She Wanlin had been strong since birth. In the war between his older brother Gennu’er and Ugly Sister, at first it was Ugly Sister bullying his brother, but later he joined in and started fighting back — every single time, he made Ugly Sister cry.

Up until age six, the two of them always won. Then Ugly Sister learned to use medicine, and after that, his days stopped being good at all.

Not to mention he couldn’t afford to provoke Ugly Sister — once, when he’d caused trouble and his father raised a hand to hit him, he’d barely let out two howls before seven-year-old Ugly Sister came bounding over from the neighboring courtyard and knocked his father out cold with medicine.

At a laugh from up in the weeping willow, She Wanlin immediately shivered — remembering the consequences, he was genuinely afraid.

Everyone looked up, and after a moment, several martial-world figures of various twisted expressions, heads swollen like pigs, were thrown down from the tree one by one. Their eyes were all open, but their bodies were stiff as wooden stakes, unable to move at all.

She Wanlin bared his teeth, pressing the broken shard against his neck with even more determined effort, but seeing these people being thrown down, he grew curious and asked in a distracted tone: “So — so who are they?”

Everyone was stunned, feeling this young noble’s head wasn’t quite right — at a time like this, shouldn’t he be asking about the person up in the tree instead?

A gust of wind stirred the willow bank, and from among the leaves came a girl’s somewhat irritated voice: “They call themselves the Eight Tyrants of Hedong!”

The girl’s voice was very pleasant, with the crisp bite of a youth chewing autumn melon, yet a trace of youthful innocence still lingered in her tone, betraying that she wasn’t very old either.

She Wanlin, confused: “Hedong flatbread?”

Sister Shui, sensing no malice from the one in the tree, finally relaxed.

Only then did she laugh: “What ‘Eight Tyrants’! Just some nickname these fellows gave themselves — they’re nothing but a pack of water ghosts. People outside call them the Eight Bandits of Hedong. They’re not land bandits, they make their living on the water, haunting a narrow stretch of river up ahead, specializing in diving underwater to drill holes in boats and take lives — a gang of villains who deserve the executioner’s meal.”

Having said this, Sister Shui asked, puzzled: “But why are they here?”

She Wanlin thought about it, then scraped his back along the deck boards to the other side, poking half his head out and said in a tone that was fierce on the outside but hollow within: “I— I’m asking you!”

The willow branches swayed, and the girl said with some irritation: “You — you went and got yourself lost, and I was worried sick! I rushed to hire a boat to find you, and who knew I’d run into this bunch of villains, they wanted to hurt me…”

The shard in She Wanlin’s hand dropped to the deck. He stopped putting on an act, stopped carrying on — his face was full of exasperation. He first put his hands on his hips, then spun around a few times on the spot, pointing vaguely at the tree as if to scold her, but not daring to, and not willing to either.

He and his brothers had always given way to Ugly Sister — and not just Ugly Sister, but any girl in the family, they gave way to all of them.

But from start to finish, the only one who ever actually got into fights was Ugly Sister.

The sisters didn’t play with them anymore — they liked going to Yandu, to the Little Immortal Garden, to the jewelry shops on the street… only Ugly Sister remained the same as ever. Provoke her to the point of fury, and she’d beat you into a swollen pig’s head — a proper swollen pig’s head.

He couldn’t understand it either — why he always got beaten, and yet always loved teasing Ugly Sister. Anyway, since childhood it had always been: a few days apart and he’d miss her to tears, but together for barely a moment and they’d start fighting…

He’d been out for several days now. Thinking of home, he felt uneasy and guilty, but thinking of Ugly Sister, for some reason his chest ached — and now, angry, it ached even more.

She Wanlin took a long breath, and clutching his chest, scolded: “Why don’t you just fly up to heaven?”

The one in the tree retorted, as always: “Why don’t you?”

If you go, I’ll go — just like now.

“Are you trying to make me furious to death?!”

The one in the tree didn’t talk back this time, and everyone else fell silent too, watching this odd pair together.

Bai Ruyi lowered his head and laughed, then held back and turned to look at the unlucky fish by the boat’s side, which had floated back up dizzy again, poor thing.

