In the darkness of night, the distant sounds of clashing weapons still carried on the air. Led by Tian Donghan, Yan Huan, and the others, Zhou Tong and Fulu gradually made their way to the northeast of the county seat, where they came upon a temporary camp. Carts and prison wagons ringed the perimeter; those standing guard within were half government soldiers, half guards and private men from Bamboo House.
From a distance, one could already see a fair number of underworld men held in the prison wagons, many of them injured to varying degrees, some still being beaten and kicked, the whole scene rather pitiful to behold. No small number of these men had ended up in this state because of Yan Huan’s betrayal. Since meeting Zhou Tong, his state of mind had already shifted greatly; seeing this scene now only churned him further, blood rushing to his head, his face flushing red then draining pale by turns — shame and fury both.
In truth, there had never been much real instruction passed between Yan Huan and Zhou Tong. But over the years, Yan Huan had styled himself Zhou Tong’s disciple, and even after making his own name in the martial world, this remained the thing he was proudest of. With his whole family captured and his eldest son killed, he had felt he had no choice but to submit. Yet upon seeing Zhou Tong, he found himself suddenly able to set all of that aside entirely — which could only be attributed to the deep admiration he held for Zhou Tong’s reputation for chivalry and unbending integrity in everyday life.
Much like the many mountain bandits of the north during the grain famine — men who might do anything, kill and burn without scruple in their ordinary dealings — once Zhou Tong came down upon them, they found themselves feeling that being subdued by him was something to be almost grateful for, without a shred of resentment. It was not only that they could not defeat him; there was also a genuine, heartfelt reverence involved.
Word of Zhou Tong’s arrival had already reached the camp, and as they entered, a young martial artist carrying a spear came out to greet them, his gaze rather curious. Watching the way the young man carried himself as he walked, Zhou Tong could not help but look him over more closely.
This was Zhu Biao, who had stayed at Ning Yi’s side all this while. His martial skill was formidable, ranking only slightly behind men like Chen Fan, Xiao Xigua, and Yue Fei among the younger generation. The last time, in Shandong, after Zhou Tong had met with Ning Yi and Hongti, he had departed without a trace before Zhu Biao and the others could reach the place — something Zhu Biao had always found rather regrettable.
Ning Yi sat in a small wooden shed within the camp, writing something by the firelight. The wailing of the underworld men around him, their curses, their weeping and commotion — none of it seemed to bother him much. Only once Zhou Tong and the others drew near did he set down his brush and rise to come over.
“Elder Zhou, Brother Fulu — what a coincidence, meeting again.” The young scholar in blue robes smiled and cupped his hands. “Several months since Shandong, and here we meet again in this place — today’s truly a double stroke of fortune.”
Curses rang out from nearby, from some of the underworld men locked in the prison wagons; a few had recognized Zhou Tong and were shouting things, evidently hoping he might speak up on their behalf. Yan Huan clenched both fists, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Ning Yi, looking as if he might lunge at him at any moment. Zhou Tong fixed his gaze on Ning Yi for a long moment, swept his eyes across the surroundings, then cupped his hands as well.
“This old man came here tonight specifically for this matter — hardly a coincidence at all.”
“Elder Zhou, always so direct.” Ning Yi laughed.
Zhou Tong was still taking in the state of things around him. In the prison wagons, several men — even some fairly well-known senior figures of the martial underworld — were now battered and bruised, their faces swollen, limbs broken, in a piteous state. Zhou Tong had no deep friendship with any of these men, but he recognized most of them by sight. One of them, still defiant, shouted from his cage, “Zhou Tong, don’t bother pleading for us — just kill this demon…”
Zhou Tong’s expression grew complicated, and he sighed faintly. Beside him, Yan Huan said in a low voice, “Ning Yi, with my master here, will you still not repent?”
“I’m speaking with Elder Zhou. This is hardly your place to interrupt.”
The night wind howled, the firelight flickered, and mixed in with the smell of blood was the fragrance of several great pots of noodles being cooked for the camp’s late-night meal not far off. The atmosphere grew tense for a moment, many watching the standoff with unease — on one side, a “demon of the heart” who held the momentum of the imperial court behind him; on the other, a man all but universally acknowledged as the foremost figure in the martial underworld. No one knew whether the two might clash suddenly the next moment, but in any case, at least in this instant, nearly everyone present regarded the two of them as standing on the same plane — that a man could face off against Zhou Tong like this already made this “demon of the heart” a great villain in his own right, and rightfully so.
After a moment, Zhou Tong spoke.
