It rained today, harder and harder, the river rising, with gusting wind on top of it. The ferry crossing had stopped running, and so Huo Qiqian and the escort agency found themselves stranded at a place on the overland route still more than four hundred li from Jindian.

The place had a rather pleasant name: Luofeng Town.

Since they couldn’t cross the river, the escort agency’s men went to stay at the town’s cart inn, while the bridal procession—being mostly women—lodged instead at the Dragon Mother Temple outside town.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t afford the inn fees; rather, Luofeng Town, though small, had unusually strict customs—the inns and other establishments simply didn’t take female guests. So whenever travelers were stranded here, the women all went to lodge at the Dragon Mother Temple, since the Dragon Mother was, after all, a goddess.

There were plenty of Dragon King temples in this world, but Dragon Mother temples were rare. Even with all the books Huo Qiqian had read, this was the first time she’d learned there was such a thing as a Dragon Mother goddess. Clearly this was a local deity.

Elsewhere, Dragon Mothers were usually paired with the Dragon King, and called “Dragon King’s wife.”

What caught Huo Qiqian’s attention was a plaque at the entrance reading “Protect the Nation, Bless the People”—as if every deity across Daliang shared the same grand wish to protect the nation.

Unfortunately, the Dragon Mother Temple couldn’t compare to the treatment given to the Guardian Nation Temple. It was just a thin, modest courtyard with only three east-wing rooms fit for lodging, and the one in charge wasn’t even a temple keeper but a local spirit medium, Aunt Qian.

Aunt Qian was over forty this year. Originally from a neighboring village, she’d been widowed in her twenties—apparently because her clansmen had cheated her family out of their property. That night she’d carried her two children to the Dragon Mother Temple intending to die there, but the next morning she emerged saying the Dragon Mother goddess had possessed her and given her guidance. From then on she became the local spirit medium for the surrounding villages.

Relying on fortune-telling, warding off misfortune, and drawing peace talismans for travelers setting out from the temple gate, Aunt Qian raised her two children and even set them up with proper households—marrying off her daughter locally, marrying her son off elsewhere. She then coiled her hair into a Daoist bun, considering herself as good as a renunciate, and cut off contact with her remaining family.

Whatever tales of her supposed powers circulated outside, hearing her actual story, Huo Qiqian respected her.

A woman would do anything for her children—what did it matter if she played at being a deity?

Especially upon learning that the Luofeng dock’s rule against ferrying passengers in the rain had been established by the Dragon Mother speaking through Aunt Qian herself—Huo Qiqian respected her all the more.

Through Aunt Qian’s mouth, the Dragon Mother claimed that when it rained at the crossing, it was because she was marrying off a daughter, and since she was sad, no one else should be at ease either.

Privately, Huo Qiqian suspected the truth was that Aunt Qian’s husband had died fighting with other boatmen over passengers during a rainstorm, drowning in the process—but rather than blame the boatman at fault, people instead said Aunt Qian’s fate was too hard, that she’d brought misfortune to her husband. This was simply the woman’s revenge against the world.

Her husband’s village depended on the water for their living, earning what little they could from the docks. The southwest had heavy rains, and the boatmen never knew how much income they’d lose each year.

People being superstitious, fearful of even the smallest chance of misfortune, truly stopped boarding boats in the rain. And as the saying goes, bad news travels far—perhaps at first some people didn’t believe it and crossed anyway in the rain, but after a run of bad luck, they blamed it on the rain-crossing, and so the custom took hold.

The day Huo Qiqian’s group arrived, it happened that a group of dock boatmen had pooled their money to buy a sheep as an offering. Leading the sheep, decorated with a red flower, they came to the temple gate and asked Aunt Qian, “Auntie, why does the Dragon Mother keep marrying off daughters this year?”

The Daoist nun, dressed in a patched robe with a sharp, mean face, rolled her eyes. “Her ladyship doesn’t inform me when she marries off a daughter. No use asking me.”

The lead old boatman smiled ingratiatingly, leading the sheep forward. “Then, might we trouble you to pray on our behalf, see if there’s some way?”

The medium had no interest in dealing with them, but then noticed Huo Qiqian’s group and asked with a smile, “Are you all here to lodge?”

Granny Zhu got down from the cart first, smiling sweetly. “Might we trouble you, Auntie—do you have any rooms free?”

