Inside the Second Prince’s carriage it was quiet, no one spoke. Everyone seemed to have agreed without discussion to simply stare at Chen Dasheng.

Chen Dasheng had entered a peculiar, mystical state, muttering under his breath as he calculated some small account. His two hands were raised slightly, his head bowed with his eyes gleaming, pointing and calculating like a fortune-teller reading fate.

The Second Prince endured it for a long while, but in the end couldn’t hold back, and probed: “Is Feilian perhaps short on silver? If it’s not much, I could lend you ten or twenty thousand strings—more than that, I have none.”

That’s what he said, but how could that possibly be true? Who lacked silver, if not this man?

Chen Dasheng was the adopted son cared for in old age by She Qingling. Last year, among the first major acts after His Majesty ascended the throne was returning all of the She family’s confiscated assets in full.

The She family was an old great clan from the previous dynasty—otherwise how could the Zheng family have intermarried with them? Before the entire household had been executed, how many branches and lines had there been… After the founding of the new dynasty, the old confiscation records from the previous dynasty still existed, and the Emperor had the Ministry of Finance return everything doubled according to those records. Even the items that couldn’t be recovered were compensated at double their value, selected from the finest of the former imperial family’s assets.

But was that really so much? Not really, everyone knew how ruthless Grand Attendant She had been. Even outside this dynasty, he had endured humiliation to rise to become one of the top eunuchs of the inner court in the previous dynasty. At his peak, he had directly sidelined the Clan Court’s authority and personally interfered in its affairs, helping the You Emperor offend his entire clan thoroughly—and that was precisely why, in the end, the You Emperor found himself so isolated and friendless.

He had even meddled with the land grants and stipends given to the imperial in-laws. Back then, the consorts’ natal families received their annual stipends according to his moods, and in the late period the exploitation grew so severe that the clan members couldn’t help but complain bitterly—some families even rebelled. And who oversaw the confiscations afterward? She Qingling himself. So just how much money could he possibly have?

Though it was said outwardly that most of that silver had gone to support His Majesty, people being suspicious by nature, they figured that even a tenth of what remained would still be terrifying—and surely he wouldn’t withhold it from his own adopted son in old age?

The Second Prince actually felt sympathy for this cousin-in-law of his, and had thought of paying him a friendly visit, since the man had no children of his own and it seemed rather pitiable.

But little did he know, She Qingling had a strange temper. Ever since the previous dynasty fell and his family was gone, he’d lost all ambition and grown ever more solitary and stubborn. The man wouldn’t even give face to the Empress Dowager herself, let alone him.

Everyone knew that given his merits, She Qingling could have been granted a princely title, but the Zheng family had been foolish about it, which so angered She Qingling that he took up residence in the palace and made it his life’s mission to oppose the Zheng family at every turn.

A man with no family of his own had no use for silver, and since he doted so on this adopted son, why would he ever be stingy with him?

Chen Dasheng, off wandering in his own world, seemed not to hear. The Second Prince raised his voice and asked again: “Attendant Chen, are you perhaps short on silver?”

Chen Dasheng started, then looked at the Second Prince, Yang Zhen, and said, “Huh? Not short at all, Your Highness, why do you ask that?”

Not short, yet muttering over one string five hundred coins for half the ride? The Second Prince looked in confusion at Meng Dichen, who raised his eyebrows and pointed at Chen Dasheng’s fortune-teller gestures.

“Oh! This!” Chen Dasheng said, suddenly realizing, raising his hand. “It’s like this—I currently earn ten strings of silver a month in salary, and my wife gives me five hundred coins for spending money. Recently I took on two side jobs training the imperial guard instructors, so I figured it out—this month I should have twenty-five strings total. I already had them send the money home, but… but doesn’t my wife’s allowance seem off to me? If I calculated correctly, I should get one thousand two hundred fifty coins a month… why is it still only five hundred?”

The poor Marquis of the City Gate, having finished speaking, opened the carriage curtain again with a face full of confusion and looked outside.

