On the ninth day of the sixth month, in the fourteenth year of the Jinghan era, Bianliang experienced an ordinary yet busy day.
The weather was clear.
For the many high officials of the Wu Dynasty, this day marked just over a month since the death of the former Right Chancellor, Qin Siyuan—a significant and unusual day in its own right. After days of political wrangling and maneuvering, on this very day the basic framework for the Wu Dynasty’s political landscape in the period ahead would finally be settled: the appointments and transfers of numerous officials, and the clear assignment of responsibility for the Yellow River defensive line and the resistance against the Jurchens, would all be finalized on this day.
In a certain sense, this was a victory banquet of rewards and punishments, where officials would divide up the spoils of triumph. Though they had lost in their struggle against the Jurchens, at least in this other contest, many had emerged victorious.
The morning court session began at the fifth watch, and officials preparing to attend often set out from home as early as the third watch, making their way toward the palace city. The Wu Dynasty’s morning court convened at irregular intervals—typically once every five days—but with so much happening of late, and in order to better organize the resistance against the Jurchens, the frequency had increased to every other day, or even daily. Some officials grumbled endlessly about it, but today, few felt any such complaint.
Ning Yi rose from bed after the hour of Zi, practiced a slow round of forms in the courtyard, then bathed and changed, ate a little porridge, sat quietly for a while, and soon someone came to summon him out the door. The carriage rolled through the quiet pre-dawn streets, passing the former residence of the Right Chancellor, and came to a stop as it neared the road approaching the palace gates. Ning Yi stepped down from the carriage. Zhu Biao, who had driven it, seemed on the verge of saying something, but held back. Ning Yi’s expression remained calm; he patted Zhu Biao’s shoulder, then turned and walked toward the distant palace city.
Beneath the imperial city walls, officials both great and small had already begun to gather. By the time Ning Yi arrived, he stood off to the side of the road, drawing no attention from anyone. Before long, Tong Guan arrived as well, and Cai Jing too. Wang Fu, Li Yan, Zhang Bangchang, Li Gang, Qin Hui, Gao Qiu, Tang Ke, Wu Min, and many others followed one after another, gathering in various clusters outside the palace walls.
People naturally formed their own circles—though, of course, these were not simply factions grouped together at random. Standing was determined first by rank and status. Cai Jing and Tong Guan, the two towering figures of the court, operated in different spheres and so had little friction between them; the two got along rather amiably. Even officials who did not particularly get along would, upon meeting, still exchange hearty laughter and greetings, whether flattering one another or subtly needling each other in turn.
The men of the Censorate kept mostly to themselves, unwilling to form cliques; even when standing together, they tended to keep some distance, disliking large group conversations, at most murmuring quietly in pairs, their expressions solemn. Next came the purists of the scholarly faction—their rank might not be high, but their allegiances were firm, and firm allegiance was precisely what earned favor from above. The great scholars, meanwhile, tended to be smooth operators, men of literary integrity on the surface yet flexible and adaptable underneath, unafraid of what others might say of them.
A handful of young officials, or junior military officers of lower rank, had been brought along by their patrons—some the sons and nephews of great clans, others rising stars newly brought into the fold—now being led about in the warm glow of lantern-light to greet various acquaintances. Ning Yi stood off to one side, entirely alone. The first person to greet him, as he passed by, was Tan Zhen.
“You’ve come.”
He looked ahead as he said this, coldly.
“Yes.”
Ning Yi replied.
Tan Zhen then walked past. Beside him walked a fierce-looking officer, whom Ning Yi knew to be Shi Yuanmeng, a rising young military talent held in high regard under Tan Zhen’s command.
Today, all of them would finally be received together in imperial audience.
“You’ve come.”
Another voice spoke up—this one considerably gentler, though carrying a note of weariness. It was Tang Ke, who had approached quietly, without fanfare, after greeting several other officials. Though as a leading figure of the appeasement faction he had clashed and disagreed with Qin Siyuan on many occasions, privately the two had nonetheless been good friends who respected one another. Even during Qin Siyuan’s dismissal and imprisonment, though their paths diverged, Tang Ke had worked tirelessly behind the scenes on Qin Siyuan’s behalf.
After Qin Siyuan was sentenced to exile in Lingnan, his son Qin Shaoqian—who had originally been slated for military exile to Shamen Island, which would have separated father and son forever—had, through Tang Ke’s efforts, likewise been reassigned to exile in Lingnan.
Though the two would still be sent to different locations within Lingnan, at least the distance between them would be far shorter than before. With some quiet arrangement, a reunion might yet have been possible.
