The wind was blowing. Lu Anmin walked along the city wall, looking at the faint glow of light coming from far to the south, imagining in the darkness how many people out there were waiting, enduring their torment.

His thoughts were in turmoil; over the course of this one day, a feeling of utter despair had welled up in him, but fortunately he had already lived through great upheavals before, and so was in no danger of leaping from the wall. He only felt that Zezhou, in the darkness of night, was like a prison itself.

It was hard to say how much of his running back and forth these past days had really been because of Li Shishi’s plea for mercy that day. He had already been through so much, had known the pain of a broken family, and was long past the age of being swayed by a pretty face. What had truly driven him to step forward, these days, was, in the end, reason, and whatever remained of a scholar’s benevolent heart—only he hadn’t expected to run into resistance quite this severe.

In an age of chaos like this, every major movement by any faction was, stripped bare, a naked power struggle, always carrying with it a rise and fall of power—that was the most direct truth of it. But because order itself had been lost, the struggle for power had also grown simple and crude; and beneath that simplicity and crudeness lay something else—faster results. Once power was in hand, so long as one could command others to act, gold and silver, women, wealth and glory, could all be realized within a day or two. It was nothing like the tangled roots and interwoven branches of the days when the Wu dynasty still stood, when even if one man fell, a starved camel was still bigger than a horse.

The army held a natural advantage here. So long as the blade was drawn from its sheath, what did the prefect matter? Nothing more than a scholar with no strength to bind a chicken.

That slap in broad daylight had knocked away the authority he’d painstakingly built up, and would soon send those who’d depended on him scattering to find other paths. In circumstances like these, with Sun Qi’s tacit approval, resistance was very difficult—perhaps outright impossible; the man had no qualms about killing. Lu Anmin could see all this clearly, and so could only swallow his teeth and his blood; only the resentment and helplessness in his heart continued to pile up.

Dealing with the Black Banner, cleansing internal threats, better to kill wrongly than let one slip through… it sounded fine in words, but in truth, who wasn’t simply gathering power for himself! Sun Qi had taken over Zezhou; from now on, Zezhou would become part of his own domain. Among the Tiger King’s court—civil officials, imperial kin, military officers—apart from the faction with some background in civil administration, laboring painstakingly to manage the people’s livelihood, who among the other two factions understood how to govern and pacify a territory?

These past years, the imperial relatives around the Tiger King had carved out territory for themselves with near-total impunity, treating everything around them as their own private property, living lives of plunder and slaughter as they pleased. Seeing something they liked, they took it; seeing a woman who caught their eye, they’d have her seized and brought back to their manor—commonplace occurrences. Some, especially cruel, had emptied out entire counties under their control until nine in ten households stood empty, and when there was no one left, would travel elsewhere to look for more, demanding tribute from officials everywhere—not the least bit unusual either.

And the military officers, holding real troops in their hands, who knew only plunder and land-grabbing and nothing of governance—that too was simply the norm. Sun Qi had taken part in the campaign against Xiaocang River in earlier years; his army had been thoroughly routed by the Black Banner, and in the chaos of fleeing he’d had one of his own ears cut off by an enemy soldier. From that point on he had been especially brutal toward Black Banner members—no small number of people had died at his hands, either actual Black Banner members or merely suspected ones, and all of them had died in terrible suffering.

In these past two years of an atmosphere so tense that anyone might be suspected as a Jurchen spy, he had instead been given greater trust for it, and had risen steadily in rank ever since. This time in Zezhou, with Sun Qi in charge, his methods were harsh and ruthless, yet in private he was no less occupied with lining his own pockets. Maintaining troops required money and grain; with troops in hand, one could squeeze out even more money and grain—this was how the army had operated for years now. Yet Lu Anmin had spent years cultivating this place, and with the rice being cut down this recklessly, without regard for consequences, Zezhou would never return to what it once was.

