Chen Dasheng was a diligent man. Even as life grew better and better, he never once slackened in the skills that secured his position and livelihood.

Autumn brought frequent rain, turning the training grounds to mud, yet he still led the brothers in relentless practice of the blade.

Those who had suffered hardship all shared a certain clarity of understanding — the old blades all knew this well: that they’d been noticed by His Majesty and respected by their colleagues precisely because they were useful, because the skills they possessed were something others couldn’t learn in a lifetime.

Knowing this, they dared not slacken. Following their blade-captain’s lead, drenched in sweat, they wielded their sabers in the courtyard in endless chops, thrusts, sweeps, slashes, arcs… No matter how good life got, the same motions every day, at minimum five hundred repetitions.

Saber technique, however it varies, never strays from its roots — no matter the school or sect, these few forms are the foundation of all blade arts. And as move followed move, the seven of them struck with a force like a great wind sweeping from the north, carrying the momentum of a hundred thousand troops.

Wind broke in every corner of the training ground, and everyone was sweating in pure exhilaration — when, without warning, a rather indescribable cheer rang out from atop the courtyard wall nearby.

“Fine swordsmanship!!”

Chen Dasheng stumbled, and very nearly beheaded the culprit standing before him on the spot.

Hu Yougui rolled aside, then let out a long breath, stood, sheathed his blade, and flung it toward the scabbard hanging at his side — the blade naturally slid home, and an even more awkward compliment followed immediately after.

“Fine aim!!”

Hu Yougui opened his mouth helplessly, wiped a hand across his sweat, then planted both hands on his hips and walked to the base of the wall, saying in a tone both fierce and helpless, “Yo, General Yuwen~ got nothing better to do!?”

Yuwen Xiaoqiao, perched atop the wall, told Hu Yougui with great earnestness: “Guier, I’m not free today, I can only watch you for a moment — I’ve got an assignment, His Majesty has me training the cavalry.”

Having said this, she hopped down off the wall and bowed seriously to all the old blades, saying, “You’ve all worked hard, brothers, worked hard! This weather isn’t good either! Oh, my Guier hasn’t been giving you trouble, has he?”

Hu Yougui tilted his head, sucking in a breath through his teeth. He glanced left and right, then looked at how righteously certain she seemed, and felt a genuine urge to hit her.

Yuwen Xiaoqiao was dressed today in sturdy dark-colored training clothes, fitted with small arm guards and a chest plate, with a waist tally hanging at her belt.

She seemed to be missing some essential nerve by nature — she showed no sign of noticing that Hu Yougui was about to lose his temper. Perhaps it was feigned ignorance — who could say? In any case, she wore an expression of perfect sincerity, looking every bit like someone who had raised Hu Yougui by hand from childhood.

As kindly as a wet nurse.

She untied a lotus-leaf-wrapped parcel bound with straw rope from behind her waist and handed it to Hu Yougui, saying, “Guier, eat it while it’s hot, this is the best braised duck breast from the street corner by my place. I won’t be coming by these next few days, oh, you’ll have to suffer through it.”

Hu Yougui didn’t take it, just stood with hands on hips, staring at her.

But Yuwen Xiaoqiao, wearing an air of magnanimous reproach, said, “Take it, what’s there to be shy about, it’s not like this is from a stranger — aren’t you basically my own brother? You don’t even know, I waited so long just for this one duck…”

She forced the lotus-leaf parcel into Hu Yougui’s hands, then untied a wine gourd from her waist and hung it at his belt, saying, “This is good wine stolen from our eldest brother, you’d better drink it sparingly, and don’t take too much — we’ve got to steal it carefully. Next time we’ll steal from third brother’s stash…”

Hu Yougui helplessly ground his head against the wall, covered in goosebumps. Once the awkwardness passed, he looked at Yuwen Xiaoqiao — every time he opened his mouth to say something, she’d already conjured up something new from her person.