After a good while, She Wanlin, holding back his temper, said: “See, see, it’s like this every time — the moment I say something, you go silent, the moment I say something, you go silent… You — are you trying to worry me to death?”

The one in the tree had clearly lost her temper too, and simply said flatly: “Ha ha!”

“See!” She Wanlin, exasperated, pointed over there and complained to Bai Ruyi: “Brother — see! She’s got no reason on her side, she’s always like this, she…”

Bai Ruyi didn’t spare his face at all, and mocked instead: “This time it’s you who has no reason.”

Right — this time it really was him who had no reason.

She Wanlin’s face flushed. Outsiders didn’t know what was going on, but anyone in the family would immediately know — he’d deliberately let himself be captured.

After all, this was Quanhou Street. With his own skill, even if he couldn’t win a fight, he certainly had the ability to call for help.

Feeling a bit guilty inside, he was just trying to come up with some messy excuse to cover it over, when from the distance came the faint jingling of a physician’s hand-bell, the kind used by traveling doctors going street to street.

The sound drew closer and closer, and finally everyone saw the newcomers.

There were two of them, both quite strange — straw sandals, short jackets, long leg-wraps, one tall and one short, one burly and one thin. One stood two zhang tall, like a giant tower; the other stood one zhang tall with a waist as thin as a bowl’s rim. One had eyes like copper bells and thick lips; the other had sunken cheeks and a sharp, cutting face.

Both carried a physician’s hand-bell, shaking it the same way, except the thin one held a physician’s banner in his hand, inscribed with the words “Cures All Manner of Ailments,” while the giant carried a huge medicine cabinet on his back, and in his hand held a dainty little medicine hoe — not that the hoe itself was small, it was simply that this giant was so overwhelmingly massive that anything held before him looked dainty by comparison.

What drew the eye most was that both men had a sprig of pagoda-tree blossom tucked behind their ears.

Once the newcomers were clearly seen, the younger generation had no idea who they were, but the tutor, the Little Steward, Ding Yumen, and even Old Wan aboard the boat clearly recognized them — and even those who didn’t know them personally had heard of these two.

They had once been renowned physicians of Baishi Mountain, proud disciples of the sect, once called the Four Views of Baishi. They had later been implicated and imprisoned in the dungeons of Jiu Si Tang, held there until Su Bailii took the blame in their place. By the time they were released, only these two “Views” remained.

The massive one was named Shi Quan; the thin one was named Shi Shan.

The martial skills of these two were, like all the generations of Baishi Mountain before them, presumably formidable — but ever since Su Bailii had passed, these past years the two of them had traveled the world treating the sick and saving countless lives, and no one knew how many reclusive masters and hidden talents owed them a debt of gratitude.

They were very much the sort of people one dared not provoke.

Who, after all, could guarantee they’d never fall ill?

And so Sister Shui stood up and bowed respectfully toward the shore. The gaunt one on the bank paid her no attention at all, instead walking to the foot of the great willow tree and coaxing gently: “Little Auntie, this tree is high — please be careful.”

The girl in the tree, however, was patient with him, and earnestly explained to the thin man below: “Nephew Dashan, I — I’m not coming down.”

The thin man, Shi Shan, drew a breath, forced out a smile, and asked: “Why not?”

The girl seemed a little embarrassed, and hesitantly, with a touch of grievance, said: “My luggage — it fell into the river. I’ve been traveling hard these past few days, and — and I haven’t combed my hair.”

This unexpected answer left everyone on and off the boat stunned in unison — except She Wanlin and Bai Ruyi, who weren’t the least bit surprised.

She Wanlin first wanted to laugh, then reached for his sleeve out of habit, only to discover that the cloth pouch holding his wooden comb and hair ties had long since been taken from him.

His expression changed, and he said to Sister Shui with some apology: “I must trouble you — if you have a fine-toothed comb, please lend it to me, and I’ll need two hair ties as well.”

The whole of Quanhou Street knew that the old Cheng couple were a mess — both of them so obsessed with medicine that they really shouldn’t have married and settled down at all, and yet, having had a child, they still didn’t know how to be parents.