Aunt Qian looked up, sizing up the carts, and seeing the red decorations, smiled. “We do, we do! What luck—these past days her ladyship’s been marrying off daughters non-stop, and I’ve already got two brides delayed here, both waiting for the rain to stop. There’s still one room free, big enough for ten bamboo cots.”

Granny Zhu nodded. “Then, how much would that cost?”

Aunt Qian said, “Her ladyship is merciful and especially fond of protecting women—if you lodge here, the space under her seat costs nothing. If you’d like to eat the temple’s food with me, that’s three coppers a person.”

Granny Zhu, ever careful, asked, “Three coppers—does that cover a full day’s meals?”

Aunt Qian nodded. “Indeed. It’s just that our temple is small and has nothing fine to offer—only simple temple fare. I hope you won’t mind.”

Huo Qiqian lifted the carriage curtain and asked, “Might we trouble you—our bride would like to take that empty room. How much for a day?”

Aunt Qian shook her head. “Ah, now you’re putting me in a difficult spot. Who knows how long this rain will last, or how many more women travelers might be stranded here. If you all rent out the room, and more guests arrive, they’ll have nowhere to stay but the rain.”

Since that was that, Granny Zhu simply asked the woman to open the temple gate so they could drive the carts in, which pushed the group of boatmen aside. They led their sheep away, grumbling and annoyed.

Watching them leave, Aunt Qian’s sharp face twisted into a cold little smile.

Once the mules and horses were led into the courtyard, Aunt Qian brought out oilcloth to cover the dowry carts, then led the animals into the shed to feed them herself.

She was an extremely capable woman, handling all these tasks without the slightest disorder—seemingly able to do anything—and doing so much of it without charging a cent, as though she truly wanted nothing from this world, every bit the renunciate.

Once everything was settled, Huo Qiqian’s group entered the empty room and together scrubbed down the low bed in the corner, laid felt over it, and helped Huang Qiao’e down from the carriage.

The rain had turned the ground to mud, and the new bride Huang wore a set of fine goose-yellow cloth, only her head covered with fabric—she couldn’t bear to part with her wedding clothes.

Once inside, seeing it was safe, she finally removed her veil, and from her sleeve took out a string of coins, handing it to Granny Zhu. “Quick, go find that auntie, get some dry firewood to warm the room.”

After Granny Zhu left, the new bride Huang rolled up her sleeves, revealing a rash of damp welts, and said to Huo Qiqian, “Seventh Sister, do you think these welts will heal?”

Poor thing—ever since entering the south, her body had broken out in patches, itchy and painful.

Huo Qiqian had no idea about such things, so she went out and asked Aunt Qian, who as a spirit medium seemed to know a bit about everything, and sold her a packet of medicinal powder for seven coppers.

Back inside, opening it, it turned out to be calamine powder.

The itching was severe, and once the new bride Huang applied the powder all over, she finally felt a bit more comfortable.

The rain grew heavier, and with dry firewood burning in the room, Huo Qiqian went to the kitchen behind the temple and opened the steamer to find Aunt Qian had steamed a batch of wild vegetable buns. Thinking they shouldn’t skimp on food while traveling, she went out and borrowed a straw raincoat from Aunt Qian to go into town.

She didn’t notice Aunt Qian’s complicated expression as she left. Once in town, she understood why—there weren’t many shops here, only three to five establishments, and every single one had a sign hanging outside: no female customers.

This was rather infuriating.

In the rain, Huo Qiqian was quietly fuming when suddenly a person came flying backward out of a nearby restaurant.

Luckily the old town’s streets were muddy, and the man slid a good distance on his back before stopping. After a moment, he slowly got up, swaying, clutching his chest, and spat out a mouthful of blood.

That mouthful of blood made the already quiet old town street even quieter. Huo Qiqian pulled her wide-brimmed hat down and watched from the shadows as she heard the man say, “Don’t be angry, Hidden Master. This humble one long ago left the martial world—our mountain gang scattered completely. Even if you beat me to death today, I couldn’t gather the old friends of the martial world for you. Besides, around here, plenty of people have never even crossed the river their whole lives—they truly don’t know of the Nine Regions.”

Mountain gang? Bandits?

Nine Regions? Enemies!

A cold glint flashed in Huo Qiqian’s eyes, and she hid even more carefully.

The man on the street spitting blood was in his forties or fifties, hair already gray. Even now he dared not stand on dignity, kneeling right there on the street, forehead pressed into the mud, still begging. “…This humble one is nothing but a common outlaw. Even in my better days I never came into great wealth—this area never could support wealthy patrons. Especially these past years, with the court’s laws growing ever stricter, eight or nine out of ten of us who once lived by the blade have given up the old trade.

