The night wind was cool and pleasant. Looking out from the heights of the Alum Tower, one could see a good portion of Bian Liang’s lantern-lit glow—one courtyard after another, street after street, and boat-lanterns on the waterways sending warm gold light up into the night sky. Music drifted over now and then, the singing girls of the Alum Tower performing soft, tender lines like “still I remember the crimson boats along the path, day after day carrying misty blossoms.”
Inside the room, the lamplight was bright, gauze curtains swaying gently, and Song Yongping was raising his cup to drink with Ning Yi. Also in the room were two women—beside Ning Yi sat Shishi, while beside Song Yongping sat a woman named Jin Ruyan, considerably younger than Shishi, one of the Alum Tower’s current rising stars in both talent and reputation. Song Yongping had made her acquaintance the previous year while in the capital, and had now called her over to keep him company.
Coming from an official family to begin with, and having passed the imperial examination at the young age of twenty, Song Yongping had now also secured an actual post as county magistrate—by any measure, a young man of considerable early success, brimming with confidence. This particular trip had been arranged by the local prefect, who had assembled a batch of tribute goods for Song Yongping to present at the capital; behind the scenes, the prefect had also been counting on Song Yongping’s connections in the capital, entrusting him with a few matters to handle there as well—an easy enough task that also brought him some recognition. With life going so smoothly for him, the young man’s words carried more than a little of the swagger of someone with grand designs on the world. After thanking Ning Yi for his help in the capital, and chatting a bit about poetry and prose, he also shared some of his own views on Bamboo Records.
“…Little brother has read widely through history, and since ancient times, businesses run purely for commercial gain have always struggled to last long. My own family has some business dealings too, but we keep them modest—enough is enough. Of course, Brother-in-law, being here in Bian Liang, must surely understand this matter far better, and your considerations for Bamboo Records must be far more thorough than mine. Take, for instance, this past year’s storytelling campaign, promoting chivalry and martial valor within the military—little brother is entirely in favor of that. But as for whether to promote such things among the common people as well, I’ve heard the talk outside has grown rather loud… In everything a person does, one must proceed gradually and with care…”
Toward Ning Yi, Song Yongping harbored no ill will—in a sense, what he’d said came from a genuinely well-meaning place. Bamboo Records’ rapid growth was bound to arouse the wariness of scholars, and likewise the wariness of merchants; Song Yongping, having inherited his family’s traditional philosophy of officialdom, was essentially urging Ning Yi to first solidify his footing within the capital before expanding elsewhere.
Of course, there were things he couldn’t quite bring himself to say outright—for instance, in Song Yongping’s eyes, no matter how great Ning Yi’s reputation might be as tutor to the Chancellor’s household, he had never actually held official rank, and in his view, the fundamental reason for this lay in the fact that Ning Yi remained, after all, a matrilocal son-in-law of the Su family. And since Su Tan’er was his own cousin, by the principles of a gentleman, he couldn’t very well say anything that might suggest Ning Yi should try to shed that status. His counsel, beginning with the storytelling campaign, moved on to the reactions of scholars, and then to merchants and officials, all with a clear and consistent logic—something the young man took no small pride in. Ning Yi listened attentively, nodding now and then, occasionally offering a remark in discussion, praising him for his family’s deep learning.
Whatever the matter, of course, everything takes time. Song Yongping, having made his point, didn’t expect his brother-in-law to act on it immediately. But naturally, he also hoped that this conversation, meant to leave Ning Yi with “much food for thought,” might in some way repay the help Ning Yi had given him before. The two of them went on to talk of many other things afterward, and it left Song Yongping somewhat dissatisfied that, even after this whole conversation, Ning Yi’s subsequent questions to him still ended up casually turning toward the changes in merchant trade over the past year—clearly a habit born of his single-minded focus on commerce.
