She Qingling and Chen Dasheng suffered a punishment unlike any before—both grievously wounded. Everyone had assumed Chen Dasheng, being younger, would recover faster.

Yet She Qingling woke on the second day after being carried home, while Chen Dasheng ran through three relapses of high fever before finally regaining consciousness, having grown noticeably thinner—truly, he had wandered halfway to King Yama’s realm and back.

His Majesty had truly ordered the beating carried out. The performance had to be sincere, or it would never have fooled those cunning old foxes, nor intimidated those who felt they had backing to rely on.

No one had bothered to count how many lashes had actually fallen. She Qingling had taken the first wave, but all the rest had been endured by Chen Dasheng alone. Even with miraculous martial arts, it made no difference—there is only so much blood in a body, and flesh can only endure so much.

And this was Chen Dasheng.

An ordinary person would have died long before.

Two perfectly healthy men had gone out to labor for the Emperor, walking out full of life, only to be carried back home covered in blood.

The family had originally expected Qiqian’er to fly into a rage, but instead she remained remarkably calm from beginning to end. She turned around and dismissed the two imperial physicians sent by the palace, and instead invited the Cheng couple from next door.

This woman, resilient to the very core, handled the whole crisis without panic, without shedding a single tear.

For these few days, anyone who made a mistake was immediately dragged out and given a beating with the board—it frightened everyone half to death.

When the imperial physicians reported back, they too were scolded by His Majesty for their foolishness. The next day, the old physician returned, looked over the prescription and the wound treatment, and simply left again—the Prince’s household was not lacking in resources of its own, and had no need for such favor.

This time the Emperor said nothing more, understanding well enough that this was the difficult little wife of the Chen family expressing her displeasure. No matter how many rewards he sent lately, she couldn’t refuse them outright, but she certainly wasn’t obligated to use them either.

Well, birds of a feather—the whole household was a gathering of stubborn mules. He was busy enough himself; whether one little wife was upset or not was hardly something he had time to worry about.

Everyone had their own troubles. The massive case at court was still being tried; at home he still had three motherless daughters to look after, along with all the consorts’ extended relatives implicated in the case, countless trivial matters to handle, and daily reports from every ministry on the case’s progress to hear.

So for now, he had to set aside his concern for Qingling and attend to his own affairs.

Qiqian’er wasn’t losing her temper, but the old matriarch certainly was.

She now had only this one son—though not born of her own flesh, she admitted that none of the children she had actually borne had ever been quite so devoted to her.

Poverty has its own kind of filial devotion; wealth has its own methods—true devotion has nothing to do with money.

She Qingling’s care for the old matriarch had always been quiet as falling rain. When her teeth grew loose and eating lost its appeal, this son brought her soft, ripe fruits; he found her a cook whose cooking suited her taste; when her joints ached and she couldn’t bear jostling, he immediately had a soft, cushioned carriage built for her travels…

Beyond all this, every month he gave her money as support, instructing that the children and grandchildren not be told—afraid she might hoard it, wanting her to feel free to spend as she pleased.

Chen Sini would never think to come to her and ask, “Mother, does your food taste good?”

Nor would any of the other three—her elder sons never spoke of such things. They simply assumed their mother was made of iron, that she would live ten thousand years like an old tortoise.

For the elderly, each day brings only two concerns: whether food tastes good, and whether sleep lasts long enough.

Every time She Qingling came to pay his respects to her, he would quietly, privately ask: were her arms and legs limber? How was her appetite? How much had she eaten, how many bites, did it suit her taste—these sorts of questions.

A heart is made of flesh after all. Seeing this son covered in blood, seemingly on the verge of death, the old matriarch thought in that instant: Heavens, could it be that I truly bring misfortune upon my sons? Must you take even this best son of mine from me as well?

Having thought this, she was startled by her own words, and fell silent, keeping watch through the entire night. She was a very strong old woman, sharing the same core resilience as Qiqian’er—the harder things became, the stronger she grew.

