Back home, none of them felt right troubling their sister-in-law again, so this time Yu Qingguan and the others all brought their own rations, and after eating, they rolled up their sleeves and set to cleaning their own house, sweeping the roof.

Though it was a tiled roof, they all worked within the palace and had certain advantages there—everyone already knew this snow would fall heavy and long.

They’d all rushed home in a hurry, and the moment they entered the lane, they noticed only the eldest brother’s house still showed the color of its roof tiles—their sister-in-law really was capable to an almost excessive degree.

As usual, Chen Dasheng had nothing to do, so he sat with the old lady for a good long while instead.

Neither grandmother nor grandson brought up Chen Sini.u.

In their conversation, Qiqian’er could clearly tell Chen Dasheng had grown. He’d even learned to filter what he said to different people—he told his grandmother about the streets and lanes of Yanjing, about the shops and the refugees, sharing only the good news, never breathing a word about anything from inside the palace.

The old lady, though, asked several times: was His Majesty well? Was the Empress Dowager well?

The old lady held an almost religious devotion toward the imperial family—she truly, sincerely wished His Majesty ten thousand years of life.

Chen Dasheng naturally said everything was fine, though privately he didn’t quite believe it himself—knowing far too much about what went on in the palace, he chose not to bring any of it up, didn’t dare to.

In truth, the things he witnessed day to day were unlike anything anyone else saw—things that couldn’t even be dramatized into opera, things he struggled to put into words at all.

Take, for instance, the matter of which minister had thicker skin than the others.

The Imperial Bodyguard’s duties placed them neither fully at court nor fully within the palace, and offended neither side, free to move between both—which came as something of a relief to Chen Dasheng, new as he still was to official life, even as it kept him constantly on edge.

He knew a great many things.

For instance, that the decree formally installing Empress Cao as principal consort still hadn’t been issued; that the Emperor and Empress were not on good terms, and fought without fail on the first and fifteenth of every month; that His Majesty actually preferred young girls in his bed; that Consort Hui in the harem held more power than the Empress herself, among other things… But the palace was the palace, and the court was the court—whoever His Majesty chose to bed had nothing to do with matters at court.

At court, everyone agreed the Emperor was a wise and enlightened ruler—and he must, indeed, be one.

The back palace only governed the life and death of a limited number of people, while the court governed the life and death of the entire realm—the two had to be viewed as entirely separate matters.

Day after day passed, and as he matured, one day Chen Dasheng found himself realizing that… Yangdan was suddenly no longer just Yangdan—Yangdan had turned into an entire matter unto himself, something that could be filed under the Ministry of Revenue, or the Ministry of Personnel, or under some regional official, even under the Astronomical Bureau—he couldn’t quite put words to the feeling.

He simply sensed that wherever his thoughts landed carried real weight, capable of easily tipping the scales of fate, shaping the destinies of countless unremarkable people just like himself.

And then there was the palace itself—over in a corner by the west gate, every so often a body would be quietly carried out, a lowly eunuch’s or a maid’s, and sometimes several cartloads all at once. Adjutant Liu would tell him, when that happened, that some courtyard within the palace had been sealed off from then on.

Sealed—meaning no one would ever live there again. Abandoned.

And yet His Majesty remained, as ever, benevolent—at least toward him.

Watching the cart disappear into the distance, Adjutant Liu had once remarked with open scorn, “Only now that things have gotten hard do they come around to showing loyalty! Where was that earlier?”

Sometimes a human life could be worth no more than the mere brush of a tongue against teeth—a single sentence, and that was that.

And then more people kept entering the palace—young boys who’d only just come of age, young girls seated in large carts, cartload after cartload sent in from outside the palace gates… no one knew where they’d end up.

In the great palace of Daliang, a human life wasn’t worth as much as a single laying hen. And that held true even for the ministers themselves, once they got tangled up with that place.

Chen Dasheng now understood clearly that the place he guarded was divided into the court and the back palace, and that the two had to be considered, viewed, entirely apart.

