Regarding the matter between Chen Dasheng and Chang Lianfang, His Majesty had heard the story countless times now from those familiar with Chang Lianfang.

Only, back then, Chang Lianfang had called him “Brother Stinkhead” over and over — so this was Stinkhead.

Speaking of this name Chen Dasheng, His Majesty was reminded of something, and asked with a smile: “This name of yours sounds oddly familiar to my ear. Did you serve under old General Tan Shilin at some point?”

Chen Dasheng was stunned to hear this — did His Majesty even know such a small matter? After a long while he nodded, asking with some confusion: “Yes. This one served under old General Tan for about half a month. Does Your Majesty even know of this?”

Once he said this, everyone around them, save for the seven of them, burst out laughing together.

By generation, Tan Shilin counted as Tan Shiyuan’s uncle, a younger half-brother of Tan Shouyi born of a concubine. As for skill in governing troops and fighting battles, within the Tan family he ranked as middling. But this man’s character was better than most of the Tan family — he didn’t put on airs, was quite easygoing with everyone, and was always smiling and carefree.

However, this man had a peculiar habit known to everyone, treated as something of a joke — whenever battle grew tense, he’d have someone perform a ritual. He always kept monks and Daoist priests at his side; setting up rituals and formations was only the first step — afterward he’d also give lucky new names to anyone he came across. Before battle, names were usually things like “Great Victory” or “Great Bravery”; if they won, it became “Victory Again” or “Bravery Again”; if they lost, it became “Must Win” or “Must Be Brave.”

Anyone who’d spent time at his side received this treatment. Later, an imperial censor even filed a complaint, saying how could one so casually change names given by one’s parents — the old general took a caning and reprimand over this.

After that, he still gave out names, but no longer forced others to actually use them. People would simply refer to that battle by that name, then forget it afterward.

Stroking the beard on his chin, His Majesty said with some satisfaction: “That old fellow! However you tell him, he won’t change that habit. But you — why did you stop using your old name? Look at this — you changed your name, and now our little Flower here can’t even find his Brother Stinkhead.”

A burst of laughter rose all around. Chen Dasheng, however, froze, murmuring: “This one’s — this one’s father said it sounded better than Stinkhead, so I’ve just gone by this since…”

Another round of laughter followed. Once it died down, Chang Lianfang steadied his emotions and came to sit again beside His Majesty, though his face, undisguised, showed dejection and a blank stare.

Too much had happened in this single day. He’d seen darkness he’d never dared imagine before — pretending to just be passing by while crouched outside a tent to provoke the imperial princes, then rushing on horseback to catch up with the funeral procession, having to make a full circle in front of everyone to show his face, then taking his personal guard around everywhere hunting for wine to fabricate an alibi… Li Jinggui kicked him with his foot, and he kicked back hard, in no mood to deal with anyone, just sitting there dumbly, his mind adrift.

Zheng A’man made a face at Li Jinggui, and the two of them sat off to one side together, ignoring him as well.

The small commotion below hadn’t escaped His Majesty’s notice. He understood well enough what was on this child’s mind, and leaned forward slightly, placing his large palm on the boy’s head, saying: “Your father’s thinking, I understand. You’re old enough this year — it won’t be one or two years before you become a father yourself, and by then, you’ll understand our hearts clearly enough.”

The old earl hoped his son would grow, in an open and bright place, into a truly upright pillar of talent — that he need not see any darkness, need not fight for his life against gray, murky things, need not learn any of the world’s twisting logic before understanding how rugged the road upward was. He needed only to walk steadily, honestly, and be a sincere and forthright gentleman — that alone would do.

After all, this was the youngest son he’d only barely managed to keep alive.

Chang Lianfang was silent for a long while, lowering his head in thought, before finally nodding, then turning back to look at Zheng A’man and the others. As children who had once been hostages themselves, they all carried a knot in their hearts.

This knot bound their hearts tight, causing something inside them to fester and bleed without pause, even as they pretended indifference on the surface, putting on airs of pride before others, laughing and cursing with feigned disdain — but in this moment, looking again at Chen Dasheng and the others before them, something in their hearts stirred with understanding.

