As February drew near, rain began falling over the Chengdu Plain in fits and starts, and spring was already showing its first signs.

In the small village southwest of Jiading, after a spell of spring rain, the roads leading in and out had turned to thick mud. The small village, called Zhang Village, had originally had a modest population; the year before, when the Huaxia Army marched out of Liangshan and the Wu Dynasty’s forces collapsed one after another, a company of troops had looted the village and burned it, leaving it a deserted ruin ever since. By the end of the year, the Huaxia Army’s various departments had begun relocating there one after another; many offices were still under construction, and once spring arrived, the crowds gathering there had lent this once-quiet riverside village an unusually lively air.

“I want to build a… one of those arch things like at that house…”

A childish voice rang out in a courtyard — a little girl who had recently visited a big city was playing in the mud in the corner of the yard. The rectangular courtyard saw people coming and going constantly, and just as the little girl’s crooked little arch was about to take shape, laughter rose from a group of people in the room nearby. Someone said, “Add an extra dish at lunch.”

The little girl looked up briefly — she probably wasn’t especially interested in the extra dish — but then turned back to gather more mud, beginning to make a dish of her own that only she could understand.

This courtyard belonged, for now, to the Huaxia Army’s general staff headquarters; most of the newly built structures nearby served as supporting offices as well. Under Ning Yi’s own direction, most of the Huaxia Army’s “schemes and stratagems” were typically brewed and dispatched from here. With the start of spring, the general staff’s work had grown increasingly busy, mainly involving the arrangement of the coming year’s detailed operations, but news from the outside world was also arriving day by day.

Word that the northern alliance meeting on the twenty-first of the first month had gone smoothly had reached everyone, and it brought a good deal of cheer — a force everyone had expected to be crushed with ease had instead pulled itself together into something that could genuinely trouble Zonghan and Xiyin’s army. And with the story of Zhu Biao’s failed surprise raid on Shuliesu at the start of the month mixed in besides, everyone found it rather amusing.

During a break in the meeting, Peng Yueyun stepped out of the room and took a deep breath under the eaves, feeling a sense of pure contentment.

He was twenty-four this year, from the northwest. His father, Peng Du, had once served as a senior general under Zhong Lie. During the great northwestern battle, when the Jurchens had come with overwhelming force, Zhong Lie had led the defense of Yanzhou, refusing to retreat or surrender, and had ultimately died when the city fell to Cibushi; Peng Yueyun’s father had died in that same battle as well. Most of the Zhong family’s remaining relatives and descendants, along with senior officers’ children like Peng Yueyun, had been entrusted to the Huaxia Army by Zhong Lie beforehand, and so had survived.

Peng Yueyun had been eighteen when his father died, and he had sworn then to join the army and wipe out the Jurchens entirely — a resolve only sharpened when Cibushi himself was beheaded by Ning Yi at Yanzhou not long after. When the Huaxia Army reorganized at Liangshan, Peng Yueyun, having received an education since childhood and possessed of a sharp, careful mind with no question as to his loyalty, was eventually absorbed into the general staff.

Like most young men, he had at first longed for the front lines, but before long he discovered that the work of the general staff was, if anything, even more interesting. Over these past years, starting from small tasks, he had first taken part in matters of trade and transport with various regional warlords, and later, in a major undertaking — after the killing of Tian Hu — had been involved in business dealings with the new regime, providing military and material support to the Prince of Jin’s system in concrete terms. This whole effort was ultimately meant to drive a wedge between the Jin system and the Jurchens, causing trouble for what was now nearly the strongest military force in the realm under Wanyan Zonghan.

Ten years of rebellion, several years of direct, bloody warfare against the Jurchens — this history had given the Huaxia Army a fiercely martial atmosphere throughout. Few within the Huaxia Army thought much of the Prince of Jin’s forces — the general staff’s own sense of identity rested instead on the idea that Master Ning could move these various forces about the board of the realm as he pleased — and so no one at headquarters had held especially high expectations for how much this particular investment would pay off.

It was only with this latest dispatch from Zhan Wu, conveying that the resistance movement in the Jin region was faring reasonably well, that the returns on this investment were finally borne out. And as for the Prince of Jin’s own faction — Tian Shi, Yu Yulin, and the rest — everyone at headquarters had, to varying degrees, come to feel a certain respect for them as well. Though their strength still seemed insufficient, their resolve alone was enough to earn the admiration of the general staff.