Chen Dasheng had no wish to share any of this with his family, so instead he talked about the courtyard he now lived in, how convenient it was to get to work, and how the mute couple who cooked for them made excellent food… By around noon, Yu Qingguan and the others all came in to kowtow to the old lady, then called Chen Dasheng to leave with them.

These days, the Long Blade Guard’s duties were like this—nothing much happening, but every so often the Emperor would suddenly ask, where’s Dasheng? Why haven’t I seen him today? What’s he up to? Off looking at the lions by the South Gate tower again?

And then the Emperor would stand there by himself, smiling for a while.

Word of this spread through both court and palace—everyone knew the Long Blade Guard’s Adjutant Chen was someone the Emperor kept close in his heart.

There was also the eunuchs’ patriarch within the palace, Grand Eunuch She, who would sometimes call Chen Dasheng over to his own little courtyard, having him move flowerpots around, or telling him old stories about the Long Blade Battalion… From nearly losing his life, to living off the Emperor’s grain, to this sudden rise in fortune, Chen Dasheng found himself thinking it over daily, sitting alone at the city gate tower in thought…

Through his mask he’d watch the fast horses arriving, bringing news ceaselessly from every corner of the realm, and only then did he come to understand—he himself was just one of the common people, and the common people lived scattered across so many different places, none of them at peace. Every day brought earthquakes somewhere, failed harvests, three years without rain in one place, six years without snow in another—a nation this vast never knew true peace, not for a single day, and the only place its common people could truly rely on was this very palace he found so daunting.

Chen Dasheng didn’t dare venture far, might not even make it home for the New Year this year. He could only steal scraps of free time here and there, riding hard to come back and check in when he could.

And now, with this heavy snow, it would likely be a long while before the snow melted and he’d have any time to spare again.

Before these seven men left, they each handed over, more or less, whatever accounts they owed to Qiqian’er—the most amounting to several dozen taels, the least around twenty-some taels of silver.

They were all officials now, and while it wasn’t a lucrative post, small sums kept trickling their way regardless, landing in their pockets almost without explanation. The Imperial Bodyguard often invited them over just to sit around—no one quite knew what for, they really did just go and sit.

Anyway, their superior had told them: eat plenty, talk little, and you won’t go wrong.

Every visit came with some small allowance, and they were never sent home empty-handed.

On top of that, they lived and ate together, and since each of them only used up about three people’s worth of the Emperor’s provided rations, the surplus—four people’s worth—got passed along to Adjutant Liu, who exchanged it for cash.

Why only six of them?

Because Chen Dasheng had a family to support, so nothing was ever left over on his end.

Once home, he’d handed his salary and goods straight to the old lady, yet Qiqian’er still gave him five hundred coins in pocket money, which now sat clinking dully in his small calfskin pouch as he walked.

Qiqian’er saw him off, smiling the whole way.

Chen Dasheng, though, kept glancing back at the old lady leaning against the doorway, and only once she was completely out of sight did he pull Qiqian’er aside and take out a brocade pouch from inside his robe to hand to her.

Qiqian’er took it with some confusion, and the moment she felt its weight, she knew exactly what it was.

Gold, again?!

She immediately widened her eyes at Chen Dasheng, a jumble of thoughts flashing through her mind.

Chen Dasheng, having learned his lesson before, immediately explained, “Don’t jump to conclusions! His Majesty gave this to me privately.”

He gestured for her to put it away quickly, since hardly anyone in the world was supposed to know about this.

The swift recovery of the capital and Qingfeng’s livelihoods had the whole court singing praises of the Emperor’s wisdom, praising his virtue as though heaven-sent… none of it had anything to do with one lowly bodyguard, nor could it ever be connected to him.

Emperor Wu needed this kind of reputation; the new dynasty needed this kind of reputation—and claiming credit for it was only natural, no one thought anything of it.

Chen Dasheng never saw the memorials praising the Emperor that the ministers submitted, never heard the voices of the grateful masses either. Even when he walked the streets and saw Yanjing’s slow recovery, he too would sigh from the heart, His Majesty truly is wise and sagely!

It never once occurred to him that any of it had anything to do with himself.