He sighed deeply, and after a long, troubled silence said, “How am I supposed to tell my wife she gave me the wrong amount? Not giving me one thousand two hundred fifty coins, even just one string would be fine… ah!”

No one beside him spoke. Having looked his fill outside, Chen Dasheng helplessly let the curtain down and turned back, only to find the two men across from him both puffing their cheeks, eyes wide and staring at him with grave intensity.

Seeing Chen Dasheng looking at him, Meng Dichen felt embarrassed, sniffed, and turned his face to the side.

Chen Dasheng looked around at himself in confusion, finally patting the dust off his robe and even lifting his sleeve to sniff it.

Finding nothing wrong, he asked Meng Dichen in bewilderment, “Lord Meng? Is something the matter with me?”

The Second Prince could no longer hold back—he raised his sleeve to cover his face and burst out laughing wildly. Meng Dichen also gave up, tilting his head back to stare at the carriage roof, his chest heaving violently.

Beside him, the Sixth Prince buried his face straight into Chen Dasheng’s chest, shaking with laughter, drool leaking out without his even noticing.

What was so funny about this? Even if it was only a few hundred coins, this summer’s flood-swollen early pears were only two coins each—a string could buy two whole baskets, enough for the brothers to munch on for seven or eight days.

These fools who didn’t know the price of rice and firewood because they never had to manage a household.

“You—how can you be so filthy? This is the new robe my wife just made for me, I only put it on this morning!”

Chen Dasheng, thoroughly disgusted, pushed the Sixth Prince’s chin away, lifting his head up, then took out his own handkerchief and wiped his face several times, grumbling all the while, “Your Highness, you’re a prince too, how can you be so careless?”

Now he finally understood why this fellow, whenever he went to see Father Emperor, would send him into fits of laughter for no reason.

The man wasn’t putting on an act—anyone could see that Chen Dasheng was genuinely, sincerely confused about his wife shorting his allowance. Not the slightest hint of humor in it. Chen Dasheng stared solemnly across at them until they grew embarrassed and stopped laughing.

The Second Prince, holding back his breath, said to Chen Dasheng, “I’ve always heard people say Feilian fears his wife like a tiger…”

Now he understood the remark. Chen Dasheng hurried to defend his wife: “Your Highness is mistaken, I don’t fear my wife, truly I don’t!”

Bah! No one believed him!

Seeing the whole carriage doubted him, Chen Dasheng earnestly began counting on his fingers to calculate the household accounts for them. It wasn’t that his wife was stingy—his income really was that low, and she worked hard to support the family. As the man who had to hold up the household, his responsibilities were great and heavy.

For instance, right now his family was in the middle of setting up their household, and having gone with She Jixiang to the shops several times, he’d finally come to fully understand prices.

Running a household was full of countless little expenses everywhere—it didn’t look like much, but tallied up it was a huge sum, and that was only counting the present. Later on, when Granny A’Nai turned eighty, they’d have to hire an opera troupe for the celebration! And there was his teacher’s retirement to plan for, and funeral wood and burial preparations—none of that was free either.

The others’ expressions shifted from suppressed laughter to astonishment, and slowly into deep contemplation… Never had they seen a man have such an intimate grasp of household accounting.

Him laying out his current accounts wasn’t even the worst of it—the worst was that by the end, he had even worked in the examination registration fees for eight sons…

The more Chen Dasheng calculated, the more distressed he grew, until at last he said gravely, “…Your Highness! This official has eight sons. If they enter the provincial examinations, the day before the exam the provincial academy requires guarantors—at minimum five strings each, so that’s forty strings total!

And if they pass, fine, but if they don’t, they’ll have to pay tuition to attend school again. My wife says our sons must attend the best school in the capital! And the best in the capital is the Imperial Academy—I asked about it, and just for meals alone it’s one string eight hundred to two strings a month per person. With eight sons, that’s sixteen strings a month, one hundred ninety-two strings a year! And if the children aren’t getting enough to eat, wouldn’t I need to quietly add a few more strings on the side…”

Wait—you don’t even have a single son yet! What on earth was he even calculating? No one spoke anymore, the whole carriage just listened to Chen Dasheng continue his one-man accounting.

