Once the fighting was over, where would they go? What would they do?

Right — the question of what a person ought to do, where to go — for Chen Dasheng, this had never really been something he needed to worry about. He was used to waiting for someone else to tell him, to give him orders.

When he was very young, Chen Dasheng had also been curious about the world. He’d once asked his tall, imposing father, but his father had said, “Why think about all that? You just follow your grandfather and your older brothers, keep the family’s land in good shape, and when autumn comes and the grain’s harvested, your grandfather will have money, and first he’ll get your cousins settled with their own households. Once your brothers marry, then it’ll be your turn to marry. Your wife will bear you sons, and when you die, they’ll make offerings for you, and you’ll have ancestral food to eat…”

Ancestral offerings, how nice — fine-flour steamed cakes as offerings, fat chicken, dried jujubes to eat as much as you liked, and wine to drink.

His father’s greatest wish in life had been, after death, for his sons and grandsons to offer him a proper meal of ancestral sacrifices.

Later, when they fled famine, that night his mother and sister were taken away. He’d wanted to go out and risk his life with his grandmother, but his father had dragged him back and slapped him. His father had said again, “Don’t go out! Just hide! Listen to me… if you listen, there’s a way to live…” He listened, kept listening and listening, until he heard that his father had died and wasn’t coming back.

So who was he supposed to listen to after that?

Later the general came, and the general said, if you listen, there’s a way to live, high office and generous pay, whatever you want, you’ll have…

He absently touched the half sheepskin pouch tied at his waist and muttered quietly, “It’s over then.”

Chen Dasheng lazily stretched, leaning against the pillar; feeling his feet uncomfortable, he pulled off his old boots, revealing a pair of dark, grimy big feet.

His brothers were nearly overcome by the smell; they covered their noses and scrambled away, then went back to peering over the wall to watch the spectacle.

And so, Chen Dasheng, quite comfortably, gazed up at the sky and said, “Idiots…”

Little did he know.

At that moment, outside Fengyi Hall in the palace, Cao Shi — the woman His Majesty had married after his first wife’s early death — had overturned the entire table.

Fine porcelain lay shattered across the floor… outside the empty, level main hall, hundreds of palace attendants knelt in silence.

“They’re cursing me to only bear princesses, and cursing my children not to live long!”

Cao Shi ground her teeth, suppressing her fury as she spoke.

The attending matron, ever perceptive, took a teacup from a maid and offered it up with both hands, then bowed and withdrew.

These old palace attendants, however sensible or clever they might be, simply couldn’t be trusted by their new mistress.

Cao Shi naturally had no intention of confiding in the old palace staff. She took the cup, drank a few sips, and only then went out to the hall’s exterior, sitting on a chair draped with phoenix-patterned satin, carefully mulling over the intruder’s intentions.

This person had come and gone without a trace, stealing only the offerings from the Seventh Aunt’s altar during her first ritual sacrifice.

What could this person’s intention possibly be? Was it meant to tell everyone she was incapable of controlling the rear palace? As for the second matter — the Seventh Aunt Goddess was the Heavenly Emperor’s daughter, the deity who protected the wisdom, health, and grace of all girls in the world. Stealing her offerings — that was aimed squarely at her own daughters. This was a curse!

How vicious. But who could this person be?

Just as she was seething, a eunuch entered below to report that Meng Dichen of Jiu Si Tang had arrived. Hearing this, Cao Shi immediately composed her expression and looked, face impassive, toward the distant palace gate.

That group’s robes rustled slightly as they formed two lines and strode swiftly forward; upon nearing, they knelt together. The one leading wore a six-beam crown and the blue-and-red ceremonial robes for sacrificial rites. His features were dignified and upright, a light beard on his chin, phoenix eyes, a straight nose, handsome bearing. Once properly kneeling, he solemnly kowtowed and said, “This official is at fault! This official has failed in his duties!”

Cao Shi wanted to fling the teacup in her hand, but her upbringing restrained her; she had to force herself into an air of indifference, smiling as she said, “It’s not such a big matter — really, going to all this trouble isn’t necessary.”

“Yet it is our fault, to have alarmed Her Highness. Please be at ease, Your Highness — we will immediately assign more staff and investigate the lapse thoroughly. From today on, nothing of this sort will happen again…”

“No need!” Cao Shi cut him off, her voice flat as she declined again. “No need!”

