The setting sun burned crimson, the evening glow spreading across the sky like a rising tide.

The warm autumn breeze drifted gently in through the window. Yun Zhu sat at the desk by the window, brush in hand, carefully finishing off a piece of writing. She had just changed clothes, now dressed in a loose, goose-yellow robe; though her gaze remained focused on her work, a faint flush still lingered on her cheeks, carrying a warm, inviting air. In truth, she had only just finished bathing, her hair still damp at the ends, her body still carrying a fresh, fragrant scent. While Ning Yi had not yet emerged from the bath, she was using this brief window of time to finish this piece of writing he’d asked her to help with not long before.

Before long, the man came over, wrapping his arms around her neck from behind. The familiar scent made her tilt her head slightly, rubbing her cheek against his. “Don’t distract me,” she said. “I’ve finished old Master Qian’s piece—I’m just polishing it now.”

“Mm.” Ning Yi bent to look over her shoulder as she finished writing the last few lines.

“But I’m a woman, after all. Even trying to write with a bolder, more heroic spirit, I’m afraid what comes out will still miss the mark somewhat. Can this really be used?”

“I’m looking it over too, but… mm, this is wonderful…”

Over this recent period, the Bamboo House’s storytelling business had gradually developed alongside the comings and goings of its carts, and there was now a great deal of material worth spreading, which Ning Yi had already been preparing. Among these was the story of Qian Xiwen’s death in Hangzhou—and for Ning Yi, it wasn’t just Qian Xiwen himself, but also Qian Haiting, Qian Weiliang, Qian Weiqi, and the others whose names he’d given when he’d gone to visit Qian Xiwen in his final days—their names, too, needed to be preserved and passed on.

Beyond stories of figures like Qian Xiwen, Ning Yi was also preparing a series of rankings of martial-world masters, collections of anecdotes from the jianghu, and the like. Of course, having now spent three years in the Wu dynasty, though he could by now write competently in classical prose, his literary flair remained, in the end, constrained by habits of thought carried over from his life as a modern person. And so he’d handed the former task off to Yun Zhu for help; the rankings of top fighters he could handle himself well enough, but material like the anecdotes still needed to be dictated to someone else for polishing. In front of others, naturally, he maintained the pose of a man far too busy managing countless affairs to have any time to spare for such things.

Having now read through the piece Yun Zhu had written, he couldn’t help but offer genuine praise—and this wasn’t mere flattery. Though Yun Zhu was, by her own admission, a woman, she possessed real natural talent and refinement, and her command of language was considerable—far superior, in truth, to the sort of maudlin romance or supernatural tales churned out by many mediocre men of letters currently in circulation. Hearing his praise, Yun Zhu couldn’t help but light up with pleasure. “Really? Don’t just say that to please me.”

“Of course I mean it,” Ning Yi said, still looking over the writing on the page. “You’ve always had real talent—why would I lie to you about this? I don’t think this will even need revising when it goes to print later… mm, even old Qian himself, if he knew, wouldn’t send it back to you for changes.”

The pieces being prepared for the storytellers were, for now, only being circulated internally, with each storyteller applying their own interpretation, adapting the material as they saw fit. Only once enough had accumulated would it make sense to compile them into a proper published collection. Yun Zhu leaned in, taking hold of Ning Yi’s arm. “Master Qian really was someone worth admiring…”

She trailed off there, not continuing. Ning Yi only smiled faintly and gathered up the pages with the story written on them. After a moment, Yun Zhu asked, “Liheng, how’s the disaster-relief work you’ve been busy with lately coming along?”

“Should be starting soon. Oh, and by the way—Guo Yaoshi’s had another victory up north…” Ning Yi smiled as he told her about the recent triumph in the north, and Yun Zhu’s eyes lit up, growing even happier at the news. Her own moods, in truth, largely followed Ning Yi’s—when he was happy, she was naturally happy too; when he worried, she couldn’t help but worry along with him. But when it came to matters of national pride, most people, after all, carried something of the same sentiment.

“So does that mean the Jurchen won’t look down on us anymore?”

“Hard to say. It’ll take time, gradually. But at least it’s a good start.” Ning Yi drew her into his arms, sitting her down on his lap, then, recalling something, added, “Ah, Li Pin’s official post has been finalized too. We could invite him to dinner tomorrow, if you like.”

“Young Master Li… he’s become a high official now?”

