In the tenth year of the Jinghan era of Wu, at the end of the sixth month, the battle at Mount Liangshan in Shandong, caught up amid the great drama of the Wu Dynasty’s southern suppression and northern expedition of this period, did not stir up much widespread attention at the time. Though those with a keen sense for such things could pick up on a hint of something significant within it, compared to the boiling state of the overall situation, even for those who took this matter seriously, the information they gathered always seemed insignificant. The phrase that would become so popular in later ages — “the Demon of the Heart crushed Liangshan in three days” — was, at this moment, still being overshadowed by Tong Guan’s monumental achievement in recovering Yan and Yun; like a small tributary within the great tide of history, it was overlooked by most, slipping into the forest and vanishing from view in the blink of an eye.

During this period when Tong Guan, Liu Yanqing, Guo Yaoshi, Xin Xingzong, Fang La, and others were active — even as Wanyan Aguda rose to power with the Jurchen people to the north, and Liao’s Xiao Gan propped up the final glow of a once-great empire — the appearance of a name like Ning Liheng amounted to nothing more than a small footnote added to the prevailing narrative of “an age of heroes” then in vogue. At least within the Wu Dynasty in the near future, as the continuous promotion of the great achievement of recovering Yan and Yun spread, a feeling that a great age had arrived filled everyone’s hearts, and phrases like “an age of heroes” filled every street and alley in casual conversation, stirring an intense, surging emotion in people.

Few knew that, years later, all of this would become merely the afterglow and dying light of an empire, a silhouette against the backdrop of a far vaster age. And within that age, the strongest and most decisive current of all would trace its origin back to here. When later historians, looking back from the future, tried countless times to part the fog, to push aside the noisy, clamorous curtain of that era, setting aside the Yan-Yun affair in the north and Fang La in the south, attempting to fix their gaze on this corner of Shandong — trying to see clearly just where that small stream slipping into the forest had begun to grow into a vast, sprawling river…

At the end of the sixth month, at the Wurui Camp encampment, a little over a thousand Liangshan prisoners remained. All of these men had, during the battle at Liangshan, taken the heads of at least three of their fellow comrades; regardless of how they had come to do so, once their identities had been recorded, all of them had been kept alive.

Held as prisoners in the military camp, the earliest days were not easy. Most of these men, who had hoped to trade heads for wealth and status, understood well enough that they had been played — and the soldiers of Wurui Camp gave them no kind looks either. Over a month-long imprisonment, nearly every day was spent under the threat of death and hunger, while news from the outside world trickled in bit by bit — including Song Jiang’s execution, the purge of the areas surrounding the marsh, and their former comrades still at large turning on and slaughtering one another…

The collapse of the greater cause wore away much of their will to resist. Wurui Camp, though it had performed rather unimpressively when facing Liangshan head-on, was absolutely ruthless and merciless when it came to dealing with prisoners — protest was essentially useless. And toward these men, neither the local officials nor the officers of Wurui Camp held any inclination to release them. After a month of being worn down by hunger, most of these thousand-odd men were dispersed and incorporated into the Wu Dynasty’s army at the time — like drops of water falling into a great river, few of them would still be alive a decade or more later.

Among them, a total of five hundred and seven men signed ten-year indenture contracts at the time, joining a merchant house known as Zhuji. Roughly a few months later, over a hundred of these men were sent off to the military in successive batches, and after the initial round of selection, a total of three hundred and eighty-two were retained by Zhuji.

At the time, these men had no awareness that they would come to be part of some great event, or that they would be remembered with heavy emphasis in later ages. Of course, to later generations, these three hundred and eighty-two men would also amount to little more than a symbolic number — not necessarily the ones who supported anything of substance, but simply because they marked a beginning.

And this beginning, in truth, was not necessarily a bright or glorious one.

In the latter part of the seventh month, when Ning Yi came to Wurui Camp for the first time, he decided the fate and destination of these thousand-odd men. He was frank with them about the surrounding officials’ views on their disposition: either join the army, and gain their freedom after earning merit, or join Zhuji, selling themselves into ten years of indentured service — after which all matters concerning their lives, livelihoods, and so forth would be his responsibility to bear.

At the time, Ning Yi’s complexion was not exactly healthy; his statement was delivered in a flat, indifferent tone. Here, the thousand-odd men, having already been starved for over a month, hardly dared voice much protest. The entire selection process was completed within two days, after which Ning Yi paid out the full bounty owed for every head taken, in particular instructing those going into the army — while handing over the silver — that money was an external thing, and that once in the camp, they could use it to grease the right palms, so as to make their lives somewhat easier. Later, some of these men benefited from this advice, while a small number were harmed by having the silver on them.

