Beneath the gently swaying torchlight, the letter read:
“…It’s been nearly a year since we parted south of the river. I don’t know what your family looks like now, don’t know if you’re still as willful as before. Since we parted, I’ve only occasionally learned of things on your end through scattered news—I don’t know the details, and my position doesn’t allow me to inquire more into your affairs, as that would bring you trouble. Of course, I know you can always grasp what the bigger picture demands.
The road ahead was never going to be easy—that’s something we already agreed on long ago, so even if your path grows hard, I won’t offer you comfort. Since returning home, things haven’t gone as smoothly as I imagined either. I’ve run into troubles both large and small, but don’t worry, I’ve handled them all one by one. Plenty of enemies have already died at my hands. As for just how formidable I am, you’ve probably already heard some of it—you knew all along anyway, didn’t you?”
When her eyes reached the line “I won’t offer you comfort,” the girl in the torchlight wrinkled her nose—as if she needed comfort. But in truth, that line “I won’t comfort you,” in a certain sense, felt as if the man were gently patting the top of her head, offering comfort all the same, and something seemed to seep sweetly into her heart. When she reached the self-satisfied “didn’t you?” that followed, she couldn’t help but laugh aloud—very much like scoffing at him.
“I did not know…” she murmured softly.
“…I’ve only just found my footing here now, and I imagine you have too. A friend traveling north brought me news of you—what you’re doing now is the matter concerning your father from years ago. I very much wanted to come see you, but circumstances didn’t allow it. By now he’s probably already told you what I think, and I know that even after hearing it, you won’t withdraw. So I only want to make my own hopes clear to you.
Timid as I am, I know that in life there are times, there are matters, from which one cannot retreat. This must be one of those times for you, and I agree with that. A’Gua, righteousness, conviction, resolve—these are fine things, and there are many times when, even at great risk, we shouldn’t abandon them. I have no intention of asking you to abandon them either—that wouldn’t be the person I first came to know. All I want to remind you is this: keep constantly in mind what it is you’re doing, and think clearly about the difference between taking a risk and courting death.
I’d very much like to know how your undertaking in the south has developed, even if it’s only just beginning—I look forward to seeing what it has become.
I remember how you looked when we spoke of these things back in those days—you smiled so happily. Now I have to admit to you: at the time, in my heart, I felt a measure of guilt. You’re a clever person; perhaps you already sensed, even as we were parting, that my enthusiasm for this cause of yours wasn’t quite enough. It wasn’t because I thought it a deception—it was because I understood how difficult it truly was.
What you want—a world where everyone can stand independent and self-assured, where everyone has the ability and the chance to seize hold of their own fate—that world may well be possible. But before it can be reached, what’s needed may be the unimaginable effort of a generation, several generations, even a dozen or more generations. I don’t hold out much hope for it myself. But you chose to try, even knowing, clever as you are, just how hard it would be.
This is the thing you’ve chosen to do, but please forgive me for standing apart from it. I, equally formidable as I am, have chosen instead to handle another matter of my own that’s more urgent. I’ve imagined your failure countless times, for one reason or another, and I’ve only left myself, deep down, the barest thread of hope—perhaps one chance in ten thousand—that many years from now, having pushed through countless hardships, I might see the seeds you planted begin to sprout. That is the one possibility I most want to see.
As for that possibility—much like the crisis you now face—I want to remind you of the difference between risk and courting death. You’re clever, but still young, full of edge, full of spirit, full of anger. You’ll think of what your father went through; you’ll see the wretched fate of those who failed; you’ll see the enemy you want, whatever it takes, to kill. You may charge forward to take a risk, but you must not charge forward to die. Don’t act on impulse.
Facing the risk of death in pursuit of even the slimmest chance of victory—that is the proper attitude for getting things done. But charging straight at death, working to make sure you die—that is nothing but a coward’s way out.
Around you, there may already be quite a few people like that—including the friend who came north—people who, in their hearts, are probably already resigned to such an end. Clever as you are, you can surely see it clearly. I don’t mean to accuse these people of lacking courage. In life, there are times when one feels exhausted, feels powerless, times when they believe that those who live on will be pointed at by a thousand fingers, despised by others or by themselves, feel that surviving is more shameful still, and would rather die a meaningful death, ready to be a good fellow again eighteen years hence. These people already have more courage than most—but it’s still not enough.
An immature person will die bravely for a great cause. A mature person will live on in humiliation for a great cause. What matters is not the meaning of survival, but whether, in the end, the thing itself gets done.
Well, I’ve gone on and on—I don’t know if you understand what I mean, but these last few lines I want to say aren’t really for the sake of anything so grand. Throughout this whole letter, what I’ve really been saying, more than anything, comes from my own selfish wish. This matter, and everything you’ll go on to do afterward too—you can take the risk, you can fight with everything you have, do your utmost to find a chance at victory. But you will certainly face failure at some point. If you fail, then live. You give me that.
When that time comes, please live.
Come find me.
