Because of what he’d seen and heard that night, the fourteen-year-old boy had all sorts of bizarre dreams that same evening — dreams whose imagery left him red-faced with embarrassment, truly something else.

Waking the next morning, he found himself in an awkward situation. Medically speaking, he understood well enough that this was simply a sign of a healthy body, but the still-naive boy nonetheless felt ashamed — that he, who had killed countless enemies on the battlefield, should now find himself tempted by some yellow-haired girl he knew full well to be an enemy. Women truly were a calamity, as the saying went, and not without reason.

Fortunately, he lived alone at the moment, so there was no one around to witness his embarrassment. He rose before dawn, hurried through his morning routine, and rushed off to an empty stretch of riverbank to wash his trousers — throwing in an extra basin of clothes to cover his tracks — scrubbing away for a long while, all the while thinking to himself that his martial skill was still too weak; a few more years of training, once his internal energy grew stronger and he refined his essence into vital energy, such a wasteful loss of his vital essence would never happen again. Yes, he clearly needed to train harder.

Thinking this, his hand bore down too hard, and he tore the very shirt he was washing. His mother had made this shirt; he’d have to find someone to mend it once he got back.

His emotions were running high, and he couldn’t quite control his own strength — another sign of his still-lacking martial skill. A few more years of training, once his control grew refined, and this sort of thing wouldn’t happen anymore… train harder, train harder…

With such thoughts running through his head, he finished washing the clothes, returned to his courtyard, and carried on with the rest of his morning training — internal energy, boxing forms, blade and spear work. The ancient city of Chengdu slowly stirred to life in the darkness, thin mist drifting through the sky. Not long after daybreak, a cart selling steamed buns came rattling up outside the courtyard, its vendor calling out. Ning Ji, halfway through his practice, stepped out to greet the vendor and bought twenty buns — he bought them every day, and he and the vendor had grown familiar with each other, the man stopping outside every morning for a moment.

These steamed buns, sometimes called “basket cakes,” were filled inside — essentially the equivalent of what later generations would call baozi. Twenty of them filled an entire cloth sack, roughly enough to feed three to five people. Having bought his breakfast, he casually ate two before going back to finish his exercises. By the time he was done, the morning sun had already risen over the stirring city sky. He rinsed off briefly, changed into fresh clothes, and, slinging the cloth sack over his shoulder, left the courtyard, eating as he walked.

It was still early, and given last night’s events, he headed toward Yingbin Road near Lake Moho, hoping to catch a familiar face from the intelligence division and quietly ask around about Lord Shan.

The Huaxia Army now controlled Chengdu and might well go on to develop it as a center of power in the future; the intelligence division had already staked out a fixed office location. But Ning Ji had no intention of making a show of going there directly.

After the great battle, the Huaxia Army’s internal manpower was stretched painfully thin — the rear was still busy reorganizing and drilling the surrendered Han troops and settling the captured Jurchen prisoners. Chengdu was currently in a state of openness to the outside world, and here, all manner of forces, visible and hidden, were locked in a new round of probing and jockeying for position. While the Huaxia Army watched its enemies throughout the city, all manner of enemies were probably watching the Huaxia Army right back, at the doorsteps of its various departments. Before the Huaxia Army had fully digested the spoils of this great victory, it would hardly be strange for friction, rivalry, or even open bloodshed to break out somewhere in Chengdu.

This was, in its way, a trial for the Huaxia Army as well — expanding its sphere of control from a million people to tens of millions, while simultaneously opening its policies to the outside world; such tests were bound to come, sooner or later. Partly for this reason, although it had been decided to hold the great convention in Chengdu, the only members of the Ning family who could actually stay in the city for now were his father, Aunt Gua, his elder brother, and himself. Even Auntie Hongti, the strongest fighter among them, remained back in Zhang Village overseeing internal security, in case some hot-headed fool let his blood get the better of him and came looking for trouble.

Of course, there was another reason: at present, Ning Ji had no wish to let the intelligence division get too involved in this matter of his. It was, after all, a slow-burning affair — a scheming weak woman, a few foolish old scholars — he could move on them whenever he pleased. And if he really did uncover something bigger and darker, he could always bring his brother and Sister Chuyi in on it; with the brothers united, their combined strength would be more than enough to keep the lid on things.