Regarding these matters concerning Liangshan, aside from Qin Siyuan’s Right Chancellor’s estate, the most direct attention actually also came from the forces of the Commandant’s estate. At first, this attention was perhaps only cursory, but once they learned of the methods Ning Yi had displayed in crushing Liangshan, taking advantage of the chaos in which others had branded him the “Demon of the Heart,” Gao Qiu had issued an order to Zhou Tong, who happened to be passing through the area at the time. For Gao Qiu, this had been a convenient move made after learning of the friction between Ning Yi and his own household; after the failure, the Commandant’s estate, unwilling to confront the Right Chancellor’s estate directly, had quieted down, with both sides filing the matter away in memory.

Only the five hundred men who had been kept back became, at the time, the most immediate and practical problem facing Ning Yi. Whether it was Wang Shanyue, Zhu Biao, or Lu Hongti, all of them had initially raised objections — taking these men into Zhuji, could they really be trusted, would it be safe, this was a major concern. In an age like this, with money one could hire skilled fighters in the rivers and lakes, recruit servants, or buy up destitute people from slave traders — such people at least held no grudge in their hearts, and would be far more reliable in terms of loyalty than these five hundred-odd men from Liangshan.

When later historians traced the matter this far, they would occasionally raise similar questions — but regarding exactly how these men were later trained, or even indoctrinated, by Ning Yi, it seemed as though the process had been deliberately erased, leaving behind little in the way of records; those involved at the time also rarely spoke of it in later years. If anyone truly wished to dig deeper into the matter, they might find only fragmentary, scattered pieces of information.

After settling the matter of these men’s indenture, Ning Yi and the others established an enclosed camp near Dulong Ridge. Ning Yi stayed there for roughly a month; once everything was on track, he put Su Wenyu in charge of the entire operation. In the memory of the residents of Dulong Ridge, the training within the camp consisted essentially of simple standing, sitting, and walking exercises, and in the evenings, groups would often sit together talking — sometimes the voices inside would grow quite loud.

There were also several instances of unrest, all of which were suppressed.

After roughly three months of this, the camp shifted to a semi-enclosed status; the nearly four hundred men remaining there would go out to do work for Dulong Ridge — in the dead of winter, chopping firewood and leaving it outside Dulong Ridge or at certain households’ doors, with some even leaving behind silver they had saved up.

At this time, the residents of Dulong Ridge still harbored resentment toward the Liangshan remnants; every time such gestures occurred, Zhu Biao and the others had to step in to keep the villagers from taking excessive action. But few understood why these men had transformed into this state within just a few months.

This matter remained an unsolved mystery for a long time afterward. Three months later, a second batch of people entered the semi-enclosed camp — over three hundred young boys purchased from various places when winter arrived. This batch of boys was then trained inside, one-on-one, for roughly half a year, eventually becoming part of Zhuji. After the third batch of boys emerged, the original three hundred and eighty-two men from Liangshan were finally dispersed to various branches of Zhuji… but all of this belongs to a later chapter.

In early August, on a hillside as the sun set, Hongti sat there, watching the camp gradually taking shape below the hill. Ning Yi came up from behind, glanced at the setting sun, and sat down beside her.

Far below, the five hundred-odd men were practicing in tight formation — under Ning Yi’s demanding standards and the threat of death, the formation truly was excessively precise.

“I still worry a little, you keeping these men close to you,” Hongti said. “Training them this way, of course ordinary people can be made to follow orders strictly enough — but in their hearts, after all, they bear a grudge against you. You have those monks come and lecture them on grand principles every night, but they may not even understand what’s being said.”

“They’ll understand,” Ning Yi said with a smile.

Hongti shook her head. “I still worry about your safety. I’m not clever, but… tell me seriously, having them talk night after night about the wrongs they’ve done — does that really work?”

Ning Yi fell silent for a moment. “What I’m afraid of… isn’t just whether it works. Don’t overthink it — this isn’t a good thing, and it’s a method I’ll only use this once…”

“So mysterious about it.”

Hongti glanced at him, hugging her knees. Over these past several days, in front of others, Hongti still maintained the bearing befitting Ning Yi’s master. She wore a wide-brimmed hat with a thin veil, and dressed in the kind of gown Ning Yi had chosen for her, one with the air of a “female knight-errant” and “grandmaster” — walking beside him, few dared to overlook her presence. Especially now, with her record of hunting down Liangshan men already made public, the name “Iron Sword of River and Mountain” Lu Hongti had already spread throughout Qilu, poised to become, alongside the “Demon of the Heart,” a pair of untouchable figures of death that no one dared cross.

Elder Zhu Chaofeng and the others of Dulong Ridge all had to bow respectfully to her, offering her the seat of honor in the hall, the place of precedence at meals. Hongti, by nature indifferent to such things, cared little for this sort of ceremony, but Ning Yi was quite fond of it, repeatedly elevating her standing a notch further, leaving Hongti with no choice but to play the part of the lofty master. Zhu Biao had asked to spar with her a few times, only to be disarmed within a few moves; only Luan Tingyu had managed to trade some blows with her, though he too couldn’t defeat her. The people of Dulong Ridge now held this female grandmaster in tremendous awe.