“Over the past half year, Young Master Ning has devoted himself heart and soul to relief efforts north and south, bringing grain into famine-stricken lands and saving countless lives — a living Buddha to ten thousand households… For this, I, Zhou Tong, thank you on behalf of the common people north and south.”
The old man cupped his hands deeply as he said this. The first half of his words seemed directed at the crowd around them, leaving Yan Huan and the others stunned. Having spent so little time with Zhou Tong, seeing his flat, indifferent expression, they could not tell whether he was speaking ironically or flattering the man — in their hearts, naturally, they still harbored such suspicions and hopes.
Once Zhou Tong finished, Ning Yi cupped his hands in return. “I too have heard of your actions in the north, Elder Zhou. Most admirable indeed.”
“This old man’s strength has its limits, after all…” Unwilling to dwell on the subject, Zhou Tong said only this much, his gaze sweeping over the men nearby, his voice dropping low enough now that what followed carried only within a few paces around them, not spreading further.
“Liheng has run himself ragged for famine relief, only to be misunderstood by the ignorant in the end — anyone would find this chilling to the heart. But not everyone who came here tonight was filthy vermin. Some genuinely acted out of a sense of righteousness and public duty, only to be deceived, unable to tell truth from falsehood. Many of these underworld men, however dashing and bold they appear on the surface, in truth live rather poor lives — what they seek in their hearts, the one thing they truly possess, is simply their pride. It doesn’t appear Liheng intends to kill them all tonight — but if you mean to have dealings with them again in the future, you ought not humiliate them quite like this.”
Having said this, he went on, “This old man rushed here the whole way meaning to stop this gathering, never expecting to find things in this state instead. After tonight, they will surely bear a grudge against Liheng… but this need not be beyond mending. Among these people, this old man still carries some standing. If Liheng is willing to spare some of the innocent among them, I am willing to speak on Liheng’s behalf, to mediate, to explain the truth of the matter to everyone clearly, so that fewer such incidents happen going forward. What does Liheng think?”
Ning Yi listened quietly, then laughed. “It sounds like killing them all tonight would actually be the simpler solution.”
“Does Liheng mean to do that?”
Amid the night and the firelight, Zhou Tong’s words carried little warmth. In truth, in both their encounters so far, this had been more or less their manner toward each other. Hearing Zhou Tong’s half-questioning, half-warning tone now, Ning Yi smiled and spread his hands to the side.
“Elder Zhou, Brother Fulu, you’ve both come a long way and must be hungry. We’ve got noodles ready here — have a bowl first before we talk further… Hey, you lot…” He smiled around at the people nearby. “All right, this isn’t a battlefield, no need to be so tense. Go about your business. I’ll have a bowl of noodles with fried sauce.”
Zhou Tong, blunt and forthright by nature, plainly disliked this way Ning Yi had of turning the subject aside, but for now he had little choice but to follow along. Yan Huan trailed after them toward the side of the camp as well. The pots of noodles there had all been prepared for the camp’s late-night meal. As someone brought over a bowl of noodles, Yan Huan found he could no longer suppress the doubt gnawing at him, and said through gritted teeth, “Master, what you said just now… was that true?”
Zhou Tong’s gaze turned stern as he glanced at him. “The grain famine that began last year was largely caused by wealthy households across the region hoarding grain. If Young Master Ning had not worked with the Right Chancellor’s residence to organize the grain merchants, the entire country, north and south, would by now be littered with the starved dead, the people utterly destitute! If he hadn’t blocked those wealthy households’ profits, would they ever have spread such wild rumors, stirring you all up to act against him?”
“But…” Yan Huan hesitated. “If he’s truly a good man, why not simply distribute relief grain directly, instead of insisting on selling it at such inflated prices…”
“If there were no profit in it, who would bother bringing grain into a disaster area at all! How many people would be willing to hand out grain for free!” Zhou Tong looked at him, his voice sharp and stern. “You’re so full of righteous indignation — have you yourself ever transported grain into a disaster zone to save people?! Have you ever gone and given out grain there yourself?!”
The old man pointed toward the prison wagons. “And what about them?!”
“We… didn’t want to… take advantage of others’ misfortune…” Yan Huan said, head lowered, his whole face flushed red, the veins on his forehead standing out. By now he already knew that Zhou Tong was not speaking idly or out of mere courtesy. Looking up toward Ning Yi, he saw him just then taking a bowl of noodles from someone nearby and handing it to Zhou Tong, then another to Fulu. The scene of his son’s death, his whole family seized, rose up before his eyes once more — and yet, it seemed, the man before him was in truth a good man after all. He felt a pang of regret now, even as grief and fury still surged within him.
