The sun’s light swept across the sky, gradually sinking toward the west, and Zezhou city, steeped in the orange-red glow of dusk, remained restless and unsettled. Within the Great Radiance Sect’s temple, wisps of incense smoke mingled with the monks’ chanting; the faithful continued kneeling and prostrating themselves in lively fashion. You Hongzhuo emerged from the gate along with a wave of worshippers and disciples, a steamed bun in hand, finishing it off in two or three bites. This was “charitable food” requested from the temple, meant only to fill the stomach — better than nothing, at least.
Many great trees lined the streets and alleys near the temple, and as evening approached, a rustling breeze drifted through, cooling the stifling air somewhat. The streets were crowded with passersby, many of them families traveling in twos and threes, parents leading children who ran and skipped along beside them. Those with means might stop at a street corner to buy a candied fruit skewer, and the children’s carefree laughter would drift through the air, giving You Hongzhuo, amid all this noise and bustle, an inexplicable sense of peace.
At present, with the matter of the hungry ghosts, the transport of Wang Shitong under guard, and the arrival of Sun Qi’s army, tensions ran high within Zezhou city, and even ordinary citizens could clearly sense that a storm was brewing. The Great Radiance Sect preached that the world faced thirty-three great calamities, and that the Buddha of Light would save mankind — in circumstances like these, ever more anxious believers came flocking to the temple.
Wealthy gentry and landowners sought out the sect’s monks to inquire after the inside details, while ordinary believers came, clinging to hope, to kneel before the bodhisattvas and deities, praying either that no disaster would fall upon Zezhou, or that even if something did happen, their own families might come through safely. After paying their respects to the Buddha, they would drop a few copper coins into the merit box and receive a portion of charitable food from the monks; by the time they left, their hearts, too, seemed to have grown considerably lighter. For a time, the area around the Great Radiance Sect’s temple genuinely became the most peaceful and tranquil corner of the entire city, a place that eased people’s minds.
The Wu Dynasty had once been prosperous and wealthy, and going back several years, such scenes of peace and abundance could once be found throughout the Central Plains. It was only because the chaos of these recent years had struck so close to home that the peaceful atmosphere still found in a few of the great cities within the Tiger King’s territory now felt so especially precious, so worth cherishing.
Looking around at the crowd, You Hongzhuo occasionally spotted men and women, travel-worn, dressed in clothing either shabby or sharply practical.
Many of these newcomers from elsewhere were clearly figures from the jianghu underworld — among them, the lowest rungs of the outlaw class lived by the blade’s edge, often shabby in appearance and skilled at concealment, difficult to pick out amid the crowd. Only those dressed decently and carrying weapons openly were relatively easy to identify as men of martial skill. Whether in times of chaos or peace, it was always the same: poverty bred scholars, wealth bred warriors. These martial figures were, some of them, local strongmen, others born of wealthy gentry families, each with their own particular fortunes in this chaotic age. Not a few among them carried themselves with a calm, seasoned bearing; they would come to the Great Radiance Sect’s grounds, exchange coded words of the jianghu with the monks, and then each go their separate ways.
You Hongzhuo had spent most of the day at the temple, and had noticed that although quite a few jianghu figures came through, many of them were turned away by the sect’s monks, leaving in evident confusion. Earlier, on the road to Zezhou, Mister Zhao had once mentioned that the gathering of jianghu figures in Zezhou had been deliberately instigated by the Great Radiance Sect — but it seemed unlikely they would go about it so openly, for fear of drawing the authorities’ attention. Something strange was clearly going on beneath the surface.
Having once been hunted by the Great Radiance Sect himself, he did not dare approach the temple’s monks directly to ask questions, and for now, he chose not to recklessly follow any of the martial artists who had been turned away.
The situation in Zezhou had grown into such a commotion — on one hand, a great army had entered the city; on the other, rumors swirled about remnants of the Black Banner Army; and now the Great Radiance Sect was both setting up shop within Zezhou and gathering jianghu figures in support of the “Ghost King’s” faction. Even with the realm as chaotic as it now was, with all manner of forces tangled together, this whole affair still struck him as rather strange.
He had, admittedly, thought of coming to watch the spectacle when he first arrived — but that had been with Mister Zhao and Madam Zhao backing him up. Now that the two elders had departed, he was nothing more than a green newcomer to the jianghu, and he no longer had the nerve to involve himself in everything going on. What truly mattered to him now was finding word of his “fourth brother,” and gathering news of his other sworn siblings — after that, whether it meant revenge or seizing a chance to save someone, neither was something to be done recklessly.