“Gui, ah, don’t look down on it, my mother says I ought to learn some needlework too — this, this is a handkerchief I embroidered… you mustn’t let anyone see it, it’s too embarrassing.”

“Guier, ah, if you’re tired of the duck breast, have some pickled vegetables, this is my family kitchen’s specialty — back when I went out on campaigns, this was what I loved bringing most…”

“Guier, ah, since I won’t be coming these next few days, just bear with that little temper of yours, tsk, like a lit fuse — if you see anyone you don’t like, just remember them, and I’ll settle the score for you when I’m back, hm…”

Unable to bear it any longer, Hu Yougui let out a furious roar: “Yuwen Xiaoqiao!!”

In truth, from the moment she’d hopped down off the wall, babbling nonsense the whole while, Yuwen Xiaoqiao’s eyes had kept darting everywhere, refusing to look at Hu Yougui — whatever she’d said, she probably didn’t even know herself.

Seeing Hu Yougui angry, she suddenly looked up at the sky and sighed: “Ah, Guier, ah, it’s getting late, I, I really am busy, busy! On imperial duty!”

She scrambled back up the wall of the Long Blade Bureau, her foot slipping before she climbed up, scraping against the ground a few times before she finally managed it. Once up, she crouched atop the wall, and with a solemn expression, cupped her fist to Chen Dasheng and said, “Marquis Chen, my Guier, he’s — young! Sometimes he doesn’t handle things properly…”

Hu Yougui completely broke down, standing beneath the wall and roaring in anger once more. The woman hopped down from the wall, still not forgetting to call out a final report: “Guier, ah, these next few days I won’t come, buy whatever you want to eat yourself, our family has money…”

A pouch of loose silver came tumbling down over the wall, and the sound of small, stumbling footsteps receded into the distance…

Everyone knew — not come? How could that be possible? Tomorrow she’d switch up her tricks again, and she’d still come, persistent as ever, endlessly picking up new tricks from who knows where.

Hu Yougui carried the pile of things to the corridor, and not wanting to speak, slumped down against a pillar.

Chen Dasheng walked over laughing, opened the lotus leaf, and shared the duck breast with the other brothers. Munching away, he said admiringly, “Brother, she really is something. Tell me, this trick today — where’d she find her strategist?”

Hu Yougui answered listlessly, “~Who the hell knows!”

This girl Yuwen Xiaoqiao — never mind that she was a woman, in the old blades’ eyes, her martial skill was truly first-rate, magnificent.

No matter how high the walls of the Long Blade Bureau, no matter how vast or imposing the Prince’s residence, there was nowhere she couldn’t find her way to.

Hu Yougui smacked his lips, then held up an exquisitely embroidered handkerchief covered in peony blossoms and said, “Tell me, where did she buy this thing?”

The brothers gathered round to look, and the eldest, sharp-eyed, pointed at a corner and said, “Su Xizi’s shop on East Gate Old Street, look at that big mark.” Then he sighed, “Bet it wasn’t cheap either, something worth over ten strings of cash — this girl really has thick skin.”

By now, Hu Yougui’s room was piled high with new clothes, new shoes, new belts beyond counting. Every time, she’d just smile and say the same line — Guier, ah!

I just made this for you, ah, my needlework is only passable, wear it for now, I’ll make you more…

Hu Yougui felt his mind going a bit hazy. He didn’t want to speak, but Chen Dasheng grabbed his cheeks with one hand, wagging his head left and right with a sigh: “Say what you will, having such a handsome face does have its perks.”

Forced to keep his mouth shut, Hu Yougui muttered, “Big brother, just twist me to death~!”

The duck breast in the lotus leaf disappeared quickly, and by the time Hu Yougui came to his senses, out of brotherly affection they’d left him only one piece to taste.

Guan Si’er, worried for his brother, reached over and forced it into his mouth, even helping to close his jaw for him.

