Across two lifetimes, Qiqian’er had learned no shortage of tricks and schemes, yet she rarely employed them. First, having been reborn once, her world had grown vast, her perspective no longer confined to the inner household. Second, she lacked for nothing, and had no need to bicker with family members over trivial matters.
Was the Chen family’s harmony simply because everyone got along perfectly? That was truly impossible! Every person carries their own small grudges, their own petty temperaments—and the wives in this household were all sharp, cunning women, none of them pushovers by any means.
Fortunately, though, this family happened to have a rather different sort of Qiqian’er. Being the first wife to marry in, she’d set a good precedent from the start, and the household’s spending largely came through her efforts. Combined with her husband being competent and never petty about money in hand, what was there left to fight over?
Would she really compete with others over the right to support the elder matriarch? Or squabble with someone over a moldy piece of pastry in A’Nai’s cupboard? There was simply no need for any of that.
Once money and household matters had nothing worth quarreling over, the family remained largely harmonious.
None of them had in-laws breathing down their necks from above—stirring up more trouble than that would truly be squandering a life of comfort.
According to custom, the grave-master would drive the lead ox into the cemetery grounds, and wherever the lead ox came to a stop, that spot would become the burial site for the most senior generation of ancestors.
This showed just how precious this particular ox was considered. As for the other oxen, none willing to serve as the lead ox circling the grave site, no one found this odd—in fact, they even offered a supernatural explanation for it, believing the ancestors’ spirits must be hovering somewhere above.
And so, when the grave-master selected Chen Dasheng’s ox, everyone assumed, ah, the ancestors truly favored Chen Dasheng most of all.
But the real reason behind it all was simply that Huo Qiqian felt her own dear Choutou was feeling down, so everyone else would just have to suffer the inconvenience.
That’s right—this woman didn’t just spoil children, she spoiled her husband too.
Ever since the family had begun preparing for this grand affair, his two elder brothers from the branches above had been extraordinarily busy—preparing sacrificial offerings, seeking out kilns to fire burial goods—and in all this, there was simply nothing for Chen Dasheng to do, leaving him feeling rather dejected in private.
His dejection wasn’t simply because he was now technically a member of the She family. Rather, it was in this moment that it truly struck him—among their third branch, he was the only male heir, yet while other sons attended sacrifices for their parents and elder brothers, whose lonely spirits hovered above their graves, his own family instead received offerings from a different branch’s household? How pitiful was that.
He’d truly been tormented, growing thin from worry, night after night nursing his sense of grievance. Lately, he’d taken to holding his wife close at night, reminiscing about his old hometown, his parents, his elder brothers—as if everything in the past had been so wonderful, so wonderful that he now felt like a sinner for having left it all behind.
Qiqian’er, drawing on memories from her previous life, always felt a pang of tenderness for Chen Dasheng. She often thought to herself, what a pitiable man he was—having lived an entire lifetime, yet never having enjoyed even a single day of untroubled peace.
And so, naturally, she took matters into her own hands. The ox had long since been prepared and specially trained in advance—every day, they’d let that particular ox sniff a certain foul-smelling herbal powder, and each time it sniffed, it would twitch several times. Eventually, whenever the other oxen caught that same scent, they’d immediately turn and walk away. All she needed to do was scatter that herbal powder near the grave site, and no matter which branch’s ox it was, none would dare approach.
As for whether the ancestors would take offense? Qiqian’er had already made a vow—she’d burn ten enormous paper mountains of gold for them come the next festival. Surely, for the sake of that much money, the ancestors wouldn’t hold it against her.
The livestock market in Qingfeng city convened once every fifteen days, and naturally, whenever the Chen household needed to purchase an ox, it would be at this time, at this location. Whatever the household steward wanted to buy, he certainly couldn’t overrule the wishes of the third branch.
And so it was that the ox-never-entering-the-grave incident came about. Qiqian’er held the least regard for Chen Sinniu of anyone, so his ox suffered the harshest treatment of them all—no wonder it ran off.
Fortunately, these oxen were ultimately meant to be given away to the grave-master and the villagers anyway—truly, a blessing in disguise.
When Chen Dasheng returned home that evening, his footsteps were light and easy, and the secret hurt weighing on his heart seemed to have healed all on its own, no medicine required.
Sometimes, matters of ancestral sacrifice could offer the greatest comfort to a person’s heart. It wasn’t as though he had no feelings at all—could he truly, calmly accept having become She Qingling’s son, just like that?
But he was a man, and whatever pain he felt, he could only bear it silently, endure it, hold it in.
