August passed in the blink of an eye.

As deep autumn set in, the leaves of Hangzhou fell, piling up layer upon layer along the roads, and the wind had turned mild and cool.

In years past, this was the most pleasant season in the Jiangnan region — Hangzhou’s merchants gathered in crowds, the city bustling and prosperous, people calling out to friends and setting off on outings, poetry gatherings among the literati never ceasing in the city, as if even the banners hanging from teahouses and taverns were steeped in the fragrance of ink, while the pleasure houses rang with song and dance through the night.

“For now, we’ll just have to make do.”

Setting down the stone roller he used to exercise his body, Chen Fan clapped his hands and let out a breath. It was still morning; the bare-chested man had finished his routine training and was putting his clothes back on. Sunlight poured down, and leaves fell in the wind.

As the disciple of Fang Qifo — a man second only to Fang La himself within Fang La’s army — Chen Fan had, until recently, been in charge of security for the entire city of Hangzhou. Yet the courtyard where this man named Chen Fan lived was far from luxurious. Part of the courtyard wall even had a gap in it, only partially repaired, with earthen bricks and tiles still piled in the corner, clearly untouched for a long while.

Those who knew him well were generally aware of how simply Chen Fan lived — or, to put it more bluntly, as those closer to him might say, how crudely he lived. He paid little attention to the details of everyday life; his greatest interests were arguing with people, picking fights, or brawling. He had no family of his own. The three servants in his courtyard were, in fact, a family unto themselves — put simply, an old man, an old woman, and their daughter, a stout, limping woman in her forties who had lost her husband. The three of them had relied on Chen Fan’s household for shelter for several years now. Although called servants, to outsiders it looked more like Chen Fan had simply found people to share a household and get by together.

So for someone who always lived a “make-do” kind of life to complain about having to “make do” now really left him little standing to say so. An Xifu, who had come to find him, was chewing on a wrap and looked rather unimpressed.

“Life’s still pretty good. Just in the southern part of the city today there are three poetry gatherings — it’s quite fun watching those scholars compete. I heard the girls at the House of the Literary Lord aren’t bad; they’re picking a new reigning beauty right now, and they’re really putting on a show. There’s one called… Ye Zhi or Ye Jun, I think — every night a whole crowd of generals go to cheer her on. You’ve got no chance there, but if you know someone, you could tag along and get a look.”

“Finding an excuse for everyone to fight over a woman and start a brawl — now that would be interesting.”

“Everyone knows your temperament. No one’s going to fight you over it. You kept talking about the war up north before — why have you stopped?”

“It’s almost over, isn’t it.” Having gotten dressed, Chen Fan went to the well for a few mouthfuls of water, then took a wrap stuffed with cucumber and meat and bit into it with gusto. “Besides… what’s going on at Wenlie Academy lately is a lot more interesting.”

“You’re actually taking a bunch of children’s business seriously.”

An Xifu hesitated for a moment, then laughed.

“It’s different, it’s really interesting… and I’m not talking about that group of kids, I mean that Ning Liheng.”

An Xifu sighed. “I believe you. Do you believe yourself?”

“Ha, I believe it.”

The two men, who were on fairly close terms, chatted as they walked toward the courtyard gate. Just as they were about to step out, they ran into the limping, stout aunt from Chen Fan’s household coming in. Chen Fan waved the wrap in his hand. “Auntie Yu, if you’ve got time this morning, take a sack of grain from the storeroom over to the academy to have it milled. If you’re late, you might miss your turn.”

“Yes, young master,” Auntie Yu answered properly. “I’ll take a few sacks and get it all done today.”

“No, others need it too. Take your time.”

The autumn sky was high and the air crisp; everything in sight seemed to carry a hint of ease. The two young officers of Fang La’s army chatted as they made their way toward Fine Willow Street, not far off, where the Overlord Blade Camp was stationed. Wenlie Academy sat midway along the street, and as they passed it Chen Fan pointed things out along the way. An Xifu knew he had recently taken quite an interest in what was happening among the children at the academy.

As for An Xifu, ever since taking over Chen Fan’s former post, he had been constantly busy. His visit today was also to discuss some matters with Steward Liu Tiannan of the Overlord Blade Camp.

