By the time the convoy reached Zizhou, the sun was already setting on the horizon. Torches burned atop Zizhou’s walls; the city gates stood open, but there were no travelers on the official road leading in and out of the city. Ning Xi waited with a small group outside the city gate, by the post station.

Because of the assassination incident, martial law was currently in effect in Zizhou.

“The martial law in Zizhou is being used as a pretext for something else.” Having been summoned by Ning Yi, after boarding the carriage and exchanging a few pleasantries, Ning Xi began explaining the situation within the city.

Zizhou had only just surrendered, and had originally been a gathering place for many opponents of the Huaxia Army. Right after the first wave of household registration statistics, the assassination attempt on Ning Ji had happened. Now, the military officers responsible for Zizhou’s security had gathered Chen Tuozi and others to discuss the matter, and had begun a round of martial law and inspection throughout the city.

“When the troops entered the city, the residents weren’t harassed at all—even those who had old grudges with us, even those whose names were on lists, were free to leave if they wished. The time given for registration has already passed, and the time given for departure as well. Those who still refuse to leave and refuse to register are being used as an opportunity for a thorough sweep. From yesterday morning to this afternoon, we’ve caught six batches of thugs hiding in the city who had old blood debts with the Huaxia Army—cornered animals fight back, and we’ve had a few people injured.”

As the carriage moved forward, Ning Xi calmly told his father about the situation within the city, then added, “Your younger brother’s injuries aren’t serious. He took some hits and deliberately let a sword graze his arm—lost some blood, but should recover with a few days’ rest. I didn’t tell him you were coming; he’s probably already asleep by now. This incident happened because I was too careless…”

Watching the blurred lights of the streets outside through the shaking carriage window, Ning Yi shook his head and patted Ning Xi’s shoulder. “I know what’s going on here. You’ve done well—don’t blame yourself. Back in the capital years ago, I couldn’t avoid many assassination attempts either—sometimes you just have to fight it out face to face. In this world, things don’t always work out entirely in your favor.”

Ning Xi lowered his head, fists pressed against his knees, silent for a long while. Ning Yi said, “I heard Master Yan Biao died in the attack.”

Ning Xi nodded. Ning Yi sighed. “Master Yan Biao used to have a reputation in the martial world as the ‘Poison Doctor,’ but he was actually a man of excellent character. This past year and more, I entrusted him with looking after your second brother, and he never once let me down. From now on, he’s a benefactor to our family—remember that. Master Yan’s wife died young; he had an adopted daughter in Hedeng, perhaps just past ten years old now, studying at school. From now on, our family should look after her.”

As Ning Yi spoke of these things, Ning Xi nodded along, memorizing each point. By now, though the curfew in Zizhou had already begun and only soldiers could be seen walking the streets, various sounds of people still drifted out from the houses along the road. Watching this, Ning Yi chatted a bit more with Ning Xi before finally saying, “Master Nie tells me that with Second Brother’s skill, he shouldn’t have been caught. Did he take an unnecessary risk?”

Ning Xi hesitated slightly, then shook his head. “…I wasn’t at the scene, so I can’t say for certain. But the assassination happened suddenly, and the situation was chaotic at the time. Master Yan rushed in front of Second Brother in a moment of urgency and died for it. Second Brother is still young after all, and hasn’t experienced this kind of thing much—it wouldn’t be strange for his reaction to have been a bit slow.”

Ning Xi had long known that his father cared deeply for the family. Regarding this sudden assassination attempt that had ended in such a dramatic way, along with certain unusual things that had emerged from the encounter, Ning Xi meant to say a few words in his younger brother’s defense. But he saw his father’s gaze grow distant, looking out the carriage window, as he said, “News from Jiangnan says the operation to rescue the Si family failed. Persuading Jiange might not work out after all.”

Not expecting his father’s words to suddenly jump to this topic, Ning Xi was momentarily taken aback. He had only ever known that both the Jurchens and the Huaxia Army were pulling at Jiange from opposite sides, but had never heard anything about the Si family being involved. He blinked. “…Hm?”

Ning Yi smiled. “I’ll explain it to you in detail later. Let’s go see your brother first.”

This settled the matter, and Ning Xi asked no more. After that, it was Ning Yi asking him about his recent life, his work, trivial matters, whether he’d argued with Min Chuyi or not. Ning Xi was nearly eighteen now, resembling Ning Yi somewhat in appearance, though having inherited more of his mother Su Tan’er’s features, he was even more handsome. Ning Yi, nearing forty, had never taken up the era’s fashionable habit of growing a full beard, keeping only a thin mustache; even when left untrimmed, with the whiskers on his lips and chin growing a bit fuller, he didn’t look old—he simply carried an unspoken air of authority.