In his heart, he still hoped his brothers and sisters remained safe, and hoped, too, that his fourth brother was not truly a traitor, that there was some other explanation behind it all — unlikely as that seemed, given how far Tan Zheng’s skill and the Great Radiance Sect’s power exceeded what the original seven of them had ever possessed, and how his own escape had been nothing but sheer luck. Still, with nothing yet certain, some small flicker of hope remained in his heart.
With fewer expectations, there was correspondingly less he needed to do. He waited out the day, but Tan Zheng and his group never appeared at the temple. You Hongzhuo did not let it trouble him; he simply followed the departing crowd out and made his way back through the bustling city. By now the sun had begun to set, and along the streets where people came and went, he occasionally saw a detachment of soldiers pass by; there were more travelers and beggars from out of town here than in many of the other places he had passed through.
Back in the alley by the Liang’an Inn, the aroma of cooking already drifted from the surrounding houses. From a distance, he could see the innkeeper gathered with a few neighbors outside the inn’s door, talking. A sturdily built man was gesturing broadly, speaking rather loudly. As You Hongzhuo approached, he heard the man saying, “…Who cares where they’re from, they deserve to die, better they get baked alive out there — if you ask me, these people haven’t suffered nearly enough! Let them die miserably, let them die miserably… what’s wrong with staying put, coming all the way to Zezhou to cause trouble…”
As the man spoke, several people around him nodded repeatedly. Someone said, “If you ask me, things haven’t been safe in the city lately — I’ve been thinking of sending my girl back to the countryside…”
“…If outsiders dare stir up trouble, just stab them dead with a knife…”
Amid this talk, the Liang’an Inn’s owner, seeing You Hongzhuo approach, said, “Don’t block my doorway, all of you — do I get to run a business or not? All right, all right…” The group finally fell silent, glancing over at You Hongzhuo as he came near; one of them glared at him. You Hongzhuo gave a small nod as a greeting and walked in through the inn’s entrance.
From the gist of what they’d been saying, the group of bandits captured and put on public display that morning had most likely been left out in the square to be baked alive under the sun, and it was unclear whether anyone had come to save them.
He was only an ordinary man; he hadn’t come to Zezhou looking for excitement, nor could he do anything about the affairs of the realm. The faint hostility of the locals wasn’t something he needed to take too much to heart. Back in his room, he mulled over the day’s events for a while, then went to buy a meal from the innkeeper and carried it up to eat by the railing of the second-floor corridor.
The setting sun burned red, gradually sinking away. Looking out from the second floor, he saw a sprawl of earthen walls and grey tiles, layer upon layer. Not far off, in a courtyard planted with low parasol trees, the lights already blazed brightly, a crowd of people gathered, and the sound of suona horns and opera singing drifted over — someone was holding a wedding banquet.
As You Hongzhuo ate, watching this scene of peace and harmony, he thought again of the restless, anxious mood he’d sensed at the inn’s entrance and throughout the city — and of the Jurchen convoy he and the Zhao couple had encountered on their way here, a group that had been leaving Zezhou city. Perhaps they, too, had sensed the instability of this place. That this family should choose now, of all times, to hold a wedding — perhaps they simply wanted to get it done while there was still some fragment of peace to be had.
These past years, with the Central Plains in turmoil, this so-called “instability” had long since ceased to be some abstract, distant joke.
As evening deepened, the inn lit its lamps; the air still carried some lingering heat. In the dim light, You Hongzhuo looked out over this sea of lit windows before him, wondering whether this might be the last peaceful night this city would ever see.
He felt a pang of sympathy, but did not dwell on it too long.
He had already lived through far worse.
…
After nightfall, the countless lit windows across the city cast a lively glow against the night sky; radiating outward from Zezhou as its center, scattered points of light spread through military camps, post stations, and villages — even the little-traveled paths and mountain forests, usually dark, now flickered faintly with scattered light.
Zezhou city had not seen such a lively scene in a very long time; both within and beyond its walls, the atmosphere felt tense.
With tension came trouble of every kind. At the prefect’s residence, a group of elder gentry who had come together to request that the city gates be closed to outsiders had just departed. Prefect Lu Anmin wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, pacing anxiously back and forth through the side hall for a few turns before finally sitting down in his chair.
