Midnight rain poured down as the Chen household quietly prepared a small celebration. They hadn’t invited many relatives or close friends—just a few tables set up discreetly for the one being quietly carried into the household.

At least it was a small happy occasion.

Early that morning, An’er had a hard time getting up. He kept hearing his wet nurse’s good-natured muttering, chanting over and over: “Second young master’s getting up, Second young master’s getting up…”

The sound had no real force to it, just enough to be annoying. An’er certainly didn’t like it, but he also knew that not getting up wasn’t an option, or she’d never stop.

He opened his eyes within the soft, fine silver-red padded quilt and looked around.

His older brother had gone home; last night he’d slept alone.

The wet nurse said happily, “Ah! Second young master is so clever—up the moment I called!”

An’er didn’t want to talk, and he wasn’t being difficult either—no one enjoys being woken from a dream.

He sat up from beneath the thin quilt and stared blankly out the window, where little swallows perched in the osmanthus tree, one, two, three of them.

The maids and servants crowded around—one to comb his hair, one holding a small chamber pot to see if he needed to relieve himself. After all the fuss, he finally stood up, spreading his arms so the wet nurse could dress and wash him.

Since there was a happy occasion at home today, he wore a red robe embroidered with a small qilin.

By the time he reached the entrance to the second courtyard, Jixiang was already waiting for him, holding a brocade box. She greeted him with a smile, “Did Second young master sleep well last night?”

An’er had no real concept of sleeping well or not, but he was a child who knew what a good answer was, so despite feeling groggy and low on energy, he nodded and said yes.

He then asked if Grandfather was behaving. Jixiang said he was very well-behaved, still not up yet.

The child looked enviously at the old osmanthus tree and let out a sigh.

The whole courtyard laughed at this. She Jixiang bent down and opened the brocade box for An’er.

Inside was a coarse porcelain bowl with a small chip in its rim; painted on the inside of the bowl were four characters: long life, a hundred years.

Some time ago, She Qingling had had a terrible nightmare—he dreamed that An’er had no one to depend on, and that in his old age he would become a monk, living out his life in cold solitude.

After that, seized by some kind of madness, he had gone to visit an eminent monk at Huguo Temple. He hadn’t asked for anything for himself, but had prayed for his grandson’s lifelong peace.

By the time he returned home, he had brought back this bowl with him, and from then on An’er was set upon the path of “begging for rice.”

It was said that An’er’s fate had been stolen—people feared that too much wealth and privilege might clash with his destiny, so he had to beg for rice from a hundred households to eat.

That hundred-household rice had already been sought—by walking a full loop around Quanhou Street and asking one mouthful from each house, they’d get to a hundred households.

And from that day on, he had to beg until he turned twelve, in order to cross over the fated calamity of death written in his birth chart.

The wet nurse woke him early every day mostly out of fear he’d make the other families on the street wait for him to eat their breakfast—after all, he was the younger generation here, and it wouldn’t do to make others wait on him.

An’er hugged his rice bowl and sighed, resigned to his fate.

Such a small person, so full of worry—it only amused everyone else even more.

Led out the door by the wet nurse, An’er first went to the Yu family directly across the street. Before he could even knock, the Yu family’s second daughter came giggling out to scoop him up into the house.

In the Yu family’s dining room, no one had picked up their chopsticks yet—just a few simple dishes laid out, all still warm.

There were a couple of everyday side dishes: shredded chicken with fermented sauce, pickled bamboo shoots, small greens, candied lotus root, date porridge, and steamed buns.

Old Madam Yu had a sharp tongue, but she never once turned it on this young master from the Chen family. Seeing him, she even teased, “Ah, Second young master’s here to beg for food.”

An’er, a little shy, held out his bowl and said something sweet: “Grandmother, may you live a hundred years.”

“Ah, listen to this little mouth—a hundred years, a hundred years, a hundred years for everyone!”

