The great carnival only gradually settled once Qin Siyuan had entered the Ministry of Justice’s prison.

The clouds parted and the sky cleared. Beside a courtyard near the prison, sunlight fell in streaks through the gaps in the trees. Figures crowded together, the stench and smell of blood hanging in the air. Ning Yi walked among them, carrying a bucket of water and pouring it over himself. Blood marked the corner of his forehead; his lips pressed tightly together as he brushed away the hand of a servant skilled in medicine.

“I’m fine, go look after them! Have them rinse themselves off, especially anyone injured — don’t let filth get into the wounds!” He walked aside. “Where are the other physicians? Why haven’t they come yet!”

In the chaos on the streets earlier, all sorts of things had been thrown, and though the people around Ning Yi had held up wooden placards and even shields to block them, they hadn’t entirely escaped injury. The wounds ranged from light to severe, but those most seriously hurt were mostly young members of the Qin family.

With things having reached this point, there was anger, there was weeping, but Ning Yi couldn’t afford to stop. He swiftly arranged for everything that needed doing, and only once more physicians arrived did he sit down and let someone apply medicine to his forehead — in truth, compared to the horrors of a real battlefield, this scrape was nothing at all.

In the distance, passersby glanced over from the street corner but didn’t dare come closer. Partly because it looked too gruesome, partly because of the stench.

Before long, a guard walked over. His clothes were soaked through with water, but his eyes were still bloodshot. He came before Ning Yi, hesitated a moment, then spoke: “Master, what are we doing all this for?”

Most of the martial artists who’d joined Bamboo Notes came from common backgrounds, and had, to varying degrees, lived lives of quiet grievance. But what they faced now felt different. Those who practiced martial arts tended to be more forthright by nature, unable to easily swallow humiliation even in ordinary times — let alone after doing so much, only to be pelted with mud and excrement in return. When he asked this question, his voice rose, and most of the other Bamboo Notes guards shared the same sentiment. In recent days, the thought of leaving had likely crossed most of their minds. That they’d stayed was mostly out of respect for Ning Yi — after all this time at Bamboo Notes, making a living and earning money were no longer pressing needs for them.

Ning Yi pressed his lips together and stood. The voices around him quieted somewhat. Nearby, the once frail and gentle young Qin family members straightened up as well; some who’d been crying stopped.

“You all want to ask this question.” Ning Yi’s answer was simple enough. “For the two men inside.”

He pointed toward the prison and said calmly, “You know what they’ve done. You also know what would have happened to them today if not for us. Right now they have water, they have physicians — the prison isn’t exactly cruel to them, but it’s not as if they can have whatever they want either. Think about them. That you were able to become like this today, protecting them — that is an honor you’ll carry your whole life.”

He finished speaking and sat back down. The people around him said nothing. Only after a moment did they turn back to what they were doing. The guard standing nearby wiped the water from his face, turned, and went to help bandage wounds, his steps and hands now far more resolute.

Those words gave everyone there a strange feeling — sunlight filtering down as if it were being distilled into something purer. A wounded young man from the Qin family asked from the side, “Then… what will happen to Third Grand-Uncle? What will happen to Uncle Shaoqian?”

“I’ve already sent people in to smooth things over,” Ning Yi said, sitting there, offering comfort. “It’ll be fine.”

A short while later, a group came down the road, led by Tie Tianying. As they drew near, he covered his nose with his hand. “Looks loyal and righteous, but really just lackeys of traitors.” “This is the will of the people — do you see it? How does it feel to be a running dog?” “Not so arrogant today, not beating people up, are you? My shackles are right here, ready for you.” Some of the men under him were old hands at this sort of thing, and provoked them in this manner.

Because of what Ning Yi had said earlier, everyone remained calm now, watching them only with cold, indifferent eyes. Only Zhu Biao walked up to Tie Tianying, wiped the water from his face, glared at him for a moment, and said word by word, “Someone like you — I could take on ten of you.”

“Fine, then let’s have it out, if you’ve got the nerve!” Tie Tianying sneered coldly.

Zhu Biao spat, then turned and walked back.

His temperament had grown much more restrained, and he also knew a real fight wasn’t going to happen. Private duels among martial artists in the capital were common enough, but as Chief Constable, Tie Tianying engaging in one was essentially forbidden — too many words had already been exchanged, and there was no point in it. Things were dealt with here for the time being, and once Wenren arrived, Ning Yi went with him to find Tang Ke, Li Gang, and others, to have them respond to and handle today’s events.