Unconsciously, everyone found their own hands—one or both—forming the fortune-teller’s gesture, muttering along under their breath. Meng Dichen, whose household already had a pile of wives and concubines and seven or eight children of his own, had once been a monk—once he’d returned to lay life, he’d apparently lost all restraint.

“…As for brushes, the top-grade ones cost two strings two hundred each, the cheapest are a hundred coins, plenty—but the children are still growing, shouldn’t they use quality ones?”

Everyone nodded solemnly in agreement—after all, these were the legitimate sons of a sixth-rank court official, how could they use inferior brushes?

“The old shops in the capital sell top ink at five strings a pound… medium-grade large paper is twenty coins a sheet, small paper ten coins a sheet… and I have eight sons…”

“…top-grade paulownia zithers can cost a fortune, but this humble official’s family is poor, so the children will have to make do—even an ordinary one costs fifteen strings, and with eight sons, that’s eight of them needed…”

Chen Dasheng was an honest, simple man—whatever his wife had taught him, that’s exactly what he’d learned. Yet while he’d caught on to everything else, the moment it came to arithmetic, his brain simply knotted up and refused to calculate properly.

Qiqian’er had later discovered something—if you rephrased it as, say, you have two sons and each buys a string of candied hawthorns at three coins each, how many coins total? Or used four sons buying candied hawthorns as the example, he’d learn it instantly, calculating correctly every time with a face full of sweetness, not a single mistake.

From then on, this fellow’s counting had grown permanently warped—whether reconciling accounts with his teacher or with His Majesty, he always used the “I have eight sons” method… His teacher never laughed at it, nor did His Majesty—in fact His Majesty seemed rather gratified by it.

Chen Dasheng calculated the whole way, all the way to the gates of Huguo Temple. By the time the Second Prince and Sixth Prince were solemnly welcomed inside by the assembled monks and had walked quite a distance, the Sixth Prince suddenly reached out and grabbed his imperial brother’s hand, on the verge of tears, saying, “Imperial Brother, I think I should become a monk after all!”

In all his years, this was the first time a brother had ever taken his hand like this.

Yang Zhen startled, stopping in his tracks at once, noticing his brother’s palm was damp with sweat.

The lead monk guiding the guests glanced sideways at the Sixth Prince, exchanged looks with the monks beside him, and together they murmured a chant of Amitabha Buddha.

The Second Prince, half-amused, asked him, “What foolishness are you thinking now?”

But the Sixth Prince sighed, “A day in heaven is a year on earth! Younger Brother doesn’t know when I’ll be able to return to my immortal rank. If the Heavenly Lord forgets me, and I accidentally end up starting a family, I’ll have eight sons—but at most I’d only be a minor prince! Consort Xiao says I’d get at most eight thousand piculs a year. I have eight sons, so each would only get a thousand a year—that’s just the stipend of a Grand Master for Glorious Happiness. I’d be failing my children…”

The monks’ faces fell, and they murmured another chant.

The Second Prince studied his younger brother for a long moment, then suddenly laughed. He crouched down affectionately, took out his handkerchief, and carefully wiped his brother’s two sweaty hands clean, saying, “Little brother, since when do you have eight sons?”

The Sixth Prince’s mind went blank for a moment, then his face lit with delighted surprise. “That’s right! Imperial Brother, I don’t have eight sons at all!” He pursed his lips, letting his brother lead him onward. After walking quite a distance, he poked at his brother’s palm with a finger and said, “Imperial Brother…”

The Second Prince smiled, patiently looking down and asking, “What is it?”

The Sixth Prince said earnestly, “Chen Feilian is—so terrifying!”

The Second Prince froze, then after a long pause nodded seriously. “Yes. He is.”

Truly terrifying… terrifying in the strangest of ways.

He had the ability to instantly topple all your common sense in an instant, sweeping you along a completely different turn of thought—that, too, was a kind of skill.