The old woman happily picked up her chopsticks and placed two of her favorite little pastries into his bowl, explaining earnestly to An’er: “Grandmother’s just an old woman who won’t die—everyone’s afraid I’ll live to be a hundred! I dare not be a burden to them, wasting food and all… What else do you want? Let Grandmother add some.”

An’er shook his head and left, hugging his little bowl.

Even at the doorway he could still hear the old woman muttering behind him: “Ai ya, what’s the rush, eat slowly—an empty stomach should be filled gradually. There’s a banquet at the second Chen household today, aren’t you going? Your father already sent a gift and you’re not going? Have you not eaten before, why so anxious…”

Before she finished nagging, Yu Youtian had already bounded out of the house, buckling on his waist blade, mouth stuffed full and chewing as he ran.

His grandmother called after him, “Eldest grandson, why’d you only eat a few bites?”

Her eldest grandson wanted to eat more too, but he was afraid of her nagging.

Hearing this, An’er was quite confused—was she telling him to eat, or not to eat?

But before he could puzzle it out, Youtian had already scooped him up.

An’er laughed and called out, “Big brother.”

Yu Youtian swallowed what was in his mouth, turned to take a mouthful of clear tea from a servant boy to rinse with, spat out the water, then kissed An’er on the cheek and said, “Calling me big brother won’t help—big brother’s busy today, can’t take you out to play.”

An’er was quite disappointed at this; big brother was the only good person who ever let him ride a horse.

But once outside, his big brother pulled out from his sleeve three strings of small peach-wood carved trinkets—a little mace, a little blade, a little sword, a little gourd, a little writing brush—and fussily hung the whole clattering set on him, then handed the rest to the wet nurse.

He kissed him again and said, “Don’t lose these—your brother spent half a month carving them, and even had them blessed by a nun at Qingque Nunnery.”

With that, he mounted his horse from the stepping stone, and An’er watched his favorite big brother ride off with open admiration.

Once his brother was far off, An’er took off the small gold qilin pendant with its five-colored tassels from his waist and handed it to the wet nurse, then patted the string of peach-wood charms at his waist, showing off: “My big brother gave me this.”

The wet nurse played along enthusiastically: “Very handsome.”

An’er nodded with certainty, hugged his little rice bowl, and went off to the Cheng family, where he received half a bowl of medicinal broth, and with a woebegone face had to drink it down right in front of Chou Gu.

He dreaded going to the Cheng family the most.

After choking down the bitter medicine, mouth full of bitterness, the gloomy An’er next stood at the Tong family’s door. He took a long breath—every other family scooped him up and carried him inside, but Aunt Tong strictly required him to call out his begging phrase every day, saying that was the only proper way to beg.

So he looked left and right, then, in a babyish voice, squeezed his eyes shut and called out: “Noble madam, may you live a hundred years, noble master, may your fortunes rise, young master will surely pass the exams with top honors, so, so… please give me something to eat!”

As chance would have it, two servants from some household happened to be passing by on the road just then, on their way to deliver gifts to the second branch of the Chen family and pay respects at the old residence. One of the younger ones, hearing this, couldn’t hold back and let out a snort of laughter.

But before he could finish laughing, the older servant clapped a hand over his mouth and dragged him away.

Once they reached a corner of the alley, the old servant slapped him hard. The younger one’s eyes welled up with tears at the blow, and just as he was about to beg forgiveness, he heard the old servant scold him: “Have you got nowhere else to put your manners, laughing at just anyone? That’s the little prince from the Fuyi Commandery Prince’s household! They’re afraid he won’t survive to adulthood, so he begs a mouthful of rice from a hundred households every day. You really can’t tell high from low—going out and not adding any credit to our household, instead you’ve brought trouble down on us…”

The younger one was so frightened he nearly cried, but the old one dragged him off in a hurry.

An’er had no idea he’d caused someone trouble. He was earnestly sitting astride the threshold of the Tong family’s gate, sharing rice cakes with Tongchui and Ninghe.

These two little rascals never wanted to eat their meals—every day they waited for An’er to arrive, and the three of them would sit astride the threshold to eat together.

