After the busy Mid-Autumn Festival had passed, a maidservant presented Li Shishi with a list of the gifts recently received. Glancing through it, she came, almost by chance, upon the gift Ning Yi had sent, and only then remembered that the two of them hadn’t seen each other in quite some time.

She had the maid fetch the gift — a painting depicting a full moon at Mid-Autumn, created by an artist named Tang Zhigui, a renowned landscape master from a century past; the piece was surely worth a considerable sum. After glancing at it briefly, Shishi had the maid put it away again.

An expensive painting didn’t necessarily represent genuine sentiment — young women were most sensitive to that kind of distinction. Thinking of this, she found herself harboring a certain private resentment toward Ning Yi.

During the Mid-Autumn festivities, business at the Alum Tower was thriving; she had numerous poetry gatherings scheduled to attend, and no shortage of guests to converse and pass time with. As the reigning courtesan of the establishment, she never shared her bed with clients — her role was either to add elegance and grace to grand occasions, or to attend private gatherings, offering an hour or two of quiet, pleasant company to a select few.

Seeing even one person took an hour or two; attending a single gathering could take far longer still. Throughout the capital, there were more people than she could count whom she either couldn’t afford to offend or preferred not to — even if she could somehow split herself in two, it still wouldn’t be enough. What free time she could spare, she’d poured entirely into the case of Tong Shu’er — either visiting the Kaifeng prefectural office to inquire about the proceedings, or meeting with the other sisters implicated in the affair. These women weren’t all from the Alum Tower, but on this matter, the entire pleasure-quarter community had banded together in shared outrage; Shishi wasn’t the one directly managing the case, but within it, she was, in her own way, a central figure of considerable weight.

Courtesans, wanting to voice their outrage, obviously couldn’t simply hold up placards and protest in the streets — that would be courting disaster. Instead, they made their displeasure known through various “friends” — friends spanning powerful officials, wealthy merchants, and romantic literati alike.

After the affair had blown up into such a controversy, the Kaifeng prefect faced considerable pressure over Tong Shu’er’s death. On the other side, the culpable Ministry of Personnel supernumerary official had connections of his own, and had been running about, bribing and currying favor, trying to shift responsibility elsewhere. Then some among the so-called principled scholars began speaking out, saying that courtesans daring to interfere with a case involving a court official’s affairs, holding public sentiment hostage, absolutely needed to be sharply put in their place. Shishi and the others weren’t afraid, though; when they encountered high officials, they would put on a display of delicate, tearful appeals, and separately, literati and scholars would privately compose and circulate essays demanding punishment for the supernumerary official, while nailing the heartless scholar who’d abandoned Tong Shu’er to the pillar of public shame. Amid this surging tide of public opinion, the two sides had settled into a protracted standoff — though it seemed, in the end, that the supernumerary official was unlikely to escape justice.

For matters of this sort, Shishi and the others didn’t strictly need to attend the actual proceedings at the Kaifeng prefectural office, but being present when the case was heard still brought her a certain quiet satisfaction. They were, after all, doing something genuinely good — it was thanks to everyone lending their support that such an outcome had been achieved. Though the Kaifeng office kept delaying the verdict, it clearly couldn’t shelter the wrongdoer forever, couldn’t drag things out indefinitely!

And it was precisely during a time like this that one could truly see who one’s real friends were. Ever since word had spread that she cared deeply about Tong Shu’er’s case, no small number of literati acquaintances had come forward to help write essays and offer suggestions; some officials serving in government offices had also expressed their outrage, some likely even quietly pushing behind the scenes for the supernumerary official’s conviction. But through all of this, Ning Yi hadn’t shown up — and remembering this left her with a rather sour feeling.

