Chen Dasheng and the others had taken a long leave, hiding away in Qinwei Alley day after day without going out. Everyone in Yandu, except for the old lords, assumed they had gone elsewhere to train troops — no one expected it would take so long.

Every war leaves wounds, and the human heart is the hardest thing to heal. The things that couldn’t bear looking back on, Old Dao and the two commanders had never prepared to share with anyone.

He Min had died at the Sun Palace. Xie Wuhao had gone abroad. Lu Chui and Guo Xinyuan, once so proud, had resigned their posts the moment they returned and wandered off to roam the world.

They had come from the martial world to begin with, lured into Jiu Si Tang by Meng Dichen’s grand promises, only to discover once they’d stepped through the door that all their former pride had been slowly worn down to nothing by a few rough, unpolished men like Old Dao.

They had all once been the chosen favorites of heaven, yet along the way they had become burdens; if not for Xie Wuhao’s sacrifice, Jiu Si Tang’s reputation would have been utterly ruined.

Still, it was a good thing in its way — both of them had found the path their hearts truly wanted, and no longer cared much for what they used to pursue. People’s hearts came in all shapes and shells; a softer-hearted person would feel awkward even running into someone who owed them money, let alone going through an experience like that.

In Guo Xinyuan’s words, from now on, if the world was peaceful and there were fewer troubles, eating well and drinking well was enough — nothing else mattered so much… They were different from Old Dao. Old Dao had come from war originally, but they had suddenly fallen into this deep pit — and once in, there was no climbing back out.

After a long stretch of rain, the clothes at home had all gotten mildew spots. Qiqian’er knew an old trick, so she asked Pingshen to grind up some loquat pits to scrub away the mold stains.

The family was wealthy now, and all these colorful clothes hung out to dry filled the entire back courtyard.

Layer upon layer of garments hung on the lines, strung up several ropes deep, blocking the wind and blocking the light — which gave Old Dao and the others a comfortable hiding spot.

Lately they liked to find corners, preferably ones the light couldn’t even reach, and crouch there. Every day they’d leave early in the morning to find Chen Dasheng, then go crouch in the west side room next to the mill in his back courtyard — that room backed onto the rear alley, and the roof was thin, so if anything happened they could scatter and run in different directions.

It was all instinct guiding them to that spot; they just hadn’t noticed it themselves.

Chen Dasheng slept very restlessly these days — he’d roll right into the space between the two children’s rattan cradles, pulling the left and right cradles together to pin himself in his sleep.

At first, neither child liked him much. The elder, Gennu’er, was especially timid — the moment he saw Chen Dasheng’s eyes, he’d start bawling. The second boy, An’er, was a little tyrant of the world — the instant he saw him, he’d point at the sky and command him: “Rowdy!”

The tone alone was something else — more imperious than any young master.

As a certain prince put it, this was a natural-born unicorn child, destined for greatness — then he’d go pick up the crumbs of cake his own grandson had dropped on the table and eat them.

An’er would order his father to toss him in the air, and if Chen Dasheng didn’t obey, this one word — this young master could command it ten thousand times. He was a child who took after his father: stubborn, persistent, focused, and nothing in the world could change his mind.

At first, guilt-ridden, Chen Dasheng would toss him up over and over — but even a man who’d once commanded fear across both banks of the Tan River couldn’t stop this racket every morning the moment the boy’s eyes opened. And it couldn’t be done sitting down either — it had to be done standing in the courtyard, never stopping, never ending.

Damn this impossible child — it’s raining outside, what is there to be rowdy about?

“Waaah~!”

“No no no no no no~!”

Boys are always a bit slower to talk. Look at Quanzi and Jintai’s little girls — those little mouths went pattering away, milk-voiced and sweet as honey. Were these two boys at home a pair of parrots or something?

Chen Dasheng feared no one — except that within three days of returning, he’d come to fear his own son. That child had endless patience: he’d lean against the doorsill, the window, sit quietly in the old nanny’s arms or his wife’s arms, just watching him, waiting for him, biding his time… The instant their eyes met, his face would burst open into a grin and he’d shout at him: “Rowdy!”

