Qing Buyi turned herself in at the southern gate of the Daliang palace, an event that stunned the entire court.
No one could have guessed, however hard they tried, that this madwoman would surrender herself.
According to how the court typically viewed people of the martial world, this vicious nun’s methods had been ruthless—after committing such violence, she should have vanished to roam the world’s edges. As far as such people were concerned, the court’s laws were meant for the common folk they themselves could bully; naturally they never counted themselves among those subject to it.
Who could have imagined Qing Buyi would surrender herself? It shocked the entire court and the martial world alike.
When His Majesty first heard the news, he too was stunned, but after a conversation with Qing Buyi, his mood inexplicably brightened.
All because Qing Buyi spoke quite candidly, saying that Tan Shiyuan had humiliated both A’Ze and herself, and she naturally wished she could devour his flesh to satisfy her hatred—but she held no grudge against His Majesty or against Daliang.
This nation’s founding had been the dream her beloved had spent his entire life striving toward—how could she bear to tarnish it?
Now that Tan Shiyuan was dead, and not even by her hand, she had naturally come to surrender. As for her repeated violations of the curfew to duel people in Yandu, that too had not been her wish—it was those old recluses who kept obstructing her.
All of this, in fact, was relayed by Chen Dasheng, who had gone back and forth and taught it to His Majesty on Qing Buyi’s behalf. She herself was stubborn by nature, always blunt and direct, never one to mince words.
His Majesty had initially been quite furious, but afterward found himself thinking Qing Buyi wasn’t bad at all—after all, she’d very nearly become his own sister-in-law. So close, just a hair’s breadth away. What a fine woman—forthright, sincere, utterly unspoiled. Truly a pity.
The Tan family, as it turned out, really were no good.
Not long after Qin She learned of Qing Buyi’s surrender, riders were dispatched at speed bearing back the very reward His Majesty had once bestowed upon Qin She, along with an offer to surrender one of the ancestral copper mines as atonement money.
The Ministry of Justice officials combed through the entire legal code, and the matter was debated repeatedly even at court. Several senior ministers conferred multiple times and agreed that even under the harshest interpretation of the law, Qing Buyi’s crimes did not warrant death.
Furthermore, Qing Buyi was the first person to violate the curfew since the founding of Jiu Si Tang and the establishment of the dueling platforms. Her voluntary surrender carried real deterrent value for people of the martial world—but if she surrendered and was executed anyway, what message would that send?
That would hardly serve their purposes.
In the end, Qing Buyi was sentenced to exile three thousand li away, forbidden ever to set foot in Yandu again for the rest of her life, and the county to which she was exiled happened to lie at the foot of Qin She’s mountain.
The day Qing Buyi left Yandu, Chen Dasheng brought the old guards to see her off. Watching the nun sit obediently in her cangue atop the donkey cart as it departed, even Chen Dasheng found the moment strangely poignant.
Tong Jintai, holding his horse’s reins, asked curiously, “Chief, how did you convince her? Weren’t you worried she might turn around and sell you out?”
Chen Dasheng’s expression turned solemn. Only once Qing Buyi’s figure had vanished from sight did he say quietly, “That woman fell into madness the moment Second Brother Tan died. The wrongs she suffered—they weren’t like that at all. I’m the only old guard left from Second Brother Tan’s men, so of course she wouldn’t trust me. But she trusted Second Brother Tan.”
“So she’s still not in her right mind?”
“Mm.”
Ma Ergu spurred his horse forward and asked, “Then why let her turn herself in?”
Wouldn’t it have been easier to deal with her quietly?
Chen Dasheng glanced left and right, and finally said gravely, “There’s a principle you all need to remember. It was His Majesty who pulled us out of that pit of hell. Every ounce of honor we carry comes from the state. Whether or not Qing Buyi killed Tan Shiyuan, she needed somewhere to end up—it’s just that… this turned out to be a good place for her to land. Alright, let’s head back. Little Hua and the others should be returning tomorrow.”
In the early winter of the third year of Yong’an, Chang Mianshen, Earl of the Founding, returned victorious to court after a three-year campaign to suppress the rebellion, and Hongshun was thereby completely wiped out.
