The red-hot coals glowed in the stove pit. Chen Dasheng sat in the bathing pot, grimacing as he rubbed a bruise on his waist.

It was always like this — no matter what he did, he either offended A’Nai and got smacked, or offended his wife and got pinched. All grievances he could never voice. Sigh, he’d just have to endure it.

His father always said it well: people come into this world to suffer. Those who don’t suffer aren’t human — they’re immortals.

From the courtyard, a young maid’s voice drifted faintly through.

“Madam, the tailored clothes for the Fourth Master have arrived. Old Woman Yin said this year’s last few pieces of purple sable were all used to line His collar — such a pity. In other families, when they get sable fur this good, they use it for coat collars. Even if not a collar, it’d make a fine neck warmer.”

His wife’s unhurried voice came in through the window. “Just leave it here. That old woman talks too much. Your Master wears cotton cloth — pairing it with a sable collar? That’d be neither one thing nor the other. Go tell the Old Madam we won’t be coming over today. Have the kitchen warm a few pots of old wine and prepare some dishes to go with it, set them up in the west wing. When your Fourth Master comes out later, go invite the First, Second, and Third Masters to come drink.”

The little maid acknowledged this, then asked, “And… should we invite the son-in-law?”

The wife said, “Why call him for our family’s business? You… well, that’s true too! Go quietly and tell them, don’t let anyone see.”

The maid answered crisply and left — Siyue, wasn’t that her name? His wife said this girl was extremely clever, yes, truly thoughtful, daring to look after her master’s affairs. A good girl.

When it was quiet outside, Chen Dasheng finally asked through the door, “Wife? Still angry?”

No response from outside. After a while, she said, “Such a small matter — do you think I’d bother?”

Chen Dasheng opened his mouth helplessly, rubbed the bruise on his waist, and nodded with sincere praise: “That’s true, my wife has always been magnanimous.”

His wife seemed satisfied this time, willing to talk to him again. She laughed once and asked, “New Year’s coming soon — is our godfather not coming?”

Chen Dasheng slowly exhaled, sinking further into the water. His wife had made the water too hot, but he didn’t dare complain.

He picked up a cloth, wrung it out, and draped it over his face, saying in a muffled voice: “Father said he appreciates your thoughtfulness, but he carries a lifetime of sin and won’t enjoy the blessings of this mortal world.”

Actually, the exact words had been: This old man’s whole family has gone to hell — what right do I have to enjoy blessings in the mortal realm?

Qiqian’er was stunned, and after a long moment said, “I see! So did His Majesty give you leave?”

Chen Dasheng, face still covered by the cloth, nodded, then turned his head and said loudly toward outside, “Yes! His Majesty said I could go home after the Lantern Festival, said I’d worked hard these past months…” He seemed to remember something, paused, listened carefully to make sure no one was outside, then continued: “Wife, after the New Year, the family may receive another imperial decree. Father says I’m going to be promoted. He also said… he’ll have someone make you a new title of nobility…”

Silence outside the door. After a long while, his wife let out a strange sigh of surprise: “So you’re already Fifth Rank now? They say Fifth Rank is a threshold — you’ve crossed it so inexplicably, and in such a short time?”

Chen Dasheng gritted his teeth: “Upper Fifth Rank. Two levels at once.”

Laughter came from outside again. His wife wasn’t wildly overjoyed, but asked in a light tone: “You really are strange. Your promotions never happen the way anyone else’s do. I thought that even with Father watching over you, you’d need at least three years to build seniority. Tell me — this time, how exactly did you get promoted to Fifth Rank official?”

Chen Dasheng exhaled softly, reached over, picked up the small wine flask by the edge of the bathing pot, and took two swigs straight from the spout. “Don’t want to say!”

Light laughter came again from outside the bathhouse. She said, “I’ve tucked your clothes by the brazier to warm. I’ll send Jixiang in shortly to attend you — if you need anything, have him do it.”

Chen Dasheng asked hurriedly, “Are you angry?”

