Chen Dasheng and the others, dragging their sacks, were surrounded by an ever-growing crowd of old men, following that Old Yuxi-gong deeper into the alley.

These old men kept reciting things about unyielding steel and spirits enduring beyond death, repeating over and over lines about bamboo and a loyal heart.

Chen Dasheng felt a natural sense of awe toward scholars, an awe born from the power that lay behind the written word—a power that had once held sway over life and death.

As they were surrounded and drawn into the middle of the alley, the group came to a stop, and a swarm of women and children poured out of a triple-gated residence. Leading them was a silver-haired old woman, stumbling forward, her face full of grief, her whole body trembling.

Supported by two daughters-in-law, she came before the old man and managed only to say: “My lord—!” before bursting into tears.

The old man flung his sleeve dramatically and declared with great righteousness: “This is a joyous occasion! A blessing that will protect our descendants, allowing them to live in this world with their heads held high! Why cry over it? Such a typical woman’s reaction…”

This only made the crying louder. Chen Dasheng turned to leave, but as he turned his head, he spotted a middle-aged man hugging the corner of the wall, pulling a young servant boy aside, pointing toward Chen Dasheng’s group and then toward the mouth of the alley, giving stern instructions.

The crowd’s noise was too loud for Chen Dasheng to hear clearly, but his instinct told him this had something to do with them.

The servant boy shot a fierce glare their way, then turned and bolted off at a run.

Chen Dasheng was thoroughly confused when suddenly someone forced a heavy pile of hard objects into his hand. Startled, he looked down—gold hairpins?

Shocked, he looked up and saw more than twenty women and children of all ages by the gate, hurriedly pulling ornaments from their heads and wrists and pressing them into their hands.

The old woman who’d given Chen Dasheng the hairpin pleaded through tears: “Officers, my husband is old and frail—even if you don’t take him away today, he won’t survive many more days! Please, have mercy, please, do not torture him…”

With that, the old woman looked about to faint, and others hurried to pat her chest and back to calm her.

Chen Dasheng would never accept such things—by now, even a fool would have understood what was happening.

He quickly gathered up the items from his bewildered brothers’ hands and turned to stuff them back into the nearby woman’s hands, clasping his fists in apology: “Everyone, please, we cannot accept this. I—I think you’ve misunderstood…”

The old woman, having just caught her breath, wasn’t about to listen to Chen Dasheng’s explanation. Seeing him refuse the bribe, she assumed it meant they were certain to torture her husband, and in her agitation, fainted dead away.

At that moment, at Old Yuxi-gong’s front gate, there was chaos—wailing to the heavens, people falling over each other, some carrying the fainted, others stamping their feet, all manner of righteous verses and loyal declarations pouring from the old scholars’ mouths…

Seeing the situation getting out of hand, Chen Dasheng reached out and grabbed onto Zhang Guanneng, who was also jumping about excitedly: “Old sir, you saw what just happened…”

Zhang Guanneng flung Chen Dasheng’s hand away as if brushing off filth, cursing loudly: “Shameless wretch! How dare you touch this old man—” Mid-sentence, his tone suddenly changed, his eyes rolled, and he lowered his head and charged straight at Chen Dasheng’s chest.

He shouted: “Today you’ll have to take Old Yuxi-gong over my dead body—unless you trample over me first!”

There was no way Chen Dasheng would let himself be struck; he simply stepped aside, and the old man charged straight into the wall instead. Fortunately, Yu Qingguan was quick-witted—he let go of the sack in his hands and caught the old man around the waist.

This was a disaster, because the two featherless roosters in his sack broke free and began flapping wildly, flying about in every direction.

“My chickens!”

Yu Qingguan panicked and, releasing the old man, turned and pushed through the crowd, chasing after the birds.

The women in the crowd screamed all over again.

Chen Dasheng looked at Zhang Guanneng sitting dazed on the ground, then at the chaos surrounding him, and, with no other choice, climbed onto the household’s high platform and shouted: “We didn’t come to arrest anyone! We came to seek a teacher!!”

The scene remained chaotic, so he shouted it a second time.

This time, everyone heard—and everyone froze.

Silence fell over the surroundings, broken only by the occasional panicked squawk of the fleeing roosters.

