In early autumn, Chengdu often saw strong winds blow through. The dense-leaved trees in the courtyard rustled in the wind. The breeze blew past the window and into the room — if not for the wound on her back, this would have been a fine autumn.

The wound on her back was now several days old, and though it had been properly treated and bandaged, the pain still came in waves, accompanied by the tightness in her chest from lying prone for so long. Qu Longjun occasionally shifted position, but lying prone for so long, nothing seemed to help.

These past few days, Qu Longjun had passed in a state of anxious fear.

Ever since setting out with Wen Shoubin for Chengdu, she had not failed to imagine her current situation — venturing deep into danger, the plot exposed, all manner of misfortune after being captured. But for Qu Longjun, a sixteen-year-old girl, there had never really been much choice in her life to begin with.

Without choice, there was, in a sense, not much fear either.

As a child she had followed her parents’ arrangements in everything; before she’d had the chance to grow up, her family was gone. She had drifted from place to place before being sold to Wen Shoubin, after which she had learned all the skills a “thin horse” — a girl raised and trained to be sold as a concubine — ought to master: cooking, embroidery, music, chess, calligraphy, painting. Such things, spoken of plainly, carried no honor, but in truth, from the moment she’d become aware of the world, her life had always been arranged for her by others.

Such a life was like being driven along a narrow path — once truly used to it, there was nothing particularly wrong with it. Wen Shoubin was no good man, but if it came to being bad, at least his kind of badness, she already understood. He had raised her, and at some point would marry her off or give her away to someone; if things ever came to a dead end, he might not spare a thought for her — but at least, before that day arrived, there wasn’t too much to worry about.

Life’s hardships often appeared without warning.

A few months ago, news spread that the Huaxia Army had defeated the Jurchens. Wen Shoubin had suddenly begun lecturing them with grand principles, then arranged for them to come to the southwest. Something in Qu Longjun’s heart had felt unmoored — her future had been shattered.

After arriving in the southwest, two months had passed. Wen Shoubin had begun making connections with various people, moving slowly and patiently toward his goals, and it had seemed things were settling back onto a normal track. But on the night of the twentieth, a group of people had burst in from outside the courtyard, and danger had descended once more.

They’d gathered their things and fled from place to place, eventually arriving at the courtyard of that young Huaxia military doctor, where people had discussed leaving Chengdu. Late that night, Qu Longjun had thought to herself that this was for the best — that this way, everything would go back to how it had been. Little did she know what bloody scene awaited.

Wen Shoubin had suddenly died — died so casually. The other party had simply shoved him into the fray in passing, and in an instant he lay in a pool of blood, without even a half-spoken last word.

The slaughter in the courtyard had also been just as sudden, yet astonishingly brutal. An explosion had gone off inside the house, and five wounded men had died along with the collapse of the building — among those wounded were even a few would-be “heroes.” The fighting outside had likewise been reduced to the simplest of exchanges — men swinging blades at one another, one falling in an instant, then another falling the next… She hadn’t even had time to understand any of it — hadn’t understood the killing, hadn’t understood the death — before she too had fallen.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself in the hands of the Black Banner Army. And Wen Shoubin — who, though never a good man, had genuinely given her a roof over her head all these years — had died so casually, so permanently.

A sixteen-year-old girl, like a snail stripped of its shell, tossed out onto the open plain. She had long grown used to Wen Shoubin’s cruelty, but she had no clear concept yet of the cruelty of the Black Banner Army, or of the cruelty of this world.

But surely, it would be a hundred times more sinister than anything Wen Shoubin had ever been.

She remembered the scene in the dim courtyard — blood dripping down from the tip of that young man’s blade…

…

Outside the room, in the courtyard, there was always the scent of medicine drifting about, along with the sound of voices. In the mornings, sunlight always spilled in through the half-open window, and the autumn wind, when it blew past, made her feel as though she wore no clothes at all.

Lying prone on the white bed, her back always aching, her chest tight and uncomfortable — if she could move freely, she would rather curl herself into a ball, or hide in some corner where no one could see her.

