In the final years of the Hongshun era, a great famine struck the land. A dou of rice cost three thousand five hundred coins, people ate people, the common folk rebelled, and countless heroes fell to their knees…

In the last year, the last day, the last hour, the army besieging Qingfeng Prefecture had surrounded the city for two months when suddenly dozens of shooting stars fell from the sky. One massive fragment smashed a huge crater through the impregnable south gate of Qingfeng, instantly destroying the city walls. Fifty li away, Yandu suddenly lost its shield, and just like that, the realm changed hands and the territories were unified once more. History would come to call this the first year of Yong’an.

That same year, on that same day, at that same hour, outside the outer wall of Qingfeng Prefecture, twenty-five li away at the base of Baiquan Mountain, outside the wall of the Wenshan Temple, Qiqian’er sat curled up with her head bloodied, arms wrapped around her knees. She trembled from hunger, terrified out of her wits, feeling only a dazed, floating, forlorn haze…

Moments earlier, the trembling earth had flung her high into the air and slammed her against the temple wall, bloodying her head.

Half an hour before that, she had still been huddled with her stepmother’s household, trembling in an old vegetable cellar outside the city. When the hunger became unbearable, her stepmother had told everyone to draw lots—whoever drew the marked one would go out to find food.

Qiqian’er, her head bloody, was not so foolish that she failed to realize this was simply her stepmother’s scheme. Otherwise why would it be her, Wu Rong, and Liu Ning who drew the lots? At the time she hadn’t even known how to read—how would she have known what was written on them? They had simply meant to send her to her death.

However much resentment she felt in her heart, Qiqian’er remained curled up, not moving a muscle. Inside the nearby Wenshan Temple, she could hear the clash of weapons and shouts of slaughter—and then half a bloody severed arm came flying out of the courtyard and landed right in front of her.

Qiqian’er’s heart seized. She turned to crawl away, but had gone only a few steps when she caught sight of a row of large willow trees at the base of Baiquan Mountain not far off. Her ears rang, and an old memory replayed over and over in her mind.

…Beneath the great willow trees, a plump child, sturdy as a bear cub, sat astride a frail, sickly-looking boy, laughing loudly. The boy’s face was pale, cold sweat covering it as he crawled forward slowly on the ground—and whenever he paused, the stout child would whip him mercilessly with a small lash…

Qiqian’er’s body, which had been about to flee, froze as though pinned to the ground by an iron nail. She kept telling herself: don’t be afraid! Don’t run… don’t be afraid, don’t run!

She did not run.

And so, she went against her own nature. Unlike in her previous life, she did not, upon hearing the commotion and seeing the severed arm, scramble away in terror. She didn’t even know how long she’d crawled before fear and hunger made her faint… That time, too, she had been lucky. When she came to, she found herself in an abandoned, overgrown field, and saw a field mouse scurry into its burrow. And so, with her own hands, seven of her ten fingernails torn away, bloody, she had dug out a nest of field mice along with a bit of their hoarded grain. Foolish as she’d been then, she had carefully guarded that food all the way back to the cellar. Her stepmother, seeing her “merit,” had even rewarded her with a small mouse to eat.

At the time, she had actually felt grateful, had even kowtowed to Madam in thanks.

Thinking of this now, Qiqian’er slapped herself hard, once on each cheek.

From the moment of her birth she had been shut away in the back courtyard, raised by no one, forced to survive on her own. No one had ever told her that a person, however bitterly they lived, needed to keep at least an ounce or two of backbone.

She had had no backbone. She had lived and died as soft as mud, swallowing every humiliation.

Who could have imagined she would come back?

Joy and fury, grief and hatred all rose in her at once. Step by step, she crawled backward to the spot she’d just fled from, forced herself to sit, and when her body tried to flee again, she bit her own arm until it bled. One bite wasn’t enough—she bit a second time, and even sucked at her own blood.

That severed arm lay bleeding half a foot before her eyes, white bone gleaming, raw red flesh exposed. Though there was nothing in her stomach, she retched silently anyway.

Terror threatened to overwhelm her. But—she could not run!

She didn’t know how long passed before smoke began rising over Qingfeng city. Following a scream from within the courtyard, everything around fell utterly silent.

After a moment, a shrill voice, barely human, rang out: “Hurry it along! Qingfeng’s fallen, and all that’s left of Hongshun’s loyal bones is us lot. Our Sixth Master’s got nothing left but this bit of stock—get it all cleared away properly, cover up whatever needs covering, and don’t let anything slip.”

