The next day, renowned families from nearby towns and cities rode into North Pine, carriages gleaming and banners snapping in the late summer wind. The little town felt twice its size. Hawkers set up extra stalls at the crossroads. Bakers tripled their bread. Children craned their necks to watch lines of riders in lacquered leather pass beneath the gate.
The soldiers stationed in town linked up with the estate guards and a squad of Ning household Knight Apprentices. Postings doubled, patrols rotated faster, and every alley that fed into the square had a watchman by midmorning.
Inside the Ning estate, the banquet pavilions were strung with pale blue silk. Servants moved like a tide between tables, carrying platters heaped with roast river fish and honeyed roots. As the star of the celebration, Jiang Ning wore formal dark indigo with a white sash. He smiled, bowed, traded toasts, and answered the same ten questions from twenty different nobles without letting his cup empty.
He lifted his gaze once and found a familiar trio near the garden colonnade.
They are finally here.
"Excuse me," he said to the pair of minor lords in front of him, then slipped away through the crowd.
"Vince. Good to see you." Jiang Ning's smile warmed as he stepped into the light.
Vince jolted as if someone had clapped behind his ear. He had actually combed his hair for once and crammed himself into a clean blue tunic. "My lord!"
Behind him stood the two shop attendants, Herlene and Criselda, in simple dresses that somehow looked new. They both bowed at once.
"Greetings, Lord Ning," the women said together.
"How are you three?" Jiang Ning asked.
Vince answered without thinking. "The kids are still learning the process. Clumsy hands, but obedient hearts."
Jiang Ning sighed in mock defeat. "I did not ask about work, Vince."
"Oh." Vince scratched the back of his head, sheepishly. "Right. Sorry."
"What about you two?" Jiang Ning turned to the women.
Herlene tilted her chin a fraction, suddenly aware of herself, the way sunlight touched the line of her cheek. "I have been well, my lord. Thank you for asking."
She had always had a dangerous figure, but her face had been an uneven battlefield before the scented soap. Now her skin was smooth and even, and the faint lily fragrance that clung to her matched her new confidence.
Criselda blushed. "I am doing great, my lord." She looked healthier, clearer-eyed, and her shoulders were less hunched. Even her shy voice had a steadier rhythm.
"I am glad to hear it," Jiang Ning said. "You both look well. Keep using our product and make the nobles ask you for your secret."
The women giggled, stealing glances at one another, at him, at the ring on his finger as if it revealed something about the future.
Jiang Ning lingered a little longer, then moved on. William stood at the edge of a column of guests, a few of the orphanage children clustered behind him like little sparrows. The retired knight's posture was still straight enough to hang a sword on.
"Sir William." Jiang Ning reached out, and the old man clasped his hand.
"Congratulations on your advancement, my lord," William said. There was pride there that did not belong to a subject alone. It was the pride of a mentor who had seen young men stand up straight after falling.
"Compared to you, I have a long road to walk," Jiang Ning said with a soft laugh.
William shook his head. "I am an old blade on the wall. You are the weapon that will be used." He glanced down at the children. "They are very excited to be here."
Jiang Ning crouched and spoke with the children for a while, asking for names and telling them there was spicy candied fruit by the southern tent. He sent them after it with permission to eat until their tongues burned.
By noon, the servants brought out more food and another wave of guests. The courtyard buzzed. A young man in a leather vest climbed atop a step and clapped his hands.
"Friends," he called, loud and bright, "I am Dylann Heinrich, son of Baron Smith Heinrich of Redonia."
Heads turned. Dylann was tall and sun-browned, hair the color of straw and eyes like river glass. He wore his confidence like a cloak.
"To make this event even more exciting," he said, grinning, "why do we not hold a friendly competition between our knights?"
Faces turned like flowers toward the sun. Even those who had been pretending not to watch were suddenly attentive. Dylann's gaze roamed the crowd and found Jiang Ning. He gave a pleasant nod.
"That is a fine suggestion," Qin Ning said from near the dais. The smile on his lips was mild. There was a glint in his eyes that was not.
"What do you think, Lord Ren?" a minor lord asked. As host and as baron of North Pine, Ren Ning's was the only opinion that mattered.
Ren looked at the eager faces and lifted his hands in surrender. "Very well. If you all wish to see steel dance, this old man will not spoil your mood."
Dylann bowed with flourish. "Then I would ask that Lord Ren serve as officiant."
"That is fine." Ren stepped forward a pace. "What are your rules, Dylann?"
"Simple," Dylann said. "Single combat. Each household sends its knights. Winners remain. Last knight standing takes the honor."
Ren nodded. "Clear enough. Any objections?"
"None."
"Agreed."
"Sounds fair."
The affirmations came quickly, like a rain of pebbles.
Ren moved to the center of the courtyard. "Households that wish to participate, send your knights forward."
The first wave came in a rush. Veterans with scarred knuckles. Young knights with sharp new armor. One by one, they stepped into the cleared space and gave their names. Scribes at the side table wrote them in a neat column. The hum in the crowd grew louder, an animal sound of anticipation.
There were fifteen volunteers before the line thinned. The last of them was Dylann himself. He shed his vest and rolled his sleeves, the muscles of his forearms marked by the string scars of a man who shot often.
"It seems Lord Dylann trusts his own skill," someone murmured. "Will he survive long against the older ones?"
"Sir Anthony is here," another whispered, tilting his chin toward a middle-aged knight whose plain leather armor could not hide the polished calm of experience. "If he joins, he is the favorite."
The murmur wove through the guests and snagged on a voice that cut cleanly across it.
"My beloved nephew," Qin Ning called, smiling as if this was all a sweet joke between family, "why do you not join the fun?"
Heads turned. Fans stilled. More than one noble hid a smirk behind a cup. The House Ning knights looked from uncle to nephew, measuring the angles of what could follow.
What kind of bullshit does he have planned now?