Across the sprawling mountain ridges lay pristine white snow, which, seen from a distance, resembled a fresh new garment draped over heaven and earth, pure and unblemished. Amid the rolling ridgelines, the great river could still occasionally be glimpsed winding through, with small cities dotting the far reaches of the view — their clustered populations creating a scene distinctly different from this vast white world surrounding them. This was one of those brief clear days between snowfalls. Outside the city gates of Daming Prefecture in Shandong, merchants and travelers could still be seen coming and going.

A party of porters, some ten-odd strong, was making its way through the city gates. The man leading them handed a few copper coins to the guards stationed there, and the two sides exchanged a few words.

“…They say heavy snow’s blocked the mountain passes, but nowhere’s truly peaceful these days. Our Daming Prefecture is still a decent place, all things considered — head west or north from here, and lately I hear they’re executing people left and right.”

“…Oh? That severe?”

“Ha, executing hoarders and black-hearted grain merchants, cutting them down outright, no waiting for the autumn assizes. You wouldn’t know it, but grain prices have gone up here too, though not by much — we can still get by peacefully for a while longer…”

After a few more pleasantries, the porters’ party entered the city. Though they appeared to be simple porters, they weren’t, in fact, independent farmers working alone. With the heavy snow blocking the mountain roads, travel had grown difficult, and in some places, bandits had grown even more ruthless in their methods — in weather like this, with nothing to eat, encountering an easy target usually meant killing them outright, with none of the old “courtesy” of leaving behind travel fare or provisions to get the victim home. This party of porters was, in truth, a small local escort team — some of the men farmers, others local ruffians and rogues, organized together to take advantage of the difficult roads and inflated prices to earn a bit of money.

The leader guided them to a nearby escort agency to hand over their cargo, then took them to the cheapest inn in the city to settle in for the night. With the goods delivered and a bit of money now in hand, buying some goods from the big city to bring back home seemed only natural. The leader, hoping to find some other business opportunity for the return trip, went around asking questions and gathering information. By midday, he’d learned that the northwest was short on grain, with prices running artificially high, and began considering whether his group might buy some rice in Daming Prefecture and haul it back that way, possibly turning a handsome profit. He asked several of the others, but the responses he got were far from unanimous.

This party came from a small locality, and most of them hadn’t seen much of the wider world. Some simply said they’d follow the leader’s lead, though their expressions betrayed a certain hesitation; others said they’d already been away from home too long, and with weather like this, they’d rather head back sooner. Having asked around without getting anywhere, the leader went to find a few key men he considered essential to winning over.

By this point, most of the group had scattered — some wandering the city and not yet returned, some staying in their rooms, and some indulging in a modest meal of cheap food and drink at a nearby tavern. When the leader arrived at the entrance of the tavern, he spotted one of the men he was looking for — crouched on the steps, dressed plainly. His straw raincoat had already been left in his room, though he still wore his conical hat. Even crouching, one could tell he was quite tall. The leader crouched down beside him, and the man glanced over, saying in a somewhat hoarse voice, “Brother Fang.” Flat, indifferent, just a casual form of address.

Beneath the conical hat, the man’s face bore several fearsome scars, marring what had once been a handsome countenance. His eyes, at that moment, resembled stagnant water — the kind that often left others feeling he could never quite manage a smile. This was Lin Chong, once known as the Leopard Head — now crouched by the roadside, taking small bites of a cold, coarse wheat bun.

The man surnamed Fang, who led the group, didn’t look down on him at all, for he understood well enough that this scarred, taciturn man — though he seemed easy enough to bully on the surface — actually possessed formidable martial skill. Just how formidable, he couldn’t quite say, but he knew that if the man ever truly drew a blade, his whole party together probably wouldn’t stand a chance against him. Perhaps he’d suffered some great tragedy, drifting down into this village. That, too, was part of why the leader had sought him out now.

