From that morning on, the weather had felt oppressively wrong; the lazy cat in the neighboring courtyard yowled without pause, as if sensing something was about to happen.

By afternoon the rain came pouring down, as if the whole world had been shut inside a cage. Wu Qiuhe had gone out, and Xia Fangyu was absent too. Chen Wenjun sat in her room embroidering; her two sons came to pay their respects, and afterward her needle pricked her finger twice in a row. She put it to her mouth and sucked at it. A little blood came out.

Being pricked by a needle while embroidering was hardly unusual, but Chen Wenjun had practiced this craft for decades, and it had been a long time since anything like this had happened to her.

As dinnertime approached and neither of her maids, Qiuhe nor Fangyu, had returned, Chen Wenjun knew something had gone wrong.

When Xiyin came into the room, her needle and thread were passing through the cloth, half a mandarin duck already taking shape. Outside, the rain was heavy and thunder rolled. Chen Wenjun went over to help her husband out of his cloak; the bloodstained sword was set down on the table beside them.

“Strange weather today.” Xiyin, having caught a few drops of rain himself, wiped his forehead. Chen Wenjun hung up the cloak and looked him over. “You didn’t get wet, my lord?”

“It’s fine.” Xiyin sat down, looking out at the rain. After a moment, he said, “I killed Qiuhe.” Then he reached out and took the teacup Chen Wenjun brought him.

Chen Wenjun froze for a moment, glancing toward the sword. Xiyin raised the teacup to his lips, then sighed and set it back down. “What you two did… wasn’t wise.” He paused, then added, “You went too far.”

“My lord…”

The room fell silent for a moment. Xiyin’s expression turned serious. “Over these years, using the connections of this household, you two have sent more than three thousand five hundred Han slaves south and west, by my count…”

“You knew, my lord…”

Chen Wenjun braced herself against the table and began to kneel, but before her knees touched the ground, Xiyin rose and, taking her by the hand, lifted her back up.

“This is an act of mercy that could earn you a living Buddha’s worship from ten thousand households — if they truly reach the south, they’ll set up a shrine tablet in your honor. You are my wife, and you are Han, learned and kind-hearted. There’s nothing strange about you doing such things, and I don’t blame you for it. As long as I’m here, no one can bring charges against you.”

Xiyin spoke lightly, almost casually, as he led his wife by the hand out through the door.

This was the second-floor gallery of the pavilion; the lanterns beneath the eaves had all been lit, and through the sheeting rain one could see a stretch of illuminated courtyards spreading into the distance. Xiyin was, in the Western Capital, second in influence only to Zonghan, and everything before him now was the fruit of that power.

“Ever since fighting against the Black Banner, I’ve adapted their intelligence methods for my own use — nothing within Datong’s borders escapes me. Your spending money to ransom and rescue Han people to send south — I’ve known, and so, I’m sure, has the Marshal, whether either of us has let on or not. There have been well over a million Han taken captive from the south; you are my wife, do as you please, it isn’t as though you’re not paying for it — I could always answer for it to the Marshal if pressed. But this time… getting involved with the assassin who tried to kill the Marshal — that’s the kind of thing that brings real disaster. Foolish!”

Only at the end of his words did the harshness finally come through. He glanced at Chen Wenjun, then sighed again. “You’re a clever woman, my dear — but Qiuhe was just a girl. You rescued her from among a household of officials’ children out of pure warm-heartedness, but did you think she could withstand torture? Once she was found out, I could only kill her. Fangyu can’t stay either — I’ve had the steward give her some money and send her south… All these years, you’re Han, I’m Jurchen, our two nations at war — I know how much pain that has caused you. But that’s simply how the world is: the Han’s fortune has run its course, and the Jurchen are rising; there’s no other way it could go. Neither you nor I can hold back that great tide of the world — but you and I as husband and wife… we still came together in the end. We’re both at this age now, with white hair coming in; let’s not think of separating.”

Chen Wenjun’s tears began to fall.

The two of them had met each other years ago, back before the Jin state even existed. Now, Xiyin was past fifty, and Chen Wenjun was nearly fifty as well, gray hair coming in for both of them. Though a great many things stood between them, in terms of their bond as husband and wife, they had truly walked hand in hand through the years, deep in mutual affection.

“Dezhong and Youyi came by today, didn’t they?” Xiyin asked, gazing at the curtain of rain.

Wanyan Dezhong and Wanyan Youyi were their two sons. Chen Wenjun nodded.

“All this splendor and power, it’s all illusion — but these children are not illusion. Saving people is fine, but think of Dezhong and Youyi too. Between me and the Marshal, real distrust would be hard to arouse, but I still fear it might arise all the same — just as it might between us and the eastern side. Back when we were fighting to win the realm, there weren’t so many twists and turns, so much suspicion and probing — the ones we faced then were outsiders. Now that we’re governing the realm, the ones we face are all our own people on the inside. In many matters, it’s hard to say I’m not afraid. His Majesty’s illness this time is not good news; we must all be careful.”