She shed no tears, just kept a stony face and fought against heaven itself.

At night, when She Qingling stirred, his body lying face-down, she had people restrain him gently and held his hand, talking through the night: “My son, don’t be afraid. Mother is here. Wait until you’re better, and Mother will make you your favorite griddle cakes…”

As the old matriarch murmured on, She Qingling settled down. The next day, when he opened his eyes and turned his head, he saw the old matriarch dozing against the kang cabinet, a bowl still cradled in her arms.

Looking again—he was in the old matriarch’s own room?

She hadn’t trusted Qiqian’er’s care alone, and had insisted he be moved to her side, watching over him through another night as well.

She Qingling’s heart was moved; though his body had no strength left, aching and struggling, he called out weakly: “Mother~!”

The old matriarch’s eyes snapped open instantly, gleaming with light, all trace of drowsiness gone in a flash as she rushed over. Seeing him truly awake, his spirit somewhat improved, she set aside every worldly grievance and said: “Oh! Oh! Mother’s here, Mother’s here. Where does it hurt, my child?”

She Qingling wanted to call out “Mother” again, as though he’d done this once before in some distant dream. Except this time, waking up, it was just as it had been in that dream—his own mother watching over him at his side.

He felt a wave of grievance well up, his lips trembling, his throat tightening.

The old matriarch held back tears, smiling as she turned to pour She Qingling a cup of water, neither too hot nor too cold. She had someone prop up a cushioned backrest they’d worked through the night to make, then fed him the water spoonful by spoonful.

Only then did She Qingling realize how thirsty he truly was—his nasal passages, throat, and mouth all tasted of blood. He rinsed his mouth gently several times before managing half a cup of water, then drank some medicinal broth and fell back asleep.

Such a heavy fall, and at his age besides—of course his body couldn’t easily withstand it.

Setting aside She Qingling’s recovery for now, Chen Dasheng’s situation grew more troubling. His entire back had not a single patch of unbroken skin; in some places, bone showed through.

He suffered three severe fever relapses. When he finally regained enough consciousness to recognize people around him, the whole household breathed a collective sigh of relief.

During the worst of the fevers, even Physician Cheng quietly spoke with Qiqian’er, suggesting she prepare herself for the possibility of the worst.

Qiqian’er said nothing, made no such preparations, and forbade any word of this from leaking out.

Day after day she simply endured, managing everything both inside and outside the household without fail—even seeing to the old matriarch and her father-in-law’s needs. During the hardest two days, she barely slept a full hour each day.

Now that things were better and the man had been saved, only then did Qiqian’er begin to feel her anger rise.

Looking at Chen Dasheng, visibly thinner and lying unrecognizable on the kang, Qiqian’er said just one thing to him: “Once you’re better, we’re retiring from all this—no more of it.”

He hadn’t died at Zuoliang Pass as in his previous life, but to die like this instead would truly be a waste.

What, retiring completely? Jixiang and Siyue nearly laughed, but didn’t dare.

She Qingling’s eyes filled with amusement as he drifted back into a hazy sleep. That night he didn’t run a fever; his back throbbed with tearing pain, and several times he woke to find his wife holding his hand, staying by his side without even loosening her sash.

Sensing he was stirring, she rose briskly without even glancing at his face, calling in two young eunuchs to help support him, personally bringing a basin of warm water to clean him and change his diaper. After another round of fuss, she fed him another bowl of medicine. Chen Dasheng, feeling settled, drifted off again, drenched in sweat.

This continued back and forth for another half month. One day, finally regaining some strength, he heard the old matriarch nagging from across the kang: “…Our family doesn’t have enough people to spare—we can’t afford to pay with our lives for the Emperor anymore. From now on, let’s not labor for him at all, shall we?”

Opening his eyes, he saw his grandmother sitting across from him on a cushioned chair, a charcoal stove beside her warming medicine, along with his own bit of broth.

