Everything passed like drifting dust and smoke.

The twenty-eighth of the fourth month. Lin’an.

A carriage raced along the road between the city’s blocks; rounding a sharp bend, another carriage came from the opposite direction, and unable to avoid it in time, they collided with a crash. The startled horses struggled to right themselves; a wooden wheel came loose from its axle and rolled rattling away toward a food stall at the roadside. In the small square, people cursed amid the confusion, while others gathered to help restrain the struggling horses.

Cheng Zhouhai climbed out of the carriage, touching his forehead where a splinter of wood had cut him, blood trickling out; he merely wiped it away in passing. Whoever the other carriage belonged to, he couldn’t say—after four months under siege, life in Lin’an had grown slower-paced, and such reckless racing likely meant they too had heard some news. He patted the shoulder of one of his attendants, leaving him to handle the matter, then went and freed one of the horses, swinging himself up onto its back.

This road led to a villa of Li Pin’s on the north side of Lin’an; someone opened the gate to receive him. In the courtyard, Li Pin had already arrived, and Tie Tianying too. Beside the empty courtyard grew a solitary weeping willow, swaying in the morning sunlight. The three of them went inside together, pushed open the door, and found room after room filled with martial artists polishing the edges of blades and spears to a gleaming sharpness. In one corner of the room, someone was sharpening a knife, their motions practiced and precise, drawing a chilling blue-white gleam from the blade against the whetstone.

The three continued further inside.

“Is the news confirmed?”

“At most half an hour more. The Jin envoy enters through Anding Gate. His identity is still being verified.”

Lifting the door curtain, the second room showed the same scene of weapon-polishing—martial artists both men and women, dressed in various clothes, who at first glance looked no different from ordinary passersby on the street. The third room presented the same sight.

“The court is in chaos; we can’t get a clear read on things. His Highness entered the palace this morning—no word yet.”

“Should we wait for His Highness to come out and decide?”

“His Highness has left it to me to act as the situation demands. Wanyan Xiyin’s campaign of psychological warfare has been a year in the making—neither you nor I know how many in the capital are prepared to take his side by now. Ning Yi’s order to root out traitors has drawn us closer together, but once things reach a breaking point, I fear it may spiral out of control entirely.”

“Understood.”

Tie Tianying nodded, a look of grim resolve in his eyes. Li Pin nodded as well. Cheng Zhouhai stood there; ahead lay the doorway leading to another open courtyard, where sunlight was falling.

“Whoever escorts the Jurchen envoy in will likely be troops from the city garrison. Whatever the outcome of this, regardless of how it goes, all of you may well…”

Tie Tianying waved a hand, cutting him off, and glanced back. “We’re all men who live by the blade, licking blood off it. What matters to us is righteousness, not your imperial law.”

Hearing this, Cheng Zhouhai nodded slightly, smiling. Tie Tianying hesitated a moment, then finally added one more thing.

“We all expected something like this would come. Just… a bit sooner than we thought.”

The martial artists in the room concealed their weapons within their robes. Cheng Zhouhai said nothing further; Li Pin saw him out. “Everyone who needed to be notified has been notified, one by one—though given the short notice, replies remain uncertain. I have old ties with Niu Xingguo of the imperial guard; I’ll go see him shortly to check on the situation. As for His Highness’s side, that will be yours to worry about… Brother Cheng, the wind rises from the tiniest ripple in still water—by the time some things become clear, it’s already too late. Do what needs to be done. After all, ever since Ning Yi’s regicide, nothing in this world has really been beyond the pale anymore.”

Cheng Zhouhai nodded. “I’ll go make contact with His Highness first. All necessary preparations must be made.”

Within the inner palace of Lin’an’s imperial city, in a side chamber of the Fuling Hall, Zhou Pei sat reading a book, half-listening to the birdsong drifting in from the garden outside the window.

She had already waited the whole morning. Out in the Golden Bell Hall where state affairs were discussed, the officials of the third rank and above who had been summoned were still caught up in chaotic arguing and even fighting. She knew it was her own father who had set off the whole affair. Jun Wu wounded, Zhenjiang fallen—her father’s entire strategy had already fallen apart.

In truth, from the moment war broke out with the Jurchens, her father had already lost any sense of a coherent plan. By the time he had played that foolish move of trying to negotiate with the Black Banner, breaking with the assembled officials, fear had likely already settled over his mind and body. Zhou Pei often came to try to console and reassure her father, but though Zhou Yong nodded pleasantly enough on the surface, deep down he found it hard to truly take her words to heart.

Whatever the case, her father lacked the courage to face difficulty head-on, and all of Zhou Pei’s attempts at consolation, in the end, rested on that same foundation of courage. Jun Wu had faced the Jurchen army head-on through sheer courage, but their father, safe behind the lines, did not even have the courage to believe in his son.

