Fog rolled in before dawn, blanketing the ancient city of Hangzhou, inside and out, in a hazy shroud. The waterways and city walls dissolved into indistinct silhouettes; out in the open fields, one could barely make out movement three or four yards away. The occasional passing carriage crept along slowly, emerging out of the mist at the edge of a pedestrian’s sight like some wild beast, only to vanish again a moment later into the white haze at the other end of view.

Opening one’s eyes to this all-encompassing fog offered, for the moment, a reprieve from the killing chill that had settled over the city since the night before, breaking up the grim, oppressive atmosphere within the walls into small pockets no larger than what the eye could see. More soldiers had been posted along the city walls, but with visibility poor in every direction and the morning dew heavy, small clusters of them simply lit braziers and sat around them, chatting about last night’s unrest or trading small talk, only straightening up with renewed alertness whenever an officer passed by on his rounds.

Among the layered courtyards within the city, the crowing of roosters and barking of dogs had not yet begun. Those who rose early were in no hurry to go out; they lit their stoves, lit their lamps, and waited quietly at home to see how things would unfold. The rustle of movement, the murmur of hushed voices — before long, all of it was swallowed again by the rolling mist.

In the small courtyard behind Wenlie Academy on Fine Willow Street, a dim yellow lamp had already been lit. The bedroom door opened, and a girl who had just gotten up, not yet fully dressed, stepped over the threshold. Looking back, she saw the young scholar, his head still wrapped in bandages, rubbing his eyes as he made to follow her out — a man who carried himself with a mature, steady air despite his youth, now looking distinctly unslept, wound and all. The girl turned back, pouting as she said something, then began pushing and pushing at him, trying to herd him back to bed.

The warm yellow light flickered faintly as the two of them stood locked at the doorway for a moment. The girl, who had once been a maidservant and now also held the position of concubine, waved her arms about with righteous conviction, though her expression carried a distinct note of grievance. The scholar made a few gestures to show he was perfectly fine, but his reasoning didn’t seem to persuade her. After a moment, he gave in with a helpless sigh, caught hold of her clothes, and pulled her back into the room. The girl blinked, startled, and the bit of bluster she’d been putting on deflated at once; she shrank her neck down. “Ah…”

The door closed.

“M-master… it’s, it’s almost dawn… mm…”

However strong her presence occasionally appeared, a little lamb was, in the end, still a little lamb. What exactly befalls a lamb caught by a big bad wolf need not be spelled out in detail — suffice to say her clothes would likely need putting on all over again. As this unfolded, our view moved away from the courtyard below. The fog thickened once more, closing over everything.

Some distance away, in the government office now occupied by the Black Feather Guard, a young man named An Xifu sat at his desk, reading through a stack of reports that had been submitted to him. Whether he’d been working through the whole night or had only just gotten up was hard to say. When names like “Overlord Blade Camp” and “Ning Liheng” caught his eye, he reached out to trim the lamp’s wick, and after a moment, set the report aside.

In another courtyard elsewhere in the city, Chen Fan, having finished his exercises, stood bare-chested and poured a bucket of ice-cold well water over himself, steam rising off his skin as he let out a long breath. As the man Ning Yi liked to call an unemployed vagrant, there wasn’t really much for Chen Fan to do each day besides train and visit people — lately, he’d been keeping a close eye on the group of children at Wenlie Academy. Before long, he headed out with a wrap clenched between his teeth, and as he passed the gate of the neighboring courtyard, he saw through the mist that the family’s courtyard doors stood wide open, people rushing in and out in visible distress about something. He vaguely recalled that someone had come by asking questions in the middle of the night — probably a family member gone missing overnight. Hangzhou’s public order was far from settled these days. He rolled his eyes — that was An Xifu’s business, nothing to do with him.

The view shifted back to the northern city wall. Blood sprayed through the white mist; a flash of blade severed a soldier’s neck, and beside it, a spear, trailing a great gush of blood, whipped through the air and vanished beyond the wall in an instant.

The figures had appeared out of nowhere, moving with the speed of a swarm of locusts crossing a border. Blades and spears struck out in the charge, and the soldiers ahead didn’t even have time to cry out before their lives were taken. The charging figures never slowed after striking — only as they crossed paths did one of them catch the body of a soldier whose throat had been slit, easing the corpse gently against the parapet. Beside him, companions tied off ropes and flung them down, and the group dropped swiftly out of the city.