On the second day after her injury, someone had come to question her about many things — her relationship with Wen Shoubin, her purpose in coming to the southwest, and so on. She had originally meant to tell things in the most favorable light, but once the questioner spoke her father’s name, Qu Longjun knew there would be little chance of leniency this time. Her father had, of course, died at the hands of the Black Banner, but in the course of his campaigns he had certainly killed no small number of Black Banner men as well. As his daughter, now come to the southwest under the pretense of seeking revenge and causing trouble — how could they possibly let her off easily once she’d fallen into their hands?

Having lived with this understanding for a few days, on the afternoon of the twenty-third, the young physician named Long Aotian appeared in her room, his expression stern, holding a notebook to ask about her injury. She answered honestly, point by point, her body tense with fear, not daring to move at all.

This young doctor’s appearance seemed gentle and kind, but she had already seen, that early morning, the cunning behind his acting, and the utter ruthlessness with which he killed without hesitation. She still did not quite understand why the Black Banner Army had spared her life, but seeing this young doctor, she vaguely suspected she was likely about to be forced into some scheme or plot once again.

As for exactly what that might be, she couldn’t quite work it out for the moment, and dared not speculate too much. This boy had grown up in the dangerous lands of the southwest, and it was precisely this that had given him, at such a young age, such a ruthless and vicious character — never mind Wen Shoubin, even men like Huang Nanzhong and Yan Ying had apparently been played like puppets in his palm. What could a woman like herself possibly resist? If she displeased him, who knew what manner of torment might await her.

“A hundred days to mend flesh and bone.” After finishing his inquiry into her condition, Long Aotian said, “But your injury isn’t serious, it shouldn’t take that long. The clinic’s short-staffed lately, so I’ll come by to look after you. Rest well, don’t do anything reckless, and hurry up and get better so you can get out of here. That’s all.”

That afternoon, having said this much, he considered his obligation discharged. Throughout the exchange, Qu Longjun could sense that his mood was not good — he’d frowned the entire time. His warning to “rest well, don’t do anything reckless” had frightened her into stillness, and as for “hurry up and get better so you can get out of here” — perhaps that just meant he intended to deal with her once she’d recovered, or perhaps she was to be forced into some scheme.

And so it went. The next day, the young military doctor delivered her three meals and her brewed medicine himself. What most surprised her was that he even came in the morning to clean out the chamber pot under her bed — which made her feel that such a ruthless person was, strangely, so unconcerned with propriety in small matters. Perhaps that was exactly why he could scheme against people and kill without the slightest hesitation — these things only made her fear him all the more.

Over the following days, in order to reduce her trips to the toilet and out of bed, Qu Longjun unconsciously ate and drank less. The young military doctor, after all, wasn’t so meticulous as to notice such things closely — only on the twenty-fifth, seeing her half-finished bowl of porridge, did he mutter, “Are you turned into some kind of bug?” Qu Longjun pressed herself into her pillow on the bed, her body rigid, not daring to speak.

On the twenty-sixth, she supported herself against furniture and struggled out to use the toilet, and on the way back she fell, slightly reopening the wound on her back. Once he discovered this, he found a female doctor to come clean and rebandage it, but afterward he still kept the same stern expression toward her.

This was a small episode during her convalescence.

The interrogation’s voice was gentle, without much sense of pressure.

“…Taking out more than ten people in one night — feeling pleased with yourself now?”

“Mm, I’m all better.”

“You suspected there was something off about that Huang fellow before it all happened, and didn’t report it — and on top of that, secretly sold him medicine, while quietly keeping watch on Wen Shoubin for a month, figuring out the whole situation, and not telling anyone. And now you’re even vouching for that Qu girl — you know her father died at our hands, right? You’ve gone and developed feelings while you were spying on her…”

“There’s no feelings involved…” the boy’s muttering voice rose. “I just felt she wasn’t that bad a person…”

“You know you’ve broken discipline, right? What you did counts as entrapment.”

“I wasn’t entrapping anyone, there just wasn’t any proof they’d done anything bad, and they just like to talk nonsense…”

“If you knew something was off, you should have reported it. You didn’t, and as a result they came looking for you and stirred up all this trouble. And now you’re vouching for her too. The higher-ups just want me to ask you whether you’ll accept the punishment.”

“…Fine, I’ll accept it. I had fun anyway.”

A hand swung out, a chestnut-knock landing on the boy’s head — he couldn’t dodge it in time.

“You’re going back to school after September, you know that, right?”

“Mm, I’ll just go to school.”

