When Zhuo Yunfeng came to find Ning Yi, it was already evening on that same day. Before his arrival, Ning Yi had been mulling over the question of building a vast public-opinion system within the state of Wu, and had reached the point of finding it rather a headache.

As for the steps Ning Yi intended to take once he reached the capital, the first, of course, was dealing with Liangshan—but the underlying purpose was to begin preparing for the kind of calamity that might arrive within a few years’ time, something akin to the Jingkang Incident or a Jurchen invasion of the south. For any nation, in truth, most matters proceed in an orderly, established fashion—how to enrich the state and strengthen the army, the broad strokes of what needs doing are largely the same everywhere; it’s in the countless small details that a person’s true capability shows through. Of course, there were also certain matters capable of fundamentally shifting the whole equation—finding a single lever with which to move the entire balance of power, such as sweeping reform.

But reform on that grand a scale was something Ning Yi wanted no part of; he didn’t dare involve himself in matters operating at that level. On this trip to the capital, what he himself could realistically contribute still lay in the many smaller details—his past experience running a company, logistical management and coordination, solving all manner of minor problems, the use of covert schemes. So long as human nature hadn’t fundamentally changed, he wouldn’t find himself badly out of his depth handling such things, since commercial warfare was, after all, simply people pitted against people, using whatever means necessary. Beyond that, though, there was one area of genuine, foundational blank space he’d been considering trying to fill.

The plan went something like this: once in the capital, with Qin Siyuan’s approval and drawing on his own past experience, he would move as swiftly as possible to spread “Bamboo House” establishments across the entire country. Though every era has its own particular characteristics, with the backing of state machinery, plenty of modern commercial practices could still be applied within the state of Wu without much difficulty. Then, using “Bamboo House” as a foundation, he would build out a vast storytelling and entertainment industry, aimed at the completely illiterate rural populace—the more than ninety percent of the Wu state’s people who currently had no voice in anything at all. Within this particular sphere, he probably wouldn’t face much pushback from the aristocratic class, at least not right away.

To spread something like this required meeting various standardized conditions, of course—establishing standardized systems, regulating training programs, reducing production costs and losses along distribution channels. Much like how, in later ages, supermarkets had gradually displaced department stores, only for online shops to then begin squeezing the entire physical retail market in turn.

Even though the state of Wu currently lacked the foundations necessary for developing capitalism, Ning Yi nonetheless carried in his own mind experience drawn from more than an entire era ahead. So long as he wasn’t suppressed at the political level for the time being, Bamboo House could spread rapidly across every region, like a swarm of locusts. How to deal with the authorities, how to bribe officials, how to bring a local underworld to heel—these were all matters that had their own extremely refined methodologies within the advanced capitalist systems of a later age.

Once he truly committed to letting all this loose, Bamboo House might well end up like the first piranha introduced into a freshwater ecosystem—as for what harm its proliferation might eventually cause, that was something Ning Yi set aside for now. But relying on Bamboo House, this entertainment network would propagate certain extremely simple, cheaply packaged ideas throughout society—things like “true heroism serves the nation and its people”—steering the whole of society’s wandering knights and greenwood bandits northward within a matter of a few years.

The current state of Wu simply didn’t have any real system of public opinion monitoring or propaganda in place. Every dynasty, of course, had its literary inquisitions targeting seditious writing, but these always targeted the scholar class, less than ten percent of the population. A propaganda apparatus, in the modern sense, was essentially nonexistent. In particular, no one had ever thought to direct any kind of messaging at the lower classes of society—those who toiled the land with their backs bent to the sky might go their entire lives having heard only a handful of stories, while the men of the martial world, the wandering bandits and outlaws, would at most listen to simple storytelling performances or operas, tales that were straightforward and unadorned but almost entirely lacking in any deliberate ideological slant—at most offering the kind of stories people simply enjoyed hearing: righteous vengeance, chivalrous swordsmen, romantic escapades, fantastical adventures. It was, in short, entirely virgin territory, as yet uncultivated.