Once he’d eaten his fill, more or less, the Tong family’s servants placed a few more delicate, easily digestible items into his little bowl. An’er then hugged his bowl and headed to the next house—and this round of begging took him all the way into the main residence, where as soon as he entered he heard the old grandmother inside nagging at someone.

The old grandmother always did love to nag at people.

“…Has the family got so much extra money lying around? Feeding some useless mouth for nothing—are we short on children in this family? Don’t you dare try to scare me with talk of ‘expanding the family line’—I’ve got plenty of grandsons and granddaughters already, we’re not short on his branch’s account. He needn’t send banquet gifts over to me either—others may not know him, but I do. Just like his no-good father, always scheming for more…”

The younger madam from the back street laughed and tried to soothe her: “Aiya, there’s really no need to get angry over this. Which family on this street doesn’t do the same? Some have taken in seven or eight—compared to them, what’s this?”

The old grandmother said again, “What’s this? The old Chen family hasn’t taken a concubine in generations.”

The younger madam from the back street laughed loudly at this: “Listen to yourself—back then nobody had anything, that’s why they couldn’t afford it.”

The old grandmother said, “Poor Xing’er’s mother, who knows how she must be suffering.”

An’er stood still, standing obediently by the door to listen.

His grandfather had told him that when adults were speaking and hadn’t finished, one mustn’t interrupt.

The back-street madam coaxed for a good while before the old grandmother’s mood finally eased.

Then he heard his mother’s voice, cheerfully consoling the old grandmother: “Grandmother, I asked all around about it myself, and this time my second brother’s really been wronged a bit—it truly was my sister-in-law’s decision. Wasn’t it right after that whole reversal of fortune, when she was scared half to death? She went back to her maiden family and who knows what she said there, but her mother made the decision for her, and her father-in-law found the match—by my sister-in-law’s own words, it kills two birds with one stone…”

The old grandmother muttered, “Don’t mention that to me again. I’m truly not angry—wronged or not, I don’t think anyone’s wronged here. Ai, I’m a generation removed from it, as long as there’s food and drink I’ve no say in it. Whether his life goes well or not is his own affair—if he’s got fortune, let him enjoy it, if not, let him bear it. The blisters on his own feet come from his own walking…”

Just as the old woman was muttering away, she caught sight of a pair of small boots peeking beneath the door curtain, and she immediately brightened: “Oh, when did you get here? Ai, Grandmother’s gone blind, didn’t even see my precious one, ai ya, how you’ve been wronged, I didn’t see you, come here, come quickly…”

An’er smiled and went in, first paying respects to the old grandmother, then to the back-street madam, and finally was scooped up by his mother, who kissed him before setting him up on the heated brick bed. He leaned over the little table and piled his favorite foods, already prepared for him, into a full bowl.

Qiqian’er watched him not eating and asked the wet nurse at the door, “Which household has he stuffed himself full at this time?”

The wet nurse answered loudly with a laugh, “Reporting to my lady, by the time he reached the Tong family he was already about full.”

At this, everyone in the room burst out laughing.

Zhang Wanru’s two little pests didn’t like eating either—every day they relied on An’er coming by, sitting astride the threshold to gulp down a few mouthfuls.

Children always ate with more appetite together.

An’er wasn’t concerned with what they were laughing about; once his little bowl was full, he slid down off the bed himself, walked to the door, then turned back to his mother, patting the string of trinkets at his waist to show off: “Big brother gave me this.”

Qiqian’er smiled tenderly, walked over to straighten his waistband, and asked, “Did you thank your brother?”

An’er nodded. “I thanked him. And thanked him again for Gaoxing, too.”

Qiqian’er nodded then, praising him: “How handsome indeed.”

In truth, it was just a rather crude handmade trinket—but it was rare that Yu Youtian kept these little brothers and sisters in his heart. He hadn’t dared make just three; every one of Old Dao’s family’s children had to have one.

An’er hugged his bowl proudly and went out, his little boots tapping on the blue stone path—not much noise, but full of energy.