Peng Yueyun’s heart, too, swelled with a real sense of accomplishment. Years ago, in the northwestern resistance, the image of Commander Zhong and his father dying together with their city remained vivid before his eyes, iron and blood; now, these past few years, he had finally had a part in the same cause. Ever since Liangshan’s dormant years, the Huaxia Army’s successive moves had helped bring down and transform Tian Hu’s regime, seized Liu Yu in the Central Plains and pushed the anti-Jurchen cause forward, and then, the year before, had leapt out of Liangshan to take Chengdu — and now the Prince of Jin’s forces had, at last, become the backbone of resistance against the Jurchens across the Central Plains, driving a nail, so to speak, right before the eyes of towering figures like Wanyan Zonghan and Xiyin. Anyone caught up in all this could naturally feel the grand, sweeping spirit of shaping the fate of the realm.

He took several deep breaths under the eaves. His superior — and also his mentor — Qu Qing, came out and clapped him on the shoulder. “What’s the matter? In a good mood?”

“I feel honored to be part of it,” Peng Yueyun said, smiling, his answer still fairly restrained.

Qu Qing smiled as well. “Don’t get careless. The Jurchens still hold the fortunes of the age in their hands — twenty years ago, an entire generation of heroes rose up; after Aguda passed, and now with Wuqimai struck down by illness, what follows is this pairing of Zonghan and Xiyin, with several battle-hardened veteran generals under them besides. When Shuliesu came upon Zhu Biao and, in the end, did not attack, that alone tells you he’s more troublesome than expected. Keep working from where we stand now.”

“Teacher, can’t you let us young people enjoy ourselves a little?” Peng Yueyun teased.

“Stay sharp.” Qu Qing smiled, though a serious light had already gathered in his eyes. “On the battlefield, one must stay sharp at every moment — never let your guard down.”

Qu Qing had once been a senior general of the Wu Dynasty, and had lived through both success and failure; his experience was valuable. Hearing him speak this way now, Peng Yueyun’s own expression turned solemn as well, and he was about to reply when a figure came rushing in through the courtyard gate, heading their way.

It was a top-priority urgent dispatch, delivered directly into the hands of Ning Yi, who was speaking with someone in the room. He tore open the letter and, after reading only a few lines, the pleasant look that had been on his face vanished entirely, replaced by grim seriousness.

The southwest and the Jin region lay nearly three thousand li apart, and this distance affected how quickly news traveled — and, in certain circumstances, lent the arriving reports a dramatic quality all their own. Less than an hour after the first, a second dispatch from the Jin region arrived, shattering the joy that had filled the room only moments before. The Huaxia Army’s move, made from three thousand li away, had been swept aside with a single stroke by Wanyan Xiyin.

…

On the fourth of February, at Weisheng.

The light rain that had fallen the day before had frozen into a thin sheet of ice on the roads by the time morning came. Weisheng, already under martial law, now saw forces of every faction suddenly stirring into motion within and beyond the city; the atmosphere turned grim and tense, with friction breaking out in large and small ways across every corner of the city. Among the commanders of the city’s defense forces, encounters between rival factions had already grown heated; even among the troops guarding the palace, unease was plainly visible.

Across the city, hoodlums and petty thugs, set in motion by unknown forces, took to the streets one after another, lingering in teahouses and taverns, crossing paths with the local toughs of rival territories. Among the wandering-army factions, men of different allegiances gathered together, converging in the direction of the Tianji Palace. At the branch halls of the Great Brightness Sect, the monks’ morning rituals proceeded as usual, but beneath the composed expressions of the altar masters and protectors lurked a faint, unmistakable killing intent.

Beneath the surface, struggles for power, and all manner of clashes and killings, had been erupting across the city ever since the day the Prince of Jin died — but by this day, things had, if anything, grown somewhat quieter.

Yuan Xiaoqiu ran along beneath the eaves of the Tianji Palace and saw, in a great hall not far off, maidservants busily arranging tables and chairs. She went in, checking everything inside and out with a wary eye, then hurried off toward another part of the palace to check on the meal preparations in the kitchen.

The rather lively and impulsive Yuan Xiaoqiu was one of Lou Shuwan’s personal maids; her elder brother, Yuan Xiaolei, commanded Lou Shuwan’s personal guard. In a sense, both siblings counted among the woman prime minister’s most trusted confidants, though because Yuan Xiaoqiu was still young and rather simple-hearted, her usual duties were limited to the straightforward matters of Lou Shuwan’s daily food and dress.

