June brought its stifling summer heat down upon the city of Bianliang. Passing through the courtyard of Fan Tower, Li Shishi heard laughter drifting from beneath the eaves nearby.

“…That martial-arts story the Bamboo Registry’s been telling lately is really something to listen to…”

“Is there a manuscript yet? Is there? Bring it here, quick, let me see…”

“Nothing new’s come out yet — I went and listened at the Bamboo Registry myself last night…”

“This story just keeps going and going — waiting day after day is getting a bit much…”

“The Bamboo Registry’s traveling caravans tell shorter stories, but the long ones are so much better to listen to…”

“It’s because of these stories the Bamboo Registry tells that there’ve been so many rough types coming into the capital lately…”

“…Those ones are here for the martial arts examination, I hear — it’s in August…”

“…Can’t blame them, their bodies are so well-built…”

Amid the chattering voices came bursts of soft laughter, the girls of the establishment teasing one another. Hearing mention of the Bamboo Registry, Shishi paused to listen for a moment, then pressed her lips together and continued on into the courtyard ahead.

In the months since spring began, matters concerning the Bamboo Registry had never really left her field of vision, however chaotic and scattered the news of it had been.

The disaster relief effort spanning both south and north had continued from last year all the way into this one; though the autumn harvest hadn’t yet arrived and famine still lingered in many regions, the crisis of roads blocked by heavy snow had passed, and the central court’s grip on the various regions had strengthened as well. Though many places still went hungry, at least there was no longer any widespread danger of mass starvation.

Only, the number of beggars drifting around the capital these days had grown noticeably larger than in years past.

The Bamboo Registry had thrown itself wholeheartedly into the relief effort from last year through this one, and in doing so had built connections with merchant houses across both north and south. This vast web of relationships had proven an enormous boon to the Registry’s growth — not only had its branch stores been sprouting up and expanding into surrounding markets like bamboo shoots after rain, but by the time Shishi had pulled herself out of the emotional weight of the relief effort and begun observing things through the information she gathered in the world of courtesans and pleasure houses, she found that the Bamboo Registry’s reach had already begun expanding wildly into all manner of other directions. This growth had come astonishingly fast, yet remained so hazy and indistinct that it was hard to pin down any specifics — only someone as well-connected as Shishi could sense the deliberate, far-reaching tendrils and the countless threads of influence it seemed to be extending. For now, though, none of it had yet come out into the open.

Having known Ning Yi as long as she had, Shishi had, by now, come to appreciate just what kind of ability this childhood friend of hers truly possessed. Sometimes she couldn’t help wondering whether, even before he’d taken charge of the relief effort, he’d already foreseen how much the Bamboo Registry stood to gain from it — though, thinking about it, that wasn’t really so strange after all. But there were still things about it all that she simply couldn’t work out, no matter how she turned them over in her mind.

In terms of raw ability, she knew nothing of business herself — but having moved among high officials and nobility for so long, having seen so much, Shishi understood some of the unspoken rules underlying it all. Ordinarily speaking, money itself wasn’t really what mattered most. However vast one’s fortune, even wealth enough to rival a kingdom couldn’t withstand the three-foot blade of an executioner sent by some minor county magistrate. Most wealthy merchants, once their fortunes reached a certain scale, would build bridges and pave roads to earn a reputation for benevolence, then try to elevate their family’s standing, working their way toward power and influence instead.

In this world, for anyone at all, power and influence were the true ultimate goal — wealth could certainly help toward that end, but once it reached a certain point, further accumulation only invited the envy and resentment of others, bringing harm rather than benefit.

And yet Ning Yi had had backing from the Chancellor’s household from the very start. During the relief effort, though he’d made enemies of most of the great hoarding households, he’d also accumulated no shortage of friends in the process. With friends like that behind him, if he wanted power, wanted influence, wanted to shed whatever lingering stigma clung to being a matrilocal son-in-law or a mere clerk in the Chancellor’s household — none of that would have been particularly difficult for him. And yet, here he was, doing the exact opposite.

Leveraging his own influence, converting it into vast sums of money, expanding the Bamboo Registry at a speed that left people astonished — and however dizzying that speed appeared, he had, in fact, kept firm control over every single step of it. But what was even the point of it all? Like a rapidly inflating bubble, sooner or later, surely, it would have to burst.

