Recently, Qiqian’er always felt something was off with the household atmosphere—especially with that pack of boys from Ministry of War Alley, who claimed they were looking for the neighbor’s son Shoutian and Youtian to play. Shoutian was long since off on duty and not home, and Youtian was still small—what business did they have looking for him?
The servants said those people kept peering around at their family furtively.
And whenever someone from their side came out, they’d shrink their necks like turtles and hide?
It wasn’t until Xie Liuhao came to the house and mentioned it that Qiqian’er finally understood what was going on.
Chen Choutou had single-handedly faced off against the Nine Provinces Domain, and he’d killed the man outright, becoming from then on a war-god-like figure in the hearts of Yanjing’s youths.
Nowadays young men didn’t dare wear xiezhi masks, but wearing a gold or silver jade pendant carved with a xiezhi pattern at the waist had become quite the fashion. As for those who couldn’t afford gold and jade xiezhi ornaments, at the very least they’d patch up their inner garments with a few patches, letting them show carelessly while sitting, lying, or walking—that counted as being especially dashing.
But Chen Dasheng hadn’t worn that patched inner garment on purpose—it was from when he’d been injured, with his back constantly exposed, so quite a bit of the inner garment had been cut away. By the time he recovered, the family, being naturally frugal, had simply patched it up and had him keep wearing it.
If people from far away already worshipped him this much, then those who lived right by his front door—if they didn’t press against the wall to catch a whiff of the war-god’s aura, they’d have nothing to brag about when they went out.
Just imagine—if there were some injustice, one could step forward, and once it was settled, give a flick of the patched sleeve and declare, “I am Yanjing’s future, sooner or later a xiezhi, and you’ve broken the law…” What a dashing thing that would be.
Along the teahouses by the south gate, there wasn’t a single resentful woman to be found, but infatuated men filled every floor, gazing on in a daze from morning till night, not returning home until curfew.
Chen Dasheng rode a black horse, and now the price of black horses in Daliang’s horse market was five times higher than other famous breeds—and still hard to come by.
From this one could see just how great Chen Dasheng’s reputation had grown.
Whatever the case, no matter what wind blew outside, it never reached Imperial Guard Alley. A’Nai still burned her incense as usual, the back street still sold their water as usual, and life went on as it always had.
Qiqian’er didn’t think killing off a Nine Provinces Domain was anything so remarkable. Chen Dasheng’s combat skill in that battle had been forged through countless armies and battles; sometimes when she privately sparred with Chen Dasheng, she still lost out on experience—let alone whatever that congee-simmering thing was.
Xie Liuhao had once seen Qiqian’er pound Pang Tu into mincemeat, yet Pang Tu and Nine Provinces Domain weren’t even on the same level at all.
He hadn’t witnessed that particular battle, yet as he described it to Qiqian’er, he sounded utterly intoxicated, as if he’d been there in person.
Qiqian’er just felt like she was listening to some celestial scripture—in this telling, Chen Dasheng was just short of riding the clouds and mounting the mist.
In fact, it wasn’t only close acquaintances like Xie Liuhao who were astonished—even Emperor Wu, Yang Zao, was shocked, ashamed, and then afraid in hindsight.
He even recalled that one whipping—if he’d known earlier just how formidable the man’s skills were, Emperor Wu would never have dared strike him.
Mainly he feared the man’s anger—who would be able to step in and manage things if that happened?
Thinking of this, Emperor Wu secretly thanked She Qingling—it was his younger brother who’d had the eye and the means to get someone like this to call him father.
Among the hidden guards within his palace, the veteran hidden guards enjoyed such treatment that they didn’t even need to bow when meeting him, and there wasn’t a year they didn’t draw over a hundred thousand strings of cash.
But as for the Old Blades, they got a mere hundred-odd strings a month for guarding the south gate, and did so without complaint—such loyal and virtuous men! Heaven-sent loyal and virtuous men.
In truth, back when he’d first taken in the Old Blades to guard the south gate, he hadn’t been without ulterior motives—the skill of winning hearts is innate to those in power. He simply wanted the whole realm to know that serving him, Yang Zao, with one’s life would bring wealth and glory.
Yet the reward he’d once thought generous now seemed, in hindsight, rather meager.