Seeing that his own ox had earned the ancestors’ favor, his heart instantly felt cleansed, like a tarnished bronze mirror covered in mold spots, freshly polished by a mirror-craftsman, suddenly gleaming brand new again. He genuinely felt, in that moment, that he’d finally earned the forgiveness of his parents and elder brother.
Under the ink-black night sky, Chen Dasheng and his fellow brothers sat at the guest of honor’s seat in Xiaojing Village, at the mute uncle’s celebratory feast.
Mute Qiusheng had accomplished an entire string of life’s major milestones today, all at once—leaving his original clan register, joining the Chen family register, formalizing the adoptive kinship, marrying, and moving into his new home.
The Chen family had already had the house built for him the year before. It was only in the past two months that he’d learned it belonged to him, and since then, he’d taken to carrying water to the new house every day, scrubbing every corner he could reach with weeds dipped in water, unable to sleep peacefully otherwise until it was thoroughly clean.
This was simply an honest man who lived right at the edge of Qingfeng city, yet had never even once visited the city itself—and he was perfectly content with that, deeply grateful even.
Having handled the family’s most significant affair, several of the Chen family’s male members, including Chen Sinniu, all felt as though half their burden had been lifted from their shoulders. What does a person truly wish for in this life? Simply knowing where they’ll end up—that alone brought immense comfort.
Having had a few cups of wine, these men’s footsteps grew notably lighter on the way home. Along the way, they didn’t even feel their usual dislike toward Chen Sinniu, even praising his ox for truly living up to its title as king of oxen, running so fast it had disappeared into the old forest, never to be seen again.
Qiqian’er had been far too ruthless in her scheme—the poor man’s ox had actually gone missing.
And this matter of the lost ox ended up confirming, once and for all, Chen Sinniu’s unfilial conduct, stripping away the last shred of respect he still held within the clan.
Chen Sinniu’s heart was filled with overwhelming dread. He walked the entire way home in complete silence, all his usual bluster about being an uncle and elder utterly forgotten. He’d never feared the living, but he now truly feared the ghosts haunting his conscience—he was genuinely terrified, afraid that once he died and was buried there, he’d be beaten by his father and elder brothers day after day for eternity, never finding peace even in death.
That night, Chen Sinniu, clutching at this last lifeline like a drowning man, made his way to the old family residence. Once his nephews had taken their leave, he lingered behind, and once he was certain it was safe, threw himself to the ground, clutching the elder matriarch’s legs, wailing in complete terror and pleading, “Mother, please save your son…”
The elder matriarch was startled, and asked, “What terrible thing have you done now, that you need me to save you?”
Chen Sinniu, his heart filled with panic, looked up fearfully and said, “Mother, if tomorrow you should ascend to become an immortal and leave this world before me, could, could you put in a good word for your son with Father and elder brothers in advance? I regret everything, I swear, I’ll truly change…”
From inside the house came the sound of a shoe sole scraping against a cheek, along with Chen Sinniu’s wailing cries. Ultimately, it wasn’t proper to listen in on matters between elders, so Chen Dazhong bent over, stifling his laughter, and quietly led his younger brothers away. Only once they’d made it out of the courtyard did they each clutch their stomachs and head home, laughing.
When people grow to dislike someone, that dislike only deepens over time. Chen Sinniu’s misfortune brought the whole family collective joy—genuine, unfeigned delight.
When Chen Dasheng walked through the door, he was even humming some tune he himself didn’t recognize.
Qiqian’er, who had been sitting inside enjoying the sound of his humming, didn’t get to see him though—she heard his footsteps suddenly veer off course, realizing he’d gone to find his father instead.
Ah, not entirely foolish then—having pleased the deceased, he now remembered there was still a living one who might feel a bit jealous if left out.
The moment Chen Dasheng entered his father’s courtyard, he heard the old man solemnly reading aloud to the child.
An’er, of course, couldn’t understand a word of it, and kept letting out sharp squeals and mischievous noises, yet this didn’t dampen Elder She’s resolve in the slightest. He seemed to be using this grand, declarative style of reading to mask something else entirely.
Chen Dasheng stood at the doorway, looking at the servants, who all lowered their heads in fear, saying nothing.
Inside the room, She Qingling stared with exceptional gravity at this “shit-eating child,” informing him that there existed nine heavens in this world.
Truly, the child had eaten excrement that day—both jealous and out of sorts, he’d had his grandson brought over again that afternoon, playing with him on the heated brick bed. Later, unable to coax the child to sleep, he’d dozed off himself, only to be jolted awake moments later by a foul smell.