“Before it all happened, it was genuinely hard to say for certain that this Huang fellow would do anything bad — you not reporting it, we can’t really blame you too much for that. But taking direct action that night, wiping out an entire courtyard of people — your brother says that must have had something to do with your own personal wishes too. Your father had me come teach you a lesson, and besides beating you, I can’t think of any other good way to do it. But your assignment at the tournament — you’re not allowed to go back to that from now on.”

“Ah… I was just going there to be a bone-setting doctor…”

“Talking back!”

A swing — he dodged it.

“…Fine. If I can’t do it, I won’t do it.”

“Also, since you’ve been out here running wild for so long, and you’ve clearly had enough of it, you need to see things through to the end. Wasn’t it your kind heart that made you vouch for that little young lady? The medicine for her wound — are we paying for that? The room — are we providing that? The doctors and nurses looking after her — are we providing them too?”

“That… well, even for prisoners we’ve captured, we still pay for that stuff…”

“Talking back again. This is different!”

“Fine, different it is…”

“You handle your own affairs properly. Since you’ve vouched for her, you’re the one who’s going to go help out at the clinic. Looking after that girl falls to you — don’t trouble anyone else. Once her wound has healed and everything’s wrapped up, you go back to Zhang Village for school.”

“Ah, why do I have to look after her…”

“Her father killed people of ours, and we killed him too. You say she’s not a bad person — do you actually know what’s going on in her heart? You felt sympathy for her, you wanted to save her once, you vouched for her — that was your own doing, wasn’t it? If she’s harboring resentment and doesn’t want to live, and stabs some doctor with a knife, what then? Oh, so you vouch for someone and just dump them on us, expecting someone else to sort her out for you — that won’t do. So you handle her properly. Once that’s done, and Chengdu’s business is wrapped up, since you were bold enough to say you’d accept the punishment, that’s how it’s going to be.”

The boy’s face scrunched up like a steamed bun. “Er… it’s not that I refuse, but why is it you telling me this, Sister Chuyi…”

“This is the task Mr. Ning assigned to me. What, you have an objection? Or would you rather fight me over it?”

“…I think you’re just getting back at her for coming here before to try and seduce my brother…”

“Say what?”

“Nothing… I’ll accept the punishment. I love peace. No fighting.”

The terms of the punishment were settled in this manner.

As for losing his job at the tournament and being transferred to look after a foolish young woman, Ning Ji didn’t think much of it. In his heart, he felt this was the result of Sister Chuyi and his elder brother conspiring together to have a laugh at his expense.

On the other hand, he was, after all, just an innocent teenage boy — spending all his days getting involved in fights and killings, and his parents’ side clearly already had their worries about that. In the past, they’d always found some excuse or seized on some pretext to make an issue of it, but this time, in the dead of night, he’d fought a pitched battle against a dozen-odd martial world figures — and while it could be said he’d been forced into it, in truth, in those moments of combat, he too had been dancing back and forth between life and death, and much of the time, the clash of blades was pure instinctive reaction — the slightest slip, and it could have been him who died.

Having survived, and seemingly handled himself with composure, was, in a sense, a good thing — but this incident had truly pushed things right up against his family’s psychological limit. His father had sent Sister Chuyi to deal with it, letting everyone have a laugh at his expense — this could still be considered accepting the toast of censure gracefully. But if he refused even that toast, when it came time to drink the punishment wine for real, things would get rather unpleasant — for instance, his mother might come and have a good cry in front of him, or his younger siblings might be told rumors like “your second brother is trying to get himself killed,” setting the little ones off wailing endlessly. Given his father’s ruthless nature, combined with his eldest brother, who’d inherited that trait in full, they were entirely capable of doing something like that.

For this reason, after a bit of testing the waters, he readily accepted the assignment. Looking after some foolish injured woman did admittedly cost him a bit of heroic dignity, but he could bend as easily as he could stand firm, and cared little for such trifles — and it would infuriate his conspiring brother and sister-in-law to no end. Thinking of it this way, he privately congratulated himself, finding a bit of bitter amusement in it all.