Seeing them show such perception, His Majesty nodded with relief, even shooting Zeng Anbang a smug sideways glance.

However dull-witted Zeng Anbang might be, he still knew how to flatter, and quickly cupped his hands, saying: “A parent’s heart suffers more than the child’s own — when the child is wounded, the father’s pain doesn’t show on his skin, yet it cuts to the very bone. He’ll surely lie sleepless night after night, tossing on his bed. Your Majesty is wise and sage! Earl Chang too holds nothing but a compassionate father’s heart.”

For a man like General Zeng, who wielded golden melon hammers in battle, to produce words like these was no small feat.

Kneeling on the ground, Chen Dasheng and the others listened with great interest — not understanding a word of it didn’t matter, they just found it entertaining. These officials really were pitiable, unable to speak like normal people.

Just as he was wondering what sort of bookish nonsense this big-bearded fellow was spouting, he heard His Majesty above say: “Very well then, so it shall be. Chen Dasheng, you all…”

But before His Majesty finished speaking, Chang Lianfang leapt up, first begging pardon for his rudeness, then dashed out without explanation. Before long he came dragging someone back in at a run.

The man who entered wore the round-collared plain robes officials had worn to the funeral that day, with soup stains still unwiped from around his mouth.

Upon entering, he first glanced around at everyone, bowed in greeting, then darted swiftly into a spot out of His Majesty’s line of sight, and with practiced ease drew a satchel from his sleeve, took out paper and brush, flipped open a page, cocked his ear, and struck a pose of note-taking, listening quietly.

A court historian — an official whose specific duty was to record affairs of state, compile national history, and document the emperor’s words and deeds and matters of governance, one of the most peculiar sorts within the entire bureaucracy.

Chang Lianfang went over to stand by Zhang Minwang and his good friend, wearing a smug expression as he looked up at the sky. Zhang Minwang silently gave him a thumbs up.

His Majesty rewarding old soldiers — such a fine deed as this deserved to be preserved in the historical record, worthy of praise for a thousand generations.

Seeing his adopted son had dragged in a court historian, His Majesty smiled. He wasn’t used to dealing with this sort of person — exactly like some field mouse, drifting around him all day like a wandering spirit, as if they’d write down even a fart if he let one.

Well then… hm, he’d need to think of some new phrasing. After all, this was material for future generations to study — the wording had to be chosen carefully, the tone had to sound grand and impressive, and it needed to convey the broad-mindedness befitting an emperor…

After a long while, His Majesty cleared his throat, then called out the names of Chen Dasheng and the others.

“Chen Dasheng, Yu Qingguan, Tong Jintai, Ma Ergu, Hu Yougui, Cui Erdian, Guan Si’er — come forward, all of you, to receive your titles…”

None of them had any idea what “receiving titles” meant, and they looked foolishly toward Chang Lianfang — he was one of their own now.

Quick-witted, Chang Lianfang hurried over and knelt down, reaching out to press down on Chen Dasheng’s head, pushing it to the ground: “Your subjects are here!”

He truly was the Emperor after all — when His Majesty spoke of these men, he didn’t even get the order of their blades wrong.

Seeing the old blades before him all kneeling now, His Majesty nodded, and said with a very solemn expression: “In the past, they called me a rebel and traitor, saying that my family had eaten the ruler’s salary for generations, receiving the imperial grace across generations, and that I was thus the very worst sort of ingrate. But why, then, did I rebel?

Since the founding of the former dynasty, they lavished rewards without restraint — from a single duke, a single marquis, all the way until the state’s very destruction and the extermination of its clan — a vast and mighty realm! Hundreds of millions of common folk! Yet forced to support tens of thousands of meritorious nobles and imperial relatives. A single governor of Weiyang alone could draw revenue from ten thousand households; even the father and brothers of some minor consort could casually be granted the tax revenue of four whole counties.

Think on it, all of you — the common people of four counties, having to support both the governor and the palace consort’s relatives, on top of that piled with levies, taxes, and corvée labor, layer upon layer of exploitation — could there be any way to survive?!”

The crowd slowly knelt, calling out together in praise of their sagely ruler, listening reverently to his sacred instruction.

