Gaoxing threw a fit every night. No matter how well-behaved and reasonable a child he was during the day, once night fell, he had to have his mother. There was no negotiating it.

Qiqian’er had no choice but to tuck him into his little cloak and carry him on her back, binding him to her body with a rope.

Just before she went out, she looked at She Qingling, who was in the corner arranging a Buddha statue, and, perhaps feeling a little resentful, went next door and hauled Gennu and An’er over, dumping them onto their grandfather.

“Father, my grandmother says she’ll help out, so here are your own grandsons — you watch them yourself.”

She Qingling, his whole head full of thoughts of the Daliang palace, had his soul called back by this. Looking at the two grandsons gazing at him with such trust, he could only sigh inwardly — these were, after all, his own.

He laughed and pulled the two children into his arms.

Seeing that he’d stopped worrying, Qiqian’er finally headed out. Just as she reached the door, her father called after her, “Qian’er, you — you be careful.”

Qiqian’er smiled, turned and waved at the children. “I know. Don’t worry. Be good, both of you — Mother will be back soon.”

The children were sensitive. Each grabbed one of Grandfather’s arms and looked up at their mother with pleading eyes. “Come back early, then.”

Early, right. Qiqian’er nodded, then turned to glance at the entryway, where tonight’s meal included a pile of worthless salted beans. She found a sack, grabbed half a bagful, and went out.

Watching his mother leave, An’er lowered his head and thought for a moment, then finally gripped the peachwood toy sword at his waist, raised it, and comforted his grandfather: “Grandfather, don’t be afraid. An’er will protect you.”

Gennu blinked, then also drew the little knife from his waist and raised it, nodding at his grandfather.

This time She Qingling’s heart truly broke with tenderness. He laughed, pulled both children close, kissed each on the top of the head, and said happily, “All right, then Grandfather will leave it to you two.”

The two children’s faces turned solemn, and together they stood guard in front of their grandfather.

Waves of screaming rang out along Quanhou Street — the wicked intruders, their soles cut away, rolled about on the ground howling.

The few households on the street who weren’t from Liubu Lane, whose lamps were still lit, quickly extinguished them.

The whole earth went pitch black, the alleys even darker. The moon passed through the clouds, casting a pale, miserable light over the mortal world.

Xu Ximei, belly swollen with pregnancy, was a born commander. Before the enemy could react, she waved her hand crisply and shouted, “Yo — retreat!”

With that, she cupped her belly and scurried off, small quick steps, astonishingly fast.

She wasn’t worried about her subordinates. Most of these matrons came originally from the Diqiaomen district — as soldier-servants they had returned home with her, and, as luck would have it, met with war along the way. They had married and borne children amid the fighting in the city, and time and again had won merit alongside her fighting in urban warfare. They were more than capable in street fighting.

A mere retreat was nothing to them.

At the old willow tree outside the wall of the Sanli Study Hall, the intruders, weapons in hand, leapt up into the great tree, gathered together, and prepared to jump down all at once, landing evenly on their backs and shoulders as if this were routine — then drawing their blades in the same motion. The night raid was formally beginning.

Intelligence said the targets had all hidden inside the Sanli Study Hall — good news, since it meant they could be swept up in one go.

But tonight, that was not to be. They found themselves carelessly strung up in the tree.

Yes, extremely carelessly — the kind of crude trap that even greenhorns fresh to the arena of the martial world would have scorned to fall for. And yet this very trap had strung them all up together — truly, walk the night roads long enough and you’re bound to run into a ghost.

Still, it was nothing to worry about. They reversed their blades, about to cut the ropes, when suddenly a group of women appeared out of the shadows, shouting all sorts of nonsensical things, and attacked.

“You go, you go, you go…”

“Ya ya ya ya ya…”

“Who pushed me, who pushed me…”

The voices were soft and delicate, and as the women rushed forward they carried with them the scent of fine powder. When they drew close, for some reason the whole group suddenly hopped — no one had discussed it, yet they all made the same motion — hopping up with a little “yah~” and flinging a handful of powder at the men, then clutching their chests with the same soft, delicate voices, crying:

“So scary, so scary, so scary…”

Having finished flinging the powder in turn, they simply ran off?

These intruders, veterans of the martial world, had never encountered such opponents before. Rather… adorable, even?

Such delicate, sweet-smelling women lining up to bounce in front of them and waft perfume at them — what exactly was this? What were they doing? For a moment the men were stunned. But within an instant, they realized something was wrong — their heads had begun to spin.