As for the matter of tending to a patient in a sickroom, Ning Ji had no particular squeamishness or psychological hang-ups about it. Having long grown accustomed to battlefield medicine — severed hands and feet, exposed intestines and organs — he’d often been the one to look after soldiers nearby when they couldn’t care for themselves: brewing medicine, feeding them, running errands, wiping them down, dealing with their waste. For this reason, though Sister Chuyi had spoken of the matter with a sly, gloating look on her face, none of it seemed like much of anything to Ning Ji himself.

Of course, once he actually got down to it, there were naturally some things different from the battlefield.

The other party particularly disliked him — or rather, feared him — which made him quite unhappy.

It seemed that ever since that night’s events, Little Mean Dog had come to view him as an utterly vicious villain. Every time he came by, she cowered and shrank away; if not for the injury on her back keeping her lying flat, she might well have curled herself up like a quail beneath the blanket. And her voice, when she spoke — completely different from how it had sounded before, back when he’d been spying on her. Young as he was, Ning Ji could still tell the difference clearly enough.

What kind of joke is this? Me, a bad guy? What’s there to be afraid of about me!

You lot are the actual bad guys, aren’t you! You and that old mean dog Wen Shoubin came all the way to the southwest to stir up trouble and do bad things! Living in that ramshackle courtyard, saying all those things only villains would say all day long! Look at how upright I look — how do I look like a bad guy at all!

And what’s more, just a few days ago, in that very courtyard, I saved your life!

Toward this ungrateful, thankless Little Mean Dog who couldn’t tell good from bad, Ning Ji felt a bit of anger. But he had his pride too, and wasn’t about to say anything about it aloud — there was nothing to say, really, since he obviously couldn’t confess to all the times he’d spied on her. So as far as speech went, he and Little Mean Dog were nothing more than strangers who’d crossed paths by chance; they’d never known each other before.

And so, since Little Mean Dog didn’t give him a good face, he saw no reason to give her one either. He’d originally considered, given her difficulty moving, whether he ought to feed her or help her to the toilet and so on, but since the mood between them wasn’t exactly warm, after some thought he decided it didn’t matter much — after all, her injury wasn’t that serious to begin with, and she wasn’t entirely bedridden. Men and women ought to keep their distance anyway, and with his brother and sister-in-law conspiring to have a laugh at his expense, the less trouble he made for himself, the better.

Of course, when she’d fallen in the hallway on the twenty-sixth, Ning Ji had felt a bit guilty about it afterward. Mainly because her fall had looked rather undignified — she’d flattened her chest against the ground, and watching it, he’d wanted to laugh. That urge to laugh made him feel it wasn’t the conduct of a proper gentleman, and after that he’d asked Auntie Gu at the clinic to take her to the outhouse once a day. Sister Chuyi had said he should look after her himself, but he figured such a special circumstance surely wouldn’t be held too strictly against him.

As for the matter of her eating a bit more after Auntie Gu started helping her to the outhouse, Ning Ji later worked out the reason for himself, thinking to himself that women really were just being fussy, and didn’t even understand the principle that a healer has the heart of a parent.

Having left the tournament behind, the bustle and excitement of Chengdu felt somewhat more distant to him now. He didn’t much mind — this trip to Chengdu had already earned him plenty, and he’d experienced such a thrilling fight; wandering the world was a matter for later, no need to think too much about it for now. Even on the twenty-seventh, when that jinx Yao Shubin came to invite him for hotpot and talked about all the goings-on in the city — the infighting among the great Confucian scholars, the experts who’d shown up at the tournament, and the gathering of elite fighters from all the various armies — Ning Ji put on an air of utter indifference throughout.

“Hmph, I’ve already seen all that.”

“Oh? How so?” Yao Shubin asked, curious.

“Not telling you.”

Time moved through the latter half of the seventh month, with the clouds gathering and scattering yet again.

After the unrest of the twentieth, the topic of the military parade formally rose to the surface. The Huaxia Army began issuing invitations throughout the city for the viewing ceremony — not only did the people already loyal to the Huaxia Army receive invitations, but even the various great scholars and notable figures currently residing in the city received formal invitations as well.

Over the question of whether to attend or not that day, the scholars in the city argued back and forth for several days. Those who had not received invitations harshly criticized the whole affair, and some scholars who had received invitations called on others not to attend and lend the event legitimacy — but many others said that, having come all this way to Chengdu, one ought to witness everything that happened; even if one meant to write critically of it afterward, having actually been present would lend one’s words more credibility. If one had already firmly decided not to participate, why bother coming to Chengdu at all?

