Having followed Aguda in the founding uprising and accumulated enough merit to be posthumously granted the rank of duke, Wanyan Wenqin’s family, though it might be called straitened within Yunzhong Prefecture, was only so by comparison with young men of similarly exalted rank. A family that could enter the palace to pay respects to the emperor at any time, one whose name every person of standing would acknowledge with a greeting — the annual grants and honors bestowed on such a family were enough to let countless ordinary people live out a happy life.

It was only that the Jin state was still newly founded, and many things — customs, precedents — remained in flux. There were plenty of hands to warm a rising star, and none to spare for a fading threshold. Wanyan Wenqin’s grandfather, the duke, had already passed away, and with only a single heir in the line, and that heir himself sickly since childhood, the family’s decline had been all but foreseeable. In such circumstances, carrying a grand title while living in genuine want only made the resentment sharper.

Wanyan Wenqin had grown up in this environment. Unable to train in the martial arts, he could only take to letters — but honestly, growing up among the Jurchen, where valor and strength were revered above all else, there had been little environment around him suited to the study of letters either. Gushen, for all his erudition, was respected only because his martial skill was so formidable. Wanyan Wenqin had been mocked and neglected since childhood — or so, at least, he himself had always believed — and gradually, even his interest in study had begun to fade.

But he loved listening to storytellers. He loved hearing tales.

In the early days of the Jurchen’s rise, as they destroyed Liao and campaigned against the Wu Dynasty, there had been men of great learning among both the Liao and the Wu. His family had brought in tutors for him, but the hot-tempered Wanyan Wenqin, growing weary of their lessons, had driven them out with curses and blows — even, on a few occasions, drawing his sword and killing a couple of the old men outright. But his habit of listening to storytellers had never left him, and some years earlier, an elderly scholar who had been carried off from the Wu Dynasty had gradually won Wanyan Wenqin’s favor.

This old scholar of the Wu Dynasty told stories that captivated without ever descending into vulgarity, and in between tales, he would occasionally teach Wanyan Wenqin a phrase or two, some idiom or turn of vocabulary from the south. Wanyan Wenqin had not noticed it at first, but in conversation with others, he began letting slip these phrases and explaining them, and his household, delighted to see the young master showing such cleverness, showered him with praise — this was when Wanyan Wenqin first came to feel the benefits of reading, the benefits of learning.

He gradually began to take the old scholar more seriously, and it was only then that he learned the old man’s name was Dai Mo, a man who had once held some renown and standing in Bianliang. Wanyan Wenqin had Dai Mo tell him stories, and in between, the old man would occasionally touch on all manner of knowledge, sharing his views and understanding of the wider world. It was from this that Wanyan Wenqin’s own worldview truly began to “grow.”

Raised in the environment of the north, Wanyan Wenqin had felt, since childhood, that he had no future — in the past, all he had known was hot-tempered violence, lashing out at whoever was near. Dai Mo helped him sort through it all, piece by piece, and told him countless stories of men of frail build who had nonetheless achieved great things. Wanyan Wenqin’s heart surged with excitement — he had finally found a path forward. And gradually, he came to understand something else: the Jurchen had founded their nation through military might, but once a nation was at peace, it was the learned men of vision who were most needed. Fists could no longer solve every problem — only one’s own mind could do that now.

Having glimpsed this hope, by the previous year, the old man named Dai Mo had fallen gravely ill, and Wanyan Wenqin, terrified of losing his storyteller, had insisted his household do everything possible to cure him, even going so far as to part with a family heirloom for the cause. Once the old man had recovered, he had confided the truth to Wanyan Wenqin: he was the inheritor of the ancient arts of Guiguzi and the Way of Alliance and Intrigue from the Spring and Autumn period — a body of learning most concerned with the interplay between people. It was only a pity that even the power of such learning had its limits, and his own grasp of it had never reached its deepest depths. The Wu Dynasty’s ills had run too deep, and though he had once hoped to serve his country, he had lacked the power to turn back its fate. Carried off to the Jin state, he had intended to take his learning to the grave with him — never imagining he would encounter so generous and devoted a young master…

By Dai Mo’s account, the arts of Guiguzi and Alliance and Intrigue studied the workings of this world — the learning demanded flexible, adaptive thinking, and could never be mastered through rote study alone. Wanyan Wenqin, hearing this, thought to himself: then surely, by nature, he himself was destined to be the heir to this very tradition.