Trouble! Women, the elderly, and children — these were the three types an adventurer of the martial world most needed to guard against. How had they forgotten that lesson? They began to struggle, but found their bodies powerless. Their minds stayed clear even as their bodies seemed to belong to someone else — the old woman next door, perhaps?

Matron Cheng had only used medicines available from the government storehouses to concoct a simple sedative — good ingredients were good ingredients, after all; it took an elaborate process to show they weren’t easily come by, and to justify their worth.

This crude approach didn’t feel right at all — the body no longer answered to them, yet the mind stayed sharp.

The leader shouted, “Not good! They’ve — they’ve dr— uh.”

A dozen or so weapons dropped to the ground; the intruders hanging in midair had become helpless little wretches.

The women hiding in the shadows lifted their faces to look. Seeing the weapons fall, they still didn’t dare approach; instead, worried it wasn’t enough, they gathered stones and threw them together — not just one or two pebbles, but a whole hail of stones. Whoever was closest to the shadows suffered the worst of it, instantly left bruised and bloodied, nose and face swollen — and their heads remained painfully clear through it all.

The most timid people, out of concern for their own safety, tend to choose one of two ways to hurt others: poison, or a heavy weapon that gives them a sense of security. Check the yamen’s records of women’s crimes, and the methods usually trace back to the Five Poisons Sect or the Hatchet Gang.

Once they confirmed there was no more danger, the women assigned to the tree-hanging group broke into delighted cheer. They reached for the wooden laundry mallets they’d prepared in advance and, cheering and jumping, went out, each family bringing their own maids and matrons to claim one intruder apiece, and began beating them thoroughly and evenly, the way one beats the dust from old quilts on a hot summer day.

Not a bit of their usual slacking off this time. As they beat, they laughed in mock horror: “Ai! So scary! Ai, don’t hit over there! Ai, you keep hitting the nose, it’s, it’s going to go right in!”

“Ai! Hit the back — the back’s yours, don’t hit my side… this is my new jacket, this is the finest gold-threaded silk from Yandu, ai~!”

Who said the back was theirs? When was that ever agreed upon?

Sometimes women’s sense of territory is truly terrifying.

That utterly chaotic, hopping beatdown — Qiqian’er watched it, hanging one-handed from the corner of a roof, grinning so wide she leaned back.

Vicious!

The noise from the back wall kept growing louder, and the intruders on the south side grew confused. They looked at each other, then chose the lowest roof of the Sanli Study Hall and climbed up together, meaning to scout things out — but the roof, apparently unable to bear the weight, collapsed instantly beneath them.

Amid the swirling dust, these skilled martial artists, given even the smallest foothold, could leap free — working together as they’d long done, they clapped hands in midair, toes touching the ground, and shot upward — only to be met with several salted beans flying at them from a corner. The beans were small, but more than enough to shatter kneecaps.

A few more agonized screams, and the men fell from the air — this time the pain was real. But before they could catch their breath, scalding hot water was poured down from the roof onto them.

After that scalding treatment — like plucking a decade-old rooster clean — the sounds below quickly died down. The broad-shouldered kitchen matron stood with hands on her hips, looking down with a cold sneer at the intruders, skin split and flesh torn.

With a wave of the hand, small-framed craftsmen kept by the household went up to the roof. First they laid tung-oil cloth over the flat roof, then someone hauled up wooden poles about the thickness of a child’s arm to support it, followed by another layer of oil cloth, and finally roof tiles, pre-prepared, stacked one by one in place.

In the dim night, the mere impression of a tiled roof was enough — no one would look closely. All of them were household hands well used to this sort of task, so the whole thing took only a few moments.

In the kitchen of the Sanli Study Hall, the burly matrons worked in perfect order while venting their resentment — after finally surviving the war, they’d finally found a good household to work for and gained control of the kitchen, and even though they hadn’t skimmed off much profit, this gang of scoundrels dared to try to harm the lady of the house. That simply wouldn’t do.

Everything proceeded in perfect order. Qiqian’er, child on her back, moved like a monkey across the eaves, up and down, and whenever she saw something not going well on that side, she’d toss a few beans to help out.

Sometimes while running she’d run into a matron from the next lane, who would scold her: “What are you doing tumbling around the rooftops in the middle of the night with a child on your back? Get inside and help out! No bringing kids out here!”

After the scolding, the matron ran off with her own group, brandishing their newly acquired weapons, and Qiqian’er just watched her back and smiled.

