I traveled back to the Southern Song Dynasty and was actually outmaneuvered by Yue Fei.

"I copied my father's handwriting, and I did it all day long."

Yue Yinping's voice softened, "His character '天' has a short first horizontal stroke and a long second horizontal stroke, with the left and right strokes spread out like a bird's wings."

I carved it dozens of times, ruining several pieces of wood, before I finally got it to look roughly like the original.

But I could never quite replicate the way he sheathed his sword. His sheathing was a natural stop as he exhausted his strength, something I couldn't do.

After each cut, I couldn't help but add a touch-up. It was that touch-up—"

"It was that touch that made me realize it was you."

Yue Yinping remained silent.

"You don't hate me?"

Zhao Bozong looked at her. "The night before your father left for Fengbo Pavilion, he wrote two letters. One for me, and one for your elder brother."

He paused. "The letter to me was from my young friend Bo Cong: If you ever see Yin Ping, please trust her; she told me to trust you. You've been using me from beginning to end, but she told me to trust you."

He's not unaware that you're using me—he knows you're using me, which is why he trusts me. Because what you need to do, no one can do for you; you can only rely on people.

Yue Yinping's fingers tightened on the straw rope.

"You used me, and you used me very well," Zhao Bozong said. "The words on the wooden bird were carved by you, and the letter in the wax ball was written by your father."

You rewrote the story you chose nine years ago, but your father really did leave me a letter hidden inside the wooden bird's belly.

You thought you were lying to me, but while you were lying to me, you did something you didn't even realize you were doing.

"What is it?"

"When you carved the characters 'The sun shines brightly,' you were imitating your father's handwriting. But you didn't imitate those eight characters, 'Bo Cong, my friend, await your arrival in the Northern Expedition.' Those are your own words."

Yue Yinping paused for a moment.

"Even your own handwriting has a return stroke at the end. That's because you hold a knife like you hold a gun, using seven-tenths of your strength and reserving three-tenths."

When you sheathe your knife, the blade points upwards, not because you can't imitate it well, but because you're reluctant to use all your strength.

Your father writes with all his might and then stops naturally; you carve characters with less than your strength and then stop.

It's not that you can't imitate him, it's that you're different from him.

Zhao Bozong picked up the wooden bird from the desk and placed it in her hand.

"You've found the benevolent person your father asked you to find. You didn't find me, you found yourself."

When you carved those eight characters, you weren't entrusting them to your father; you were entrusting them to yourself.

You entrusted the Northern Expedition to me because you yourself were going to Xiangyang.

You must carry your father's coffin back to Xiangyang, to find Niu Gao, to find Dong Xian, to find Li Bao, and to find everyone on the list.

You must rebuild Yue Fei's army in Xiangyang.

You do these things not because your father makes you do them, but because you want to do them yourself.

Your dad knows you can do it. So he gave you a choice, not an order.

When he wrote "Bo Cong can be entrusted," he was handing the choice over to you.

He wrote that if he were to see Yinping one day, he should believe that she was leaving the choice to him.

We can both choose not to trust each other.

You chose to believe in me, and I chose to believe in you.

Yue Yinping held the wooden bird in her palm.

"I'm leaving," she said.

"I know."

"Xiangyang is very far away."

"I know."

"After I leave, Qin Hui will continue the purge."

One by one, the people on the list will die. Zhou Sanwei is dead, Wei Shun is dead. Next might be Jiang Shixiong, maybe Li Yanxian, maybe Niu Gao, maybe Li Bao. It could be you.

Her voice was flat, but her fingers gripping the wooden bird were white. "Aren't you afraid?"

Zhao Bozong did not answer the question. Instead, he took the wooden bird back from her hand and put it into his sleeve.

"I'll keep the wooden bird. Go to Xiangyang and find the fourth, fifth, and sixth people on the list, one by one. Tell them that the first person on the list is waiting for them in Lin'an."

In the fourth year of the Shaoxing era, Yue Fei recovered the six counties of Xiangyang. In the tenth year of the Shaoxing era, he launched a northern expedition from Xiangyang and reached Zhuxian Town.

