Tan Shouyi left the imperial palace, and once outside he boarded his carriage, telling the driver to take him to Three Family Gully.

The old driver had followed Tan Shouyi for many years, and he spoke up: “My lord, in weather like this, the whole family is at the mansion…”

He only got half the sentence out before choking back the rest, helping Tan Shouyi into the carriage and slowly urging the horses toward the outskirts of the city.

But once past the city gate, after traveling ten-some li, there was no longer any road.

Tan Shouyi jumped down from the carriage and stood on the vast white expanse of land. Without turning back, he instructed the old driver: “Go back. Tell Shiyuan to bring the men of the household, all of them, to your second uncle’s ancestral hall. Say I have something to tell them. And also—invite Master Nandu to bring those capable men of mine along as well…”

The old driver wanted to say something more, but seeing the ferocity in Tan Shouyi’s expression, he held himself back after all.

Once the old driver had gone far off and Tan Shouyi turned his face and could no longer see him, he raised his hand to shield his brow from the wind and snow, and suddenly let out an old man’s anguished cry: “Son—my son… my son!”

He began to wail, struggling step by step through the knee-deep snow toward Three Family Gully.

The as-yet-unfinished ancestral hall of Duke Wusu at Three Family Gully still had no doors or windows, and wind and snow blew in from time to time. Occasionally drifted snow was blown before a statue draped in red cloth, giving the place a bleak, cold air.

The incense burner before the statue was bare and clean—not a single stick of incense had been lit.

By the time the court had granted the Tan family the burial ground, it was already early winter, so Tan Shizeraven’s coffin had not been interred; it had only been temporarily sealed with brick and tile on the empty ground to the right of the hall.

To the left of the hall stood several military tents. In the bitter cold, a few soldiers were gathered around a bonfire, warming themselves while turning a whole roasted sheep on a spit.

Whatever the circumstances, this was the resting place of Tan Shize’s coffin, and such reckless slaughter here was truly outrageous. Yet behind the tents, judging by the piles of bones, it was clear this was not the first time they had done this.

It must have been happening every day.

The soldier turning the sheep cut off a piece of meat with his knife, checked that it was cooked through, and—not daring to eat it himself—called toward the tent: “My lord! My lord, it’s done!”

After a good while, Wu Xiu emerged from the tent, bedraggled, wrapped in a blanket, looking utterly wretched, and sneezed the moment the wind hit him.

He sat down with a face full of helplessness, took the wineskin handed to him by a subordinate, drank a couple mouthfuls, and began cursing that the Tan family was ungrateful. Once he’d warmed up, he waved off the blanket, tossed it into the tent behind him, and grabbed a piece of neither-too-fat-nor-too-lean, glistening mutton rib to gnaw on.

In the previous dynasty, the Wu family’s standing had truly been higher than the Tan family’s, but times had changed, and now they had to live watching the Tan family’s moods. He thought of how he himself had worked so hard, risking life and limb for them—and just because of a few damned military convicts, the old lord had made him stand guard at the ancestral hall as punishment?

Damn it!

Cold snow plus liquor, with the wind blowing on him—Wu Xiu got drunk fast. He swayed, wineskin in hand, over to the front of the ancestral hall. He first splashed some wine at the entrance, then undid his trousers and said with a grin at the hall’s doorway: “Come now! Old Tan! Drink your lordship’s piss…”

He laughed loudly as he sprayed his crooked stream at the hall’s entrance. He’d only gotten halfway through relieving himself when he heard a subordinate say, trembling: “M-my lord…”

Wu Xiu did up his trousers and turned to curse: “You little bastard, what are you shouting for! Can’t it wait until I’m done enjoying myself…”

But unfortunately, his subordinates didn’t act as they usually did—fawning and offering pleasantries. Instead they stared in one direction, their voices bent with fear.

“M-my lord, there! There’s someone there!”

Wu Xiu froze, and looked in the direction they were staring. Sure enough, amid the vast expanse of heaven and earth, a figure stood motionless, watching them.

