Within the imperial study, light and flame filled the room. Hearing the emperor’s question, Han Jing was startled for a moment. “Ning Yi?”

Zhou Zhe stared at him without speaking.

Han Jing knelt there, his expression betraying a flicker of confusion, as if he could not quite grasp the meaning behind it. “Your Majesty, this man Ning Yi… he is a merchant.”

“Mm. And so?”

“Then he… he’s a man of trade…” Han Jing’s expression grew increasingly complicated, as if he could not fathom why Zhou Zhe would bring up Ning Yi at this moment. He gathered his thoughts. “No—I will not hide it from Your Majesty. Back when Lüliang Mountain needed grain and we were trading, this Master Ning came to us, and relations between him and Lüliang Mountain were good. After we came to the capital, we kept up contact as well. But… but today’s matter, Your Majesty, he… he’s a merchant…”

“He is on good terms with the Right Chancellor.” Zhou Zhe, hands still clasped behind his back, fell silent for a moment, then murmured as if to himself, “No, this court has thought wrongly. Whatever his merits, he has never truly touched the machinery of officialdom—merely worked behind the scenes for others…”

Han Jing, unsure whether to respond, waited a moment before Zhou Zhe pointed at him. “Han Jing, given what has happened, this court truly ought to kill you.”

Han Jing shrank back slightly.

“But it is precisely because of this bond that your Qingmu Stronghold men of Lüliang possess such fighting spirit. Without that fierce, untamed nature, this court would fear you’d become just like everyone else. But Han Jing, no matter what, the capital is a place governed by rules—there are things that simply cannot be done. To find a middle path—tell me, what should this court do with you?”

“This subject… this subject does not know… I beg Your Majesty to pronounce judgment.”

“Judgment there will certainly be!” Zhou Zhe stressed. “But how to reconcile that untamed spirit of yours with proper order—that, you must help this court think through. As for you all, some things must change, some need not, and where exactly the line should be drawn, this court has not yet fully worked out. What you did this time was a grave crime. But… old Qin…”

He tilted his head back slightly, pausing. “Old Qin’s entire family died before they’d even left the capital’s outskirts. The eagerness with which some of you rushed to it is truly chilling! Han Jing, you once served under Qin Shaoqian in the Wurui Battalion. You know in your heart what kind of man he was, don’t you?”

“General Qin… this subject believes he was, in truth, a good man…”

“Indeed, a good man.” Zhou Zhe did not dispute this. “This court understands. He treated those beneath him well enough. But in pursuit of victory, he used his father’s power to funnel all the best resources under his own command, and the other armies suffered greatly for it. He had both merit and fault, and this court cannot simply let the two cancel each other out—that is the rule. But this time, his father has died, and he too was cut down, head from body. This court grieves and aches—grieves that their whole family has died, and aches… aches for these scheming ministers still living, who plot and connive against one another as if the nation and its people were nothing at all!”

“Officer Han, in the future, do not become such a scheming minister yourself.”

Zhou Zhe drew a breath and walked slowly toward his desk. “Rise. As for this matter, this court will issue you a formal pardon. Do you know—this court is seeing you alone today. Tan Zhen, Li Bingwen, Cao Fangxiu, and the rest arrived long ago. This court will let you in on something: Li Bingwen has not spoken ill of you—he treats you as a brother. But the others, impeaching you is simply their duty; you must not hold it against them in your heart, understood?”

“Yes.”

“This court told you to rise.” Zhou Zhe frowned.

“This condemned subject dares not.”

“Rise when told to rise, or this court shall grow angry.” Zhou Zhe waved a hand. “There are several matters this court wishes to ask you about.”

“This subject thanks Your Majesty.”

Only then did Han Jing stand. Zhou Zhe nodded, a hint of a smile now on his face.

“This court has heard that Lin Zongwu is styled the greatest master under heaven. Is this so?”