Old Yuxi-gong, sweat beading on his agitated brow, refused to believe it at all.

The whole street was watching—he couldn’t afford to lose face like this.

The people stopped their commotion, exchanging puzzled glances, no one saying a word.

Yu Qingguan, having finally caught a chicken, lifted his head and shouted with delight: “Got it!”

Before his words had even faded, a voice rang out from beyond the crowd: “Stop! Everyone, stop this instant, by order of this Prince!”

The crowd parted, and a man strode in quickly—someone in his early thirties, with refined, upright features, wearing a marten-fur crown studded with pearls, a stone-blue silk-brocade cloak, and black velvet snow boots.

He walked into the middle of the crowd, first surveying everyone, then declared loudly: “Gentlemen, do not be alarmed. Allow this Prince to first ascertain the reason before we deliberate further. This Prince guarantees no one here will suffer the slightest wrong.”

Having said this, his robes swirling, he turned and glared angrily at Chen Dasheng: “This Prince is Yang Kui! Which garrison do you belong to?”

Chen Dasheng had, over his last two court audiences, sought guidance from Chief Steward Liu and others to memorize the faces of the officials, but he had no idea about members of the imperial clan who didn’t attend court.

Still, since this man claimed to be a prince, he followed proper etiquette and clasped his fists in salute: “Greetings, Your Highness. This lowly officer is Chief of the Long Blade Guard Garrison, Chen Dasheng.”

Yang Kui was startled at this: “The Long Blade Guard? You’re those city-gate marquises?”

Chen Dasheng said: “Just so.”

Hearing this, Yang Kui’s expression showed alarm: “Could this be—by the Emperor’s own decree? No wonder—I, I hadn’t known…”

Chen Dasheng hastily explained: “Your Highness, please don’t misunderstand! This has nothing to do with His Majesty. It’s simply that the few of us are illiterate, and wanted to find a good teacher to learn from. We’re all outsiders unfamiliar with the local situation, and we asked the wrong people, which led to this misunderstanding. Your Highness needn’t worry—I’ve already explained just now, it’s all a misunderstanding…”

Someone beside them interrupted: “You—what did you say?”

Chen Dasheng turned and saw a face twisted with emotion—it was Old Yuxi-gong, his voice trembling as he asked again: “Say that again?”

Chen Dasheng, seeing the old man didn’t believe him, patiently explained once more: “Old sir, it’s truly a misunderstanding. We can’t read, and simply wished to find a teacher to seek instruction from… oh, one moment please.”

Chen Dasheng turned and had his brothers bring out their full sacks, opening them one by one to show the old scholars: “I asked around before we came—apparently to formally request discipleship, you need to prepare the traditional six gifts as tuition offerings. But there’s nothing much to buy in Yandu these days—celery, red beans, lotus root, dates, and longan really weren’t easy to find. Fortunately dried meat could still be prepared, and for the rest we just had to substitute other things, you see…”

Chen Dasheng reached into a sack and pulled out a handful of white rice, presenting it before Old Yuxi-gong with utter sincerity: “Old sir, look, this is fine white rice. We really did come to seek a teacher.”

Old Yuxi-gong looked at the handful of rice, then at the seven bewildered military men before him, and, thinking of the enormous loss of face he’d suffered today, said only: “This truly infuriates this old fool…”

He pushed the rice away with his hand, sending it scattering into the trampled, muddy snow.

Old Yuxi-gong fainted dead away and was carried off by the crowd.

The dignified triple gate slowly closed. Those who’d been reveling collected themselves and turned to stare at Chen Dasheng and his men with looks of profound contempt.

Chen Dasheng felt that even being sent back to Tan Er’s Long Blade Camp, back to the front lines of open battle, wouldn’t have hurt his heart this much.

Zhang Guanneng, who’d failed at his attempted suicide, climbed up off the ground and also wanted to go home, but after a few steps, feeling the pent-up frustration in his chest, turned back and shouted at Chen Dasheng: “Do you even know what place this is?”

Chen Dasheng paused, then answered: “Isn’t it… where the teachers live?”

Zhang Guanneng froze, then sneered with contempt: “Hmph! Not even knowing where you are, and people like you dare come seeking discipleship?”

