The spring breeze drifted over Muyuan County in the late morning, wisps of cloud floating overhead like tufts of cotton. From a distance, one could see, through the gaps in the clouds, patches of sunlight falling on the small county town, the boundary of that light shifting slowly across the town as the clouds drifted on.

After breakfast, Ning Yi and Tan’er strolled toward the riverbank together, with only a few attendants following—this counted as a bit of private time for the couple.

The small knot of tension that had arisen earlier over Yun Zhu seemed to have resolved itself by now. Afterward, the couple would both be heading back to Jiangning to pay their respects to the family members who had died during the Liangshan affair. But in truth, the time they had left to spend together now was limited—first, because this debt of gratitude Ning Yi owed might well bring some trouble, meaning the couple wouldn’t be traveling south together; and second, because the situation concerning Fang Qifo to the south had shifted somewhat over the past day or two, leaving it hard to decide how best to respond.

Still, so long as husband and wife understood each other, these small matters were, in the end, nothing to be too troubled over.

“…I’d originally thought those two chief constables would need more time before making their move—who knew they’d act this much earlier. Several of the great clans must already have sent people out. With things this chaotic, husband, do you really intend to get involved?”

Walking along the riverbank, it was Su Tan’er, with a hint of worry, who spoke up. She had managed the household for years now, and though a woman, she possessed no shortage of decisiveness. Still, she had never dealt with matters at this higher level, and now that this affair touched on Junior Preceptor Wang Fu and several great clans near the capital, including the Cai, Han, Zuo, and Qi families, her trust in Ning Yi was matched by a genuine worry—reasonably enough.

Ning Yi understood this well. In truth, had it not been for the bond of gratitude tying him to Chen Fan and Liu Xigua in this matter, even if it had touched on other family members, Su Tan’er, given her nature, would likely have chosen to steer well clear of it entirely, wanting nothing to do with it at all.

“So that’s what I’ve been weighing too.” Ning Yi nodded. “Until the situation is clearer, I’m not entirely sure what to do. The Secret Investigation Bureau technically has some oversight authority in matters like this, but this one runs too deep—if I move rashly, I risk provoking widespread outrage, and we don’t have any weapons of mass destruction to speak of just yet…”

Tan’er, being led forward by the hand, frowned. “Weapons of… mass destruction?”

“Ha, just joking.”

Tan’er pursed her lips, then shot him a sidelong glance and laughed. “Husband, is now really the time for jokes? That Miss Xigua is probably being chased down as we speak…”

“Well, there’s nothing I can do about that either…”

News of the affair concerning Fang Qifo in the south had, in fact, only arrived that very morning.

Since Qin Siyuan’s restoration as Chancellor, the Secret Investigation Bureau’s once-stalled functions had gradually recovered, though its work across the Wu dynasty’s territory remained a sprawling, complicated affair. Rather than calling it an investigative apparatus answering to the crown, it was more accurate to describe it as a private force under the Right Chancellor, deployed to support the northern campaign.

After all, the Wu court still had a great many powerful figures with real influence, and with the economy thriving, several great clans had become deeply entangled with officialdom in intricate webs of power. The current emperor, Zhou Zhe, skilled in balancing power, had appointed a hardliner like Li Gang and a deputy chancellor like Qin Siyuan—renowned and formidably capable both—only under the premise that everything must give way to the northern campaign, and had also quietly permitted the Secret Investigation Bureau’s existence. Without this, the great merchant families with entangled interests trading with the Liao state alone would have been enough to keep the chancellor’s orders from ever leaving the capital—and even if men like Tong Guan could lead troops north, the logistics behind them would have collapsed into total chaos.

For this reason, since its reactivation, most of what the Secret Investigation Bureau actually did wasn’t maintaining regional peace and stability—it was, first and foremost, striking at the various political enemies of the two chancellors, both at court and in the provinces. Though Ning Yi had personally taken part in the affairs at Hangzhou and Liangshan, in truth that had never been the Bureau’s primary business.

Whatever chaos was stirred up by heroes of the greenwood, bandits, and outlaws, in practice, mattered less than the disruption caused by a single court official quietly opposing the northern campaign or dragging his feet on the chancellor’s orders. The later-age notion of “the greatest heroism is service to nation and people” made for an interesting saying, but in practical terms, given the difficulty and cost of commanding and training them, these unruly greenwood figures were, frankly, less useful than an ordinary farmer. Qin Siyuan’s indifference toward Zhou Tong wasn’t a matter of poor judgment—there was genuine reasoning behind it.

