July arrived, the weather gradually turning hot. Lotus flowers bloomed in the palace ponds, and grand gatherings followed. The consorts exhausted every trick cooking hilsa fish, scheming to lure His Majesty to linger at their quarters.

This year one young consort had come up with something different—she’d gotten crickets from outside the palace, originally hoping to draw Emperor Wu over to play and ease his boredom. Who could have expected that the palace’s stifled boredom would kick up a whole craze; the entire harem, every consort who had even a hint of imperial favor, started keeping jars of prize crickets, gathering to gamble on cricket fights whenever they had nothing to do.

A few days earlier, the young Prince of Tan had been executed, and Emperor Wu had grown listless since. This period, in order to display imperial might, he had put the entire court to work and spent no small amount of money himself.

Just take the dragon robe he’d worn that day—one garment costing a thousand labor-hours, passing through three separate workshops: weaving, dyeing, and manufacturing. The material alone consumed eight bundles of silver thread weighing forty-seven taels, sixteen bundles of gold thread weighing one hundred sixteen taels, twenty-four weavers and twenty-four embroiderers working the whole time… An emperor couldn’t simply have clothes whenever he wanted.

Yang Zao came from a humble family, and right after ascending the throne he’d once asked how much his robe was worth. Back then She Qingling still managed the treasury, and when he gave him the figure, Yang Zao had clicked his tongue in disbelief. Ever since, whenever he saw a new robe he couldn’t help thinking, ah, I’m wearing over a thousand strings of cash on my body again.

He didn’t care for fine clothes, didn’t care for fine food, and treasured the realm he’d newly won—he was reluctant to spend money easily. This year he’d finally managed a dignified dragon robe, only to run into this disgusting affair. How could he be happy about it?

Since he wasn’t happy, he grew listless.

Last night he’d slept with a foreign girl, and today he didn’t rise until the second quarter of the hour of Chen. To be honest, this newly favored young consort wasn’t as attentive as the women of Daliang—seeing him sit up, she just smiled like a foolish little cat and didn’t even bother binding his hair for him. Fortunately Emperor Wu was easygoing about it; he didn’t mind, just put on old clothes, slipped into his shoes, and wandered the Daliang palace with his hair loose, trying to shake off his boredom.

As he walked, he heard delicate, coquettish shouting coming from behind a flower wall. He listened closely—it was all: “General, bite it! Bite it…”

Emperor Wu drew closer to peek, and one look had him delighted.

Beside the lotus pond, large soft mats had been spread out, and his flock of fragrant beauties sat in scattered clusters on the ground, each holding a blade of grass, piles of broken silver scattered at their feet—they were gambling loudly on cricket fights.

None of them were more than delicate young things, their small faces set with mock severity, foreheads beaded with sweat, little mouths pouting—expressions he never got to see on ordinary days, genuinely clever and endearingly artless.

Emperor Wu wanted to join in too, so he cleared his throat with an air of importance and laughed, “Ah, this cricket gathering of yours has poor timing—it’s only early summer. Who plays with crickets in early summer? Wait till autumn, that’s the proper season.”

The little pond-side gathering fell instantly silent. The young consorts all looked up together, and seeing it was the Emperor, they rose one after another to pay respects. Seeing Emperor Wu’s face full of smiles and his casual dress, the consort who’d led the group, sweat beading her whole forehead, said with coy petulance, “Your Majesty, how did you bear to come to this servant’s humble place?”

Emperor Wu laughed, walked over with hands behind his back, and sat down, picking up a carved bamboo cricket jar to look inside. Seeing it was a square-headed one, he examined its teeth and mocked, “Now, my dear consort, is this your prize cricket? Looking at it, I’d say… it’s not much.”

Everyone has played the pampered fool for a few days in their life—if you couldn’t afford horses, you’d at least played with crickets for a few days. Emperor Wu could tell at a glance this cricket wasn’t up to much.

The young consort, who loved her cricket, protested unhappily, “Your Majesty, this General of mine has no rival in the entire harem. Every month I spend one or two hundred strings of cash on him—how could he not be much, in your eyes?”

Emperor Wu raised his brows, tilted his head at the piles of broken silver, and burst out laughing, “Oh, I really didn’t realize—just look at that pointy little face! And here he is, earning his own keep and pocket money for you…”

The young consort wouldn’t let it go and was stamping her foot to pout further when the palace’s chief eunuch came hurrying over from outside.