With that, he flung his sleeve and walked away.

Chen Dasheng stood there, stunned. He looked up and down the long street, then at the people around him… he seemed to have come to the wrong place after all.

Guan Si’er came up from behind and tugged at his elder brother’s sleeve: “Chief, our… our rice.”

The boy said this, then slowly crouched down and began, one grain at a time, picking up the mud-soaked rice from the ground.

Chen Dasheng stood stunned for a long while before finally crouching down with his brothers to pick up the rice, grain by grain.

Rice like this—a handful could save a life. Take it home, wash it, and it’d still be perfectly edible, even fragrant. Tonight… they’d eat it. His brothers had all been craving white rice for so long, saving up for it for ages…

It took some time, but eventually Chen Dasheng and his men managed to collect every last grain, and shouldering their sacks, they retraced their path back.

As they left the mouth of the alley, Chen Dasheng and his brothers looked silently at the chastity memorial arches, thinking to themselves that they would never come back to this place again.

At the intersection, Chen Dasheng once again spotted that prince’s carriage.

The middle-aged man who’d reported the incident was bowing respectfully in thanks. The prince, ever the gentleman, reached out with both hands to help him up. Neither of them so much as glanced at Chen Dasheng—people like them wouldn’t even look at someone like him.

But a young eunuch of official rank, standing beside the carriage shaft, noticed how Chen Dasheng and his men, having grovelled on the ground picking up rice, were now covered in mud and looking utterly bedraggled, and he laughed. Listening to his master’s dismissive remarks nearby, his eyes gleamed with an idea, and he pulled a purse of coins from his pocket and tossed it toward Chen Dasheng’s group, calling out with a laugh: “Brothers! Hard work today—here, buy yourselves some wine, ah—!!!”

Against the white snow, the purse fell—along with a severed hand, torn from its arm, blood gushing out and gradually, gradually spreading into a stain of red…

The young eunuch, unable to bear the pain, clutched his arm and screamed several times before fainting from agony.

Chen Dasheng, expressionless, sheathed his waist blade and bowed to the stunned prince: “There are still some matters back at the garrison. We’ll take our leave now.”

He turned and walked away, and after some distance, heard someone behind him cursing furiously: “How dare this lowly wretch! Daring to injure my personal attendant—this Prince will report this to the palace at once…”

Chen Dasheng walked the whole way in silence, his wife’s words echoing in his ears the entire time… If you accept their reward, from then on you’ll be someone they see as a servant they can beat and kill at will—they’ll never think of you as human…

Now, he hadn’t accepted their reward, but was he a person yet?

It seemed… still not quite.

Back at the garrison, Chen Dasheng personally carried that small bag of rice to the kitchen, washing it thoroughly with clean water, over and over…

Within the Daliang palace, the crisp, rhythmic tap of a bamboo strip could be heard, one strike at a time.

Today the Sixth Prince was once again lecturing in the schoolroom about legends of immortals. Reading books couldn’t compare to hearing stories, and several young princes, along with the young lords of the imperial clan, were so entranced they’d all gathered around him, too lazy to even open their own books.

The tutor, at his wit’s end, had no choice but to personally escort this young prince before His Majesty.

The Emperor, likewise resigned, had to administer the punishment himself.

A father striking his own son, of course, couldn’t bear to strike with full force, yet it still hurt quite a bit.

The Sixth Prince, Yang Qian, eyes brimming with tears, refused even so to admit fault, and instead questioned his own father: “Why do I have to study all that useless stuff? Wouldn’t it be better to become an immortal?”

The Emperor, exasperated, struck harder as he lectured: “Why? Ha—because one day you’ll find you cannot become an immortal, and you’ll need those ‘useless things’ to survive.”

The Sixth Prince absolutely refused to believe it, pouting through his tears: “It hurts so much, Father! Why can’t I become an immortal? I already am an immortal! I’m going to go tell Consort Xiao…”

The Emperor tilted his head back to stifle a laugh, then lowered his head and continued sternly: “Telling anyone won’t help. You ask me why you can’t become an immortal?” The Emperor slowly exhaled and said: “Because your father will die someday. Without me, you won’t be able to become an immortal either…”

“Your Majesty, mind your words!”

