Qiqian’er sat cross-legged on the straw in the large flatbed cart. The old madam kept glancing at her back and forth, her heart uneasy.

While Chang Lianfang and Meng Wanquan were finishing up the handover procedures before departure, the old madam fumbled in her undergarment pouch and pulled out a dozen or so pieces of dried taro wrapped in a coarse cloth handkerchief, handing them to Qiqian’er.

This pouch of the old madam’s seemed like a magic sack from the immortals — the dried taro inside seemed endless.

Once Qiqian’er had tucked the taro into her clothes, the old madam took out a string of hand-torn paper money from her jacket sleeve and said to her: “We don’t keep much paper stock in our house — these are leftover from when your father-in-law passed, and we don’t have scissors at home, so Grandmother just tore off a string by hand. When you get there, be sure to find your mother’s grave and burn some for her, so she knows to rest easy, and can buy herself a winter coat to keep warm, understand?”

Qiqian’er’s heart twisted like taffy from the old madam’s words.

She sniffled, tears falling, nodding again and again.

Watching the cart pull away, the old madam hurried after it a few steps, calling out instructions: “Girl, go on and take a look. If you can’t find your mother’s family… we won’t be upset either. Just come back safe and early, our family has everything we need, we’re not lacking anything.”

This was her worry that Qiqian’er might not find anything and feel unable to account for herself.

Qiqian’er waved through her tears: “I understand! Please be at ease, Grandmother. You just wait here for me, it’s not far — I’ll be back by the time the sun starts to fade.”

“Ai, I’ll wait for you, I’m not going anywhere!”

Once they’d traveled some distance, the old madam finally turned, wistfully, and said to Meng Wanquan: “You know, I’ve only known this girl one night, yet it feels like we’ve known each other two lifetimes. In such a short time, why do I already miss her so much?”

Hearing this, Meng Wanquan nearly ground his back teeth to dust in exasperation.

What kind of thing was this to say — the old madam’s heart had gone crooked. Qiao Shi handled all the dirty, thankless chores, served her day after day, and still got beaten for it, yet the old madam never had a single good word to say about her.

He had no idea what kind of charm this young wife had worked on the old madam, but in one night’s time she’d left the old woman completely smitten.

Meng Wanquan didn’t want to touch that topic, so he pointed instead to the group of women who had stood up to watch the excitement nearby: “Old Grandmother, look over there — your actual daughter-in-law is right there!”

The old madam glanced that way, then said with obvious disdain: “What actual daughter-in-law? Don’t go saying things like that. Your fourth uncle and her don’t even have a marriage certificate.”

Hearing this, Meng Wanquan sucked in a cold breath, seeing the old madam’s expression turn unpleasant.

To outsiders, Qiao Shi appeared utterly faultless — everyone praised her as gentle, virtuous, filial, and courteous.

“Now, Grandmother? That’s a bit unkind to say…”

Meng Wanquan, being fair-minded, wanted to say a few words in Qiao Shi’s defense.

But now that the old madam had been enlightened by someone, she would no longer speak the way she used to, calling Qiao Shi a household-wrecker or a family thief — those words had done no good at all. She needed to learn to speak the way the girl had, for that carried real weight.

She smiled at Meng Wanquan and said: “Da Quan’er, do you think Grandmother is playing favorites?”

Meng Wanquan shook his head like a rattle-drum.

The old madam’s sharp-tongued streak surfaced once more — heh, some habits just couldn’t be broken even after learning to speak better.

“I won’t hide it from you, Grandmother. Qiao Shi has been with us three years — I won’t say she’s bad, she came into the family partway through. As for your fourth uncle — the state our household’s fallen into, I blame him for not standing his ground.

You know he’s on grain-escort duty, and every time Choutou and the others managed to save up a little, it was your fourth uncle who was supposed to bring it home for us. Your fourth uncle used to say I was getting old, my head slow, not as sharp as Qiao Shi — and I admit that! We can’t even count properly. Back then I wanted to get along well with her, so when she wanted to manage the household accounts, well, we’re a poor broken family, so let her manage it. Count it up — wasn’t it every three or four months your fourth uncle brought back wages and grain?”

Meng Wanquan nodded — that was correct, every time Fourth Uncle Chen came back he said it was wages and grain for the old madam.

The old madam clapped her hands and showed him an empty palm: “I’m blind, you know? Your grandmother doesn’t know numbers, doesn’t know how much they earned with their lives on the line. Last night too, chatting with Choutou’s wife about idle matters — some other family’s business — I found myself doing the math in my head. Something’s not right, is it? Quan’er, in the past Grandmother never asked you how much you earned a month, I always thought it didn’t matter, as long as you were alive, everything else was just worldly things!