The moment Prince She opened his eyes, he found his eldest grandson presenting his find like a treasure, both little hands covered in excrement, staring at him. Seeing he’d woken, the child even clapped his hands—clapped, no less!—apparently thoroughly delighted, smearing that yellowish mess everywhere in the process.
In that instant, a single thought crystallized in She Qingling’s mind: this world was simply too detestable—might as well let dynasties change, let everything crumble to ruin; nothing mattered anymore anyway.
He let out a scream more anguished than any he’d uttered even when the old dynasty fell. The nursemaid caring for his eldest grandson rushed in, and seeing him in such a state of panic, kindly tried to comfort him, saying, “My lord mustn’t hold it against the young master. Every child has to experience everything life has to offer when they’re born—whose child, at this age, doesn’t grab whatever’s around and stuff it straight into their mouth? Where do you think the saying ‘shit-eating child’ even comes from? This is exactly where it comes from! What’s there to make such a fuss about… every child is the same.”
She Qingling’s mind went utterly blank with despair—he didn’t even dare think too deeply about it anymore.
Though his own grandson wasn’t blessed with the auspicious features of ancient sage-kings—Yao’s rainbow-hued brows, Shun’s double-pupiled eyes, King Wen’s four nipples—he was still, by nature, destined to rise like morning clouds, surely an extraordinary child in the future. How could he possibly be allowed to play with excrement? And, and eat it?
Well then, what was to be done? Clearly, instilling the principles of learning and virtue needed to take top priority, starting immediately.
And so, She Qingling had been reading aloud to his eldest grandson for a very long time now, still unable to bring himself to face reality even now.
Fortunately, An’er was a good-natured, easily contented child. Given a piece of dry, hard steamed bread he couldn’t quite chew through, he simply gnawed away quietly at it the whole time, occasionally even offering his grandfather a playful gesture in return.
And so, when Chen Dasheng entered the room, he found his prince father, hands clasped behind his back, earnestly lecturing his foolish son, saying, “As for the nine heavens: the Eastern Azure Heaven, the Southern Blazing Heaven, the Western Vast Heaven, the Northern Mysterious Heaven, the Northeast is Min Heaven, the Northwest is called You Heaven, the Southeast is Yang Heaven, and the center is called Jun Heaven. Has my good grandson remembered all this?”
An’er, setting aside his bread, nodded along enthusiastically in support: “…%…% heaven!”
At this age, a child was just learning to speak—whatever you said to him, he wouldn’t understand a word of it, but he loved repeating the very last syllable he heard.
She Qingling was instantly filled with satisfaction, and though he wanted to plant a kiss on his precious grandson, he managed to restrain himself.
Having finished with the nine heavens, naturally, the eight winds came next.
“As for the winds of the eight seasonal nodes: at the Beginning of Spring, the gentle wind blows; at the Spring Equinox, the bright wind of budding growth; at the Beginning of Summer, the clear and bright wind…”
An’er looked up and spotted his father, and immediately let out a loud shout: “Ahh!!”
He truly missed his father—having spent nearly half the day with grandfather, all he’d gotten to eat was a bit of excrement paired with dry steamed bread.
Chen Dasheng rushed over, abandoning his father entirely, scooped up his son, and showered him with smacking kisses, kissing him so thoroughly that She Qingling’s heart shattered into pieces.
An’er, being a righteous, generous child, took the half-gnawed piece of bread from his own mouth and stuffed it straight into Chen Dasheng’s mouth. Chen Dasheng, without the slightest hesitation, ate it, even praising him, saying, “Ah~ delicious, my son honors his father so well.”
His heart, shattered, mended itself, only to shatter once more…
Seeing Chen Dasheng had returned, the servants waiting outside the room finally let out a sigh of relief. Rarely had they seen the young prince lose his temper so badly, inexplicably refusing to let anyone disturb him, shouting book passages at the poor little young master for ages—the young master was far too young to understand any of it!
Today, aside from one elderly nursemaid, most of the Chen family’s servants had accompanied the matriarchs to Xiaojing Village, leaving those attending to She Qingling mostly under the prince’s own direction—none of them experienced in childcare either, leaving the Chen family’s precious treasure to gnaw on dry bread for half the day, much to his own discomfort.
As for the nursemaid who’d let An’er eat excrement, since she’d shown such poor judgment, the prince had already driven her out of the household.
Qiqian’er had no idea about any of this—had she known her son had gone the entire afternoon without eating any proper food, certain people would find themselves unable to touch the child for the next six months.
With Chen Dasheng there to bolster everyone’s courage, the servants immediately, without needing to be told, laid out the reheated evening meal atop the heated brick bed. Seeing this, Chen Dasheng asked She Qingling in surprise, “Father, you haven’t eaten yet either?”