Once absorbed in their craft, they forgot everything else. It was infuriating that they didn’t even hire a maidservant, letting Ugly Sister run around all day with her hair in disarray, coming and going like the wind.

The two beggars of Qinwei Alley — but She Wanlin was a fake one, while Ugly Sister was the real deal.

When hungry, she’d climb over walls — if not into Old Meng’s house, then Old Chen’s. If neither family had anyone home, she’d keep searching until some household would feed her. She’d never actually suffered for it, and lived quite well, all things considered.

When her clothes tore or grew too small, Old Dao’s aunties always had replacements ready for her. But her hair — this girl was too wild, you could never catch her once she ran off. With no other choice, after She Wanlin learned to beg for food, he next learned how to braid hair.

Of course, he only ever braided it for Ugly Sister.

Hearing the young noble ask for a comb, and glancing over at the treetop, Sister Shui’s eyes turned soft as water. She smiled and nodded, went back inside, and brought out a small wooden box, handing it to She Wanlin: “Young noble, please don’t mind it — this set has never been used by anyone, there’s just a little hair oil in it, and a few hair ties, though the colors aren’t very good.”

She Wanlin took the box and thanked her: “I don’t mind at all, I don’t mind at all.”

After thanking her, he said to Bai Ruyi: “Brother, take me over there.”

Bai Ruyi saw through his act but didn’t call him out on it, and was just about to take his arm and head for the shore when the Little Steward’s voice came from behind, laughing: “Young noble — you’d best stay on the boat!”

The atmosphere instantly froze, and everyone turned to look at the tower boat.

The Little Steward’s eyes brooked no defiance, though his tone remained polite as he explained to She Wanlin: “If you go running about, I’m afraid it might endanger these people’s lives.”

Having said this, he looked toward the riverbank and said to the thin man, Shi Shan: “This old man had some ties to your Baishi Mountain back in the day. Since your Little Auntie is a traveler from afar, and no stranger to us either, why not have her come stay aboard our boat with our young noble for a while?”

A change came over She Wanlin’s eyes, and he too took on an air of authority as he said to the Little Steward: “She’s not going!”

Bai Ruyi’s eyes also flashed sharp, and he glared at the boat, asking: “Old sir, what do you mean by this?”

Sikou pressed his palms together: “Amitabha, old sir already has enough trouble as it is.”

Why go and offend Baishi Mountain’s Little Auntie on top of everything else?

The Little Steward, helpless, patiently explained: “You’ve all misunderstood, gentlemen. This young lady is naturally free to come and go as she pleases — this old man guarantees he will never obstruct her in any way. As for inviting our young noble here to be our guest, that too was truly a matter of necessity, and we would never harm his life.

“It’s only that, given his extraordinary status, various friends of ours have their reservations, and we didn’t want to implicate anyone else, so we only informed our friends on the water of this matter — as for those on shore, well, we never gave any notice. If the young noble were to go ashore, this old man doesn’t have enough men on hand here, and I fear some blind, foolish sort might accidentally harm the young noble — and then there’d truly be no accounting for it…”

Sister Shui, however, suddenly cut in from the side: “Little Steward, that’s a meaningless thing to say! Isn’t this just about your own affairs? Why put on such a face about it? Back when Her Ladyship first came down from Mount Baiquan to face off against Yuegong Mountain, what was that for? And now issuing a martial-world decree, what’s that for, if not to preserve what little incense and fire remains along the Three Rivers and Two Banks?”

The Little Steward explained earnestly: “This old man harbors no ill intent.”

Sister Shui’s chest heaved, and she said loudly: “From the moment you took him from Qingfeng, there was no turning back! How is this any different from before? Just when things were starting to get a little better for everyone, why like this again?

“Back then, when the court wanted to establish new rules, they set up Jiu Si Tang and held the arena fights — what was that for, if not to deal with us? But what ill intent do we simple folk have? Don’t we want to see the common people live in peace? If people are wiped out entirely, what use is the martial world anyway?

“That year, truly, wherever Pang Tu went, blood followed. What did those deaths accomplish? Wasn’t it to die in front of the court, to make them understand that the martial world isn’t only reckless men — Little Steward, the calamity of ten years ago must never happen again!”