Of course, she knew Ning Yi had come by twice — but both times, he’d happened to catch her in the middle of other business, and by the time her maid informed her upon her return, he’d already left. It felt, somehow, rather half-hearted: I’m busy, but you could have waited, couldn’t you? Besides, though she certainly couldn’t step away while receiving guests privately, if she happened to be attending a poetry gathering somewhere, surely someone of his standing as a great talent wouldn’t be turned away at the door? It felt almost as though he were being stingy with a few poems of his.

In earlier days, when they hadn’t known each other quite as well, she had thought Ning Yi’s personality rather peculiar. But over this past half-year or so of relatively frequent contact, that peculiarity had gradually become something she’d simply grown accustomed to. The man had lately become obsessed with business, insisting on attaching every single poem he wrote to the opening of some new branch of the Bamboo Bookkeeper’s — Shishi had never met a talented poet quite so “stingy” with his verses, and yet, infuriatingly, his poetry truly was impossible to resist. In the end, she could only conclude that when it came to composing poetry, he’d simply grown a bit “lazy.”

Between friends, this sort of quirk wasn’t really unbearable — once you grew used to someone, it actually became rather amusing. On an ordinary day, if Ning Yi were caught up in his affairs and simply greeted her with a few words before dashing off, Shishi wouldn’t have thought anything of it, since she was naturally open-minded by nature. It was only this recent business, with him failing to show up entirely, that had left her feeling somewhat put out.

Not long after, that resentment grew a little further still.

Two days after Mid-Autumn, Yu Hezhong and Chen Sifeng came together to visit her, and comparing that gesture to Ning Yi’s absence left her feeling genuinely warmed. In truth, both Yu Hezhong and Chen Sifeng now held official posts in the capital as well — minor posts, admittedly, but among officials, capital officials were held in the highest regard, positions others couldn’t obtain even if they wished to. Still, since Shishi usually dealt with people of far higher standing, her sense of the two men’s status remained rooted in the category of childhood friends. When the conversation turned to Ning Yi, Chen Sifeng shook his head with a faint, cold smile. “Liheng, honestly, places entirely too much importance on money these days…”

Of the two, Chen Sifeng carried himself with a certain pride, while Yu Hezhong was somewhat milder — but neither of them could quite understand what Ning Yi was doing. They went on to discuss a few other matters. “I hear both north and south are suffering grain shortages.”

“Rice prices have risen far too high. Though I hear the Bamboo Bookkeeper’s has been buying up grain recently too…”

“Honestly, things haven’t been especially calm lately, in or out of the capital. The mood within the ministry hasn’t been light either…”

“I’ve heard the Right Chancellor’s residence is misusing state resources for private business dealings, targeting this recent grain price surge. As a result, public opinion has grown quite turbulent, and several officials have already been stripped of their posts these past few days. Both chancellors have prepared themselves well for this, but I hear even the censors and purist officials I know have started stirring lately — I wonder if there’s trouble brewing again.”

“Censor-in-Chief Qin is from the same clan as the Right Chancellor, isn’t he? Surely it won’t come to blows between them?”

“Hard to say. Censor Qin has always been a man of unbending, upright character — last year, he even dared to impeach Grand Preceptor Cai himself…”

As officials of relatively low standing, though they had little access to the upper echelons of power, they were remarkably sensitive to shifts in the political wind, and could sense, to some degree, the gathering storm ahead. Shishi, for her part, simply took note of the grain shortage — in a certain sense, profiting from a grain price surge was something virtually every merchant would do, and if Ning Yi had indeed been busy with exactly this recently, it wasn’t as though it were incomprehensible.

But this was a famine — how could anyone think only of profit at a time like this…

That was how she felt in her heart, though she also understood that such a view might strike many people as somewhat naive. Over the following days, while continuing to follow the progress of Tong Shu’er’s case, she made some inquiries of her own about the disaster conditions in the north and south. Among her acquaintances were some who understood the deeper situation, and they told her of this year’s disaster conditions, and how merchants were hoarding grain, driving prices up — a practice that had already spread across several circuits both north and south! When people spoke of this, most would sigh — no doubt a great many would die this year — before going on to condemn the utter lack of humanity among those hoarding the grain.

