The sunlight was like water, the wind carrying the whistle of arrows.

As signal arrows shot up into the sky, explosions and the chaos of slaughter had already spread through the long streets. Within the taverns and teahouses lining the street, bloody scenes were unfolding, glimpsed through window after window. Fighters leapt out from windows, from the rooftops of nearby buildings; in the distance, someone was driving a convoy of carts, charging forward through the fray.

“Kill the Jin dogs!” “Men of the Wu Dynasty never surrender!” “Make way—!” The shouting mixed with the chaotic din; imperial guard troops formed ranks and charged forward at their commanders’ signal.

In a courtyard further off, Li Pin, who was in secret conference with several generals, caught the sound of the signal arrows overhead and turned to look; the morning sunlight was growing dazzlingly bright.

Several generals cupped their hands and departed one by one, joining in the unfolding action. At the second quarter of the hour of Si, the city’s curfew bell rang out, accompanied by the shrill blast of military horns. The common people in the marketplace, alarmed, hurried back toward their homes; before long, chaos broke out in several more places among the panicked crowds. Wushu’s forces had lingered outside Lin’an for months, having disturbed the city only once at the start of the year, never attacking again after that—so this sudden daytime curfew left most people bewildered as to what was happening.

But something was, indeed, happening.

Most people hurried toward their homes, though some, at this sensitive moment, took up blades and spears and went out into the streets instead. In the city’s southwest, at the paper mill and newspaper office Li Pin ran, some of the workers and students took to the streets, shouting to the crowds that the court intended to sue for peace and that the Jin dogs had already entered the city. Before long, they found themselves in a standoff with the patrolling constables.

At the Five Elements Boxing Hall in the city’s east, more than a dozen boxing masters and over a hundred martial artists, red headbands tied around their heads, blades and swords at their sides, made their way toward Anding Gate. They had no ties to the Princess’s household, but the hall’s master, Chen Hongsheng, had studied martial arts in Bianliang in his youth and had twice received personal instruction from Zhou Tong; he had long been an outspoken voice against the Jin. Word had reached them somewhat late today, but they no longer had time to worry about that.

In the city’s west, deputy commander of the imperial guard Niu Xingguo galloped his horse the whole way, and before the curfew order had fully taken effect, gathered over a hundred trusted men and rode toward Anding Gate to “reinforce” the situation.

More and more people, more and more factions within the city, began to stir. Some of it was visible to the eye; far more of it unfolded hidden from view.

Fifty li from Lin’an, at this very moment, Wushu’s cavalry had already broken camp and set out, their hoofbeats kicking up a startling cloud of dust.

Near Anding Gate, the imperial guard troops, arriving in an unbroken stream, had already blocked off several intersections. When the explosions sounded, severed limbs and scattered flesh could be seen amid the bloody haze. A squad of soldiers escorting the Jin envoy’s carriage began taking a detour route. Tie Tianying, covered head to toe in blood, ran across the rooftops of Lin’an, and with a tiger-like roar of fury, leapt across to the buildings on the other side of the street, where other figures were likewise running and fighting.

His longsword sent an approaching enemy flying backward through the air, sparks and blood spraying in every direction. Tie Tianying’s body dipped low, moving like a charging, man-devouring tiger, and in an instant he had leapt across three rooftop platforms. A constable wielding a steel ruler rushed to meet him and had his shoulder split open by a single stroke of the blade. A shadow loomed over him—on the rooftop across the street, a skilled fighter swooped down like a diving hawk, closing the distance in an instant. Tie Tianying gripped one end of the steel ruler he’d taken and swung it backhand upward, striking the man across the jaw and side of the face; a sickening crack rang through the air as bone, teeth, and flesh from the man’s face scattered skyward. Tie Tianying had already leapt past and off the opposite platform.

The Jin envoy’s carriage was turning; arrows whistled overhead and past his sides; all around, countless figures seemed to be locked in combat. Besides the assassins from the Princess’s household, there were also unknown helpers, likewise carrying out the assassination attempt. Tie Tianying could hear the crack of firearms in the air; flying rounds and arrows punched through the sides of the Jin envoy’s carriage, but no one could yet confirm whether the assassination had succeeded. The army was gradually surrounding and cutting off the groups of assassins.

