Peaks gathered like a crowd; waves roared like fury.

Weisheng.

Looking out from the walls of the Heavenly Pole Palace, the distant view stretched out in an unbroken succession of mountain ranges, yellow earthen roads winding onward, beacon towers built along the ridgelines, and a ceaseless stream of travelers and carts making their way from the far side of the mountains. It was afternoon. Lou Shuwan, nearly faint with exhaustion, leaned against the parapet atop the palace wall, walking slowly as she took in the view.

Over these past days, Lou Shuwan had barely stopped moving, rushing everywhere to organize the overall situation, strengthen defenses, and pay visits to every significant figure within the Prince of Jin’s faction, persuading them one by one — sometimes laying out the stakes plainly, sometimes resorting to outright threats. Especially over these last few days, having just returned from traveling elsewhere, she had thrown herself into constant, covert coordination behind the scenes, working through day and night with barely any sleep at all. Today, at last, in open court, the most critical matter of all had finally been settled.

This decision would determine everyone’s fate. She had no idea whether it was right or wrong, and even now, within the palace, discussions on how to handle the pressing developments that would follow continued without pause. But the part of this affair that had fallen to her as a woman — the private scheming, the threats, the endless political maneuvering — had at last come to a close.

Looking back, the Heavenly Pole Palace stood magnificent and imposing, a monument to reckless extravagance, the product of Tiger King’s grand construction projects during his days of unrivaled power — and now Tiger King himself lay dead in some insignificant, hidden chamber. It seemed to be telling her something: that every commanding, world-shaking figure was, in the end, nothing more than an ordinary person. When fortune favors you, heaven and earth lend their strength together; when fortune turns, even a hero cannot control his own fate. Those who now held the Heavenly Pole Palace, who now held Weisheng itself, might just as easily find themselves toppled in the very next instant.

The Jurchens had come. The final cards were on the table now, with no room left to maneuver. The first battle had erupted in the east, at Daming Prefecture; Li Xizhi had been eliminated almost immediately, and then the Jurchen Eastern Route Army’s main force of three hundred thousand had arrived at Daming, where the city had held out for over half a month now amid a sea of corpses and blood. Meanwhile, Zhu Biao had led the Black Banner in an attempt to raid the Jurchens’ southward crossing point on the Yellow River, but had failed and been forced to withdraw. North of Yanmen Pass, Zonghan’s army — an even more formidable force to contend with — was steadily pressing forward.

Wang Juyun had already taken up a stance ready for battle — what this man, once a minister of the former Yongle court, truly intended in his heart, no one could say for certain. But now the choice fell to the Prince of Jin.

There were two paths before him. First: although the Prince of Jin had cooperated with the Huaxia Army’s forces to eliminate Tian Hu, and had since purged a great many officials sympathetic to the Jurchens based on the exposed roster, he and the Jin state had, technically speaking, still not openly broken ties. If Zonghan came to attack, he could let him attack; if he demanded passage, he could grant it — and once the main army had crossed the Yellow River, the Prince of Jin’s forces could rise up locally and cut off their retreat. That would be the easier path to take, in a sense.

Second: not to underestimate the wisdom of men like Wanyan Zonghan and Wanyan Xiyin, founders of the Jin state in their own right. While the choice still remained his to make, he could declare his true position plainly, coordinate with whatever allies still remained north of the Yellow River, rally the resolve of his own ranks, and rely on the rugged terrain of his territory to fight the hardest, most punishing battle of all. At the very least, this would create the greatest possible trouble for the Jurchens; and should the position prove untenable, he could then retreat into the mountains, withdraw ever deeper, even shift toward the northwest — and in doing so, the Prince of Jin might well emerge as the core leader and figurehead of resistance north of the Yellow River. And if, one day, the Wu Dynasty and the Black Banner together truly managed to defeat the Jurchens, the Prince of Jin’s line would establish a legacy that would echo through the ages.