But His Majesty didn’t care much whether it counted as proper instruction or not — he even let slip a somewhat unrestrained, devil-may-care expression as he said: “When the common people cannot survive, naturally they rebel. Was I the only one, back then? There were plenty of rebels — I merely had good luck…”

Zhang Minwang gave a light cough. His Majesty waved his hand dismissively with a laugh: “I’m only speaking the truth — why should I need to cover it up? There’s no covering it up anyway, so let it be as it is.”

Having said this, he looked at Chen Dasheng and the others: “You veterans, ever since I raised my army, have followed at the front and rear of my horse, your battle robes soaked in blood. I only ascended the throne to find such a laughingstock as this — where the general who once rose to ministerial heights leaves the old soldier who returns home alone, wrapped in tattered rags across his ruined body. And so, I shall grant you the title of Marquis of the City Gate…”

Those around drew in a cold breath of shock. There were only a handful of marquises at court as it stood — hadn’t His Majesty just condemned the previous dynasty for its careless granting of titles?

But they heard His Majesty continue: “None of you need read too much into this. This title of ‘Marquis of the City Gate’ is merely a designation — it is my way of showing respect to old veterans. From this day forward, all of you must show the same respect and care to veterans such as these — this alone is the true benevolence of our Liang dynasty!”

Hearing this, Zeng Anbang felt his blood stir, thinking — whose hands hadn’t held onto some unforgettable old veteran of their own? And so he kowtowed vigorously, saying through tears: “Our lord’s true heart has already established the discipline of the realm, his heart holds benevolence for the countless multitudes — it is precisely for this that Heaven has lent its aid and sent down its judgment, helping our wise lord ascend the throne…”

Chen Dasheng stared dumbfounded at the big-bearded man beside him, thinking to himself — how impressive, how impressive these educated men were…

He couldn’t understand a word of it, but look how sweetly his master up there was smiling — if only he too could learn this sort of thing. Learn this, and in the future he could earn two hundred dan, three hundred dan… all the way up to two thousand dan. By then he wouldn’t need to kneel and beg anyone for an explanation.

Once Zeng Anbang finished his tearful recitation, His Majesty stroked his beard and said: “Minister Zeng exaggerates somewhat…”

Zeng Anbang kowtowed again: “Every word this subject speaks comes straight from the heart…”

This man was addicted to his own rambling. His Majesty had no wish to keep playing along with him, and gave a cough, looking at Chen Dasheng and the others: “Over more than a decade of campaigning, the merits you veterans earned in years past can no longer be fully verified. Though I now grant you these titular marquisates as a mark of respect, they offer you no real help in daily life. And so — I hereby grant that from now on, you may dine as one entitled to a single ding-vessel!”

Chen Dasheng and the others remained blankly confused, not understanding what was happening, but with Chang Lianfang there beside them, he grew excited and pressed Chen Dasheng’s head down against the ground again, shouting: “Quick! Thank His Majesty for his boundless grace!!”

“…boundless grace!”

This part they understood, and Chen Dasheng and the others hurried to kowtow their thanks, though they still didn’t understand what exactly they’d just received.

In truth, this was their leap from lowly old veteran, from base commoner, into the entry level of the aristocratic class.

The Book of Rites states that the Son of Heaven may dine with nine ding-vessels and eight gui-vessels; the nobility below him scale down accordingly, until at the very lowest rank of nobility, one ding-vessel and one gui-vessel.

Though Chen Dasheng and the others had once technically held the rank of Resolute Captain, that was merely a nominal, unassigned rank — though it carried an annual stipend, no one knew whose hands that had ended up in. Their actual position had simply been that of an ordinary soldier, and even that meager soldier’s pay had never been paid in full.

In the eyes of those above, what the Tan family had done was simply petty and unseemly, yet no one considered it any great crime — throughout successive dynasties, the powerful and noble had always behaved this way. The private troops they raised were slaves; the soldiers they temporarily recruited from their fiefs were tenant farmers renting their land — and men like Chen Dasheng, tricked into service, fell into this same category.

If you couldn’t prove you’d been tricked into it, and the Tan family held a contract, then you were their family’s slave, and any merit you earned naturally belonged to them as well.