Ever since that Fenyan had died, the dark cloud looming over the Daliang palace had scattered at once—knowing they couldn’t win, no one came anymore.
People of the martial world had their own rules about winning and losing. If you lost, you accepted it.
Even those four in the great prison had stopped making trouble, apparently having sent someone to contact Nine Provinces Domain, wanting to pay silver to atone and ransom themselves out.
Emperor Wu was satisfied at heart, and Chen Dasheng and the others returned to their former days standing watch before the palace hall.
Nowadays, if there wasn’t an Old Blade at his bedroom door, he generally couldn’t sleep.
Tch—!
But this time, the treatment was different.
No matter which Old Blade came on duty, His Majesty had rewarded them with felt blankets laid on the floor to block the damp, along with cushions, low tables, and a bit of wine and dishes—they could sit and wait until their shift ended. When it was cold there were charcoal braziers, on rainy days tung-oil umbrellas, and they could rest whenever they liked. Truly they were respected and generously treated.
Emperor Wu even had a plan—he wanted to make the title of Marquis of the City Gate a real, substantive one. But after privately running the numbers, giving the state seven marquises all at once, well—that simply wasn’t affordable.
The Marquis of the City Gate was actually a title from a very ancient dynasty, from when the fief yielded a thousand piculs—a “thousand-household marquis” beneath the rank of “ten-thousand-household marquis,” entitled to five ding-cauldrons and four gui-vessels.
Since Chen Dasheng and the others couldn’t be directly elevated to substantive titles for now, to display their merit Emperor Wu issued a decree to cast new ding-cauldrons and gui-vessels. And so Qiqian’er found herself with five large bronze pots and four smaller round covered pots sitting at home.
Besides the cooking vessels, there was also a set of eight bianzhong chime-bells. Gennu’er and An’er were quite delighted with them—on the very first day they brought them home, they hammered away until they’d created something truly offensive to gods and men alike, and never wanted to hear them again.
The Emperor even personally wrote out Chen Dasheng’s meritorious deeds and had them engraved onto the cauldron.
Nowadays everyone used iron implements; bronze cauldrons with such thick bases could only serve for ancestor worship and burial goods.
Even Yu Qingguan and the others were now permitted three ding-cauldrons and two gui-vessels—except they had to cast the cauldrons themselves; it wasn’t an imperial gift, merely permission to use bronze vessels in this manner.
That, however, was quite something.
Only seven years into Daliang’s founding, and the Old Blades had achieved the nominal rank of a “thousand-picul” household.
Chen Dasheng didn’t care much for such things. Yu Qingguan and the others hadn’t lived in that kind of environment before either, so in the end the only one who truly cared was She Qingling.
His own bell-and-cauldron set could only go to An’er, and since he deeply loved Gaoxing, now Gaoxing too had a cauldron to use—when he grew old, there’d be pots surrounding his burial pit as well. The man was exceedingly satisfied.
In his eyes, that single ding and single gui Chen Dasheng had used before wasn’t even worth mentioning.
As they talked, things happened one after another, the days flowed like water. By the end of the fifth month, Ge Sansu quietly returned to Imperial Guard Alley, and a happy occasion was about to come to the alley once more.
But this time, it wouldn’t fall to Qiqian’er and the others to be busy with it.
The Gong family was bent on marrying off their son properly, and feared above all that Guan Si’er would grow too close to this side—if the happy occasion ended up being handled from here, that would be mortifying for them.
The day after Ge Sansu returned, Master Gong came to Imperial Guard Alley to pay respects to the elder brother and sister-in-law. What could Qiqian’er do—if they wanted to handle it, let them handle it.
The Gong family had been busy since the past year—once the New Year passed, right when Yanjing was at its most chaotic, the Gong family had launched major construction at their residence in the alley behind the Imperial Academy. They’d even paid to have the public roof replaced, and gilded the painted eaves with gold foil.
All out of fear that Guan Si’er would marry his bride into Imperial Guard Alley.
Nearly the entire clan had mobilized, determined to cultivate in Guan Si’er a sense of family belonging he’d never had before.