His old grandmother leaned against the window, watching him with all her ailments forgotten, having already put everything else out of her mind.

As soon as he stepped outside, he saw his brother Gennu’er already waiting for him, hugging his own bowl.

His little uncle had come home yesterday, so his brother had to come stay on this side.

Gennu’er was holding a big bowl of meat buns. Having not seen his younger brother for one night felt like three autumns apart; the moment they met, they set down their bowls and hugged fiercely, then together carried their food off to Old Dao’s chess pavilion courtyard to find the old beggar.

That old beggar was the same simple-minded beggar An’er had once hit with a stick. Afterward, Chen Dasheng had punished An’er by making him deliver food to the man every day, and over time the old beggar had come to live against the outer wall of the kitchen at the Chang family’s chess pavilion courtyard.

That spot happened to be a nook, and Little Huar had even had someone build a half-roof over it for him, so that when wind and snow came, with the kitchen’s fire-wall nearby, the old beggar wouldn’t freeze to death.

What’s more, because of Gennu’er and An’er, the Chang family looked after him quite well.

At the Chang family’s gate, Xu Ximei, her belly slightly rounded, stood waiting with a food box in hand.

She wasn’t a large woman, and though only a few months pregnant, it showed more obviously on her than on most.

She waited eagerly until An’er and the others arrived, and seeing the bowls the two children were already carrying, she felt a bit put out, testing them by saying, “Already full, are you?”

An’er smiled and greeted her politely: “Fifth Aunt, did you sleep well last night? I’m full.”

Xu Ximei looked a little disappointed, but lowered her head and said, “Thank you for thinking of me. I slept well. Tomorrow, you must come here first.”

With that, she opened the food box, revealing exquisite soups, pastries, fruit compotes, and southern cakes on the first layer—and as if that weren’t enough to show off, a second layer with crystal cake, honey cake, lotus paste cake, mutton buns, and fried quail.

The family didn’t allow such sweets at home, and word had been passed to everyone near the household gate—but they’d forgotten Xu Ximei was still waiting here.

An’er looked at the two layers of delicacies, mouth practically watering, and after much internal deliberation, finally said with great difficulty to his fifth aunt: “Well then… maybe just a little more? It seems, it seems there’s still a bit of room.”

Xu Ximei laughed, had the low table set up by the household gate, draped a cloth awning over it, and the three of them—mother and the two children—began filling in the gaps with food.

Just as they were eating happily, several tightly curtained carriages came down the street. As they passed the Chang family’s gate, a woman with a purple birthmark covering half her face peered out from behind the curtain.

Once they’d passed, the woman turned to her attendant with a face full of shock: “How could this be, how could they behave so openly right at their own gate? This is… this is far too brazen. How did A’Xiu find this place, letting us come live here?”

The woman felt deeply wronged, and thinking of her pent-up resentment, she reached out to hold her son close and began to weep softly.

Little Tan Xingye’s heart sank with a sigh; he reached out to wipe his mother’s tears and said, “Mother, Uncle’s reasoning is never wrong—he’s always looking out for us. The Sanli Academy rarely accepts students; it only takes children of families already living nearby. This too was arranged only because Uncle spent a great deal—trading a residence in Yanjing just to get this courtyard. Please, you must bear with it.”

Wu Ling wiped away her tears and after a long while sighed, “In this life, it’s only your uncle we can rely on.”

Tan Xingye smiled at his mother and said, “As for me, so long as we’re away from that place, it doesn’t matter where we live…”

Just then, a group of children came shouting out from the alley, the girl leading them calling out loud and clear.

The carriage driver had meant to stop first so as not to startle someone else’s children, but the children stopped themselves before he could. They lined up at the mouth of the alley, some covering their mouths, all careful not to startle anyone’s livestock—no shouting, no fuss—and only once the carriages had passed did they burst into laughter and go running off around the alley again.

Further along the road, they saw several small sedan chairs decorated with pink satin flowers, moving quietly and quickly toward the back street without music or fanfare—clearly a concubine being brought in.