Of course, given his status as a man who’d married into his wife’s family, Song Yongping reasoned, Ning Yi had little choice but to go into business—even though his connections through the Chancellor’s residence let him mix with all manner of high officials and nobles, his own status could hardly rise any further. Song Yongping was able to understand this about Ning Yi well enough, to the point that later that night, quite drunk, he even remarked to Jin Ruyan: “That brother-in-law of mine really is a formidable man—what a shame… his status holds him back so…”
That night, Song Yongping felt rather pleased with himself over what he’d said to Ning Yi, so much so that not long afterward, on his way back, when he stopped in Henan Prefecture to pay respects to his father, he happily brought it up—only to be thoroughly scolded by his father, Song Mao.
“…That your sister and brother-in-law were able to raise such a great enterprise in the capital, and maintain ties with the Chancellor’s residence besides—how dare a green boy like you, with such shallow talk, presume to comment on such matters! Do you think such simple reasoning escapes others? Do you think the Right Chancellor’s residence is just some ordinary place, that your brother-in-law couldn’t possibly understand it! I too find what he’s doing these days a bit puzzling, but your remarks are simply laughable… Enough—recount for me, word for word, everything that was said!”
Having been scolded, Song Yongping had no choice but to recall the events of that day and recount the whole affair from start to finish, then go on to describe the rest of the conversation. Song Mao frowned as his son spoke, and eventually Song Yongping himself began to frown as well. “If… if what Father says is true, and the matter isn’t so simple, then… could it be that the Chancellor’s residence is preparing for war?”
Song Mao glanced at him without speaking, and Song Yongping continued reasoning it through on his own. “Father, do you remember, when I was young I once said that the Khitan and the Jurchen were both like tigers and wolves, and that showing weakness to the enemy was worse than showing strength—at the time I said conflict between north and south was inevitable, but really I only said it to draw attention to myself. Later, as I came to understand things more deeply, and saw how the dust had settled between the Liao and the Jin, and how our own dynasty had adopted measures like the pacification edict, my thoughts on war actually grew fainter…”
Song Mao said, “If what you’re saying holds up, then it would explain why your brother-in-law has been expanding Bamboo Records the way he has—it seems, after all, to be the Chancellor’s residence’s own doing.”
“But why would the Chancellor’s residence be so certain the Jin will inevitably march south? If he’s staking everything on it, with no regard for a fallback, what benefit could there possibly be…”
Men in officialdom, whatever they did, always kept a fallback in mind—just as with Tan Zhen’s pacification edict, done well, it counted as an achievement, and it also guarded against the possibility of a Jin invasion; done poorly, it still wouldn’t offend anyone. But Bamboo Records’ expansion was different—it was an action extremely poor in terms of self-interest, almost as if certain people had foreseen that a crisis was already right at hand. So the two kinds of “preparing for war” carried entirely different meanings. As for the deeper implications behind all this, Song Yongping still couldn’t quite puzzle it out.
Song Mao said, “Whatever they’re thinking, the prefecture where you’re stationed lies along the northward route. If your brother-in-law was asking you about changes among the local merchants there, it’s either for the sake of Bamboo Records’ own business, or he’s cross-checking it against intelligence he already has. If my information here is correct, since the pacification edict, business in your area has recovered remarkably fast—even surpassing pre-disaster levels…”
Song Yongping nodded. “It’s increased… by about thirty to forty percent.”
Song Mao nodded as well. “If the Jin truly do march south, and breach Yanmen Pass, the north will inevitably become a battlefield. At that point, there will still be infighting within the military—people scrambling for profit, for survival, capable of anything. Do you remember the commercial tactics the Chancellor’s residence used during the earlier famine relief efforts? Those came from your brother-in-law’s hand. This time, drawing large numbers of merchants north—with merchants, there’s money, there’s profit, and with that comes more people who’ll feel the pain directly if things go wrong. If your brother-in-law and the Chancellor’s residence are behind some of this, it wouldn’t be at all surprising.”