“Brother Mu, I just discussed this with a few others — grain prices out west are running very high right now, and with the heavy snow blocking the mountains, grain’s hard to transport. So I’m thinking, since we’re already out here, we might as well take this chance to make some more money before heading back. As long as we can make it into Hebei…”

To win over this “Brother Mu,” the man surnamed Fang described the profits to be made in vivid detail. After talking for a while, the other man finally turned his head back toward him. “My apologies, Brother Fang, I… need to hurry back. You’d best go find someone else…”

“Er…” The man surnamed Fang couldn’t quite hide his disappointment, but quickly smiled and said, “Alright, no matter, I understand — you want to get back to your wife, ha ha ha ha…”

Just as he finished speaking, a sudden commotion erupted on the road ahead — chickens flapping, dogs barking, as if someone were approaching, unsettling the shops on either side. The man surnamed Fang looked over. Beneath his conical hat, Lin Chong put the cold, hard bun into his mouth — and then heard a voice suddenly ring out.

It was a voice… he had never expected to hear again.

“Wa-ha-ha-ha-ha—” A vile, drawn-out laugh echoed through the streets of Daming Prefecture. “Girlie — girlie, don’t run! It’s so cold out, is my little golden monkey hiding somewhere to keep warm—? Damn it, you’re this ugly and you’re still out wandering around? On such a cold day too — aren’t you afraid of scaring people? My little golden monkey’s definitely got nothing to do with you… Ahead — that girlie up ahead, don’t run! It’s so cold, of course we should huddle together to keep warm—”

The man surnamed Fang muttered, “Could this be that new tyrant of Daming Prefecture the innkeeper mentioned earlier…” He failed to notice that beside him, his companion’s jaw was clenched tight, his entire body already unnaturally rigid, the hand not holding the bun — indeed, his whole body — trembling faintly.

“Move aside, move aside! My father is Gao Qiu! Don’t block the way!” It seemed even the second girl hadn’t caught his interest either — the man producing this racket kept walking forward, surrounded front and back by seven or eight retainers, brandishing themselves aggressively, shoving aside anyone slow to get out of the way. Seeing the man approaching, the man surnamed Fang quickly stood and stepped back. Beside him, the man in the conical hat remained crouched, unmoving. One of the retainers walked over and kicked him over with one foot. “I said, don’t block the way! Even a good dog knows to move!”

The kick landed on the man’s shoulder, his body tilting to one side, his left hand silently bracing against the ground, while in his right hand, the bun dropped toward his waist.

The retainers, riding on the strength of the Grand Commandant’s name, strutted through with borrowed authority. The one who had just kicked him walked past, and Gao Mu’en sauntered along behind, his expression sour. “Hmph~ hmph~ hmph~ hmph~”

No one noticed that the man on the steps had gone rigid as a crouching leopard, one hand braced on the ground as a pivot point, both legs coiled with stored power. If he let go of that bun and gripped the hilt at his waist instead, the next moment on that street would erupt into an earth-shaking bloodbath.

He didn’t raise his head. In his line of sight, Gao Mu’en’s boots crossed the road — the shortest distance between them, a mere two paces. He clenched his jaw, ready to lunge forward…

“Don’t— block— the— way—”

The retainers knocked over a small stall ahead, and the group passed on through the street. The man surnamed Fang, seeing his companion had been kicked and shifted position, then held perfectly still for a long moment, patted the man’s shoulder. “Brother Mu, that’s someone we really can’t afford to cross.”

The other man rose to his feet and glanced at him. The man surnamed Fang felt a brief chill run through him — for a moment, he couldn’t quite find words to describe the trace of bloody redness he’d seen in the other man’s eyes. He said only, after a pause, “Well… I’ll go in first. Brother Mu, think it over — I’ll go ask around some more…”

Lin Chong walked into the tavern in a daze. In that moment, he had no idea what he was even thinking. He had wanted, so badly, to kill Gao Mu’en right then and there — if he’d struck without warning, none of them, Gao Mu’en included, along with his seven or eight retainers, would have survived. In that instant, what flashed through his mind might have been the power of the Grand Commandant’s household, or perhaps some woman waiting for him in a small village somewhere, or perhaps nothing so concrete at all — just a chaotic buzzing roar filling his skull…

Inside the tavern, people were talking, chatting among themselves. A name flitted into his ear.

