Chen Dasheng returned home late—no matter how one looked at the ugly business up on Baiquan Mountain, it wasn’t his to handle. It truly belonged to Qingfeng Mansion, to the Ministry of Justice, to the Five City Patrol Bureau…

He had rushed there the moment disaster struck right on his doorstep—naturally he had to go take a look. His own wife and children lived at the foot of that mountain, and for such a wretched thing to happen out of nowhere, with several pools of blood soaking wrongfully dead ghosts, for the sake of his household’s old and young, he had to settle his mind one way or another.

No one knew quite how the news had spread, but it hadn’t taken long before a crowd had gathered noisily at the foot of the mountain to gawk. These past years the realm had been at peace, and death seemed to have become a distant thing—people’s memories were always short. The very villagers who once wouldn’t spare a glance at corpses carelessly discarded by the roadside now came flocking as if to a market fair.

Having come, they didn’t actually do anything—most just craned their necks to look up the mountain, and when their necks tired, they clustered together to gossip. Some even burned paper money by the roadside, and even after dark they wouldn’t leave, as if by standing there they might soon witness the magistrates crack the case and haul the culprit down.

After Chen Dasheng finished handing off his affairs, he brought his brothers down the mountain. Reaching the mouth of the alley, he still didn’t dare go straight home—they all went together to the old family compound instead, had the servants prepare fresh clothes inside and out, bathed, made offerings to the various gods, and only then did he cautiously push open his own door, fearful of bringing ill fortune in with him upon anyone.

While he was bathing he hadn’t been idle either—the old lady had carried over a little stool and sat by the door, asking him questions back and forth.

A’Nai had already heard some of the news, and she asked, “Who was it that died on the mountain? They only said it was some learned scholar, was it?”

Chen Dasheng answered, “A’Nai, none of the learned ones died. What died instead was an imperial relation…”

The old lady started, “Who?!”

Chen Dasheng answered, “The younger brother of Consort Shun in the palace, a relative of the imperial family.”

Outside the door there was no sound for a good while, until at last he heard the old lady mutter, “Old Heaven Above comes to take people no matter whether you’re rich or poor. Wealthy or lowly, how much a person eats and drinks in this life is fixed—just that one bowl of rice, and once it’s eaten, it’s gone!”

“Ah, you’re right about that.”

As they talked on and off, Chen Dasheng recalled how, just a moment ago, old Master Liu had been carried up the mountain on a stretcher, and the instant he got down he’d stumbled and fallen. When people helped him up he’d laughed in a way that unsettled everyone watching, and even while directing others to identify the body he kept saying, I’m sure they’ve got it wrong, they must have mistaken him for someone else… go and look, it surely isn’t him… it can’t be…

However one looked at it, death was never a pleasant business. Chen Dasheng had once thought that if he himself had stayed at Tan River, stayed in some random corner of the Sun Palace, his own family would probably be grieving just the same right now… From now on he really ought to take good care of himself—with the old ones old and the young ones young, he could not afford to die.

Night had fallen deep by the time Chen Dasheng came home, hair disheveled. The old Chen family had deep coffers—even the lanterns hung beneath the eaves burned real candles. A little cluster of servants sat under the eaves, and what they were discussing was, of course, the very same matter.

Seeing Chen Dasheng enter the courtyard, they hurried to their feet to attend him, but he waved them off and told them not to gossip about it further.

This was, after all, an inauspicious affair—for someone to die right at one’s own gate never pleased anyone. Tomorrow, once the body was hauled away, perhaps they should invite the nuns from Qingque Convent to hold a rite to dispel the ill fortune.

Entering the inner rooms, Chen Dasheng saw Qiyue and Bayue sitting together doing needlework by a single lamp. The two children’s personal nursemaids—one surnamed Wen, one surnamed Xu—were also there, spinning thread at their wheels.

The Chen family’s rules had always been simple—they never minded servants doing a bit of private handwork in front of the master to earn some extra coin, having all come up through hard days themselves. Even now that the Chen family had grown wealthy, that consideration remained.

Seeing Chen Dasheng come in, everyone hastily rose. Chen Dasheng, still feeling that some ill fortune clung to him, decided to sit by the door and wait until midnight—better to let the hour pass before going further inside.

So he found himself a book and sat under the lamp, head bowed as if reading though not really taking it in.

After a good while, Wen, still at her spinning, ventured cautiously, “Fourth Master? Such a big affair—surely His Majesty already knows by now? He must be in a towering rage, mustn’t he?”

