Spring passed and autumn came, flowers withered and bloomed again; the young men of this generation had grown old amid the rivers and lakes of the martial world. In the more than ten turbulent years since the Jinghan era, precious few across the Central Plains had lived an easy life.

Yue Fei, now in his early thirties, had gradually risen to the position of commander of an entire army; to outsiders, with the Crown Prince’s patronage above him and the loyalty and morale of his troops below him, he seemed the very model of a hero risen amid chaos and turmoil. But in truth, the road that had brought him here had been fraught with more hardship than most could ever know—hardship not fit to be spoken of to outsiders.

The Jurchens’ first great sweep south, his master Zhou Tong dying in his assassination attempt on Nian Han, the great defense of Bianliang… all of these events had overturned the very foundations of the Wu dynasty’s realm, and even now, recalling them, they felt as vivid and immediate as though they had happened only yesterday—and yet, in truth, a full ten years had already passed since then. The young officer who had once taken part in the battle of Xiacun had later found himself swept up in the great case of the regicide; later still, saved and restored to favor by the Crown Prince, he had trained his troops with painstaking, trembling caution, navigating the endless scheming and rivalry among various officials, and, in order to keep his army properly funded, had also cooperated with great clans and families across the land, holding down territory for some, championing the cause of others—through all these fits and starts, the Beiwei Army had, bit by bit, built up its morale and honed its fighting edge.

Sometimes, waking in the middle of the night, he wondered whether he himself was, by now, no longer that same upright, uncompromising young officer he had once been.

Of course, that righteous, unbending spirit felt, more than anything, like a trace his master had left behind in this world…

Many people probably didn’t realize just how small the martial world truly was. His master had once been the foremost instructor of the Imperial Boxing Hall, his name resounding throughout the martial world—but in truth, very few people in the wider world had ever actually known his name. To the court, the foremost instructor of the Imperial Boxing Hall was, after all, nothing more than a common fighting man; the name Zhou Tong might ring like thunder within the martial world, but out in the wider world, it had, in truth, barely made a ripple at all.

What had truly made that name known throughout the world was the storytellers of Zhu Ji.

Over these years, a great many martial-world fighters had come, one after another, to join the Beiwei Army, seeking to enlist and fight the enemy, drawn precisely by his master’s reputation as the greatest fighter under heaven. Many assumed, too, that he himself, having inherited his master’s final teachings, had also inherited something of his master’s temperament—and, in truth, that assumption wasn’t entirely wrong. But what outsiders didn’t know was that the master who had once taught him martial arts had never actually spent much time teaching him principles of righteousness and integrity at all; it was his mother’s influence, growing up, that had shaped his relatively upright and forthright nature, and it was because his master had recognized this quality in him that he had taken him on as a disciple in the first place—though perhaps, by that point in his life, his master’s own thinking had already shifted somewhat, for in teaching him martial arts, what he had spoken of most, in fact, were more complex, more flexible principles.

The world did not truly understand his master. Nor did it truly understand him.

To walk a path of unwavering rectitude, doing nothing but pure good, never dealing with corrupt colleagues, never scheming after wealth, never needing to calculate other men’s hearts, to plot and maneuver, to form factions and tear down rivals—and, through all that, to somehow still hold together a reputation as an incorruptible general, to still build an army capable of real combat… that, too, was nothing more than a fantasy dreamed up by people who had lived far too comfortable a life.

Over these years, even with a full decade now behind him, if he were to speak honestly, that battle at Xiacun, and everything he had experienced in and around Bianliang, likely remained the strangest, most singular memory in his heart. This man, Mister Ning—he was the one Yue Fei found hardest to fully grasp, hardest to truly understand. In Yue Fei’s eyes, he was, at once, the most cunning man alive, the most ruthless, and yet, at the very same time, the most upright, the most passionately fervent. Back in those days, whenever he had a hand in strategizing behind the scenes, everything below him seemed to fall neatly into place; no one understood the human heart better than he did, no one understood the countless unspoken rules of the world better than he did—and yet it was precisely a man like that who had, in the end, overturned the entire table with the most violent, uncompromising gesture imaginable.