The moment the two princes arrived, the ceremony began at once. As the temple bell rang out, incense smoke filled the entire mountain, and the whole world seemed steeped in nothing but sandalwood scent. As the chanting voices of various colors gradually gathered, they merged into a unified chant of Amitabha Buddha, the sound of the Buddha’s name growing louder and louder… slowly drawing together the minds and spirits of all present…

Chen Dasheng followed the two princes and watched only half the ceremony. More than two hours had passed, and it seemed they still hadn’t finished bringing out Master Xuanshan’s remains. No one required him to watch the whole thing, so he quietly withdrew and made his way back out along the path he’d come, though fearing others might notice one man missing and think it disrespectful, he had a few of his brothers endure staying to fill out the full formation—after all, they were all dressed identically, so one of them leaving made no difference…

But the moment he moved, it caught the attention of a nearby monk receiving guests. That monk glanced up at him, then quickly lowered his head again and resumed his devout chanting.

Earlier, this very monk had patiently explained a great deal of Buddhist doctrine to him. Only then did he learn that for the monastic community, the death of a renowned monk was not something to grieve over, because they firmly believed that what Master Xuanshan had extinguished was merely his manifested body, not his true dharma body. The manifested body comes in response to karmic conditions to deliver all sentient beings, and when those conditions are exhausted, it departs…

But was that really so? Chen Dasheng had his doubts about this.

Although his teacher had also said that delivering all beings meant that, to the Buddha, there was no distinction of high or low among people in the world—the Buddha viewed insects and humans alike, and would deliver them all equally…

Yet in his own days of suffering, he too had once prayed for help, and no one, no god, had ever come to save him… But then again, he thought, there were so many suffering people in the world—perhaps he himself was simply too insignificant, and the Buddha’s deliverance simply hadn’t reached him yet.

Still, a person couldn’t be entirely without conscience. Not long ago, his own family had held a Buddhist ceremony at Qingque Nunnery, to deliver their deceased relatives and elders from suffering. After the ceremony for A’Nai was complete, she seemed reborn, at ease with herself—this, then, was the power of Buddhism.

…As the Buddhist chanting grew more and more urgent, wave after wave beating against Chen Dasheng’s heart… Chen Dasheng moved again. He glanced sideways at a certain spot and saw that several people had disappeared from that area; he quietly stepped back and slipped away.

Yu Qingguan and the others naturally moved to fill the gap, keeping that area looking just as full as before.

The receiving monk chanted another Buddha’s name, shaking his head slightly.

The way back down was blocked by devoted worshippers—Chen Dasheng found there was no path down the mountain, people kneeling everywhere… even some familiar faces of court officials in plain clothes, gathered in corners, chanting devoutly.

With no other choice, Chen Dasheng climbed onto a rooftop. No sooner had he climbed up than he saw several monks sitting quietly in a corner of the roof, watching him.

Seeing he only wanted to pass through, they even pointed him in a direction.

Quite a decent bunch of monks, weren’t they?

For a thousand years Huguo Temple had sheltered the realm, protecting countless grain seeds, weaving techniques, medical knowledge… surely that was a good thing? So why did His Majesty dislike this place? And why did Lord Meng, who came from the Southern Huguo Temple, along with the Second Prince, insist on competing with this place for supremacy?

His teacher had told him to observe for himself, so Chen Dasheng really did go and look. He made his way along the rooftops and saw half the court officials of the Great Liang dynasty gathered there.

Finally reaching the base of the mountain, he’d no sooner jumped down from the roof and settled himself than a young eunuch attending the two princes came over, setting up a folding chair for him and holding up a large tung-oil umbrella.

Chen Dasheng dismissed them, sitting there looking around, wondering all the while—did His Majesty dislike his officials coming here to worship Buddha? No, that couldn’t be the main point.

His teacher always said: don’t trust what seems overly upright, and guard against those who feign benevolence. In the mountains there are straight trees, but in this world there are no perfectly upright men.

But the receiving monk had also spoken of karma and cause and effect just now… so what was the karmic connection between His Majesty and this place?

