In the night, the staff struck the ground with a tremendous crash, its might astonishing. Not only was the Bamboo Records crew shaken by it, but so were the several wilderness underlings who had come along.

“Nine-Dragon” Shi Jin was, among the fighters of Liangshan, one of the very finest in martial skill—his spear-and-staff technique fell only slightly short of Lu Junyi’s in refinement, and stood roughly on par with Lin Chong’s. It was only that Lin Chong, having come up through formal training, had a solid, disciplined foundation and an utterly orthodox style, whereas Shi Jin, a young wanderer of chivalrous bent since childhood, wielded his staff with a fiery, untamed spirit—more unrestrained and unpredictable than Lin Chong, carrying an air of reckless abandon all his own.

But when Liangshan fell, after witnessing with his own eyes how Lin Chong had been forced off the cliff edge, Shi Jin flew into a rage, killed a group of Liangshan traitors who’d meant to claim Lin Chong’s head for reward, and then had no choice but to drift back into the wilderness, back among the common folk of the martial world.

Ning Yi’s destruction of Liangshan had caused no small stir, and Shi Jin had originally considered heading south to the capital to avenge his brothers. But being a man of straightforward, chivalrous temperament, his thinking on the matter was likewise fairly direct: his own side had killed half the households of the other party, and in turn, the other side had struck back and wiped out the whole of Liangshan. Such was simply the way of the wilderness sometimes—kill or be killed. And so, though the thought of revenge lingered in his heart, he wasn’t especially fixated on it; besides, as he reasoned, if the other side had wiped out the whole of Liangshan, the south would surely be flooded with warrants hunting down any remaining Liangshan fugitives. After failing to find any trace of Lin Chong, he simply turned north instead, making his way by his own skills, scraping together food and drink along the road.

The state of affairs in the north wasn’t good, but for a master of his caliber, that actually suited him well—like a fish returned to water. Along the way he’d gotten to know various people, gotten into a few fights, and gradually built up something of a name for himself in that limited circle. True to his loyal, righteous nature, he had always treated the brothers around him extremely well, and eventually he’d settled down in this small town, collecting protection money and the like from some of the local merchants—effectively becoming the head of a small local gang.

North of the Yellow River, especially around the Taiyuan area, it had always been a place where dragons and snakes mingled, where right and wrong were hard to tell apart, and small gangs like this often maintained a tacit, unofficial relationship with the local authorities. The common people, too, were generally willing to put up with it, so it wasn’t considered any particularly shameful line of work. Still, after everything that had happened at Liangshan on such a grand scale, with so many brothers dying right before his eyes, Shi Jin had grown somewhat disheartened, and had since stopped seeking out fights and conflicts as much as before.

With his level of skill, he already ranked among the top tier in the martial world—even in a major city like Taiyuan, he could have made quite a name for himself. In a small place like this, running into the occasional hooligan or petty thug barely counted as stretching his limbs before the fight was already over. The underlings who followed him knew their boss had quite a background, but they still had no real, clear sense of just how skilled he was. Yet in this moment, the killing intent that had suddenly erupted from him left even them nearly startled—in that instant, the staff struck without any visible trace, yet whistled through the air with terrifying force; after the figure went flying, the staff slammed into the ground so hard the very road seemed to tremble. Even his underlings understood: their boss had just run into a great enemy.

On Bamboo Records’ side, there were usually only two guards traveling with the cart. After one of them was sent flying, the other, a somewhat younger man, drew his blade and charged forward without hesitation—his features still carried a youthful rawness, but fierce all the same. But just as he rushed forward, the guard lying on the ground reached out and grabbed hold of him.

“Cough, cough… don’t fight.”

“But… Master, you’re…”

“Chieftain Shi… has already held back. Come, this is the man I’ve told you about before—one of the most formidable staff-and-spear masters of Liangshan, Nine-Dragon Shi Jin… pay your respects to Chieftain Shi.”