Qiqian’er said from outside, “Not at all. Our Master got promoted — today I’ll cook a few of your favorite dishes myself.”

Chen Dasheng pulled the cloth from his face, the corner of his mouth curling up. “You know what I like to eat?”

Qiqian’er said with mild impatience, “Meat, of course! What good food have you ever even had…”

With that she walked off, footsteps light as feathers.

Chen Dasheng smiled silently, closed his eyes contentedly, soaking comfortably, occasionally reaching to the pot’s edge to pull off a piece of pig’s ear already laid out there.

That was just how he was — humble origins, no real sophistication, only knowing that meat tasted good.

But as he ate, he sighed again. To him, this promotion left something of a bad taste.

It all started the day that mad nun arrived. How many nights had His Majesty rested indoors while the mad nun crouched on the roof, and the seven of them stood in the cold wind below, listening to dozens of days of that midnight quatrain song.

They privately called that tune “the nun’s spring-longing song.”

Today, riding home slowly, he’d heard someone humming those very lines behind him… In autumn, love-pairs of geese; in spring, love-pairs of swallows… Looking up at the parasol tree, its blossoms so pitiful… He startled, whipped around — it was Little Five, Hu Yougui.

Hu Yougui was startled too, then startled himself right back.

No one knew why that woman named Qingbuyi had truly gone mad, and even less why she insisted on claiming His Majesty had killed Tan Er.

It was obviously he who’d killed him!

The whole realm could suspect His Majesty — everyone except the seven of them. They alone knew His Majesty was wronged, yet they had no way to explain it for him. That was what made it sickening.

So it went — the ones sleeping in the palace were stifled with anger, the one on the roof was stifled too, and the several of them standing guard below were suffocating with resentment as well.

Dozens of days passed. That day, coming off their morning shift, they passed a teahouse and heard a storyteller inside — telling how His Majesty had once met Tan Er, drank with him and bonded as confidants, burned incense together and swore brotherhood, vowing to conquer the realm together and share its riches…

Chen Dasheng and the others had heard this story before. When His Majesty occasionally left the palace to sit at the homes of favored ministers, if he stayed for a meal, the ministers loved having this particular tale performed for him.

His Majesty was quite something — he’d heard it dozens of times and each time was still delighted, handing out rewards and praise. Frankly, Chen Dasheng found it nauseating by now.

That day it was the same old story, but the mood in the teahouse was different. The storyteller had barely finished the introduction when a scholar sitting in the teahouse sneered coldly and loudly mocked — saying that when one has no power, any bond of loyalty counts as loyalty, but once wealth and status arrive, people turn their backs without a second thought.

Turning his back would have been one thing — the most sickening part was having one’s very life schemed away.

This man’s mouth was reckless. When he finished, someone beside him asked why. The scholar then cited example after example of founding emperors killing meritorious officials, going on and on. Though he never said it outright, his implication was clear: once His Majesty had won the realm, he felt Tan Er’s achievements had grown too great to reward further, so he’d had no choice but to eliminate him.

Everyone listening drew a sharp collective breath. Chen Dasheng, watching through the bright window, saw that the onlookers’ expressions showed they believed it. The teahouse owner, scared half to death, hurried out personally to chase off the customers.

At the time, Chen Dasheng thought: ever since the mad nun arrived, His Majesty had tolerated her, and now the whole realm thought His Majesty was in the wrong. And now this kind of shameless nonsense was spreading too — utter garbage! Worse, in his eyes, His Majesty was taking the blame for something not his fault. That, he could not tolerate.

So Chen Dasheng strode into the teahouse, flipped over the table of the loose-mouthed man, grabbed the reckless former-dynasty scholar by the collar, and climbed onto the storyteller’s platform.

Ignoring the man’s struggling, and seeing the onlookers about to flee, Chen Dasheng pointed at the teahouse door and declared: today, anyone who tries to run gets his legs broken!

That was how his grandmother used to threaten him — the line always worked.

The onlookers were thoroughly frightened. Seeing a row of cold-faced personal guards blocking the door, they lowered their heads and trembled, not daring to move.