The trouble was, did Guan Si’er even have the wits for that? He didn’t. In the end, his parents simply asked him, “Wouldn’t it be nice to get you married in the alley behind the Academy?”
And he just said: “Sure, then let’s have my bride leave from Imperial Guard Alley for the wedding.”
As far as Qiqian’er was concerned, wasn’t it better to have help? Among the wives who’d married into Imperial Guard Alley since she’d started, aside from Master Cheng’s wife and Ding Yuniang, who’d already had their affairs settled early on, every other one had been arranged and handled personally, with great care and effort, by the women themselves.
Bowing one’s head to marry in a daughter-in-law, raising one’s head to marry off a daughter—how many times had they bowed their heads already for this.
And so, having chosen an auspicious date, with the Six Rites having progressed to the fourth, according to Yanjing’s local customs, the bride’s family had to pick a day to go measure the groom’s household.
That is, a group of the bride’s female elders would go to the groom’s family to see how the new bridal chamber had been prepared, and take a ruler to more or less measure the area, so as to prepare the dowry according to the dimensions and avoid waste.
Poorer families feared wasting money; wealthy families just went through the motions for the fun of it.
When Qiqian’er and the others went out, it was simply to carry out this ritual custom.
And so, on the fifteenth of the fifth month, an auspicious day for all matters, Qiqian’er dressed in the gold-woven ruyi-cloud-patterned jacket with wide sleeves that only women of official rank were permitted to wear, a small jade belt coiled at her waist, an ornate beaded necklace at her throat, and a kingfisher-feather peony headdress on her head. In her right hand she carried her chubby son, in her left a gold-star ruler, and with her maids behind her carrying the finely dressed An’er and Gennu, she smilingly walked out the door.
What she herself wore didn’t really matter—these days, whatever gathering there was, it was really the children being shown off.
Stepping out, she saw Zhang Wanru chasing her child all over the ground, holding a little gold-flowered jacket trying to get her daughter into it. Her daughter absolutely refused to wear it, and the two of them circled the carriage round and round.
Today the family too was dressed in their finest. Seeing Qiqian’er, she rushed over several steps, snatched up her own child, and laughed, “It’s really not easy—after bowing my head to marry off so many, I finally get to raise my chin and live a little!”
Madam Chai, overhearing from behind, teased her: “Listen to sister-in-law talk—you’ve only had to fuss over it twice, and you’re already this worn out?”
Zhang Wanru wouldn’t rise to that, instead turning with a smile to look at Ding Yuniang, who rarely dressed up to go out, and said, “That’s why they say our Little Seven’s wife has good fortune—count them, nine sisters-in-law bringing a whole crowd of nieces and nephews to back her up. Not just anyone gets that kind of blessing.”
Indeed—counting the three above in the Chen family, that made exactly nine sisters-in-law.
As she finished speaking, all the sisters-in-law burst into laughter together, each looking thoroughly pleased with herself.
Ge Sansu, being supported by maids and matrons at the doorway to see them off, blushed at hearing this, and bowed in thanks to her sisters-in-law, watching as they boarded their carriages one after another, forming quite a long line.
The lead carriage in front was already out of sight, while the ones at the back still hadn’t moved.
Following alongside Ge Sansu, Matron Song wiped away tears. She was someone Ge Sansu had taken on in an outer prefecture after leaving the capital, to sever ties with the past—Matron Song had originally thought she was serving some wealthy woman who’d sooner or later formally become a nun.
Who could have guessed that this woman’s fortunes would turn around and she’d marry into the capital, and to a proper fifth-rank official’s household at that, a marquis’s family no less.
This truly was an unexpected blessing.
As the carriage procession moved off into the distance, Ge Sansu finally turned back into the courtyard. By the time she returned to the east room at the back, she sat on the edge of the kang watching the maids busily coming and going, packing up the dowry bundles, and said to Matron Song, “No need to box up the breakable things.”
After all, she and Guan Si’er would have to come back and live here anyway.
This dowry had all been hastily purchased with money in Yanjing after her return—naturally not as complete as it would be for a girl with living parents and clan behind her, though the furniture was all good wood—rosewood, huali, camphor, all present.
Because her family’s great misfortune had begun with money, Ge Sansu hadn’t spent extravagantly on it—she’d used just over twenty thousand strings, with no more than five thousand strings tucked away at the bottom of the trunks.