“It is.” Han Jing nodded. “It is widely said among the martial world that his Great Radiance Sect was originally the Manichaean faith. And on this trip to the capital, he has backers behind him as well…”

“This court is aware of such matters. Do not go making wild connections.” Zhou Zhe issued this simple correction, and once Han Jing had nodded, he continued, satisfied. “This court has heard that on this trip to the capital, the men he brought with him were also formidable masters.”

“They were.”

“What became of him at your hands?”

“He fled, wounded—but as for his followers, we… killed most of them off…”

“Ha ha.” Zhou Zhe laughed. “The greatest under heaven, forced to flee like a rat before this court’s cavalry. And your own losses?”

“We too suffered… some deaths and injuries…” Han Jing hesitated, then added, “Five brothers died, and some were wounded…”

Zhou Zhe pressed his lips together, then said, “They are all martyrs, and shall be well compensated. Though you left camp without authorization for the sake of your chieftain, this time, the funds shall come from the palace itself. But you must also make it clear to your men—this court admires what your chieftain has done, but such disregard for the rules can happen once, and never again. If there is a next time, this court will have no choice but to deal with you as it did the Qin family, however painful that may be.”

After Han Jing answered, Zhou Zhe nodded again, smiling. “There is one more thing this court finds curious. If you all revere Chieftain Lu so deeply, why is it always you who comes before this court, and never the Chieftain herself?”

Han Jing hesitated. “…Our chieftain is, after all, a woman. And so, these matters are entrusted to this subject to explain… it is by no means meant as any disrespect toward Your Majesty…”

“Ha ha ha ha.” Zhou Zhe laughed heartily. “This court understands, this court understands. Officer Han need not worry—this court understands it all. Your chieftain is a woman worthy of respect and admiration, a true heroine—this court takes note of it. Had she come before this court today, the two of us might well have found it hard to speak so plainly. The people of Lüliang Mountain are all this court’s subjects; that you suffered for so many years is this court’s own failing. But the past is past, no need to look back. With the Jurchens now so brazen and the realm in turmoil, this is nevertheless a time for men to make their mark. Han Jing, guard this realm well for this court, and this court shall not fail you. Perhaps one day you too may be granted a title and rank, just as the Prince of Guangyang was…”

Zhou Zhe had previously harbored some uncertainty about the Qingmu Stronghold cavalry—unclear as to which of the two, Han Jing or Lu Hongti, truly held command. Now, his mind was suddenly clear. Qingmu Stronghold of Lüliang Mountain had, of course, originally been built up by that woman Lu Hongti—but once it had grown strong, how could a woman lead a host of men? In the end, it was men like Han Jing who truly held command. Yet that woman Lu commanded great prestige, and the stronghold’s men were deeply grateful to her, holding her in the highest regard.

Given this, for a man like Han Jing who held real power, one need only apply both reward and discipline in balance; for one like Lu Hongti, who was revered but not in direct command, one need only heap on honors and favor.

Having worked all this out clearly in his mind, he felt rather pleased with himself. As for his earlier mention of Ning Yi—that had merely been a passing flash of thought, and the moment he saw Han Jing’s baffled expression, he regretted it.

His earlier interest in Ning Yi had mainly stemmed from having failed several times to meet Li Shishi; later, having seen her perform for the wounded soldiers atop the city wall, complicated feelings had stirred within him. But Li Shishi already had someone in her heart, and he was the emperor—how could he compete over such a thing. He had looked into this Ning Yi in some detail—a mere scholar who had gone into trade, scheming with all manner of petty tricks under the Right Chancellor’s banner. He found the man distasteful, yet could not help acknowledging he had some ability. As emperor, he ought to make use of talent regardless of its origin. Qin Siyuan was already dead; one day he might have this man kneel before him like a clown, make use of him, and should he ever err, wipe him away without a second thought.

He would never truly concern himself with a man like that, and even with the Right Chancellor’s fall, he would not act against him out of some petty emotion. But should the man ever err in the future, he would show no leniency either.

