Lin’an Prefecture — formerly the seat of the city of Hangzhou. In the ninth year of the Jinghan era, the flames of Fang La’s rebellion had once swept as far as this city, breaching its defenses. In the days that followed, a man named Ning Yi had found himself caught within these walls, facing a situation with no guarantee of survival from one day to the next — and in the time since, he had witnessed and taken part in a great many things: confronting the leaders among the rebel ranks, walking the night streets alongside a woman who once held power over this region, and in the end, aiding Wenren Buer in reopening Hangzhou’s gates, hastening Fang La’s collapse.

This name had become something of a taboo in present-day Lin’an. Though some could still hear fragments of this old story from Wenren Buer’s own mouth, when it was occasionally recalled or mentioned, it stirred only private sighs or silent, unspoken feeling.

The man who had once refused to bow even in the direst circumstances, surrounded by powerful enemies with nothing to his name, had been, as a companion, someone who brought a sense of security to those around him. And yet now that he had become an enemy, he was equally capable of instilling deep helplessness in anyone who had witnessed his methods.

The snow had fallen and stopped again; looking back over the city, the streets were busy with foot traffic, and not much snow had accumulated. Merchants came and went, children ran about laughing and chasing each other. Atop the old city wall, a woman in white furs, wearing a hood, tightened it against the cold, her brow furrowed as though gazing at traces of the past — that figure who had once wandered these streets more than a decade ago, and through it, she had come to understand the resilience and ruthlessness with which he had broken free of that desperate situation.

Not far behind her, reports were still being relayed on the wind.

“…The matter unfolded urgently. Chancellor Zhao’s people made the arrest on the sixteenth of the tenth month. Li Leiguang has confessed, the evidence ironclad — the southwestern military funds he diverted amount to roughly thirty-seven thousand taels. He’s since implicated Wang Yuanshu as well, and Wang Yuanshu’s household steward, Shu Da… Wang Yuanshu is currently being impeached by Imperial Academician Chang Gui and others; the memorial accuses him of exploiting his brother-in-law’s influence to seize land and oppress the local people, and some of the language in it seems to carry veiled implications against Master Qin as well… Beyond that, using Li Leiguang as leverage, Chancellor Zhao has already begun looking into irregularities in the southwestern military’s earlier logistics operations.”

“So Qin Hui is offering his resignation again… and he’s not even bothering to defend himself.”

The Grand Princess spoke this calmly, her gaze fixed on the city below, unmoving.

In this recent period, having let go of her illusions about that figure from the past, she found herself better able to understand the ruthlessness with which he struck against his enemies — and, through that, better able to understand the cruelty and intensity of this world and this age.

“Master Qin hasn’t defended himself, no, but there’s plenty of fierce activity behind the scenes. These past few days there have likely already been a few quiet killings, though things happened suddenly and the military side hasn’t been easy to reach — we weren’t able to intercept in time.”

“If we didn’t intercept it, then officially it never happened. Even if it’s true, it only proves Master Qin’s methods are formidable — the mark of a man who gets things done…” She said this simply, leaving her companion with little to say in response. After a long silence, she turned back. “Wenren, tell me — over a decade ago, when Ning Yi had the Secret Investigation Bureau look into this Master Qin — do you think he saw him as a good man, or a bad one?”

The two speaking atop this old city wall were, of course, Zhou Pei and Wenren Buer. By now the morning court session had long since ended, officials had returned to their residences, and the city still appeared as prosperous and lively as ever, bustling with its usual day-to-day rhythm — only those who knew the inner workings of things could sense the undercurrents stirring through the court these past few days.

Major political struggles nearly always began this way — probing moves, testing the water, and once one strike landed true, an avalanche would follow. But the situation now was unusual: the emperor was feigning ignorance, and the decisive factions on either side had yet to declare themselves clearly. The cannon was loaded, but the powder had not yet been lit.