“Go! Go fetch my sword! Who—who’s there! Don’t you know what place this is? Looking to die? Come here if you’re looking to die!”

Wu Xiu ordered, trembling, and his subordinates scrambled and stumbled back to the tent, returning after a good while with several sabers in their arms.

Tan Shouyi’s entire body had frozen solid with blood turned to ice; tears and mucus had frozen into icicles on his face. He didn’t even feel the pain—relying on sheer force of will, he walked step by step toward the place where his second son lay.

He finally found the spot, and waded through the snow, step by step, toward it…

Wu Xiu and his subordinates had been brandishing their blades in threat the whole while, but they’d shrunk into a huddle. By the time this “snowman” drew close, they could barely make out that it was—could this be a person wearing court robes?

Wu Xiu approached, trembling, to look closely, and finally recognized the man. His heart sank—this was bad.

The saber fell from his hand, and he dropped to his knees with a thud, crying out: “In-law, honored in-law…”

Tan Shouyi’s stiff head turned this way and that, until he finally spotted a wineskin lying on the ground where the sheep had been roasted.

Acting on instinct, he walked over, picked up the wineskin, and slowly made his way to the entrance of the ancestral hall. With difficulty, he braced himself against the doorframe and sat down, tugging several times before he managed to open the stopper, then tilted his head back and drank…

The snow began to fall again. Wu Xiu and the others knelt not far from Tan Shouyi, not daring to move a muscle…

Not until the sky had grown nearly dark did Tan Shouyi’s advisor, Xie Nandu, finally arrive with his personal guards.

The moment he saw the state Tan Shouyi was in, Xie Nandu immediately took off his own fox-fur cloak and draped it over him.

And so, on the open ground before the hall, more than ten bonfires were lit… By the time the sky had gone fully dark, Tan Shiyuan finally arrived with over a dozen male members of the household, young and old.

Seeing the bonfires from a distance, Tan Shiyuan grabbed his eldest son Tan Weitong’s hand and said: “In a moment, if your grandfather beats me, no matter how hard he beats me, even if bones break—none of you are to plead for mercy, under any circumstances.”

Tan Weitong was shocked: “Father! Why would it come to that? Grandfather, he…?”

On Tan Shiyuan’s face, which always wore an expression of confidence, a trace of fear finally showed. “You don’t understand your grandfather. Sigh—once we’re past this hurdle today, I’ll tell you about the past in detail…”

He slowly reached out and stroked his now-grown son’s head, smiling: “Your father swore back then—if I ever became a father myself, whatever suffering I endured, I would never let my own son bear even a fraction of it… I don’t have much ability, but as a father, I’m far better than he was—heh! Ha ha!”

Why would it come to that? It was exactly like this!

Hmph! Hadn’t he himself been waiting for this very day all this time? The old man’s most beloved son was dead—if he didn’t give the old man an outlet for his anger, this matter would never be resolved…

Supported by his son, Tan Shiyuan came to the entrance of the ancestral hall. He first glanced around, saw the sheep charred black over the fire in the distance, then looked at Wu Xiu, kneeling to the point of near-collapse. Inwardly cursing, he led the children to kneel outside the hall to beg forgiveness.

His youngest grandson was only three years old, and his face had already turned blue with cold on the journey. Seeing the elders all drop to their knees with a thud, he was startled and burst into heart-wrenching sobs.

The child’s crying roused Tan Shouyi, who had been staring blankly at the hall’s entrance. He opened his bleary old eyes and said to Master Nandu: “Go—let the smaller children go into the tents to warm up…”

Several guards went over and carried the children away; their crying gradually stopped.

Kneeling on the ground, Tan Shiyuan carefully studied his father, trying hard to read his expression and every word he spoke.

Bringing the young children had indeed been the right call—their crying always softened his father’s heart a little.

Breathing a small sigh of relief, he finally worked up the courage to speak: “Fa—Father!”

