Sunlight spilled down through the clouds; the leaves of the evergreen broadleaf forest still whispered in the wind, with no trace yet of winter in the mountain air. On the sports field not far off, a group of young people chased after a gray soccer ball, competing fiercely.
Ning Xi sat on a fallen log on the hillside, watching the scene from a distance.
Martial culture flourished throughout the Huaxia Army; since the days of the Bamboo Records, one of the great recreational pastimes among its members had been tournaments to determine the top fighter, and once the Wurui Camp had been absorbed and the army formally reorganized into the Huaxia Army, internal martial arts competitions and football tournaments alike had grown even more elaborate. Bamboo Records’ propaganda department had woven in Ning Yi’s own particular sense of mischief—on one hand, producing tales of martial heroism, and on the other, running internal and external rankings of “Top Ten” and “Top Hundred” fighters. To compete for these rankings and the associated rewards, the army, from top to bottom, buzzed with enthusiasm over such things.
Among boys of thirteen or fourteen, Ning Xi counted as something of an athletic standout—but watching the match unfold in the distance now, his mind was elsewhere.
For one thing, most of his usual teammates were back in Hedeng; here in Jishan, though he knew a few people, he wasn’t especially close with them. For another, he had a matter weighing on his mind at present, leaving him with little interest in anything else.
The assassination attempt two days before had shaken the boy deeply. Chuyi, who had been injured in the attack, was still here recovering. His father had immediately plunged back into a state of constant activity—holding meetings, tightening Jishan’s defenses, while also cautioning the outside traders who had come to do business here at this time.
Since his father’s return to Hedeng, though he had not yet formally appeared before everyone, his movements were no longer being carefully concealed as before—perhaps signaling that the Black Banner’s stance toward renewed confrontation with the Jurchens had already become clear. The price increase on iron cannons in Jishan had briefly stirred up unrest, but after the assassination attempt, the tightened atmosphere and heightened vigilance had suppressed some of that discontent.
Born into an age of chaos, the memory of the Jurchens’ scorched-earth campaigns across the south was still only a few years old. Though the Black Banner had endured two years of dormancy and decline, and had, at first, even seemed to bow its head in humility when it first took root in Liangshan, by now, once one looked past the veneer of cordiality that came with doing business, people quickly came to realize that this was a force that had once faced the Jurchens head-on in the northwest and held its own—no laughing matter at all.
But for Ning Xi, none of this weighed as heavily on his mind as it might have. Sensitive by nature, he found himself troubled, uncertain how to face the injured girl. Over these past few days, however much he turned it over in his mind, he had come to no real resolution—at one point thinking he was bound to face more assassination attempts in the future and it would be best not to associate with her at all, at another point feeling this wouldn’t actually solve anything; and, thinking it through further, he even began to worry for his siblings back home. He sat on that log for a long while; in the distance, someone was approaching—leading the group was his father, who these past two days had been too busy to spend much time with him but, from the look of things now, had finally reached a lull in his work.
He stood up and bowed respectfully in greeting. Ning Yi, walking up, waved a hand and sat down beside him on the log, clapping him on the shoulder. The last time Ning Xi had parted from his father, he had been only nine years old, and in his memory his father’s figure had loomed larger than life; meeting again now, he realized that among rugged men of the forest, his father wasn’t, in fact, particularly tall or imposing—but there was a steadiness to him, an unhurried ease, a mountain-like composure. This filled Ning Xi with a certain envy; if he himself could one day be like that, he thought, perhaps he would no longer fear something as trivial as an assassin.
“Actually, it’s a good thing, in a way.” After sitting for a while, Ning Yi spoke with a smile.
“Huh?” Little Ning Xi looked at him, puzzled.