His wife was carefully scrubbing several of his large cloth wraps nearby.

The old matriarch would glance at the stove, then reach over to pat her grandson’s head.

This was the best care he’d ever received after any injury in all these years—safe, warm, thoughtful, coddled down to his very bones, as though he’d returned to being wrapped in swaddling clothes.

Chen Dasheng smiled and called out, “Grandmother.”

His voice came out as though he’d swallowed dry gravel.

Seeing him open his eyes, the old matriarch was overjoyed, hurrying over to ask what her grandson wanted.

Chen Dasheng, gritting through the pain of his torn mouth, now suffering its own retribution—swollen and raw inside—could say nothing more, and simply smiled.

Still smiling?!

The two women running the household seethed with anger at this, yet held their tempers, tending to him carefully, afraid these two ancestors of theirs might stir up more trouble.

What had they stolen in their past lives, to deserve such karmic punishment in this one?

Blink, and another year passed. Yong’an’s seventh year arrived quietly, and for once, the family managed to gather together.

On the twenty-ninth of the twelfth lunar month, Qiqian’er had people prepare gifts early for Jiang Zhu—gifts for the clan elders, provisions and clothing for the fourth branch, along with what the old matriarch had prepared—all sent along with Xique and Lanting to that side.

These two children observed mourning, and so could not spend the New Year under the same roof.

For She Qingling, Chen Dasheng, and the old matriarch’s sake this time, all the usual formalities were set aside entirely—whatever concerned Xique, whatever concerned Lanting, this time it was all let go completely.

Fortunately, the two children were quite understanding and didn’t utter a single word of complaint, leaving obediently.

Once the two children left, the New Year finally arrived.

After the New Year’s turn, Qiqian’er tidied up the western wing’s main hall, making it warm and exquisitely arranged, since the steady stream of guests they couldn’t avoid kept coming—so she let father and son hide away together in the west wing.

As it happened, both women of the Old Chen household grew quieter the more pent-up they felt inside. This left both She Qingling and Chen Dasheng rather on edge.

On the sixth day of the New Year, a procession of eunuchs, heads bowed respectfully, left the western wing—lately they came constantly, and whenever His Majesty enjoyed a particular dish, it would be sent over.

The whole family had grown used to it by now; Qiqian’er found it thoroughly tiresome.

Once they left, a row of maidservants carrying satin-covered boxes came from that direction into the eastern room. Jixiang said with an awkward smile: “Madam, these are gifts bestowed from the palace.”

Qiqian’er, already irritated, waved her hand for him to just set them aside somewhere.

But Jixiang continued: “It’s not just for you either. Consort Xiao also bestowed gifts on the First Madam, Second Madam, and Third Madam.”

Oh, this was a first.

Lady Li and the others appeared indifferent on the surface, but in their hearts, if not exactly jealous, there was certainly some envy.

Lady Luo, unable to contain her excitement, asked: “There’s some for us too? Well, you two got lucky then—what did Her Consort-ship bestow?”

She reached out and opened one, then drew in a sharp breath of cold air.

The box wasn’t large but was packed full, and upon opening, it was filled with the shimmering luster of jadeite green.

A gilded tortoiseshell comb, a row of six small hairpins inlaid with rubies in longevity-character patterns, gold and silver flat hairpins all inlaid with kingfisher feather work—the largest flat hairpin was gold-based, set with five-colored gemstones, also inlaid with kingfisher feathers.

Such imperially-crafted items never cared much for gold or silver treasures alone—as though a bird’s life meant nothing, kingfisher feathers were inlaid wherever space allowed.

In the past, Qiqian’er had had plenty of such items—not to mention what she’d sorted through beneath the Plague God Shrine, or what her father-in-law had given her, or what various palace quarters had bestowed on her.

