Winter of the tenth year of Wu Jinghan, Bianliang.

The snow didn’t begin falling until December. Though people always said that auspicious snow foretold a bountiful year, this tenth year of the Jinghan era had, in fact, already been a fine year overall — the warm season had lasted longer than usual, giving many people more of a chance to scrape by.

Now, in this bitter cold season, all of Bianliang, inside and outside the city walls, seemed wrapped in a current of warmth. Beggars gathering outside the city gates found that the relief efforts of the great households — distributing porridge and food — never once let up. And with Yanjing now recovered, enthusiasm for the war effort across the whole nation seemed to run higher than ever; wealthy merchants and gentry called publicly for the swift pacification of the Yan-Yun region, while privately practicing ever more acts of charity and goodwill — truly, the whole nation seemed united in purpose, from top to bottom.

For the scholars, this winter in the capital of Bianliang was a place everyone flocked to. Since autumn, scholars and students from all over the country had poured into the city. Some had come early in preparation for next spring’s imperial examinations; others had come seeking official appointments, drawn by the news of Yan-Yun’s recovery.

The Wu Dynasty already had far too many scholars — the problem of many holding academic honors but few holding actual office had long persisted, and continued to grow. But if the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan-Yun could truly be reclaimed, a great many new positions might open up immediately, and in such circumstances, seeking office was certainly worth the effort.

With scholars flooding in, not only were the inns of the capital packed to capacity, but all manner of literary gatherings and grand events flourished as well, and business at the pleasure houses boomed spectacularly. Though some more discerning scholars felt that the flood of eulogistic writing lacked originality and had grown formulaic, still, such a flourishing age was certainly something worth celebrating. And with Fang La’s execution, the pacification of Yanjing in the north, and the destruction of the Liangshan bandits all falling within recent memory, the poetic style circulating in Bianliang during this period had taken on a somewhat bolder, more heroic tone than before, with scholars, brush in hand, seeming to nurse ambitions of casting aside the pen for the sword, much like Ban Chao of old.

And under these circumstances, in a certain sense, one name that had, over the course of this year, become somewhat entangled with Fang La, with Liangshan, and even with the poetry circles of Bianliang, had — since the uproar of the Dragon Boat Festival — gradually faded from the capital’s upper social circles, becoming a presence known only to a certain few, who, whenever they thought of him, couldn’t help but feel a mixture of regret and puzzlement.

That name was Ning Yi, Ning Liheng.

Since returning to Bianliang from Shandong, he had neither formally joined the Secret Investigation Bureau, nor followed Qin Sizhi’s suggestion to enter the Imperial Academy, pursue academic honors, or make any public, formal appearances. Aside from holding a nominal position among Qin Sizhi’s staff of advisors, this young man — who had just brought down Liangshan — had otherwise returned home to what appeared to be a leisurely life of “managing his household and raising his children,” while behind the scenes, a number of business ventures he’d quietly arranged were gradually taking shape amid this unhurried pace.

Of course, to someone of Qin Sizhi’s standing, commerce simply didn’t register as falling under the category of “important matters” at all.

At this time, with Qin Sizhi overseeing the entire Northern Expedition effort, his influence rising accordingly to the point of near-total dominance over the court, within the Right Chancellor’s residence and the Secret Investigation Bureau alike, the truly exhilarating event of the year hadn’t been Tong Guan’s Northern Expedition, nor the pacification of the south. It had been, rather, the fact that Ning Yi had gone to Shandong and, in the space of two months, resolved the once-towering threat of Liangshan — that alone counted as a genuine shot of adrenaline.

As for the capabilities Ning Yi had displayed throughout this whole affair — particularly his uncanny, almost demonic mastery over the human heart shown in the crushing of Liangshan — however strange it seemed, it was clear that if he set his mind to accomplishing something, ordinary matters large or small would pose no difficulty for him at all. As for how best to make use of this man, Qin Sizhi had given it much thought, but even after discussing it with people like Juemíng and Yao Zunian, he still couldn’t quite settle on an answer. Yet in the end, once Ning Yi returned to Bianliang, he chose to remain behind the scenes — a development that genuinely surprised everyone.