Right now, with a batch of people about to die, the common people might not fully register it yet. But once this batch of upper gentry and scholars were dead, the workings of the city would run into serious trouble; the vacuum of power would lead to open conflict, and then another batch would die, and by then, a Zezhou grown used to the language of the blade would be ruled by brute force, with thugs running rampant. The whole city would truly descend into chaos and collapse.

What could he possibly do about it?

At this moment, Zezhou felt to him like a prison itself; watching all this unfold, he felt utterly powerless. Still, when he saw the figure appear on the wall in the darkness, Lu Anmin found himself smiling bitterly to himself.

“Lord Prefect.”

“It’s been a few years, and you really have become quite formidable, haven’t you.”

“Even back in the capital, Shishi could find connections enough to get up on a city wall at night. Lord Lu, these past few days of running back and forth—it hasn’t been easy for you, has it. You’ve done all you can, please don’t keep—”

“Don’t keep what? Heh, I’m not doing this for you—you’re not the only ones who care about the people of this city. You… heh, I misspoke. You don’t actually care about the people of this city either. I’m the only one who does. Miss Shishi, have you come to comfort me, or is it that you want to learn something from me?”

Looking at the woman draped in a light cloak who had appeared before him in the darkness, Lu Anmin felt a stir of emotion, his words tinged with sarcasm. Shishi lowered her head slightly, a flicker of apology crossing her eyes. “I… um… I only came to thank Lord Lu…”

Having said this, she came to stand beside Lu Anmin, turning to look out toward the world beyond the city. Lu Anmin laughed. “Ha, surely you don’t think this official was about to jump off the wall, and you’ve come up here to stop me.”

Shishi lowered her head slightly and said nothing more. Lu Anmin’s expression was bitter, his emotions in disarray, but after a moment, in the quiet, he gradually calmed. He didn’t know whether this woman had come to make use of him or genuinely to stop him from jumping—perhaps it was both—yet somewhere within, he found he was willing to believe the latter.

The distant mountains and the faint light shimmered indistinctly, and the wind that blew felt like the mountains speaking from afar. At some point, Lu Anmin shook his head and sighed: “In troubled times, even a man is worth less than a dog in times of peace—I’ve lost my composure. It’s only that… a gentleman keeps his distance from the kitchen; hearing the cry, he cannot bear to watch the death. There are things one understands clearly enough, and yet the heart still aches with pity. Families destroyed—so many of them this time, and they may not have even realized it yet, and already their families will be destroyed.”

“Lord Lu, you have already done all you can.”

“Done all I can… facing down those soldiers, I have no strength at all, what is there to do…” He paused, then said calmly, “Miss Li, tell me honestly—coming here today, did you have any intention of using me? And these past days as well?”

At these words, the scene fell silent. Shishi stood quietly for a long while before finally raising her head to look at him. “…Yes.”

Lu Anmin laughed, looking out over the wall. “Does that feel good?”

“Most of the time, it doesn’t feel good at all.” Shishi answered, then after a pause, added, “At night, even in my dreams, it doesn’t feel good.”

“Then… when did you join them?” Lu Anmin looked at her, weighing his words carefully. “That person I mentioned—is he really still alive?”

Shishi was silent there for a long while, watching the mountain wind rush in and then rush away again into the distance. From somewhere far along the wall came the faint sound of voices. Finally, she spoke in a low voice: “In the fourteenth year of Jinghan, that man killed the emperor. When he decided to kill the emperor, I didn’t know beforehand—everyone in the world assumed I was involved, but that’s an exaggeration. Some of it, though, was my fault…”

Her voice was gentle, soaked in the wind: “I was working in the Fan Tower at the time, called a top courtesan, but in truth it was no more than talking with people, being looked at, that sort of trade. It sounds glamorous enough, but in truth there wasn’t so much to it… At the time I had a few friends I’d known since childhood, and to me they were different from others—I suppose, in my heart, I hoped it was true, that this really was an unusual bond.”