The debate raged on in the newspapers, drawing enormous attention.

…

The sky seemed somewhat overcast, or perhaps it was simply that the overly dense foliage was blocking too much of the light.

In the courtyard of the inn known as Xiangwu Hall, Yang Tiehuai sat upright and solemn, gazing at an article in the newspaper, a bit lost in thought. From somewhere in the distance came the sound of cursing carried on the air; after a moment, a thud sounded — someone had thrown a stone in from outside the courtyard — and the sound of mutual shouting and cursing carried in from the street.

His senior disciple, Chen Shiguang, sat across from him at the desk, having heard the commotion as well. His gaze moved between the invitation on the table and his teacher across from him, and he said in a low voice, “The Black Banner is shameless and despicable, using others’ hands to kill — it’s chilling to see. But this student believes that Heaven’s justice is clear, and surely will not let such an evil man prosper. Teacher need only step back from the fray for now, leave Chengdu, and things will eventually find their turning point.”

Yang Tiehuai looked at his senior disciple calmly and said nothing.

Since coming to Chengdu, he had been one of the most hot-tempered of the great scholars — first writing furious articles in the newspapers denouncing the Huaxia Army’s various actions, then going out to argue on the streets, and after having his head struck by a stone, growing even more radical still. For the unrest of the twentieth, he had worked hard privately behind the scenes, coordinating a great deal — but when the moment for action had actually arrived, the Huaxia Army had sent him a direct letter of warning, and after a night of hesitation, he had in the end failed to muster the resolve to act. By now, he had been singled out by the other scholars in the city as the one most deserving of blame.

By this point, the principle that “the innocent need not defend themselves” no longer held. The more a scheme failed, the more its participants needed to find someone to shoulder the blame — and exactly who bore that blame no longer mattered, since without such a person, how could the ignorant masses forgive themselves?

The wound on his forehead had healed by now; once the bandage was removed, it left an ugly scar. The old man’s stern face, set against that unsightly scar, gave off a strange, unsettling air whenever he appeared before others. Others might well sneer at him inwardly, and he knew they would — but precisely because he knew this, the expression on his face grew ever more stubborn and hardened, that hardness set off against the blood-scarred wound, presenting the posture of a man in confrontation, aware that others were aware of it too.

“…This teacher has it well in hand.”

After a long while, he finally spoke these words.

Outside the courtyard, the noise of shouting and cursing grew more distant, and yet somehow more piercing.

On the twenty-ninth of the seventh month, the captured Jurchen prisoners had already been settled into the military camp on the western outskirts of Chengdu.

During the evening exercise period, Wanyan Qingjue, looking through the fence of the camp, spotted a familiar figure walking not far off — he looked twice to be sure — it was Zuo Wenhuai, the one who had punched him back in Changsha. This Zuo Wenhuai had delicate features, and back then had looked, frankly, like a porcelain rabbit-god figurine — but now, dressed in the black uniform of the Huaxia Army, tall and upright with sword-sharp brows, he did indeed carry the imposing air of a soldier.

“Young Master Zuo! Young Master Zuo—”

Wanyan Qingjue gripped the railing and waved toward him.

He was one of the highest-ranking nobles in the Jurchen army, and having already been captured once before, was now assisting the Huaxia Army in managing the senior figures among the prisoners. Because of this, he had recently taken the occasional liberty to act somewhat out of line, and the Huaxia Army soldiers nearby hadn’t immediately come to stop him.

Zuo Wenhuai and the several soldiers beside him all turned to look this way. After a moment, he raised an eyebrow and walked over. “Oh, if it isn’t Little Prince Wanyan. You’re looking well — eating and drinking well lately?”

“Young Master Zuo, I have something to say to you.”

“…Eating and drinking well in a prison cell isn’t necessarily a good sign. Aren’t you afraid it might be your last meal before the executioner?”

Because of what had happened with Yu Mingzhou, Zuo Wenhuai had no goodwill toward Wanyan Qingjue, and now spoke this way to frighten him. Wanyan Qingjue’s expression turned serious, his hand nearly reaching through the fence to grab at him. “Young Master Zuo! I have important matters — beneficial to you, beneficial to the Huaxia Army — please, just hear me out… you know my position, there’s no harm in listening, only benefit, only benefit…”

As Wanyan Qingjue kept emphasizing this, Zuo Wenhuai stood a short distance from the railing, watching him silently for a moment. “Speak.”