She had chosen the second path. Perhaps it was because she had seen too much cruelty by now to hold onto illusions any longer; she simply didn’t believe the first path was a realistic option at all. For one thing, men like Zonghan and Xiyin would never allow the Prince of Jin to survive quietly in their rear. For another, even if they were, for the moment, willing to play along and spare him, once the Guangwu Army, the Huaxia Army, Wang Juyun, and the other forces north of the Yellow River had all been wiped clean, the Prince of Jin’s own ranks would have their spirit and resolve utterly hollowed out as well — and any hope of one day raising the banner of revolt would simply never come to pass.

To declare open opposition before the Jurchens themselves had even shown their hand — to many within the Prince of Jin’s own system, such a notion seemed reckless and near-insane. And so, persuading them one household at a time had proven an almost unbearably difficult task. And yet, she had managed it.

The afternoon sunlight was warm. For a fleeting moment, she felt as though she had become a moth, always hiding in the shadows whenever she could. This time, though, the flame burned too fiercely, and still she flew straight toward it…

So many people would have to die…

Thinking this, she made her way slowly down from the palace wall. A figure approached from a distance — it was Yu Yulin, who should have been inside taking part in the court deliberations. Lou Shuwan paused, and as he drew closer, a note of serious inquiry crept into her gaze.

“We argued the whole day, and the deliberations have paused for now. The Prince of Jin has asked everyone to eat something first; we’ll continue afterward.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“The Prince of Jin asked me to check on you. You haven’t slept in two days — why don’t you come rest inside the palace for a while first?”

“Don’t worry about me. My part in this is already done. How to deploy the troops, how to fight — that’s men’s business now. Go back, and don’t let anything change.”

“…Fine.” Yu Yulin seemed about to say something more, but in the end simply nodded and cupped his hands in a gesture of respect. As he turned to go, Lou Shuwan spoke up. “I can’t sleep… can’t sleep inside the palace. I’ll go rest at your estate outside for a while later.”

“Mm.” Yu Yulin nodded. “Take care of yourself.” He then headed off toward the main hall. Lou Shuwan sat for a moment on the steps at the foot of the palace wall, then had her attendants bring the carriage around and left the Heavenly Pole Palace.

Yu Yulin’s private estate outside stood close to the Heavenly Pole Palace; whenever Lou Shuwan needed to enter the palace, she often stopped here first to rest a while. In Tiger King’s day, though Lou Shuwan had managed all manner of affairs, her position as a woman had never been formally recognized; rumor outside held that she was Tiger King’s mistress, but apart from official business, her actual residence had, in fact, been located quite far from the palace itself. After Tian Hu’s death, Lou Shuwan became one of the true powers behind the Prince of Jin’s regime, and even if she’d chosen to move into the Heavenly Pole Palace itself, Tian Shi would have raised no objection. But Lou Shuwan lived together with the nearly deranged Lou Shuweng, and not wanting him anywhere near the inner core of power at Weisheng, she had simply moved out to a residence on the city’s outskirts instead.

Though, at this point, Lou Shuwan could easily have lived wherever she pleased within Weisheng, could have built herself eight or ten grand, opulent estates without the slightest difficulty, she had almost no interest whatsoever in such things, burdened as she was by the endless demands of her duties. Whenever she entered the city, she would occasionally stop briefly at Yu Yulin’s residence. As a woman, one long rumored in her early years to be Tian Hu’s mistress, she found she didn’t mind at all if people now assumed she was Yu Yulin’s lover instead — if anything, such an assumption, however mistaken, only spared her a great deal of unnecessary trouble.

The carriage entered through the back gate of the estate, and upon stepping down, she found the front area unusually lively — likely Yu Yulin’s cousin Yu Bin had once again invited a crowd of prominent scholars to gather here. Lou Shuwan had attended such gatherings before and thought nothing of it; she waved a hand to the steward, telling him not to make a fuss over her arrival, and made her way instead to the private courtyard set aside for her at the rear to rest.

