The snow had stopped falling some days ago, and a chill hung in the air within the city of Wozhou. The streets and buildings were patterned in black, white, and gray; along both sides of the road, people with their hands tucked into their sleeves crouched beneath the eaves, watching passersby come and go. White breath puffed from their noses, and few spoke loudly; the glances that occasionally crossed on the road were mostly anxious and uneasy.

Some households had already packed up their carts and horses, preparing to leave. Beneath a tree ahead on the road, a child was crying softly, while across the way, in a doorway, another child, waving goodbye to him, was already in tears. In the narrow alleys, young couples uncertain of what the future held met for what might be the last time; most shops had shut their doors, and martial artists of the wandering world hurried past, uncertain where they were needed to help.

This was the look of a land torn by chaos and flight — Shi Jin had first witnessed such scenes more than a decade ago, and now, seeing them again, he felt it more deeply than before. This feeling left him despairing of the world, and yet always left something he couldn’t quite let go of. Along the road to the Great Radiance Sect’s branch temple, the noise grew louder as he approached — inside, the shouts of the temple’s guardian monks practicing martial arts rang out; outside, monks preached the dharma amid crowds that filled half the street, everyone seeking the bodhisattva’s protection.

Shi Jin, dressed in a plain cotton coat, looked like a farmer from the countryside, though the long bundle on his back hinted at his true nature as a man of the martial world. He made his way toward the rear gate, and partway there, a well-dressed, refined-looking man came forward to greet him, bowing deeply with full ceremony: “The Dragon King has arrived — please, this way.”

Shi Jin followed in silence.

The guardian monks practicing before the temple shouted and grunted with great vigor, but this was merely a show put on for the ignorant masses; the true gathering of skilled men who had come with Lin Zongwu was assembled further back. Beneath the eaves and in the courtyards, monks and laymen alike, young and old, mostly carried sharp, watchful gazes; some cast their eyes over at Shi Jin, some sparred with each other in the courtyards.

The martial world might appear loose and informal, but in truth it too had its rules and its hierarchy. Lin Zongwu was now the greatest master under heaven, and those gathered beneath him were mostly regional strongmen and leaders in their own right; for an ordinary person to enter this courtyard, some manner of testing and measuring was unavoidable — the treatment given depended entirely on who was approaching.

Compared to scholars, who at least still spoke of modesty and an open mind, martial artists were far more direct — they trained skill, and sought respect; if their skill was strong, insufficient respect wouldn’t do, and whatever respect they wanted, they generally had to earn it themselves. But Shi Jin, of course, had long since stood outside such considerations. Some who recognized this farmer-like figure stood respectfully to one side; others murmured questions quietly, then withdrew silently to watch from a distance. Among them, some of the younger men still had a defiant glint in their eyes, but none of the middle-aged men dared act rashly. The older one grows in the martial world, the more cautious one becomes — not because one’s courage shrinks, but because having seen more, one comes to understand more, and no longer harbors unrealistic delusions.

Past two more such courtyards lay a garden where plum blossoms had opened; the pond had not yet frozen over, and a pavilion stood above the water. Lin Zongwu came forward to meet him from that direction. “Dragon King — my apologies, some matters delayed me, I’ve kept you waiting.”

“Abbot Lin.” Shi Jin merely gave a slight bow of the hands.

Shi Jin did not particularly care for Lin Zongwu — the man was consumed by ambition for power, and many of his methods could fairly be called unscrupulous; the Great Radiance Sect sought only to expand, deceiving the masses, and its countless disciples, good and bad mixed together, had done more than a few thoroughly wicked things. But judged purely by the standards of the martial world, the man was, at most, an ambitious hero of sorts — outwardly bold and seemingly benevolent, and in his personal dealings, he still kept some measure of restraint. Song Jiang of Liangshan, back in the day, had been no different.

