In the eleventh year of the Wu Dynasty’s Jianshuo era, from New Year’s Day onward, Lin’an remained under continuous martial law.

Those inside couldn’t leave, and those outside couldn’t enter. For several days running, all sorts of rumors flew through the city: some said Wuzhu had already killed countless people; some said over a million commoners outside Lin’an wanted in but were blocked at the gates; some said the Imperial Guard had shot arrows at civilians outside the walls days before; others brought up the horrors of the Jingping Humiliation years ago, saying that now that everyone was trapped inside the city, the future looked grim for them too… All manner of talk, none of it consistent.

People gathered in the taverns and teahouses, in private courtyards, exchanging news and connections. A great city of nearly a million and a half people couldn’t sustain permanent lockdown even under occasional martial law. People needed to eat, goods needed transport; the once-bustling trade had ground to a temporary halt, but the most basic functions still had to continue. The temples and Daoist monasteries large and small throughout Lin’an did brisk business these days, just as they always did before and after any great war.

Though Li Pin and the Princess Imperial’s estate’s propaganda machinery had once publicized widely the dangers of the “Heavenly Master Guo Jing” affair of years past, people facing a calamity of this magnitude still found their helplessness hard to shake. All sorts of rumors about “Heavenly Master Guo” and his old defeat began circulating again in the marketplaces — that though Guo Jing possessed tremendous supernatural power, the Jurchens’ swift rise suggested they too enjoyed the protection of some demonic force, as how else could someone like “Valley Spirit” Wanyan Xiyin earn such a name if not through connection to gods or demons? There were also cheap pamphlets describing how Heavenly Master Guo had once been seduced by a bewitching demoness, defiling the great power of his heavenly soldiers, leading to his total defeat atop the walls of Bian Liang — a tale full of twists and salacious detail, sold together with illustrated erotic prints, and in these days of martial law in Lin’an, demand for it briefly outstripped supply entirely.

There is nothing new under heaven. Foolish men and women spent their hard-saved money seeking divine protection, buying charms for safety, then giving them to the family members they cared for most, hoping this time they might weather the great calamity unharmed. Such humble desperation was pitiable, yet also stirred a certain sympathy.

On the sixth of January, Zhou Pei stood atop the walls of the imperial city, directing a massive hot air balloon as it slowly rose above the city. She pressed her lips together, brow furrowed, staring silently up at the great object ascending into the sky, worrying in her heart whether it might fall.

When Ning Yi had killed the emperor, he had once used a hot air balloon to carry a small group over the palace walls — an act of such flagrant transgression against the imperial residence that the entire Wu Dynasty court had regarded such devices with deep unease ever since. Since the dynasty’s move south, and since Jun Wu had built the hot air balloon, this was the first time one had risen into the sky over Lin’an.

At this moment, eight hot air balloons swayed in the cold winter wind above the city’s four directions. The whole city stirred; people came out of their homes and gathered everywhere, craning their necks to look up at this near-miraculous novelty, pointing and murmuring among themselves. For a moment, the crowds seemed to fill every open space in Lin’an.

Zhou Pei took all of this in.

She had worked hard to push this project through. With the Jurchens approaching, the city’s mood was anxious, morale low, and among the officials, all manner of complicated and treacherous scheming churned beneath the surface. Wuzhu’s fifty thousand light cavalry had come south intending a strategy of subverting hearts and minds; in theory, if the court remained united, holding Lin’an should present no problem — but given the Wu Dynasty’s already complicated internal situation, compounded by Zhou Yong’s disastrous missteps, no one could say with confidence who might waver, who might defect.

In some sense, the Wu Dynasty at this moment resembled Liangshan after Ning Yi had once turned its own hearts against it. Before the true test arrived, no one could know whether it would hold.

Over several days, Zhou Pei lobbied the great ministers on the idea of raising the balloons to boost morale; most responded with hesitation. Lü Yihao said: “Your servant feels this matter is likely to achieve little, and may easily stir up unnecessary trouble. Of course, if Your Highness believes it useful, your servant supposes there’s no harm in trying.” Most others held similar views.

Given this, Zhou Pei had the censors raise the proposal formally at court, then pressured Hou Shao — who had staked his position on a death-defying remonstration — to have Chen Xiangji, who had since taken over the Ministry of Rites, publicly endorse it, with the sole condition that the balloon operators be forbidden from looking toward the palace during the ascent, to avoid any suspicion of spying into the imperial residence — and with the court’s silent acquiescence, the matter was settled. During the court debate, Qin Hui had actually spoken up in support, arguing that in the face of a great enemy, extraordinary measures were warranted, and had firmly backed Zhou Pei’s proposal — which left Zhou Pei with rather more favorable an impression of him than before.