“…Do you know who that is? That’s the old hero Zhou Tong… Iron-Armed Zhou Tong… in just two months, he’s brought down twenty-seven strongholds… forced them to release their grain… do you know how many people are alive today because of him…”

He thought of his master, and that thunderous kick came crashing into his chest once more, in memory.

“…What are you doing here!”

“You arrogant fool… you’re a traitor to the sect… come, kill me!”

“A conscience that never forgets its duty, ha ha ha ha—”

“Damn you—”

Once, there had been a world like that — one that belonged to Gao Mu’en, one that belonged to Zhou Tong, and perhaps, some small part of it had once belonged to him as well. Now, Gao Mu’en had moved on to wreaking havoc in Daming Prefecture, while his master… roamed the world righting wrongs. And he himself… had nothing left at all…

What should he do? What did his master want him to do? What should he do? And what did she wish of him?

His head buzzed and roared. His hand touched the hilt of his blade, then he rose from where he sat. He walked out of the tavern, his field of vision narrowing sharply, but he still followed the direction, tracking after Gao Mu’en’s party, and before long he caught sight of their backs ahead.

He followed the whole way, all the way until… Gao Mu’en walked through a great gate, guarded by government soldiers.

He hid himself in an alley, and struck his fist against the wall. Then again. Thud, thud, thud-thud.

Spiderweb cracks spread across the surface of the blue-brick wall.

“Master…”

Between his clenched lips, the word that escaped, barely audible, was that single address — but in his heart, what flashed through his mind in that instant was the image of a woman in some distant village. Because he refused to acknowledge this, the image vanished as quickly as it had come.

Tonight — tonight he would come kill him…

This was what filled his heart… Once he’d made all his preparations, he would come and kill him…

…

For the rest of his life, Gao Mu’en never knew that his final encounter with Lin Chong had unfolded under circumstances such as these. Even if he had known, he wouldn’t have cared in the slightest.

He had come to Daming Prefecture seeking pleasure and diversion, but his official pretext was business — fulfilling his duties as a young lord, out to earn money and land. As for this particular grain crisis, anyone with the means naturally wanted to profit from it to some degree. Gao Qiu had long been in correspondence with Liang Zhongshu of Daming Prefecture, and preparations for cooperation between them were already in place. When Gao Mu’en arrived, out of a small sense of responsibility, he hadn’t been entirely indifferent to the grain-hoarding operation underway.

Of course, when following a great household’s lead, hoarding grain was, in truth, a simple enough affair. Steward Chen, who had accompanied him this time, led the Grand Commandant’s household’s side of the operation, with Liang Zhongshu naturally handling the other. Whenever Gao Mu’en inquired, Steward Chen would give the young master a general update on the hoarding operation’s progress. In the early stages, things had gone rather smoothly, and Gao Mu’en felt he was about to make quite a splash for himself, bringing home a hefty profit to show off to his father — feeling more than a little pleased with himself over it.

Chasing after women remained his primary occupation, and inquiries into the grain-hoarding business only came up during odd spare moments amid his “work,” though he would occasionally issue some order or another, with Steward Chen dutifully assenting each time, claiming everything was being carried out. But over these past several days, according to Steward Chen, the hoarding operation had begun to run into serious difficulties.

The court’s crackdown on hoarding had grown severe, employing every manner of tactic, and especially after the snow began to fall, they had resorted even to executions. From what Gao Mu’en heard from Steward Chen, the situation clearly wasn’t good — some of the smaller households had already begun caving, and their own profits were unlikely to match what they’d originally hoped for. Gao Mu’en declared, “Of course — that Right Chancellor fellow is quite formidable, how could ordinary people like you possibly match him.” As though only he himself could take on this treacherous chancellor.

He then asked, “So what’s the plan?” Steward Chen’s suggestion was to write home and have the Grand Commandant apply pressure from above, which was duly done. In truth, Liang Zhongshu, being Grand Preceptor Cai’s own son-in-law, would certainly write as well. But as it turned out, even this failed to halt the decline in grain prices.