In his early days, Shi Jin had cared only for brotherhood and loyalty; he too had once joined Liangshan. But as his experience deepened — especially after carefully reflecting on Grandmaster Zhou’s life — he had come to understand that Liangshan, too, had been a wrong turn. Yet after more than a decade navigating this world where black and white blurred together, he was not one to turn against Lin Zongwu simply out of this kind of distaste. As for the duel in Zezhou the year before, though he had been beaten until he spat blood, that had been a fair contest — he had simply been outmatched, and he bore no grudge over it.

After exchanging greetings, Lin Zongwu led Shi Jin toward the pavilion ahead, where tea had already been brewed, murmuring something about how “the Dragon King is hard to invite.” By the table, he turned back and formally cupped his hands once more.

“I’ve heard about the matter with Wang Gan. Dragon King, with thirty men you broke through a force of six hundred, and saved an entire village of the old and weak besides. Dragon King is a true hero — allow me to bow to you.”

As the foremost figure under heaven, for Lin Zongwu to show such deference — had it been any other man of the martial world, they would likely have been utterly won over on the spot. Shi Jin merely watched him, returning the bow. “I heard that Abbot Lin has word of Mu Anping. Shi came for this reason — I hope the Abbot will not withhold what he knows.”

“…Please, sit first.” Lin Zongwu looked at him for a moment, then spread his hands with a smile. The two sat down in the pavilion, and Lin Zongwu said: “The Eight-Armed Dragon King, compassionate toward all under heaven — back when you led Red Peak Mountain against the Jurchens, everyone who spoke of it would raise their thumb in admiration. The last time you and I met was in Zezhou — at the time I noticed a knot of tension in the Dragon King’s brow, and assumed it was over the troubles at Red Peak Mountain. But seeing you again today, I now realize it was the suffering of all under heaven weighing on the Dragon King’s heart.”

Shi Jin listened to him rambling on, thinking to himself, spare me the flattery, but replied only: “What makes you say so?”

Lin Zongwu smiled amiably, pushing a cup of tea toward him. “If it were truly over Red Peak Mountain, the Dragon King would simply have led men back to reclaim it — why linger here in Wozhou for a full year instead? I heard the Dragon King originally came searching for this Mu Anping, but couldn’t help getting drawn again and again into the matter of the Jurchens. And now the Dragon King bears the look of a man courting death, weary of this world. I imagine the monk’s babbling right now, the Dragon King is thinking, what nonsense is this fool spouting…”

Shi Jin took the cup he was offered, thought for a moment: “I came for word of Mu Anping. If Abbot Lin has news of the child, I would be grateful for it.”

Lin Zongwu nodded. “As for this child, I too have some doubts, and wished to consult the Dragon King about them. In early July, some matters brought me to Wozhou, and at the time, Master Tian of the Weishan Hall hosted a banquet for me. On the night of the third day of the seventh month, something happened…”

The weather was cold, and within the pavilion, steam rose in wisps from the hot tea. Lin Zongwu, his expression grave, began recounting the great battle that had taken place that night — beginning inexplicably, and ending just as inexplicably.

“…Wandering the martial world, one sometimes gets tangled up in things through sheer coincidence, and ends up caught in the crossfire. It’s something of a joke, really… Afterward I had my people quietly investigate, and after some time, learned the full story behind it — that constable named Mu Yi had his wife murdered and his child taken. He’d gone half out of his mind with grief; the monk, too, was left with nowhere to retreat. Tian Weishan deserved to die, and that Tan Lu deserved it most of all.”

Lin Zongwu paused. “I only learned that this Mu Yi had ties to the Dragon King a few days ago. Around the same time, the monk heard that a great master had died fighting his way through enemy lines carrying word of the Jurchen advance south, dying in the Leping camp. They called it ‘storming the camp,’ but in truth, the man’s skill was that of a grandmaster — he was seeking death more than anything else. Later it was confirmed that this man was indeed that same Constable Mu — likely, because of what happened to his wife and child, he no longer wished to go on living…”

He reached over and poured himself a cup of tea, gazing at the steam rising from it. “Dragon King — might I ask, just who exactly was this Mu Yi?”

“…The man is already dead,” Shi Jin said. “Even if Abbot Lin knows, what use would it be now?”

