Dawn over Ai City spread layer by layer across Four Maidens Mountain. Freshly sprouted grass unfurled its tender tips, just about to drink in a few drops of dew, when a flurry of light footsteps sent the droplets scattering, shaken loose into the soil.

Embroidered shoes, rawhide boots, dozens of straw sandals passed over a single blade of young grass, all moving swift and light-footed. The grass never even noticed it had been trodden over so many times — it only knew it had lost its dew, and sprang back up to keep drinking in the morning light.

Ping Jin and Ping Duo stood, faces full of unease, waiting at a hidden crossroads all through the night. Last night Kangna Mountain had roared like a dragon, and the fire that erupted still hadn’t stopped burning, black smoke billowing from that direction even now.

Fortunately, the place was a dead end with steep valleys on three sides, and only one way out, so the fire couldn’t spread that way. The army camp there had been utterly flattened. Knowing the terrain, they weren’t afraid of the disaster spreading to them — they only feared [REDACTED].

As for what exactly had happened, Ping Jin and the others had a guess — it had to be those divine, supernatural people.

Thinking of this, Ping Duo shifted his round, plump frame, nudging Ping Jin and jerking his chin toward the treetop: “Tsk!”

Ping Jin was even more unsettled than Ping Duo. He glanced up at the treetop, then looked away toward the distance, not wanting to deal with the fat man.

The tree beside them was tall, its trunk straight, its canopy spread like an umbrella — and atop that umbrella-canopy stood a woman in a grayish-green fine silk long dress, a woman who didn’t seem like a woman at all.

She’d “flown” up into that tree entirely on her own, and once there she stayed perfectly still, occasionally swaying with the mountain wind — this wasn’t a person, this was some kind of mountain spirit.

Ping Jin and Ping Duo had seen plenty in their time, but they’d never seen anyone this formidable — not even that fierce woman chieftain who slept with their head shopkeeper, and she was considered quite intimidating; she didn’t even come close to this one.

Seeing Ping Jin’s impatience, Ping Duo nudged him again and whispered: “You think something’s happened?”

Ping Jin scratched his head, troubled: “How would I know? I’m saying, you keep asking so much, it’s annoying. The shopkeeper told us to serve them well, so just go serve them well.”

Ping Duo said helplessly: “It’s not that, I’m just anxious, you know — you think our Young Master Yi…”

Ping Jin cut in, expressionless: “Why do you still call him that?”

Well, it was true — he really wasn’t a member of the Ping family at all.

Last night two women had suddenly arrived at the tea plantation, and Shopkeeper Ping had gone out to receive them. When he came back, the two of them noticed something was off about him.

Their shopkeeper practically seemed to have grown a hunchback, bowing and scraping to serve them, not even daring to turn his back when entering or leaving a room — he backed out of doorways.

The woman leading the pair had barged in late at night and immediately given Shopkeeper Ping Chou a beating — a straight kick to the chest that sent him flying clean out of the courtyard.

At the time the two of them had nearly died of fright, and so had their shopkeeper — he’d dropped straight to his knees, and stammered out something like some kind of “Consort…” Anyone who could be addressed as Consort had to be someone important — surely a prince’s wife? And apparently, Young Master Yi was her son.

So — was Young Master Yi actually the prince’s own child, a little prince? Oh wait, not little prince — young royal heir?

Heavens above, what was even going on.

At first Ping Jin had actually been excited, but then he’d grown troubled again — if Young Master Yi really turned out to be a legitimate young master, that would still be something to aspire to. But if he turned out to be royalty, that was too far above him — a little sparrow like himself lacked the standing to receive such favor, even if it were offered, and this kind of fortune wasn’t something he could hold onto.

No wonder Ping Jin felt down about it.

Later, Shopkeeper Ping Chou had climbed back in over the wall, apologizing and buttering them up, and then he, Shopkeeper Ping Chou, and the two mountain-spirit ladies had huddled together to plot something.

Later still, the larger of the two mountain-spirit ladies had picked up Shopkeeper Ping Chou — over a hundred jin of him — and simply flown off with him.