Xiangyang is the ancestral home of Yue Fei's army, and now Yue Yinping is going to carry her father's coffin back to Xiangyang. It's not for burial; if it were, the Jiuqu Congci outside Lin'an city would suffice.

Kui Shun carried Yue Fei's remains out and buried them there. She wanted to carry the coffin back to Xiangyang because there were still people in Xiangyang waiting for her.

Niu Gao is in Xiangyang, Dong Xian is in Ezhou, Li Bao is in Zhenjiang, and Sun Yan is on the Yangtze River. The names on the list are scattered in various places.

"Niu Gao," Zhao Bocong said.

"The second person on the list is Zhou Sanwei. The third is Wei Shun, and the fourth—" Zhao Bozong looked at her, "you still haven't told me."

"The fourth person is Niu Gao." Yue Yin looked at Zhao Bozong. "The fourth person on my father's list is Niu Gao. He's the one waiting for you in Xiangyang."

Zhao Bocong's hand tightened slightly inside his sleeve. Niu Gao, a core general of Yue Fei's army, was known for his bravery and prowess. After his father-in-law's death, he continued to openly advocate for the Northern Expedition to attract Qin Hui's attention.

Historically, in the seventeenth year of the Shaoxing era, Qin Hui sent Tian Shizhong to Xiangyang to poison Niu Gao's wine. Niu Gao died after drinking it, bleeding from all seven orifices.

That was five years later. But now, in the first month of the twelfth year of Shaoxing, Niu Gao is still alive, waiting in Xiangyang.

"Did he know I was going?"

"He doesn't know," Yue Yinping said. "He only knows that the first person on the list will send someone to Xiangyang, but he doesn't know who that person is or when they will go. He's just waiting."

Zhao Bozong lowered his head. He suddenly remembered what Zhou Sanwei had said before he died: "Tell my father that I did what's on the list."

Zhou Sanwei did it, Wei Shun did it, and next up are Niu Gao, Dong Xian, and Li Bao – each name on the list.

They each waited in their respective spots for someone to tell them about the list and that it was their turn.

"I will send someone to Xiangyang," Zhao Bocong said.

Yue Yinping looked at him. "Whom should I send?"

Zhao Bozong turned around and looked at Li Yanxian, who was standing in the side courtyard.

He stood there, his crimson battle robes standing out starkly against the dusty courtyard. He turned his back on Yang Zaixing's corpse and charged out from Xiaoshang River.

He now stood in the courtyard of the Prince of Puan's residence, awaiting the next order.

"Li Yanxian".

Li Yanxian knelt on one knee. "Your subordinate is here."

"Take three men and escort Miss Yue to Xiangyang. Return after you arrive in Xiangyang." Zhao Bozong's voice was not loud, but it left no room for argument.

"Tell General Niu that the first person on the list is waiting for him in Lin'an."

Li Yanxian kowtowed, his forehead touching the blue brick floor. "This subordinate obeys."

Yue Yinping looked at Li Yanxian kneeling down, wanting to say something, but said nothing.

"I'm leaving."

Zhao Bozong looked at her. "Xiangyang is very far away."

"I know."

"There are people like Qin Hui on the road."

"I know."

"You're all alone, carrying a coffin."

Yue Yinping mounted her horse, her grey-blue blouse spreading out on its back. She turned around as she rode.

"The night before my father died at Fengbo Pavilion, he wrote a letter to my eldest brother. There were only five words in the letter." Her voice came down from the horse, soft and steady. "After receiving the letter, my eldest brother went to Fengbo Pavilion himself."

Zhao Bocong's fingers clenched tightly. Yue Yun, twenty-three years old, was killed on the same day as Yue Fei.

He received a letter from his father containing only five words, and then he went to Fengbo Pavilion by himself.

No one escorted him; he went in on his own because he was the son of the Yue family.

"The daughter of the Yue family," Yue Yinping said, "is no less than my elder brother."

She spurred the horse, and the chestnut horse began to stride forward, its hooves clicking crisply on the blue bricks. The horse carrying the coffin followed her, step by step, out of the alley.

Li Yanxian followed behind her with three Imperial Guard soldiers, keeping a distance of ten paces.

Zhao Bozong stood at the gate of the mansion, watching her figure grow smaller and smaller.