Night had fallen, and several dark figures flashed swiftly across the rooftops of the Great Liang palace, moving with astonishing speed, like swallows skimming a water’s surface — the thin snow atop the glazed tiles left not a single footprint, and the Imperial Guards keeping watch over the palace noticed nothing at all.
The shadowy figures finally converged together at a small courtyard. Landing, they sealed the sleep-point of the night-duty eunuch, then knelt down together in silence in the snow, waiting.
At the exact hour of Hai, She Qingling had not yet gone to sleep. He was still carefully copying out a Buddhist sutra by hand; once he had finished each stroke with great care, he burned the sutra entirely to ash.
Though Buddhist teaching held that after forty-nine days the dead were reincarnated, making the burning irrelevant either way — even She Qingling himself felt it made no real difference — he burned it regardless.
As someone who had spent years as a covert agent hidden deep within the former dynasty’s inner palace, how could he possibly leave even half a stroke of his own handwriting exposed? The burning was simply habit — as was the sutra-copying itself…
It was all a false front, every bit of it.
Just as everyone throughout Great Liang assumed he still grieved for his family, assumed he had grown thoroughly disillusioned with the world and wished to withdraw from it — only She Qingling himself knew the truth: what he feared most was having no one to rely on, and that he in fact harbored enormous ambition and a hunger for power.
People in this world always insisted on projecting their own understanding, their own sense of reason, onto others.
Was he truly so heartbroken with grief that it could kill him… No matter how deep the sorrow, it had already been so many years…
Watching the flames curl into black butterflies of ash, She Qingling found himself thinking of his wet-nurse. Today was her birthday — today’s sutra had been written for her.
Back then, discipline in his family had been strict — how one spoke, slept, walked, everything governed by rule. The single unwritten family rule of the She clan, never inscribed in any ancestral instruction, was: face. Even facing death ten thousand times over, one must guard one’s face first.
Meeting one’s parents required proper form; what one said required proper form; what one ate required proper form; even what one wore required proper form. Being a child of the She family was never easy.
He too had once been young — had even envied the sight of a servant boy, having received a reward of money, rushing eagerly home to present it to his own mother in filial devotion. He himself never dared behave with such lack of propriety; with his own parents, it was always formal courtesy, performed entirely for the benefit of others watching. Even the maternal tenderness he’d longed for, he had only ever received from his wet-nurse — he loved sweets but never dared say so, and his wet-nurse would stir sugar syrup into his eggs to sweeten his mouth for him.
That sweetness he’d carried in memory for years, not tasting it again until the day the decree came down from his adoptive mother’s household… and once he’d tasted it again, he clung to it and would not let go.
Everyone in this world assumed he must hate the former dynasty most of all, and the Zheng family second most.
Wrong. The one he hated most was his own grandfather. Yes — him, above all. In this world there were those who loved wealth, those who craved power, those who coveted a good name — and he was firmly convinced that of all of these, the very worst were those who craved a good name!
Even now he could not forget that last night before the end — the whole family’s menfolk kneeling in the ancestral hall, his grandfather’s face flushed with excitement, saying to his father in a fit of near-madness that tomorrow they would go and set right the pure and noble reputation of the She family for ten thousand generations.
And then, not long after, they had all died. Not one left — himself included, in a manner of speaking.
His grandfather had believed himself the cleverest man under heaven, never calculating that the Emperor You could be so utterly ruthless. He, She Qingling, had seen through that man’s true face with perfect clarity — how he despised, above all else, anyone else claiming the moral high ground over him. He had left the She family not the slightest sliver of a way out — sparing only one, who became a eunuch.
Heh. How laughable.
Did anyone know why Emperor You had come to trust and favor him? It was because the two of them shared the same loathing for the most hypocritical creatures in this world — those obsessed with reputation. Who would have guessed!
Back then, whenever the two of them had a spare moment, they would drink together and curse these shameless, hypocritical men roundly — that had been the most satisfying feeling, one he still savored to this day.
Like that time on the execution grounds, accompanying his family to their deaths — his own little brother, whom he himself had raised from infancy, had asked him: Brother, can you cover little piggy’s eyes? Little piggy’s scared, doesn’t want to look… He hadn’t been able to. His own hands had been bound too.
And so instead he had twisted his head and struggled with all his strength, pressing his mouth close to that old man’s ear to say: “The most disgusting thing in this world is having been born your descendant…”
Afterward, when his grandfather’s head flew from his shoulders, his eyes had remained open in death, unable to close.
He and Emperor You had cursed their own ancestors together, torn the mask off those so-called sages — while Emperor You, for his part, cursed the officials who were forever trying to trample him underfoot in the name of righteousness. Emperor You had treated him like a mere plaything, never imagining that this plaything would end up playing his entire empire to its death.
