The ninth day of the fourth month, Qinjin Ferry Crossing.

Reeds swayed gently, the starry night deepening, the shadows of trees swaying in the dark wind. The cries of crows carried faintly from a distance as, by the riverside, campfires still burned in a makeshift camp, occasional voices drifting up. This was already Shandong territory now—ahead lay a tributary of the Si River, and beyond that, Yanzhou and Yunzhou, drawing close to Liangshan’s home ground. Lin Chong sat on a large rock off in the darkness, his steel spear laid across his lap, staring at its point, lost in thought.

Song Wan came walking over with a wine bowl and jug, handing him a bowl. “Something on your mind, Brother Lin?”

“Thank you.” Song Wan, the “Splendid Sky King Kong,” wasn’t especially skilled in martial arts among the ranks of Liangshan, but he was an old hand there, generally moderate and steady in word and deed, carrying a certain weight among the others. Lin Chong thanked him, held the bowl for a moment, then drained it in one gulp. “Much obliged to you, Brother Song.”

“Ever since that battle a few days ago, you’ve seemed a bit unsettled, Brother Lin. Even an older brother like me can tell.”

What Song Wan referred to wasn’t the battle in Jiangning, of course, but the ambush three days earlier as the group made their way back to Liangshan. Among the attackers had been government soldiers, but also a fair number of skilled fighters—including some of those who had shown up at the Su estate in Jiangning. Among them, three who wielded soul-reaping spears, along with the young man leading them, had shown considerable skill, but the most formidable by far had been the young officer who’d fought them in the Jiangning prison—the one who’d caught them off guard and cut a swath through nearly everyone in his path, killing two of Fang La’s commanders the instant he engaged them. It was Lin Chong who had ultimately taken him on, and the two of them had fought further and further apart, until in the end it seemed to end in a draw. That young officer had left, and Lin Chong, too, seemed to have something weighing on his mind ever since.

But that was only what others had observed from the outside. Song Wan had actually been sent this time mainly to help balance the mood within the group, something of a steadying presence. In the heat of that earlier battle, he’d noticed just how formidable that young officer was, and had meant to go help, but by the time he caught up, he found the young officer had suddenly stopped his spear technique mid-fight, stepped back several paces, and asked Lin Chong: “What is your relationship to Master Zhou Tong!?”

The Shaanxi hero known as “Iron Arm” Zhou Tong was a renowned grandmaster of the martial world, once holding an especially exalted position at the Imperial Archery Hall in the capital—he was Lin Chong’s own teacher, a fact some at Liangshan were aware of. Among his direct disciples, Lu Junyi, Sun Li, and Lin Chong had all joined Liangshan; Shi Wengong had opposed Liangshan and was already dead; and Luan Tingyu was currently serving as a martial instructor at the Zhu Family Estate on Dulong Ridge. Hearing the young officer say this, Song Wan immediately understood that this remarkably skilled young man must have some connection to Zhou Tong as well—though Lin Chong wouldn’t admit to it, only saying, “If we’re fighting, let’s fight. No point in idle talk,” and thrusting his spear forward to attack.

That young officer’s skill actually surpassed Lin Chong’s own, and seeing Lin Chong refuse to acknowledge the connection, he pressed the attack in turn. Both were top-tier spearmen, and Song Wan didn’t dare step in. After a good stretch of fighting, Lin Chong found himself at a disadvantage, and the young officer’s expression grew increasingly puzzled. After another exchange, he suddenly leapt back and said in a low voice, “I know who you are now!”

Lin Chong said nothing. The young officer continued, “I’ve heard of your story—I know you carry a grievous, blood-soaked wrong done to you. But even so, you shouldn’t be helping these bandits break out men who served under that traitor Fang La… Today, though I might be able to defeat you, I may not be able to kill you. I’ll let you go, this once. But if the day comes when duty calls me to it, and you’re still with Liangshan, I will kill you. Think carefully about what you’re doing!”

“That man is my master’s direct disciple—by rank, he’s something like my junior martial brother.” As Lin Chong said this, Song Wan naturally understood, and patted his shoulder. “I could tell as much myself. For a man of such skill to hold back against you like that, out of loyalty and old ties—he must be a good man in his own right. Why not…”

Before Song Wan could finish, Lin Chong’s grip tightened, and his steel spear gave a faint hum. Song Wan, sensing this might have struck a nerve, said no more. After a moment, Lin Chong spoke. “He’s my master’s youngest direct disciple, the one who inherited his final teachings. None of you can touch him.” He too had once been a man loyal to the crown, devoted to serving his country, before being framed by Young Master Gao, his wife driven to her death through violation and shame—it was that blood debt that had left him no choice but to take to Liangshan as an outlaw. Perhaps out of some private grief for his own fate, his tone wasn’t raised, carrying a certain melancholy, but what he said left no room for argument, brooking no further discussion. Song Wan thought it best not to press further, and simply kept pouring bowl after bowl of the yellow wine for the two of them to drink. It was at that very moment that a sudden commotion broke out over at the camp.

