The southwest was a land of many mountains.

In autumn, the mountains, patched in yellow and green, stretched away into the distance beneath the bright sunlight, layer upon layer; walking along the mountain paths now and then filled one with a sense of ease and freedom. Compared to the barren northwest, the southwest was vivid and richly colored—only its roads and transport, compared even to the desolate mountains of the northwest, were far less developed.

Amid the meeting of mountains and waters, occasional clusters of two or three village settlements could be seen, their primitive-looking forests hiding rugged paths beneath weeds, earth, and stone; only in the few more developed places were there postal relay stations. Year after year, month after month, the horse caravans responsible for transport trod these rugged roads, crossing mountain ranges inhabited by ethnic minorities, connecting the trade between the Central Plains and the wild southwestern lands—this was the primitive Tea Horse Road.

This was the ancestral homeland of the Southwestern Yi peoples, who had lived here for generations.

The so-called Southwestern Yi called themselves the “Ni” people; in ancient Chinese pronunciation this was rendered as “Yi,” and later, because the term had come to carry the derogatory connotation of “barbarian,” the name was changed to the Yi ethnicity as it is known in later ages. Of course, in the Wu Dynasty of this time, people living in these southwestern mountain ranges were generally still referred to as the Southwestern Yi. They were tall of stature, with high noses and deep-set eyes, bronze-colored skin, and fierce, tenacious temperaments—descendants of the ancient Di and Qiang peoples who had migrated south. Among their village settlements, a strict system of slavery was still practiced at this time, and clashes frequently broke out between them; it was not uncommon for larger settlements to annex smaller ones.

Over the two hundred years of the Wu Dynasty, trade routes had been opened in this region, with mutual trade established with the Dali Kingdom, and there had been a long-running contest over the allegiance of the Yi people in the Liangshan region. Two hundred years of mutual trade had brought some Han Chinese and members of ethnic minorities into this region, and had also established a number of small towns inhabited or co-inhabited by Han settlers; some serious criminals had also been exiled to these treacherous mountains.

By the time the Jinghan era had passed and the Jianshuo era began, several disputes large and small had broken out in this region, and during this process a Black Banner presence had quietly entered the area. In the third and fourth years of Jianshuo, the counties of Bulai, Hedeng, and Jishan in the Liangshan region had each successively declared uprisings—each begun unilaterally by the county magistrate, after which troops had gradually moved in and suppressed the resistance.

Most of these soldiers withdrawn from the northwest arrived travel-worn and in tattered gear, their bodies gaunt from thousand-mile forced marches. At first, the nearby prefectural governors had organized some troops in an attempt to suppress them, but… there had been no “after that.”

More troops had arrived one after another, and more problems had naturally followed—friction with the surrounding Ni peoples, several major battles, and the difficulty of maintaining trade routes and construction…

…

A gust of wind rose, and she woke from sleep; outside the window was the faint light of dawn, the outlines of leaves swaying gently in the breeze—it was already morning.

The crowing of roosters carried from afar.

People were already moving about in the courtyard. She sat up and put on her clothes, took a deep breath, and gathered her hazy thoughts. She recalled the dream of the night before—it had been, vaguely, of things that had happened these past few years.

Perhaps it was because the news arriving from outside these days had shaken the mountain settlement, and had stirred something in her too.

This year, the woman named Su Tan’er was thirty-four years old. Owing to the scarcity of resources here, the outside world’s standard of feminine beauty favored plumpness, but her figure was noticeably thin, and she probably could no longer be considered a beauty by that measure. In her five years at Hedeng County, the impression Su Tan’er gave people was one of resolve and sharpness. She had an oval face, and her gaze was frank and full of spirit; she habitually wore black clothing, and even in fierce wind and rain, she could be seen holding up her skirts and running along the rugged mountain paths, through the mud. In the last two years, as the war in the northwest had drawn to a close and news of Ning Yi’s death had arrived, she had become, unmistakably, a black widow—cold and resolute toward everything around her, never once altering rules once set. During this period, even the most “orthodox-minded” officials among those sent to suppress the rebels had never dared send troops into Liangshan. Both sides maintained a covert contest, an economic struggle and blockade—much like a cold war.

She had maintained this image the whole time.