Of course, whatever she herself could work out, she trusted Ning Yi could see just as clearly. What she couldn’t understand was why, understanding all this perfectly well, he still went about orchestrating the whole thing with such calm, methodical precision — what deeper purpose lay behind it all, she simply couldn’t fathom. There were times she wanted to ask him directly — but the man pulling the strings behind it all had, since April, seemingly vanished off to who knew where.

That stirring, and yet ultimately powerless, disaster relief effort, and the Bamboo Registry’s subsequent growth, had come bundled together with a whole string of other events besides. A number of greenwood bandits had come to view Ning Yi as a thorn in their side, even venturing into the capital itself in an attempt to kill him. His retaliation, in turn, had been ferocious beyond measure, showing not the slightest mercy toward these bandits. The Taoting incident hadn’t only shaken the martial world — it had rattled quite a few figures in the imperial court as well.

Over a hundred greenwood men had been killed on the spot, and of the hundred-odd captured afterward, more than half had been sentenced to beheading. In the past, people had generally looked down on these ragtag greenwood types, but had mostly adopted a policy of turning a blind eye toward them. This time, though, the Bamboo Registry’s retaliation, backed by the Chancellor’s household, had been simply too severe. Some of the officials who frequented Fan Tower muttered that this would surely cause no end of trouble — these were desperate men with nothing to lose, after all — predicting that the Chancellor’s household had gone and stirred up a real hornet’s nest for itself.

In the days that followed, word occasionally trickled in of clashes between the Bamboo Registry and various desperate outlaws in this place or that, and Shishi had no way of knowing whether that counted as the prediction coming true. But the Bamboo Registry’s influence, in any case, kept right on expanding — and alongside that expansion, its storytellers had also begun telling tales of greenwood martial heroes, tales that, to everyone’s surprise, caused quite a sensation, sparking something of a revival in martial enthusiasm throughout the area around Bianliang.

In the popular fiction circulating through the Wu court at present, there were tales of immortals and fox spirits, tales of gifted scholars and beautiful maidens, and certainly no shortage of tales of heroes from the greenwood either. But for the most part, these novels were written by down-on-their-luck scholars, and tales of the greenwood were never quite mainstream — and when such tales did appear, they were usually written from a place of pent-up frustration, small in scope, centered on heroes defying the law through force of arms.

But the Bamboo Registry’s stories carried a certain grandeur to them — part fact, part invention, mostly built around the theme of “the greatest heroism serves the nation and the people.” One such story, set against a backdrop resembling the Wu court but called the Song dynasty, titled Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils, had, for a time, driven up the price of paper throughout Bianliang — every night, the moment the Bamboo Registry’s storytellers finished a new installment, people would immediately begin copying it out by hand, passing it eagerly from person to person. Under this influence, the number of martial-world hangers-on visiting Fan Tower had noticeably increased of late, and even a few particularly eccentric young scholar-gentlemen, some of whom had picked up a bit of self-defense training, began strapping on swords in the old Tang-dynasty style of chivalrous heroes, swaggering about ostentatiously and seeking out martial artists to befriend. Many of these young men came from families of considerable standing, and it was said their antics had left the Kaifeng prefecture office, responsible for public order, thoroughly exasperated.

Of course, even a trend embraced by some remained, in this era, very much “non-mainstream.” The Bamboo Registry’s approach had already drawn a certain amount of criticism. Novels about greenwood heroes carried little real influence, and most people couldn’t be bothered to concern themselves with them — but the idea that promoting such tales of men defying the law through force might stir up these hot-blooded, restless young toughs who already lacked any proper outlet, further inflaming a genuine threat to public order, was a real point of concern for some.

Zhou Bangyan, for instance, who had recently returned to the capital to report on his official duties, was rather displeased with the direction the Bamboo Registry had taken. Fortunately, alongside these tales of greenwood heroes, some of the Registry’s other stories had won considerable admiration among the literati. In particular, the account of old Qian Xiwen, from the time of the siege of Hangzhou, had left the capital’s scholars profoundly moved and reverent.

Even in Bianliang, no small number of people had direct or indirect ties to the Qian family of Hangzhou — in the past, old Qian’s death had been little more than an abstract concept to them. But once the story was told, these people came, each in their own way, to mourn and pay their respects, and a great many literati and scholars, upon hearing the tale told at the Bamboo Registry, found themselves stirred with passion, tears soaking their sleeves.