Mm. That had truly been a satisfying thing. A man didn’t need to do much in life — just needed to do one thoroughly satisfying thing. Like, say, playing a nation to death.
Watching those black butterflies finally flutter out of sight, She Qingling slowly rose and walked out into the courtyard. By now, the figures waiting outside had turned into snowmen.
These forces were ones he had cultivated back in the former dynasty — not even Yang Zao knew of them. In time, he meant to give them to his own Dasheng.
Dasheng was a fine name — ten thousand times better than “Feilian.”
Seeing She Qingling emerge, the shadowy figures bowed low as one. Their leader spoke: “Just as the master predicted — that Qin Zhuo truly proved contemptible. The moment he left Yandu, he made straight for Quanhou Street.”
She Qingling tucked his hands into his sleeves, glanced over the group, and, seeing their clothing intact, gave a short snort. “That fellow’s always been petty and small-minded. Is your young master unharmed?”
The leader continued, “Yes, the young master is unharmed! But — the arrangements the master had prepared, your servants had no use for at all! We’d planned to intercept, with traps, sleep-inducing incense, and poison all ready — but as luck would have it, that Qin Zhuo ran into the Elm Tree Mother of Baiquan Mountain.”
Elm Tree Mother?
At this, She Qingling’s brow lifted slightly. He had very little information on this woman who had recently appeared near Baiquan Mountain.
He asked coolly, “And then?”
The man kneeling on the ground finally lifted his face — an utterly ordinary face, without any distinguishing feature at all. His expression was one of bewilderment as he drew from inside his robe a broken sword fragment and a brocade pouch. “The two of them exchanged three hundred and twenty blows. Qin Zhuo was soundly defeated, coughing blood, and afterward personally wrote out a formal order forbidding entry into Baiquan Mountain. As for when he came down the mountain, that Elm Tree Mother—”
The subordinate proceeded to give a detailed account of the clash between the Elm Tree Mother and Qin Zhuo. She Qingling interrupted with questions four times, three of them concerning the Elm Tree Mother herself; his sharpest question was, “With your lightness-footwork, you couldn’t even catch up to her?”
This subordinate, whose lightness-skill was unmatched under heaven, replied, “That’s right! Couldn’t catch her at all. Before her, our skill was like grass before a towering ridge — a few leaps and we’d already lost her. What’s more, even Master Qin Zuo himself was no match for her; your servants dared not act rashly, and stayed hidden at a good distance…”
He went on to recount further, and finally came to the matter of Qing Buyi having regained her senses, at which point he requested instructions: “…Afterward, father and daughter of the Qin family parted ways at the Seventeen Righteousness Pavilion on the Qingfeng official road. Your servant arranged for someone to trail Qing Buyi, following her to Qingque Nunnery, where she has registered to stay. What are your orders? Shall we guide her back toward Tan Shiyuan once more? In your servant’s view, Tan Shiyuan doesn’t seem willing to take religious vows — it’s likely he’ll try to flee again before long…”
She Qingling walked out into the snow, took the brocade pouch and broken sword fragment, and examined them for a long while before speaking. “Help him escape. A good man like that ought to go back and stir up trouble within the Tan family. As for Qing Buyi — since the purpose has already been achieved, sever your ties with her. His Majesty’s mood has been quite foul of late; in his heart he’s already thoroughly disgusted with the Tan family. Some matters only need a small push — anything more would be gilding the lily… As for that Elm Tree Mother, you’re to make more trips to Qingfeng City going forward. I suspect that old wretch Gai Xin knows something about her.”
The shadowy figures received their orders and departed. She Qingling stood in the snow, watching until the falling snow had buried all traces of where they had knelt, before finally taking the broken sword and brocade pouch inside to the Buddhist hall. Not long after, he emerged empty-handed and made straight for his bedchamber.
The whole affair of Qing Buyi’s descent into madness had, in fact, been engineered by his own hand from start to finish. His good son had lofty ambitions and, though he was progressing rapidly, kept resorting to inferior tactics; unwilling to force the pace and stunt his growth, She Qingling could only lay the foundation quietly from behind the scenes.
As the grand eunuch who had served at the side of emperors across two dynasties, his deepest understanding of the art of sowing discord was this: to a ruler, there were only ever two kinds of officials — those he liked, and those he did not.
Absolute power granted a ruler an innate privilege: it allowed human nature within him to indulgently strip away all shades of gray, leaving only fondness and disgust. Even a loyal minister, a capable general — if the ruler’s heart turned to loathing, that was the end of his prospects. Once out of favor, he could be discarded at any moment.
That night She Qingling slept quite peacefully, only to be thoroughly annoyed by someone the moment dawn broke.
Forced awake, he sat propped up in bed, robe draped over his shoulders, making no effort to hide his displeasure as he looked at Weng Jinzhong, the eunuch serving Empress Dowager Jiang, and said, “I’m not going!”
