On the eighth day of the first lunar month, snow fell in gritty pellets, sweeping rustling against knees, cold to the bone.

Yesterday’s snow had still been soft, clumping into fluffy tufts, but after seven or eight old neighboring households on Quanhou Street had their entire families arrested, the snow froze solid.

This year, however you looked at it, would not pass happily.

The arrests went door to door, house pressed against house, and there were always those who slipped the net and hid here and there. For several days the streets had an ominous stir to them—soldiers were always entering someone’s home, then dragging out those who’d hidden, wailing like ghosts and howling like wolves.

The Old Madam had at first still had someone help her up to the roof to watch. Well, one day she saw a man crying miserably; the soldiers, annoyed at his fuss, turned their scabbards around and struck his mouth several times—in an instant all his teeth fell out, and he spat blood all over the ground.

After that she never went to watch again.

It wasn’t rabbit-mourns-fox sentimentality—listening to the crimes the household’s masters spoke of after returning from their offices was terrifying enough—but with people they’d known and visited so often, it left an awful taste in the heart. Who could have imagined that just before the New Year they’d been playing cards and watching operas together, and suddenly some couldn’t go on living, and some they’d never see again.

The men serving as officials were naturally secretly on guard, treading carefully, but the women and children of the inner quarters could hardly help feeling sorrowful.

This case grew bigger the longer it went on, with more and more people arrested. Chen Dasheng had gone into hiding, but the rest of the seven Old Blades hadn’t escaped—by His Majesty’s trust, even the scouts had to be deployed.

The unluckiest of all was Hu Yougui—it was he who’d led men into the Ministry of Works Lane and raided three households there in a row.

It got to the point that when the children of Qinwei Lane went today to deliver grain to their teacher’s home at Sanli Academy, Old Yu’s second son Youtian came home crying—the boy had been isolated at school.

Even though it had nothing to do with the Meng family, just because their household was in Qinwei Lane, Meng Wanquan’s two stepsons were also lumped in with the rest—and now, well, no one would play with them anymore.

With their father away, Youtian came crying to find his little uncle. Chen Dasheng, without the slightest coddling, simply had the boy swing a blade five hundred times in the courtyard.

And so the boy began wailing like a ghost and howling like a wolf in the courtyard.

“That child is nowhere near as good as his older brother—and to think Fish Girl’s mother-in-law always says our little one is the clever one, hmph! Just look at that pathetic wretch—his father lost flesh and didn’t even frown, and your Choutou has long been itching to discipline him once.”

This Old Madam had plenty of reasoning when it came to disciplining other people’s children, but when it came to Qiqian’er and Chen Dasheng disciplining An’er and Gennu’er, that was another matter entirely—no reasoning allowed.

Nor was this unreasonableness confined to the third branch alone; she doted on children indiscriminately, without exception.

Qiqian’er glanced out the window and shook her head: “Old lady, don’t you listen to him. Choutou and his father always want the children to take up the old generation’s trade—I think they’re wrong about that too. Everyone’s different, isn’t forcing it on them making things hard for them?

This child truly has talent for study—if he works hard he could earn some rank through the exams too. He also doesn’t like playing with blades and spears; his temperament is like Sister Fish Girl’s, quite soft and gentle. Today it’s purely your grandson being idle. Besides, who ever said children in our family all had to wave blades and spears around?”

The Old Madam pursed her lips: “Listen to you talk—do you know more than Choutou does? As for dragons birthing dragons and phoenixes birthing phoenixes, if we’re talking about earning rank through exams, that depends on our family’s Star Lord.”

Little did she know that her precious grandson Star Lord was likewise being tossed about like an object by his young uncles, and her precious grandson’s face was full of excitement, shrieking as if there were a flute lodged in his throat.

Qiqian’er had a guilty conscience about this and said nothing, only reaching up to pat her own mouth—what sins had she committed, and what had she been thinking back then?

It had gotten to the point that now, whenever she dared discipline the children, the Old Madam would inevitably fly into a rage, scheming up ways to stop her.