There was something rather ironic about the whole affair — whatever people’s original intentions, once matters reached a height touching the fates of millions, fairness and justice generally lost all standing as measures of anything. Qin Hui’s brother-in-law was named Wang Yuanshu; Wang Yuanshu’s household steward was named Shu Da; and under Shu Da served a lackey named Li Leiguang, a minor deputy general responsible for southwestern military logistics, who had embezzled thirty-seven thousand taels the year before. Zhao Ding had moved against him, the evidence ironclad, and the trail had led all the way up to Wang Yuanshu.

Combined with the recent failure in the southwest, and the several memorials of impeachment already circulating at court before Li Leiguang’s arrest, if the matter received a nod from above, a purge of Qin Hui’s faction was about to begin. Zhao Ding and Qin Hui had old grievances between them, and heaven only knew how many other cards Zhao Ding already had waiting in reserve. But whether or not to launch such a purge was never really a matter of embezzlement in the first place.

Since the move south, Zhao Ding had come to represent the aggressive, pro-war faction — on one hand supporting the Crown Prince’s calls for a northern campaign, and on the other, pushing for greater integration between north and south. Qin Hui’s faction, meanwhile, represented the interests of the southern-born elite, who together controlled the upper strata of the current Wu political and economic order. Outwardly more conservative, they preferred to maintain the dynasty’s stability through peace, and at the very least, within their own home territory, leaned more strongly toward protecting the fundamental interests of southerners — at one point even promoting the slogan “southerners return south, northerners return north.”

Each faction embodied a set of interests. To be sure, killing Zhao Ding would only produce a second pro-war faction, and dismissing Qin Hui would only bring forth another Zhang Hui or Han Hui to take his place — but beyond that, there were, of course, further factors to weigh.

Among them, the most unusual one was precisely the question Zhou Pei had just raised.

More than a decade earlier, when Ning Yi had still been working within the Secret Investigation Bureau, he had once investigated Qin Hui, who at the time held the post of Vice Censor-in-Chief.

At the time, Qin Hui and Qin Sizhuan shared the same surname and were of the same extended clan, and their political convictions at court had also been similar — though Qin Hui’s manner of doing things was outwardly aggressive but inwardly accommodating, in essence what he called for was still the resolute, all-or-nothing pro-war line. It was only after enduring a decade of defeat and displacement that the Qin Hui of today had grown more inclined toward peace — or at least, toward defeating the southwest first before turning to resist the Jurchens. There was nothing inherently wrong with this; after all, the naive notion that anyone who called for war was stirring with heroic blood, while anyone who called for peace was simply a traitor to be cursed, was really the thinking of a child.

Ning Yi’s investigation within the Secret Investigation Bureau had run for a time before being abandoned amid the Jurchens’ southward invasion. It was only later, when Wenren Buer, Cheng Zhouhai, and others brought the matter up again for review, that they found it strangely thought-provoking. Given Ning Yi’s temperament — after two months of scheming, if the emperor said kill, he killed — from the emperor on down, the all-powerful civil official of that era had been Cai Jing, and the peerless military commander had been Tong Guan; yet Ning Yi had never fixed any particular scrutiny on either of these two men. The latter he had simply crippled with a single slap in the imperial hall, leaving him to die in agony. Amid so many towering figures of that era, what could possibly have made Qin Hui, of all people, stand out enough to draw his attention?

As it turned out, Ning Yi had never afterward moved against Qin Hui out of any personal vendetta.

“…With so many people in this realm, and no personal grudge between them, why would Ning Yi have singled out Chancellor Qin for his attention specifically? Did he recognize this Master Qin’s ability and methods, and wish to build ties with him — or had he already grown wary of him over something, even foreseeing the possibility of one day becoming his enemy? In any case, for Ning Yi to have taken notice of him at all, there must have been some reason…”

“This Master Qin does indeed have some skill — in my own view, his methods bear some resemblance to those of the elder Master Qin Sizhuan. But to suggest that Ning Yi, ten years ago, was already thinking along these lines — that might be reading a bit too much into it. Back when the first great battle at Bianliang ended, Ning Yi was thoroughly disheartened and wanted to retire into seclusion. It was only after the elder Master’s fall that he stayed on a while longer, mainly to arrange futures for the others involved — but then the matter of the elder madam’s drowning happened, which enraged him utterly, and that was what led to his later feigned compliance, and then to the events of the ninth of June…”