But the sort of patriotic poetry and ornate prose written by countless later scholars, however well received at court or among literary gatherings, drawing enthusiastic applause from a room full of scholars, would mean nothing at all to the lower strata of society, frankly speaking—who there would even know what message you were trying to convey? How many among the wandering swordsmen and bandits could even read the Memorial on Setting Out to Battle, let alone understand its meaning; how many among the men wielding hoes or spears would feel their hearts stirred to righteous grief by Du Fu’s poetry?

The society of this era, throughout the state of Wu, was still remarkably simple and unguarded—the illiterate masses were far easier to sway than the internet-savvy shut-ins of a later age. Given a few years’ time, people could be made to develop a growing sense of concern for the nation’s fate; even if it couldn’t fundamentally eliminate the greenwood bandits and martial-world outlaws, so long as the overall balance tilted even slightly, that accumulated force would be enough to move the whole of society. In this sense, cultivating a group of people to write novels and dramas would prove far more cost-effective than cultivating a handful of top-tier scholars to produce poetry destined to be remembered for the ages.

This was the only lever Ning Yi could think of that might shift the entire society without stirring up too much alarm among the privileged classes. But there were still plenty of problems remaining, chief among them his own hesitation over whether he really wanted to hand the state of Wu something akin to a nuclear-grade weapon. He had once discussed with Liu Xigua how to indoctrinate soldiers at the grassroots level, and had spoken with Lu Hongti about the importance of propaganda—but honestly, a convenient, society-wide system of public opinion and messaging was really the ideal foundation for truly implementing all of this. And yet, once it was truly up and running, life would only grow harder from then on for the likes of the Overlord Blade Camp or the Lüliang Mountains—like slowly boiling a frog, impossible to guard against no matter how hard one tried.

Ning Yi had no idea how his relationship with the state of Wu would ultimately turn out. All he wanted was to stop the Jurchens from sweeping south, but certain things had already been decided from the moment he first set his mind to acting—he was bound to make enemies along the way, possibly many of them. He wasn’t the sort of selfless do-gooder devoted purely to nation and people. His willingness to act at all stemmed from having seen people like Qian Xixi, like Liu Xigua and Chen Fan—people of the kind he could genuinely respect, people worth saving. But if, in the end, all of this came back to bite him, he had no intention of simply sitting back and accepting his fate—that was the worst-case outcome he’d already reckoned with.

For this reason, now that this propaganda system had basically taken shape in his mind, he found himself hesitating after all, going back over it again and again with revisions. It was at this very moment, as he was mulling over the crux of the plan, that Zhuo Yunfeng came to see him—and whatever the young man had come to say, it clearly wasn’t some trivial matter.

“I know Zhou Pei is right next door, in the room you originally stayed in.”

Once Zhuo Yunfeng had been shown in and seated, and Ning Yi had poured him a cup of water, the young man, sure enough, got straight to the point the moment he sat down. Such directness gave Ning Yi’s mind a brief pause; he nodded, brush still in hand, and waited for the other to continue.

“The princess and I have known each other since childhood. I know exactly what’s on her mind, how she thinks about things. Ever since two years ago, when the Prince Kang’s estate first began considering husbands for her, she was already less than eager about it. I know her temperament well—she wants to see more of the world, more of what’s out there. Just Jiangning alone has never felt like enough to her. As you well know, sir, the princess is quite clever—most men, in truth, don’t measure up to her at all.”

Zhuo Yunfeng, having said this much, glanced at Ning Yi’s expression, only to find the man across from him looking back with a smile, nodding along. In truth, Ning Yi’s reaction rather caught him off guard. He’d rehearsed how to approach this conversation with Ning Yi many times over, expecting his opening line to strike the man with utter shock—yet Ning Yi’s response was so mild that Zhuo Yunfeng found himself thinking he’d indeed underestimated a clever man’s composure. As he saw it, Ning Yi’s mind must surely be reeling by now, simply masking it well behind an unreadable exterior—this smiling nod, surely, was itself a sign of inner turmoil.

