At the entrance of the Quanhouzhuang ancestral shrine, Qiao Shi was untangling a mess of cotton thread, and a group of idle women had gathered around her to help.

Qiao Shi was wearing a dark inner garment with narrow sleeves today, over which she wore a bamboo-green padded jacket that was neither new nor old. She was a capable woman — naturally pretty and pleasant was one thing, but everyone could see how deftly she managed both household and outside affairs.

Whenever she went out to meet people, everything about her was neat and proper, every hem in place, every corner square, her hair smoothed down so not a single stray strand dared stick up — a woman of exacting standards.

This woman, coming and going, always wore a warm smile, was courteous to others, knew when to advance and when to yield, with manners and restraint — which only made Chen Wu Shi look all the more sharp-tongued and mean-spirited by comparison.

Since the old madam had walked off on her own last night, Qiao Shi’s heart had grown uneasy. She was someone who overthought things by nature, and her instinct told her that the young wife was no good — even though the girl had barely exchanged half a sentence with her, how had the old madam been so easily won over?

Who understood the old madam’s temperament better than she did?

Were the good days about to end? Then what would become of her chastity and honor, and what about her own aging mother and brother at home — how would they scrape by this month?

Tossing and turning, Qiao Shi rose early, dug out some old tangled cotton thread she’d put away long ago, gathered a crowd of gossiping women, and set to work at the shrine entrance.

Those women, bored out of their minds, all came running the moment she called.

Guo Yang Shi, chewing on salted beans, picked through the thread looking for an end while asking Qiao Shi: “Lan Xiang, where did you get hold of such good stuff? And you’re really giving it to us?”

Since Qiao Shi had married the fourth son, she’d never once been this generous.

Qiao Shi smiled virtuously. She first rocked the sleeping Xi Que in the sling on her back, then turned around with a look of helpless resignation and said: “It’s yours, it’s yours! Let me tell you sisters, I got cheated on this one — yesterday I saw those refugees at the crossroads, so pitiful. You didn’t see it — those little children! Any mother’s heart would break at that sight, who could bear it?”

She put on a look of distress and sighed: “Ugh! I traded a whole bowl of beans with them for half a cart of cotton thread — and wouldn’t you know it, only the top few bundles were any good, the rest underneath was all tangled into a mess! There’s no way I can sort through it alone, but it’d be such a waste to just throw it out… never mind! You sisters do a good deed — whoever untangles a ball can keep it, consider it helping me out.”

Everyone burst out laughing together.

Getting something for free while also finding a way to pass the time — these women had gained from Qiao Shi’s generosity, and their words turned to flattery.

While they were busy over here, the commotion at the wounded soldiers’ camp gate couldn’t stay hidden.

Seeing it, the perpetually disagreeable Old Woman Gao spoke up: “Eh? So this is that kind of thread? I thought it was something special! You don’t know — back when our prefecture office collected seasonal goods, the finest cotton went for a hundred and twenty coppers a tael, while thread like this is spun from inferior cotton worth fifteen coppers a tael. You’re really willing to give this away — traded a whole bowl of beans for this?”

The prefecture office — you don’t know — this was Old Woman Gao’s typical unpleasant way of talking; even when someone gave things away for free, she still had to nitpick. A thoroughly tiresome person.

In the past Qiao Shi never bothered with Old Woman Gao, but today she engaged her. Old Woman Gao had long envied Qiao Shi’s circle — how they helped each other on the road, and after settling somewhere, how they liked to stay together and keep each other company.

But the more Old Woman Gao showed off her own worth, the less anyone wanted anything to do with her.

With no one paying her any mind, Old Woman Gao grew inwardly resentful, and her words turned even sharper. She jutted her chin at Qiao Shi and said: “That’s your family’s old madam over there, isn’t it?”

Qiao Shi paused her work, smiled as she glanced over, and answered as if it were nothing, with an air of magnanimity: “Of course that’s our old madam! Bright and early this morning she wrapped herself up in a few pieces of cloth and went out, saying she was going to get new clothes made for Choutou’s wife — just like a child! In the past it was always me serving her every meal, and now that she’s seen someone younger, she serves them instead, and won’t even let me say a word about it! Hah~ you all tell me, doesn’t our old madam act just like the household’s spoiled little child?”

The group of women broke into strained smiles, all thinking to themselves how foolish Qiao Shi must be, and how the old madam was really taking advantage of such an honest, kind soul.