Though the question was directed at his father, his eyes were fixed on his son.
Only then did She Qingling recall what exactly he’d been up to—yet, thinking of how his own grandson had gnawed on dry bread, keeping him company through his nonsense this whole time without a single complaint, ah, how could such a righteous, considerate child possibly exist?
The more he dwelled on it, the guiltier he felt. She Qingling immediately scooped up his eldest grandson, forgetting everything else, wanting only to shower him with kisses. Unfortunately, the moment An’er caught sight of food, he went wild with hunger—he was truly famished.
The child shoved his grandfather’s old face away with one hand, struggling to crawl toward the low table on the heated bed, grabbing hold of a bowl of food with both arms and burying his head into it like a little piglet.
Watching his son devour one mouthful after another, with his father feeding him yet still not satisfied—the child even reaching out with his small hands to scoop more food from the table to tend to his own little belly—Chen Dasheng felt a pang of tenderness for a moment, then finally turned to She Qingling and said, “Father.”
She Qingling was startled, looking up at his son with some alarm. “Hm? What?”
Chen Dasheng said helplessly, “Let’s just not let Qian’er find out about this. Otherwise, well, you know how it’ll go.”
Everyone in the household knew just how much Qiqian’er doted on her children. As the household’s presiding matriarch, she’d personally attended to every detail since the child’s birth—she wouldn’t even trust others to sew his inner garments, insisting on staying up late every night to sew them herself, stitch by stitch.
Never mind that a wealthy household had servants aplenty—not even a hundred servants could compare to how a mother’s heart would ache watching her son grab burning coals, or feel the pain in her own palm after striking his hand away.
She Qingling nodded hurriedly, “Yes, yes!” After which he looked at his son solemnly and promised, “Alright!”
And so, three generations sat together and shared the evening meal. Once full, An’er dozed off contentedly in his father’s arms.
Watching his son’s rosy little face, She Qingling suddenly felt the urge to tattle on him, and said, “Sheng’er, do you know something?”
Chen Dasheng blinked at his father. “Know what?”
She Qingling gestured lightly toward An’er with his chin. “This afternoon, your son seems to have eaten excrement.”
Having said this, he looked up at his son’s face, only to see Chen Dasheng freeze for a moment before bursting out laughing. He immediately leaned down and planted several more kisses on his chubby son’s cheeks, then looked up, seemingly quite pleased, and said, “This little rascal! It’s nothing, every kid does this.”
Having grown up in the countryside, he’d long since grown tired of hearing about such things.
She Qingling was momentarily stunned, then suddenly understood—perhaps this was simply the bond of blood and kinship; parents never held it against their children, no matter what.
Thinking of this, he too began to laugh, and let the matter drop, instead asking, “I heard that lately, whenever the livestock market opens, you make a point of going to wander around it.”
Chen Dasheng nodded. “Ah, not exactly wandering—every time I go, I just sit near the official brokers and observe the market prices.”
She Qingling’s eyes lit up. “Oh? And how are prices these days?”
Having said this, he walked a few steps over to the desk nearby, picked up his brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, and turned back, spreading them out on the table, adopting a serious, note-taking posture.
Whether or not he held an official post at the Ministry of Finance, She Qingling remained deeply concerned with matters of the common people’s livelihood. Even though he no longer involved himself in court politics, he made a point of periodically reporting the most authentic conditions of common life he’d observed directly to His Majesty.
In his experience, it mattered little if the Emperor made the occasional policy misstep—but the root cause of a dynasty’s eventual collapse always traced back to matters concerning the people’s livelihood. If the common people’s welfare remained stable, the realm would remain secure.
Improving the people’s livelihood was, to him, the essence of good governance.
Chen Dasheng, naturally familiar with his father’s temperament, went along with it, reciting the figures he’d already noted down earlier, one by one.
“…This time, son needed to buy a purely sacrificial, sturdy ox, so naturally the price ran higher. Mine cost fifteen strings of cash. My fourth uncle’s ox, supposedly the ‘king of oxen,’ apparently cost fifty strings—but that’s nonsense. I know that ox of his well, it’s worth no more than twenty strings at most, just has a handsome coat and a sturdy build, that’s all. But ordinary plow oxen at the market are indeed running about two strings higher than last year—you’d need at least twelve strings now to purchase a single sturdy ox…”
She Qingling recorded everything in a steady stream, and once he set down his brush, asked, “And the rest?”
