The sunset was brilliant, and the streets remained bright and lively.

As the carriage and its escort passed through the streets of Hangzhou, sunlight poured down from the western sky; pedestrians hurried past in twos and threes along the roadside — sword-bearing figures from the martial world, wandering healers carrying cloth banners, farmers trudging along with shoulder-poles, occasionally stopping at a corner to let a passing carriage speed by.

The willows along the river had yellowed, swaying in the wind, and the phoenix tree leaves drifted and tumbled over the eaves above the road as boatmen in black-canopied boats poled their vessels swiftly along the city’s canals.

Ning Yi watched one such black-canopied boat for a while; it ran parallel with the carriage on the shore for a stretch before the carriage turned onto a stone bridge, and the little boat passed beneath it, parting ways with the carriage at a bend in the waterway ahead.

Hangzhou’s waterways crisscrossed the city, and the route from Fine Willow Street to Four Seasons Studio, located in the city’s central district, passed through relatively lively streets. Large and small courtyard walls, eaves of varying heights, shops now reopened in growing numbers, and the flow of people all lent the city a measure of returning prosperity. Of course, what caught the eye most were the soldiers of every stripe, everywhere — since the fall of Hangzhou, rebel troops had poured into the great city from all directions, in large formations and in scattered twos and threes, new recruits and veterans alike, like tributaries merging into a great sea.

Passing along one short street, one could see four or five groups of soldiers, standing or sitting, before the carriage left them behind once more. These men wore mismatched uniforms, carried an assortment of weapons, and their physical condition varied widely — some waited by the roadside as the carriage passed, others walked slowly past from ahead, heads raised, blades slung over their shoulders, forcing the carriage to stop for a moment. These soldiers usually belonged to one of the more notable rebel factions.

“These are men of the Bright Moon Army — their general’s named Wu Zhi. I hear he’s got close to two thousand men under him, quite a sizable force.”

Whenever the carriage stopped, Lou Shuwan would point things out, commenting on the affiliations of the soldiers along the road — she had already remarked on five or six such groups. She was dressed today in men’s white robes for the poetry gathering, looking rather dashing and refined, a folding fan swaying in her hand as she chattered away with Ning Yi about all this like a scholar surveying the state of the realm, with a certain carefree, commanding air about her.

Few women of this era possessed this kind of ability — even those capable of running a household in perfect order usually had their scope limited to the small circle of family affairs, while Lou Shuwan gave off an impression of real breadth of vision. And in this age, even when a woman was capable of great things, she usually needed to guard herself with more caution and reserve than most — yet here, she seemed to speak of everything she knew without the slightest reservation, pouring it all out to Ning Yi like beans from a jar, giving her formidable, capable image an added touch of intimate warmth and playfulness. Even Ning Yi, who was normally quite guarded around others, couldn’t help but feel a measure of goodwill toward her.

“Miss Lou has really put in the effort on all this.”

“With how things stand in Hangzhou these days, you can’t afford not to.”

Lou Shuwan laughed, her lips curving into a crescent. In her dealings with Ning Yi, she made no effort to hide how different she was from most women, nor did she conceal the strong-willed streak in her that set her apart. Most men these days might prefer their women gentle and delicate — but that was for the women they kept at home. Her relationship with Ning Yi was not of that kind; showing him her independence might, in fact, be exactly what stirred something in him.

When a particular state of mind persists long enough, a person always finds proper justifications for it. As for having fallen for Ning Yi, Lou Shuwan saw nothing wrong with it — she had always considered herself someone who’d had a hard life, and she didn’t ask for much. She liked him because he was, simply, exceptional — and for a capable man like that, perhaps an independent woman was more likely to stir his desire to conquer. On the other hand, as Lou Shuwan saw it, Ning Yi, though talented and accomplished, lived as a man who had married into his wife’s family — and even if Su Tan’er treated him with the utmost mutual respect, compared to an ordinary man, there were surely still points of quiet discomfort in his life. Her own image resembled Su Tan’er’s in many ways, but where Su Tan’er could never go, she could.

Some of these thoughts, she knew, would be shameful to voice aloud, but they were, indeed, buried deep in her heart. As she imagined it, Ning Yi might even come to see her as a stand-in for Su Tan’er — someone he could hold, conquer, subjugate, in ways he could never do with Su Tan’er — and she could do this while still maintaining her image as a strong, capable woman on the outside, submissive and pliant before him behind closed doors, no matter what he wanted. If Ning Yi ever truly did such a thing, it would only make her feel the force of his power all the more.