With the court’s resistance cleared, weather remained an obstacle to launching the balloons. The winter air over Lin’an was still bitterly cold, with considerable wind aloft, raising the risk of malfunction once airborne. By the sixth, with Wuzhu’s cavalry already circling past the defense lines and closing in on Lin’an, the technicians at the Institute of Natural Science finally decided to take the risk during a brief lull in the wind. Eight balloon operators, prepared to stake their lives on it, raised the balloons at the second quarter of the hour of Wei.

More than a decade had passed since the first hot air balloon flight over Lin’an, but few had actually witnessed it firsthand. Throughout every street and alley of Lin’an, the crowd erupted in noise; some elderly folk cried out “Heavenly soldiers and generals!” and dropped to their knees, kowtowing. Zhou Pei watched it all, silently praying nothing would go wrong.

This time, fate finally sided with the Wu Dynasty. The eight balloons hung in the sky for a full quarter hour before slowly descending again, with no malfunction occurring throughout. The propaganda machinery of the Princess Imperial’s estate and Li Pin’s network had already begun moving as well, with speakers heading out to calm public sentiment street by street, and more newspapers set to follow the next day.

Beyond this, now that Lin’an had witnessed its first hot air balloon ascent, the influence of natural science would surely continue to grow in the future. Zhou Pei’s own feelings on this matter weren’t as deeply invested as her brother’s, but she could well imagine how delighted Jun Wu would have been to hear of this happening, had it come before the war began.

Having arranged the various matters that followed and offered encouragement and commendation to today’s balloon technicians, Zhou Pei returned to the estate and began writing a letter to Jun Wu.

At this time, Jiangning was under fierce assault from Zongfu’s forces, with Zhenjiang repeatedly sending reinforcements; Jun Wu himself, along with Han Shizhong, had gone there personally to bolster the troops’ morale. In her letter, she urged her brother to take care of his health, reassured him not to worry too much over the capital, and told him that she and Cheng Zhouhai would see to everything here. She also mentioned today’s balloon launch, noting with some amusement how the common folk mistook the balloons for heavenly soldiers descending — but in terms of boosting public morale, the effect had been considerable. Though the impact of this event would only be measured over the long term, she thought it might still bring some comfort to her brother, far off in danger as he was.

That night the letter was sent off; by the following morning, Cheng Zhouhai arrived with far bigger news to lay before her. The Huaxia Army had passed a resolution on New Year’s Eve, spent New Year’s Day peacefully, and on the second day of the new year had openly issued a fierce declaration of war: that the Jurchens now waged an unjust war, that the Central Plains suffered in misery, that the south burned with continuous warfare, and that all Chinese people under heaven should unite against the common foe — yet there were cowards who, in fear of Jurchen might, turned their blades against their own countrymen, and against those who had crossed this final line, the Huaxia Army called on all Han people everywhere to strike them down together…

In this declaration, the Huaxia Army listed a considerable number of “war criminals” — mostly warlords who had once served the puppet Qi regime and now led troops south under the Jin banner, along with several Wu Dynasty factions secretly colluding with the Jin state. Against these individuals, the Huaxia Army had already dispatched an elite force of some ten thousand men out of Shu territory to carry out decapitation strikes. While calling on righteous men across the realm to join this cause, it also urged all Wu Dynasty citizens to stay alert against any shameless traitors attempting to defect amid the great war.

In the morning light, Zhou Pei read the declaration through quietly, then looked up at Cheng Zhouhai, her expression giving nothing away. “…Is it real, or is it a bluff?”

“There’s genuine movement within the Huaxia Army. By the time this news went out, several elite teams had already confirmed to be assembling and moving out of Shu from different directions — teams ranging from a few dozen to one or two hundred men each, part of the ‘special operations’ unit Ning Yi has specifically cultivated over the years, based on Zhou Tong’s old formation tactics from years ago, designed specifically for engaging groups of a hundred or so in the greenwood…”

Zhou Pei blinked. “He was often the target of assassination attempts himself, back in Bian Liang…”

“Mm. Back then his concern for greenwood affairs made him plenty of enemies too — my teacher used to say he neglected his proper duties over it… The men around him were originally trained with exactly this in mind, and later, once they formed the Black Banner Army, this kind of training came to be called special operations — extremely effective at decapitating enemy commanders in major battles. Two years ago near Xiangyang, a team of over a hundred Jurchen masters kidnapped General Yue’s son and daughter, only to run straight into Ning Yi on his way back from the Jin region — nearly all of those Jurchen masters were wiped out. There was a notorious killer, Lu Tuo, known as a grandmaster in the martial world — he too died in a single strike from Ning Yi’s palm, the moment they crossed paths.”