She could only do what she could and leave the rest to fate. During this time, Zhou Pei had met with Qin Hui several times; he had been obsequious yet gave nothing away, and she had no idea what he was ultimately planning—not until this very morning, when she finally understood his desire for peace.

She waited to try to persuade her father. She was not suited to appear before the court in front, but privately, she had already notified every high official she could reach, doing everything in her power to explain the stakes to her father and to the peace faction’s forces. Even if reason alone could not carry the day, she hoped the war faction’s officials could at least stand united, so that her father might see how circumstance now outweighed any individual’s will.

She took a sip from a teacup already gone cold. At some point, footsteps approached from outside, and Zhou Yong’s figure appeared in the doorway. He wore the imperial yellow dragon robe of the Son of Heaven, but beneath that yellow robe his body had grown gaunt beyond measure, his expression showing exhaustion. Yet upon seeing Zhou Pei, a trace of warmth softened his thin, drawn face.

“Has my daughter been waiting long?” He walked quickly toward her. “No need for formalities, no need. The news about Jun Wu… you already know?” A look of sorrow crossed his face again as he said this.

“Jun Wu is only wounded, no serious danger. I came today, Father, hoping… to explain the stakes to you, hoping Father might withdraw the order. Zhenjiang may have been lost, but things can still be salvaged, so long as Lin’an…”

Hearing this, Zhou Yong waved a hand. “Daughter, these matters are for the ministers of the court to handle. I… ah…”

“But why has Father ordered the Qiantang navy to move the ships?”

“Daughter! These matters… let Qin explain to you, shall we? Qin, come in—”

Zhou Yong’s expression showed his discomfort as he called out toward the door. The elderly minister waiting outside the hall then entered. Qin Hui’s hair was half white; from the morning’s turmoil, both his hair and robes bore signs of having been disheveled and hastily rearranged. He kept his head slightly lowered, his bearing humble, yet in his face and eyes there was a certain fierce, unyielding air of one who would go forward though ten thousand men opposed him. Qin Hui greeted Zhou Pei formally, then began laying out for her the full stakes of the matter.

The morning sunlight slanted into the hall. Zhou Pei stood ramrod straight in her long robe. Listening to Qin Hui’s account, her lips pressed tight together, and her expression gradually turned to fury. Before long, she pointed at Qin Hui and began cursing him fiercely. Qin Hui immediately dropped to his knees, though his words of explanation did not stop; Zhou Pei, alternating between cursing and arguing, at last turned to speak directly to her father at her side.

Her expression was full of sorrow. She first argued that Jun Wu’s desperate struggle at the front would be rendered utterly meaningless, then spoke of the sacrifice of a million lives, and finally turned to denounce Qin Hui’s treacherous ambitions, warning that the Wu Dynasty risked repeating the disaster of the Jingping era. As she went on, Zhou Yong at last could no longer contain himself.

“Fight on, fight on, what fighting, who can even fight anymore… After the Battle of Zhenjiang, the soldiers on the front lines have lost their nerve. With Jun Wu’s status as crown prince right there on the front, if Xiyin attacks again, who can possibly keep him safe! Daughter, I am a mediocre ruler, I don’t understand warfare—but I understand what a bad man is! In your eyes, anyone in this capital now thinking of surrender is a bad man! Then I am a bad man! I was once a bad man myself, so I know exactly what these bad men are capable of! I don’t trust them!”

His voice shook the hall, spittle sticking to his lips. “I trust you, I trust Jun Wu, but the situation has come to this—it cannot be salvaged! The only way out now lies with the Black Banner. The Jurchens want to fight the Black Banner—if they have no time left to plunder the Wu Dynasty, then let them fight! I’ve already sent men to the front to summon Jun Wu back, and you, daughter, we’ll go out to sea. So long as the Jurchens can’t capture us, we’ll always have a chance to rise again. I’ll bear the infamy of having fled, and when the time comes, I’ll pass the throne to Jun Wu—is that not acceptable? There’s no other way—”

Tears streaming down her face, Zhou Pei growled in a low voice: “If I’d known it would come to this, we might as well have ceded half the realm to the Huaxia Army long ago!”

“I wanted to cede it too!” Zhou Yong shouted, waving his hand. “I made the offer! I wanted to negotiate with the Black Banner! I was willing to share rule of the realm with them! Even you, daughter… you could have… but what did that Black Banner do! Daughter, I’ve told you this two, three times already. I… I’m not blaming you. I, I blame those at court chasing after empty reputations, I blame that Black Banner! Things have come to this—can you blame me? I’ve done everything I possibly could! This is their fault, all of it—”

“I will not go out to sea. And Jun Wu certainly won’t either!”