Hangzhou was now a city under the occupation of the rebel army. When peasants rise up, they call it carrying out the will of Heaven, but in truth it amounts to little more than burning, killing, and plundering. An army accustomed to taking everything by force was like a wildfire — expecting them to settle down and behave, to abide by rules, was simply impossible. Hangzhou was wealthy, like a pile of dry kindling and stacked coal; if the lawlessness were allowed to continue, it wouldn’t take half a month before everything was burned to ash. Even if Fang La himself gave the order, it couldn’t be stopped.

When Chen Fan had used his fists to make his point, his goal had been to make those who had truly gone too far rein themselves in, so that more people would at least have a way to survive — though survival was as much as he could promise. An Xifu was much the same, but he lacked the kind of backing Chen Fan had. Even though he had killed countless men on the battlefield under military law, behind his back people didn’t take this quiet young officer very seriously — what people truly feared was the shadow of Fang Baihua standing behind him.

To enforce military law, one needed to be cold, impartial, and without bias. An Xifu had never cultivated many connections; Fang Baihua treated him kindly, but he understood in his heart that this wasn’t something he could openly use as leverage. His position within the army was, in truth, very different from Chen Fan’s — the generals who truly had men and territory under them were mostly beyond his reach. And yet, in just over ten days, he had managed, through another method, to burn the name “An Xifu” into the minds of many who paid attention to such things.

Chen Fan’s method had always been to pick a few particularly egregious offenders at key points and beat them without mercy, even to death, to make an example of them — so that everyone would understand he was a madman, and understand exactly what he was after. An Xifu, though he had cut down countless men on the battlefield, had no way to go around Hangzhou hacking people down at will. In these ten-odd days, the way he made people remember him was this: whenever someone crossed the line, he moved immediately — if he couldn’t touch the one at the top, he’d arrest those beneath.

Most of these cases involved things people simply couldn’t stomach — obstructing the grain transport routes, killing for property, armed clashes resulting in death. Though An Xifu seemed mild-mannered when dealing with people, once someone was caught by the Black Feather Guard, more than seventy percent of them had no way out. Those with backers would call on them for help — early enough, and the person might still be pulled out — but An Xifu released people without hesitation; wait even a little too long, and the person would likely already be dead. It was still the stern, rigorous style of the military law division. This quiet young man would even apologize politely to people, no matter who came to make trouble with him, he’d apologize — but in the end, no one dared draw a blade in front of the Black Feather Guard who enforced military law. In half a month, the Black Feather Guard had executed over a hundred people, and people finally came to understand: once you fell into this young man’s hands, you’d likely have to “cherish your blessings” indeed, for there’d be little chance of more.

They asked around at the gate of the Overlord Blade Camp and learned that Liu Tiannan wasn’t there that morning, so the two went to take a walk through the academy instead. Passing by the clinic next door, Chen Fan greeted a busy young girl inside dressed like a little housewife with a headscarf. The girl’s name was Xiao Chan; Chen Fan had come by several times before and knew her.

“Ning Liheng’s little wife,” he introduced her to An Xifu.

“His maid,” An Xifu corrected with a nod. “I know her.”

“Mm, and you’re the one who caught her, no less… good thing she doesn’t know that.” Chen Fan lowered his voice, then called out toward Xiao Chan, “When Auntie Yu brings the grain over later, is that… huller of yours free?”

The girl, who was inside preparing medicine, tucked back a strand of hair and nodded. “Someone’s using it. When I came out just now, they were all in there chatting.”

“Oh, then I’ll… go stake out a spot first.”

The clinic run by the Liu family mostly treated the wounded, nearly all soldiers. As Chen Fan finished speaking, a man nearby with an injured leg leaned in and patted his hand. “Hey, brother, whose woman is that? She looks really—”

Chen Fan pointed at his companion. “This is An Xifu.”

“I was asking—” The man seemed to want to press his question, but halfway through, he seemed to register the significance of the name “An Xifu,” and his expression shifted slightly. Chen Fan had already turned to leave. “That girl isn’t someone you get to think about. Ask again and I’ll kill you.”

Once they’d left the clinic, An Xifu glanced back, and Chen Fan said as they walked, “Old Man Liu has no children of his own; he takes good care of her. Ning Liheng comes by often too, says some… very interesting things about how to treat injuries. The old man doesn’t think much of him. Heh.”