Because of such feelings, whenever this name crossed his mind, he preferred not to dwell on it too long—dwelling on it would only make it seem as though he cared too much. This time, in such a formal setting, speaking Ning Yi’s name to a general he valued, and seeing Han Jing’s baffled expression afterward, he felt he had rather lost face: had you done this at the instigation of some merchant?

Tsk. How embarrassing.

Fortunately, Han Jing, aware he had committed a grave error, was too nervous to notice anything amiss.

After this, having learned the general state of this Lüliang cavalry force, and now with an opening to work with, his mood lifted considerably—how to adjust this Lüliang cavalry so it would not lose its untamed nature, while still keeping it firmly in hand, and perhaps even develop more such troops of similar quality, was in truth the greatest matter on his mind of late, since there was no established precedent for it. As for Qin Siyuan’s death, and the various transfers of power—even with such a great disturbance breaking out near the capital, and however unseemly some of the scrambling had been, it would all be handled according to the rules: those who needed disciplining would be disciplined, and that would be the end of it.

After chatting further with Han Jing, Zhou Zhe finally let him go, to calm the troops’ spirits, and issued him a formal pardon for the mobilization. As for Tan Zhen, Li Bingwen, and the others, he arranged not to have them meet face to face in the palace, to avoid having to mediate between them again.

Han Jing, with a few personal guards, rode lightly out of the city. Passing a certain compound, he saw in the distance a small mourning hall already erected, and let out a soft sigh…

After he left the city, the atmosphere within the capital seemed shrouded in a layer of mist—hazy, indistinct, impossible to see clearly through, on this particular night.

…

Nearly two thousand cavalry leaving camp without orders, then slaughtering their way across the open plain until blood ran like rivers—ordinarily, such a thing would be a matter of the utmost gravity. Under the present circumstances, though, it could be handled as either a major or minor affair.

The scope of Qin Siyuan’s case touched on far too much—among the capital’s great clans and its highest-ranking officials, few could claim to be entirely free of connection to it. As word spread and more high officials entered the palace, those at the very center of power all speculated about what might come next. Below them, chief constables like Chen Qinghe and Tie Tianying had already returned to the capital early, bracing themselves for a great deal of work ahead. By the time news of the deaths of Qin Siyuan’s entire family reached the capital, the situation had grown clearly more complicated still.

With this, whatever course the authorities chose to take against whichever party, they now had ample pretext.

Yet that night, everything remained taut, without further development. Perhaps the emperor had not yet made his decision, or perhaps the powerful ministers were still negotiating privately—everyone watched the shifting winds, not daring to act rashly.

Zhuxian Town lay some thirty or forty li from the capital. Though word of the deaths of Qin Siyuan, Qin Shaoqian, and the others reached the capital that same night, the bodies themselves had not yet arrived. As for the group that had mobilized that night to save Qin Siyuan—commanding what remained of the Qin household’s strength—they simply followed slowly behind the cart bearing the bodies.

After the Jurchens’ withdrawal, Bianliang had grown prosperous once more, but its gates still closed at night. Qin Siyuan’s body, escorted by Ning Yi and the others, reached the area outside Bianliang’s southern gate in the early hours of the morning, and only entered the city once the gates opened at dawn—Tie Tianying and his men had already been waiting there.

By then the morning court session had already begun; once matters were settled, he would be free to move in and make arrests. Ning Yi and the others, escorting the bodies inward, wore cold, distant expressions, seemingly with no wish to stir up further trouble. Before long, the bodies were carried into a small, modest mourning hall.

When the great tree falls, the monkeys scatter; when the wall crumbles, all rush to push it further down. Though Qin Siyuan’s coffin was now sealed, few, if any, dared come to pay their respects. Once dawn had broken, Tie Tianying received word that the matter of the cavalry leaving camp had been quietly let go by the higher authorities.

Yet the affair was not yet over. That very morning, the first high official to arrive to pay respects turned out, unexpectedly, to be Tong Guan. He went in to view the mourning hall for Qin Siyuan and the others, and upon coming out, he called Ning Yi over first, to speak with him aside.

