“My family has sent for me, there are some matters at home, so I must take my leave early today. I hope Master Zhu will forgive me…”

“I fear tonight will not be peaceful…”

“My home is just up ahead, Master Zhu need not see me off…”

“Forgive me, forgive me…”

“Do forgive me, forgive me…”

Fire lit up the sky, troops were on the move, and the sudden chaos had only just begun to spread through the city of Hangzhou. Inside the Four Seasons Hall, the mood, too, had shaken off its first shock and panic, and was beginning to tilt toward whatever direction the situation demanded.

That Vice Grand Councilor Qi Yuankang had rebelled was news that had arrived not long after the event itself. Exactly what lay behind it no longer needed explaining—that fires could be lit within the city, and troops mobilized on such a scale, was enough to suggest that matters had already reached a point of no return. Most of those attending Zhu Yanlin’s banquet that day were people of some standing, their families holding influence and connections of one kind or another, and now that something so significant had happened above them, there was much they needed to guard against and prepare for.

To respond swiftly, half the guests had already begun taking their leave of Zhu Yanlin one after another. Outside, in the streets and across the city, the mood had turned grim. In the residential quarters, households shut their doors and doused their lamps; aside from the occasional column of soldiers running past, the streets held only clusters of people hurrying home. The unrest for now had only touched a few streets to the east, but no one knew when curfew might fall over the whole city.

The area around the Four Seasons Hall was one of the livelier gathering spots left in the city, with restaurants and teahouses nearby, and two brothels not far off. Some, on first hearing of the unrest, had rushed straight home; others, calmer, feeling it was none of their concern, chose to stay and watch how things developed. Still, most of the shops nearby had already closed their doors and stopped taking new guests. And so, even as carriages steadily pulled away from beside the Four Seasons Hall, it did not mean the gathering itself had broken up—several dozen people remained, keeping the party going in the main hall.

A large part of the reason was likely that Lou Jingzhi, son of Lou Minzhong, had also stayed on at the literary gathering and had not left. Zhu Yanlin had no especially close ties to Qi Yuankang, and however matters ultimately turned out, since he himself had organized this gathering, it naturally had to go on.

With fewer people left and chaos outside, the waiters had put out most of the lamps in the hall. Those who remained had mostly gathered on the platforms of the second or third floor, clustering around Zhu Yanlin and Lou Jingzhi, watching the distant fighting unfold, commenting on it, chatting idly. Someone had even begun composing verse: “The waters of West Lake wind through the affairs of Jiangnan, the lone city at midnight remains unclear… what a troubled age…” It carried a certain air of commenting on the fate of the realm. The courtesans who had been invited to the gathering had not been sent away either, though for now no one dared to sing—they were called up instead to chat with the guests, to comment on the poetry and liven the mood. These women were no mere ornaments, either, and before long tables had been set up on the platform, so that the unfolding crisis outside was, in effect, being used to season the wine.

Not everyone had gathered upstairs.

At this moment, Lou Shuwan was walking with Ning Liheng along the ground-floor corridor between the courtyards. Most of the lanterns here had already been taken down, and the light was dim; looking up and across, the second floor glowed a warm gold, and the sound of voices and laughter still drifted down. Someone leaning on the upper railing gazed off into the distance, but hardly anyone noticed the two figures moving along the corridor below.

The courtyard passage led toward the side of the Four Seasons Hall that faced the river. The night wind was faintly cool; Lou Shuwan, dressed in men’s clothing, walked beside Ning Liheng, lightly hugging her own arms. Out on the waterway ahead, a two-storied pleasure boat returning from its journey drifted slowly past, lamplight seeping from its windows, lending the scene an unusually tranquil air.

Truth be told, ever since the fall of Hangzhou, everything around her had become unrecognizable; the days had grown anxious and colorless, and she could not say how much meaning there was in all the busyness. Once things had calmed somewhat, the literary gatherings she attended had long since lost their old air of refinement, leaving only flattery and flattery’s stale aftertaste. And yet, strangely enough, now that matters had suddenly grown tense again, she seemed to catch a trace of that old feeling once more.

It was as if, amid a gathering of scholars and men of letters, she had slipped away from the hall to meet in secret with a man she was fond of. Refinement, a racing heart, and quiet stillness converged in this one moment—feelings she had, in truth, never really experienced before, though from the storybooks she had read, from the romances passed along by word of mouth, this, she supposed, was more or less what such a mood was meant to feel like.

“The Vice Grand Councilor… things happened so suddenly. With how far the Lou family’s business now reaches, if Miss Lou doesn’t go straight back, won’t there be trouble?”

At the end of the courtyard stood a long corridor running parallel to the river. Ning Liheng leaned his hands on the railing, watching the departing pleasure boat, and only then brought up the matter. Lou Shuwan sat down on the bench inside the railing, smiling as she shook her head. “My family does have some business dealings with this Lord Qi, but this affair shouldn’t reach as far as the Lou family. Besides, something like this, if it really needs handling, that’s for my father and my elder brothers to deal with. I already sent a servant back to report, and with things still so chaotic, I think it’s better to wait here until matters are clearer before heading back—that way I avoid any misunderstanding on the road.”

“That’s true enough.” Ning Liheng nodded and sat down beside her. From this spot he could see the corridor and windows of the second floor across the way, though the eaves blocked most of the view—only the seeping light was visible, and now and then laughter carried down, along with the occasional soft singing of poetry from a woman, apparently commenting on someone’s verse.