That month, Emperor Wu issued twelve consecutive edicts rewarding those of merit. Chang Mianshen was elevated to the rank of Marquis, with a fief of two thousand five hundred households; his third son’s title was raised by one rank, and Chang Lianfang was granted the title of Founding Viscount, with a fief of five hundred households. A month later, Chang Mianshen handed over his marshal’s seal at the Ministry of War and was transferred to the Central Route Army’s Commandery, promoted to Left Commander-in-Chief.
That same month, Tan Shouyi received an imperial edict at his post. No one outside knew exactly what His Majesty had reprimanded him for, but his marquisate was demoted to an earldom, and his fief was cut in half.
Such is the impermanence of the world—fortunes rise and fall in the space of a single thought. Some of the older ministers remarked that Tan Shiyuan had always been ruthless in his methods, and the Tan family’s younger generation had always been rather ostentatious; with matters as they now stood, this turn of events was, if anything, a blessing in disguise.
But even as everyone was busy discussing the Chang family’s rising fortunes and the Tan family’s misfortune, several prison carts, personally escorted by local garrison troops, quietly entered Yandu and were delivered to the death-row cells of the Ministry of Justice.
That night, Guan Si’er had just returned from his official duties when Qiqian’er and a group of maids swarmed him at once, hauling him off to the bathhouse and scrubbing him down from head to toe.
When he emerged, everyone descended on him again—binding his hair, dressing him in freshly made sixth-rank court robes, even hanging a jade belt befitting his rank around his waist. His face was lightly powdered, his eyebrows and nails meticulously groomed by Qiqian’er and her helpers, and he was even perfumed with fine incense.
Utterly bewildered as to what was happening, Guan Si’er was pushed outside—and there in the courtyard were his brothers? Even Master She was waiting for him?
Everyone’s expressions were grave.
Watching his jade-like younger brother, Chen Dasheng felt a pang in his heart.
Even She Qingling, noticing the empty space at Guan Si’er’s waist, smiled and beckoned. “Child, come here.”
Was this it, then—being dressed up to die with dignity?
Guan Si’er’s legs went a little weak as he walked slowly up to his teacher, who reached out first to pat his head and said with a smile, “Anyone raised in our household has survived their share of hardship just to pull through. You’re grown now—you’ve seen no less than the rest of them, and you’ve weathered your share of trials too.
I trust you.
Whatever happens, remember—you come from the Chief Guard camp, from the estate of a commandery prince, you are my own child… no one dares wrong you. Understand?”
Guan Si’er, even more confused, nodded blankly.
Master She took a jade crab-shaped pendant from his own waist, along with a pouch embroidered with an elephant, and hung them at Guan Si’er’s side, smiling. “Off you go!”
And so Guan Si’er was taken by Chen Dasheng into a carriage and brought to a small hall behind the Ministry of Justice.
The whole way there, Guan Si’er never once asked his brothers what was going on. That was simply how the old guards were—the worst that could happen was death, and he, oddly enough, wasn’t afraid of that.
It was only upon entering the rear hall that he caught sight of Second Prince Yang Zhen, which did give him a genuine start.
Yang Zhen was normally a composed man, but today he too seemed strange. The moment he saw Guan Si’er, without waiting for him to offer a greeting, he stepped forward, supported him with both hands, then took hold of one of his hands and said, “Little Seven…”
Guan Si’er shivered.
That name had always belonged to Sixth Prince alone—why was Second Prince using it now too?
Guan Si’er felt he might be losing his mind, let out a startled sound, and stammered fearfully, “Your Highness, why are you here?”
Second Prince sighed. “Ah, how could I not come? Father said this was, after all, a family matter. When they told me, I could hardly believe it myself! Truly! Who could have imagined such a tragedy existed in this world?
But in the end, you’ve been wronged, Little Seven, so set your mind at ease. When Father heard of this case, he too was furious—he specifically appointed Tang Jiuyuan to preside over the trial, and worried you might feel slighted, he sent me along as well. Sixth Prince wanted to come too, but Father worried he’d be too impulsive—it’s driven him half mad with worry, and he says he’ll come visit you tomorrow…”
“Your Highness?” Guan Si’er looked around and asked Yang Zhen, “What exactly has happened?”