In a room within a compound not far from the mourning hall, the exchange went as follows:

“Because of your affair, this court did not sleep well all last night! You may deceive others, but do you think you can deceive me? Eighteen hundred Lüliang cavalry leaving camp, and you claim it has nothing to do with you? Do you think you can deceive the whole world?”

“It was only to save Chancellor Qin’s life…”

“You! Did you save him?”

“I did what needed doing. Chancellor Qin truly served to the utmost of his ability—he should not have met such an end…”

“And yet, in doing what needed doing, he still chose the wrong method. His fall stands as a warning to all who would follow the same road!”

“I never expected the first to come pay respects would be Your Highness…”

“Hmph! This court…” he sighed, “…ah…”

“To protect Chancellor Qin, I exhausted every method I had. And in the end, it still all came to nothing…”

“What is it you wish to say?”

“Before Chancellor Qin departed, he left behind certain things—things many people want. I am but a merchant. Once the Chancellor was gone, I could not keep hold of them. They are here…”

“…You mean to use me as a weapon to kill for you!? This court commands armies—what use have I for such a thing!?”

“Of all people, Your Highness is the least entangled in this affair, and the least fearful of trouble. This is the legacy Chancellor Qin left behind—no one who touches it will find it clean. Whether Your Highness wishes to make use of it, or simply burn it, is entirely up to you.”

“…”

Tie Tianying had expected that, at the very least, Tong Guan would be furious over the matter of the cavalry—yet the minds of great men were, as ever, beyond his fathoming. After a brief private exchange with Ning Yi, the prince walked away with a calm expression on his face.

As for Ning Yi’s involvement, Tong Guan pursued the matter no further; the affair of the army had already been vouched for within the palace by Zhou Zhe himself. All that remained ordered was the pursuit of those responsible for the assassination of Qin Siyuan—which amounted to nothing, in truth. The Ministry of Justice’s chief constables were indeed fearsome figures within the martial world, but to move against someone of Lin Zongwu’s caliber was no easy matter. In recent decades, the only grandmaster-level figure they had ever managed to bring down was a single man named Liu Dabiao.

And in all this, Lin Zongwu had, in truth, suffered a genuine and heavy loss. He had originally counted on backing from high officials in the capital, hoping that after assassinating Qin Siyuan, his fame would spread across the realm, and with the authorities turning a blind eye, the Great Radiance Sect could naturally expand into the capital. Who could have foreseen he would run headlong into an army instead—not only were his sect’s master fighters slaughtered nearly to the last man, but any hope of entering the capital had, for the time being, become nothing but a bubble burst.

Beyond Lin Zongwu, several of the capital’s great clans who secretly maintained their own retained fighters had also suffered heavy losses. As for the martial artists of the wider world who had gone out to watch the spectacle unfold on the plain, their fate had been more pitiful still, with nowhere to voice their grievance. But amid this violent clash, a great many things had surfaced from the shadows that were genuinely striking—several long-wanted criminals from the capital, including remnants of the Sage-Duke’s faction, had all converged upon the capital at once, as if foreshadowing some ill omen yet to come.

With Qin Siyuan dead, the redistribution of power would inevitably require another round of conflict before stability could return once more.

And Tie Tianying refused to believe Ning Yi would remain untouched by all this chaos. Whether or not he had thrown in his lot with Tong Guan was secondary; what mattered was that, for the sake of a hundred members of his household, he had once slaughtered half of Liangshan. This time, he would surely seek revenge in turn!

But with the higher authorities letting the matter slide, and with the Qin family’s entire line now extinguished, and with Tong Guan’s deliberate or perhaps not-so-deliberate protection over him, Ning Yi’s affairs faded, for the time being, from most people’s attention.