Tan Shouyi raised his face and looked at him, and actually smiled. In a tone rarely heard from him—old and tender—he said: “I remember, Shiyuan, you were born in the seventh month. The day your mother gave birth to you, there was thunder and lightning. I remarked then, what kind of child is this, coming into my family with such a display? …Speaking of which, my son has a third generation now too—you’re a grandfather yourself. Look how busy your father has been all these years—there are great-grandchildren I don’t even fully recognize.”

Something clenched inside Tan Shiyuan’s chest. Prostrate on the ground, his voice tinged with tears, he said: “Father has been away from home for years on end. I too have long gazed at distant clouds, longing for my parent, wishing I could stay by Father’s side and show him filial devotion often. These past years, as the children have grown up one day at a time, I’ve come to understand how difficult it is to raise them, and sitting alone I’ve often thought of the past—how hard Father must have found it, raising and nurturing me…”

Tan Shouyi smiled at him, encouraging and approving: “My son has grasped the Classic of Filial Piety well.”

Tan Shiyuan looked up, his face full of yearning devotion: “Father, have you forgotten? You taught me this yourself when I was three.”

Tan Shouyi thought for a moment, then nodded as if suddenly remembering: “Ah, yes, that’s right! I’d forgotten. As for my son… do you still remember the things I taught you?”

Tan Shiyuan looked up, and after a silent moment, asked in a trembling voice: “I… I’m not sure. What is it Father means?”

Tan Shouyi slowly stood up and turned to walk into the hall. He drew a breath, then seized the red cloth covering the statue and yanked it away…

The red cloth fell aside, revealing Tan Shize, saber across his mount, gazing into the distance. Tan Shouyi stood motionless, looking at his second son, and after a long while said: “This… this was carved to look quite like him. It does—like my son… how magnificent my son looks! And this horse—I gave him this horse myself. It’s rare that you remembered your brother’s tastes so well…”

He slowly reached out a hand, and without turning around, gave a small wave. Several personal guards immediately surrounded Tan Shiyuan, restraining him and covering his mouth.

Still without turning, Tan Shouyi continued: “My son, actually, I taught your brother too. I told him…”

Tan Shiyuan struggled desperately, muffled sounds coming from his covered mouth. In terror, he watched an old guard, his expression cold, draw a short blade from a pouch at his waist, take a swig of aged liquor, and spray it over the blade… Tan Shiyuan struggled even more violently, believing his own father meant to kill him.

Tan Weitong and the others were shocked, but they too were all restrained, unable to move or speak.

The old soldier walked step by step to Tan Shiyuan’s side, knocked off his sable hat, seized his hair, and began cutting—one lock, then another, then another… Tan Shiyuan’s graying hair fell to the ground in tufts.

Inside the hall, Tan Shouyi began reciting aloud in his aged voice: “…Dare one ask whether there is a virtue greater than filial piety for the sage? The Master said: of all the creatures born of Heaven and Earth, man is the most noble. Of all human conduct, none is greater than filial piety. Of filial piety, none is greater than reverence for one’s father. Reverence for one’s father, none is greater than pairing him with Heaven—such was the Duke of Zhou. In ancient times, the Duke of Zhou sacrificed to Hou Ji at the suburban altar, pairing him with Heaven, and honored King Wen with ancestral rites in the Hall of Light, pairing him with the Sovereign on High. Thus all within the Four Seas came, each according to their office, to offer sacrifice. So how could the virtue of the sage be any greater than filial piety?… The way of father and son is a matter of Heaven-given nature, and also the righteousness between lord and subject. Parents give life to their children—there is no greater continuation than this. When lord and parent draw near, there is no greater generosity than this. Therefore, one who does not love his own parents but loves others instead is called one who violates virtue…”

The old man recited the entire Classic of Filial Piety from beginning to end, then fell silent, wiped away his tears, and turned his face, his expression now resolute.