Lin Zongwu’s expression turned complicated as he gave a faint smile. “Dragon King may have some misunderstanding here. This whole affair started off as something of a muddle, but I did put it about that I hold the title of greatest under heaven in martial arts — after a public contest, it’s not exactly proper for me to go seeking retribution afterward. But Dragon King — what do you suppose it is that I, in this life, truly seek?”

Shi Jin quietly drank his tea. “Abbot Lin’s martial skill, Shi holds in genuine respect.”

“Indeed.” Lin Zongwu’s face carried a faint, bitter smile. He paused. “This year, I turn fifty-eight. In front of others, I like to talk big — and I’ll speak the same way in front of the Dragon King now, though I risk your scorn for it. In this life, the monk has been impure in his six roots, full of worldly desire — but what he has sought most deeply of all is the reputation of being the greatest martial artist under heaven.”

The large-framed monk took a sip of tea. “When the monk was young, I thought myself formidably skilled — but then there were men of heaven-sent talent like Fang La, Fang Qifo, Liu Dabiao, and in the north, Zhou Tong, who held court at the Imperial Archery Hall, undefeated by anyone under heaven. My own sect was usurped by Fang La, and I was forced to go into hiding with my fellow disciples. By the time I had truly mastered my art, Liu Dabiao was already dead, and Fang La and Fang Qifo were contending for the realm, only to be defeated at Hangzhou. By the time I had regathered my strength, I had long wanted to challenge that Grandmaster Zhou — greatest under heaven — to a match, to prove myself. But alas… at the time, Zhou Tong was nearly eighty, and unwilling to fight a junior like myself. And I thought to myself — even if I found him, what would it prove? Defeating him then would have been no true victory. Not long after, he died attacking Nian Han.”

“…From that day on, this title of ‘greatest under heaven’ was forever beyond my reach.” Lin Zongwu sighed wistfully within the pavilion, and after a moment turned his gaze to Shi Jin. “I heard afterward that when Grandmaster Zhou went to assassinate Nian Han, the Dragon King was at his side, and even received his instruction. I wonder — in the Dragon King’s own judgment, how would you rate Grandmaster Zhou’s skill?”

Shi Jin looked at him. “You are no match for Grandmaster Zhou.”

Lin Zongwu clapped his hands and nodded. “I supposed as much. And now, looking back on the brilliance of that older generation, my heart still turns toward it with longing. A pity — I never had the chance to meet him in life. This remains one of the greatest regrets of my life.”

He sighed wistfully, rising from his seat and gazing off toward the eaves and the sky beyond.

“If this had been earlier, the monk would not have been willing to admit this,” he said. “But this past July, that man Mu Yi’s spear technique left me utterly astonished. In his spearwork, there were traces of Grandmaster Zhou’s own technique — and it’s for this reason that I’ve been asking after him ever since. Brother Shi, the departed are gone, but those of us still living may yet cherish their memory. This man’s skill was far too high to have been some obscure nobody — I ask that the Dragon King tell me who he truly was, if only to settle this lingering doubt in my heart.”

Shi Jin studied him for a long moment before finally speaking: “This man was my sworn elder brother from our days at Liangshan, one of Grandmaster Zhou’s own disciples at the Imperial Archery Hall, once Chief Drill Instructor of the Eight Hundred Thousand Imperial Guards — the ‘Panther Head’ Lin Chong. My elder brother came from a good family, but was later destroyed by a treacherous man, Gao Qiu — his family broken, his home ruined, driven to Liangshan…”

Outside, the cold wind moaned as it swept over the courtyard. Shi Jin recounted his elder brother’s life from the beginning — his forced flight to Liangshan, the fall of Liangshan itself, his reunion with and subsequent expulsion from Zhou Tong’s tutelage, the years of seclusion that followed, the family he had built and which had then been shattered once again. In these recent days, weighed down by so many burdens, he had found sleep difficult at night; now, as he spoke of Lin Chong’s story, the redness in his eyes was no longer clear whether it was from blood or the faint welling of tears.

