The mortal world is like an autumn wind; a life is like a falling leaf.

In the months he spent in Datong, what Shi Jin felt again and again was a desolation of having no roots left at all. This feeling was not really about himself — it came from what he saw, day after day, in the lives of the enslaved Han people.

After the second assassination attempt on Nian Han, Shi Jin had been rescued during the manhunt that followed. When he woke, he was already outside Datong, in the slave warrens beyond the city walls.

In the decades since the Jurchens had risen, they had destroyed the Liao and campaigned against the Wu Dynasty in turn, and in all this fighting across the land, it was not only Han people who had fallen into slavery. But the conquests had come in stages, and as Jin’s rule gradually stabilized, those enslaved earliest had either died or slowly been absorbed into the Jin state. Over the past decade, the largest population of slaves within Jin territory had mostly been Han people from the former Central Plains.

From the first Jurchen push south to the great sweep of the mountains and seas a few years back, over the span of several years, close to a million Han people had been dragged into Jin territory. Rich or poor, they were all reduced without distinction to forced laborers and slaves, living lives that were neither fully human nor fully ghost. There had been resistance, but it had mostly been met with even crueler treatment. In recent years, however, Jin’s policy toward Han slaves had softened somewhat — an owner who killed a slave carelessly now had to pay compensation, and even keeping a herd of livestock could not sustain a decade of unrelenting whip and lash; a beating had to be followed by some small reward. Because of this, a portion of the Han slaves had gradually gained a little room to survive.

Within Jin territory there were now many privately owned slaves, but the largest number still belonged to the Jin court itself — slaves who mined, labored, and served corvée duty. The settlement outside Datong was where the slaves of the nearby mines and workshops were gathered: chaotic shanties, muddy roads, a crude fence thrown up around the perimeter. Soldiers came to guard it now and then, but only halfheartedly, and over time it had settled into the lowest possible tier of existence. They labored by day for scraps of food to keep themselves alive, and at night they finally had a sliver of freedom. Escape was never easy — even branded on the face and starved down to skin and bone, a slave who managed to slip out of the settlement would still find it almost impossible to cross the thousand miles of Jurchen land beyond. This was where Shi Jin woke up.

At first he had no idea who had saved him.

In the dark shanty, the one who had taken him in was a gaunt old man. After they had spoken a few times, Shi Jin learned that even in the dead-water despair of the slave warrens, an undercurrent of resistance had always existed.

The million or so Han people the Jurchens had dragged from the Central Plains had, after all, once lived reasonably settled lives — they were not pigs and dogs bred to an inhuman existence. Under the initial terror and the executioner’s blade, whatever thought of resistance they might have had was killed off again and again. But once the surrounding pressure eased even slightly, among these Han there were scholars, officials, and gentry who still remembered how life used to be, and so, to greater or lesser degrees, thoughts of resistance persisted. Their days were lived like something less than human, but as long as they held together, the hope of going home was not entirely gone.

Just as there were “wandering knights” who worked secretly against the Jurchens, just as there were certain “good people” active in the shadows — these forces might not amount to much, but there were always some who, through one channel or another, managed to slip away by luck, or to inflict some small harm on the Jurchens. The old man belonged to just such a small group, one that was said to have some contact with people from the Wu Dynasty as well. On one hand they struggled to survive in this inhuman place; on the other, they nursed a small hope — that one day the Wu Dynasty would raise an army and march north, and that in their remaining years, they might see the land south of the border once more.

As for who exactly had rescued him, even the old man could not say for certain.

Shi Jin’s wounds were serious, and he lay quietly in the shanty for over half a month, during which time he also heard about the massacre of Han people carried out because of him. Before being taken captive, the old man had been a scholar, and he had likely guessed Shi Jin’s identity; yet he spoke of the slaughter outside with no particular concern. “None of us were going to live long anyway. Better to die early and be reborn sooner — you needn’t trouble yourself over it, hero.” There was a weary, half-dead resignation in his words.

The shanty district held a great many people, and although the old man belonged to a small faction, it was impossible to guarantee that no one would learn of Shi Jin’s whereabouts and choose to inform. For more than half a month Shi Jin stayed hidden, not daring to go out. During that time Jurchen overseers came searching more than once. Then, after more than half a month, on a day when the old man had already gone out to work, someone suddenly burst in. Shi Jin’s wounds had mostly healed by then, and he was ready to fight — but the intruder clearly knew who he was. “I’m the one who saved you. There’s trouble. Come with me now.” Shi Jin followed the man out of the shanty district, narrowly escaping a large-scale search that followed soon after.