The charcoal brazier burned red, giving off ample warmth.

By custom, needle and thread were not to be touched before the Fifteenth of the first month. But this year was different, wasn’t it—for the sake of those two unlucky souls the needle hadn’t stopped, and a few more stitches wouldn’t hurt.

Grandmother and granddaughter busied themselves on the kang in the small east room, where a whole kang’s worth of old clothes and old bedding was spread out—some the Old Madam had collected over the years, some Qiqian’er had retrieved from beneath the Huo family ancestral temple.

Compared to silk and damask, these things meant something different to grandmother and granddaughter; since they were about to be given away, the two of them wanted to sort them out with their own hands.

Having spent so long alongside Empress Dowager Jiang, the Old Madam had developed her own measure of Buddhist compassion; she felt that giving these things to the Hu family was her own act of charity, a good deed accumulating hidden virtue, while the Hu family, in turn, was helping her cross over like a bodhisattva.

There was also this: with support to lean on, she’d truly seen through wealth and riches. Six years now, and the old woman had finally gained the bearing of a grand lady from a wealthy household, no longer fussing over such things.

It wasn’t that she’d stopped being frugal exactly—it was frugality with distinctions, frugality mixed with disapproval.

Like with her grandsons’ lifestyle now—she still had opinions about that.

Look at what kind of life Choutou and the others led now—they couldn’t walk a few steps without some needle-and-thread maid in attendance in every household! A whole household going through a month’s worth of new shoes—that was enough to have lasted her a lifetime in the old days. What did the men need so many shoes for? Better to save a few coins for her great-grandsons and great-granddaughters to keep, wouldn’t that be better?

But she didn’t say so anymore, afraid of turning into a tiresome old nuisance.

Thinking of those things that shouldn’t be squandered, the Old Madam began humming her displeasure again.

Seeing the Old Madam unhappy, Qiqian’er carefully steered the conversation, asking: “A’Nai, did you actually understand what Choutou was saying that day?”

As they say, the elderly have their own wisdom—sorting through matters became much simpler for her.

The Old Madam had also learned to be sarcastic, sneering coldly: “How could I not understand this! It’s simply that back then His Majesty made a promise with those men—that they’d handle this affair together, and once it succeeded, they’d split the money evenly. Once he turned things around and sat on the dragon throne, the men who’d followed him started getting shameless. His Majesty, keeping his word, couldn’t say no to them, so he could only let them hoard it away, hmph! Serves them all right!”

Qiqian’er admired this: “You’ve said it well—being emperor isn’t easy either, having to endure them for six whole years. Well now, everyone’s hands reaching that far—my father and His Majesty are maternal cousins, and my father had great merit too, yet was only granted a county. You wouldn’t know it, but plenty of these so-called meritorious men have truly left the common people with no way to live.”

The Old Madam pursed her lips, taking scissors to pick the frayed edges off an old padded jacket—this sort of thing wasn’t suitable for people being sent into exile.

She sighed: “That’s not even punishment enough for their crimes. And don’t say His Majesty broke his word either—His Majesty isn’t even the one punishing them for this. Guanyin Bodhisattva said it herself: a person’s rice is allotted in fixed measure; once you’ve eaten your share, you go—not one more grain will you be allowed to take. See, didn’t it all come true just as she said!”

Well, there it was again—putting the matter onto Guanyin Bodhisattva’s shoulders.

The Bodhisattva certainly kept busy in this old woman’s world.

The Old Madam rambled on to herself: “…Those unlucky wretches ate and took more than their share, isn’t that bullying honest folk? What was owed to you, you were given—wasn’t that enough? But why beat your father for it? Your father’s the one who suffers, he wasn’t even whole to begin with, and with that skeleton of a body trying to hold up such a big frame, he wobbles when he walks. Hey—and they were family too, after all.”

Qiqian’er spread open the bundle, folding up the Old Madam’s old cloth jacket and tying it up, sighing: “Old lady, do try to see it more clearly. There’s still the Hu family’s misfortune to think of—their whole household is being exiled to Wushui, three thousand li away, and it’s an unpardonable crime at that. Generation after generation, this family will never come back.”