She never lacked for such things—after all, she’d given birth to a child, earning a fortune each time, while her sisters-in-law had none.

It wasn’t that her sisters-in-law were petty—items bestowed by the imperial family could only be passed down as heirlooms, never sold or given away.

Watching her third sister-in-law’s delight, Qiqian’er felt a bitter twinge inside.

In the past, it had always been Consort Cao who, every New Year’s Day, would supplement her jewelry box—back when she used to summon her sisters-in-law in to be scolded, yet was so very kind about it, specifically instructing that they not be frightened, that soft cushions be brought so they wouldn’t hurt their knees kneeling while writing… And yet, how had she ended up dashing her head against a pillar? She had been Empress, after all.

Just as her father-in-law, a Prince, had been beaten, and the once-mighty, wealthy Choutou had nearly lost his life—one flash of the Emperor’s fury, and the whole household lived in fear.

Thinking of this, Qiqian’er suddenly wanted to go into the palace and do something to vent her anger.

Just as she was lost in thought, the old matriarch stormed into the room, and without waiting to see whether her grandson’s wife wished it or not, snapped: “This thing costs lives to earn—we can’t accept it!”

With that, she slammed the box shut and gathered them up in her arms, heading straight for the west wing.

On the kang in the west wing, Chen Dasheng and his father both sat with their padded jackets half-draped, backs exposed, robes over their shoulders, leaning against specially-made cotton-satin supports, brocade quilts covering their waists, a low table before them as they played a game of chess back and forth.

Freed from the clutches of the women, both breathed a sigh of relief, having agreed together that from now on, father and son would simply stick together—even if it meant dying, they’d die somewhere quiet.

Hearing the commotion, father and son looked up together to see the old matriarch come in carrying an armful of boxes stacked to her chin, and with great force, fling them onto the kang, sending them skidding some distance away.

She looked up and glared fiercely at She Qingling: “Give these back to them! Tell your Emperor we’re done laboring for him. Our family has land—a thousand mu of it! We don’t lack the means to feed the mouths in this house. Mother, this year, has put away…”

The old matriarch swallowed hard—she truly didn’t want to reveal her hidden reserves to the children. But for the sake of these two reckless lives, she finally said it: “Three—three hundred-some strings of cash! However you two want to spend it, that, that you’ll have to take from me, won’t you?”

She Qingling clutched his stomach, laughing weakly.

Chen Dasheng, knowing reasoning wouldn’t sway his grandmother, could only say: “Grandmother, my father holds several honorary posts—this newly-conferred Grand Tutor title alone brings in nearly a thousand strings a year, with over fifteen hundred dan of grain.”

The old matriarch wasn’t thinking about money anymore now, focused instead on the grain, muttering: “Well then—we’ll just bear with it a little longer. This person can’t keep having his way like this! We won’t spend so lavishly from now on, but it should be enough.

Goodness! No wonder he was beaten so severely—using up so much of the Emperor’s money! However much you eat, that’s the size bowl you should use—clearly he’d been imposing on the man too much, and the man simply had enough!”

She Qingling laughed, dragging the sound out from deep in his throat, and then heard Chen Dasheng continue: “My father also has a fief.”

The old matriarch understood what a fief was, but hadn’t known her own family had one, and asked curiously: “We—we have one too?”

Chen Dasheng nodded: “Yes, we do! It’s a mid-tier county, about seven or eight hundred li from here—called Furui County. It yields sixty to seventy thousand dan of grain a year. It’s a mid-sized place; the Emperor granted it to my father years ago.”

The old matriarch felt as though struck by lightning, clutching her chest: “Our family—our family gets sixty, seventy thousand dan of grain to eat every year?”

Chen Dasheng quickly waved his hands: “No, no, no, don’t think of it that way. It’s just that place—the county magistrate and such are under my father’s authority there, and the agricultural taxes, commercial taxes from that county, my father can adjust as he sees fit. After that, whatever’s collected belongs to my father.”