Had this been some ordinary young man, Qin Sizhi and the others would hardly have allowed him to “waste himself” like this. But there was something about the way Ning Yi carried himself and spoke that made it feel entirely natural — especially this time, upon his return. Though he was candid with others about not wishing to enter officialdom for now, his manner regarding what came next didn’t seem like avoidance at all, but rather as though he had his own set of plans in mind. He promised that whenever the Chancellor’s residence had need of him, he would certainly come to help — but beyond that, he seemed to have a great many ideas of his own he wished to pursue, giving the impression that he couldn’t afford much distraction elsewhere.

From his past dealings with Ning Yi, Qin Sizhi already knew the young man’s mind ran deep and complicated. After the events in Hangzhou and at Liangshan, no one could quite make out what exactly his Confucian ideal — bringing peace to all under heaven for ten thousand generations — actually looked like in his mind. According to their earlier assumptions, Ning Yi’s earlier disillusionment had likely come from running into some intractable problem; now that he seemed to have plans of his own, it was presumably for that same reason. After failing to persuade him otherwise, they said no more, simply granting him a position as an advisor within the Chancellor’s residence, along with a nominal post in the Secret Investigation Bureau — light duties most days, but expected to show up when needed. Ning Yi nodded in agreement to this arrangement.

And so, he gradually faded from Bianliang’s social circles.

Of course, over these past three-plus months, Qin Sizhi and the others may well have come to regret the arrangement they’d agreed to with Ning Yi at the time. Because during this period, he’d actually accomplished very little in the way of official business. If one were to sum up what he’d done during these months of bustling activity in Bianliang, it amounted to this: Ning Yi had put together a variety troupe of performers, and bought up several blacksmith shops, papermaking workshops, kilns, wine shops, and even rice-selling stores, among other things.

To an ordinary person, this scattered assortment of ventures might seem bewilderingly complex, but to men like Juemíng and Yao Zunian, it looked like nothing more than trivial pursuits anyone could pick up simply by throwing money at them. Whether Ning Yi had done any groundwork beforehand, they had no way of knowing, but the entire process of acquisition seemed remarkably leisurely — Ning Yi appeared to expend very little effort, as though he were simply picking up a few things here and there in the course of an idle life, then gathering the resources and manpower from these ventures into a manor on the outskirts of the city for some concentrated, purposeful renovation.

It was only when Ning Yi’s interest turned toward the rice shops that Qin Sizhi recalled certain matters and sought him out for a conversation — mainly concerning the “pounding mill” and “wind-powered mill” devices Ning Yi had introduced back in Hangzhou. Those inventions hadn’t spread widely at the time, but now Qin Sizhi found himself having to consider the implications. He asked Ning Yi directly, and Ning Yi confirmed with a nod that yes, he did intend to do something along these lines.

At this time, the Wu Dynasty was prosperous, but the gap between rich and poor was severe. For the upper classes, eating polished white rice was simply taken for granted. But honestly speaking, the process of hulling rice had always been fairly laborious, which, in a sense, was precisely what determined the price of polished rice. If Ning Yi truly prepared to bring devices like the pounding mill into production — given that the technical barrier to such a mill wasn’t particularly high, it certainly couldn’t remain profitable for a decade or more, but with Ning Yi’s abilities, turning a substantial short-term profit would be extremely easy. If the milling technique then spread further and the price of polished rice fell, that might well be a good thing in the long run — but for the present moment, it would create considerable trouble.

“…Though our dynasty is prosperous now, and the poor aren’t lacking in ways to make a living, we are, after all, in a time of war, and supply lines are stretched very thin. If, after the fall of the Liao, the Jurchens should pose a threat as well, this strain would only continue. If the price of polished rice were driven down now, even those of modest means would come to rely on it as a staple, and a shortage of rice and grain would likely become a real problem. So I hope Liheng will set this matter aside for the time being…”

This was, after all, only one of the things Ning Yi happened to have taken an interest in, and since Qin Sizhi had spoken up, Ning Yi simply let the matter drop. As for his other ventures — aside from the high-proof liquor he’d already developed back in Jiangning — his arrangements were casual and unhurried, and few could discern his true intentions. In short, to men like Juemíng and Yao Zunian, who were only now growing familiar with Ning Yi as a person, this young man, who’d once had so many opportunities to make a name for himself before others, had since then strangely vanished from view, quietly busying himself in this complicated world of Bianliang with small matters that no one else could quite understand.

