Early morning, as always, Qiqian’er was the first up. She boiled a pot of hot soup, cooked some wild vegetables, and pinched in some coarse flour dumplings. With mutton fat on hand now, the pot smelled wonderful.

Qiqian’er had slept in the west room with the old madam the night before, while Chen Dasheng and his brothers stayed in the east room.

The west room’s kang was warm too — their household now had felted mats, so laying one out was no hardship.

If it were still like before, when he might be sent to the battlefield at any time with life and death uncertain, some things would be hard to bring up. But now that Chen Dasheng no longer had to fight, the old madam had come to understand and sympathize more with Qiqian’er’s reluctance to share a room with him.

Only fifteen, after all — the girl’s temperament was so obedient, but to have become like this, all she’d grown was her head; her body was still as thin and dry as firewood. A fifteen-year-old, thin as a rail, naturally couldn’t bear the duties of motherhood yet. Besides, the girl was in mourning for three years — using this time to slowly nurse her health back was only right.

Chen Dasheng was simple and dutiful by nature. When his grandmother quietly gave him a few words of advice, he agreed without a single word of complaint.

That was just the kind of good, generous man he was.

Even early that morning when Qiqian’er got up, he heard the sound and quietly threw on his clothes and got up too, saying nothing — while she washed the pot he fetched water, while she cooked he chopped kindling and tended the fire.

He said nothing either, clumsy with words, just bustled about, seeming happy the whole time.

Once done, he leaned against the doorframe of the main hall, sitting with his back to Qiqian’er, eyes closed, still saying nothing. When Qiqian’er put the lid on the pot, he smiled. When she chopped vegetables, he smiled too. Even the sound of the straw sandals she shuffled around in scraping against the floor made him smile — sandals he’d woven the night before out of boredom, idly working the straw with a comb.

Strangely, no one else could wear the pair once made — only his wife’s small feet fit them properly.

So he’d put them on her himself, and she’d slipped them on first thing that morning.

As Qiqian’er bustled about, she occasionally looked up, puzzled, at that man. She didn’t understand why he was so happy. He never used to be happy, it seemed.

She and Chen Dasheng — in her past life, she’d only ever seen him three times. Once when he came back from Zuoliang Pass three years later, once halfway through when he delivered a spirit tablet, and a third time when he escorted Yu Qingguan’s second son to the capital for the imperial exams.

She’d never enjoyed his blessings, yet had been sheltered by him her whole life.

That man used to live only in the night, his face never seeing the light of day. His shoulders always drooped, head bowed, as though searching the ground for a way to survive, always careful, meticulous, endlessly watchful.

In his whole life, spanning decades, this man had only ever said one gentle word to her.

He’d said, don’t be afraid, I won’t let you go, I… acknowledge you.

But in the end, they’d been too far apart. Two lamps, both extinguished — neither could shine across to light the other.

The sun climbed higher and higher, the morning light gradually smoothing away the shadow on Chen Dasheng’s face, like a mother’s hand wiping mud from a child’s cheek, revealing a clean, childlike face beneath.

Behind Chen Dasheng’s closed eyes, a mist appeared. He was being held by his mother, rocked to sleep. He gazed at his mother with his whole heart, and she gazed back at him with hers, humming through her nose the tune she loved most: sleep, sleep, why won’t you sleep? Are you teasing me again?

His mother hummed on and on, and he ran and ran, stumbling as he pushed open the shabby wooden gate of his old home, one leg already in the courtyard, calling loudly toward the house: Mother…!

“I’m hungry!”

Qiqian’er, hearing Chen Dasheng speak, was startled for a moment. “Hm?”

The man, back still turned, said: “Hungry.”

“Oh… mm!”

Behind him, a coarse porcelain bowl clinked deftly with the flavor of home. The pot lid, softened and gentle from the steam, seemed almost tender. The gourd ladle, showing its favoritism, filled the bowl brimful with something hot and settling.