Everything was well in hand. Never mind that it was a group of women fighting — they weren’t losing at all, and only got more energetic as the fight went on…

Finally, one intruder found a gap, entered the courtyard through a low side gate, landed, and looked around — only for his hair to stand on end at what he saw.

Along the wall sat a row of smiling, deeply wrinkled old women, faint red rouge on their lips, all pressed against the wall, utterly still. In the pitch darkness, it was as frightening a sight as could be imagined.

In that instant, his childhood nightmares came flooding back — the old woman who stole children had finally come for him. He screamed in terror.

Several of the old women simultaneously raised their hands and, with unerring precision, each spooned a bit of powder into his mouth, then deftly closed his jaw shut. Four hands pinched his earlobes and tugged downward, and in voices of long-forgotten childhood tenderness, they said, “Good boy, be good~ swallow it!”

Gulp!

There — swallowed!

Never mind that he was a skilled martial artist — he was no match for grandmothers who had spent a lifetime chasing mischievous children with a spoon to feed them; once they said they’d get it into your mouth, it was never going into your nose instead.

The Chen family’s old matriarch looked triumphant, raising an eyebrow at the astonished Empress Dowager Jiang and saying smugly, “Just as I told you — anyone, no matter who, is afraid of this.”

Empress Dowager Jiang was rather thrilled today — this was likely the best experience of her life. She could even fight back! She could protect the children inside! What a wonderful thing this was.

She looked sideways at the intruder spinning on the ground, growing more and more dazed, and asked tentatively, “So, younger sister, what do we do about this one?”

What do you do? Beat him, of course!

On the battlefield, countless soldiers had been disarmed by grandmothers — some feigning death got a solid whack and quickly gave up the act. The old matriarch grunted, stood up, and looked around at her companions with satisfaction, then picked up her cane and, holding the thick end downward, swung a vicious half-arc blow at the already unconscious intruder.

Smack!!!!

The group of old women all bared their teeth and looked up, gazing at the Chen matriarch with reverence, thinking to themselves: Elder sister! From now on you’re the leader of Liubu Lane.

And so, with seven or eight canes swung thick-end-down, they beat him as if venting a lifetime’s worth of mother-in-law grievances all at once. When they finished, the matriarch cursed at the terrified servants standing nearby: “Hurry up and drag him off — hit him again and he’ll die! Such a waste of grain — tie him up and drag him away!”

And so the unlucky wretch was dragged off.

The matriarch clasped her cane and settled back against the wall. After waiting a while with no one coming, she turned her head slightly, only to see Empress Dowager Jiang applying powder to her own face with a powder puff.

The two elderly women looked at each other. The matriarch leaned her head over, and Empress Dowager Jiang thoughtfully dabbed a bit more powder on her, then both turned back to face forward blankly, eyes brimming with excitement they couldn’t hide.

Qiqian’er, hanging from the roof, had only one job: whenever she spotted someone moving fast, someone with strong skill, she’d throw a bean at their knee, at the tendons of their neck… Sometimes, victory or defeat came down to a single bean, and the intruders fell in the most inexplicable ways.

Xie Liuhao and Zhou Wujiu, along with several hidden guards from the Prince’s estate, had originally intended to fight to the death tonight. But once they took the high ground, they found there was basically nothing for them to do.

At first they’d been quite dutiful, lying flat on the roof, weapons ready, keeping watch defensively. But inside the courtyard, some were frying oil over a great fire, some boiling water, some scaring people, some tying people up — hot oil and boiling water poured over flesh, and the courtyard took on the smell of a New Year’s feast.

Anyone who entered this courtyard would either be scared out of their wits or lose their soul entirely — a ladle of scalding oil or boiling water to the head, then a blow to the back of the skull before they could even cry out, and they’d be dragged off.

Xu Ximei had thought she’d be a main fighting force; who would have guessed she’d end up as jailer instead. She and her subordinates never even got to use their blades — she was simply handed a fire poker, and whenever she saw one of the growing pile of unlucky captives twitch, she’d yawn and go over to give them another whack.

Outside, meanwhile, each household’s matriarch led a group of formidable matrons and maids, one hand holding sedative powder, the other a laundry mallet, dashing back and forth, circling the buildings again and again.