This Wen had once served in a household with some learning, and had picked up a bit of idle talk from it.

Hearing this, Chen Dasheng paused a moment, thinking over the identity of the deceased. His Majesty surely knew of it—but Consort Shun was not especially favored, His Majesty had wives beyond counting, and he might not think much of this brother-in-law of hers, so he might not send anyone important to oversee the matter. And yet, for someone so unimportant to have died—and died in such a strange manner—that was rather interesting.

In the palace, only Consort Xiao was somewhat well-regarded. As for imperial in-laws, ha, there were brothers-in-law scattered three circles deep inside and out—did the death of one or two of them really amount to much?

Only the common folk at the bottom would treat a death as something momentous.

Those grieved would be the Fifth Prince, Consort Shun, the Liu family… but he couldn’t very well say His Majesty wouldn’t be angry—surely he was.

So Chen Dasheng nodded and, looking at Wen, said, “Mm… angry, he is.”

The moment his words fell, a soft laugh came from the inner room. His wife finished laughing and asked him, “Why don’t you come in?”

Chen Dasheng set down his book and called back with a smile, “Just washed my hair, it’s still wet. I’ll let it dry a bit and come in once it’s past midnight.”

The one within understood at once, laughed a couple more times, and told Qiyue to go warm a pot of wine in the kitchen, and have the cook fire up the stove to prepare a couple of dishes to go with it for the master.

Chen Dasheng knew his wife was rewarding him for his tact, and laughed along after hearing this.

Just then a child’s voice, utterly without any sign of sleepiness, suddenly rang out—ya? yi? commotion…

Qiqian’er was somewhat annoyed and scolded in a low voice, “What time is it, and your two eyes are still darting around trying to act clever? Commotion? Commotion my foot—I know full well you little rascal are just pretending to sleep, not letting the slightest sound reach you. Go to sleep right now! Don’t sleep and I’ll spank you…”

Sleep was, of course, out of the question. The child instead righteously called out toward the outside, “Out!”

“Out, my foot! Pitch black out there, the wolves will carry you off, and still you say out—sleep!”

Every night went like this between mother and child—it always took several rounds of this struggle before the child would finally resign himself to rest. And yet her son was every bit this stubborn, saying he wouldn’t sleep and never learning his lesson, day after day, shameless about it too—who on earth did he take after?

Chen Dasheng laughed. This little rascal of a son, ever since he’d started walking, had run wild—his little feet were reluctant to ever settle on the ground at home, and he’d point his chubby hands this way and that, directing people, out, wanting to go out.

Inside, mother and son first fought a battle of two, then a battle of three. Qiqian’er’s patience held—her mouth made threats while her hands guarded him closely, letting the two little rascals bounce about until they tired themselves into submission sooner or later…

The nursemaid on night duty wanted to go in and help, but Qiqian’er wouldn’t allow it—when it came to raising her own child, she’d let no one else near it.

Early the next morning, Chen Dasheng was jolted awake by a child’s heart-rending wails from outside. He sat bolt upright with a start and bounded into the courtyard without even putting on his shoes properly, only to glance up and see the neighboring Mistress Cheng, as always, leaning on the ladder to gossip, while her own family’s little hellion of a daughter, Ugly Girl, was chasing Gennu’er relentlessly—catching him, she’d grab his hair and yank it back, and Gennu’er was crying as if his life were ending.

Meanwhile his own foolish An’er, who could barely walk yet, kept plopping down on his bottom every three steps trying to save his brother—tsk, truly the bond of brothers ran deep.

The two older ones had quick hands and feet and he couldn’t catch up, so he sat furious on the ground, eyes wide, fists clenched, screaming at the top of his lungs, then got up again to keep trying to save his brother, able at least to tell friend from foe.

This Ugly Girl of the Cheng family wasn’t much older than the rest, but out in the alley, the whole third generation of children combined were no match for her, whether in raw strength or in cunning.

No one knew quite how the Cheng family had raised their child—Master Cheng had struck her a couple of times, yet the moment Ugly Girl stepped out the door and saw something good to eat or play with, she’d reach right for it, and if you weren’t careful she’d give you a smack—her grip was strong and she had no sense of restraint, so all the children feared her.

With the children crying like this, those two heartless mothers just kept smiling and gossiping up on their ladder. Chen Dasheng couldn’t stand it and asked crossly, “They’re—they’re crying this hard, and you’re still not going to do anything?”