Her steps were slow and even. Step by step she carried it over to Chen Dasheng, crouched, and handed it to him.

“There.”

Chen Dasheng took the bowl but set it aside, instead suddenly grabbing the hand that was about to pull away. His hand froze, dazed, sticky, feeling the calluses so like his mother’s.

He held her two hands and examined them carefully, then finally pressed his face into them and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply — that scent, ha… just like Mother! The iron tang of the kitchen knife, the fresh scent of wild greens, the oily fragrance of the old cutting board, all mixed together… and he was home again.

He said softly: “You…?”

He looked up, eyes bright: “Why aren’t you distant with me?”

As if they’d known each other their whole lives.

Qiqian’er looked at his face. In her past life she used to stare at this wooden block of a man, every day, every hour, every moment talking to him — about the household, about the outside world, about this troubled age — but he’d never responded to her.

He’d finally answered, after all this time.

She smiled and said: “Eat your food.”

Chen Dasheng, eyes narrowed, nodded, reluctantly letting go of her hand. He lifted the bowl, slurped a mouthful of broth from the rim, and began eating happily. After a good pause to catch his breath, he looked up and saw his little wife tiptoeing carefully toward the window of the west side room.

The west side room’s door had been locked by Grandma, but that didn’t matter. His wife reached out and lifted the movable window frame right off its hinges.

Chen Dasheng choked.

Qiqian’er raised her eyebrows at him: “Shh…”

She tilted her chin toward the old madam’s side.

Chen Dasheng nodded, and holding his bowl, also tiptoed over, watching his wife climb through the window with practiced ease. Before long, she emerged again holding a bowl of mutton chunks, saying to him again: “Shh…”

Half a bowl of mutton chunks went sliding into his bowl.

“Shh…”

Chen Dasheng stood there stunned, looking at his bowl, then at his wife.

So impressive!!

Qiqian’er fastened the window back in place, carried the half-empty bowl back to the stove, and without a shred of guilt poured it out completely clean.

Hide it, my foot! Leaving it there would just spoil anyway!

In the west room, the old madam slowly closed the window gap, rolled back into her blankets pouting, and cursed: “That little lightning-struck rascal!”

Later, a lazy chicken from outside the manor finally began to crow.

That old lane had once been dead — with no people, it had taken on the air of an abandoned, dust-covered temple.

But later there were people again. A young wife, carrying a basket as tall as herself on her back, pointed at a residence at the end of the lane and said, that place over there looks good, let’s go there… From then on, this lane came back to life.

No one knew what year it had been, but along the edge of the former imperial hunting grounds, estates like this one had gradually sprung up, following the trend, growing ever more extravagant over time.

Those who lived in Yandu always wanted their lives to look refined and elegant — they’d leave Yandu and spend thousands upon thousands of strings building mansions by Baiquan Mountain that they’d only live in for half a month out of the year.

And now, these grand estates had become a bargain for these country folk from elsewhere.

Today was a rare good-weather day since the start of winter — the sun was warm, and everyone felt cheerful.

The young lady disciple had gotten in a playful mood, chasing Master Cheng around the stone table in the courtyard.

Master Cheng ran while pleading with the young lady disciple: “Good senior sister, let me rest a moment, or… I’ll play you a tune on the flute — you love hearing me play, don’t you? ‘Joyful Reunion,’ ‘Immortal Peach’ — your pick.”

At this critical moment, he heard faint footsteps at the gate, and as if granted a reprieve, he pointed outside and called out softly: “Outside, someone’s outside! Let me go see who it is!”

He dashed for the gate as if running for his life, threw it open, and stepped quickly out, only to see Chen Huoshi holding a wooden plaque in her arms, with her husband Chen Dasheng behind her, her grandmother Chen Wu Shi, Chen Dasheng holding a brush and half a bowl of ink, and behind them the one-armed Meng Wanquan and several of the old blades, each carrying a bowl of paste and strips of rice paper.