Thinking this over, he ate his buns as he made his way near Lake Moho, watching the crowds coming and going at the head of Yingbin Road. Many of the intelligence division’s inner-circle staff were young people, and Ning Ji recognized quite a few of them — a natural consequence of the army’s chronic manpower shortage in earlier years; anyone with real fighting ability was mostly pulled to the front, while those left in the rear were the old, the young, and women. Trustworthy young people who’d started out passing along messages had, over time, grown into experienced internal operatives.

At the quarter past the hour of Chen, Hou Yuanyong came trotting out from Yingbin Road, glancing briefly at the passersby nearby, picking out a few suspicious figures, before spotting the boy walking through the crowd who had just given a discreet hand signal. He headed off down a side street, walking through several blocks before finally meeting the boy in an alley.

Ning Ji was in the middle of stuffing a bun into his mouth; he held one out to him. “Last one.”

“Already ate.” Hou Yuanyong looked at the cloth sack slung at his side, now entirely deflated, and laughed. “Xiao Ji, why didn’t you come inside?”

“There are people watching outside. Nothing too important anyway, forget it. I came to find you specifically, Brother Yong.”

“Oh?”

“I want to look into someone.”

“Go ahead, Xiao Ji.”

“An old man they call ‘Lord Shan’ or ‘Lord Haoran.’ A scholar, long face, goatee, probably in his fifties or so…”

Ning Ji described the man’s features to Hou Yuanyong, who nodded as he took mental note. When Ning Ji finished, he frowned slightly. “Why are you looking into him? Is something going on? If there’s something suspicious, I can file a report first.”

“No need right now. If it were something big, I wouldn’t have come to ambush you like this.”

“All right, fine.” Hou Yuanyong nodded. He understood well enough — although the boy in front of him had been kept out of sight after the great battle because of his special status, he had, at any time, ways of reaching the upper levels of the Huaxia Army directly. That he’d chosen to sneak over and corner Hou Yuanyong instead of going through official channels was clearly a matter of discretion. In truth, the moment he’d heard the description, Hou Yuanyong already had a rough idea who this was — but he still had to ask before answering properly.

“…If it’s ‘Lord Shan’ paired with ‘Haoran,’ that would be Guan Shanhai, who entered the city in late May — an old scholar, courtesy name Haoran, said to have some influence beyond Sword Gate Pass. Since coming to the city, he’s had three essays published in the local newspapers here — supposedly written with real moral force and rhetorical power — so he’s genuinely on our watch list of late.”

“Moral force and rhetorical power…” Ning Ji’s expression remained flat as he scratched his cheek with a finger. “I heard he ‘leads all the notable men of Chengdu’…”

“He’s nowhere near the top of that particular list.” Hou Yuanyong laughed. “But he’d probably rank somewhere in the top few. Why do you ask… if someone’s bragging about him like that, it’s most likely because they want him to do something for them.”

“Is the intelligence division watching him?”

“Not actively watching, no — that would take a lot of manpower, and unless we’re sure he’s likely to cause real trouble, we can’t spare the resources. But we should have some basic information on file. If you can give me a specific direction, Xiao Ji, I can go back and ask around. Of course, if it turns out to be something serious, you’ll need to let me report it up the chain.”

Ning Ji thought for a moment. “I want to know who he usually associates with, who he could call on for help, and who he’d go to if he needed to gather information.”

“Understood.” Hou Yuanyong nodded. “Let’s set a place. I’ll try to have something for you by tonight.”

The two of them worked out a time and place before going their separate ways.

By now the morning sun had grown bright and cheerful, and the city’s streets and alleys looked altogether peaceful. Ning Ji finished his buns and sat by the roadside for a while. Carts rattled by along with the faint stench of mud and puddles from the market streets; scholars in plain robes threaded through the unassuming crowds; happy children held their parents’ hands; further down the street, a traveling performer-martial-artist had just begun calling out for an audience… Nowhere in sight did anyone look like a villain. But Ning Ji knew the real reason his mother, his aunts, and his younger siblings couldn’t come to Chengdu.