The women of Liubu Lane had no idea they were being protected. They simply watched, as if by happy coincidence, the intruders fall from trees, fall from walls, trip near traps, their heads landing squarely on buried spikes…

However the traps had been set, that was exactly how the unlucky victims got caught in them. And so the Prince’s hidden guards, who had planned to risk their lives fighting tonight, instead watched a crowd of women whooping as they dragged men down from trees, dragged men out of pits…

They lined up, cheerfully taking turns stepping on the intruders who’d fallen into the traps, back and forth, practically stomping out a rhythm like a victory dance.

Occasionally not satisfied, they’d come back to stomp a few more times, then run off shouting “So scary, so scary…”

But as the number of unlucky targets dwindled, there weren’t enough to go around — someone finally tripped one who hadn’t even been drugged yet, and more than twenty laundry mallets, worn smooth from years of use, rained down on his head and face like a storm…

Later, Xie Liuhao and the others stopped lying flat on the roof entirely; occasionally, seeing something amiss, they’d fly down to help with a few strikes, only to be chased off by the thoroughly disgusted women.

With nothing else to do, they all sat cross-legged on the roof, chins propped on hands, heads swaying along with the colorful skirts moving back and forth below… their expressions uniform, yet vivid.

They bared their teeth and leaned back, bared their teeth and protected their groins, bared their teeth and covered their faces, bared their teeth with features scrunched together, bared their teeth with nostrils flared, fanning themselves — heads locked stiff as if mounted on a millstone, turning round and round and round… there it goes, here it comes running back, another one’s dragged off… here comes another one…

There was also Second Madam Zhao, whose embroidered shoe went flying, and Madam Li, whose gold hairpin fell off — sights so bizarre a lifetime spent standing on one’s head couldn’t have prepared them for it; tonight it was enough to make one sick with laughter. And Miss Qi’s eyesight really was terrible — she’d charged out with her club long ago, and was now crying, alone, beating on a tree trunk for half the night.

Why did no one stop her, then?

Stop her? Not a chance — someone had suddenly discovered that among the weapons the intruders carried, some were inlaid with gold and jewels, and even the hidden pouches that fell off their bodies, once opened — good heavens, solid gold coin-darts?

That opened the floodgates of greed. The grandmothers and matriarchs might not care, but the matrons, maids, and errand boys couldn’t pass up such a chance to strike it rich, and threw themselves into the fight with even more enthusiasm than anyone else.

One intruder, having finally made his way over, saw a woman in a pink skirt weeping her heart out, beating on a tree — he turned to flee in terror, but after only a few steps, his knees went weak, and countless blows rained on the back of his head, along with demon hands rifling through his belongings; when he groggily came to and tried to make sense of the world, the smell of roasting meat hit his nose, and another club landed on his head. Was this — was this hell?

When the rooster crowed at dawn, another straggler, sword in hand, lifted his face with delighted relief. He had circled Quanhou Street for what felt like forever, and had finally found the place his contact had pointed him to: the Sanli Study Hall.

He thought, damn it, I’m late, I went the wrong way! The targets are all right here — this is the place, I finally made it…

But — something felt off. So many brothers had gone in, and there was even an elder inside — dawn was breaking, and where was everyone?

Shouldn’t there be screaming and cries for help all over the ground? At the very least, shouldn’t there be traces of a fight?

Something was wrong! Definitely wrong!

His foot, which had been about to step forward, quietly retreated. He hadn’t backed up more than a few steps, shoulders hunched, when through the thinning morning mist he began to make out a great many figures — and the closer he got, the clearer they became… in that moment, he saw a nightmare he would never escape for the rest of his life.

Dozens of women, clothes in disarray, garishly colored, hair disheveled, makeup horrifying, each with a mouth like a bloody gash — either that, or a bloody gash and murderous eyes to boot — saw him and, one by one, lit up with delight?

They were looking at him, eyes full of greed?

Dividing the spoils?

He drew closer, closer still.

He heard the group of “female ghosts” say, this is one we spotted from Personnel Ministry Lane.

Nonsense! This is War Ministry Lane’s territory.

Ghost’s honest — we’re the ones who set the trap in Works Ministry Lane, this one’s ours.

Fool, where’s your own trap, then?

His hand, gripping the sword, was slick with sweat. He looked around helplessly, like a poor lost child separated from his mother in the street, thinking, are these people… are they here to eat me?

Then he watched as they raised, all together, a rainbow of grim weapons — laundry mallets, iron woks, brass lids, colanders — features twisted and fierce, mouths gaping wide, shouting at him: “He’s… ours…”

They really were going to eat him…

He dropped his sword, screamed, and turned to flee.