Today, Yuan Xiaoqiu’s heart was filled with anger.

Ever since her family elders had been killed in a political struggle and she and her brother had been rescued by Lou Shuwan, Yuan Xiaoqiu, moved by gratitude for that kindness, had become something of a devoted admirer of the woman prime minister. This devotion had only deepened after she personally witnessed all that Lou Shuwan had done afterward to develop the economy and improve people’s livelihoods, saving countless lives.

For the great cause of the nation, Lou Shuwan had resolved to resist the Jurchens, only to suffer endless slander in return, and had faced repeated assassination attempts over the past six months. Yuan Xiaoqiu felt this was deeply unjust, and in these past few days, that sense of injustice had swelled into a great and bitter rage. A group of so-called “important men,” scrambling for power and profit, protecting only themselves, making a spectacle of their own cowardice — while the woman prime minister, who truly served the nation and its people, was made to endure such opposition from them. These wicked men, she thought, all deserved to die!

Responsible for Lou Shuwan’s food and daily needs, Yuan Xiaoqiu could sense, from many small details, just how difficult things had become — fragments of overheard conversation, the grim determination in her brother’s eyes each day as he sharpened his spear, the countless unusual frictions rippling through the palace, and things that only she herself knew: that in these past several nights, the woman prime minister had sat wrapped in her blankets in the dark, night after night, not actually sleeping at all, only to transform back, by the time dawn broke, into her usual image of unyielding resolve.

And now these wicked men — men willing to betray their own people to save their own skins — actually meant to come and negotiate as if they had every right to!

They were as good as dead! The woman prime minister would never let them go!

This was what Yuan Xiaoqiu firmly believed. From so many past confrontations she had witnessed between the woman prime minister and her rivals, Yuan Xiaoqiu had built up more than enough confidence in this belief — every single person who had ever dared oppose the woman prime minister had, in the end, ended up drowned in their own blood, including that once-untouchable Tiger King, Tian Hu, who had killed her own father. And now these men had come again, still daring to speak of negotiation — given the woman prime minister’s temperament, they might very well die right here today!

Or so Yuan Xiaoqiu believed — so much so that, running along in a hurry, when she caught sight of Zhan Wu, who had just entered from outside the palace, she couldn’t help running up to bow to him.

“Elder Zhan, today you mustn’t let those wicked men off, whatever happens!”

Well used to seeing Lou Shuwan kill, Yuan Xiaoqiu spoke these artless words without a second thought. Zhan Wu gave a smile like an old farmer’s, nodding kindly. “Little one… just keep being your happy little self, all right?”

Yuan Xiaoqiu nodded, then blinked, uncertain whether he’d actually agreed with her or not.

Beside Zhan Wu stood a tall, sturdily built man, his complexion somewhat dark, his gaze weathered and steady — clearly not someone to be trifled with. Yuan Xiaoqiu, sensible enough not to ask after his identity, went on her way; only once she’d gone did Zhan Wu speak. “That’s the young maid who tends to Miss Lou’s daily needs — an amusing little thing… Hero Shi, this way please.”

Zhan Wu now stood with Lou Shuwan’s side, and had come to escort Shi Jin into the palace, arriving ahead of time to help arrange things for the day. After daybreak, groups of visitors began arriving from across the city, one after another. Led by Tang Shun of the Tang family and Liao Yiren of the Liao family, leaders or representatives of every faction large and small across the Jin region — those who had taken part in the earlier alliance meeting, the strategist under the great bandit chief Ji Qingli, Lin Zongwu of the Great Brightness Sect, Wang Juyun’s trusted aide An Xifu, and finally, arriving last, Zhu Biao of the Huaxia Army — converged, in this cold and gloomy weather, on the Tianji Palace.

Over a decade earlier, when the realm had fallen into chaos and the Wu Dynasty could no longer maintain control north of the Yellow River, Tian Hu, sheltered by the Jurchens, had expanded his power with reckless speed, and the various factions and clans of the Jin region had come to depend on the Tiger King’s protection. Even after repeated rounds of political struggle, the Prince of Jin’s power base even now remained built from one small clan-based faction after another. While Tian Shi lived, these factions could all be kept in check; but now, people’s confidence in the future of the Jin region had fallen to its lowest point, and many had already stepped forward to seek out their own paths.