Some households, showing contempt for the woman involved, would have her carried in under cover of darkest night; but there was still benevolence left in the world, letting her enter in the early light of morning.

The other party also understood proper etiquette—even though there was no household emblem displayed on this side, they still stopped their sedan chairs and waited. Once the carriage had fully passed, they kept a respectful distance and slowly followed to the fork in the road, not daring to cross over the tracks of the main carriage, instead hugging the wall as they hurried past.

Wu Ling watched the small sedan chair go a good distance before saying to her son, “The people here really do understand propriety. Your uncle didn’t pick the wrong place.”

Tan Xingye said nothing, but leaned toward the rear window to look back.

Those three people eating in front of the gate just now—he didn’t know how to describe the feeling it gave him, just an inexplicable envy.

It would be years before he understood that feeling—it was the ease and composure that comes only after surviving a life-or-death struggle on the battlefield, blade to blade.

It wasn’t only Xu Ximei’s household that carried this air; the Guard’s Alley, and even most of the people on the back street, carried this same unhurried ease.

Only once the group was completely out of sight did Tan Xingye hear his mother mutter, “We just left without telling anyone. Tomorrow when your father finds the two of us gone, he’ll be so anxious.”

Tan Xingye sat properly, his young mind having already been worn down by years of struggle within the household’s inner quarters. His mother was timid and self-deprecating by nature, so he had to be the sensible, perceptive one. Even now, having come this far, did his mother still harbor such wishful hopes?

So Tan Xingye took his mother’s hand, eyes fixed ahead, and said, “Mother, Father won’t notice, and wouldn’t care even if he did. From now on, we’ll just stay here…”

The woman began to weep again.

Outside the Chang family’s chess pavilion courtyard, seven or eight plates of pastries had filled every last gap in his stomach. An’er climbed down off the low table with his belly puffed out, pulled on his little boots, thanked and said goodbye to his fifth aunt, and went with his brother toward the nook behind the residence.

It was a bit late in the day now; it had rained the night before, and the old beggar, having weathered a night of wind and rain, was especially hungry.

He waited and waited, and at last saw the familiar faces he knew, his eyes lighting up as he bared his teeth and called out, “Niang lai! Niang lai…”

Everyone later learned this old beggar wasn’t actually calling for his mother—he was simply a simple-minded beggar who had learned, poorly, a curse someone had once thrown at him, meant to sound like “mother”—except he hadn’t even learned those two characters properly, and it had come out as “niang lai” instead.

And so he became known as a foul-mouthed beggar.

He had no name of his own. The day An’er and Gennu had beaten him, Chen Dasheng had punished them by having them each skip a meal to feed him for two days.

And so, seeing him now, An’er called out to him with a smile, “Old Stinky, you’ve been waiting anxiously!”

“Old Stinky” was what people called foul-mouthed beggars; the children heard it enough that they started calling him that too, and after hearing it so much, even the simple-minded man came to recognize it as himself.

Old Stinky, quite anxious, saw them coming and turned to grab the broken half-gourd ladle from beside his straw mat, holding it out.

An’er and Gennu poured the food they’d brought into his ladle.

Old Stinky crouched on the ground, wolfing it down.

The two children crouched nearby, chins propped on their hands, watching—and, mimicking their grandmother’s words, said, “Slow down, slow down, there’s plenty more…”

The words came out sounding old and world-weary from such small mouths, but they didn’t notice that as the old beggar wolfed his food down, head lowered, a flicker of a smile passed through his eyes.

Once Old Stinky had eaten his fill, An’er hugged his begging bowl and got up to leave. Having crouched too long, his legs went numb, and he stumbled, sending the bowl flying out of his hands.

This gave the servants a fright, crying out in alarm—that bowl had been given by an eminent monk, and if it broke, none of them would come out of it well.

By the time they finished their shouting, they discovered that, by sheer coincidence, the bowl had landed right in Old Stinky’s gourd ladle.

Old Stinky, seemingly startled as well, bared his teeth and cursed at them: “Niang lai~ ah!”