Those fingers were all chubby little rolls of fat — how did he even manage to pick out that one specific pointing finger?

It scared Chen Dasheng half to death. He didn’t dare even look at the boy, didn’t dare meet his eyes — whenever he passed by his son, he’d pretend to look at the sky, pretend to look at the ground, anything but look at the child.

“Rowdy” happened during the daytime. At night, Chen Dasheng found no peace either.

It wasn’t the summer heat, but Qiqian’er had early on prepared two tall, breathable little woven rattan baskets for the boys to sleep in. Whichever way you arranged them — big one, little one — on the first nights they were placed one on each side within the bedding. The kang wasn’t even that big, and yet by morning you couldn’t find them.

No wonder — they were the sons of a scout.

Every night was a process of the two boys performing all seventy-two forms of monkey-fist boxing on the kang — striking over and over, back and forth, handstand strikes, side strikes. The boxing itself wasn’t the problem — the kang was fairly high up, and falling off wasn’t exactly a good thing.

On one such night of monkey-boxing, Gennu’er wet the blanket. Ever since Chen Dasheng had come back, Qiqian’er hadn’t been quite so diligent at night — if the child whimpered from being wet, she wouldn’t get up, waiting instead for Chen Dasheng to get up and clumsily soothe his son.

There were maidservants on night watch, but given Qiqian’er’s temperament, she naturally wouldn’t allow anyone else to handle it.

She knew this man often lay awake with his eyes open until dawn, and only pretended to be asleep once he heard her stirring.

Sometimes when this man was exhausted to the limit, he’d give off killing intent in his sleep at night, and Qiqian’er would have to slowly release some scent of grass and trees to mask it.

With that, no one got any sleep at all — for some seven or eight days, Qinwei Alley was full of red-eyed rats.

The men could manage, but the wives who ran the household had the domestic affairs to handle.

One time, An’er wet himself and whimpered a bit, and Chen Dasheng got up and changed his diaper — miraculously, he fell right back asleep the moment he finished, still holding a piece of cloth in his hand.

Whenever a stranger was in the room, children — being so perceptive — would usually fuss. But Chen Dasheng was extremely skilled at masking his presence; if he wanted to stay hidden, the children simply wouldn’t notice.

Another night, Gennu wet his own little mat. The young master, who by now understood the concept of shame, apparently felt humiliated by it — he got up himself, yanked the wet padding out, and tossed it out of the basket…

Huh? There’s someone there.

Strange indeed — during the day he couldn’t bear to look at Chen Dasheng’s face, but at night it was no trouble at all.

Chen Dasheng didn’t dare move a muscle, silently watching his son clamber out, stepping squarely on the part of his face where his nose was, both chubby feet grinding left and right across his face — and he even had to tilt his face upward to accommodate the young master.

Once Gennu discovered he could travel between the two, he’d hop between baskets — and it wasn’t long before An’er followed suit. Either way, they crawled back and forth, using their father’s innocent face and his softest belly as a bridge to climb across each other, several times a night.

Occasionally, when one of them couldn’t quite climb up, he’d just plop his bottom right down on his father’s face; and if the little diaper cloth beneath wasn’t padded well enough, it would come away damp and drape right across his face. If the child had drunk too much before bed — and now that their mother wasn’t policing that anymore — a trickle of liquid would run right down and wash over his face.

Chen Dasheng liked to quietly observe this world — one small child, through a whole night, would cry, would laugh, would play in his dreams, would feel wronged in his dreams. They made countless movements you’d never imagine; sometimes, no longer confined to the cradle, they’d roll across the kang in every possible posture…

Chen Dasheng would crouch and watch, sit and watch, lean against the wall and watch, lie on the kang cabinet and watch… and he always ended up dozing off from watching, and eventually falling asleep himself.