Old Woman Gao blinked, reached her arm out and gathered a huge armful of cotton thread into her bosom, and while raking through it said in her worldly-wise way: “Not to speak ill of you, but you really are a fool! Do you understand anything? That woman’s gone off to curry favor with the wealthy now — if I were you, I’d go right over there. What, is the old madam going to chase me off?”

Qiao Shi kept smiling as she worked: “Go over there for what? There’s a pile of chores at home, and I still want to make the old madam a winter coat — isn’t that what I’m doing right now, untangling thread?”

Loud-mouthed Guo Yang Shi couldn’t stand it any longer and said indignantly: “That’s right, isn’t it — inside and out, you’re the one waiting on the old madam, carrying the children on your back, never a moment’s rest, serving her every meal — isn’t that enough? The woman’s only been here one day, and look at her! That old hag is just taking advantage of how honest you are! It makes me so angry — and you’re still making her a winter coat, meanwhile if it were me, I wouldn’t give her so much as a hair off my back, and a winter coat besides!”

Qiao Shi shook her head, smiling without any resentment: “Our old madam hasn’t had it easy. In these five years, how many of our family members have we lost, would you say? Now there’s only the old madam left, she’s nearly seventy — how could I not serve her properly? If I slip up even a little, tomorrow when the fourth son comes back he’ll beat me again…”

“Hmph, let’s not even talk about that husband of yours — not to speak ill, but he really is hard-hearted!”

The old madam had no idea she was being talked about by Qiao Shi again. She was calling out to Huar, so excited that her hands and feet were trembling.

Chang Lianfang bared his white teeth in a grin at the old madam. The old madam hurried over, wanting to embrace him affectionately, but then she caught sight of his finely made armor and the imposing formation around him, and her nerve failed her.

She stepped back instead, smiling awkwardly, not knowing what to say, her two hands flapping back and forth in front of her chest like she was shooing chickens.

The person before her was still that child who had once cried in her arms, but now he stood so far above her — what could she possibly do? What if this child no longer acknowledged her as his old madam?

Fortunately Chang Lianfang had a good heart. Seeing the old madam so moved, he reached back and unstrapped the several dozen catty golden lance from behind him, leaning it against the camp railing.

The golden lance was heavy, and not having been set steadily, it began sliding down the edge. Chang Lianfang, caught up in his emotions, didn’t notice.

Qiqian’er had her back to the shrine, and happened to be standing not far from the lance. When she saw it tipping over, without thinking she reached out to catch it — the thing pressed gently into her palm like a two- or three-catty old radish, and her hand caught and steadied the lance.

She then realized something was off and immediately let go, tucking her hand behind her back.

Just then came a loud clang as the heavy lance fell to the ground, striking a small dent into the earth.

Everyone turned toward the sound. Seeing Qiqian’er standing there dazed with one hand behind her back, the old madam asked anxiously: “Girl? What happened? Weren’t scared, were you?”

Yes, she’d been scared! Qiqian’er’s face went pale as she looked at the old madam and shook her head.

The old madam, heart aching for her, explained to Chang Lianfang: “My little girl hasn’t seen much of the world, she didn’t bump it on purpose, don’t be angry with her.”

Chang Lianfang laughed and shook his head: “My fault, my fault! I didn’t set it down properly, I frightened little sister.”

Hearing this, the old madam’s heart eased, and laughing so hard she forgot her earlier timidity, she went up and slapped the young man, saying: “What little sister! This is your sister-in-law from Choutou’s family! You silly boy, still so scatterbrained — really did learn nothing from experience, did you? Still like to cry, do you?”

Some people are simply born without social grace — even without any ill intent, meaning only to show warmth, but everything that comes out of their mouth ends up sounding all wrong, saying the exact opposite of what people want to hear.

Fortunately Chang Lianfang was big-hearted and knew the old madam’s usual temperament well. He looked at Qiqian’er with some surprise, then flipped back his battle robe and dropped to his knees before the old madam, kowtowing three solemn times, saying: “Grandmother! I’m kowtowing to you. I’m an ungrateful wretch — it’s been over four years since I left… and I never once came back to see you. Please don’t be angry with me!”

Hearing this, tears streamed down the old madam’s face. She hurried forward to pull Chang Lianfang up, scolding him affectionately while striking him twice: “What are you saying! What are you saying! I’m not angry, not angry! Such nonsense from this child — as long as you’re alive, that’s the Bodhisattva’s blessing from heaven. Look at you, all your limbs intact — I should only be overjoyed…”

She began crying again. Her family had lost eight grown members with their own lives — even if they’d come back missing an arm or a leg, she wished more of them had returned. As long as she could still move, even if it meant serving them meals and waiting on them hand and foot for the rest of her days, she would have been willing.