After the great southwestern battle ended, his mother had taken him to visit the widows of comrades who had fallen in the fighting. The Huaxia Army had endured over a decade of hardship, and just as their first great victory came within reach, these men had died before they could see it — the weeping of their parents, wives, and children back home was enough to move anyone to tears. Afterward, Ning Ji’s mood had turned low, and those around him assumed it was simply that visit that had affected him.

But in truth, it wasn’t only that. For a boy of thirteen or fourteen, fighting the enemy on the battlefield, being wounded, even dying — all of it carried a certain heroic grandeur. That the heroes who had risen to fight had died, and that their families would feel grief, even despair, over it — such emotion could naturally move him, but treating these families as his own family, there was always some way to repay them.

But then came the talk of the coming celebrations in Chengdu.

Ning Ji had originally assumed that once the Jurchens were defeated, what followed would be nothing but open, clear skies. But in fact, it wasn’t so. Auntie Hongti, their strongest fighter, had to stay in Zhang Village to protect the family; his mother and the other aunts had come to persuade him not to go to Chengdu for the time being, and even his elder brother had said much the same thing. When he asked why, the answer was that Chengdu, going forward, would become the site of far more complicated struggles.

The great clans of the realm, who had long overlooked the Huaxia Army’s strength, would come to test the waters; various great Confucian houses, men like Dai Mengwei, would come opposing the Huaxia Army’s rise; those who had stood utterly helpless before the savage Jurchens would come sniffing around, hoping to skim a little profit off the Huaxia Army, even hoping to tear off a chunk of flesh for themselves — and the only difference was that the Jurchens would have wiped them out without mercy, while the Huaxia Army, being fellow Han, would not.

And countless ordinary people would simply sit back and watch, waiting to see which side to align with.

This was something that left Ning Ji feeling confused, and angry.

Why?

They had been beaten like dogs and swine before the Jurchens, the Central Plains had fallen, their homeland had been seized, their people slaughtered — wasn’t that all because of their own cowardice and incompetence?

It was the Huaxia Army that had defeated the Jurchens on their behalf — how could they possibly still have the nerve to view the Huaxia Army with hostility?

Their failure was so plain, the Huaxia Army’s victory so obvious. Why would the losers still keep their eyes open and speak such nonsense?

Wasn’t right and wrong perfectly clear?

Why couldn’t these so-called well-read gentlemen, these scholars people kept calling “great Confucians,” even tell the most basic difference between right and wrong?

Were they doing it on purpose? Even at fourteen, he could well imagine that if he himself ever kept his eyes open and spoke nonsense to someone’s face, he would burn with shame. He too had studied books; his teachers had said all these things from the very start. So why was it that once people reached forty, fifty, sixty years old, they turned into people like this?

“The Huaxia Army has won now, but in fifty years it’ll fail.” What right did someone who had never won a single battle have to say such a thing? On what grounds, exactly?

Such thinking filled him with anger.

And it was through all this that he came to understand: the heroes who had fallen in the great battle were only considered heroes within the Huaxia Army itself. Out there, this realm still held tens of millions upon tens of millions of people who simply did not understand, did not comprehend, did not acknowledge their sacrifice or its worth — and who might well, in the time to come, continue working against his own side.

The Huaxia Army was, for now, barely a million strong, yet it had to contend against tens of millions, even hundreds of millions. According to his brother and the others, the way forward was to slowly change these people’s minds, to “beg” them to understand their side’s thinking. And all the while, the fighting against the Jurchens would continue — those who had already awakened would charge to the front, those already awakened would be the first to die, while those who had not yet awakened would fail again and again, complaining all the while, waiting for someone else to pull them up.

Something about this world felt wrong to him… Wasn’t it the case that in such a world, those in the right would forever have to give more and more, while the weak and incompetent bore no responsibility at all? The Huaxia Army poured out endless effort and sacrifice to defeat the Jurchens, and in the end, it still fell to the Huaxia Army to change these people, to save them, to “beg” for their “understanding” — and even if it all worked out well in the end, wouldn’t that mean those who came later contributed nothing at all, while everything rested on the shoulders of those who had given first?