Following this jailbreak in Jiangning, the authorities were certainly in pursuit the whole way, but the Liangshan men were all seasoned veterans of the martial world, and those who’d taken part in this operation were among their finest—hence the ambush three days ago had been the only real close call they’d encountered. Now, as the chaos broke out again, Lin Chong grabbed his steel spear and rushed forward together with Song Wan, but the disturbance over there had already begun spreading outward. This raid wasn’t large in scale—a single skilled fighter had broken into the outer perimeter of the camp, while others further off loosed arrows and crossbow bolts from a distance, catching everyone completely off guard. By the time Lin Chong and the others arrived, the attacker had already mounted a galloping horse and broken through, snatching up one of Fang La’s commanders in passing as he fled, with the rest of the group giving chase, some on horseback, some on foot.

These were all skilled fighters, and as the horse broke through, stones and hidden weapons flew at it like a swarm of locusts, at the same time knocking aside the incoming arrows and bolts. The attacker, it turned out, was dressed entirely in white. As the horse ran, the captured commander struggled continuously, and the two of them seemed to be locked in combat even as they rode, blood spraying back into the wind, his screams echoing, ghastly and pitiful. As they neared the treeline, the fleeing horse’s leg was finally struck by a stone, and with a shrill whinny, both riders tumbled off. As the pursuers closed in, the man in white suddenly stood up, seized the commander’s corpse, and hurled it toward the crowd. Someone caught the body—and then couldn’t help but take a step back.

“This man—this man…”

Not far off, at the edge of the trees, the man in white stood with his body turned to one side, facing the crowd, covered head to toe in flecks and streaks of blood, especially around his face and head, blood spattered everywhere. He suddenly bent forward and spat something out of his mouth, which landed on the grass—and among the crowd, someone who had killed enough people in his time recognized it: an eyeball.

The corpse the others had caught was, from the throat up, torn to shreds—not just the throat ripped open, but the entire head and face torn apart in many places, bare white bone visible in places, one eyeball gouged out entirely. And looking closely, the wounds were covered all over in what were unmistakably teeth marks. This commander they’d captured had, in fact, been bitten to death alive.

The man in white was tall and lean, his eyes seeming to glow faintly in the darkness, an especially eerie sight combined with the blood covering him from head to toe. Of course, none of the men gathered there were the sort to be easily frightened, and after only a brief hesitation, they surged forward to attack—but the man in white had already dashed into the trees, and under cover of several volleys of arrows, vanished, running, out of sight.

It was already night, and the men, not knowing the terrain well, kept to the principle of never chasing an enemy into unfamiliar woods. After searching for a while, they gave up, disgruntled. Some, recalling the man in white, still felt a lingering chill—killing in the martial world was one thing, and even with someone like Sun Erniang up on Liangshan, well accustomed to making human-flesh dumplings, this business of biting a man to death outright in the middle of a fight was still rare enough to unsettle people. Someone familiar with the area spoke up. “That’ll be the wolf bandits from around here.”

Within Shandong’s borders, bandits were already plentiful enough as it was, and the wolf bandits this man mentioned were indeed something a few others had heard of as well—a small band of bandits operating around the Si River, appearing and vanishing without warning, mostly preying on other bandits rather than ordinary folk, showing little regard for any code of conduct. But they’d always been small-scale troublemakers, and the rest of the group didn’t think much more of it, only having heard that the wolf bandits’ leader was said to eat people alive, and was extremely vicious.

After some discussion, no one could quite figure out why these wolf bandits would suddenly target their group, but they’d soon be crossing the Si River, and once they did, once they reached Liangshan Marsh territory proper, the wolf bandits surely wouldn’t dare follow them any further. With this in mind, the group kept their guard up, and by the time they crossed the river the next day, no more enemies appeared. Every so often someone would bring up the wolf bandit incident again, only to soon set it aside and forget about it. Some mindless madman, they figured—maybe they’d been mistaken for someone else, maybe he was simply unhinged—it hardly seemed worth mobilizing the whole of Liangshan over him, and surely he hadn’t really been targeting them specifically.

At this point in time, that was still what everyone believed…

…

Summer had arrived, and with it came sudden wind and rain, the weather turning in an instant. As the sky darkened, Ning Yi stood on the second floor of the Qingyuan establishment, watching the pedestrians and shopkeepers below hurrying about—a scene not unlike Jiangning before the Su family’s ordeal with the Liangshan bandits.

“…Twelve years ago, before His Majesty had yet ascended the throne, the Secret Investigation Bureau was established rather hastily, with only two divisions at first—Liaodong and Yanyun. The Liaodong division was tasked specifically with stirring up internal conflicts among the various factions within the Liao state, while the Yanyun division was meant to lay the groundwork for the eventual recovery of the Sixteen Prefectures. The founding of both divisions was, in truth, rather idealistic—born out of little more than the passionate convictions of a handful of scholars, carried out in the name of the imperial house. There were five elders involved at the very start; now, between those who’ve retired and those who’ve passed on, only myself and Chancellor Qin remain.”