Seeing the old madam so grieved, Chang Lianfang quickly stood and tried to console her.

Off to the side, amid this tender family reunion, Meng Wanquan went over smiling to pick up the golden lance. But when he tried to lift it one-handed, then grabbed it with both hands, the lance turned out to be unexpectedly heavy.

After some effort, he finally got it upright and turned to praise: “Well now, no wonder they call you the city-breaking general — this thing of yours is no lightweight.”

Chang Lianfang, still young at heart, laughed and said: “The year we attacked Miyang, I found my weapon unsatisfying, so this was specially forged for me by the Imperial Weapons Bureau on His Majesty’s orders — this lance weighs seventy-nine catties, four taels, three qian, made of the finest wrought iron.”

Any man naturally loves such weapons of war, and Meng Wanquan, having also come from the front lines, grew fond of the fine weapon at once.

But Qiqian’er, standing to the side, upon hearing the weight, pressed the hand behind her back again — that weight had felt heavy in her grip for just a moment, but it hadn’t seemed like seventy catties at all.

It had felt like tossing and catching a not-too-large old radish, nothing more.

Recalling last night’s nightmare, she carefully replayed everything from that day at the Plague God Temple in her mind, but to her frustration, she’d been thoroughly drunk and could remember nothing at all.

Unaware of Qiqian’er’s discomfort, the old madam was delightedly running her hands over Chang Lianfang’s red-tasseled golden armor. Tsk, this golden gleam — surely this couldn’t be made of real gold? This little Huar must have really made it big.

Thinking this, she asked: “Tell me, little Huar, is this helmet of yours made of gold?”

Chang Lianfang laughed upon hearing this: “Grandmother! What gold! This is copper plating! Gold would be much heavier than this — you don’t know how strong I am, but if this armor were real gold, I truly couldn’t lift it, I might not even be able to jump! You don’t know, in my camp there’s a man named Guan Yimu, a siege-warrior who practices hard qigong training — he eats fifteen half-catty steamed buns in one sitting, and even he doesn’t dare wear a gold armor. This armor of mine, only a few dozen catties, is really nothing much.”

The old madam had never seen real gold, so naturally she had no idea what gold was actually like. She nodded upon hearing this, then stroked Chang Lianfang’s arm and sighed: “This is what good rice, good flour, and good oil build up — you’ve grown taller, sturdier, solid as can be, looking at you just makes me — makes me so happy, really, so happy!”

The old madam forced a smile, genuinely happy for him. She was truly envious.

This left Chang Lianfang feeling rather embarrassed.

He’d entered the military camp at thirteen. Back then he’d been young, short, and timid — the first time he went to the battlefield, he cried so loudly it echoed, and even wet his pants.

It wasn’t that this boy lacked skill with his hands — the Chang family had over a dozen generations of martial tradition, and his father had begun training him from age five. If sparring casually at home on their small ponies, thirteen-year-old Chang Lianfang could go a dozen rounds pretending with his father without falling behind.

But fighting on the battlefield was different from sparring at home.

On top of that, Chang Lianfang had a bad habit — wailing, loud enough to shake the heavens, without shedding a single tear, a dry, hollow howl.

This brought disgrace upon his ancestors.

Where did this habit of dry-wailing come from? One had to go back to his hometown. Chang Lianfang’s family was from Wenwang Mountain in Mianzhou; his father Chang Mianshen was a well-known local idle wanderer.

In the martial world, this kind of “idle wanderer” was jokingly called someone with nothing better to do, who could get involved in just about anything.

Such a man was neither bandit, nor official, and had nothing to do with the martial world proper — but if villagers had someone kidnapped by mountain bandits, he could find a way to mediate between both sides, exchange money for the person’s release with one hand passing to the other.

If someone got into trouble with the authorities, this idle wanderer also had connections to get them out. In short, Chang Mianshen was a man of real standing, with contacts everywhere, a righteous figure known and befriended by all.

But a man of such standing often had all sorts of strange people coming to seek shelter at his home; any wanderer from the martial world passing through Wenwang Mountain who came to his door would find a roof and a hot meal waiting.