In the days that followed, occasional visitors came to pay respects at the mourning hall. Ning Yi spent some money setting up a small stage at the mouth of the alley, gathering performers under his employ—some told stories, others sang opera—and neighborhood children occasionally came by to watch and listen, the stage even handing out sweets. These performances were carefully measured, mostly light-hearted fare that left people laughing, and the storytellers never touched on anything tragic, sticking instead to tales entirely unrelated to worldly affairs. Through the summer’s alternating sun and rain, some children who wandered over were pulled back home once their parents learned this was the funeral of a treacherous official. On rainy days, few came, but the performances on the stage continued regardless. Once, Zhong Shidao happened to pass by, and in the deep and shifting shade of the summer trees, heard the sound of an erhu strike up, and a singer’s voice rise.

The mighty Yangtze flows east, its waves washing away all heroes… success and failure, right and wrong—all turn to nothing in the end. The green hills remain, through countless crimson sunsets… a white-haired fisherman on the river’s shore, long used to autumn moons and spring breezes…

That singing carried a desolate, world-weary quality, and set against the laughter and lighthearted stories around it, it struck an almost absurd note. When it came to the line, “how many affairs of past and present, all become mere talk over laughter,” he could not help but shed a tear. The summer day was bright, yet wind and rain still loomed vast and uncertain in his heart. Having bid farewell to Qin Siyuan, with whom he had once defended the city together, he too would soon be leaving—carrying his brother’s remains, bound back to the northwest.

The rest of the capital’s high officials had no interest in this small matter following Qin Siyuan’s death. For now, he remained a treacherous official, not to be spoken of in terms of right or wrong, not even acknowledged as having “existed”—only as having become “nothing.” Since all agreed that success and failure alike turn to nothing in the end, these men were all the more inclined to cast the whole affair from their minds entirely; anyone who dwelled on such thoughts could never hope to navigate the political stage.

Only Tie Tianying remained unswayed by this atmosphere. After the seventh day of mourning had passed for Qin Siyuan and Qin Shaoqian, Ning Yi and the others buried the family without drawing much attention. By now, the capital’s affairs had returned to their usual chaotic bustle; the Ministry of Justice was pouring considerable effort into investigating the Manichaean remnants who had come north, but with so many people flooding into the capital of late and so many cases erupting, progress remained slow. Still, Tie Tianying kept men assigned to monitor the movements of the Bamboo Emporium.

On the larger stage, with the fall of Taiyuan, establishing a defensive line along the Yellow River had become the capital’s foremost strategic priority of late. Building such an extensive defensive line required money, manpower, and a great deal of power-sharing—and so every faction in the capital was scrambling for a piece of it. Meanwhile, with the position of Right Chancellor now vacant and no successor yet chosen, this too was a rich prize up for grabs—indeed, anyone with sharp eyes could see that Li Gang’s precarious hold on the position of Left Chancellor likely would not last much longer either.

With the Jurchen threat still looming, the army remained of paramount importance, and every high official in the capital sought some path toward reform. The Wurui Battalion, stationed outside the city, now found itself thrust into the spotlight—yet precisely because of this, all sides grew more cautious about how to approach the army; these were matters of the highest stakes. After burying Qin Siyuan, Ning Yi had, on the whole, begun leaning toward Tong Guan’s faction; the Bamboo Emporium had also begun stirring back into motion. But having only just entered Tong Guan’s circle, he was, for the most part, still acting on his own initiative—likely needing first to restore vitality to his own Bamboo Emporium operations under his own direction.

For all these reasons, amid the many great affairs of the day, whatever the Bamboo Emporium was doing seemed, in truth, quite insignificant. Many of its members’ activities, for a time, appeared almost aimless. After Qin Siyuan’s death, Ning Yi’s own conduct grew rather strange as well—Tie Tianying occasionally saw him out and about, inspecting bolts of cloth, discussing business deals, engaging in activities even more mundane than before. Throughout this period, it was impossible to guess what he might be thinking.

The Ministry of Justice’s workload only grew heavier by the day, and as mid-fifth-month drew to a close, Zong Feixiao was recalled to the capital as well. That noon, the two men met up near the cloth shop Ning Yi had lately taken to frequenting, then went up to a tavern to discuss recent developments…