The Little Steward gazed at the river water, expressionless.

Seeing him unmoved, Sister Shui grew angrier the more she spoke: “And now here we are again. Back then, Her Ladyship fought Yuegong Mountain alone, and that bought a few years of peace for the martial world — and yet you people of the Nine Provinces Domain have gone right down Yuegong Mountain’s old road, dragging how many more children of the martial world to their deaths.

“Do you think we want to live in constant fear? Who doesn’t want a peaceful life? Ever since Her Ladyship retired from the world and came down the mountain, along the several hundred li of riverbank below Mount Baiquan, those of us who make our living on the water have been spared the exploitation of tribute payments — we only pay the common taxes and can get by. Back then, this old woman thought to herself: we who wander the martial world, in this world of men, are we ultimately heroes or villains?

“You say today that you’ve only informed your friends on the water — but did we, the water-faring folk, agree to this? No! Old sir, do you mean to sever the water veins of my Three Rivers, to wipe out the entire lineage of my Three Rivers’ water arts family!?”

Sister Shui stared fixedly at the Little Steward, who tilted his head back to look at the sky.

Ding Yumen, standing behind him, could not hold back any longer, and stepped forward to ask Sister Shui: “Are you saying, then, that our Nine Provinces Domain deserves to have its lineage severed? Those who caused trouble are already dead, the court has already destroyed what it meant to destroy — we in the mountains knew nothing of it at the time…

“Once we found out, the Little Steward said then: since they were wrong, they deserved to pay with their lives. If the chef lacked virtue, then find a new, virtuous chef. But we’ve begged for ten years, spent how much silver, given up generations of family fortune — and who paid us any mind? We only wanted one word from a chef, but look what the court did… what were we supposed to do!? Ah?”

Everyone fell silent. The Little Steward looked at Sister Shui, then at Sikou, gave a slight nod, and walked away.

She Wanlin paid no attention to those around him. He looked at the cosmetic box in his hands, then at the weeping willow on the shore, and once the troublesome adults stopped arguing, he finally said with a smile: “Well, I can’t come over there, so you come here.”

The girl in the tree said: “Fine.”

She called out to Shi Quan, and the giant carrying the medicine cabinet slowly came to stand beneath the tree. Before long, everyone saw a girl with disheveled hair and thoroughly bedraggled clothes climb down the tree by stepping on the giant’s shoulder, then sit herself down upon his shoulder.

When the giant turned to face the middle of the river, everyone was struck speechless with astonishment all at once.

Never had they seen a girl so utterly unconcerned with her own appearance, and never had they seen a beauty who lived so roughly and carelessly.

No one knew quite what words to use to praise her — her face was simply that fair, her hair simply that black, her eyes simply that bright, her brows simply that fine… but most remarkable of all was the clean, unaffected air in her eyes — truly natural, truly free.

She Wanlin looked at Ugly Sister, looked at the rumpled clothes on her body, looked at her little face smeared with dust and grime, and yet her eyes were entirely, wholeheartedly fixed on him alone — and he was overjoyed, saying: “Ugly, come here, let me fix your hair.”

Ugly Sister nodded, patted the top of Shi Quan’s head, and said: “Go on over, go on over.”

Bai Ruyi, quick-witted, slapped his forehead, turned to glare at She Wanlin, then bent down, picked up a plank, and sent it across to the other side…

A few breaths later, the tower boat returned to mid-river and continued its unhurried course.

Some dozen-odd zhang behind followed a large red flower-boat. The giant sat at the stern, holding a bowl in both hands, eating with great seriousness, while at the bow a lavish banquet table had been laid out, and the group seated around it made for an odd sight indeed.

A half-masked immortal, a red-robed old woman, a monk, and a sharp-tongued fellow — none of them, in short, looked like good people.

On the deck of the tower boat, meanwhile, upon a soft mat laid out in one spot, Ugly Sister sat obediently, now washed clean and in fresh clothes, while She Wanlin sat on a small stool, combing her hair out strand by strand.

