Qin's Moon: Yang Shi's Long Song

The day after the establishment of Liusha, Han Fei summoned Yang Hui to his private room.

This time he brought no wine, no books, no paper. He brought an old booklet covered in kraft paper, the pages worn and the corners curled, the cover blank. He placed the booklet on the table, sat down opposite Yang Hui, and said, "Take a look." Then he pushed the booklet towards him.

Yang Hui took it. The moment the kraft paper cover was opened, he smelled the stale scent of old paper—not the smell of ink, but the unique smell of paper that had been repeatedly flipped through, put away, and rewritten. He opened the cover, and the first page he saw was a picture. It wasn't a map, but lines and arrows connecting names of people and places, a line running from the upper left to the lower right, then branching out in three directions from the lower right. Next to each name was a number, some in ink, some in charcoal, and some that had been crossed out and then rewritten next to them.

He turned to the second page. This page had denser text, no illustrations, just a table of names and numbers. The numbers after each name were of two types—"in" and "out." "In" represented the amount of money flowing in, and "out" represented the amount flowing out. Every line of inflow and outflow eventually converged in the same direction—a node he labeled "General's Mansion." He turned to the third, fourth, and fifth pages. Each page repeated the same pattern: lines converging from all directions ultimately converged at a single point. That point was marked with a single word: "Night."

Yang Hui stopped when he turned to page seven. In the upper left corner of that page was a name: Liu Yi. Next to the name was a circle with a horizontal line drawn around it—meaning confirmed dead. The note below the name was brief: "Died in his residence, reported as a dead man. The next day, his accounting room caught fire, and all the account books were destroyed." Yang Hui didn't look up and continued turning the page. On the middle right of page eight was another name: Han Qian. There was no note after it saying "dead," nor a circle, but two lines extended from beside his name—one connecting to the General's residence, and the other to the "North Gate." Han Qian was the officer on duty at the North Gate.

He folded a corner of the page and continued turning the pages. He reached the last page; it was blank.

The entire booklet, from the first page to the second-to-last page, was filled with dense, repeatedly revised information. Only the last page was blank. Han Fei's voice came from the other side: "The last page is for you. After you've read the rest, fill it in yourself."

Yang Hui closed the booklet and placed it on the table without pushing it back. He looked at Han Fei and asked, "You've been investigating for three years, why are you giving it to me now?"

Han Fei didn't answer immediately. He stood up, walked to the window, and opened it. The afternoon breeze blew in, carrying the scent of grass from the fields outside the city. Leaning against the window frame, he looked at the rooftops across the street and said, "Because it was for my own benefit before. I knew the court in Xinzheng was a net, but I wasn't sure if I could lift it. I investigated for three years—the first year I believed I could, the second year I didn't, the third year I just investigated casually—and then you came."

He turned to look at Yang Hui. "After you came, I thought: before, I was the only one looking at the ledgers; now there's another person to look at them. A ledger looked at by one person is just a ledger; a ledger looked at by two people is evidence."

Yang Hui paused for a moment. He glanced down at the booklet and said, "You marked 'night' in it—is it 'nightfall'?"

"Yes," Han Fei said. "Ji Wuye is the chess piece, but the chessboard is the entire city of Xinzheng. I've been investigating for three years, and I've discovered that 'Nightfall' is a net that doesn't just cover Xinzheng—its threads extend beyond the city, into the state of Wei, and into unknown places. Isn't your second senior brother investigating something outside? He's probably investigating the same thread."

He sat back down at the desk and pushed the booklet in front of Yang Hui. "For the past three years, I've thought about burning it every year. Then I realized—it's not that it should be burned, it's that someone should use it."

Yang Hui tucked the booklet into his robes. Its thickness pressed against his chest, alongside the bamboo slips of the Heavenly Secrets and Han Fei's manuscript. Three things, three different weights. He said, "How long will it take you to understand this?"

"I've figured it out," Han Fei said. "When you use it, remember to turn to page eight and don't miss the 'North Gate' entry."

Yang Hui stood up and walked to the door. He turned his head and said, "That guy on page eight—I've seen his brother. He sells fish in the west of the city."

Han Fei sat by the window, the afternoon breeze blowing in from outside. He held a cup of now-cold tea and said, "Does he know why you're here?"

Yang Hui stopped at the door: "He only knows I'm buying things."

Han Fei chuckled: "Then you'll soon learn how to hide account books in the night market too."

Yang Hui didn't answer, opened the door and went out.