Ah, Ping Jin thought now, better to live an honest, dutiful life tending the shop counter — out there, people could fly, and apparently the species out there was different from his own kind entirely.

After she left, their shopkeeper had been a mix of terror and excitement, pacing circles in the courtyard, his face flushed red, muttering nonstop that the Ping family’s rise was finally at hand, that he’d finally endured long enough to see this day.

Once he’d finished celebrating, he’d sent the two of them here with this person, to wait.

As for this place — well, it was the little path the head shopkeeper used to secretly visit the woman chieftain at Green-Headed A’Lang’s village. He thought no one knew, but who doesn’t have a lover at A’Lang’s place? Everyone knew.

What a harrowing, heart-stopping night it had been. They’d watched with their own eyes as Kangna Mountain caught fire, and vaguely sensed the ground shaking, too.

Then came several hours of sheer terror — wild boar, pheasants, peacocks, lynxes, even a python as thick as a bowl’s rim, all the animals fleeing for their lives right past them, while the figure up in the tree stayed perfectly motionless, and they didn’t dare move either.

At one point a wild boar came charging through with its family, and only then did the one in the tree drop down, dispatching them one kick at a time — you could say how fierce that was…

Lost in thought, Ping Duo suddenly heard the mountain-spirit lady up in the tree say, her tone relaxed: “Finally back!”

With that she climbed down and instructed Ping Jin: “Give the signal.”

Ping Jin nodded, pulled a clay whistle from beneath his collar, and blew it toward the distant valley… From the cliff face over there, many rope baskets were lowered down.

Ah, finding a lover these past two years really was a matter of life and death.

Green-Headed A’Lang’s settlement wasn’t far from Four Maidens Mountain — fifteen li by the main road, but no distance at all by basket. It was also the wealthiest settlement in the area, every household with a fine bamboo house, and chickens, ducks, and geese raised beneath every one.

That such prosperity existed here was largely thanks to their own Shopkeeper Ping Yan.

Around midday, the woman chieftain A Jia, bringing along a few trusted young men from the settlement, carried earthenware jars of food quietly to the bamboo house behind the settlement belonging to Peng Po.

Peng Po could speak with spirits and ghosts, so people feared her, and no one came near without reason.

Upstairs, Huo Qiqian had changed into the clothing of a Green-Headed A’Lang woman, sitting upright against the wall like a man, not asleep — just sitting with her eyes closed, thinking things over.

Hearing movement from below the bamboo house, she opened her eyes to look at the door, and Bai Ying walked in, rubbing her own calves with obvious discomfort.

The corner of Huo Qiqian’s mouth curled up.

Huo Qiqian wasn’t used to showing bare leg either, but she accepted it calmly — extraordinary times called for prioritizing safety, especially now, when Ai City’s troops were surely all converged on Kangna Mountain.

Huo Qiqian knew she hadn’t gone all-out — the officials weren’t decent men, but why kill the ordinary soldiers for no reason? She hadn’t been able to be selective about it, but as luck would have it, there’d been exactly thirty new blades, and their targets had been clear enough.

Last night’s fierce battle had left Huo Qiqian, for the first time since her rebirth, feeling truly exhausted. But with so much weighing on her mind, she still couldn’t sleep.

Bai Ying opened the door, and A Jia’s face appeared — quite a pretty woman, if a bit dark-skinned. She spoke A’Lang’s language, which Huo Qiqian couldn’t understand, so they could only exchange smiles, Huo Qiqian raising a hand to wave them in.

A Jia led her people in, and Huo Qiqian’s mouth twitched as she watched them lay out banana leaves repeatedly across the floor, then overturn the earthenware jars onto the leaves — heaping out yam chunks, chicken meat, bamboo shoots, and more.

It was a full ten jars’ worth, laid out in a single straight line from one wall clear across to the other.

A Jia smiled as warmly as she could manage, quite pleased with her own hospitality, even thinking to herself that these Liang people surely had never seen such a grand spread before, and must be terribly envious of her settlement’s prosperity.

