Emperor Wu, Yang Zao, stood outside the newly renovated Jiuhua Hall, gazing up at the pigeons in the sky and the bronze bells beneath the eaves, thinking with some melancholy that of all the emperors who had ruled across these several thousand years, surely none had a harder lot than himself.
Not even two years on the throne, and only after scraping together loose bits of silver had he managed to finish renovating a few of the halls left from the previous dynasty. He had only just entered Jiuhua Hall, hadn’t even settled his imperial backside comfortably onto the nine-dragon throne, when word came that the Prefect of Shuntian had arrived. Then someone from the Censorate arrived as well, then the Ministry of Justice… and following close behind, an urgent letter traveling five hundred li a day from Tan Shouyi, who had already left the capital, begging for help…
Was he, the emperor, put on this earth simply to serve the old Tan family? Why did that one family have so much trouble attached to it?
Word had only come the night before — Tan Shiyuan deserved death ten times over! But regardless of the underlying cause, for Unwavering Devotion to draw a sword and wound someone in the busy streets of Yanjing was a clear violation of the court’s law.
What was he to do? One trouble after another had shifted the Tan family from his heart down to the soles of his feet — by now, the mere mention of that surname turned his stomach.
It was a genuine dilemma. One was Tan Shize’s own elder brother; the other was Tan Shize’s widow. His Majesty’s heart was in turmoil, and he found himself half-wishing he could simply turn cold and ruthless, and let those wretched people sort it out among themselves.
But he couldn’t, not really. The civil and military officials needed an accounting. The people of Yanjing needed an accounting. Even the whole realm was watching this incident of violence in the capital with keen interest.
Last year, Unwavering Devotion had still been half-mad, and could quietly be overlooked. But now she was entirely lucid. So then — who would be sent to apprehend her?
Even if Tan Shiyuan were guilty, it would still require Unwavering Devotion herself to bring formal charges against him — and given that woman’s proud temperament, Yang Zao had already resigned himself to the fact that this was a loss he’d simply have to eat.
Thinking further of the suffering Tan Shiyuan had recently endured, there was, admittedly, some satisfaction in it — but since the man had broken the law, he still had to be brought to justice regardless.
With this, Yang Zao sighed deeply, turned his head to look at the plaque above Jiuhua Hall, and thought to himself that perhaps this hall, having once belonged to the ruling place of the previous dynasty’s emperor, carried some ill fortune after all.
The civil officials had discharged their duty simply by filing their complaints, but when His Majesty looked from Jiu Si Tang to the Ministry of War, his ministers all looked rather awkward — the plain truth was, they simply couldn’t win against her. When she’d gone mad, she’d been capable of turning the imperial palace upside down — and now she was perfectly lucid.
Tan Shouyi had sent letter after letter, urgent dispatches traveling hundreds of li, pleading with His Majesty to intervene and save his son. But who would go to save him? Unwavering Devotion clearly had nothing left to lose — and even if she didn’t care for her own life, there was still the Qin Family Estate standing behind her.
The Qin family and Yuegong Mountain were currently locked in their own struggle — like the snipe and the clam fighting each other — and even the entire court had no wish to add trouble for the Qin family. Whichever side ultimately won or lost, it would benefit the court either way.
His Majesty finally withdrew his gaze, and with a heart full of worry, entered Jiuhua Hall, sat upon his new throne, and asked with a bitter smile, “Well, my ministers? Does anyone have a good solution?”
Chen Dasheng, of course, had no idea His Majesty was troubled by any of this. At that very moment, he was in the small garden of Yongyan Hall, where the princes studied, listening to the Sixth Prince — nicknamed the “Little Immortal” — tell tales of gods and immortals.
The Sixth Prince, nicknamed Little Immortal, was quite the eccentric character — but the palace had little use for eccentricity, and so the boy had grown rather lonely, with no one willing to play with him. Even the companions His Majesty had assigned him couldn’t be kept around for long — each found some excuse or another to leave.
No one could understand what he was talking about, and he couldn’t follow what others said either, so he wandered the palace grounds each day in a rather pitiful sort of way. But through all this wandering, he had eventually made himself a good friend.
Chen Dasheng, who often sat guarding the south gate through long shifts, was the one who let the Sixth Prince ramble on all morning about legends of immortals, never once walking away the way others did. He listened quietly, and never once found it tiresome.