Weng Jinzhong, smiling pleasantly, took the warmed slippers a young eunuch had brought and personally set them out for She Qingling, then coaxed him gently. “Are you trying to make things difficult for me? The Empress Dowager means well — she worries about you spending the festival alone, that’s the only reason she’s asked you to come to her quarters. Now, if you really won’t go — could you at least give this old servant a reason? You can’t just toss out three careless words like that and expect me to carry them back, I simply can’t manage it!”
He held out a hand for She Qingling to lean on, personally attending him as he washed and dressed. Only once She Qingling was seated at the table, ready to eat, did this esteemed elder finally relent and say, “Just tell her I’ve gone back to the old estate.”
Weng Jinzhong was startled, and hastened to dissuade him. “Oh, my good sir! Why put yourself through that — the place has fallen into such ruin, it’s not fit to live in! Going back would only make you miserable, and besides, wouldn’t that be slapping His Majesty and the Empress Dowager right in the face? Fine, fine — let’s just say I never came by today, shall we?”
With that, without waiting for She Qingling’s reply, he gathered his attendants and beat a hasty retreat.
She Qingling, expressionless, picked up his bowl and ate his meal with quiet composure. There were twenty-four solar terms in a year, and matters like this cropped up several times a month without fail.
That was his mother’s family — his and the Emperor’s shared maternal relations. Though this family now desperately wished to switch allegiances and return to the pure, noble standing they had once held under the former dynasty, admired by scholars across the realm, he himself had no wish to allow it, and the Emperor even less so. And so the Zheng family could only go on living as imperial in-laws by title alone — any real voice at court was simply out of the question.
The Emperor did not favor them.
He himself lingered constantly at the Emperor’s side, while Zheng Xingyun was left to serve out in the Ministry of Rites — that was the Emperor’s revenge, plain and simple. This open form of retaliation was understood clearly by the Zheng family, by the Emperor, by the Empress Dowager herself — only the world at large remained none the wiser.
Everyone knew, of course, that the Emperor was merely the adopted son of Empress Dowager Zheng, with no blood tie to her at all — closer to him, in truth, than to her own family. Whether the next generation of emperors would even continue to acknowledge these imperial in-laws was anyone’s guess.
She Qingling ate until only half full, then set down his bowl and chopsticks, threw a cloak over his shoulders, and went out to look at the sky, muttering a curse under his breath before returning to his own business.
He cursed the heavens every day, and yet nothing worse ever seemed to happen to him.
She Qingling had walked only a short distance when Weng Jinzhong came hurrying back again. The Empress Dowager had ordered him to claim he’d fallen ill, so now he had no choice but to dash back and forth through the heavy snow between the two of them. Arriving to find She Qingling already gone, he let out a long breath, and, looking rather mournfully at his own adopted son, said, “My boy, tell me — what kind of fate is this for your father? These days, what our family dreads most of all is festival season — every time one rolls around, I feel my legs grow two sizes thinner from all this running…”
Muttering under his breath the whole way, he climbed into his bamboo palanquin and, braving the falling snow once more, headed back to the rear palace to report to the old Empress Dowager.
Once there, he put on a show of trembling remorse and begged forgiveness.
Hearing his report, Empress Dowager Zheng simply reached up and pulled the band from her hair. The old woman was good-natured by temperament; she showed no anger at all, merely smiled, and sat up briskly on her own to address her attendant. “Enough, enough! No need to keep up the act. He’s been like this, careless of propriety, for over a year now — I can’t be bothered wrangling with that stubborn old man, he’s my father after all! And I can’t be bothered wrangling with that stubborn young mule either, he’s my nephew! If I push too hard — ai, hai! How would I ever face my sister again when my time comes? Poor A’Man’s been waiting there all morning for him — the child’s been saddled with such an elder. Go tell him, at least give the boy something to bring home with him.”
Weng Jinzhong nodded and turned to go.
Chen Dasheng had no idea his adoptive father was once again embroiled in some difficulty of his own. He had drunk rather too much with his three cousins the night before, and woke that morning with a splitting hangover, his head pounding as if it might split open; only after downing two bowls of hangover-relief broth did he begin to feel somewhat better.
By the time he could finally drag himself out of bed, it was already the first quarter of the Si hour. Just as he’d finished dressing and set his feet on the floor, Qiqian’er lifted the curtain and came in, saying, “The kitchen’s not lighting the stove today — I’m going to eat over at the old madam’s, and you’re to go eat at the Tao family’s!”
Chen Dasheng looked puzzled at this. Qiqian’er came over, took the gold-clasped tasseled belt from Chunfen’s hands, and fastened it around Chen Dasheng’s waist herself; Chen Dasheng, saying nothing, simply held his arms out and let her arrange him as she pleased.