Chewing listlessly for a while, Hu Yougui suddenly seemed to remember something, and picking up the handkerchief, turned it this way and that, then lowered his head, laughing silently to himself.

Chen Dasheng stood up and shook his head helplessly: “Ah, Guier’s gone mad! Work’s done, work’s done, everyone head home! Tomorrow’s the rest day, don’t any of you come mooching meals at my place — don’t you have kitchens of your own at home? Camping out at mine every single day, what does that look like!”

With that, the brothers all stood up. Most had families to go home to, and they scattered in a great rush, each eager to return home.

The Old Daoist Camp near the Sixth Market Crossroads was where the Long Blade Bureau’s offices were located.

As for why it was called Old Daoist Camp — it seemed that in the previous dynasty, some emperor or another, wanting to ascend to immortality, had kept a whole crowd of Daoist priests brewing elixirs. That they’d been allowed to live so close to the Great Liang palace suggested that whatever elixirs that old Daoist had brewed back then must have been quite good — otherwise he wouldn’t have earned himself a four-courtyard compound complete with garden.

When Great Liang was first established, and all the ministries were scrambling for space in Yanjing, this spot had been claimed by the Ministry of Works. Later, when His Majesty went through the map of Yanjing district by district, he gave the old minister of Works quite a scolding — calling the old fellow a mole, burrowing holes everywhere he went.

Unfortunately, the old mole lord had no imperial backing, while Chen Dasheng, with his sturdy pedigree, managed to wrest a grand office away from the Ministry of Works.

Looking across all of Yanjing, among the fifth-rank offices, Chen Dasheng’s was by far the largest.

Back when the Ministry of Works had occupied it, the neighbors of Old Daoist Camp hadn’t thought much of it — no wonder, since the Ministry of Works employed so many craftsmen that no matter how high-ranking the official, after days piled up working out of the workshops, they’d all come out looking rather disheveled and unsightly. What’s more, those Ministry of Works officials didn’t much care for bathing, and lice would drop off them as they walked.

Back and forth it went, and that smell alone had defined the whole of Old Daoist Camp.

But ever since the gentlemen of the Long Blade Bureau arrived, well — spring had arrived too. Never mind talk of official authority, at the very least, it was pleasing to the eye.

At the Long Blade Bureau, whether the chief officer or the lowliest clerk, youth was the first requirement, and second, influenced by their chief, they all kept themselves clean and tidy — and he even let the street vendors set up stalls freely, paying for their meals too.

Especially on the evening before a rest day, that was when Old Daoist Camp put on its finest sight. The office gates would swing wide open, and out would pour a crowd of dignified young gentlemen.

Today, as always, Chen Dasheng led the way. No sooner had he stepped out than Jixiang’s family greeted him with a round of respectful inquiries, and then, treated like a precious golden jewel, he was escorted by seven or eight maids and servants into a carriage and whisked away.

Yu Qingguan came out second. This one loved taking on disciples — he was in charge of training the outlying scouts, and every time he went home, he brought seven or eight disciples along, disciples who themselves held rank and had their own personal guards, quite the resplendent procession, like stars gathered around the moon.

Third out was this Tong Jintai. He looked around with a smile, and spotted his father-in-law’s household steward personally driving the carriage over to fetch him.

The old steward smiled as he got down, and with slow, deliberate movements, set out the footstool for Tong Jintai and helped him up into the carriage.

As he climbed in, Tong Jintai asked, “Heh! So we’re not going home tonight — whose place are we eating at today, then?”

The old steward said with a grin, “The old concubine’s place at Sitong Alley, of course — how many times have they invited us already? The young mistress doesn’t want to run around so much, but there’s no helping it, it’s an old family tie! Young master, you don’t know — yesterday our eldest young lady was carried over there, heh, and everyone who saw her had nothing but praise, they’ve already collected several chests’ worth of gifts.”