Trading a blow with a blocking master, Tie Tianying pressed forward. Several soldiers charged at him with spears; he cut through them, his body half-drenched in blood, and continued following the carriage’s path. The Jin envoy, half-covered in blood, stumbled out of the carriage in disarray, quickly surrounded by armored guards who escorted him forward. Tie Tianying passed through a building, up the stairs to the second floor, out onto the roof and back down again; in the midst of fighting off two enemies, a blood-covered figure rushed out from the other side, felling one enemy for him with a sweep of the blade. Tie Tianying cut down the other, and was about to keep pursuing when he heard the newcomer call out: “Constable Tie, stop! Call your people off!”

The newcomer was a middle-aged woman. She had helped kill enemies just moments before, but hearing her say this, Tie Tianying’s blade dipped back, wary now of a possible attack from behind. The woman, square-jawed, followed after him. “I am Wei Lingxue of the Huaxia Army. If we don’t leave now, we won’t be able to leave at all.”

Hearing the words “Huaxia Army,” Tie Tianying paused for a moment, stopping in his tracks. The woman called Wei Lingxue, herself gravely wounded, was breathing heavily. “The best course now is to get the Grand Princess out of the palace as quickly as possible. Whether the Jin envoy lives or dies no longer matters—preserve your strength…”

Before she could finish, a squad of soldiers down the street loosed arrows toward the building. Tie Tianying’s blade whirled wildly as he moved toward the Huaxia Army woman’s side—but wary as he still was, they stood a short distance apart. When the rain of arrows stopped, she staggered twice, an arrow lodged in the center of her chest, and collapsed.

Tie Tianying instinctively grabbed her shoulder, pulling her down behind a wooden pillar between the buildings. Blood gushed from the woman’s chest; within moments, she had stopped breathing.

The old constable hesitated a moment, then finally let out a furious roar and charged forward, out into the open…

“Kill—”

That shout shook the length of the street, and in an instant was swallowed up again by the roar of the crowd.

At the third quarter of the hour of Si, a flood of news had already come pouring in. Cheng Zhouhai, having made his arrangements, left the Princess’s household by its rear gate in a carriage. Within the palace, it had already been confirmed that, by Zhou Yong’s order, the Grand Princess could no longer be reached through ordinary means, at least for now.

Everyone who needed to be notified had been notified; further measures and coordination would have to wait. The entire situation in Lin’an, smoldering for four months under the pressure of Wanyan Xiyin and the city’s own factions, had left everyone in a state of high alert. Now that someone had lit the spark, everything was ready to explode at once. In this moment, those who had been quietly watching from the shadows scrambled to take sides, each fearful of being left behind.

The citywide curfew had not yet been fully enforced, but patrolling imperial guards, constables, and clerks were already out in the streets. Cheng Zhouhai got down from his carriage at a street corner and made his way toward an unremarkable courtyard at the far end of an alley. Once inside, the several men accompanying him took up defensive positions. Cheng Zhouhai went into a small room within the courtyard to sort through his things, but before long, a knock came at the door.

Someone opened the courtyard gate, and eight constables filed in one after another. “Lin’an Prefecture. Our lord requests Mr. Cheng’s presence.”

“What Mr. Cheng? You must have the wrong place. There’s no one here by that…”

“Enough nonsense. We know he’s inside. Mr. Cheng, please come out. We know you’re an honored guest of the Princess’s household, and we’ve come politely to invite you—no need to make this look ugly. We’re only carrying out our orders.”

Cheng Zhouhai opened the door of the small house. Six constables surveyed the courtyard, remaining alert to any sudden move; two of the leaders approached. “Our respects, Mr. Cheng.”

“So you’ve already found this place. Luo Shuwen doesn’t have that kind of ability, does he? Which house do you serve?”

“This is our token, and this the official order. Mr. Cheng, don’t think too much of it—our prefect really does wish to see you.” The two leaders held up their tokens and documents. Cheng Zhouhai’s gaze flickered; he sighed. “Very well. Let me gather my things.”

“No need to bring anything…”

The leader waved a hand. Cheng Zhouhai’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t push your luck!” In his usual position within the Princess’s household, second only to the Grand Princess herself, that single glance carried tremendous authority; the constables, though backed by force, were momentarily startled despite themselves. Cheng Zhouhai turned and went back inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. After a moment, the two leaders sensed something was wrong and rushed in one after the other.

The room was empty. They charged toward the door hidden behind the bookshelf at the back of the small room, and the instant it swung open, a searing blaze erupted.

