The night was crystal clear and bright, a crescent moon hanging leisurely in the sky, the Milky Way like a ribbon. Looking up through the gaps in the trees, that stretch of night sky looked like a blue sea.

“…And that’s how the story of Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils ends…”

On the woodland in front of the ruined temple, the campfire crackled and popped. Ning Yi slowly finished the last part of the story, then shrugged and smiled. “I timed that just right.”

Beside him, Lu Hongti poked at the fire with a branch, silent for a long while. “What happened to the Song dynasty afterward?”

Ning Yi thought about it, then rolled his eyes. “How would I know that…”

“…What a pointless story.”

Silence settled over them. It was now the night of the twenty-third of the sixth month, nearly midnight, soon to become the twenty-fourth. Over these nearly twenty days together, most of what needed saying had, by and large, been said. Lu Hongti had taught him a usable set of internal cultivation techniques that would bear fruit with steady practice, while Ning Yi had already worked out a whole development plan for Lu Hongti’s small bandit stronghold in the Lüliang Mountains — something he’d always been good at, and the task shouldn’t prove too difficult.

Naturally, these plans and lessons touched on everything from organizational division of labor to combat assignments to alliances and infighting, though they were hardly modeled on some pure corporate structure or a set of rigid military regulations. The people up in the Lüliang Mountains mostly operated as village-based, clan-style groups — there was no way to turn that into mechanized rules and bylaws. All one could do was make quiet, subtle adjustments over time.

A relatively healthy and stable structure carried enormous vitality and potential for growth on its own; a truly skilled hand at guiding such things could see how a single small move might set off a chain reaction. But since Ning Yi couldn’t personally go to the Lüliang Mountains, all he could do was design a few key turning points for her. Once certain goals were achieved, they could gradually reshape the social structure beneath her, naturally leading into the next step. Lu Hongti commanded only a hundred-odd men, and Ning Yi could reasonably predict the many changes that would follow once such a small group underwent simple division of labor. As long as Lu Hongti could get a few basic rules established, she’d be able to lead the growth of this small organization more soundly and naturally going forward — the kind of situation where everyone had clamored to kill Song Xian and it ended with her having to step in personally shouldn’t happen again.

Trying to explain, within a matter of days, an entire course on management that could actually be put into practice was simply too difficult. There was no fixed formula to it in the first place, so Ning Yi could only lay out a few key principles and hope that Lu Hongti’s own intelligence could take it from there. She wasn’t stupid, and she possessed formidable martial skill besides — and someone with formidable martial skill, in a place like that, generally carried enormous personal charisma. It shouldn’t be too great a problem.

Organizational fundamentals made up about half of it; the other half concerned how to deal with the merchants passing through and the other bandit chiefs scattered around the Lüliang region — expanding everyone’s room to survive, increasing mutual solidarity and cohesion, along with some ideas and strategies for dealing with the Liao people, and so on.

This portion of the plan and advice was fairly varied, and Ning Yi had thought it over for a long time. For instance, offering a degree of protection to merchants passing through their territory in exchange for a fixed cut of resources; once their influence grew somewhat, they could reach out and negotiate such matters with the chiefs of the surrounding strongholds. Of course, how the resources were collected, distributed, overseen, and kept fair — that was the most important part, and Ning Yi provided some guiding clauses and methods of oversight for that as well, copied out in brush and ink into a small booklet for Lu Hongti to take back with her. If she could bring these forward in the future and have them prove effective, her influence would naturally grow further.

For instance, forming three or four elite five-man squads, trained in the highly purpose-driven manner of special forces. Among the hunters and bandits of the mountains, some stood out in individual skill, but there was no way, up in the mountains, to get the kind of focused, purpose-driven training needed for genuine teamwork and coordination. Lu Hongti should train this group as ruthlessly as possible, give them good treatment, and carve out a privileged class within the small collective — though of course, there had to be positive, principled constraints on it, or such privilege would likely only bring negative effects; properly guided, though, that privilege could also spur enthusiasm in everyone else.

For instance, having the storytelling elders talk up more tales of Liao cruelty, tell a hero story or two here and there — resisting the barbarians, resisting the Liao, loyal devotion to one’s country — while telling fewer tales of mountain spirits, monsters, and fox-demons. One could even specifically seek out someone with a gift for this; there was no need to be heavy-handed about it — if Lu Hongti simply mentioned it in passing, the person would naturally start telling such stories in the evenings on their own. Simple control and stirring of public sentiment might look trivial at first glance, but with deliberate guidance sustained over the long run, it could greatly increase cohesion and a shared sense of purpose.