Wenren Buer paused. “And besides, though this Master Qin does have his own methods of operation, in certain respects he’s overly accommodating — quick to retreat when things get difficult. Back when the former Emperor Jinghan saw the Jurchens’ overwhelming advance and wished to flee the capital southward, the elder Master led the entire court of officials in blocking him from doing so — this Master Qin, I doubt, would have dared to do the same. And there’s something rather clever, too, in how this man’s views have shifted over time…”

He continued: “Not long ago, Zhouhai and I were discussing this Master Qin. Back then he was pro-war, and the former Emperor Jinghan, spirited and never one to accept defeat, reigned for fourteen years — not without his flaws, but the thing closest to his heart, in the end, was always reclaiming the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan-Yun and destroying the Liao. At the time, Qin Hui, as Vice Censor-in-Chief, impeached countless men, yet always kept the greater picture in mind, and the former Emperor Jinghan trusted him as a close confidant. As for now — His Majesty supports the Crown Prince’s northern campaign, but in his heart, what he cares about most is still the stability of the realm. Master Qin, too, having weathered a decade of upheaval, has begun leaning toward peace negotiations with the Jurchens — which happens to align perfectly with His Majesty’s own inclinations… If you’re suggesting that Ning Yi foresaw, over a decade ago, that this Master Qin would rise so high — well, it’s not impossible, but it does seem rather strange.”

“Indeed.” Zhou Pei thought for a long while before finally nodding. “Even with my father’s renewed favor, he’ll never measure up to Cai Jing in his day… What do you think the Crown Prince’s own position on this is?”

“News of the capital’s affairs has already been dispatched to Xiangyang. As for His Highness’s own thinking, I dare not presume to speak for him.”

“With the elder Master and Grandfather Kang both gone now, you and Zhouhai and the others are not only friends to my brother and me, but our mentors as well — there’s no need to hold back or presume anything.” Zhou Pei smiled, a smile that appeared plain and unadorned. “The Crown Prince is training troops at the front; his temperament is forthright, and when it comes to matters in the rear, he’ll likely just say: act according to the law. In his private heart, Father actually favors Master Qin — he feels Qin Huizhi resembles Qin Sizhuan in certain ways, and has said he doesn’t intend to repeat the mistakes of the Jinghan era…”

Saying this, Zhou Pei shook her head. Letting first impressions guide judgment was itself the greatest folly in weighing any matter — and yet her own father had, in truth, been thrust into his position with little preparation of his own. On one hand timid by nature, on the other overly sentimental, he did not, in his heart, agree with Jun Wu’s fervent, aggressive calls to fight the Jurchens to the death — yet he could only let his son have his way, while he himself hid within the throne hall, fearful that the front lines might collapse at any moment.

Zhao Ding, Qin Hui — both, in their own ways, represented her father’s “rational” side; however ambitious and capable his son might be, in the end he still could not outweigh these carefully chosen, seasoned ministers in his father’s estimation — and yet he was still his son. Should Jun Wu ever bungle things badly, in her father’s heart, it would still fall to the ministers of the court to clean up the mess. Including herself, his own daughter — she suspected that even she was not seen by her father as someone of any real “ability.” At most, he saw her as someone genuinely devoted to the Zhou family’s interests, nothing more.

This court, so much like a child’s game — trying to outmatch that cold, ruthless demon of a man was simply too difficult a task. If she herself were a minister at court, she suspected she too would want to see power stripped from this brother-and-sister pair — thinking it over, she realized much of what these officials believed did, in fact, make a certain kind of sense.

Turning these thoughts over, she then shifted the conversation away from matters of court. “Master Wenren — after weathering this great storm, if our Wu Dynasty is fortunate enough to survive it… the court to come should rule with a constitutional monarchy.”