The moment Emperor Wu saw this eunuch, he felt a chill run through him. The young consorts, seeing the eunuch, all fell silent too, retreating together. The eunuch came forward, first kowtowing, then kneeling and shuffling to Emperor Wu’s feet to report in a low voice…

At first Emperor Wu’s face was still full of smiles, but the smile faded, his expression darkened, and by the end, the Son of Heaven’s eyes had taken on a murderous glint as he stood abruptly. “What did you say?”

The young consorts all startled, dropping to their knees in a wave, and watched as the Emperor, without even waiting for the eunuch to help him into his shoes, put them on himself and stood, first hurrying outward. But at the flower wall he suddenly stopped, spun back quickly, and kicked viciously at the cricket jars on the mats several times… then ground one that had jumped out under his foot…

The young consorts were badly frightened, teeth chattering as they listened to the sovereign’s order: “Send these gambling ringleaders to the Empress to deal with… From now on, anyone in the harem who gambles gets thrown out! No matter who it is!”

They began trembling, and only after the Emperor had walked far away did several of them let out a breath and faint.

Outside Yandu city, at the old garden treasury, Emperor Wu paced the empty grounds twice with his hands behind his back before fixing his gaze on Wen Fengshu, who had come with him. “Where is my money?”

Wen Fengshu didn’t dare argue, lifting his robe to kneel. “This servant is at fault. These past days I have indeed been negligent. I had only heard that the Taize Hall had opened a grand game, but never imagined the funds were being drawn from here. If the Ministry of Justice hadn’t reported it, I… this servant is guilty.”

He simply couldn’t have imagined that anywhere in the world could spend tens of millions of strings of cash in one go.

For many years now, Emperor Wu had kept careful track of the money in Wu Xiu’s hands—Wu Xiu was a money-worm that Emperor Wu himself had cultivated, waiting for the season to arrive to slaughter and eat.

Otherwise, how could a mere Wu Xiu have swaggered about in Yandu for all these years?

“Don’t tell me things that don’t matter. I’m asking you, where is my money?”

Emperor Wu flung his sleeves and strode out of the treasury.

Wen Fengshu hurried after him, and once they reached a well-lit spot, he clapped his hands, and a squad of soldiers came carrying more than a dozen large chests into the courtyard, opening them all at once.

They were all supposed to be money chests, but what was revealed upon opening were boxes upon boxes of IOUs. Emperor Wu, suppressing his fury, walked over and shook one open—a Tan borrowing five hundred strings… he opened another, a Tan withdrawing a thousand strings, two thousand, three thousand… one after another after another… all surnamed Tan, all Tan!

By the time he finished going through them, the enraged sovereign raised his foot and kicked the chest.

It didn’t budge. He hissed through gritted teeth, sucking in cold air, and nearly toppled over, when Zhang Minwang lunged forward and caught him—Emperor Wu ended up sitting on his back.

A cup of tea later, Emperor Wu was reclining on the couch that had once been Wu Xiu’s, one bare foot exposed, the big toe covered in blood.

The imperial physician, hastily summoned, knelt tending to the sovereign’s toe—the kick had cost him his big toenail, and now the pain had his mouth and eyes twitching.

Wen Fengshu, a man of standing and dignity, wasn’t told to kneel by the Emperor, but wasn’t offered a seat either. He simply stared fixedly at Tang Jiuyuan, who knelt not far off, listening to his report on the case.

Tang Jiuyuan was having rotten luck too. He’d originally thought this was a simple case of a retainer murdering his master—who could have known the retainer was General Tao’s own father, which was already disgusting enough. But before he’d even finished being disgusted by that, he discovered the dead man was Tan Weitong’s own brother-in-law. He’d sent someone to summon the Tan family to identify the body, and for three days no one came, which had driven Tang Jiuyuan half mad.

He’d meant to plant some obstacles, to make sure no one had an easy time of it, but then the Emperor had summoned him to kneel here and report on the case.

Tang Jiuyuan knew nothing more than what he knew—when the Emperor asked, he simply reported according to his own methods. He hadn’t spent all these years in the Ministry of Justice for nothing; in barely three days he’d already gotten to the bottom of it.