Tong Jintai lowered the carriage curtain, and sitting inside, said smugly, “That’s right — my daughter! So young and already earning her own dowry, hasn’t been raised for nothing…”

The old Zhang family were officials of the former dynasty, and though their fortunes had dimmed these past two years, they were still an established local power, with no shortage of relations.

Ever since Zhang Wanru had given birth to a daughter, who Tong Jintai was no longer mattered — he’d long since been kicked to the wayside. The woman went about all of Yanjing showing off, boasting about how in just a few months her chubby daughter could already scamper about nimbly as a monkey and burst into laughter at the slightest tease.

Today it was drinking at the great-aunt’s house, tomorrow staying a few days at the aunt’s.

No sooner had Tong Jintai left than Ma Ergu came out, freshly changed into new clothes, smiling as he went to fetch his horse. Never mind that no one came to receive him — the man was blessed with an abundance of sisters-in-law, and ever since he’d married Baqiao, everything he owned was of the finest quality, new stitching sent to him without even waiting for the old to wear through.

And his merchant father-in-law, along with his brother-in-law who served as a censor, doted on him more than anyone — whatever good food there was at home, they’d always set aside a portion for him.

Sometimes when Ma Ergu was on night duty before the emperor, his brother-in-law would spot him and always manage to slip fruit, preserves, and pastries into his sleeve on the sly.

Not seeing each other for a few days only deepened their mutual attachment, and before heading home he’d always stop by his father-in-law and brother-in-law’s place for a hearty meal first, only then heading back to the Guard’s Alley, a little tipsy.

Once Ma Ergu had left, the impressive Cui Erdian came out.

Among the old blades’ wives, the Chai clan ranked highest by pedigree — her family had many refined standards, and she doted most of all on this life-saving son-in-law of hers.

It was truly upon Cui Erdian, this promising son-in-law, that the entire glory and dignity of the Chai family now rested.

However much her father-in-law despised Marquis Chang, he treasured this son-in-law all the more. The moment he stepped out, the Chai family’s servants surrounded him bearing an open sedan chair, all chattering at once, calling out greetings to “young master,” and helped this son-in-law into the chair as tenderly as if he were a pampered daughter.

The old Chai family’s open sedan chair was made extra-large, carried by eight men, with room enough for three people seated without crowding.

Cui Erdian sat down, took a peeled piece of fruit, and while eating it, leaned forward to ask Hu Yougui and Guan Si’er, “What do you say? Come back with me today — my father-in-law’s got an opera and wine feast tomorrow, they’ve hired a troupe from the south, and tonight we could go soak in the fragrant baths together again?”

But Hu Yougui and Guan Si’er both shook their heads. The two of them had changed into scholar’s robes today, dressed up quite refined.

Guan Si’er opened his folding fan, fanning himself with affected reserve, and said with a smile, “Not going! His Majesty gifted Master Rui’an a new residence and is hosting a feast — my brother and I are going to drink at Scholar’s Lane.”

With that, the brothers bid each other farewell, and the once bustling gates of the Long Blade Bureau grew quiet again.

Chen Dasheng rode home to the Prince’s residence, and upon entering naturally asked first where his wife was. The gatekeeper told him the family had brought the old lady over, and the old lady had brought a whole flock of chicks and ducklings with her, and right now she was with the Prince at the Jingxin Garden out back.

Jingxin Garden was the place where the former Prince Hui used to cultivate himself and play the qin in meditation.

The moment Chen Dasheng entered, he heard A’Nai scolding his father in her own distinctively firm and lofty tone: “What did I say? You always say it’s fine, it’s fine? This is what ‘fine’ gets you — one moment of not watching and it’s ruined! You’re just not someone who knows how to manage a household. You’ve gotten her to be like this too — you can’t manage your own life, and you’re dragging Qian’er down with you too?”

Having said this, the old lady glanced furtively left and right, then lowered her voice: “Before, eating and drinking off others, that was someone else’s expense. Now you’re eating your own, how do you still not know how to manage it?”