In this world, in this vast expanse of heaven and earth, neither what his nominal father taught, nor what the tutors at the office taught, was ever as fascinating as the Sixth Prince’s stories.
And since the “blade-heads” liked listening, the other off-duty guards would gradually gather around too, once they had nothing else to do. Since sometime after the New Year, the Little Immortal had found his stage at last, and had begun sincerely preaching, converting the guards one by one into fellow enthusiasts for discussing ancient lore and immortals together.
Occasionally, when he had a free moment, he would even hold a small “immortal gathering” outside Yongyan Hall, setting up a small banquet or tea party in some scenic spot, and his beloved mother-consort would send along plenty of delicious food to treat “Brother Feilian” and the others.
Today, Chen Dasheng had some free time, and having received an invitation card from the Sixth Prince, went along with his brothers to attend the tea gathering, enjoying good food while listening to the Little Immortal show off a set of “immortal” stationery he’d acquired.
The Sixth Prince first introduced a set of sea-immortal-themed ink sticks, then two ink stones supposedly touched by immortals, and finally, a gilded lacquer brush holder depicting “Magu Offering Longevity Wishes,” which two young eunuchs carried around the small pavilion with great ceremony for everyone to admire.
The thing was genuinely heavy — even the Little Immortal himself couldn’t lift it.
Once everyone had had a good look, the Sixth Prince cleared his throat, and, holding his fair, plump face with great dignity, announced, “Drink tea, drink tea.”
And so everyone drank a few sips of tea and swallowed a few pastries.
While they ate and drank, Tong Jintai asked, “Sixth Highness, this big brush holder must be worth quite a bit, isn’t it? Awfully heavy.”
The Sixth Prince answered quite candidly, “I don’t actually know — it was sent by an official from my fief.”
He stood up as he spoke, walked directly in front of Chen Dasheng and the others, first nodding with reserved dignity to Chen Dasheng, his fellow “immortal,” then pointed at his own treasured brush holder and said, “Brother Feilian, this depicts Magu Offering Longevity Wishes.”
The country bumpkins all nodded in unison.
The Little Immortal clasped his hands behind his back and said with pride, “Ahem — mm, this Magu, you know, is also called the Longevity Immortal Goddess. It’s said she was born extraordinarily beautiful, and gentle of heart besides — only her father, Ma Qiu, was no good sort at all…”
While the Little Immortal held forth, spittle flying, he failed to notice a group of noble young men leaning over the railing on the second floor of a small pavilion in the Yongyan Hall garden, watching the scene below with amusement.
After a good while of watching, they turned back inside and said to a youth seated within, dressed in a blue robe embroidered with dragon motifs on both shoulders, of fine appearance and calm, composed bearing, “Fifth Highness, Sixth Highness has gone and lured those rough soldiers into eating and drinking in the garden again — and here at Yongyan Hall, which is supposed to be a place of study!”
The Fifth Prince was quietly reciting a volume of the Four Books at the time. The palace’s education of the princes had only truly begun the previous year, and the full complement of tutors — instructors, scribes, orthographers, attendant officials — had not yet been finalized, nor had any famous scholars yet been brought in to teach within the palace. But the old tutor from Shao Shang had come along as well, and continued teaching within the palace.
The princes were all naturally gifted, and aside from the Little Immortal, the other princes generally recited the Four Books ten times daily, and the Five Classics another ten times.
As for their Sixth Prince, he simply recited “Tales of the Immortals” countless times a day, or sat in meditation reciting the Heart Sutra.
Besides their studies, the princes also had to listen to a lecture from a renowned court official every three days, to understand the deeper meaning within the classics and histories. After each day’s recitation, they also had to practice, accompanied by their study companions, writing a hundred characters each in spring, summer, and autumn, and fifty in winter. Once a prince came of age, he would need to establish his own household, and the requirements for doing so included at minimum: an overview of history, comprehension of provincial governance, composing couplets, proper deportment, skill in debate, and timely application of what he’d learned.
It wasn’t as though a prince could simply establish his own household whenever he pleased, or be sent off to his fief at will just because he wanted to go.
After all, he was still the emperor’s son.
Hearing his own study companion’s words, tinged with a bit of envious provocation, the Fifth Prince, Yang Ying, frowned slightly and turned his head aside.
As a prince himself, he rather hoped his younger brother would remain unambitious — in fact, many of those “immortal” trinkets in the Sixth Prince’s possession had been given to him by Yang Ying himself.