He walked step by step to stand before his eldest son, now hairless, his shaved scalp bare, his face blank with shock, and said in a low voice: “I taught you both this when you were three. Your brother remembered. But you didn’t…

So, as your father, let me teach you one more thing: the elder’s command must not be defied! Your brother did well. My son, you have spent your whole life defying me. People say there are two kinds of children born to you: those who come to collect a debt, and those who come to repay a kindness. Your brother repaid his kindness, and then he left… but this debt you owe, your father can no longer bear to collect. Next life, then… My son, from now on, go to the temple and recite scripture for your brother, to atone for your sins.”

He bent down and spoke low into his son’s ear: “Did you truly think that once your brother was gone, everything would become yours? Even if I didn’t send you away, that Yang Zao would come for you sooner or later! How did I raise such a foolish idiot!”

Tan Shiyuan’s face showed terror, and he struggled violently, but several old guards hauled him up onto a horse that had already been prepared and waiting.

Heaven and earth were blanketed in thick snow; even in the dead of night, everything gleamed silver-white… Tan Shouyi simply stood watching the distance, until his son was out of sight. Only then did he slowly walk over to his grandchildren, who had been frightened senseless, and give a slight wave of his hand. The guards released their grip, and the space before the hall erupted into weeping.

Tan Shouyi walked step by step toward Tan Weixin, who was dressed in silk brocade robes with a purple sable collar, and kicked him to the ground, demanding: “Your father just died! Why are you wearing silk?”

But to his surprise, Tan Weixin scrambled back up and shouted at his grandfather: “The one they took away, that’s my father! I’m not anyone else’s son… I am my father’s son! I am my father’s son!!”

Tan Shouyi laughed: “Good! Just like your father—you’ve got that same resolute spirit…”

Just as Tan Weixin was about to retort, an even louder cry rang out beside him: “Father!!!”

Tan Weitong had finally come to from his shock, broke free from those restraining him, and ran desperately in the direction his father had been taken…

“Father…”

Master Nandu was about to send someone to stop him, but Tan Shouyi held him back: “Let him go. They’re father and son. Follow him… and once he can’t run anymore… bring him back.”

Tan Shouyi sat once more by the bonfire, waiting silently, until the sky began to lighten and several old soldiers finally returned, half-carrying the frozen, exhausted Tan Weitong, who could no longer run.

By the bonfire, Tan Weitong was wrapped in a blanket, shivering violently, and only came around after being made to drink a good deal of aged liquor.

On the ninth day of the twelfth month, the first year of the Yong’an era, the heavy snow had finally stopped, and the glare off the snow’s surface was too bright to look at directly.

Tan Shouyi stood with his hands behind his back, gazing into the distance, and said in his now-hoarse voice: “Our Tan clan descends from the Si surname, sharing blood with the ancient Chongbo, Yu the Great, and Goujian of old! Throughout the generations, our Tan family has never fallen behind others—yet now we are gradually being marginalized…”

He turned to look at his grandchildren, their faces full of confusion, then walked to the bonfire, picked up a few dry branches and tossed them into the flames before continuing: “Originally, on the strength of your second uncle’s friendship with the new Emperor, and the fact that our Tan family has spent these years exhausting our entire fortune in loyal service, losing over half our clan kin, we had finally gained some new momentum—yet your father, of all things, could not tolerate your second uncle staying alive…”

Tan Weixin, who had been silent all this while, looked up to argue: “My father, no matter how ruthless, would never have caused Second Uncle’s death!”

Tan Shouyi looked at him flatly: “That’s not your father. The one in the ancestral hall—that’s your father.”

Tan Weitong argued loudly: “I am not the son of some concubine…”

Before he could finish the sentence, Tan Shouyi struck him across the right side of his face with a still-smoldering piece of firewood.

The child’s face immediately swelled and bruised on one side, and a tooth flew out of his mouth.

Tan Weitong threw off the blanket, rushed to embrace his younger brother, and glared at his grandfather with fury.

Tan Shouyi laughed indifferently: “Making you the son of Zeer wasn’t old me’s idea—it was His Majesty’s decree. If you were unwilling, you should have said so back then—what were you doing at the time…?”