“My lord has never… feared such things before.”

“The passing on of power and position, the danger of succession disputes — since ancient times these have always been the most vicious of matters. When the Late Emperor passed the throne to His present Majesty, the Jin state had only just come into being; we had come down from the mountains together, bound by ties of life and death, and there was nothing more to be said about it. But now the branches have spread — a second generation, a third generation — and there are simply too many people capable of running the household. The sages themselves said that even a noble man’s legacy fades within five generations; if it doesn’t fade, it’s hard to sustain at all. The relationship between the two sides is no longer what it once was… Now that His Majesty lies ill, Zongfu and Zongbi are, on one hand, working to cut the power of the west, and on the other… scheming to move south, hoping in time to use that momentum to force the Marshal to see the writing on the wall and step back. The Marshal is a proud man, and he’s grown somewhat careless about this matter.”

Xiyin held out a hand, sweeping it forward. “All of this is illusion — but if the day should come when it’s all gone, neither you nor I, nor Dezhong, nor Youyi, would easily escape unscathed. Power is like a fierce tiger — once you’re riding on its back, it isn’t easy to get off. You’ve read widely, my dear; you should understand these things too.”

The rain poured down as they stood watching from the gallery for a while. Xiyin sighed. “When the Jin state was first founded and its people divided into ranks, I originally disagreed. But with our Jurchen numbers so few, without such a division, the realm would surely fall into chaos again — it was a matter of necessity. Yet all this time, I’ve kept worrying that even once the realm is truly settled, the people will still be divided into five, six, seven, eight ranks. Having studied since childhood, I know that a state built this way cannot endure for long. The first generation of subjects will refuse to submit, and can only be suppressed; but the generations born afterward can still be taught and civilized — this is the policy our Jin state has no choice but to carry out for now. If the day ever truly comes when the realm is settled, I will do everything in my power to make that change real. I know this is a knot in your heart, my dear, and this is as far as your husband can go for now — it has always weighed on my conscience.”

“Just don’t endanger the foundations of the Jin state, and don’t keep thinking about this assassin — even if he’s a Han hero, in the end you married me, and you can only bear this grievance and work toward it slowly. But beyond that…” Xiyin gave a light wave of his hand. “Whatever Xiyin’s wife wishes to do, go and do it. As for any idle gossip within the Great Jin, I can still shield you from that.”

“All these years, it’s been Qiuhe pouring my tea. Killing her today grieved me too. In a while, I’ll have a grave built for her — but since she was involved in this affair, I don’t feel I’ve wronged her.” He patted his wife’s hand. “I’ll go attend to state affairs first and come to bed later. You… should try to rest early.”

He took his leave of Wenjun and turned away. Chen Wenjun, tears still in her eyes, returned to the room and picked up the bloodstained sword. This was Xiyin’s habitual blade, called Yuanwang — broad and long in the blade, dark gold from hilt to tip, and marked all over with the small nicks and scars of years spent campaigning north and south. Chen Wenjun carried it to the balustrade and let the pouring rain wash the blood away. Soon, the bloodstain had vanished without a trace in the rain, and the woman stood there a long while at the railing, sword still in hand.

Two days later, news of Zongfu and Zongbi’s plan to invade the south was leaked through secret channels.

… “Zongfu and Zongbi mean to strike at Jiangnan, and you’re telling me Zonghan will do nothing about it? You’re pulling my leg.” In a small shack hidden in the dark, Tang Minjie chuckled softly, then looked at Lu Mingfang, his expression turning somewhat more serious. “Is this confirmed information passed along by Chen Wenjun? Is this succession fight mainly going to play out as an external conflict?”

“The chance of a southern invasion was always high. Last year’s Tian Hu uprising — that the Jurchen managed to hold back their anger over it already signaled they had a full reckoning in mind. The real question is in the details: where they’ll strike, and how.” Lu Mingfang said in a low voice. “Chen Wenjun leaked word to the Wu Dynasty’s agents because she wants the Wu Dynasty to prepare early. And from what I can tell, it seems this information was deliberately leaked by Xiyin himself.”

“‘Hey, Zhou Yong, Zongfu and Zongbi are coming for your head. We’re not friends, but let me warn you anyway — you’d better find a way to stop them.’ That’s about the gist of it, right?” Tang Minjie grinned broadly. “Killing two birds with one stone, since it’s no trouble either way… Knowing Xiyin’s temperament, this is probably about as far as he’s willing to go. But then again, flies don’t land on eggs without cracks — if he can do this much, we could do the same thing right back, couldn’t we? Slip a little word to Zongbi that Lord Gushen has been leaking military intelligence outward on the sly?”