Ning Yi’s injuries no longer significantly hindered his movement, and he was already preparing to leave Jiangning. Kang Xian had invited him over today specifically to formally discuss matters concerning the Secret Investigation Bureau with him.

“Even so, the Bureau was originally proposed by Siyuan. In truth, though Siyuan’s actions have, in the end, always stayed on the righteous path, some of his methods have at times bordered on the unorthodox. Many of us, from the very start right up to the end, never quite understood what was going on in his mind. Since the founding of our dynasty, we’ve followed the Three Departments and Six Ministries system, with our own modifications, but every matter of state has always had its own proper jurisdiction—internally, the Ministry of Justice, the Censorate, and the Court of Judicial Review; externally, matters have always fallen under the sole purview of the Bureau of Military Affairs. Liheng, you should understand well enough that when jurisdiction over a matter isn’t clearly defined, it can ultimately lead to great disaster. Most of us held to this view at the time, and we opposed the plan Siyuan proposed.”

Not long before, when he’d reached this point in the story, Kang Xian couldn’t help but shake his head with a wry smile.

“But Siyuan is a man of many methods, though firm and unwavering in temperament. He shared a teacher-student bond with His current Majesty, and in the end managed to win a nod of approval from him, back when he was still Crown Prince. Though I suspect His Majesty was never especially enthusiastic about it either—he always insisted that whenever jurisdiction came into conflict, the Three Bureaus and the Bureau of Military Affairs should take precedence in all matters. Later, once the Bureau was established, funded by me in the name of the Princess Chengguo’s estate, with Siyuan at its head, the other three founders were Liang Mengqi, Lord Zuo Duanyou, and the great scholar Wang Qisong. A year after the Bureau’s founding, Lord Zuo passed away. On the eve of the Heishui Accord, when the Liao army pushed south, Lord Wang Qisong’s family lived in Xingshan County, directly in the path of the Liao advance. Lord Wang, a man of fierce and uncompromising temperament, refused to flee along with his whole household, sparing only the women and children—in the end, the rest of his family died for their country, and Lord Wang himself was flayed and his body left on display. Siyuan was at the front lines at the time, powerless to do anything about it—that, perhaps, is the one regret of his life that he’s never been able to let go.”

Having said all this, Kang Xian paused briefly. Though already advanced in years and long practiced at keeping his emotions from showing, his eyes reddened slightly as he spoke of this—perhaps this lifelong regret of Qin Siyuan’s weighed on him just as heavily. But after a moment, he shook his head and let it pass.

“Lord Wang’s wife and children are still alive today, though the only male heir left in the family is a grandson, named Wang Shanyue. If you go to Shandong, you may well end up dealing with him at some point… As for the Bureau itself, whether its original purpose was sound or not is hard to say even now. At the start, neither Siyuan nor I had any real experience—idealistic scholars alone could never have made it work. We felt our way forward step by step, and by the time of the Heishui Accord, some in the know believed it was the Bureau’s frequent activity in the north that had provoked the Liao into anger—and that reason, in truth, may well have played some part in it…”

“Before the Heishui Accord, the Bureau had been steadily developing, and had also established five domestic divisions—given our limited manpower, we simply divided the country into southeast, northeast, southwest, northwest, and central regions. But in every one of these areas, our manpower and resources were, frankly, insufficient. After the Heishui Accord, Siyuan was stripped of his post as Minister of War, and Liang Mengqi, overcome with guilt, even sent a letter formally severing ties with Siyuan altogether. That was when the Bureau’s operations came to a halt. Still, the Liaodong and Yanyun divisions in the north continued their activities the whole time—that was a matter Siyuan and I handled ourselves, on our own initiative. It wasn’t until unrest began appearing in the north again that His Majesty thought of the Bureau once more, and had it brought back into operation. Though it hadn’t been running again for very long, and still faces plenty of constraints, it did manage to play some part during the unrest in Hangzhou…”

After Kang Xian finished recounting all this about the Bureau, and its current organization, Ning Yi asked a few more questions before Kang Xian finally returned to the Consort’s estate. By now the sky had darkened, and it looked as though heavy rain was about to fall. Ning Yi stood by the railing on the second floor for a while, then saw a carriage approaching from down the street. The one driving it, sitting tall and full of spirit, was none other than Yuan Jin’er, who spotted him from a distance and turned to point his way. A moment later, the carriage curtain lifted, and Yun Zhu leaned her head out. Her head was still wrapped in white gauze, and she looked considerably thinner, but the moment she saw Ning Yi, she broke into a soft smile, and gave him a small wave.

A crash of thunder rolled out, lightning splitting the sky, and as Ning Yi looked up…

Heavy rain again.