An Xifu said, “I have a lot of respect for that Ning Liheng. I meant to visit him a few more times, but I’ve been too busy lately… Looks like you’re the one who comes by often.”

“That man… is interesting.” Chen Fan frowned, then nodded. “He built two things for husking rice — one’s called a huller, the other’s a winnower. At first everyone guessed they were some kind of wooden ox and flowing horse contraption… He’s a bit strange, but worth getting to know.”

Chen Fan thought about it, then nodded again and said quietly, “Also pretty frightening.”

“So I’ve heard,” An Xifu nodded. “Do they really husk rice?”

“Absolutely. That flatbread you ate earlier was made from flour ground with it. You know how hard it is to husk wheat properly — flour like that sells for a fortune on the market. Those two contraptions of his can husk it clean without any trouble at all…”

As they talked, they had already entered the academy; the sound of students reading aloud drifted faintly through the shade of the trees. The two of them passed through several courtyards, heading toward the rear of the academy. In a side room, several men and women from the Overlord Blade Camp were already seated, having arrived early. In the middle of the room, two devices were being operated by hand; the others sat about cracking melon seeds and chatting, in no particular hurry. Though Chen Fan and Liu Dabiao often clashed, he knew many people in the Overlord Blade Camp, and as he led An Xifu in, he greeted everyone.

The men and women of the manor didn’t really have much of a divide between them; though the Overlord Blade Camp had been a knife-wielding stronghold before the uprising, much of daily life there was still no different from that of a farming village. The married women, who might have been somewhat reserved before marriage, could make even the men blush once they’d married and had children — there wasn’t much distinction between men and women here either. At the moment, a group of them chattered away about small matters.

The two devices in the middle of the room — one looked like a millstone, similar in structure to a stone mill but made of bamboo and wood, the other resembled a wooden ox, a kind of winnower with a big round belly and a hand-cranked fan blade inside. One was called a huller, used to remove the husks from grain or wheat; the other a winnower, which could separate the chaff and impurities mixed in with the grain. Both had been built over the past month or so by Ning Yi and a few students.

In truth, husking rice or wheat cleanly was not easy at this time. It wasn’t impossible, but the process was extremely tedious. The south ate rice, the north wheat, and most households ate wheat that hadn’t been fully husked, cooked into what was called “wheat rice” — fragrant, but very hard to digest; a single bowl could send you running for the outhouse. Of course, while the process was complicated, it wasn’t unachievable — it simply came at a higher price. When Ning Yi had lived in Jiangning, the Su family had certainly been able to afford fine, polished rice, but even then, the flour Yun Zhu used to make pancakes still had some husk mixed in. Ning Yi had long planned to build these two devices; there had been no urgency for it back at the Su household, but these days, with time on his hands, he’d finally gotten around to making them.

Ning Yi had earlier used gunpowder to make Liu Dabiao and the others look like fools; when he wanted to build something new, no one stopped him, but naturally people paid attention. At first, when they learned about the structure of the winnower, everyone had assumed it was some kind of divine contraption like the wooden ox and flowing horse of legend. Liu Dabiao had asked around in private, and Chen Fan, hearing about it, had also grown quite curious. He’d taken an interest in Ning Yi before, but the two hadn’t had much direct contact. Later, passing by one day out of curiosity, he’d stopped to watch — being a straightforward man, he’d asked directly while Ning Yi was adjusting the two devices, and Ning Yi had explained the concept to him. Chen Fan had listened, dumbfounded; he’d originally thought this man’s strategic brilliance was such that, out in the world, he’d be a heroic figure of the first rank — never would he have guessed the man would tinker with such mundane contraptions. But as they kept talking, he found himself growing rather fond of the man.

The people of the Overlord Blade Camp had originally kept a respectful distance from this Mr. Ning; he offered strategy and helped manage affairs for the camp, and even though everyone knew this, they simply saw him as a scholar — someone to look up to, someone above them, with only Xiao Chan giving off an approachable impression. But once the huller and winnower appeared, someone had tentatively asked if they could borrow them, and Ning Yi had simply opened the place up for anyone to use.