Having said this, she reminded her: “You mustn’t let slip a word of this over there.”

The Old Madam nodded: “I’m not foolish—why would I say such things?”

She looked down quite a bit on Hu Yuanju—especially upon hearing that he hadn’t even wanted to be corrupt in the first place, but feared standing out among his colleagues at the Ministry of Finance, feared offending his superiors, and so accepted five hundred strings of cash—and this implicated his entire household, causing his own mother to be on the verge of the grave and forced to leave her homeland with him.

Qiqian’er drew a breath: “This is already not bad. If it weren’t for my father taking that one beating, it would have been extermination to the ninth degree! At least his family’s crime wasn’t too severe. Look at Ministry of Works Lane—these past days, four or five households have already been taken out, and those are ones whose lives can’t even be spared. Such audacity—building the imperial mausoleum for His Majesty’s household for generations, and now it’s begun leaking water? Doesn’t that frighten you?”

This topic came up day after day, and the Old Madam didn’t want to continue it, looking out the window and clicking her tongue: “Watching this unlucky business every single day during the New Year—no good! We ought to find something joyful to lighten the mood.”

Qiqian’er turned things over in her mind, shook her head and sighed: “Nothing comes to mind right off.”

The Old Madam stuck her needle in her hair and asked: “That Little Seventh’s wife finished her mourning period ages ago—why hasn’t she come back yet?”

“Heh…”

Qiqian’er let out a snicker—this matter really was quite amusing.

She scooted closer to the Old Madam and said in a low voice: “A’Nai, you don’t know—this one Guan Si’er brought entirely on himself.”

A’Nai looked at her: “What happened?”

Qiqian’er laughed softly: “He does know that Daoist nun well enough, but she has an odd temper. When his wife went to visit, the woman took her for someone wanting to become a nun and tried dragging her along to cultivate with her, even thinking it was for her own good. And Ge Sansu, with that temper of hers! She turned right around, went off with people to the nunnery next door, donated a sum of money, and had her head shaved bald right there.”

Qiqian’er ran a hand over her own head: “Says she’ll come back once her hair grows back, after the Dragon Boat Festival.”

The Old Madam froze, then covered her mouth and began cackling with laughter.

Just as she was laughing, a maid outside could be heard saying that Madam Yang, Madam Wan, Madam Lü, Madam Gao, Madam Huang, and Zhang Wanru’s mother had all arrived.

These were all connections of Old Madam Xu.

In years past, whenever deep winter came, these people of Quanhou Street would follow Old Madam Jiang to hand out porridge for relief, and Old Madam Xu would go along too back then—she was quite good at dealing with people, and treated everyone well.

Madam Yang, who usually had quite a loud voice, lowered it as she entered the Old Madam’s room today: “Old Madam~ oh, is everything ready on this end?”

The Old Madam waved her in: “Nearly there, all of you hurry in.”

Everyone entered the room, each carrying a large bundle in hand.

Knowing that the Prince’s side needed quiet for recuperation, they all tiptoed in and sat on the kang, and seeing there was so much, helped Qiqian’er tie up the bundles.

Madam Huang sighed: “I thought these old things our family used to use would never be brought out again.”

The Old Madam teased her: “But you didn’t throw them out either, did you.”

Madam Huang frowned and nodded: “Who could have guessed they’d be prepared for her family. Last New Year when I visited her house, her daughter-in-law even looked at me sideways, despising us back-street folk—now she’ll be wearing my things instead.”

Having said this, Madam Huang opened her own bundle to show the Old Madam: “Look, these old jackets of mine—I unpicked them and lined them with a layer of rabbit fur inside. This can’t compare to what we had back then, of course—we at least had a covered cart, while that exposed stockyard prison is open on all four sides.”