In Yue Fei’s later imaginings, had he not made that singular, extraordinary decision back then, this Mister Ning ought, by rights, to have gone on assisting the Right Chancellor, engaging in fierce, endless battles of wit and strategy against the countless others at court.

Had things gone that way, perhaps the Wu dynasty would never have fallen to the state it found itself in today.

Had things gone that way, perhaps the Crown Prince, and so many others including himself, would never have found the task of holding this whole situation together quite so grueling and difficult.

Was he, even now, truly dead… or was he not…

The night wind howled past. He stood there, eyes closed, waiting quietly. After a long while, a voice that had, until now, existed only in memory, from years long past, rang out.

“Yue… Fei. A general now, how impressive. With the fighting at Xiangyang, you’ve come all the way out here. You’ve got quite some nerve.”

Yue Fei opened his eyes.

…

From the dark woods ahead came several figures—some Yue Fei recognized, others he did not. The woman walking beside the man carried herself with a composed, formidable bearing; this, surely, was the legendary head of the Tyrant Blade Manor. When her gaze turned toward him, Yue Fei glanced back at her as well, but quickly turned his attention back to the man who had spoken. Dressed in simple blue scholar’s robes, this was Ning Yi—long rumored to be dead, though Yue Fei had, in his own heart, always harbored other suspicions. Now, having confirmed it with his own eyes, he felt a great weight lift from his chest—though whether he ought to feel joy or sorrow at the fact, he couldn’t quite say.

“The situation at Xiangyang is being held by Zhang Xian, Wang Gui, and the others; Dengzhou’s forces have already fallen into disarray and pose no serious threat. And so, I came here first to confirm a matter of far greater importance.”

“Far greater importance? You already carry a stain on your record as it is—it’s no small feat that Jun Wu and Zhou Pei have managed to protect you at all. If word gets out that you came to see me, things could get very difficult for all of you.” Ten years had passed since they’d last seen one another; Ning Yi, dressed in his simple blue robes, regarded him now with a cold, distant gaze, then, after a moment, smiled faintly. “Or is it that you’ve finally seen enough of the Wu dynasty’s corruption, and had a change of heart—come to defect, to join the Huaxia Army?”

“You jest, Mister Ning. Whatever troubles the Wu dynasty may carry, it remains the rightful order of this realm. I may lack talent, but I would never dare commit such an act of treason.”

Ning Yi smiled. “Then what would you have to say to a traitor like me?”

Yue Fei fell silent for a moment, glancing around at the others present, then finally raised a hand. “Mister Ning, might I trouble you for a private word.”

Ning Yi frowned, looking at Yue Fei. Yue Fei pressed the long spear in his hand firmly into the muddy ground, then spoke with solemn gravity: “I understand this is asking a great deal of you—but what I have to say today truly ought not to be heard by too many ears. If you have doubts about my intentions, Mister Ning, you’re welcome to have my hands and feet bound, or take whatever precautions you see fit. I only ask for a few private words, a moment of your time.”

Once Yue Fei finished speaking, a brief silence fell over the group. Xigua stepped forward. “I’ll come along. No one else needs to.”

Ning Yi glanced at her, then looked back at Yue Fei. “That’ll do.”

Yue Fei thought it over for a moment, then nodded.

As for what had brought Yue Fei here tonight, everyone present, Ning Yi included, still had some doubts about it, and naturally there was some concern that he might follow in his master’s footsteps and attempt some reckless, life-or-death assassination against Ning Yi. But Ning Yi’s own martial skill was already formidable in its own right, and with Xigua accompanying him now, to still be afraid of an unarmed Yue Fei would hardly make sense. With both sides in agreement, Ning Yi raised a hand, signaling the others to hold their position; Xigua walked off to one side, and Ning Yi followed after Yue Fei as well. They walked quite some distance through the woods this way, until they had nearly reached a nearby stream, where Ning Yi finally spoke.

“Whatever it is, you might as well say it now.”

With Xigua standing between the two men, Yue Fei turned his head slightly and cupped his hands in a respectful gesture. “During the time I once served under Mister Ning, I benefited a great deal. Later, when you took the action you did, I could not agree with it—but hearing of your deeds in the northwest afterward, as a son of the Han people, I still felt a deep admiration in my heart. Please accept this bow from me.”