Consequently, within the Secret Investigation Bureau, oversight of the martial world occupied only a small share of its work; in principle, the court cared little whether these people lived or died. At first it had simply been Ji Kun glancing over such matters while handling other affairs. After Ning Yi joined, though never stated outright, most of this business ended up being handed over to him—something long regarded as one of Ning Yi’s peculiar quirks. Qin Siyuan and the others found his lack of ambition in this area rather a pity, especially after Ning Yi proved himself in various matters of broader strategic planning—their sense of regret only grew.

Of course, being gentlemen in their dealings with one another, and without any formal teacher-student bond between them, after mentioning it a few times, Qin Siyuan let the matter drop, taking essentially the attitude of “if you want to play with it, go ahead.” From then on, the vast majority of news concerning the martial world was routed to Ning Yi for filing.

But this was, after all, not a later age—the transmission of news had its limitations. Since coming to Muyuan, most reports had to reach the capital first before being sent on to him. Ning Yi had specifically arranged for messages to be intercepted en route, and it was this morning that he’d learned of Tie Tianying and Zong Feixiao’s early move, leading their men in a crushing defeat of Fang Baihua’s remaining forces. Fang Baihua’s side had suffered heavy losses and had shown none of the advantage one would expect from a concentration of martial-world talent—which suggested the enemy had committed at least an equal force of their own.

The Secret Investigation Bureau’s personnel in that area weren’t sufficient, and what news had come through was only a rough sketch—Ning Yi found it hard to grasp the full picture from it. He could only guess that some coalition led by Wang Fu, or by one or several great clans, had finally struck with overwhelming force. When these people acted together, the Bureau technically held oversight authority, but in practice, this still wasn’t a group one could afford to provoke lightly.

Having read the report that morning, he’d fallen silent for a while, then gone about his breakfast, his exercises, and playing with the child as though nothing were wrong—but Su Tan’er naturally understood what weighed on her husband’s mind. This was exactly what he might be worrying over now. As the two of them walked along the riverbank, Ning Yi, for his part, didn’t try to hide it.

“…There are people I truly hope can survive this. But—the wind comes and goes, clouds gather and scatter—if things don’t turn out as one wishes, that’s fate at work too, I suppose. Still, it’ll be fine. Chen Fan and the others are formidable…”

The words came easily enough, but their real weight was considerable. The two stood on the riverbank; Tan’er squeezed his hand without speaking. After a moment, though, a gentle smile crossed her face, and with a sigh, Ning Yi squeezed her hand back.

They sat together on the riverbank for a while, then talked over the timing of the trip south to Jiangning. Back at the county town, near the rented courtyard, everyone was still going about their work in an orderly fashion. Not far off, construction on the storehouse was in full swing; the steward in charge of reporting on it occasionally came and went through the gate; the cook, gathering ingredients, carried supplies in through the side door; Xiao Chan pushed Ning Xi’s little wooden cart around the courtyard; and a few of the “salesmen” Ning Yi had brought along had already been sent out to look into the situation nearby.

Ning Yi occasionally went out to check on the construction site, occasionally came back to help his wife go over the accounts, or walked around beneath the eaves and through the courtyard. The sunlight fell warm and pleasant. But perhaps because something weighed unresolved on his mind, the spring afternoon somehow felt a bit stifling, like a heavy summer day.

It was not long after one in the afternoon when a new piece of information arrived. Ning Yi read it over and frowned for a long while in thought. Su Tan’er, carrying a plate of round, soft rice cakes, walked over to find Ning Yi standing beneath the eaves, gazing blankly at a flowerpot—one Xing’er had planted, from which two tender young shoots had just sprouted.

“Husband, what’s wrong?” Tan’er asked, puzzled, holding the plate.

Ning Yi turned his head to look at her, then smiled—though the smile was rather complicated. After a moment he pulled out a sheet of paper from behind his back and spoke. “It’s nothing… Weapons of mass destruction… seems we’ve got some after all.”

“Hm?”

Tan’er’s expression showed mild surprise. Without thinking, she brought a finger, sticky with sugar, up to lick, then handed him the plate and took the report from his hand. Reading it over, her brow furrowed as well.

“I really didn’t expect news like this.” Ning Yi held the plate. “The Bureau’s manpower in that area is thin, but whoever’s stationed nearby is clearly an old hand—the moment they got word, they thought it worth pursuing and sent it straight over. ‘Mad Tiger’ Wang Nantuo—I’d heard that name once before. Rumor had it he was already dead.”

“Are you planning to use this to make your move?”