Her gaze met Meng Dichen’s, and between them there wasn’t a shred of mutual respect.

Meng Dichen felt inward contempt. Cao Shi of Anyue, entering Fengyi Palace without decree or summons — did she think that just by standing here she was already Empress? His Majesty had only just performed the sacrifice to Heaven and ascended the throne; there was still no clear ruling on the rear palace consorts.

Though Cao Shi was his remarried second wife, times were different now from before. Until an edict came down, she remained Cao Shi, not Empress.

Cao Shi hadn’t even addressed Meng Dichen by his official title as Head of Jiu Si Tang. What did second rank even matter? Go ask around — throughout all the dynasties, through spring, summer, autumn, and winter offices, when had there ever been a “Jiu Si Tang”?

And a Chief Commander of Jiu Si Tang, no less?

Go check the ceremonial texts, look at the laws of past dynasties… her brother always said it correctly — that promoting men without proper scholarly or martial pedigree, favoring these rough outsiders, went against the teachings of the sages. Only by putting the proper people in the proper halls could each fulfill their office… What did these rough men from the jianghu, gathered by the Second Prince, understand of being capable officials? What did they understand of statecraft?

Yet these people had, simply through their ties to that illegitimate son’s chaotic underworld connections, wormed their way into positions of real power — truly abandoning the welfare of the common people, deeply worrying indeed.

Cao Shi patted the arm of her chair and forced a thin smile. “Why bother with all this — when nothing’s settled yet, it’s just a few offering dishes. Could it be… could it be His Majesty has heard of this?”

She hadn’t given him leave to rise, so Meng Dichen could only reply from his kneeling position. “Reporting to Your Highness — His Majesty is furious, and has sent us to thoroughly investigate this matter.”

At these words, a genuine smile finally crossed Cao Shi’s face. She smoothed her hair and glanced at the trembling former palace attendants kneeling below, thinking to herself — so this really is a different era now. No wonder the Grand Marshal had abandoned even his own father for this dynasty.

How high up this place was — one could see everything so clearly from here.

Back when she’d been in the Commander’s residence, she’d never had such power; as long as that old lady was alive, her days had been nothing but suffering.

Speaking of which, this intruder was rather capable — first assassinating the Emperor and frightening off the old Empress Dowager, and now coming to make trouble in her own domain, all without leaving a trace. This left her uneasy, unsure what to do.

Cao Shi’s mouth twisted slightly as she put on a grateful expression. “His Majesty is always like this — oh, what could possibly happen to us women? It’s him I worry about — how many days has it been since he’s rested properly? Now that things out front have just stabilized, His Majesty has so much to attend to, and here I’ve only just taken up managing the rear palace… ah, in a couple of days it’ll be fine.

You go back… His Majesty can’t do without you either. I’ve already sent someone to fetch my elder brother. Tomorrow, please trouble yourself, Master Meng, to verify the identities of the newcomers — I don’t trust anyone here, since they’re all from the old dynasty… Please arrange it, and just give them each a few strings of settlement money to send them on their way. Don’t harm their lives — if they’d truly been capable of something, they wouldn’t still be here now.”

The kneeling attendants finally breathed a sigh of relief; hearing Cao Shi say this, some wailed aloud in gratitude for her mercy.

Meng Dichen’s mouth twitched; prostrate on the ground, he said, “Yes! This official obeys…”

Chen Dasheng had no idea that a few bowls of food could ruin someone’s career. Having eaten their fill and enjoyed the spectacle, only as the sky began to gray toward dawn did they finally start slipping along the small paths, trying to leave the palace.

This time, though, it wasn’t so smooth — sentries were posted every few steps, guards every few paces. Having dodged people through many twists and turns, they finally reached the outer perimeter exit, only to be stopped by a group of guards in brand-new long armor, swords at their sides.

As dozens of blades were drawn halfway from their sheaths, someone shouted, “Halt! Who goes there!”

Guan Si’er and the others instantly huddled behind Chen Dasheng.

It was tradition in the Long Saber Battalion that the strong led and the weak followed — their method of attack was, whoever was capable charged in front… if you died, the next one stepped up and kept on dying.

Chen Dasheng found himself at a loss. General Tan Er had told them, once you joined the Long Saber Battalion, you no longer counted yourself among the living — from then on, you were a blade of the Tan family army, sent out to be sharpened through battle merit. Sharpen well and you become a fine edge; sharpen poorly and you chip and lose your life, and either way, no one held grudges — everyone was the same, it was simply fate.

