The sixteenth of the second month, a small county town near Siping Ridge.

Two days had passed since the stormy weather, and the sky had cleared. Across the land, now free of winter’s chill, all things were bursting into growth. As the carriage stopped by an inn, an important figure who had come from the capital stepped down.

Over this recent stretch of time, the area centered on Siping Ridge had grown far from peaceful. Of course, this state of unrest was something only those with a keen nose could sense — to ordinary people, it merely seemed that bandits had appeared somewhat more frequently in the area, with the occasional bloody incident, and so long as it didn’t touch one’s own household, there was no need to pay it much mind. After all, on an ordinary day, brawls between local ruffians drawing blood in the countryside were nothing unusual either.

But for the martial-world figures around Siping Ridge, or for those directly involved, the days since the eleventh of the second month, when Tie Tianying and Zong Feixiao had suddenly made their move, had been nothing short of a bloodbath, with everyone on edge. Over five days, the Ministry of Justice had effectively swept back and forth through the surrounding villages and towns several times over — not only clearing out the fleeing remnants of the Yongle court, but also heavily affecting local underworld figures and martial-world folk in the area. Though the region around Siping Ridge was generally peaceful, the surrounding mountains did hold a few semi-permanent bandit camps — a situation that, aside from the wealthiest regions of Jiangnan, was in truth the norm just about everywhere. Ordinarily these bandits didn’t casually take lives; mostly they extorted protection money from passing escort caravans, though occasional local domination wasn’t unheard of either. Under this immense pressure over the past few days, several of these bandit camps had already been forced to disband and flee.

What ordinary people perceived as a decline in public order, and what martial-world figures experienced as chaos and upheaval, was, for a different sort of person, an entirely different kind of situation. To them, whatever unfolded here, however far it spread, barely counted as a minor matter — sometimes their glance in this direction was aimed only at achieving some particular result. Zuo Houwen, who had just arrived here, was one such person.

As the man in charge of the Zuo family’s affairs in the capital, and cousin to the great scholar Zuo Duanyou, his arrival here was largely a matter of convenience along his route. As for the tangled, complicated state of affairs of these recent days, all he cared about could be summed up in a single simple question: “How’s the situation?”

“Fang Baihua’s remaining Yongle forces are already spent. Though they’re still fleeing for the moment, Chief Constables Tie and Zong have mainly blocked the southwestern escape route, and over these past few days, they’ve been steadily tightening the noose. It shouldn’t be much longer before—”

Once he stepped down from the carriage, Zuo Houwen headed for the inn, greeted by Fan Zhong, the third of the Ministry of Justice’s chief constables, who had arrived here just the day before. Counting things up, the Ministry of Justice had seven chief constables in total, and now three of them had gathered here. Fan Zhong maintained close ties with the Zuo family, which was why Zuo Houwen had summoned him. But after a few sentences, Zuo Houwen simply waved his hand as he walked.

“Whatever happens to Fang Baihua and Fang Qifo — that’s Junior Preceptor Wang’s men’s concern. What about the matter of the ledger?”

Fan Zhong nodded. “The one who carried the ledger north this time is the bandit known as the Treasured Light Tathagata, Deng Yuanjue — once one of the Four Great Generals under Fang La, and quite a difficult opponent. But they’ve been deliberately making a great deal of noise, and we’ve already cut off their routes both forward and back. Fang Baihua’s group is now to the southwest, while Deng Yuanjue and his bandits are to the north — it looks like they mean to strike the capital and expose the ledger publicly, to buy Fang Baihua’s group a chance to escape. But… the odds of them getting away are slim. I’d estimate three to five days, at most, before this is settled one way or another.”

“And how reliable does Chief Constable Fan think this ledger is?”

“That… this humble official dares not speak rashly. But it does appear a considerable number of people are concerned about it.”

As they spoke, Zuo Houwen had already reached the rear of the inn, where servants and maids led the way ahead, opening the door to a prepared room. Zuo Houwen waved his hand, signaling Fan Zhong to go in and sit; his manner was plain, but there was an unmistakable authority in every gesture that brooked no argument. Once Fan Zhong had taken a seat, Zuo Houwen waved for the maid to leave and personally poured a cup of tea, setting it before his guest.