“I’m still working out how to get involved… there’s simply too little information.”

Ning Yi popped a rice cake into his mouth and said quietly. The message that had come in that afternoon was a follow-up on the situation in the south—during this assault on Fang Baihua, someone resembling the “Mad Tiger” Wang Nantuo of years past had apparently appeared, and among those involved, it seemed, were a number of old-guard members of the former Mani Sect.

“If what this says is true…” Tan’er thought for a moment. “This might even connect to that Sikong Nan you once mentioned?”

Reports from the martial world tended to be built more on rumor and speculation than fact, and the idea that Fang La’s aftermath could still, even now, be tied back to an internal rift within the Mani Sect over a decade old struck Ning Yi as hard to credit. He shook his head.

“This report is a bit ambiguous—not something to take entirely at face value. But if it really does connect to the Mani Sect, it’s not impossible either. Over a decade ago, the Mani Sect itself was a major popular religion. After Fang La drove Sikong Nan out, he carried out an internal purge as well—it’s not hard to imagine that some people with power and position took the chance to shelter a few of those purged. On that pretext, if the Bureau really wanted to get involved, there’d be justification for it—though exactly how, and to what extent, I still can’t quite decide.”

Tan’er held the sheet of paper, hesitating. “Once you get down there… you’ll probably be able to see things more clearly, won’t you?”

“…”

“…Then you’d best set out soon.” Having said this, her gaze cleared, and she let out a sigh, sniffed, and looked up at him with a smile. “Was it good?”

“This?” Ning Yi held up the soft cake in his hand. “Not bad at all.”

“I just made it. I’ll wrap some up for you to eat on the road.” She came over and took the plate from his hand, then leaned her head briefly against his shoulder. “These small matters—once you’ve got a lead, come home. I’ll wait for you in Jiangning.” Ning Yi smiled and patted the back of her hand.

Reasoning was one thing; when it came to actually getting involved in a matter like this, the decision was never so simple. After Tan’er left, Ning Yi still stood beneath the eaves for a good while before finally letting out a sigh and calling Zhu Biao over.

“Tell everyone to prepare their weapons—we’re setting out. We’ve got a job now… the martial-world master you’ve always wanted to meet, well, here he is.”

“Huh? Who is it?” Zhu Biao’s eyes lit up. Ning Yi smiled and handed him the report.

“‘Mad Tiger’ Wang Nantuo—a formidable master over a decade ago. This time it might involve some even more dangerous figures too. Anyway… go get ready first.”

“Yes, sir.” Zhu Biao took the order and hurried off, delighted, to gather the others. Ning Yi then called over another steward from the Secret Investigation Bureau contingent traveling with them.

“Notify everyone in the Chongping area, including the contact who sent this report, that they’re to make ready. This is a serious matter—we’re heading over there.”

The man took the order and left. Ning Yi went to his room to pack for the road—firearms, crossbows, lime powder, and other supplies. As he was heading out, he found Xiao Chan standing in the corridor outside, holding Ning Xi. The little one reached out to be held without a care in the world, but Xiao Chan blinked, seeming to want to say something yet hesitating. Ning Yi went over, took the child, and hugged Xiao Chan too. “It’ll be fine. This won’t take long—we’ll see each other again in Jiangning.”

“Husband, don’t get hurt…” Xiao Chan said softly.

Ning Yi considered this, then nodded with a smile.

…

In the afternoon, several hundred li to the south, amid the hills and mountains, rain was falling—the fine spring rain, like oil, soaking the whole land. The steady patter seemed to leave nowhere for anyone to go. Not long before, all manner of skirmishes among martial-world figures, large and small, had still been breaking out across this stretch of wilderness; now they had gradually gone quiet. The heavy rain had washed away the blood, soaked the bodies, and begun to blur the tracks left across the ground, giving the losing side, which had passed through this wilderness, a brief moment to catch its breath.

In a small nunnery tucked among these rolling hills, beneath the dripping eaves, an occasional groan of pain could be heard. A figure wrapped in a straw rain cape crossed the courtyard; when the cape was thrown back, it revealed Xigua’s face, somewhat pale and haggard. She looked toward the room where Fang Baihua lay, her face even more haggard from her wounds, and shook her head.

“Nothing nearby for now, no one’s chasing us…”

Fang Baihua nodded, and Xigua turned and walked off elsewhere. Those still gathered here now were not many; more than half were wounded. Xigua made her way over to where Fang Shuchang and the others had gathered—their injuries ranged from light to severe, the worst by far being Du Sha’s. In the fighting, his arm had taken a dose of poison, and to save his life, Fang Shuchang had cut off his entire left arm on the spot. Now the man, left with only his right hand, lay on the ground, blood still seeping from the bandaged stump, and no one knew whether he would pull through.