If Huguo Temple had given His Majesty no cause for offense, and had performed so many meritorious deeds—hosting a grand event like the head abbot’s passing—how could His Majesty not come?

As he searched, Chen Dasheng’s eyes suddenly lit up—however His Majesty’s anger worked, he himself might not know, but his own karmic reckoning, it seemed, had arrived.

Amitabha, oh Buddha! I’m just outside the temple gates, please just pretend you don’t see me.

Chen Dasheng waved his hand, and a supervising eunuch came over, bowing his head to ask, “Little Ancestor, what are your orders? Are you thirsty, or would you like somewhere to rest?”

Chen Dasheng shook his head. “Neither. That group over there—do you know them?”

He pointed his chin toward a few tung-oil umbrellas near the temple gate.

Across the mountainside, devout worshippers knelt in prayer, but a group stood apart—a cluster of young men dressed in extravagant finery had servants set up parasols, tables, and a charcoal stove, lounging about as if on a spring outing, eating pastries and brewing tea, occasionally glancing at the kneeling crowds around them, pointing and laughing uproariously.

Meanwhile, Wu Xiu sat pale-faced off to the side with two distant branch relatives of the Tan family, not even managing to secure a spot at a table.

The eunuch glanced over and immediately reported back, “Reporting to Little Ancestor, yes, I know them—they’re from the collateral branch of the Cao family, the two younger brothers of Consort Jing. The elder is called Cao De, the younger Cao Cheng. They currently hold nominal fifth-rank posts in the Ministry of War. The rest are from the Tan family, and some from the old Wu family… rather too ostentatious, if I may say.”

Chen Dasheng took the tea handed to him and drank a sip, saying as if casually, “If they’re the Consort’s brothers, why have I never seen them in the palace?”

The eunuch chuckled lightly. “Little Ancestor wouldn’t know—although Consort Jing is the younger sister of the Empress, the Cao collateral branch went against the wishes of the main line and used some little tricks to get her into the palace. You know how our Empress’s temper is, Little Ancestor, she even goes against His Majesty at times, let alone their family! The Empress won’t allow Consort Jing’s relatives into the palace, so all they can do is bully some ignorant fools out here and scrape together some petty gains.”

Chen Dasheng handed the teacup back, took the eunuch’s cloth to wipe his hands, and said, “Resting outside the temple gates is fine enough, but this is still a major event for the temple—this is really too much. That Old Wu family you mentioned—which Old Wu family is that?”

Seeing the Little Ancestor enjoying idle gossip, the eunuch preened and continued.

“Little Ancestor wouldn’t know—that one over there dressed the shabbiest is the legitimate son of the old Wu family, Wu Xiu. His family did rather well in the previous dynasty, held a hereditary title, and had considerable wealth—otherwise the old Tan family wouldn’t have married their legitimate grandson to his family’s legitimate daughter. It’s just a pity, the previous dynasty’s hereditary nobility… you understand…”

Chen Dasheng nodded—the previous dynasty’s hereditary elite were, in the new dynasty, naturally worth less than dirt.

The eunuch continued animatedly, “This Wu Xiu doesn’t know his place either. Relying on his elder sister’s connections, he was originally serving in the Tan family’s army, but somehow he committed some offense, and the one who left to become a monk had him keep vigil at our Duke Wusu’s tomb. But this fellow apparently made another mistake, and was beaten half to death by the old Grand Tutor—crippled him, in fact. Look at him now, no one bothers with him anymore!”

Chen Dasheng raised an eyebrow and turned to ask, “Crippled?”

The eunuch held up his right hand and bent his thumb into his palm. “Lost this finger here, might as well be disabled.”

Chen Dasheng looked at his own right hand, folded his thumb in, and tried moving the other four fingers—indeed, it was inconvenient. Without the thumb… more than half the hand’s function was gone.