Everyone was beaming, joyful as if it were New Year’s, but they were all startled by the door being suddenly flung open.

The group looked at Master Cheng in surprise. Master Cheng caught his breath, glanced behind him, and carefully closed the door before asking: “What brings everyone here?”

Qiqian’er looked him over with a smile and said: “Never would have guessed — we’ve ended up neighbors!”

She pointed at the residence at the end of the lane, then at Master Cheng’s door: “Right next door.”

Master Cheng laughed awkwardly: “We only just moved in a few days ago — since you all don’t go out much, you wouldn’t have known.”

Qiqian’er nodded and said to those behind her: “Quick, let’s put up a banner for Master Cheng too. This is wonderful — now our lane has a physician!”

The old madam agreed cheerfully from behind. Guan Si’er held up a sheet of rice paper, and Ma Ergu deftly slathered a thick coat of paste on the gate.

Once the paper was stuck on, Qiqian’er set down the wooden plaque, took the brush handed to her by Chen Dasheng, and wrote at Master Cheng’s gate: “Residence of Cheng Wanting, Overseer of the Qingfeng Medicinal Herb Storehouse, Great Liang Imperial Medical Academy.”

Once finished, she bowed with her hand on her knee and said: “Congratulations, Master Cheng, on your new appointment as Overseer. Best wishes to you.”

Master Cheng looked utterly confused, until Meng Wanquan walked over and said with a chuckle: “Wanted to tell you last night, but you ran off in such a hurry. Didn’t see you at camp today either, so I figured I’d tell you when I saw you.”

He leaned in and whispered a long explanation into Master Cheng’s ear. Master Cheng at first found it hard to believe, but after Meng Wanquan went through another round of explanation and swore up and down it was true, his face lit with great joy. He straightened his robes, walked down the steps, and cupped his hands toward Qiqian’er: “This — this really is unexpected good fortune. Thank you so much for your consideration, little sister-in-law.”

Those who lived rooted to this earth — who wouldn’t want a home to call their own?

Once everyone had laughed their way off, Master Cheng backed up a few steps and stared blankly at the residence, the doorway, and that line of characters.

Then he laughed and said softly: “Who would have thought — that I’d actually put down roots here? That I’d really have a home?”

Just then, a head slowly poked over the wall — Mistress Cheng, her face blooming with a smile, teased him: “Junior brother? So happy?”

Master Cheng panicked at once, glanced left and right, and hurried off toward the group, saying as he went: “Let me go help out, help out — neighbors ought to help each other!”

Seeing him go, Mistress Cheng opened the door and stepped out too, backing up step by step to lean against the opposite wall, staring at that gate for a long while without speaking. Then, rubbing her belly, she said helplessly: “Why won’t you hurry up and come out?”

At the mouth of the lane, four iron nails pulled from cart shafts pinned the wooden plaque in place.

With the nails held firm, Chen Dasheng tested it with a bit of force on either side, and once satisfied it was secure, said to Qiqian’er: “It’s steady, go ahead and write.”

Qiqian’er nodded, dipped her brush deep into the bowl, tapped it against the rim, and stood there for a long while looking at the plaque before finally putting brush to it and writing three large characters:

“Imperial Guard Lane.”

Once she finished, someone behind her read it aloud.

Master Cheng nodded in satisfaction: “Excellent! A place where the Great Liang’s imperial guards live — of course it should be Imperial Guard Lane!”

Once everyone understood what Qiqian’er had written, the group scattered at once, rushing into the lane to pick out houses for themselves.

A group of blind fools, with no idea what kind of power a lane like “Imperial Guard Lane” carried.

One such man alone was formidable enough — but a whole lane of imperial guards? Never mind a petty clerk, even a bureau chief coming through would have to tread respectfully.