A gentle voice of admonishment came from outside the hall, and a palace consort with striking, radiant features, wearing a marten-fur hat, a crimson cloud cape, and a red robe embroidered with colorful peonies in gold thread, entered gracefully. She stopped a short distance away and, resting her hand on her knee, bowed to the Emperor: “This concubine pays respects to Your Highness.”

The Emperor looked at her and finally released the pudgy boy’s hand: “A’Duo has arrived. Rise!”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Little Six has been naughty—I’ll take him back to discipline him at once…”

The Sixth Prince, having endured to his very limit, burst into loud wailing the moment he saw her, raising his hand to lodge a complaint: “Mother! Father is being unreasonable, wah…!”

The Emperor bared his teeth, about to say something, when Zhang Minwang entered and whispered a string of words into his ear.

Upon hearing this, the Emperor’s expression showed a rare flash of astonishment.

Consort Xiao, seeing the Emperor had business to attend to, promptly withdrew with the Sixth Prince.

Once the mother and son had gone some distance, the Emperor shook his head with a resigned sigh: “Ha—an overindulgent mother spoils her child! Look how she’s spoiled him. Just a few strikes and he’s already calling for reinforcements. Every single time—I’d like to see just how far she’ll go with the indulgence.”

Beside him came a disdainful chuckle; She Banban, who’d been reading quietly in the corner, looked up mockingly: “You knew this would happen and put them together anyway, and now you’re complaining? Too late for that! I think it’s fine as it is. A’Duo lost both her children at Mount Tongyan, and the Sixth Prince lost his mother—it suits them well to be together. Your Majesty’s heart must be secretly pleased, so why complain every time?”

The Emperor seemed to possess some innate masochistic streak—every time She Banban mocked him, rather than being angry, he found himself rather enjoying it, just as it had always been.

He chuckled sheepishly for a while, then turned to Zhang Banban: “Have Prince Xing summoned up here.”

She Banban set down his book and asked, puzzled: “Yang Kui? Why has he come?”

“Who knows! All day long jumping about with those old fossils of the former dynasty… come to lodge a complaint, perhaps?”

The Emperor had no brothers or sisters of his own; his rise had relied on Empress Dowager Zheng and other connections. His own clan, belonging to a minor branch within the greater lineage, had had neither the standing nor the strength to help him.

Prince Xing, Yang Kui, was among the more capable of the Emperor’s cousins. He’d been intelligent from childhood, gifted at his studies, and before the Emperor’s rebellion, had already earned the rank of Xiucai scholar.

But because the Emperor rebelled, this once-promising prodigy of the clan had had his path to the civil examinations cut off entirely.

This time, the Emperor had enfeoffed quite a number of clan members—over a dozen princes. As for relatives, the Emperor couldn’t say he particularly cared for them—they were just relatives, after all, people he’d never been especially close or distant with in the past, and rebuilding any warmth now would take time.

After receiving his title, Prince Xing Yang Kui had promptly moved from Shaoshang to Yandu, and immediately began spending his days with the great Confucian scholars, hosting numerous literary gatherings. He was something of a bookworm, so this was only to be expected.

Amid this idle chatter, Prince Xing Yang Kui arrived carrying a box, his face flushed with anger. He entered and immediately knelt before the Emperor, in the posture of someone who wouldn’t rise until justice was rendered.

This—who could possibly have provoked the mild-mannered Prince Xing to such a state?

The Emperor, smiling, had him helped up, and thoughtfully offered him a seat.

Once he was settled, the Emperor asked: “Who’s dared to provoke our gentle scholar to this degree?” He glanced at the box on the floor and asked: “What’s this?”

Prince Xing’s chest heaved with agitated breaths, and finally, his voice strained, he looked up at the Emperor: “Does Your Majesty remember Taihuai?”

How would the Emperor know Taihuai?

Still, he nodded good-naturedly: “Hmm, Taihuai? What about him?”

Prince Xing, beside himself with anger, pointed at the box: “Your Majesty, this is Taihuai’s hand! You don’t know! Those uncouth city-gate marquises of yours are simply outrageous…”

“Oh my, my ancestors! You brought that thing in here?”

Zhang Minwang cried out in alarm and rushed to stand in front of the imperial desk, as though guarding against blood contaminating the imperial presence.