The man who’d been struck down spat out blood and a couple of knocked-out teeth, then struggled up from the ground. The blow to his face was what had knocked out his teeth; the blood he’d coughed up, however, was from being struck square in the chest, an internal injury from the impact. And yet, even so, he seemed utterly unconcerned, even urging the young man beside him to pay his respects to Shi Jin. Shi Jin let out a cold snort and raised his hand slightly.

“You and I are enemies, not friends—no need for courtesies. Hmph, don’t think that just because you didn’t dodge or block, I won’t kill you. Just now was merely a greeting. When I, Shi Jin, kill a man, I make sure the matter is made clear first!”

Shi Jin’s staff technique was formidable, and his temperament straightforward as well. In his fury just now, his first blow had gone straight for the other man’s face—the kind of vicious opening strike normally meant to force the opponent to dodge. Yet, to his surprise, the man hadn’t looked like some ordinary civilian with no skill at all, and yet he hadn’t dodged in the slightest. So Shi Jin had pulled back seventy percent of his strength; the second blow had sent the man flying, most of his blazing fury venting instead into the ground.

Hearing him speak now, the blood-streaked Bamboo Records guard cupped his hands in salute. “Chieftain Shi’s chivalrous spirit and sense of honor have long been renowned throughout Liangshan—I myself have always deeply admired it…”

The younger guard beside him muttered, “What chivalrous spirit—just going around killing people with all his might… doesn’t seem like much to me.”

The bloodied guard shot his apprentice a glare, then continued, “…To see Chieftain Shi well and safe this afternoon truly brings me joy. Oh, this one’s name is Tian Keshan—I was once a personal guard under Chieftain Liu Tang. Chieftain Shi has probably never heard my name.”

“Well, well.” Shi Jin let out a furious laugh. “Having given your name, have you also thought through what comes after? Do you know at whose hands Brother Liu Tang died!”

Tian Keshan replied, his expression perfectly calm, “Chieftain Liu died at the hands of Yan Qing, who now serves the court under Master Lu Junyi. As for myself, if you’re asking about what comes after—I’ve been raising a few children in eastern Bian Liang, all orphans who lost their families during last year’s famine. After Chieftain Shi kills me, if it’s at all possible, perhaps you might look after them in my place. If not, well, I understand that too.”

Shi Jin’s expression froze slightly for a moment, then, gritting his teeth, he said, “…Have you lost your mind? Did that blow addle your brains? Do you think talking about this will stop me from killing you! Or do you think that just because you feel you’ve done wrong in the past, you can atone for it this way!? What is wrong with you people?”

“If you’re asking whether I feel a need to atone, then yes, I do,” Tian Keshan said calmly. “In my life, I’ve done many wrong things since I was young. Once I joined Liangshan, I did even more wrong. After Chieftain Liu Tang died, I finally threw in with Bamboo Records—which, in Chieftain Shi’s eyes, is naturally also a betrayal of loyalty, another wrongdoing. When the government troops broke into Liangshan, to save my own life, I even killed the brothers beside me and cut off their heads to secure my own safety—that too was a grave wrong. I feel my sins run deep, and doing things like this now is the only thing that brings my heart any peace. That much, I can hardly deny.”

“Fine.” Shi Jin nodded, sneering coldly. “You know your sins run deep, and yet you think doing a few good deeds like this can wipe the slate clean?”

“It can never be wiped clean entirely,” Tian Keshan said. “What’s done in the past is done—no amount of regret or atonement will bring the dead back to life. Before I went up to Liangshan, I was already a bandit robbing travelers on the road; once at Liangshan, I was still robbing and killing. I used to think that as long as I kept faith with my brothers, nothing else mattered, and that gave me peace of mind. Now, that peace is gone, so I do good deeds instead—but that, too, is only selfishness.”

Amid the night wind, the firelight blazed fiercely. Shi Jin’s presence was stern and commanding, while the man called Tian Keshan stood there, his face streaked with blood, half his cheek already beginning to swell. And yet, speaking these stubborn, seemingly foolish words, he somehow didn’t seem to be at any disadvantage. Shi Jin picked up his staff and walked slowly toward the side. The young guard kept his blade trained on him the whole time.