Qiqian’er turned her face to Chen Dasheng then and said, “Don’t you go coddling them—let them get knocked around a bit and grow some backbone!” She pointed at Ugly Girl and laughed, “I’m dying of envy honestly—this one goes out and thrashes our whole alley, then turns around and the whole alley’s brood gangs up on your eldest, and your eldest, what a fine one he is, doesn’t even dare cry out there—holds it in with his eyes brimming, and only dares to wail once he’s back in the courtyard. That’s the type who’s fierce only at home—yesterday even Heiniu made him cry, what a fine specimen… Let him spar with the toughest one around, so he won’t suffer for it out there tomorrow.”

What kind of talk was this!

Chen Dasheng was stunned, feeling rather wronged, but gave up arguing. He looked up and asked Mistress Cheng, “So early in the morning—is Master Cheng home?”

Mistress Cheng’s eyes drifted a little—first left, then right—and without quite meeting Chen Dasheng’s gaze she said, “He’s taken leave from his superiors and gone, gone up the mountain to gather herbs…” Then, worried this wasn’t sufficient, she hastily added, “It’s autumn now, and once winter comes it won’t, won’t be easy to find any…”

Before she’d even finished, everyone heard another heart-rending wail. Turning to look, they saw An’er sitting half-sprawled on the ground—no one knew quite when, but he’d caught hold of Ugly Girl’s little flowered trousers and was forcibly hauling her toward himself.

This little one had been born with unusual strength—sometimes even Chen Dasheng couldn’t pry his hands off something once he’d gripped it.

Ugly Girl, who had always been undefeated across the whole alley, was thoroughly startled by this first taste of a beating and began to wail—but wailing did no good. Held fast in his arms and now with her little pigtail seized too, An’er, thoroughly worked up, grabbed hold and slapped her right in the face. Ugly Girl cleverly dodged and kept wailing, kicking her legs to try to strike back at An’er, and then… they were actually fighting?

And—rather evenly matched at that.

Mistress Cheng, seeing her daughter get hit, didn’t intervene either. From when she herself had been this age, she’d already begun eating poison daily to build resistance, so a few punches thrown her way now hardly counted as anything.

She just smiled at Qiqian’er and asked, “This child of yours is quite something—has he been soaked in medicine too?”

Qiqian’er was startled, “Soaked in what medicine?”

Mistress Cheng thought about it, “Naturally, some medicine for strengthening the bones and opening the meridians?”

Not to boast, but ever since Ugly Girl had started on the medicine soak, she hadn’t so much as coughed once—every day she bounced about like a live fish just pulled ashore.

Qiqian’er suddenly understood, and greed for her own child rose in her at once—so that’s how it was, no wonder Ugly Girl was so strong. After thinking it over, she asked rather carefully, “That medicine soak of yours, could you make up a few doses for us too?”

Mistress Cheng nodded immediately, “Why, that’s nothing at all—rather than me making up the medicine for you, the recipe is, is something I worked out myself. I’ll write it down for you later, just don’t pass it on to others.”

Qiqian’er thanked her profusely, “Thank you, thank you so much—your Ugly Girl’s clothes for this winter, no, for next year and the year after, inside and out, our household’s sewing will cover it all.”

Mistress Cheng’s face didn’t show much, but the delight in her eyes spilled over all the same. She’d never been skilled at fine needlework, so Ugly Girl had always dressed rather roughly.

As Qiqian’er saw it, ever since the little aunt of the Cheng family had left, that household had stopped really living and just muddled through—that once-grand estate now held only the couple and Ugly Girl, none of them people who kept an orderly household. This little girl grew up rough, having truly never wanted for anything, so when she went out and saw another child holding something, of course she’d simply grab it.

Trying to reason with her now got nowhere, and with no other recourse, Master Cheng and his wife could only keep her shut up at home as much as possible so she wouldn’t offend others.

The adults thought nothing of it, but the little ones fought all the more fiercely. Gennu’er shivered and trembled watching his younger brother locked in a scuffle with the wicked girl next door—his brother had fewer teeth than her and was clearly losing, but though it hurt, he wouldn’t cry, only his eyes welled with tears.

The savage blood in Gennu’er’s veins flared—hit my brother, and I’ll, I’ll bite you to death.

In the end this child let out a shriek, flipped himself over, ran to a spot not far from the two fighting children, dropped flat to the ground, crawled a few paces to Ugly Girl, and clamped his mouth right onto the surface and edge of her shoe. Of course it couldn’t really hurt—his baby teeth were only so big, and the sole was that thick—Mistress Cheng always made shoes to last, thick and sturdy.

And this—still no one stepped in?