Imperial Guard Lane was long, wide enough for three carts abreast, its ground carefully paved with interlocking long strips of blue-grey stone. To prevent slipping, the stonemasons had chiseled shallow grooves into the surface. In good years, such fine paving stone, hauled down from the mountains, cost no less than six hundred cash per block.

Looking down the lane from its mouth, one could still see mounting stones lying outside every household’s gate, with three hitching posts of blue stone on either side, each topped with finely carved stone lions of various designs.

From this, one could imagine the wealth and grandeur this place had once held. Now, though, not a single courtyard wall remained intact — all had been picked apart by scavengers.

At the very end of the lane, the middle residence stood like the anchor of the whole row — no telling which unlucky family had chosen such a spot originally. The gate didn’t even have hitching posts, just an iron ring set into the wall, and after the chaos of war, even that iron ring had been taken by someone.

The whole long lane, with facing double-courtyard residences lining both sides, held a full ten such houses.

The group followed Qiqian’er further in. Reaching the house just behind Master Cheng’s, Meng Wanquan said with a smile: “From now on Master Cheng and I will be colleagues — I’ll take this one.”

Qiqian’er nodded, and the others helped her paste up the paper.

“Residence of Meng Wanquan, Chief of the Hundred Households, Overseer of the Qingfeng Right Guard Medicinal Herb Storehouse, Great Liang.”

Once finished, Meng Wanquan looked at his own gate and sighed: “Of all of us, my rank’s the smallest, yet my household name’s the longest.” Then he turned to Qiqian’er with a grin: “Sister-in-law, do me the trouble of reading it to me once more.”

Qiqian’er read it out again.

Once done, Meng Wanquan raised his remaining arm and stroked the paper with a sigh: “This is me, then — I finally have a name to call my own, coming and going.”

“Little sister-in-law, quick, quick, write ours, it’s our turn!”

Yu Qingguan and the others gathered around, crowding Qiqian’er, eager and excited.

None of the houses in this lane had been picked over carefully — these men, without inspecting or even entering, simply chose one at random, tore off the Ministry of Works’ seal notice, tossed it aside, and called out warmly:

“Come, come, sister-in-law’s got yours pasted up, write it, write it!”

“Residence of Yu Qingguan, Commander’s Aide of the Long Blade Guard, Imperial Front Guard, Great Liang.”

“Residence of Tong Jintai, Commander’s Aide of the Long Blade Guard, Imperial Front Guard, Great Liang.”

…

Funnily enough, in this world people didn’t recognize themselves so much as they recognized the label. As one notice after another was filled in and pasted up, fewer and fewer people remained around Qiqian’er, until, having written the last one — “Great Liang Imperial Front Guard Long Blade Corps Qingfeng Outer Barracks” — she and the old madam and Chen Dasheng turned around to find no one else left.

Every one of them was standing guard at their own gate — some, the industrious sort, had already dragged out rags and brooms and were busily cleaning.

The old madam looked at the characters on their own gate, puzzling over them for a long while, unable to read them, and finally turned to ask Qiqian’er: “Qian’er, what’s written on our gate?”

Qiqian’er read it out to her, and the old madam grew displeased: “Didn’t you say this was supposed to be our woodshed?”

Qiqian’er laughed it off: “It’s fine! This isn’t even on their guard corps’ official records anyway — it’s just borrowing the banner to put a name to the place for now. If anyone comes to claim the house next year, seeing this notice up, they won’t dare touch it. Once things are settled and the status is fixed, we’ll go to the government office and register it under our own name, get the land deed and house deed sorted, and you can rest easy. I’m here — no one’s going to take this from us.”

This put the old madam’s mind at ease, but her eyes rolled, and she pointed at the last remaining house: “That nice one there, give it to…”

Before she could finish, Qiqian’er, smiling, had already run off with a strip of paper, slapped on paste, and wrote: “Residence of Chang Lianfang, Deputy Chiliarch and Cavalry General of the Imperial Bodyguard Front Guard, Great Liang.”