Several dozen li from this nunnery, another figure moved through the underbrush across the hills. Chen Fan carried Ji Qian’er, “Mandarin Duck Blade,” on his back, the two of them sheltering under a rough cloak of woven grass thrown together in haste against the rain. Since Ji Qian’er’s injuries weren’t light, Chen Fan had all but bound her to his back, which had earned him more than a few complaints.

“…Put me down, I can walk on my own.”

“…If you get down now, you’ll just slow me down. Save your strength.”

“Put me down and you’ll see who’s slowing down who!”

“…I’m not twelve anymore—you think you can still fool me? Stop arguing.”

Despite carrying another person, Chen Fan’s breathing remained even, his stride swift and sure, covering ground at remarkable speed. In truth, those who studied martial arts generally studied medicine as well—at least when it came to internal and external injuries, neither of them could really hide the truth from the other.

“…Hmph! I don’t want to argue with you—but… we’re not out of danger yet. If you manage to save me and end up dragging yourself down with me, I won’t die easy even as a ghost…”

“…Don’t worry about it. I, Chen Fan, am about to become unrivaled under heaven—you just… watch out—”

“Watch out!”

The two spoke almost at the exact same moment, Chen Fan turning sharply aside as Ji Qian’er’s blade flashed out, smashing apart an incoming stone projectile. In the next instant, Chen Fan’s body burst through the curtain of rain, charging forward like a tiger toward the thicket ahead.

In the underbrush, a man hadn’t even raised his spear before Chen Fan closed the distance, slamming down with a single-armed strike—a thunderous crash amid the rain, water splashing everywhere, the spear snapping, the man driven straight down into the mud along with his broken weapon, blood bursting out in the instant. Another attacker beside him swung a blade, which Chen Fan blocked with one hand, weaving, leaping, and rolling through the fight—all the while, Ji Qian’er’s twin blades traced arcs of blood through the air. As Chen Fan rolled up from the ground with her still on his back, one of Ji Qian’er’s blades spun free through the grass and struck true, and a stone thrown by Chen Fan hit nearly at the same instant, both striking an enemy hidden several zhang away.

By the time Chen Fan had steadied himself, only moments had passed, and all four ambushers lying in wait there were already dead.

“…Cough…” Ji Qian’er took a few deep breaths from his back. “Your reflexes have gotten a bit slow.”

“Sister Qian’er, you did teach me swordwork, but our respective levels are different now—I think it’d be a bit much to expect me to hold back for your sake.”

Ji Qian’er raised her left hand with effort and, with a smack, struck Chen Fan on the head. Chen Fan tilted his head and smiled, and once he felt her breathing steady again behind him, he set off walking forward once more, pulling the blade Ji Qian’er had thrown from one of the bodies.

“If you don’t want to slow me down, hold onto your blade.”

“You don’t need to tell me that! A blade never leaves my side!”

The moment she finished speaking, her body suddenly shuddered, and Chen Fan felt something warm and sticky spat against the back of his neck—a mouthful of blood. But he lifted her legs up higher and carried on as if he hadn’t noticed a thing.

“Let’s go.”

“You’d better hurry it up. Don’t be slow like some old woman.”

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Chen Fan continued walking forward at an even, steady pace, seeming utterly unaware of the grim fact that he was still deep in the heart of enemy pursuit.

“Just a little further, and we’ll meet up with Xigua and the others—that’ll do it. Then I can put you down, you burden, and go back to deal with that Wang Nantuo fellow. The man’s got real strength—fighting him was pretty satisfying, actually. Haven’t had a fight that felt this good in years… you’d better stay alert, Sister Qian’er. I put you up on my back so you could see over things—if you fall asleep and take an arrow through that overly conspicuous forehead of yours, I’ll laugh myself to death.”

“…Cough, Chen Fan, do you realize… you’ve gotten more and more talkative…”

…

The rain kept falling, and in the camp equally soaked by it, Fang Qifo lifted his head slightly, watching the threads of rain fall from the sky above.

At the same time, to the south, along the post road still over a hundred li from this place, a thread of hope he himself had once set in motion was now racing along that road. Nine riders—merchants and wealthy young men by their dress—were galloping swiftly through the curtain of rain. Given their apparent status, they shouldn’t have been riding this urgently, but given the circumstances, they had no choice.