This particular rest didn’t last long. Though the direction of the great decision had already been settled, what lay ahead now felt more like a road leading straight into the underworld. Death might well be waiting just around the corner, and her mind buzzed with a low, constant hum, images from the past surfacing one after another — images all centered on Ning Yi. From the Yongle court’s assault on Hangzhou, which had overturned everything about her former life, to Ning Yi himself, deep in the thick of it all, a captive who had carved out his own path from nothing — that scholar had refused to simply endure and accept; however slim the hope, he had always chosen only the correct path. She kept seeing him again and again… walking through the gates of the Lou household, reaching out and pulling the crossbow’s trigger, then striding across the hall and flipping the table with a single hand…

And now, here she was, walking that same narrow path herself. Over these many years, she had sometimes felt her own heart had long since died — but in this moment, that figure rose up in her mind again, the man responsible for it all, the very origin of so many of the decisions she herself had gone on to make. This time, she might well die, and as this reality bore down on her with undeniable weight, she suddenly realized, with a pang of regret, that she would never have the chance to see him again…

Her mind buzzed on and on. Her body’s exhaustion had only barely eased, and sleep simply wouldn’t come. She had someone bring water to wash her face, then walked out into the courtyard, and from there out into the next one beyond. Her maidservants followed behind at a distance; everything around was quiet — few people passed through the rear grounds of the great general’s estate. She wandered, pausing here and there in one of the courtyards, at whose center stood a massive pagoda tree, its leaves already turned yellow with deep autumn, its lantern-shaped seed pods scattered across the ground below.

“Miss Lou.” Someone called to her from the courtyard gate, rousing her from her distracted reverie beneath the tree. Lou Shuwan turned to look — it was a man in his forties, dressed in blue robes, with dignified, scholarly features that carried a certain gravity. She cupped her hands together out of instinct. “Master Zeng — I hardly expected to run into you here.”

“Nor did I expect to find you here, Miss Lou.” This scholar’s name was Zeng Yuhuai, a fairly renowned Confucian figure within the Prince of Jin’s ranks. Lou Shuwan had crossed paths with him a few times before, though she couldn’t claim to know him well. Zeng Yuhuai was a deeply serious scholar, and even now, as he cupped his hands in greeting, his eyes carried no particular warmth. Lou Shuwan, for all her power and standing, generally handled such scholars with a gentler touch in her dealings — but at this moment, still not quite shaken from her earlier daze, she couldn’t work out what exactly he was doing here, or what business had brought him to this spot.

“Miss Lou is often seen coming and going from Lord Yu’s residence — it does damage to your reputation. I felt this really ought to be pointed out.”

Zeng Yuhuai cupped his hands solemnly as he said this. Lou Shuwan, not expecting to be met with criticism right off the bat, hesitated a moment before a faint smile crossed her lips. “The master speaks rightly — this humble woman will be more mindful of it. Though, as the sage said, a gentleman’s heart is open and unclouded — what passes between General Yu and myself is, after all… really no one else’s concern.”

Her tongue was sharp, and the retort came easily enough as a reflexive rebuttal, but Zeng Yuhuai still stood cupping his hands. “Rumor wounds people. Where one’s reputation is concerned, it’s still wise to be careful.”

This man was thoroughly irritating. Lou Shuwan kept her smile in place and was about to respond when she heard him continue, “Miss Lou has devoted herself tirelessly to the nation and its people all these years — it truly shouldn’t be rumor that wounds you.”

“Uh…” Lou Shuwan blinked, caught off guard. “Master…”

Zeng Yuhuai’s expression remained grave, but his eyes were clear and unguarded, with no trace of pretense in them. “It’s often said that those who accomplish great things needn’t fuss over small details, but the world isn’t always fair about such things. This one once held certain misconceptions about you, Miss Lou, but having watched your conduct over these past years, I’ve come to understand just how shallow my own former judgment truly was. That the Prince of Jin’s domain has managed to develop and hold together this far owes much to your quiet support behind the scenes. And now that trade flows freely through Weisheng in every direction, that people from east and north alike have been streaming into these mountains of late, stands as proof enough of just how rare and remarkable your efforts over these years have truly been.”