The entire small courtyard, along with the buildings within it and the open ground of the yard, erupted into a series of thunderous explosions one after another, engulfing every constable inside. In broad daylight, the blast shook the entire surrounding area. One constable, blown out through the back door by the shockwave, tumbled several times across the ground. Skilled in martial arts, he struggled to raise his head, only to find Cheng Zhouhai standing before him, holding a short, cylindrical device aimed at his forehead.

There was a “bang,” and the constable’s body jerked backward as his head burst apart.

“Ning Liheng’s little inventions really do come in handy…” Cheng Zhouhai murmured, his hands trembling. Around him, several trusted aides were approaching from different directions; the wreckage of the small courtyard’s explosion was a horrifying sight, but in Cheng Zhouhai’s eyes, the entire city was already in motion.

Under ordinary circumstances, a mere prefect of Lin’an could never have touched him—indeed, under ordinary circumstances, given the long-accumulated authority of the Grand Princess’s household, even if he had sent men straight into the palace to seize Zhou Pei out, few would have dared stand in the way. But in this moment, things were not so simple; this was no ordinary factional struggle or settling of old scores.

Emperor Zhou Yong had merely sent out a feeble signal, but the true driving force behind all this came from fear of the Jurchens. Countless hands, visible and invisible, were reaching out in unspoken agreement, determined to bring this towering giant that was the Princess’s household crashing down entirely—and among those hands were some that had once belonged to the household itself.

However great the authority the Grand Princess’s household had once commanded, it had never been able to fully sever the ideological hold Zhou Yong still had over those affiliated with it—and Zhou Pei herself had never been willing to consider what might happen if she truly turned against her own father; such a thing felt far too transgressive even to contemplate. Cheng Zhouhai, ruthless as he could be, was in this matter still unable to act beyond the bounds of Zhou Pei’s own will.

And so, now that Zhou Yong had firmly cast his lot with the peace faction, the entire chain of interests supporting the Princess’s household had suddenly collapsed. At this point, what still compelled many people to stand with Zhou Pei was no longer the threat of force, but simply their own conscience.

Cheng Zhouhai could not calculate how much conscience remained left in this city.

Looking at the ruined courtyard, he knew that many of his avenues of retreat had already been cut off.

He let out a soft sigh, and before the alarmed crowd could close in around him, he and several of his most trusted men swiftly ran off…

Noon was drawing near.

The early-summer sunlight overhead did not feel particularly harsh. Tie Tianying clambered over a low courtyard wall, making his way forward through a small, overgrown yard, his hand pressed against the wall, leaving behind a trail of bloody handprints.

The chaos out on the streets continued unabated.

Yu Zihua rode up on horseback, gazing with some dread at the corpse of the Jin envoy lying among the soldiers in the street.

The willow trees within the city swayed in the sunlight; throughout the marketplace, near and far, lay countless bodies beyond counting, blood beyond description—that crimson stain spread across streets in every direction.

Someone lay laughing amid the pool of blood.

Yu Zihua turned around and shouted loudly; nearby soldiers moved in and, with visible hesitation, ran the still-laughing assassin through with their spears.

Farther off, disguised as a low-ranking attendant, Wanyan Qingjue stood with his hands clasped behind his back, breathing in the air of this city to his heart’s content—even the scent of blood in the air left him feeling intoxicated. He removed his hat and put on an official’s cap instead, and, stepping over the bodies strewn across the ground, made his way forward accompanied by his entourage.

The blood covering the ground was, to his eyes, a red carpet laid out for him.

Before long, with a cold, stern expression, he informed Yu Zihua of his identity as deputy envoy, and produced a document written in Xiyin’s own hand. Yu Zihua let out a slight sigh of relief, dismounted, and spread his hands open before him.

An attendant lifted the corpse of the now-dead Jin envoy. Wanyan Qingjue walked forward, knowing that at the end of this long road awaited the towering imperial palace that symbolized the dignity of the southern court, waiting to receive his interrogation and be trampled beneath his feet. He walked, in a stance of victory, along this road paved with the blood of countless people of the Wu Dynasty; sunlight filtered down through the leaves at the roadside, and in the shade beneath the trees lay the bodies of the dead, their eyes unable to close. The wind stirred faintly, as if the music of victory were beginning to play in this pleasant, sun-warmed summer noon…