Before long, the convoy stopped on the road in front of the clinic. Led by Ning Xi, Ning Yi went inside. The clinic’s courtyard was relatively quiet, without much lamplight; moonlight fell from above a ginkgo tree in the courtyard. Ning Yi waved the others away, and as he pushed open the door, he saw Ning Ji, bandaged, lying on the bed, sound asleep.

He slept very soundly, showing no trace of trauma from the assassination attempt or from having killed people. Ning Yi stood in the doorway and watched for a good while.

Everyone has their own fate, their own path of cultivation.

Looking back from later, in the ninth and tenth months of the eleventh year of Wu Jianshuo, the Jurchens had already conquered nearly the entire Wu Dynasty in a sweeping campaign. In the southwest, the critical battle that would decide the fate of the realm was about to begin, and the eyes of the world were converging on this place.

That year, thirteen-year-old Ning Ji stood at the center of this storm, and within his heart, changes no less turbulent than the storm itself were gathering and brewing. Perhaps to the world at large, his changes were insignificant, but to himself, they naturally held irreplaceable meaning.

Perhaps everyone in this world walks toward more distant places through similar paths.

Compared to the earlier days spent rushing about with the medical corps, the more than ten days since arriving in Zizhou had been very peaceful for Ning Ji.

The clinic requisitioned by the medical corps was located near the military camp on the west side of the city; after minor renovation, it remained open to the public, often treating local residents free of charge, charging little beyond the cost of medicine. Ning Ji followed the others in the medical corps, helping out, tending to medicines, and practicing martial arts when there was nothing else to do. There were also martial artists within the medical corps who could give him pointers.

His sister-in-law Min Chuyi came to see him every couple of days, gathering up his clothes that needed washing or mending—things Ning Ji had long since learned to do himself, having managed on his own within the medical corps this past year or more. But every time she came, she would forcibly snatch away his dirty clothes; Ning Ji couldn’t beat her in a fight, so he had no choice but to organize his own things every morning. The two of them carried on this way, quite enjoying the back-and-forth—though called sister- and brother-in-law in name, their feelings were truly like those of siblings.

His elder brother took him out to eat twice, chatting in between about recent developments in the situation. After taking over the towns in the northern part of the Sichuan Four Circuits, Huaxia Army soldiers converging on Zizhou from various directions had quickly exceeded twenty thousand, then twenty-five thousand, approaching thirty thousand. Logistics and engineering units mobilized from various regions had also arrived at their posts as quickly as possible, constructing defensive lines at key points north of Zizhou. Alongside the arrival of large numbers of Huaxia Army personnel, Zizhou’s original residents were rapidly moving out as well. Because of this, although the Huaxia Army generally had control of the overall situation, the past half month had been full of comings and goings, and Zizhou remained filled with an atmosphere of hurried activity in many details.

This atmosphere, however, hadn’t reached Ning Ji. His elder brother took good care of him, nipping many dangers in the bud early on. Life at the clinic proceeded steadily, seeming like a quiet corner within Zizhou that no one noticed. The clinic’s courtyard held a massive ginkgo tree, its age unknown, lush with dense foliage, steady and dignified in bearing. This was September, when the ginkgo’s white fruit ripened, and Ning Ji, under the guidance of the medical corps members, knocked down the fruit and collected it for medicinal use.

Warm, pleasant sunlight often filtered down through the ginkgo leaves, and Ning Ji would crouch beneath the tree, lost in thought and daydreaming.

This was the age at which a young person gradually learns to think things through, and many questions had already begun fermenting in his heart. Of course, though the outside world was cruel, foolish, and beyond reason, there was always the warmth of family around Ning Ji. He would grumble to his elder brother, but his overall mood, naturally, wasn’t inclined toward extremes.

Because of this, even after he grew into adulthood, no matter how many times he looked back on it, the decision he made at thirteen was never one formed in an extremely distorted state of mind—in some sense, it was even more like the result of careful deliberation.

On September 22nd, the spearhead of that assassination attempt reached right before his eyes.

In that courtyard with the golden ginkgo tree, an assassin hysterically hurled a steel blade, and Master Yan Biao almost instinctively threw himself in front of him—an excessive gesture, because Ning Ji at that moment was extremely calm, and dodging that blade would not have been particularly difficult. But just before he could launch his counterattack, Master Yan’s back appeared before him, the blade piercing through his chest and out through his back, blood splashing onto Ning Ji’s face.