From inside the temple came low murmurs of assent and the sounds of things being moved. Then someone spoke up: “Chief Steward, everything’s counted—only Chang’er is missing an arm…” Before he even finished, the shrill voice cursed again: “You fool of a son, if it’s not in the courtyard it flew outside it! Go find it, now!”

Qiqian’er released her bitten arm. She glanced quickly left and right—she didn’t know where the strength came from—first wiping away the sour vomit with her arm, then rolling and struggling her way through a dog-hole hidden by weeds, into the courtyard of the Wenshan Temple itself.

In the old temple in deep autumn, though there was activity within the courtyard, Qiqian’er’s heart had gone strangely calm. She lay still, crept quietly… She knew that she was different now, that she had surely broken through some barrier she’d never had before.

She crawled out from the dog-hole, and using the tall autumn grass for cover, watched as, over by an old dry well, corpses were being thrown in, followed by the sound of buckets of tung oil being poured in—the sound climbing all the way up into the hollow of the old locust tree.

She had been to this temple before. In the past, when hunger drove her mad with worry, she and Liu Ning’er used to crawl out through the ancestral hall’s dog-hole to steal offering fruit here.

Few in this world dared touch anything belonging to the Wenshan Temple, but when people are starved half out of their minds, they care nothing for which god’s domain it is. Even if she’d truly encountered a bodhisattva, starved as she was, for the sake of staying alive, she wouldn’t have minded biting off a piece of its flesh.

Besides, that old monk used to say that even bodhisattvas, before attaining enlightenment, had given up their own bodies plenty of times—better to give to her than to someone else.

Qiqian’er knew the old locust tree was hollow inside; she and Liu Ning’er used to hide things there too. No one dared steal from within the Wenshan Temple—in the eyes of ordinary people, this was the most malevolent temple in the world, one to be avoided the moment it came into view.

The courtyard was still in chaotic motion. Qiqian’er curled up inside the hollow of the tree and watched quietly as the killing continued outside. Her teeth chattered and she bit her arm, not daring to look, forcing her eyelids open with her one free hand.

She watched as the remaining men in the courtyard threw corpses into the oil-soaked dry well. She even counted—twelve lay on the ground, three were carrying corpses back and forth, and one more stood by the gate. So there were four still living in the courtyard.

These men wore refugees’ clothing, but their bodies, sturdy and robust, were unlike anyone else she had seen. At the very least, in the firelight and black smoke, their faces gleamed with an oily sheen.

Once the courtyard had been cleared, the bloodstains swept away, the shrill voice by the gate spoke again: “Tsk, how pitiful—all cleaned up?”

The three men lined up and bowed in reply: “Reporting to the Chief Steward, all cleaned up.”

With the experience of two lifetimes, Qiqian’er understood at once—this “Chief Steward” must be a eunuch from the palace. In her previous life she had lived first on Quanqian Street, and later that “Stinkhead” had risen to an official post in the capital, so she had seen plenty of men like this.

What had struck her most was that the younger ones were fine, but the old eunuchs who’d fallen on hard times walked with their legs splayed out, and you could smell the stench of urine on them before they even arrived.

The mention of Stinkhead brought a flood of old memories surging back and forth in her mind. The more Qiqian’er thought of it, the more she hated herself. In her past life she had resented Stinkhead for his low rank and dullness, for failing to protect his wife and children; she had resented him for ignoring the sons and daughters she had borne the Chen family and instead siding with them.

But after all that resentment and hatred, only in her old age had she finally come to clarity…

She had hated the wrong person entirely!

Now she understood—before cursing others, she herself was the useless thing deserving to be hacked to pieces. She hadn’t even been able to protect her own child; she wasn’t fit to call herself a mother!

Just as bitterness was rising in her, Qiqian’er’s eyes caught the sharpest, most forceful movement she had ever seen in her life—a force so precise it could almost be called beautiful. No—not beautiful, but clean, efficient, like the way Stinkhead used to swing a cleaver through a pig’s head in his younger, stronger days.

The Chief Steward gave an eerie laugh and said, “Good! Good! You’re all my good sons. When we get back, you’ll all be rewarded—you’ve all done meritorious service, when we return…” Before he even finished speaking, a person suddenly flew into the air.

Qiqian’er saw his form drift out like something ghostly, then his two hands shot out and gripped the necks of the two men before him. Before her mind could even process it, she heard two crisp cracking sounds—and before she could process even that, the old eunuch’s right arm swung back and clamped down; she had no idea what technique he’d used, only that his right shoulder twisted backward and there was another small crack, and the man built like a black tower was instantly crushed to death as well.