She Qingling crouched there, all smiles, cradling a downy yellow chick in his hands, the chick peeping softly, while the old lady scolded on, spittle flying.

“Just tell me, with a courtyard this big, what couldn’t you do with it? Raise some chickens and ducks, at least get some eggs out of it — you plant vegetables? You’re the master of this house, can you possibly eat all that you’d grow? Who’d dare eat your vegetables anyway? And over there, the whole yard full of nothing but broken sapling stock, can’t eat it, can’t drink it, just something green to look at — have you gone mad?”

Prince She dared not make a sound, smiling along as he set down the chick and picked up a duckling instead, thinking to himself, how lovely it looks — tomorrow he’d have them prepare materials, he wanted to paint it.

Qiqian’er sat not far off on the couch making shoes, and while pulling thread, said with a laugh, “Grandma, it’s good you’re the one scolding him — it’s no use when I say it! I’ve said it too, with a courtyard this big, wouldn’t it be better to clear a few acres of land? The soil’s so rich here, so fertile — just tend it a little and next year our whole household, top to bottom, would have food to eat, wouldn’t even need to buy anything from outside!”

Could the old lady fail to recognize when someone was mocking her? She snapped back, “You cheeky wretch, laughing at me?”

Qiqian’er wasn’t afraid of her, and held up the shoe last in her hand, saying, “What, you won’t even let me poke fun? Just look at the life I lead! Waiting on the old and the young, and I still have to make shoes for the palace — what did I do in a past life to deserve this?”

At this, the mood in the courtyard grew tense.

It wasn’t without reason that Qiqian’er was upset. Ever since She Qingling had refused to remain confined and insisted on coming out, Empress Dowager Zheng in the palace had suddenly changed her tactics, and forcefully sent someone to say that last year, on her birthday, hadn’t it been customary for the wives of close relatives to send a few pieces of needlework in tribute?

Qiqian’er’s needlework was quite ordinary, and at first she hadn’t intended to send anything, so the palace sent an attendant to nag at the household — implying between the lines that the Dowager was very advanced in years now, had few blood relatives left, lacked for nothing, and as a great-aunt by marriage, simply wished to wear a pair of shoes made by her grandniece’s wife.

By the time the shoes were finally, reluctantly finished and sent to the palace, the Empress Dowager put them on immediately, showing not the slightest regard for the fact that Qiqian’er was in mourning — she even praised them in front of the Empress, the consorts, and the wives of court officials, declaring outright that in this whole world, only her nephew Qingling’s wife made shoes this comfortable, that no one else’s needlework could compare.

From then on, the old woman would wear no shoes but the ones Qiqian’er made.

What was Qiqian’er to do? Even though She Qingling was thoroughly disgusted by Empress Dowager Zheng’s little schemes, the woman didn’t ask for much — she caused no trouble, and kept the Zheng family from turning against them. So what if she wore a pair of shoes made by his wife?

After all, she was still the Grand Empress Dowager, mother of all under heaven.

The old lady, holding onto She Qingling’s arm, stood up, and with a wave of her hand shooed off dozens of little fowl, who came charging out and pecked clean the little vegetable seedlings the Prince had only just planted.

The old lady needed no one’s support, walking straight over to sit beside Qiqian’er and saying, “Hey, don’t complain — this is just your lot in life.”

At this, Qiqian’er grew annoyed, tossing the shoe into the basket, and pointing imperiously at the pastry plate, said to Prince She, “Father!”

She Qingling, always quick to read the room, promptly and neatly brought the pastry plate over to his daughter-in-law. Qiqian’er picked out the best-looking piece and popped it in her mouth, and while chewing, resignedly picked up her needle and thread again.

The old lady tapped her on the forehead, scolding, “You just don’t know what’s good for you — how has your father ever wronged you? Making a pair of shoes and you’re already griping about it — I’ve had my turn being old too, let’s speak with conscience here — that woman is a pitiable person, don’t you know that?”