Over this recent stretch of time, she had kept up this mindset while displaying, in front of Ning Yi, the talents she genuinely possessed — for her, this was a rather relaxing and enjoyable thing to do. Of course, the result had been somewhat strange: she could tell that Ning Yi genuinely admired her to some degree, but within that admiration, she couldn’t quite make out much else. He showed no prejudice at all toward a woman like her — and toward her, there was even a certain detached sense of acceptance. The men she’d encountered before, even those capable of accepting her boldness in public affairs, had always treated it as though they were doing something remarkable — but he seemed to take it entirely in stride, as if he’d seen it all before. To hell with that kind of acceptance — deep down, she didn’t need that sort of validation at all.

Still, this worldly, unruffled composure of his had, in reverse, only drawn her in further. She couldn’t see through this man, couldn’t tell whether, behind that gaze, there lurked any desire to do something to her or not — but it was precisely this inability to see through him that made her feel, all the more, a certain kind of power in it. It didn’t matter — after all… things were only just beginning.

Of course, she wasn’t lovesick to the point of obsession; her mind wasn’t constantly on these things — only occasionally, lying awake at midnight, would she seriously dwell on such shameful thoughts. Right now, walking alongside Ning Yi, she simply played the role of a friend, appropriately, pointing things out and chatting idly in the carriage.

The journey from Fine Willow Street to Four Seasons Studio naturally involved a fair number of attendants. Ning Yi’s own escort was just one man, a young soldier from the Overlord Blade Camp named Liu Jin, of low rank, who served as his errand boy whenever he went out. Lou Shuwan, on the other hand, was accompanied by many — Hangzhou was far from peaceful these days, and whenever she went out, besides seven or eight maids and household attendants, she also brought along two martial-world figures who had pledged themselves to the Lou family.

The two were a man and a woman. The man was a fierce-looking, tonsured ascetic in his forties or fifties, with two scars across his face, wielding an iron staff as his weapon; others simply called him Master Qin. According to Lou Shuwan, this Master Qin carried quite a fearsome reputation in the martial world — known as the Tiger-Slaying Ascetic, Qin Gulai. The woman was a sword-wielding heroine in her thirties, said to still be unmarried, though not especially attractive — broad-shouldered, thick-legged, muscular arms, a square jaw, and an air of righteous solemnity about her — well suited to serving as a bodyguard, and with a rather nice-sounding nickname and name to match.

The first time Ning Yi met the two of them, he’d introduced himself: “A pleasure, a pleasure — I’m Ning Liheng, known in the martial world by the nickname Bloody-Handed Butcher.”

“…And this is the Fairy of Lingshan, Wei Lingxue.”

Ning Yi had frozen for several seconds at that, and from then on decided he would no longer join in on introducing himself alongside these two.

The affairs of the martial world were, to Ning Yi, little more than an idle pastime and a source of amusement, and naturally he never took any of it too seriously. The group made their way through the busy streets, and before long, they arrived at Four Seasons Studio. Four Seasons Studio sat along the river, formed from three interconnected multi-story buildings, with a sizable courtyard behind it as well. It had originally been one of the largest antique shops in Hangzhou, collecting all manner of curios and relics, as well as buying and selling contemporary paintings and calligraphy, books, and topical writings. Ning Yi, who had once enjoyed reading various tales and romances, had actually visited once or twice before — but during the fall of the city, Four Seasons Studio had been looted clean, and had since changed hands and been converted into a restaurant. The name hadn’t changed, though; the current owner went by the name Chen Bainian.

“The previous owner of Four Seasons Studio, Boss Guo, used to have some dealings with our Lou family — after the city fell, I’m not sure where he went…” As the carriage drew closer, Lou Shuwan gazed at the building and furrowed her brow slightly, then relaxed again. “But this Boss Chen — I heard his name was originally Chen Wannian. When the rebellion first rose up, he made his living selling food, and named his shop the Hall of Ten Thousand Years. I even heard His Majesty stopped by once. No matter what, people always need to eat, and as the rebellion’s momentum grew, his business grew right along with it. But after His Majesty took the throne, he got worried about overstepping his station, so he quickly changed his own name to Chen Bainian, and renamed his business the Hall of a Hundred Years. Since the Hall of a Hundred Years sounds so close to Four Seasons Studio, he bought this place and made it his first shop here in Hangzhou.”