Little did he know that Ning Yi’s mind was, at that very moment, occupied with an entirely different question—how to persuade Qin Siyuan to direct sufficient political resources toward Bamboo House, without resorting to the propaganda angle as his justification. As far as Zhuo Yunfeng was concerned, though, so long as he himself didn’t push the matter too aggressively, even if Qin Siyuan recognized the value of propaganda, he probably wouldn’t pay too much attention to a mere entertainment business built around teahouses. In any case, what Bamboo House needed to do was simple enough—earn a great deal of money, then keep people telling stories and performing operas around the clock, with the content itself kept firmly under his own control. Besides all that… this Zhuo Yunfeng did seem rather sharp, he thought.

“Some time ago, the estate began pressing her rather hard about this matter, and when she confided in me privately, she’d already begun entertaining the idea of running away, though she wasn’t fully resolved on it yet. But this time… I believe she’s truly made up her mind. I could only guess at first, but I confirmed it just yesterday. I know the princess has always admired your learning, sir, though I have no idea how you managed to persuade her into this… I probably shouldn’t say too much on this matter, but given our friendship, Mr. Ning, this concerns the princess’s reputation. With Prince Kang about to finalize her marriage arrangements, and her having fled the household like this—the journey north alone might not amount to much, but if word were to get out… that the princess had been sharing quarters with someone. Mr. Ning, I’ll speak plainly on this point—in the end, I fear she may end up harming others as well as herself. I don’t feel it’s my place to raise this with anyone else, but you really ought to plan ahead for this, Mr. Ning.”

What Zhuo Yunfeng was saying was, of course, phrased with a certain diplomatic restraint. Among Zhou Pei’s circle of friends, he stood out for both his temperament and his intelligence, though he was also a rather proud man in his own right. After Zhou Pei had first politely declined his family’s marriage proposal, Zhuo Yunfeng had never brought the matter up again. He understood Zhou Pei’s character all too well—raised under Kang Xian’s influence from a young age, she idolized people of genuine capability and talent, yet with a young girl’s romantic sensibility, she’d always felt there must be grander sights out there in the world somewhere. If he couldn’t prove his own worth at the very highest level, he stood little chance of winning her heart.

And the stage for proving oneself at the highest level was, naturally, the capital.

Having pieced together, from various earlier clues, that Zhou Pei harbored thoughts of fleeing home for the capital, and with Ning Yi’s return likely deepening her resolve to actually carry the plan through, Zhuo Yunfeng had, from their earlier conversations, more or less guessed at this possibility. He had resolved to head to the capital himself as well—admittedly something of a gamble—but fortunately, over these past two days, he had managed to confirm that the young princess really had gone through with such a reckless scheme, so his trip hadn’t been for nothing.

In his original plan, the best outcome would have been to accompany and look after the young princess along the way to the capital, then overwhelm everyone in Bianliang with his poetic talent, while also making a name for himself among the imperial clan. Unfortunately, once he confirmed that Zhou Pei was staying in Ning Yi’s room, he sensed something was off. Before coming here, he’d considered two possibilities—either the two of them truly shared nothing more than a teacher-student relationship, or… Ning Yi was, after all, only six or seven years older than Zhou Pei, a man of exceptional talent whom the young princess had always admired—if there were something improper going on secretly between this teacher and student, well, that too wasn’t entirely impossible to imagine.

And so, in coming to seek out Ning Yi, his words carried a certain implicit warning underneath. If Zhou Pei’s connection to Ning Yi, a mere son-in-law of no real standing, came to light during this journey to the capital, it was Zhou Pei’s reputation that would suffer the talk—but if Prince Kang’s estate truly flew into a rage over it, it would ultimately be Ning Yi who couldn’t possibly bear the consequences.

As he spoke, he watched Ning Yi’s expression throughout, seeing him nod occasionally, or furrow his brow in thought. Though Ning Yi didn’t appear outright shocked, it was clear enough that he’d recognized the gravity of the situation. Being of imperial lineage himself, Zhuo Yunfeng had been trained since childhood in precisely this sort of subtle needling and careful reading of others’ reactions, and he could tell by now that he’d achieved his aim, feeling a certain quiet satisfaction. If Ning Yi were smart enough to want to extricate himself from this mess, he’d need to strike some kind of deal with Zhuo Yunfeng himself.

