Autumn rain fell endlessly, settling into every courtyard in sight.
Incense burned in the room, a bamboo curtain dividing the space down the middle. By the window on this side of the curtain, at a long table, Ning Yi sat marking figures with a writing brush; he glanced up briefly at the sheet of rain outside, then set the ledger he’d finished aside.
There weren’t many ledgers left on the table. It wasn’t yet halfway through the hour of wei — in later terms, not quite two in the afternoon — and already more than half had been dealt with. Beyond the bamboo curtain, someone seemed to be doing the same sort of work; before long, a woman’s laughter drifted through. “Heh heh.”
The laugh wasn’t loud, as though she’d seen or thought of something amusing and simply laughed quietly to herself. Ning Yi, bent over his brush, paid it no mind — until, a moment later, the woman behind the curtain gave another soft chuckle, as if to prompt a response. Only then did Ning Yi close the ledger in his hands, set it aside, and ask casually, “What has my liege found so amusing?”
“A few days ago, a stone was brought down from the mountains — bluish-grey, quite handsome-looking…”
Her voice wasn’t loud, and trailed off partway through. Ning Yi, by now used to this, didn’t answer, resting his chin on one hand while holding his brush in the other, studying the figures on the page. After a moment, another line came through.
“I thought I might have it carved into a great blade to stand by the entrance. Thinking about carving stone made me think of Wang Yin — you’ve never met him, he’s a stonemason. I think if I asked him for help, he’d probably get angry about it. And if he got angry, we’d end up fighting.”
“I’m not certain I could beat him.” The figure behind the bamboo curtain gave a nod, ending the exchange there, and bent back down to writing. Ning Yi, still writing himself, arched an eyebrow. “As for the fighting part, I could probably lend a hand with that.”
“Mm.” The woman showed no particular reaction, only fell quiet for a moment — presumably blinking behind the curtain — before nodding. “That would be excellent, then.”
“Tch. Naturally excellent…”
There was a faint air of affected literary flourish in one voice, while the other was largely just idle small talk, tossed out for its own sake. In this room with the rain falling outside, Liu Dabiao — who by now carried the title of “liege” — apparently felt it wasn’t wise to let the silence drag on too long, and would occasionally speak up on a whim. Her sense of humor was rather peculiar, often landing on things others wouldn’t find funny at all — it was said that the few scholars who’d previously handled affairs for her in the Overlord Blade Camp had, whenever this happened, only found the silence growing even more awkward as a result.
Ning Yi was somewhat different. Granted, the first few times he’d encountered this, he too had needed a moment to recover — but he’d since come to understand that she was simply trying to put her subordinates at ease, to lighten the mood a little, and so he’d taken to nodding along and offering a few words in response.
Both of them, in their own ways, were rather unusual people when it came to dealing with others. Liu Dabiao told her little jokes because she felt a superior owed her hardworking subordinates some measure of relaxed atmosphere — though she never deliberately aimed for actual comedic effect; she simply said what occurred to her, and whether it landed or not was entirely up to the listener. Ning Yi, for his part, was sometimes calculating in how he dealt with others, and at other times entirely indifferent to whether they could follow along at all. Between their exchanges — sometimes idle nonsense tossed out at random, sometimes simply talking to himself — the large rainy room took on a faintly cool, detached sort of atmosphere.
Because of this exchange, the room fell quiet again for a good while. A maidservant in plain black-and-white clothing brought in tea, passed beneath the eaves, and quietly withdrew again.
“That batch of military supplies got sold off the way you suggested a few days ago. We didn’t buy much grain from Zhou Pingfu — half of it’s already been transported back, but it’s probably still not enough. Food is always the real problem… A little while back, from July into the start of this month, this many ledgers used to come in every day too, and I’d start reading through them each afternoon, asking people questions as I went, and wouldn’t finish until it was time to light the lamps. It’s still this many now, and yet less than an hour’s gone by and I’m nearly done. I think I’m starting to grow lazy — thinking back on it, this seems to have started happening only these past few days…”
Her tone was flat and matter-of-fact, carrying little evident emotion. Ning Yi had only actually seen the girl behind the curtain a handful of times — in the streets of Hangzhou wearing a wide hat and folk-style dress, later in Taiping Alley, and once, faintly, through her veil when he’d fired his spear at her. It was hard to reconcile any of those images with this present figure behind the curtain, imitating a man’s tone and manner of thinking.
