On the evening of the second day of the third month, a small funeral was being held at Xiaocang River.

The mourning belonged to two households—though in truth it could only really be counted as one. Lu Yannian, whose head had been sent back, still had an aged wife at home; his deputy Qi Zhenbiao, on the other hand, had been entirely alone, and now his line had been cut off completely. As for the Bamboo Bureau’s other agents from whom no word had yet come, since they were not certainly dead, no funeral rites were held for them at this time.

Under the long shed put up on the hillside, most of those who came to pay respects were soldiers and Bamboo Bureau members who had known the two families, along with some who were close friends of those whose fates were still unknown, come to sit for a while. The dishes were plain, a single cup of light wine to each person. Ning Yi’s household, together with senior figures from the army such as Qin Shaoqian, saw to entertaining the guests, giving everyone a simple account of what had happened, the manner of the Jurchen, and how their own side had responded. Some grew agitated and indignant at hearing it, but after a low word or two from the officers beside them, they quieted again, only clenching their fists tightly beneath the tables.

In the half year since defeating Western Xia, Xiaocang River had gone on growing and expanding in an atmosphere of quiet, and at times the bustling scene of outsiders streaming in and goods flowing back and forth was almost enough to make one forget the oppressive year that had preceded the war with Xia. In fact, after nearly two years of holding this quiet corner of the world, even the soldiers who had come from the wealthy heartland of the Central Plains had begun little by little to forget what that land even looked like. Only news of death such as this proved to people that, beyond these mountains, fierce conflict had never once ceased.

The slaughter and clashes that had once played out beneath the walls of Bianliang would, sooner or later—or perhaps already had—appear across this whole land again.

Ning Yi walked through the long shed wearing a white mourning flower, nodding and murmuring a low greeting to every table he passed. Someone could not help but stand and ask, “Mister Ning, can we beat the Jurchen?” Ning Yi nodded.

“Of course we can beat them,” he answered quietly. “The state every one of you reached on the Dongzhi Plateau—that’s the same secret behind the Jurchen’s saying that ten thousand of them cannot be defeated, and it’s even better than theirs. We have a chance to defeat them. But of course, it will be hard. Very hard. Very hard.”

He said each of those three “very hard”s slowly, one word at a time.

Once he had gone around greeting nearly everyone, Ning Yi quietly slipped away from the side, and Chen Fan followed him out. The two of them walked along a small mountain path; there was no moon, and the starlight stretched out boundlessly overhead. Ning Yi tucked both hands into the pockets of his clothes—he had a habit of wanting pockets, and had gotten Tan’er and the others to improve on the short, close-fitting clothes of the day, making them loose, light, and rather sharp-looking as well.

“Brother Chen, it’s been a while since you’ve been on a battlefield, hasn’t it?”

“I never went that many times to begin with.” Chen Fan had a blade of grass between his teeth and gave a short laugh. “Honestly, back when I fought under Sagely Duke, there wasn’t much method to it—nothing more than leading people forward in a charge. It’s very different here, from how it was in the Sagely Duke’s uprising. What, are you thinking of sending me off somewhere?”

“You’re Marshal Fo’s disciple. Having you follow me around all the time always feels like a waste to me.”

“You really do calculate everything down to the last coin, unwilling to let anyone get even the smallest edge on you. Just let me stay idle a while longer. There are too many people who want you dead. If some reckless grandmaster truly came for you, Hunchback Chen and the others would give their lives to protect you, sure, but there’s always the risk of a moment’s carelessness. And you’ve already sent Zhu Biao off to Shandong…”

“Hongti will come in a few days.”

“If a great war really breaks out, are you giving up Green Wood Stockade? She’ll have to go back and hold the place down eventually.”

“Jin’er could hold it down too. Put her on a horse, give her a mask.”

Ning Yi gestured a bit as he said it, and Chen Fan laughed along with him. Over the past half month, the play Slaying the Tiger had been performed at both Green Wood Stockade and Xiaocang River, and the image of the Blood Bodhisattva in her fearsome mask had gradually spread. If it were only a matter of filling the role for show, Jin’er really might be able to pull it off.

But talk like that could only ever be a joke in the end. Chen Fan looked him over a few times. “What is it you actually want me to do?”

“Zhuo Xiaofeng and his people have been here so long now, they’ve grown thoroughly familiar with the situation at Xiaocang River. I want to send them back to the Miao territories. But thinking it over every way I can, the one who can hold the whole thing steady is still you. And the one most able to coordinate with Xigua is still the two of you as husband and wife, so I’ll have to trouble you to lead them.”

Chen Fan frowned. He looked at Ning Yi and was silent a moment. “Normally I wouldn’t ask this, but… has it really come to this already? Against the Jurchen… isn’t there still quite a gap?”