The Jin state had now been settled for a decade, and had always harbored a certain admiration for the literary culture of the Wu Dynasty. Wanyan Wenqin, having endured nearly twenty years of stifled frustration, had finally found this remarkable stroke of fortune — in all the stories he had heard, the protagonist was always a man of deep virtue, and such fortune never fell upon anyone else. And besides, looking at how other Jurchen treated their Han slaves, and comparing that to his own treatment of Dai Mo, he felt he could hold his head high with a clear conscience. Over the following year, he listened as Dai Mo spoke of the treacherous ways of the world, the deviousness of human hearts, the methods of building and breaking alliances — opening up an entirely new world within his mind. Dai Mo would also, from time to time, tell him inspiring stories, urging him ever forward.

At the end of the previous year, Wanyan Wenqin, treating the worthy with proper respect, had personally proposed to formally take Dai Mo as his teacher, and from then on treated him as both mentor and father. Dai Mo had wept with gratitude — he had once had only a daughter, and she had died amid the chaos of war. He had never imagined that in his old age, he would gain such a son and heir, one who could see him through to his final days.

Through Dai Mo’s teachings, Wanyan Wenqin gradually became aware of the various problems within the Jin state, and of the various problems within himself. To think he could live his whole life, and generations after, coasting on his grandfather’s ducal title — that was the ambition of a man with no prospects, and it was not, in any case, realistic. A man’s honor was won by his own hand alone. If he could not go to the battlefield himself, then to gain a firm footing in Yunzhong, he would need his own resources, his own strength.

At this time, Yunzhong Prefecture was full of men who had risen with the founding of the state, and a man of Wanyan Wenqin’s fading standing had no way to reach into anyone else’s affairs. But with the arrival of the Qi family, he finally saw an opening. Over the past six months or so, Dai Mo had spent every single day analyzing the situation with him, working out feasible plans, and secretly gathering intelligence on the various criminal factions around Yunzhong Prefecture.

By the time word came confirming that the Black Banner Army prisoners were to be sent to the city, the entire plan against the Qi family finally had a point of leverage. Xiao Shuqing and the others outside Yunzhong Prefecture believed themselves to be the ones driving the scheme, drawing him into it — with no idea whatsoever that the true mastermind pulling the strings from behind was, in fact, his own side.

Half a month before the entire plan was finally set, the old man, who had spent half a year exhausting his mind and effort on this scheme, at last reached the end of his life. On his deathbed, Dai Mo told Wanyan Wenqin that he would not live to see his rise within the Jin state, and hoped only that in the future, he would carve out a path of glory, carrying forward the arts of Guiguzi and Alliance and Intrigue.

With the old man now dead, not a shred of hesitation or doubt remained in Wanyan Wenqin’s heart, and he felt no fear whatsoever at the prospect of placing himself directly in the plot to dispel everyone else’s suspicions. A man’s honor is won by his own hand — if he meant to make the whole world his chessboard, and dared not even stake his own life on it, what could he ever hope to accomplish?

And so, by this day, everything had at last fallen smoothly into place. Wanyan Wenqin left Qingying Ward in his sedan chair, waiting now for the next day to arrive.

At this same moment, Tang Minjie had already driven his vegetable cart out of the city. Through his careful dealings over these past months, he had built up daily rapport with the gate guards, and the inspections were not strict. Once clear of the city, the cart turned toward a desolate hill outside the walls, and when it stopped, a gaunt, dust-covered woman climbed out from inside.

Tang Minjie led her up the hill, through the trees, and at the edge of the forest, they came upon a stretch of graves. On one headstone was written: “Grave of Dai Shuyuan.” At once, the woman’s face was streaming with tears, and she knelt before the grave.

Tang Minjie looked around them.

“While Master Dai was alive, he thought of you constantly. I meant to bring him to see you, but he said — living as he did, feeding himself to tigers and wolves, he was afraid his resolve would falter. Once the matter was accomplished, there would be a proper chance to meet. But then, a month ago, he suddenly fell ill — perhaps some premonition had already come to him. He kept bringing you up to me, over and over, saying he regretted not seeing you again, that he had failed you… Master Dai often said, in life, that as a man, he had let his wife and child suffer this great calamity; as an official, he had let the nation and its people suffer; among the countless men of the Wu Dynasty, this was a sin too great to atone for, and he meant to spend what remained of his life doing nothing but atoning for it. But that… that only made him fail you all the more.”

The woman on the ground kowtowed, then shook her head over and over, weeping too hard to speak. Tang Minjie fell silent for a moment.