“So this makes you a good man?” Shi Jin said. “The world is in decline, corrupt officials hold sway at court, and if you try to be the perfectly considerate good man, the wicked will only trample right over you. How did my brother Lin Chong end up going up the mountain in the first place? He was hunted down by his own people, forced off a cliff, his bones never even found! We martial men were never meant to concern ourselves with too much. Ever since I took up the study of martial arts, I’ve held to loyalty and honor toward the brothers around me—even if it means death, I will never change that! And you, a wretch who killed his own brothers, dare to put on airs of righteousness in front of me today?”

“And that is precisely why Chieftain Shi, having kept faith with his brothers, can wield his blade against other innocent people with an untroubled conscience. I too was once like that—had I not been, I likely wouldn’t have survived to this day, and so I understand Chieftain Shi’s sense of loyalty well enough. And that is also why… I understand why Chieftain Shi means to kill me today, and I hold no grievance about it in my heart.”

The young guard said, “Well, I hold plenty of grievance. We at Bamboo Records stand united—whoever wants to kill anyone here will have to get past me first!” No sooner had he spoken than Tian Keshan reached over and shoved him aside. “Don’t make things worse—the two of us together aren’t even a match for Chieftain Shi!”

“If they kill us, others will simply come after!” the young guard said stubbornly, turning his blade back toward Shi Jin.

Shi Jin circled around the two of them, and now his steps came to a halt. He furrowed his brow, narrowing his eyes, feeling both mockery and confusion at what was unfolding before him—though the initial mockery was gradually giving way to more and more confusion.

“One last question.” he said. “You say it can’t be wiped clean, and that you’re no good man. So what’s the point of any of this? You’re nothing but a hypocrite.”

Tian Keshan shook his head. “A hypocrite is better than an outright scoundrel—a little better, at least, and a little better than being worse. We don’t claim that doing wrong and then repenting once makes a man good. We just think that understanding this much can bring a bit of peace to the heart. Chieftain Shi, you carry no such burdens—if you want to kill me, there’s nothing I can do about it. But Bamboo Records won’t stop coming this way because of it. We’ll keep traveling everywhere, keep telling those good stories, keep saying that the greatest chivalry serves country and people. If you drive us off, it won’t just be more of our people who come next—officials and soldiers will get involved too. Our master holds considerable power and connections, as Chieftain Shi surely knows.”

Shi Jin tilted his head, drew a breath, and looking into Tian Keshan’s eyes, found himself unsettled by the deathly calm within them. Practitioners of the martial arts valued having one’s thoughts settled and clear—that is, having a complete accounting for one’s own actions, a coherent view of the world. Yet before now, he had only ever heard of, never actually met, this kind of “hypocrite” standing before him—a man who had lived his whole life upright and true. But being a man of straightforward temperament at heart, with doubt now stirring within him, after a moment he actually lowered his staff.

“I’ll think over what you’ve said, then come kill you.” he said, drawing the words out one by one, then turned to leave. But just as he took a step to go, something occurred to him, and he tilted his head back. “Hey.”

His voice had dropped considerably now. “That brother of mine, Lin Chong… did any of you ever find out what happened to him afterward?”

“Of the people from Liangshan who escaped, the authorities pursued some of them afterward—but only those clearly guilty of great evils, likely at our master’s direction,” Tian Keshan said. “But as for Chieftain Lin, and men like Chieftain Shi here, there was never any further pursuit. I once heard that Grandmaster Zhou Tong put in a good word on Chieftain Lin’s behalf. Given how formidable his skills were, I imagine he might still be alive somewhere out there.”

Do you know he already fell off that cliff…

Those words rose in Shi Jin’s mind, but in the end, he didn’t say them aloud. Those who had once tried to surround and kill Lin Chong had all since been hunted down by Shi Jin himself, one by one, without a single survivor left—so aside from himself, no one else knew of this. His brother Lin… might be alive somewhere out there, or he might have already fallen from that cliff, his bones lost forever.