“Heaven shows no mercy.” Lin Zongwu, listening to all this, nodded faintly and let out a sigh of his own. Only now did he understand where the madness and desperate resolve in Lin Chong’s spear technique had come from. By the time Shi Jin had finished telling everything, the courtyard fell silent for a long while before Shi Jin spoke again:

“My elder brother Lin is dead now. The only blood he left in this world is Anping. Master Lin summoned me here saying you had news of the child — if this isn’t merely a diversion at Shi’s expense, then Shi thanks you in advance.”

Lin Zongwu regarded him in silence for a moment, as though making some important decision, then finally said: “Brother Shi is searching for Mu Anping’s whereabouts; the monk, too, has been searching into the origins of this whole affair — but it happened long ago, and Tan Lu… has not been found. However, that young master of the Qi family who caused the incident has recently been captured and brought back; the monk has had him detained, and he is now being held in a private cell within Wozhou.”

He produced a token and slid it across the table to Shi Jin. “First house at the head of Huangmu Lane, the Rong Martial Arts Hall. Brother Shi may go there to claim him whenever you wish. Though… I’ve already asked, and it seems he likely doesn’t know Tan Lu’s whereabouts either.”

“That will be enough. My thanks, Abbot Lin…” Shi Jin’s voice was very low; he took the token, and though he remained seated as before, the killing intent and viciousness in his eyes had already begun to gather. Lin Zongwu pushed another cup of tea toward him. “Might the Dragon King still be willing to hear a few more words from me?”

“Please, speak freely, Abbot.”

“Brother Shi cannot let go of the people of this world.” Lin Zongwu smiled. “Even now, with your heart entirely occupied by the whereabouts of Mu Anping, you still cannot set aside the crisis of the Jurchen advance. The monk… is no good man — my heart holds many desires, thirst for power and fame among them — but on the whole, Brother Shi, our Great Radiance Sect’s conduct has been beyond reproach on matters of great principle. Ten years ago, the monk already raised an army to resist the Jin; over these years, the Great Radiance Sect has always taken resisting the Jurchens as its own duty. And now that the Jurchens are coming, Wozhou will be hard to hold, and the monk intends to fight them. Brother Shi should know as well — once the fighting and danger truly come, you will certainly climb these city walls yourself. Brother Shi is skilled in the art of war — you defeated Wang Gan’s six hundred men with only thirty-odd brothers… The monk called Brother Shi here for exactly this matter.”

He continued: “More than a decade ago, when I learned that Grandmaster Zhou had died assassinating Nian Han, I understood in my heart that I would never again have the chance to test myself against him and earn that title of greatest under heaven. At the time I had founded the Great Radiance Sect, with hundreds of thousands of followers under me; going north myself to assassinate Nian Han in turn would have won me nothing but the world’s ridicule, dying for a cause not my own. So instead I led my followers north. Unfortunately, though many skilled fighters of the martial world served under me, too few understood military strategy. Brother Shi — heaven shows no mercy, and all under heaven suffer, but to change all this, the martial skill of one or two men, however great, counts for nothing.”

“…I know the troubles at Red Peak Mountain have left many doubts in Brother Shi’s heart, but for the sake of peace for the generations to come, both great matters and small must simply be endured… The monk was thinking, if Brother Shi has time to spare, might you come join our Great Radiance Sect, to help manage and guide these younger disciples beneath me? If we fight the Jin, you and I can stand shoulder to shoulder in battle; and if afterward Brother Shi wishes to go elsewhere — whether to wander the world alone, or to reclaim Red Peak Mountain — the monk promises, when that time comes, I will never try to hold you back. Between the two of us, it will always be a bond of true brotherhood.”

Having said all this, he poured tea for Shi Jin. Shi Jin was silent for a long while, then nodded and rose, cupping his hands. “Allow me to think on it.”

“Of course you should consider it carefully.” Lin Zongwu rose as well, spreading his hands with a smile. Shi Jin expressed his thanks once more, and Lin Zongwu added: “Our Great Radiance Sect may be a mixed bag, dragons and snakes all together, but we do have numbers — regarding news of Tan Lu, I still have people looking into it, and the moment there’s any result, Brother Shi will be the first to know.”