In the Emperor’s eyes, he was simply this kind of official—honest, sincere, devoted, unpretentious, so guileless it was almost worrying, the sort of simple child who could get kidnapped the moment he stepped outside if no one kept an eye on him.

That’s right—a child! Chen Dasheng was twenty this year, which in official circles still counted as practically a boy.

And yet he was also a subject the Emperor himself had personally taken notice of—in these few months since Daliang’s founding, there really weren’t many who could say the Emperor had personally recognized them as his subject.

Later, the history books would write of it thus: Emperor Wu, wise in both wisdom and valor, and the early founding of Daliang already showed signs of a coming golden age… not a single word of it would mention Chen Dasheng.

He would simply flash by, unnoticed, from the first year of Daliang onward.

Of course, as a good subordinate, Chen Dasheng had come away with something too—privately, he’d received a small pouch of gold from the palace’s Grand Eunuch, ten ingots of ten taels each.

These were newly cast Daliang gold ingots from the Ministry of Revenue, originally meant to be sent into the palace for Emperor Wu to hand out as gifts—only around two hundred had been made, and Chen Dasheng alone had gotten ten of them.

Chen Dasheng had no idea just how valuable these were, and simply handed them straight to his wife.

Qiqian’er, as the widow of a low-ranking official, had no particular eye for such things either. She glanced around warily, then tucked it into her pipa sleeve, and since it was too heavy, ended up cradling it in her hand.

“Well—I’ll be off, then.”

“Hey! Be careful on the road.”

“Will do! You take care, and look after Grandma.”

“I know. Don’t run around needlessly whether there’s trouble or not—everything’s fine here at home.”

“Right! I’m off.”

“Mm! Go on, then.”

And so they parted, just like that—from beginning to end, neither Chen Sini.u nor Madam Qiao had ever really been worth mentioning at all.

The wind and snow blurred her vision, and before long Qiqian’er lost sight of Chen Dasheng. She felt a bit sleepy now, gave a small yawn, and turned to wander back toward the old lady’s courtyard.

The moment she stepped in, she saw the old lady had tied a rope beneath the square table in the main hall, with Xique tethered to it by a cord around her waist, sitting on a straw cushion.

The little girl showed no objection whatsoever to being tied up and sitting on the ground, because she was holding a treat she’d never had before.

A piece of pure white, cold tofu.

Seeing Qiqian’er come in, the little schemer just turned herself around.

Qiqian’er watched the old lady bustling back and forth with her arms full of things and asked, “Anything left to do here? Should I go ahead and prepare tonight’s meal for you?”

The old lady, having taken so much from the young couple, felt it wasn’t quite right to see Qiqian’er looking tired now, so she laughed sheepishly and said, generously enough, “No need, no need! Tonight you don’t have to come by either, I’ve got everything I need here, hah… go on home, don’t worry about me. Tomorrow, sleep in as long as you like…”

That was just how she was—once she had enough to spare, she’d happily turn around and wait on Qiqian’er instead, no fuss at all.

Qiqian’er nodded at this and turned to leave, but out in the courtyard she suddenly remembered she was craving some fine wheat noodles. So she reached over, unlatched the nearby window, and—under the furious glare of a pair of eyes behind the door curtain—took out a bowl of the old lady’s white flour and carried it off to eat.

Naturally, she made sure to latch the window back up before she left.

Behind her, the old lady shouted furiously, “Bring my bowl back tomorrow! That’s from my own family, all the way from back home!”

Qiqian’er paused, glanced down at the bottom of the bowl, and sighed. “Well, quite the pedigree on this thing.”

Back home, she bolted the door, built up the fire, wrapped herself in the quilt, and slept—straight through until just before the third watch of the next night, at which point she found herself unable to sleep no matter what.

Outside, the north wind howled. She pushed open the window and saw the snow and wind had only grown fiercer in the night.

Guessing it was now past midnight, she still found herself wanting to go turn the millstone again for some relief. So she fetched the elm bark Chen Dasheng had stripped from the back hills last time, and headed to the back courtyard mill.