As for the possibility of Qin Siyuan being slandered, or even paraded through the streets, Ning Yi had perhaps braced himself for it, but had always felt it was still distant — and part of that was simply not wanting to think about it. Stirring up the public at a time like this cost little, while stopping it was far harder. All Ning Yi and the others could do to prevent it was have the Ministry of Justice cooperate, keeping Qin Siyuan’s transport as discreet as possible. But the Ministry of Justice was currently under Wang Fu’s control, a man notoriously ignorant, shortsighted, and vindictive — whoever the mastermind behind this affair was, Wang Fu had certainly had a hand in it.

But everyone here was an official, and with the matter having grown this large, with Qin Siyuan not even fighting back, everyone naturally felt a kinship of shared fate. This gave Li Gang, Tang Ke, and the others firmer ground to stand on when they raised the matter at court. And even if Zhou Zhe wanted Qin Siyuan brought down, at most he’d allow himself a private smile over it — openly, he still couldn’t let the situation spiral further out of control.

After finding those who needed finding, that night, back at Bamboo Notes, there was still a mountain of matters to deal with — not just the various problems in the capital, but the handover of the Secret Investigation Bureau, which was proceeding on a large scale, its reach extending far into other regions. That night, there was a beautiful moon over the capital.

…

That same night, three hundred li south along the Grand Canal, on a tributary of the Huai River near Bozhou in Huainan Circuit, heavy rain was pouring down.

In the darkness, a two-story tower boat sat moored on the banks of the swollen Huai River. It was already past midnight, and lights still burned in several of the cabins.

Inside one cabin, a young woman in a cloak was working, filing through a great stack of documents. Feeling drowsy, she rubbed her forehead and glanced outside. Then she opened and closed the door, heading down the corridor of the boat to the kitchen to get something to eat, taking the chance to stretch her legs.

In a small grove several hundred meters from the tower boat, a group of men in straw raincoats advanced in secret. Once the boat came into view, someone pointed toward it and made a few hand signals.

Once they’d crept close to the boat under cover of darkness, they swiftly boarded and charged in. By this time, the martial artists aboard had already noticed them.

“Who’s there! Stop!”

“Constabulary business — taking over from the Secret Investigation Bureau. I am Chief Constable Zong Feixiao! You will not obstruct—”

“Stop! Coming in the middle of the night, how do we know you’re not bandits—”

Blades clashed a few times in the dark. People burst out of the cabins one after another. In the kitchen, the young woman dropped the flatbread in her hand and dashed for the stairs, racing up to the second floor. She hurried back to her room, dropped the door bolt, and looked around at the stacks of documents piled inside.

“Boss lady, it’s Zong Feixiao from the Ministry of Justice! What do we do?” someone asked outside the door.

“Hold him off — hold him off as long as you can!”

As she spoke, she dragged over a brazier, poured oil into it, and lit it.

After Qin Siyuan was imprisoned, control of the Secret Investigation Bureau had changed hands; the one now directing it on the court’s behalf was a powerful eunuch named Wang Chongguang, head of an intelligence agency set up by the emperor himself. Ever since Qin Siyuan had founded the Secret Investigation Bureau and then had it shelved, Zhou Zhe had taken inspiration from it and had Wang Chongguang set about establishing a similar organization — not aimed outward, but meant to monitor the court officials under him internally.

Zhou Zhe’s idea may have come as a flash of inspiration, but people’s abilities vary. Qin Siyuan had been able to build the Secret Investigation Bureau because he’d had a group of like-minded friends around him from the start, and sufficient resources. Wang Chongguang could only borrow the emperor’s authority, and eunuchs held little standing at this time — though Zhou Zhe had him handle matters, at heart the emperor didn’t trust eunuchs. If, say, Wang Chongguang dared try to squeeze money from some minister and failed, then went complaining to Zhou Zhe about it, Zhou Zhe would likely see through his motives at once — and so on. In the end, this intelligence organization remained a stunted little office with no real power. Only now did Zhou Zhe bring it forward, having it take over the legacy of the Secret Investigation Bureau, and since it was short of manpower, had the Ministry of Justice assign people to assist.