The Little Steward and the tutor had retreated to the lower cabin. Old Fang didn’t dare come to the front, so only Ding Yumen remained seated nearby, ordered about by the young noble.

At one moment he was sent to fetch fruit for the girl to eat; the next, sent down to the lower cabin to find the cook and have river delicacies prepared for her to eat… Ding Yumen was then sent off again to fetch hair oil, and only once he’d gone did She Wanlin quietly ask: “Ugly? Did you come out here on your own?”

Ugly Sister, holding the cosmetic box in both hands, glanced off into the distance and said: “At first, yes. Then on the way I ran into your mother.”

She Wanlin promptly yanked out several of the girl’s hairs. Ugly Sister, feeling a bit guilty, endured it and said: “…Auntie said, since you’d already come out, I should go along with them and have a good look around — after all, Fengqi Prefecture is so far away, and along the way you’d get to see so many people… maybe this is the only time in your whole life you’ll ever get to go out, and I thought — if this is your one time, then it must be mine too, right? An’an?”

She Wanlin drew a breath and nodded: “Mm. Then you’d better be careful.”

Ugly Sister said, quite plainly: “Not afraid. Shi Quan and the others brought out a whole cabinet of medicine.”

She Wanlin felt a flash of annoyance, reached out, and smacked the back of her head. Ugly Sister was used to being hit, and being in the wrong, didn’t dare fight back — she just yelped “ow.”

She Wanlin, angry, didn’t comfort her, just kept combing, stroke after stroke.

Before long, Ding Yumen came back cradling half a jar of hair oil, and with an expression hard to describe, set the jar down on the mat, then knelt and watched this pair of little people acting like an old married couple.

The waters grew wider and wider, a few water birds perched atop the mast. She Wanlin had already smoothed out the witch’s tangled hair and braided it into a thick black plait for her.

“Heh~.”

Ding Yumen couldn’t hold back, and finally lowered his head and laughed.

The pair of little people looked over at him together at the sound, both wearing the exact same look — the look one gives an idiot. It’s just combing hair, what are you laughing at?

Pressing his fist to his lips, Ding Yumen laughed for a while before asking, curious: “You two young nobles — is this how it is? Are you two going to be together, going forward?”

She Wanlin made no response, but Ugly Sister was quite insistent on the matter. She nodded vigorously and told Ding Yumen very seriously: “And afterward — when we die! We must be buried together too.”

Ding Yumen’s eyes went wide with shock. He’d lived a good long life, but never in his fate had there been a woman like this one, who would declare to another person, without a shred of hesitation, that she meant to be together with him, and be buried together even in death.

He seemed to drift off into some thought of his own, and for a moment sat there stunned.

She Wanlin laughed, tied off the hair tie firmly, and patted Ugly Sister’s shoulder.

It wasn’t that Ugly Sister didn’t know how to do her own hair — she just could never manage it well. The bun she styled herself always came out either lopsided and unsightly, or uneven in size, and her braids were the same way — there was always a stray strand left over no matter how carefully she combed it.

Later on, it became a routine: every morning, She Wanlin would go out with a broken bowl to beg for food, while beside him a little girl stood on the wall, holding up a comb, searching house to house — whose auntie was awake yet?

She Wanlin was clever by nature, quick to learn from a young age — it was just combing hair, after all, and he picked it up after seeing it done once. Later, on the occasions when none of the aunties were up yet, and Ugly Sister had risen too early to find anyone to do her hair, he took over the task himself and began braiding it for her.

Once, when Zhang Wanru was doing Ugly Sister’s hair, she joked: oh dear, once An’er takes a wife someday, he won’t be able to comb Ugly Sister’s hair anymore.

That year, Ugly Sister and An’er were both barely six years old. Little Cheng Xiaoli came home to find the kang cold and the pot empty — her parents had gone into the mountains to gather herbs. There were plenty of nephews in the city who worked as physicians, but she didn’t want to go to any of their homes.

So she climbed over the wall to the neighboring house, ate the meal the auntie had prepared, and that night shared a kang with An’an. In the middle of the night, she crawled into An’er’s bedding and said to him very earnestly: “An’an, let’s get married someday!”