Luofeng Town is a small place, this one cannot honor your token properly—my life’s savings amount to only this much, and with old injuries on top of it, I’m truly useless now. This, this is just a few dozen taels, everything I risked my life for over half a lifetime. It’s truly not that I look down on you, Hidden Master—please show mercy!”

A cold snort came from inside the restaurant, and a middle-aged man poked his head out, sneering. “Get lost!”

The man acted as though pardoned, but then, remembering old times, felt a pang of guilt and kowtowed once more before struggling to his feet to leave.

But he’d only taken a few steps when the middle-aged man stepped out, kicking up a half-brick with the toe of his shoe and launching it at the man’s back.

The gray-blue brick flew fiercely through the air, striking the man squarely on the back. He let out a scream and collapsed, twitching a few times before blood slowly began spreading beneath him. After a while, he struggled to crawl further and further away.

Quite a resilient bandit…

The rain grew heavier, washing mud over the bloodstains. Huo Qiqian waited quietly until four people emerged from the restaurant, wearing straw raincoats and wide hats, their faces obscured.

These people clearly had real skill—truly the steadiest, lightest footwork Huo Qiqian had seen since leaving Yandu.

She recalled Choutou once saying that most of Daliang’s martial world these days chased empty reputation, but if you wanted real skill, there were only a few places to find it, and the deepest waters were said to be the Nine Regions.

The five emerged from the restaurant and went knocking on shops down the street one by one to buy goods—first a grain shop, then a sauce and dry goods store… Before long, each of them left carrying an oilcloth-wrapped bundle.

Huo Qiqian quietly followed them out of town, leaping up onto the tops of old bamboo stalks—Luofeng Town was surrounded mostly by bamboo groves.

If she didn’t want to be noticed, there was truly no one in this world who could find her. She trailed them all the way to the riverbank near the docks, where the five entered a thatched pavilion meant for travelers’ rest.

These men clearly intended to cross the river, and having learned there were no ferries running today, it hardly stopped them—one stood guard over their things while the other four took up knives and went into the bamboo grove to start cutting.

Were they planning to build a raft to cross?

After a while, the one guarding the pavilion, hands clasped behind his back, began reciting poetry as he watched the rain, sounding rather melancholy and wistful—quite unlike the man who’d just extorted and beaten someone on the street. “Outside the pavilion, rain lingers with sorrow’s intent, the bitter wind colder than the fifth watch, whose flute plays from a jade tower, the southbound geese fly and cannot return… Ah.”

When he finished reciting, a man returned carrying seven or eight bamboo poles on his shoulder and praised him. “Master Fang! You haven’t even studied under that Master Shui for many days, and already you can compose poetry?”

The one called Master Fang said with restrained pride, “This is nothing. You haven’t seen Master Shui’s true elegance—you don’t know his caliber at all. Don’t even mention teaching me—tomorrow I’ll introduce you all, and you’ll see just how extraordinary he is.”

It turned out this man was none other than Old Fang, the one who along with Young Zai had helped spirit She Wanlin out of Qingfeng.

Ever since She Wanlin and Old Chou had run off that day, he’d split up with Young Zai and gone in different directions, searching frantically everywhere.

Working alone, with only his limited strength, Old Fang had recruited new subordinates from the martial world using the Nine Regions’ token.

But traveling with a whole group meant daily expenses for food and lodging, draining money constantly. When Old Fang and his men reached Luofeng dock, having exhausted their funds, they’d reluctantly issued a martial-world summons, but only one old mountain bandit long retired from the trade had responded, offering an odd sum of fifty taels as tribute.

Old Fang felt deeply wronged, and inevitably lost his temper.

One had to understand—on the map of martial-world influence the Nine Regions had left behind, anyone with a name and reputation owed the Nine Regions a debt of favor.

And here, such a big-name lord had come forward himself, and only offered fifty taels? Wasn’t that an insult?

In his anger, Old Fang had hurt the man.

In truth, Old Fang had wronged him unfairly. Luofeng Town had always been an isolated, closed-off place, and with poor local customs besides, it simply couldn’t sustain a dense population, even though it sat by the docks.

That old bandit operated out of a nearby shallow mountain area doing petty evil; bandits along the waterways tended to be poor and shabby to begin with. It was only that Old Fang, thinking the Nine Regions carried great weight, had set his expectations too high.