Her name in the household registry now wasn’t even Ge Sansu—it was Ge Ying, a name Guan Si’er, that uncouth fellow, had given her, roughly meaning “cherry blossoms that bloom in the third month.”
Matron Song chided her: “What kind of talk is that, miss? A person only gets one chance in life for this—being carried into the groom’s family with the dowry. You don’t need to lift a finger for it. Just sit and watch.”
This matron had no idea that, counting the entire Spring Back Street, along with everyone in the front Checkerboard Courtyard, Ge Sansu was actually the wealthiest of all the wives—she had, conservatively, three million strings in family wealth.
Of course, that still couldn’t compare to what lay beneath Qiqian’er’s Plague God Temple—though Qiqian’er herself had long since forgotten about that old wealth.
A maid, clumsy-handed, dropped two gold hairpins out of the dowry box, and Matron Song let out a shout and rushed over to strike her.
Ge Sansu looked at the hairpin and was reminded of something.
When she was young, she’d seen the gold ornaments gleaming in her mother’s hair and wanted them too.
Back then her mother had coaxed her, saying Susu was still small, that these would all be kept for her, and when she grew up tomorrow, they’d all become part of her dowry to take with her…
Only, no one knew whose hands that hairpin of her mother’s had ended up in. With the Old Blades’ backing, what had reached her hands was worth several million strings in gold and silver—that alone was already quite something.
Without that backing, if they’d given her nothing, or given her little, what could she have done about it? She was, after all, just a woman with no family left.
Ge Sansu reached out and picked up this hairpin to examine it, Matron Song’s scolding of the clumsy maid ringing in her ears.
Just as things were busy, the gatekeeper came to report from outside that the Founding Marquis’s residence, the Chengxuan Provincial Administration Commissioner’s Tan family, had sent congratulatory gifts.
The gatekeeper, having never seen much of the world, exaggerated in his report—the first cart alone was piled high with brocade, stacked more than ten layers deep…
Hearing this, Matron Song was overjoyed, and hearing it was a marquis’s family sending gifts made her even more delighted.
Ge Sansu tossed the gold hairpin back into the dowry box, looked up at Matron Song, and said flatly, “I’m not yet a Gong family wife. The sister-in-law in charge of this alley has only just left. If this gift-giving family truly understood etiquette, they wouldn’t come knocking at all—choosing this particular hour clearly means they have ulterior motives. Close the gate! Turn them away!”
This was clearly them taking advantage of her being new to the capital, from out of town.
Matron Song, having never seen much of the world, stood there a long while before saying, “Miss, but… but that’s a marquis’s household?”
Ge Sansu glanced at her, thinking that this matron, unfamiliar with the world from the outer prefectures, really wouldn’t do—she’d have to ask the eldest sister-in-law to help find a couple of capable people.
Having followed Ge Sansu for over two years, Matron Song had picked up on some of her temperament by now, and knew that her silence meant trouble.
And so, she hurriedly said she’d go see to it right away…
Guan Si’er’s gate slowly swung shut, leaving the Tan family’s gift-bearing steward thoroughly humiliated.
They had indeed inquired carefully about the timing before hauling ten carts of gifts to Imperial Guard Alley.
They’d also found out that this bride from the outer prefecture didn’t bring much of a dowry, and that her family hadn’t come along either—she was simply a lesser-family bride that Guan Si’er’s brother and sister-in-law had arranged for him back when he was first making his fortune.
What the Tan family was doing, plainly, was trying to reconnect old ties with their former master. Not daring to provoke those formidable wives whose reputations preceded them, they instead picked on Ge Sansu, the new bride from out of town.
As long as the gifts got through the door, there’d be grounds to speak of a relationship from then on—even if Imperial Guard Alley sent the gifts back, that too would give them something to say; only a complete break of relations with enmity would mean returning everything outright.
But little did they know, this new bride had also clawed her way up through great storms and waves—the thing she hated most in life was exactly this kind of money-flaunting. Never mind ten carts of gifts from the Tan family—even a hundred carts wouldn’t get so much as a glance from her.