The one who had rescued him was young, wearing a mask with a stiff, expressionless face; from the way he moved, he seemed to be one of the “knights-errant” active at the bottom rungs of Datong society. Once outside the shanty district, the man pointed Shi Jin toward a place to hide, then gave him a rough account of the situation: “Wuqimai has suffered a stroke and a major upheaval has already begun. Zongfu and Zongbi mobilizing troops is now a settled fact. Things inside Jin are tightening fast, and a great war is coming…” By the end, the implication was clear — if Shi Jin meant to kill Zonghan, he had better move quickly.

Guided by the man, and remembering another woman who had once pointed him toward a hiding place, Shi Jin brought up what had happened that day. As he saw it, the Jurchen encirclement that day had very likely come from her having informed on him, and he wanted to press the man for confirmation. The man nodded. “In a place like Jin, if a Han wants any kind of decent life, there’s nothing they won’t do. You’ve already seen that woman’s true face, hero — you should know there’s no room for sentiment here. Next time, just kill the treacherous dog along with the rest!”

There was a vicious, extreme edge to the man’s words, but thinking it over, Shi Jin found he could understand it. Anyone who worked against the Jurchens in a place like this without some measure of that ferocity and extremity would have been strange indeed.

Following the man’s advice, Shi Jin hid nearby. But by now his wounds had nearly healed, and with his skill, there were few in the world who could have caught him. A faint thought stirred in him — surviving two failed attempts on Nian Han’s life might already be more than heaven’s favor allowed; a third attempt would very likely be his last. Where before he had thrown himself forward without a second thought, now a small measure of caution crept in — even if he was going to die, he ought to be more careful about it. And so he stayed near Datong, watching and gathering information.

As the fourth and fifth months brought rising heat, the situation around Datong grew visibly tenser. Shi Jin found a moment to visit the old man again, and in their idle talk it seemed the old man’s small group had sensed the shift as well — they appeared to have made contact with agents of the Wu Dynasty and were preparing something significant. In the middle of this conversation, though, one piece of news left Shi Jin stunned for a long while: the young woman named Wu Qiuhe, who had come forward to save him, had been cut down by Jin’s Gushen — Wanyan Xiyin himself — with a single sword stroke. “Ah, over the years, Miss Wu and the others secretly saved a great many people. They didn’t deserve to die, and yet they did…”

In this hell of an existence, people had grown numb to matters of life and death; even speaking of such a thing stirred little visible feeling. Shi Jin pressed the old man with questions, and only then learned that the woman had been followed and tracked, not that she had betrayed him. He returned to his hiding place, and two days later the masked man came again. Shi Jin seized him with one hand and demanded an explanation in a harsh voice.

The man’s skill was not high, yet he laughed with open mockery. “Why would I lie to you? What good would it do to tell you? You came here to kill Nian Han — an assassin’s path only goes forward, why think so much about it? Does it do you any good? Two failed attempts, and when the Jurchens couldn’t find you, they dragged out three hundred Han and killed them, and privately killed even more. They’re cruel — so are you going to stop trying to kill Nian Han because of that? Why would I tell you the truth and unsettle your resolve? You heroic types always love to torment yourselves with what-ifs — better to just let you believe the whole world is full of bad people. Besides, that woman surnamed Wu is already dead. She won’t blame you for it. Go avenge her already.”

“I’ve been thinking. An assassination like this — in the end it leads nowhere…”

“What outcome do you want? One man kills Nian Han, then goes to kill Wuqimai? Saves the world? You’re a Han who’s tried to kill Nian Han twice — go try a third time, and that’s already the best outcome there is. If you ask me, it’s really just about not letting go of that grudge in every Han heart! If the Jurchens want to kill people, they’ll kill them regardless — you never saw the period right after they arrived, when they killed however they pleased.”

Shi Jin looked at him. “And what is it you and yours are doing, then.”

“Doing what I find interesting.” The man’s tone eased somewhat as he spoke. The two of them walked through a stretch of woods, looking off toward the shanty district in the distance. “What do you think this place is? Do you think there’s actually something you could do that would save this whole world? Nobody can. That Wu Qiuhe woman just wanted to quietly buy back a person or two and send them south. Now that war’s coming, all sorts of people want to make trouble for Zonghan — some want to blow up the Great Foundry. That old man who took you in — his group is aiming for one big riot, then a mass escape south together. Who knows how the Wu Dynasty’s agents talked them into it. But… none of it’s wrong, either. Doing something is better than doing nothing.”