Qiqian’er had had her turn too, and hearing this, pursed her lips and gave a huff.

She Qingling, finding backing at last, huddled beside the old lady eating beans, meanwhile using his foot to nudge aside the chicks and ducklings that had crawled up onto the low couch and were relieving themselves there, not minding it in the least.

The old lady, threading a needle through the shoe insole in the basket, said as she sewed, “Put yourself in her shoes — she’s never had a child of her own blood her whole life. Whether fate is good or crooked, she’s really worse off than me — at least I’ve got you lot. What does she have? Even the son she raised belongs to someone else. On the surface there’s affection, but her heart must be lonely as death — who in this life hasn’t had moments of despair, moments where you get stuck in some dark place and can’t climb back out?”

A man in guard’s uniform hurried past along the corridor of the Prince’s residence. From a distance, Chen Dasheng spotted him, quietly stood up, walked to the courtyard gate, took the stack of documents from his hands, then sat down under the corridor eaves to slowly leaf through them.

The old lady was still going on over there: “…She’s not stupid either, if she were stupid she couldn’t have raised a son like His Majesty, wouldn’t you agree?”

She Qingling, cheeks bulging with beans, nodded, “Mm~!”

“Someone with nothing left will cling to the one thing they have, and won’t let go even in death, right? She’s got nothing left, just her natal family — even if the Zheng family is a pile of garbage now, she still has to keep it perfumed with incense year after year, and won’t let anyone say a word against it, right?”

Chen Dasheng, hearing this, looked up and cut in: “Grandma, my father is my father — he’s not some object in her hands.”

She Qingling just laughed and popped more beans in his mouth, saying nothing.

His two children were both strong-willed by nature — once their temper flared, it ran wild; in any case, neither would allow a single ill word said about him from outside.

He’d heard something from his subordinates once.

Some days ago, while the household was reorganizing the courtyard, Qianer, not trusting the local merchants’ quoted prices — down to the price of a single nail — had insisted on going to the government-regulated iron market on the fixed dates of the first and fifteenth of the month, asking house to house what a single nail cost.

That time too, when Qianer went to inquire about iron goods prices, she overheard several out-of-town merchants gossiping about her, saying something like a eunuch actually had the nerve to go around calling himself a prince…

In truth, such gossip had never once ceased — if he’d taken such talk to heart, he’d have died of it long ago, over and over.

Who would have guessed — this girl silently listened to the whole thing without a word, then smilingly finished her shopping and walked off as if nothing had happened.

Then that evening, once the iron market had dispersed, this girl quietly had her servants trail the men, had sacks thrown over their heads, dragged them off somewhere deserted, and ordered her burly, hulking maidservants to beat them with laundry mallets for the better part of an incense-stick’s worth of time.

And not just once — every time, the day before the iron market opened on the first or fifteenth, these several men would inevitably get beaten again.

Now, those loose-lipped men, having realized they’d offended someone, were busy selling off their shops and homes, preparing to go make a living elsewhere.

In this whole life, She Qingling had never once been protected so meticulously by anyone. His heart felt sweet with it, and while pretending along with Qianer that nothing had happened, he secretly reveled in it, privately ordering up a good number of headdresses and hair ornaments for her to wear once her mourning period ended.

The old lady was still talking: “…Her asking you to make shoes is just an excuse to keep a connection, to draw a thread of familiarity between you two — just like your fourth uncle, oh! He’s trash too!”

Bringing up this word, the old lady grew a bit upset, and plucking at the fine down on her own sleeve, sighed: “I know he’s not human, I know he’s an animal, what can I do about it? I carried him in my belly, and then had to squeeze him back out…”

“…Cough cough cough cough cough…”

Poor She Qingling — a renowned scholar of his generation, descendant of a loyal and meritorious house, the reclusive minister of the current court, cousin to the Emperor, nephew to the Empress Dowager, newly-titled Prince Rui’an — having lived this long, this was the first time anyone had ever said the word “squeeze out” so bluntly right in front of him.