Lu Mingfang shook his head. “Setting aside whether it would even work — if Gushen ends up in the eye of the storm, Chen Wenjun would be the first to take the fall. She’s too exposed. Before I came north, the Teacher instructed me: whenever a major matter arises, protecting Chen Wenjun comes first.”

“Mm.” Tang Minjie nodded and dropped the idea. After a moment of silence, he said, “The army hasn’t marched, but the supply lines move first. Even though the Jurchen have long had a southern campaign planned, Wuqimai’s stroke came suddenly — after all, striking a thousand miles into Jiangnan will still take some time. Either way, let’s get the news back first… The business with the Dazao Institute is also nearing completion.”

“How is that Eight-Armed Dragon King doing?”

“Recovering. The man really is lucky to be alive, but he’s not one to listen to reason — I took something of a risk this time.”

“Everyone has their own fate. Given how things stand in the world, it’s hard to blame him for growing disheartened. But since the Teacher thinks highly of him, and Fang Chengye mentioned him too, consider it a small favor freely given,” Lu Mingfang said. “With his temperament and skill, dying in an assassination attempt would be too great a waste. Back in the Central Plains, he ought to accomplish much more.”

“Right, I’ll try… to keep talking sense into him.” Tang Minjie’s mouth twitched into a smile.

In the south, in Heden County, a classroom buzzed with noise. Ning Yi stood outside the window, listening to dozens of young squad and platoon leaders and staff officers debating among themselves. This was a small interest class open to any grassroots officer with a taste for thinking things through, led by the “strategists” of the general staff, who worked through various strategies and tactics. Lessons drawn from these exercises could be brought back and taught to the men under each officer’s command, and any strategic exercise that showed real method and high accuracy would be carefully recorded, giving its author a chance to rise into the upper ranks of the Huaxia Army’s staff system.

Given how well-informed the Black Banner Army’s intelligence network was, news of Emperor Wuqimai’s stroke had already reached them back in April. Speculation and war-gaming about the situation within the Jin state following his stroke, the opportunities and countermeasures available to the Huaxia Army, and so on, had already been discussed countless times across the Three Counties in recent days.

There was no doubt about it: if the enemy’s luck had turned bad, opportunity followed for their own side. In today’s world, the Huaxia Army alone bore the distinction of having stood toe to toe with the Jurchen. Having been cooped up in these mountain hollows for a few years, and now with Ning Yi’s return coinciding with this news, the upper ranks’ assessment that “the Jurchen are highly likely to move south” had already spread to every ear. Everyone was rolling up their sleeves; the surge in morale went without saying.

Of course, for now it was still all talk; there remained some distance yet before real close combat with the Jurchen, and that was exactly why everyone could indulge freely in this excitement — if the war truly bore down on them, the pressure and tension would inevitably follow.

Ning Yi and the few men accompanying him were simply passing by; after listening for a while, they hurried on toward the Intelligence Department’s offices. Similar exercises had been run many times recently at both the General Staff and Intelligence Departments — and countermeasures and contingencies for a Jurchen southern campaign had, over these years, already been repeatedly calculated and refined.

In the Three Counties of Heden, the atmosphere was serene yet charged with excitement, but at the core of the General Intelligence Department, things were already tense throughout. After a series of meetings and discussions, several teams had already begun heading north, some openly and some covertly — the open ones, naturally, being merchant caravans arranged long in advance, while, in secret, certain contingency plans were set to be activated under particular conditions.

In Datong, after several rounds of gathering and discussion, operations within Jin political circles were quietly strengthened, though outwardly there was little visible change. As for the envoy that the Great Qi had sent north early in the year to request Jin military intervention, he returned empty-handed amid the confused, delicate atmosphere brought on by Wuqimai’s collapse, slinking back south in disgrace.

To protect his journey south, Xiyin had specially arranged a squad of guards for him as he passed through Datong. This squad of guards carried a hidden and grave mission of its own.

“…Once word of this gets out, the Black Banner will certainly try to interfere… Once you reach Bian Liang, first seek an audience with Lord Ali Gua, garrisoned there — his nine thousand elite troops are enough to seal the city. After that… escort His Majesty Liu Yu north. There must be no mistake…”

The clash had, in truth, already begun in places unseen. That same late April, news that Zongfu and Zongbi meant to strike Jiangnan and destroy the Wu Dynasty reached Lin’an. Panic began to spread among some.

More than half a month later, the true masters of this game, striking at one another below the surface, sent up wave after wave of hidden currents, which finally broke briefly above the water, taking solid form — and then, after that fleeting glimpse, vanished again…