A shared ordeal survived together forged a bond among the wives and matriarchs of Quanhou Street as close as blood kin.

Their closeness became unprecedented.

But since intruders had come, and things weren’t yet settled, fear still lingered in their hearts, so the elderly women of Liubu Lane who were up in years all temporarily stayed together in the old matriarch’s rooms for the time being.

This had been the matriarch’s own invitation — after all, she was the sworn godmother of the Prince, and her household had guards on hand, so it was safe there.

She Qingling had mobilized troops promptly on this side, and once Yandu’s siege was lifted, unable to rest easy, he’d taken men into the capital at first light; meanwhile soldiers arrived at Quanhou Street and sealed off the street entrance completely.

No one inside was allowed out, and no one outside was allowed in.

Some things don’t frighten you in the moment they happen, but the fear catches up with you afterward — and so, once the old women woke up, they sat on the Chen family’s heated brick bed and began to feel the delayed terror set in.

One said, from now on she’d eat only vegetarian food and chant scripture.

Another said she’d never get angry at the younger generation again.

Another said she’d never save money again — whatever she had, she’d spend it all, not leaving a single coin for any ungrateful descendant.

Of course, that was just talk.

The old matriarch from War Ministry Lane, who had some news, said to the Chen matriarch: “Look at that — other people’s children aren’t raised for nothing; when trouble strikes they all rush home. Look at the ones we raised — when something happens they can’t even make it back, and we’re the ones left worrying endlessly. Old sister, I just can’t figure it out — what on earth was that little Consort Cao in the palace thinking?”

Empress Dowager Jiang, leaning by the window, had said nothing this whole time. Hearing this question, she rarely offered an explanation: “Young Lady Cao is a close relative of the deposed Empress. The Cao family’s crime was one of collective implication — even if her own family had done nothing wrong, plenty of blood relatives got dragged into the punishment. Watching heads about to roll, one’s heart… in a situation like that, you can’t even say what’s right or wrong anymore. When family who truly love you come pleading for their lives on the line, what was Young Lady Cao supposed to do? How many years has she even been with His Majesty? And how many years with her own family?”

That’s right — the disaster in Yandu had an accomplice working from inside the palace: none other than Young Lady Cao, Consort Jing, birth mother of Xuan He.

His Majesty wasn’t a fool — he had simply misjudged many things. He’d believed Consort Jing meant to work with him from the inside, which was why he’d kept Xuan He close by his side — never expecting that night that more than one faction would turn against him.

By now, he was likely regretting it bitterly.

In last night’s disaster, Consort Jing had hanged herself, Noble Consort Xiao had burned to death, Consort Shun was gravely wounded, and of the four pregnant consorts, not one had escaped — three dead, one gravely injured.

Thankfully, the Fifth Prince, Yang Zhen, had snuck out of the palace that night in a fit of madness, and the Sixth Prince, Yang Qian, being timorous, had seen the fire and jumped into the lotus pond, hiding in a hollow behind a rockery. Only the Seventh Prince had it worst — struck across the face by chaotic soldiers, his features ruined, though his life was spared.

The seventh year of Great Liang truly was not a good year — the entire imperial household had suffered blows it could scarcely bear.

And it wasn’t only the imperial family — countless wealthy households in the capital had been looted amid the chaos.

Empress Dowager Jiang was, at heart, someone who valued reason, and she no longer much liked her own son these days, which left her with an unusual sympathy for Consort Jing — hence the slight bias in her words.

But once she finished speaking, the old matriarch from War Ministry Lane, who wasn’t anyone in particular to her and had no idea who she even was, pursed her lips and sighed: “But what does the imperial family’s business have to do with the likes of us? It’s a good thing the Prince had his military tally in hand, and a good thing the young generals of the Tan family in the capital saw things going badly and rode out that very night to mobilize troops — otherwise who knows who’d be alive and who’d be dead today. And who knows where the army’s advanced to by now?”

Empress Dowager Jiang fell silent, turning her prayer beads round and round.

The mothers all looked out the window together — so many rebels and bandits; if Emperor Wu, having lost his wife and children, didn’t dig up their ancestral graves down to the last root, he’d have made a poor emperor indeed.

And so it would be some time yet before the children of Qinwei Lane and Liubu Lane could return home.

And this time, there would be no She Qingling stepping forward to demand fair treatment on their behalf.

If you’d won, that would be one thing — but you’ve lost this time, lost in Yandu, and lost in Qingfeng city as well…

The men of Qinwei Lane and War Ministry Lane had to split into several columns to pursue the rebels together. The grandmothers, muddled and unaware of anything, didn’t know the details — but those in Yandu understood clearly: among the several pursuing forces, Old Blade had it hardest of all, tasked with wiping out the Jiuzhouyu faction entirely.