It was only that all these efforts had, in the end, come to nothing.
“Yes.”
Ning Yi answered in turn.
“Don’t dwell too much on today’s proceedings,” Tang Ke said. “Old Qin is gone now. Do your work well, and don’t let him down.”
“Yes.”
After Qin Siyuan’s death, a great many things—including the incriminating material handed over to Tong Guan to secure his own protection—had ultimately passed to Ning Yi. Tang Ke had never held this against him; to some degree, he had come to regard Ning Yi as the one who had inherited Qin Siyuan’s mantle.
After a while, Tong Guan, seemingly by chance, drew near in a lull between conversations with others, looking Ning Yi over. “What I told you the other day—have you kept it all in mind?”
“I have.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Do well.”
He made no gesture to summon Ning Yi over to him—coming over himself was not a matter of condescension, but a deliberate effort to minimize the impression of favoritism. Yet even this small gesture drew no small number of glances toward Ning Yi. Among the crowd were people Ning Yi knew, such as Li Gang—that white-haired, sternly upright old man glanced at him once from a distance, then looked away and paid him no further attention.
For one thing, Li Gang’s own position as Chancellor had already begun to be quietly hollowed out. For another, when Qin Siyuan’s case broke, Li Gang’s faction may well have expected that what remained of the Qin faction’s strength would naturally gravitate toward him, helping him accomplish great things. That Ning Yi had instead thrown in with Tong Guan—a eunuch he had always looked down upon—may have registered, in some quiet way, as a slight against him personally. And so, he paid Ning Yi no further mind.
Some of the lesser officials, noticing Ning Yi, exchanged a few murmured words among themselves. Someone said: “That’s the one left behind from the Qin faction…” and offered a rough, partly accurate account of his circumstances, after which most of those nearby understood the situation well enough—a mere merchant, summoned to the golden hall, mostly as a final gesture to smooth over the fallout from the former Right Chancellor’s downfall, with little real bearing on his own standing. A few who had had dealings with Ning Yi before, seeing nothing remarkable about him now, likewise paid him no further attention.
At the fifth watch, the West Splendor Gate opened, and the assembled crowd entered the palace city. Beyond the West Splendor Gate lay the Right Chengtian Gate; past that stretched a long expanse of palace walls and roadways, with the Jiying Gate, the Huangyi Gate, and the Chuigong Gate arranged in sequence along the way, leading finally to the Zichen Gate through which today’s court session would be entered—itself a double-doored gate. Ning Yi and the others passed through three separate body searches along the way. The group assembled in the square before the Zichen Hall, and the high officials entered one by one in order of rank.
Ning Yi and six others remained outside, at the very corner of the corridor bordering the outer square, waiting to be summoned within.
The fifth watch was now half over; inside, the proceedings had already begun, a cool morning breeze drifting through. The Wu Dynasty’s oversight of its officials was not especially strict, and among the seven waiting here, several had come from great clans, murmuring quietly to one another; the nearby guards and eunuchs paid them little mind either. Someone glanced over at Ning Yi, standing there in continued silence, with a look of open disdain.
Whether through connections or through merit, these men were about to receive the honor of an imperial audience at the very close of proceedings—a genuine honor. Having a man like this mixed in among them instantly seemed to lower the caliber of the whole group.
Ning Yi raised his head. The eastern sky had just begun to show the faintest hint of pale white; clouds drifted like scattered wisps of silk, and morning birds crossed the sky above.
Those who governed a nation rose earlier than those they governed—but by now, the city beyond these walls would already be stirring back to life as well.
The ninth day of the sixth month, the fourteenth year of the Jinghan era, in the city of Bianliang—the final day of the Jinghan reign.
The weather was clear.
…
Tie Tianying, leading his constables, rode hard across the morning fields. Following a lead, he made his way toward the home of an informant Zong Feixiao had once cultivated.
By the time they arrived, the sky had already brightened fully. The dwelling had stood empty for several days, no one within. Tie Tianying kicked open the door, looked at the dust settled thick across the room, and said, “Search it.”
Before long, a constable, having overturned trunks and searched behind walls, found something and brought it over to Tie Tianying. Tie Tianying’s face changed abruptly upon seeing it. Moments later, the mounted party set off again at full speed.
The hour of Chen.
At the Wurui Battalion, morning drills were still underway. Li Bingwen, with a few personal guards, passed by the front of the drill grounds and spotted the Lüliang men training as usual nearby. Han Jing, whom he knew well, stood with hands clasped behind his back, gazing up at the sky. Li Bingwen walked over with a smile, hands likewise clasped behind his back, glancing about. “Brother Han, what are you looking at?”