She rose and dressed; outside, the voices grew louder—clearly things were already becoming busy, the older children being urged awake for their morning exercises. There were also voices calling out greetings; Juan’er, who had returned not long ago, brought in a basin of water. Su Tan’er smiled. “You don’t need to do this.”

“It’s no trouble.” Juan’er said.

Of the three personal maids from the beginning, all had been trained to handle matters at hand, and later all became capable right-hand aides. After Ning Yi took over the Secret Investigation Bureau, their involvement had grown too wide-ranging; Tan’er had hoped that Xing’er and Juan’er might also be taken by Ning Yi as concubines—a common enough gesture for a great household to win people’s loyalty, and Xing’er and Juan’er were not entirely without feeling for Ning Yi either—but Ning Yi had not agreed to it, and afterward, with so much else going on, the matter had simply been set aside.

During the three-year Great Battle of Xiaocang River, Xing’er had gradually developed feelings for a Black Banner army officer, and the two had eventually come together. Juan’er, however, had remained silent throughout. In the two years that followed, when Ning Yi went into seclusion—since Wanyan Xiyin had never given up his search for him—there had been several clashes within Liangshan between Jin spies and Black Banner counter-intelligence agents, and Tan’er and the others had found it difficult to visit Ning Yi easily. During this period, it was Juan’er who stayed by Ning Yi’s side, tending to his daily needs and handling the various details of communication. Nothing had ever been said much of it as a personal matter, but by now the two of them more or less understood each other.

The whole family had, in the beginning, simply been a merchant household of Jiangning; after marrying, they had only wanted to live a peaceful, stable life—who would have thought they would end up swept into war, and looking back now, a full ten years had passed. In the first half of these ten years, Su Tan’er had watched Ning Yi do what he did, and worried for him; in the latter half, Su Tan’er had held down Hedeng, watching, trembling with anxiety, as the three counties gradually gained their footing, developing amid storm and turmoil. Now and then, waking at midnight, she would think—if they had never rebelled, never taken on the affairs of the world, she might still be by her husband’s side, living out the best years of their lives in peace and quiet—she too was a woman, she too wanted her man, wanted to be held by him as she fell asleep at night…

But she had never once said so.

Over these years, she had also seen those who died and suffered in the war—the terror in the face of the flames of battle, the fleeing with children in tow, the endless dread… those brave souls who charged bravely at the enemy, who fell as corpses in pools of blood… and, at the very beginning when they had first arrived here, the scarcity of supplies, when she had eaten coarse fare alongside Hongti, Xigua, and the others… To look only after oneself, perhaps, one could live out a life in fearful peace—but faced with all this, all one could do was keep watching…

Autumn deepened, and the morning wind carried a slight chill as she went outside. The small courtyard was home to their family; Hongti had gone out, probably not far beyond the courtyard. Xiao Chan was in the kitchen helping prepare breakfast. Yuanbao’er was probably still sleeping in. Her daughter, five-year-old Ning Ke, was already up, eagerly going in and out of the kitchen, helping to pass firewood and fetch things, with Yun Zhu following behind her, watching to make sure she didn’t run off and fall.

Seeing Tan’er emerge from her room, little Ning Ke gave an “Ah!” and ran off to find a basin, struggling to scoop water from the water vat by the kitchen. Yun Zhu followed anxiously behind her. “What are you doing, what are you doing…”

“Grandma’s up—I’m getting water to wash her face.”

A splash of water poured into the basin; Yun Zhu crouched beside it, looking back at Tan’er with some distress. Tan’er hurried over. “Little Ke is so thoughtful, but Grandma’s already washed her face…”

“Huh? Already washed…” Standing there, holding the ladle, Ning Ke blinked at her.

“Mm, but Grandma needs a cup of warm water to brush her teeth.”

“Oh!”

The little girl nodded eagerly, and then Yun Zhu and the others scrambled after her in a panic as she went to touch the pot of boiling water nearby.

Among the family’s several children, Jin’er’s daughter was by far the most innocent and endearing, and also the most peculiar. She took a keen interest in everything, unable to sit still since she’d first begun to remember things. If she saw someone thirsty she’d want to fetch water for them; if someone was hungry, she’d want to share half her own bowl of rice; if a bird fell from its nest, she’d hop about anxiously beneath the tree; even watching a snail crawl forward, she couldn’t help wanting to lend it a hand. Jin’er worried endlessly over this, saying the girl was destined to be born a servant. Everyone teased that Jin’er herself had probably been just the same as a child, though Jin’er would usually think it over for a moment and then deny it with a look of disdain.

