Days turned into evenings, the wind of heaven rolling endlessly on, over this land of the Wu Dynasty spanning ten thousand li — and across it, the frontier had always been a delicate, sensitive word.
Liao, Western Xia, Tibet, Dali — from the mighty passes of the north to the mountain ranges of the southern frontier, the border was no more than a thin line: one step forward, foreign land; one step back, homeland. And yet along such borders, there always lay stretches of land caught in some uneasy, tugging middle ground. These places never knew the peace and stability they should have had. The armies stationed at the frontier paid them no mind; people within the country chose, selectively, to ignore them; and there were more people still who didn’t even know such places existed.
In people’s minds, there was the misty grandeur of the ancient capitals, the splendor of Qinhuai, the prosperity of the capital city, the sweet-osmanthus air of Jiangnan — and further north, battlefields like something out of hell — but never any notion of this in-between strip. Like the unavoidable losses that came with any battle, precisely because they were unavoidable, people simply stopped thinking about them too much. Cast it out of mind, and just keep fighting.
Amid the folded ridges and ravines, packs of wolves roamed the barren, treacherous wilds. Lüliang Mountain was one such region, surviving in that in-between crack — the people of the Wu Dynasty didn’t consider it enemy territory, yet never treated its people as their own kind either. Few knew what happened here, few understood how life worked in this place. If not for the pull of profit now drawing it in, this stretch of land at Green Wood Stronghold would likely never have had much to do with the outside world at all — it would have existed here, and vanished here, until it faded from the memory of the handful of people who’d ever known of it at all…
But even now, with interests entangled here, those who truly understood the place remained few. Tucked away on the map, an unremarkable little spot on the northwest side of Lüliang Mountain, was now a valley settlement housing several thousand people — a valley that had swelled and expanded with startling speed, its whole development looking hurried and swollen at every turn.
At the market outside the valley, rows of houses and shops crowded together along the rugged mountainside. Green Wood Stronghold’s outer market had originally been a simple stopping point for traveling merchants to rest or trade with one another; because the stronghold maintained basic order and could, at the very least, guarantee most people’s safety, it had swelled quickly. Now the place ran with filthy water, packed thick with crowds; local strongmen and bandits from all around gathered here, beggars and cockroaches and rats fighting over every scrap of space. And yet this place, of all things, had become the single most peaceful spot in all of Lüliang Mountain over the past year or two.
Deeper in, in the inner valley not open to ordinary outsiders, things were considerably more relaxed than the outer market — but given how rapidly it had grown, with so many new arrivals joining the stronghold, this stretch of valley still felt chaotic. A great many simple new houses had gone up, timber and supplies moving in and out daily; at first glance it all seemed piled together with no order whatsoever — yet, remarkably, in the midst of all this growth, nothing had ever gone seriously wrong.
This had never been a place that valued equality or fairness; amid the chaos and clamor ran an undercurrent of raw, primitive savagery. Those drawn into the mountain who hadn’t yet settled into their place still occasionally turned on one another with hostility, but authority and raw force kept most of these impulses in check. The Blood Bodhisattva — the most formidably skilled and the most ruthless of them all — would allow no open infighting, and would never tolerate anyone breaking the handful of simple rules of the mountain. Break them, and there was no room for reasoning or gentle correction — more often than not, offenders didn’t even get the mercy of simple expulsion from the stronghold.
A small offense proved you had spirit; a large one meant you deserved to die.
Matched with this high-handed authority was a clear, open path upward. The principle for joining the stronghold was simple: if you had a skill, or were willing to work hard and endure hardship, you’d be taken in quickly. “Skill” covered a wide range — formidable martial ability was, of course, the most obvious and straightforward, but even something like making noodles or griddle cakes counted just as well. Prove you had something you were good at, and you were guaranteed a place.
And for those with neither skill nor martial ability, so long as they understood the rules and were willing to endure hardship, they too could be taken in — the rules were simple enough: train alongside the stronghold’s other newcomers under the harshest conditions for ten to fifteen days — running, or simply standing still for hours, pushing through exhaustion, obeying orders, never giving up. Drilled half to death, and then you were in.
None of this was easy, and it wasn’t as though everyone who came out of a place like Lüliang Mountain was naturally capable of enduring hardship. Just as bandits accustomed to robbing at knifepoint in the hills often refused to go back to working the fields, or as young men caught up in organized crime in the modern world — environment and upbringing certainly played their part, but more often than not, it simply came down to laziness and a taste for easy living. Crooked dealings might be unstable, but at least they were easy, effortless, with no barrier to entry, and no twelve-hour shifts in some factory.
Naturally, such people earned no sympathy. They’d simply be abandoned, left to drift around Lüliang, joining one bandit group after another, eventually falling under Green Wood Stronghold’s exploitation in some fashion, or dying for one reason or another. If, in certain circumstances, someone was inevitably going to die, then in this brutal world, those unwilling to strive for anything better were, naturally enough, the most fitting sacrifice.