“If everyone wants it, then it must be a good thing. Chief Constable Fan is the expert here — I’m an outsider, so I won’t say much more. This ledger’s entanglements could be big or small; my Zuo family has some connection to it, though not a large one. Still… better it end up in my hands than someone else’s. I’ll leave everything in Chief Constable Fan’s care.”

Fan Zhong took the tea and drank it, and just as he was about to leave, something occurred to him. “May I ask how long Lord Zuo intends to stay this time?”

“Two or three days at most, waiting for your good news. Why do you ask?”

“Ah, well — with everything so unsettled around here lately, the mix of people is rather chaotic. The Ministry of Justice’s large-scale sweep has scared some off, but with the bounties still on Fang Baihua’s group, there’s no shortage of martial-world figures arriving these days — some seeking fame or fortune, others acting as hidden agents for various parties, including… men from the Right Chancellor’s household and the Secret Investigation Bureau. Not many of them, but complications are hard to avoid entirely. Please do take care while staying here, Lord Zuo.”

Zuo Houwen nodded with a smile. “Understood. Thank you for the reminder, Chief Constable Fan.” Since the events at Siping Ridge had unfolded, with Fang Baihua’s group hemmed in and pursued through this area, a portion of martial-world figures had been driven off, but even more had arrived from various other channels — enough, practically, to hold a small martial-world gathering. This was precisely why Fan Zhong had come. Still, the Zuo family’s roots ran deep, and Zuo Houwen naturally had skilled protectors of his own; his mention of it was merely a formality. One particular presence, though, caught his attention. “The Bureau has come too? Who did they send?”

“Not many — around twenty or so. The one leading them is a scholar from the chancellor’s household named Cheng Zhouhai. They arrived late and don’t have deep roots here, so they can’t dig up much. They’ve behaved themselves reasonably well, though. This Cheng Zhouhai doesn’t have much room to maneuver — every day now he pays a visit to Chief Constable Tie, ostensibly to exchange information, though he’s probably fishing for details. Still… he won’t be able to learn much.”

Zuo Houwen nodded. “Understood. Cheng Zhouhai… I’ve heard the name before. He’s a disciple of Qin Siyuan — not a simple man. Do be careful.”

“Yes.” Fan Zhong nodded and was about to take his leave, then hesitated. “This humble official has heard that the Bureau’s affairs regarding the martial world are currently being handled by a man named Ning Yi, said to take rather unorthodox approaches. Since Lord Zuo was in the capital, might you…”

“Just a man who married into wealth through his wife’s family.” Zuo Houwen smiled, tapping his fingers idly on the table. “Perhaps that’s exactly why his methods run a bit vicious. Chancellor Qin favors using men of that sort, but they’ve strayed from the path of the true gentleman — not worth taking seriously.”

“Yes, this humble official takes his leave.”

“Go on, then.”

Their exchange had been casual enough, but once Fan Zhong left, Zuo Houwen’s brow furrowed slightly. A moment later he shook his head, dismissing the thought.

…

In this small town, matters that concerned the lives and fortunes of several hundred people occupied only a small fraction of Zuo Houwen’s thoughts. But for those directly involved, it demanded arrangements and efforts made at the cost of their very lives. As time went on, what had once been a chaotic tangle of events was gradually growing clearer.

Setting aside the handful who had been completely scattered, at least two main groups had now emerged among those still gathered: one led by Deng Yuanjue and An Xifu, carrying the ledger and putting on a show of heading north; the other still led by Fang Baihua, this group fighting and fleeing in turns, suffering heavy casualties, hoping to cross the southwestern hills and enter the outlying ranges of the Dabie Mountains in search of a slim chance of survival.