With these words, he escorted Shi Jin out of the courtyard. Once he had returned, he let out a quiet sigh. Wang Nantuo had already been waiting there. “Who would have thought that man was Zhou Tong’s own disciple. After suffering through such wickedness, no wonder he fights as though courting death whenever he meets someone. His family scattered, his wife and children lost, his home destroyed — small wonder I lost to him; I can’t say it was unjust.”

In the great battle back in July, Wang Nantuo had lost the use of one arm, and had very nearly been killed on the spot by Lin Chong. Yet, being a man who never made much distinction between good and evil in his own conduct, even after being dragged into this whole absurd mess and suffering a severe decline in his martial ability, he still bore it with a certain rough good humor.

“A pity — this Dragon King still harbors reservations about our sect’s conduct, and won’t be persuaded to join us.”

“Why didn’t Elder Brother tell him outright that Mu Anping was rescued by you, Elder Brother? Surely, learning that we saved Lin Chong’s only remaining blood, Shi Jin would be overwhelmed with gratitude — and then it would be much harder for him to refuse when you raise the matter of joining the sect.”

Lin Zongwu shook his head. “Shi Jin is not like other men — he holds fast to great principle and righteousness, the kind who’d rather die pure than live compromised. Even if I handed the child over to him directly, he’d simply repay the debt privately and never join the sect — what I want is his skill in commanding troops. I want him to submit wholeheartedly; what good would it do me if, in private, he simply owed me a favor? Great principle and righteousness are things forged only in moments of great principle and righteousness. Once the fighting in the north begins, Shi Jin won’t be able to leave — once there’s a bond forged on the battlefield, it will be far easier to bring these matters up again then. Better to lay the groundwork first, and only later let him see the child — that’s the way to truly win his heart… If we have him, those tens of thousands of men still at Red Peak Mountain would become a formidable force as well. And by then, he’ll want to reclaim it.”

Wang Nantuo nodded along, then added: “But by that point, once the two of them meet and the child tells him the truth, won’t Shi Jin realize Elder Brother deceived him?”

“I’ve already decided — I will take Mu Anping as my own disciple.” Lin Zongwu said, his hands clasped behind his back, a faint smile on his face. “Zhou Tong, ah, Zhou Tong — you and I were fated never to meet face to face in this life. Of his disciples, Fulu received his true teachings, but he’s likely off tending Zhou Tong’s grave somewhere — nearly impossible to find, I’d guess. General Yue Pengju is bound up in military affairs, and could never spar with me to test the Way in any case. If I take this disciple, and pass on to him my true teachings, then when he one day makes his name known throughout the realm, my connection to Zhou Tong will at last come full circle — a complete circle.”

Having said this, he nodded. “…That settles it, then.”

After a moment of quiet, Lin Zongwu walked over toward the tea table in the pavilion, then turned back and asked: “By the way — how is Yan Chuxiang doing?”

“He Yun just got back from Gaizhou — not good news.” Wang Nantuo hesitated for a moment. “Yan Chuxiang and the Gaizhou branch, I’m afraid, have turned to that woman’s side.”

At these words, a look of fury flashed across Lin Zongwu’s face; with a crack, he struck the pillar of the pavilion beside him, sending a spray of stone dust flying, leaving a bowl-sized gouge in the stone column.

The year before, amid the internal strife within Prince Jin’s territory, Lin Zongwu had seized the opportunity to strike a deal with Lou Shuwan, securing the right to proselytize within Prince Jin’s territory, and in the process had cast Lou Shuwan as the incarnate Heavenly Maiden Descended to Earth, sharing power over the territory’s forces with her. But who would have thought that within a little over a year, this woman — who had seemed half-mad — would, through a combination of political maneuvering and refining the sect’s own methods of persuading the masses, have won over the majority of the Great Radiance Sect’s strength for herself. By now, even Great Radiance Sect followers outside Prince Jin’s territory largely knew of this “Heavenly Maiden Descended to Earth” and her capable leadership, and were content to follow her lead, confident of never going hungry. Only now did Lin Zongwu understand just how treacherous the world truly was — the power struggles at the grand scale, it turned out, were far more perilous than the petty scuffles of the martial world.