Yue Fei had always carried himself with this kind of grave seriousness; now, in his thirties, he had already accumulated a certain natural authority about him, and yet, even as he bowed, there remained something unmistakably sincere in the gesture. Ning Yi smiled. “Following the usual script, I suppose, after this bow you’ll want to have a proper fight with me?”

Ning Yi’s tone remained even and calm. Yue Fei smiled as well. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Good, at least you know your limits. You wouldn’t be a match for me.”

“What you did, Mister Ning, in killing the emperor—that was a grave act of treason, and Yue Fei can never condone it.” Yue Fei’s expression turned solemn. “But beyond that, it hasn’t reached the point where I would wish to take your life, or feel that we cannot coexist under the same heaven. This may be difficult for others to understand, but in my own heart, I hold you, Mister Ning, as a man truly worthy of respect. Only, our paths differ—and should the day ever come when we truly must face each other on the battlefield, know that I will show no mercy whatsoever.”

“Understandable enough.” Ning Yi nodded. “So then, what exactly brought you all the way out here to find me? Just to confirm I’m not dead? That hardly seems important enough to warrant all this.”

“His Highness the Crown Prince thinks of you often, Mister Ning.” Yue Fei said.

Ning Yi paused for a moment. “…And what of it?”

“I’ve often thought—had you not acted so rashly back then, after the turmoil of Jingping, when the current emperor took the throne, his only heir would have been His Highness the Crown Prince as he stands today. Mister Ning, with you at his side to guide him, the Wu dynasty, having learned from its bitter experience, might well have undertaken real reform, and a genuine restoration might have been within reach. That would have been a blessing for all the people under heaven.”

Yue Fei’s words were direct, without the slightest trace of evasion. Ning Yi looked up at him. “And then?”

“Is there still, perhaps, some possibility—that once His Highness the Crown Prince takes the throne, you might return, Mister Ning, and the Black Banner might return as well?”

Ning Yi’s gaze sharpened like a bolt of lightning as he looked at Yue Fei; Yue Fei met his gaze evenly in return. Both men now held positions of considerable standing, and though some things might sound like pure fantasy spoken aloud, having chosen to voice them now at all, these were clearly not idle, impulsive words, but the product of careful, deliberate thought.

Ning Yi laughed after a moment. “After killing the emperor? You want me to end up with an unnatural death somewhere down the line, is that it?”

Yue Fei shook his head. “Once His Highness the Crown Prince ascends the throne as sovereign, a great many things could be given proper justification. It would certainly be difficult, but not entirely impossible. The Jurchens are powerful, yes, but extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures—so long as peace could be brought to this realm, whether you, Mister Ning, later became a powerful minister, or a state preceptor, that would be a small matter indeed…”

“And once the realm was settled, and old scores came due, my whole family would be wiped out regardless, wouldn’t they? What would even be the point of living, then?”

“The dynasty’s name could be changed.”

The stream flowed on, the night wind howled past; the two men’s voices, there by the bank, remained low the entire time, and yet, to anyone else’s ears, the words being spoken would have been enough to strike genuine terror into the heart. That last line, in particular, was so audacious, so utterly beyond the bounds of convention, that even Ning Yi found himself somewhat taken aback by it. It wasn’t the words themselves that surprised him so much as the fact that they had come from this particular man, Yue Fei, standing before him now. And yet the man’s gaze remained calm and steady, showing not the slightest confusion—clearly, he was entirely serious about all of this.

“…Have things truly deteriorated to this degree, for all of you?”

“A true man serves his country with utmost loyalty—in the end, what more is there than to die wrapped in a horse’s hide on some distant battlefield?” Yue Fei’s gaze turned solemn. “And yet, what use is it to dwell endlessly on death alone? The Jurchens are powerful; I myself have no fear of dying, but I do fear the possibility that, should the war go badly, the lands south of the Yangtze might one day suffer the same devastation the Central Plains have already endured. You, Mister Ning, may have… done what you did, but even now, there remains a single thread of hope. How you choose to decide, and how you might go about handling it afterward—these are things I cannot pretend to fully understand. But I thought, before, that so long as you were still alive, and I was able to bring these words to you today, I would have done everything within my power.”