The new recruits didn’t understand poetry, but flattery they knew well, and naturally piled it on thick like a snake following the stick that beat it.

Old Fang, putting on airs like a man of learning, stroked his beard the way Young Zai did and said, “Ah, just something that struck me. I keep thinking of how, back in our Nine Regions’ heyday, even the local county magistrates wouldn’t dare slight us. And today, to suffer such an insult…”

He hadn’t even finished speaking when a hoarse voice from up in the treetops sneered, “Look at you, a man of some age, yet speaking so shamelessly.”

Old Fang’s face went pale with shock. He immediately drew a short blade, gripping it tight, looking around and shouting, “Who’s there! Come out!”

Huo Qiqian dropped down slowly from the treetop, the motion as graceful as descending a staircase step by step. Once on the ground, she tugged her hat down and continued mockingly, “That insult to your silver—looks like you spent it plenty freely. Ha, is this what the Nine Regions has become?”

As soon as she finished speaking, she heard the whistle of several attacks aimed at her from behind. She leapt into the air again, and one of the ambushers, missing his mark, went stumbling straight into the pavilion before turning back, faces filled with shock.

Old Fang, standing in the pavilion, studied Huo Qiqian. He had a good eye for talent, and the fact that someone could move so silently, like a ghost, apparently following him the whole way without him noticing—that alone marked her as a master.

Having joined the Nine Regions later than most, he had little pride left to stand on. He raised a hand quickly, about to feel things out with some polite talk, but then saw the figure reach out, snap off a nearby bamboo stalk, and hold it, the tufted end aimed straight at Old Fang.

Huo Qiqian feared nothing more in life than martial-world posturing—the moment someone asked her which temple she burned incense at, which sect she belonged to, she wanted to scream. She had no idea she even belonged to that world; from start to finish, she never once admitted to being part of the martial world.

So she simply struck first, planning to subdue them before talking.

Old Fang raised his short blade to block, but was shoved back by a force he couldn’t possibly resist, sent flying seven or eight zhang through the air before crashing into the river.

By the time he’d struggled to the bank and managed to sit halfway up, one of his flying subordinates knocked him right back into the water.

This happened several times over, until Old Fang could only crouch in the shallows, not daring to stand. He’d seen Young Zai fight many times, always with great fanfare, but this person’s movements were crisp and purposeful—all five of them had been knocked into the water one after another without disturbing so much as a stray bamboo leaf around them.

Finding the tufted end of the bamboo pole inconvenient, Huo Qiqian gave her wrist a flick, sending out a burst of internal force that stripped the leaves and branches clean off, leaving her with a smooth, straight bamboo rod.

Whenever one of them tried to struggle toward shore, she’d knock them back into the water with a single-handed swipe of the rod, until none of them dared struggle anymore, crouching obediently in the shallows. Only then did she jab the rod to within an inch of Old Fang’s face and ask, “Hey! Have you been to Qingfeng City?”

Crouched in the cold water, Old Fang was already terrified out of his wits. He wasn’t a top-tier master, but he’d spent half a lifetime in the martial world, surviving countless life-or-death situations by his own skill—if he had no ability at all, Young Zai and the others wouldn’t have thought highly of him either.

And yet this had been a single exchange—he hadn’t even managed to strike once before being slapped into the water.

As for this person’s control over her strength, in his eyes it had already reached a transcendent level. Could this be some kind of martial saint?

He felt his pores prickling open, cold sweat mixing with the icy water. He heard her ask again whether he’d been to Qingfeng City, and shook his head immediately, refusing to admit it no matter what.

Since he wouldn’t confess, the rod cracked crisply across his face. Half his head instantly went numb, and he sank into the water, hazily thinking he was about to die, only to be hooked back up by the rod through his jacket and lifted into the air.

Huo Qiqian held him up and asked again, “Have you been to Qingfeng City?”

Old Fang shook his head weakly. Confessing today meant death too, but maybe denying it, he wouldn’t die.

Seeing him still refusing, Huo Qiqian gave the rod a yank, and Old Fang went splashing back into the water.

Her own son had been taken by the Nine Regions—whether or not An’er had been the one causing mischief, the Nine Regions were now her, Huo Qiqian’s, sworn enemies.