Lou Shuwan spoke softly, head lowered. “By rights, the Vice Grand Councilor is already a very high official, almost equal to a chancellor—who would have thought something like this would happen so suddenly… I heard once that this Lord Qi was accomplished in both letters and arms. Though he held a civil post, he had men under him, and he got along well with both officials and generals…”

She trailed off after a while, feeling the topic had grown dull, and lifted her head, smoothing her hair back, smiling up toward the second floor. “…What do you suppose Liheng thinks they’re talking about up there?”

“Poetry, probably. Earlier, at the poetry gathering, they were talking politics; now that something real has happened, politics isn’t so easy to discuss, so they can settle back into poetry with an easy mind.”

“Does Liheng find it dull too, coming out here to wander instead of chatting poetry with them?” In Lou Shuwan’s eyes, Ning Liheng was one of the foremost literary talents around, and she asked with a smile. Ning Liheng shook his head. “I’m not especially fond of that sort of thing. When they really get into it, I tend to slip away.”

“So it seems Liheng does find it dull.” Lou Shuwan kept smiling, pausing slightly. “Actually, in that I’m rather like you. I find it dull too—though in my case it’s because I don’t understand it well, while you find it dull because you understand it too well.”

“Heh…”

“I liked poetry as a child, but I never studied it properly. I liked watching those brilliant talents recite a fine verse and look so pleased with themselves afterward. Whether the poem itself was good or not never mattered much—if it could make someone feel that pleased with themselves, it must be something good. I used to think that if I managed the family business well, I could feel that same pride myself…”

As she spoke, her mood seemed to dip slightly, and Ning Liheng rose to his feet. “Miss Lou…”

Lou Shuwan looked up and asked softly, “Can’t Liheng call me Shuwan?”

“Better not.” The words came out soft, almost like a confession, though Ning Liheng’s expression did not change—he simply smiled as he always did. “Let’s go back upstairs and sit. We can’t just keep wandering around out here.”

“Mm.” Lou Shuwan rose naturally and walked with Ning Liheng back toward the second floor. That brief exchange a moment ago might have carried some meaning, but for now, it seemed to dissolve, as though it had never happened, into the conversation that followed between them.

Once back on the second floor, someone came over to greet them. “This must be Master Ning Liheng. We searched everywhere for the two of you just now and thought you’d already left. This old man is Zhu Yanlin—I only just heard that Master Ning had come as well. My apologies for the poor welcome.”

Zhu Yanlin was around fifty, and calling himself “this old man” was not too great a stretch. He was, in fact, a fairly orthodox man of letters, and had not known earlier that Ning Liheng had come; only now, having heard people speak of him, and knowing of the ci-poem “Watching the Sea Tide” that he had written, did he take proper notice. The two exchanged pleasantries for a while. Among the other guests gathered nearby, some were looking this way as well—including the woman who had earlier performed “Watching the Sea Tide.” Having caught the name, she turned to ask the person beside her, “Is that Master Ning Liheng?” Having read the poem, she had apparently become something of an admirer.

Off to the side, Liu Xiyang, who had not left, watched the scene with a touch of envy. Within the academy, no one had ever been able to place him and Ning Liheng clearly above or below one another—at most, people felt Ning Liheng had thorns about him and some backing behind him, and it wasn’t worth provoking him. Now, seeing the difference in how he was treated, Liu Xiyang finally understood something of that petty jealousy scholars so often felt toward one another.

Meanwhile, no one paid much attention as Lou Jingzhi, who had always been the center of attention at this gathering, caught wind of some of the talk as well. Looking over toward Ning Liheng, he sent someone to ask quietly, “Could that be the author of ‘Watching the Sea Tide’—the one surnamed Ning, given name Yi, courtesy name Liheng?” Once he had his answer, he asked a few more questions, and upon learning where Ning Liheng currently served, hearing mention of the Wenlie Academy and the Overlord Blade Battalion, he narrowed his eyes, brow furrowing in thought.

Outside, the unrest continued, though as time passed it seemed to grow more orderly, part of the disturbance having already been suppressed. Anyone with experience might have noticed that, however violent things had seemed at first, the situation was nowhere near out of control. Up at the Four Seasons Hall, the gathering carried on in a relatively relaxed mood. Though everyone had shown a newfound respect for Ning Liheng at first, no particular attention was demanded of him afterward.

Everyone’s thoughts were on the events outside; if things continued this way, the gathering would likely break up before long, and everyone could head home. That morning Ning Liheng had heard from Liu Dabiao that things sounded tense, and had even brought a weapon out with him, but once the trouble broke out, he realized it had nothing to do with him and let out a breath of relief. And it was in just such a moment that misfortune crept quietly in.

Hardly anyone had noticed that partway through the gathering, a man had entered the restaurant, glanced around the upper floor, and then left again. By now, a squad of soldiers was hurrying over under this man’s lead. From a distance, one might have mistaken them for reinforcements heading to the district where Qi Yuankang’s rebellion had broken out, but once they reached the foot of the Four Seasons Hall, the officer in charge waved a hand. “Surround it.”

A moment later, Wenren Buer, who had guessed the intentions of this group, hurried to warn Ning Liheng—but it was already too late.

Led by that officer, a party of more than twenty men had already entered the main hall and were heading up to the second floor. Liu Jin, who had come with Ning Liheng, had already rushed up ahead of them, hand on the hilt of the blade at his side. The gathered guests looked on in confusion, but the moment Ning Liheng glanced over, he understood.

The man in the lead was around thirty, powerfully built, his face carrying a killing air—a man who had truly fought and killed on the battlefield.

Ning Liheng let out a breath.

It was Li Tianyou.

The group settled at the tables around Ning Liheng and Lou Shuwan. Lou Shuwan looked left and right, confused and flustered, not knowing at first what was happening—until, a moment later, the color drained utterly from her face. She thought her own family had finally been caught up in the trouble, that something had happened to them.