Amid this complicated situation stood factions like the Great Brightness Sect and Ji Qingli’s men, each nursing their own private calculations, along with Wang Juyun, whose resolve to resist remained firm but whose current stance was far from clear. By comparison, only the Black Banner Army’s alliance with Lou Shuwan still stood relatively firm.

Bronze cauldrons near the great hall burned with charcoal fires; within the hall, the accompanying masters of each faction eyed one another warily. Shi Jin took up a position at Lou Shuwan’s side; the moment Zhu Biao entered the hall, his eyes fixed on Lin Zongwu, who sat on the same side as Lou Shuwan, and he chose a seat between the two of them, deliberately placing himself as a barrier — in his younger years he had already been fearless and formidable, and after these ten years of battle and bloodshed, even Lin Zongwu’s fearsome reputation as “greatest under heaven” held no terror for him; should Lin Zongwu choose wrongly today, Zhu Biao stood ready to fight him then and there.

As for the other Huaxia Army leader present, Zhan Wu sat alone at one side of the hall, like some faction’s mere hanger-on, hands folded, eyes closed as if resting. And yet the others present likely feared him even more — the Black Banner’s fearsome reputation was well known, its enmity toward the Jurchens absolute and beyond reconciliation. Everyone gathered here today had already mobilized every force the city could muster, yet no one could say for certain whether the Black Banner Army might suddenly turn savage and slaughter everyone present.

Throughout the city, within and beyond the palace, every faction stood ready, swords drawn in all but name. It was easy to imagine that, should the slightest friction arise in today’s negotiations, the entire city of Weisheng — indeed, the whole of the Jin region — could erupt into open, violent conflict.

…

Yuan Xiaoqiu stood behind a pillar, stifling a small yawn.

From where she stood, looking into the great hall, Miss Lou, seated at the very center of the long table, wore an expression of cold detachment, her gaze sharp as a blade, carrying an air of authority like something out of legend — an empress. In her heart, Yuan Xiaoqiu believed that Miss Lou would, one day, become an empress in truth.

Across from her, the old man named Liao Yiren — a name that meant “benevolence” and lived up to none of it — was still holding forth with that shameless, nauseating rhetoric, as the others around him nodded along or murmured among themselves.

“…Given how things stand today, even if all of you are determined to fight the Jurchens to the bitter end, under the assault of men like Nianhan, how many months can the entire Jin region hold out? In such a great war, how many will defect to the enemy? Miss Lou, everyone here — we admire your willingness to fight the Jurchens, but as things stand? The Wu Dynasty has already retreated behind the Yangtze — has anyone come to help us here?…”

“…It can’t be done, Miss Lou. If you dragged this old bag of bones of mine onto the battlefield and had me killed, I, Liao, would bear you no grudge for it. But — make my entire family go to their deaths, and my own family would kill me first, that’s simply the reality of it… The Jurchens are coming regardless; if all of you agree, we might give up ten cities, or five. Everyone here — how many lives across the Central Plains could be spared? Must everyone die before it counts as righteousness? Dying in resistance to the Jurchens is a great and noble cause — but is preserving the lives of a million people not also a great cause?… If we split the difference on these two matters, the rest of us would have a path to survival, and all of you could resist and defend your cities with a clear conscience — at least then, while you defend your cities, no one would be secretly working against you from behind… Things have already reached this point among the people — what other option is there…”

Beyond the hall, the sky remained dark and heavy. Yuan Xiaoqiu waited there for the moment Miss Lou would “smash the cup” as a signal — or give whatever other sign — to have these men cut down until their blood ran in the streets.

She never got to see that moment arrive. Instead, outside the walls of Weisheng, a messenger came riding in, anxious, hurrying this way…

…

Nearly three thousand li away, at Zhang Village, Ning Yi watched as the room full of people fell into discussion over the letter that had just arrived.

The letter was from Zhan Wu. Because it had been marked most urgent, the messenger had pushed hard along the road, making up more than two days’ time, so that the news of the alliance meeting’s success and the news of Tian Shi’s assassination arrived barely half an hour apart.

Tian Shi was dead, and the Central Plains was about to face a great crisis — and quite possibly already was. After Tian Shi’s death, Zhan Wu had met with Lou Shuwan once, then written this letter, analyzing many of the possible outcomes to come. What caught Ning Yi’s attention most, within the letter, was the appeal for help that Lou Shuwan had conveyed through Zhan Wu.