Yang Zhen looked startled and immediately turned to Chen Dasheng. “Don’t tell me Little Seven doesn’t even know about this case?”
Chen Dasheng smiled bitterly. “When the first signs came to light, we feared it might come to nothing, and worried he might act rashly if he found out—so we’ve kept it from him this whole time. You know his temperament—once he gets worked up, who could hope to rein him in?”
Hearing this, Yang Zhen couldn’t help but think of his own sixth brother, who longed every day to ascend to immortality. He sighed softly and patted Chen Dasheng’s shoulder. “Ah, each family has its own burden—fair enough, I suppose. Who would have thought Little Seven’s fate would be so bitter? Here I thought the Chief Guard camp had already seen its share of hardship.”
He led everyone into the small hall of the Ministry of Justice, though rather than entering the main chamber, he guided them behind a bamboo curtain, meaning to observe the proceedings from there.
The accused had not yet been brought in. Instead, a minor clerk presented the transcribed records compiled by the local officials for everyone to review.
With the princes present, Guan Si’er had no seat, so he opened one of the documents and began reading by candlelight. Halfway through, his legs grew weak, and he nearly sank to the floor.
Chen Dasheng, having anticipated exactly this, stepped forward at once and caught his brother. Second Prince, unusually down-to-earth tonight, sprang up and pointed at his own seat, calling out, “Come here, come sit here. Ah, no wonder they kept it from you—a shock like this, anyone would struggle to bear it…”
And so Guan Si’er was helped into a chair, made to drink a few sips of cold tea, and fanned vigorously. Once he’d finally caught his breath and regained some composure, he could see nothing but those few sheets of paper before him, and after a long while said with a bitter laugh, “So I’m not an illegitimate child after all?”
Chen Dasheng, half-embracing him, comforted him. “No! My brother is the true legitimate son of a scholarly headmaster’s household, of noble birth—how could you possibly be illegitimate?”
Guan Si’er nodded blankly, drew a breath, and picked up the transcript again, reading it through three more times from the beginning before finally setting it down. “That woman—why would she do something like this?”
It wasn’t only Guan Si’er who found it unbelievable—who could think this case was anything close to normal?
Chen Dasheng shook his head. “We don’t know.”
Guan Si’er didn’t believe this, and glared at his brother.
Chen Dasheng tried to comfort him. “It’s fine. She’s tough as iron, but today your brother will help pry her mouth open.”
But Guan Si’er suddenly leapt up, looking toward the small hall outside. “Brother? Why isn’t this being tried in the main court?”
At that moment Guan Si’er seemed fairly composed—perhaps simply because he couldn’t quite believe it yet.
He stared fixedly at Chen Dasheng, who, with no other choice, was forced to explain. “We’ve only just had the horrific case of a mother murdering her own son with the Tan family, and not two months later comes a case of a woman stealing another’s child. Our Daliang has only just been founded—for such scandals to keep occurring one after another reflects poorly on the state and its moral standing.
You’re still young, and already a legitimate sixth-rank court official. We cannot let you become the subject of public gossip over this. If this case were exposed in broad daylight, no matter how hard you worked for the rest of your life, you’d always be tangled up in this affair—pitied, envied, endlessly talked about…”
Before Chen Dasheng could finish, Second Prince coughed and cut in, “Don’t blame your brother—he had no choice. If your brother hadn’t been so careful about your case, it would have remained an unsolved death that no one ever knew about! Let me put it this way—setting aside the previous dynasty, just in the three years since our dynasty was founded, through imperial examinations, the standard exams, and recommended appointments, there are now over thirty young officials who came out of Hezhao Academy. If these young officials were merely mediocre, it wouldn’t matter much to let this go—but as it happens, every one of them is truly first-rate talent.
Zhao Dongjin, as headmaster of Hezhao Academy, allowed his household woman to commit this vile act through his own moral failing, and it implicates not just those already in office but the students still studying there… Counting it all up, there are over three hundred people bound to him by the ties of teacher and student—how innocent are they in all this… Little Seven…”
“I understand!” Guan Si’er cut him off. He sniffed, licked his lips, and stared silently out past the bamboo curtain at the courtroom.