No one spoke; only the crackling of dry firewood could be heard.

After a long while, Tan Shouyi said: “From today, you will build a mourning hut before your father’s grave and keep vigil for three years. As for how your father became a war god, this old man will have you taught in exactly the same way…”

Tan Weitong said mockingly: “Didn’t Grandfather send Second Uncle off to become a monk once before? Why not send Third Brother to keep our father company instead?”

Tan Shouyi glanced at him, gave a snort, and said: “I’d love that! If he’d listened to me, we wouldn’t be here today! Unfortunately, ah, he had lofty ambitions of his own… all of you…”

He stood up, looked at the statue inside the hall, and said: “Disaster looms right before your eyes and still you don’t see it. Have you not noticed that ever since your second uncle died, His Majesty no longer trusts the Tan family army?”

This time, no one spoke.

Tan Shouyi turned to look at Tan Weitong: “Not stupid after all, eh? Heh—you are the clan heir. And what does that mean? It means you must keep your heart centered—impartial, without favoritism, without excessive joy or sorrow—only with fairness and reason can you lead the clan to survive for generations to come! ‘Tan’ has never been a simple name—the clan heir is the anchor star that steadies our several thousand Shaoshang Tan clansmen. Do you understand?”

Tan Weitong said nothing. He looked at the hall, then at his grandfather, then in the direction his father had been taken. Finally, gritting his teeth, he stared hard at Tan Shouyi and said: “…This grandson understands.”

Tan Shouyi looked at his face and gave a light laugh: “Take your time. I’ll be waiting for you to bring this old man down, and bring your father back…”

“This grandson would never dare think such a thing.”

“You should think exactly that! I want you to think that! This old man would be glad if you thought that! Now that the Tan family army has already lost the Emperor’s favor—that favor doesn’t matter much anyway, so long as you’re useful, the Sage will always favor you a little… Your father was useless. Simply by existing, he was a liability!”

Seeing his eldest grandson shivering with cold, Tan Shouyi handed him the wine gourd and said: “The most urgent matter right now is the morale of the Tan family army… do you understand?”

“Morale?”

“Yes. Without the Long Blade Battalion, the Tan family army has no morale left. Your father is a fool—he insisted on marginalizing your second uncle, and even after your second uncle died, he still refused to make use of his men. Do you know what I would do, in your father’s place?”

“…What would you do?”

“Either make them disappear entirely—or else support them respectfully and properly. It costs only a bit of silver to buy a good name, and that’s how you see things through to the end! When men fight and risk their lives for you, who doesn’t want a good outcome for it! Hmph, if they can’t even eat their fill, who’s going to keep bleeding and dying for you? Do you really think you’re some kind of immortal, that you can just say whatever you like—that all the suffering people endure in this life is spiritual cultivation, that the more you suffer now, the greater your blessings in the next life? A pity—you’re nothing but mortal flesh and blood, you can’t give people their blessings in the next life! And in the end, that’s how that Yang—no, His Majesty—came out on top so easily!”

This time, Tan Weitong asked nothing more.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before a company of soldiers finally cleared a path through the snow wide enough for one carriage.

Tan Shouyi was helped up into the carriage; Tan Weitong hesitated for a moment, then went to help support him.

Tan Shouyi looked at his eldest grandson, and in the end, he smiled. Once he was seated in the carriage, Tan Weitong knelt outside and said in salute: “I only hope Grandfather will teach me how to become a worthy clan heir!”

Having said this, he slowly knelt down.

Tan Shouyi leaned forward, lifted the carriage curtain, and looked once more at Tan Shize’s ancestral hall. “From today, keep mourning vigil beside your brother—someone will come to teach you… As for the title your father held, tomorrow I will write up the petition to have it reduced by one rank. Whether you’re willing or not, this household—you must shoulder it now…”

Tan Weitong raised his hands respectfully above his head and bowed in farewell: “As you command!”