One morning, Qiqian’er sat up and saw her three men lined up neatly, leaning against the kang cabinet, all their heads tilted toward the same spot.

She watched quietly and smiled, smiling all the way until they opened their eyes — and the first thing they saw was her.

The other brothers all had the same affliction. Chen Dasheng was the one who’d contributed this “remedy” — holding the children close at night.

Poor Yu Qingguan’s family — his second child was already twelve, and yet there was suddenly a father sharing the bed at night. Pitiful Guan Si’er and Hu Yougui, who had no children of their own, made do — each hugged a freshly weaned puppy to sleep with at night instead.

It seemed this small, soft little thing could always give them enough sense of security — tiny, gentle, harmless, with an even little snore accompanying them night after night.

Once these men slept well, they recovered quickly.

But once a child came to depend on you at night, there was no letting go anymore.

In the back courtyard, drying after the rain, layers of clothing hung on the lines while the fathers took the children on an “expedition” through the yard.

Yu Qingguan’s family hadn’t come, but Chen Dasheng’s two, Tong Jintai’s two, Ma Ergu’s one, and Cui Erdian’s one — six children in all — tumbled about everywhere. No matter how expensive the clothes, as long as no mud went into their stomachs, the rest was fair game, dear lords and ladies.

These were all the sons and daughters of official households — and it wasn’t as though they lacked for toys. Tong Jintai’s eldest daughter had enough cloth tigers lined up to hold a little assembly. And yet none of them wanted to play with those — in their small world, all that mattered was stones, broken grass roots, picking things up wherever they found them.

At home, with the maids and the old nannies watching closely, and their own mothers keeping a tight leash — but when their fathers allowed it, that made them the best fathers in the world.

Old Dao and the others leaned against the wall of the west side room chatting idly, hands never idle — both held open like beggars asking for alms.

The children, being close to their fathers, would come put a lump of mud in their palms, or a stick, now and then. An’er loved his father the most — he put chicken droppings in his father’s hand, more than just one lump.

Just as Tong Jintai was about to laugh, his eldest daughter, holding a fistful of grass, climbed onto his shoulder and solemnly stuck it all over his head, clearly preparing to “sell out” her own father.

Erdian’s child didn’t bother picking things up at all — like a giant maggot, he wriggled along the ground in front of all the uncles, twisting this way and that…

Cui Erdian couldn’t stand to watch anymore and nudged Tong Jintai with his elbow: “Tell me, is your mother-in-law still doing that?”

Tong Jintai nodded, utterly disheartened, not wanting to face anyone.

He’d been a bit jumpy at night lately — not seriously, but he’d bolt upright the instant a certain hour arrived. His mother-in-law insisted he’d lost his soul. Every day, before dawn, she’d march into her son-in-law and daughter’s room. First, with a face full of loving tenderness, she’d make her son-in-law drink a bowl of talisman water. Then, very solemnly, she’d hold Tong Jintai’s right hand with one of hers, raise the other high, sweep it in a full circle in all four directions, make a precise grabbing motion, and gravely place a handful of nothing into Tong Jintai’s exhausted hand, then let out three thunderous shouts:

“Lord Taishang Laojun, quick as the law commands! Come back! Return! Come home! Hah! Hah! Hah!”

And this required stomping her feet too — Madam Gao, who’d come up with the idea, said the louder the voice, the greater the force of will, and the better the effect.

After shouting it out, she’d leave, and the two boys would startle awake and start howling all over again.

Zhang Wanru would just laugh herself silly on the kang.

Tong Jintai had no mother of his own, so he’d simply adopted his mother-in-law as his own. The moment he’d returned, before doing anything else, he’d given his mother-in-law a foreign-style gold coronet, and quietly slipped in a handful of gemstones besides.

From then on, in Madam Dong’s eyes, everyone else in the world had vanished — there was only her son-in-law, her own flesh and blood.

His own family harassing his own family was one thing, but his mother-in-law loved him so much she extended that affection to everyone — the instant she caught hold of Old Dao and the others, she’d give them the same treatment.