He clenched his fists and strode off. His underlings followed after him. After walking a while, he heard footsteps behind him—it was Tian Keshan, chasing after him. “Chieftain Shi, there’s one more thing I have to say.”

Shi Jin spun around abruptly. “I spared you once, and you actually think I’m the sentimental, soft-hearted sort? Keep rambling on and I really will kill you!”

Tian Keshan stopped, cupped his hands briefly, and spoke in a rush. “Before I left the capital, word came through from our master that the Jin might truly be preparing to march south.”

“People have been saying that forever!” Recalling the constant talk of the Jin threat over the years, and last year’s pacification edict, Shi Jin waved his hand sharply, then, feeling the matter was too remote to bother with, added, “Besides, even if it were true, what good does telling me do!”

“Er…” Tian Keshan hesitated. “It’s only that Chieftain Shi is currently here, close to Yanmen Pass, so… please do take care.”

Having said this, Tian Keshan stepped back. Shi Jin turned abruptly and cursed. “Damn it!” He strode forward. He mulled over what Tian Keshan had said—true, plenty of people had been saying such things over the years, but if he actually stopped to take it seriously as fact, it did seem far too remote. Even if war truly broke out, whether it would reach this far was another question entirely; and if it did reach here, he would either fight to the death or simply leave.

And yet, once that thought seriously took root, he found something seemed to lodge itself in his chest all of a sudden. He shook his head, trying to shake the matter from his mind.

…

Ning Yi’s trip south with Jin’er had only been a brief matter to handle some business, and within a few days he was back in Bian Liang. By now Xiao Chan’s pregnancy was nearing nine months, and the little maid who had once trailed after him when he’d first arrived in the Wu Dynasty had suddenly become a heavily pregnant woman—it really did give one a sense of how time had flown.

Of course, more of that sense came from the oppressive heat of summer. It was now the height of summer, the sun blazing bright, cicadas shrilling endlessly in the trees every day, and Ning Yi had organized the household to catch and chase away quite a few of them. Mornings were spent at home handling various minor matters, or over at the Chancellor’s residence meeting with all sorts of people, exchanging small talk. At noon he’d return home, and after lunch, he and the family would share a bowl of chilled sweet dessert, fanning themselves as they gathered together, napping on the cool beds.

Talk of the Jin possibly marching south had, oddly enough, died down considerably of late—perhaps the oppressive summer heat had left people with less appetite for talk in general. Of course, there were always scholars peddling doom and crisis, but more and more people had begun to hold their tongues, preferring instead to discuss with others why it was unlikely the Jin would ever march south—almost as if they feared that speaking of it might stir up some ill omen, disturbing some malicious deity.

Invitations to poetry gatherings still arrived regularly at the household, and Ning Yi would occasionally attend, sometimes bringing Tan’er, Yun Zhu, and Jin’er along; once the gathering ended, or once he’d lost interest, they would make their way home together through the night streets of Bian Liang.

His exchanges with Shishi remained frequent as well. Though she had already, quietly, passed the age typically associated with the reigning courtesan, her standing in the capital had not entirely faded—there were still plenty of men who wished to marry her or meet with her, though all now of a private nature. As for large-scale poetry gatherings and banquets, hosts increasingly preferred younger courtesans instead. Yet even though her standing hadn’t much diminished, and private engagements remained plentiful, Shishi herself had grown ever more carefree about the matter, often turning down invitations without a second thought, wandering and enjoying herself around the capital instead. She often came to chat with Ning Yi as well, largely because his words often gave her something to reflect on. After all these years, still without a settled place to call home, even Madam Li had stopped trying to press the matter.

In June, just a few days after returning to Bian Liang, Song Yongping—who had passed the provincial examination the previous year and had since been assigned an actual post—returned to the capital on some official business. With nothing pressing to do, Ning Yi took him up to the Alum Tower for a while…