And yet, no matter whose household his own study companions came from, they always seemed a notch below those of his second brother. Not only did he himself lack for accomplishment, but these companions kept stirring up trouble besides, leaving him caught in an awkward position on every side.
His own mother-consort was Consort Shun — one only had to hear the name to understand His Majesty’s intent: clearly meant to keep her gentle and non-contending. But in his own heart, why did he feel so unwilling to accept that fate? Never mind martial skill — in terms of his studies, he was easily the best among his brothers. They were all born of concubines, all equal in standing by birth — so why shouldn’t he be allowed to strive for more?
Another foolish companion pointed outside and complained to him, “Fifth Highness? You truly won’t do anything about this?”
Ha? Do something? Who was sitting out there — the nominal son of Eunuch She himself. A group of fools leaning over the railing, running their mouths recklessly — was he to have no peace at all?
Feeling disgusted, Yang Ying switched to another book and began reciting aloud, raising his voice. Seeing his displeasure, the study companions, thoroughly deflated, went back inside, sat at their desks, picked up their books, and began reciting on their own.
Just as things had settled into some semblance of proper study, and Yang Ying’s mood had barely begun to ease, a sudden shriek erupted from the courtyard.
Everyone leapt to their feet at once and rushed to the railing to look outside, and saw several of the “rough soldiers” running out with tense, anxious expressions, while the Sixth Prince trotted along after them, calling out, “Brother Feilian, don’t be afraid! Today is an auspicious day under the green dragon, the horse day clashes with the rat, the fetus spirit sits due east, and the auspicious spirit occupies the four symbols. By the sacred heart, this is truly, genuinely, an entirely unrestricted, auspicious day!”
Chen Dasheng shouted back over his shoulder as he ran, “Many thanks, Sixth Highness — it’s not my wife giving birth, it’s Jintai’s wife who’s gone into labor…”
“Gone into labor” — tÇŽng le — was an expression from Chen Dasheng’s hometown; they didn’t say “giving birth,” they said “lying down.”
The Sixth Prince, being on the plump side, gave up the chase after a while, unable to keep running.
He stopped, gasping for breath, sweat beading down his face.
“Sixth Brother.”
Yang Qian turned and saw it was his own Fifth Brother, and asked, still catching his breath, “Fifth Brother, you — you’re not studying today either?”
The Fifth Prince walked over to the Sixth Prince with a gentle smile, and seeing him sweating, drew a handkerchief from his sleeve and wiped his brow for him, saying, “One can’t study every waking hour, can one? There’s no end to books to read anyway. Look at you, sweating like this — you’ve only run a short distance and you’re already out of breath.”
The Little Immortal, ever innocent, simply tilted his face up and spread his hands with a sheepish giggle.
The guards ran hard — all except Yu Qingguan, none of the rest had ever imagined they’d live to see the day they’d become fathers. They dashed out of the palace at a full sprint. Not daring to ride horses within the capital itself, they practically wished they could carry the horses on their backs and run through the city on foot instead.
Once outside Yanjing, it was full gallop the rest of the way. By the time they reached Qinwei Lane, Tong Jintai leapt off his horse and immediately tripped and fell. Looking up, he saw the entire front of his own household crowded with people, so densely packed he couldn’t even see the ground.
With no other option, Ma Ergu and Yu Qingguan had to prop him up under either arm and half-carry him inside, with Chen Dasheng trotting along behind. But just as they reached the gate of the Tong residence, someone reached out and grabbed him by the ear.
The Old Madam glared at her own foolish grandson. “You, young man! What do you think you’re doing looking in there?”
So saying, she blocked off Erdian, Youguи, and Guan Si’er as well, herding them all away like a bunch of piglets.
Chen Dasheng, worried, made his way home, thinking to himself all the while — he’d had a wife for two years now, so how was he still being called “young man”?
Rather dejected, he entered his own home, and the first thing he saw was his young wife sitting in the courtyard beneath the osmanthus tree, stitching away carefully at a cloth tiger.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting delicate rays of light across his wife’s face, as though she herself were glowing from within — utterly lovely, like a true… mother?
Seeing Chen Dasheng come in, Qiqian’er looked up with a smile and asked, “You all made it back quickly.”
Chen Dasheng scratched his head, laughing a little sheepishly. “Ah, we rushed back the moment we got word. Why didn’t you go over there?”