There were no secrets in this alley — the moment these men acted the least bit off, that meant they’d lost their souls. Who could say where a soul might wander off to, out training troops deep in the mountains?

The first time this happened to Chen Dasheng, he stood there holding his own retrieved fist, not daring to move. He wasn’t entirely sure himself whether he’d lost his soul or not — but if the old ladies said it was lost, well then, lost it was?

He thought it over seriously — if it had been placed back into his hand like that, how exactly had it gotten there in the first place? Come to think of it, was the soul in the head, or in the heart?

Just as he was gesturing up and down trying to work it out, he ran into Master Cheng, who asked him what he was doing. Chen Dasheng held up his fist and, with a face full of mystery, said to him: “My soul — would you like to see it?”

Master Cheng, who hadn’t laughed in a long while, stared quietly at Chen Dasheng for a moment before finally bursting out laughing.

That evening, the household received five catties each of uncaria and rhubarb root. This one, at least, had sent proper medicine.

The new old lady who’d recently arrived seemed remarkably well-informed — the moment she saw them, her face filled with motherly warmth, even tearing up, and she summoned them close day after day. First she’d recite scripture passages to them; then it was a bowl of rush pith water in the morning, bamboo-leaf rice porridge at noon, and bamboo sap water before bed — none of it tasted good, and yet none of them dared refuse to drink it. This was the emperor’s own mother, the greatest mother in the world — how could they not be afraid?

Wiping a hand across his face, Tong Jintai looked at Chen Dasheng with open mockery and said: “Don’t even talk about me, brother — are you still running to the outhouse too?”

Three soul-retrievals a day, three kinds of herbs to chew through, plus a few extra rounds of the old lady’s homemade pastries on top of that — and his wife had her own single trick: whatever was most expensive, that’s what went into his stomach as soup. Eight meals a day wasn’t enough — she’d add extra tonic soups at every turn.

An iron stomach that could eat earthworms on the grasslands without issue — and yet coming home, it all came pouring right back out. Everyone else got fatter; only he got thinner.

Once Chen Dasheng finished off the old lady’s fluffy pastries, he became the life-saving benefactor of every child in Qinwei Alley, the guardian household deity of every mother in every wing.

These days, no one guarded against thieves — they guarded against the old lady’s giant pockets and giant sleeves. Now that the old lady had money, she wasn’t stingy in the slightest — she was only harsh on herself, unwilling to eat anything good, saving it all for her most beloved… new little ones.

The moment she stepped out, it was as if bandits had descended on the village — every household’s mother would rush out in alarm to gather up their children, Qiqian’er included.

Guan Si’er wailed at the sky: “When will these days ever end…”

He’d always been the pampered one himself — now that he was back, his parents, older brother and sister-in-law, and younger sister had all followed him to Qinwei Alley. You can imagine how his days were going.

Chen Dasheng kicked him: “You’ve got the good life and you’re still not satisfied? At least it’s not moldy rotten stuff — back in the day…”

Before he could even finish, Tong Jintai suddenly sat bolt upright, staring fixedly at the mud-covered children. The children had suddenly gone still.

Several of the children’s faces turned solemn, no more fussing, no more talking. Even Chen Dasheng’s son’s eyes had cracked open, his expression intensely focused, ears pricked to listen.

Clang, clang, clang, clang…

A gong sounded in the distance. An’er dropped the stones clutched in both hands and looked toward the person he loved most.

Father!

His son came stumbling and swaying over — having just learned to walk, he couldn’t manage more than a few steps before his little legs gave way to his hips and he plopped himself right down in front of his father, grabbing his hand with clear dependence, his chubby hand pointing insistently outward. Only then did Chen Dasheng remember what that sound meant.

Ah — the monkey trainer had come.

Judging by how the boy was acting, he must have seen this show three or four times already before his father had even come home.

A clear day, not too hot, cicadas singing, the world green and fragrant — seven fathers sat cross-legged on the flat rooftop facing the street in Qinwei Alley, holding six children between them.