“Ning Liheng was one of them—the most extraordinary one, though at first I didn’t realize it. Most of my other close friends were minor clerks in the capital, or down-on-their-luck scholars, and since Li Shishi was the capital’s top courtesan and these were, in their own way, unusual friends, gathering with them occasionally naturally let me help them here and there… In my heart I harbored some self-interested motives back then—thinking of it now, that friendship wasn’t as pure as I’d like to remember. Looking back now, I was young and ignorant, and far too full of myself.”

“As for Liheng, he never needed my reputation for anything. It was only that, since I was the one who invited him, he would occasionally come along. Over time, I made a show of that connection to others, but in reality, to him, I probably wasn’t anyone particularly special.”

In the darkness, Lu Anmin listened with knitted brows, saying nothing.

“…By the time he was ready to kill the emperor, he was arranging to have certain people with connections to him taken away. He was careful and calculating, leaving nothing to chance, and he knew that once his actions became known, I would inevitably be implicated—that’s precisely why he counted me among those he needed to account for. On the day of the regicide, I too was forcibly taken from the Fan Tower, and afterward went with him to Xiaocang River in the northwest, where I stayed for a time.”

“I had long grown used to moving people with words. His reason for killing Emperor Jinghan had to do with the affair of the Right Chancellor’s household—by now, this is no longer taboo to speak of anywhere in the Central Plains. The Right Chancellor’s faction had, at the time, served the country with utter loyalty and devotion—admirable, truly—while Emperor Jinghan had acted in ways that ran contrary to all reason. I too felt indignant in my heart over it, but I always thought—surely that alone didn’t justify killing an emperor, starting a rebellion? Acting on such fury alone—what could you possibly accomplish? I argued and debated with him over it, but he wouldn’t yield an inch either.”

A complicated, wistful smile crossed Shishi’s face, then vanished as quickly as it had come.

“In truth, given his temperament, for him to do such a thing meant he had already turned every possible justification over in his mind countless times—how could someone like me, who’d spent her whole life steeped in idle pleasures, ever hope to argue him out of it? This was the great matter of his heart; he wouldn’t yield to a woman over it. I couldn’t persuade him, so I left Xiaocang River, and under his arrangement, went to Dali, and later shaved my head and took vows.”

She spoke evenly. Lu Anmin’s own emotions, too, had by now settled. “You chose to become a nun—surely that wasn’t entirely without something to do with him.”

“Perhaps.” Shishi smiled faintly. “Any woman might admire a hero—that’s only human nature. Someone like me, who grew up steeped in the Fan Tower, has met more than her share of the sort of men others call dragons and phoenixes among men. And yet, setting aside the regicide, of everything Ning Liheng ever did, that was surely the deed most deserving of the word ‘hero.’ I… felt no particular closeness to him, only that, from time to time, I thought of him as my friend, someone I could neither help nor advise. So I went instead to a temple, to chant sutras and pray for him, to atone for his sins. With that kind of thinking in my heart, it was as though… as though we really did have some connection that couldn’t quite be named.”

“So… in the end, you still chose to help him. Because he truly was a hero.”

Shishi shook her head, her eyes welling with deep bitterness and sorrow. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, her words coming like something spoken in a trance: “Later came the great war in the northwest, and the Jurchens marched south as well—the humiliation of Jingping. He fought against the Western Xia in the northwest, then against the Jurchens as well; three years of war at Xiaocang River, and I, in Dali, felt the tremors of it too… The whole realm collapsing, a hundred million people in Bianliang, and the city held by nothing more than a swindler. Who else has ever done what he did—defending several impoverished cities in the northwest against the whole world’s armies, refusing to surrender until death…”

Speaking of this, she glanced at Lu Anmin, her eyes seeming to burn with fire. Lu Anmin found himself nodding too. “That’s true. No one else could have done it.”

The three-year war at Xiaocang River had broken Great Qi’s advance—killing well over a million of their men in the attempt; even the Jurchens’ finest could not claim certain victory against that Black Banner. Later, the spies left behind by Xiaocang River made every faction across the Central Plains cautious and hemmed in, suffering for it endlessly—but whenever people spoke the names Ning Yi, Black Banner, most still, in their hearts, could not help raising a thumb in admiration, whether with a sigh or a shudder, unable to help but be impressed.