Still, the Great Radiance Sect’s core strength remained far from negligible, and Lin Zongwu, having weathered many storms over his lifetime, was not about to be brought down by this alone. Seeing that Prince Jin had begun his campaign against the Jin, with Tian Shi personally leading the charge, Lin Zongwu understood well enough that in this chaotic age, mere soft manipulation and agitation would not be enough to secure a place for himself. He had come to Wozhou, and had reached out to Shi Jin several times over, all in hopes of recruiting soldiers and forging real battlefield accomplishments and a genuine reputation.

Now, hearing the news that Yan Chuxiang of the Gaizhou branch had turned to Lou Shuwan’s side, Lin Zongwu’s fury blazed, and it took him quite some time to settle himself. It was not yet noon; inside and outside the courtyard, the snow lay pristine white, the sky clear and washed clean — when suddenly someone came dashing in from outside, and by the time he reached Lin Zongwu, his words were already coming out in a stammer.

“Re-report, re-report, re-re-report… report, the Jurchen army… the Jurchen army…”

“What is it?”

“The Jurchens… Shu-Shu-Shuliesu is leading a force, appeared thirty li north of Wozhou city, numbers… numbers unknown — reports say no fewer than…” the messenger, his voice cracking with fear, added, “no fewer than fifty thousand…”

Lin Zongwu stood frozen where he was, utterly stunned.

At that very moment, out front, the guardian monks were still vigorously performing their martial drills, while in the city streets, Shi Jin was moving swiftly through the crowd toward the Rong Martial Arts Hall. Before long, the sound of warning bells and gongs rolled through the city like a tide.

The war had broken out. In this great battle on the western front of the Central Plains, Wang Juyun and Tian Shi had committed a million-strong army, advancing north in successive waves; in the four clashes that had already erupted, these two repeatedly defeated forces had tried to trap the Jurchens in the vast, chaotic wasteland near the ruins of Taiyuan — cutting off supply lines on one hand, harassing relentlessly on the other. But given the skill of Zonghan and Xiyin, how could they possibly be drawn along according to their enemy’s plan?

On the twenty-third day of the tenth month, Shuliesu’s vanguard force appeared thirty li outside the city of Wozhou; the earliest reports put the number at no fewer than fifty thousand, though the actual figure was thirty-two thousand and some. On the morning of the twenty-fifth, the army reached Wozhou and completed its formation beneath the city walls. This blade of Zonghan’s had now swung around to strike at Tian Shi’s rear as well. At this time, Tian Shi’s vanguard forces on campaign, discounting those who had scattered south over these recent days, still numbered over four hundred thousand, organized into three great army groups — the nearest of which was still a hundred li from Wozhou.

As more than a decade before, Shi Jin climbed the city wall once more, joining the ranks of its defenders. In that moment before the bloodshed began, Shi Jin looked back over this snow-white expanse of city, and felt, as always, that he could not let go of this suffering land — an emotion that felt like both blessing and curse at once. He gripped his eight-cornered bronze staff in both hands, and in his eyes, still, was the image of Zhou Tong.

Indeed — from beginning to end, he had always been walking toward that old man’s receding back; for that back had been so proud, so unforgettable, that once seen, it could never be forgotten for the rest of one’s life.

As the great battle at Wozhou in the north began, south of the Yellow River near Xuzhou, strange smoke signals rose into the sky.

At the same time, to the east, an army of over a million — the so-called “hungry ghosts” — was, drawn by some mysterious signal, gradually converging on the city of Xuzhou. The leader of this column was none other than the very instigator of the “hungry ghosts” themselves: Wang Shitong…

Further south still, in the city of Lin’an, snow had also begun to fall, and the weather had turned cold. In the study of the Qin residence, Qin Hui, the current Privy Councillor, swept his favorite brush-washer off the table with a sweep of his hand. The matter of the southwest had once again begun dragging on endlessly, with no resolution in sight…