“These past few years, while I was away, your mother, Hongti and Xigua, your Uncle Du—they all worked very hard to protect you. We had already prepared ourselves for the possibility that you… even your younger brothers and sisters, might meet with misfortune…”
His father’s calm words drifted on the wind; Ning Xi had only been listening in confusion at first, but when Ning Yi reached the words “your younger brothers and sisters,” his lowered head suddenly tensed, his fists clenching. Ning Yi gazed off into the distance, his words continuing.
“But as it turned out, our side managed to stay disciplined enough—there were a few close calls, but none of them ever reached you all before being dealt with. That’s a good thing. But maybe it’s not entirely good either, because this is something you’ll have to experience for yourself eventually, one way or another.”
Having said this, he fell silent. Ning Xi was quiet for a moment too, then raised his head to look ahead. “Father, I’m not afraid.”
Ning Yi smiled. After a pause, he spoke again, casually.
“You’ll take over from me one day all the same.” Ning Yi looked at the thirteen-year-old beside him and ruffled his hair. Ning Xi looked back at his father, and from his expression, seemed to have no objection to the idea at all. “If, one day, you want to pick up a blade and go to the battlefield, your mother and I will let you go.”
Hearing this, Ning Xi’s eyes lit up with excitement. In the atmosphere of the Huaxia Army, a thirteen-year-old boy had already come to harbor a heroic ambition to charge into battle against the enemy; hearing his father say such a thing now, he felt, for a moment, as though the whole world had opened up before him.
Ning Yi studied the boy’s expression for a moment, then turned his head. “But, both life and death carry meaning. My son may not, one day, become the leader of the Huaxia Army—but I hope he’ll grow into a man who can take responsibility for the people around him. Even if you can’t look after the whole Huaxia Army, looking after your family, looking after your mother, looking after your younger brothers and sisters—that’s a responsibility you cannot shirk.”
Ning Xi sat there with his fists clenched, saying nothing, his head lowered slightly.
“At heart, we’re all fundamentally the same—but the circumstances we face differ. A strong, wise person has to learn to see reality clearly, accept it, and then work to change it. You’re… thirteen now, starting to have your own thoughts and opinions—you feel it’s not quite right that the people around you treat you differently from others…”
“I don’t feel that way.” the boy spoke up in protest. “Actually… I really respect Uncle Du and the others…”
Ning Yi pursed his lips. “Mm, well then… let me put it this way. The reality is, you’re the son of Ning Yi and Su Tan’er. If someone were to capture you, to kill you, your family would naturally grieve, and might, as a result, make the wrong decisions—this, in itself, is simply reality…”
“I won’t let them catch me.”
“And what if they catch your younger brother or sister instead? Say I were the villain, and I captured… Little Ke. She’s always busy helping everyone, kind to everybody. Say I captured her and threatened to make you hand over Huaxia Army intelligence in exchange—what would you do? Would you want Little Ke to simply die for it?” Ning Yi gripped his shoulder. “Our enemies are capable of anything.”
“This isn’t fair to you, it isn’t fair to Little Ke, it isn’t fair to any of the other children either—but this is the reality we have to face. If you weren’t Ning Yi’s child, Ning Yi would still have had children regardless—he’d still be young, he’d still have to face this. Someone has to face it, eventually. As it’s said, when Heaven is about to place a great burden on a person, it first tests his resolve, exhausts his sinews and bones, starves his body, plunges him into poverty and confusion, throws his affairs into disorder… You have to keep growing stronger, more capable, wiser—until, one day, you become as formidable as your Uncle Du and the others, even more formidable than them—and then you’ll be able to protect the people around you. You’ll also be able to… properly protect your younger brothers and sisters.”
Ning Xi sat there in silence.
“There are things we can’t quite make sense of right away—we can take our time thinking them through. Let’s set your siblings aside for now—Ning Xi, haven’t you been neglecting a friend of yours lately?”
“Huh?” Ning Xi looked up.
“Chuyi’s been injured for two days now. You haven’t gone to see her, have you?”