The moment he asked, he received a withering glare from his wife. Qiqian’er said, exasperated at his ignorance, “You really don’t understand anything at all, do you? We haven’t even consummated our marriage yet! It’s not us who’d be intruding on them — it’s them intruding on us. No one’s allowed to look. Have you eaten?”
Chen Dasheng, well used to being teased by her, took this as a new piece of knowledge gained. He glanced at the sky, estimated the hour, and said, “Not hungry yet.” With that, he sat down on the stool Siyue had brought over, and watched his wife work at her needlework.
Qiqian’er didn’t even look at her hands as she worked, her needle moving back and forth as if guided by its own eyes, while her gaze remained fixed beyond the wall, her ears attentively listening as well.
Chen Dasheng watched her for a while, finding it rather dull, and asked, “Making a tiger? Is that for Jintai’s child?”
Qiqian’er glanced at the cloth tiger in her hands and smiled. “Mm, this isn’t actually a tiger — it’s a dream guardian, meant to be placed by the child’s pillow to devour nightmares.”
Such a marvelous thing existed in this world?
Chen Dasheng, quite astonished, reached out and took it from her. Unlike his old self, he’d learned to be more agreeable now, and complimented her, “Wife, your hands are so skillful.”
Qiqian’er froze a moment at this, then looked at him and said, “This isn’t skillful at all, just simple work. If you want to talk skill, it’s Quanzi Ge’s household that does the finest — you should see the shoe soles Quanzi Ge wears, so thick and sturdy…” She gestured with her hands. “Stitch after tight stitch, so meticulous — with how hard Quanzi Ge is on his shoes, they wouldn’t wear out even in three months.”
With that, she took up the dream guardian again and continued her work. She’d stitched only a little while when she heard the man beside her say, in a slightly bitter tone, “So everyone else’s wives make them shoes, and here I am wearing things sewn together on my own.”
Hearing this, Qiqian’er’s heart gave a lurch, and she very nearly stabbed straight through her own finger with the needle.
Dodging the needle away, she said, somewhat sharply, “Didn’t I just send you three pairs of cloth shoes not long ago?”
Chen Dasheng, recalling how those wretches had strutted around showing off their worn-out shoes in front of him, said crossly, “Those weren’t made by my wife!”
Qiqian’er wasn’t about to back down either, and shot back, “Other men’s wives are plenty idle — they’ve got nothing better to do than stitch shoes to pass the time! Your wife doesn’t have that luxury, nor such a carefree life! I’m busy managing the affairs of seven households. And you, Chen Choutou — you still want to wear shoes I’ve made? I spent seven or eight months just on this little padded dream guardian for someone else’s child.”
Qiqian’er, sharp-tongued as ever, leaned her head in closer and closer, forcing Chen Dasheng to lean back.
“…What sweet fantasy do you have in mind every single day? Looking at you, one would think you’d married into an official household, become a proper lady. But behind that official title trails a whole tangled mess of troubles. Did I owe you some debt in a past life that I still haven’t finished paying off? Just tell me — every kind of trouble your family has, high, middle, and low, you’ve handed me plenty of it — brothers’ wives, children, estates, elders — where exactly am I supposed to find the time to spare for any of that? And you still want me to make you shoes?”
Chen Dasheng rarely found himself this close to his wife. His head spun a little, her scent sweet in his nose, and something bittersweet and tight welled up in his chest, as though he’d fallen ill — an inexplicable, tugging discomfort.
He thought to himself, why were her eyes so big? Black where black should be, white where white should be — truly lovely.
Not quite knowing what came over him, he blurted out, almost against his own will, “Well — well, if you don’t have the time, I’ll — I’ll make you a pair myself, then.”
Qiqian’er froze for a moment, blinking, then sat back properly, and after a long, awkward pause said, “Pah, talking such nonsense every single day — you, making me shoes… pah!”
Chen Dasheng bared his teeth in a grin and stood up. “What, you don’t believe me?”
Qiqian’er nodded. “Mm. I don’t.”
Chen Dasheng glanced left and right, and seeing the servants had all withdrawn, said with a grin, “I never had such an easy life growing up. Young as I was when I joined the new recruits’ camp, whatever good things there were always went to the veterans first. What were the likes of us supposed to do? Had to look after ourselves. I got lucky, though — the first time I got into a scrap over rations, I met a good older brother. He’d been a leatherworker before. If not for him, I’d probably have gone barefoot the whole time.”