Chen Dasheng looked around, satisfied everyone had settled down, then nodded, set the long blade from his back down on the storytelling table, and addressed the crowd…

“My name is Chen Dasheng. My hometown is downstream along the Two Rivers, ravaged by the fish channel disaster — to this day, eight generations of my ancestors still lie drowned beneath the water. I was born a bonded servant… Currently I stand watch at the southern gate of the Great Liang palace, holding the honorary title of Marquis of the City Gate…”

“…His Majesty gave me a courtesy name — Feilian! Chen Feilian! Remember this face, remember this name — you’ll likely hear it often from now on. Anyone who dares say our Majesty is no good, I’ll knock every tooth from your mouth, believe it or not!”

Without even looking at the man, Chen Dasheng yanked the scholar up and punched him square in his reckless mouth. Five or six teeth flew out immediately, blood filling his mouth.

Chen Dasheng threw him to the ground and continued: “That’s how it’s done! Remember it! Today, hearing this bastard’s nonsense, I won’t stand for it. You think others don’t know this story? Is there anyone in this world who knows it better than us brothers? You’d all better listen well! If you don’t know who I am, go ask any Great Liang official afterward — from the lowest-ranked clerk to the highest first-rank minister — they all know me.

Even if Marshal Tan himself were here, he wouldn’t dare claim to know General Tan Er better than us brothers do! Who are we? We used to follow General Tan Er, risking our lives in the Tan family army’s Long Blade Battalion, earning a few coins to feed our families.

Today I’ll tell you all a story too — since no one in this world knows it better than us. The day General Tan Er died, we were all there, every one of us present… You’ve heard secondhand accounts. How can that compare to what we witnessed with our own eyes? Isn’t there an old saying — seeing is believing, hearsay is not?”

Chen Dasheng was a man of few words, plain-spoken. At first the onlookers were terrified, but by the end, the crowd had grown — the horse-tethering rail outside the teahouse was packed with people.

Chen Dasheng showed no mercy to the Tan family’s reputation either — how they’d rallied, how they’d waited for reinforcements, how General Tan Er had finally gone mad, how he alone had wielded his blade and charged straight into the Black Cavalry Guard, never to emerge…

Finally he concluded: “…We who carried these old blades — from the day we took them up, our enemy was the Black Cavalry Guard. In battle between two armies, life and death belong to heaven. Each side serves its own master. When we met, we fought to the death! I die, he lives; he lives, I die — no one owes anyone resentment for this. Perhaps we’ll report to King Yama one after another, standing in the same line.

We don’t even remember how many Black Cavalry Guards we killed. I only remember our Long Blade brothers once numbered two thousand — one thousand nine hundred ninety-three died. Now in this world there are only seven of us left. Oh, and Qingfeng also has half a brother, Meng Quanzi — that fellow’s also from the Two Rivers region, half his village were relatives, and he’s the only one who survived.

We’re all children born of mothers and fathers — who wants to die? But when it happens, when there’s war, people die. That night, the last of the Black Cavalry died too, and General Tan Er was gone as well. The Black Cavalry Guard and the Long Blade Battalion carried a blood feud — whoever died, no one should hold a grudge. We accepted our fate long ago. What do you mean ‘share the riches together’? What do you mean ‘too accomplished to reward’? Are you all fools?”

Chen Dasheng glared around at the crowd once more, having said his piece, and stood up. Looking at the blood-mouthed scholar beside him, now already wet himself from fear, he said: “Former dynasty, aren’t you? Look at your clothes — family fortunes fallen, haven’t they? Bitter and resentful, so you slander our Majesty?”

He pointed at his own eyes: “This old man here is petty-minded. I’ll remember that loose mouth of yours!”

The reckless-mouthed man fainted on the spot.

Chen Dasheng slung his blade back over his shoulder, looked around at the silent crowd, and sneered: “Are you all truly fools, or just pretending? What days did the former dynasty not go through? It’s only been a year! What riches does this realm even have left to share? The treasury’s empty, the granaries are empty, the land lies fallow, the fish channel disaster ravages the lower Two Rivers every single year, wiping out the population!