The Taize Hall in Yandu had opened its gambling operation this year purely for fun—who could have expected that when the elder imperial son-in-law, Zheng Aman, washed his hands of it and stopped playing, the disaster that followed would begin.

Hearing this, Emperor Wu asked, “Aman? How does he come into this? And why did he stop playing?”

Whether one knows how to conduct oneself, whether one has good relationships—these things matter most at critical moments. A single word truly can save a life.

Tang Jiuyuan was on good terms with the people of Qinwei Lane; Qinwei Lane was kin to Chang Lianfang; Chang Lianfang treated Zheng Aman like a brother. So Tang Jiuyuan answered solemnly, “This… a few days ago I heard from my own household that it seems Her Highness the Princess is with child, and the elder son-in-law has been reluctant to go out since.”

“Hiss… get lost!”

Emperor Wu bared his teeth and kicked out at the physician, who dodged aside, then knelt and embraced the Emperor’s foot again to continue treatment.

Enduring the pain, Emperor Wu turned his face to Zhang Minwang. “Lingyao is with child?”

Zhang Minwang nodded, barely perceptibly.

Emperor Wu coughed. “Ah, things have been busy lately, I got muddled with anger. Continue, stand up and continue.”

The truth was, after the deposed Empress died, the rift between her three daughters and the Emperor had never healed. The eldest princess, stubborn by nature, rarely entered the palace from then on.

Her being pregnant—she hadn’t bothered to tell the Emperor at all.

Tang Jiuyuan thanked him, stood, and continued his report on the case.

This year the Taize Hall hadn’t expected the operation to grow so large; by the end there was no way to stop it, and just as it looked like the sign would have to come down, no one could have guessed the Tan family had taken over the operation…

Emperor Wu cut him off. “No need to say more.”

Tang Jiuyuan froze slightly, closed his mouth, and everyone around waited without daring to breathe loudly.

Emperor Wu tilted his face up to look at the blue sky, his mind holding onto just two words: control your anger, control your anger, control your anger!

Wasn’t it obvious by now? Everything that needed to be clear was clear—was it worth having the Ministry of Justice waste more time on this? So he asked instead, “Zhang Minwang, that day when you left, who did you see?”

Zhang Minwang lowered his head to think. “Reporting to Your Majesty, just the night-duty eunuchs, and the third imperial son-in-law.”

Emperor Wu opened his eyes and laughed. “So he really does take after the old Tan family, doesn’t he? Pity about Aze.”

No one dared respond.

The old garden’s scenery was no longer fine. It had once been surrounded by rare flowers and exotic grasses, with a quiet little bridge over flowing water—now the flowers and grasses had been trampled into ruin, the bridge and stream untended, giving off waves of foul stench after three days.

Emperor Wu let himself be helped up, and looking at Wen Fengshu, ordered, “My river-works money, my funds for the three armies’ pay, my disaster-relief silver—where are they now?”

Wen Fengshu grumbled inwardly—you’re really shameless about this. Even if Wu Xiu was guilty and the money came from improper sources, hasn’t this dirty silver not yet been turned over to the state treasury? How is it “yours” already?

Outwardly he remained solemn. “Reporting to Your Majesty, three days ago when the young Prince of Tan was executed, according to the rule that the house pays out in full when a gambling operation is exposed, the Taize Hall has already paid out all the money in full.”

A great man’s fury is usually silent. Emperor Wu got into his soft palanquin, turned his face to instruct Wen Fengshu and Tang Jiuyuan: “Our Daliang laws have always forbidden gambling, especially among officials involved in gambling. Notify them to thoroughly investigate this case and have everyone implicated taken into custody.”

Wen Fengshu acknowledged the order, then heard the sovereign add from a distance, “And bring the Tans to the palace as well—I want to ask them, the Tan family, guardians of an entire prefecture, how did they let their descendants get reduced to scattering IOUs across the heavens like this… where did all this money go?”

Watching Emperor Wu recede into the distance, Tang Jiuyuan felt his footing go unsteady; Wen Fengshu caught him. The two capable officials exchanged a look, and in their eyes was the same unspoken thought:

You can grab a tiger by the tail, but don’t you dare touch the sovereign’s money. The Tan family really has run out of luck this time.