Song Yongping fell silent. Song Mao, satisfied, patted his shoulder. “To apply commercial affairs to this degree—whether it’s your brother-in-law or the people at the Chancellor’s residence, their methods are far too shrewd, and their designs far too broad, for a green boy like you to even imagine. Study hard and stay humble.”
“Then… if war really does break out, Father, what should I do?”
Song Mao waved his hand. “The chance of the Jin actually invading is small. This concerns the whole realm—everyone will be thinking about it, so you needn’t worry too much. Just be a good county magistrate. If you let yourself get tangled up in this and the Jin never come, you’ll only end up neglecting your official duties, which would be a poor trade indeed. If you can manage it, just forget about the whole thing!”
Though his father had spoken this way, once back home, Song Yongping still couldn’t help but keep the matter somewhat in mind. He read a few military treatises, carefully surveyed the terrain under his jurisdiction, and calculated matters like food storage and transport, and troop deployment. Before long, this actually turned out to serve him rather well.
But that is a matter for later, and need not be dwelt on here.
Returning to that night at the Alum Tower—Jin Ruyan was not entirely a chaste courtesan, and toward a young official as promising as Song Yongping, with whom she already shared some prior rapport, she wasn’t inclined to refuse him. That night, once Song Yongping, quite drunk, had left together with Jin Ruyan, Ning Yi and Shishi stood for a while together by the balcony upstairs. The wind blew past, stirring up a bit of his wine-induced mood, and Ning Yi, gazing out over the city’s lantern-lit expanse, laughed softly. “This brother-in-law of mine really does have some insight.”
Shishi stood beside him, watching. Amid the lights glowing below, the man standing there rested both hands on the railing, his fingers tapping lightly, seeming to carry an air of looking down upon all the world. Yet, perhaps because of the wine, all manner of complicated emotions seemed to be churning behind those eyes as well. Whatever lay in the depths of his mind, all the many matters he was maneuvering behind the scenes… it all remained hazy, impossible for anyone to draw near to.
Shishi had seen similar expressions before, on the faces of certain highly placed officials and nobles. And of course, she would never say anything ill of Song Yongping; she merely smiled faintly. “But what he said, Liheng, you’d already thought through long ago, hadn’t you…”
“I wouldn’t say I’ve thought it through clearly.” Ning Yi shook his head. “There are some things I actually hope I’ve gotten wrong about. Sometimes I even think maybe I have gotten it wrong—if so, then two years from now, I probably ought to leave the capital.”
“Leave the capital?”
“Mm. Take my wife and children and go somewhere far from here, if that’s really how things turn out…” Ning Yi fell silent for a long while, then, recalling something, laughed. “Shishi…”
Shishi, still turning over the meaning of what he’d just said, looked up. “Yes?”
But Ning Yi only looked at her, his mind drifting toward other things entirely. Ning Yi knew little of the history of this particular Song dynasty, but the name Li Shishi, of course, he recognized. As a woman whose name had endured across a thousand years, it was partly because of her rumored affair with the emperor, and partly because of her loyalty, righteousness, and compassionate nature. According to legend, when the Jin marched south, this woman had been captured into the Jin encampment, where she’d swallowed her hairpin and taken her own life. If he could prevent all this from happening, he might well end up saving her life too.
The second part of the legend, he could faintly glimpse in the woman before him—but as for the first part, the rumored affair with the emperor, where would that have taken root? Perhaps things had simply turned out differently here after all? Or perhaps some patron Shishi knew was, in fact, the emperor traveling incognito? He looked at Shishi, mulled it over in his head for a moment, and in the end could only shake his head and smile. This was, after all, the real world he now lived in—he was overthinking things…
Shishi waited a moment, and seeing he’d said nothing further, spoke softly. “Liheng, isn’t little sister Xiao Chan about to give birth soon?”