Seeing the Little Ancestor laughing, the eunuch spoke on with vigorous mockery. “This one’s simply useless. After his family fell, what was left of the old family fortune—for the sake of face, this fellow keeps throwing money around trying to curry favor, spending his days in Yanjing running around with wastrel young masters. Back then he still had prospects, and out of respect for the old Tan family, people would let him tag along…

Now, well, look where he’s sitting. Lucky for him his brother-in-law now holds the post of Vice Minister at the Court of Imperial Stud, so he got a seventh-rank clerk position at the Changying Treasury—at least it’s some income, just a shame about that missing finger, his whole life is basically capped at seventh rank now. Not long ago I heard the old Tan family was even making noise about replacing their clan wife! Who knows what the old Wu family had to give up just to keep a shred of face? Just look how shabby he is! Wearing old fabric from the previous dynasty—even the Cao family, upstarts as they are, wouldn’t bother with him!”

Another burst of laughter rose from over there. Wu Xiu tried to join in, but laughed half a beat too late, growing more and more awkward.

The two distant Tan relatives shot him a glare and moved their chairs elsewhere, leaving Wu Xiu thoroughly isolated.

Chen Dasheng asked again, “Changying Treasury?”

The eunuch answered immediately, “Yes, the Changying Treasury—it’s a minor office that collects the converted land rents from the Court of Imperial Stud’s pasture supervisors. There’s some petty profit in it, but not much, only a few times a year.”

Satisfied, Chen Dasheng looked at the eunuch and asked with a smile, “You know quite a lot—what’s your name?”

The eunuch beamed with delight and bowed at once. “Reporting to Little Ancestor, this humble one is called Cai Youfu. I used to be a minor steward at the Bingzi Treasury, only recently transferred to serve near the Sixth Prince.”

Chen Dasheng nodded. “Mm, I’ll remember you. You may go.”

And so this Cai Youfu happily went off.

Within the palace, Chen Dasheng’s standing carried considerable weight.

Once no one was around, Chen Dasheng quietly began to think. He had once told Chang Lianfang: if the day ever came that he had a hundred piculs, he’d use them to destroy a hundred piculs’ worth of the Tan family; with three hundred piculs, he’d destroy three hundred piculs’ worth.

Now that his life had improved, this grudge was something he’d never dare forget!

He had learned to read now, and had gone over those military orders again and again until they were worn ragged—he remembered every detail. Five of those pages had been handed over personally by Wu Xiu. And so—Wu Xiu had to die!

But… he could no longer simply think of it the way he once had, taking a knife and hacking the man down directly… He had a wife now, a grandmother, a teacher, and six brothers to look after.

Even a lowly seventh-rank official, however worthless and looked-down-upon, still had the Tan family standing behind him, still had the protection of the law… How exactly could he go about lawfully and properly killing Wu Xiu?

What did he have right now? Besides a knife, a body trained to kill, and just one book he’d read…

Chen Dasheng sat rooted in place, thinking in silence, just as he used to sit silently watching from the southern gate. In his heart, he silently recited the book his teacher had taught him—something about reading requiring careful intent, each word worth a thousand gold… something about a long road revealing a horse’s strength, and time revealing a person’s heart, and what else…

A man who does no wrong at heart won’t startle at a knock in the night… none of these principles seemed useful here…

As he thought, someone tapped him on the shoulder from behind. Chen Dasheng jumped up in alarm—startling the other person in turn.

Zheng Aman looked at his own hand, thinking to himself, finally, I managed to catch him off guard.

Seeing Chen Dasheng startled at the sight of him, he laughed smugly. “What were you thinking about? If this were a battlefield, I’d have gotten you!”

Chen Dasheng rubbed his head and laughed honestly. “That chanting was rather pleasant, I got lost in it.”

Zheng Aman looked thoroughly unimpressed, his somewhat delicate eyebrows knitting together as he mocked, “Brother Feilian, weren’t you just as sick of the monks’ chanting as I was, and snuck out like me?”

Zheng Aman was the grand-nephew of Empress Dowager Zheng. In the Empress Dowager’s eyes, Chen Dasheng was also like a grandson, so she had them address each other as brothers to show closeness.