Emperor Wu had his own small calculations too — he was thinking of the original laws and merit-reward regulations from the founding of his cause.

By Chen Dasheng’s own account, they’d already had battle merit long ago — meaning that from their very first act of service, this alone was enough to cancel out their status as slaves; from that point on, they were free commoners, his own men, Yang Zao’s men.

What’s more, he had once granted a batch of nominal ranks — that had been a reward for the three armies, known to everyone. The Tan family wouldn’t dare conceal that fact. So then, having acknowledged their nominal ranks — what about their annual stipends? Their pay? Not once had they gone without asking for these.

His Majesty had truly paid out real silver and gold for this.

The impoverished were always cynical toward the world.

That family of beasts had, on top of everything else, the crime of privately forging military orders and falsely issuing commands.

It was only unfortunate that this crime was hard to pursue — because though the Tan family’s army was nominally under the Emperor’s jurisdiction, it had originated as the Tan family’s private army. To pursue it now would implicate far too much, impossible to verify item by item — the only option was to let it gradually erode and dissolve over time.

Stirring up trouble now would only leave the entire court on edge — hardly worth it.

There was no sense pursuing an entire meritorious family that had supported his uprising, all for the sake of a few old blades. In short — a muddled account best left as it was.

At the root of it all, though, his true retribution was for Tan Shize’s death! The entire Tan clan combined could never weigh as heavily in his heart as Tan Shize alone.

And so, to insult the blade that had served Tan Shize was to insult him — to slap him in the face.

For Emperor Wu to grant rewards like this was already considerable benevolence. Having bought their reputation, His Majesty pressed a step further: “As for me, I’m rather poor myself — I daren’t just open my mouth and hand things out carelessly like those before me did. I would like to give more, but unfortunately, there’s simply nothing to give — the nation is only just now recovering. We’ll get to it slowly in time.

The other day I glanced over the nominal ranks the Ministry of Rites had drafted for submission — the rank of Resolute Captain you all hold is also the last batch to be granted; I fear from now on it’ll be nothing but an empty title with no real benefit. As for my old blades, naturally you must follow the new system. And so, Chen Dasheng! I hereby grant you the real position of Registrar of the Sixth Rank in the Bodyguard Command, and the remaining six of you shall be made Assistant Registrars of the Seventh Rank.”

“Thump!”

Chen Dasheng’s head was pressed to the ground again by Chang Lianfang — he felt a bit dizzy.

Zeng An[bang], however, wore a somewhat strange expression as he said: “Reporting to Your Majesty — the twenty-seven bodyguard offices are already all fully staffed. This, how might this subject arrange for them?”

His Majesty raised an eyebrow indifferently: “Then add a twenty-eighth office — the Imperial Long Blade Guard. Twenty-eight sounds nice too, an even number. Allocate them a courtyard from your side — make sure it’s close to the south gate, and ideally with a small training ground where they can move about. Don’t let my blades go dull from disuse! Hm, go back and have Xiaoshan come see me — I’ll leave these men in his care.”

Zeng Anbang hurriedly assented.

Listen to that — His Majesty said “care,” not “manage.” Zeng Anbang mulled this word over again and again, and looking at these few filthy, foul-smelling men before him, he actually felt a boundless envy well up inside him.

What was this, if not imperial favor at its finest? All that scrambling and competing among court officials — wasn’t this exactly what they were all fighting over? Pity his neck was too thin, and he could never make it as an old blade — still, he couldn’t help but feel genuine admiration in his heart.

This “Xiaoshan” was actually formally named Guo Qian, courtesy name Xiaoshan. He served as Assistant Commander of the Bodyguard Command, only one rank below Zeng Anbang, though his actual authority within the bodyguard office exceeded Zeng Anbang’s. He simply wasn’t present at the moment, hadn’t been accompanying the Emperor, which was why Zeng Anbang had been the one summoned.

Even with all this, His Majesty still hadn’t finished handing out rewards. Seeing these honest, simple children not understanding what was happening, he let out a laugh, and continued: “And so, aside from the positions arranged for you, I’ll also have people select one hundred mu of permanent estate land for each of you, near Yanjing.”