If Heaven wanted to take you, no one could stop it!

That’s what they said, but Chen Dasheng still wanted to keep living.

He wondered, puzzled — a new dynasty now, what did that make him?

If he was a meritorious officer, surely his superiors wouldn’t just abandon him in the palace and ignore him. Look at others — even their warhorses had fine armor…

Once that group of men had drawn their blades and surrounded them fully, the leading gate officer came over to size him up.

Chen Dasheng, none too confident, tried tentatively, “…Good… people?”

He supposed they counted as good people — the Grand Marshal had won, after all, and that was something even Heaven had acknowledged.

The gate officer carefully inspected this ragtag group in half-quilted soft armor, their clothes tattered, an inescapable stench of unwashed bodies mingled with the sickening odor of sweat and blood.

He was nearly knocked backward by the smell, covering his nose as he stepped back a few paces and said with disgust, “What sort of people are you?”

Hadn’t he just told him? Good people. We’re all on the same side! All good people together!

Wasn’t that right?

Chen Dasheng consulted his conscience and, quite earnestly, replied, “Reporting to sir… good people!”

The old dynasty in Qingfeng City had already been struck down by Heaven’s punishment.

This officer nearly laughed himself sick — “good people,” what a joke, was this fellow simple-minded? He looked over their tattered clothes and dented helmets — a common enough sight before, but rare these days.

This group had crawled out from who-knew-where, some bunch of low-ranking, disorganized foot soldiers who’d apparently been wandering the palace for who knew how many days.

Thinking this, he reached out with his right hand to grab Chen Dasheng by the collarbone.

Chen Dasheng’s body moved without conscious thought, shifting his shoulder in a smooth arc that followed the man’s motion, and he ended up standing at the officer’s left hand.

The gate officer’s hand closed on empty air; he was momentarily stunned.

No wonder — it was fright, shock.

This man’s movements were far too nimble and slippery; he felt that no matter how many times he tried, he simply wouldn’t be able to catch him.

Chen Dasheng’s movements were small — he didn’t even lift his head, just a slight sidestep — but behind him, the six others moved like a single centipede, the motion small in front and progressively larger toward the back; however the last man moved, however wide his steps, in the end they all stuck together like one connected creature, impossible to separate.

The scene was genuinely bizarre.

Blades were drawn fully from their sheaths all around, one sound after another ringing out. Chen Dasheng hurriedly pulled his identity token from the half-pouch at his waist and held it up. “Really, really we’re good people!”

Having killed so many, he still wanted to be a person of clean conscience.

The gate guard hesitated, then took the token and examined both sides carefully.

The token was crude, thin bronze sandwiching a sliver of wood at its core; the front bore the character “Tan,” the back the surname “Chen,” marked with the numeral seven, and below on the back was an iron-branded military camp seal — this was clearly a veteran of veterans, one who hadn’t even served ten years yet.

At this, the officer’s tone grew respectful, and he asked gently, “Ahem, you, sir — what do you mean, good people, bad people? I’m asking which unit you belong to, and when did you enter?”

Chen Dasheng was puzzled — wasn’t it written right there on the token? Why ask again? Could it be this man, like him, couldn’t read either?

He cupped his hands apologetically and replied, “Reporting to sir, we’re from the Long Saber Battalion under General Tan Changde of the Right Route Army…”

“Wh-what?”

The gate officer cried out in shock, and murmurs spread through the surrounding crowd.

Before, they’d only heard rumors — could it be they were seeing living members of the Long Saber Battalion?

This was a living legend.

The soldiers all widened their eyes to look closely, staring until Guan Si’er and the others grew increasingly uncomfortable.

His Majesty had no shortage of capable men and skilled generals under his command, but among that multitude, a few names stood especially tall — His Majesty’s personal guard, the Leopard Battalion; the Second Prince’s Iron Armor Battalion; and within the Tan family army, the Long Saber Battalion.

Compared to the first two, the Long Saber Battalion’s fame went back even further — it had existed before the Second Prince’s Iron Armor Army even existed.

It was said that when the battalion was first formed, General Tan Er personally selected two thousand strong young men from various scattered forces, and after layers of selection, kept five hundred soldiers — from the moment His Majesty first raised his banner, the Long Saber Battalion had been doing the work of countering enemy cavalry.