Everything he could think of, along with some ideas for future development, was mostly copied down into a small notebook. Out of concern for secrecy, Ning Yi hadn’t originally wanted to do it this way, since Lu Hongti wasn’t very literate — but by her own account, there was an old grandfather back at the stronghold who was quite capable and knowledgeable, someone she’d often consulted in the past on many matters, and she’d need to show him the notebook before acting on any of it. Though that was only part of the reason; Ning Yi also noticed that she seemed to be treating the thing as a kind of military manual tailor-made for Lüliang, meant to be brought back home — he’d caught her more than once looking at that little booklet as though it were something precious.

Well, so be it. Given her ability, she wasn’t likely to lose it and get him dragged into trouble because of it. And in a little over ten days, it really would be hard to fully absorb everything he’d said — if she could bring back a written manual, with a genuinely trustworthy person to help guide her through it, these plans stood a much better chance of not failing.

So he laid down two conditions with her.

“First: this thing has nothing to do with me — you were never entertained by the Bloody-Handed Butcher of Men. Second: whoever you show it to must be someone truly selfless and trustworthy — someone who can guide you. That Grandfather Liang you mentioned, if he’s genuinely in his seventies or eighties, with no heirs, no power base, and no personal ambitions of his own, then it should be fine. But if you pick the wrong person, well — I’ll say this: it won’t be much of my business at that point, only that not long after, you might lose your position, and someone might do you in from the shadows. At that point all I’d hope is… that you keep your life. Don’t force things past what’s possible — as long as you’re alive, run.”

“You scholarly types really do know quite a lot…” After the story ended, Lu Hongti seemed to sit with some mixture of reflection and melancholy for a while. “Honestly, that’s not what I thought at first, but now I suddenly find myself wondering… whether I ought to just carry you off back to Lüliang.”

Ning Yi laughed over there. “I only know some crooked little tricks — you’re giving me far too much credit. Honestly, I have no idea whether any of this will actually be useful.”

“It’s not crooked tricks. I know the difference.” This time Lu Hongti shook her head, and after a moment, said, “Will you go into officialdom one day?”

“A matrilocal son-in-law can’t very well become an official — and besides, what I study, this ‘investigative learning’ of mine, is probably exactly the kind of ‘crooked trick’ other people would call it.”

“Oh, right — tell me the rest of that story, A Chinese Ghost Story. I never got to hear the ending that day…”

“No.” By the campfire, Ning Yi refused flatly. Lu Hongti stared blankly for a good while. “Why not?”

“Don’t die. Next time we meet again, I’ll tell it to you then.”

Lu Hongti thought about it for a moment, first smiled, then turned her head away and gave a cold snort. “I’m going to sleep.” She flopped down onto the grass behind them with a thump.

Ning Yi waved a smoking leaf around to drive off the mosquitoes a bit, then lay down as well, the river of stars turning overhead. Lu Hongti lay there with her eyes open, watching the sky for a while. “Hey, what are you thinking about?”

“Mosquito coils,” Ning Yi said. “I’ve nearly been smoked to death these past few nights. Back at the Su household the mosquito coils didn’t smell great either — the ones nowadays have a bit of arsenic in them, which probably isn’t great for the body. I’ve been wondering if there’s a better formula for mosquito coils — should be fairly simple, really, though it’s a shame I never looked into it before. It’s painful, not having good mosquito coils. MSG is hard to come by too…”

Ning Yi rambled on as usual about his various notions of “investigative learning” — some of it comprehensible, some not. Lu Hongti lay there smiling, listening and listening, until, without noticing when, she finally drifted off into deep sleep.

Either way, tomorrow they would part.

The next morning, as usual, they greeted each other, washed up, and cooked some porridge. While fetching water, Lu Hongti felt her face was a bit stiff and numb, so she adjusted herself briefly by the water’s edge, then went back and ran through a simple set of forms with Ning Yi. After breakfast, the two of them sat for a while on the steps in front of the ruined temple without speaking. The morning gradually wore on, and at some point, Lu Hongti finally stood up, went into the temple to fetch her bundle, slung it over her back, and walked out through the temple gate.