“I wish there were still time too.” Ning Yi looked down over the valley below and sighed. “We killed the emperor with fewer than ten thousand men under arms, spent a year gritting our teeth to defeat Western Xia, and now, one more year later, we’re already up against the Jurchen. Things aren’t supposed to move this fast. When I first chose the northwest, I never imagined it would come to this. Given a few years, working our way open in the cracks between powers, taking it slowly, this land where four sides meet in war, these wild, desolate hills so well-suited for training troops—by now our situation would surely be far better.”

He shook his head. “Defeating Western Xia wasn’t a good choice, in truth. That kind of pressure did squeeze the full potential out of our forces, but the losses were heavy too, and it stirred the grass and startled the snake far too soon. These days, all the other small fry and worthless dogs can still hold their little corners in peace, but for us, everything now depends on what Nian Han intends—and think about it, we’re such a small place, not even risen up properly yet, and we already hold something as coveted as firearms. If you were Nian Han, what would you do? Would you really let us sit here haggling and setting our own terms?”

“Is there any other way?” Chen Fan frowned. “What if we preserved our strength and pulled out entirely?”

“Brother Chen, I never took you for someone who worried this much over every step.” Ning Yi teased him with a smile.

Chen Fan smiled too. “For myself, I can set life and death aside entirely; so long as I die for a worthy cause, throwing my life away is nothing unusual. But there are so many people to think of here. I’ve never faced the Jurchen myself, but I can well imagine how formidable they are, and their purpose this time is different from the two times before. The first time was a probe—they had no confidence yet, and wanted a quick decisive strike. The second time was to break Bianliang and destroy the Han court’s will, and they even carried off the Emperor. This time will be no mere play—three armies bearing down at once, surrender or die, and there aren’t many under heaven who could stand against that.”

“The Western Route Army is still, after all, only ten thousand Jin troops.”

“Wanyan Loushi commands his troops like a god of war. Last year and the year before, with only ten or twenty thousand men, he crushed forces of one or three hundred thousand as easily as breaking dry branches. Never mind whether we could beat him—even if we could, that would be a bone no one could chew easily. And if we truly did defeat their Western Route Army, we’d likely be the very first, of all who dared stand firm against the Jurchen under heaven…” Chen Fan tilted his head as he spoke, glancing at Ning Yi. “There’s no way you haven’t thought of all this. What’s really going through your mind right now?”

“I’ve discussed it with Shaoqian, Chengzong, and the others, and thought it over myself for a long time—a few questions in particular.” Ning Yi’s gaze fixed on the distance. “I’m no expert when it comes to warfare, after all. If it truly comes to a fight, are our chances of winning really so slim? And how great would the losses actually be?”

Chen Fan thought it over. “Loushi’s own ability has to be weighed in, of course. If it’s only the Western Route Army, there are certainly chances of winning, but… we can’t be careless about it. Just as you said, it will be hard. So we need to plan for the case of heavy losses.”

“The arrival of firearms will change some things, after all—the old ways of estimating outcomes may no longer hold true. Though of course, there’s never truly been anything certain in this world.” Ning Yi smiled faintly. “Looking back on it, what exactly did we come here for, forcing our way open in such a difficult place? To drive off Western Xia only to be driven off by the Jurchen a year later? Chased away? In times of peace, doing business means weighing the odds and acting with a level head. But in an age like this, when the whole world is falling apart, who isn’t standing on the edge of a cliff?”

“I’m not willing to accept it.” Ning Yi ground his teeth, and into his eyes there gradually crept a look both intensely cold and intensely fierce. A moment later that look faded away as if it had been an illusion, and he tilted his head. “We haven’t even opened our hand yet—we shouldn’t fold. This is a bet I want to make. If it’s truly confirmed that Nian Han, Xiyin, and the rest are dead set on seizing Xiaocang River, and there’s no room for negotiation, then…”

A light night wind blew over the hillside. Ning Yi’s voice paused a moment. “Then… I will spend any price necessary to bring down Wanyan Loushi. Even if it’s Nian Han who comes next, I’ll tear a piece of flesh from his body too—and I’m even weighing the possibility of leaving them here for good.”

The thing had not yet been done, and Ning Yi’s words were merely a statement of intent, spoken as calmly as ever, no different now. Chen Fan listened, gazing quietly down into the valley below, and after a long while drew a deep breath. He gritted his teeth and broke into a laugh, a fevered light flickering faintly in his eyes. “Ha, that’s exactly how it should be, exactly like that. I understand now. If you really mean to do this, I’m with you—whatever you do, I’m with you.”