“Then… then where is my family…” he said with difficulty, turning toward Ning Yi. “Release them! I… I admit defeat…”
Ning Yi, holding a bowl of noodles, looked at him, then held it out. “You want some too?”
“Where is my family?”
“Eat your noodles first, and I’ll tell you.”
But Yan Huan did not take the bowl. “Release them… I — I will never pursue this matter further… I’ve admitted defeat, what more do you want—”
His voice rose higher and higher as he spoke, and at the very peak of it, a flash of savage cruelty passed through Ning Yi’s eyes. A bowl of noodles came flying straight at Yan Huan’s head. Fulu, standing closer, reached out and caught the bottom of the bowl in time — but with his hands already full of his own noodles, he could only manage it one-handed, and the broth splashed out, drenching Yan Huan’s face and clothes. Scalded, Yan Huan leapt back a step, fists clenching as he prepared to charge forward. Several crossbows around the camp were raised at once with a sharp click, and Zhu Biao stepped closer as well, gripping his long spear tight.
Ning Yi stared at him, tilting his head coldly. “Master Yan, what’s gotten into you… You weren’t like this last night, were you…”
“You…”
“You saw it yourself, Elder Zhou.” Ning Yi spread his hands. “Leave a little room for goodwill, and there’s a chance to meet again amicably later — Master Zhou, you can go and explain things for me, clear my name. I could be treated like a good man, respected by them. But what would that get me? Your disciple here — when he thought I was a villain, I killed his son and seized his whole family, and he didn’t dare let out so much as a fart. Now that he thinks I’m a good man, that I was only bluffing him — suddenly he’s got the nerve to raise his voice at me.”
Ning Yi smiled and took a bowl of noodles. “Because he assumes a good man would never kill his whole family. Even after I killed his son right in front of him, he still assumes I wouldn’t go any further than that. Elder Zhou, you clear my name for me now — sure, that might mean a few fewer people wanting me dead — but then they’ll also start thinking I need their forgiveness. And what happens the day some of them come to the capital to kill me and fail — will they then expect me to lecture them on righteousness instead?”
“A good man can’t survive, Elder Zhou,” Ning Yi said, eating his noodles. “A good man has attachments, has people he cares about, has principles he won’t cross. A truly wicked man will look down on all of that — just like your disciple here. The moment he realized I was a good man, he suddenly stopped… respecting me quite so much. Unfortunately for him, he’s got it backwards.”
He shook his head. “Take the ones who came tonight — that old man who was shouting the loudest just now, Elder Zhou — he took fifteen hundred taels of silver to help set this whole thing up. Do you think he actually cares whether I’ve killed anyone or not? Villains band together in gangs; good men are forever just a disorganized rabble. They can be stirred up in a moment’s heat, willing to die for a cause — but they can never actually accomplish anything. Your disciple here even stopped fearing me the moment he decided I was a good man — and everyone else will decide I’m easier to deal with too. See why I have no reason to leave them any room? I don’t care in the slightest about their revenge. Whoever wants to see my family ruined and destroyed — good man or villain, it makes no difference — I will see their family ruined and destroyed in return.”
Zhou Tong’s expression turned grave, and he said nothing. Yan Huan’s face flushed red and pale by turns, his tone softening. “This… this matter… was my fault…”
Ning Yi looked him up and down, then pointed at the noodles hanging off his clothes and scattered on the ground. “Your noodles are getting cold. Eat up. Once you’re done, I’ll tell you where your family is.”
Yan Huan’s face flushed crimson once more — this was plainly leaving him no room at all, meant only to further humiliate him. Beside them, Zhou Tong and Fulu’s expressions darkened somewhat too; in their hearts, they felt, in the end, that there was no need to humiliate a man to quite this degree — men of the martial world, after all, faced the blade with heads either raised or bowed, nothing more. But after a moment, in the end, they said nothing. Yan Huan glared at Ning Yi, then reached up and pulled the noodles off his own clothes and stuffed them into his mouth, then crouched down and grabbed the noodles off the ground and did the same.
Whatever had come before, after this scene, the two of them were now, all but certainly, mortal enemies.
Yet Ning Yi seemed utterly unconcerned by any of it. He ate his own noodles, watching the scene unfold with evident interest. Before long, having finished his bowl, he handed the bowl and chopsticks to someone behind him, and looked at Yan Huan with a smile. “Your family — they’re all dead.”
Yan Huan, still crouched on the ground, noodles mixed with dirt going into his mouth, chewed hard as he glared up at Ning Yi, as if trying to show his resolve. But at these words, his whole body froze.