Chen Dasheng thought for a moment. “Everything else has remained fairly stable, prices holding steady for the past three years. Pork runs about a thousand cash, whole sheep just over three strings, lamb prices haven’t changed at all, always one string. Chicken is the cheapest—thirty for a rooster, fifty for a hen. Fat geese are the most expensive of all, selling for anywhere between one string two hundred and two strings—nearly matching the price of sheep now…”
Father and son got so absorbed in this discussion that they completely forgot they were still in Qinwei Lane, continuing on even after Qiqian’er came looking for them—she could still hear the two of them through the window, puzzling over why eggs cost three coins for two, yet goose eggs ran fifteen coins apiece.
Qiqian’er lifted the curtain and stepped into the room, saying, “What time is it already? Still not resting, you two? As for why geese are so expensive, blame those pretentious scholars in the city—who knows where this ridiculous fad came from, but ever since last year, any young man who fancies himself a scholar has to keep a pet goose by his side!
Father, you have no idea—goose prices have gone completely out of control. Even ordinary ones now sell for a string and a half, and they’re graded into three tiers, upper, middle, and lower. The ones with long necks and white feathers, they say, can now fetch the price of a calf—selling for over ten strings! Back at the end of summer, A’Nai wanted to pickle some goose eggs, and guess what—couldn’t even find any to buy!”
Having said this, Qiqian’er took her son from Chen Dasheng, kissed him twice, and said to Chen Dasheng, “I’ll carry him back. If you want to keep chatting with Father, keep it brief—Father’s already looked after the child for half the day. Gennu won’t go to sleep, keeps calling for his little brother.”
She Qingling smiled and had someone fetch his own thick padded jacket, personally tucking its edges around the child as he said, “Just bear with it a bit longer. This ridiculous trend all traces back to Liu Zhenzhi’s circle—that fellow’s fond of painting geese, keeps a big goose by his side as a pet. He’s the leading trendsetter among the capital’s literary scholars, and naturally everyone else follows his example. If the elder matriarch wants goose eggs, I’ll have someone inquire with the Imperial Kitchen tomorrow…”
She Qingling suddenly stopped mid-sentence.
Having once served as Chief Eunuch, hadn’t he noticed something? Over this past year or so, the goose that should have been part of the Emperor’s harem provisions had been quietly replaced with duck instead.
Seeing him fall silent, Qiqian’er could only shake her head, turning to carry the child away. But Chen Dasheng suddenly caught hold of the hem of her robe.
“Tell me, how much does a goose cost?”
Qiqian’er paused, turning back to look at Chen Dasheng. “Over ten strings, I’d say—several old gentlemen on Quanqian Street keep them, none going for under ten strings. Why do you ask?”
But she saw he too had gone still, lost deep in thought.
From Qiqian’er’s offhand remark, She Qingling and Chen Dasheng’s minds suddenly connected the dots—like tangled threads suddenly straightening out in their minds, from the corpses scattered across Mount Baiquan, to the waddling pet goose kept by that scholar at the marketplace, to the Imperial Kitchen, to all those smiling, impossibly wealthy faces…
Qiqian’er let out a soft huff, pursing her lips, and turned to carry the child away.
But She Qingling walked over to the edge of the heated bed and sat down, picking up his brush and marking a checkmark beside the recorded figures.
Chen Dasheng nodded at his father, finally chuckling quietly. “Right, that clears things up. I used to think that standing atop the watchtower, one could see everything clearly.”
She Qingling smiled as well. “Two eyes viewing matters will always have their limits.” Having said this, he took his brush and blotted the figure into a solid black smudge, saying, “There will always be someone in this world who stands higher, who sees farther than us. We only saw a single goose—yet someone else could look at Liu Zhenzhi’s fondness for geese, and how the scholars of the realm have rushed to imitate him, and from that alone discern the danger he poses for the future. He moved too early, and found too capable a scapegoat to solve the case—I never even considered he might be involved, tsk… this fellow’s temperament is nothing at all like his father’s. He’s far more like someone from the Tan family, walking the shadow path.”
Chen Dasheng let out a cold laugh, and finally added, “Can we really be blamed for that? From start to finish, that man poured every ounce of his strength into pushing forward a single goal—of course his mind stays clear, his vision stays sharp. A man who can see every obstacle on his chosen path—what do we spend our days thinking about instead? Nothing more than the broth simmering in some commoner’s pot under his own roof. Fortunate you gave up your position early, Father, otherwise, I suspect they’d have grown even more brazen, treating human lives as mere objects to be discarded.”
This case had nothing to do with the Lao Dao family, nor did it concern She Qingling directly. Yet, thinking of those who had died right at their doorstep, father and son found themselves tossing and turning through the night, feeling as though there was something they ought to be doing.