“After the great battle at Xiaocang River, when news of his death arrived, my heart could find no peace again. Sometimes I found myself thinking back on our debates at Xiaocang River. I… in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to believe he was dead, so I traveled north. In Tibet I met his wife—but as for Ning Yi himself, I never once saw him.”

She lowered her head; in the darkness her expression couldn’t be made out clearly, but one could well imagine it was bitter and complicated. Still, so much time had passed that her tone gave nothing away: “They say publicly that Liheng isn’t dead, but not many people know whether that’s true or not—I don’t know either. After I left Tibet, worried for my safety, they arranged for people to accompany and protect me—ha, in truth… it was only a show, a ruse to convince the world.”

“…I heard some of Ning Yi’s wives and concubines are quite formidable—tough and decisive.”

“Miss Tan’er…” Shishi smiled, a complicated expression. “She probably really is quite formidable…”

She paused, then after a moment said: “My heart couldn’t find peace, and I couldn’t bring myself to return to Dali and go on pretending to chant sutras, so I traveled north, and along the way, what I saw of the state of the Central Plains was even harder than before. Lord Lu, Liheng was able to hold out against the entire world with nothing but the Black Banner—even killing an emperor, even bearing infamy for it, and never wavered. I, a mere woman—what could I possibly do? You ask whether I’ve been using you, Lord Lu—along this road… I have used everyone.”

Shishi’s last words came out with visible difficulty; Lu Anmin didn’t know how to respond, but fortunately she went on speaking after a moment.

“Even in circumstances like these, there are still people of passion and warmth in this world. Along this road, I’ve asked people to release grain, asked people to do good, asked people for help—thinking it over, I myself have given up nothing at all. And yet in a world like this, trying to do good comes at a great cost. Lord Lu, what you’ve done may not have been because of me, but that cost has certainly been real for you—and along this road, it’s hardly just you I’ve made use of…”

“But what else can be done? Lord Lu, I’m not asking that the whole world become good overnight—I can’t do that either. When I pleaded with you a few days ago, it wasn’t with the thought that you personally could save Zezhou, or save those refugees marked for death. But given who you are, a little more compassion in your heart might, in passing, save a few people, a few families… These past few days, Lord Lu, you’ve gone back and forth, saying you’re powerless, but in truth, these past days, you’ve overturned dozens of cases. The dozens of people you’ve saved are, in the end, dozens of families, hundreds of people who’ve narrowly escaped disaster.”

Shishi looked at Lu Anmin, a smile crossing her face. “In this age of chaos, they may still meet with misfortune down the road. And yet all we can do is save people one by one, like this—does that not still count as goodness?”

Watching that smile, Lu Anmin found himself stunned for a moment. After a while, Shishi turned to look ahead again, no longer smiling.

“Along this road, I’ve claimed to be saving people, but in the end, I’ve only been using other people’s kindness, other people’s strength. Sometimes it turned out well, and sometimes the kind-hearted paid for it with disaster. After the flooding at Puyang, I even felt pleased with myself, thinking I’d finally managed to accomplish something. Later… someone I’d persuaded to go help others ended up with their whole family killed by the Jurchens. Lord Lu, whose sin is that, in the end—mine, or someone else’s? I never picked up a blade and killed anyone myself, yet I sent others to do it. I never went to save anyone myself, yet I stirred you into going. I even bowed my head to you as if in gratitude—what does a bow even mean, Lord Lu, when at the time all I was really thinking was… how to make use of you a little more…”

In the darkness, Shishi’s cloaked figure stood like a silhouette. Lu Anmin turned his head to look at her, and after a long while, finally began to laugh. “So that’s why, knowing I’d come up to the wall, you were afraid I might jump after all…”

Shishi began to speak, but Lu Anmin waved a hand. “Never mind—whether you’re denying it now or admitting it, it doesn’t matter anymore. What matters now is—this city, the situation here, your Black Banner behind you—will they act or not?”