But they had no idea that at this very moment, the Tan family was in complete chaos. The third imperial son-in-law, Tan Weixin, had been found unconscious by the lotus pond; the founding Marquis, Tan Weitong, lay dead on the floor of the small parlor, blood having poured from all seven orifices; and the Tan family’s second son, Tan Weizheng, had hanged himself with his own sash in the family’s ancestral hall—by the look of it, he’d been dead a whole night already.

That day the young Prince of Tan had died first, then the Tan family’s collateral relative, Fifth Granduncle Tan, who had truly collapsed on hearing the news and never gotten up again.

The family had hastily brought the old man’s body home—and would you believe it, for the sake of this windfall he’d sold everything sellable, hadn’t even kept back a coffin for himself, greedy as he was.

Tan Weitong, at a loss, had hastily borrowed fifty strings from colleagues to arrange Fifth Granduncle’s funeral. The family that had lost its fortune in the gambling collapse had no heart for an elaborate send-off—they simply nailed the coffin shut, put on mourning white, and the whole family descended on the Founding Marquis’s residence, declaring they wouldn’t rest until someone paid.

Over these three days, the Tan clan in the capital, in their fury, had smashed the Founding Marquis’s residence to pieces. When there’s money to be had, everyone’s a relative; when there isn’t, everyone’s a stranger—but you’ve bankrupted the whole family, so fine, no one gets to live either!

Later, the second son Tan Weizheng arrived too, and he’d gone mad—thinking of his whole life, how because he was the second son, the title had nothing to do with him, power had nothing to do with him, the family fortune had even less to do with him.

He’d worked hard to build up a little property of his own, with a wife and children to feed—and then this pit swallowed it all. Now he had nothing left.

You might say he still had his father to rely on—but all these years Tan Shouyi had managed Tan Weitong and raised Tan Weixin with care, while he’d been left to run wild, unwatched, basically raised as a useless wastrel.

That’s how it was in noble households—once the heir was settled, the other legitimate sons were typically raised to be good for nothing.

As for how he’d shamelessly leeched off his younger brother all this time—best not to mention it. Once he’d lost the money, he had all the justification in the world, so pitiful was he.

Tan Weizheng had wanted to take a sword and kill Tan Weixin. Blind with rage, unable to find him, he’d swung the blade at his elder brother instead, drawing blood.

Once blood was drawn, the relatives grew somewhat afraid. After all, he was the founding Marquis, the legitimate heir, the future clan head—you’d caused everyone losses, so they’d come to bluster and make trouble, thinking maybe if he couldn’t stand it, he’d tell the old Marquis, and the clan might shoulder the losses instead—maybe.

But now that blood had actually been drawn within the family, that was real trouble, and had nothing to do with them.

The relatives all retreated together, blustering that they’d return tomorrow, that this was now a disaster of the direct line’s own making—so please, would the old Marquis give them an answer? Would he compensate everyone, or what did he propose? People had died, after all—surely there had to be an answer?

But they didn’t know that on the very first day of the disaster, Tan Weitong had already gone through the Ministry of War’s postal relay, even obtaining a warrant from the Court of Imperial Stud, wanting to send an urgent message by carrier pigeon.

What he didn’t know was that no matter which route he tried, none of them would work!

Cui You had been waiting for him at the Ministry of War. For ten years Cui You hadn’t budged an inch from his post, and he’d finally been waiting for these urgent letters. He burned each one as it came, then went to his superior and said he was ready to give up his post, they should find someone to take over.

The old official, naturally overjoyed, was practically delighted to death.

Cui You’s backing was the Fuyi Commandery Prince’s estate—if he refused to pass along the relay, no one could override him.

And so this time gap opened up. Even under normal circumstances, a handover of duties took at least ten days to half a month—and no matter how urgent your business was during that window, short of the nation collapsing, you simply had to wait.

As for what happened afterward, when it all came out—well, sorry, who did you give it to? Who saw it happen? No one would ever admit to anything, of course.

That night, Tan Weitong sat alone in the small parlor, eating dishes his beloved concubine Zhang Baojin had bought from a restaurant—the household servants had all been beaten half to death by the relatives.

He was in low spirits, uninterested even in his favorite concubine, sitting alone drinking away his sorrows. By midnight, he heard the parlor door bang open, and Tan Weixin came stumbling in, swaying.