With the recent cold weather, and having gone out that morning without finding a suitable girl, Gao Mu’en was in a rather foul mood. Back at the Liang residence, Steward Chen came looking for him again — grain prices, it seemed, had indeed fallen a great deal, and showed no sign of recovering, and he wanted Gao Mu’en’s opinion on the matter. Gao Mu’en said, “I told you so! That old scoundrel Qin Siyuan is formidable indeed, and you wouldn’t listen to me. And that Ning Liheng too… I don’t even want to bring him up! Right now grain’s at fifteen taels — if it won’t go back up, so be it, we’ve still made a profit, haven’t we? If we’ve made money, sell it off quickly, before it all crashes further — the more we sell now, the more we make.”

He scolded, “Something this simple, and you still come asking me about it, Steward Chen? I knew all along you were all reputation and no substance…”

Steward Chen bowed and scraped. “This old man is aging and slow, naturally no match for young master’s brilliant mind. With young master’s word, this old man will sell at once…”

“Go, go quickly, while there’s still money to be made — I want to make as much as I can. Otherwise, how will I explain myself when I get back? If you keep holding off and end up costing me money, I’ll have your hide!”

Steward Chen hurried off. By evening, Liang Zhongshu himself came to ask Gao Mu’en why he wanted to sell the grain. Gao Mu’en replied that if they didn’t sell now, there’d be nothing left to gain — leaving Liang Zhongshu at a complete loss, unable to bring himself to scold the young man properly. In this hoarding operation, the great households capable of steering the grain price were, in effect, a kind of alliance, with a certain unspoken understanding among them all — whoever broke ranks and sold first would essentially be inviting the collective wrath of the others. Just as with the Guo family, had they not been pushed to the very brink of ruin, and given a way out besides, they would never have dared release their grain in the first place. Even Zuo Duanyou’s release of grain had only gone unchallenged because of his exalted standing — no one else dared say a word against it.

Grand Commandant Gao was, of course, also among those of exalted standing — but Gao Mu’en was a reckless, hot-headed fool who feared offending no one, and wouldn’t have understood even if told. Liang Zhongshu had no choice but to have Gao Mu’en hurry to rescind the order he’d given, urging him at length — Gao Mu’en pretended to agree, then immediately turned around and told Steward Chen, “Whatever you do, don’t you dare change course. I can see right through this — that old scoundrel’s noticed things are going badly and wants to sell his own grain too, so he’s deliberately telling us not to sell, to avoid us stealing his buyers. As if he could fool me that easily.”

Liang Zhongshu had probably never imagined he’d end up saddled with such a hopeless liability as a partner. In truth, the real liability was Steward Chen himself — his job was to help make money for the Grand Commandant’s household, and now, seeing profits shrinking while the other side kept stubbornly holding out, he couldn’t afford to offend anyone, so he deliberately egged Gao Mu’en on into issuing the order himself — this being the one surefire way of surviving among the great households.

Steward Chen’s wish to sell the grain represented the sentiment of a portion of the originally hoarding great households, and signaled that, over this period, their confidence wasn’t nearly as strong as it had once been. But to say that the Chancellor’s residence’s forces had truly achieved victory in this relief effort would not be accurate either.

From the moment the heavy snow began to fall, it was as though a horn had sounded across both north and south of the Wu Dynasty, signaling the final battle of this relief campaign — both sides throwing themselves into the fiercest possible struggle by every means at their disposal. In the marketplace, in official circles, across every circuit of north and south, in the golden halls of court itself — every force that could possibly be brought to bear had now been thrown into the fray. The scale of the relief effort was staggering; the scale of the resistance against it was equally staggering. Grain prices across every region fluctuated in ways too complex to fully describe, everyone’s intentions shifting and changing by the day. Merchants were executed, officials were dismissed, disputes raged endlessly at court, and small and mid-sized conflicts kept flaring up in region after region.

The entire situation surrounding the relief effort resembled some vast, ancient millstone — its grinding wheel sweeping across the length and breadth of the realm, crushing its enemies even as, under the weight of such enormous resistance and corrosion, it too continued to crumble and flake away at itself. And this kind of war had continued, unabated, right up to this very moment.

Turning back to the very start of the snowfall — the relief faction had employed multiple methods simultaneously, and the very first, most violent method they turned to, was killing…