She Qingling picked up a black stone piece and set it down, saying lightly: “Over there, taxes were initially exempted for three years, and now stand at one part in fifty—the tax rate matches the court’s standard. All told, it doesn’t actually amount to much.”

The old matriarch didn’t understand any of this, and simply kept nodding along: “Ah, ah! Ah? Oh, oh, oh…”

When her son finished speaking, she swallowed hard, just as An’er happened to come in to make an offering to his grandfather.

This child was quite devoted to making offerings—previously just to his father, now he made two portions.

The offering was his favorite crisp cake from breakfast, kneaded rather roughly, and since his small hands couldn’t hold much, he gave each of them just two misshapen pieces.

The old matriarch scooped up her great-grandson, brushed the crumbs from his hands into her own palm, licked them up, then patted the belly of her great-grandson—who had taken on her surname—saying: “Oh my, this little one, how much could he possibly hold? Six—sixty thousand dan?”

A dan weighs around sixty-five jin—sixty thousand dan? That would fill at least three granaries.

The Prince’s estate was certainly large enough, though she had no idea where the granary even was. Next time she’d have to go look—just how tall would sixty thousand dan of grain even stack up? Would it reach the ceiling? That wouldn’t do at all—they’d need to hire more cats, and some sturdy young men to keep watch, to be safe.

Then, remembering they were giving up laboring for the Emperor, meaning the family’s grain would be gone too, the old matriarch’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces. After a long moment of thought, she said to her adopted son: “Then, then, never mind, that’s fine too—life matters more.”

She Qingling took a breath, gathered up the black stones on the table, placed them into a hollowed jade box, and said with a smile: “It’s fine—even if we stop laboring for him, this fief of mine is hereditary. It’ll pass down through generations.”

The old matriarch’s spirits lifted instantly at this: “Ah, we get to keep it even if we stop working for him?”

She Qingling nodded: “Mm-hm, we do.”

“Then let’s stop working for him!”

Before She Qingling could even agree, Chen Dasheng added: “Last year, on my father’s birthday, the Emperor gave two thousand strings of cash as a gift.”

The old matriarch clutched her chest again, then heard her grandson continue: “Whenever there’s wind or rain, the Emperor always feels my father’s residence looks worn down. This year alone he’s sent funds three times—eight hundred strings once, six hundred strings another time, and once it wasn’t even from the Emperor himself—the Ministry of Works came by to inspect and gave three hundred strings for us to renovate the place ourselves. Honestly, our courtyard isn’t even old.”

The old matriarch nodded firmly: “That’s right!”

How could it possibly be old? Such a spacious, bright place.

Chen Dasheng continued: “If we stop laboring for the Emperor, none of this will come anymore.”

Before the old matriarch could respond, Qiqian’er lifted the door curtain and entered, glaring sharply at the two of them: “Neither of you is going anywhere near mountains of gold or silver ever again! Tomorrow we’ll write something up saying you’ve both been injured beyond use—whoever wants to take over these positions can have them! Whoever wants these troublesome official posts can go ahead and take them! We don’t care, we don’t need those trifling scraps. Without you two, we’d have nothing left anyway! I—I can support the both of you…”

She Qingling pinched his nose, eyes darting evasively.

The old matriarch, about to say something, was interrupted by a maidservant rushing in, disheveled and flustered: “Old—old, old madam! The Hu family from Household Ministry Lane next door sent someone—they’ve come, come, come to beg you to save them!”

The old matriarch jumped, startled, and was about to stand when She Qingling said: “Mother! Wait a moment.”

Everyone froze. She Qingling looked at Jixiang standing by the door, then at the maidservant who’d just brought the news.

Jixiang, helpless, explained: “My lord, this is one of the girls the old madam took in herself—have you forgotten? Her name is Jinyu, she hasn’t been properly trained up yet.”

She Qingling nodded: “Send her to Yandu.”