Han Jing turned his head and gave him a smile.
Li Bingwen laughed as well.
“Oh, right—where’s Chieftain Lu?”
“She has business elsewhere.”
“Ah, ha ha.”
Li Bingwen had simply been making idle conversation and thought nothing more of it.
In Bianliang.
Lu Hongti, with two attendants, walked in through the palace gates.
The morning court session was still underway in the Zichen Hall. Once inside the imperial city, palace eunuchs had female officials remove her weapons and search her person, then led her to wait near the imperial study, with several master fighters specially posted to guard the area.
Outside the room, sunlight poured down; the surrounding halls stood quiet. A palace maid brought tea and refreshments. Hongti sat there quietly, eyes closed, while the imperial guards outside the door occasionally glanced her way, gauging her worth.
Outside the palace walls, the young woman known as Xigua stood atop a rooftop, tilting her head back to breathe in the morning air.
This was the capital…
Father… Uncle Sage-Duke… Seventh Uncle… Aunt Baihua… and all my brothers who have died… can you see this…
All around, the streets bustled with pedestrians, lively and peaceful, and not far off stood the towering, imposing palace walls.
…
After Qin Siyuan and Qin Shaoqian’s deaths, the two had been laid to rest in graves on the outskirts of Bianliang.
The sun had already climbed high by the time Tie Tianying’s mounted company arrived, breathless. He looked at Qin Shaoqian’s gravestone, pointed at it, and said, “Dig it up.”
The constables were momentarily stunned, then went to work digging up the grave. They had brought no tools, so progress was slow; one constable rode to a nearby village and found two hoes. Before long, the grave had been broken open, the coffin hauled up. When it was pried open, an overwhelming stench of decay rose into the air—a body buried a month now, badly decomposed, even crawling with maggots.
Tie Tianying’s hands trembled. He knew he had found Ning Yi’s vulnerable point—he could finally move against him. The note in his hand read: “Qin Shaoqian suspected not actually dead.” Yet the corpse in the coffin was too badly decomposed to serve as proof of anything. According to what Ning Yi’s side had claimed, Qin Shaoqian’s head had once been severed and then sewn back on; at the time, no one could have examined the body too closely, and a cursory glance confirming it was indeed Qin Shaoqian had been enough to settle the matter as fact.
With this lead now in hand, but the body too decayed to serve as evidence, he covered his nose and mouth and looked closer, then said, “Cut the clothes off. All of it, every stitch.” Two constables, forcing down their revulsion, set to the task.
The decayed body revealed nothing at first glance. But then Tie Tianying noticed something. He snatched a staff from one of his men’s hands and pushed apart the corpse’s decomposed, misshapen legs…
…
Within the Zichen Hall, Du Chengxi was loudly reading out the appointments and transfers of one official after another—audible even out in the square beyond. A tall eunuch approached from that direction—the Wu Dynasty, with Tong Guan commanding troops and several chief eunuchs having accomplished significant deeds of their own, made the presence of such an imposing eunuch here nothing unusual. Only as he approached did the nearby imperial guards briefly stop him.
“Eunuch Hou, what is it?”
“Old Du is attending His Majesty inside; these men here will be brought in shortly. Since it’s their first time at court, Old Du is anxious there might be some mishap, and asked this humble servant to slip away and check how well they’ve mastered their court etiquette. This humble servant has other duties to attend to—just a quick check, and I’ll be on my way.”
The guard nodded, and this Eunuch Hou approached, questioning the seven men before him one by one in a low voice. His voice was not loud; once finished, he had each of them run through the proper etiquette in rough form, then waved a hand dismissively. Only when he came to the fourth man did the performance prove somewhat lacking, and this Eunuch Hou flared with irritation. “You—come here, come here!”
He pulled the man aside, to a spot conveniently within view of the nearby guard, and had him run through it two more times, personally correcting his form each time. The man flushed red with anxiety, and the guard, watching for a moment, turned his head away—there was no need, standing duty within the palace, to stare and watch a man make a fool of himself.
Eunuch Hou, still pressed for time and unwilling to let any mistake slide, had the man run through it several more times before finally letting him rejoin the group. A moment later, questioning the last of the seven, he found this man’s performance slightly flawed as well, and pulled him aside too, delivering a stern scolding.
The remaining six looked on with faint mockery at this last man. Eunuch Hou, seeing his bow was not up to standard, personally knelt down to demonstrate it himself, then glared up, sweeping his gaze across the group; the others quickly averted their eyes. The guard smiled and looked away as well.