Uncle Xin had said before she left that this trip she shouldn’t go around saving the world indiscriminately—these people from the Nine Regions hadn’t even spared Grandma Yushu’s good graces, touching her family. Never mind the relationship between An’er and her—that alone made them mortal enemies.

It seemed Uncle Xin was even angrier than she was.

Having been out searching for so long, Huo Qiqian had finally found a lead. The pent-up rage she’d been holding for who knows how many days—she wasn’t about to let them off easy.

So she treated the group like slices of meat and the river like a pot, repeatedly dunking them in and out of the water.

Pitiful as it was, these men, all with names and reputations in the martial world, were now being toyed with like newly hatched chicks by a single person against five—utterly unable to resist.

This was simply too terrifying.

Such an unprecedented, unimaginable, lopsided contest broke their nerve within moments.

Old Fang still refused to confess even facing death, but his subordinates couldn’t hold out any longer, and one shouted loudly, “Spare us, Elder! We haven’t been to Qingfeng City, but, but Master Fang has, he’s been there…”

Even facing death! Old Fang’s heart sank into utter despair, and he closed his eyes.

Half an incense-stick later, Old Fang was left hanging outside the pavilion like laundry, head bowed, being rained on.

His four subordinates knelt in the middle of the pavilion, trembling as they confessed everything, worth saying or not.

From how Old Fang had joined Young Zai in kidnapping someone in Yandu, how they’d lost the person, what Old Fang had originally done for a living, how he’d later joined the Nine Regions…

Huo Qiqian sat on the stone bench in the pavilion listening, then asked, “From what you’re saying, are you the only ones headed to Jindian?”

The man said, “Yes. That young noble has no strength to speak of—the few of us were more than enough. Besides, he might not even head to Dian territory. As for Young Zai and the others, they’ve already gone back to intercept the major roads around Yandu. As for now, we, this humble one, doesn’t know where they are either.”

Huo Qiqian asked again, “Do you know how to contact them?”

The man shook his head repeatedly. Then one beside him seemed to recall something. “El-Elder, this one just remembered something.”

Huo Qiqian turned her hat-covered head toward him, and heard him say, “This one, this one heard Master Fang say that if we truly couldn’t find that little brat, we’d regroup in Yandu after a month, even if it cost our lives, to rescue the kitchen servant. If, if the Elder wants to find them, wants to find the real target… perhaps go to Yandu?”

Brat? Her own An’er being called a brat?

“Ptui!” Old Fang finally raised his head, having found some spine after all, and threatened through a bruised and swollen face, “You ungrateful dogs, aren’t you afraid that in the future, the future, the Nine Regions will hold you accountable?”

The others were indeed afraid, not daring to look at Old Fang, and instead all looked pleadingly toward this life-taking demon.

Having been angry, then relieved that they didn’t know where An’er was, Huo Qiqian actually found herself in a rather good mood.

Reassured, she asked again, “You’ve never been to Qingfeng City?”

The others shook their heads like rattle-drums, swearing on their ancestors and descendants. They were only following Old Fang because their families had had dealings with the Nine Regions generations back; Old Fang had used the token to recruit them, hoping to make a name for himself in Daliang, though it had proven difficult. So they’d simply accepted Old Fang as their leader.

Now, with Old Fang’s threat, the group fell into utter despair, and some who couldn’t hold it in began wailing, saying no matter what they’d end up dead—what were they to do?

Knowing they were about to die, endless regret poured out—each of them crying out for their mothers, slapping their own faces calling themselves unfilial, thinking of their children, weeping with genuine sincerity.

Little did they know, of all the emotions in this world, only genuine devotion could move Huo Qiqian.

So Huo Qiqian asked them, did they regret it?

The men wept bitterly, saying if there were a medicine for regret, they’d never enter the martial world again in this lifetime, content to simply be filial sons and good fathers at home. But alas, there was no going back now—they truly regretted it down to their very bones, and now their courage was broken, their dignity gone.

While they were still weeping, the demon before them stood up from the pavilion, and without warning picked up the bamboo pole from outside, dragged Old Fang to the riverbank, and simply threw him straight into the river.

Old Fang, entering the water, tried to struggle, but the pole struck him at the back of the head, and he went still.

The rain grew heavier, the river rising. Old Fang’s body drifted in the water for a while before being carried off downstream.

The remaining men trembled uncontrollably—never had they heard of anyone in the martial world who said they’d kill someone without reason and then actually did it.