She hoped the Huaxia Army would do everything in its power to help stabilize the situation in the Jin region, and save the millions of lives caught in the crisis.

This message had been passed along through Zhan Wu’s words on Lou Shuwan’s behalf. Given how extreme this woman’s temperament had become, she would never have written to ask for help directly herself. The one other time she had written to him personally, saying something similar, had been when the overall situation was relatively stable, and she had done it purely to spite him. But this time, the message conveyed through Zhan Wu’s letter suggested that she had already come to recognize what the outcome would be.

Lou Shuwan’s life had been an extraordinarily difficult one. He himself had killed her father and her brother; after that, she had gone through a great deal more — even her husbands, it was said, she had killed with her own hands. Given the reckless intensity she had shown in her later years, Ning Yi thought it would hardly have surprised him if she had chosen to surrender to the Jurchens and drag the whole world down with her in ruin; that she had instead chosen to resist was, in its own way, simply another expression of that same fierce, unrestrained nature.

A person like this, prone to self-destruction — when others come to bully and oppress her, to lock arms with them and go down together in mutual ruin is, for her, the simplest thing in the world. She might spite him one day, and even on some future battlefield, fighting side by side, she might suddenly turn on him and betray him without warning — that too would be nothing unusual. But in this moment, through Zhan Wu, she was reaching out to the Black Banner in search of one faint hope. That, in itself, was a signal complicated enough to leave one’s heart heavy, and worthy of a sigh.

She truly meant to try to hold this situation together — millions of lives, hanging in the balance.

But then again — leaving aside that the entire Chengdu Plain under Huaxia Army control could field no more than fifty thousand men, even in the most unlikely scenario, where they abandoned their entire base of operations here to march north and fight, fifty thousand men marching three thousand li would, by the time they reached the northern bank of the Yellow River, likely find it already autumn.

Ning Yi stood by the window and sighed.

…

The discussion in the room continued. Peng Yueyun turned the whole affair over in his mind, chewing over what they knew of the enemy.

Tian Shi had originally held his title in name only; had he died two months earlier, it likely wouldn’t have caused much of a stir at all. It was only once he had built up real standing and authority, on the very day after the alliance meeting he himself had called, that he was suddenly struck down — a move that dashed everyone’s expectations for the resistance down to nothing. Was this a plan Zonghan and Xiyin had prepared long in advance, or had the opportunity for the assassination only presented itself at that very moment?

Still turning the question over in his mind, Ning Yi spoke up from by the window.

“…Have those handling the Wu Dynasty side find people as quickly as possible, to negotiate separately with the Wu Dynasty court and with Zizhou, and push toward some kind of settlement. If the Wu Dynasty truly has no one willing to bear the responsibility openly, then fine, let that stand on the surface — but quietly, negotiate anyway, and take whatever advantage can be had. Prepare a public statement: brothers may quarrel within their own walls, but stand together against outside insult — with the Jurchens bearing down with such overwhelming force, and the Prince of Jin having shown such valor, we won’t press the fight any further, let them keep Zizhou. Call on the Wu Dynasty to mobilize whatever strength it has, in response to the crisis in the Central Plains — help however they can…” Ning Yi waved a hand. “And if they won’t, then so be it!”

“…South of the Yellow River, keep the existing intelligence network as it is for now, but as for the people who previously returned to the Central Plains from here — mobilize whoever can be mobilized, and send them north, to help the resistance forces in the Jin region as much as possible. It may not be many people, but it’s better than nothing — at least it might help them hold out a little longer, save a few more lives.”

Ning Yi paused for a moment. “That’s all for now. Work out the details among yourselves, and let me know if there’s anything else that can be done… I have other matters to attend to, I’ll step out first.”

Everyone offered a salute; Ning Yi returned it and strode quickly out of the room. Over the Chengdu Plain, forever wrapped in mist and cloud, the sky outside the window seemed ready to bring more rain.

…

Like a great gust of wind, it swept across the gloom-shrouded city of Weisheng.

The snow beyond the city walls had not yet receded, and messengers kept arriving from the south — men from different clans, different factions, all carrying word of the same shocking news, news that only made the tension gripping the whole city grow tighter still.