“I don’t know. They only protect me, they don’t tell me anything else…” Shishi shook her head.

“I suppose that’s so.” Lu Anmin nodded. “But there are things you may know, or may not. This affair reaches far beyond just Zezhou—it’s part of something much larger, and more importantly, far more than just the Tiger King’s faction is involved in it…”

The night wind was quiet, the dim firelight along the wall flickering in the breeze, giving little illumination. Across the city, lights stretched out and flickered out, weaving together a scene of a crowd gathered in light and shadow. Lu Anmin spoke of many things atop the wall while Shishi simply listened quietly. When the night had grown deep, Lu Anmin fell silent, and only then did she turn to face him, bowing deeply—not the courtesy of a woman, but at this moment it seemed to carry some special meaning.

“Lord Lu, if you go on like this, you might…” Shishi weighed her words carefully. Lu Anmin waved a hand, cutting her off.

“Miss Shishi, don’t say such things. If I die because of this, it would trouble you somewhat, but you have no choice but to keep doing what you’re doing—that’s simply the reality of it. Actually, that you’re caught in this dilemma is exactly why I think you’re a good person—but precisely because you’re a good person, I’d rather you weren’t caught in it at all. If you really were only using others, you’d be happier for it.”

“Lord Lu…”

Lu Anmin shook his head. “I don’t know whether this is right or wrong. Sun Qi has come, and Zezhou will fall into chaos; the Black Banner comes, and Zezhou will fall into chaos too. However fine the words sound, in the end the people of Zezhou will lose their homes. But… Miss Shishi, just as I said at the start, you’re not the only good-hearted person in this world. You may only be thinking of the handful of lives you can save in Zezhou, but what I truly hope for is that Zezhou itself doesn’t fall apart… And since I hope for that, then in the end, there are things I can still do…”

Something occurred to him in the course of this speech, and it wasn’t long before the two of them left the wall together. Once alone, Lu Anmin calmed himself and thought it over, and only then realized something: ever since being slapped outside the hall, there was no way Sun Qi hadn’t set people to watch him—and yet he had just spent such a long stretch of time speaking with Miss Shishi atop the wall… Just how deep had the Black Banner’s infiltration of the Tiger King’s power structure actually gone?

…

In that same night, who could say how many people were moving about in secret, in the dark. The summer wind blew through half the night, and the next morning dawned overcast—the day set for Wang Shitong’s execution was tomorrow. Early in the morning, in front of a run-down courtyard in Ersong Alley within the city, two men sat on a doorstep by the road, eating noodles. One was a stout, middle-aged man of about forty; the other was a young man in his twenties.

Both men were locals of Zezhou. The middle-aged man had an honest, solid look about him, and sat with a somewhat steadier bearing; his name was Zhan Wu, a carpenter of some modest local reputation, who made his living from odd carpentry jobs around the neighborhood and had a decent reputation. As for the young man in his twenties, his features were rather unpleasant—sharp-mouthed and monkey-cheeked, with an air of the streets about him. His name was Fang Chengye; despite his proper-sounding name, in his youth he’d been the terror of the neighborhood, a real troublemaker, but after his parents relocated the family and were struck by mountain bandits, both of them died, and he’d returned to Zezhou a few years back.

The onetime terror of the neighborhood had grown up into much the same sort of local ruffian—alone in the world, he fought, brawled, and even collected protection money around the area, doing whatever it took to get by. But keeping to the old code of “a rabbit doesn’t eat the grass by its own den,” Fang Chengye never made himself too hated in his own neighborhood—in fact, whenever outsiders came to cause trouble locally, people would often go to him to sort it out.

He loitered about every day, and today, seeing Zhan Wu’s family eating noodles, had come over to mooch a bowl. Now he sat by the door with a large bowl, eating without a shred of dignity, while Zhan Wu squatted by the threshold, chatting idly with him now and then.