At the sound of three dull thuds hitting the ground, Qiqian’er stared with wide eyes, unable to believe it. Three lives? Just like that, gone?

People raised by their parents, nursed through infancy, whose mothers had shed blood and tears over every scraped knee—grown men, alive one moment—just dead?

Just a crack, and dead?

Across two lifetimes, she had been a dull, ignorant woman—poor, struggling, suffocated with frustration, humiliated to the point of near-death. If a neighbor’s chicken went missing and the owner cursed in the street over it, Qiqian’er would prop herself on a brick and watch the whole spectacle from beginning to end as if it were the greatest event imaginable, then discuss it for at least two more months afterward.

But now—she was watching people be killed!

Her heart trembled, yet not from fear—inexplicably, her spirit yearned toward it.

She wanted to do something too.

In a daze, she felt as though a ball of fire burned in her chest, as if some enormous power were smearing this scene of slaughter before her with a thrilling, satisfying feeling.

She watched with insatiable hunger, wanting to be like that too—to possess that wolfish ruthlessness, that hawk-like ferocity. If she could, she would want to kill this whole cursed world right now… then everyone would finally be clean.

She sat motionless, watching the Chief Steward in the courtyard toss the corpses into the tung-oil-filled dry well as easily as picking up baby chicks, then carry in several more buckets of fresh tung oil from a cart outside the courtyard and pour them all into the well.

A torch was thrown in, and before long, thick black smoke and the smell of fire filled the whole courtyard.

The heat from the flames quickly scorched up from the ground to the locust tree’s roots, then climbed from the roots into the hollow trunk. But Qiqian’er remained motionless, punishing herself, sweat covering her head, refusing to move.

She didn’t know how much more time passed before the smoke over Qingfeng city surged skyward and the black smoke in the courtyard began to thin. Only then did she see clearly—the Chief Steward stood with both hands tucked into his sleeves, staring blankly into the distance…

This old eunuch was crying! Someone so ruthless—what was he crying for? Qiqian’er couldn’t understand it. Then she saw the old eunuch’s tears hadn’t even reached the ground before he clutched his chest and spat out a mouthful of black blood…

The Chief Steward vomited for a long while, then struggled to swallow several medicine pills he’d brought with him. Afterward, he lay on the ground laughing loudly, even howling: “It hurts! It hurts! What… what a relief!”

That sound was deeply unpleasant, like the hooting of a night owl on her family’s roof the night before her own mother-in-law had died, laughing the whole night through.

How pleasing to the ear…

Qiqian’er watched the old eunuch with boundless envy and greed, thinking to herself: if only she were him. To act so recklessly, so freely, following his own will without restraint… Look at him—he wasn’t even afraid of dying; even facing death he seemed so pleased with himself.

After his laughter faded, the old eunuch suddenly began cursing loudly: “Sixth Master—Sixth Master! Truly this old servant’s good Sixth Master! What a righteous Sixth Master! Good! Good! Good! Truly a Sixth Master of deep scheming and clever wit… Retribution! It’s retribution!”

The heat inside the hollow tree was stifling; Qiqian’er’s head was covered in sweat. As she listened to the old eunuch cursing without pause, she thought, oddly, that this old eunuch wasn’t much good at cursing at all—compared to the aunties back in the camp, he wasn’t even in the same league.

She didn’t know how much longer passed before the old eunuch, apparently tired of cursing, climbed to his feet and crawled his way into the Wenshan Temple itself…

Seeing him crawl off, Qiqian’er let out the breath she’d been holding, and, weak with exhaustion and hunger inside the tree hollow, drifted into a daze… By the time the sky had just begun to lighten, Qiqian’er trembled her way out of the tree hollow, forced to do so—she felt that staying hidden in this old tree any longer would kill her; the wood itself had grown scorching hot as if on fire.

Once she’d crawled out, the smell of tree sap faded from her nose and she caught the smell of roasted meat drifting through the courtyard—the fragrance nearly did her in. Once the smell of roasted meat passed, the courtyard filled instead with a sickening, charred stench, and she couldn’t bear it any longer.

She had no idea where she found the courage, but she staggered her way toward the main hall of the Wenshan Temple. She had originally thought she might eat the offering fruit on the altar table, but upon entering the hall, what she saw before the altar was a square opening, gaping like the gate of hell itself.

Looking up, she saw that the fierce beast the god of plague rode upon had its jaw dislocated, mouth hanging open toward the sky. Looking around, she saw the Chief Steward sitting motionless beneath the beast’s head, eyes wide open.