“I… I did go see her…”
“Mm, funny, I heard you didn’t…”
Ning Xi lowered his head, not wanting to admit that he’d only pretended to pass by from a distance and peeked in briefly.
“I remember when you two were little, you got along so well. Back at Xiaocang River, when you two would go out catching rabbits together—remember that time you split your head open, how frantic Chuyi got? After that, she was always your good friend too. I’ve been away for a few years—have things gone sour between you two? You’ve made more friends since then, and it’s not the same with her anymore?”
“It’s not that, it’s just, Chuyi, she’s… different, after all…”
“How’s she different? Because she’s a girl? Are you afraid other people will laugh at her, or laugh at you?”
Ning Xi’s face flushed slightly. Ning Yi patted the boy’s shoulder, his gaze turning serious. “Girls are no less capable than boys. She’s no less capable than any of your friends either. I’ve told you this before—people are equal. Your Aunt Hongti, your Aunt Xigua—how many men could accomplish what they’ve accomplished? Jishan’s textile mills employ a great many women workers, and there will be even more in the future. As long as they can carry their own responsibilities, they’re no different from you or me. You’re thirteen now—if you feel awkward about it, if you don’t want your friend following you around anymore, have you thought about how Chuyi might feel awkward and embarrassed too? That she even has to put up with your coldness toward her? She never did anything to hurt you—but haven’t you hurt your friend instead?”
“If you… no longer want her following you around, of course that’s an option too. But you two grew up together, you trained in martial arts together under your Aunt Hongti—if the two of you can face an enemy together, you’ll be far more formidable than teaming up with anyone else. And besides, have some grace about it—she’s your friend, what is there to feel awkward about? You’re a boy, and one day you’ll be a man who stands tall between heaven and earth—of course you ought to be more mature than she is. You’re my son and your mother’s son, so naturally you should be more mature, more capable than the other children! If you’re worried about gossip, well, what’s wrong with taking responsibility and marrying her one day…”
Ning Xi’s face turned bright red all at once. Ning Yi was still going on: “Your mother and I could arrange a childhood betrothal for you two right now—er, all right, let’s not talk about that for now.”
Father and son sat there for a while longer; in the distance, someone was approaching, and one of Ning Yi’s attendants came to remind him of his next appointment. Ning Yi patted the boy’s shoulder and stood up. “A real man faces things with a broad, generous spirit. Just because others can’t solve a problem doesn’t mean you can’t. Some things aren’t nearly as hard as they seem, once you actually try.”
With that, he walked off with his attendant. As Fang Shuchang came up alongside him, Ning Yi sighed to him. “Ah, worrying myself sick over the kids…” Fang Shuchang was unimpressed. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit of an old woman about it?” In this age, a father’s authority—or, more often, his fist—was paramount; sitting down to have a heart-to-heart talk with a child was, frankly, a strange notion. “My boys, if they don’t listen, I beat them. They’re all doing just fine now, no worries at all.” Several people nearby nodded quietly in agreement.
Ning Yi pursed his lips. “Easy for you to say. These kids these days, all hot-blooded and impulsive—one day they charge headlong into battle without thinking, and it’ll scare the hell out of you, you old bastard.”
“They’ll have to go through it sooner or later anyway.”
“Sure, but they need to be properly trained first before they go. Charge in headfirst without thinking, and it’ll be my wife crying her eyes out over me…”
“Your wife’s plenty broad-minded… though didn’t you just say, if he wants to go, you’d let him?”
“Of course I’ve got to steady the ranks first—if he’s ever going up, it won’t be before he’s twenty at the earliest…”
“A real cunning old devil, aren’t you—even scheming against your own son with a whole playbook.”