The Chang family, putting on a brave face despite thin means, kept a big pot cooking year-round for guests — this in itself wasn’t so bad, but it was pitiable for children like Chang Lianfang. Being the youngest in the family, he hadn’t yet mastered the food-grabbing skills his older brothers had honed since childhood, and being small and short-legged, he couldn’t jump into the fray. He went hungry!

He couldn’t even reach the pot’s edge to grab food.

With no other choice, little Chang Lianfang developed a skill of wailing loud enough to shake the heavens. Since his voice was loud, it would, firstly, summon the grandmother who doted on him most to take his side, and secondly, when others saw the family’s child crying, they’d feel too embarrassed to keep grabbing, letting him get to the pot first.

Chang Lianfang wailed like this until he was thirteen. It became a habit — he was scolded for it, beaten for it, but could never break it. Sadly, this little sapling’s fate wasn’t kind — before he’d even had a chance to sprout properly, he went out with his brothers and father to seek their fortunes.

His martial skills were solid, but his form was ugly — he had to wail even while fighting, and every so often wet his pants besides.

In more than a dozen generations, the Chang family had never had one like this.

Once, twice — coming back wailing every single time brought too much disgrace upon the ancestors. Chang Lianfang’s father was also a ruthless man — gritting his teeth, he had the boy sent under a false name to train together with the new recruits.

At any rate, that’s how Chang Lianfang, Chen Dasheng, and Meng Wanquan ended up assigned to the same tent. Meng Wanquan was the eldest, Chen Dasheng second, and Chang Lianfang the youngest.

These young fellows were all teenagers at the time, still with fuzzy peach-down on their lips, sent to the front after barely a few days of training.

The first time the new recruits went to the killing fields, Chang Lianfang wailed as always, but this time no one came to save him — he took a long gash across his shoulder from a blade, bled nearly a basinful, and almost lost his life.

Once the battle began, there was no retreating — this group of half-grown boys had to hold the line up front; retreating even a single step, before you could even turn to run, your own comrades would kill you first.

Wanting to live? Simple enough — grit your teeth and charge forward.

Chang Lianfang charged forward wailing, and before he’d gone far he ran into another boy wailing just as loudly, sniveling and eating his own snot as he cried.

This was none other than Chen Dasheng — oh! back then he was called Chen Choutou.

Somehow, through battle after battle fought together, these two wailing boys eventually cured themselves of the habit.

Of course, that’s a story for later. It’s said that after Chang Lianfang came off the battlefield that time, however his father managed it, he was sent directly to the wounded soldiers’ camp — his wound, in Meng Wanquan’s opinion at the time, would have healed fine on its own, and ending up in the wounded camp was rather shameful.

But shameful or not, thirteen-year-old Chang Lianfang, once at the wounded camp, could finally catch his breath — though his heart was still full of grievance, he hadn’t wanted to come, and if his grandmother back home had known, she never would have allowed it.

His father had smuggled him out in the middle of the night.

That day, he’d just been settled in when the old madam happened to come around the camp collecting mending work. Perhaps from blood loss, Chang Lianfang mistook her for someone else, and in his dazed state clung to the old madam and wouldn’t let go, crying out for his grandmother to save him.

The old madam’s heart shattered on the spot.

Back then, she likely wasn’t truly attached to Chang Lianfang — it was simply that in that moment, both of them were willing to treat the other as family and lean on one another.

So it was that Chang Lianfang spent two months in the wounded camp, and despite the old madam’s usual stinginess, in these five years, Chang Lianfang was the only one who’d ever managed to get goat’s milk out of her.

At any rate, once his wound healed, while everyone else came out sallow and gaunt, this boy left plump and fair.

With both his parents alive, he couldn’t formally adopt the old madam as a godmother, nor did he dare to. But in his heart, he thought of her as his grandmother.

As for the nickname “Little Huar,” that came from the old madam mishearing him years ago. Everyone called him Lianfang, Lianfang — but “hua” (flower) sounds sweeter, and the old madam had slipped and called him by that name instead.

Interestingly enough, the name had actually caught on — people outside, seeing how fair and handsome he was, called him General Hua, not realizing it wasn’t actually his surname.

After the old madam finished her affectionate reunion with Chang Lianfang, seeing how dignified and refined he looked, now a general besides, her usual petty scheming instincts surfaced.

She first glanced over at Chang Lianfang’s convoy, then turned and pulled the still-dazed Qiqian’er over, saying: “Little Hua, this is your sister-in-law from Choutou’s family.”