With anyone else, given Zheng Aman’s notoriously foul temper, he’d never have deigned to call them brother! But Chen Dasheng was Old Blade, the leader of the Blades—Zheng Aman respected him at heart, and had called him brother without the slightest resistance, quite readily.

There was another reason, one he couldn’t share with outsiders—Zheng Aman’s relationship with his own family wasn’t good either. He’d been sent as a hostage at seven or eight years old, and had grown up beside His Majesty on his own merits, raised on the battlefield. Whatever post he now held had been earned blade and spear, entirely by himself.

Who would have thought that after returning to Yanjing, finally able to go home, his family instead tried to tame him with unpleasant words, and now was even bringing up matters of etiquette and ritual propriety?

When he’d been slashed several times on the battlefield, nearly losing his soul to the afterlife, why hadn’t they said anything then?

Truly—meddling too much!

What’s more, he found what his grandfather had done to his cousin-uncles and cousin-aunts thoroughly disgusting, so he’d taken to acting out just to spite them.

The Zheng family valued simplicity and frugality—he insisted on dressing in gaudy, colorful silks, talking of silver and copper coins at every turn.

The Zheng family valued scholarly propriety—he insisted on spending his days loitering in bookshops and brothels, occasionally waving around blades and acting coarse.

His grandfather forbade him from coming home, so he went to the palace and asked His Majesty for a residence of his own to live in. When he had no money, he’d simply go ask his great-aunt, Empress Dowager Zheng, for some…

The eunuch Cai Youfu, ever quick-witted, seeing Zheng Aman arrive, hurried to bring over a folding chair and invite him to sit.

But Zheng Aman waved him off. “No, no need! Go away, you’re in the way.”

Cai Youfu retreated awkwardly.

Once he’d left, Zheng Aman turned back to Chen Dasheng, preening and twisting side to side in front of him. “Look, look, notice anything different about me today?”

Chen Dasheng sighed. This fellow, with nothing better to do all day, always came to show off whatever new thing he’d gotten and make him guess. Who knew where he’d picked up such an odd habit.

But little did he know, Zheng Aman wasn’t very good at ingratiating himself with people—this guessing game with Chen Dasheng was actually a method he’d forced himself into, just as a way of getting closer to him. And since Chen Dasheng, unfamiliar with fine goods, always guessed wrong, it had become quite an addictive game for him.

A string of silvery-white beads glinted on his wrist in the sunlight. Chen Dasheng pointed at his wrist and said, “You’ve got a new bead bracelet.”

Zheng Aman lit up immediately, pulling the bracelet off his wrist and holding it up in front of Chen Dasheng. “Hey, guess what this is!”

Chen Dasheng looked closely and saw resting in his palm a string of beads like water droplets—he too was startled.

He’d never seen anything like it before.

Curious, he reached out a finger and poked it. Huh? The tip of his finger felt cool? He asked, “What is this?”

Zheng Aman looked utterly satisfied and said with a smile, “Just got this yesterday—it’s called a white crystal bracelet! Mine’s the purest, finest one in all of Great Liang—foreign merchants trading in Kunlun slaves brought in this new stock. Now guess how much it’s worth.”

Chen Dasheng could tell at a glance this thing was expensive, so he mustered his courage and guessed a large figure: “O-one hundred strings!”

Zheng Aman laughed on hearing this, flicking the beads with a pout. “A hundred strings? That’s just about what the silver cord costs, I’d give you that part for free! A hundred strings—try three thousand strings!”

Chen Dasheng was dumbstruck, staring at Zheng Aman’s hand for a long moment before saying, “You—you’re wearing six thousand mu of land on your body.”

The two of them, thinking on entirely different levels, stared at each other for a while, and then Chen Dasheng’s eyes lit up.

He touched the belt tucked in his sleeve, and suddenly remembered a saying his teacher had taught him.

“To seek wealth and status, one must put in deadly effort!”

He smiled, pointed off to the right, and said to Zheng Aman, “A’Man, help your brother with something, will you?”