The Emperor’s fury was beyond measure — rules no longer mattered, the law no longer applied; whoever was in the dungeons, no matter whose favor they’d once enjoyed, would now be marched one by one to the execution platform to pay with their lives for his wife and children.

Everyone understood — within a few days, Yandu would likely run red with blood, heads scattered across the ground.

But life still had to go on.

In last night’s fierce battle, Liubu Lane too had suffered losses — how could it not, with men dying? In just one night, several households lost their male heirs, their family heads.

It was at times like this that one saw just how remarkable a place Quanhou Street was. With the whole area sealed off and no manpower to spare, Qiqian’er and Madam Li of the Tang household stepped forward, bringing together several well-ranked household matriarchs to help these families through their hardship.

When there weren’t enough coffins, they went door to door borrowing burial materials. When there was no burial ground, everyone pooled money together to buy land nearby. Widows and orphans left behind — no matter, with everyone lending a hand, life could go on.

More and more women gathered, and together they brought the once lifeless Quanhou Street back to life.

As for the rest of the womenfolk, needless to say, they all brought whatever help they could muster, picking households one by one to assist with the funeral arrangements.

The Chen family matriarch, elderly and famously frugal her whole life, upon hearing the other side needed coffin wood, gave up her own reserved burial coffin without a second thought, and pulled out bolts of stored cloth one after another to give away, not even blinking.

At a time like this, no one spoke of money, and no one thought much of it either.

Never mind that all those officials had been summoned back to their offices — before, without them, the household could still function; now, with them still absent, a dozen or more funerals were still handled with full dignity throughout Quanhou Street.

Around noon, Wu Xiu, having arranged his men, brought his guards into Quanhou Street to find his elder sister.

He’d been worried sick — if his subordinates hadn’t told him that not a single woman on Quanhou Street had been harmed, he wouldn’t even have wanted this assignment anymore.

Last night’s disaster — the Tan family had come to the rescue in time. Though there hadn’t been any reward yet, he too had contributed merit, and independently at that.

Today his superiors, valuing his effort but having no other men to spare, had put him to proper use, ordering him to lead a team to guard Quanhou Street.

He’d arrived mid-morning, and once his men were settled, he came looking for his sister, his heart in turmoil, cursing under his breath the whole way — he was still bitter, bitter even now, that the Tan family hadn’t sent anyone to even ask whether this mother and son had lived or died, and hated even more that, alone as he was, he had no way to get back at the Tan family — truly, he felt he’d let down his ancestors’ honor entirely.

His sister and nephew were pitiable — other families struck by disaster at least had men to rely on, but his sister, right now, who knew how wretched things were for her at home.

Wu Xiu jogged to the house, and seeing the front gate locked, broke into a cold sweat. Before he could even ask around, the gatekeeper from across the street kindly told him that everyone was down at the end of the lane, helping out the Guan family.

The Guan family had been especially unlucky this time — father and son had both been on duty at the courier station and hadn’t received the office’s protection. Early that morning someone had gone to check and found the entire station without a single survivor.

The bodies of the father and son still lay there now.

Wu Xiu let out a long breath of relief, looking at the household at the end of the lane already flying white mourning banners — feeling both sympathy and a measure of relief.

Qingfeng city had still fared well. Last night’s disaster in Yandu had drawn all manner of opportunistic scoundrels looting amid the chaos — the real losses hadn’t even been tallied yet.

Great Liang’s promising situation, shaken by this upheaval, would take who knew how long to recover.

But Wu Xiu never would have guessed that his own sister would walk out of the house, taking her nephew along, to actively help another family.

No one understood his sister better than he did. Because of the purplish-blue birthmark covering her face since birth, she didn’t even dare meet the eyes of close relatives — she was sensitive, self-conscious, and extremely timid.

Wu Xiu led his men slowly to the end of the lane; before he even arrived, he heard the sound of crying. He looked up to take in the entrance and, seeing it was a modest, second-tier household, understood the situation at a glance.

Even the capable ones had died in such numbers — how much more so for a household of such a lowly official?

He stopped, looking around for whoever was in charge of receiving guests, but never expected to see his young, inexperienced nephew Tan Xingye standing solemnly before a large writing table in the courtyard, seriously composing an epitaph?

How old was he even? How many years of schooling did he have?

An epitaph was meant to be a brief account of the deceased’s whole life — how had they come to ask him to write it?

Wu Xiu walked over slowly, not daring to disturb him, and lowered his head to read carefully.