Our Majesty, and every minister in this court, has scrimped and saved since the founding of Great Liang, trying to do good — trying to dredge the river channels quickly for the common folk, trying to repair the fish channel so this realm can recover its vitality, so you can all eat, so you can all have clothes to wear. Riches — hah — riches? Whoever wants this broken realm can have it, do you think our Majesty even wants it!”

He walked to the door, still indignant, then turned back, cupped his hands and said: “Elders, do yourselves a favor. You don’t understand the affairs of this realm — just sit quietly at home and enjoy your peaceful meals! Because you have the leisure to gossip idly, how many people have died, their bones not yet even cold! And yet there are still white-haired fools out there giving their lives for you thickheaded people! Great Liang cut taxes by three-tenths from its founding — what, you think that’s still too little? Bellies too full, so you start talking nonsense? People ought to have conscience, don’t you think? I’m not threatening you, but if the honest, hardworking people get truly angry, it won’t take much — the former dynasty just fell!”

Having finished cursing, eyes red, he left. The more he walked, the worse he felt about having wronged His Majesty. After sleeping through the whole next day and returning to the palace, that evening His Majesty summoned him to the state affairs hall. His Majesty stood before him, seemingly quite moved, and after a moment, eyes reddened, patted his shoulder and said: “I! I was not wrong about you! Good child!”

Chen Dasheng’s legs went weak on the spot, nearly buckling.

After His Majesty’s praise, the Chancellor praised him too. The old Grand Tutor, stroking his own white hair, sighed: “To become a fool for the peace of all the realm’s people — this old man would gladly do the same.”

Ministers who rarely had dealings with them now smiled at the group of them.

Chen Dasheng grew somewhat confused. He thought to himself: Your Majesty, I’ve wronged you, made you take the blame on my behalf, and yet you call me a good child?

The more he thought about it, the more ashamed he felt. Red-faced, he bowed to His Majesty and withdrew from the hall, continuing his devout night watch to atone, feeling he owed his master and must work twice as hard to deserve the food he ate…

Afterward, he heard his adoptional father speaking with some pride in the hall: my child has always been like this, an honest simpleton, easily embarrassed — you elders needn’t praise him so, he fears praise most of all…

Chen Dasheng leaned weakly against a palace pillar, looking at the darkening evening sky, wondering what on earth was happening in this world.

Well — he had been promoted after all. Two ranks at once!

Later, Chen Dasheng learned that with the new dynasty rising, the clash between old and new inevitably bred many conflicts — not just at court, but among the common people too, where rumors ran wild, all sorts of nonsense circulating, the worst being that the Martial Emperor had killed his meritorious officials.

But you couldn’t go around beheading everyone who repeated it — most common folk simply drifted along with rumors they didn’t understand, and besides, you couldn’t kill them all anyway.

The rumor that His Majesty had killed Tan Er had existed for a long time. In fact, because of it, His Majesty had ordered the finest scribe from the former dynasty to write an account of his rise to power, emphasizing especially his friendship with Tan Er. This document, the Record of a Clear Conscience, had been distributed downward through official channels, hoping the realm would understand the truth — but most people in the realm couldn’t read.

The notices posted at city gates in every prefecture and county weathered away unread by anyone. And as for why the Tan family kept tormenting His Majesty despite this — in his adoptive father’s words, when it comes to rumors, even the Emperor himself is powerless.

It was quite the legendary turn of events — that in this world there happened to be one Chen Dasheng who actually knew the truth. Having a guilty conscience himself, he’d gone and explained it with righteous conviction. While everyone else offered only analysis, hearsay, secondhand accounts — he was a direct victim of the former dynasty’s chaos, a Tan family army veteran, the last of Tan Er’s own Long Blade guards by his side. His account, therefore, was the most credible.