Was he dead? Well—he had vomited so many bowls of blood, it was no wonder he couldn’t survive.

Starved half out of her mind, Qiqian’er crawled onto the altar table without hesitation and grabbed a plate of dried, mold-covered offering fruit and began gnawing on it.

As she ate, she thought—after all these years, offering fruit that mice had gnawed on in this temple still tasted just as good!

Unfortunately, that was to be her last meal for some time. After the fall of Qingfeng, chaos reigned for nearly half a month. At first the new authorities distributed porridge for relief for a few days, but as more and more refugees poured in, soon even moldy offering fruit became scarce—people had already stripped tree bark and grass roots bare.

Eating desperately, Qiqian’er went from feeling revived to choking, in less than the space of a breath. Unable to catch her breath, she pounded her fist against her chest, to no effect.

Choking, her eyes slowly rolled back and she toppled off the altar table.

As she struggled, a gleaming, silver-mouthed gourd flask rolled slowly out from beneath the beast’s head.

Qiqian’er glanced over and grabbed the flask, pulled the stopper, and poured it straight into her mouth—even though the flask held liquor instead of water, she didn’t care.

The liquor was fierce. Qiqian’er gulped down several large mouthfuls and finally felt herself come back to life, her heart burning as though she’d swallowed lamp oil.

She coughed a few times, then looked up at the old eunuch. The blood at the corner of his mouth had already dried, but his eyes gleamed with amusement as he studied her.

Qiqian’er looked at the flask in her hand, then at the courtyard—she was, after all, someone determined to live. With that thought, she scrambled up and turned to run, but the moment her foot crossed the threshold, she heard the old eunuch call out behind her: “Girl, girl—don’t be afraid. Come back! I’m dying, don’t be afraid…”

Right, he had already vomited that much blood.

Qiqian’er stopped in her tracks, standing motionless at the threshold.

Her heart pounded fiercely; she felt that if she so much as opened her mouth, her heart would leap right out of her chest. She looked at the old eunuch, then at the black hole in the ground. Across two lifetimes, having seen much of people coming and going, of events unfolding—she had some experience of the world…

She had seen something she shouldn’t have. But this old eunuch truly didn’t intend to kill her.

Qiqian’er slowly exhaled, then lowered herself down to sit straddling the threshold, taking a few more swigs of the strong liquor from the flask.

The old eunuch, too, studied this strange girl. With all his experience, he couldn’t place where this girl came from—not her attire, but her eyes, which were truly strange beyond belief.

He coughed again, and after a good while, clutching his chest, asked: “Girl, you saw everything?”

Qiqian’er blinked blankly, looked at the temple gate barred from within, and honestly nodded, thinking to herself: you’ve already vomited so much blood, why haven’t you died yet?

The old eunuch raised an eyebrow and suddenly cackled with laughter: “Heh—Heaven’s will! Heaven’s will indeed! Heaven’s justice is clear as day—no one escapes the Old Master’s watchful eye, ha ha!”

Qiqian’er thought he was thanking the wrong deity—this was the domain of the god of plague, after all.

She glanced at the god of plague, then up at the hazy sky, then finally turned back to look at the old eunuch. She said nothing to correct him, just watched him laugh, waiting for him to die.

She had never been this bold before, but somewhere deep within, a voice told her that she had spent an entire lifetime weak and spineless, and today, no matter what, she could not shrink away.

With food in her stomach and a few mouthfuls of strong liquor in her, Qiqian’er’s chest burned, and drunkenness emboldened her further. Many memories came flooding back to her.

After the fall of Qingfeng, some refugees had fled to the Wenshan Temple, hoping to find food just as she had—but they had discovered a fortune hidden there instead… many had died in the frenzy of looting that followed.

So that was how it was. That Sixth Master had schemed to bring about this old eunuch’s death, yet this old eunuch had cut off any path for that family to rise again.

As for who that family was—she wasn’t foolish. Wasn’t it that very family, the one whose misdeeds had brought calamity upon these countless common folk, whose corpses now littered the land, punished by Heaven itself?

Serves that family of beasts right for falling.

As she thought this, Qiqian’er felt her head growing heavier and heavier. She leaned back slightly against the doorframe as she drank, and the old eunuch’s shrill voice rose again, broken and halting, in her ear: “Girl, do you know what’s down there?”

Growing dizzier still, Qiqian’er looked up at the old eunuch and, being an honest sort, said plainly: “Nothing but gold, silver, and jewels, I’d guess.” Then she added, sneering: “Can such things buy your life back?”

The old eunuch’s face froze at once.