In the space of just a few days, the whole situation had, in truth, developed with remarkable speed. From the night of the eleventh, when Tie Tianying and the others first made their move, the pursuit and flight had never once let up. The joint manhunt across several prefectures and counties worked on two fronts — rooting out the scattered bandits on one hand, while skirmishes broke out constantly on the other. Fang Baihua’s group kept shifting direction, hiding their trail, while Tie Tianying and Zong Feixiao’s side worked frantically through the tangled, chaotic flow of information to redeploy their forces. Each day’s reports of captures, casualties, and sightings of mysterious martial-world masters poured in one after another, almost too many to process — that they had still managed to sort through it all and pin down the movements of both groups to a certain range was proof enough of their considerable experience in this kind of work.

As the information gradually grew clearer, everyone understood that the matter would be decided within the next day or two. There remained, of course, some possibility of Fang Baihua’s group escaping, but that possibility had already grown quite slim.

When the water runs dry, the fish must die. This was precisely the situation Fang Baihua’s group now faced. When they were first scattered, the surrounding prefectures and counties still offered them room to maneuver, but as time passed and Tie Tianying and Zong Feixiao gradually tightened the net, the space left to maneuver in had steadily shrunk. In just a few short days, the only route left open to them was to flee southwest into the mountains — but by now, the direction leading toward the Dabie range had become precisely the focal point of Tie Tianying’s defensive deployment.

And this, too, was something they themselves understood perfectly well.

The afternoon sun fell across the scattered rocks in the mountain woods. Looking up into that sunlight, Du Sha pressed his lips together; a flush of color rose briefly on his pale face before fading back into a ghastly white.

He had only one hand left now.

His arm had been severed no more than two or three days ago, yet he could already regain consciousness, speak, walk — even lift a blade again to kill. The gaunt man before them now seemed sustained by some other, unbelievable demonic force. When Luo Bingren brought him clean water, he made a weak but resolute decision. “Go tell the Princess… we’re not leaving.”

Gathered in the nearby mountain hollow now were the last few dozen men Fang Baihua still had with her, most of them wounded. Making this kind of decision at this moment was, in some ways, driven by raw emotion — but when Du Sha spoke these words, Luo Bingren understood his reasoning at once, and in some sense, had been waiting all along for Du Sha, or someone, to say it.

So he went to tell Fang Baihua. Sitting in the shadow of a strange rock formation, the middle-aged woman, equally worn but resolute, glanced up at him, then stood, leaning on her long spear. Someone nearby had already begun speaking up. “What are you doing! Luo Bingren! Are you Overlord Blade cowards backing out! At a time like this!?”

“Silence!” Fang Baihua rebuked the man, then looked at Luo Bingren, then at the other Overlord Blade members nearby. “You know as well as I do — right now, the only chance we have is heading southwest, into the mountains.”

“That’s not quite it,” Luo Bingren said with a faint smile. “The Princess also knows that clustering together right now just means dying sooner. If we scatter, with fewer people together, we might slip through the chaos and get away with our lives.”

The reasoning Luo Bingren offered was, in truth, understood by everyone. Tie Tianying and Zong Feixiao’s primary objective was to capture Fang Baihua — though the search for those who’d scattered was strict as well, a very few could still slip through by luck. Over these past days, some had already come to this realization and chosen to leave alone — though most of them, admittedly, would still end up captured or killed. As for those who remained, most were die-hard loyalists of Fang La and Fang Baihua — with the uprising failed, the rescue attempt failed, their comrades dead or wounded, if they too left alone now, they would have nothing left at all. And besides, the chances of survival for a lone escapee weren’t especially high either.

But as for why the Overlord Blade men in particular wanted to stay behind, everyone came to understand a moment later.

It was because Liu Xigua had gone missing.

Two days earlier, Liu Xigua had gone out with Fang Shuchang and Qian Luoning to scout the situation — she had, by then, been one of the top two or three fighters in the whole group. When Fang Shuchang and Qian Luoning later returned, they reported encountering Lin Ecan on the road, and had assumed that after leaving Xigua behind, she would surely manage to escape. But it later became clear that they had fallen for a trap — Xigua had never come back. On the day the group relocated, Fang Shuchang and Qian Luoning, weighed down by guilt, had chosen to stay behind, waiting for clearer news. They later clashed with Zong Feixiao’s men, it was said, and fled wounded.