Wenren Buer smiled, but said nothing in reply.

Today was the first snowfall in Lin’an; meeting here atop this old city wall was simply a matter of the Grand Princess’s own passing whim. More than a decade before, this stretch of wall had been breached by Fang La’s forces; by now it served only as a scenic viewing platform. Looking south from atop the wall, the Imperial Way stretched all the way to the towering, currently halted construction of the imperial palace beneath Phoenix Hill — the palace complex had been under construction ever since the move south, with a major building push the year before, but with military matters growing urgent, the emperor had halted construction on the palace to focus fully on preparing against the threat from the north. This halted palace had become, in its way, a symbol of the emperor’s forward-looking resolve — something the capital’s scholars never tired of praising with great feeling whenever it came up.

The cold first snow set against the city’s bustling traffic below; beneath the city, the surging undercurrents connected outward to every corner of this realm. The slaughter on the battlefield was fast approaching, and the strife within the court had never ceased, and never would.

And as Lin’an and the other southern cities began to see their first snow, the weather on the Chengdu plain in the southwest was also turning cold. Though no snow fell in this region, the damp cold still made things difficult to bear. Ever since the Huaxia Army had left Xiaoliang Mountain and begun its campaign, commercial activity across the Chengdu plain had dropped by seventy percent from its former levels. After taking Chengdu, the Huaxia Army had at one point pressed close to Zizhou, only to pause its advance in the face of the city’s stubborn “defense.” As winter set in, the whole Chengdu plain appeared even more desolate and grim than usual.

Fifteen li south of Chengdu, at first light, in the makeshift medical station serving as the temporary base of the First Division, Fifth Army of the Huaxia Army, an eleven-year-old boy had already risen and begun his morning exercises. After breathing exercises on a small patch of ground beside the medical station, he moved on to practice his fist forms, then ran through a set of sword forms and a set of spear forms. Once done with his training, he made his rounds through the surrounding wards for the wounded, then went with the army physicians to eat breakfast in the mess hall.

The intense fighting had already been paused for some time now; the medical station was no longer surrounded daily by the brutal sight of severed limbs and broken bodies, and the wounded in the wards were gradually recovering one by one. The lightly wounded had already left; the severely wounded had grown familiar with this remarkable eleven-year-old boy at the station, occasionally sharing with him their hard-won insights from battle, and little Ning Ji had gained much from it.

Among those the medical station counted as severely wounded were many who might never again live a normal life; the hard-won lessons distilled from their suffering were among the most precious things a martial artist could learn. Amid such harrowing experiences, little Ning Ji had begun, for the first time, to refine his sense of direction in the martial arts. That morning, once he had finished his duties as an apprentice, he went out to practice his spearwork, when suddenly a fierce gust of force came at him from behind the barracks: “Watch the staff!”

Ning Ji swung his spear up and met the attack head-on. The attacker, taller and stronger than him, pressed forward while Ning Ji blocked and gave ground, circling the small clearing several times; even so, the attacker’s assault never quite managed to break through Ning Ji’s defense. The man let out a laugh, tossed aside his staff, and rushed forward to embrace him. “Little brother, you’ve gotten good!” Ning Ji rushed forward too. “Big brother, you’re here!”

The newcomer was, of course, the Ning family’s eldest son, Ning Xi — nearly four years older than Ning Ji. Though he now spent more of his time studying subjects like logic and the sciences, he could still edge out Ning Ji in martial skill for the time being. The two of them bounced and jostled together for a while before Ning Xi told him: “Father’s here, and Auntie Chan too — they’ve come to pick you up today. We’re leaving today, and you’ll get to see Wenwen and the others this afternoon…”

Ning Xi had barely gotten the words out before Ning Ji was already dashing off toward the barracks. Ning Yi and Xiao Chan had come quietly, without drawing much attention; in a ward on the far side of the camp, Ning Yi was going bed to bed, visiting the severely wounded men still recovering there — some with faces burned beyond recognition, some with missing limbs — sitting at their bedsides, asking after their condition in battle. Little Ning Ji burst into the room; his mother Chan’er, standing beside his father, turned to look at him, her eyes already brimming with tears.