Whether or not these people, having heard the story, truly gained the same martyr’s courage old Qian had shown was, of course, another matter entirely — but because Ning Yi had been the last person to speak with old Qian before his death, the Bamboo Registry benefited from a certain degree of leniency and consideration. Its promotion of greenwood heroism, as a result, wasn’t met with unanimous condemnation, but instead split opinion into two camps — some cursing it, others debating it earnestly — and it had, in recent times, become one of the central topics of discussion among Bianliang’s scholarly circles.

And amid all this complex, ongoing development, the man behind it all still hadn’t shown his face in public even once…

Turning these thoughts over in her mind, Shishi walked into her own courtyard. The great banyan tree in the yard cast deep, cooling shade in the faint breeze; amid the ceaseless chirring of cicadas, the air still felt somewhat oppressive and close. Zhou Bangyan sat waiting for her on the wooden floor by the tea table — this man, who enjoyed considerable renown in the literary circles of the Wu court, was now nearing forty. He wasn’t, admittedly, the sort of handsome, delicate pretty-boy type; but his impeccably neat attire, the faint gray already showing at his temples, the weathering of years and the experience of officialdom, all combined to make him a rather compelling figure all the same. Seeing Shishi approach, Zhou Bangyan raised a hand, inviting her to sit.

The two of them had known each other for years now, and if one were to speak of any deeper mutual understanding — well, in an age not exactly strict about matters of the heart, there had, perhaps, been something of that between them too. After all, in a certain sense, this man was probably one of those who had come closest to truly knowing Li Shishi’s heart, and their time together had, on the whole, been pleasant and easy. Once seated, they took tea, exchanged a few idle pleasantries, and then Zhou Bangyan said, “Have you thought over what I mentioned last time, Shishi?”

The last time he’d visited Fan Tower, Zhou Bangyan had brought up the matter of buying out her contract. In a certain sense, the timing of raising the subject again now felt appropriate. Shishi’s age had already passed the golden years of a courtesan’s prime; though plenty of admirers still frequented her company, there was no question that things would only go downhill from here — marriage, then, had become the natural next step.

And in terms of standing, though Zhou Bangyan’s official rank wasn’t especially high, he’d already earned more than enough renown through his talent, and had long been close with Li Shishi besides; for him to take her as a concubine would, in fact, count as a very good outcome for her.

Shishi held her teacup, parted her lips as if to speak, but in the end said nothing. The cicadas droned on in the courtyard. Zhou Bangyan waited a moment, then refilled both their cups. “In truth, you and I both know — among everyone around you, I understand you best. In the old days, you loved to travel far and wide, studying under famous masters wherever you went; once we were together, I’d likely be the only one who could truly support that in you. So the two of us, together — that ought to be the best outcome for you… You’ll have to marry someone, eventually.”

Shishi fell silent for a moment, then, lifting her teacup again, gazed out toward the courtyard beyond, her voice quiet. “Meicheng, brother — actually, I’ve been thinking lately, that perhaps it isn’t necessarily… quite so certain that I have to marry after all…”

“…At Mount Wutai, the monk Kongdu once said you had the nature of a Buddha in you… and he wasn’t the first to say so, as I recall.” Zhou Bangyan paused, taken aback, then smiled. “But at the time, you said that even when you could see through things clearly, it didn’t much matter — that people are, after all, happier being like everyone else. What’s changed? Has something finally proven too much to see through? Or have you seen through it, and simply can’t get past it?”

“Ah…” Shishi sighed, then said again, “Ah…” though it sounded almost more like a simple sigh than actual words.

“I heard about your involvement in the disaster relief effort, and I’ve also heard… that you’ve taken to going outside the city lately, giving alms to the beggars there… Mother Li told me a great deal about it…” Zhou Bangyan paused. “Actually, among your circle of friends, you’re close with people like Yu Hezhong and Chen Sifeng, but nothing could ever really come of that. This Ning Liheng, though — now there’s a genuinely formidable man.”