Everything before this had gone over their heads, but this — this, these few understood. Their emperor master was giving them land!!

In the past, they’d heard secondhand from someone or other that once you earned merit, the court would reward you with land — they’d never imagined it would actually turn out to be true.

There came several loud thumps as these foolish boys, entirely in earnest, gave thanks to His Majesty, knocking dents right into the ground.

His Majesty was amused by this. Even the court historian sitting in the corner smiled quietly to himself, head bowed.

And so His Majesty patted his own thigh, feeling rather like he was playing music for an ox, and could only shake his head with a helpless laugh: “I should have said so — ah, it’s my own fault for not mentioning this first, I should have led with the land! Ha ha, well, since you all value practical things, I’ll give you practical things. Since you didn’t understand the titles I gave you, next, I’ll give you this — a stipend unique among the three armies. Ah! This stipend is meant as real, tangible support for meritorious old veterans.

You have served the nation with merit — from this day forward, naturally the nation itself should support you. However, Liang has only just been founded, and the treasury has no money. So starting today, this expense shall be provided by me, personally…”

Just how poor did a nation have to be, for the Emperor to pay out of his own pocket?

Those looking on hastily knelt to beg forgiveness for even witnessing such a thing, but His Majesty waved his hand: “No need for that long-winded nonsense. There’s a reason I’m doing this — I want all under heaven to know that whoever has served the nation with merit — noble, court official, commoner, or these old veterans — however tight things get, I will still honor these debts.”

This was His Majesty buying bones with gold, so to speak — how could anyone dare object now? It was, after all, only a matter of two or three hundred taels a year for each of seven old soldiers.

Yet this two or three hundred taels was utterly staggering to Chen Dasheng and the others.

They heard His Majesty continue from above: “As long as you live, I shall support you for that long. If I should not outlive you, then my descendants shall support you in my place…”

Zeng Anbang listened with sweat beading on his brow, thinking to himself only — the Tan family had truly suffered a great loss here. With this single act, their family would lose the hearts of their troops entirely from now on, never daring to engage in such exploitation so casually again. When a commanding general loses the hearts of his men, the outcome was easy enough to imagine — His Majesty’s scheme here ran deep indeed.

His Majesty was still scattering gold from above: “From now on, each year, each of you shall receive a stipend of fifty taels of silver, to be used for hiring servants and covering miscellaneous expenses. Annually, you’ll each receive two bolts of silk, ten bolts of coarse cloth, five bolts of fine cotton cloth, twenty catties of cotton; two pairs of shoes monthly; two sets of seasonal clothing per season; thirty catties of pork monthly; three chickens and three ducks each; three liters of polished rice daily, one catty of white flour, one catty of tofu, three catties of vegetables, two beeswax candles; ten catties of charcoal in summer, forty in winter…”

Chen Dasheng and the others’ expressions grew more and more animated, their eyes shining brightly — was this, was the Emperor really going to support them from now on?

But what they didn’t know was that Zhang Minwang, familiar with the inner palace’s workings, felt his own heart clench listening to this.

He thought — Your Majesty, what on earth are you giving them? This is the annual allowance of a low-ranking palace consort you’re handing out — no wonder it rolled off your tongue so smoothly.

Watching his sworn elder brother, Chang Lianfang felt nothing but joy in his heart, unaware of just how his brother Chen Dasheng’s title now stood:

Chen — Marquis of the City Gate (nominal honor), Imperial Long Blade Guard (unit), Sixth-Rank Registrar of the Bodyguard Command (real post), entitled to dine with two copper pots (one ding, one gui vessel), lower-rank military nobility, His Majesty’s little concubine (in terms of stipend), Lord Dasheng.

A great deal had been said, but in truth His Majesty hadn’t given anything all that excessive — mostly empty titles. Still, after surviving such an ordeal, Chen Dasheng and the others at least now had some title to their name.

A person’s whole life, in the end, was it not simply about face and dignity?

From this day on, at least, he was a proper person now.

The twenty-fifth day of the eleventh month, first year of Yong’an — an auspicious day under a fortunate star, all matters favorable.