Under the previous dynasty, the most famous force for hundreds of years had been the Black Cavalry Guard, and the Long Saber Battalion was specifically formed to counter that Black Cavalry — their long sabers were made especially to counter mounted combat techniques.

Young soldiers like these had heard many legends over the years — of great figures with their hammers and their staffs, thousand-gold warhorses, mountain-moving strategists… but such lofty things were hard to imagine, too grand. These lower-ranking soldiers preferred stories about the Long Saber Battalion — after all, this was a legend for the common foot soldier.

It had been just last year that His Majesty rewarded the three armies — the veterans of the Long Saber Battalion, regardless of age, were all immediately granted the rank of Guǒgǎn Captain and received first-tier military pay.

That was earned through merit — no one could reasonably be jealous of that.

People also said the Long Saber Battalion’s blades were a palm’s length longer than ordinary long sabers, their swordsmanship vicious and direct — one swing and whatever it struck, man or horse, split cleanly in two, brutal yet beautiful work.

Beyond that, the Long Saber Battalion’s casualty rate was extraordinarily high — early on it was said most of them died impaled on spear tips, and later it was rumored they’d been wiped out entirely, especially this past year, when almost no news of their battle achievements had come through.

Right! The long saber!

This gate officer, thinking of the long saber, leaned in to look by the light of the freshly lit torch, examining the backs of this row of men.

Sure enough.

These men were pressed together in a tight, orderly line, each hugging closely to the next, heads all lowered — occasionally, when they wanted to peek at the excitement, they’d raise their heads just slightly, quick as a flash — a rapid glance, eyes darting all around in an instant, and then — whoosh — heads down again.

Truly like sharp-eyed field mice in the grass, moving too fast to catch.

Now it was clear — these men were all carrying rather long blades on their backs. The blades were wrapped in coarse cloth, points down, the tip barely a palm’s width off the ground, but the hilt behind reached a head’s length taller than the men themselves.

Seeing this, the gate officer felt a chill run through him — a blade that long, one strike with that…tsk!

Truly thrilling and fierce!

But getting closer, that smell again… the gate officer covered his nose and stepped back again, his admiration cut roughly in half by the odor. He coughed a few times and asked, “I wonder, ahem, when did you veterans enter here?”

Too pungent.

Chen Dasheng thought carefully. “…The day before yesterday, ordered to breach the South Gate… and never left since.”

The surrounding drawn blades slowly returned to their sheaths. In their final battle, the remnant forces of the old dynasty had made a desperate last stand at the palace’s South Gate; it was said the fighting there had been brutal, that General Tan Er had led his men to break through using sheer flesh and blood.

The officer’s manner grew even more deferential, his upper body bowing slightly. “Then, veteran…”

Chen Dasheng, seeing the man dressed far more impressively than himself, explained earnestly, “Not a veteran, I’m called Chen Dasheng.”

This kind of fine long armor was the sort only officers billeted in leather tents were entitled to wear.

The officer coughed violently; Chen Dasheng, quite kindly, offered him a tip. “So… so, is it cold these past few days?”

“Cough… Mm! Veteran Chen, why haven’t you left, though — Yandu fell ages ago, and His Majesty was enthroned just today…”

Was that so? Ah, right! He’d seen it too.

Chen Dasheng looked at the gray, dusty palace, the gray, dusty sky, and said slowly, “Mm, yes… we never received the order to withdraw, so we remained in place awaiting word.”

Hearing this, the surrounding soldiers all wore expressions of sorrow. Ah! The Long Saber Battalion — they’d probably never see their general again.

One nearby soldier, choked with grief, said in a low, hoarse voice, “You veterans probably don’t know yet — General Tan Er, he… he died for his country…”

Chen Dasheng blinked, looked at the men behind him, then at these grieving gate guards, puzzled by their sorrow. In times like these, who didn’t die a few every day?

Besides, none of them were even General Tan Er’s own subordinates, and they’d had no personal connection to him either.

That General Tan had been sending them to their deaths day after day — his death was, if anything, good news.

So he said, with a kind of magnanimity, “…Everyone has to die eventually. Dying out there or dying here, it’s all the same.”

What a heroic sentiment.

The interrogating officer immediately straightened his posture. “Yes! Dying for one’s country is our destiny, each of us has our duty and dares not neglect it. May I ask, veteran, why are you leaving now?”