After chasing him for a while and finding she couldn’t catch up, Zhang Wanru spat toward the distance and cursed, in the roughest street slang: “Damn it, guess you can run fast!”

She’d definitely learned that phrase from the intruders last night.

Just as she finished cursing, several monks passing the night watch happened to walk by the entrance of Quanhou Street on their way home.

The night watchman’s gong clattered to the ground; the monks cried out “Amitabha!” in unison, spun around, and fled, stumbling.

???

Zhang Wanru turned in shock to meet her mother’s eyes; both of them, startled in the morning light, each let out a yelp — “Yah!”

That was truly frightening.

Within Qingfeng city, the startled monks finally roused the dreaming townsfolk. Countless people beat gongs and shouted at the top of their lungs: “Bandits attacking the city! Neighbors, help! Bandits attacking the city…”

With the morning light bolstering their courage, countless people came out of their homes, grabbed whatever tools they had, and formed groups to search.

It had only been a few years since the war, and every household kept weapons for self-defense; folk customs remained fierce, especially in Qingfeng Prefecture — every time they fought against Yandu, they always struck first here. Over time, people in Yandu came to say the people of Qingfeng were tough and stubborn opponents to fight.

And now, half the able-bodied men of the city crowded toward the Qingfeng prefectural office, only to find, upon arrival, the ground already littered with corpses.

The officials of the Great Liang dynasty were far more benevolent than those of the previous dynasty — as brutal as last night had been, they hadn’t dared make a sound, fearing to alarm the common people and cause chaos; they’d fought the whole night in complete silence.

One glance at the clothing told the common folk who to help. Someone shouted “beat them!” and the neighbors surged forward together with their weapons.

The martial-world intruders who had spent half the night attacking the prefectural office, seeing the situation turn against them, were forced to retreat.

Several prefectural constables lay flat on the roof, scanning in all directions, then shouted down into the office: “Sirs! You can come out now…”

No sooner had these words fallen than several bound officials, hoods pulled off, faces streaked with tears, cried out for their mothers and called the names of their wives and children as they ran toward Quanhou Street.

This world isn’t only full of useless men — last night, the attack on the office had been the main target, and any one of these seated officials would have made a fine hostage. Yet none of them could sit still worrying about their families; every one of them had wanted to go out and fight to the death.

Helpless, the prefect of Qingfeng had had them tied up and put under guard.

That whole night, their hearts had burned with anguish, and by the end, all hope seemed lost.

Now that no one was holding them back, the whole of Qingfeng watched a group of officials in blue robes wailing and stumbling toward that direction. They’d only made it halfway when a large group of carriages arrived in a panic from Yandu.

These officials likewise cried out for their mothers as they all arrived together at Quanhou Street; before they even drew close, they saw the area packed with people, layer upon layer.

Zhang Wanru’s elder brother, Zhang Ziwei, had gone half-mad — his official hat had fallen off, his official boots had flown off too. He had run all the way back from the Yandu yamen, and along the way had even commandeered the carriage of a fifth-rank official from the neighboring ministry, who hadn’t minded in the least — the two of them had comforted each other the whole way.

He got out of the carriage shouting for his grandmother, then for his mother…

That official was the same — face streaked with tears, he rushed in, and after struggling through the crowd, saw someone carrying a corpse out of the Sanli Study Hall.

That only made things worse.

Zhang Ziwei rushed forward, screaming, looking desperately at everyone — a man? He looked again — a man? Dressed like a martial-world night traveler?

Panicked, he looked around wildly, utterly lost — then, raising his eyes, he saw his own mother leaning against the wall, perfectly still.

Zhang Ziwei’s eyes lit up. He threw himself down beside his mother, shouting, “Mother!”

Dong Shi laughed, winked at her son, clicked her tongue, and, quietly shifting the edge of her skirt, bared her teeth and whispered, “Don’t shout like that, it’s embarrassing. Look! Gold!”

Zhang Ziwei froze, then looked down as his mother quietly lifted the hem of her short skirt, revealing a solid gold six-edged melon hammer underneath.

Zhang Ziwei: “Huh?”

Dong Shi raised an eyebrow. “There’s a matching pair.”

Zhang Ziwei: “Huh?”

Dong Shi said proudly, “Your sister dragged one home.”

Zhang Ziwei: “Huh?”

Dong Shi reached out and pulled a jewel-encrusted dagger from her pipa sleeve. “Look, it’s got gemstones.”

Zhang Ziwei: “Huh?”