“Master Dai did something extraordinary. Everything the Jurchen ever did to you and your family — we will slowly claim it back, all of it… But you can’t stay here any longer. I’ve arranged a carriage and an escort. Head south ahead of us — any later, and every checkpoint will be under lockdown…”

A figure appeared further down the mountain path, signaling with a hand gesture. Tang Minjie patted the woman’s shoulder.

“Miss Dai, it’s time to go…”

After a moment, the woman rose from the ground, wiping her eyes, then turned and pressed her hand against Tang Minjie’s chest, her voice hoarse and weak. “Promise me — don’t let them go. Don’t let my father have died for nothing…”

Tang Minjie looked at her, tilting his head slightly.

In that moment, his gaze was gentle, breaking into a clear, unclouded smile.

“Safe travels.”

The fifth of July, in the thirteenth year of the Jin Tianhui era, was an ordinary day, and yet not an ordinary day at all. In Yunzhong Prefecture, a faint, half-perceptible atmosphere of foreboding was gathering. Most people noticed nothing at all, though a few sensed the first stirrings of it ahead of time.

At the residence of Prince Yu, Wanyan Xiyin’s household, his second son, Wanyan Youyi, was busy dressing and grooming himself when Chen Wenjun entered from outside and looked him over for a moment. “What’s this? All dressed up so handsomely — off to meet some young lady’s family?”

“Mother.” Wanyan Youyi bowed to her, though with a touch of hesitation. “I won’t hide it from you — I mean to attend a banquet at the Qi residence.”

Chen Wenjun’s brow furrowed. Though Han Chinese by birth herself, she had never cared for the Qi family, who had defected from the Wu Dynasty to the Jin. The great Confucian scholar Qi Yan had called on her, this younger generation woman, with his card more than once, and each time Chen Wenjun had declined to receive him. Naturally, in more public settings, she was careful never to voice her dislike of the Qi family too openly.

“The Qi family’s holding another banquet today? What’s got you so eager to go?”

Wanyan Youyi smiled. “The Qi family’s really spared no expense today — inviting people over to view and appreciate something. I hear it’s a genuine masterpiece. I just wanted to go take a look.”

“A work by a Painting Sage — no wonder it’s got you itching to go.” Chen Wenjun smiled. It was a work by Wu Daozi, the Tang Dynasty’s Painting Sage. Of Xiyin’s two sons, Wanyan Dezhong excelled at calligraphy, while Wanyan Youyi had always loved studying painting — no wonder he couldn’t resist. She frowned slightly, thinking it over, and then her expression darkened.

“Don’t go to the Qi residence today. Something feels off. Just hold off for now.”

“Mother…”

“Enough.” Chen Wenjun smiled. “How about this — I’ll agree that you won’t go to the Qi residence these next few days, and some other day, I’ll go myself and request it on your behalf, so you can bring it home and study it privately for a few days. Does that sound fair?”

“But… why? Is something going to happen to the Qi family?”

“Who knows? The Qi family has old grievances with the Black Banner Army, and this time they’ve overplayed their hand — capturing Black Banner prisoners and bringing them to Yunzhong, planning to have them tortured, brutally killed. Just watch — someone’s going to snap. The Qi family’s luck is bound to run out sooner or later… Your father taught you this once — a gentleman establishes himself through virtue, and only through deep virtue can he bear the weight of the world. Whatever else you say about them, they were men of the Wu Dynasty, part of a great clan there for a hundred years, taking every advantage that gave them, and never once suffering for it — and now they turn their backs entirely on their old country without a second thought. The hearts of the realm won’t stand for it…”

Chen Wenjun went on at length, her expression gradually darkening, and Wanyan Youyi’s face grew solemn as well, listening respectfully.

The sun climbed toward its zenith, then began to sink again, and by evening, Wanyan Wenqin had left his household, heading toward the Qi residence together with several young noblemen who had already exchanged greetings with him earlier. On the streets outside the Qi residence, the scouts keeping watch were already in place, and at the unremarkable back gate, Tang Minjie drove his cart, hauling the last half-load of vegetables and fruit, into the Qi residence. Outside the city, at a place called Xinzhuang, the Black Banner Army prisoners had already been escorted to the site, and countless factions, inside and outside the city walls, had already set their eyes and ears upon it.

The fifth of July was the eighth day since the great battle for the south of the Yangtze had begun. The siege of Yangzhou had already reached a white-hot pitch, and the clash at Xiangyang had already seen its first exchange of victory and defeat. Nearly two million troops had either already entered the flames of war, or were about to. The entire realm had already been dragged into an enormous, swirling vortex. That night, in the hour of Hai, the massacre at Yunzhong that would shock the entire realm finally broke out.