That dead-in-the-morning old man had promised that once these people were sent off tomorrow, he’d give her ten fine water buffalo and two hundred jin of salt — quite the bargain!

Seeing how unfamiliar they looked with all this, she generously sat down and demonstrated with her hands… how to eat with one’s fingers.

Once A Jia had smiled her way back out, Huo Qiqian let out a long breath, and Bai Ying burst out laughing.

Rolling her eyes at her, Huo Qiqian said, half-scolding: “Hurry up and get that pack of little brats up — food in their bellies first, that’ll settle them.”

Bai Ying nodded and went downstairs to call them.

The area beneath Peng Po’s bamboo house, once used for raising chickens and ducks, had been cleaned out. This morning the group of new blades had been brought here, first taken to wash at the back stream, then changed into Green-Headed A’Lang clothing, then herded off to sleep.

In truth, none of them could really sleep — their minds were in turmoil, tossing and turning on the bamboo mats. She Wanlin, though, had a hammock, and the moment he lay down he started snoring.

Bai Ying came down and called out that it was time to eat, and the group sat up in unison, filing upstairs in formation. She Wanlin, though, had to be coaxed and dragged up by Bai Ying, his steps unsteady the whole way.

A moment later.

Huo Qiqian, her son, and Bai Ying all found their eyes twitching, utterly speechless, looking at the thirty new blades kneeling before them in dead-still formation, like men prepared to die for a cause rather than sit down to a meal.

Fortunately the old witch’s house was spacious — ten to a row, kneeling in three neat rows in front of them.

They’d clearly been starving a long while, and having just lived through a life-altering brush with death, exhausted in body and spirit — yet their bearing and conduct still bore the old imprint. There was no undoing that in a short time.

Chen Dasheng and Tong Jintai — however many years it had been, even going to the outhouse, they’d still defer to their “elder brother” first.

Looking at these gaunt young faces, thinking that these too were just a group of young children, Huo Qiqian said gently: “Eat.”

At that, the first row of ten actually bent forward and began eating with their hands.

As it happened, all of these boys were from Jindian, and even those not originally from Jindian itself came from the surrounding Three Rivers region, where eating with one’s hands was perfectly normal — they ate with practiced ease.

And so mother and son watched, dumbfounded, as the group devoured everything like a whirlwind, three rows taking turns until the banana leaves were left bare, green, without a drop of sauce remaining.

Most frightening of all — you couldn’t even hear them chewing. The entire meal passed in complete silence.

Bai Ying laughed, patting her head: “You all wait here a bit, I’m going out for a walk.”

That meant going out to hunt. Huo Qiqian smiled and nodded at her: “Get plenty.”

Bai Ying agreed and left.

These half-grown boys could eat their way through a fortune — thirty-one bottomless pits before them, and it wouldn’t do to eat the whole settlement out of house and home.

Once Bai Ying had gone, Huo Qiqian patiently asked the group: “I — I still don’t even know what to call you all. Let’s all say our names first, so I know what to call you going forward. My husband’s family name is Chen — you may call me Madam Chen.”

When she finished speaking, the group in front of her remained sitting upright, occasionally blinking — only that told you they were alive at all.

For so many years, every word and action of a new blade had to follow military orders. What I do, what I say, what I think — none of that had ever belonged to them.

Seeing his mother’s awkwardness, She Wanlin smiled and looked at Yangdan in the third row: “Yangdan, she’s asking you.”

Yangdan looked up, and after a long pause said: “Yang~dan.”

Huo Qiqian asked quickly: “Just Yangdan? What’s your family name?”

No one knew what Yangdan was thinking — he just shook his head and said nothing more.

With no other choice, Huo Qiqian had to ask each of them in turn, and ended up with a whole string of names like Shuanzi, Dacang, Waguan, Dahu, Dagou.

Well, of course — what decent family sells off their own children.

Huo Qiqian’s heart ached, so she changed her approach: “Are you all full now?”

Still no one spoke.