This continued until the twenty-second day of the eighth month, when, after the first wave of her busy schedule had passed, she found herself with a rare bit of free time that evening. She excused herself from Li Yun and left the Alum Tower to visit the Ning residence. Arriving at the door, she encountered Su Wending, from whom she learned that Ning Yi was still handling business over at the Bamboo Bookkeeper’s. So she turned back and headed there instead. After being announced, one of the shopkeepers invited her in and asked her to wait in a side hall, saying the master was in the middle of a meeting and would be out shortly. “The master just mentioned, actually, that he happened to have some business to discuss with Miss Shishi as well.”

So Shishi sat down to wait in the side hall.

…

At that same moment, on the street outside the Alum Tower, a richly dressed man strolled leisurely through the night, waving a folding fan. Behind him followed a carriage and several attendants.

Fan in hand, gazing at the prosperous scene unfolding before him as he walked, a faint smile crossed the man’s face. He tilted his head toward the man beside him and spoke in a low voice. “Du Chengxi, you know — sometimes, looking out from the palace walls at all that glittering lantern-light below, I feel a certain loneliness that comes with height. It’s only whenever I leave the palace, immersing myself in all this splendor, that I truly feel — this is what the capital ought to look like. Like that line of poetry I read recently — ‘a single night, fish and dragons dance’… ah, here we are. Let’s go in.”

The man who had appeared here, traveling incognito outside the palace, was none other than Emperor Zhou Zhe of the Jinghan era. These recent days, a faint air of discord had been brewing at court, and on an ordinary occasion, this might have troubled him somewhat — but the recent success of the northern campaign had swept the shadow from his heart entirely. He watched all of this unfold with a relaxed, easy heart, and had carved out some time to come amuse himself. This wasn’t his first visit to the Alum Tower — the last time, he hadn’t managed to see Li Shishi, which he’d found rather regrettable. If he could see her this time, he imagined his mood would be all the better for it.

But once again, she wasn’t at the Alum Tower this time either. Recognizing this as the imperial noble that Grand Marshal Gao had brought along last time, Mother Li Yun rushed out and apologized profusely. Zhou Zhe, however, showed considerable grace, waving his hand to indicate he wasn’t bothered, and simply had another courtesan brought in as company instead.

Zhou Zhe wasn’t a frequent visitor to the Alum Tower, but judging by Mother Li’s deferential manner, it was clear he held extraordinarily high standing — some of the maids in the establishment began whispering about it privately. Not long after, as Zhou Zhe was leaving, he happened to overhear two maids talking. “So, where did Miss Shishi go today, then?”

“I heard she went to see Young Master Ning Yi. You know they’ve been friends since childhood… quite close, the two of them.”

Zhou Zhe’s brow furrowed slightly, and then he turned to the palace steward beside him, Du Chengxi, with a smile. “Du Chengxi, this Ning Yi — Ning Liheng — is no simple man, you know.”

Du Chengxi frowned. “This one knows, my… my lord, the poem you recited a moment ago was one of his composing.”

“Ah, no, that’s not what I meant.” Zhou Zhe smiled. “The last time I came here, this Miss Shishi had gone off to perform some kind of promotional event for a place called the Bamboo Bookkeeper’s — and that establishment belongs to his family. Which means this Master Ning has, on two separate occasions now, whisked away a woman I’d taken a liking to — isn’t that quite something? Haha…”

He kept his voice low as he spoke, and after taking a step forward, he glanced back at Du Chengxi’s expression and suddenly frowned. “Don’t you go making that face! Don’t go causing trouble for anyone over something like this! Talented men and beautiful women, romantic tales — this has been the way of things since ancient times. I’m simply out here seeking a bit of amusement in my leisure time — he doesn’t even know about it, so what could this possibly amount to! I’ll tell you this — this Ning Liheng is a capable man in the Right Chancellor’s service, a genuine talent! This too is a kind of fate between us…” He lowered his voice for these final words, then turned and put on a smile, heading back to keep the beauty company…

…

At the Bamboo Bookkeeper’s, in a spacious room lit by flickering lamplight, over twenty people were gathered, looking at a large map drawn on the blackboard ahead. Ning Yi stood before it, still speaking, marking circles and dots as he went. A shopkeeper nearby leaned in and murmured something to him — that Shishi was about to leave.