Especially his final words, which seemed to cut straight through to the truth. Indeed, anyone with sense would think — what did the former dynasty have left besides a crumbling, precarious realm and barely-surviving subjects? What was there left of any grand riches? None at all! This Great Liang dynasty had only an emperor who rebelled for the sake of the common people’s survival, and a group of ministers working tirelessly to govern well.

The hearts of the people are a wonderful thing. His Majesty had inexplicably been cleared of his unjust burden, and had unexpectedly won the people’s hearts.

He was certain — Feilian was the most trusted person by his bedside.

Chen Dasheng was utterly bewildered, the whole court was bewildered, His Majesty was bewildered — and once bewildered, they all rejoiced together. Add to that the arrival in the capital of Qin Zhuo, father of the mad nun, and Chen Dasheng was finally, completely relieved of his burden.

His Majesty granted the Long Blade veterans an extended leave. Before they departed, Elder Attendant She told Chen Dasheng that next year, after the New Year sacrificial rites, His Majesty would confer titles on a group of capable court officials — the group of them would be included too. His son would be promoted two ranks; the other children had also done well and would each rise one rank, with additional generous rewards besides, too many to list.

Hearing that His Majesty was promoting him again, Chen Dasheng felt even more guilty. Seeing his son’s calm expression, Elder Attendant She felt even more gratified, thinking: my son truly is steady — not only clever, but possessing the composure of one who wouldn’t flinch even if Mount Tai collapsed before him. His future success was assured.

Satisfied, he naturally loaded his son up with a great pile of gifts and sent him hurrying home for the New Year.

That was the story of how Chen Dasheng got promoted. He found it embarrassing and had no wish to tell his wife.

But he had no idea that disaster was right around the corner — some things in this world are simply unpredictable, and some people always manage to go astray.

Naturally, Qiqian’er was overjoyed that her husband had been promoted. Even in her previous life, when her husband had been a great hero of Great Liang who died in battle, she hadn’t been this happy.

A living, thriving husband was truly something to be proud of!

Once the New Year passed, her husband would be equal in rank to Tang Jiuyuan of the Chess Pavilion. Wait another year, find that fool some more achievements, rise another rank — and then her son An’er would be the most impressive kid on Quanhou Street.

Delighted at the thought, Qiqian’er was shaping a large mutton-head dish for Chen Dasheng. A cow on the estate had fallen into a ditch and died — she’d originally meant to save it for New Year’s, but now she took it out, cut a plate of the finest beef, and was happily slicing away when her knife suddenly stopped.

Within four or five li, she could immediately recognize unusual movement. Seven or eight distinct sounds of wind being cut had already landed on the old ancestral hall.

Qiqian’er turned to Guyu and instructed him: “Come here, keep slicing. If anyone asks for me, say I’ve gone to the mill room.”

Guyu thought to himself, marveling: the lady of the house not only cooks with her own hands, but also mills flour herself for the Fourth Master — how virtuous. He smiled and reached for the knife, but the lady had already picked it up and walked out, so he didn’t dare ask for it.

At the ancestral hall on Quanhou Street under the night sky, seven figures stood watching from all directions.

After observing for a while, they saw a brightly lit place in the distance. A middle-aged man among them said, “Master, that’s the Chen family. Right now the family is making a blessing-pot for their old matriarch.”

The elder standing at their center — no, though he appeared at most in his thirties, this man was well-preserved, with jet-black hair and fair, elegant skin. Thanks to well-cultivated internal martial arts, though his true age this year was sixty-three, he showed no sign of it.

In the martial world, this man was spoken of in the same breath as Master Xuan Shan of Huguo Temple.

His surname was Qin, given name Zhuo — the head of the Qin Sect.

Qin Zhuo wore a thin long robe. Despite the bitter cold, his wide sleeves billowed in the wind like an immortal in flight.

But the moment this “immortal” opened his mouth, all sense of transcendent grace vanished, replaced by unreasonable, willful arrogance.

“Hmph! His family enjoys good food and drink, opera and blessing-pots, while my poor child was thoroughly humiliated for dozens of days! Those Long Blade scoundrels, too cowardly to face us directly, acted like beasts!”