There! None left! Full up! No one else could have it now!

The old madam trotted over eagerly, and upon hearing Qiqian’er read it out, grew displeased: “You ungrateful girl, favoring outsiders! Your three cousins have nothing at all! And, and even if your fourth uncle isn’t good, you still can’t just abandon him, can you? Why give it to Little Hua? What kind of person is he? Does he even need this from you?”

Qiqian’er laughed lightly: “Whether he needs it or not, I don’t know, but I do know that your Choutou has owed that man plenty these past while. Grandma! Shouldn’t people have some conscience? Look how he’s been running around helping — everything you eat and use now, how much of it hasn’t been sent over by Little Hua? Even a real son wouldn’t do more than that. Honestly, I think your real son doesn’t measure up to Little Hua.”

The old madam pouted: “His family has so much, they don’t lack for anything…”

“Besides, he’s a third son too — I don’t believe for a second his parents would be willing to give him an estate worth ten thousand strings.”

Hearing “ten thousand strings,” the old madam could hardly bear it, practically wishing she could scoop up dozens of estates from Quanhou village for her own family.

Qiqian’er supported her back toward the house, saying as they walked: “Grandma, look at you, what are you even thinking of me? This place is too conspicuous out here on the edge! If everywhere you look it’s all surnamed Chen, that wouldn’t look right either, would it?

Then tomorrow the officials at the Ministry of Works would have something to say — oh, a mere sixth-rank official, taking up so many houses? That would be bad for Dasheng’s reputation.”

“Then, then what about your brothers…”

“Don’t worry! I’ve already picked out spots for the three of them behind the estate — surely nothing will go wrong. At the very least it’ll be as good as what we have here. We’ve already sent letters, just haven’t heard back yet. Right now we don’t even know which general’s camp your brothers are serving under. Once we hear back tomorrow, I can write them a proper notice, all above board.”

“Then, then your fourth uncle?”

“Uncle? I want nothing to do with his household! How much has he squeezed out of our Choutou already? It’s good enough that I’m not going after him for it. You’re still worried he’ll come out on the losing end — that Qiao Shi is a shrewd operator, isn’t she? You saw last night, whoever it was, at the very least brought out five hundred taels as a baseline. Him! I didn’t see a single copper coin from him…”

The old madam, in the wrong, quickly pulled away from Qiqian’er and trotted off toward the house, saying as she went: “I, I’ll just go check on the fire… lunch needs preparing too.”

Chen Dasheng followed behind, holding back laughter — he could see through his little wife’s schemes at a glance, but would never call her out on it.

He gave a soft hum, and Qiqian’er shot Choutou a sideways glance, but before she could say anything sharp, Chen Dasheng grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a corner of the horse shed in the courtyard, pulling a rather sizable bundle from his saddlebag and handing it to Qiqian’er.

Qiqian’er, now possessed of considerable strength, felt the weight of the bundle the moment it landed in her hands. Judging by the heft, there was nothing in it but gold.

She opened the bundle and, in that instant, felt her breath catch — it really was a bundle full of pure gold jewelry.

She reached in and pulled out a gold bracelet worked in a twisted-wire ruyi cloud pattern — clearly a piece of imperial workmanship at a glance.

Slipping the bracelet onto her arm, Qiqian’er asked: “Where did this come from?”

Chen Dasheng said: “When we took Yandu — went in through the south gate of the palace.”

“Stripped off a corpse?”

Chen Dasheng blinked honestly: “No. I just passed by a large residence, a big palace hall. Several women ran out from inside, begging me not to kill them. I don’t kill women, so they stuffed this bundle into my hands.”

Qiqian’er nodded, satisfied: “Mm, good.”

With that, she tossed Madam Wang’s jade bracelet into the bundle, keeping the gold one on her wrist.

Admiring it a while longer, she looked up and asked with a smile: “Why didn’t you give this to your grandmother?”