Tan Weitong, weighed down with resentment, had meant to mock him on sight—but after all, he was the heir Tan Shouyi had raised, and even after the greatest blow of his life, he could still slowly compose himself.

So he raised his cup and laughed, “Well, if it isn’t our imperial son-in-law. You actually managed to come out?”

Tan Weitong held up a lamp and slowly sat across from his brother, studying him with drunken eyes—seeing the left side of his face swollen and bruised, he burst out laughing.

“Well now, did you get beaten?”

Tan Weixin nodded.

Tan Weitong grew even more delighted. “For what, exactly?”

Tan Weixin touched his right cheek, somewhat resentful. “For touching someone else’s money.”

Hearing this, Tan Weitong began laughing uproariously, laughing and laughing, until Tan Weizheng too came stammering through the door, a jug of wine in hand.

But the two of them, looking down on him from the bottom of their hearts, simply ignored him, keeping up their brotherly camaraderie. Tan Weitong patted Tan Weixin’s shoulder. “Never mind, Third Brother Tan! It’s just money—your brother will find a way. Hmph, just money? This year alone I’ve moved three million strings from the Court of Imperial Stud’s horse fund—what’s this compared to that?”

Tan Weixin’s face showed fear. “Brother, that was the Princess’s dowry.”

Tan Weitong sucked in a breath of cold air for a moment, then slowly raised his thumb and laughed again. “No matter! You spend the Princess’s money, I use Wu Ling’s money—we brothers are both freeloaders living off women, aren’t we? Freeloading tastes so good, doesn’t it? Hahaha…”

Just as he was laughing, Tan Weizheng suddenly looked up and said quietly, “Wu Xiu is dead.”

This meal, you won’t be eating it anymore.

Tan Weitong, drunk, took a while to process this. Oh, Wu Xiu was dead—good news!

So he slapped his knee and laughed loudly. “Good news! Good news! Then Xingye won’t have to be a grandson to the Wu family anymore! My son rotting in the dirt is still my son!

I always said a man can’t be unlucky forever, right? Look, good things are coming! He’s dead, so the big debts don’t need repaying! The little debts, we’ve got Father for! With that much gold at Jindian—I don’t believe we can’t dig three feet down and find a thousand strings somewhere, right, brother?”

Tan Weixin nodded, picked up the wine jug to pour for his elder brother, shook it and found it empty, so he bent down, took the jug Tan Weizheng had brought, cracked open the old clay seal on top, pulled the stopper, and poured the wine into the wine pot.

Once it was full, he poured three cups—one for his eldest brother, one for his second brother, then raised his own cup to the moon. “Do you think, if Father saw the state we brothers are in now, what would he say?”

He lowered his head to take a sip, and his face hurt, making him wince and rub at his cheek.

Tan Weizheng sneered, tilting his head back to drink. “Now you remember Father’s kindness? Don’t forget, you’re Tan Shize’s son too—what are you babbling about?”

This was what Tan Weitong hated most; he cursed, “Second Brother Tan, look at how little you amount to. What are you even worth—what could you possibly do? This is about not getting what’s owed to you, and suddenly brothers aren’t brothers anymore? If there’s anything disgusting in this world, it’s you. Pah!”

Tan Weizheng’s face twisted, then he gave an eerie smile, snatched the wine jug and gulped several mouthfuls straight from the spout. “There’s no such thing in this world as making your own brother bankrupt out of spite—what, you’re protecting him because he’s got backing? Elder Brother Tan, I’ve long since seen through you.”

Tan Weitong snatched the jug back and drained half of it in one breath. “And there’s no such thing in this world as drawing a sword on your own brother over a bit of money—what are you worth either? Given how quickly you turn on family, this is as far as you’ll ever go in this life.”

Seeing his elder brother’s cup empty, Tan Weixin refilled it. “Brother, Her Highness wants me to write a confession, and tomorrow take me to the palace to beg for mercy.”

Tan Weitong startled, shook his head to clear it. “What did you say?”