Only when no one else was around could the two of them relax and be themselves. Speaking of it now, her tone carried no displeasure — as for Ning Yi’s secretiveness, she simply found it impressive, and even felt a certain pride in it.

Ning Yi smiled and put his arm around her shoulders. “I’ll know when to stop. As for you — if you go back to Mount Lüliang, you must be careful, don’t always push yourself to the brink. Wait for me to come find you.”

Hongti nodded. “With Liao defeated, Lüliang should have some peace for a while. If the Wu Dynasty truly has recovered the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan and Yun, there won’t be any more raids from now on.”

“If that really turns out to be the case, that would indeed be a good thing — just… don’t let your guard down…”

“…Mm.”

As one of the foremost martial artists of her age, she leaned against her lover’s shoulder, gazing at the setting sun, a hint of longing in her brow.

News of Tong Guan’s recovery of Yanjing had by now spread throughout the entire Wu Dynasty. Beneath the orange glow of the setting sun, the evening wind stirred the withered grass on the hillside, sending it flying up into the air in scattered wisps, tousling their sleeves and hair, carrying the woman’s longing and the man’s caution off into the distance. Though what followed might not unfold exactly as either of them hoped, the sight of the two of them leaning together like this, and the warmth in their hearts at this moment, was something they would find themselves recalling again and again…

Even when she returned once more to that harsh wilderness, to struggle against every kind of malice, her heart would no longer hold any confusion. Because beyond that wilderness, there was someone cutting his way through thorn and bramble to reach her. Thinking of this, both her heart and her sword would grow calm, and it would sustain her in becoming the true, iron-blooded sword guarding the whole of Mount Lüliang.

Before long, in a small room somewhere in the Miao borderlands of Lanhuandong, a girl named Liu Xigua sat there, gazing at the faint sunlight slanting in through the window lattice, tears sliding down her cheeks. For on this very day, she had received news that, just a few days earlier, the government troops had broken through Qingxi; outside Zitong Cave, the Sacred Duke Fang La, leading the remnants of his forces, had failed to break through the encirclement, and after three days of continuous fighting, had died of exhaustion. Empress Shao Xianying had also taken her own life to follow him in death. Fang Qifo, Fang Baihua, and a small handful of others had managed to escape with the remaining survivors.

Liu Tiannan came in through the door carrying tea. “Miss, please don’t grieve any further… this matter…”

Liu Xigua tilted her face upward, the sunlight shining on the tears rolling down. “I insist on grieving.”

“Ah…” Liu Tiannan set down the tea and finally withdrew.

The Hegemon Blade Battalion had, after all, risen alongside Fang La’s uprising; after the battle at Hangzhou, of the able-bodied fighters left, only eight hundred remained, and they still had to protect one or two thousand elderly and dependent family members. It had been Ning Yi who had personally devised the plan for their relocation and survival back then, and Xigua had resolutely chosen to break away and separate herself from Fang La’s now-doomed cause — with things having come to this point, all she could do was ensure the survival of the Hegemon Blade Battalion.

Afterward, Chen Fan had led a group of men away, returning to Qingxi to try to save people; when the situation there had grown desperate, some hot-blooded men among them had wanted to go help these former comrades-in-arms, but Xigua had firmly refused to allow it. Yet in truth, her own feelings toward Fang La and the others ran far deeper than the ties most others held toward that side.

In a sense, ever since Liu Dabiao’s death, the Sacred Duke Fang La, Shao Xianying, Fang Baihua — these people had been nearly the closest thing to family she had left.

She had once tried to persuade Fang La to flee far away, but he had refused. And now, having stood by and watched these family members die for the sake of preserving the Hegemon Blade Battalion, what exactly she felt in her heart — Liu Tiannan and a few others in the Hegemon Blade Battalion who were close to her could all understand, deeply.

After Liu Tiannan left, Xigua sat there in a daze for a good while longer. At last, she pulled a few sheets of paper from her sleeve — the paper’s quality was poor to begin with, and perhaps from having been read so many times, the several sheets, large and small, were all worn and tattered. These were the reports that had spread from outside not long ago, of “the Demon of the Heart subduing Liangshan” — she had later asked around, gathering these scattered sheets bit by bit, but still couldn’t piece together the full picture of what had happened.

“Ning Liheng…” She sniffed, then forcefully wiped her tears dry. She wouldn’t let him look down on her!

She said nothing more, but gazing at the light streaming in through the window, she felt the urge to cry rising in her again.

Where are you… right now…

— After Fang La’s execution, the Yongle Uprising, which had caused such an uproar, had finally reached its end.

In the tenth year of the Jinghan era of the Wu Dynasty, with both north and south now settled, at the end of the eighth month, Ning Yi returned to Bianliang, arriving in the midst of a clear, singing autumn of peace and prosperity. Not long after, a chain business enterprise named Zhuji began extending its reach across the lands of the Wu Dynasty, expanding like some kind of monster…

The prologue to a great age had already begun.