Raised with proper manners, Chang Lianfang felt too shy to look directly at Qiqian’er. He shifted slightly aside and, with great solemnity, raised his hands to chest height in a formal bow of the same generation.

“Greetings, sister-in-law.”

Seeing this, Qiqian’er straightened her back as well, placing her right hand over her left, thumbs interlocked, bowing forward from the waist in return: “Greetings, uncle.”

Their movements flowed smoothly and elegantly, leaving the women nearby and Meng Wanquan staring in astonishment.

One of them had been trained since childhood and now moved in different circles among different people; Qiqian’er, meanwhile, was simply acting out of ingrained habit.

Once they’d finished the formal greeting, the old madam, after a long pause to process it, said to Chang Lianfang with proud amazement: “These two children, so proper! Little Hua, you — you’ve really made something of yourself now, a general?”

Chang Lianfang naturally nodded, saying with some embarrassment: “Yesterday I received the honorary rank of Wandering Cavalry General.”

Hearing this, the old madam immediately looked to Qiqian’er.

Qiqian’er thought for a moment, then held up five fingers toward the old madam, indicating rank five.

Rank five, no less.

The old madam felt a pang in her chest, growing envious, and sighed as she looked at Chang Lianfang: “Tsk~ ai! Little Hua, you really have made it — can you even eat that much grain?”

Qiqian’er burst out laughing.

Chang Lianfang, meanwhile, was thoroughly confused by the old madam’s remark.

Seeing their puzzlement, Qiqian’er explained: “Our old madam only just learned yesterday that a rank-nine civil official earns one hundred eighty-seven sheng and four dou of grain a year. You’re rank five, no less.”

In the old madam’s eyes, Chang Lianfang was like a granary rat, able to somersault through mountains of grain.

Realizing this, Meng Wanquan and Chang Lianfang both burst out laughing.

Chang Lianfang said modestly: “Don’t think too much of it, it’s not that good! It’s just an honorary title on paper — the previous dynasty never even paid its court officials full salary in its final years, let alone rank nine. After we entered the capital and asked the old officials there, we learned that these past two years the state treasury has been completely empty — the war has left the country with nothing, the treasury has nothing left but scraps of worn cloth, not even as rich as the bottom of your trunk, Grandmother.”

Qiqian’er suddenly thought of that pile of things beneath the Plague God Temple, and muttered to herself — empty, was it? That’s because you people got there too late.

Meng Wanquan joined in the fun: “Grandmother, what’s his rank compared to this — Little Hua’s father was granted the title of Founding Earl, so nowadays he counts as a young earl. His family holds real fief land, seven hundred households, no less!”

The old madam couldn’t make heads or tails of this, so she looked to Qiqian’er again.

Qiqian’er explained to the old madam: “A fief is a reward His Majesty gives to meritorious officials — it means Uncle’s family will forever enjoy the benefit of seven hundred households working for free on their behalf. Beyond that, His Majesty also exempts their family from grain taxes.”

Ah, now the old madam understood. Oh, one life, and seven hundred households? Even seventy households would have made her envious enough.

This young woman’s knowledge was clearly extraordinary — Meng Wanquan and Chang Lianfang were quite astonished. They exchanged glances, and Meng Wanquan said with a smile to Chang Lianfang: “Your little sister-in-law must come from a scholarly family, properly educated.”

Realizing this, Chang Lianfang, well aware of the old Chen family’s long-standing sore spot, was happy on the old madam’s behalf, and even happier for his brother. He clasped his hands together in congratulations: “Great joy to you, Grandmother — now that you have a young sister-in-law, you’ve finally gotten your wish.”

The old madam smiled modestly and pursed her lips, swatting at him with her palm again: “What are you saying! Not a scholarly family! You heard wrong! Huar, your sister-in-law’s family were tenant farmers for the previous dynasty! Hey! Where did this conversation wander off to? Let’s talk business! Huar, would it trouble you too much to run an errand for Grandmother? This old woman doesn’t dare impose, I’m just asking a favor — look, your brother Meng has nothing here to work with, and your brother Choutou and the others aren’t nearby either…”

Hearing this, Meng Wanquan felt thoroughly wronged — he’d been running around like a top serving the old madam every day, and this was “nothing to work with”?

As for Chang Lianfang, now holding a genuine rank-five official post, running an errand for the old madam was nothing at all.

Once things were arranged with Meng Wanquan, Qiqian’er climbed up into the carriage behind Chang Lianfang.