Within the Tianji Palace, the negotiations between the two sides had only just begun. Lou Shuwan sat there, her gaze cold, fixed on some corner of the hall, listening to the words flowing from every side without offering the slightest response. Outside, the messengers came in, one after another.

A woman entered and, leaning close to Lou Shuwan’s ear, relayed the latest news. Lou Shuwan closed her eyes; after a moment, she opened them again as if nothing had happened, her gaze sweeping past Zhu Biao before returning to its original resting point. She said nothing.

A short while later, Zhu Biao and many of the others in the room came to learn of it as well.

The Jurchen general Shuliesu had broken camp — thirty-six thousand Jurchen main-force troops, together with more than thirty thousand surrendered Han soldiers, marching straight for the Huaxia Army’s position near Linzhou.

This was the Jurchens’ first major move of the new year. Seventy thousand men, aimed directly at the hardest bone to chew in the whole conflict — the Black Banner Army. With Tian Shi gone, the Jin region already stood on the edge of collapse, and this Black Banner Army was the only force still capable of holding the whole structure together. Defeat the Black Banner in open battle, and every last person’s confidence would be crushed all at once — and even if the attack were repelled, it would still prove, for all the realm to see, that no one left in the Central Plains could truly stand against a single Jurchen blow.

Some in the room looked startled, some panicked, some let their expressions falter, and some had already laid the whole situation bare. Across Lou Shuwan’s face flickered a cold look that seemed to say, “then let us all die together.” Zhu Biao drew a breath and rose to his feet. He glanced once at Zhan Wu, then swept a contemptuous look across the assembled crowd, and strode out of the hall without another word. Though he hadn’t spoken a single syllable, his resolve to head for the battlefield was already unmistakably clear.

Behind him, a leader of the wandering armies named An Xifu also rose and followed him out toward the hall’s entrance.

Zhu Biao strode swiftly out of the Tianji Palace, passing through several palace gates, when someone caught up with him from behind. “General Zhu.”

That man, An Xifu, was someone Zhu Biao had heard of more than a decade earlier — he had once had dealings with Ning Yi back in Hangzhou, and had also been an old friend of Chen Fan’s. Later, when Fang Qifo and the others were taken north under guard, it was said that An Xifu had made a secret attempt to rescue them, only to be captured himself by some faction or another and vanish without a trace. Ning Yi had once searched for him for some time but never found him — only now did it become clear that Wang Yin was likely the one who had saved him.

The two had once fought side by side at Linzhou, and that counted, in its way, as a bond of trust worth honoring between comrades. Zhu Biao cupped his hands. “Brother An, heading north as well?”

“By the Prince’s order, I have to wait until things here are settled before I can leave. As for the possibility of the Jurchens moving early to respond to the situation in the Jin region, my lord had already anticipated as much, and he too will lead troops north once Shuliesu moves out — General Zhu need not worry on that account.”

“Ha, what would I have to worry about… no, wrong — I’m anxious that I won’t make it to the front in time to fight.” Zhu Biao laughed. “So then, Brother An, you came chasing after me to…”

“I wanted to ask General Zhu a question — one closely bound up with today’s negotiations.”

“Oh?” Zhu Biao thought for a moment. “What question?”

“The Prince of Jin has fallen, and morale and fighting spirit across the Jin region have collapsed to their lowest point — and yet, should everyone still choose to fight to the death, there remains a chance. A force like your Huaxia Army, General Zhu, could very well serve as the backbone here. Before I came, my lord said — if the Huaxia Army remained here to stand against the Jurchens, the outcome of today’s negotiations could look very different. Possibly entirely different.”

An Xifu’s expression remained calm as he finished laying this out before Zhu Biao, watching him quietly. He did not ask outright whether the Huaxia Army would stay or leave, choosing instead to lay the whole matter bare, with the clear intent of persuading him. Hearing this, Zhu Biao’s own expression darkened, his face a mix of struggle and complexity.

An Xifu continued: “And so, only by knowing whether the Huaxia Army can stay could I go back and settle matters properly with the others on that basis. General Zhu — the Jin region holds a million lives… can they be saved?”

With the guards up on the walls and only distant figures anywhere near, An Xifu had deliberately followed him all the way out here to raise this. The cold wind swept across the open plaza. Zhu Biao stood silent for a long while.