No sense wasting the trip, after all!

The old estate’s millstone had excellent grinding teeth—by the time she’d ground away until nearly the fifth watch, she’d produced a fine, powdery seven or eight hundred catties of elm bark flour.

Qiqian’er, ever thrifty, mixed in some of the family’s bean flour, and once it was blended, she scooped out about fifty or sixty catties, loaded it onto her back, and set off.

Yes—in the middle of a heavy snowstorm, not yet the fourth watch, Qiqian’er was heading out to do a good deed.

In her past life, there had been a beloved beggar in Qingfeng City known as Old Man Autumn, or Qiuhuazi.

This Qiuhuazi never used a bowl when begging—whenever he was hungry, he’d simply sit down outside whatever restaurant caught his fancy, big or small, it didn’t matter, and someone would come pay for his meal. The shopkeepers would even come out personally to ask what he wanted, pouring his wine and serving his dishes themselves.

Back then, being able to serve Qiuhuazi a meal was considered the greatest honor in all of Qingfeng City.

When Qiuhuazi slept, he’d simply lie down under whatever eaves he happened to find—but wherever he lay down, the household behind those eaves would always bring out a fresh quilt to keep him warm, and in winter, they’d even light a fire and keep it burning through the night to tend him.

And yet this old beggar, so deeply respected by all, feared burdening others and rarely accepted such care—until one deep winter, he froze to death outside the old house in the old part of the city…

The day of Qiuhuazi’s funeral, more than half the city of Qingfeng turned out in mourning white. Qiqian’er only learned this old man’s story afterward.

That day, she’d helped the old lady drive the family’s cart along to Qiuhuazi’s house, and upon arriving, she could tell at once that Qiuhuazi’s family had once been anything but ordinary—his old family estate had genuinely once bordered the old prefectural academy, a fine residence steeped in scholarly tradition.

Only then did she learn that Qiuhuazi’s real surname actually was Qiu, and that he was said to be descended from nobility of the previous dynasty. Before his family’s decline, he’d been a scholar in old Qingfeng City, running a private school from his home, and his family had once owned over a dozen prosperous shops throughout the city.

After Qingfeng City fell, refugees gathered at the gruel kitchens, and once the court’s relief kitchens could no longer keep up, people began starving to death one after another… until a great snowstorm claimed even more lives. Qiuhuazi’s story happened during this very period.

By then the court had lost all capacity to help, and those with any means at all began doing what they could out of conscience—many pitched in what little they could spare, but someone willing to give away his entire fortune the way Qiuhuazi did was one of a kind.

At first he’d taken in a dozen or so orphans, but as more and more people came seeking help, Qiuhuazi turned no one away, giving relief until he himself became a beggar as well.

In the end, this admirable old man simply accepted his fate with grace—he threw on a robe, picked up a bowl, and joined the beggars living alongside him… Many called him nothing but a fool.

Opinions vary, of course. But the old lady always said that back when her own village had fled together as refugees, if they’d only had someone like Qiuhuazi, that living bodhisattva, offering even a single bite of food, perhaps a hundred more of them might have survived.

The old lady was stingy by nature, but after learning Qiuhuazi’s story, every winter she’d send Qiqian’er into the old city to check on him—to see if the old man had warm enough clothes for winter, and if he lacked a proper winter coat, she’d have new cloth and padding made for him from scratch.

But such good fortune never seemed to come their way.

The old benefactor beloved by the entire city had, in the end, died all the same—died in the dead of winter.

The day of the funeral, half the city turned out in mourning white, supporting the coffin banners, carrying the casket all the way out to the old city’s outskirts, until they reached a fork in the road, where they encountered another group of people—Qiuhuazi’s own wife and children and descendants.

Qiqian’er had gone to the funeral that day too, and at a glance she could tell that Qiuhuazi’s wife and children hadn’t been living well at all—their mourning garments looked as though they might well have been borrowed.

Afraid of being recognized as Qiuhuazi’s descendants, this small group covered their faces with cloth and wept by the roadside—yet the sound of their weeping wasn’t one of grief at all. From oldest to youngest, the whole family was cursing this old beggar under their breath.