Ning Yi had already prepared himself to hand over the Secret Investigation Bureau, and most of it had gone smoothly. It was just that Su Tan’er had also had a hand in some of its affairs — the two of them had been together long enough that their ways of thinking had come into sync. While Ning Yi handled matters in the north, he’d had Su Tan’er oversee things in the south on his behalf. This boat of Su Tan’er’s didn’t actually belong to the Secret Investigation Bureau, but as Bamboo Notes’ focus had shifted, the matters Ning Yi found inconvenient to handle himself were mostly things she took care of instead. The documents being sorted now had little to do with the Secret Investigation Bureau anymore, but if the Ministry of Justice seized them by force, the consequences could be serious — Ning Yi had many dealings arranged in secret, many of them not fit for the light of day, and if seized, they’d become leverage against him.

As one of the Ministry of Justice’s chief constables, Zong Feixiao’s instinct upon seeing how smoothly the Secret Investigation Bureau handover was going was that something was off. He investigated, again and again, and discovered that Su Tan’er remained here — surely she was up to something. He’d stumbled onto it by accident, but he had indeed found Ning Yi’s soft spot. The moment he boarded the tower boat, he charged straight ahead.

Inside the cabin, the young woman threw documents into the brazier, but they weren’t catching fast enough. As chaos and shouting rose from below, she suddenly kicked over the brazier, then tipped over a shelf by the door.

Zong Feixiao’s tall figure had already charged up to the door. “Open up! Come out!”

“Help, there’s a fire—”

A cry came from inside. Zong Feixiao drew his blade and struck — a clang rang out. The door panel and the bolt inside it turned out to be made of iron.

“Come out, open the door! Otherwise you will be dealt with by the law!” Zong Feixiao bellowed, while men rushed in from both sides trying to stop him.

Inside the cabin, the young woman backed away, then shoved the shelf holding the documents into the fire. Paper scraps fluttered through the air, lit red by the flames, and the fire began to lick outward. She kicked the pile of paper that had fallen nearby into the flames as well.

Sweat had begun beading on her cheeks. She stared at the state of the room — the door was already starting to catch fire. Just then, she threw open the window; a wave of heat surged toward her from inside. Her heart lurched, but there was no time to think further — she leapt out into the night.

Outside, the rain poured down in torrents, the river swollen and raging. She plunged into the water and was swallowed by the darkness.

On the boat, people were shouting and crying out. Before long, others began leaping into the river one after another as well.

Half the boat burned through the night, and only after a long while did the downpour finally put it out…

…

On the twenty-fourth of the fourth month, at the Imperial Palace in Bianliang, in the Golden Hall, a group of officials submitted memorials protesting the treatment Qin Siyuan had received the day before. But the matter was complicated, and with some insisting this reflected the will of the people, no resolution was reached that day. Still, regarding the route for escorting Qin Siyuan to trial, tacit permission was given to alter it, to avoid the old man being tormented to death before the trial even took place.

With Li Gang, Tang Ke, and others working behind the scenes, and Ning Yi maneuvering with difficulty as well, they arranged a carriage that day to take the old man to the Court of Judicial Review. But word still leaked out, and on the way back, they were blocked for a while by a group of scholars — fortunately the carriage was sturdy and wasn’t smashed by the thrown stones.

After the grand “purge the traitors” demonstration on the twenty-third, the scholars in the city were now burning with fervor to condemn Qin Siyuan. Partly out of patriotism, partly because everyone liked to boast about it afterward — so many had waited along the road, ready to throw things and hurl curses. The sudden reversal of events left them deeply unsatisfied, and that same night, two more Bamboo Notes restaurants were smashed. The place where Ning Yi lived was smashed as well; fortunately, word had reached them beforehand, so everyone had retreated back to the old Ning residence to stay.

On the twenty-fifth, the sky was overcast, threatening rain. Ning Yi arranged a carriage to transport Qin Siyuan, along with several other carriages as decoys to throw people off. By the time the carriage reached the Court of Judicial Review, the crowd’s chance to vent had already passed, and all they could do was curse loudly. On the way back, several carriages returned to the Ministry of Justice by different routes; though the real carriage was escorted by prison guards, Ning Yi had also sent men disguised as guards. In this contest of wits between both sides, whoever was stirring up the crowd behind the scenes showed no sign of backing down either, simply cursing them outright as running dogs in the streets and declaring that smashing all the carriages would settle it.

Several waves of scholars began rioting. This time fewer bystanders on the road joined in, but the Bamboo Notes staff were still left thoroughly battered and disheveled. When they regrouped by the small river outside the Ning residence, some of them still had excrement flung on them, though they’d already rinsed it off with water. Ning Yi and the others waited for them under the trees there, discussing matters with the advisors nearby.