Chen Dasheng, unable to bear it any longer, walked over barefoot, scooped up one child in each hand, and called for the nursemaids to come help sort things out. Gennu’er, full of fighting spirit, was carried off to have his mouth cleaned, still clenching the little shoe that had been forcibly pulled off in his teeth, his eyes still fierce—he had finally, at least, shown a bit of manly mettle.

The two women at last stopped their gossiping. Mistress Cheng carried her still-shrieking Ugly Girl back into their courtyard. Qiqian’er took her furious, indignant son from the nursemaid, pinched his chin with one hand, and, looking at his mouth still missing several baby teeth, mocked him, “Aren’t you something—teeth not even all in yet, and still trying to bite people? Serves you right! Got the worst of it, didn’t you?”

Chen Dasheng, still barefoot, wore the expression of a man who realized he’d been had. Inwardly he grumbled to himself—this woman had deceived him. Before, it had been An’er this and An’er that, all loving concern, and he’d thought her a tender, doting mother, only to find she was a mother like this? Worse even than the old lady.

How could this be?

He himself was a doting father, busy with official duties outside for months on end, rarely home—but whenever he returned, he indulged the two children utterly, without a trace of impatience.

Seeing both children get roughed up by the neighbors and reduced half to tears, in all honesty, parents always talked a polite game on the surface while secretly itching to go teach the offenders a lesson themselves. When it came to being a parent, no one should boast of being especially wise or understanding—deep down, in their bones, everyone was cut from the same cloth.

An’er, quick to anger and unable to express himself well, was unwilling when his mother picked him up—he’d clearly seen through her by now, recognizing her as a wolfish mother at heart, and so without ceremony he abandoned his mother, pouted, and stretched his chubby hands toward his father, asking to be held instead.

In that instant Chen Dasheng’s heart melted like water. He took his son up, saw how disheveled the child’s clothes had become, and went himself to find fresh clothes to change him into.

Qiqian’er leaned against the doorway laughing softly. Chen Dasheng huffed and flung the dirty clothes onto the floor, grumbling, “I’ve never seen a mother like you. Are you raising a dog, or a child?”

Qiqian’er pursed her lips, “Listen to you, my lord—your son, dog or human, can’t you tell just by looking?”

Seeing Chen Dasheng go quiet, she finally walked over smiling, sat on the edge of the kang, took her son’s chubby hand and rocked it while saying, “He, born into wealth and privilege, hasn’t suffered the slightest hardship since he came into this world—but can we stay by his side for the rest of his life?”

In her past life she’d nagged her son day in and day out to endure, endure… until in the end he’d endured himself into nothing, living out his life as a beast of burden ridden and used by others.

Not that she was being unreasonable—Mistress Cheng wasn’t an outsider either; one only argued fine points of reason with outsiders. What needed saying to their own, she’d say plainly enough. But a boy would sooner or later have to become a man, and the hardness in his bones couldn’t be allowed to slip away—otherwise how would he shoulder the weight of the world for the sake of his own wife and children someday?

Chen Dasheng was startled for a moment, but in the end nodded and muttered, “…Mm.”

It really was so, after all.

Once Gennu’er had been changed and had his face washed, he was carried back into the room, and Qiqian’er quickly gathered him into her arms to comfort him—the child, who had already stopped crying, grew tearful again from being fussed over.

By the time breakfast was laid out, the couple each tended to one boy, the two forgetting their grudge in an instant, both scampering all over the bed, and the parents had to corral the little rascals in one spot to force-feed them their rice.

Children of the poor never ate their fill; children of the wealthy seemed to feel they shouldn’t have to eat mortal food at all—every mealtime was as much a struggle as fighting a war.

After feeding him a while, Chen Dasheng felt that his son, wriggling like a live carp, had put away enough rice in one sitting to be worth half a company’s worth of war-horses.

Letting out a soft breath, he set down the bowl and said to Qiqian’er, “I think I finally understand.”

Qiqian’er looked up and asked, “Understand what?”

Chen Dasheng said, “Back home in the old days, we never bothered with all this fuss—if a child seemed uninterested in food, you just let him go hungry a few times and he’d come around! Look at all the effort it takes just to get this little wretch to eat a bowl of rice—when I was little, did I ever have such fortune? A’Nai never even had to call us when she was cooking, we’d be crowded around the stove early, waiting to fight over the food. I tell you, we really ought to give him a few more little brothers and sisters—food tastes better when there’s a whole crowd scrambling for it…”

Before he’d even finished, they heard someone outside call out cheerfully, “The young master’s back, the young master’s back…”

Quick as the words came, Siyue lifted the curtain and Xie Liuhao strode in from outside, beaming, both hands carrying two large bundles of things. The children, still eating, went wild the instant they saw Xie Liuhao, shouting with voices so shrill they pierced the ear like the thin bamboo whistles of early spring.