At that moment, further away, someone was setting fires, creating chaos after chaos. A particularly skilled assassin rushed forward with a ferocious expression, and Ning Ji, looking past Master Yan’s back, could almost see the saliva at the corner of the man’s mouth.

A great fury rose in his heart: You are clearly the villains here—why do you act so outraged!

In that instant, he made a decision.

As the enemy charged forward, Ning Ji staggered backward, and after exchanging a few blows, he was seized by the man.

Having managed to capture Ning Yi’s second son, the three assassins present were both stunned and wildly overjoyed. They hoisted Ning Ji up and left, binding his hands with cowhide rope. The three cut their way out of the city, with one staying behind to cover their retreat. By the time they had made their way out through a secret passage according to plan, the nine surviving assassins from this group gathered outside the city.

They had originally been local criminal figures who had operated in Zizhou for years, planning meticulously to strike quickly against their slower opponents. The risk was great, but they had finally reaped their reward. Ning Ji was slung over the shoulder of one burly man among them, bound thoroughly hand and foot, his long and short knives already taken from him. The nine of them, believing they had accomplished a great feat, now needed only to quickly escape before the Huaxia Army could form a large encirclement. It was at this moment that Ning Ji suddenly made his move.

For a child whose body had not yet fully grown, the ideal weapon was never a broadsword. By comparison, swords, daggers, and similar weapons—thrusting, slashing, stabbing, piercing—that sought to strike vital points with minimal exertion were far more suited to a child’s use. Ning Ji had loved knives since childhood, finding the long and short paired blades dashing, but his true trump card, kept close at hand, was actually the third knife hidden in his sleeve.

It was merely a short blade not even the size of a palm, a weapon that Hongti, Xigua, Ning Yi, and others had racked their brains over and taught him to carry for self-protection. As Ning Yi’s child, his life naturally had value; though he would face danger in the future, most enemies would be willing to spare his life, at least in the short term, since he was a crucial bargaining chip.

What Ning Ji had trained diligently in since childhood was this short blade concealed in his sleeve or palm—training that involved not only martial skill but also elements of conjuring technique. By age thirteen, Ning Ji could move this blade from sleeve to palm, even wave his hand holding the knife in front of someone, without them noticing. Its greatest use was cutting ropes once he’d been captured.

Moments after the nine assassins regrouped outside Zizhou, still highly wary of pursuing Huaxia Army forces from behind, none of them imagined that the greatest danger would come from the very child they were carrying. The burly man carrying Ning Ji on his shoulders was a giant nearly two meters tall, laughing heartily with his mouth wide open. In the next instant, the young man on his shoulders turned his wrist and slit the man’s throat.

The man was still standing when blood gushed forth. Ning Ji flipped down to the ground in midair, and with his flying blade already thrown with full force, struck straight at the left eye of a woman standing opposite him. That female assassin’s husband stood beside her; in the next instant, with a cry of pain, blood sprayed across her face—her left eye destroyed by the blade’s edge. The throwing knife had grazed past her cheek, but she wasn’t killed. The moment Ning Ji landed, he snatched up a steel blade and threw it into the woods.

The others gave chase, and Ning Ji, moving swiftly on foot, led them in a small circle before racing back to the original spot. At that point, the injured couple was still tending to their wounds. Ning Ji charged out from behind and struck with full force at the belly of the woman with the ruined eye, lying on the ground. Her husband, caught off guard, managed to deflect Ning Ji’s blow, and Ning Ji used the momentum to roll onto the ground, unleashing the most treacherous of ground-fighting blade techniques against the woman.

Ground-fighting blade techniques, striking at feet and slashing at legs, were inherently difficult to defend against, and with Ning Ji’s small stature, the blade’s arc was all the more vicious. The eye-wounded woman was likewise lying on the ground, and Ning Ji’s blade found her perfectly. Her husband, still standing, couldn’t bring his weapon to bear in time and had no room to retreat—he probably still couldn’t believe that a pampered child could have such a ruthless disposition. In the blink of an eye, both his legs took cuts, and Ning Ji rolled past his legs, severing both his Achilles tendons outright.