“You came here, tried to kill Nian Han twice — clearly you’ve made up your mind about something. Fine, doesn’t matter. Go kill your Nian Han, I’ll do my thing. Do what you can and leave the rest to fate — who knows, maybe you really will manage to kill him. You’ve got hatred in your heart, so keep hating!”

The man, it turned out, really was a Han drifting through the northern lands, thoroughly given up on himself. Shi Jin found himself trusting the man a little more after that. In the time that followed, he had two more encounters with him, and through him, and through the old man, Shi Jin gradually learned more. The old man’s group, it seemed, had been stirred up by Wu Dynasty agents and was preparing a major uprising; other underground factions in the area were also stirring, with more than a few plotting against Nian Han, against Gushen, against the Great Foundry, against the army. Meanwhile, in the Central Plains, it seemed a great many things were happening as well — Liu Yu’s defection back to loyalty, the Wu Dynasty preparing to meet the Jurchens in battle…

As for the masked young man, after learning more, Shi Jin guessed his identity — he was likely the wanted man known around Datong by the nickname “Clown.” His skill was not particularly high, and his reputation could not compare to most of the well-known “bandits” of Jin, but as far as Shi Jin could tell, the man genuinely had no shortage of ability and method; he was simply extreme in temperament, appearing and vanishing unpredictably, and Shi Jin could never quite guess what he was thinking.

“War’s about to break out, and this whole crowd from the Wu Dynasty is counting on the Han slaves here to riot big, just to make trouble for Jin… there’s not a shred of real spirit in it…”

“That old man — deep down he probably knows all this too. But either way, it’s a life not worth living. Even if a lot of people die for it, maybe a few will get away. However many get away is however many.”

“Me, though… I want to hit the Great Foundry. Most of the craftsmen there are Han. Damn it, if I could blow the whole thing up in one shot, Wanyan Xiyin would really be in tears. Hah, hah, hah, hah…”

Hearing this, Shi Jin’s gaze sharpened. “You… they’re Han too, in the end.”

“What difference does that make from being dead already?”

“You!” Shi Jin, heir to Zhou Tong’s legacy, carried a core of righteousness within him, and at these words he lunged and seized the man by the throat. “Clown” only looked back at him, not a flicker of feeling in his eyes. “That’s right. Kill me.”

“You… you shouldn’t do this. There’s… there’s always some other way…”

“You went after Nian Han, and I never told you what to do. Don’t you tell me what to do either. Either kill me, or… I’m the one with seniority here. What do you know about this place, Jin territory? To save you, Mandu Dalu has been hunting me around the clock ever since — I’m the one who got caught up in this for nothing…”

He kept muttering, and in the end Shi Jin could not bring himself to strike. Hearing the name Mandu Dalu, he said, “If it comes to it, I’ll find time to kill him too.” But in his heart he knew that killing Mandu Dalu would, in the end, be wasting a chance for assassination — if he was going to act, the target still had to be one worth more than that.

Time slipped by, and the tension in the shadows grew heavier by the day. The heat grew ever more stifling, and then, on a day in late June, a great riot finally broke out.

That day, Shi Jin witnessed — and took part in — an enormous failure…

…

The riot erupted suddenly, on the night of the twenty-first of June. Defections and slaughter broke out both inside and outside the city; someone set a great fire, and Han knights within Datong headed toward the Great Foundry, stirring up wave after wave of unrest.

Because the whole intelligence network had broken down, Shi Jin did not receive firsthand news of it. But even before this, he had already decided that once things broke loose, he would begin his third assassination attempt.

This time, his target was not Wanyan Zonghan, but someone who might, relatively speaking, be a simpler target and yet no less pivotal within the Jurchen leadership — the strategist Wanyan Xiyin.

Shi Jin rushed toward Gushen’s residence, searching for Wanyan Xiyin’s whereabouts. Before he even arrived, the sound of triumphant horns and drums was already rising from the direction of the Great Foundry. From what he had observed over the preceding period, it became clear that the riot breaking out inside and outside Datong that night had fallen straight into a trap that Zonghan, Xiyin, and the others had prepared and simply waited for.

A massacre and a manhunt were unfolding.

Shi Jin thought of what Clown had said, though he had no way of knowing whether the man had actually taken part. But by the time he slipped quietly into Gushen’s residence, flames had already risen at the Great Foundry, though the scale of destruction there did not appear to be very large.