The next day, in a close skirmish with a group under Sikong Nan, they had extracted the information: Liu Xigua had been no match for Lin Ecan, and had been killed by their cult leader’s own palm, her body thrown into the river.

This information had come from interrogating a few captured men, and its credibility wasn’t nothing. Only the fact that no body had ever been found left a sliver of hope that could linger — but with still no word by now, Du Sha and the others no longer wished to go on.

Fang Baihua found nothing to say. Before long, as the last light of the setting sun spilled down, the group in the hollow split into two — one heading southwest, the other, a handful of men, standing in that light, looking back the way they’d come, uncertain of where to go now…

…

Great columns of soldiers and constables moved swiftly along the mountain paths, and on a nearby hill, Zong Feixiao sat on his horse, watching it all unfold.

Fang Baihua’s group’s position had already been more or less pinned down. What remained now was to sweep through, wave after wave. He had no wish to scatter his forces and spook them prematurely — without overwhelming force, even a victory would risk scattering them again, and once scattered, high-level fighters like these would be far harder to actually capture. Only by encircling them all at once, with overwhelming force, could he achieve total success in a single stroke.

In any case… they were already walking toward despair. At this point, without any sudden violent shock, the survivors should stay clustered together on their own.

One day… or two at most, and this affair would be wrapped up, and he could go to the capital to report his achievements.

So long as nothing unexpected arose…

He ran through the situation once more in his mind, weighing Sikong Nan, Lin Ecan, Fang Baihua’s group, the sudden emergence of Deng Yuanjue’s force, and the various martial-world stragglers gathering around the area — even that small handful from the Secret Investigation Bureau. Having considered all of this once more, he confirmed to himself that there shouldn’t be too many factors left outside his calculations.

And just as he was passing through this ridge, some ten-odd li away in a small town, a party of over twenty was making its way forward. The one leading them was a man in his forties, solidly built and formidable in skill — a deputy of Tie Tianying’s named Tian Li. They had come here today in pursuit of a piece of intelligence, but just now, outside the town, they had already crossed paths with another group.

At this moment, one of the men nearby was talking about it.

“Brother Tian, that scholar earlier — what’s his background exactly? Seems like he’s been coming and going from our camp every day these past two days.”

“Bureau man. There’s only twenty-odd of them total here — can’t dig up much intelligence, so they’re trying to pump us for information instead. Why so curious? In this line of work, better not to ask too many questions about things that don’t concern you.”

“It’s not that — I heard this fellow came from the capital… we’re just puzzled why a scholar would get himself involved in something like this. Things aren’t exactly peaceful around here right now — is he tired of living?”

“That’s the Bureau for you — always up to something strange. We still don’t really know what they’re actually meant to do.” Tian Li scoffed. “A mere scholar, hardly familiar with any of this, always itching to insert himself — not surprising in the least. In my time handling cases, I’ve seen no shortage of scholars who understand nothing but insist on giving orders anyway. They wouldn’t even understand it when they died…”

“But speaking of which, Brother Tian, quite a lot of people have gotten involved in this affair. That fellow called Lin Zongwu — they say he wants to challenge Zhou Tong. Think he’s got a real shot?”

“He’s got the qualifications to challenge Grandmaster Zhou — winning’s another matter entirely.” Tian Li chuckled. “But honestly, speaking of it, there are just too many masters gathered around here this time. Even I, who count myself a first-rate hand in the martial world in ordinary times, wouldn’t crack the top ten if you ranked everyone here right now… Fang Baihua’s group, though they look battered, are all top-tier fighters too. Fang Baihua herself is formidable, and don’t even get me started on the Treasured Light Tathagata Deng Yuanjue — three of me together might not be able to hold him off. And that Overlord Blade, Liu Dabiao… her father was truly fearsome, the kind of man who could probably challenge Zhou Tong without much trouble. As for this Liu Xigua now, though she’s a woman, her skill is no less than Fang Baihua’s — pity I hear Lin Zongwu killed her…”