“…If things go smoothly, the court may allow the Right Chancellor to stay under house arrest at the Court of Judicial Review today. If so, the situation could ease up a bit. I think the case will be concluded soon…”

“We just don’t know what the sentence will be.”

“Exile three thousand li — that wouldn’t go so far as to execute the Second Young Master. Watch the road carefully, and perhaps his life can be spared…”

“Also, the Secret Investigation Bureau’s branch has already completed its handover with the Ministry of Justice…”

“Let me see… Several Ministry of Justice chief constables made their move, and honestly, all the meat went to them — Wang Chongguang barely got anything out of it. We could use this as an opening…”

As they spoke, one of the advisors who’d taken part in the earlier events walked over, soaked through. “Master, with all this slander outside so gravely wounding the Right Chancellor’s reputation, why don’t we have our storytellers set the record straight?”

“No use for now.”

“There’s always use! We have plenty of storytellers under us — have them spread the word, it’ll work wonders! If people want to make noise, let’s make noise right back at them!”

“And what if they’re all arrested.”

“They’ll be arrested.” Ning Yi glanced at him. “These people are still useful. I won’t throw that away.”

“Then we just… let the Right Chancellor and the others be slandered like this…”

“The problem is you have no solution!”

Ning Yi said this firmly and flatly, and the man withdrew. Just then, Tie Tianying came striding over with his constables. Ning Yi raised an eyebrow, noticing this time Tie Tianying’s expression was rather different — solemn, staring right at him.

This small clearing beside the back gate of the Ning residence, also by the little river, was why Ning Yi had everyone gather here to wash up and rest. Seeing Tie Tianying approach, he sat down by the railing under the tree. “Chief Constable Tie, what is it? Come to say something again?”

Tie Tianying walked over, arms crossed over his sword. “Just passing by.”

“Oh, enjoying the shade? The scenery’s not bad here. Make yourself at home.”

Tie Tianying glanced at him now and then.

Puzzled by what the man was there for but unwilling to ask, Ning Yi didn’t bother pressing either. He sat there, more or less at a standoff with Tie Tianying, then stood up after a moment and walked about, exchanging idle words with the advisor beside him. At one point, someone came out through the back gate of the Ning residence — it was Juan’er. She approached Ning Yi from behind and handed him a crumpled piece of paper. “Young Master.”

Ning Yi, still talking with the advisor, took it absentmindedly. “As for the Prince of Guangyang’s side, naturally there will be Tan Zhen—” He glanced down at the paper. “There will be Lord Tan…”

He looked again, then picked the note up properly.

This time he stared at it for a long while, the ease draining from his face, as though he’d frozen. When he turned to look at Juan’er, her face was streaked with tears — she was crying, silently, and only now did she manage to speak: “Miss, Miss she—”

Ning Yi turned back and read the note again. It recorded what had happened in Bozhou in the early hours of the twenty-fourth: Su Tan’er had leapt into the river, and her whereabouts remained unknown to this day. With the Huai River in heavy flood and signs of flooding already appearing, a search was still underway for the mistress’s whereabouts…

Tie Tianying walked over, his face cold, his voice low and heavy: “It’s just a misunderstanding. Ning Yi, don’t do anything rash.”

Juan’er was still crying. She reached out and tugged at Ning Yi’s sleeve, and seeing the look on his face, she grew frightened too. “Young Master, Miss she… she might be fine, don’t worry… please don’t worry…” By the end, she couldn’t hold back her tears any longer.

When Juan’er pulled at him, he raised his hand unconsciously, then stepped back and sat down on the railing.

No one had ever seen this expression on Ning Yi’s face before — even Tie Tianying and the others had never imagined he could show this kind of lost, hollow look, the kind that belonged to a young man of twenty. The Bamboo Notes members nearby grew flustered too, murmuring among themselves. Several more people had already come out through the back gate. Zhu Biao, spear on his back, walked over, lowered the spear from his shoulder, and gripped it in his hand, tip resting on the ground.

The spear’s shaft gave off a low, humming vibration.

Someone went to ask those who’d come out, and they exchanged a few words. Though spoken softly, those present with internal strength cultivated could make out most of what was said clearly.

“They… drove the mistress into the river…”

“Heavy rain… a flood…”

“Still haven’t found her…”

Some faces showed grief; some, upon seeing Ning Yi’s expression, silently drew their blades. A hunchbacked man walked over near the constables, lowered his head, and rested his hands on the hilts of his twin blades. Others gathered around from near and far, some clutching swords to their chests, some leaning on long blades, saying nothing.