Lou Shuwan considered this for a moment. “In truth… a sinking boat is passed by a thousand sails, and before a withered tree, ten thousand more spring to life. What you’re seeing, Master Zeng — is any of it really something to celebrate?”

“I have already learned that the Prince of Jin has agreed to send troops — and this, too, is something for which I wished to thank you, Miss Lou.” Zeng Yuhuai cupped his hands and bowed deeply. “For a woman to have protected this land and its people is already a merit beyond measure, and now, with the whole realm on the brink of collapse, at this moment of the greatest right and wrong, that you have thrown yourself into the effort and chosen the greater principle, the righteous path — whatever befalls you from here on, the hundreds of thousands of Han people under the Prince of Jin owe you a debt of gratitude they can never fully repay.”

“Uh…” Faced with such earnest, solemn words, Lou Shuwan found she had nothing left to say in reply.

That strange scholar continued speaking. “…In truth, over these past few years, this one gradually came to notice something extraordinary in you, Miss Lou. We’ve crossed paths a number of times, though never spoken deeply, but I sensed that you carried some old wound within you, and so, setting aside proper decorum, even as you carried out so many affairs, you never sought to have others take notice. Caught up in all this, I found myself gradually growing… drawn to you…”

“…”

“Of this, you could naturally have no knowledge, Miss Lou, and I know it’s rather presumptuous of me to speak of it now — but ever since this afternoon, having learned of everything you’ve done these past days, something has stirred within me that I find myself unable to suppress… Miss Lou, I know this is… rash of me, but with the Jurchens nearly upon us, Miss Lou… I wonder whether you might be willing…”

Zeng Yuhuai’s expression remained entirely serious throughout; he had always, in truth, been a scholar of genuine cultivation and restraint, and even now, he seemed to be simply and calmly laying out his own feelings. Lou Shuwan had never encountered anything quite like this before. In her younger years, given to a certain worldly recklessness, she had crossed paths with plenty of scholars back in Hangzhou — men who, however composed and dignified they appeared in public, invariably grew impatient and shallow once alone with her, losing all their steady bearing. Under Tian Hu, given her considerable standing, she certainly could have had no shortage of male companions had she wanted them, but she had long since lost interest in such matters; keeping to herself like some black widow spider, she had naturally attracted little romantic attention of any kind.

The middle-aged scholar before her now, however, was entirely different. He praised her with the utmost seriousness, confessed his feelings with the utmost seriousness — declaring plainly that he held her in high regard — and the whole thing struck her as bizarre in the extreme, and yet he showed no trace of excitement at all, only a kind of solemn gravity. The Jurchens were about to descend upon them, and so this declaration of feeling had, in turn, become something equally solemn. In that moment, thirty-six-year-old Lou Shuwan stood beneath the yellowed leaves of the tree, its lantern-shaped seed pods scattered across the ground all around her, folded her hands together, and offered a small bow — a lady’s courtesy gesture she had not performed in a very long time.

“Master Zeng, I’m sorry… Shuwan…” She paused for a moment. “…has already pledged herself to the nation, and cannot pledge herself to any man now.” In her heart, she thought: what I’ve just said is a lie.

Zeng Yuhuai’s words came to a stop. “I see… this one has indeed been rash… I have already decided — tomorrow I will go to join the army, and hope, if possible, to march north with the troops. The Jurchens will soon be upon us, and in the days to come… should I be fortunate enough to survive… Miss Lou, I hope we might meet again.”

Lou Shuwan stood there in silence, watching his gaze grow clear and steady, but there was nothing left for her to say. Having finished speaking, Zeng Yuhuai turned and took his leave. Lou Shuwan remained standing beneath the tree as the sunset scattered its magnificent glow across the entire sky. She did not particularly care for Zeng Yuhuai, and certainly could not claim to love him — and yet, in that moment, the low buzzing that had filled her mind fell silent at last.