If anyone with an especially good memory, who had once spent time in certain corners of Fang La’s army, had happened to be nearby, they might have recognized these nine—this group belonged to a unit that had held a rather special status within Fang La’s forces in its day. Nominally under Fang Baihua’s command, this unit was called the Black Feather Guard.

Originally several hundred strong, this was all that remained of what had once been Fang Baihua’s most elite military-law unit. Having received word, these few, who had still been operating in secret in the south, had rushed north at once, hoping to reach Fang Baihua’s group in time and bring them some measure of hope. Now, racing through the rain, none of them knew whether they would make it in time or had already missed their chance. And then, rounding a muddy bend in the road ahead, several travelers in rain capes suddenly appeared, blocking their path.

Among the nine, the wealthy young man in the lead abruptly pulled his reins tight—and in that same instant, the foremost traveler’s rain cape flared open.

A flash of blade light cut through the driving rain like falling snow.

In a series of swift strikes, blood sprayed up from the bodies of the galloping horses, misting into the air like great crimson clouds. The wealthy young man drew his own blade mid-air, traded two clashing blows with the attacker, and was suddenly sent flying. Because the horses had been moving at such speed, the attacker, having drawn his blade, didn’t follow through with a continuous strike—instead he delivered what looked like an effortless shoulder-check that was in fact ferociously powerful, sending half a horse’s carcass and the wealthy young man flying together. The straw of his rain cape stood on end like blades from the force of the impact, then folded smoothly back down.

The dead horses’ bodies scattered in all directions, blood spreading through the rain-soaked mud. The wealthy young man, thrown some three zhang away into the mire, struggled painfully to his feet. Along both sides of the road, tension hung thick in the air, weapons half-drawn. Then, amid the pouring rain, the man in the rain cape spoke, his tone betraying neither anger nor pleasure: “An Xifu.”

The wealthy young man, mud-streaked, stood upright, his body swaying for a moment. After a long pause, he nodded. “Wang Yin… Minister Wang… why?”

The other man was silent for a moment, then let out something like a sigh. “It’s not what I want either… but you must know, things have gone too far now—there’s no room left for false hope…”

Under Fang La’s command, Minister Wang Yin had been accomplished in both scholarship and combat—though he rarely showed his hand, in the eyes of many insiders he was even more formidable than Shi Bao, Si Xingfang, Li Tianrun, or Deng Yuanjue. After Fang La’s death, he had vanished from sight for a long time. That he now reappeared, blocking this road—whatever the reasons behind it—perhaps truly meant there was no longer any room for false hope. An Xifu nodded once, then again, then let out a laugh. “Hahahaha… hahahaha…”

In the pouring rain, his face was pale, that laughter carrying an especially tragic note. Then, all at once, he drew his sword and charged at Wang Yin!

…

Muyuan.

Back where Zhu Biao was, more than twenty men were checking their weapons and crossbows. In this era, crossbows fitted with wheel-lock mechanisms were treated much like firearms in a later age—forbidden items that even ordinary troops couldn’t easily obtain—and counted among the most lethal weapons in the group’s hands.

Ning Yi briefly explained the destination of this trip south.

“…As for the specific details, we won’t really know until we reach the Chongping area, but this may well involve remnants of the Mani Sect—it’ll be a tough fight. You’ve all been training for a good while now, and while your skills have all improved, no one should get careless. That includes you, Zhu Biao—I know you’ve been itching to cross blades with a real master. You’ll get your chance…”

At the mention of Zhu Biao, everyone laughed. Ning Yi raised a hand and pressed it down through the air.

“I’m not joking. Also—these are demonic cultists, cruel and vicious, treacherous and cunning, to be exterminated on sight by anyone who encounters them. Once we’ve confirmed they’re really involved in this, I want you all to remember: there’s no need to observe any code of the martial world with scum like this. We represent the law; they’re outlaws. Keep that clear in your heads!”

“Yes, sir—!” the group answered as one, full of righteous resolve.

“Good, as long as you remember it.” Ning Yi’s tone softened, and he gave his crossbow a shake, then, as though suddenly recalling something, added, “Oh, right, one more thing—this time, to avoid tipping anyone off, I won’t be going by the name Ning Yi.”

He thought for a moment. “Whoever asks… I’ll go by Cheng Zhouhai.”

Compared to the heavy rain several hundred li to the south, sunlight here in Muyuan still fell through the gaps in the clouds onto the land below. Before long, several carriages left the small county town, carrying this small company of some twenty-odd men, ambling southward at an easy pace…