This was among the most ordinary of scenes, one of tens of thousands playing out across Zezhou that day—yet what the two of them were actually discussing was the very last thing that should ever be overheard.

“…I’ve already passed along last night’s message to the brothers carrying out the operation, to make sure nothing goes wrong. As for the contact who arrived so suddenly, don’t be impatient about it either—this time the one who’s come, the code name is ‘Black Sword’…”

“Gulp—” Fang Chengye nearly choked on his noodles. “…ugh… what… what did you…”

“It may be that person. You’re the one who’s supposed to go meet them—get yourself ready.”

The information that slipped out in this exchange left Fang Chengye badly rattled. It took him a good while to recover. Suppressing his emotions, he made his way back home, pacing around inside his shabby little room—being the sort of street tough he was, he owned next to nothing, and now, wanting to find something worthwhile, he found himself at a complete loss, scratching his head. After a long while, he finally dug a small bundle out from beneath a loose brick in the wall—inside was, of all things, a piece of cured meat, mostly fat.

Loitering about as he did, he naturally had various small-time acquaintances he associated with. Ordinarily, cured meat needed to be hung and smoked in the kitchen, dried by the wind, to keep well—but times were hard for everyone, and if he’d hung it out in the open, it likely would have vanished long ago. Fortunately, he hadn’t had it buried too long, and the meat still looked to be in decent shape.

Furtively wrapping the cured meat in a different bundle, Fang Chengye tucked it into his robe. At midday he ate something quickly and went out to meet Zhan Wu, under the pretext that someone had work for Zhan Wu to do. As the two of them walked along, Zhan Wu asked what he’d prepared that morning. Fang Chengye took out the cured meat and showed him.

“Uh…” Zhan Wu’s expression turned complicated. “This meat looks decent, plenty of fat on it—but bringing this along, isn’t that a bit… a bit strange?”

“What else do I have to bring? With that crowd going in and out of my place all the time, anything worthwhile got wrecked ages ago. This is all I’ve got left… I’d originally meant to save it and share some with you for New Year’s.” Fang Chengye’s face carried its usual roguish look, but as he finished speaking, his expression grew unexpectedly solemn. “If it really is that person coming… I honestly don’t know what I should bring either. Like you said, Uncle Zhan, it’s really just a formality. But these past two years… if Teacher isn’t around anymore… this is the least I can show respect to Teacher’s wife.”

He rarely mentioned the word “Teacher” in front of Zhan Wu, but every time he did, his manner turned extremely respectful—this was perhaps one of the very few moments he ever showed such reverence, and for a moment he became almost incoherent. Zhan Wu patted his shoulder. “As long as we get the job done properly, seeing them will already be more than enough cause for joy. Whether we bring something or not doesn’t matter.”

“That’s true—the job matters most, of course…” Fang Chengye added, still somewhat inconsistently.

The two of them continued on and eventually arrived at an unremarkable courtyard somewhere in the city. They knocked; someone came to open the door, and after an exchange of passwords, they passed through the outer courtyard and into an inner room. Pushing open the door, they found three people inside—a man and a woman were talking by the table, while further inside, a man sat reading. Seeing them enter, he stood up.

Fang Chengye froze on the spot, stunned. Zhan Wu, entering behind him, spoke as usual, but when he glanced over at Fang Chengye, he saw that the ordinarily sharp-mouthed, street-worn hoodlum now had lost every trace of that roguish air. His eyes had gone red, and his expression had turned as solemn as though he were about to go fight to the death.

“Teacher…” the young man said, and then dropped to his knees. The scholarly-looking man inside had already come over and caught him, helping him up.

“Brother Zhan, and Monkey Fang—what’s this about? You two never used to kneel for heaven or earth itself, don’t be so sentimental.”

The scholar gave Zhan Wu a greeting. Zhan Wu stood there stunned for a moment, then performed, somewhat imperfectly, a Black Banner military salute—given his particular position within Zhu Ji, he had never before had the chance to meet this legendary proprietor in person; by the time he’d risen through the ranks, he’d never actually crossed paths with Ning Yi.