“Then it can only be that I live, so that perhaps Jun Wu might still have a chance to survive! I’ve thought this through, back and forth—I’ve already decided—”

“Father, you cling to your life out of fear of death—this is a monumental mistake…”

“Silence, silence!”

Zhou Yong screamed hysterically.

“I am the sovereign of this nation!”

“I am the Son of Heaven!”

“I am the Emperor—”

His voice echoed through the hall; the majestic, imposing golden-yellow sleeves of imperial authority swept through the air. The birds in the trees, startled, flew off in alarm. The authority of emperor and princess stood locked in confrontation within the palace…

Various figures of different bearing left the courtyard from different directions, merging into the flow of people through Lin’an. Tie Tianying walked alongside Li Pin for a stretch.

“Yu Zihua of the imperial guard is loyal to His Majesty, but his abilities are limited—unwaveringly loyal, but there’s no talking him out of this. I’ll go visit Niu Xingguo, then find Niu Yuanqiu and the others to discuss things. I only hope everyone can stand united—perhaps then things might still turn around.”

“As for matters of court, I’m just a man of the sword—I can’t say much there. I can only fight with everything I have. As for you, Mr. Li—for the sake of this realm, do take care of yourself. If a thing cannot be done, you must know when to yield to circumstance—there’s no need to force it.”

“Some things in this world cannot be forced, and some things simply must be. Who’s to say which is which?”

“True enough… Mr. Li, it’s been a long time since we last met—I forgot to ask, how is that New Confucianism of yours coming along?”

“Emphasizing the investigation of things, promoting education and cultivation, hoping in the end to bring together and reconcile Old Qin’s teachings, and spread them forth. We’ve made a beginning, though it’s a pity the realm remains unsettled, and time waits for no one.”

“Do you still believe in it, sir?”

“What I’ve learned may be somewhat dull-witted—perhaps because what I studied in times of peace proves clumsy and ill-suited to an age of chaos. But perhaps those who grow up out of chaos itself may find newer, fuller understanding. Our hope may well lie with the next generation. But as for the thousand-year tradition of Confucian teaching itself, Dexin remains firmly convinced of it.”

“Then that will do.”

“Does Constable Tie no longer believe in such things?”

“This old fellow has spent his whole life among the rivers and lakes and the marketplace, and has waded through the murky waters of officialdom besides. Too many matters of right and wrong—I can no longer sort them all out, nor do I much care to. In truth, it’s not so important a thing after all.”

The old constable chuckled, and the two figures gradually approached the predetermined meeting point near Anding Gate. These past months, with Wushu’s cavalry still circling outside the city, few passersby ventured near the gate. A handful of shops and teahouses stood open, listless; at a griddle-cake stall, the softened flatbreads gave off their fragrance, a few pedestrians wandering slowly past. Amid this deceptively peaceful scene, the two men were about to part ways.

“Mr. Li, do you suppose that someday, someone will speak of everything that happened here in Lin’an today?”

“Perhaps one day, once Ning Yi has won the realm, the storytellers under his command will set these events down in writing.”

“…That wouldn’t be so bad.”

They laughed together, each bidding the other farewell, and parted ways. The old constable, longsword slung across his back, a light cloak draped over his shoulders, climbed to the second floor of a teahouse by the street. Many of those who had just parted ways with him were already waiting there; below, on the road, the crowd was gradually thickening.

Tie Tianying ordered a pot of tea and drank it slowly by the window. At some point, his brows knit slightly. More people had gradually come up into the teahouse below, filling the seats one by one, until someone walked over and sat down at his table.

“This seat’s taken.” Tie Tianying kept his gaze on the window, taking a sip of tea.

The man who sat down across from him was around forty, younger-looking than Tie Tianying. His face had clearly been carefully groomed, clean-shaven, yet still carried a certain composed, commanding air—the bearing of someone long accustomed to a position of authority. “Master Tie, no need to keep people at arm’s length. I’ve come with sincere intentions, not looking for trouble.”

“Nie Jincheng—people out there say you’re the top dog of the martial world in the south of the Yangtze. Do you really believe that yourself? You’re nothing but a dog serving a few high officials at court.”

“Master Tie’s words carry great weight—whatever you say, this humble one takes it as guidance.” Nie Jincheng raised his teacup. “Today’s business cannot be helped. I hold your generation in genuine respect, but word has come from above—nothing must happen here at Anding Gate. I’ve come simply to speak from the heart, Master Tie. It won’t do any good…”

Even as he spoke, at the far end of the street, columns of troops were already advancing in force, clearing pedestrians from the road, herding them into nearby buildings and ordering them not to come out. Confused murmurs rose from the crowd, no one yet understanding what was happening.