The funeral procession was grand in scale, one mourning tent after another lining the route, family and strangers passing each other along the way, no quarrels, no arguments, no one placing blame, no one pointing fingers at anyone else.

To outsiders, a single bowl of leftover scraps was a life saved. But to Qiuhuazi’s own descendants, their patriarch’s ruinous generosity had cost them their entire future—if you wanted to play the saint, the living bodhisattva, you should have become a monk instead. Why marry, why have children at all?

The old lady had once said: don’t go applying worldly reasoning to matters beyond help. There’s no right or wrong to argue in such things—everyone simply has to answer to their own conscience.

What Qiqian’er was doing now was exactly that—answering to her own conscience. She finally had the means to do it.

Though the refugees had since scattered, she still wanted to go check on Qiuhuazi’s old home. If that old man had indeed left behind others he’d taken in—elderly, homeless folk—she’d step in to help them.

And if not, she’d simply find some elderly, destitute people herself and do what good she could, within her means.

And so, she loaded a sack of elm bark flour onto her back and bounded up onto the rooftops.

At first, this went smoothly enough, but attempting several jumps in a row, she started crunching through roof tiles—and not even her own roof, but Master Cheng’s.

Qiqian’er’s heart lurched, and she deflated at once, tumbling clumsily off the roof in a panic.

No matter, I’ll just climb back up.

She climbed up again, crunched through several more tiles in the process, and then heard a voice behind her say, wry and amused, “Middle of the night, what grudge do you have against my roof? Could you practice your lightness skills on your own house? This is my family’s roof…”

Startled again, Qiqian’er tumbled back down in a heap.

When she looked up, she saw Master’s Wife Cheng wrapped in a wool cloak, and the Junior Martial Aunt in a rabbit-fur jacket—one frowning with obvious annoyance, the other smiling as they both looked down at her.

Qiqian’er bared her teeth sheepishly, scrambled up, and quickly apologized. “Sorry, sorry! I’ll go by the door this time, and take off from outside the estate… my technique’s just not very good. Sorry, sorry!”

This was mortifying enough as it was.

Sister Xue found her amusing and asked, smiling, “Where are you off to, Madam Huo?”

Qiqian’er dusted off the snow and continued apologizing, looking helpless. “Just gathering up some grain, thought I’d see if I could help out in the city a bit. Times being what they are, there’s bound to be someone who could really use it.”

Well, in that case.

Master’s Wife Cheng, looking rather resigned, considered Qiqian’er and said, “If that’s the case, wait here a moment.”

With that she leapt down from the roof, and before long climbed back up carrying a cloth bundle, which she tossed to Qiqian’er. “A cold-relief powder. We don’t have much grain to spare ourselves, but you can have this—the dosage is marked on it, no risk of getting it wrong.”

Qiqian’er thanked her earnestly, but Master’s Wife Cheng waved it off impatiently, turning her head to the side.

Sister Xue, though, smiled and raised a slender, pale finger to offer a tip. “Root the energy at the soles of your feet, gain momentum quickly—when you land, don’t change your breath right at that point… try it again!”

She traced out a few half-circle arcs with her finger, tapping lightly at a few key points along the way.

Ah! So that’s how it’s done!

Qiqian’er watched carefully, thanked her, shouldered the medicine bundle again, and following the method the Junior Martial Aunt had shown, bounded along a few times—clumsily at first, gradually connecting the motions, though still not quite smooth.

She stood in place, thinking it over, and without turning to ask for further guidance… after a moment, Sister Xue watched as the young woman reached down and took off her shoes.

This time, with bare feet making direct contact with the ground, the motion truly connected.

Watching the figure vanish rapidly into the distance, Sister Xue murmured with a faint sigh, “What talent. If my family were still around, I’d have taken her as my chief disciple.”

Master’s Wife Cheng smiled and reached out to stroke her hair. “There, there, no need to be jealous! She’ll never get tangled up in our mess in this lifetime. Go on back to sleep now.”