“Hm?” Ning Yi blinked, then glanced around at everyone present. “Something’s come up — I need to step out for a moment. I’ll be right back, let’s continue then. Buer, my apologies for the delay.” At the far end of the room, Wenren Buer, who had only just returned to the capital that very day, had been listening to the discussion as well; he now smiled and clasped his hands toward Ning Yi in acknowledgment.

Ning Yi and the shopkeeper hurried out. “Has she gone far yet?”

“She just left — should still be close by.”

“Really… good timing, actually, I had something I wanted to ask her about. Might as well have her come in and listen along…”

Speaking quietly, Ning Yi strode swiftly out, and just as he neared the side entrance of the Bamboo Bookkeeper’s, he caught up with Shishi and her maid. “Li Shishi, wait — leaving already? I actually have something I wanted to talk to you about…”

Shishi’s expression turned into a charming yet somewhat awkward smile. “I was only passing by here today, thought I’d drop in and see how things were. Go ahead and attend to your business, Liheng — I need to hurry back myself.”

“Oh…” Ning Yi paused for a moment, then nodded as well. “Then… my apologies for the delay. I’ll come find you next time.”

“All right.” Shishi gave a graceful bow and turned toward the door.

Once outside, with the lantern-lit street stretching before her, the smile faded from her face, and she let out a soft sigh. Her maid beside her heard her murmur quietly, “If you had business to attend to, why not say you’d come find me tomorrow, or the day after — instead of just ‘next time’… sigh…”

…

Elsewhere, Ning Yi, brow furrowed, returned swiftly to the room and rejoined the group at the marked-up map.

“…Let’s continue. Every household marked here has its own particular circumstances. What I’ve laid out today are simply some general, reasonable approaches — how you actually go about persuading them will require your own quick thinking on the ground, and the foundation for that quick thinking should always be built on solid intelligence. Looking at this map, there’s still a fair number of people worth visiting that you’ve all temporarily overlooked. Time is limited, of course, but I still recommend proceeding one careful step at a time — for every visit you do make, speak thoroughly and do the work properly. Don’t just pass through and consider it done — be efficient. If they can only tolerate hearing from you once, then that one conversation needs to count for something…”

The large map spread out before them marked the terrain within several hundred kilometers of Bianliang — an area larger than an entire province in later ages — dotted with markers of various sizes, indicating landowners in the region holding over a thousand mu of land. There were over two hundred such marked points on the map. And since Bianliang was a gathering place for the wealthy, those who lived within the city itself but held land elsewhere hadn’t even been counted.

“The situation isn’t especially promising, honestly…” Once the discussion and debate had concluded, and it had grown quite late, Ning Yi finally spoke quietly with Wenren Buer about the overall progress. “Over these past ten-odd days, what we’ve genuinely secured amounts to only about six thousand shi of grain. Adding in those who’ve expressed interest, we might reach as much as twenty thousand — but the easiest targets were the first ones we tackled. As we try to expand further, the difficulty is only going to increase…”

He sighed. In truth, five or ten thousand shi of grain might not sound like an especially large amount, but the arithmetic behind it wasn’t easy at all.