After this bit of commotion and washing up, they left the courtyard; light was already spilling across the sky’s edge, and the yellow ginkgo trees swayed in the morning breeze. Not far off, Sister Hongti was watching over a group of children doing their morning exercises—several dozen children, large and small, running along the watchtower path at the base of the mountain. Their own children, Ning Xi and Ning Ji among them, were there too, while the younger Ning He hopped about beside them doing simple stretches.

In this tranquil morning light, Hedeng County, nestled in the mountains, had already come awake—rows of houses scattered across the hillsides, among the trees, along the streams. Because of the soldiers’ participation, the morning exercises on one side of the mountain slope had an especially grand air to them, with occasional bursts of rousing song carried on the wind.

Of the three counties—Bulai, Hedeng, and Jishan—Hedeng was the administrative center. Following the mountain slope downward, the core organizations of the Black Banner—or rather, of Ning Yi’s faction—were gathered here: the General Staff Headquarters, responsible for overall strategic planning; the General Political Department, evolved from the Bamboo Records organization and responsible for ideological matters internally; the General Intelligence Department, responsible for external espionage, infiltration, and the transmission of various information; and, alongside these, the Commerce Department and the Engineering Department, plus the Military Department, which operated independently of Bulai. Together, these formed the six most important departments of the Black Banner at present.

Of course, the union of the three counties—Bulai, Hedeng, and Jishan—was not the whole picture of the Black Banner army’s current standing. Beyond these three counties, the Black Banner’s true base of troop deployment lay in the Dayang tribal lands, at the border between Tibet and the Dali Kingdom. This tribe had old ties with Liu Dabiao, the “Overlord Blade,” and guarded a stretch of iron mines, having maintained sporadic trade with the outside world for years. In recent years, the Dayang tribe’s population had dwindled, and it was often suppressed by other Tibetan tribes. As the Black Banner moved south, it absorbed large numbers of veteran soldiers and elite troops here, stationing ideologically-reformed crack troops in the area—on one hand to deter Dali, and on the other, there had been several clashes with the tribes of Tibet, as well as with the remnants of Guo Yaoshi’s rebel army who had pledged allegiance to the Tibetan chieftain.

The presence of the three counties—Bulai, Hedeng, and Jishan—served, on one hand, to separate out those troops who had surrendered after the Great Battle of Xiaocang River, so that they would not disrupt the Black Banner’s internal order before undergoing sufficient ideological reform; on the other hand, Jishan County, built along the river, sat at the trading hub between Dali and the Wu Dynasty. Bulai housed large numbers of troops in training, Hedeng was the political center, and Jishan was the commercial hub.

Dali was a relatively mild-mannered and loyal nation, long friendly with the Wu Dynasty, and deeply resentful of the Black Banner as regicidal rebels—they had no wish to trade with the Black Banner. But the Black Banner’s infiltration of Dali began first with certain elements of the Dali nobility, or with various fringe factions—bandit strongholds, horse thieves—and the goods used in these trades were things like iron cannons and firearms.

Merchants chase profit by any means necessary; in truth, Dayang, Bulai, Hedeng, and Jishan were all in dire want of resources, and the merchants Ning Yi had trained were utterly ruthless, willing to sell anything. At this time, the ruling power in Dali was weak—the reigning Duan clan held less real authority than the Gao clan, powerful in-laws who actually wielded power. The Black Banner sought out the weaker relatives of the Duan clan, or disreputable members of the Gao clan, and first signed various paper contracts with them. By the time trade had actually begun and the royal family discovered it and flew into a rage, the Black Banner’s envoys no longer paid the royal authority any heed.

“We only recognize the contract.”

“Either abide by the agreement, or we all die together.”

Naturally, Dali would not accept such a threat, but at the time the Black Banner too was fighting for survival on a knife’s edge. Battle-hardened elite troops, just withdrawn from the Xiaocang River front, pushed into Dali’s territory, while at the same time, an action team that had infiltrated the city of Dali launched a strike; caught off guard, they seized seven young nobles from the Duan and Gao clans, while lobbying efforts on every front were already underway.

The stakes of the business dealings were secondary; what mattered more was that the Black Banner, having just withdrawn from the north after resisting the Jurchens, could not afford to have the contract go unhonored. If the contract was not honored, the Black Banner would perish—so then, let all perish together.