These past few days the weather had gradually turned cold. Qiqian’er had taken five catties of black bean paste and ten catties of salt from home and entrusted them to Brother Quanzi, asking that if the soldiers in the camp had any free time, they go up into the nearby mountains to gather firewood to prepare the household for winter.

She knew this year was a disaster year — charcoal was out of the question, but firewood at least could be managed. She hadn’t expected, though, that for such a small gift, the kitchen at the wounded soldiers’ camp would directly assign four servants, who ended up chopping a full ten days’ worth of firewood for her — the east-side room at home was piled two full rooms deep with it.

These past few days had already turned cold, and Qiqian’er had gotten up early to put out the outdoor kitchen stove, moving instead to warm the stove-fire in the east room off the main hall.

Once this fire was lit, the new heated kang in the east room grew warm and toasty, and the old lady no longer wanted to go outside much.

Grandmother and granddaughter now both wore clean, tidy everyday clothes — though these clothes had once belonged to the steward’s wife of the Huo family estate, what did that matter? The old lady felt these were the clothes of a noble lady, and that she herself had become a person of standing now — even the wealthiest old matriarch back in their old village had never had three whole layers of new clothing like this, inside and out.

She even used fragrant hair oil now, and every five days Qiqian’er would give her a thorough, moisturizing scrub — her neck had become the same color as her face.

Living like this, she felt she’d be content even if she died tomorrow — it was only those quarrelsome women outside who were jealous of her. Hmph! So bitter and sour, all of them!

The day she’d first gone out wearing that one full outfit, whatever Qiao Shi had to say after that, the old lady always had a retort ready. Every day going on about making her new clothes, new clothes — in three years she hadn’t gotten so much as a single stitch of new fabric from her.

Within three days of her grandson’s new wife entering the household, she’d already had proper burial clothes prepared for her — anyone with eyes could see who was truly filial. And so Qiao Shi could no longer even leave the house without embarrassment. The old lady would deliberately go find whatever group Qiao Shi was sitting with, and without hitting her, would simply sit there and show off.

An old lady with someone looking after her, and an old lady with no one looking after her — anyone could tell the difference at a glance.

Qiqian’er, used to looking after herself and her household, found the old lady’s handiwork simply unbearable to watch — truly clumsy, thick stitches with crude thread. Even sweeping the kang, she wouldn’t bother with the corners, just swiping through the middle once, and Qiqian’er would have to redo it afterward.

With no other choice, every morning Qiqian’er would toast up two flatbreads soft enough for the old lady to chew — she had plenty of salt to spare, and would tuck in a handful of salty, fragrant beans into the old lady’s pocket besides, then take her by the hand and walk her over to Guo Yang Shi’s place to go boast to her heart’s content.

In these times, in the circle Qiqian’er and the others lived in, an old lady wearing three full layers of clothing without a single patch made her the most impressive person around.

And so, at first, the old lady would go out every day, brimming with pride, unwilling to part with even a single salty bean to share with anyone else, making others simply listen to her boast in silence.

By established custom, whenever the old lady arrived, she would first sit down — well, these days one couldn’t just sit down anywhere carelessly anymore, what with the new clothes and all.

She would only sit once Qiqian’er had set down a little patchwork cushion for her. Once seated properly, and once Qiqian’er had left, she’d lift her clothing layer by layer, showing everyone — her fine linen undergarment, her lined jacket, her snow-white socks, her fine linen horse-face skirt… utterly infuriating to watch.

Once done showing off her clothes, her mouth kept right on going — my grandson’s wife gave me a pair of rosewood kang cabinets, my grandson’s wife gave me a hardwood wardrobe, isn’t this ring my grandson’s wife gave me pretty?

So infuriating that each time, the moment Qiqian’er left, the aunties would find some excuse and scatter one by one.

Before long, the old lady would come home feeling wronged and put-upon, sitting silently on the kang, and only when pressed hard enough would she look up and grumble: “Those thunder-struck wretches won’t play with me — who cares!”

Qiqian’er wasn’t gentle with her about it, scolding her each time: “Every time I send you off with food — what’s it for? Can’t you at least share a bite with them before you start bragging?”

Hearing this only made the old lady more resentful: “Why should I? None of them ever gave me anything before!”