She grabbed the Old Madam’s hand and pressed it to the padded jacket’s hem, saying: “Following what Qiqian’er taught, I sewed some protective bits into the hems for them too—I exchanged ten strings of cash for silver beans, and had my boy hammer them flat with a mallet, right here! Do you think it’ll do?”

The Old Madam felt it over carefully and nodded: “What’s given is given, let’s not mention it again—it’s all a blessing, all our future good fortune.”

Everyone nodded, and one by one brought out more things, telling grandmother and granddaughter where they’d hidden prepared medicines, where they’d tucked away money.

These were the most righteous women of Quanhou Street—whatever had passed between them before, however their lives had turned out, when hardship struck, they were willing to set aside old grudges and sincerely lend a hand.

Once everyone’s things were sorted, the cart outside had already been readied too.

A group of women escorted the two of them out, offering many parting words to carry along. Qiqian’er wrapped herself in a black hooded cloak, and helped the similarly dressed Old Madam into the cart to bid the others farewell.

They were headed to the stockyard prison in Qingfeng to visit the detainees.

Since so many had been arrested this time, they weren’t being sent to Yanjing—the family members of less critical defendants were all being held together in an old stockyard on the outskirts of the old city.

Chen Dasheng, jacket draped over his shoulders, watched the two women of his household leave, and without turning back said to his own father: “Father, do you think our Old Madam will hold up, going there today?”

She Qingling’s expression remained placid as ever. His son had recovered quickly after waking, though his back had already begun to itch; he himself was slower to heal, and could only drape half a jacket over himself, still lying prone studying a chess manual.

Hearing his son’s question, he answered without looking up: “Mother has always been resilient.”

Chen Dasheng nodded: “That’s true. My grandmother, with that temperament of hers, has walked out of piles of corpses more times than I can count. Father?”

“Hm?”

“When do you think that person will stop?”

She Qingling turned a page, saying evenly: “Once he’s taken back all that land of his—the Zheng family alone holds four hundred fifty thousand mu outside the capital. What do you think?”

Chen Dasheng sniffed, climbed down from the windowsill, went back to bed, and pillowing his arm said: “Back in the old army camp, an old brother of mine taught me an old tune. Let me sing it for you?”

She Qingling, holding his book, had a young eunuch help him sit up properly before saying: “Go on, then, sing it.”

Chen Dasheng turned his head and sang low and deep: “Along the road of the starving, neither ghost nor man they seem, the young child’s belly has no grass to fill, wife and daughter left with tattered skirts, digging for roots among the weeds, a hundred li without a single root, from dawn to dusk not a scrap discarded, a daughter traded for a bowl of broth, a son offered up to be cooked and eaten… Alas, the suffering refugees, their wailing cries—who is there to hear…”

He hummed the melody a good while, then turned his face to look at his father, saying: “Words from the previous dynasty. My old brother told me, once His Majesty won the realm, things wouldn’t be like this anymore…”

She Qingling crumpled the book in his hands, and after a long while said: “My son has suffered enough. From now on… it will never be like that again.”

Chen Dasheng nodded, tears sliding from the corners of his eyes.

Over these years, how many disasters of starvation and death had been brought back to the capital through the scouts’ hands.

This, the ministers knew, His Majesty knew, and he knew better than any of them.

But human lives were as fragile as paper, and disaster after disaster had been pressed down, room upon room.

He carried great matters in his heart, yet had to appear as if he knew nothing at all. He had to smile for his superiors, smile for his wife and children, smile for those disgusting people.

Now, at last, Chen Dasheng could give some people an answer.

She Qingling reached out a hand and laid it over his son’s face: “It’s passed.”

“…Yes, it’s passed.”

The cold wind howled. Outside the old stockyard prison in Qingfeng city, Xie Liuhao brought men to receive the Old Madam and sister-in-law.

The moment the Old Madam got down from the cart, he began complaining: “A’Nai, what kind of place is this? If you have things to hand over, just give them to me! The Hu family isn’t even the primary culprits—I’ve already put in a word for them, even had a brazier added for them…”

The Old Madam cut him off: “Don’t go on and on… Do I know that many people? How many people I know are even still drawing breath?”