In the end, the young princess’s presence would inevitably become public knowledge regardless, and the best approach, surely, would be to present her as having traveled in his own company—Ning Yi, a mere commoner, couldn’t possibly shoulder the gossip of having traveled alongside the princess, whereas he himself certainly could. And from then on, the whole shipload of nobles would instinctively associate his name with the young princess’s as well. Such idle gossip would, in the end, inevitably accumulate weight in the young princess’s own heart over time.

With these thoughts in mind, he went on to mention a bit more about his family’s connections with the princess’s side, and then, to his surprise, saw Ning Yi nod, rise to his feet, and say, “That makes sense.” Zhuo Yunfeng hadn’t really expected him to spell things out much further than that, but what followed after those words caught him rather off guard. Ning Yi led him out to the door, knocked on the door of the room next door, and Zhuo Yunfeng heard him say, “Zhou Pei, are you in there?”

Zhuo Yunfeng couldn’t help but freeze for a moment. From inside the room came the sound of light, quick footsteps: “I’m here, Teacher, I actually had something I wanted to—” It was a bright, lively tone in Zhou Pei’s voice, one he’d almost never heard from her before, and as she spoke, the girl inside opened the door, then paused, faintly startled herself. Zhou Pei was dressed at the moment in rather plain, common clothing, borrowed from Xiao Chan—though somehow, the same outfit that looked lovely and refined on Xiao Chan looked rather out of place on her.

Around Ning Yi, Zhou Pei was usually quite at ease, even a little cheeky and familiar—but seeing Zhuo Yunfeng now, she abruptly composed herself, lowering her head slightly and pulling her outer robe closed—in truth the inner layer was also an outer garment; it was only that Zhou Pei, feeling rather weak these days, had put on two layers, the outer one left unbuttoned. Pulling it closed instinctively now, she lowered her head a little. “What…?”

“Someone’s here to see you—your friend. Go ahead and entertain him yourself.”

“…Mm.”

Zhou Pei glanced at Zhuo Yunfeng, gave a small nod, and Zhuo Yunfeng, for his part, found himself at something of a loss for how to respond. This was supposed to have been a conversation between two men—he’d anticipated Ning Yi’s reactions, planned out various responses—but for all his careful, deliberate preparation, he’d never once imagined Ning Yi would simply hand him off to Zhou Pei like this. Now what was he supposed to say… As he exchanged greetings with Zhou Pei, Ning Yi, brow furrowed in thought, turned and asked her, “What was it you wanted to say just now?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Zhou Pei shook her head, then, seeing Ning Yi about to leave, added, “I’ll come find you and talk later…”

“Sure.” Ning Yi nodded and headed back, too indifferent, for the moment, to concern himself further with this tangle between the young man and woman. He merely thought to himself that Zhou Pei, dressed in her fine, noble garments, certainly carried herself with all the dignity of a princess—but in Xiao Chan’s clothes, she rather resembled a country girl, which struck him as rather amusing.

The matters weighing on his mind would take considerable time to properly resolve, difficult to settle in any short order. He mulled it over for a while, catching, faintly, the sound of the young pair talking next door—though from what he could tell, it didn’t sound particularly warm between them. Zhuo Yunfeng, so full of spirit and confidence in front of Ning Yi, seemed to grow flustered and deflated whenever he was around Zhou Pei—clearly, in Ning Yi’s view, this was simply because Zhuo Yunfeng was fond of her. He thought that if Zhou Pei came looking for him later, he ought to say a few words to her—not to be too particular or let a good match slip by; this Zhuo Yunfeng, at his current age, seemed like a decent enough prospect after all.