Zhou Pei listened quietly. Over the years, both the Princess and the Crown Prince had earned considerable goodwill among the common people, and Zhou Pei herself certainly had no shortage of skilled fighters and heroes under her command, drawn from those who’d mastered both scholarship and martial arts in service of the throne — the death agents she occasionally deployed for decisive action generally came from among these ranks. But by comparison, the “professionals” on Ning Yi’s side seemed more like legends within their own field — much like the Huaxia Army itself, which always managed to produce terrifyingly effective results despite being vastly outnumbered. In truth, Zhou Yong’s fear of the Huaxia Army had surely stemmed from exactly this.

Having finished his account, Cheng Zhouhai paused briefly. “It seems Ning Yi has truly staked everything on this move.”

“How do you mean?” Zhou Pei asked.

Cheng Zhouhai smiled faintly. “A declaration this bloody and hardline, openly announcing an intent to kill — it doesn’t fit the Huaxia Army’s current situation at all. However well we’re fighting on our end, the Huaxia Army remains, in the end, confined to a corner in the southwest. For Ning Yi to issue this declaration and send out assassination teams will certainly give pause to those still wavering, but it will also push those who have already sided with the Jurchens to commit even more firmly. And what’s more, those people’s first concern will no longer be the Wu Dynasty at all, but rather… this man who carries some real weight across the realm when he speaks — the demon-slayer Ning. He’s pulling the burden over onto himself…”

Zhou Pei smiled faintly. In public reputation, this demon-slayer Ning was mostly spoken of with infamy — the result of years of joint suppression by both the Jin state and the Wu Dynasty. But among the upper echelons of every faction, was Ning Yi’s name really only “some” weight? He had first killed Zhou Zhe; then directly overthrown Tian Hu’s regime in the Jin region, leaving that once-celebrated hero, the Tiger King, dead in a dark prison cell; later still, he had driven the nominal “sovereign” Liu Yu to madness, seizing him from the imperial palace in Bian Liang, his whereabouts unknown to this day, with the blame conveniently pinned on the Wu Dynasty itself…

How was that only “some” weight? In truth, if this demon-slayer Ning truly set his sights on someone and declared a vendetta to the death, precious few people in the realm could sleep soundly at night.

The smile on Zhou Pei’s face flickered and vanished. “He’s only afraid we’ll collapse too soon and drag him down with us, hiding away in the southwest as he is.”

Cheng Zhouhai nodded. “It’s strange too… well, it’s also a result of what His Majesty did earlier, which left him with no other choice. The declaration says ten thousand men were sent out — that’s surely an exaggeration to bluff the enemy, but even a few thousand would still represent elite forces the Huaxia Army has struggled mightily to cultivate in these difficult times. Having committed them to battle, there will certainly be losses — which, in a way, is also good news. However this plays out, both the Crown Prince’s situation and our own may see some relief because of it.”

Zhou Pei nodded, her eyes tracing over the large map spread before her, mind working through the implications. “He’s sending out this many people to stir up trouble for the Jurchens — the Jurchens certainly won’t sit idly by, and those who’ve already defected will surely see him as a thorn in their side too… Good. This means the whole realm is about to be at war, and no one gets to sit this one out… Mm, Master Cheng, I’m thinking we should arrange for a group of our own people…”

Cheng Zhouhai smiled. “I was thinking the very same thing…”

Zhou Pei walked over to the map. “Over the years, quite a few factions in the Sichuan region have done business with the Huaxia Army. I’d guess that if the Huaxia Army is willing to move out of Shu, they must be relying on these connections first, gradually fighting their way outward. Flying the banner of purging traitors as they are, most people under the circumstances will likely look the other way rather than deliberately obstruct them — but there will still be plenty of bloodshed along various routes regardless. We should send out our own people — first, to ensure the local authorities along the way don’t obstruct the Huaxia Army’s operations, and where necessary, cooperate with and assist these Huaxia Army teams, clearing out as much of the filth colluding secretly with the Jurchens as we can, including those we’ve already identified ourselves. If it’s inconvenient for us to act directly, we can simply let the blame fall on that demon of Ning’s.”

By the time she finished speaking, she was already smiling. Cheng Zhouhai nodded. “Ren Shangfei… old Ren is meticulous by nature, he can take charge of this. While cooperating with the Huaxia Army…”

“We investigate them, and keep records.” Zhou Pei finished the thought for him with a smile, her gaze fixed on the great map before her. “That way, even if the day comes when the two sides end up fighting each other…”

Her voice lowered. “…We’ll have something to go on.”

“…” Cheng Zhouhai stood behind her for a moment, his expression complicated, then gave a faint smile. “I’ll go arrange the men.”