Xie Liuhao shut his mouth, shrugging at his little sister-in-law.

Qiqian’er shot him a scolding glare.

Outside the stockyard, everything was desolate; along the muddy road that the snow pellets couldn’t freeze solid, a torn silk-faced embroidered shoe lay exposed, its original embroidered colors showing through. Who didn’t have some conscience-stricken relatives after all—though there weren’t many people, some had still burned large scrap timber, gathering in twos and threes to keep warm.

Whenever the great wooden gate of the stockyard opened, people would crowd over hoping to catch some news.

Some tried stuffing money to the guards, only to be driven back with whips by the soldiers coming out.

Xie Liuhao supported the Old Madam, not toward the main gate, but toward the east wall to one side. The squad of Jiu Si Tang men he’d brought each hoisted several large bundles, following along.

As they walked, the Old Madam remarked: “Seems there aren’t so many people here after all. Just our Quanhou Street alone had seven households.”

Xie Liuhao sighed too: “Grandmother, this is already not bad. If you went to see those held at the major case detention sites in Yanjing—oh, that’s truly bone-chilling, and with weather like this snow, they’re dragging corpses out every single day, with no one even left to collect the bodies.”

Xie Liuhao used the word “drag” deliberately.

This was the rule of the prisons: once a defendant entered before judgment, they went in standing and from then on never walked back out the door; if they died, they were dragged to a hole by the prison wall and pushed through, then dragged out from outside and dumped. If there were family willing to pay money to claim the corpse, that was considered a decent outcome—but this time, with entire households wiped out together, who was left to come claim them?

The Old Madam was silent a long while before saying: “At a time like this, there’s no point asking anyone else to have a conscience…”

Xie Liuhao nodded, helping her to a temporarily knocked-open wooden door on the side, where he unhooked his scabbard and knocked several times.

From within, after a long pause, a voice asked who it was.

Xie Liuhao unfastened the token at his waist, then glanced at Qiqian’er. This matter was too serious—his token alone wasn’t enough to gain entry.

Qiqian’er drew out Chen Dasheng’s token from her sleeve and handed it to him, and together they pushed it through a bowl-sized hole cut in the door.

The person inside took the tokens, and after a long while came the clinking jangle of a large bundle of keys.

With several clattering sounds, the door finally opened.

The moment it opened—goodness! Over a thousand people were confined within, eating, drinking, and relieving themselves all in the same space. The smell was, to put it mildly, quite something.

The Old Madam had endured hardship before, but had never smelled this kind of accumulated stench of packed humanity.

Qiqian’er took out a scent sachet that Chen Dasheng had prepared for her and handed it to the Old Madam, saying: “A’Nai, hold this under your nose.”

The Old Madam waved it off, holding her breath: “It’s fine, I’ll be fine in a moment…”

Within the old stockyard, what had once been livestock sheds lining the walls had been converted into partitioned cells, with bowl-thick rough timber fitted outside each partition as prison bars.

As the Old Madam’s group entered, it stirred countless people—those inside pressed their heads between the bars, staring at the visitors passing hurriedly by them with desperation, greed, and longing…

No, that couldn’t be right, could it—how could it be!

Strange, groaning voices of women drifted from various corners—no need to ask, these were wives from wealthy households, locked up for seven or eight days now, surely gone mad.

Without warning, a hand suddenly shot out from a cage beside them and grabbed Qiqian’er’s ankle.

From within the cell came laughter that hardly sounded human: “Woman, little woman…”

Qiqian’er had been caught off guard; Xie Liuhao’s hands were full of bundles.

Just as he was about to lose his temper, he saw his sister-in-law lift her foot and effortlessly break free, then bring her foot down right onto that hand as it tried to hastily withdraw, grinding her small boot heel into it several times.

Hiss… that looked painful. Must have shattered.

A miserable scream came from within the cell. Xie Liuhao’s blade rasped out of its sheath, and with the flat of the blade he struck that wrist—instantly the hand folded backward, and the man inside gave a groan, seemingly passing out.