They knew this uncle—every time he visited there was always something good to eat or play with.

Chen Dasheng held his sons back and looked at Xie Liuhao with a smile, “Well now, our esteemed young lord has some free time today, does he? Showing up out of the blue at this hour?”

Xie Liuhao took the things the maidservants brought over and tidied himself up a bit while smiling, “You don’t know? Isn’t this all tied up with the doings on Old Baishi Mountain—naturally it falls under our Jiu Si Tang’s jurisdiction. Our commander wasn’t at ease about it, so he brought us here first thing this morning.”

Chen Dasheng’s hand, mid-way through feeding soup, paused, “Meng Dichen came?”

“Yes, he came. He’s gone up the mountain.” Xie Liuhao smiled, took out a package of pastries from the bundle he’d brought, and pressed two pieces into each nephew’s hands.

Would these two little rascals still eat their meal once they had cake in hand? Their little windows of interest shut instantly—their mouths latched on at once, both little hands cupped protectively around their mouths, eyes rolling to fix on their mother in unison, terrified she’d pry the cake out and stuff it back into her own mouth.

Qiqian’er clicked her tongue and pursed her lips—these two wretched little rascals stuffed anything into their mouths, stones, rotten wood, how could she not want to pry it out?

Xie Liuhao was rarely home, and Qiqian’er, worried the children would forget him, let him dote on them however he liked each time he returned, unafraid of spoiling them—it was only a couple of pieces of pastry after all.

When other men came to visit and talk, she could put on airs of a proper, virtuous wife, but Xie Liuhao knew her through and through, so there was no need to hold back with him. Once the servants had withdrawn, Qiqian’er said, “This whole court is quite the joke, really. They even had a temple built for me, saying it was my mountain, fine—they took the silver that was mine, and I let anyone climb my mountain without a word of objection, hah! No wonder trouble happened, building a hut here, a shrine there day after day… how very interesting indeed.”

Chen Dasheng’s cheek muscles twitched as he listened, and seeing his new brother-in-law nodding along in agreement, saying yes, indeed, quite so—oh, what an unfortunate household this was!

Qiqian’er wasn’t nearly done grumbling: “…And now someone’s died up there, isn’t that just hilarious. Yesterday they sent someone to the temple to ask around for news, if you can believe it. As if this old lady would know a thing! I ask you—” She looked at Xie Liuhao, “The temple told me the one overseeing the matter isn’t even someone assigned by your Jiu Si Tang?”

Xie Liuhao’s mouth twisted, “After all, an imperial in-law died, and one connected to some unclear remnant of the former dynasty besides—this affair is complicated indeed. As for our little Qingfeng Mansion? Every last one of these is a minor yamen, whoever’s willing to take on trouble goes and does it, and from what I’ve seen, everyone who can avoid going this time has avoided it. The Liu family’s loss, this one was their prized heir—this practically cuts off… this fellow’s reach going forward. Though he looks idle and unassuming now, who’s to say what he might’ve become had he lived?”

He held up five fingers and gave them a shake toward his elder brother and sister-in-law, “Little brother’s just guessing here, take it for what it’s worth.”

Chen Dasheng nodded, though he glanced uneasily at Qiqian’er all the same—this sister-in-law’s mind worked differently from ordinary people’s. He’d fallen into this pit long ago and had no wish to climb out, but given how serious this matter was, he was genuinely worried she might get one of her stubborn moods.

So he said cautiously, “Just as he says, it’s none of our family’s business—but you’d best still be careful on your end. If this gets tangled up with the Baishi Mountain affair, the martial world will end up shouldering the blame for it—ah, they’re rather pitiable too, forced to bear it whether they want to or not.”

Hearing him say this, Qiqian’er found herself glancing next door, as if guided by some unseen hand, and recalling Mistress Cheng’s words—that Master Cheng had gone up the mountain to gather herbs?

Gathering herbs? She didn’t believe it for a moment… but if Master Cheng hadn’t gone to gather herbs, then where had he gone?

At the gate of Jinzhong Temple on Little South Mountain, Cheng Wanning, restored to his true appearance, sat properly upon a reed mat before the temple gate. A single stick of incense sent up a slow trail of blue smoke, gradually curling into rings against the blue sky.