One of the more well-off fathers, having nothing else to do, bit into a cucumber and, chewing away, called out to the old man at the mouth of the alley: “Hey, over here, over here~ look this way, old man, old man…”

The old monkey trainer looked around, startled, and finally traced the children’s chattering voices up to the rooftop — well, would you look at that, a whole roof full of people.

He’d already picked up a trail of children from other streets along the way, but seeing this was Quanhou Street, most of them scattered, leaving only a few bold, quiet ones still following.

Everyone said great lords lived on Quanhou Street. The old man, working up his courage, had come here for the first time — and rather fearfully, he struck his gong.

Watching the old man arrive with his shoulder pole, a monkey seated on each side, Chen Dasheng turned back and told a maidservant: “Go call people quickly — anyone with children at home, call them out. Ask the two old ladies if they want to watch too? Oh, and tell the old madam at the back street — hurry, bring the children out, the monkey show has come!”

There used to be monkey performances back in the capital, but watching one right at your own doorstep had a different flavor entirely.

The old man walked up under the eaves and looked up in surprise — seven men in cloth clothing, holding a whole pile of young masters and misses dressed in fine brocade?

Servants? Didn’t seem like it. He simply hadn’t seen much of the world — he’d never known of servants who got to sit on a lord’s rooftop, let alone shout at him so brazenly.

A place like this — were they performing, or just passing through?

As luck would have it, Tong Jintai’s steward happened to pass by the alley mouth. Tong Jintai called out to him: “Go home and get a string of cash from your grandmother, and get this old man a measure of fine rice too — it’s scorching hot, hardly fitting weather for this.”

The old man had sharp ears — the moment he heard “a string of cash” and “fine rice,” his face lit up with delight, and he set down his load right at the entrance of Qinwei Alley.

The two monkeys bared their teeth, glancing about in all directions, chattering away — and Chen Dasheng heard both the monkeys in his own arms start mimicking them.

Gennu’er abandoned Yu Qingguan and scrambled back into his father’s arms.

Once the stall was set, following the customs of the traveling trade, the man first struck his gong and circled three times to draw a crowd. But on just the first circle, the gatekeeper of the Tang family’s second branch bellowed: “Hey! You old fool, what do you think you’re doing? Don’t you even look at where you are, how dare you—”

Before he could finish, his gaze followed the direction the monkey trainer was staring — up at the rooftop.

The untouchable Qinwei Alley — young and old lords alike glared down at him furiously.

An’er, always quick to tattle, pointed straight at him and roared: “Rowdy—oh!”

The gatekeeper scrambled away in a panic, and the children from the outer alleys let out a cheer, emerging from their hiding spots to crowd around the old man’s load, gazing up at the monkeys, then at the little clay pot he’d just brought out — the lid lifted to reveal golden, sweet-smelling malt candy.

The monkey trainer was half a peddler too — needles and thread, everyday home remedies, temple incense, cheap perfumed wood shavings — he seemed to have everything.

With all these dazzling wares laid out, the old man struck his gong until it rang through the sky. Chen Dasheng, watching his son as excited as a live fish, felt his own spirits lift too, and had someone send out another five hundred coins — enough to buy out a whole pot of candy.

Any child who’d come today, the old man rolled them each a stick of candy the moment he saw them… In an instant, Quanhou Street exploded with excitement, children bursting out of every nook and corner.

Chen Dasheng and the others laughed heartily — so many children, all of it meant more people for Daliang in the future.

A stately line of carriages came from the street corner. Tang Jiuyuan was the first to step down at the gate of Qipan Courtyard, only to hear a burst of applause.

He stood at the gate and asked, “What’s going on over there?”

The gatekeeper answered with a stifled laugh: “Reporting, my lord — the masters of Qinwei Alley are entertaining the young masters. They’ve hired a monkey trainer to perform right at their doorstep, and someone’s even bought out a whole pot of candy to hand out to every child who comes…”

Tang Jiuyuan lowered his head to think it over, then suddenly broke into a smile. With brisk steps he entered the residence, and before long, having changed into casual house robes, he strode with sweeping sleeves toward Qinwei Alley.