In truth, throughout history, however much people might yearn for a great utopia of freedom and equality, on the level of society itself, class distinctions were never really the thing that needed worrying about. In the vast majority of cases, a stable social structure had no need to concern itself with whether people were equal — what mattered, what needed preserving, was a path upward that was, as far as possible, fair. A nation or an organization could easily tolerate enormous disparities between classes, so long as those at the bottom could study, those who studied could sit the imperial exams, and those who passed the exams could rise into the privileged class — as long as that system kept functioning, the whole organization could remain stable. Most internal collapses of nations traced back to this very path upward slowly calcifying — the privileged class, wanting their privilege to last, to be passed down through generations, began monopolizing the routes to the top, and as it grew ever harder for clever people at the bottom to rise, their resentment piled up higher and higher, until rebellion became the only option left.
And so, even as Green Wood Stronghold kept expanding, and even as this brought all manner of problems along with it, nothing had yet emerged that amounted to real, troubling upheaval. By the time Tan Zhen’s “pacification decree” was issued that summer, drawing every interested party with eyes on Lüliang converging on the place, what they found was exactly this kind of stronghold — chaotic almost past comprehension.
It bore no resemblance to the various prosperous, or unprosperous, cities of the south, nor, presumably, to the savage, primitive garrison towns of the north. It had grown lively and prosperous on the back of deal after deal, all of it steeped in blood and brutality; at the top, naked force ruled over everything, and within, it seemed riddled with contradictions and instability — and yet, somehow, against all odds, it had stitched itself together like some patchwork creature, and held.
“Old Master Liang, I know — you’re a clever man, not like someone who grew up in these mountains all his life with no notion of the wider world. You’ve seen how things work out there. You’ve built this stronghold up to what it is now — surely you can see for yourself just how much benefit there is in Lord Tan’s pacification decree this time…”
In a small courtyard partway up the mountain within Green Wood Stronghold’s inner valley, under an overcast sky, a middle-aged man was speaking.
“South of Lüliang, when it comes down to it, is really our Qi family’s territory. Once you accept the pacification decree, you’ll get more than just a title — you’ll get military supplies too, and how much of that benefit you can actually claim all depends on connections in the capital… I know plenty of people have come to Lüliang this time. What they’re after, of course, is nothing more than the business Green Wood Stronghold’s currently running — but you can see this clearly yourself, Old Master. Whether it’s the Wusheng Army or men like Dong Pang’er, these military types will eat a man to the bone without blinking. When it comes to following the rules, they generally won’t bother; when it comes to grabbing benefits, they won’t hold back for a second either — and besides, the army doesn’t know how to run a business. If your stronghold ever falls into their hands, that would truly be a waste of everything you’ve built…”
“We of the He family are businessmen — we don’t concern ourselves with anything beyond that. Everyone banding together, making money as one, is the proper way to do things. And besides… behind us stands the strength of the Qi family. Several of the strongholds to the south are already willing to align with us, and once you add Lüliang’s trade into that — just think how much you could make sending goods up north… And on the official side, how many people are there, really, who could stand up against Dong Pang’er, against the Wusheng Army…”
The words came steady and unhurried, one point after another. By the time he’d finished laying it all out, a fit of coughing broke the silence in the room — a moment later, the coughing grew suddenly violent, as the old man half-lying in the room seemed almost about to die from it, coughing on and on before finally, with great difficulty, managing to stop. His voice, when it came, was weak and hoarse.
“He… cough — Steward He, ah, what you’re saying, old fool that I am, I’ve thought about it too. It’s just as I’ve said, though — matters of the stronghold, something this big — it’s always been the stronghold master who makes the call… I’m old now, my body’s failing, and my mind… sometimes it gets muddled too. What you say makes sense to me, but… I can’t say for certain my thinking’s still sharp enough. Needs more discussion, more consulting with others — so these matters, still… cough, cough, still have to wait for the stronghold master to come back before anything can be settled. But everything you’ve said, Steward He, I do think makes sense, and I’ll pass it all along to the stronghold master…”
“Ah, I understand that much myself, but, well, Old Master Liang — Stronghold Master Lu’s been away so long now, we’ve already waited quite a while.” The man, surnamed He, wore a look of some difficulty. “I know you’re the true backbone of this stronghold, Old Master Liang. You understand — with matters like this, alliances and dealings, the sooner things are decided the better it is for everyone. The Qi family’s waiting on my reply, Old Master Liang. Let’s not go in circles — just give me a straight answer. You nod, and consider this settled. Don’t make things difficult for a junior like me.”
“Ah, Steward He, you flatter me too much… this old fool… cough, cough, everything I’ve said comes straight from the heart, cough, cough… cough cough cough cough…”
The coughing rose again. After a while, the man surnamed He, left with no choice, took his leave, grim-faced, and walked out of the courtyard with his attendant in tow. Looking down from this vantage point under the overcast sky, figures moved about in the valley below amid a chaotic sprawl of makeshift arrangements; a few children in tattered clothes ran about among it all, looking thoroughly delighted despite everything.
“Damn it, tough old bastard, really…” Steward He muttered under his breath. “Still won’t budge.”