Since they were new devices, and the huller was made of bamboo and wood, it broke down or needed adjusting several times; Ning Yi came personally to fix it, putting in real effort each time. He was mild-mannered and had a witty way of speaking, and people gradually came to see him as something like a hermit sage — still held in awe, but also familiar and dear to many by now.

Of course, what truly occupied Chen Fan’s attention wasn’t any of this, but rather certain events that had unfolded at the academy over the past half month. These things had unfolded quietly, subtly, and were quite interesting. At first, this Ning Yi had simply told stories at the academy, spoken of things resembling moral lessons — this pattern had never changed from beginning to end — but somehow, the students, most of whom had come from peasant backgrounds, had picked it up remarkably fast.

About ten days earlier, some of the children who attended Ning Yi’s lessons had done something. It started when one of the children heard about a tragedy: a soldier in the rebel army had offended a superior and ended up with his family destroyed — his wife seized and violated by the other party, nearly his whole family dead, and he himself had had a hand cut off. Honestly, since the fall of Hangzhou, incidents like this — outsiders bullying locals — were far from the only kind that occurred; most of the rebel soldiers were peasants, and once they had power, looking down on those beneath them was common enough, and such incidents were not rare. The other side had handled it cleverly, and the matter hadn’t caused much of a stir — it should have simply blown over. But this time, it caught the eyes of this group of teenagers and children.

What followed was simple enough — these children, who all had backgrounds of some kind, actually began investigating on their own. Along the way, they’d consulted Ning Yi, who offered a suggestion or two. Before long, they had, remarkably, dug up two pieces of solid evidence. The children handed the evidence over to the Black Feather Guard.

An Xifu certainly knew about this situation — that much was clear from what he’d said earlier. With the evidence in hand, An Xifu hadn’t hesitated: he arrested the deputy general under Zeng Cheng, the Flying Mountain General, one of the Eight Piebald Steeds. By the time Zeng Cheng rushed over, the deputy general’s throat had already been slit and drained of blood — supposedly a suicide. An Xifu apologized profusely; Zeng Cheng flew into a rage but in the end had no choice but to leave. As far as An Xifu was concerned, this had originally been a matter he could have handled or let slide either way.

When that man with the severed hand came to the academy, weeping and kowtowing to this group of children, and Chen Fan saw the children’s chests puffed out, their eyes bright — he knew something was going to be different from now on.

Some scholars spend their entire lives reading moral texts without ever truly knowing what morality is. But some things, once experienced even a single time, can shape the course of an entire life.

These children all came from peasant backgrounds; a few months ago, none of them would have read any moral texts — what they’d been exposed to was looting and killing, what they’d witnessed was blood and chaos. Some had blood on their own hands, some could rattle off underworld slang fluently. Even now they still couldn’t read moral texts, but after doing what they had done, even the spirit with which they spoke had changed somehow.

Chen Fan understood what this meant. At twelve, he had taken Fang Qifo as his master; at fourteen, he had killed for the first time in the name of righting a wrong, and he had seen an old woman kowtow before him — at the time he hadn’t known what to do, but he remembered that feeling. Later he joined the Manichaean faith, shouting along with the others that all under the Law were equal, with none higher or lower — only for the wars to grow ever larger, and things to leave him feeling ever more helpless.

He didn’t know what would become of these children, but perhaps things would turn out a little differently. Within a few days, these children had also managed to secure back pay owed to a soldier. But what truly sent a chill down his spine was the third incident, which had happened five days earlier.

At the time, these children, eager to press on, had gone around asking after any grievance they might help with, and heard from an elderly couple that a deputy general named Han Wanqing had caused the death of a fellow officer, killing their son, and now no one was willing to look into it. The children were preparing to seek justice for this elderly couple, but this time, another group of students at the academy — those who had been rather opposed to Ning Yi — jumped in, taking Han Wanqing’s side and claiming the others had wronged an innocent man.

“I actually heard about the Han Wanqing matter,” An Xifu said, lowering his voice in the corner of the room. “He and that deputy general surnamed Duan were originally close brothers-in-arms. During the battle of Huangshan, he tried to save the man but failed. For some reason, the Duan family’s elderly parents laid the blame on Han Wanqing. This whole affair has always been quite clear.”

