moved on ahead.”

“Thank you.” Hearing this, the group turned and departed, walking off into the darkness. After a few steps, Lu Qiao noticed the young woman turn her head back and speak—this was the first time he’d heard her voice, a touch cold, yet pleasant to the ear. “We’re looking for a man named Ning Liheng. General Lu, if you happen to come across any more refugees tomorrow, please help ask around for us. Thank you.”

“Er… of course, of course. No problem at all.”

Having said this, Lu Qiao watched as the group receded into the darkness, and let out a faint breath. He had the impression that these people were, in fact, rather easy to get along with—then it occurred to him that this might simply be the natural bearing of truly formidable people. It would be best if they ended up venting their anger on Yao Yi’s side, giving him and his men a proper thrashing—that would be ideal indeed…

…

At that very moment, if we shift our gaze further north, to the valley where the many refugees had made their camp, a number of campfires were still burning. In the darkness there, Xiao Chan sat on the grass, arms wrapped around her knees, her gaze faintly sorrowful as she watched the distant figure by the campfire. Another woman’s figure, meanwhile, was walking that way carrying a cup of water.

There were things she didn’t understand, and even the things she thought she understood faintly, by now, had come to seem incomprehensible once more.

That morning, when the young master had been diagnosed with a critical wound on his arm and the physician had rushed to treat him as an emergency, she, along with Juan’er, Xing’er, and the others, had been forcibly sent ahead with the departing group by their mistress. She had been so heartbroken she had nearly burst out sobbing, but it hadn’t been the time for crying, and so she had held it in.

In the afternoon, when the young master and mistress had caught up with them, she had been overjoyed. But along the way, she had asked around and learned that the young master’s wound was very serious. And yet, the moment they arrived, the young master had thrown himself right back into work—all manner of things, going around persuading the wealthy merchants to offer up gold and silver as bait, gathering veteran soldiers and hunters to ask them about every kind of situation—and it had gone on straight through into the night, without stopping. The young master had stayed by the campfire the whole time, asking questions, occasionally pausing to think, pacing back and forth, but for the most part sitting with paper and map, writing and marking things down.

Illness and injury tend to slow a person’s thinking, and the young master’s condition didn’t seem to be improving much either, but from beginning to end, he never once stopped. Every so often he asked for the young mistress’s opinion, and he kept writing, kept thinking, long after everyone he’d been questioning had already gone to sleep.

It wasn’t as though she couldn’t understand at all why the young master was doing all this, but something kept nagging at her heart: the young master’s wound was too severe—he wouldn’t be able to hold up under this…

She wanted to go over and say something, to try to persuade him, but she could never quite work up the courage. This time, even the young mistress hadn’t tried to talk him out of it—she simply stayed by his side, watching, saying almost nothing, most of the time, quiet. Perhaps that was what it meant for husband and wife to be truly of one mind. She envied how well the young mistress and young master understood each other—but still… the young master wouldn’t be able to hold up…

Just now, she had brought over a cup of water, having almost worked up the courage to overstep her place as a maid and beg the young master to rest for a while, but the young mistress, passing by, had taken the cup from her hands instead. Perhaps seeing the look on her face, the young mistress had given a faint shake of her head, embraced her briefly, and then carried the cup over herself. Coming back here, unable to bring herself to sleep, she watched the young mistress and young master sitting side by side over there, and hugging her knees, pressed her lips against them, weeping quietly, stifling every sound.

The firelight crackled, sending up a haze of glowing motes. Within that glow, Ning Yi tilted his face upward, thinking carefully for a moment, then bent his head down again and continued writing and marking on the paper. The night, perhaps, was still long…

…

That night, Ning Yi did, in the end, manage to sleep. When he woke the next day, he picked right back up with the previous day’s planning and calculations. As the refugees broke camp and changed course, he continued thinking it through on horseback, sometimes discussing things with Su Tan’er, handing over his thoughts for her to review, and along the way, asking one person after another about various matters. It wasn’t until evening that he finally handed a rough outline of his plan over to Chen Xingdu—certain details would still need revision by someone who truly understood military matters, and in the end it might not even be accepted at all, but for now, this was as far as he could take it.

While some of the others discussed matters in the tents they had just pitched, Ning Yi and Su Tan’er rode a single horse over to a nearby hillside, where a winding waterway curved along the far side of the slope. The sun was setting in the west, casting golden light over the mountains and the water; below, the surface rippled with light, and wildflowers bloomed beautifully across the hillside.

Ning Yi dismounted and reached up to help Su Tan’er down, but in the process, though he managed to keep his wife steady, he himself stumbled back several steps, and the two of them tumbled down onto the grassy slope. His strength still held up enough that, even falling, he made sure Su Tan’er wasn’t jolted too badly. The two of them lay there afterward, laughing softly.

Looking up, on this evening of the ninth day, wild geese flew across the sky; the clouds that day were beautiful, like pure white cotton. Ning Yi spread his arms wide, while Su Tan’er gently rested her hands over her belly, the two of them looking, in that moment, like a pair of children.

The two children lay there for a good while before one of them finally spoke…