The scholar returned the gesture, then looked to Fang Chengye, opened his arms, and embraced him, patting him on the back, laughing. “You’ve grown taller than before.”

“Teacher, you’re not dead…”

“I always said I wasn’t dead—only Wanyan Xiyin has been watching too closely, so I had to be cautious about showing myself. I had nothing much to do, so your Teacher Xigua and I took a trip out to the Western Xia and made a big loop back around, and since the timing worked out, we thought we’d stop and see you all. Actually, even if there were urgent matters, there was no need to worry about us.”

Fang Chengye spoke with great excitement: “Teacher, don’t worry, everything’s already been arranged. You and Teacher just have to sit back and watch. Oh, wait—Teacher, let me brief you and Teacher on the situation—this time, with the two of you here to oversee things…”

“What’s this ‘the two of you’? Have you no manners left?” Ning Yi laughed. “This time, your teacher’s wife has been involved in the planning, and she’s the one you should check in with if you need to. As for me, I’m mainly in charge of logistics and watching the show—well, logistics just means pouring everyone tea, and there’s no choice in the matter either, one cup per person. Monkey Fang, you’re too worked up right now, no need to brief me on the work—Brother Zhan, would you mind having a word with Brother Black Sword. I’ll catch up with Monkey here.”

When he said the name “Brother Black Sword,” there was a hint of teasing in his tone, which earned him a glare from the black-clad Xigua. At this point, the other man in the room stepped out with a cupped-hand salute, without so much as a word of greeting—many of the people involved in these various links of the chain had no need to know one another’s identities anyway.

…

Ever since the three-year war at Xiaocang River, it was true, as rumor had it, that a great many Black Banner members had remained across the Central Plains, operating in secret. Only over these two years, as news of Ning Yi’s death spread, every faction across the land had spared no effort in hunting down the spies among them, and for people like Zhan Wu and Fang Chengye, life had not been easy either.

Especially once word of Ning Yi’s death had spread to almost mythical proportions, feeling that the Black Banner had no future left, no small number of people had chosen to defect or had simply cut off contact and gone silent. But fortunately, the propaganda methods and organizational structure that Zhu Ji had established back in the day were already a full generation ahead of their time, and so, even now, those operating in secret across the Central Plains could still maintain reasonably effective operations—though if a few more years passed like this, everything really might fall apart in the end.

For both Zhan Wu and Fang Chengye, the appearance of these two people in Zezhou now was the most powerful boost either of them could have hoped for. As Zhan Wu, suppressing his own excitement, briefed “Black Sword” on the arrangements for this operation, the visibly overexcited Fang Chengye was pulled aside by Ning Yi to catch up on old times. In the middle of their conversation, Fang Chengye suddenly remembered and pulled out the cured meat as a gift; Ning Yi couldn’t help but laugh.

“…Speaking of which, using the code name Black Sword this time was actually deliberate—we won’t be able to use it again after this, to keep others from guessing it once word gets out.”

“I heard Teacher’s wife is the most fearsome with a blade.”

Ning Yi laughed. “That’s right. When we first came up with that code name, it was meant to work by contradiction. She said to me: since I’m best known for using a blade, the code name should use ‘sword’ instead, and since one word should be the opposite, the other ought to be straightforward. I said, then shouldn’t it be ‘Tyrant Sword’? But your teacher’s wife said, she’s ruthless and cold-blooded, terrifying to behold, so it should be Black Sword, ha ha ha ha, ho ho ho ho…”

As he told the story, he struck his own funny bone and couldn’t stop laughing. Fang Chengye, still in the grip of his own excitement and boundless respect for his teacher’s wife, failed entirely to catch the humor in it and kept a perfectly serious face throughout. Ning Yi laughed for a while before being glared at by the ruthless, cold-blooded, terrifying woman in question, then patted Fang Chengye on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go, let’s go talk outside—maybe we can even catch a show.”