The road back was much smoother. Tan Shouyi closed his eyes to rest, and as the carriage swayed along, his advisor Master Nandu said: “My lord, do not grieve too much. Nothing is built without first being torn down—there must be a process to it. Once the young masters reach the right age, they will naturally come to understand.”

Tan Shouyi rubbed his temples and sighed: “Let’s hope so. Of Shiyuan’s three whelps, aside from that spineless second one, the others seem decent enough—worthy of this old man’s blood after all. Heh—this old man is waiting on them. If they’re gone, they’re gone; let them be buried in a mass grave for all I care. Only… those few old blades…”

Master Nandu thought for a moment and said: “That’s no difficulty. Our old estate already supports no fewer than twenty grandmasters. It’s about time they earned their keep.”

But Tan Shouyi said: “The trouble is, the Jiu Si Hall has just issued the new dueling-ban decree. We can’t act as recklessly as before. After all, those few men have the Emperor’s favor.”

Master Nandu smiled and said: “That’s no trouble either. According to the new statute, commoners may simply issue a formal challenge.”

Tan Shouyi stroked his beard, considering, and nodded: “Not a bad idea. Only, the men Zeer trained aren’t easily beaten…”

“Rest easy, my lord. Outside of the battlefield, a formal duel is one against one—that is the rule.”

“And if, even in a fair duel, we still lose—after all, martial skill in the jianghu differs from battlefield skill…”

“Then issue another challenge! And another after that!”

“Mm, let’s do it that way then. After all, so long as the old blades don’t break, my Tan family army cannot raise new blades… it may be unfair to those men, but there’s no other way.”

The day after the heavy snow, the sky cleared at dawn, and the whole city of Qingfeng was in a festive mood.

Early that morning, Qiqian’er had just returned from delivering grain to Master Qiu’s place when she once more spotted those two fools from the Jiu Si Hall up on the rooftop.

The two fools tossed her a new notice and ran off.

Qiqian’er read the notice and then made her way home in confusion. When she jumped down from the roof, she found a Snow Aunty perched on her courtyard wall.

Snow Aunty had brought two wild pheasants and had been waiting there. The moment she spotted Qiqian’er’s return, she happily tossed the birds into the courtyard and said: “Give me the meat, and I’ll sell you the broth cheap.”

Qiqian’er picked up the pheasants and laughed: “Everyone knows the broth is the most nourishing part.”

Snow Aunty said, exasperated: “Ah, my little son-in-law loves nothing more than gnawing bones! What shame on my house, raising such an unworthy daughter—I suppose I’ll just have to gnaw along with him.”

Qiqian’er was in a good mood, and burst out laughing. She put on her shoes, then pulled the notice from her robe and tossed it to Snow Aunty.

Snow Aunty caught it and asked: “What’s this?”

“Oh, it’s an official notice—says that from now on the common people are forbidden from brawling as they please. After next spring, any city in Daliang will build a public dueling platform. From now on, if there’s a feud, both sides must exchange formal challenge notices, agree on a date, sign a life-or-death waiver at the platform, and settle it that way.”

Ah, so that’s what it was! Snow Aunty lost interest the moment she heard, and casually tossed the notice back to Qiqian’er: “We used to be healers who treated the sick—we were never jianghu people. Besides, since when are you a jianghu person yourself?”

These past few days, Qiqian’er had kept hearing about “jianghu this” and “jianghu that”—all this talk coming from those two fools on the roof.

The two fools were persistent, fixated on one thing: getting Qiqian’er to register as a recluse master with the Jiu Si Hall.

Impossible! Since when did being able to hop around a little make her a jianghu person? Qiqian’er flatly refused to admit to any such thing.

Back inside, Qiqian’er briskly set a large pot of water to boil, preparing to slaughter the pheasant and scald off its feathers. But then she heard a knock at the door, and the old woman’s voice, tinged with delight, calling: “Qian’er, Qian’er! We have honored guests!”