But over these past days of contact, he’d come to see that the girl behind the curtain carried a considerable presence in this particular mode of hers. On one hand, there was that eager, diligent-student manner about her; on the other, various quirks in how she handled things that could seem, in certain respects, almost childish. And yet, clearly through long cultivation, this pattern of behavior had settled into a distinct and recognizable character of its own — evident, at the very least, in how the members of the Overlord Blade Camp responded to her. Toward this young woman who had inherited her father’s legacy, there was a widespread sense of loyalty and admiration among them. The former might be attributed to whatever cohesion her father had built and left behind, but the latter was by no means so simple — the confidence and reliance people placed in her could only have been earned through a long, sustained record of getting things right, without any serious missteps along the way.
He closed the ledger in front of him. “Is my liege dissatisfied with something?”
“A few days ago, when Teacher Ning was handling these matters, the questions he asked and the things he said were quite thought-provoking. But looking back over the last two days, the way he’s been handling things has turned out remarkably conservative. Following the rules to the letter, no real flashes of brilliance to speak of. If that’s all it amounts to, I could have simply had anyone handle it. So why did I bother requesting Teacher Ning specifically? I’d like Teacher Ning to enlighten me.”
Ning Yi glanced her way. “At the start, one has to sell oneself a little — say a few impressive things, leave an impression. But when it comes to actually doing the work, what matters most is the rules, not flashes of brilliance. In a stronghold with a few thousand people, how many truly major events can there really be? The rules already exist; hand things down to the people below and let them follow precedent. If every single matter has to be carefully weighed and deliberated, over the long run, personal sentiment ends up corroding the rules — and that’s far worse.”
“So you’re saying…” The girl behind the curtain paused briefly, seeming somewhat displeased. “That these past few years, personally overseeing every matter, handling everything myself — that’s actually made me a fool?”
“Having that kind of dedication and putting it to use in this way is admirable. Why not put it to use somewhere else?”
“Why can’t it be used here?”
“Compared to others, you’ve done remarkably well, certainly. But I’ve looked over how you handled things a couple of years back — some fellow in the stronghold deserves a good position, you’d have to think it over carefully; someone else married a wife, you’d want to know where she was from and take an interest. It’s certainly thorough handling of affairs — more thorough than I could manage myself, I’ll admit. Even though you rarely show yourself directly, everyone knows just how much careful thought you’ve put into things, and they’re grateful to you for it. The stronghold does have more warmth to it, more human feeling, than most other places. But when human feeling starts to override the rules — when people do good, knowing you’re there quietly backing them up, that’s one thing. But what about when they do wrong? They stop thinking about the rules at all, and start thinking only about how you’ll handle it once you find out. Someone with a record of good service gets into trouble, and you can’t bear to punish them properly, want to show them leniency instead — after that, who’s going to bother following the rules anymore? This kind of thing has happened more than a few times these past few years…”
The voice behind the curtain cut Ning Yi off, flat and firm: “The law is never separate from human feeling. The people in my stronghold — I treat them like my own brothers and sisters. Under the Saintly Duke’s banner, they fight the most fiercely of anyone, charge at the very front, shed the most blood of anyone. In all the martial world of the south, no one dares cross the people of my Overlord Blade Manor. Everyone’s happy with this arrangement, they live well. They may not see me directly, but whatever I do for them, they see it all the same. If all that mattered were the rules, sooner or later I’d find myself abandoned by everyone I once trusted.”
The first half of what she said carried a faint edge of anger; by the end, though, her voice had settled, simply laying out her own view of things plainly. Ning Yi smiled. “Human feeling and rules both need to exist. There’s nowhere in the world entirely free of human feeling. But a stronghold needs rules, just as a nation needs laws. Let me tell you the simplest way to judge whether a place is healthy: when someone runs into a conflict, commits some offense, and wants to resolve it — does their first instinct lead them to the rules, or does it lead them to go find someone with influence to speak up on their behalf? That ratio alone tells you everything. If people only ever think of the rules, always wanting to take everything to court, then the place has no human warmth left in it at all — though, to be honest, I’ve never actually seen or heard of a place like that. But if people only ever think of finding some particular person to intervene, then the law has effectively become meaningless. To properly manage this stronghold, you need both. As things stand now, the more deaths, the more incidents pile up, the more everyone looks to you — and all that really happens is that you work yourself half to death for nothing…”
On and on it went, back and forth, the rain still falling outside as the two of them argued the point at considerable length, ultimately without reaching any real resolution. Having spent these past days reviewing various records, asking questions, learning about various matters, Ning Yi had come away rather impressed by just how much thought and care Liu Dabiao — the girl behind the curtain — had poured into this stronghold. Few people could match that level of dedication.