After a long while, the steward finally accepted the gift list and invitation card, flicked his sleeve, and muttered, “Truly, birds of a feather.”
Naturally, the Gong family knew nothing of what was happening in Imperial Guard Alley. But when the clan’s most successful member, the one holding the highest office, was getting married, the clan naturally treated it with the utmost caution, determined to hold a grand celebration befitting the family’s standing.
Over a dozen branches of the family had already arrived in the capital a month early—being a wealthy merchant family, they’d each prepared generous gifts upon arrival, filling several storerooms at the Gong residence.
But merchants were still merchants at heart, accustomed to ranking people by money, and fond of saying, when something needed doing, “How much silver will this cost?”
And so, before Qiqian’er and the others had even arrived, in a hall packed full of Gong family wives, one Madam Jin said to Guan Si’er’s mother, Madam Li:
“Auntie, you know I’m a straightforward sort, I say what I think—you know that. Our young uncle is quite the talent. If we’d just picked out any old connection from our family’s former circle, wouldn’t they at least bring ten thousand strings as a dowry deposit?”
Madam Li, knowing the old family’s temperament, just smiled and nodded: “That’s true, that’s true. But this is your young uncle’s affair—your granduncle and I don’t get to decide it either.”
Madam Jin, thinking this made sense, sighed: “Indeed. My husband mentioned just last year that the Liu family over by Gushan had someone inquire—if their eldest daughter were to marry, they’d throw in their dyeing formula too, and add this amount on top.”
She held up three fingers, indicating three hundred thousand strings.
At once, the whole room was filled with envy.
Among those present, none lacked for sons or grandsons—only Gong Zhiyi’s branch had anyone in official service.
Guan Si’er’s younger sister A’Mao couldn’t stand to listen anymore and spoke up loudly: “Aunties, sisters-in-law, please stop talking about this. Even if you offered a mountain of gold, it still has to be what my elder brother wants. Besides, his household registration still lists him under the surname Guan, and his temper isn’t good—don’t let it get back to him and upset him.”
But this Madam Jin was rather dense and thick-skinned, and didn’t catch the implication behind A’Mao’s words at all. Hearing this, she slapped her thigh and, meaning well, advised: “A’Mao, what you’re saying—it’s not that I mean to stir trouble, but let’s not even mention anything else, just look at your granduncle’s residence here in Yanjing—it’s not even as big as any random branch’s back courtyard at home. Look how cramped it is… marrying a few concubines in would be like getting a whole extra mansion.” She made a coin gesture with her fingers and laughed, “If you ask me…”
Before she could finish, her mother-in-law smacked her on the back of the head: “That’s enough out of you! Can our old hometown even compare to here? Back home, even the biggest estates don’t have thresholds at the doors, but here, even a simple three-room thatched hut, you still have to lift your foot to step in!”
Everyone burst into laughter at this.
Indeed—merchant households had level thresholds throughout, even in nine-courtyard mansions you needn’t lift your foot.
Just as the laughter was at its liveliest, the gatekeeper came in to announce that the new bride’s family’s sisters-in-law had arrived.
And so, a whole crowd rushed out to greet them.
Once everyone had gathered, Qiqian’er finally stepped out of the carriage with full dignity and poise.
She wore the formal attire of a woman of official rank—attire proper enough to wear even into the palace.
As she emerged, behind her trailed a whole procession of court-ranked ladies—the things they wore might not all be worth much, but the jade belt alone coiled at her waist, and the kingfisher-feather headdress on her head, were not things an ordinary person could use.
The Gong family wives were seeing this for the first time.
Even before the wedding, Guan Si’er’s bride-to-be had already been granted a fifth-rank noble consort title by the court, owing to the Ge family’s formula and fortune.
Madam Jin stared in open-mouthed astonishment, then suddenly felt a pinch at her waist—turning around, it was her mother-in-law.
Her mother-in-law twisted the soft flesh at her waist and scolded her: “This is Yanjing, would you please not go causing trouble for the family? Did you see that? Just because your family’s money is stacked like a millstone—you’ve barely seen a few nice things and you dare come flaunt your wealth here in Yanjing in front of your granduncle’s family?”
In an instant, Madam Jin’s face flushed red enough to dye cloth.