“I’ll leave it to you, Master Cheng…”

Having said this, Zhou Pei stared at the map in silence for a long while. When she finally turned back, Cheng Zhouhai had already left the room. Zhou Pei sat in her chair, looking over the declaration again along with the accompanying intelligence report — the declaration itself read properly enough on its surface, yet the content within carried a frightening ruthlessness and violence.

For a long time now, faced with the tangled complexity of the realm’s affairs, Zhou Pei had often felt a sense of powerlessness. Proud by nature, she was not, at heart, particularly strong-willed. Before a world locked in ruthless, all-out struggle that allowed for no room for luck — especially before the Jurchens, decisive and merciless in their killing, and before the man she had once called teacher, Ning Liheng — Zhou Pei could only feel her own distance and smallness. Even with half the strength of the Wu Dynasty behind her, she never once felt she truly possessed the standing to contend with such people on the scale of the realm itself.

In this regard, her brother, who charged forward heedless of everything, might well possess a far greater strength than she did.

When the Huaxia Army had, without the slightest hesitation, pinned the blame for the puppet emperor Liu Yu onto the Wu Dynasty itself, what Zhou Pei had felt was the icy coldness of the world’s true workings — on the level of realm-spanning strategy, had her teacher ever once let sentiment guide him? By last year, her father’s cowardice and fear had forced Zhou Pei to confront that same cold reality, and she had sent Cheng Zhouhai to the southwest, willing to compromise, using whatever means necessary to strengthen her own position. And now, on the eve of Lin’an facing Wuzhu amid crises within and without, the Huaxia Army’s actions had, to some degree, left her feeling something like warmth.

Even though the demon in the southwest surely acted out of cold calculation, even though she understood full well that the two sides would eventually come to blows — in this moment, he had, after all, been “forced” to extend a helping hand. She could well imagine that her brother, once he heard this news, along with the soldiers around him, would likewise feel comforted and encouraged by it.

And yet, in the deepest part of her heart, she also found herself wanting, rather wickedly, to laugh. Though this was, on its face, a terrible affair, she had never once imagined that her father’s mistaken actions could force the man far off in the southwest into making such a decision. She could almost picture the expression on his face at the moment he made that decision — perhaps he had even cursed her father out loud.

However one looked at it, this surely counted, for the demon-Ning, as a strange sort of comeuppance. Something that no one else in the realm could manage, her father had achieved through sheer misstep — the thought of it made Zhou Pei rather pleased with herself.

This pleasant mood lingered for quite some time. The following day, the eighth of January, Wuzhu’s cavalry arrived at Lin’an, driving off some of the commoners who hadn’t managed to leave in time and launching small-scale harassing raids against the city. Zhou Pei, stationed at the estate, kept close watch on the situation within Lin’an and at court while methodically issuing orders beyond the city walls, instructing the relief forces under Xu Liejun, Shen Cheng, and others not to rush, to hold their positions steady, and to slowly complete the encirclement and pressure against Wuzhu.

Even when some within the estate showed anxiety in front of her, Zhou Pei responded only with calm, confident reassurance:

“We will hold this city.”

In her own heart, the rational part of her remained complicated and uneasy. But after all these years, after living through such prolonged suppression and despair, this was the first time she had glimpsed something like real hope.

So many years had passed since that midnight farewell in Bian Liang; Zhou Pei had never seen Ning Yi again since. She had gone back and married, staying in Jiangning, while he had gone to Liangshan, wiped out the bandit scourge there, worked under Grandfather Qin, and later killed the emperor, defeated the Western Xia, resisted the Jurchens, even stood against the entire realm. He had grown more and more a stranger to her, standing now on the opposite side from the Wu Dynasty, and that filled Zhou Pei with fear.

And yet, at the same time, deep in her heart, there remained always the image of that young girl at their parting, and of the teacher she had known then.

Back then, Ning Yi had turned and walked away, and she had watched his retreating figure, understanding in her heart, even then: however difficult things became, so long as he was there, there would always be some thread of warmth and hope.

That night, she dreamed of that evening long ago.

The next morning, as various new reports came in, Zhou Pei paused over one piece of news in particular. It was simple enough: the previous afternoon, her father had summoned Lord Qin Hui into the palace for an audience.

Ever since falling out with his ministers, Zhou Yong had shut himself away in the palace, too weary to deal with anyone. Yesterday, following Wuzhu’s mild, inconsequential assault on Lin’an, Zhou Yong had summoned Qin Hui — there was, of course, information worth noting in that alone, which was why the intelligence agents below had passed the news up. But on the whole, it wasn’t anything especially significant; it was enough simply to be aware of it.

Zhou Pei filed the impression away in her mind, then set it aside for the moment…