This agreement was, in the end, hard-won: the Black Banner released the hostages unharmed and withdrew its troops, paid compensation for every Dali casualty, offered its apologies, and in turn did not pursue accountability for its own losses. In this way, it won Dali’s tacit tolerance of the border trade at Jishan, and also secured tacit acceptance of the rule that only the contract mattered.

With this first opening made, though things remained difficult going forward, there was now at least a path forward. Dali, though it had no wish to provoke this band of madmen from the north, could still restrict its own people, forbidding them in principle from continuing to trade with the Black Banner—but in a country where powerful in-laws could dominate the court, how much real control could it possibly exert over the localities?

Over two hundred years, though Dali and the Wu Dynasty had always maintained border trade, the initiative in this trade had always remained firmly in the hands of the Wu Dynasty—even the Dali Kingdom’s repeated petitions to the Wu court requesting the title of “King of Dali” had been rejected time and again. Under such circumstances, with far more demand than supply, the border trade could not possibly satisfy everyone’s interests—yet who did not want a better life? Under the Black Banner’s persuasion, many were, in fact, tempted.

Even as dealings with Dali continued, infiltration into the Wu Dynasty’s own territory proceeded ceaselessly as well. The people of Wu might rather starve than do business with the Black Banner—but faced with the formidable enemy of the Jurchens, who could afford not to think ahead?

The fall of the Central Plains had brought certain benefits, amid the great crisis, to some portion of the army—these troops varied greatly in quality, such that the firearms produced by the Crown Prince’s workshops could only be supplied first to core forces such as the Beiwo Army and Han Shizhong’s direct command. Under these circumstances, the firearms of the Black Banner army, which had fought the Jurchens for three years at Xiaocang River, were the most tempting thing imaginable to the rest.

And so, under the principle of blockading the Black Banner, large numbers of smuggling caravans, quietly tolerated, began to appear—these caravans would bring the specified goods to Jishan as agreed, and in exchange carry back several iron cannons along with ammunition, trekking the long road back to wherever their army was stationed. In principle, the army only purchased the iron cannons and asked no questions about their origin—but in practice, how could they not be secretly protecting their own interests?

This two-way trade had been extremely difficult in its early stages, and many Black Banner elites had lost their lives in the process—just as in the operations in Dali. The Black Banner had no way to avenge them; even Su Tan’er herself could only go before the spirits of the dead and offer a bow of respect. Over the course of nearly five years, Jishan had gradually built up a reputation that “the contract is above all else,” and only in the past year or two had it truly gained solid footing, extending its influence outward to become, alongside Dayang under Qin Shaoqian and Lanhuandong under Chen Fan, a core node in mutual support with them.

Over these five years, Su Tan’er, holding down Hedeng, had faced problems well beyond those of trade routes alone. Though Ning Yi had remotely resolved many issues at the macro level, the fine-grained management still took a great toll on any one person. Managing relationships among people, the operation of new departments, dealings with the local population, negotiations with the Ni people, all manner of construction planning—over these five years, Tan’er and many of those around her had scarcely had a moment’s rest, and she herself had gone more than three years now without seeing her own husband.

The news of the upheaval within Tian Hu’s forces up north had arrived a few days ago, stirring up a great storm across Bulai, Hedeng, and Jishan. Since Ning Yi’s “presumed” death, the Black Banner had lain low for two years; though ideological work within the army had continued the whole time, there were no small number of people harboring private doubts, or nursing some unspoken frustration. This time, the Black Banner’s move had made short work of Tian Hu, and everyone felt a shared sense of glory in it—and some began to understand that the question of whether Master Ning’s death was real or not might, perhaps, soon be settled…

Tan’er, of course, knew more than the others.

She stood on the mountainside looking down, a faint smile at the corners of her mouth—there below was a small city full of vitality, the leaves of all its trees turning golden and fluttering, birds calling in the sky above.

When they had first met, she had been eighteen, thinking herself already mature, her heart already old, treating him with polite formality—never imagining that so much would happen afterward.

In these five exhausting years at Hedeng, she had never once complained—only that, from time to time, a faint sigh would rise in her heart at the thought of him.

You’re coming back, but I’m not pretty anymore.

I’ve wasted the best of our years…