On one side of the city, at this hour, in the temporary imperial palace of the new Yongle court, the morning court session had already been underway for some time. In truth, court sessions weren’t held often since the founding of the Yongle regime — the rebel leaders didn’t stand much on ceremony, and could meet or confer with one another whenever needed. But given the previous night’s rebellion, this morning’s session had clearly been necessary. How to fill the vacancy left by Qi Yuankang’s death, how to redistribute the spoils — all of this had already been settled, but a great many other matters still needed discussion and confirmation. The relatively brief session was now drawing to a close; after court was dismissed, Fang La kept several of his senior officials behind for breakfast, and Empress Shao Xianying came out to join them as well, making it something of a family meal.

“‘The whole world’s storm and cloud belong to men like us; once we enter the rivers and lakes, the years press hard upon us’… I… We hear that when Qi Yuankang was taken last night, this was a poem composed by Qianqian? Truly a fine poem…”

Fang La had already been on the throne for some time, but around old comrades he still hadn’t grown fully accustomed to referring to himself with the royal “We.” As he brought up that piece, “Laughing at the Rivers and Lakes,” his smile carried a note of genuine surprise. Beside him, Empress Shao laughed and said, “I found it strange too, when I heard it. This child is at her fiercest wielding blade and spear — who would have thought she’d produce something like this. I do know she’s always had a soft spot for men of talent… you two chancellors, you’re both deeply learned men, and you know Qianqian well. Tell me, do you think she really wrote this herself?”

Among those present, Lou Minzhong and Zu Shiyuan were both men of considerable learning. After a moment’s thought, Lou Minzhong said, “The art of poetry runs deep and wide — it’s genuinely difficult to tell at a glance who did or didn’t write something. But though Qianqian may seem carefree on the surface, she is, in truth, someone of great wisdom. I doubt she would deceive anyone over a matter like this.”

Shao Xianying wasn’t a woman of letters herself, and thought of Liu Xigua simply as a junior, so her question had been asked lightly enough — but Lou Minzhong was a steady, careful man, and scholars took this sort of thing quite seriously; in their circles, anyone whose reputation was tarnished by plagiarism would find it very hard to move forward afterward. Though Liu Xigua had no standing in that world, Lou Minzhong still gave only a carefully noncommittal answer. Zu Shiyuan, sitting nearby, broke into laughter once he’d finished.

“What Chancellor Lou calls great wisdom, I’d say is exactly right. Honestly, the poem is simple and forthright, without excessive allusion or obscure phrasing, and yet the spirit and ambition behind it are remarkable — only someone bold and unrestrained by nature could have written it. To be honest, I think this poem suits our young Dabiao perfectly. The Overlord Blade Camp may have recruited a few learned men by now, but precisely because they’re learned, this kind of poem is probably beyond them — I doubt it likely that someone ghostwrote it for her…”

After Zu Shiyuan finished speaking, the others began discussing it among themselves. A man seated a little further off frowned. “Still, that line — ‘the grand and glorious enterprise, spoken of amid laughter’ — isn’t that a touch presumptuous?” This man’s name was Gao Yu, holding the rank of Vice Minister; he was quite capable, but among this group he ranked rather low. Having voiced this, he watched as Fang La waved a hand dismissively.

“Ha, what of it — ‘the grand and glorious enterprise, spoken of amid laughter’ — hasn’t that been exactly what the Overlord Blade Camp has accomplished all these years? Eh, Xianying, remember, that girl always had ambition to spare — wanted to be an empress herself, and We even granted it. She doesn’t carry the Fang surname, but We think of her as a daughter of Our own house; sooner or later she’ll be granted a city and territory of her own. Vice Minister Gao, don’t let her hear you say that, or she’ll chase you down with a blade, and even We won’t be able to save you then…”

Gao Yu murmured his agreement repeatedly. Beside him, Empress Shao Xianying smiled at first, but then her brow furrowed, and she said quietly, “If this poem really is little Xigua’s own work, then… doesn’t it sound rather melancholy, hearing it now? All this about grand enterprise amid laughter, and yet — better to be drunk through this one life than not, the mortal world like a tide and men like flowing water…”

Fang La paused. “All these years… I suppose… the child must be feeling worn down too.”

As he said this, he couldn’t help but think back over the course of the uprising — from Liu Dabiao’s death, to Qi Yuankang’s betrayal the night before, to all the people he had known and lost along the way. The girl called Xigua had, of course, witnessed all of it too, growing up slowly through it all. But some things, a man supposed, simply struck a woman’s heart differently. The others in the hall who knew Liu Xigua well thought it over and, one after another, sighed in agreement: “Qianqian really has grown up.”