The elders’ demands were difficult to satisfy, and refusing them was no easy matter either — but with them now gone, by rights his mood should have settled somewhat. And yet, at this moment, it was clear Prefect Lu still had other troubles weighing on him. He sat in his chair, his gaze unsettled, thinking for a while, before finally slapping the armrest and rising to his feet, heading out the door toward another reception room.
At the doorway stood two guards and one maidservant. Lu Anmin walked over and, lowering his head, asked the maid: “Has that young lady eaten anything yet?”
The maid shook her head. “No, my lord, not yet.”
Lu Anmin frowned, hesitated a moment, then finally reached out and pushed the door open, stepping inside.
With the Wu Dynasty’s collapse and the realm thrown into chaos, Lu Anmin had once, in his path to his current position, been a successful examination candidate in the sixth year of Jinghan — he had known the glory of having his name posted on the golden list, of parading through the streets on horseback, and had also lived through the mass upheaval, the warfare, and the famine that followed. Now, serving under the Tiger King, guarding this one city, he had witnessed countless old rules crumble and countless chaotic affairs unfold with his own eyes. And yet, even amid the current tensions gripping Zezhou, the person who had come to see him today left him feeling, in truth, somewhat unsettled and at a loss.
As the door opened, in the warm yellow lamplight sat a table of food, long since gone cold. Seated beneath the lamp at one side of the room was a nun in flowing monastic robes — a nun who had kept her hair, her long tresses hanging down as she sat with her head slightly bowed, fingering a string of prayer beads. At the sound of the door, she raised her head, her gaze meeting Lu Anmin’s. He sighed inwardly.
In an age of chaos, no one was truly free to choose their own path. Threats to life, the corrosive pull of power — people changed under such pressures, and Lu Anmin had seen more than enough of that already. And yet, in this single glance, he could still sense that something in this nun’s eyes had stubbornly survived — something he wanted to see, and yet, here, would rather not have seen at all.
He let out a sigh and spread his hands slightly to one side. “Miss Li…” He paused. “…Have you eaten?”
Facing this woman once known as Li Shishi, now perhaps the single most troublesome and difficult woman in the entire realm, Lu Anmin had offered nothing more original than this unremarkable greeting.
The nun rose and gave him a gentle, graceful bow. Lu Anmin sighed again in his heart.
A pity she hadn’t come merely to eat…
…
Lamplight, a simple vegetarian meal, points of light, and quiet conversation.
“…In my youth, I was full of ambition. After passing the examinations, I was sent to serve as county magistrate in Fenzhou. A small county — I governed it well enough, but there were many things I couldn’t bring myself to accept, couldn’t let go of. After three years of evaluation, it was I who ended up taking the blame in the end… Back then, I was stubborn by nature, thought of myself as a man of the examinations, a reader of the sages’ teachings, someone who’d never wronged anyone — why should I have to swallow such indignities? Even when there were ways to smooth things over from above, I was too proud to make use of them. Years of getting knocked about left me bruised and battered, and eventually, I simply resigned my post. Fortunately, my family had some money set by, and my reputation wasn’t bad either, so I spent a good while living comfortably after that.”
“…Then the Jurchens came south, and I fled from place to place with my family. I even thought, at one point, of gathering people together to resist them. I did manage to gather some — but before long, in all the chaos, they scattered again. What do ordinary people understand, really? Country lost, family ruined, nothing to your name — gather people together, and they need to eat, don’t they? Where was the food to come from? We had no choice but to rob. Once I had a blade in my own hand, I found I could be… rather ruthless, even toward those around me. Ha, no different from the Jurchens at all, really…”
“…And that’s how it went. When people scattered, they scattered. After that, more fleeing, more hiding. My first wife, with our eldest son… died in the chaos of war. My father died too. Twice, I very nearly starved to death myself. My concubine abandoned our daughter and ran off with another man…” In the lamplight, Lu Anmin, wine cup in hand, wore a faint smile on his face. He paused for a long while, then gave a somewhat self-mocking laugh. “At the time, I remember thinking — maybe it would have been better if we’d never scattered at all…”
The nun opposite him picked up a morsel of food with her chopsticks and placed it before him. Lu Anmin looked at her for a moment — a man nearing forty, refined and cultured in bearing, at precisely that stage in life when a man’s character settles into its most compelling form. He extended a hand toward her. “Please, Miss Li, don’t stand on ceremony.”