“I know it’s clear too,” Chen Fan said with a smile. “But with the two groups of kids at loggerheads like that, neither side could back down. That Ning Liheng, seeing them arguing, stepped in and said — if our side got it wrong, I’ll pour you tea and apologize… The really impressive part is, he already knew the truth from the start.”

An Xifu frowned. “This matter never got reported to me these past few days…”

“Of course it wasn’t reported — the whole thing was clear enough on its own. Three days ago I went and told Ning Liheng about it, and you know what he said? He said he’d known all along. Both sides found witnesses, laid out evidence, argued all afternoon yesterday, and then settled it privately…” Chen Fan lowered his voice, “Ning Liheng poured tea and apologized to that other group of kids.”

“And then he told those kids that they’d gotten it wrong this time, but the important thing was that no one had been wronged, and they mustn’t lose their original resolve. This group of kids said, at least we’re doing something — and the other group of kids said, ‘We’re doing important work too, damn it.’ Now the two groups have split into two factions, but the principles they follow in handling things are all things Ning Liheng taught them — insist on evidence, be good people… He’s only been here a little over a month, and half of them were against him at first, but now these kids are completely different. Go watch them study and you’ll see — heads nodding along as they read, heh, who the hell wanted to read that stuff before. Now they all want to be real heroes who save the world and help the people.”

The two of them were chatting about these goings-on at the academy when, outside the room, Xiao Chan’s figure passed by; over in the courtyard where Ning Yi lived, someone seemed to have arrived — some servants had carried in a chest. When people knocked, the one who answered was indeed a beautiful, dignified-looking woman. Inside the room, the gossiping women began whispering among themselves — things like “Mr. Ning’s beloved companion,” “she’s been here once before,” “I heard her family’s very wealthy.” An Xifu frowned. “That’s Lou Shuwan.”

“I know,” Chen Fan said, raising an eyebrow. “Her elder brother came to visit me a few times before. When he couldn’t get through to me, he went to curry favor with Bao Daoyi instead.”

An Xifu nodded. “I’ve met her once, and seen this woman from a distance another time. I hear her reputation isn’t great.”

“Women from the big cities are different from the ones in our small towns.”

An Xifu looked over at the woman’s bearing. “Maybe that’s it…”

Whatever the standing of those speaking, gossip was still gossip in the end. The room echoed with the sound of grain-husking and idle chatter. Not long after, a commotion arose out in the academy — classes had let out, and Ning Yi came walking over. In the autumn wind, Lou Shuwan, who had come to visit, looked radiant and at ease. Xiao Chan, once a maidservant from a great household and now the mistress of the house as Ning Yi’s concubine, greeted the visitor graciously. Yellow leaves fell in the wind, and all of it — the sound of grain being husked, the idle chatter, Ning Yi’s beloved companion, the two rival factions of students at the academy — seemed to be a symbol of a rare kind of tranquility. But whether it was Chen Fan, or An Xifu, or even Ning Yi, who now only dealt with matters internal to the Overlord Blade Camp, all of them could tell from various signs that, at present, across the hundreds of miles surrounding Hangzhou, this kind of atmosphere was far from the norm.

A stalemated war, soldiers dying every day, the hundred-and-fifty-thousand-strong army led by Tong Guan pressing down from the north, the oppressive mood inside and outside the city of Hangzhou that everyone silently understood, and even the ongoing political struggles within Fang La’s own ranks in the city — including no small number of people wanting Ning Yi dead — all of these things were, for now, kept at bay within this small corner that was the Overlord Blade Camp, held back by certain forces, letting people feel, if only for a moment, a touch of leisure.

Living, teaching, “inventing” rice-husking machines, stirring up a group of children into a tit-for-tat campaign of “being good people,” and a few more visits from his new “beloved companion.” All of it unfolded in a rhythm like falling autumn leaves — until, in early September, Li Tianrun returned to Hangzhou, bringing with him a political upheaval that would touch nearly the entire military structure of Fang La’s forces. And because of Li Tianyou’s hostility toward Ning Yi, this also marked the first appearance — since Ning Yi’s return to Hangzhou — of an enemy formidable enough to shake even Liu Dabiao’s protective shield, standing directly in his path…