This is what I truly, selfishly wanted to say. And I also want to say: don’t think this makes you go soft in the head—this is cold, hard reality. No great undertaking can be accomplished by one person alone. If I fail, I’ll come find you too, and ask for your help. We’ve bowed to heaven and earth together—you’re my person now. And even if I’ve deceived you, we’re still comrades. There’s no shame in that.”
The signature was a very arrogant, very ill-mannered X mark.
Beneath it was a postscript: “Watch over that friend of yours—don’t let him die. Let those worth living, live.”
…
The mountain wind blew past. The girl, sitting in the torchlight, read the letter through once, then again. The expression on her face shifted here and there, but in the end, the restlessness that had lingered around her settled into quiet. She looked at the handwriting on the page—sometimes wanting to laugh, though her gaze stayed calm all the while. The letter was like the blade in her arms: cold to the touch, yet it brought her a strange peace. A flame burned hot in her chest, but it never spread up into her head.
She read the letter over and over many times, sat a while more, and then slowly rose to her feet. Below the mountain, the night scenery—the rising and falling terrain, the winding roads and rivers—lay wrapped beneath the clear light of stars and moon. She tilted her head and smiled faintly, muttering to herself under her breath, “That dead man… Ning Yi…” He hadn’t signed his name in the letter, and that, she felt, was a shame.
But she finally went back into the little house, took out a long box, packed the great blade away, and slung it across her back. She walked a short distance and found Du Sha. Chen Fan was there too, speaking quietly with Fang Shuchang and the others. When Xigua arrived, everyone gathered around.
“Uncle Du, bring out the map—I want to look at the area around here… We’ve already crossed the Yangtze, this is all official territory now, and the farther we go, the harder it’ll be to break free. Whether or not we can rescue the Marshal, whether or not we can kill Tie Tianying and Zong Feixiao, we need to think through our escape route first…” She paused there, then added, “Think it through carefully.”
These past few days, Fang Baihua and the others had been chasing after the column escorting Fang Qifo north, and while they hadn’t run into any great crisis, everyone knew the situation was not favorable.
The intentions of the two chief constables of the Ministry of Justice, Tie Tianying and Zong Feixiao, were plain enough—though they’d never made a move against Fang Baihua’s group directly, every step farther north brought them deeper into territory dense with government and noble-clan power, and once the enemy did move, escape would become that much harder. Theirs was an open strategy, plain for all to see: come rescue him before he reaches the capital if you dare, but with every day that passes, your way out grows narrower.
Fang Qifo had, in his day, cultivated a wide circle of acquaintances, and those who could now be rallied were mostly former direct followers of Fang La, or martial artists who owed Fang Qifo some old debt of gratitude. To them, however slim the hope, saving Fang Qifo was a matter of principle—some of the more hot-blooded among them figured, at worst, they’d be good fellows again in eighteen years. What Fang Baihua hoped for was to actually find some sliver of opportunity within the enemy’s formation—to swallow the bait and throw the hook back—even as it meant sinking deeper and deeper herself.
Liu Xigua and the others could see all this clearly enough, but given the bond between Fang Qifo and the Hegemon Blade Camp, it was enough to make anyone’s blood run hot. By now Xigua had managed to find a thread of calm, and the others were able to think more clearly as well. Chen Fan, arms crossed over his chest, finally managed a laugh, looking at the girl with a rather odd expression; Xigua shot a sharp glance back at him.
In the end the two of them didn’t come to blows there. Du Sha brought out the map, and everyone studied it for a while. After some discussion, Xigua sent Fang Shuchang to fetch brush, ink, and paper. As she was leaving, Chen Fan sidled up. “I’m suddenly very curious what that bastard Ning Yi wrote in his letter.”
“Get lost! Or I’ll fight you!” Xigua tilted her chin up, but Chen Fan could tell that in her eyes there was already the old familiar warmth. He stopped, folded his hands in front of him, and tilted his head with a smile. Xigua knew he was mocking her and stalked off in irritation.
Chen Fan stood there a while, watching Xigua’s retreating figure head toward the far end of the mountain path. He looked up at the play of light in the sky, then down at the play of light on the hillside, and muttered to himself with a smile, “I should’ve peeked.”
After a moment, he sighed and repeated softly, “Should’ve peeked…”
…
Back in the run-down little house, Xigua found a spot to sit, propped up the wooden box that held her blade as a makeshift table, ground the ink, and glanced toward the door. “Just wait till things fall apart, then come crying to me for help…”
Then she held up the brush and thought for quite a while.
What to write?
She held quite a grudge against being called “A’Gua” by that idiot Ning Yi. She thought about it for a long time—calling him “A’Cha” in return seemed to let him off too easy… Before she knew it, she’d already put brush to paper.
“A’Sha,” she wrote as the salutation, then took out Ning Yi’s letter and glanced at it once more.
“Seeing this letter is like seeing your face…”
The starry night was cold and clear, and just as the girl, one half of a pair of fools, sat bent over her desk writing back—an enormous, silent black curtain was closing in from every direction upon the small patch of world where these people lived.
A few days later, the first thing Ning Yi received at Muyuan County was not the girl’s letter, but news that the last remaining forces of the former Yongle dynasty, under Fang Baihua’s command, had finally fallen into a trap and been annihilated…