In this age, whether governing a mountain stronghold or ruling the empire itself, in the end, human feeling still tended to outweigh formal rules. That his own modern mindset — rooted in a system of checks and balances entirely foreign to this era — would fail to be readily accepted was only natural. But theory was one thing; results were what mattered in practice. Over these past days, Ning Yi’s seemingly conservative but genuinely clean and efficient methods of handling and organizing matters had, in fact, brought considerable relief to a Liu Dabiao who’d until recently been run entirely ragged trying to keep up. This much, the girl behind the curtain understood perfectly well herself. And so, after debating the point at length from every angle, she finally gave a cold little huff. “I’ll think over what you’ve said.” And with that, she fell into a sulky silence. Ning Yi, for his part, pursed his lips slightly and returned to the work he’d nearly finished.
After a while, the voice behind the curtain spoke again. “I hear that these past few days, Teacher Ning has been making acquaintances outside — some sort of social engagement every day?”
Ning Yi considered this, then nodded. “Mm. Since I’m going to be settled here for a while, it seems worthwhile to get to know some people.”
“I’d assumed you’d simply stay within the Overlord Blade Camp, not get entangled in outside matters — that would have been fine too. But now you’re out there meeting people, and the sort you’re associating with are all rather mixed company…”
“Mostly merchants,” Ning Yi corrected mildly.
Liu Xigua gave a soft snort. “Either way, they’re not people especially worth cultivating. Steward Liu says you’re deliberately tarnishing your own reputation. I’ve told you before — now that you’ve joined my Overlord Blade Camp, I can guarantee your safety. You’ve handled a great deal for me lately, and I’m grateful for it. You don’t need to do things you don’t want to do. If you’d rather not, for the banquet the day after tomorrow, just say you’re ill — I’ll allow you to skip it.”
Hearing her say this, Ning Yi blinked with a certain wry amusement. Over these past three or four days since Mid-Autumn, he’d begun going out to make acquaintances, taking part in a few minor social engagements. In present-day Hangzhou, with all manner of jianghu figures and people from every walk of life converging on the city, such opportunities weren’t hard to come by. But once one began mingling and building relationships with the people around here, one would inevitably, gradually, get drawn further into this particular circle — much like attending the banquet for the hundred officials. Once he was formally marked and recorded by the authorities, he, as a mere scholar, would have no way of extricating himself if trouble ever arose down the line.
If he’d simply refused, from the start, to associate with anyone connected to Fang La’s system, he could certainly maintain a certain aloof integrity — but it would also make it very difficult for anyone to genuinely trust him. Actively going out to build relationships with all sorts of people was, in effect, the equivalent of pledging his loyalty. Liu Dabiao’s term for it — “self-tarnishing” — wasn’t entirely accurate, perhaps, but the underlying meaning was clear enough regardless. Ning Yi found himself feeling a certain admiration for this girl. Naturally, he laughed and insisted on continuing as planned; she didn’t press the matter further, only giving a light snort. “Suit yourself, then.”
Though the two of them now conversed and debated with each other daily, it could hardly be called genuine closeness between them. Before long, having finished their work and exchanged a few more remarks, Ning Yi rose to take his leave; the voice behind the curtain reminded him to take an umbrella with him. Once Ning Yi had left, someone entered through the side door — a tall, imposingly built man, none other than Liu Tiannan, the chief steward of the Overlord Blade Camp. Back before Hangzhou had fallen, he had entered the city together with Liu Xigua and had a passing acquaintance with Ning Yi; at one point, he had even been mistaken for Liu Dabiao herself. He’d waited outside the side door for a while as Ning Yi was in the room, and now that he entered, it was mainly to ask about the various daily affairs of the Overlord Blade Camp.
With Fang La’s uprising underway, the Overlord Blade Manor’s family and elderly members were now scattered between the manor itself and Hangzhou, while the truly able-bodied young fighters remained at Jiaxing, still engaged in the fighting there. Reports of all sorts of matters, large and small, came in every day, and with Liu Xigua’s habit of insisting on handling everything herself, combined with her recent injury, she was constantly worn thin from the exhaustion of it all. Liu Tiannan could see this plainly and felt a growing sense of concern. But the girl held herself to extremely strict standards, treating this kind of thing as a test of her own worth, and even when Liu Tiannan wanted to offer a word of advice, she would simply brush past it.
Liu Tiannan was, in truth, a fairly shrewd man himself — a veteran of the Overlord Blade Camp, formidable in martial skill, commanding in bearing, and by no means lacking in administrative ability either. Otherwise, the original Liu Dabiao would never have entrusted him with the position of chief steward, naming him guardian of his daughter’s legacy. But there had simply been too much to handle lately; even with both him and Liu Xigua putting in their utmost effort, there was still no shortage of work to keep them busy each day. Ever since this Ning Liheng had arrived, though, directing things here and there — “you go here,” “you go there” — the situation seemed to have eased considerably, and Liu Tiannan had taken note of it.