They could hardly have understood that although Ning Yi cared a great deal about his children’s psychological development in many matters, under such a brutal wartime environment, no one dared hold anything back when it came to combat and self-preservation. Those who had taught Ning Ji martial arts since childhood were either battle-hardened masters like Hongti and Xigua, or ruthless figures like Du Sha, or unorthodox master strategists like Chen Tuozi—all of them exploiting enemy weaknesses without restraint. By comparison, only Chen Fan, who occasionally gave Ning Ji pointers, seemed to bring him any sense of heroic spirit.

As for Ning Yi, he could only frame these methods in terms of the art of war and explain them one by one: the golden cicada shedding its shell, waiting at ease for the exhausted enemy, looting a burning house, making noise in the east while attacking in the west, besieging Wei to rescue Zhao… and so on and so forth.

Ning Ji had long since committed these strategies to memory, and it was only this time, facing so many enemies at once, that he finally put them into use. He crippled the couple’s tendons but didn’t kill them, then quickly fled before the others could hurry back, ambushing stragglers in the woods.

By the time reinforcements arrived not long after, Ning Ji had left three more enemies dead in the woods; the remaining three, once perhaps notable local figures in Zizhou’s underworld, had by now been reduced to abandoning their companions and fleeing for their lives.

The reinforcements that arrived from Zizhou were mostly seasoned veterans of the martial world themselves. Seeing that Ning Ji, though injured, was in no serious danger, they couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. But on the other hand, upon reviewing the full course of the battle, everyone couldn’t help but be secretly alarmed by Ning Ji’s methods. Someone mentioned it to Ning Xi, and though Ning Xi felt his brother was fine, after some thought he still decided it would be better to let their father make a judgment on this.

As for Ning Ji, after the incident, he seemed instead to have set his mind at ease. After seeing the deceased Master Yan, he focused on recovering from his wounds and slept soundly. Many things in his heart had, at least for now, found their direction.

As if sensing something, he woke instinctively from his sleep, and turning his head to look aside, found his father sitting by the bed, watching him in the faint moonlight.

“Father, you’ve come.” Ning Ji seemed not to notice the bandages on his body, sitting up joyfully.

Ning Yi quickly moved to support him. “Don’t move too fast—how do you feel?”

“I’m fine. I slept for a long time. Father, when did you get here?”

“Not long ago. I heard something happened to you and rushed straight over, but I didn’t tell your mother—didn’t want her to worry.”

“I’m fine—I killed and drove off all of them. It’s just a shame Master Yan died.”

As Ning Ji spoke, he moved to throw off the covers and get up. Seeing him so full of energy, Ning Yi no longer tried to stop him. Ning Ji got out of bed, chattering away about how he’d slept too long and couldn’t sleep anymore. Ning Yi told the people outside to prepare some porridge, then draped a light jacket over Ning Ji and walked out with him. The courtyard was cool under the moonlight, warm yellow lamps already lit; the others had withdrawn. Ning Ji walked slowly beneath the eaves, gesturing to demonstrate to his father how he’d fought off the enemies.

“I heard you seemed to let yourself be caught on purpose, little Ji.”

At one point, Ning Yi asked this with a smile. Ning Ji froze slightly for a moment, then, after a pause, nodded. “…Yes.”

“Why? Was it because of Master Yan?”

“Master Yan died…” Ning Ji repeated this, though it wasn’t quite an affirmation.

“Over the years, there have been others too, who died right before our eyes. Living in this kind of world, I don’t know if there’s anyone left who hasn’t seen death. Why did Master Yan’s death make you take such a risk?”

Ning Ji was silent for a moment. “…When Master Yan died, I suddenly thought—if I let them scatter, we might never catch them again. Father, I wanted to avenge Master Yan, but that’s not the only reason.”

The young man spoke frankly, his words not fast but not particularly confused either. Ning Yi said, “Then why?”

“Father, these past few days at the clinic, I’ve had it very peaceful.”

“Your brother’s been shielding you from a lot.”

“But it’s chaotic out there. A lot of people want to kill our family. Father, so many people are out there facing it head-on—why should I get to hide back here?”

The young man paused, and Ning Yi nodded in understanding. Ning Ji continued, “Father, you once said that because you dared to fight to the death against anyone, you were equal to anyone. Our Huaxia Army also dares to fight to the death, so even the Jurchens can’t beat us. Father, I want to become someone as formidable as you, as Uncle Chen Fan, Aunt Hongti, Aunt Xigua.”

“…” Ning Yi fell silent.

“When Master Yan died, that man came charging at me baring his teeth, willing to throw his own life away too. When he got close to me, I suddenly felt—if I kept retreating, I’d never have the chance to become someone formidable.”

“…Father, I gave it everything I had, and I charged in.”