He paused, nodding as he spoke. “You know, when Sagely Duke rose up, he claimed several hundred thousand men, a chaotic mess of a force, but I always felt it meant nothing much at all… no, whatever it meant back then, compared to now, it really had no spirit to it at all…”

Then he went on, “I’ll tell Xigua about this. That girl is going to adore you for it. On the surface she won’t say a word, but the second she turns her back her eyes’ll be all lit up with stars. Heh, exactly like that…”

Hearing him talk like that, Ning Yi laughed as well. “It’s only a passing thought for now. Sometimes circumstances are stronger than any man, and if things change, we’ll just have to take it step by step.”

“I know.” Chen Fan put his hands on his hips, then pointed at him. “Be careful you don’t get yourself killed. Practice your martial arts more.”

“I’m already a master of the martial world.”

Chen Fan looked ahead, shaking his head as though he hadn’t heard a word Ning Yi had said, muttering to himself. “Damn it, I should find some time to team up with Zhu Biao and Grandmaster Lu and go take care of Lin Echan, get rid of one more serious threat before it grows… or else get Xigua, get Hunchback Chen and the others to lend a hand… I just can’t rest easy about it…”

“You clown…” Ning Yi pursed his lips, plainly displeased, and turned to walk on ahead. Chen Fan, still lost in his own thoughts, followed after him. Ning Yi spread his hands as he walked, calling out loudly, “Everyone’s seen it now—I’m starting to think I picked the wrong man for the job.”

“I’m serious, it can be done,” Chen Fan said.

“As if I have time to deal with that man surnamed Lin…”

The two of them talked a while longer, and ahead of them a small courtyard gradually came into view, where a figure was wandering about outside—it was Jin’er, who had stayed home to look after the child. Dressed in a floral-print jacket, she was walking outside the courtyard with Ning Yi’s daughter, little Ning Wenwen, not yet a year old, cradled in her arms. Hidden sentries were naturally posted nearby. Seeing that they had reached their destination, Chen Fan stepped aside and did not follow further.

Ning Yi walked over and sat down with Jin’er on the grass nearby. Jin’er asked him a few things about the funeral, and he answered. Below them in the valley, points of firelight stretched on and on, and the traces of human life made everything seem warm. Jin’er found herself recalling the old days in Jiangning, and shared a few of them with Ning Yi—her days in the pleasure house, the way she and the other girls used to rate one talented young man of Jiangning after another, the little wooden building by the banks of the Qinhuai, her life sharing a home with Yun Zhu, the morning mist every day, running through that morning mist, and the strange man who had come running toward her out of it. Back then, she could never have guessed that man would become her husband; still less could she have guessed that the matrilocal son-in-law and talented scholar she’d fallen in love with would end up here, of all places.

If everything could go back to being just as it once was, that would truly be something to long for.

“Will we… be able to live like that again someday?” Jin’er said softly, smiling. “Once we’ve driven off the Jurchen.”

“Once we’ve driven off the Jurchen and the realm is at peace, we’ll go back to Jiangning, put up a wooden house by the Qinhuai, you and Yun Zhu can live there, and I’ll go running every day. You two… well, you’ll be pestered by the children all day long, so I suppose it won’t be exactly like before in every way.”

Jin’er broke into a soft smile at that, and after a moment held out her little finger. “It’s a promise, then.”

Ning Yi reached out and hooked his finger around hers. “It’s a promise.”

That night, brilliant starlight filled the sky, and down in the valley of Xiaocang River, the firelight of the settlements stretched on toward the mountain pass like stars of their own. By now, with the Jurchen sweeping down from the north, the whole situation north of the Yellow River had fallen into complete chaos. Most of the trade routes had already broken down, and the flow of goods in and out of Xiaocang River was gradually winding to a halt. Yet on the fourth day of the third month, someone arrived bearing a letter, and following soon after came the last great shipment of supplies bound for Xiaocang River.

Quite unexpectedly, the letter was from Zuo Duanyou. In the time since he had left Xiaocang River, and now that the Jurchen had finally invaded from the south, Zuo Duanyou had made his decision: to bring his whole household south.

A great quantity of arms, ironware, gunpowder, grain, and other supplies was carried into the mountains of Xiaocang River, bringing another solid stretch of bustling activity to the valley.

To the east, the land of the Central Plains.

Along every great road running from north to south, streams of refugees stretched on for hundreds of miles. Great households drove their cattle and sheep and rode in carriages; poor and humble families carried their bundles on their backs, dragging their children along. At every crossing point on the Yellow River, the ferries running back and forth were already working far beyond their capacity.

The first wave of refugees fleeing the Jin advance had already begun to appear. And the Jurchen armies pressed hard on their heels, killing their way forward, and after the first few clashes, defeated troops numbering in the hundreds of thousands were scattered across the land north of the Yellow River like a tide breaking apart. To the south, the workings of the Han court seemed to have been frightened into complete paralysis.

Blood and lives, spreading flames of war, weeping and wailing—this was the first wave of the price the realm was made to pay.