“I’m heading back to Lüliang,” she said with a smile. “There’s one more thing I should tell you.”

“Hm?”

Amid Ning Yi’s puzzlement, Lu Hongti’s smile turned a bit mischievous, almost gleeful. “As much as you love martial arts, you’ll never become a first-rate master. At most, you’ll only ever be second-rate.”

She’d said something like this a few times before, and Ning Yi scoffed. “You’ve said that already, haven’t you? I like being second-rate just fine. I’m satisfied. I never intended to be first-rate anyway — I don’t even want to be.”

“I’m telling you this because you wouldn’t finish that ghost story for me last night.” Lu Hongti smiled and walked forward, stopping in front of a large tree — its trunk about as thick as a water barrel — sunlight falling across it from that direction. She turned back. “Do you know what a first-rate master can do?”

The words had barely left her mouth when Ning Yi saw her gaze suddenly harden, her robes flaring outward, her body coiling like a drawn slingshot before surging forward!

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Three massive impacts sounded in quick succession. Then Ning Yi saw her spin back around, her skirt hem sweeping a full circle through the air — in that instant she seemed almost weightless, gliding as if her feet never touched the ground. Behind her, with a series of cracking sounds, the entire trunk of that great tree had already snapped, its crown beginning to tilt and topple, branches and leaves thrashing wildly in every direction as the shockwave of air rippled outward. The morning sunlight poured through from that direction, bathing her in light.

“That’s not fair…”

Watching that spectacular sight, Ning Yi stood stunned for a long moment before muttering this and shaking his head. Lu Hongti, seemingly wreathed in drifting light and dust, laughed happily. “I’m off now.”

“Wait.”

“Hm?”

He hesitated for a moment, then let out a breath. “I consider you a friend.”

“…” Lu Hongti looked at him, waiting for what came next.

“So… I won’t be going with you to Lüliang. But if you ever run into trouble, you can come find me… So if anything happens, remember — don’t die.”

She was silent for a long while before finally nodding. “I’ll wait for the day I get to eat that roast chicken up in Lüliang. And you — remember to have your friend open a shop out there too… Take care.”

“Take care.”

He watched that figure turn and head down the mountain, gradually vanishing into the light until she was gone from sight entirely. Only then did he stretch, turn back to look at the ruined temple behind him, the mountain wind blowing past. After a long while, he pulled a small notebook from inside his robe and idly flipped through it — inside were the internal cultivation methods Lu Hongti had left him.

“In the end, I still managed to get my hands on it…”

There wasn’t necessarily much triumph in the words as he said them. He patted the little notebook, sighed, tucked it back into his robe, and started down the mountain.

His left hand was still wrapped in bandages, but after twenty days of rest and internal cultivation, his spirits were now quite good. Before long he came out onto the small path and up onto the main road, and by the time Jiangning came into view, he noticed something — there were far more ragged, family-laden travelers from other regions on the road than before. Thinking back, this was probably the tide of refugees that old Qin and old Kang had mentioned, now beginning to arrive in this direction.

For now the situation didn’t seem too severe, and once he entered the city, the sense of it faded somewhat further. He made his way toward the Su residence, glancing at his bandaged left hand, wondering how best to explain things to Chan’er and the others. As he passed a street corner, a carriage rolled by, and Su Tan’er’s head suddenly poked out, turning to look back at him and calling out, “Stop, stop, stop…”

The carriage rolled another ten-odd meters before stopping. Su Tan’er got a clear look at his bandaged left hand, bit her lip, then ducked her head back into the carriage for a moment, seeming to say, “Liheng’s back.” She jumped down from the carriage, and on the other side, Chan’er, Juan’er, and Xing’er followed suit.

Su Tan’er hitched up her skirt and jogged a few steps before slowing, as if waiting for Chan’er and Juan’er beside her to catch up. She looked at Ning Yi’s left hand, frowning slightly. Before long, the three maids had gathered around Ning Yi, anxiously discussing his hand. Ning Yi looked at Su Tan’er approaching and gave a somewhat helpless smile. Su Tan’er let out a complicated sigh. “You’re back?”

“It’s fine now.” On the streets of Jiangning, under the bright morning sun, Ning Yi finally spoke, saying just that.