Seeing the old matriarch about to protest, he said with a smile: “Mother, it’s to teach her a proper trade—whether it’s kitchen work or needlework, this simply won’t do otherwise.”

Hearing this, the old matriarch was satisfied, nodding repeatedly: “Yes, yes, that’s fine—these little girls aren’t bad, quite clever too, they should be able to learn something proper.”

With that, the maid outside acted even quicker, scooping the girl up and leaving.

Once the astonished Jinyu had disappeared from view, the old matriarch remembered the matter of the Hu family and moved to get up and go.

She Qingling stopped her: “Mother, you can’t go.”

The old matriarch turned back: “Huh? Why not? Old Madam Xu from the Hu family and I have always gotten along well. What’s happened? Just the other day her family was putting on an opera at the old temple—is it her time? Has she passed on? That can’t be.”

She Qingling didn’t want to explain, and instead looked toward Chen Dasheng.

Chen Dasheng, feeling sorry for his father, stepped in to explain: “Grandmother, the Old Hu family can’t be saved this time—their Hu Yuanju works in the Ministry of Revenue, and he’s been implicated in a certain great sedition case.”

At this, even someone as composed as Qiqian’er flinched, looking up sharply: “What? That’s one of the Ten Unpardonable Crimes.”

To the old matriarch, “unpardonable crime” was just an ordinary insult, meaning someone was a scoundrel.

But what it truly meant, she didn’t understand.

After a long while, she finally asked Qiqian’er: “Is it—is it serious?”

Qiqian’er said gravely: “Yes. Serious.”

She looked at She Qingling and asked: “Father, caning, flogging, penal servitude, exile, or death—which one does their family face?”

Whatever else was true about Hu Yuanju’s family, ever since they’d come to Quanhou Street, the two families had gotten along well—especially Old Madam Xu, who was a genuinely decent person.

Whenever she visited, she sometimes brought her grandchildren along. Qiqian’er remembered a lovely little girl with dimples who’d come by last year, around four or five years old, wearing a pink skirt with elaborately embroidered seven-colored butterflies along the hem, gold-threaded butterfly ornaments nestled among the fruit-and-insect gemstone hairpins in her hair—such a small child, hopping along as she walked, those butterflies seeming to dance along with her…

Ah, better not to dwell on it. When adults fail to behave, it’s the children who suffer.

Heavens above, this was “great sedition”—second only to treason among the Ten Unpardonable Crimes.

What could possibly be done about this.

Chen Dasheng sighed softly: “The silver the Ministry of Revenue allocated for the mausoleum passed through who knows how many hands. That’s why we were beaten in the first place…”

When they’d returned home, Qiqian’er had asked once why this had happened. No one had dared answer, and she never asked a second time.

The old matriarch, however, accepted it calmly. In the past, when children did odd jobs for wealthy families, getting kicked or whipped now and then had been common enough.

If you hadn’t done the work properly, being beaten was only to be expected—this much, she accepted.

Qiqian’er’s eyes first filled with fear, then blazed with fury as she demanded of the two of them: “You—the two of you were implicated in this too?”

Then they should all just be crushed together!

Prince She suddenly felt a chill, quickly pulling his jacket back up.

Chen Dasheng hurried to explain: “No, no! Don’t jump to conclusions! How could that be! We were both terribly wronged! It’s that His Majesty was enraged and wanted to execute the case’s ringleader’s entire nine clans.”

“What?!!!”

The old matriarch leapt up—truly leapt, and rather high at that.

Nine clans—that was something out of opera performances, something the storytellers spoke of.

This was truly terrifying.

Seeing the old matriarch’s distress, Chen Dasheng quickly reassured her: “Grandmother, don’t worry. It’s just that the Emperor wanted to wipe out the man’s nine clans, and my father, with his stubborn temper, insisted that whoever committed the crime should be judged strictly by law—there’s no need to exterminate nine clans, it’s far too cruel, absolutely not!