Sister Xue nodded, and as she climbed down from the roof, praised, “Xiao Yu’s not bad today either—even learned how to save people!”

Master’s Wife Cheng stumbled slightly, thoroughly embarrassed, and scolded, “What are you even saying… I—I was just worried she’d crack our roof open with all that jumping…”

The snow flew swift and silent, like birds crossing in an instant, leaving no trace.

Qiqian’er moved faster and faster; the snowy night, heavy as it was, only made her passage safer, unseen.

She was, after all, someone who’d lived her whole life in Qingfeng City—within half an incense-stick’s time, she’d already reached Qiuhuazi’s door.

She’d originally meant to scope things out quietly under cover of night, but instead, right at Qiuhuazi’s gate, she came upon a scene like this.

A crowd of elderly beggars, along with children not even waist-high, blocked the old road in front of Qiuhuazi’s house.

Two handcarts stood on the road, with no draft animals to pull them—people hauling them by hand, just as the Huo family once had.

A group of women and children sat on the carts, some clutching bundles, some holding small children, every face etched with despair, all eyes fixed pleadingly on the old house.

No one spoke, no one said a word… What’s going on here?

A white-haired old beggar gripped the shaft of one cart and pleaded, “Please, Madam, it’s us who are shameless! Seeing a meal and making trouble for Master Qiu at his own doorstep—you mustn’t leave! It’s us who should go! We’re leaving right now…”

Before the old beggar could even finish, a firm, decisive voice rang out from within the courtyard: “None of you need to leave! Let them go! Let them all leave!!”

At the sound of that voice, a man stepped out from the old house—dressed in a cotton robe, hair disheveled, and yet carrying himself with an almost regal bearing.

Qiqian’er was mildly startled—she’d seen the disheveled, ragged Qiuhuazi before, but never imagined he looked like this underneath it all.

The woman on the cart, who had been gazing back at her home with such longing, now heard this bitterly cold statement.

Gritting her teeth, she cried out heart-wrenchingly to her son pulling the cart in front, “Son! Let’s go! Go…”

The beggars scrambled in a panic, rushing to pull them back, and amid the commotion, a woman’s soft laugh suddenly carried through the snow from a nearby rooftop, reaching every corner of the old street: “Master Qiu’s virtue knows no bounds—would you spare just a little of that good fortune for this humble woman?”

Master Qiu and everyone present were, after all, ordinary people—at the fifth watch, hearing something like this naturally gave them all a start.

Everyone looked up and around, and before long spotted, on a rooftop across the street, a woman dressed in a plain, dark-red cotton robe, her head wrapped in cloth—with two holes cut out for eyes? A… a young woman?

Master Qiu stepped slowly down the stairs, looking up at the roof, and after a long moment asked, “And you are…?”

He had no idea how to even begin such an exchange—never in his life had he stood beneath a roof carrying on a conversation with a woman perched above.

Qiqian’er tossed the sack of grain and the medicine bundle down, laughing. “Don’t read too much into it—this humble woman means no harm. I simply heard of your good name and, envious of your virtuous deeds, came today to bask in a little of your good fortune. Would you be willing to share some with me?”

The young man pulling the cart let go of the rope and stumbled over to the wall, tearing open the cloth sack. Taking one look inside, he cried out excitedly, “Father! It’s grain! Look! We have grain…”

He held up the sack of elm bark flour to show Master Qiu, then ran to show his mother as well, saying, “Mother, look, it’s not just Father doing good deeds—look, it’s grain…”

Madam Qiu looked down at it, and tears immediately spilled from her eyes. She wept, “It’s only a few dozen catties—enough for a day or two, and then what?”

“Hold your tongue!” Master Qiu cut her off, then turned and bowed deeply to Qiqian’er in the formal scholar’s salute of gratitude.

Qiqian’er couldn’t bear to accept such a bow from this good man, and dodged aside, moving to another rooftop before saying, “I dare not accept such courtesy, sir. You’ve given away your entire fortune to save lives—you’re practically a living bodhisattva. Please, you mustn’t do this…”

With that, she looked toward the woman and said, “Madam Qiu, don’t worry. This world doesn’t let good people come to bad ends. If you didn’t know before, well, you know now—and now that I’m here, I’ll naturally see this through to the end!”