He paused. “As for Lin Zongwu, he used to be called Lin Ecan — the Demon Buddha of over a decade ago, formidable as anything. Back when he made his name, I didn’t even know a thing yet… Wang Nantuo’s got the qualifications to challenge Grandmaster Zhou too, and his men are full of talent, extremely strong… As for these martial-world folk who’ve come to join the fun this time, there are quite a few skilled hands among them too, honestly — though compared to this crowd, they fall a bit short… To tell the truth, on an ordinary day, if I ran into any of these people while handling a case, I’d steer well clear. This time there’s just too many people around… As for the Bureau — sending a scholar here is purely for show, watching the excitement… but no point offending them either, since they’re from the capital after all. That’s why I greeted him just now, kept things friendly — good to have that goodwill for the future…”

At this point, Tian Li stopped walking and looked ahead, then lowered his voice. “Almost there. Just up ahead.”

He gave the group a signal, and the constables immediately stopped their idle chatter, spreading out around and ahead. Before long, they had surrounded a small courtyard.

The men crouched by the wall, about to break down the door or scale it, when suddenly, from the back of the courtyard, a loud crash rang out — the sound of a door breaking and weapons clashing. Someone shouted, “Catch him—”

“It’s the Overlord Blade bandits…”

“Don’t let him run… ahh—”

The group immediately charged toward the sound. What burst out from within were none other than Fang Shuchang and Qian Luoning, who had been recovering from their wounds here for the past two days.

The sunlight tilted slightly, turning red. Several hours still remained before the great battle that everyone expected — and yet, in its own way, unexpected. This scene was merely a small episode within the larger drama unfolding around Siping Ridge because of Fang Qifo — but not long after, Tian Li, one of its minor participants, would be shaken by a sight he could never have anticipated.

It happened after they had chased the still-wounded Fang Shuchang and Qian Luoning through several streets. By then, everyone had already settled on a plan for the chase and blockade. Since Fang Shuchang and Qian Luoning, even recovering from injury, still possessed astonishing skill, the group had initially opted for a strategy of avoiding their sharpest edge and simply wearing them down through encirclement. After the clash began, alarm gongs sounded through the town; Fang Shuchang and Qian Luoning, running to a street corner and seeing attackers converging from both directions, chose a side alley to try to escape through — and then, they seemed to see someone.

The two of them charged forward together, blades raised, and their figures vanished around the corner. Only the sharp clang of a clash could be heard, deep and violent, and then a flash of blade-light shot into the sky — Fang Shuchang’s blade, snapped clean in two and sent flying. The next instant, Fang Shuchang’s entire body was hurled backward, blood spraying through the air as he tumbled across the ground several times and lost consciousness.

Qian Luoning cried out. By then the others had reached the intersection and looked over — and on the street, facing off against Fang and Qian, there was, astonishingly, only a single figure. In that same moment, after exchanging a few brief moves with Qian Luoning, that figure suddenly struck out with both palms — one landing on the chest, the other on the lower abdomen. The strikes seemed to make no sound at all, yet the force behind them was extraordinarily fast; Qian Luoning’s feet appeared to lift clean off the ground, and he was sent flying across half a zhang of street before slamming into a mud wall.

The wall collapsed in a cloud of dust, Qian Luoning’s body buried within it, silent for a long moment. The figure who had fought them bent down, tossed aside a steel saber lying on the ground, straightened up, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped the blood from his face.

Not far off, the twenty-odd men of the Secret Investigation Bureau were rushing over at full speed.

Tian Li opened his mouth, staring in blank astonishment at the robed, scholarly figure standing amid the settling dust — the man had already wiped half his face clean of the blood Fang Shuchang had sprayed across it when he went flying, but wiped again now, leaving half his face an eerie shade of red. When the Bureau’s men arrived, they too seemed a little stunned at the sight — but the scholar simply said, in a cold, flat tone: “Tie them up.”

The young man named Cheng Zhouhai turned his gaze this way, and after a moment, a friendly smile broke across his otherwise indifferent expression. “What a coincidence indeed, Constable Tian.”