Chen Dasheng pursed his lips and smiled: “Grandma already took all my loose silver, plus that fifty taels from last night… Actually, if it weren’t for your letter, next time Fourth Uncle came, I would’ve just handed it over to him. Qingguan and the others sold off everything they had, and I figured I wouldn’t get a good price for it right now anyway, so I brought it back to keep. Fourth Uncle… I never expected he’d do something like that.”

Qiqian’er looked at the bracelet on her arm, and after a long moment cursed through gritted teeth: “Chen Siniu! Qiao Shi! Damned lightning-struck bastards!!”

Chen Dasheng looked embarrassed, and after a while managed to stammer: “Wrong person to curse — we’re, we’re all the same ancestral line.”

Qiqian’er didn’t care what he thought, though, and reached out to grab his chin, standing on tiptoe to plant a kiss on him like rewarding a child: “Well done! Keep it up! Good boy!”

As long as he knew to hand the money over to her, he was a good, obedient boy! Absolutely deserved a reward!

Once she’d kissed him, she hugged the bundle and, peeking her head into the main hall to check the old madam wasn’t there, scurried off to hide the goods in the west room.

What she didn’t see was that Chen Dasheng, as if struck by lightning, had had his entire soul fly right out of his body.

After a long moment, Chen Dasheng slowly backed away until he hit the wall, leaning against it, and began knocking the back of his head against it, once, then again.

Outside the Zhuoning Pass garrison chiliarch office, Chen Siniu sneezed against the cold wind. He sat on the long bench in the gatehouse, having faced the wind for a full morning already, while the chiliarch had been too busy the whole time to summon him.

Just now, word had come that business had wrapped up and people were being called in — but it was someone else being called, never him.

Plenty of people came and went, many of them former soldiers under the general — having known each other for years, everyone recognized everyone. And yet every time, it was Chen Siniu smiling and greeting people warmly, while others met him with cold faces, or pretended not to see him at all.

In short, of all the people coming and going, not one of them thought highly of him.

“Yo, Captain Chen must be catching a chill. Here, let me pour you some hot water.”

The old gatekeeper was a kind sort, and seeing him sneeze, fetched a copper kettle from inside and refilled Chen Siniu’s long-empty cup with hot water.

Chen Siniu thanked him and sipped the hot water carefully, cherishing it.

As he drank, he occasionally patted the bulging pouch tucked against his chest.

This time he’d brought a generous bribe, hoping only that the chiliarch, in consideration of all his years of tribute, would spare him from being transferred along with the main force to garrison Zuoliang Pass.

The old gatekeeper carried the kettle back inside, and a servant boy chatting idly within came over with a smile to ask: “Who’s that? Been a pest all morning — if the lord won’t see him, why doesn’t he just leave? Shameless, hanging around like that.”

The old gatekeeper refilled the kettle, set it on the iron brazier, glanced toward the gate, then leaned in close and whispered to the servant: “That one’s Chen Afraid-to-Die!”

“Him!!” The servant boy was startled, then covered his mouth and laughed.

Chen Siniu had a well-known nickname in the Zhuoning Pass garrison — Chen Afraid-to-Die.

Actually, this nickname went back to his days in the Tan family army. This man, well — he could do anything: dirty work, hard labor, exhausting labor, none of it scared him. What he feared was facing the enemy head-on.

Back then, whenever he went into battle he’d faint dead away, and once the fighting was over he’d stumble home in a daze, dizzy and unsteady.

No matter how many times his superiors punished him — whipped him, chased him with a blade — he’d just faint, and it would take at least two hours before he could get back up.

Later, when Shangguan Yizhi had fallen out with Tan Shiyuan in the Tan family army and wanted to take some men and leave, Tan Shiyuan had dumped a bunch of useless soldiers on him to take along.