She climbed into her carriage and rode slowly through the marketplace, through the bustling crowds of the city, all the way back to her home on the outskirts. By the time she arrived, night had already fallen, and the evening wind was rising, sweeping in from the fields beyond to reach the courtyard here. Lou Shuwan walked slowly through the grounds, taking in everything around her — the gray stone paving, the red walls and gray tiles, the carvings and painted scenes upon the walls, the wild grass beneath the corridor eaves. She stopped at the garden. Only a few flowers still bloomed this late in autumn, though the various plants remained lush and green — the garden was tended daily, though she herself had no real need of any of it, had never so much as glanced at it in passing before, and yet, all this time, it had simply gone on existing all the same.

Lou Shuwan sat quietly at the edge of a flowerbed, gazing at all of this. Servants lit lanterns beneath the eaves of the surrounding pavilions, and moonlight poured down, illuminating the pond at the garden’s center, its surface shimmering with rippling light in the evening breeze. After a while, Lou Shuweng, clearly drunk, came stumbling in from the other side; making his way to the pavilion above the pond, he caught sight of Lou Shuwan and, startled, collapsed to the ground, cowering slightly.

“There’s going to be a war,” Lou Shuweng said after a moment. Lou Shuwan simply looked at him without much reaction, and he went on. “The Jurchens are coming, there’s going to be war… madness—”

“War’s coming…”

“War’s coming…”

A long, long silence settled over the courtyard. Lou Shuweng lay sprawled in the pavilion, rolling about, then finally propped himself up against a pillar, muttering to himself. Ever since coming under Tiger King’s domain, the Central Plains had never known real peace, but because Lou Shuwan had risen so quickly, the only war the two siblings had ever truly lived through had, in fact, been the uprising of the Yongle court and the flight that followed. Deep down, Lou Shuweng still carried a genuine fear of it.

At some point, Lou Shuwan rose and walked over, seating herself in the pavilion close beside her brother, simply looking at him. The Lou family now consisted of only the two of them; Lou Shuweng was good for nothing at all, and Lou Shuwan had once hoped he might at least indulge himself with women enough to leave behind some heir to carry on the family line — but as it turned out, years of excess had left him incapable of that as well. For a while now, this was the only time the two of them had ever sat together so quietly like this.

“Brother, how many years has it been?”

“…Huh?”

“Do you ever think of Hangzhou? I always used to think about it, but I couldn’t remember it clearly — not until today…” Lou Shuwan said quietly. In the moonlight, the corners of her eyes seemed faintly red, though it might just as easily have been a trick of the light.

“…”

“…Yes… the Jurchens are coming… Something’s happened, brother, and suddenly it feels like we…” her voice caught for a moment, “…we lived our lives far too carelessly…”

“Huh?” A sound escaped Lou Shuweng’s throat, but he clearly hadn’t understood a word of it.

“…You, me, our elder brother — thinking back on it all now… we were all far too careless with our lives… far too careless—” She closed her eyes, weeping softly, thinking back on all the happiness of the past, on everything they had once treated so carelessly, whether joy or pleasure, on all the desires she herself had once lingered in and lost herself to — until, at thirty-six years old, that scholar had bowed to her with such earnest solemnity and told her: you’ve devoted yourself to the nation and its people, and I have come to admire you… I’ve made my decision, I’m heading north… She hadn’t cared for him at all. And yet, somehow, that endless buzzing noise in her mind had finally gone silent…

If she herself, if her own brother, had faced this world with more solemn seriousness back then, might everything have turned out differently in the end?

She sat there in the pavilion, watching that other Lou Shuwan existing in some other world entirely. The moonlight poured down, illuminating range upon range of distant mountains, ten thousand li of rivers, all wreathed now in the smoke of war.

Time, bearing an unspeakable, mountainous weight of memory, pressed all of it down upon her at once, grinding her entire past to dust. And yet, opening her eyes now, she found the road had already run its course.

She thought of Ning Yi.

I still haven’t had my revenge on you…

And now the Jurchens had come…