The young man’s handwriting was elegant and dignified, as steady as his personality, every stroke perfectly horizontal or vertical. He wrote earnestly: “…Alas, heaven above, what did you mean by taking him? I grieve for my close friend, of a tranquil and unadorned nature, uninterested in ornament, intelligent, filial, and kind…”

Wu Xiu’s smile grew wider. He had no literary talent himself, but he could appreciate good writing — this epitaph was only passable, yet still impressive, considering his nephew’s young age.

Perhaps because he’d drawn close, Tan Xingye looked up and saw it was his uncle; his eyes flashed with a hint of a smile, but he kept his head down, finishing his brushstroke without pause before straightening up in surprise.

“Uncle?”

Wu Xiu reached out and patted his head, sighing. “You’ve grown so much — why is it you writing this? Did you know this family?”

Tan Xingye shook his head, a little bashful, and said quietly, “Uncle, please don’t ask. Master Guan came from elsewhere; there’s no adult male left in the household, only Grandmother Guan, the young mistress, and two young masters. Mother said the neighbors should lend a hand. As you can see, right now no one can leave or enter…”

The boy’s expression showed understanding; afraid someone might overhear, he quickly whispered close to his uncle’s ear: “Master Guan’s rank was too low — the yamen hasn’t sent anyone.”

Wu Xiu wanted to laugh but held it back. “The yamen has no time to spare right now — everything’s still chaotic. Even once someone does come, it’ll have to wait until after the executions in Yandu.”

The boy let out a long breath and finally understood. “So that’s how it is. That’s for the best, actually — otherwise, this would’ve weighed on me terribly.”

Wu Xiu nodded, then looked over the epitaph again. Tan Xingye, blushing deeply, said with even more embarrassment, “I really didn’t know what to write, and I’ve never written one before, so I had to go dig through Brother Guan’s old writings while he was alive to find something. He truly had great talent, it’s—” He looked up seriously at his uncle. “It’s a hundred times better than anything I could write.”

But the Guan father and son had no connections, having only managed to reach a lowly seventh-rank position.

Wu Xiu didn’t want to say more, so he patted the boy’s head and pulled a pair of ten-tael gold ingots from his sleeve, handing them over for the funeral fund. He was a man of means, never carrying silver or copper coins on him, using gold to smooth his way everywhere — far more so than his brother-in-law Tan Weitong ever managed in Yandu.

The boy, genuinely eager to help, was overjoyed to see his uncle give such a generous sum, and clutched the ingots happily as he went off. In truth, he never lacked for money — his uncle, who minted the family’s gold himself, would never have shorted him on pocket money; it was simply that Wu Ling was careful with her own purse.

Wu Xiu followed behind him and asked, “Where’s your mother?”

“In the back, helping out.”

Wu Xiu turned and headed for the back courtyard. No one at the Guan household stopped him, and he wandered around until he finally found his sister.

Under the grape trellis in the Guan family’s back courtyard, Wu Ling, needle and thread in hand, was hastily sewing simple mourning garments. Occasionally, hearing a sob from inside the house, she’d look up with concern, then sigh.

A woman unfamiliar with the customs asked her, needle and thread in hand, for guidance, and Wu Ling patiently instructed her…

Wu Xiu walked over and called out, “Sister.”

Wu Ling, startled, set down her needlework and grabbed her brother, looking him up and down, then turned to the women beside her and said, “This is my younger brother. He serves in the Ministry of War.”

The women smiled warmly and joked, “The young master here is so handsome — has he taken a wife yet?”

It was said in the tone of a close friend.

Wu Ling shook her head, full of pride. “Oh, there’s no elder in the household to arrange it, and he’s never settled down himself — every day all he thinks about is office business. If I even bring it up he gets annoyed.”

That woman’s eyes lit up. “Sister, today’s not convenient, but another day let’s talk it over properly — my maiden family has a lovely cousin, her character is beyond reproach…”

Wu Xiu, embarrassed, deliberately showed his maimed hand and pulled his sister away.

Given his physical disability and no hope of promotion, the woman first sighed in pity — but the person beside her said that with someone as fine as Wu Ling, surely her brother couldn’t be far behind, disability or not.

The woman thought that made sense, and nodded, resolving to bring it up properly with her own family when she got home.

There weren’t many people coming and going at the Guan household, but Wu Xiu was continually surprised at how well-liked his sister was — nearly everyone here knew her, and greeted her respectfully when they met, not even calling her “Elder Madam” but instead “Aunt Wu.”

Wu Ling’s face glowed, her chin held high, walking along the whole way, pointing out to others how to handle things properly.