Wanyan Qingjue glanced to either side, seeming to want to speak privately, but Zuo Wenhuai simply waved a hand. “Say it here, or not at all.”

“All right, all right.” Wanyan Qingjue nodded. “Young Master Zuo, I know your position, and you know mine, and you all know the positions of everyone else in this camp. We all have families back in the Jin state, connections in every household. By Jin custom, those defeated in battle but not killed may be ransomed back with gold and silver…”

“That’s not our custom.”

“But it could be considered,” Wanyan Qingjue said. “I know that after Western Xia’s defeat, you let them ransom their people back too. The first time I was captured, I was ransomed back as well. Among those in this camp today, some of them you already know the significance of, but you’re not familiar with the Jin state — if you let them go back, you’ll gain far more benefit than you might think. I’ve written up a list here, of things you don’t yet know. I know you can get an audience with Mr. Ning — please pass this along to him for me… pass it on for me…”

Zuo Wenhuai looked at him. “The parade doesn’t say anything about killing you all. Why so afraid?”

“It’s not fear — it’s just, since we have to hand this over anyway, we’re willing to offer more, to give you more leverage. Perhaps… everyone could get to go home sooner.” Wanyan Qingjue’s expression remained fairly composed, and he even managed a smile. “Han people don’t like killing — I know that. Since the Tang dynasty, presenting captives at the ancestral temple hasn’t usually meant killing them. We were defeated fair and square on the battlefield — there’s no need for you to kill us. Killing us would only mean an endless cycle of vengeance…”

Zuo Wenhuai was silent for a moment. “I rather like endless cycles of vengeance…”

“But there’s no need… no need at all…” Wanyan Qingjue stood there watching him. “Please, just pass this along — it does you no harm at all, does it…”

“…Hand it over, then.”

Zuo Wenhuai finally nodded. Wanyan Qingjue immediately pulled several sheets of paper from inside his robe and held them out. Zuo Wenhuai did not take the papers directly; a soldier standing nearby stepped forward instead. Zuo Wenhuai said, “Get a bag, seal this up, and forward it to the secretariat — say it’s a set of conditions Little Prince Wanyan wishes Mr. Ning to consider. Satisfied? Honestly, within the Huaxia Army, whether you hand it to me directly or through someone else makes little difference.”

Wanyan Qingjue nodded, drew a breath, and stepped back two paces. “I’ve remembered a few things about Yu Mingzhou, Young Master Zuo. If you want to know, after the parade…”

Before he could finish speaking, Zuo Wenhuai’s gaze darkened, a sinister killing intent rising through the fence. “Mention that name again, and I’ll personally send you off myself after the parade!”

Wanyan Qingjue fell silent, waving his hands. Zuo Wenhuai stared at him for a moment longer, then turned and left.

As the daylight leaned westward, Wanyan Qingjue stood dazed behind the fence for a while, then let out a long breath. Compared to the other Jurchen prisoners of war in the camp, his own state of mind was actually somewhat calmer — after all, he had been captured once before and had been successfully exchanged back. He had also met this Mr. Ning in person before, and knew the man cared about interests above all, and wasn’t inclined toward killing for its own sake. As long as he cooperated and went through the process of presenting captives properly, the man wouldn’t even have much interest in humiliating prisoners like himself — because Han people insisted on behaving like proper gentlemen.

Of course, even the smallest risk was one they’d rather not take. People longed to go home as soon as possible, especially men like themselves, from great households, who’d enjoyed half a lifetime of comfort — no matter how much gold, silver, or Han slaves it took to ransom them, their families would find a way. For this reason, these past days, he had been trying every way he could to get word through to Mr. Ning.

He thought of the parade to come.

Perhaps after the parade, the man would summon him again — during which he would surely be teased a bit, mocked for having been captured yet again, and of course the might of the Huaxia Army would be put on display once more. If he showed enough deference, enough humility, and satisfied the man, perhaps everyone might get to go home sooner — a real man can bend as well as stand firm, and as the highest-ranking among them, enduring a bit of humiliation was no real loss of face for him at all…