With that, Chen Dasheng glanced around and asked, “Where’s our leather store kept?”
Qiqian’er, sharp-tongued as ever, gave him a look and said, “You think we’re the imperial palace? A tiny sesame-seed official like you, and you think we’ve got a leather store? There’s some hides in the back west wing.”
No sooner had she said this than she saw Chen Dasheng go bounding off toward the back courtyard.
Once he was well out of sight, Qiqian’er muttered to herself, “Acting like it’s real — making me shoes? Ha, as if I’d ever be so lucky…”
She lowered her head and continued her needlework, since she still had to finish something in time for Wanru’s baby’s third-day bathing ceremony — she’d need at least one piece of her own handiwork ready by then, no matter what.
But even as her needle kept moving, there was a certain hopeful flutter in her heart, and every so often, she found herself glancing toward the back courtyard.
It wasn’t long before the sound of a door panel creaking came from that direction, and she immediately bent her head down, feigning deep concentration, not daring to look up again.
A series of footsteps approached, and Qiqian’er, pinching her needle, looked up to see her foolish husband holding more than a dozen pieces of hide in his arms, his face beaming as bright as a peony in full seasonal bloom.
“Wife, we actually have such fine deerskin at home?”
Chen Dasheng, cradling the deerskin, dragged over a stool and sat across from Qiqian’er, flipping through the hides as he spoke. “My, this is even a year-cured hide — quite the craftsmanship here, not inferior to the old leather shops of Yanjing at all.”
Ah, hearing this, it was clear he wasn’t speaking as an outsider to the craft — this wasn’t hide from last year’s hunt just brought home and freshly tanned at the leather shop.
Qiqian’er looked up at his earnest expression and said with a smile, “My, our Official Chen actually knows what he’s talking about?”
Chen Dasheng rolled his eyes too now, a note of pride in his tone. “What do you mean, ‘actually’? I’ve made myself more pairs than I can count — the soles are the tricky part, sure, but it’s not as though I’ve never done it before.”
As he spoke, he casually reached out, caught hold of one of his wife’s feet, and reached up to pull off the embroidered orchid-pattern shoe she was wearing.
In two lifetimes, Qiqian’er had never had her feet handled this way by anyone. Flustered and mortified in equal measure, she cried out in a low voice, “Let go! Chen Dasheng — what are you doing! Let go!”
Chen Dasheng chuckled, patting her little white sock affectionately. “What am I doing? My wife works so hard, my wife suffers so much — I’m making my wife shoes, that’s what. I can’t manage your kind of fine stitching, but boots I can do. Don’t worry, next time I come back, I’ll bring you a pair of little riding boots for sure.”
Qiqian’er couldn’t get a single word out, utterly flustered, her face burning red with embarrassment, and she found herself babbling nonsense. “I don’t — I don’t even ride horses, what would I need riding boots for, let go…”
“Not letting go. Behave yourself, don’t kick! Kick me to death and you’ll get to be a widow, won’t that be nice… I heard the Six Steeds Horse Farm is sending a good number of fine colts to the Ministry of War this year. I’ll have — have Liu Daya go ask for a good one for me. Does my wife prefer black, or one with spots?”
“…Black…”
Chen Dasheng, being a man of his word, truly meant to make the shoes as promised. He held his wife’s foot and measured it carefully, examining it with great attention — just as Meng Wanquan came bursting into the courtyard.
“She’s given birth… given birth, given birth, given birth, Dasheng… oh my goodness!”
The moment Meng Wanquan entered the courtyard, he saw his own brother holding his wife’s foot, apparently about to kiss it.
He covered his eyes and backed straight out again, and Chen Dasheng and Qiqian’er sprang apart at once. From outside the courtyard came the sound of Meng Wanquan saying to Yu Qingguan, who’d come along to deliver the news, “Brother! Don’t go in there, whatever you do! Our — our Choutou is in there gnawing on his wife’s foot…”
Qiqian’er, furious, kicked Chen Dasheng clean over, shoved her shoes back on, and stormed outside.