Then Zu Shiyuan said, “Speaking of which, our young Miss Liu is well past the age of marrying, isn’t she?” As he said this, he glanced over at Lou Minzhong.

Fang La sighed as well. “Always fighting, one battle after another — it’s delayed things. And we haven’t really seen anyone suitable for her either.”

Shao Xianying said, “It’s not that there’s been no one suitable — it’s that this child has such high standards, and we’ve never seen her show any particular interest in anyone… Truth be told, none of us elders have really put much thought into it. When Dabiao was dying, she entrusted the child to us… husband, don’t you think… it’s time we found someone for her?”

Shao Xianying herself was a formidable woman, having once helped manage military affairs together with Fang Baihua; though she was now Empress, she still addressed Fang La the way she always had. As she saw it, if a girl approaching twenty seemed worn down, it was surely because, at her age, she still had no husband’s family to call her own. Fang La nodded. “But who would we even find? In all these years, have you ever seen her show the slightest favor toward any man? Especially with something like this — if we brought someone in and she cut him down with her blade, how would that look, if word got out?”

He still remembered vividly the incident when Lou Jingzhi had nearly been cut down by her blade. It wasn’t that killing a few men mattered so much in itself, but a young woman still needed her reputation — if she really hacked apart every suitor who came to court her, how would she ever find a husband afterward? Toward the end of this, Fang La couldn’t help but lower his voice. Shao Xianying said quietly, “What about Chen Fan?”

“Those two fight the moment they see each other — not a good match. You could call them ‘bickering sweethearts,’ I suppose, but if they married and kept fighting every single day, who could stand to watch that?”

Just as she said this, Zu Shiyuan cut in with a smile. “What about young Master Lou?”

“Who?”

“Which young Master Lou?”

“Chancellor Lou’s eldest son.”

The setting wasn’t especially formal, and Lou Minzhong and Zu Shiyuan were on fairly good terms, so Lou Minzhong merely sighed and shot him a glance. “Chancellor Zu, the Lou and Liu families may be old friends, and I myself would be glad to have Qianqian as a daughter-in-law, but you know perfectly well my son nearly got himself killed by her blade — why bring it up again just to make a joke of it…”

“This isn’t a joke at all.” Zu Shiyuan laughed. “Back then the two of them hadn’t known each other long, and Qianqian has that kind of temperament — it was rather awkward, how things turned out. But given how much contact they’ve had recently, who’s to say there hasn’t been a turn for the better? I heard that when Qianqian was attacked last night, Jingzhi happened to be right there — and lent her a hand…”

Lou Minzhong frowned. “Is that true?”

“Didn’t Jingzhi tell you the details when he got home?”

The reports on the previous night’s assassination attempt against Liu Dabiao by the three Qi brothers had, in truth, come back rather vague from various sources, though the general gist had gotten through. Liu Dabiao and Lou Jingzhi had fought side by side against the assassins led by Qi Xinyong, Qi Xinyi, and Qi Xinhan of the Qi family; the reports also noted that the confrontation had been deliberately arranged by Liu Dabiao herself, to settle the feud according to the customs of the martial world, with Lou Jingzhi happening to be present at the time. Whatever the actual details, Ning Liheng’s involvement had, naturally, been left out entirely of every account.

Lou Minzhong had learned of the attempt on his son’s life the night before, though from a different source; Lou Jingzhi himself, coming home rather embarrassed by the whole affair, had of course said nothing at all about Liu Xigua. With so much on his plate, Lou Minzhong had simply been relieved to learn his son was safe, and hadn’t given it much more thought. But this morning, hearing the story, Zu Shiyuan’s mind had already begun to wander — a hero saving a beauty, or perhaps a beauty saving a hero, a secret rendezvous in the street turned into fighting side by side — between two young people, there was certainly a story brewing here. Meaning well, he’d brought it up, and it gave Lou Minzhong a bit of a start — after all, he was genuinely quite fond of this young woman who had single-handedly held up the Overlord Blade Camp, and if there was any real hope for his son, he’d certainly be glad to see it come to pass.

With Lou Minzhong’s attitude turning ambiguous and Zu Shiyuan grinning with delight, the whole group fell into gossip. By the time Zu Shiyuan had finished embellishing his account of the previous night’s events along with his own speculation, everyone had come to feel there was real promise in it, and the discussion carried on animatedly, everyone chiming in.

The children were grown now, after all — it really was time to start thinking about marriage, wasn’t it…