Chen Siniu ended up drifting from the Tan family army into Shangguan Yizhi’s ranks. Back then, in the chaos of shifting organizational structures, Shangguan Yizhi had only been a fifth-rank-lower general.

Now, the man was a proper fifth-rank chiliarch in the Zhuoning Pass garrison.

At present, their garrison had received new orders to be transferred to Zuoliang Pass.

Zuoliang Pass — never mind comparing it to Zhuoning Pass, it was a bitterly cold border post, beyond it nothing but endless barren wasteland and frontier — who would want to go there?

Well, Shangguan Yizhi was willing enough — going from fifth-rank-lower to proper fifth rank, and for an official, any post was just a stepping stone. It was only the soldiers under him who were pitiable, all of them now scrambling to find connections and pull strings to get transferred elsewhere.

Naturally, Chen Siniu didn’t want to go either. He’d been doing just fine staying in the rear — though people looked down on him as a coward who feared death, over these five years, the ones who weren’t afraid to die were mostly dead now.

Once a person was dead, that was it, nothing left — what use was that kind of reputation?

Chen Siniu was quite at peace with this way of thinking. To protect this cushy job of transporting provisions that let him avoid death, over the years he hadn’t skimped on gifts for the chiliarch — no matter the season, it was always one or two hundred taels in tribute.

Hearing the laughter breaking out behind him in the gatehouse, Chen Siniu, without even needing to guess, knew they were laughing at him.

He didn’t mind. He was used to it by now.

He just kept touching the bulging thing against his chest, thinking, this time it was five hundred taels — how much would the chiliarch’s own yearly salary even come to?

But still — five hundred taels! This was money his own four nephews had risked their necks on the battlefield to earn. How would he ever face them again after this?

Another gust of cold wind blew past, and Chen Siniu shrank his neck and huddled further into the shelter of the gate archway.

He waited, and waited, until well into the afternoon, with no one else left to be received, before the attendant inside finally remembered him and, quite dismissively, jutted his chin at him: “You, come with me. The chiliarch’s calling for you.”

Chen Siniu hurriedly set down the cup he’d been warming his hands with and followed with a flattering smile: “Much obliged, little brother.”

This one had no interest in chatting with him, and led him the whole way through a rockery garden, past a flower pavilion, and finally to what turned out to be a dining hall.

Once inside, Chen Siniu dropped to his knees the moment he entered: “Your humble servant pays respects to the chiliarch!”

The man up front didn’t tell him to rise, just kept scooping food noisily into his own bowl. Only once he was half full, having gulped down a few mouthfuls of soup, did the chiliarch look up and say indifferently: “Get up.”

Chen Siniu scrambled to his feet and immediately pulled a silver pouch from his robes, bowing and offering it with both hands raised above his head to the chiliarch.

The chiliarch didn’t take the silver, but jerked his chin toward a servant boy in the dining hall.

The boy went and took the pouch, then gave the chiliarch a thumbs-up gesture, delighted.

Seeing this, the chiliarch laughed: “I say, Chen Siniu, Captain Chen, isn’t this getting a bit much? All these years, how much have I already taken from you? I’m almost embarrassed by it. A transport captain like you, how much do you even make in a year? I’ve seen plenty in my time, but never anyone who hands over silver to his superior quite like you do, working for free for the imperial court! You’re really something else!”

He held up a thumb, isolated from the rest of his fingers, for emphasis.

Chen Siniu pressed his lips together and finally said: “My mother is elderly, and I’m the only son left to carry on the family line. Your humble servant doesn’t dare die.”

Hearing this, the chiliarch laughed: “No one’s asking you to die! It’s just going to the border, that’s all. This talk of yours sounds a bit hollow to me!”

But Chen Siniu said: “It’s too far from my mother, and my wife is a second wife, and my nephews are all off in other prefectures. I — I don’t dare stray too far from her, my elderly mother…”

The hall fell silent. After a long while, the chiliarch tossed a chicken bone toward Chen Siniu.