At the mouth of Qinwei Alley, a full-scale monkey show had broken out. The old trainer, alone with his two monkeys, performed the entire story of “The Trial of the Thief” — a simple tale of a little monkey stealing something, with an old monkey in a red jacket sitting on a chest, playing now a constable, now a magistrate, the trial proceeding according to whatever hat the monkey put on.

That monkey was sharp as a whip, hopping up and down on the chest, opening it to switch hats all on its own, following the story.

The old man, having collected a string and a half of cash, performed with tremendous enthusiasm.

Alas, this whole alley was full of great lords, all wearing official caps, and it happened to be just the hour they came home from the yamen. Hearing something was amiss, the good-natured ones simply closed their eyes and cultivated their patience; the short-tempered ones sent someone to intervene — but one look up, and, ah… best to play deaf and dumb.

By the time Tang Jiuyuan arrived, Guan Si’er had come down from the roof and was sitting in front of the stall, thoroughly in charge, rolling malt candy onto grass stems. Sensing someone beside him, he excitedly rolled one up and turned to hand it over — huh? Tang Jiuyuan.

Tang Jiuyuan was a little startled — he looked at the candy, then the roof, then the monkey trainer, then the hat on the monkey-lord’s head, and gave a cough, smiling as he accepted the candy, licking it and nodding — very good, a treat you couldn’t find at home.

Chen Dasheng and the others had all been fools this whole time — only upon seeing Tang Jiuyuan did they remember this wasn’t quite proper. Not wanting to get the old man in trouble, they called down from the roof: “Old man, the children won’t understand this one — how about something livelier?”

He was the paymaster, so the old man switched immediately, performing “Praying for Rain” instead — a drought, an old lady going to the Dragon King’s temple to burn incense and pray, and sure enough, the rain came. Mostly it was still the monkey switching hats.

Tang Jiuyuan carried a stick of candy into the Chen residence, made his way to the back, climbed up onto the Chen family roof, and murmured quietly by Chen Dasheng’s ear: “Our sovereign is wise and compassionate toward suffering — the Grand Empress Dowager’s mourning is only observed within the palace; among the common people, theatrical performances were only banned for six months.”

Chen Dasheng of course knew this already, and looked down at the show below, smiling: “Mm, if an old fellow like this observed mourning for a full year, the common folk would surely riot. His Majesty is wise indeed. Look at this old man — how many years has it been since anyone’s seen a show like this?”

He could afford to keep monkeys, and with just his little shoulder-pole stall, he could make a living.

Tang Jiuyuan nodded, sat down cross-legged in imitation of Chen Dasheng, and after a good long while said slowly: “You gentlemen have worked hard.”

Chen Dasheng nodded: “Mm~ none of it’s been easy!”

For years afterward, many of the great officials of Quanhou Street would never forget — in the fourth year of Yong’an, in the ninth month, with the realm at peace, a monkey trainer came to the alley, and however many favored ministers of the emperor there were, they all crouched together in perfect silence on the rooftop watching the monkey show, most improperly still holding candy sticks in their mouths…

The next day, a censor grumbled about it at court, and His Majesty simply laughed: “Go tend to real business — in all the dynasties past, no court official has ever been punished for taking his children to watch a monkey show…”

The whole court burst out laughing, and even the censor himself laughed along.

For the court as it stood now, how many great worries had finally been laid to rest.

But not for Chen Dasheng.

Once the monkey show ended, his chubby son, without a sound or any warning, suddenly leapt straight off the roof. Chen Dasheng, breaking out in a cold sweat, snatched him back — and before he could even think about scolding him, his son’s eyes went wide open, round almond eyes glaring at him, then pointing down at the monkey below in its red coat, carrying its little basket.

And then, with absolute resolve, he uttered the second word of his life: “Buy!”

“No no no no no…”