“Speaking of which, this Teacher Ning really does seem to be a man of genuine talent and learning. Back in Hangzhou, seeing how formidable he was in a fight, and then leading his men in that breakout at Huzhou — bold and resourceful both — I’d rather assumed he’d be the free-spirited, unrestrained sort. But watching him these past days, he handles matters with far more order and method than even those old scholarly types manage. Ha! My lady, if this man truly comes over to our side wholeheartedly, we’ve genuinely found ourselves a treasure.”
“And if it’s not wholehearted, what of it?” The girl sat on the large bed, holding a small stone which she flicked with a finger — it struck the window with a sharp crack, popping it open. “He’s out making a great many acquaintances now. If we’re ever defeated down the road, and the imperial court comes hunting through the wreckage, someone will surely point a finger at him. I had him attend the banquet for the hundred officials, and he understood exactly what that meant — that’s why he’s started doing all this.”
“That does seem… rather decisive of him.” Liu Tiannan frowned slightly. He’d seen men who’d rather die than yield, and he’d seen men who clung desperately to life out of fear — but whatever Ning Yi was doing, it didn’t seem to carry much emotion behind it at all, one way or the other. That, somehow, struck him as a little strange.
“He follows the rules in everything. We came and attacked, he helped the court fight against us; he was captured, and he started helping us instead. I told him to attend the banquet for the hundred officials, and he knew there was no way around it, so he simply committed to it fully. It’s been the same with how he’s handled everything these past days — he understands what needs to be done, and he does it, without concerning himself with what he might actually want. But having come this far, he must also understand by now that there’s no turning back for him.” Liu Xigua thought it over for a moment. “…A dull man.”
Everyone in this world holds to their own convictions, chases their own desires. Under the Saintly Duke’s banner there were plenty of bad men, full of selfish ambition, harboring filthy thoughts and doing filthy things. But there were also people worth admiring, even when their beliefs and convictions differed from her own — Marshal Fo, who exhausted himself utterly for the sake of this cause; Lou Minzhong, who longed to leave behind a name that would echo through the ages; Chen Fan, who seemed reckless on the surface but was in fact meticulous underneath, a man of fierce and fiery temperament when it came to matters that mattered to him; An Xifu, cold and detached by nature, capable of cutting down his own men on the battlefield like so much grass, and yet possessed of his own quiet efforts and convictions all the same.
She remembered first learning, back in Hangzhou, of this man Ning Liheng who had set traps against the court on their behalf, and later, in Taiping Alley, watching him blow the entire street to rubble, single-handedly leaving her and Shi Bao and the others with absolutely no way to counter him — and then, later still, the sheer spectacle of his counterattack at Huzhou. She’d thought, perhaps, that this man might be some free and unrestrained romantic figure, the sort who settles every matter with a laugh and a few words, like the legendary Sleeping Dragon her father used to tell her stories about as a child. But now, watching him, it seemed the man simply didn’t take any of it particularly to heart at all.
What mattered most to him was the rules — what one should do, rather than what one personally wanted to do. She had attacked, and to save himself, he’d nearly blown all of them to pieces along with everyone else; at Huzhou, among the fleeing refugees, he’d manipulated the desperate remnants of the defeated army into rising up and cutting down over three thousand of her own men; once captured, when she’d asked him to work for her, he’d found no way around it, and so he simply did as asked; when she told him to attend the banquet for the hundred officials, he understood the matter was unavoidable, and so he simply went out and started building connections with everyone, even though it clearly wasn’t something he actually enjoyed doing — if her own life were lived this way, what meaning would there even be left in it?
As she thought this through, Liu Tiannan, sensing her train of thought, laughed. “If he were really so interesting a man, we probably wouldn’t be able to get him to work for us at all.”
“Mm…” Liu Xigua nodded. But some part of her still wished he could be a little more interesting after all — not necessarily this thoroughly resigned to it. She’d originally devised any number of approaches to bring him around, whether by breaking his will or by winning him over through genuine feeling, and in the end he’d simply agreed readily enough. Naturally, she should have taken this as a sign he understood how things worked. But over these past few days, sensing this particular quality in him, it felt somehow like swinging a blade and striking nothing but empty air — she couldn’t help finding the whole thing a little dull.
Still, never mind — a man like this was exactly what the stronghold needed most. So long as he continued doing his work well going forward, she would, of course, treat him fairly as the head of the manor, and never shortchange him. As for everything else, it hardly mattered.
Of course, she genuinely wanted to know what this man truly wanted for himself. But there was no rush for that — it could wait, and unfold slowly in its own time…
Her curiosity, she decided, ended here for now. She already understood what kind of man he was; going forward, there probably wasn’t much more worth digging into… Or so she told herself.