Everyone fell silent, watching him tensely.
Second Prince glanced toward the runner on duty at the door, saw the blade at his waist, and silently pointed at Guan Si’er, then at his own neck, then at the blade, and finally twisted his face into a grimace.
The runners’ mouths fell open slightly, then, catching his meaning, they were startled and began tiptoeing to leave—only to hear Guan Si’er say, “It’s fine.”
He turned to look at everyone and finally managed a helpless smile. “I’m fine! It’s just so sudden, like some kind of dream… I’m grown now, truly, I’m fine! I’ve made it through the hardest times already, and now the truth is out and this wrong has been righted—with His Majesty, Your Highness, my teacher, and my brothers all protecting me like this, how could I dare call it bitter? Wasn’t tonight’s session supposed to begin?”
He looked around. “Let’s… begin. I’m really fine.”
Tang Jiuyuan, who had been silent in the corner this whole time, spoke up. “Then, Your Highness, everyone—shall we begin?”
Guan Si’er turned away and nodded firmly. “Mm!”
Twenty-two years earlier, Gong Zhiyi and Zhao Dongjin had both studied under the old headmaster of Fengwu Academy, later sat the imperial examinations together, and afterward taught together at Fengwu Academy.
For the convenience of the teaching staff, several mountain residences had been built around Fengwu Academy, and the teachers each brought their families and servants to live there—some for decades at a stretch. In those years, as fellow disciples, the Zhao and Gong households lived right next door to each other.
In the eighth month of that year, Zhao Changxi’s wife, Madam Zeng, gave birth to a fine son a month earlier; a month later, Gong Zhiyi’s wife, Madam Li, also gave birth to a son—but this child was frail from birth, and after a few cries, drew his last breath and died.
There are, in this world, plenty of children who fail to survive infancy. When their second son died shortly after birth, Master Gong and Madam Li, though grief-stricken, resigned themselves to it. They buried their beloved child on Fengwu Mountain and have made offerings there ever since.
But who could have imagined that hidden behind this lay a shocking case of a switched child?
As it happened, when Madam Li gave birth to a baby boy that day, the midwife attending her had been sent by Madam Zeng’s natal family. The infant had barely cried twice before the two midwives drugged him unconscious with incense, and under the pretext of cleaning the afterbirth, swapped him for a stillborn infant, which they carried out instead.
Because the midwives had tampered with the delivery, Madam Li’s labor grew difficult, lasting two full days; by the time the child was finally born, she had collapsed from exhaustion.
She never knew that the two midwives had carried the stillborn out to show Gong Zhiyi. He was still young at the time, merely a humble tutor, and it never occurred to him that anyone would swap his child. Moreover, none of the senior women of his household were present that year, and lacking experience, upon hearing that the child had cried a few times and then died, he could only grieve and accept it as fate.
He even hired a carpenter, chose fine wood, and had a small coffin made. When the child was buried, he bought a good number of toys and trinkets to bury alongside him.
But who could have guessed that the two midwives had, in fact, already passed his real child over the courtyard wall to the neighboring household?
That same month, Madam Zeng, using the excuse of her child’s month-old celebration to visit her natal family, secretly took a roundabout route to Yuzhou to find Zhao Changxi’s sworn elder brother’s widow, Madam Feng. By then, Madam Feng had already given birth to an illegitimate child and was being tormented mercilessly by her husband’s clan, yet she would rather die than reveal who the father was.
Madam Zeng bribed the guards to gain access to Madam Feng, handed her the infant, and told her that if she would only claim this was Zhao Changxi’s illegitimate child, her own son, Madam Zeng would find the baby a good family to adopt.
With no way out, Madam Feng had no choice but to fall into the trap. The next day, she duly told her husband’s family that the child was the result of an encounter with Zhao Changxi, who had come to visit her the previous year.
Having said this, Madam Feng struck her head against a pillar and died. The child was then carried into the Zhao household. Zhao Changxi, naturally unable to defend himself against the accusation, was furious and came to deeply resent the boy, unwilling even to look at him.