…
Outside Bianliang, before Qin Shaoqian’s gravestone, Tie Tianying stared at the decomposed corpse in the coffin, using the wooden staff to part the body’s two legs.
“This… this is a eunuch?”
He stood there, stunned, for a long moment. The heat that had built up in his body slowly began to turn to ice…
What was he trying to do…
In the distance, the thunder of hoofbeats began to shake the earth, surging closer—
West of Bianliang, near Wansheng Gate, Du Sha, long blade slung across his back, stepped out of an inn. More and more people were now moving through the surrounding crowds, converging toward the city gate…
Within the inner city, not far from Liang Gate, Zhu Biao sat within a long-shuttered Bamboo Emporium shop, eyes closed in quiet rest, his long spear lying across his knees. Chen Tuozi and the others stood or sat nearby, most of them silent. In the courtyard, someone was carrying several crates inside, setting them beneath a still-shuttered window on the ground floor. This quiet yet busy atmosphere stood in stark contrast to the bustling activity near the city gates outside.
At a certain moment, Zhu Biao, spear slung across his back, pushed open the door and stepped out.
The spearpoint gleamed, hungry for blood.
The bluebird had arrived. Sunlight poured down over the whole city.
…
Within the Zichen Hall of the imperial palace, the reading of the edict had concluded. After the customary words of thanks to the throne, the seven men were summoned within. Ning Yi walked among them, his steps unhurried, his expression calm. Passing through the great doors, the Zichen Hall opened up before them—vast, solemn, dignified—with countless ministers arrayed on either side. Cai Jing, Tong Guan, Li Gang, the newly promoted Right Chancellor Qin Hui, Junior Preceptor Wang Fu, Minister of War Tan Zhen, Minister of Justice Zheng Sinan, Minister of Rites Tang Ke, Minister of Personnel Yan Daozhang, Minister of Revenue Zhang Bangchang, Minister of Works Liu Juyuan… and beyond these, numerous other high officials—Gao Qiu, Cai You, Wu Min, Geng Nanzhong, and more—stood solemnly arrayed in rows.
Wisps of sandalwood smoke curled upward. Directly ahead, seated above them all, was the current Son of Heaven, Zhou Zhe. These men gathered here represented the very pinnacle of the Wu Dynasty’s power structure.
The seven men knelt together in unison, not far from the entrance.
The edict-reading had reached its final stage. Aside from the patrons who had sponsored each of these seven small figures now entering, few among the assembled ministers paid them much attention. Each man present was busy savoring his own gains, already turning his thoughts toward his own future ambitions. This time, Qin Hui was the happiest of all, occasionally glancing sidelong at Li Gang not far off—the position of Left Chancellor, too, would not remain his much longer now. Yan Daozhang had been promoted beyond his rank to the Ministry of Personnel, gaining an enormous advantage—largely because he served as one of Cai Jing’s enforcers, and this was finally his turn to benefit.
Aside from Yan Daozhang, Cai Jing’s faction had come out on the losing end in this particular round of maneuvering—but it hardly mattered; his power was already so vast that the emperor found him displeasing precisely because of it, and to lose here was, in its own way, to gain elsewhere. Tong Guan’s faction had won the greatest share of benefit regarding the Yellow River defensive line, and was, at this very moment, still mentally digesting the full extent of these gains—with this in hand, his plans going forward could finally be properly carried out.
Zhou Zhe rose from his seat at the front of the hall. His voice, when it came, was slow, steady, and deep.
“Since ascending the throne, this court has sought the revival of the Wu Dynasty and the peace and security of the nation. Along this whole journey, this court has proceeded with the utmost caution and trepidation, as if walking upon thin ice. To govern a nation through its hardships—this court understands, though you may not, that this court can grant you glory and grant you power, precisely so that you might work for the sake of this nation and its people. But along this road, there have always been vermin and great harms, eroding our very foundation. Before, there was Wang Gaojin; then, Lu Zhiping; and most recently, Qin Siyuan!”
He named, one after another, the chancellors who had been condemned since his own ascension to the throne. This was, evidently, the moment for final judgment, for sealing the verdict—and having begun, he would not likely stop partway through. Below him, the seven men knelt; above and around, the assembled officials stood in silence, listening.
Zhou Zhe continued. “In the war against the Jurchens, we were caught unprepared and hasty—the Jurchens are fierce and formidable, yet my Wu Dynasty too has its loyal and righteous men, who threw themselves forward one after another without hesitation. This is a source of comfort to this court, and also a source of grief! This court has issued an edict of self-reproach, looking inward upon its own failings—had you and I truly given everything we had, would the defense of this city have truly required the blood of so many loyal and righteous men? I am your sovereign, you are my officials—these principles must be considered with utmost care! Now that the Jurchens have withdrawn, Qin Siyuan has met his just punishment, deserved though it was, but as for the rest of you—”
His words rang with righteous passion and grief. At this very moment, those listening heard a sound—surely, they thought, some trick of the mind.