Tan Weixin, his face full of regret, said, “The disaster has already broken out. Even if you rush an urgent message to Father, this gambling loss—once the clan has finished making trouble over it—an imperial censor will surely impeach us brothers within days. Her Highness thinks it’s better if we write a letter admitting guilt and go tomorrow to confess to the Emperor first ourselves. At worst, I’ll give up my post at the Ministry of War, and we can just hold out until Father…”

A knife-like pain sliced through him, and Tan Weixin clutched his stomach, gasping silently. After a long moment he looked up at his second brother, and by then Tan Weizheng’s face was already twisted into a malicious grin, delighted to see him in pain. “Hurts, doesn’t it? Hahaha…”

Tan Weixin struggled to speak. “You… you poisoned…”

Tan Weitong, who had drunk the most, pointed at Tan Weizheng, then vomited a mouthful of blood onto the food. Tan Weixin lurched out of the parlor, throwing himself down by the lotus pond to gulp water, then stuck his fingers down his throat trying to induce vomiting between gasps—of the three brothers, he’d drunk the least.

Tan Weizheng crept up behind him with a sinister smile and kicked him straight into the pond.

Having kicked him in, Tan Weizheng untied his sash and staggered toward the ancestral hall, laughing wildly as he walked. “What kind of world is this! What kind of family is this… even beasts have affection for their young, but this family has none!

Father not a father, son not a son, grandfather not a grandfather, grandson not a grandson… brothers born of the same blood have to live watching each other’s faces, the same bloodline yet split into ranks of nine grades—everyone gets to bully me, why!? You all think this lord is the fool Tan Shize was?

I’ll tell you—if I don’t get to live well, none of you will either…

Everyone bullies me, everyone bullies me… ah… I too, I too am surnamed Tan! Let none of us live—wouldn’t that be fine? I’ll watch you, Tan Shouyi, ascend the throne one day with your bloodline utterly empty, all your striving for nothing—I want to see if you regret it then! Hahaha… how satisfying, how satisfying… you look down on me, so I’ll make sure your labor comes to nothing! Bet you didn’t expect this, ancestors… bet you didn’t expect this…”

Like a vengeful ghost, he walked on, blood streaming from his face.

Behind him, the fallen oil lamp in the small parlor slowly caught fire. Tan Weitong, still vomiting blood on the floor, was helped up by someone.

Gasping for breath, it took him a long moment to make out that it was Zhang Baojin.

Zhang Baojin looked down at him and said very earnestly, “You’re going to die.”

Tan Weitong’s lips trembled; he grabbed her hand. “You… why are you, are you here, ah~!”

Zhang Baojin wiped his face carefully with a handkerchief, her expression calm as she answered, “Where else would I go? However vast this world is, where else would I go?”

Tan Weitong’s twisted face showed a faint smile as he said with effort, “Never… thought… it’d be you, seeing, seeing me off…”

Zhang Baojin paused, then said in the same earnest tone, “Mm. You were good to me.”

He truly had been—ten years of fine food and clothes, indulging her every whim, giving her stars when she asked for the moon. His methods might have been distasteful, but Zhang Baojin had seen worse; what was happening tonight wasn’t unheard of in her own family either.

Tan Weitong felt his soul drifting, his whole body growing cold. He truly knew everything was about to end, and struggled to reach up and tug at his own collar.

Zhang Baojin had shared a bed with him every day for years and naturally knew exactly where he kept his most important possession.

She reached into his armpit and pulled out a key.

Tan Weitong pressed the key into Zhang Baojin’s hand and begged, “A-Jin… Yang Zao betrayed his word, my, my Tan family, generations, generations of countless dead… A-Jin, tomorrow when I’m dead, I’ll be waiting below, wait for you, my father… tell my father… say the thing is under, under my second uncle’s portrait…”

He stopped moving.

Zhang Baojin tried to close his eyes for him, but they wouldn’t shut, so she said, “You’re dead now. You can’t take anything with you.”

His eyes finally closed.

Zhang Baojin’s tears began falling slowly. “I’m not waiting for any of you.”

She stood, found the blanket from the couch in the small parlor, and covered him carefully, tucking it in tight.

At that moment, the third watch drum sounded across Yandu. Zhang Baojin, clutching the key, left the small parlor and heard splashing struggles in the water—Tan Weixin, who had fallen in, was still moving.

At first she hadn’t wanted to bother. Then a gust of wind blew out the oil lamp in her hand, and she sighed softly, walked over, grabbed him by the hair, and dragged his upper body onto the bank.