“That’s nothing—I’m ruthless too, when it comes down to it… People die like a lamp going out—it’s the living who suffer for it. I’d always rather give the younger generation a better chance at survival…”
The group walked on, chatting and laughing; but as the conversation went on, it gradually turned more serious. In truth, among the high-ranking figures who had come this far, who among them hadn’t already lost family or friends to the chaos of war? Ning Yi was ruthless and coldly calculating at heart, and the men who carried out his plans and schemes around him were, for the most part, just as hardened—simply because they understood full well the cost of any carelessness.
The senior figures gradually moved off into the distance. After seeing his father off, Ning Xi sat on the log, mulling all this over; in the distance, the group of boys were still kicking their ball around, shouting loudly, until, after a while, several of them collided and a scuffle broke out. They all appeared to be from military families, and the fight had real form to it; after a while, the crowd noisily pulled them apart.
The thirteen-year-old boy climbed down off the log, stretched out both arms, let out a long breath, thought things over a moment longer, and then set off on foot toward the town. Behind him, two figures fell into step, following at a leisurely distance.
The sun slanted down from the sky; the boy’s steps were not entirely steady as he made his way along the streets of the town. He hesitated a moment, then finally headed for the marketplace, where he bought a small box of sesame candy and carried it with him. Walking briskly the rest of the way to the small house where Chuyi was recovering, he encountered someone coming the other way, greeting him with a warm smile—it was Su Wenxing, his uncle, who managed affairs in this area.
“Come to see Chuyi?”
Ning Xi greeted Su Wenxing respectfully, but felt too embarrassed to answer the question directly. Uncle and nephew walked along together for a while, chatting, and by the time midday arrived, Ning Xi took his leave of Su Wenxing and went to eat lunch at a nearby dining hall—this little detour had left him feeling somewhat inclined to turn back and give up on the whole visit.
It was only after lunch that Ning Xi finally made his way to the small courtyard where Min Chuyi was recovering. The courtyard was quite peaceful; through the slightly open window, he could see the girl who had grown up alongside him lying on the bed, seemingly asleep. On the wooden cabinet by the bed sat a teapot, a cup, half an orange, and an illustrated storybook—Min Chuyi wasn’t especially strong at reading, and much preferred having stories told to her, or looking at picture books, which she still found delightfully childish.
Ning Xi walked in and sat down at the bedside, setting down the sesame candy. On the bed, the girl’s eyelashes fluttered, and she opened her eyes, waking up; seeing it was Ning Xi, she sat up at once. The two of them hadn’t had a proper conversation in some time, and the girl grew visibly flustered; Ning Xi, too, felt a little awkward, stammering as he spoke, scratching his head now and then—but the two of them managed, with some difficulty, to talk things through.
By the time they traveled back together to Hedeng, the relationship between the two of them had returned to its old, easy warmth. Ning Xi, too, seemed noticeably more open and cheerful than before, and before long, the two of them had made great progress in their martial arts coordination together.
Life in Hedeng could hardly be called leisurely. Since his return, a great deal of work had come pressing in on Ning Yi. During his two years away, the Huaxia Army had undertaken a project of “de-Ning-Yi-ification,” aimed primarily at making the overall organizational structure more rational and self-sustaining; now that he was back, this did not mean he could simply set the whole enterprise aside once more—much of the deeper restructuring and integration still required his personal involvement. Even so, every day now, he was, at least, able to see his wife and children—sometimes eating together, sometimes sitting in the sunlight watching the children play and grow…
Over all these years that had passed, his wives too had each undergone their own changes. Tan’er had grown more mature; sometimes the two of them would work together, chatting idly, poring over documents side by side, and in those moments when they looked up and their eyes met with a smile, his wife felt, more than ever, like a true partner, almost an extension of himself.
Xiao Chan managed the household’s affairs, but her temperament had gradually grown quieter over the years. Not a particularly forceful woman by nature, over these years she had worried constantly—worried for Tan’er, whom she thought of almost as an elder sister; worried for her own husband; worried for her own children and family—and her disposition had grown a touch melancholy as a result. Her moments of joy tended to rise and fall with the fortunes of her family, always fretting over something, yet easily contented all the same. Only in private moments alone with Ning Yi would she laugh without a care in the world, and it was only then that one could still glimpse, faintly, the somewhat scatterbrained girl with the two swinging ponytails she had once been.