The awakened deserved a good outcome; the weak and the vile deserved to die. Surely that was how a fair world ought to work. Those people studied only to twist their own hearts, took office only for selfish gain, stood weak and helpless before the enemy, failed to rise up even after being slaughtered, and even when someone else had defeated their mighty enemy for them, they were still secretly scheming their petty little schemes… people like this deserved nothing but death… Perhaps many of them would go on living this way regardless, never repenting — but at the very least, whoever among them died, no one would need to mourn.

For a fourteen-year-old boy, this sense that certain people “deserved to die for their crimes” carried within it a kind of “helpless fury,” born of an inability to truly understand or change how such people thought. But it had genuinely become the dominant undercurrent of his thinking these past days; he’d given up putting himself forward in public, instead watching these outsiders from the shadows as though they were clowns on display.

These people’s minds were twisted, their hearts filthy, their lives without any meaning — he didn’t care about them at all. It was only out of consideration for what his father and brother, and the rest of the family, would think that he hadn’t gone on a killing spree against them. His nightly surveillance of Wen Shoubin and Qu Longjun down at that little courtyard sprang from exactly this same mindset.

If undiscovered, he’d simply watch to see what kind of twisted drama they’d act out next; if discovered, or if things started spiraling out of control, he’d simply kill them — they deserved it anyway — and he found the whole thing enormously enjoyable.

After watching the street for a while longer, Ning Ji finally headed off to start his day’s work at the tournament grounds.

At that same hour, Yan Daolun was leading Yu Hezhong to the Hall of Heroes at the southern end of Yingbin Road, presenting their letter of introduction. This was the place the Huaxia Army used to house visiting guests from outside; many had already taken up residence, and the openly declared delegation sent by Liu Guangshi was currently lodged there as well.

“Grand Marshal” Liu Guangshi had thought this through with great care, and the delegation he’d sent consisted of both an overt and a covert element. Openly, he was the first among the various Wu Dynasty factions to shift his stance, and if the Huaxia Army wished to demonstrate its sincerity — the classic gesture of buying a dead horse’s bones to prove one’s good faith — he would naturally be shown some favor. But mindful of the poor impression he’d made in the past, he had also dispatched a number of hidden lines of contact, this covert force placed under Yan Daolun’s command.

A few days earlier, Yan Daolun, guided by Yu Hezhong, had paid his first visit to Li Shishi. He’d handled himself with appropriate restraint, offering his greetings and then leaving without lingering, though he had later returned alone to submit a formal request for an audience. When this request was declined, he sought out Yu Hezhong again, bringing him into the openly declared delegation.

“Right now, the various powers of the southwest have all converged here, and the first wave of arrivals from every faction are being housed in this place.”

The Hall of Heroes occupied a considerable area; walking in along its path, the grounds felt spacious, thick with trees, arguably even more scenic than the northern part of the city. Here and there among the gardens and flowerbeds, small clusters of people in varied dress could be seen gathered, some chatting idly, others sizing each other up, their brows carrying an air of caution and probing. Yan Daolun led Yu Hezhong forward, explaining as they walked.

“The ones housed to the north, holding the place of honor, are the delegation from the Jin region — under the sway of the female chancellor Lou Shuwan and her strategist Wang Juyun, known to some as the ‘Chaos Tactician.’ They’ve had various dealings with us in the past. This time they’re set to take the largest share of whatever’s on offer… To the east are the Zuo family’s people, led by Zuo Xiuquan, right-hand man to Zuo Jiyun and effectively the Zuo family’s chief steward. Riding on the good graces built by Zuo Duanyou, they’ve always played peacemaker between the Huaxia Army and the Wu Dynasty. This business of regicide, of course, can’t be smoothed over — but they’re happy to feign ignorance in exchange for a few favors on Fuzhou’s behalf, no great issue there… Setting aside these two houses, who’ve had prior dealings with the Huaxia Army, it’s our turn next…”

“In Chengdu right now, there are, on the surface, really only three visible powers at play. The Huaxia Army is the host, holding its own ground. Groups like the ones we just passed, who can build some connection with the Huaxia Army and squeeze out some benefit, count as the second group. The Huaxia Army says it wants to open its doors — which, put plainly, means courting our support — so whoever steps forward first stands to gain some advantage in the negotiations ahead. Exactly what kind of advantage, of course, depends on how the talks go. The reason I’ve asked you to step in, Brother Yu, is precisely for this…”