Huo Qiqian just smiled and waited quietly, until finally her foolish son squeezed out a strained face and said: “Mother, let’s stop smiling, your face must be tired!”

Huo Qiqian dropped the smile at once, leaning back against the wall wearily: “Foolish son, you tell me then — these are thirty lives. What should happen to them going forward?”

She Wanlin, confused: “What do you mean, what should happen? Oh, you mean afterward? I was thinking I’d talk to Grandfather about it, get them proper identities, find them somewhere safe to settle down, oh, and set them up with some kind of livelihood — I’ll take the money out of my own monthly allowance. What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Huo Qiqian sat up, thoroughly exasperated, and smacked the back of her son’s head: “What I think is nonsense!”

“Mother, if you have something to say, just say it — why hit me? Why won’t it work, they don’t have any ambitions or anything.”

She Wanlin rubbed his head, muttering, glancing up at the group, still expressionless, even as mother and son openly discussed their futures right in front of them without a hint of reserve — they didn’t even know how to object.

The ones who knew how to object were already dead.

She Wanlin looked to Yangdan, the one he knew best. Yangdan’s gaze was solemn and proper, his eyes just two dark hollows, empty of anything.

Huo Qiqian said, somewhat troubled: “Think about your father.”

She Wanlin, startled: “What about my father?”

Huo Qiqian said: “And not just your father — your six uncles too. Tell me, aside from their positions at court, what can any of them actually do at home?”

Hearing his mother say this, She Wanlin thought hard about it — his most admired father, what could he actually do at home?

His father at home? Seemed like all he did was eat and sleep, and at most tease his younger siblings until they cried. Whatever salary he earned made barely a ripple for a Commandery Prince’s household anyway.

Truth be told, the family relied on Grandfather’s inherited estate, on Mother’s management of everything — that’s what kept the household running smoothly inside and out. Not to mention, the rice they ate came from Mother’s own estate’s harvest, the household’s expenses came from Mother’s shops and land holdings…

So my father is actually useless!

Having realized this, She Wanlin smacked his lips, feeling a bit sorry for her: “Mother, you really have it rough.”

Huo Qiqian was instantly satisfied. All her running around, in and out, wasn’t it exactly for a line like this? Ah, truly the best son in the world — so thoughtful.

Unable to help herself, she pinched the back of her son’s neck. She Wanlin ducked his chin and shrank his neck, wanting to act coy, but then remembering the new blades in front of them, he held back.

Huo Qiqian sighed: “That Chen Dasheng of mine just got lucky, running into me! An’er, I’m not exaggerating — that man can’t even slaughter a sheep properly, all he knows how to do is kill people… and he learned a bellyful of dirty tricks from your grandfather too, hmph!”

Her own son wasn’t having it, and protested: “The way you talk — ask around all of Yanjing, everyone says my father’s an honest, good-natured man. Otherwise how could Grandfather have approved of him?”

Glancing at the new blades, Huo Qiqian said helplessly: “Go ahead and flatter him all you like. They came from the same place as your father — set any of them loose out there, and within a few days, they’d either be killing someone or starving themselves to death. And a livelihood, you say? Ask them if they even know when to plant and when to harvest.

They don’t have that kind of knowledge in their heads anymore. Neither did your father, nor did any of your uncles — it was only after they came to the capital, studied for a few years, met the right people, had different experiences, that they slowly learned how to be human again. But this — this won’t do…”

New blades never got that kind of chance.

It wasn’t that Huo Qiqian looked down on the court — it was just that handing them over to the court meant not knowing whose blade they’d become next. Only her An’er, with his single-minded sincerity, wanted to give them a real future.

From downstairs came the eerie sound of bone chimes — Peng Po had apparently started some kind of ritual.

The group upstairs listened quietly for a moment, until finally, from among the new blades, a voice asked: “You — you said… from the same place?”

The one who spoke looked to be in his early twenties, having only just given his name — Fu Sanhu. He was older than the others when he’d arrived at Old Blade Camp, and it showed.

