“So, when you first arrived, the first thing they asked you was whether you’d eaten yet…” In a spacious, elegantly furnished hall, a middle-aged woman dressed in red sipped her tea and looked up. “And so you ended up eating lunch at his home.”
It was afternoon; sunlight poured brightly down into the courtyard through the skylight above. Along the eaves near this hall, the guards standing watch were all women soldiers. The middle-aged woman wasn’t especially beautiful — somewhere in her thirties, sturdily built and tall, dressed now in red robes that resembled a general’s battle cloak, carrying a distinctly heroic bearing. An Xifu, dressed entirely in black, stood at the entrance to the hall and cupped his hands. “Er… reporting to the Marshal… yes, that’s correct.”
“You can just call me Aunt Baihua.” This middle-aged woman was none other than Fang La’s younger sister, Fang Baihua — now the field marshal commanding the northwestern front of Fang La’s forces. Highly skilled in martial arts, she had originally been a Sacred Maiden of the Manichaean sect that Fang La led, and after so many campaigns, even as a woman, she carried no shortage of imposing authority and killing intent about her. But at the moment a faint smile showed on her face, softening her expression somewhat; she set down her teacup and waved a hand. “I thought you’d come by at noon, so I had the kitchen prepare food. Xi… Qianqian had business to attend to and couldn’t make it either. What did you think of him?”
“Composed. Not one for many words, but his bearing and manner left quite an impression.”
“If Qianqian thinks so highly of him, he must indeed be worthwhile. Did you two discuss anything in particular?”
“I… asked him for his thoughts on how the war might have unfolded after the battle at Huzhou, had he not been wounded and left unconscious.”
“And his answer?”
“He didn’t answer directly. He only said that a battlefield changes by the moment, that he’d already done everything within his power at the time, and that if he hadn’t been able to annihilate the enemy completely, there was nothing left to do but proceed step by step, seeking only to survive and make his way back to Huzhou.”
Fang Baihua nodded. “A rather measured answer. What he did at Huzhou was a gamble, putting himself in a position with no way out but forward — a desperate scholar pushed to the edge will do such things, nothing too surprising about that. But I hear that during his time in Hangzhou, he very nearly managed, step by careful step, to expose Seventh Brother and the others through some scheme of his — that’s the truly remarkable skill. Well, let’s leave the matter there for now. Since Qianqian wants to make use of him, the two of you can simply keep an eye on things. Qianqian doesn’t use people blindly — I can trust her judgment on that.”
She herself was a woman with countless matters to attend to each day; she’d only asked because the affair concerned the Overlord Blade Camp. Having said this much, she let the matter drop. “I need to go see the Saintly Duke shortly. You were overseeing the campaign at Huzhou and didn’t come back with the others — I noticed on the promotion list you were only given the rank of Vice General. I intend to raise you a few ranks. What do you think?”
“Thank you for your concern, Aunt Baihua, but I command only the three hundred men of the Black Feather Guard — my rank makes little difference either way.”
“The Black Feather Guard oversees military discipline; they’re an elite force, and you are one of my own people besides. A higher rank suits both reason and propriety, especially with all the recent troubles in Hangzhou. Once your Black Feather Guard returns, I intend to have the Saintly Duke place the post of Hangzhou Inspector General in your hands. A higher rank will make it easier to keep people in line — properly, by the book.”
An Xifu frowned slightly. “The matter of policing the city was previously entrusted to Chen Fan by Marshal Fo. Chen Fan has handled it quite well. If it were handed to me instead, I’m afraid…”
Fang Baihua waved a hand. “Chen Fan gets things done, and he can hold the overall situation together — but he pays far too little attention to the smaller details, and he’s likely made enemies of no small number of people by now. Now that the Saintly Duke has taken the throne — we should be calling him ‘Your Majesty’ now — we can’t very well let him keep beating and killing his way through Hangzhou indefinitely. There needs to be some proper decorum.”
As she spoke, Fang Baihua studied An Xifu’s expression, then frowned again. “I know your opinion of Grandmaster Bao as well. I know the man too — he’s always been somewhat unruly, fond of beautiful women, fond of wealth, that much is true. But we rose up, killed, rebelled, and carved out our own territory — who among us hasn’t done the same, more or less? A few rough edges here and there are nothing unusual. In the old days of conquest, when a city fell, we’d let the men run free for three days — take what needed taking, seize what needed seizing. Now that the throne’s been established, there ought to be some proper standards, but those standards need to be built up gradually.”