Qin Zhuo’s disciple beside him was equally furious: “Master, who would have thought Yang Zao would be so despicable. Today, no matter what, we must kill a few of them to avenge our senior sister, draw some blood…”

But before he finished speaking, a coquettish laugh came from the roof next door: “Ha! Yang Zao’s despicable — go find him then! What’s this? Can’t provoke the Emperor, so you bully a gatekeeper instead? Some skill that is!”

Everyone was startled, especially Qin Zhuo. He whipped his head around, and inwardly felt something stir — after all these years, he was surprised to discover his skin could still rise in goosebumps.

On the ridge beam of the neighboring roof lounged a young woman, reclining lazily. She wore a mask and a purple sable-fur coat, and on her swaying embroidered shoes hung two large fur pom-poms.

No one could guess this woman’s age, but they were astonished by her demeanor — she leaned there as if utterly boneless, and though speaking, she held a kitchen cleaver as if trimming her nails with it.

Qin Zhuo was faintly startled, thinking to himself: when had this woman arrived, when had she sat down here — he hadn’t even noticed? He’d roamed the martial world for decades, and even Xuan Shan in his prime had never made him feel threatened like this.

This one, though?

His eyes suddenly lit up. Rare for him, he raised a hand and said, “This old man’s eyes are dull — might I ask, is the lady the Elm Tree Goddess of Baiquan Mountain?”

The woman giggled, brushed her hair back with one hand, and said, “Oh! You know me? Have you been to my temple? Offered incense to me?”

Qin Zhuo, a man who bowed to no one his whole life, rarely spoke to anyone as an equal — yet here he was.

Ever since Tan Er died, his daughter had gone mad. With nowhere to vent, he’d long wanted to do something. Yes — he regretted it. He regretted having wasted his daughter’s youth, regretted having set up Tan Er as an insurmountable mountain, having said things like “my daughter, Qin Zhuo’s daughter, could only barely be matched by someone of princely rank.”

All those years, Tan Er had kept striving, and his daughter had kept waiting. Father and daughter were both stubborn people — admitting fault was impossible, so madness was the only outcome.

This time, with his daughter humiliated by the Long Blade veterans, Qin Zhuo didn’t want to bring trouble to his sect, but he was determined to vent his anger regardless. He understood enough to know that if Yang Zao died, the realm would fall into chaos again, dragging down the common people.

Not wanting the Qin Sect to bear that name, he’d come alone to settle the score with the Long Blade veterans — never expecting to encounter this reclusive Elm Tree Goddess at the foot of Baiquan Mountain.

Not wanting to provoke her, Qin Zhuo snorted coldly: “This old man is Qin Zhuo!!”

Qiqian’er was stunned upon hearing this — she had no idea who was considered top dog in the martial world, and even if she knew, so what? Anyone who blocked her husband’s path to officialdom was simply a bastard deserving to be struck by lightning!

Without thinking much of it, she asked, “You’re called Qin Zhuo? Table Legs? Do you have a brother named Bench Legs?”

Qin Zhuo, hearing this, flew into a rage. How many years had it been since anyone spoke to him this way?

He reached down, drew the sword at his waist, and lunged at the impertinent Elm Tree Goddess.

On Small New Year’s Eve night, snow fell heavily. The bound Qingbuyi tumbled out of the cart, her bald head exposed, looking up at the sky and singing: “…knowing three summers scorch, today especially so. Fragrant scarf brushes the jade mat, together we climb the tower to rest. Light robes, no heavy colors, the whirling wind brings no chill. When will the dog days pass? Let me powder red and rouge my face. Midsummer is no time for outings, yet a hundred worries wrap and cling. Boating on Lotus Lake, scattering my thoughts among the lotus seeds… haha, fool, my father’s not home — shall we go boating?”

Several crisp sounds rang out from the sky above. A woman’s voice shouted: “Hey! Old Table Legs, there’s a lovesick little nun down there — you see her?”

“Shut up! Don’t talk nonsense — eat this old man’s sword…”

“You shut up too — eat this old lady’s blade!”