But thinking about it now, why does it feel so stifling? I know exactly how much is in my own pocket. If I wanted to spend money, Quan’er, tell me — where would I even go to spend it?

Nowhere! Counting it up start to finish, over the three years Qiao Shi managed the accounts, it was all supposedly given to me, the old madam. Family shame shouldn’t be aired outside, but Quan’er, you’re not an outsider, so I’ll tell you — Grandmother wants to ask you a favor today…”

Meng Wanquan quickly nodded: “Grandmother, go ahead and say it!”

“What I’m about to say, you can’t repeat to anyone, understood?”

Seeing Meng Wanquan agree again, the old madam said with a bitter smile: “I’ve been saving up bit by bit myself, doing mending and laundry for people — this has gone on five years. I’ve saved twenty strings of cash, plus a few head of livestock and odds and ends — I keep track of what’s mine and what they gave me separately.

I swear to heaven, in broad daylight I wouldn’t lie — from Qiao Shi’s hands, in total, I received fifteen strings of cash plus six hundred coppers, and grain of thirty catties a month. Not one extra tael did this old woman ever get, would you believe it? Hm?”

Hearing this, Meng Wanquan was utterly stunned.

Along one road, refugees flowed like a river rushing to the sea, endless streams of young and old all heading toward Qingfeng City for a bowl of relief porridge.

Qiqian’er and Chang Lianfang, leading a squad of officers and soldiers, cut across the official road. She didn’t point toward Huo family village, but instead pointed toward the foot of Quanqian Mountain, taking a roundabout route.

At an inconspicuous corner at the foot of that mountain, the previous dynasty’s unexpected fortune was secondary — Qiqian’er had been worrying about that donkey for four days now.

When she’d left, she’d made sure to leave enough feed, and had properly latched the door.

She thought that if the refugees were all crowded around the relief pots outside the city and hadn’t wandered off elsewhere, perhaps her donkey cart could still be saved.

Now with Chang Lianfang accompanying her, she thought she’d try her luck.

Seeing Qiqian’er staring intently at the refugees, Chang Lianfang thought his little sister-in-law was frightened, and comforted her with a smile: “Sister-in-law, don’t worry. His Majesty has already issued an edict ordering Mingsheng and other regions to quickly gather grain and provisions for disaster relief — the relief grain will arrive within days. The Qingfeng north granary can still hold out a few more days, it definitely won’t descend into chaos.”

Hearing this, Qiqian’er nodded, not saying another word.

It wasn’t that the new emperor was bad — he genuinely wanted to help. What he hadn’t anticipated was that after entering winter, within just a few days, snow the size of leaves fell for eight straight days, and countless people died as a result.

Never mind the new emperor — even if the Great Immortal himself descended to earth, he likely couldn’t have saved so many mouths.

As the old saying goes, money only matters when the realm is stable. When the realm is unstable and the common people are displaced, even if you wanted to spend your money, there’d be nowhere to spend it.

The war had gone on for so many years now — last year the farms around Qingfeng City hadn’t even planted in season, so naturally there was no autumn harvest to speak of this year.

With everyone having fled, never mind grain — go look at Qingfeng City and see, the once-bustling medicine shops, gold merchants, cloth shops, even the peddlers selling sauces and pickles, had all long since disappeared to who knows where.

Everyone in the world thought there’d be a way to survive under the emperor’s feet, but the problem was, the previous dynasty’s emperor had only died a few days ago.

If even the Son of Heaven couldn’t survive, what hope was there for these people?

Two lifetimes now, and she’d grown numb to it long ago.

Seeing the soldiers approach, the refugees parted uneasily into two groups, watching Qiqian’er and the others pass with strange expressions.

Qiqian’er felt rather awkward.

Such a large group of soldiers, and yet the very first cart carried a young wife with thinning hair… the moment she thought of “thinning hair,” Qiqian’er reflexively slapped a hand to the top of her head.

Well now, another handful of hair.

Once off the official road, free of the crush of refugees, the mountain path was smooth enough. Chang Lianfang, being a gentleman, simply led the way at the front, and other than his earlier words of comfort, said nothing further to Qiqian’er.

Qiqian’er, however, watching his back, found her mind wandering.

A man like Chang Lianfang, though he’d fallen among common folk, had risen like tender spring grass, thanks to his father’s foresight pulling him along from the start; his brothers by blood could push and pull him along the bright and proper path.

He did things with real skill, no shortcuts, and with people above him who recognized his worth and promoted him, this was how he’d become today’s second-rank General Chang Lianfang.