Well, fine — if no one wants to play with you, just stay home then, or go herd sheep with Meng Quanzi.

So then the old lady would go boast to Meng Quanzi instead, boast to the other old soldiers, until eventually they too grew tired of humoring her.

Like today — the old lady, forced to stay home, refused to go out no matter what, hiding in embarrassment.

Such an insufferable temper, disliked by everyone and their dog alike.

Today the old lady’s hair had been smoothed down neatly, wearing the small ruyi-patterned forehead band Qiqian’er had just made for her, dressed in a dark blue cross-collar jacket on top, a dark blue pleated skirt below, with a camel-colored sleeveless vest trimmed in green over it. She wasn’t wearing quite so many bracelets today either — Qiqian’er had said to rotate them every six days, that wearing something new every day was what made one look truly refined.

That was the whole idea.

As for Qiqian’er herself, these days she wore a full black headscarf covering her head entirely. When people asked about it, she would explain that her father had just passed, and though one needn’t observe full mourning attire while still going about daily life, she still wore a plain-colored headscarf as a mark of filial piety.

What piety — the old lady knew perfectly well the truth of it. It was because her own thin, patchy hair had been shaved clean off, leaving her looking like a little nun now — filial piety, indeed, nothing but an excuse.

The old lady didn’t dare provoke the one who held the household’s purse strings, and could only mutter under her breath.

She’d already been living here over ten days now — food was no worry, clothes were plentiful, her body was never cold, and on top of that, a few days ago someone had delivered Qiqian’er’s so-called dowry rosewood furniture, along with all sorts of other household goods the old earl had ordered sent over. The old lady was so delighted she felt dizzy with joy, muttering every day that she was ready to die tomorrow and be content.

Qiqian’er, of course, couldn’t bear to let her go — she simply kept dressing her up to keep her happy.

Over these years, the old lady had accumulated a mule, two donkeys, and three cartloads of odds and ends — quite the matriarch of a wealthy household, in her own way.

The “odds and ends,” of course, were things the old lady had picked up along the road — stripped off the bodies of dead soldiers, scavenged from empty, abandoned villages.

An old lady from a poor family — she’d pick up even a scrap of paper if she saw it lying on the ground.

And so, Qiqian’er would sit with her on the kang sorting through it all — the filthiest things went to the big pot for a first boil, then a second wash, then hung to dry; whatever needed mending got mended; whatever was too tattered to salvage got the good bits cut out with scissors and pieced together into door curtains, chair cushions, or patches.

Even the leftover scraps of cloth too ragged for anything else couldn’t be thrown away either — braided into cloth ropes, cloth cords, used to wrap animal harnesses, to wind around windlass handles… Both of them shared the same nature of never wasting anything, sitting warmly on the kang, hands and feet never idle from work.

As she worked, Qiqian’er grumbled at the old lady.

“Nai! That red piece is meant for the door curtain — don’t you dare sew it onto a seat cushion! Hey, put that down! Put it down!!”

The old lady wasn’t having it: “It’s my stuff, I’ll sew it wherever I please!!”

True enough — it was hers.

Qiqian’er, annoyed: “Then give me back my kang cabinet…”

The old lady pursed her lips and tossed the pile of red cloth scraps back to Qiqian’er, and was about to grumble further when she heard someone knocking urgently on the door outside.

Meng Quanzi shouted loudly from outside: “Nai! Come out quick — our Stinkhead’s had great fortune! You’ve had great fortune! Stinkhead’s wife has had great fortune! Great fortune! Someone’s come from the palace!!!”

Author’s Note: The various nominal ranks, titular positions, real posts, and assorted customs in this text are simply requirements of my writing — I’ve tried to be rigorous, but readers needn’t get too tangled up in the details. I’m only just getting started learning about these things myself, still only half-understanding them, and they differed from dynasty to dynasty anyway — this is an alternate-history setting after all. Besides, historically these sorts of things usually served one purpose — carving them onto the tombstones of officials who’d died, back in ancient times.

As for the “over a decade” the Emperor mentions in the text, that’s counted from when he first began plotting rebellion, not the five years counted by Chen Dasheng and the others.