“Father, Mother.” Ning Ji ran a few quick steps forward, then stopped and bowed to the two of them. Ning Yi smiled and waved him over, and Ning Ji hurried the rest of the way to his mother’s side. Ning Yi then asked: “Do you know how Uncle He got his wounds?” — referring to the severely wounded man lying nearby.

“I know.” Ning Ji nodded. “When we took Chengdu, Uncle He led his men into the city. When they reached the Old Lord Temple in the western part of the city, they found a group of Wu Dynasty stragglers looting. Uncle He and the men with him charged in to stop them, and the enemy set the place on fire. Trying to save someone, Uncle He got pinned under a falling roof beam, badly burned — his wounds weren’t treated in time, and he lost his left leg.”

Ning Yi nodded, holding the wounded man’s hand in silence for a moment. The wounded soldier’s eyes were already brimming with tears; after a moment he managed to say: “I’m… I’m… I’m fine.”

This soldier surnamed He came from an extremely poor peasant family. Earlier, when Ning Yi had asked about the nature and cause of his injuries, he had been too overcome with emotion to say much of anything; only now did he manage to force out these few words. Ning Yi patted his hand. “Take care of yourself.”

He then pulled Ning Ji over. “Has this boy given you any trouble while he’s been here?”

The wounded man flushed red. “Second Young Master… he’s been so good to us…”

Ning Yi nodded, offering a few more words of comfort and instruction, then took Ning Ji’s hand and moved on to the next bed. He asked after each man’s condition; their moods varied — some fell silent, some talked at length about the circumstances of their wounds. For those less inclined to speak, Ning Yi had his son fill in on their behalf. Once they had finished visiting one ward, Ning Yi brought his son out front and thanked all the wounded men gathered there, expressing his gratitude for what they had given to the Huaxia Army, and for the tolerance and care they had shown his son during this recent stretch of time.

Having gone through the several wards at the camp this way, it was already past noon. In a lull in the conversation between his parents and older brother, little Ning Ji learned that after the Huaxia Army took Chengdu, it had entered a period of rest and reorganization. With the territory now expanded, and for the sake of command efficiency, the Huaxia Army’s core, originally based in the mountains of Xiaoliang, was preparing to relocate to the Chengdu plain — and as part of this process, his father had brought the family along for the trip, to spend some time looking around outside first.

Ever since the Huaxia Army had risen up, the family had first gone to the northwest, then shifted to the southwest; a whole generation of children had been born amid this chaos, having mostly seen nothing but mountain ridges and hillside terrain. Only Ning Xi, the eldest, had ever seen a great city — and that only before the age of four. This trip out was a major event for the whole family; to avoid drawing too much attention, Ning Yi, Su Tan’er, Ning Xi, and the rest of the group had kept things low-key. This time Ning Yi and Xiao Chan had brought Ning Xi along to fetch Ning Ji, while Tan’er, Yun Zhu, Hongti, and Wenwen and the other children were still camped by a river some ten-odd li away.

After lunch, the group boarded their carriages and carts, traveling light, and headed south…

…

The carriages left the army camp and traveled south; ahead lay a stretch of lead-gray grassland and low hills.

Though the Chengdu plain was rich and prosperous, when the deep chill of winter set in, it too would see snow. By now the grassy carpet of the land had long since lost its green, and even the evergreen trees had taken on a wintry grayish hue; steeped in moisture, the whole landscape seemed empty and eerie, the cold air feeling as though it might seep straight into one’s bones.

Ning Ji himself, however, felt rather warm. For one thing, having practiced martial arts consistently, his body was considerably hardier than most people’s; for another, his father had called him into one of the carriages, and along the way had talked with him at length — partly asking after his progress in martial arts and his studies, and partly simply speaking to him in a gentle tone that left the eleven-year-old boy’s heart feeling warm inside.