“They died days ago.” Ning Yi tilted his head, repeating it with a smile. “The very same night your son was killed and you were forced into cooperating — that’s when I had your entire family killed. Do you know why I left you no room at all? Because I never intended to let you live in the first place. Isn’t that obvious enough? You raised a foolish son. I killed him right in front of you — you were never going to be able to swallow that. Of course I was going to wipe out your whole family… cooperate and I’ll let them go, hah… do you still think I’m a good man?”
“Heh…” Ning Yi’s face carried a smile, his gaze ice-cold. And before him, Yan Huan, in the blink of an eye, transformed into something like a wild beast, making meaningless sounds in his throat before letting out a howl and lunging straight at Ning Yi. Fulu, beside him, seized his shoulder at once, shouting, “Wait! Calm down!”
But at this moment, there was no possibility of calm left in Yan Huan at all. He struggled with all his strength, nearly coming to blows with Fulu himself, while Ning Yi stood several paces away, watching it all with a smile, tossing out cutting remarks. “Wow… looks like he can’t calm down at all — might as well give up on that… Look at him, his eyes have gone all red… Don’t you want to wait a moment? There’s still noodles in his mouth… he’s not going to choke on them, is he…”
Zhou Tong watched all this, and after a while, as if sensing something, lowered his head and began eating his own noodles as well. A while later, some figures came approaching from the far edge of the camp. The child walking at the very front called out, “Papa.” Yan Huan froze again at once. Among the group, someone was crying out, “Husband!”
“Just kidding!” Ning Yi walked toward Yan Huan. “Just a joke.” The moment he said this, he suddenly kicked Yan Huan hard in the stomach, sending him flying backward. Yan Huan rolled several times across the ground before coming to a stop. In the firelight, the young scholar’s figure walked coldly toward him.
Ning Yi bent down, grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of his head, and met his eyes with an icy gaze. “I think you understand now, don’t you?”
Yan Huan’s eyes flickered, and he no longer dared meet his gaze. Ning Yi shook his head. “Next time, it really will be true.” With these words, the hand gripping his hair swept out hard, sending Yan Huan’s body rolling another meter or so across the ground, his head striking the earth again hard enough to draw blood.
When he turned his head, all he saw was Ning Yi’s back as he walked straight toward Zhou Tong and the others, the night wind blowing, his robes snapping in the air. This martial-world figure of nearly forty years found, in that moment, that he could no longer summon the nerve for revenge at all — he could only struggle painfully to his feet and watch as his family approached him…
…
The encounter with Zhou Tong did not take up much more time after that. Two men who had each reached the pinnacle of their own domain, yet whose ways of doing things differed so fundamentally, found in the end they had little common ground to speak of. Some conduct and manner, even when understood, is not necessarily something one can accept. And so, once he had seen Zhou Tong and his attendant settled nearby, Ning Yi could not help but pat his own head with a rueful look. “Ah, still can’t seem to get this old man to like me…”
Zhou Tong had, in truth, come with good intentions — Ning Yi understood as much after only a few exchanges — but even so, there remained little room for compromise or change of heart between the two of them. Zhou Tong still would not condone this all-or-nothing way Ning Yi did things, but his choice not to press the matter further was already a considerable concession on his part.
Of course, having taken his leave of Ning Yi and put the matter out of sight, that night, lodging in a nearby courtyard, Zhou Tong summoned Tian Donghan, asked after how he had been getting on lately, and then continued, in his own way, to see to matters of his own.
“…How you handle this is your employer’s own business, done his own way. Being utterly ruthless about it can certainly intimidate a certain kind of petty troublemaker, but being able to actually persuade some of these people still has its use in the end. After I leave here, I’ll go pay calls on some respected figures of the martial underworld, and get them to clarify the truth about the famine relief efforts as best I can. No need to mention this to your employer — I mean to help him, but I also mean to save the lives of some of the more reckless among these men. Given your employer’s ability and temperament, whoever comes after him is unlikely to come out of it well — the fewer such incidents, the better for everyone…”
“As for those people your employer mentioned working behind the scenes, I’ll look into it as best I can. If it proves true, I will certainly go after them too — I won’t let such people off. Your employer probably thinks me old-fashioned and pedantic, and I in turn think him arrogant and reckless — but he is a man who genuinely does real work for the people. And though I am old, I am no mere peacemaker content to smooth things over and do nothing…”
“One more thing — I noticed the formation your people use bears traces of some ideas I worked out in my younger years. I haven’t made much progress over the years on the small formations I once meant for military use, but for defending a household, holding one’s own against a handful of skilled opponents, there are some ideas here worth using. I’ll write them down tonight. He is a man who does real, practical good for the common people — consider this old man’s small contribution to that effort…”