Yun Zhu had grown ever more serene and gentle, time settling upon her like still water, and she always seemed to have a calming effect on those around her. She taught the children, wrote things down here and there, and where once she had lived in that little house by the river, awkward and unworldly, trying tentatively to find her way back into the broken world of her childhood, by now, resilience and gentleness had settled firmly into her character. At home, she looked after the children, helped share some of Xiao Chan’s burdens, and whenever Tan’er or Hongti worked too late into the night, it was always Yun Zhu who would bring something over for them, reminding them gently to come home soon. If that former official’s daughter had never experienced the ruin of her family, perhaps, one day, she might have grown into exactly the woman she was today regardless.
Only Jin’er remained just as she had always been, bouncing about full of energy, a warrior woman through and through, never one to sit still.
And then there was gentle, mild-tempered Hongti; Xigua, forever busy in the cause of “democracy”; and Juan’er, who served at Ning Yi’s side as his secretary…
Sometimes, when Ning Yi found a quiet moment to himself, he would think back on that earlier stretch of his life. Having come to this world originally hoping to live a simple existence, he had, in the end, found himself swept into this endlessly busy, unceasing state of affairs. But this present state of busyness felt, somehow, different from that earlier period of frantic activity. He thought of the gentle winds and clear skies of Jiangning, or, at other times, the soft, world-blanketing rains of that place—the people walking in and out of the courtyard, the red walls and black tiles, the chattering, lively girls, those beautiful sounds—and the chess stalls and little pavilions along the banks of the Qinhuai River, the old man who used to set up his chess board there. All of it, in the end, had drifted away like flowing water.
Everything, in the end, would drift away like flowing water—only, how much longer remained before he could pause and rest in that future, he could not calculate with any certainty.
News from the outside world continued to arrive without pause.
Even as this great colossus, the Black Banner, stirred awake in the mountains and slowly stretched out its limbs, across the Central Plains, the forces of the “Hungry Ghosts” under Wang Shitong had, at last, surged forth in full force, unleashing a catastrophe of overwhelming scale.
Beginning in August, Wang Shitong had driven his “Hungry Ghosts” north of the Yellow River, launching a campaign of conquest. With the autumn harvest just concluded, there was, for the moment, still a reasonable supply of grain, and the Hungry Ghosts abandoned the last of their restraint, driven by hunger and despair to launch massive assaults on the surrounding region—more than a hundred thousand of them surging forward, sacrificing themselves in great numbers to take cities, plundering grain, then putting entire towns to fire and slaughter after looting them bare, and as each city fell, those who lost their homes were swept up, in turn, into the ranks of the Hungry Ghosts themselves.
Over the course of two months, the Hungry Ghosts overran eight towns and cities of various sizes north of the Yellow River, leaving the cities in ruins and countless dead in their wake. General Li Xizhi, the Pacification General of the East, led an army of fifty thousand in an attempt to disperse the Hungry Ghosts, but the army was crushed outright by the sheer, relentless human wave of the starving horde.
The Black Banner’s operatives left behind in the north had one more round of negotiations with Wang Shitong, making one final effort—but by then, it was already meaningless.
The mad Ghost King, still fixated on his original purpose, let his ever-swelling horde of refugees spread along the banks of the Yellow River, and before long, they crossed the great river itself. By this time, the snow had already begun to fall.
The refugee horde overran the smaller, less defended towns, plundering, burning, and slaughtering everything in sight before setting them ablaze, warming themselves by the fires they’d lit—only to gradually freeze and starve to death amid the heavy snow that followed. This great snowfall delayed the man-made catastrophe somewhat; the Hungry Ghosts shivered and died in great numbers in the bitter cold—though among them, no doubt, some would not die, waiting instead, beneath the blanketing white, for the coming spring’s revival.