“I have a brother…” Zhu Biao said. “No — not just one. Several tens of thousands of brothers, who have staked their lives to hold back part of the Jurchen eastern army at Daming Prefecture, buying time. Now that spring has come, they may have no way out left. The Huaxia Army promised to go save them — once Shuliesu attacks, the Huaxia Army will commit everything it has. Even if I die in the fighting, so be it… but I also cannot break faith with those brothers who have staked their very lives on this.”

He weighed his words carefully as he spoke. When he finished, An Xifu’s expression remained calm; he cupped his hands and offered a faint smile. “I understand. General Zhu need not trouble himself over this. In my view, whatever choice you make, General, you may face this world and its people without shame.”

“…If I manage to bring him out safely, I’ll come back.”

“Of course. Safe travels, General Zhu — may you succeed in everything you set out to do.”

“I’ll take your good words.”

Zhu Biao smiled and was about to turn to leave when something occurred to him, and he turned back. “Oh, right, Brother An — I hear you and Chen Fan were quite close.”

“That’s right.”

“I have a question of my own, then. Back then, you took some account books and tried to rescue Fang Qifo, and afterward you disappeared — Chen Fan searched for you for a long time and never found you. None of us ever imagined you’d end up working for Wang Yin. Wang Yin didn’t exactly play an admirable role in Fang Qifo’s death — what actually happened, if you don’t mind my asking? I’ve always been curious.”

The events of more than a decade ago had long since passed; Zhu Biao smiled broadly as he asked, curious but with no real intention of pursuing the matter further. An Xifu smiled as well. “It was indeed Minister Wang who saved me. As for the details of what really happened back then, even I don’t know for certain. For a time, I very much wanted to kill my lord and demand answers from him, but he was never willing to discuss it with someone as junior as myself…” He thought for a moment. “As time went on, much of it has grown hazy — because my lord never spoke of it, all I have are my own private guesses.”

“My lord is a man who truly still carries the memory of the Yongle regime,” An Xifu said. “When the Yongle uprising fell, the court hunted down its remnants without mercy, determined to root out every last one — while Master Fang lived, none of them could ever know peace. Later, Master Fang died, and the Princess died as well, and the court considered the matter of the Yongle uprising closed. Even now, many within the Prince of Ming’s army are old veterans of that uprising, all of them saved by my lord.”

“That all laws are equal, with none set above another — that is the ideal my lord holds onto, hoping that one day it can be taken up again. Only, with the Jurchens now here, resisting them must come first — so that the realm might have peace once more.”

An Xifu finished, then smiled. “Whether my guess is right or wrong is hard to say — my lord carries a certain gravity about him, not easy to press for answers. But on the matter of resisting the Jurchens, my lord’s resolve is absolute — General Zhu need have no doubts on that score.”

Zhu Biao nodded and cupped his hands in return.

There truly were all sorts of people in this world, all sorts of ways of thinking — much like himself and Wang Shanyue, fighting for different ideals, yet moving in the same direction all the same. So Zhu Biao thought to himself, as he set off toward the battlefield. An Xifu turned and walked toward another battlefield, different, and yet, in its own way, the same.

To kneel, or to resist — people caught in their own conflicting thoughts kept struggling against one another. In the great hall, Lou Shuwan gazed at a corner of the room, countless voices washing past her ears. In her heart lingered a faint thread of hope, though reason told her, more insistently, that this hope did not truly exist — and that however dire things became, she could only go on fighting through this hell, on and on. To die might, perhaps, be easier. But… never!

The girl named Yuan Xiaoqiu still waited beside her, her heart full of righteous anger, anticipating a massacre that was not to come…

To the north, the armies were already in motion, grinding their teeth for blood, readying themselves for the first great clash of the new year. Qin Ming the Thunderbolt, Guan Sheng of the Great Blade, Xu Ning the Golden Spear, Huyan Zhuo of the Double Whips, Lu Junyi the Jade Qilin — and that banner of black, unfurled — all advanced in silence toward a spring woven through with blood and fire.

Carrying with him the long, fierce spirit of the Yongle uprising that had endured for more than a decade, the old man named Wang Juyun likewise marched to meet the Jurchens head-on, bold and unrestrained.

And in the south, at the besieged city of Xuzhou, where eight thousand Huaxia Army soldiers, several hundred thousand starving refugees, and three hundred thousand Jurchen eastern-army troops had all converged — this, too, was now stirring into motion. In this moment, countless undercurrents were about to come roaring up through the thin sheet of ice above them.