She smiled after that. “I know how Chen Fan is — fiery-tempered, seems like he doesn’t think things through, but he’s actually quite clever. The trouble is… he expects too much, thinks too highly of people. Right now you can see he’s mostly been going after Grandmaster Bao’s men, and he’s shown a fair amount of restraint about it, all things considered. But if this keeps up much longer, I’m afraid before long he really will move against Daoyi himself. Once Seventh Brother’s back, I’ll have a word with Daoyi — what he’s doing does show a certain disregard for rank and hierarchy. I’ve thought it over carefully, and in the end, you’re the one with a proper sense of measure. This matter is settled — think about how best to manage Hangzhou.”
“…Understood.” An Xifu cupped his hands and accepted the order. He had his own reservations about Bao Daoyi, to some degree, but he also understood the long history between Fang Baihua and her people and the man. Bao Daoyi had originally been a leader within the Manichaean sect, and now stood as one of the largest factions under Fang La’s banner, his followers a mixed bag from every walk of life. But back in the days of the Manichaean movement, he’d forged a bond of shared life-and-death struggle with Fang La and Fang Baihua both — and though everyone knew perfectly well he was no particularly good man, within Fang La’s ranks, apart from Fang Qifo and a handful of others, there really was no one who could touch him.
He understood what Fang Baihua had in mind. Compared to Chen Fan, he himself — at the very least on the matter of “not touching Bao Daoyi” — was probably better suited to maintaining order in Hangzhou. There was simply no way he himself could ever move against Bao Daoyi. As for Chen Fan, though the man would keep telling himself over and over, “Can’t touch Bao Daoyi, can’t touch Bao Daoyi” — it seemed entirely possible that, at some point, he’d end up unable to help himself and take a millstone to Bao Daoyi’s head anyway — though, admittedly, a part of An Xifu genuinely wanted to see that happen.
With that matter settled, they exchanged a few more of the usual pleasantries. Fang Baihua asked after An Xifu’s family — his wife and concubines — then said, “Xifu, as I mentioned before — my niece, A’Qiao, has admired you for quite some time now. What do you say — shall we find a time for the two of you to meet properly?”
An Xifu, expressionless, cupped his hands after a moment. “I already have a wife and two concubines at home. I feel it’s already more than enough trouble to manage as it is.”
Fang Baihua laughed. “If the woman holds sway over the man, then one wife is plenty. But if the man holds sway over the woman, then three wives, four concubines, it makes no difference at all. If you find it troublesome, just send the others away. What do you say — A’Qiao is very well regarded in the army these days, and the men under her command…”
She had always been forthright by nature. Her own late husband had been a scholar; Fang Baihua, being the stronger personality of the two, had always managed household affairs herself — very much the dominant party — though toward her husband she’d remained quite gentle and considerate, handling everything both inside and outside the household on her own. Still, like most ordinary households, she held fairly typical patriarchal views on such matters, and took it entirely for granted that a genuinely capable man ought to have three wives and four concubines. She went on describing her niece’s various virtues, with something of the flavor of “if she’s fond of you, just take her in casually as a concubine, scold her or beat her as you please.” An Xifu listened for a bit and finally replied: “She looks like a cow.”
“Er…” Fang Baihua considered this. “Well, we can discuss it another time, then.”
After a few more remarks, as An Xifu prepared to take his leave, Fang Baihua said, “As for that matter with Ning Liheng — he’s technically one of the Saintly Duke’s subjects now. When the banquet for the hundred officials comes around in a few days, it wouldn’t hurt to arrange a seat for him. For one thing, it puts an end to any thought he might have of switching back to the other side; for another, I’d like to see for myself just what sort of man he really is. Go on now — and if you find him worth associating with, feel free to mention the matter to him yourself.”
…
Without any need for An Xifu to inform him, or for Fang Baihua to make any arrangements, Ning Yi had already learned of the upcoming banquet for the hundred officials that Fang La was to hold in a few days’ time.
He had a seat reserved for him.