To the north, a wandering hero bearing an iron staff crossed through Yanmen Pass, walking on through the vast snow-covered lands of the Jurchen state.
The “Eight-Armed Dragon King” of Chifeng Mountain—once known as the “Nine-Dragon Tattoo” Shi Jin—having recovered from his injuries, had disbanded what remained of Chifeng Mountain’s forces and set out alone on a journey.
Never skilled at the intrigues and maneuvering between people, with Chifeng Mountain having fallen apart from internal strife, and having lost to Lin Zongwu besides, he found himself, at last, thoroughly lost as to what path to take next. He had once taken part in Zhou Tong’s assassination attempt on Nian Han, and through it had come to understand the insignificance of individual strength—yet his experience at Chifeng Mountain had made just as clear to him that he was not suited to being a leader. Great chaos had erupted across Zezhou; perhaps that man from the Black Banner truly was the hero capable of stirring the whole realm—but his past at Liangshan made it impossible for him to go in that direction.
What remains of value in this life of mine is not much anymore… he thought to himself, and so he returned, once more, to the path Zhou Tong had once walked.
He would go, then, to the Jurchen state, to assassinate Nian Han.
By now, a long ten years had passed since Zhou Tong’s own attempt on Nian Han’s life.
Along the way north, he crossed paths with a few fellow travelers; a smooth-talking man named Fang Chengye got along with him quite well, though not long after they’d traveled together for a while, as they neared Yanmen Pass, the man parted ways with him.
—Fang Chengye, for his part, was left more than a little at a loss.
He had been the one to orchestrate the great uprising against the Tiger King at Zezhou; afterward, reunited with his master Ning Yi, Ning Yi had suggested two possible directions for him—first, once the Hungry Ghost horde had endured enough war, to try to eliminate Wang Shitong and take over the Hungry Ghosts himself; second, to help the Nine-Dragon Tattoo rebuild Chifeng Mountain. But now the Hungry Ghosts’ flames of destruction burned out of control, seemingly truly beyond anyone’s ability to contain, and there was no telling how many would even survive after the coming blizzards; meanwhile, the Nine-Dragon Tattoo had simply washed his hands of the whole affair, setting off alone toward what seemed a certain death. All of this left Fang Chengye, in truth, rather at a loss for what to do next.
Meanwhile, in the small government office of Wozhou, a man going by the false name Mu Yi was likewise enjoying a rare stretch of peaceful, quiet life. He had a wife, and a son, and the boy was slowly growing up.
“If only things could just go on like this forever.”
He would often say this to himself.
In Western Xia, a Mongol commander named Chilaowen led his forces in three clashes with a Jin army commanded by Shuliesu along the Jurchen border. The Mongol cavalry came and went like the wind; the Jurchens tried out their newly deployed cannons as well, and after these cautious skirmishes, the Mongols finally abandoned their probing attempts against the great Jin state.
Even the war-loving Mongols had no wish to bite off more than they could chew before they were truly at full strength.
Western Xia had already fallen. All that remained before them now was a choice: to journey far west, or to turn southeast instead.
As the winter of the eighth year of Jianshuo of the Wu Dynasty gradually wore on, on New Year’s Eve, the city of Lin’an blazed with lanterns and resounded with song and dance, fireworks bursting skyward, lending the snow-covered city an especially festive air. A thousand li away, Hedeng basked in a rare, sunny, clear day; Ning Yi took the time to go out with his whole family, all the children in tow, for a proper stroll through the streets. The three-year-old twins, Ning Ning and Ning Shuang, competed to climb up onto his shoulders, the children around them chattering noisily—altogether, a warm and touching scene.
Once this day passed, they would all be a year older.
The ninth year of Jianshuo was now bearing down upon everyone’s heads…