“Ha, mm, yes, a high official.” Ning Yi smiled. “Come to think of it, back in Jiangning, you and Jin’er knew him too, didn’t you. Now he’s here in the capital—you’re old acquaintances, in a sense. Would you like to see him?”

“No, thank you. Even if we knew of him back then, he was just a talented young scholar, not really a friend—why would I need to see him now? Still, Liheng, you should be careful with these scholarly types. All their lives they chase after fame and rank, and there are far too many stories of men who abandon their wives once they’ve grown rich, cast off old friends once they’ve grown powerful…”

Yun Zhu wrapped her arms around his shoulders, curling her legs up in his lap, bare feet tucked beneath the hem of her skirt. Ning Yi held her close and laughed. With her tall, well-proportioned figure, the pose didn’t look at all childlike—seen from a distance, it was simply a warm, unpretentious scene of a man and woman embracing affectionately. The setting sun filtered through the branches beneath the eaves, streaming in through the window, and the two of them talked on, warmly and simply, for a good long while, until the lamps were lit and Jin’er returned from outside. Ning Yi chatted and joked around with her for a bit before finally taking his leave of the small courtyard.

…

That night, at the residence of the Grand Marshal, Gao Muen’s loud, wheedling voice carried out from Gao Qiu’s study.

“…Father! Even the dog belonging to Old Hua’s neighbor Xiangxiu, next door to gatekeeper Ah Hua, knows that a real man ought to make his mark on the wider world! Just think, a tiny place like Bianliang—how could it possibly give me room to stretch my wings! And besides, it’s all those people out there spreading rumors, saying that whatever your son here accomplishes, it’s only thanks to your power, Father! That’s not true at all! I rely on your teachings, Father—but everyone slanders me like this, and it wounds me so deeply!”

The lamplight flickered. Gao Qiu, seated at his desk handling official business, frowned, then picked up his brush and continued writing, continuing his work. On the floor before him, Gao Muen knelt, wailing dramatically and pounding the ground with his fists. After a while, seeing his father give no response, he shuffled forward on his knees, working his way around half the study, until he reached over and wrapped his arms around his adoptive father’s legs.

“Father! Judge for yourself, won’t you! I know I’ve done a few things wrong in the past! Even Old Hua’s neighbor Xiangxiu’s dog has said as much—the capital’s such a small place, with so many people packed in together, sometimes friction is bound to happen, little misunderstandings here and there, and your son has already reflected on it! Your son is a real man, and I want to go out and do something now, set things right…”

Just as he was saying this, Gao Qiu reached out, pressed a hand against his arm, and shoved him roughly back down onto the floor, his gaze turning sharp. “Set things right!? With whom, exactly, do you think you’re setting things right? Don’t tell me you’re thinking of going to Jiangning to hunt down that little county princess!”

“No, no! Nothing like that! Your son just wants to go out and do something, let people see what I’m capable of! Father, don’t you think it’s strange, how Lu Qian just vanished without a trace? A grown man, with such formidable skill—how could he simply disappear like that! And he was one of our own Grand Marshal’s household men, too—for him to vanish like that reflects so poorly on our whole household! Your son just wants to go out there and restore your good name, Father—and I feel certain Zhou Tong must know something about it. I hear he’s been seen recently up around Jizhou in the north, ah…”

“You want to go looking for Zhou Tong!” Before he’d even finished speaking, Gao Qiu had already swung his brush and struck him across the face, leaving a black smear of ink across his forehead. The brush clattered to the floor, and Gao Muen hastily scrambled to pick it up, returning it to the desk.

“Father, that’s not… not necessarily Zhou Tong specifically, if you say not to go looking for him, then I won’t…”

Gao Qiu leaned back in his chair, his expression stern as he studied his adopted son. Truth be told, though not his own blood, Gao Qiu, being childless himself, had always doted on this adopted son of his without reserve. As the boy carried on now, Gao Qiu understood well enough what lay behind it—it wasn’t really about the household’s honor at all, but simply that, these days, this notorious young rake of his had run out of anything fun left to do in the capital. As for Lu Qian’s death—setting aside whether the boy genuinely wanted to investigate it at all, even if he did, with his particular gift for making a mess of everything he touched, he was hardly likely to accomplish anything of substance.