It wasn’t that the new blades were actually foolish — just look at Chen Dasheng, none of them were stupid, they understood everything. It was just that someone had deliberately locked away their hearts and their voices, molding them into instruments for killing.

Huo Qiqian’s eyes lit up, and She Wanlin nodded eagerly as if he’d struck gold: “That’s right, that’s right! My father, Chen Dasheng — he’s probably the man Tan Shouyi, oh, that old undying bastard from the Tan family army, hates most in the world. He, just like you all, was also raised as an old blade by the Tan family. It’s just that my father got lucky, and met…”

The boy had started to say “met His Majesty,” but caught himself in time, and instead looked at his mother with pure admiration: “He met my mother, and only then did he learn what it means to be human.”

Huo Qiqian nodded, composed and gracious.

Fu Sanhu bit his lip, his speech growing a bit more fluent now, and confirmed once more: “Chief — you’re saying, you’re saying, your… your…”

He hadn’t been raised with much education either, and wanting to show proper respect, he’d meant to say “your honored father,” but the term had slipped his mind.

Huo Qiqian coughed, and She Wanlin scooted over and answered very earnestly: “That’s right, my father came from Old Blade Camp just like you. He’s doing very well for himself now — though he never says it, our whole family knows there’s one thing in his life he can never get past. With him, there’s no Tan family; with the Tan family around, he wouldn’t rest easy even as a ghost. So don’t hold back — say whatever’s on your mind. We’re all on the same side here, after all.”

When She Wanlin finished, the new blades came alive — first exchanging glances among themselves, and finally pushing forward the most eloquent among them, Fu Sanhu.

Fu Sanhu sat down in front of She Wanlin, staring at him fixedly for a long moment before finally saying: “Him? Does he want revenge? We can kill for him. We can follow him. We’ll even give him our lives!”

As he said this, fire burned in the young man’s eyes, and She Wanlin’s heart ached a little.

He found himself missing his father. He thought that once he got home, he’d put his poor father first from now on — be good to him, honor him, indulge him, never let him feel unhappy again.

His father, in the past, had really suffered so much.

Thinking of this, She Wanlin felt a pang of sorrow, wiped at the corner of his eye, sniffled, and said: “What would my father want with your lives… ah, well, since we’re on the subject, let me tell you all about my father’s story…”

Two dull thuds sounded from the courtyard, and Huo Qiqian stood and left the room.

Bai Ying had brought back a stag, along with a half-grown wild boar.

Peng Po, astonished at the woman’s strength, leaned on her cane, smiling as she watched the spectacle.

Huo Qiqian came down from the bamboo house, glanced at the wound on the prey, and smiled: “This one wasn’t killed by you, was it?”

Bai Ying nodded: “It was. There’s territory disputes out there — animals from one side pushing into another’s ground, biting each other up all over the place. I just picked this one up…”

She glanced up toward the house: “What’s the young master doing up there?”

Huo Qiqian smiled: “They’re around the same age. An’er has a soft heart — he’s telling them stories right now.”

Bai Ying asked, amused: “Oh? The young master has that skill too? Which story?”

Huo Qiqian hung the game on the fence railing: “The Choutou Chronicles.”

She drew her dagger and made a circular cut around the stag’s head, and Bai Ying gifted the antlered head to Peng Po.

Peng Po was overjoyed, dragging the stag’s head inside. Once she was out of sight, Bai Ying pulled a letter from her robes and handed it to Huo Qiqian: “My lady, I went to gather information earlier. Ping Yan says that right now, in Ai City’s military camps and government offices, everyone responsible for the Kangna Mountain atrocities is listed in this ledger.”

Huo Qiqian smiled, opening the letter to look it over closely: “Now this is someone with real ability.”

Bai Ying said: “Of course he has ability — more than half the shops in Ai City belong to the Ping family. He’s had this whole ledger memorized in his head for a long time. My lady, are you really going to…?”

She raised the flesh-cutting knife and drew it through the air.