Shishi said nothing. As for the matter of Ning Yi, it must have come from Li Yun’s own account to Zhou Bangyan. After a brief silence, Zhou Bangyan continued. “Only… this man seems rather too devoted to business affairs. In my earlier years, I thought him a man of noble indifference to fame and fortune, but from what I’ve seen since, his conduct mixes both righteousness and something less than righteous — it doesn’t sit easily with the way of the gentleman. At the very least, I strongly disapprove of his having the Bamboo Registry glorify these greenwood outlaws and their reckless heroics…”

Zhou Bangyan’s literary reputation stood quite high, and he conducted himself, on the whole, with real integrity; he tended to speak plainly and directly as well. He studied Shishi for a long moment now. “I know the relief effort you took part in was led by him too. Do you have feelings for him?”

Shishi’s gaze, which had been drifting off to one side, seemed to startle back into focus, and she smiled and shook her head. “No, it’s not that. It’s been a long while, besides, since I’ve even seen him.”

“He wouldn’t be a good match for you.” Zhou Bangyan took a sip of tea. “…The court’s decree has already come down. I’ll only be in the capital for five more days.”

“Mm.” Shishi nodded, lifting her teacup with a smile. “Where will you go next?”

Amid the courtyard full of cicada song, the two of them went on talking of ordinary, everyday things, the breeze rustling through the leaves, weaving a low, steady rustling sound into their conversation. In the summer afternoon, the air, amid all this, felt strangely still and quiet…

To the north, a thousand-odd li away — the Lüliang mountains.

The calls of the cart-drivers and the jingling of bells broke through the drowsy stillness of summer. That afternoon, another merchant caravan entered the outer market of Qingmu Stronghold. The caravan was no small affair — nearly two hundred men strong, carrying dozens of cartloads of goods, a substantial order rarely seen even at Qingmu Stronghold — and because of this, the stronghold had sent out a fair number of men to escort it in. Now that it had arrived safely, the entire outer market burst into lively bustle.

From Qingmu Stronghold’s outer market, stretching inward toward the stronghold proper, scaffolding and signs of construction could be seen everywhere — some areas freshly dug and just as freshly filled back in, the scent of newly turned earth carrying a different quality from before. Thanks to the unified planning now in place, the new clusters of buildings rising alongside the old stronghold looked neat and orderly. Though still modest in scale, everything felt, at the very least, thoroughly refreshed compared to the cramped chaos of just two months earlier.

Sometimes, order itself can leave a clear, positive impression. Watching the stronghold expand and renew itself, like ants steadily hauling mud to build their nest, most of the people living there couldn’t help but feel a certain quiet pleasure. Especially once they had something to compare it to, people would inevitably find themselves wondering just who, exactly, had brought all of this about.

After two months of transformation, Qingmu Stronghold’s administrators had, for the most part, come to feel the efficiency gains brought about by countless small improvements. Of course, an absolute, mechanized pursuit of efficiency can sometimes leave people feeling like their own individuality has been swallowed up — but Qingmu Stronghold, for now, hadn’t yet reached the point of confronting that particular problem. In summer, for instance, around midday, no one was expected to work at all; most tasks were pushed to the morning and evening instead — though, admittedly, for these poor mountain folk, if there were real benefit to be had, they likely wouldn’t have minded being pushed to work under the blazing sun either. But for now, Ning Yi had no intention of pursuing efficiency quite that far.

Ning Yi had, by this point, mostly stopped involving himself in matters of efficiency directly — though when it came to the management of Qingmu Stronghold’s growing population, he still took an active hand.

Over the course of two months, Qingmu Stronghold’s population had grown from six thousand to nearly eight thousand. Of these, five or six hundred were newly arrived able-bodied men — obedient, trainable, or possessing some useful skill. The rest were the family members these men had brought along with them.

Thanks to Ning Yi’s involvement, the stronghold’s population growth and resettlement had proceeded in an orderly, well-managed fashion — though naturally, absorbing so many newcomers all at once inevitably created its share of problems. Ning Yi, now living a normal married life with Hongti, met roughly every three days with several of the stronghold chiefs and the officials responsible for this area of affairs. He generally didn’t handle specific operational matters himself, focusing instead on setting overall direction and doing a bit of ideological groundwork.