Qiqian’er hurried out to open the door, and saw the old woman, with Magpie on her back, looking at her with a face full of delighted surprise.

Ever since this old woman had taken possession of her grandson’s things, she’d stayed home every day watching over them, rarely going out on her own. So what had happened now?

The moment she saw Qiqian’er, the old woman said: “Old Tao family’s eldest daughter-in-law came over to tell me! Hurry up and go to the mouth of the alley—they say Little Flower’s family has sent New Year gifts… oh my, Yanjing sure knows how to do things right, three whole cartloads of New Year gifts!”

Qiqian’er was momentarily dazed—ah, right, right! As a proper, capable wife, this was indeed the turn of the year, the time to prepare New Year gifts for all their various connections—that was the way of a good household manager.

Truly, how careless of her.

She quickly changed clothes, helped the old woman inside, gave her a few instructions, and then went to the mouth of the alley herself to call for people.

Before long, a matron sent by the Chang family entered the house, first kowtowing and greeting the old woman, then presenting the gift list.

This matron’s surname was Zhao. The moment she entered, she quietly looked around, the corner of her mouth curling slightly in a hint of disdain—yet the moment she saw the old woman, she praised her, saying the old woman’s face looked like a kindly reincarnated bodhisattva, and that Qiqian’er had the beauty of a nation and the bearing of nobility.

Qiqian’er had seen plenty of people like this. She smiled, accepted the gift list, and glanced down to see it read: ten live sheep, ten chickens and ten ducks, one hundred catties of assorted dried vegetables, twenty catties of sauce, ten piculs of coarse grain, twenty catties of fine rice.

This was how a family of officials lived—back and forth, mutual courtesies, growing close as old family friends.

These were practical New Year gifts suited to the family’s actual circumstances—in times like these, who knew how hard it was just to come by such things!

It spoke well of old Earl Chang and Little Flower, out fighting to put down the rebellion, that they’d still solemnly seen to this before leaving.

Qiqian’er only glanced at it once before setting the items aside, without showing too much delight. The old woman, on the other hand, looked on eagerly, but knowing she couldn’t read, she had to hold herself back.

Qiqian’er personally poured a cup of water from a bamboo tube for Matron Zhao.

Matron Zhao hastily said she didn’t dare, then took it with both hands and sat on a small stool in the room to give her report.

Qiqian’er sat upright and asked with a smile: “You see, as the junior in this relationship, I really ought to have gone to pay my respects to the old ancestress, the elders, and the sisters-in-law first—it’s just that we’ve only just settled in, and nothing is convenient yet, so I’ve been remiss in courtesy.”

Matron Zhao hastily said with a smile: “Now what is my lady saying! Who isn’t like this these days? In fact, our lady said just this morning, before I left—please tell the venerable ancestress and the young mistress at your household not to think too much of it. In times like these, one mustn’t fuss over such small formalities. She also said our two families are true, close relations—it’s the future that matters, not the present… ha ha.”

Qiqian’er felt somewhat reassured, and went on to ask about the family’s current situation.

Her asking this made Matron Zhao’s eyes light up, and she smiled as she explained that all four young masters of the household were currently away helping put down the rebellion. At the mansion, only the old ancestress and the lady of the house remained in the main courtyard; these New Year gifts had also been given by the main courtyard.

Because the Chang family had ceded their marquisate, the Emperor had in turn granted them two viscountcies, which necessitated a family division. So although the Chang family still lived in one compound, it was now, in effect, three separate households under one roof.

The two young mistresses each managed their own courtyards, and the family already had a third generation—young masters and young misses. The eldest branch’s grandson was ten this year, and there were two little granddaughters, one eight and one three. The eldest young master also had two concubines, but as they had only recently been taken in, neither was yet with child.

The second branch had a little young master, five this year, and another child on the way in the second young mistress’s belly…

Hearing all this, Qiqian’er praised warmly, remarking on how the whole household was truly thriving.

The old woman, who envied nothing more than a large, thriving family, joined in with hearty praise as well.