Sitting there, Ning Yi lifted his head. He drew a short, sharp breath, blinked, seeming to still be processing what the note contained. After a moment, he stood up with difficulty. Tie Tianying, not far ahead of him, saw him close his eyes, press his lips tightly together — the lost look fading from his face, replaced by an unconcealed grief.

The small square was quiet and deep, tree trunks gnarled and twisting upward, their shade stretching on and on. Distant birdsong drifted over; the sounds of the capital were muffled behind the shade and the foliage. The sky was overcast — summer hadn’t yet brought the cicadas. Now there never would be any cicadas.

Crack — the sound of a child’s slingshot carried over. The child laughed and ran off into the distance.

In these recent days, the Right Chancellor’s household, along with Bamboo Notes, had gone through countless ordeals — the oppression and grievance were beyond words, and even when pelted with filth, all anyone could do was endure it. The young man who’d been rushing about through it all, no matter how hard things got, had never once set down the burden on his shoulders; he’d simply gone about his work with calm, cold detachment, as if he’d turned himself into a machine, and everyone had the sense that even if everything grew twice as hard, he would go on working just as coldly.

But now, finally, someone had struck a blow in exactly the place that mattered.

Tie Tianying advanced slowly; with every step he took, he felt as though he were drawing a step closer to the edge of death itself — even though Ning Yi before him showed not the slightest trace of murderous intent, his scalp still prickled.

“Ning Yi… don’t you dare act rashly, don’t get everyone killed…”

Ning Yi raised his hand toward him, as if about to do something, but the hand paused in midair, curling slightly into a fist before dropping again. He heard Ning Yi’s voice: “I…” he said.

“You people…” the voice was faint as a mosquito’s whine, “…did a fine job.”

With that, Ning Yi lifted his head, his gaze seeming to look at Tie Tianying and yet also to look elsewhere. He shook his head, then nodded, and turned away. “…Did a fine job, really well done…” he repeated this, walking slowly toward the back gate, the note crumpled in his hand. Juan’er followed after him, wiping her tears. “Young Master, Young Master.” For a moment, no one knew what to do. Once Ning Yi had stepped through the courtyard gate, he waved his hand, seeming to gesture for everyone to follow him inside. The crowd hesitated, still confused, until he waved again, and only then did they move toward the gate.

The spear’s humming stopped; Zhu Biao lifted it, turned with a dark expression on his face, and the others followed silently through the gate as well. Tie Tianying, sword in his arms, advanced slowly. Ning Yi stood there expressionless, and once the last person had gone in, he reached to close the door — then paused.

“Chief Constable Tie.” The voice was hoarse and low, coming from deep in Ning Yi’s throat.

“Hm?”

“…Bring me Fang Qifo’s head again, and I won’t be handing it over to you.” He said this quietly, sounding somewhat exhausted.

Tie Tianying lifted his chin, not yet sure how to respond.

The door closed.

…

“My lord.” A constable walked over.

“Have the others arrived yet?”

“Almost, my lord. Why should we fear him — if he really dares to make a move, we’ll just—”

“If he makes a move, you’ll die—” Tie Tianying’s face suddenly twisted, snarling the words out in a low growl.

The constables were startled. Tie Tianying waved his hand. “Keep a close watch here, all of you!”

…

In the Imperial Palace, at the Wende Hall, Zhou Zhe had received the news. He looked at Wang Chongguang kneeling before him, feeling something close to anger rising in him.

But then, thinking it over, he began to laugh instead.

“Well, so be it. Have someone keep an eye on him. If he tries anything reckless, we’ll simply deal with him.” He said this with a laugh. “Heh, it’s fine… a great man need not worry over the lack of a wife…”

…

In the city of Bianliang, someone else had also received that quiet piece of news through side channels.

“What a pity…” Cai Jing sighed.

“A wife is like a change of clothes.” At the Prince of Guangyang’s manor, Tong Guan hesitated a moment. “Keep watch on him, see what he chooses to give up. Also…”

He said, “Keep an eye on the Wurui Camp.”

In the prison, Qin Siyuan had fallen ill. The old man lay on his bed, gazing at the sliver of light seeping in through the tiny window — it wasn’t a clear day, and that troubled him somehow.

At that moment, someone passed in that day’s meal and a few notes through the door slot — the only news he still had access to each day.

The capital, like some vast machine, had countless gears turning within it every single day. When one small gear developed a problem, no one could guess what meaning that might hold…

Click, click, click, click, click…

Far in the distance, where people had passed, the gears kept turning.