Though his joining the Overlord Blade Camp hadn’t been made much of a public matter, once Fang La had established the rough outline of his new court, Liu Xigua’s side had gone ahead and arranged an official post for him regardless. The rank itself was naturally not high, and rather vague besides — nominally “Clerk of the Overlord Blade Camp,” originally said to be ninth rank. Today, when told to prepare to attend the upcoming banquet, Liu Xigua had casually bumped it up to seventh rank on the spot. In short, still a minor official post, not one worth throwing one’s weight around with.
Ranks within Fang La’s system carried little real weight at present, but the banquet for the hundred officials on the twentieth of the eighth month was, by comparison, a relatively formal affair — reportedly to be attended by officials and commanders of every rank currently in Hangzhou, and for people like Liu Xigua’s faction, they could bring along whatever number of their own people they pleased. All told, the final count would likely reach four or five hundred people. This was to be Fang La’s first formal banquet since his enthronement, and if the imperial court had planted any spies among those in attendance, everyone present would, in all likelihood, be formally recorded for the occasion.
This was, in fact, a fairly serious matter — but for Ning Yi, it came as something of a relief. He had originally worried that if Liu Xigua made a great show of his joining her ranks, there would be no washing the matter clean afterward, and the entire Su family might well end up implicated as a result. Fortunately, she hadn’t done that; he could only be thankful, for now, that she’d underestimated whatever forces he might still have at his back. With his connections through Kang Xian and Qin Siyuan, so long as the matter stayed at this level, it should still be possible to keep things contained. If it climbed a few ranks higher than this, however, that would be another matter entirely.
Having entertained An Xifu at midday, he made his way that afternoon to Liu Xigua’s residence. There wasn’t much of substance to discuss today; Liu Xigua wished him a happy Mid-Autumn Festival, told him about the upcoming banquet, and handed over some holiday provisions — half a pound of meat, a fish, and a few eggs. Supplies within the Overlord Blade Camp weren’t especially plentiful these days; from what Ning Yi understood, Liu Xigua herself lived rather frugally, so meat and eggs together counted as a fairly generous gesture on her part.
He collected the goods from the storehouse, and as he passed a side corridor, a voice suddenly spoke: “Qin Huai — a fellow chess enthusiast.” The meat in Ning Yi’s hand fell to the ground. He glanced sideways and saw that the door to a nearby room had opened a crack, someone speaking from within. He took a slow breath, and as he bent down to pick up the meat, he glanced around behind him — perhaps because everyone had gone off to collect their own holiday provisions today, this small courtyard had briefly emptied out. Now that he’d formally joined the Overlord Blade Camp, the men who’d once followed him around — A’Chang, A’Ming, and the rest — could no longer trail after him quite the same way. But the Overlord Blade Camp had always counted among the more elite units of the rebel army; this person couldn’t possibly be one of their own, and Ning Yi had no idea how he’d managed to slip in.
As he crouched to gather the meat, he heard the man continue: “No one’s around for the moment — we can speak freely. This one is Wenren Bu’er, under orders to rescue Young Master Ning.”
Ning Yi had, of course, considered the possibility that someone from outside might come looking for him — but if the other side chose to approach him either in the small courtyard where he lived or out in the street, that would be extremely dangerous either way. Even so, risky as this was, it left him somewhat relieved all the same. His thoughts raced. “It’s not possible for the moment. How many people know about me?”
“Strict orders from above — this had to be handled personally by myself, so as not to risk endangering the young master’s position through any misstep. For now, I alone know.”
This bore all the hallmarks of a seasoned hand like Old Master Qin or Kang Xian at work. Ning Yi finally allowed himself to relax somewhat. “Keep this quiet. Hold your position. Don’t attempt contact with me again for at least a month.” He said this quietly, then walked briskly away.
Having someone reach out to attempt a rescue was both a good thing and a bad one. He still remembered vividly the last time — how he’d designed a scheme to capture Fang Qifo and the others, only for the whole plan to unravel the moment a spy was caught. This time, at least, seemed considerably more reliable. Still, the circle of people he’d made contact with in recent days remained small; he hadn’t truly integrated himself into Hangzhou society yet, which meant there was no realistic way for the other side to actually get him out — and the risk of even making contact with him at all remained extremely high.
To handle this properly, over the coming month he’d need to start going out more, expanding his circle of contacts, and start stirring the waters up a little…