“Mm, I’ll need to head back shortly, to have a talk with her, and with the baby in her belly.”
“Talk?”
“There’s something called prenatal education.” Ning Yi explained with a smile. “The idea is that when a woman is pregnant, especially near the end, the child can already sense the environment around it, and can also sense the mother’s moods. So lately I’ve been going home often to keep her company, and teaching Ning Xi too—that the one in her belly will be his little brother or sister. The boy’s quite pleased about it, actually. He should make a good big brother.”
“…I’ve never heard of such a notion.” Shishi laughed, a slightly odd expression on her face. “Plenty of men come here while their wives at home are pregnant…”
The wind blew past, stirring the strands of hair at her temples and the fabric of her dress. Shishi stood there, her left hand wrapped around her right arm; her frame was slight, her clothing thin, and in that moment she looked very much like some immortal maiden riding upon the wind—though there was, all the same, something wistful and forlorn about her. The two of them chatted and laughed a while longer, and then Ning Yi waved farewell and took his leave, telling her not to bother seeing him off too far.
Below, the city still glittered with countless lights. Shishi stood up on the tower, watching Ning Yi’s carriage pull away from the side gate below, rolling out onto the road, weaving through the crowds, finally vanishing into the bustling prosperity of Bian Liang. Waiting for him at home was a tender, beloved wife and children, and before long, in early autumn, he would welcome another joy into his life as well.
And me—where will my joy be found?
She gazed at the lights, her thoughts drifting, unfocused.
At that same hour, Zhou Zhe stepped onto the already-closed gates of the imperial city, looking out over this vast, magnificent metropolis—his domain. Everything, as always, filled him with a sense of grandeur and splendor; every time he beheld it, the ambition to become a ruler for ten thousand generations only grew firmer in his heart.
He reached out a hand, the tangled past behind him, the road ahead uncertain. But he knew that he would, in the end, cross through all of it…
…
Beyond Yanmen Pass, stars scattered across the vast sky.
Zhou Tong stood outside his tent, looking back at the towering mountains looming in the darkness. Beyond the pass, everything seemed desolate now, even though, for the present, this land still belonged to the Wu Dynasty.
This year, the old man had turned eighty-two.
For the sake of many things, over the past year he had traveled restlessly through the north of the Wu Dynasty. He had originally expected the leader of the Great Radiance Sect to still be seeking him out for a duel, but instead, a young upstart had killed Sikong Nan, forcing Lin Zongwu to head south to clash with the enemy instead, sparing him a great deal of trouble. New talents rise to replace the old—he had witnessed such turnovers many times before; what mattered was that new heroes could always be counted on to emerge.
Given his many suspicions about the Jin, he wanted to go north to see for himself—to leave Yanmen Pass, leave the Wu Dynasty, and find out whether the Jin truly intended to strike south. At his age, leaving behind the Wu Dynasty where he’d spent his entire life, venturing into that land of tigers and wolves, even as a grandmaster, he might well run into all manner of misfortune—and the greatest misfortune of all might simply be fate itself.
Fu Lu and Zuo Wenying still accompanied him.
“If I should die in a foreign land, you are to cremate my remains and bring my ashes back, so that I need not be buried far from home.” This was the charge the old man gave the two of them, smiling as he said it.
In that moment, he was already making preparations for a fairly extended journey north…
…
July, the Jin capital, Huining.
On a cool morning, the Wu Dynasty envoy Xu Zerun straightened his robes and walked into the newly completed, unassuming imperial palace of the Jin state. He had come bearing a mission—having journeyed north for three months already, in order to establish permanent, normal trade relations between Jin and the Wu Dynasty, he had brought with him great quantities of gold, silver, porcelain, and silk, having visited nearly every Jin official’s residence he could reach, bribing a great many along the way. Today, the Jin emperor Wuqimai would finally receive him in person, to settle the whole matter.
This was the moment everything would be settled.
It was also the moment everything would begin…