“You can’t go looking for Zhou Tong.” Gao Qiu stood up, thinking it over for a moment. “But if you want to go out and see something of the world, fine, I’ll allow it. As for looking into Lu Qian’s affairs, that would take you toward the Shandong region. Here’s what we’ll do—I happen to have a letter I need sent to Liang Zhongshu in Daming Prefecture. He’s Grand Preceptor Cai’s son-in-law, did you know that?”

Gao Qiu tapped his fingers against the desk. “Lately, there’s been a grain shortage brewing up north, and grain prices have shot up considerably—Grand Preceptor Cai’s people have a hand in it too. I’ve been meaning to send Secretary Chen over there anyway. This time, he’ll accompany you. Go find this Uncle Liang of yours first, deliver the letter, then stay there a while, see if you can accomplish something worthwhile, and come back with your reputation restored. What do you think?”

Gao Muen, still kneeling there, stared at him a moment, then suddenly threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around Gao Qiu’s legs and wailing with joy: “There’s no one in this world… like my dear father…”

Gao Qiu patted him on the head. “But there are two things you need to remember well… First, Daming Prefecture is, for now, still reasonably prosperous and peaceful, but to the northwest, there’s famine raging right now, and to the south, it’s never exactly been a calm region either—you’re not to go out there. I’ll have Secretary Chen and the servants going with you keep an eye on you; around Daming Prefecture itself, with your Uncle Liang looking after you, you can do as you please, but you are absolutely not to go wandering off! Second, as for investigating Lu Qian’s affairs, that’s fine, but you’re only to send others to look into it—or let your Uncle Liang handle the investigation on your behalf. And whatever you find out…”

He leaned down, speaking low and firm into Gao Muen’s ear: “…if you don’t want to end up dead, do not go looking for Zhou Tong. Even if you happen to see him, stay well clear. Understood?”

Gao Muen, hearing this, nodded frantically, followed by a great flood of overly sentimental promises and assurances. Gao Qiu listened for a while, then sat back down. “Get out of here.”

Gao Muen rolled his way out of the room, and once outside the door, got up, pulled it shut behind him, and went bounding off in high spirits. Back in the study, Gao Qiu smiled faintly to himself, his expression gradually turning serious once more. He understood perfectly well what his son actually intended to do—here in the capital, he’d had to keep the boy on a shorter leash lately, but outside the capital, especially somewhere like Shandong, hardly known for its gentleness, ordinary human life counted for little more than ants and grass. If the boy went out there and amused himself with a few girls or married women along the way, it wasn’t likely to cause much of a stir—and with Liang Zhongshu looking out for him, things would probably go smoothly enough regardless.

As for his supposed concern over Lu Qian, that was, of course, nothing more than a joke. This son of his had never behaved particularly well, but his ambitions, at least, weren’t especially large—a few decent women to amuse himself with, and he’d likely settle down soon enough, content to stay put in Daming Prefecture for a while. He’d been kept on a tight leash here in the capital for quite some time now, hard on the boy in his own way—might as well let him go blow off some steam…

…

On this night in the eighth month, the news that the troublesome young rake was about to leave the capital was hardly the sort of thing anyone found especially noteworthy. As for Li Pin, still in the capital at this time, he learned of his own impending promotion only half a day after Ning Yi did—that very afternoon, someone from the palace had come to inform him that he was to attend an imperial audience the following morning. Though the specific position hadn’t yet been made clear, the scale of this promotion was already, by all indications, essentially a settled matter.

He therefore canceled the social engagements he’d already committed to for the evening, and that night, burned incense, bathed, and fasted in preparation. Sitting in the courtyard as a gentle breeze drifted past, he listened to the distant sounds of revelry carrying faintly from beyond the walls, as though echoing from some entirely different world. Through the distant courtyard wall, a crescent moon hung caught among the treetops, the city’s lantern light rising to soak into the night sky, dissolving that dark expanse into a translucent shade of amber…

He knew he would remember this translucent night for the rest of his life. Only on this particular night was his career, at long last, truly setting out onto the great road ahead. From here on, what lay before him would be the true winds of heaven, the great rivers of the world. A scholar who had studied for ten hard years by the window, who had spent decades in pursuit of learning, was about to become… a part of what moved this whole realm forward.

He didn’t know whether other high officials and men of renown had felt something like this on the day their own moment finally arrived. Sitting on the second-floor balcony behind the Bamboo House for half the night, as the hour approached midnight, he finally rose quietly and returned to his room to sleep.

The next day, he had his second audience with the emperor, and completed, for the first time, a genuine exchange of counsel between sovereign and minister.