Even the warden leading the way was startled—these were, after all, family of officials.

But before he could react, the matter had already been handled.

He came over smiling, kicking that hand back into the cell: “Careless of us, careless—madam, don’t take offense, this one’s set for the chopping block next autumn anyway, we don’t usually bother with him, he’s long gone mad!”

Qiqian’er tugged her hood down and, without looking up, ordered: “Enough chatter—lead the way!”

Having said this, she led A’Nai a good distance from the cell before continuing to support her forward.

The warden, seeing the two women walking with straight backs and steady feet, utterly unafraid, gave Xie Liuhao a thumbs up and quietly praised him: “Well now, truly the wives of Qinwei Lane.”

Xie Liuhao felt pleased with himself, but asked without showing it: “Oh, you know our household?”

The warden took his bundle and nodded: “Ah, who doesn’t know the household of Old Master Xiezhi—the whole family’s made of iron bones! Say it anywhere, who wouldn’t know, who wouldn’t admire it? The people in this yard who’ve managed to survive owe it entirely to your household.”

Xie Liuhao replied politely: “We wouldn’t dare claim such a thing—right and wrong, good and evil, loyalty and treachery, all have their place in the law. How could it depend on our household.”

The warden smiled and said nothing more, going on ahead to lead the way.

At the edge of the stockyard prison, in a wind-sheltered cell, over thirty women of the Hu family were held, eating, drinking, and relieving themselves all together. The smell was bad, but at least being packed together, and with someone having sent a brazier a few days before and a bundle of thin firewood delivered daily, everyone took turns huddling together for warmth and at least no one had died.

Old Madam Xu, wearing a padded jacket, her face bruised and swollen, sat in a corner holding her small granddaughter, in despair.

It was her son Hu Yuanju who had committed the sin of taking those five hundred strings of cash, yet it had implicated the other two branches of the family too—and this bruising on her face was from her own sister-in-law’s beating.

Since the day she’d learned the truth, she’d hated no one, wanted nothing, only waited to die.

But what else was there to do but accept fate? She’d already ended up here.

Just as she sat numbly, suddenly someone familiar called out to her from a distance.

In her daze, her quick-witted daughter-in-law leapt up and pulled at her, saying: “Old Madam, Old Madam, it’s Old Madam Chen…”

Even as she spoke, Old Madam Chen had already arrived at the cell. Across the prison bars, as if worlds apart, these two old sisters met face to face at last.

Of all the Hu family’s old friends and connections, so many hadn’t come to see them, yet this old neighbor of less than ten years’ acquaintance had come, taking on the risk.

This was, after all, a case that touched the very heavens.

Qiqian’er went up to the warden and let him search the bundles.

Old Madam Xu, overwhelmed, stared through the bars at the Old Madam in astonishment: “Old, old sister! Old sister, how did you come? How is it you’ve come?”

The Old Madam lifted her hood and looked her up and down: “This—what sin was committed, to come to this.”

That fastidious, always well-groomed Old Madam Xu no longer cared about any of that; she pushed back her disheveled white hair and knelt forward, kowtowing, pleading toward Qiqian’er on the other side: “Fourth Madam, Fourth Madam! That worthless son of mine, I know him best—he already had thoughts of death the day he was brought in. I beg you, please carry a message to him, please, I beg you…

Tell that unfilial wretch of mine! He’s already implicated the whole family—now even if he dies, he must wait until the court’s judgment comes down, whether it’s death by a thousand cuts or being torn limb from limb, we submit to the law! But he mustn’t die here! He must submit to the law properly. Please, go tell him, will you? Will you…”

To die by one’s own hand in prison was considered defying the law, an even graver crime.

On the cart ride home, the Old Madam remained silent the whole way. As they neared home, the old woman suddenly said to Qiqian’er: “Qian’er, all this time, it was your grandmother who was wrong. From now on, however you and Choutou raise the children, I—I won’t interfere anymore. You all keep your distance from me, don’t let me see it anymore…”