Huo Qiqian felt not the slightest regret over killing Old Fang. Anyone who had touched her An’er that day—not one of them would escape, they could all just wait for her…

“No one can threaten you anymore this time. Go home, be good filial sons, be good fathers. This martial world isn’t a good place—better not to get mixed up in it anymore. Scram!”

The four figures scrambled up from the pavilion and fled in a panic, only stopping and turning back once they were far away, kowtowing sincerely and repeatedly toward Huo Qiqian.

Back at the Dragon Mother Temple, Aunt Qian sat by a clay stove, roasting vegetable buns, a pipe clenched between her teeth, puffing away as she kept glancing anxiously toward the temple gate.

The old temple door creaked open, and the young woman who’d left earlier came in carrying a bundle.

Aunt Qian’s heart eased, and she looked up smiling. “Ah, now that’s rare—how did you manage to buy things in town, big sister? Whenever I need to buy something, I have to row myself across the river.”

Huo Qiqian came under the eaves, undoing her raincoat, and hanging up her hat, laughing. “The rain’s heavy—I just kept quiet and pointed at things. They couldn’t tell if I was a man or woman.”

Aunt Qian was startled for a moment, then thought about it and burst out laughing too, her tone strangely lighter. “Big sister sure keeps her composure. You’ve got nerve and skill too. Come, come inside and warm up by the fire—your young miss has been asking after you several times already.”

With that, Huo Qiqian carried the bundle inside.

Those men had fled too fast to bother with their belongings; she’d picked through their bundles and brought back what remained—a few ingots of silver and some dry rations.

She was a frugal, virtuous wife—wouldn’t do to waste food.

Inside, two piles of dry firewood burned, and the new bride Huang sat wrapped in a thin quilt, chatting idly with another young bride also dressed in red.

Seeing Huo Qiqian come in, she let out a breath of relief. “Seventh Sister’s finally back. You were gone quite a while today.”

These past days, the girl had grown pale from boredom cooped up in the carriage, but with good food and drink and something to look forward to, she’d become clear-eyed and pretty again.

Huo Qiqian was fond of her, and having settled a score today, venting some pent-up anger, she said cheerfully, “Don’t even mention it—this town doesn’t serve women, so I pretended to be mute in the heavy rain just to buy some things.”

Granny Zhu took the bundle with a smile, opening it in the dim light from the window to reveal twenty or thirty jin of dry rations, along with fine flatbreads only sold at restaurants, and lotus-leaf-wrapped preserved vegetables and cured meat. She clicked her tongue. “Goodness! Are we eating like we’re about to die or something? You’ve never been one to manage money well, why’d you buy so much?”

Then she asked the new bride Huang, “My lady, how much money did you give her? No one shops like this.”

The new bride Huang hadn’t given her a single coin—she knew Huo Qiqian’s status was no ordinary thing, and that she had other purposes heading to Jindian besides. Having been cared for along the way, she naturally defended her. “Better to buy too much than not enough—who knows how many more days this rain will last, and this place doesn’t serve women either. If you ask me, Seventh Sister’s just being practical.”

At this, Huo Qiqian secretly gave her a thumbs up, and she burst out giggling.

“I suppose so.” Granny Zhu muttered, picking out a few items from the rations to go borrow a bamboo tray from Aunt Qian to dry them by the fire. Once she left, the new bride Huang leaned in affectionately. “Sister, you seem to be in a wonderful mood today?”

“Wonderful indeed!” Huo Qiqian smiled and nodded, knowing her son was safe, even though he hadn’t been found yet—that alone made her happy.

The new bride Huang opened her mouth to ask something else when a nearby voice piped up timidly, “Sister, are all those carts outside your dowry?”

Huo Qiqian turned at this, and only now noticed another bride-dressed girl sitting in the corner, quite young, her face daubed with two large patches of rouge, looking rather sweet and simple.

Beside her sat a carrying pole, one end loaded with two quilts, the other with two hens with their legs tied.

She wasn’t the only one—both local brides in the room had a single carrying pole’s worth of belongings as their entire dowry.

What Huang Qiao’e had brought would be nothing much back in Yandu, but the closer they got to the border town, the more precious it became.

Huang Qiao’e smiled and nodded. “That’s right.”

The little bride’s face filled with envy. “Your parents must be so good to you…”

Huang Qiao’e laughed heartily, openly. Huo Qiqian pulled a wine gourd out of the bundle and went to the door, calling out to Aunt Qian, “Come, old sister, care for a drink with me?”