Over these years, though Ning Yi’s fearsome reputation had spread across the realm, his manner with his family remained anything but harsh — he was always gentle, and would sometimes even joke around with the children. Even so, Ning Ji and the others hadn’t spent all that much time with their father — the two years he’d gone missing had already given the children an early taste of grief, as though mourning a father who had died; and since his return, Ning Yi had spent most of his time buried in demanding work. This afternoon’s carriage ride, then, turned out to be the longest stretch of time father and son had spent alone together in these past few years.

“Been to Chengdu?” After asking about his martial arts and studies, Ning Yi asked with a smile, and Ning Ji nodded excitedly. “After the city fell, I went once… but didn’t stay long.”

“Pretty big, huh?”

“Mm-hm, but Big Brother says he still remembers Bianliang — says it was even bigger.”

“He left there at three — how could he remember anything? He’s just fooling you.” Ning Yi said with a laugh. Bianliang, to him, was now a memory over a decade old — probably run-down and unrecognizable by this point. “We’ll be staying in Chengdu for a while this time. I’ll take you all around to see the sights properly. Your martial arts are pretty good now, so when the time comes, help me keep an eye on your younger brothers and sisters.”

“Mm-hm.” Ning Ji nodded eagerly again. “…Aren’t we going to live in Chengdu from now on?”

“Chengdu’s too big, too bustling, and for now it’s too close to the front — not really suitable to move our command center there.” Ning Yi answered simply. Ning Ji didn’t quite understand, but nodded anyway. Ning Yi looked at him, thought for a moment, then said with a smile, “Think about it this way — we’ve only just taken Chengdu, and beyond it there’s still a battlefield. How could we possibly bring your little brothers and sisters somewhere so dangerous? Never mind the enemies out on the battlefield — there are bad people too, hiding among ordinary folk, who might come to cause trouble, or even try to kidnap you or your siblings. To guard against that… isn’t it hard?”

Having witnessed battle firsthand by now, Ning Ji’s face grew solemn at his father’s words, and he nodded firmly. Ning Yi patted his shoulder. “Being sent to the battlefield at your age — do you blame me and your mother for it?”

Ning Ji pressed his lips together and shook his head solemnly; he looked up at his father, his eyes carrying a certain resolve, along with the complexity and compassion that come from having witnessed so much tragedy. Ning Yi reached out and ruffled his son’s hair, then pulled him close with one arm, his gaze drifting out toward the lead-gray landscape beyond the window.

“Some things just can’t be reasoned through with words. The business with the Jurchens — I’ve told you about that. And your Grandfather Qin’s story — I’ve told you that too. Our Huaxia Army doesn’t want to be cowards, and in standing up, we’ve made a great many enemies — you and your siblings won’t get to live peaceful, easy lives either. Assassins will come for you. I can’t shield you forever, so all I can do is put you out on the battlefield, and let you train yourself through it…”

“If bad people come, I’ll kill them…” Ning Ji said quietly.

“It’s not quite that simple.” Ning Yi paused. “Enemies on the battlefield aren’t necessarily the scary ones — out in the open, fair fight, there’s no one in our Huaxia Army who can’t hold their own. But there are always enemies we can’t spot at a glance. Even your Auntie Hong, skilled as she is, can’t protect everyone all the time — so wanting to learn martial arts is, in its own way, a good thing.”

“Big brother and I can protect our little brothers and sisters too…” Ning Ji mumbled.

“That’s right.” Ning Yi paused, then after a moment said: “Since you want to be a martial arts master, I’ve got a new task for you, starting in a few days.”

“Mm.”