Though the Zhao family trusted in Zhao Changxi’s character, for the sake of their reputation they had no choice but to submit to the extortion, paying a great sum of silver to settle the matter.
From then on, this child survived a difficult existence in the Zhao household’s rear courtyards. When he reached around ten years of age, Madam Zeng, returning to Hezhao Academy to pay respects at the ancestral graves, noticed that beneath his grime, he bore a striking resemblance to Madam Li and to her second son. She ordered her steward to quietly dispose of him.
That steward had lost a great deal of money gambling, and rather than carry out the order, simply sold the boy to a slave trader, then reported back to Madam Zeng that he had thrown the child into the river and watched him drown.
This was the entire course of the case of Guan Si’er’s switched identity. Worth mentioning as well: the true illegitimate child, once Madam Zeng had carried him off, was thrown without a second thought into a deep river she passed along the way.
The investigation into this case had not, in fact, proven difficult—extraordinary cases simply require extraordinary people to solve them.
Chen Dasheng, in charge of the scouts, had men seize the steward who’d sold the child. From the steward’s mouth they traced things to Madam Zeng, but rather than alert her directly, they seized her personal attendant instead—a woman who had served her for thirty years.
Say what you will about Madam Zeng being shrewd—and she truly was shrewd—yet if you called her foolish, well, that old woman had been involved in this affair from beginning to end, and Madam Zeng had never once silenced her.
Afterward, everyone learned from this old woman’s own mouth the full extent of what Madam Zeng had done over the years. Guan Si’er was not the only victim—Zhao Changxi had three other concubines in his household, and of the children they bore, every single male child, without exception, had been done away with by Madam Zeng one after another, sparing only the daughters. Even so, once those daughters grew up, the households they were married into left much to be desired, each burdened with grievances they could never voice.
There was more. Zhao Changxi, romantic by nature, had occasionally kept a mistress outside the household—slept with a courtesan here and there. Yet whatever affection he showed would not survive the night: the very next day, without fail, someone would arrive to redeem the woman from her contract, and from then on she would simply vanish from the world.
And yet, out in society, Madam Zeng’s reputation remained impeccable—virtuous, gentle, dutiful and kind to elders and to Zhao Changxi’s students alike. Some students came from poor families, and Madam Zeng would even sell her own dowry pieces to quietly help fund their studies… The five children she bore for Zhao Changxi were all raised to be well-mannered and upright, and were rather well-regarded throughout Ningjiang.
And this was the very woman who, once secretly arrested by the local authorities, endured severe torture without ever uttering a word, even once the facts of the case were established.
Now everyone speculated as to what had driven Madam Zeng to commit her crimes—perhaps jealousy? Perhaps Zhao Changxi had once behaved improperly toward Madam Gong, and she had witnessed it?
Yet when Zhao Changxi was interrogated, the man swore oaths and cursed himself, ready at any moment to prove his innocence with his own death.
If not jealousy, then what was it?
Tang Jiuyuan presided over the court and ordered the accused and all those connected to the case brought forward.
Those behind the curtain watched intently.
Naturally, Madam Zeng was brought up first. Her legs had been broken by the local magistrate below, and she was unable to walk—she had to be dragged up bodily.
Even so, covered in wounds from her punishment, this woman, knowing full well she would face trial today, still smoothed her hair neatly into place. Her clothes had long since torn, yet she had somehow found needle and thread to mend every rip herself.
Since the two midwives from that year had long since been silenced, those brought before the court were the steward, several of Madam Zeng’s dowry maids, members of Madam Feng’s clan, the Zhao family patriarch, and even Zhao Changxi himself, whom she had never wished to see again…
Madam Zeng, ever composed, at first regarded everyone with cold indifference. Even when Zhao Changxi stared fixedly at her, she merely met his gaze with a sneer, showing not the slightest trace of guilt.
It was only when someone behind her called out in grief, “Mother”—that Madam Zeng suddenly lifted her face and said to the presiding official, “My lord, what do you mean by this? This crime was mine alone! What does it have to do with my children…”
But before she could finish, a shrill, anguished cry rang out: “Madam Zeng! You poisonous woman! I’ll kill you—I’ve come to kill you!!”