She had been raised to be a proper clan wife, yet the Tan family had never made use of her — indeed, they had bullied her. Here at the Guan household, though, she had managed to set the whole household — inside and out — in perfect order, and in just one morning had become the one in charge.

Brother and sister walked home together, and Wu Ling took out her key to open the door.

Wu Xiu entered the courtyard and looked around, seeing not a single servant, and asked, somewhat annoyed, “Where are all the servants?”

Wu Ling laughed heartily, entirely unbothered. “Oh, something happened last night, and they all got scared off!”

Before her brother could get angry, she went on happily, “Little brother, you know what? I wasted the first half of my life, honestly. Yesterday I realized you truly did save your sister. Coming to this place, I finally feel that life is actually worth living. Turns out, so what if a woman has no husband? She can still live a happy life!”

As she spoke, the birthmark on her face seemed to glow with radiance.

Wu Xiu was simply stunned…

Just as he was about to press her further, one of his subordinates came in to report that Hu Youbei of Qinwei Lane was riding his carriage straight into the street.

Wu Xiu spun around at the news and left immediately, cursing as he went: “Are you all dead? This is someone’s home — the orders only said to guard it, not to keep people from returning…”

They ran to the street just in time to see Hu Youbei’s carriage had already come charging in.

Helpless, Wu Xiu could only follow behind with his men, and before he could even ask what was going on, he saw a chubby young man galloping in on a fast horse.

Wu Xiu stared in shock for a long moment before finally exclaiming, “The Sixth Prince!!!”

Recognizing him, he ran after him without a second thought, chasing all the way to the Chen family’s old residence, and watched with his own eyes as the Sixth Prince tumbled off his horse, stumbling as he fell.

The prince wailed as he scrambled up, crying toward the house: “Grandmother… I want to become a monk! Grandmother… my mother is dead! Grandmother! I don’t want to live anymore, I want to become a monk…”

Wu Xiu’s soul nearly left his body as he turned to look at this narrow little lane — what sort of place was this, exactly?

Stars swam before his eyes as he watched Hu Youbei carry a blood-soaked figure out of the carriage; when he finally, dumbstruck, got a closer look — my god, the Yuwen family’s female general?

Hu Youbei had gone half-mad himself — never in his life, worthless as it was, had he imagined someone would trade their life for his.

He too had been careless — no one had expected that the Jiuzhouyu forces, lawless and fearless, would be lying in wait along the road just after they’d left the capital, ready to give the people of Yandu a taste of their power.

Hu Youbei had led the vanguard that day; when they’d set out, Yuwen Xiaoqiao had insisted on coming along, and he hadn’t given her a good expression over it.

But who could have guessed that when the hidden elder of the Jiuzhouyu mountain guard struck with his sword, sending up a spray of dust and stone, and Hu Youbei was about to be cleaved straight through — this foolish woman had thrown herself in front of him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him aside, and he’d watched, helpless, as her own arm fell to the ground…

Hu Youbei’s mind was a blur now, filled with countless images of Yuwen Xiaoqiao from before. I’ll help you? I like you? Is it good? …You, why are you so pretty?

Pretty like an immortal descended from the heavens…

He turned to look at Yuwen Xiaoqiao, eyes shut tight, covered in blood, and begged her: “Yuwen, I beg you, don’t die. Hold on, just a little longer — I know where the best doctor in this world is…”

He thought, he must have already loved her all along, must have loved her for a long time… why hadn’t he said yes?

Back then, what kind of woman had he thought he wanted? Someone like Sister-in-law Qian’er? Someone like Sister-in-law Wanru? Someone like Sister-in-law Yuniang?

But would a woman like that be willing to die for him, willing to lose an arm, and even facing death still smile and tell him: “Don’t be afraid, I’m here…”

Hu Youbei wept. Clutching the blood-soaked Yuwen Xiaoqiao, he pounded desperately on Master Cheng’s front door, crying out with everything he had: “Master Cheng, save her! Master Cheng, please come quickly and save her…”

An’er would never forget that day — the sky had been clear, and he’d ridden on his mother’s back to many funerals; many people had wept, and some had laughed too… then something terrible had happened, and his mother had carried him and run home, running for her life…

By the time they reached Aunt Chou’s home, still on his mother’s back, he saw Fifth Uncle holding someone covered in blood, weeping and shouting: “Don’t die, I beg you, don’t die! Live — please live? If you live, I’ll marry you!”

But when Aunt Yuwen, covered in blood, woke up, she said to Fifth Uncle: “But… I don’t want to marry you anymore…”

And An’er didn’t yet know that his poor Fifth Uncle’s road to love would be a rocky one — by the time he finally married, it would truly be more than a decade later.