The same puzzlement was, at that very moment, stirring in the heart of Li Shishi, the reigning courtesan queen of Fan Tower on the other side of Bianliang — especially now, with winter arrived and the literary gatherings of the capital in full swing, whenever she happened to think of that name, her confusion only deepened.

Back in May, when Ning Yi had left Bianliang, she’d kept close watch on developments in Shandong, and later, upon hearing how the whole affair had unfolded, she found it hard to say exactly what she felt. But when Ning Yi returned from Shandong at the end of August, aside from a single visit to see her — essentially just letting a friend know he was safe — his name never once appeared again, over the following months, at any of the many grand gatherings across Bianliang. She knew this fellow townsman of hers was somewhere in the capital, and she knew he was remarkably capable, yet like the very air itself, he had simply vanished — and every time she thought of it, the puzzlement only grew. Amid this grand feast where so many were so eagerly displaying their talents to the fullest… what on earth was that person… doing?

…

Morning. A warm room. As the room’s owner opened the window, letting in a thread of cool air, what filled the room besides that was, aside from a tunelessly cheerful singing voice, the delighted babbling of an infant joining in.

“Little girl… wake up early in the morning, keep up your exercise! Good health! We sing, we dance, wishing everyone well… Happy New Year…”

“Aaahh… waaaa waaaa…”

The baby on the bed, bundled up like a little ball, sat there waving his hands and babbling happily, clearly in good spirits. The woman getting up from bed was still fastening the buttons of her clothes. “Not ready yet, not ready yet, I haven’t finished dressing, don’t open the window, husband — what if Xi’er catches cold…”

“Su Tan’er, you’re so slow, how do you expect to get anything done. My little Ning Xi isn’t nearly so delicate, are you, sweetheart?”

In the room, the honeycomb briquette recently introduced to this world for the first time was still burning in the stove used for warmth, and the water above it was already quite hot. As Ning Yi picked up the child, who hadn’t fussed much since waking, Xiao Chan and Juan’er had already brought in a basin of water, mixed in some hot water, and wrung out a towel for Ning Yi. He pressed it to his own face for a moment, then, while it was still warm, pressed it against the baby’s face and wiped it around a bit.

At this treatment from his father, Ning Xi wailed loudly, nearly bursting into tears — but once the wiping was done, his face glowed red like an apple. Once Xiao Chan carried off the aggrieved child, Ning Yi shook his head. “A little heat is good for you, and here you are actually fighting back.” He then went to wash his own face.

Su Tan’er walked over and poked at Ning Xi’s cheek. “Papa’s so mean, isn’t he?”

“I already heard you badmouthing me.”

“Hmph!”

The feeling of an independent, complete family had only truly come together over the past two months. In truth, when Ning Yi had first returned from Liangshan, the household hadn’t yet had this same lively atmosphere. Su Tan’er, accustomed to precocious maturity and managing a household, along with Xiao Chan and the others, had long grown used to the rhythms of a large clan household — rules had to be strict, and the master of the house had to command authority. Especially with Ning Yi away avenging the Su family, Su Tan’er had needed to hold the household together, requiring an ever-firmer grip on the family’s discipline. In that earliest period, worried for Ning Yi’s safety and adjusting to a new place besides, life had felt rather stifling.

It was only after Ning Yi returned that everything changed.

Every family needs someone to serve as its backbone. With him back, Tan’er and the others finally had a real pillar of support — and in the world as it stood now, that feeling was especially pronounced. Only, precisely because Ning Yi had returned, everything seemed to have shifted rather further in another direction than expected.

Ning Yi wasn’t much of a stickler for formality. Though he technically held the position of “master” in this household, at not even thirty years old, he carried himself with no particular airs at home. Sometimes he’d carry the child around, teasing his wife and Xiao Chan and the others, and he treated the newly hired servants with easy good humor too. Though the servants who’d come up from Jiangning with the family were well aware of just how formidable Ning Yi could be, over the past two or three months, the whole household’s atmosphere had shifted into something almost entirely different from what it had been at the Su family estate in Jiangning…