The guards outside were summoned and carried the ill-omened box away.

Prince Xing still hadn’t quite gotten used to his new status; if no one reminded him, he wouldn’t have thought to address his cousin—the Emperor—that is, oh right, this person was already Emperor now.

He mumbled, standing up, then knelt again to apologize: “Your, Your Majesty, forgive me, I—your brother spoke rashly.”

The Emperor waved his hand with a smile: “Get up! It’s fine, they’re the ones overreacting. On the battlefield in the old days, we saw blood every single day—strange that it should bother anyone now.”

Prince Xing stood, then sat back down, this time properly upright.

The Emperor took a stack of urgent memorials handed to him by Zhang Minwang, and, flipping through and marking them as he spoke, asked casually: “So—what happened with my city-gate marquises?”

Ah yes, that was the important matter.

Prince Xing, once again agitated, began recounting from the moment he’d received Old Yuxi-gong’s eldest son’s plea for help, gesturing wildly as he told the story. Partway through, his scholarly temperament couldn’t help but leak through in tones of considerable disdain and contempt—those crude men, whom even he, Yang Kui, could barely gain audience with people like Old Yuxi-gong, had dared show up at his door with roosters and sacks of grain to insult him?

Indeed, that was precisely how he saw it. To him, Chen Dasheng going to request discipleship was itself an insult. Who did they think Old Yuxi-gong was—a former top scholar of the previous dynasty, a minister who’d served three courts, a Confucian scholar renowned throughout the realm!

To his credit, he was something of a gentleman himself and didn’t embellish the story too much, though at the very end, he mentioned that his personal attendant Taihuai, seeing the cold weather and taking pity on these men who’d been rejected, had kindly tossed them some money to buy wine, only for these men to act with brazen disregard for his own princely status and, right in front of him, viciously hack off his attendant’s hand…

He finished speaking at last. Yet the Emperor above had remained absorbed in his work the whole time.

Only after two cups of tea had been drained did the Emperor finally set down his brush and, looking at Prince Xing without any visible emotion, said simply: “Since when do my personally enfeoffed city-gate marquises answer to your household’s servants handing out rewards? Do you take my subjects for the doorkeeping servants your household used to employ?”

Yang Kui’s heart, already uneasy, sank at these words, and he knelt down once more.

The Emperor remained magnanimous: “Get up! We’re family here, this isn’t the former dynasty—no need to keep kneeling.”

He had someone help Prince Xing up, and after hearing his apology, said with a smile: “It’s fine. This is your first time being a prince, and it’s my first time being Emperor too—we’re both still adjusting to these roles, aren’t we?”

Prince Xing, legs weak, murmured his agreement and prepared to take his leave, but as he reached the door, he heard the Emperor call after him: “That attendant of yours—what was his name again?”

Prince Xing turned back, trembling, and murmured: “Tai—Taihuai.”

The Emperor thought for a moment, then smiled: “Prince Xing really is a bit of a simpleton—though loving books isn’t a bad thing, after all. I’ll have some old editions sent to you later. As for… hmm, Taihuai? Taihuai! Reward him with the Spine-Breaking punishment. Since he looks down on my city-gate marquises, if he doesn’t die from it, he can spend the rest of his days crawling on the ground for me. Don’t be too upset, Prince Xing—I’ll have them reward you with another Taihuai, how’s that? One’s not enough, I’ll give you two, how about it?”

Prince Xing slowly sank down by the doorway, and after a long while turned to offer thanks before being helped away.

The room fell quiet for a moment, and once the Emperor finished the last memorial, he looked up at She Banban: “That young rascal’s really coming along!”

She Banban nodded and said: “That house behind the Imperial Academy used to be assigned to the Hanlin Academy’s lecturers, compilers, and the academy’s chancellors and instructors. Come to think of it, once spring arrives, our own Imperial Academy will need to open as well.”

A faint smile crossed the Emperor’s lips as he asked, half-amused: “Not a single one of them useful?”

She Banban wore an expression of utter disdain and snorted: “These people spend every day hoping to die for some righteous cause, so their names can go down in history! Aren’t you afraid of corrupting the students at our Academy—useless people like that? Good only for filling teeth.”