After a while, Xiao Chan, who had gone out to check on how Su Wenyu’s seasickness was progressing, returned. Since they were docked at Xuyi that day, Ning Yi had arranged for the badly seasick Su Wenyu to go ashore and see a physician, to spare him further suffering. On this trip to the capital, the Su family had sent along little more than a dozen people, servants and maids included, and Xiao Chan kept careful track of everyone’s condition, having essentially inherited Su Tan’er’s mantle, carrying herself with the bearing of a “little lady of the house” in her own right. Ning Yi poured her a cup of tea, and she sat at the edge of the bed, cradling her cup, recounting everyone’s condition one by one, her hair bun bobbing charmingly at the back of her head. Ning Yi watched her for a while, head tilted, before finally laughing and telling her about Zhou Pei’s admirer.

Not long after, once dinner was over, there was still no further news about the young lord’s fate. The docks on this side blazed with light, the opera stage lively with performance, the lanterns of several large ships merging into one continuous glow. Zhou Pei, having finished her conversation with Zhuo Yunfeng, had already gone out to the front hall for dinner. Ning Yi recalled that she’d said she had something to discuss with him, but after finishing his own meal, he went back to mulling over his plans, making small revisions here and there, and Xiao Chan, not wanting to disturb him, made him a pot of tea and went off to watch the opera performance. After waiting a while longer with no sign of Zhou Pei—likely caught up in social obligations after her sudden public appearance—Ning Yi rose to clear his head, deciding not to wait any longer. He took a turn around the deck, then went over to the other ship to see Yun Zhu and Jin’er.

Knowing that Yun Zhu and Jin’er had kept out of sight these past few days, he headed straight for their room, but paused slightly at the door, because a faint voice was coming from inside—not Yun Zhu’s, nor Jin’er’s, but pitched rather low, speaking of something remarkably familiar.

“…During that whole stretch of time, there wasn’t a single person I knew around me. Master was all on his own, his wounds barely healed, and he still had to look after a useless little maid like me who couldn’t help with anything at all. Miss Yun Zhu, Miss Jin’er, just think about it—a place like Hangzhou, surrounded on all sides by rebels, with people wanting to kill Master for this person or that all day long, and that Overlord Blade Camp’s own stance still unclear—I truly had no idea when I might be killed. But even then, Master never once let it show on his face, and more than once he’d go out of his way to make me laugh… I’d pretend to be all cheerful, and sometimes I’d hide behind the house and cry quietly, but I was never really scared—I just kept thinking, Master really is such a good man… uh, husband, now…”

That last part came out in a small, quiet voice, tinged with a kind of satisfied embarrassment at being overheard—and who else could it have been but Xiao Chan? Ning Yi could practically picture the bashful expression on her face as she fidgeted with her fingers while speaking. He pressed his forehead against the cabin wall, at something of a loss for words. He’d been keeping the matter of Yun Zhu hidden from Xiao Chan this whole journey, and had even recalled Xiao Chan once “fiercely” declaring to him that she’d team up with her mistress to gang up on other women—never expecting the two sides to have already conspired together behind his back. Thinking back on it now, though, it wasn’t so strange after all—it had been Yun Zhu, back at the Su estate, who’d stepped forward to save the baby while Xiao Chan was fleeing with little Ning Xi in her arms; given Xiao Chan’s nature, it made perfect sense that she’d feel genuine gratitude toward Yun Zhu for that kindness.

Just as Ning Yi was making this discovery aboard the ship, the grandest brothel in Xuyi county, the West Garden, was awash in an atmosphere of music and revelry, songs and dance filling the air with merriment. In a small side room just off the main hall, however, a pair of eyes peered out through a quietly opened window, scanning the guests who had arrived that day, along with the maid she’d stationed to wait by the door, her brow furrowed slightly. Since childhood, she had always been the focal point of attention among the other children and the brothel matrons, and since gaining her reputation, admirers and visitors had flocked to her in droves—she certainly hadn’t expected to find herself, of all people, stood up by Ning Yi. Whatever else might be said, even given their acquaintance since childhood, he really ought to have come by!

So she thought to herself, and then began to grow a little worried—Xuyi hadn’t seemed entirely peaceful these past few days; surely he hadn’t, by some coincidence, run into trouble himself…