Madam Gong, Madam Li, came tumbling in from outside the hall. She had originally been summoned to testify today, but upon hearing that Madam Zeng had already been brought in, she broke free of those restraining her and rushed into the main hall.
Madam Zeng was struck across the face twice in quick succession, then wrestled to the ground by Madam Li, who clawed and bit at her without mercy.
“You dare even say the word ‘children’? Are you an animal?”
Madam Li, consumed with grief and fury, found that even beating her brought no relief. Having lived as her neighbor for years, she knew how much Madam Zeng prized her appearance—and in the end, seized by some impulse she could not name, this woman who had spent half her life being gentle and kind to everyone suddenly reached out, grabbed Madam Zeng’s already-tattered clothing, and tore at it, screaming, “You think you deserve to wear proper clothes? Let me strip your skin off and see if your heart is black inside! How dare you, how dare you bully my child…”
Madam Zeng had let herself be struck without resistance, but now she could not help but fight back.
Seeing things had gotten out of hand, Master Gong stepped forward to intervene, only to be scratched across the face by his own wife. Madam Li glared at him with fierce hatred and shouted, “Get away! Get away from me! A fool who couldn’t even recognize his own child—why don’t you just go die…”
Master Gong covered his face in shame, and glancing around, his eyes fell on Zhao Changxi standing with his head bowed in silence. Fury surged through him, and in that instant he forgot the sting on his face, bent down, pulled off his own shoe, and rushed forward to pin Zhao Changxi down, straddling him and beating him with it, cursing all the while: “You utter hypocrite—I refuse to believe you didn’t know.”
Zhao Changxi, consumed with guilt, offered no resistance, letting himself be beaten. “Junior brother! I truly didn’t know—I truly had no idea Madam Zeng was capable of such cruelty…”
Gong Zhiyi grew even angrier at this, striking harder. “To hell with ‘junior brother’—pah! You still dare call me that? I spent half my life yielding to you, and you stole my child from me…”
Tang Jiuyuan, seeing that Guan Si’er’s parents were coming out ahead in the exchange rather than suffering any harm, and judging they had every right to vent such a grievance, let it be.
The Zhao children, seeing their parents at a disadvantage, made to step in—but Guan Si’er’s two older brothers proved entirely reliable, pulling off their own shoes without the slightest fear of being outnumbered, and joined the fray without hesitation… The Zhao family, being in the wrong, hardly dared to fight back.
Even Guan Si’er’s little sister, whose childhood name was A’Mao, threw herself at Madam Zeng’s eldest son and grabbed two fistfuls of his hair, refusing to let go.
Madam Li struck Madam Zeng again and again, yet found no relief no matter how hard she hit, until finally she reached out to strangle the wretched woman outright—only to have her hand caught mid-air by a strong grip, just before it reached the throat.
Startled, Madam Li turned to look, and found herself gazing at a young, handsome face she felt she must have known for at least a thousand years.
In that instant she knew exactly who he was. She even thought, if her son had ever been shown to her, no one else would have needed to solve this case at all—the moment she laid eyes on him, she would have known: this was her… child.
The moment Guan Si’er stepped forward, the hall fell utterly silent.
Every eye turned to this mother and son.
Guan Si’er managed a difficult smile, his mouth opening again and again as he recalled, over and over, how others did such things, before he finally managed to say the word “Mother”—and even that came with great effort.
He said, “…Mother, please stop hitting her, your hands will hurt.”
Madam Li slowly rose, trembling as she reached out to touch her child, but seeing the dried blood on her own hands, she scrubbed them frantically against her clothes.
Scrubbing and weeping at once, she said, “I don’t deserve to be called a mother either—my own child was switched and I never even knew, I’m nothing but a fool!”
With that, Madam Li struck herself twice across the face, then threw her arms around Guan Si’er and wailed, “What do I do, what do I do, my child, you should cut me to a thousand pieces…”
Guan Si’er held his mother close, looking at her hair streaked white, and gently, carefully, patted her back, saying, “…Mother, don’t cry. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you at all. Look, I’m perfectly fine.”