It was the sound of someone sighing.
“Ah, Zhou Zhe…”
Among the kneeling figures, Shi Yuanmeng felt certain he was hallucinating—for he sensed, impossibly, that the merchant kneeling beside him had risen to his feet. It could not be.
Zhou Zhe, too, saw Ning Yi rising—he had not yet even registered the identity of that standing figure, and even the scene unfolding before him seemed strange beyond belief. Here, in this golden hall, someone daring to rise to his feet while all others knelt? Had he seen wrong…
But this was their first true encounter.
There would be no second.
Within the awe-inspiring solemnity of the Zichen Hall, for the first time in centuries, a deafening boom shattered the air—thunderous, earth-shaking. Fire flashed and burst; before anyone could grasp what had happened, the emperor’s body, upon the golden steps, slumped crookedly into his throne. The sandalwood smoke scattered and dispersed; he looked ahead in disbelief, looked down at his own legs, where something had pierced through in a dense scatter, blood seeming to seep out even now—what in the world had just happened!
Ning Yi’s steps had already carried him through the crowd, his gaze calm and steady, as though performing a task he had rehearsed ten million times in advance. Ahead of him, Tong Guan—the highest-ranked military figure present—was the first to react, bellowing: “Insolent whelp!” His fist, massive as a rice bowl, swung straight for Ning Yi’s face.
He had spent half his life in military service, drenched in blood beyond counting; though aged now, his former might still lingered. The one advancing on him now was nothing more than a merchant who had always bowed and scraped before him. And yet, in this instant, the young scholar’s eyes betrayed not the slightest trace of fear or hesitation—not even contempt. His movement seemed slow, yet was in truth swift beyond measure; as Tong Guan’s mighty fist came crashing down, Ning Yi caught it with a single hand, and with the other, delivered a slap that cracked through the air.
That slap struck Tong Guan full across the face, five fingers striking as one, heavy as an iron discus. This prince of a different surname, who had recovered the lands of Yan and Yun and whose name struck fear across the realm, felt his mind ring with a single deafening hum.
Tong Guan’s body flew through the air for an instant, his head slamming down against the golden steps in a spray of blood. Ning Yi had already stepped up onto the dais, leaving him behind…
…
Time, now, turns back a little.
Somewhat earlier, at the Wurui Battalion’s drill grounds.
Morning training had not yet ended. Li Bingwen, leading his personal guards, had returned to the front of the assembled troops when, before long, he saw the Lüliang men bringing forward their warhorses, some already beginning to arm themselves and mount up. Li Bingwen moved to go ask what was happening, but more hoofbeats rose up around him, along with the clash of iron plates on armor.
The heavy cavalry known as the “Iron Pagoda” formed into two columns, approaching from different directions. At the very front rode Han Jing.
Li Bingwen instinctively raised a hand, summoning the nearby guards, and called for the rest of the Wurui Battalion’s soldiers to stand ready. “Brother Han, what is it you mean to do!”
Han Jing did not answer. Only the heavy cavalry continued to press forward. Dozens of personal guards fell back to Li Bingwen’s side; the rest of the Wurui soldiers watched, some in confusion, others beginning to understand, as the scene unfolded.
“Advance!” Only these cold words were spoken.
The heavy cavalry’s command to advance meant a formation charge.
Men who had, until recently, shared some friendship now turned blades against one another.
Under the newly risen sun, the heavy cavalry surged forward across the drill grounds twice, before the eyes of tens of thousands, and elsewhere across the camp, blood too had begun to flow.
Then Han Jing, mounted, rode up onto the high platform at the front of the grounds. Below him, Li Bingwen and every one of his personal guards now lay as mangled corpses. The Lüliang cavalry had already formed ranks nearby, fully armed and ready to march!
“You have all seen it! After the battle of Summer Village, the court has acted with utter perversity—should the Jurchens come again, the Wu Dynasty is doomed to fall! We will play along no longer! But when the ruler lacks the Way, the people rise in arms to strike him down—” Han Jing’s voice rang out. “Lüliang rises today not to purge corrupt officials from the ruler’s side, but to slay the benighted sovereign himself, and hang his corpse from the city walls! And after today…”
Across the drill grounds, his voice roared like thunder: “After today, we rebel! And your dynasty falls—!”
Killing intent surged skyward, blotting out the heavens—