As she recounted this bit of trivia about Four Seasons Studio, the servants pulled the carriage to a stop by the roadside, and the two of them made their way toward the newly renovated restaurant’s entrance. Hosting tonight’s banquet and literary gathering at Four Seasons Studio was a man named Zhu Yanlin, newly appointed Hanlin Academician of Fang La’s new Yongle court. Whatever the dynasty, throughout history, the Hanlin Academy had generally represented the pinnacle of the scholarly class — though under the Yongle court, things were somewhat different.

With the court freshly established, positions of real substance had already been divided up between capable military men and able civil officials; for now, the Hanlin post was a rather idle one, its standing among officials neither particularly high nor low. To put it bluntly, it was neither here nor there — those who held it might rise at any time, but at present held no real power. Generally speaking, it was a post given to those the court above considered talented and learned, but for whom there was no clear place at the moment — leaving them idle would be a waste, so they were given this title instead.

Still, for the large number of advisors and talented men who couldn’t even secure an official rank, the position of Hanlin Academician was something everyone aspired to. This Zhu Yanlin wrote excellent poetry and had long moved within Fang La’s military ranks, cultivating quite a network of connections. Tonight’s banquet drew no small number of attendees — among them, Ning Yi’s current colleagues at Wenlie Academy, Wang Zhizhen and Liu Xiyang, as well as Qu Weiqing and Guo Peiying, with whom he’d had some unpleasant history — as far as Ning Yi knew, both of the latter two were also attending today.

Ning Yi kept a fairly independent presence at the academy, and having invited Lou Shuwan today, he hadn’t mentioned the gathering at the academy beforehand. Stepping down from the carriage now, he glanced around at the figures ahead and spotted Liu Xiyang, who was in conversation with someone. As he walked over, Liu Xiyang noticed him too — a flash of surprise crossed his eyes, but he merely cupped his hands in greeting and didn’t come over. He was a Hangzhou local, and had likely recognized Lou Shuwan, dressed as she was in men’s clothing. He probably knew something of the rumors circulating at the academy about Ning Yi’s “beloved companion” — with the Lou family’s meteoric rise, Ning Yi’s connection to this rising star drew a mix of disdain and envy from those around him.

“Liu Xiyang…” Lou Shuwan glanced over that way and murmured quietly.

“You know him?”

“Not exactly, but I’ve met him. Mr. Liu is quite learned.”

Lou Shuwan smiled, and the two of them reached the entrance, where the crowd had grown thicker. Just then, they heard a stir of commotion from behind; turning to look, they saw, to one side of the street, a carriage had pulled up, and people were making their way over. Ahead and behind, many had already come forward, hands cupped in greeting — though most of those arriving were scholars maintaining a reserved demeanor, one could still sense a certain heat in the air; whoever was arriving clearly held no small standing. Amid the noise, Ning Yi could only make out, faintly, that the person coming was a young gentleman.

“Who is that…” Lou Shuwan murmured to herself, and then, from behind, someone called out, “Make way, make way please.” Ning Yi and Lou Shuwan stepped aside, and only then did they notice that the man rushing out from the restaurant to greet the newcomer was none other than Chen Bainian, the owner of the Hall of a Hundred Years — Four Seasons Studio. Lou Shuwan watched the figure go to greet him, and her furrowed brow soon relaxed; she gave her fan a light tap. “Oh, that’s Lou Jingzhi. Chancellor Lou’s son. Liheng, you must have met him before, haven’t you?”

“No, I haven’t,” Ning Yi said, thinking it over with a smile. “Should I have?”

“Not really,” Lou Shuwan said, tilting her head with a smile. “Isn’t the head of the Overlord Blade Camp you’re stationed at actually a woman? Though not many people mention it much — some even assume the camp is run by a man named Liu Dabiao — but I did hear before that this lady of the Overlord Blade Camp has a betrothal arrangement with Chancellor Lou’s son.”

“Huh?” Ning Yi hadn’t expected to suddenly stumble onto such a big piece of gossip, and he blinked in mild surprise.

Lou Shuwan, having taken a liking to Ning Yi, had made some rough inquiries about the Overlord Blade Camp, as well as asked around a little about the academy where Ning Yi worked — this turned out to be a rather valuable piece of information among what she’d gathered. According to others, Lou Jingzhi and the woman of the Overlord Blade Camp had been betrothed since childhood, and had joined the rebellion together besides — with the backing of the Overlord Blade Camp reportedly coming from Left Chancellor Lou Minzhong himself, it stood to reason the two of them got along quite well. Lou Jingzhi likely visited the Overlord Blade Camp often, so Liheng might well have crossed paths with him there. But then she smiled inwardly — Liheng only served as an advisor there, so he likely wouldn’t have seen any of this. She was probably just overthinking it.