The Emperor tapped his fingers on the desk with a sigh: “But if we cast them out, our reputation… hmm, that wouldn’t look good.”

She Banban slowly stood and said dismissively: “That’s nothing—just send them somewhere else to teach. The old Qingfeng prefectural academy has stood empty for ages. Send them there—it’ll even be seen as an act of grace on your part. After all, our academicians, our Five Classics scholars of Daliang, will need somewhere to live too, won’t they? Well, this old servant will take his leave now! Your Majesty!”

She Banban turned and left. The Emperor sat stunned for a while, then, both annoyed and amused, said to Zhang Minwang: “Look at him, calling himself ‘this old servant’—he’s doing that on purpose, isn’t he?”

Zhang Minwang smacked his lips, stammering: “That—that little ancestor, what would you have him say? Not calling himself that wouldn’t be proper either…”

The Emperor’s feigned irritation slowly faded. He sat there for a long while before finally saying: “You came to my side too late. You never saw what Qingling was like back then…”

With that, the Emperor rose slowly and walked to the hall’s entrance, looking out at the heavy snow, and said softly: “Like this snow—there was never anyone cleaner than him… just like Ruyi.”

Zhang Minwang didn’t dare say a word, and simply attended to him in silence.

The Emperor stood there for a long time before finally saying: “Go have Fifth Son look into it—how Dasheng and his men, newly arrived, happened to wander specifically into Scholar Street… If there’s nothing behind this, I refuse to believe it.”

That evening, the Long Blade Guard’s usually lively dinner table was silent; everyone quietly drank their rice porridge. There was too much sand mixed in with the rice—though they’d cleaned it as best they could, the occasional grain of sand still slipped through.

Chen Dasheng didn’t dare chew, simply swallowing the gritty porridge in large gulps. Finding it bland, he reached for a strip of dried meat from the sack beside him to gnaw on…

A sharp, thin voice suddenly called from outside: “Chief Steward Liu, our old ancestor wishes to see you.”

“Old Ancestor” was the eunuchs’ collective term for She Banban.

Chen Dasheng didn’t think twice—simply tucking the strip of meat into his robe, he grabbed his cloak and went out.

There were a few people in this world who were truly, genuinely good to him, and She Banban, to Chen Dasheng, felt like a loving elder.

Though the snow was falling harder now, Chen Dasheng hurried along the path without concern, and by the time he reached She Banban’s small courtyard within the palace, he was drenched in sweat.

Entering, he saw She Banban sitting cross-legged before the Buddhist shrine, carefully copying out sutras.

Ever since She Banban’s last living relative had passed, he’d taken to spending every day alone in his room copying Buddhist scriptures, continuing until he grew too tired and went to sleep.

Chen Dasheng bowed: “Banban, do you have instructions for me?”

She Banban, seeing him enter, paused his brush and pulled out a cushion, waving him over: “Choutou’s here, sit!”

Chen Dasheng, not quite understanding, went over and sat down.

She Banban said nothing more, and once he’d seen Chen Dasheng seated, continued writing until he’d finished a full page, then paused to examine it, before turning to burn it before the shrine.

Behind him, Chen Dasheng’s slow voice drifted over: “Banban, your handwriting is really beautiful.”

She Banban shook his head, smiling: “You write enough, it turns out like this. They told me—you went to Scholar Street today?”

Chen Dasheng was startled: “You already know?”

She Banban nodded, smiling: “Prince Xing went to the palace to lodge a complaint.”

Chen Dasheng fell silent, lowering his head to look at the table.

“Don’t worry! You are His Majesty’s city-gate marquis—no one can insult you!”

Chen Dasheng, startled, looked up sharply at She Banban—wasn’t that man supposed to be the Emperor’s relative?

She Banban knew exactly what was going through his mind but had no intention of explaining. After all, having spent so long in this palace, one eventually learned things naturally—what one saw with one’s own eyes and heard with one’s own ears left a far deeper impression than secondhand rumors.

After a long while, Chen Dasheng’s murmured words of thanks came from behind him.

“Thank you for this great favor! Long live Your Majesty!”

“Heh…”

She Banban couldn’t help but laugh again—he wasn’t sure why, but everything Chen Dasheng did struck him as genuinely endearing.