A bean went down the wrong pipe, and Chen Dasheng dropped the documents and leapt over, pounding his back, with everyone else crowding round to pound along too.

The old lady, having no idea just how powerful her words had been, complained instead: “Look at you, grown man that you are, choking on a single bean — what promise do you show. Quick, drink some water.”

And so he choked again.

In Yanjing, when watering livestock, people would commonly say, “water the donkey” — since the animal had worked hard all day.

The whole family crowded around She Qingling, and once he’d finally caught his breath, the old lady — unlike His Majesty, who’d have shouted for the imperial physician — simply reached over and smacked him a few more times to clear it, then said sternly: “Are those eyes on your head, or just empty holes? Can’t even watch where your food’s going? What good are you for anything?”

Having said this, she crossed her legs and settled onto the couch to keep nagging: “Your fourth uncle — animal or not, what can I do? I’ve already decided — tomorrow, once I’ve died, I want to tell you all, your fourth uncle will end up begging on the streets sooner or later. You lot, out of respect for me if nothing else, when you pass him, at least toss him a bun so he doesn’t starve to death — then your grandmother can rest in peace.”

Chen Dasheng drew a breath: “Grandma! Why are you bringing him up?”

The old lady turned her face away, righteous as ever: “I didn’t give birth to him, so I won’t bring him up again — oh, bah! I mean, that woman in the palace thinks just like me, always thinking… well, she did treat you like family once, at least for these shoes’ sake — if her family runs into trouble, you all mustn’t kick them while they’re down, so that when she closes her eyes for good…”

Qiqian’er dropped her basket and rushed to clap a hand over her grandmother’s mouth: “Ah ah ah~ Grandma, Grandma! Ancestor, how about I just drop dead tomorrow instead, there are ears everywhere…”

She Qingling, off to the side, was laughing so hard he could barely stand it. Truly unable to listen any further, he held back his laughter and stood, sidling up next to his son, picking up the old documents and asking, “What’s this?”

Chen Dasheng stood and drew a breath, saying, “Ah, it’s Xiao Qi’s recent trouble again — keeps having chest pains out of nowhere. His Majesty’s asked about it several times already, and we’ve seen quite a few physicians, but no one can find anything wrong. Him hurting like this all the time isn’t sustainable…”

She Qingling tossed aside the previous dynasty’s Old Draft Compilation of Rites Ministry Records and raised an eyebrow: “What does Xiao Qi’s ailment have to do with old records of the former dynasty’s examination candidates?”

Chen Dasheng picked up the one he’d set aside, pointing at a name on it, and said seriously, “Xiao Qi told me a few days ago that this is his birth father.”

She Qingling’s eyes went wide in an instant, and after a long moment he asked quietly, “Crane Summons Academy? Zhao Dongjin — is Qi’er’s birth father?”

Having said this, as if something had occurred to him, he tilted his head and looked at Chen Dasheng in disbelief: “No, that can’t be, can it? Does such a thing really exist in this world?”

Chen Dasheng nodded, then shook his head and sighed: “Father, I’m afraid it’s not so simple. I’m only guessing myself — Xiao Qi and the others don’t even know I’m looking into it. Tsk! It was just a flash of insight — a few days ago, when he had one of his episodes in the middle of the night, I sent someone with my token to fetch the imperial physician. When Erdian came back, he told me the head of the Imperial Academy had also sent word that Master Gong had come down with the exact same ailment, an inexplicable chest pain out of nowhere…”

She Qingling grew even more astonished, stepping back several paces. Chen Dasheng, watching the little downy-yellow chicks scurrying about on the ground, said, “This matter is too uncanny, and yet I believe it. You don’t know — the day my own elder brother died, I don’t know why, but I was restless all day, couldn’t settle to anything… Later they told me, your brother died yesterday.”

The day his own father had died, he too had felt, for no reason at all, a suffocating tightness in his chest.