Yue Fei bowed deeply, hands clasped. “Just as I’ve said, Mister Ning—this is an extraordinarily difficult thing to ask. But who can say whether this very conversation, in time to come, might yet plant the seed of some turning point for this realm.”

The sky had been overcast for a long while now, and it seemed rain might finally be coming. This exchange, here beside the woods, near the stream, would remain known to no one beyond these three people. The reason behind Yue Fei’s headlong journey here was, by now, entirely clear—at a moment as critical and urgent as the great battle now unfolding at Xiangyang, he had risked the very real danger of future impeachment and implication to make this journey, and it had nothing to do with any small personal gain or connection; even the fact that his own children had been rescued by Ning Yi’s hand played no part in his thinking now at all.

In this moment, he had come purely for the sake of some distant, uncertain hope—to leave behind that one-in-ten-thousand possibility, however slim it might be.

The future still stretched on ahead, long and uncertain; what possibilities this conversation might yet give rise to down the road, no one could say for now. The two of them spoke a while longer after this, and eventually Yue Fei turned to the matter of Yinping and Yue Yun, and then spoke of the current situations of Jun Wu, Zhou Pei, Li Pin, Wenren Buer, and others. Concerned for the battle still unfolding at Xiangyang, Yue Fei then took his leave, riding through the night straight back toward the front lines.

After Yue Fei had gone, Xigua walked back alongside Ning Yi. As a firm believer in rebellion herself, she would, of course, never entertain any compromise whatsoever with the Wu dynasty—she simply hadn’t said anything just now. By the time they had walked a while, she finally spoke up, asking him about it, and Ning Yi only shook his head.

“Old ties can sometimes still be put to use down the road. He meant well, coming all this way, seeing that one-in-ten-thousand possibility and chasing after it, leaving Xiangyang behind to do it—that’s no small thing. Only, there was one thing he said that I found rather interesting.” Ning Yi shook his head.

Xigua frowned. “What was that?”

“Later, when he brought up Jun Wu, he said, ‘His Highness possesses truly exceptional, heaven-given talent’… but there’s really no such thing as heaven-given talent in his case. That boy is, admittedly, a fairly clever one among the imperial family—he knows how to think things through, and he’s witnessed a good many tragedies that ordinary people never see, which has helped him grow. But compared to truly exceptional talent, he still falls far short. Real, heaven-given talent—Yue Fei has it. You have it. Chen Fan has it. We’re surrounded by people like that. In many respects, Jun Wu’s own gifts simply can’t compare.”

“Still, for someone born into the imperial family, he’s fairly impressive, all things considered.” Xigua thought about it for a moment.

“That’s true enough. We tend to think that just because someone is born to become emperor, they’re bound to be exceptional—but in truth, most emperors turn out rather mediocre. Even with the most diligent effort, at best they manage to be a bit above average—so what happens then, down the road?” Ning Yi shook his head. “Letting someone with truly exceptional talent take the throne—that’s the real way forward.”

As he spoke, he passed through the trees; the wind moaned above the camp, and before long, rain finally began to fall. At around this same time, the Beiwei Army at Xiangyang and the forces at Dengzhou were, perhaps, already locked in a standoff—or perhaps the fighting had already begun.

At around this same time, Yue Fei rode his horse at a full gallop, racing across the rain-swept fields.

Not long after, the young prince who had touched off this entire enormous upheaval, dragged along in that jolting, broken-down carriage, continued on alongside Ning Yi’s group on the road back toward the southwest.

The second great battle of Xiangyang began not long after; the gates of hell had been thrown wide open. Half a month later, the Beiwei Army, beneath the walls of Xiangyang, once again shattered the combined forces of the puppet Qi and the Jin state, annihilating tens of thousands of the enemy, and in doing so, cemented the Beiwei Army’s formidable reputation for good.

At the same time, word that the Black Banner had reappeared had, by now, spread across the length and breadth of the land; across this vast, restless realm, its heroes were, once again, about to enter into a new season of upheaval and ambition.

In the quiet southwest, Ning Yi drew ever closer to home.