Integrating newcomers into Qingmu Stronghold — with more newcomers certain to keep arriving in the future — how to prevent the old-timers in the mountain from bullying the new arrivals too severely was one issue, though absolute fairness wasn’t really the goal either. Ning Yi had Zheng Ashuan’s daughter head up a small enforcement team, tasked with recording and intervening in disputes between old and new residents — giving the old-timers a certain degree of preferential treatment, while still ensuring the newly arrived weren’t subjected to too much unfair treatment.

These meetings, held every three days, remained essentially exercises in ideological groundwork — think long-term, not just short-term gain; think of the group’s strength, not merely individual advantage in the moment. In truth, in the early stages of a small organization like Qingmu Stronghold’s development, the various stronghold chiefs still held very firm control over those beneath them; once their agreement was secured, everything else fell into place quite easily. Ning Yi was simply laying groundwork for the stronghold’s future development — though, admittedly, in the eyes of a small minority, this outsider son-in-law of theirs could come across as rather naggingly repetitive, checking in every few days, going over the same points again and again…

Despite these lingering questions here and there, under Ning Yi’s simple style of management, Qingmu Stronghold’s present state had already surpassed most other places beyond Lüliang by a wide margin. Anywhere in the world, native residents tended to be exclusionary toward outsiders, and even when disputes arose, a county magistrate’s handling of them was rarely all that wise — and within the Lüliang mountains, this held doubly true. Many of the mountain strongholds found it easy enough to take newcomers in, but once you were actually inside, you still had to pick a side, align yourself with some faction or another, and clashes and quarrels between factions were common; sometimes old-timers even beat newcomers to death, or leaders, abusing their power, took liberties with the wives and daughters of new arrivals. Where else but Qingmu Stronghold would you find an actual system in place to mediate and address such things?

Where else would you find a place that, when disputes arose between old and new residents — even when a newcomer was the one beaten — would actually reprimand the old-timer responsible? It wasn’t absolute fairness, by any means, but even this relative degree of care was, in itself, precious beyond measure.

After all, that was simply the nature of this world — even a small improvement counted for a great deal.

Sometimes, watching all this unfold around the stronghold — just two months of change — the old man named Liang Bingfu found himself asking why certain things he himself had once thought of, yet never managed to accomplish, seemed to come so simply, so effortlessly, to Ning Yi. Of course, sometimes there was an answer to that question, and sometimes there wasn’t.

At that moment, he sat cooling himself in the shade of a tree in the small square, while Hongti’s husband sat nearby, sketching and writing on a wooden board. Hongti herself sat behind him, fanning the old man with a hand fan, occasionally turning it toward her husband as well. There weren’t many people in the small square — a few children were playing at tossing pebbles, and not far off, a young man named Yuwen Feidu was showing off some martial moves to another boy, dark-skinned and thin.

“Watch this move! I spin around from the side, strike your knee, sweep — sweep! Heh, there’s no way you’re dodging this one…”

“And this one! Strikes your chest! Then your stomach…”

“And my rocket-fist combo, a hundred hits, wah-la-wah-la-wah-la-wah-la—”

Yuwen Feidu was, at heart, still just a boy — bright, quick-witted, and outgoing by nature. Having taken on quite a few teachers at the Dulong Ridge camp, he’d picked up a fair bit of solid martial skill, and now, showing off in front of the quiet boy who usually looked after Liang Bingfu, he darted about, his moves flashing like the wind — this was because Hongti had mentioned that the boy called Little Black had also trained in martial arts and showed real talent, and Yuwen Feidu had wanted to test himself against him. Unfortunately, Little Black, being rather taciturn and dull company, showed no interest in engaging with him.

At this moment, Yuwen Feidu was putting on a dazzling display in front of Little Black, his punches whistling past the boy’s face in a blur, while a few small children nearby cupped their chins, watching in awe, someone exclaiming: “Wow, Brother Yuwen is so amazing…”

“Brother Little Black doesn’t know any martial arts, Brother Feidu, don’t bully him…”

Ning Yi, sketching on his wooden board, glanced up briefly, then lowered his head again with a laugh: “Heh heh, how sneaky.”

Then, suddenly, Little Black let out a shout and wrapped both arms around Yuwen Feidu’s waist, charging straight forward. Yuwen Feidu desperately tried to keep his footing, but by then the two of them had already run clear out of the square — with a crash, they went tumbling into a woodpile at the square’s edge in a tangled heap. Naturally, Yuwen Feidu came out of it looking far the worse for wear.