He smiled faintly again as he spoke. “Thinking back on it now, the first time I saw Miss Li must have been more than ten years ago. Bianliang still stood then, and the Fan Tower still stood too. I was living near the Imperial Way at the time, and I liked to go to old Zhou’s noodle shop for soup noodles and meatballs. That year there was heavy snow. I went there through the winter, and kept going, all the way into the following year…”
The nun across from him smiled as well, a wistful expression crossing her face. “The one Prefect Lu saw back then must have still been just a young girl.”
Lu Anmin studied Li Shishi’s face. “At the time, Miss Li must have been barely into her teens, and already among the top ranks of the Fan Tower. Among all the young women there, Miss Li’s temperament stood apart from the rest — a certain freedom from the ordinary. Perhaps that’s precisely why, now that everyone else has faded into obscurity, Miss Li alone remains as famous throughout the realm as ever.”
Shishi lowered her head slightly. “I could hardly claim to be so well known…”
Lu Anmin’s expression grew solemn. “Last June, during the great flood at Puyang, Miss Li went about tirelessly, persuading the wealthy households in the area to donate grain and set up relief kitchens, saving countless lives. That kindness, the whole realm will remember.”
“That wasn’t really anything I did,” Shishi said quietly. “I wasn’t the one who gave the grain, nor was I the one who suffered. What did I actually do? Nothing more than put on a shameless face, go from household to household, kneeling and kowtowing. I claim to have renounced the world, to be a nun who’s kept her hair — but in truth, what I’ve done is still no different from using my looks to please others. And in the end, I’m the one who’s carried this undeserved reputation, living each day in quiet dread.”
The woman spoke calmly, and Lu Anmin found himself momentarily stunned before finally murmuring, “Miss Li… to have come to think of yourself this way…”
“Everyone has their own fate,” Shishi said softly.
“Indeed.” Lu Anmin lowered his head, took a bite of food, then drank another cup of wine. The room fell silent for a long while, until Shishi finally spoke. “Prefect Lu, the reason Shishi has come today is that there is a matter I wish to ask of you, however shameless it may seem to do so…”
Lu Anmin only nodded silently.
“I ask that Prefect Lu find some way to keep the city gates closed, and save those who now face death.”
Lu Anmin shook his head. “…This matter is not as simple as Miss Shishi imagines.”
“But surely there must be some way to spare a few innocent lives.” When the woman finished speaking, Lu Anmin said nothing for a moment; after a pause, she continued, “Along the banks of the Yellow River, the Ghost King has been captured, and four hundred thousand hungry ghosts have been scattered, cut down until the ground ran with blood. Now that you’ve brought that man Wang Shitong here, and are dealing with him so publicly as a warning to others — very well, but why must it involve the innocent as well? Outside Zezhou city, several thousand hungry ghosts are already making their way here, begging you to release Wang Shitong, and they will arrive within a few days. If they reach Zezhou, there can be little hope for them, and Zezhou itself will find it hard to remain at peace. You have an army — you could disperse them, drive them off, anything but this. Why must it come to killing?”
Lu Anmin straightened in his seat. “Does Miss Shishi realize that simply coming to Zezhou at this time is dangerous for her as well?”
The woman looked at him. “I only wish to save lives.”
“The situation here is far more complicated than you understand, Shishi.” Lu Anmin paused. “If you wish to save people, why not go and plead with that person instead?”
Shishi looked puzzled for a moment. “Which person?”
“…The one from the Black Banner.”
Understanding dawned on her face, and she looked at Lu Anmin. “But… he’s already dead.”
Lu Anmin set down his chopsticks with a sharp click, tilting his head to study her, trying to discern the truth from the lie in her words.
The reason Lu Anmin did not wish to see Li Shishi was not because her presence represented some memory of once-beautiful times. The reason she struck him as so troublesome and difficult, the reason for her visit today, and indeed the entire current situation gripping Zezhou — trace it down to its very roots, and nearly all of it, in one way or another, could not be separated from the existence of that man he had just referred to. Though he had heard many times before that this man was dead, hearing such a blunt, unequivocal answer from her mouth now left his thoughts, for a moment, thoroughly tangled.
Whether this was true or false, he could not, for the moment, tell at all…