His family’s door was one the Chens could no longer reach — it wasn’t that Chang Lianfang was ungrateful, it was that the old Chen family felt too ashamed of their own low station to dare go bother him. They didn’t even feel comfortable mentioning it outside — you know General So-and-so? He’s our grandmother’s adopted godson…

That could not be said! Could not even be mentioned! Wanting to maintain an ordinary family connection, you’d feel embarrassed showing up at his door with empty hands.

But bringing gifts would mean bankrupting the whole family, and they might not even register in his eyes. The inner household wasn’t something the men decided — even if the old madam went there relying on old ties, how would his wife and elders view it?

So the old madam mourned about it until her death, and no one ever went to the Chang family to inform them she had passed.

Whose old madam? Their old madam was surely living well on fine rice and refined flour.

It was only at her death anniversary, when Chang Lianfang, by then promoted to third rank, went to her grave to burn paper money — after he left, the ties between the Chen and Chang families came to an end.

And the people living on Quanhou Street — what sort of people were they? Former dynasty officials with tangled, unclear pasts and no future to speak of, Tan family soldiers with muddy legs who couldn’t even get into Yandu, illiterate rough soldiers gathered together, and finally a group of household-wrecking women whose eyes never looked beyond three inches past their doorstep.

She wouldn’t spare herself from this either — she was no fine bird herself… Lost in these thoughts, a few hundred paces ahead she could faintly make out the Plague God Temple among the withered trees at the mountain’s foot.

“Brother Chang.”

Qiqian’er called out to Chang Lianfang ahead of her.

Chang Lianfang pulled his reins and turned back: “Little sister-in-law, something wrong?”

Qiqian’er smiled at him, a bit embarrassed, pointing toward the woods over there, lowering her head shyly: “Sorry to trouble you, uncle, please wait a moment. I need to… take care of something.”

Hearing this, Chang Lianfang froze for a moment, and instantly his handsome face flushed bright red.

Flustered, he nodded quickly: “Then go ahead, sister-in-law, we’ll wait for you here.”

Qiqian’er hurried down from the cart and headed that way with her head down.

Along the way she was already thinking — when I come back leading that donkey cart, what should I say?

“Uncle? Look, I found a donkey? With a cart hitched behind it…?”

Still thinking, Qiqian’er reached the door of the Plague God Temple, pushed on it — latched!

Hey! Her donkey cart was still there.

Delighted, Qiqian’er retrieved a bamboo strip from beneath the stone statue at the temple gate — something she’d prepared in advance for exactly this.

Pressing it against the door gap, she pried at the wooden latch inside — after a few tries, there came a click, and the door opened.

Just as Qiqian’er stepped into the temple, before she’d even laid eyes on her donkey, she felt a chill sweep past the doorway, and two flashes of cold light, carrying a scent of blood, shot straight for her face…

Qiqian’er, in this life unlike before, had great strength and sharp senses; sensing danger, and by sheer coincidence, the very spot where she stood was exactly where Eunuch Liao had killed people that night.

That night in the tree hollow, she hadn’t seen much else, but she had seen Eunuch Liao’s ghostly figure, and with a single swift motion, three lives had ended just like that.

In the blink of an eye, Qiqian’er’s body moved on instinct toward the cold light — her eyes were sharp too, and in midair she made out that the two flashes of cold light were two small blades.

She had no real knowledge of such things, and didn’t understand the martial world at all.

In truth these weren’t small blades at all, but two ordinary throwing darts.

Seeing the projectile weapons, Qiqian’er panicked somewhat, but couldn’t stop her own momentum — she grabbed clumsily and stumbled, catching the two darts in her hands while sprawling face-down flat on the ground… dust flew up all around.

Everyone in the temple went: “…!!”

No one knew what to say — after throwing those two darts, whoever it was had lost all will to throw anything else.

Qiqian’er’s chest ached badly from the fall, and she’d gotten a mouthful of dirt besides.

She struggled to catch her breath for a long while, then sat up and spat at the ground repeatedly — people had died and bled here before, it was truly disgusting.

Once she finished spitting, she stood up, then caught sight of the collapsed old well in the courtyard and felt another wave of nausea, leaning against the wall and starting to dry-heave.

The one who’d thrown the darts felt utterly indescribable inside — to think that he, Gu Hongyun, had spent half his life with blade at his hip, righting wrongs across the martial world, how many deserving souls had fallen beneath his Green Luan Sword!

But this time, for his sect’s promise, to protect the last two bloodlines of a loyal, upright family, he’d lowered himself just this once — and of all things, on his first-ever sneak attack, he’d thrown darts and made a young girl throw up?

If word of this got out, would anyone believe it?