He finished laughing, then turned to ask Chen Dasheng: “What did you think of today?”

Chen Dasheng scratched his head: “Think? About those scholars?”

She Banban nodded: “Mm! Though they’re not really scholars anymore. They’re teachers now.”

Chen Dasheng placed both hands on his knees, and after a moment, patted his thighs: “Nothing much, really—just, these people, they’ve completely destroyed whatever respect I had for scholars from now on…”

“That’s all?”

“Mm! That’s all.”

She Banban clasped his hands behind his back and slowly walked to the doorway.

The two young eunuchs on night duty hurried over, lifting the curtain and setting up a brazier nearby.

She Banban gazed at the falling snow, listening to its soft rustle, and after a long while said: “Long ago, in this world of ours, there was no writing yet. Back then, people tied knots in rope to keep count, and drew totems on cave walls to record their lives. Generation by generation, this passed down, and eventually this world had written language, and had scholars…”

Chen Dasheng listened quietly.

“Don’t think of today’s scholars as true scholars. They’ve grown crooked, like a great tree bent halfway by wind and rain, never able to stand straight again! Do you understand what I mean?”

“Mm! Not all scholars are good.”

“Dasheng, reading is truly important. If it weren’t for writing and learning, people wouldn’t be able to inherit the wisdom of the ancient sages. If it weren’t for the Book of Rites, perhaps we’d still be living in an age where humans and animals weren’t even distinguished from one another. I read old family texts once, which said that in ancient times, people of the same surname intermarried freely, cohabited without formal marriage, polyandry was common, and even siblings could be together… Just imagine, without the later sages writing down knowledge and establishing rules, people would have lived worse than beasts…”

She Banban spoke at great length, worried Chen Dasheng might lose interest in studying altogether. But after a long silence with no response, he turned to look.

What he saw left him stunned.

Chen Dasheng, holding the strip of dried meat in both hands, was kneeling silently—he had no idea for how long.

As though he understood something. Or perhaps he was simply shaken.

She Banban murmured: “Dasheng! What—what are you doing?”

Chen Dasheng looked up with a smile, his eyes full of utter sincerity: “Could you… be my teacher? Could you teach me to read?”

Tears streamed instantly from She Banban’s eyes. He laughed and said: “What foolishness are you thinking! Nonsense! Dasheng, do you even know what kind of person I am?”

Chen Dasheng nodded: “I know! A teacher who’ll teach me to read, teach me how to be a person.”

Hearing this, She Banban’s tears fell like rain: “You—your future is limitless, how could you take an incomplete man, a eunuch, as your teacher? Get up now, get up! Do you know how people would look at you? If I accept you as my student, you’ll never be able to stand tall in this life again…”

He tried to pull Chen Dasheng up, but Chen Dasheng didn’t budge, holding the strip of meat and declaring loudly: “Teacher, that’s not right! What do you mean, accepting me means you can’t stand tall? I—I’m not good with words, I don’t know how to say it properly! You—you’re standing right now! In front of me, right now—you’re standing!”

That single phrase—you’re standing—completely shattered She Qingling’s shell.

His lips trembled, opening and closing as he asked Chen Dasheng in a shaking voice: “Is—is that so, Dasheng? You see me standing?”

Chen Dasheng shuffled forward on his knees, nodding earnestly: “Mm, standing! In my eyes, you stand straighter than anyone else… You just said it yourself—anyone can possess knowledge, regardless of who they are. Is a eunuch’s knowledge somehow dirty? It isn’t! In the eyes of this crude man, you are clean! You are a hundred times, a thousand times, ten thousand times cleaner than most scholars in this world…”

He rarely spoke this way, and today he felt filled with a strange new strength—ever since severing that hand, he’d known he was different now.

He raised the strip of dried meat high and said loudly: “Teacher, accept me. I want to learn the principles of standing tall, want to learn the true way of being a person, want to live like a real person—to read, to learn, and then, to live with dignity alongside you… please! Teacher!”

She Banban stared at him blankly for a long while, then slowly shuffled forward, reached out, and took a firm grip on that strip of dried meat.

Ash from the incense burning on the shrine drifted slowly down…

Amitabha, have mercy…