Yu Hezhong thought to himself, just as I suspected. Feeling more settled, he ventured a question. “I wonder what, specifically, the Huaxia Army’s benefits might consist of…”

“Technology.” Yan Daolun lowered his voice. “In gathering everyone here, the Huaxia Army has already dropped some hints in private. This Chengdu convention — Master Ning won’t just be selling goods, he’ll be selling the technology to manufacture some of them as well. Mind you, that’s the goose that lays the golden eggs…”

Yu Hezhong frowned. “That’s an open scheme, isn’t it — this way, the various outside factions won’t be united in their thinking, which suits the Huaxia Army perfectly, letting them get what they want.”

“You see straight through it, Brother Yu.” Yan Daolun cupped his hands with a smile. “That’s how great affairs of the world work. With the Huaxia Army holding the upper hand, willing to offer up some benefit, everyone will go their own way, each taking what they need. Men like Dai Mengwei and Wu Qimei, who’ve long stood dead-set against the Huaxia Army, will of course send people to try to sabotage this convention — but who’s to say, privately, that they haven’t also sent someone in disguise as a trader, looking to grab their own share of the pie? It’s precisely because there’s a resolute third party like them standing firmly against the Huaxia Army that Marshal Liu is all the more likely to secure real benefits from them.”

He paused with a smile. “Looking back across history, the rivalry of the Three Kingdoms period was always the most fascinating — the strong can grow weak, the weak can grow strong, and it’s precisely because the situation is in such disorder that this is exactly the moment for men like us to make our mark and win our own achievements. This is a heartfelt truth from me to you, Brother Yu, spoken only because I feel a real rapport with you. Whether or not you find merit in it, I ask that you keep it to yourself.”

Yu Hezhong nodded solemnly; these words had struck a chord within him. If not for times like these, if not for the fortunate bond he happened to share with Shishi, what connection could he, Yu Hezhong, possibly have with matters of this scale? Now, with the Huaxia Army eager to win over outside parties, and Liu Guangshi eager to be the first to step forward and secure some advantage, he himself stood in the middle, able to do both sides a favor at once — gaining something for himself on one hand, while serving the greater good of the nation and its people on the other. Truly the best of all outcomes.

With such thoughts running through his mind, the head of the delegation had already come out from the hall to greet them; the group went inside, where Yu Hezhong was introduced to a number of notable figures under Liu Guangshi’s command. These once-great men showered him with flattery, and after some discussion the group finally laid out what the delegation hoped to accomplish on this mission: firearms technology, ironworking technology, gunpowder technology… ideally, of course, they wanted everything, but at the very least they hoped to bring home a few key pieces of technology.

Yu Hezhong, who had been floating on air from all the flattery, came crashing back down to earth. Are you people trying to fool me? You expect me to pull off something like this through my connection with Shishi? Are you all out of your minds, or is Ning Yi? The more he thought about it amid the group’s ongoing discussion, the more uneasy he grew. He knew that once this conversation was over, he would inevitably be leading several important figures to call on Shishi. If Shishi found out what was being asked and turned him away at the door, he doubted he’d even be able to live as an ordinary man once he got home…

“…In truth… this little brother’s connection with Miss Shishi amounts to no more than some childhood affection — enough that we can exchange a few words. As for matters like these, I would only dare ask Miss Shishi to pass along a word, perhaps think of some way… but… after all, this concerns matters of state, and whether Miss Shishi even holds such standing within the Huaxia Army these days is hard to say… so I can only make an attempt… and do my best…”

The group had been discussing this for a while when Yu Hezhong finally couldn’t hold back and spoke these words. The distinguished men in the hall exchanged smiling glances, their eyes turning toward Yu Hezhong with warmth and familiarity.

“Of course, of course…”

“Just do your best, that’s all we ask…”

“You’ve had a hard time of it, Brother Yu…”

“No need to feel burdened, whether or not it succeeds…”

The men offered up plenty of generous, reassuring words, after which two representatives were chosen to accompany Yu Hezhong to call upon Miss Shishi.

By the time the letter of introduction had been sent in and they were waiting for a reply, Yu Hezhong’s entire undershirt had soaked through with sweat…