Once Qiqian’er had learned all about the family’s members, she went into the side room, and before long returned carrying a large bundle, which she opened to show Matron Zhao.

Matron Zhao looked down and was struck speechless—palace brocade was always dazzling, after all.

And Qiqian’er, well, she was someone who had an entire mountain of brocade at her disposal.

All this brocade had been sorted through by Qiqian’er herself; anything that couldn’t be kept as a full bolt, she’d had cut down into good pieces.

She selected pieces each a full zhang in length, and, piece by piece, carefully instructed Matron Zhao: “As I said, our family has only just gotten settled, and we don’t even have proper household staff yet—there’s no one to send to pay respects at the mansion, and that’s truly, truly a grave discourtesy on my part!”

Matron Zhao hurriedly offered more reassurance.

Qiqian’er continued: “Though our family does have a few ancestral delicacies, we haven’t yet set up an estate, so those will have to wait until autumn next year to be offered up to the venerable ancestress. For now, well, we only have these few ordinary things—I do hope the elders of the household won’t hold it against us; we’re quite embarrassed ourselves…”

Matron Zhao clicked her tongue at this, and hastily said: “Oh my, dear lady! I’ve lived over forty years and never seen such fine silk—and you call this ordinary… goodness, is what I’m wearing made of straw, then?”

Qiqian’er laughed. Their family’s circumstances were indeed still modest, but one couldn’t let that awkwardness show outside the home—the only solution was to give generously in return. There was no taking advantage of others; proper relations meant reciprocity in both directions.

She brought out two bolts of brocade in more subdued colors and said: “This is palace-made brocade, a gift from the inner court. These two, with their understated, subtly patterned colors, are for the venerable ancestress and the lady of the house. This one below, with gold covering the whole surface, is for the two young mistresses—each piece is a full zhang, enough for a complete garment. The rest, these blue-and-white pieces, are for the young masters, and the peach-pink ones for the young misses—five chi each.

“Please go back and give my regards to the lady and the young mistresses, and tell them that once spring comes and the flowers bloom, I’ll come pay a proper visit to the venerable ancestress in person! Only, don’t look down on us when that day comes—our family does have one good point… we’re honest folk, and we can really eat!”

Matron Zhao was startled for a moment, then burst out laughing along with Qiqian’er.

Finally, Qiqian’er dug out a small cloth bundle from the very bottom of the larger bundle, and opened it to reveal a packet of small pearls.

These pearls had been a gift from Second Aunt Ma, currying favor with the young mistress—she’d presented a pair of pearl-studded shoes, and Qiqian’er had had all the small pearls picked off them, never expecting to put them to use until today.

The Chen family had only just gotten established, and would absolutely not accept charity from anyone.

She said with a smile to Matron Zhao: “This is five taels’ worth of small pearls, already drilled and matched in color—all brand new pearls! It’s from our own venerable ancestress, a gift for the ancestress at your household. It’s not worth much, but genuinely hard to come by these days! You could have them set into a pair of pearl-embroidered shoes for the venerable ancestress—wouldn’t that make a fine, dignified thing to wear when receiving guests for the New Year!”

Matron Zhao, who had come from the provinces with the Chang family and had only recently seen real wealth herself, would never have imagined that in this world, people actually embedded pearls onto shoes.

As she left, she bowed and retreated again and again in courtesy, not a trace of her earlier arrogance remaining.

Once they’d gone, Qiqian’er returned to the courtyard and saw the old woman getting ready to leave with Magpie on her back.

Now this was rare—the old woman was leaving completely empty-handed?

Qiqian’er stood in the doorway and teased her with a smile: “Oh? Our old ancestress isn’t taking anything home this time?”

The old woman flew into a rage, her face pained as though from a physical ache, and scolded as she turned back: “Take what! I couldn’t possibly afford the return gift! What kind of people are these—give us a little, and we send back that much more in return! Better not to keep up with such a noble relation at all! If she gives me one grain of rice, I’d have to give back three—I’m not a fool!”