The two of them stepped out into the courtyard; it was already afternoon by now. Ning Yi looked up at the less-than-bright sky and turned solemn. “This operation matters most of all. You’re paired up with Brother Zhan—he’s here, so if you have business to attend to, you don’t need to stay with me. Once this is over, there’ll be time enough.”

Fang Chengye shook his head. “Everything’s already arranged. If something changes, there’ll be someone to come find me. Mm…” He glanced at the sky too. “If our calculations are right, things at Weisheng should already be underway.”

Things at Weisheng should already be underway.

In the courtyard, the words were spoken lightly, but both men looked up toward the sky. After a moment, Ning Yi asked: “Weisheng—did that woman agree?”

“She agreed. She’s in too deep to back out now, and Wang Juyun has his eye on the position too… Not that it would have mattered if she hadn’t agreed—we have other candidates as well. By the way, according to our information, Wang Juyun is likely Wang Yin, who once served as a Minister under the Yongle dynasty.”

“Mm, I know about that.” Ning Yi nodded. “The Peacock King Sword—still quite formidable, that one.”

After a moment, Ning Yi asked: “And inside the city?”

“Inside the city, it’ll be soon too…” Fang Chengye gave a number.

Ning Yi laughed. “Since there’s still time, then, let’s go see something else.”

“Huh?”

“The Great Light Sect’s gathering isn’t far from here. It should be starting to break out into fighting too. I don’t want to miss it.”

“Teacher… a wealthy man’s son doesn’t sit at the edge of the hall…”

“Don’t worry, everything’s arranged.” He glanced again at the still-overcast sky. “Wang Shitong is about to be executed. Inside the city and out, everyone’s keyed up over it, ready to explode the moment someone blows the whistle. Among all of this, plenty of people are actually here because of us—and though we’re the lovable villains of the piece, it’s still worth seeing how hard they’ve been working.”

At Weisheng, heavy rain was falling.

Lou Shuheng lay in his cell, watching as a strange procession passed by outside the door—this group looked like some kind of honor guard, some in armor carrying blades, others holding out brightly colored formal robes, their expressions grave beyond words.

—Someone was about to be released from prison.

The thought flashed through his mind, and then he sank back down, listless.

Outside, the heavy rain grew fiercer still, water seeping in—what an endless torment this was; he had no idea when it would ever end…

Before long, that procession arrived at Lou Shuwan’s cell door.

Weisheng had already been set in motion—

At the army camp outside Zezhou, everything had turned tense and rigid, almost frozen solid. With only a day left until Wang Shitong’s execution, no one could afford to relax. Sun Qi too had returned to the camp to take command there in person; reports of unrest within the city kept coming in, concerning the Great Light Sect. Sun Qi looked them over and simply held back. “Clowns making a spectacle of themselves. Let them be.”

Ning Yi and Fang Chengye walked out of the courtyard and made their way through the busy streets and markets of Zezhou. Though tension hung in the air, people carried on with their daily lives as usual—shops stood open along the market street, peddlers called out their wares now and then, idlers gathered in the teahouses.

In the prison, You Hongzhuo looked out at the gloomy sky filtering through, and had the vague sense that something was about to happen.

The Great Light Sect’s Heroes’ Gathering was held on the square of a temple within the city. As things progressed, a group of martial artists from the rivers and lakes emerged, exposing within the city the collusion between the Great Light Sect and the Tiger King, and how the sect had deliberately framed martial artists before offering them false mercy. At the head of this group was a battle-hardened hero carrying an eight-cornered mixed-bronze staff.

The “Eight-Armed Dragon King,” Shi Jin, had over these past years earned a formidable reputation fighting against the Jurchens, and now stood among the most respected martial artists across the entire Central Plains. Following the great upheaval at Chifeng Mountain, his appearance at the gathering in Zezhou immediately caused many people’s view of the Great Light Sect to waver.

The “Buddha King,” Lin Zongwu, finally stepped forward to face him directly.

At this moment, the greatest confrontation the Central Plains had seen was about to begin.