The whole city was in serious turmoil. Shi Jin observed for a moment within Gushen’s residence and quickly realized the man was not home. He wanted to find somewhere to hide and wait for the man’s return, to strike the moment he appeared. But before long, Jurchen masters caught wind of him. After an exchange of blows and a chase, Shi Jin burst into a room within Gushen’s residence and saw what was laid out on display against the far wall.

The vast room held the trophies Wanyan Xiyin had collected over a lifetime of campaigns large and small, and set at the front was a thick, plain, ancient-looking spear. Seeing it, Shi Jin seemed for a moment to be looking again at moonlight from more than a decade before.

It was Zhou Tong’s spear.

Its name in the martial world was — Azure Dragon Crouch.

Across more than a decade, it had quietly come to stand before Shi Jin’s eyes.

…

The ragged crowd that had risen so abruptly was no match for Wanyan Xiyin’s careful preparations. That night, the uprising turned rapidly into a one-sided massacre. Such suppressions were far from the first or second of their kind in Jurchen history — it was only in the past two years that they had grown less frequent.

Carrying the spear on his back, Shi Jin fought and fled his way out. Passing the slave warrens outside the city, he found them already surrounded by soldiers, flames rising, the reek of blood spreading everywhere. In the chaos, he finally broke free of his pursuers. He tried to slip in and search for the old man who had once taken him in, but in the end he could not find him. Making his way farther into more remote mountains, he came at last to the small thatched hut where he had been hiding, and found someone already waiting there.

It was Clown, half-covered in blood. He had come looking for Shi Jin and, not finding him, had knocked about the area before finding a rock and collapsing onto it.

Shi Jin came out. Clown glanced at him. “There’s something I need to ask of you.”

“You didn’t blow up the Great Foundry.” Shi Jin said this, then looked around. “Anyone following you?”

The man shook his head. “Never planned to blow it up in the first place. The Foundry’s running every day — blowing up one stockpile of supplies, what’s that to the Jurchen army?”

“…What is it, then?”

“Liu Yu’s regime surrendering back to the Wu Dynasty will wake up the last of the unreconciled people in the Central Plains to rise and resist. But the puppet Qi state and Jin have controlled the Central Plains for close to ten years now — for every person still unreconciled, there’s another who’s given up hope. Last year, in the upheaval within Tian Hu’s regime, the newly risen Tian Shi and Lou Shuwan joined forces with Wang Juyun, meaning to resist Jin. But in the middle of all that, of course, there’ll be plenty who surrender to the Jurchens the moment Jin marches south.”

Clown reached into his robe and pulled something out. “In Wanyan Xiyin’s hands there’s a list — of Han officials who hold compromising secrets, who’ve had a long history of dealings with the Jurchens, who’ve indicated they’re willing to defect. I’ve had my eye on it for a while. Pieced it together bit by bit, checked it over — it should be real…”

Shi Jin opened his mouth but could not find words. The man held the thing out. “Once the great war in the Central Plains begins, we can’t let people rise up only to be stabbed in the back the moment they do. This thing matters. My skill isn’t good enough — I can’t carry it south myself. I can only ask you to take it and put it into the hands of Tian Shi, Lou Shuwan, Yu Yulin, and the others. There’s evidence attached to the list — go over it carefully, don’t hand it to the wrong people.”

“…Alright.” Shi Jin took the item. “You…”

“You don’t want to live anyway. Even if you’re going to die, just make sure you deliver it first.” The man swayed to his feet, pulled out a small pouch and shook it. “I’ve got medicine, I’ll be fine. I need to head back soon — there are still people to save. Don’t get sentimental. Whatever I’ve done, Wanyan Xiyin will figure it out soon enough. Carrying that thing, you won’t only have Jurchens chasing you the whole way. Go. As long as it gets delivered, everything else here is a small matter.”

Shi Jin nodded. “Don’t worry. Even if I die, I’ll see it delivered.” As he turned to leave, he looked back. “By the way — are you with the Black Banner?”

“The Huaxia Army. Codename: Clown… Thanks.” In the dark, the figure raised a hand in salute.

Shi Jin stood there a moment, then turned and ran south.

In the sky above, a hawk wheeled and circled.

The mortal world blows like an autumn wind; a life drifts like a falling leaf. The wind had risen now, and no one could know where the next moment would carry them — but at least in this moment, feeling the fierce gust against him, Shi Jin’s heart settled, if only a little.

On his back, the spear seemed to still carry the roar of iron-armed Zhou Tong from ten years before, moving with him now, pressing ever forward.