“Sneak attack — ahh, take my Black Tiger Steals the Heart—” Yuwen Feidu, crawling out of the woodpile looking utterly disheveled, charged after Little Black, who turned and ran. The small square erupted into excited commotion, and Ning Yi, Hongti, and Liang Bingfu all craned their necks, watching the two boys chase each other from one end of the square to the other and back again, their heads turning in unison to follow.

“Who do you two think’ll win?”

“About even, I’d say.” The old man, cane in hand, narrowed his eyes with interest, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle himself.

The young wife Hongti simply smiled and said nothing, a half-finished shoe sole resting in her lap — she’d been working on it before the old man came out.

Before long, a figure approached from a distance — it was Qingmu Stronghold’s fifth chief, Han Jing. He glanced at the two boys’ chaotic scuffle as he circled around, paid his respects to Liang Bingfu, then took a seat beside him and said to Ning Yi, “We caught up with them.”

“How’d it go?”

“Ma Jun’s people caught up with them ahead of us too. He says he’ll give us an explanation.”

“What do you two think?”

“Wait for his explanation. Either they hand over the men responsible, or they hand over their heads. Otherwise, we might as well just wipe out all two thousand of them and be done with it.”

“Ah, that works too…”

What Han Jing was referring to was the matter of the two thousand-odd Liao troops north of Lüliang. With the Liao state now destroyed, these former Liao soldiers had become men without a homeland. Their leader, upon arriving in this region, had taken the name Ma Jun and, for the time being, had gathered his forces in the mountains north of Lüliang. After the battle at Huochuan Ridge, Qingmu Stronghold had been preparing for a potential confrontation with them — but Lüliang was, after all, a vast expanse, and if the other side was determined to run, mounting a true campaign of annihilation would prove no easy task.

After word of the outcome at Huochuan Ridge spread, this band of former Liao soldiers had, in fact, shown remarkable good sense, unwilling to provoke friction with Qingmu Stronghold, and had even, at one point, sought an alliance with the stronghold. Ning Yi had naturally turned that down. This time, it seemed a few dozen men had splintered off from Ma Jun’s stronghold and very nearly raided a merchant caravan under Qingmu Stronghold’s protection; in response, Ma Jun’s side had sent men to apologize and promise Qingmu Stronghold a proper accounting.

In truth, Qingmu Stronghold didn’t much care what kind of “accounting” was offered — the policy toward this band of former Liao soldiers had long since been settled: either they submitted to Qingmu Stronghold and became an outlying dependency of the stronghold, with Ning Yi and the others already prepared to squeeze every last drop of value from them, absorbing their elite fighters for their own use and sending the rest off to mine coal — or, alternatively, they’d be defeated in battle first and then turned into an outlying stronghold of Qingmu anyway, with the same squeezing to follow, and the remainder likewise dispatched to the coal mines…

Of course, since a full campaign of annihilation wasn’t yet feasible, the matter had simply been left pending all this while. But Ning Yi himself wasn’t particularly inclined to concern himself with such details any further — when to strike, how to strike, that was all Han Jing and the others’ business. All that was really required of him was to come up with a suitably outrageous codename for the operation: “Beating Up the Big Rooster.”

With that, having nodded along, he steered the conversation back. “…So, who do you think’s going to win?”

Han Jing studied the two boys. “Yuwen, probably. His fundamentals are solid.”

“Hard to say, though — I think Little Black’s got real natural talent…”

The group settled in to watch the scuffle play out.

After a while, Liang Bingfu straightened himself up and said, “Liheng, has anyone gone over to the old village yet?”

Ning Yi glanced at him. “Yes, some people have already gone over.”

“Fu Duanyun’s still living there…” Liang Bingfu sighed. “One of these days, I’d like to go back and see it myself.”

Ning Yi frowned. “It’s a long, bumpy journey…” Qingmu Stronghold was, after all, still more than twenty li from the old village, and in this day and age, even the finest carriage would jolt and jar something fierce over that distance. Lately, though Liang Bingfu no longer had to worry himself over the village’s affairs and seemed, if anything, a touch more youthful for it, his health had, in truth, been steadily declining.

Hongti, as a grandmaster of the martial way, understood these matters better than anyone. She came over now as well, to try to talk him out of it…