“Since you hold such respect, will you take part in this then? Let’s do it together.” Tie Tianying raised his teacup.

Nie Jincheng closed his eyes. “If it were twenty years ago, with this same passion burning in me, this fool would have thrown himself in without a second thought. But my parents and family are all here in Lin’an now—forgive me, I cannot go along with this. Master Tie, those above haven’t even spoken yet—why stake everything on a single throw? Perhaps things can still turn around; there may still be room to negotiate with the Jurchens. Or, if those above truly wish to talk, and you kill the envoy, wouldn’t that give the Jurchens exactly the excuse they need to attack?”

“So the officials behind you all still want to take the slow, cautious approach.”

“Even if they didn’t, Master Tie, you can’t accomplish this today regardless. The moment you make a move, every one of your brothers will die. I’ve come here myself—that alone is proof enough.” Nie Jincheng said. “Don’t put your brothers in an impossible position.”

Tie Tianying sat there and said nothing more. After a while, cavalry and carriages could be seen slowly approaching from down the street, and more people came up the stairs—a squad of officers, led by a man in the uniform of the city’s chief inspector: Li Daoyi, chief inspector of Lin’an, whose duties included overseeing troop deployment and garrison, recruitment and training for the imperial guard, and patrol and defense against bandits and thieves—in effect, the direct superior of the martial world’s usual sort. Behind him followed mostly constables and officers from within Lin’an’s own precincts.

As this group came up, the leader, Li Daoyi, waved a hand, and the chief constables spread out toward the nearby tea tables, while Li Daoyi himself walked toward Tie Tianying and pulled out a chair to sit across from him.

He poured himself a cup of tea and cupped his hands toward Tie Tianying. “Master Tie, I respect you as an elder of the old Six Gates. I won’t waste words. Call your men off and come back with me. Once noon passes today, we’ll treat this as if nothing happened. Tonight, at Xingqing Tower, I’ll host a banquet to make amends to you.”

Tie Tianying watched the scene unfolding outside the window; in his heart, he had already understood, long before, just as—more than a decade ago—when Ning Yi had slain the emperor, Tie Tianying had already sensed something amiss. This morning, both Cheng Zhouhai and Li Pin still harbored some faint hope, but by now, every hidden power and faction in Lin’an capable of stirring had finally begun to move.

These people had, until now, remained neutral in their allegiances; so long as the Princess’s household held authority, they too had conducted themselves properly. But this very morning, the forces standing behind them had finally made their choice. He looked at the approaching column and understood how difficult today’s situation truly was—acting might accomplish nothing, but not acting, and going back with them, meant no telling what would come next.

Eyes from the teahouse and the buildings across the way turned toward this table, questions flickering in their gazes. Tie Tianying raised his teacup, his own gaze growing all the more sorrowful. He thought of his conversation with Li Pin—if a thing cannot be done, there’s no need to force it. Yes, circumstance outweighed the individual; he need not force this.

“Tell me…” the grey-haired old constable finally spoke, “will there come a time, in the future, when anyone remembers these small events that happened today in Lin’an?”

The early-summer sunlight poured down. The vast city of Lin’an seemed like some living thing, turning calmly and steadily as it always had—its towering walls its shell and skin, its magnificent palaces, solemn government offices, and countless courtyards and dwellings its inner organs, its streets and rivers its blood vessels, its boats and carts aiding its metabolism—it was the activity of its people that made it a great, ordered living being, and a deeper, greater culture and spirit that bound it all together.

At last, a deep, bone-piercing fury and sorrow flickered through the old constable’s eyes.

The table between the three of them flew into the air. Nie Jincheng and Li Daoyi both leapt to their feet; behind them, blades were drawn. Tie Tianying’s two disciples pressed close, blocking Nie Jincheng’s path. Nie Jincheng’s body twisted like a great python; his hand moved, and one of the men closing in from behind had his throat slit open in an instant—but in the next moment, Tie Tianying’s longsword flashed down like thunder, and Nie Jincheng’s arm went flying off. The wooden table shattered apart, and with another thunderous, sweeping stroke, Nie Jincheng’s chest was split open, flesh and bone together; his body flew backward through the teahouse for a good two zhang, thick blood spraying out in a violent burst.

Li Daoyi’s legs trembled as he saw the old constable’s suddenly turned gaze—blood-red, tiger-like. A single slap came down, striking the crown of his head. Blood burst from all seven of his orifices at once.

Countless blades and spears were drawn from their sheaths; lit incendiary charges dropped toward the middle of the road; hidden weapons and arrows flew through the air. Figures leapt out from windows and rooftops, plunging down into the street amid roaring shouts. The peace and order of this city were torn apart, and time captured every fragment of this scene in its silhouette…