Huo Qiqian put the letter away, looked up toward the second floor of the bamboo house, and said: “Yes. My poor Choutou can’t bring himself to speak of it, but these children have this chance now. Once those in command are gone, will they finally get to live properly? I imagine there are no shortage of grieving victims in Jindian, wanting justice against those guilty bastards.”

Bai Ying smiled: “Plenty of them. Once it all breaks loose, tsk! It’ll be quite the show.”

Yanjing, Commandery Prince’s residence.

Bai Ruyi lay sprawled on his back in his underclothes, snoring, while Chen Dasheng applied medicinal ointment to his thigh.

This boy clearly had something wrong in his head — telling him to hurry home didn’t mean riding nonstop for three days straight without dismounting. Good grief, the flesh here had rotted and started festering.

Hu Yougui came in carrying a bowl of ginseng broth, complaining: “Is this kid’s head broken or something? Did we really need him to add fuel to the fire like this?”

Chen Dasheng, exasperated, pulled the blanket up over the boy and turned to scold him: “You’re the one with a broken head. I told you to spread word over three days — what did you spread?”

Hu Yougui went over, propped Bai Ruyi up, and poured the ginseng broth into him, saying: “Brother, everyone has their specialty. I — I know a few people…”

Before he could finish, Bai Ruyi rubbed his eyes and sat up, mumbling: “Mm~ I’m up… I’m up.”

He tried to get out of bed, but Hu Yougui quickly held him down: “Rest, just say it here. This is your own uncle’s house, isn’t it? You’re too stubborn for your own good — it’s not urgent today, rest up tonight, and head out to work things tomorrow.”

Too weak to move, Bai Ruyi could only lean back against the cushion and nod: “Then… forgive my rudeness.”

Chen Dasheng glared at him: “It’s your own elder, what’s this rudeness talk. Tomorrow, have them carry you out in a sedan chair — it’s just a matter of talking.”

Bai Ruyi understood at once — they wanted to use his connections in the beggars’ guild to spread word.

He nodded: “Then, please tell me.”

Chen Dasheng walked to the window, pushed it open, and looked outside: “You know about the matter with the young Marquis Tan this year, don’t you?”

Bai Ruyi nodded.

“As for his fate, there’s a betting pool set up over at Taize House, plenty of wagers already placed, but the house won’t take the bets. Starting tomorrow, have people spread word that the court is certain to execute the young Marquis Tan.”

Bai Ruyi lowered his head, thinking it over, shaking his head a few times before finally clearing up enough to ask: “May I ask, sir, which child are you hoping to lure onto the lotus seat?”

The moment the words left his mouth, both Chen Dasheng and Hu Yougui looked utterly baffled.

Seeing no answer, Bai Ruyi looked up after a moment and laughed at himself: “My mistake — that’s guild slang. I mean, who is it you’re hoping to draw into this?”

Chen Dasheng laughed, turning to look out the window: “Tan Weixin got wind of it — he’s confirmed His Majesty plans to pardon the young Marquis Tan. He’s mortgaging property and land all over, scraping together funds — likely hoping to be the house for this bet.”

Hearing this, Bai Ruyi drew in a sharp breath: “Sir! Yanjing has so many people — if we spread word that he’ll be executed, won’t that ruin all the ordinary folk who bet on it?”

An insect skimmed across the lotus pond, and a red carp leapt up to snatch it in one gulp…

Chen Dasheng’s gaze turned cold: “No one knows the outcome until the very end. You just handle drawing people into the pool — the more the better. To take, you must first give — if we don’t dangle a mountain of gold in front of them, his precious son-in-law-to-be won’t even look twice at small change. Besides, the good people of Yanjing have always been kind-hearted — don’t they deserve a stroke of good fortune?”

By the lotus pond, ripples spread outward… Wu Xiu tossed fish food into the water with one hand, and with a cold smile said to the steward-looking man before him: “Borrowing again? Without our Wu family, would your old Tan family even be able to light a fire in the kitchen? No, not a single coin. Tell Tan Weitong to settle his old debts first before he comes talking to us again…”