Chen Dasheng, rubbing his chest, only managed to climb to his feet after a good while, and shuffled slowly to the gate, where he saw Meng Wanquan plastered flat against the wall, sporting a fresh black eye, not moving a muscle. His wife, Madam Lu, holding her belly, was tenderly dabbing at his eye with a handkerchief. Seeing Chen Dasheng emerge, Madam Lu said irritably, “For no reason at all — whoever heard of a little sister-in-law striking her husband’s elder brother!”
Chen Dasheng pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Mm, our Qian’er is kind and gentle-natured. If it had been me…” He held up two fingers toward Madam Lu. “I’d have blackened both his eyes!”
Madam Lu, somewhat startled, waited until Chen Dasheng had walked off before angrily swatting her own husband. But her husband, seeing the coast was clear, immediately leaned in to whisper something in her ear.
Madam Lu’s eyes grew wider and wider as she listened, until finally she burst out laughing, clutching her belly.
Inside the Tong household courtyard, his parents-in-law, his wife’s elder brother and sister-in-law, the Chen family’s Old Madam, Old Madam Xu, Old Madam Tao, Ding Yuniang and her mother-in-law — Chen Dasheng, seeing the sheer number of heads crowding the space, was utterly astonished at just how many people the family had accumulated over time.
On the steps, Tong Jintai, tears and snot streaming down his face, clutched tightly to a bundled infant, refusing to let anyone take it from him.
Others beside him tried hard to persuade him, but he wouldn’t release his grip.
He seemed almost panicked, terrified that if the child were taken from him, it would never be given back — that was exactly how his own little sister had been carried away, after all. Seeing Chen Dasheng arrive, he finally stopped crying, his lips trembling, and rose unsteadily to his feet, saying to Chen Dasheng, “Brother, brother! Come quick and look! My wife — my wife gave me a person!”
He held the baby up to show his elder brother, startling Madam Dong so badly that she half-crouched, reaching out both hands the whole way over just in case.
Seeing him acting so unlike himself, Qiqian’er laughed and scolded, “What are you even saying, you spineless thing! Of course she didn’t give birth to a monkey for you! Boy or girl?”
Tong Jintai wasn’t hearing a word anyone said — he simply showed off the baby to his elder brother like a treasured gift.
What was an elder brother, after all? An elder brother was someone who used his own flesh and blood to shield you from harm, who helped bring you into this world, who worried over your food and drink, who stood in for your own parents.
Chen Dasheng, too, felt a flutter of nerves — he’d never seen anything so small before. Wrapped in a little red bundle, it was hard to tell what exactly it was, though apparently it was a person — yet it wasn’t even as long as half his own forearm.
He too found himself trembling, not daring to take the child, glancing around anxiously, asking over and over, “What, what, what do I do? There’s — there’s a person?”
The Old Madam, unable to bear watching her grandson act so spineless, went over and gave him a smack. “Hurry up and see about sending it back inside — a child this small can’t be allowed out in the wind for long, don’t you dare let it catch a chill.”
Chen Dasheng felt a wave of relief and nodded quickly. “Ah, right, right, right, right — send it back, send it back…”
But Tong Jintai simply refused. He pulled the baby back at once, cradling it as he sat down on the steps, his eyes taking on a distant, unfocused look. “Send it back? Why would I send it back? You all say things you don’t mean, you’re all lying to me… what if I send it back and they don’t give it to me again?”
Not sure what had come over him, he lifted the corner of the little blanket, gazing at the baby with intense, careful attention, and said, “Brother, I have a child now… it’s a girl, I have a daughter, look how beautiful she is, all dark and with hair on her face…” He leaned his face close and sighed. “So soft…”
Qiqian’er thought to herself that if Tong Jintai kept describing Zhang Wanru’s daughter this way, the poor child might well get beaten to death by her mother tomorrow. Seeing him seem a bit dazed, she coaxed him gently with a smile. “My, let me have a look too — flowers first, fruit after, and a daughter’s a lovely thing to have.”
Tong Jintai laughed and said, “That’s right, it’s fine, even if there’s no fruit at all, that’s fine too — I’d be happy even with ten blossoms and nothing more. Sister-in-law, look, this is my daughter…”
As he spoke, he began to cry again, but before the tears and snot could fully mingle, Meng Wanquan, sporting his own black eye, came stumbling into the courtyard shouting, “Quick! Quick! Where’s the midwife?”
He staggered his way over to the Old Madam and cried out, “A~Nai, help me, help me~ my wife laughed the baby right out — she, she wet herself all over the floor, please go check on her, quick — go check on her…”