“Here in Chengdu, there won’t be any more fighting this winter. Coming up, we’re going to send the medical corps out to the surrounding villages to treat illness and hand out medicine. Once a battle’s fought, a lot of people’s livelihoods take a hit — if it snows, there’ll be even more sick and freezing poor folk than usual this year. I want you to go along with the master physicians in the medical corps, to help treat the sick and save lives…”

Ning Yi paused again. “It’s better to travel ten thousand li than read ten thousand scrolls — martial arts is the same way. You won’t learn much just sparring in the ring. Go out, walk around, look at things — you’ll meet good people, and you’ll meet bad ones too. Watch closely, think it through, and one day you’ll understand how bad people hide themselves among the crowd. Someday, you and your big brother will have to take on the responsibility of looking after your younger brothers and sisters.”

Ning Ji nodded even more firmly at this. Ning Yi smiled and went on: “Of course, that’s a matter for later. Once we get there, let’s see your brothers and sisters first, and go have some fun in Chengdu. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you — Wenwen, and Xiaoshuang, Xiaoning, Xiaoke — they’ve all missed you so much. And Ninghe’s just starting to build his foundation in martial arts too, so give him a bit of guidance while you’re there…”

The carriage rolled on, father and son chatting idly along the way. Before evening fell that day, the convoy reached a small camp west of Xinjin. The camp lay nestled between mountains and river, with few people around; Tan’er, Hongti, and the others were out by the riverside with Wenwen and the other children. Among them were also several children belonging to Du Sha, Fang Shuchang, and others; a bonfire already blazed merrily. At the sight of Ning Ji’s arrival, warm-hearted little Ning Ke let out a shriek and ran straight for him, tripping and falling face-first partway there, then scrambling back up, laughing, and running on anyway, her whole face smeared with mud.

The adults gathered around watched with a mix of alarm and amusement; Yun Zhu had already run over with a handkerchief in hand. Ning Yi, watching the children playing together down by the riverbank, wore a broad smile of his own — this was a moment of family reunion, everything soft and warm.

After a while, Ning Xi, who had already begun to think and manage affairs on his own, came over to speak privately with his father about the matter of Ning Ji accompanying the medical corps. At eleven, little Ning Ji’s understanding of “the enemy” likely still amounted to little more than pure malice; Ning Xi understood a good deal more. Over the years, assassination attempts targeting his father and the rest of the family had never really stopped, and even now, with Chengdu already taken, this family outing carried no small security risk. If Ning Ji went about with the medical corps and happened to run into a determined assassin, the consequences didn’t bear thinking about.

Ning Yi looked toward the children playing on the riverbank in the distance, fell silent for a moment, then patted Ning Xi’s shoulder. “One physician paired with one apprentice, plus two soldiers as escort — for Little Two’s security, I’ll leave that to your Grandpa Chen to look after. Since you’re concerned about it too, go lend your Grandpa Chen a hand.”

The “Grandpa Chen” Ning Yi referred to was Chen Tuozi, who had long overseen his personal security. Earlier, when he had gone out on business with Su Wenfang, Chen Tuozi had been wounded and had to flee back into the mountains when Long Qifei and the others suddenly struck; his injuries had by now largely healed, and Ning Yi intended to place his son’s safety in his hands. Of course, another part of the reason was his hope that the two boys might learn something from him along the way.

Delighted with this arrangement, Ning Xi nodded eagerly and went off. Ning Yi sat down by the riverbank and sighed. If it were at all possible, he would have wished for his children to live in an age free of fear — even if it meant they accomplished nothing in life, or even risked becoming spoiled, useless sons of privilege, that would still be better than pushing an eleven-year-old boy onto the battlefield, forcing him to witness mangled corpses and severed limbs up close.

And yet, set against this cruelty, the alternative was not simply the gentler possibility of a child amounting to nothing. In this contest against the whole world, the people around him — these family members, these children — faced a very real and immediate threat of death. Fifteen years old, eleven years old, even little Ning Shuang and Ning Ning, the youngest of them all — the possibility of being suddenly killed by an enemy, or dying young, was no different for any of them.

And so he closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh. Then he rose, and made his way toward the riverbank in the glow of the bonfire; that day, he spent a good long while fishing and grilling food with the children. As night fell, Fang Shuchang came to inform him of something — a special guest had already been brought to the camp.

It was Song Yongping.