So His Majesty got angry, and argued with my father—you know how stubborn he is—he went out there himself demanding to be punished, and that’s how he ended up clashing with His Majesty.”

The old matriarch’s head spun in confusion. She’d lived through plenty in her life, but nothing involving “nine clans.” Even the worst village insults only went as far as cursing someone’s eight generations of ancestors—nowhere near as severe as this.

Frightened as she was, she still muttered under her breath in complaint: “Asking to be beaten? Oh, my son, how could you be so foolish—were you not eating enough that your mind wandered so far astray? The Old Chen family’s ancestral grave is practically drowning already, and now your own family isn’t settled either?”

She Qingling’s expression remained blank. Slowly he raised a hand to cover his face, lowering his head, while his other hand lifted the lid of the jade box, fiddling with the chess pieces. He didn’t want to say another word—not one more word.

You guessed correctly—the Old She family was in even worse shape than the Old Chen family.

The old matriarch’s hands and feet trembled as she heard her grandson continue: “Throughout the entire court, only my father could speak up on his behalf—after all, they’re cousins on their mothers’ sides. Things got heated, and His Majesty, in a fit of impatience, had my father beaten. I was afraid something would happen to him, so I stepped in to take his place. That’s really all there was to it.”

Qiqian’er sniffled and asked: “So many people were implicated?”

Chen Dasheng answered seriously: “Just the Duke of Loyalty and Valor’s household alone—if you count all nine clans, that’s over two thousand people.”

Qiqian’er asked again: “And this saved them?”

She Qingling tossed down a chess piece, closing the box lid with an air of practiced elegance.

His daughter-in-law, quick on her feet, immediately went to fetch a hot towel, presenting it to him with both hands.

The father-in-law wiped his hands, saying calmly: “Daliang has laws. Matters should naturally be handled according to them.”

Such an air about him—so very affected, so dramatic.

Only the old matriarch, after a long while of puzzling it through, finally understood, and was none too pleased about it: “So—so we took this beating, and now the Hu family’s in trouble too?”

Qiqian’er, helpless, gently comforted the old matriarch: “Grandmother, there’s no other way. Great sedition crimes generally mean all adult males in the family are hanged; grandparents, siblings—at the very least, exile three thousand li away, with confiscation of the family’s property being the lightest punishment.”

The old matriarch’s face showed clear distress, gritting her teeth as she trembled: “How could this be—after surviving such hardship all these years, that wretched grandson has doomed the entire family! He deserves to be cut to a thousand pieces! Your Grandmother Xu isn’t a bad person.”

Qiqian’er nodded, holding back her own grief: “Yes, I know. But she’s been implicated regardless. It’s only because my father accumulated enough merit, and our two family members risked their lives, that we managed to secure exile instead of death for them.

Grandmother, let’s do this—I’ll have them prepare some medicine for you to take over, and another one or two hundred strings of cash. The rough fabric I brought as part of my dowry can go to them now as well. Go see them first—we can only help with a little money. This is the least we can do to honor the friendship between you two old sisters…”

Qiqian’er spoke on gently, coaxing the old matriarch out of the room.

When she returned, She Qingling looked at his daughter-in-law and said seriously: “His Majesty isn’t so shallow-minded. On the surface, it’s about the mausoleum crimes, but in truth… it’s the deposed empress’s own family. Starting from the second year of Yong’an, they’d been seizing common people’s property, forcing freeborn children into servitude. In just the third year of Yong’an alone, they’d added four thousand qing of land, and it only grew year after year since—her family alone caused an average of three thousand freeborn commoners to become displaced vagrants each year…”

Qiqian’er sat down, thinking for a moment before murmuring: “No wonder His Majesty never wanted to formally confer the title of Empress on Lady Cao.”

She Qingling nodded, not hiding his disgust: “What virtue or merit did she ever possess to deserve it.”