Truly baffled, Chen Dasheng looked at him, then at his brothers behind him, and said, “Just… hungry!”

For some reason, there hadn’t been a scrap of food to smell anywhere this evening — every corner seemed occupied by people hiding and crying. This place really was inauspicious.

Ah, I see — they’ve been hungry for days!

The soldiers all felt deep sympathy, and many untied their own ration pouches to press upon Chen Dasheng and his men.

Free food for us? Well then, no need to be polite.

Chen Dasheng led the way, tying the dried ration pouches to his belt.

Having verified their identity tokens, the soldiers let them pass without much difficulty. After they’d walked quite far, a subordinate quietly asked the lead officer, “Boss, they were carrying big bundles… and you didn’t check?”

“At a time like this, this place has been looted eight times over already, those men are honest sorts — look at what they’re wearing. Hah! What could they possibly have found? The good stuff wouldn’t have gone to them anyway. Besides, was it me who was supposed to check, or you?”

“…Cough, this subordinate saw nothing.”

Once those seven men had vanished into the gray distance, someone sighed quietly, “That was the Tan family’s Long Saber Battalion.”

Chen Dasheng and the others walked a good distance, then turned a corner and broke into a run; once they reached a safe spot, panting, they opened the ration pouches on their bodies and found fine wheat flatbreads and salt-cured dried meat inside. Having deep memories of true hunger, the group looked back gratefully toward the palace, thinking together:

“There really are so many good people in this palace!”

Chewing on the dried meat, Chen Dasheng had no idea that his own home was nearby — a grand estate with an elegant spirit wall — nor did he know that his grandmother had already found him a wife… and quite a formidable one at that.

That night, Qiqian’er slept in her newly tidied room, and the old lady brought her own bedding to keep her company.

The old lady felt that from now on, she just couldn’t be without this little girl.

There was no lamp in the room that night, so the grandmother and granddaughter lay on their backs, chatting idly.

The old lady said, “Girl, are you asleep?”

“No, Grandmother, do you need to use the chamber pot?”

Qiqian’er knew the old lady’s bladder was small and frequent.

“No, I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Ask me?”

“Hey, your family — your maiden family and all that. Tell me about it, would you?”

Qiqian’er tugged at the blanket and, listening to the cricket sounds outside the window, began to remember.

“My family was just like that. I never even met my mother — they only later pointed at a grave mound and told me, you know, your mother’s buried there! They wanted to make me cry, but since I’d never even met her, I didn’t cry, and then behind my back they said I was cold-hearted.”

“Hah! What good could come from the mouths of women in the back courtyard — one household gossiping about another, tearing people down.”

“Mm, from the age of three I was mixed in with them behind the ancestral hall, boiling raw silk. I was too small to do heavy work back then, just watched the pot all day, always sleepy, and if I fell asleep I’d get beaten… but some of those aunties were pretty good to me sometimes, giving me a piece of flatbread and such. They knew quite a lot, and I learned a fair bit from them too.”

“Learning things is good!”

“Mm, it was good.”

What Qiqian’er said was actually true — near that old imperial city, the Huo family managed the imperial estates, and what the aunties talked about was often this consort in the palace, that marquis in the capital, whose old lady had celebrated her birthday and received some coral piece, or whose family had donated five thousand taels of silver for a stick of incense at the Protector-of-the-Nation Temple in the capital…

Back then she’d just listened, never even imagining what coral looked like, or how tall that incense stick might be.

“Go to sleep…”

The old lady, worn out at last, began snoring first.

Qiqian’er pulled the blanket close and turned over, breathing in the comforting scent that belonged to home, and quickly closed her eyes too.

After all these days, she could finally sleep properly. Her young body slipped into dreams quickly, and drowsily she drifted into a nightmare — in her dream, Qiqian’er returned to the Wenshan Temple… in the dream she could see but not feel the raging fire, flames leaping to the sky, and by her ear that old eunuch was speaking again. He said a great deal — about his childhood, his youth — and then he said he had one breath left?

To give to her?

No! No!

She wasn’t even lacking breath herself — what did she need someone else’s breath for?

Qiqian’er refused, but the old eunuch held her fast, unable to move at all. She sat on the ground, feeling a burning heat rising again and again from the crown of her head, her mind foggy, and in a burst of agonizing pain she cried out and opened her eyes…

“No!!”