Given the current situation, the per-mu yield in the Wu dynasty stood at roughly a hundred-some jin. Of that, once the tenant farmer’s share was subtracted, a landowner’s actual income per mu came to just over half a shi. A great landowner with a thousand mu could, in a single year, expect roughly six hundred shi of grain — far more than any household could possibly consume, and after storing it for a few years, a landowner with a thousand mu producing a thousand shi typically wouldn’t feel much strain in offering it up.

In truth, though commerce in the Wu dynasty was quite well developed, within this region spanning roughly a province and a half, one particular situation occurred with striking frequency: among these great landowners, at least half or more refused to sell their grain at all. When it sat in storage until it began to mold, they would simply carry it out to the fields and set it ablaze.

In many regions where grain simply wasn’t for sale, resorting to burning it as a means of dealing with storage problems suggested that stored grain did, in fact, exist across a broad stretch of land. But on the other hand, that they would rather burn it than resolve the matter through sale was proof enough of just how deeply entrenched this insular mindset had become. Of course, there were other reasons as well — lack of proper channels, for instance, or simple disdain for engaging in trade.

Among these, “lack of channels” was the easiest problem to solve. And among these two-hundred-some households, nearly half — usually those with the most grain to spare — simply couldn’t be persuaded by the Bamboo Bookkeeper’s, since they had their own channels and methods already. Among the rest, half again were too stubbornly set in their ways to ever be convinced, and factoring in various other complications, the final results Ning Yi could realistically expect wouldn’t amount to very much.

“…In the best-case scenario, before there’s food to eat next year, we need to mobilize at least five hundred thousand shi of grain and beyond. On the Bamboo Bookkeeper’s side, I think we can reasonably expect to secure about fifty thousand shi. A hundred thousand seems unlikely. As for the rest — Chancellor Qin’s connections, Consort-Marshal Kang’s connections, Elder Yao’s connections, Great Master Juemin and the others combined — whether they can persuade four hundred and fifty thousand shi out of everyone else, I think… it won’t be easy.”

Though Ning Yi described the Bamboo Bookkeeper’s role as the minor player here, this kind of broad, scattered outreach was, in fact, quite efficient. Chancellor Qin and the others carried enormous prestige and might well persuade a handful of major landowners to part with three or five thousand shi, even up to ten thousand — but the number of people they could actually reach directly remained limited. Having laid this out, Wenren Buer nodded. “As for the political situation, I hear it’s not exactly calm either… they’re beginning to close in on Chancellor Qin…”

Ning Yi shook his head. “That part doesn’t worry me much. The old man’s prepared for it on his end — we can just watch him perform…” He paused. “Actually, Buer, what I’m most worried about hasn’t even arrived yet…”

Merchants seeking profit, disaster regions hoarding grain — this too was, in its own way, another form of hoarding. For now, both sides were simply going about their own business, neither having stirred the other yet. But once grain actually began flowing into the disaster regions, once real efforts to push down prices commercially got underway — that would be the moment when all the various groups whose interests had been harmed would truly rise up, one after another, in fierce opposition.

And before that moment even arrived — in the latter half of the eighth month, a political storm of no small scale had already finished brewing, and was beginning to erupt within the court. A war between the two chancellors and the purist censors, seemingly sudden amid the chaos, had begun to unfold…

None of this, to most people, registered with much weight for the time being. It was only that night, as Li Shishi lay awake as usual, gazing at the moon, that she came to understand, in her heart, that this friend of hers had changed for the worse.

Like Yu Hezhong and Chen Sifeng, with their small anxieties and small selfishness — but they, at least, remained ordinary men. Only Ning Yi, this friend who had once made her feel he was different from everyone else, had now begun, in her eyes, to turn ugly. Perhaps all capable men were the same in the end — always wanting, in some respect, to prove themselves by whatever means necessary. It was only… that it had grown too unsightly to watch.

Were those filthy affairs really worth being so busy over?

In the days that followed, various rumors continued to trickle in, and even as she kept following the progress of Tong Shu’er’s case, she found her judgment of Ning Yi settling firmly into place…