His attendant came up beside him. “Steward, why get so worked up over people like this? It’s all just business…”
“Damn it, just look at them.” Steward He gestured down at the valley below. “You don’t get it, do you? A bunch of beggars and mountain bandits who couldn’t even get a full meal in their bellies in the old days — if we hadn’t handed them a way to make money to begin with, they’d still be starving right now. You know what real hunger feels like? A man like that, I could make him eat shit and he’d do it! Give him a little taste of our leftovers, and now look at him, putting on airs. With several parties showing up now, and their so-called stronghold master not even bothering to appear… Oh, right — that group that arrived yesterday, the fierce-looking ones — what’s their background? Have you found out yet?”
“Not yet, still asking around.”
“Go find out, quickly.” Steward He shot his attendant a glare, then looked back down at the valley. “This place may be a godforsaken backwater, but if this business ever fell into my hands, I could multiply it several times over in no time. Right now it’s held by a bunch of penniless beggars — absolutely ridiculous… To hell with it, once the deal’s settled, just watch how I’ll straighten them all out. As for their stronghold master — I’ll drag her home, have my fun with her, and once I’m tired of her, pass her along to someone else. To hell with it! Tough old bastard…”
Grumbling and cursing under his breath, he made his way off. Back in the courtyard room, the old man coughed for a while longer, drank some soothing tea, and only then did he settle somewhat. This was Liang Bingfu, the old man who had long managed Green Wood Stronghold’s affairs — he had devoted half his life to the stronghold’s business, had raised and taught Hongti from childhood, and even now, with his health steadily failing, he still oversaw most of the stronghold’s internal and external affairs. Having seen Steward He off, he lay there for a while, wrapped in his blanket, resting with his eyes closed. About half an hour passed like this before someone came in from outside and murmured something in his ear.
Liang Bingfu’s eyes opened, and in that instant, they shone with a brightness that hadn’t appeared in them for a long while. A moment later, one hand gripped his cane, and he began to rise from the reclining chair.
The one responsible for looking after him was a thin, dark-skinned boy, who came over to help him up. Liang Bingfu’s movements trembled, yet there was a firm resolve running through them; leaning on his cane, he made his way outside, his pace surprisingly quick. This courtyard had only been built this year, unadorned, and not especially large. A man approached him. “Grandfather Liang, why are you up and about?”
Liang Bingfu said, “I’m going to receive someone… going to go meet someone!”
The man looked puzzled for a moment; the one who had come in to deliver the news earlier stepped over and murmured a low explanation.
Leaning on his cane, the old man made his way out through the courtyard gate. The thin, dark-skinned boy was still there trying to support him, but Liang Bingfu pushed him away with one hand. “Get off.” Then, noticing the blanket still draped over his shoulders, he flung it off with a snap and tossed it at the boy. “Take this!”
By now he stood with both hands braced on his cane, tapping it against the ground a few times before standing steady and upright on his own. His face was lined with wrinkles and age spots, his lips pressed thin, giving him a stern, severe air. The mountain path ahead still lay empty; looking down from the hillside, the stronghold below, ever more crowded, kept growing larger by the year — these past couple of years, at least, no one here went hungry anymore.
So many people had already died…
He was no man of great vision or extraordinary talent — if it came to learning, back in his day he might not even have counted as average. He had been saved by Hongti’s master, brought first to that old village, then to the stronghold that once stood there. That woman had said to him: “Please help look after this place.” He still remembered how she’d looked in that moment — though the memory might, by now, have filled in some details on its own, the expression on her face in that instant he remembered ever more clearly. And so he had stayed here, holding up the stronghold, teaching its people, letting them survive. But even so, many had still died.
From the clumsy man he’d once been, to the dignified bearing he now carried in his stance, what weighed upon him was nothing but responsibility — a mountain’s worth of responsibility. Some men broke their backs under such a weight; others found, through it, a strength every bit as great in return.
Down at the far end of the path, it seemed as though a wind from heaven itself came drifting past. He had only come out to receive the man Hongti had brought back — but for some reason, standing there leaning on his cane, he suddenly found himself thinking of that woman from long ago, of the sight of her leaving all those years back, sword slung across her back, riding away on horseback. She had left something behind, and now, perhaps, it could finally be carried forward…
Before long, a few figures came walking up from the far end of the road. Hongti still wore her cloak, her hair stirring faintly in the wind. Her face carried its usual calm, faint smile, but her step no longer felt as heavy as before — the old man could tell at a glance, having watched over her since she was a young girl.
Beside her, the scholar-looking young man was walking this way too. The old man, leaning on his cane, watched him from the steps at the gate; the young man tilted his head, then looked up at the old man too, his gaze complicated, steady — not like a junior’s gaze, yet not arrogant either. By the time he reached him, the scholar lowered his head, cupped his hands, and bowed deeply.
This isn’t how a son-in-law greets his father-in-law — the old man thought to himself, though his stern gaze didn’t waver. After a moment, he asked, “Why do you bow to me?”
The scholar had already straightened. “I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for this place.”
“Mm.” Liang Bingfu nodded, his gaze drifting off somewhere in the air for a moment, then, as though suddenly recollecting himself, he turned aside and nodded again. “Mm, come in. All of you… come in.”
Leaning on his cane with one hand, he turned and walked back inside. Hongti came over to support him.