With that, she reached into her sleeve and pulled out the gold ingot Chen Dasheng had given her earlier that day, and casually rolled it into two little gold balls…

No help for it—she’d only brought the two, having originally just kept them to admire, thinking the little ingot was cute.

Qiqian’er jumped down from the roof, walked over to the cart, and placed the two gold balls into Madam Qiu’s trembling hands. “In this world, men are all the same selfish sort at heart—fill their own bellies and never spare a thought for the rest of the family. They’ll never understand the quiet toil we women put in managing the household, weaving and mending in every spare corner. This is just some private pocket money to line your purse—don’t you dare hand it over to him, heh…”

Qiqian’er found herself rather amused by her own words and laughed.

All in all, doing a good deed put her in an especially fine mood.

Madam Qiu didn’t dare accept it, and just as she moved to decline, Qiqian’er had already bounded back up onto the rooftop, laughing. “Don’t worry about running out, Madam—in three days I’ll come again, and there’ll be just as much grain waiting. This winter, this humble woman will do everything in her power to help Master Qiu carry out his good work… for now, I’ll take my leave!”

With that, she vanished in a few bounds.

Madam Qiu leapt down from the cart, clutching the two gold balls, and ran to Master Qiu in tears. “Old husband, look… gold, we have gold now.”

Master Qiu’s lips trembled, and just as he reached out to touch it, Madam Qiu snapped back to herself and tucked the gold balls into her sleeve, telling him sternly, “This was given to me by that immortal maiden—it has nothing to do with you, old husband!”

Master Qiu looked at his old wife, looked and looked, and then suddenly broke into tears of joy, laughing heartily.

Qiqian’er had bounded across only a few more rooftops when she heard someone behind her begin chanting loudly: “As for their natural feelings, they are indeed capable of becoming good—this is what is meant by the goodness of human nature. As for their becoming evil, that is not the fault of their natural capacity. The heart of compassion, all men have it; the heart of shame, all men have it! The heart of reverence and respect, all men have it! The heart of right and wrong, all men have it…”

Qiqian’er stopped in her tracks, utterly captivated.

So this is it, she thought. A man of Master Qiu’s caliber, so deeply read, could have found himself an honored guest anywhere he pleased—and yet he let himself become a beggar, supported by an entire city’s charity…

And yet, in the end, he spent his whole life proving—through his own death—the very Way of benevolence that belonged to him alone…

Remembering that funeral grander than even an emperor might receive, remembering how it stirred the sense of righteousness in so many, herself included… Qiqian’er suddenly thought, oh no! Haven’t I just gone and ruined the old master’s path to enlightenment?

Right as her thoughts spiraled into confusion, she felt a cold gust of wind sweep in from behind. She lunged forward at once, leaping high, clearing several rooftops in a rushed, panicked burst, and only once she felt secure did she turn to look back.

By now the sky had begun to lighten faintly, the snowstorm easing somewhat, and there stood two men dressed much like Choutou’s fellow bodyguards—one tall, one short, officials of some rank, both gripping large sabers, staring up at her with utter shock on their faces.

The taller one raised his saber toward Qiqian’er and demanded, his voice sharp with authority, “You there, woman!! What sect, what lineage do you hail from? What’s your name? Whose martial tradition do you carry? Bright and early, instead of taking the proper road, you go bounding across rooftops right at the gate of our Jiu Si Tang office here in Qingfeng… do you take us for nothing? Aren’t you afraid word of this will reach the Jiu Si Tang headquarters in the capital, and they’ll come demand an answer?”

Qiqian’er couldn’t make heads or tails of what he was saying, and simply thought, furious, I’ve scrimped and saved my whole life, and the one time I try to do a good deed, first thing in the morning, these two fools come at me with giant sabers?

Are they—are they out of their minds?

I’m Rank Six! Rank Six!

And you two—what rank are you, that you dare come after me?