“You… you…” Tian Li frowned, his thoughts in some disarray. By now, he too counted as a master of the martial world, and along with the constables around him, he could well recognize the level Fang Shuchang and Qian Luoning’s skill had reached. Just a moment ago, they had all assumed the twenty-odd men the Bureau had sent couldn’t possibly have any part in this affair — but going by what they’d just seen, this young man’s cultivation had reached a truly refined level; the moves he’d used against Qian Luoning just now had been genuinely exquisite, enough to send a chill through anyone watching. All at once, the Bureau’s presence in their eyes shifted from a minor nuisance into a wolf lying in ambush nearby.

So it was true — the Right Chancellor was said to be shrewd, and the Bureau really had sent someone like this — clearly not a group to be trifled with… As they thought this to themselves, the Bureau’s men had already begun tying up Fang Shuchang and Qian Luoning without further ado. The man called Cheng Zhouhai spoke, his tone gentle. “Constable Tian looks like he has something to say — we’re all colleagues here, no need to hold back.”

Tian Li swallowed. “This… these two men, actually, are the ones my Ministry of Justice has been pursuing…”

“Oh?” The other man paused for a moment, then, after a beat, tilted his head with an intriguing expression. “So in that case, you’re saying you’d like to…”

His voice trailed on, unhurried: “…snatch the tiger’s prey from its mouth?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Tian Li burst out laughing. “How could that be, how could that be — Master Cheng misunderstands, misunderstands entirely…” He decided, then and there, that at his own level, it was better not to argue with the head of the Bureau…

…

As the setting sun turned to orange-red, Chen Fan fed Ji Qian’er the last spoonful of porridge, then glanced up at the light.

Sometimes, perhaps, it could only be called fated luck. Over the course of two days, just as he’d resigned himself to certain death, the pursuit he’d expected never came this way. Chen Fan himself understood how to treat wounds and gather medicine — and over these two days, he had managed to keep Ji Qian’er’s life hanging on, while other things, too, had begun to grow clearer.

Setting down the porridge bowl, he placed Ji Qian’er’s mandarin-duck blades by the inner edge of the bed, near her hand, and a smile of quiet openness crossed his face.

“I’m going now.”

“Now?”

Ji Qian’er gazed at him from where she lay.

“I figure it’s about time…”

Over these two days, he’d had enough time to go out and gather intelligence — Fang Baihua’s rough movements, Deng Yuanjue and An Xifu’s, the general activities of the Ministry of Justice and Sikong Nan’s faction — even news of Liu Xigua’s disappearance. The water was nearly dry now, and soon the fish would be exposed. So he no longer had any reason to linger here.

Of course, if he chose to stay out of it, he and Ji Qian’er might both survive. And whatever was happening out there, however one looked at it, seemed beyond any hope of turning around. But sometimes, a man simply had to do what he knew couldn’t be done.

Ji Qian’er understood this too.

“Xiao Fan…”

“Mm?”

“Master used to say — if a person’s going to die, they should at least die with their head held high.”

“…” Chen Fan was silent for a moment, then broke into a smile. “I don’t plan on dying. But if it really comes to that…” He tilted his head slightly.

Ji Qian’er smiled too. “Xiao Fan, my husband’s already dead. If you all go too, don’t worry about me — I’ll go kill a few more, then catch up with you.”

Chen Fan laughed without a sound, though there was a faint tenderness and nostalgia in it. After a moment, he said, “Sister Qian’er, remember when I was little, watching you practice with your blades, wanting to beat you? I started later than you, but I’m already better than you now… I run fast. If you’re going to catch up, you’d better hurry.”

He drew a breath, then spoke suddenly and freely. “But hey — believe that impossible nonsense only once you’ve seen my corpse. Someone read my fortune when I was young, said I was destined to build my achievements on a mountain of bones — how could I possibly die before becoming unbeatable under heaven? You’re a woman after all, not much foresight… I’m off. Take good care of yourself…”

As she listened to him speak, Ji Qian’er smiled and closed her eyes, turning her head toward the wall. Chen Fan waved a hand and walked toward the door; before long, when Ji Qian’er turned back, the setting sun had already swallowed his resolute retreating figure in a blaze of orange…

Night fell, and the mountain woods grew furtive.

A fierce wind howled…