Qiqian’er retched for a while, and once there was nothing left to bring up, she turned to survey the courtyard.

Hm, this courtyard was certainly lively.

Her donkey was tied to a temple pillar, its mouth bound tightly with hemp rope, staring at her with wronged donkey eyes.

A middle-aged man with a bloodied cloth strip wrapped around his chest was clutching his heart, leaning against the wheel of her beloved covered cart.

The cart’s door curtain was lifted, and a woman in her thirties, delicate-featured but with a panicked expression, was staring at Qiqian’er in fear, holding in her arms — wrapped in an exquisite brocade quilt — a pair of children, about four or five years old.

The two children had clearly been sound asleep in the middle of the night when they’d been hurriedly scooped up and carried away, not even given time to put on shoes — four little bare feet, black with dirt, dangling beneath the brocade quilt.

Of the pair, one child faced away, and the other, face smudged gray, stared at Qiqian’er with wide black-and-white eyes, half the soul frightened out of them.

All three on the cart were trembling. After staring at Qiqian’er for a long while, the woman’s lips quivered as if about to cry.

But before her tears could fall, the child facing away let out a wail. Without knowing quite what came over her, Qiqian’er blurted out to the people in the courtyard: “Don’t let the children cry! Outside — I mean, not two hundred paces from here, my uncle — the emperor’s newly appointed city-breaking general — is waiting there with troops.”

Hearing this, the woman immediately stopped her own tears in fright, reaching to cover the crying child’s mouth.

Hm, judging by the look of things, this must be remnants of the former dynasty.

Looking at the wide-eyed, terrified child, Qiqian’er felt a pang in her heart. Without thinking further, she turned and shut the Plague God Temple door, sealing off that distant squad of soldiers.

She didn’t understand what made someone good or bad in this world. But she held one principle no one could cross — these children had only been in this world a few days. What good food had they eaten, what good things had they experienced? They shouldn’t have to die. At this age they’d committed no wrongs — why should the affairs of adults drag children to their deaths?

Seeing that Qiqian’er meant no harm, the middle-aged man leaning against the cart wheel, with a look of great shame, painfully clasped his hands and bowed: “My apologies, miss, cough…”

The moment he opened his mouth, he spat out a mouthful of black blood.

Qiqian’er rolled her eyes skyward, thinking: Plague God above, you who watched over this hard-luck life of mine growing up, I’m different from these people — if you must punish these thunder-deserving wretches with blood-vomiting, please don’t let it land on my head. Tomorrow I’ll clean up that pile of filth beneath your feet, I vow to rebuild your golden image, construct you a grand temple…

This temple was truly cursed — anyone who entered seemed to end up spitting blood, black blood at that.

Gu Hongyun coughed up several more mouthfuls of stagnant blood from his chest before finally taking a good look at Qiqian’er.

His eyes assessed her quite differently from how Chang Lianfang and the others would.

Chang Lianfang’s family practiced martial arts specifically suited for the court’s battlefields.

Gu Hongyun, however, was the senior disciple of the Fleeting Sword technique from the Thousand Beginnings Pavilion, one of the twelve schools of Northern internal martial arts. He’d begun training his inner energy at age seven.

Those who practiced internal arts could recognize it in others — with just one glance he could tell that this strange girl’s innate primal energy was surging about without direction, and her meridians seemed to have been forcibly widened by someone, as if the meridian barriers that should normally be crossed gradually, through age and diligence, had all already been forced open.

He recalled his master once mentioning that some doting elders, cherishing their children, would exhaust their own life’s cultivation to forcibly open their children’s meridians — and that such a method of channeling energy through energy was something that could usually only be done at the cost of one’s own life.

One had to understand: once that vital energy was sent out, it could never return.

A person is born with only one breath of primal energy — once that breath is gone, life ends as well.

Channeling energy through energy in this way was inherently dangerous, not something one could simply choose to do.

It required decades of medical cultivation, thorough knowledge of the body’s twelve meridians, twelve meridian divergences, twelve sinew channels, twelve skin regions — and the meridians alone divided into three hand and three foot channels, each further split into yin and yang, far too complex to put into words.

He himself, having trained since age seven, had only just now achieved mastery over the three yang and yin meridians of the hands.

Yet this strange girl before him had every single meridian in her body completely opened — and judging by her earlier movements, she’d been acting purely on instinctive sensing of energy, truly reckless beyond belief.

And truly… such a pity.

In the old days, had his sect witnessed such raw material, they would have found any means possible — running thousands of miles without rest — to coax such a promising talent into their fold, nurturing and teaching her carefully; given a few decades, she would surely have become a pillar disciple to lead the sect’s next generation.