Once the belt was fastened, Qiqian’er went on hanging various jade pendants worth five or eight guan apiece, strung on silk cords, about his person, saying as she worked, “Their family’s son, the one who’s stayed close to your father, has come back — I don’t even know how many of them have returned this time. And several grandsons of that generation have come along too. You’ll have to greet them all once you get there, so just take these off as you go and hand them out as introduction gifts.”
At this point she grew a little irritated. “Honestly, that whole family has no shame! Don’t they know we’re hosting the blessing-pot feast? And they insist on inviting just you alone — it’s disgusting, honestly.”
Hanging the last small calfskin pouch on him, Qiqian’er patted his waist and said, “Off you go! I’m worried they’ll be shameless about it, so I’ve had twenty or so little gold peanuts prepared for you here too — if there are a lot of people, just grab two or three at a time and hand them out as you see fit. They only sent over a token gift to help with our pot-feast, and now they’re already scheming to get something back — isn’t that just disgusting?”
Chen Dasheng finally couldn’t hold back a laugh, but first took the mouth-rinsing water Chunfen brought over, rinsing his mouth three times before he dared speak to Qiqian’er.
These days he’d grown increasingly particular about such things without even noticing it himself.
Once the staleness of last night’s drinking was finally gone from his mouth, Chen Dasheng pulled Qiqian’er close and said, “Just bear with it. Neighbors, after all — as long as it looks proper on the surface, that’s enough. Our family had a burial not long ago, and the old madam kept vegetarian for two months; old Madam Tao brought the whole family’s womenfolk to keep her company at Qingque Nunnery the whole time. She’s been keeping the old madam company for over six years now — a person can’t avoid a bit of unpleasantness in this life. Why do you think she fawns over our old madam day after day? She’s practically doing Old Mother Li’s job for her at this point — all because she wants an easy favor down the line.”
Qiqian’er, still irritated, reached over and swatted his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “When you get there, don’t you dare agree to anything!”
Chen Dasheng nodded at once. “Of course not!”
As if he’d dare!
With that, Chen Dasheng threw on a cloak lined with purple sable and faced in velvet cloth, and went out the door. His family’s house was only a few dozen paces from Old Madam Tao’s — just diagonally across from the exit of Imperial Guard Lane.
Once he’d left the lane, Chen Dasheng found himself smiling. No wonder — his own family’s feast had featured two full sessions of opera, both full-length productions, so people had come from ten li around just to watch. His family had also been ladling out free stew right at the Qingfeng city gate; not to be outdone, the Tao family had set up their own big pot right at their own front door too — though theirs held nothing but hot water, provided for the opera-watchers to drink.
It made the whole thing look as though the Tao family were hosting their own blessing-pot feast.
No wonder his wife was so displeased — this was really quite calculating of them.
Chen Dasheng had, by now, more or less mastered the art of not letting his feelings show. Wearing his usual affable, easygoing expression, he strolled cheerfully toward the Tao family’s gate.
Making his way past the crowd of onlookers queued up for water, he arrived at the Tao family’s door, where he saw the Tao family’s grandson — nicknamed “Zhuangyuan” — leap up and dash back inside.
Before long, a great crowd came pouring out. Leading them was a face he recognized — Zhou Jizong, the one who’d once snatched away that bolt of brocade — followed by another man who looked remarkably similar, though Chen Dasheng had no idea what his name was. Both of these two looked rather wilted, as if struck down by frost.
Old Madam Tao, supported by her grandson, came out to greet him personally, positively overjoyed at the sight of Chen Dasheng. Beaming, she came forward, bracing her knees, and said, “Ah, my dear commander’s aide! We’ve been waiting for you all morning!”
Chen Dasheng returned the greeting with a smile, bowing as befit a junior to an elder. “And here you are too — saving the good wine for next year, are we? You know very well what our family’s dealing with right now — couldn’t this have waited?”
Old Madam Tao put on a show of brisk good humor. “Couldn’t wait at all! Yesterday the Kitchen God himself went up to heaven for a feast — surely it’s our turn now! No matter, whose family isn’t like this these days, none of us can afford to stand on ceremony anymore. Come, come, let me introduce you to these two useless sons of mine.”
She reached out and pulled the elder of the two forward. “This is my third son, Jiye.” Then, pointing to Zhou Jizong, “And this shameful, good-for-nothing one you’ve already met — my fourth son, Jizong.”
Chen Dasheng exchanged greetings with the two of them, and, noting that neither bore any trace of an official post about them, understood at once that these two were likely without any position at all.
After the greetings and some polite small talk, the group escorted Chen Dasheng into the Tao family’s courtyard. Once he was shown into the main hall, he found Master Cheng and Meng Wanquan already there, sitting off to the side, watching him with amusement.
Chen Dasheng brightened at the sight of them, his tone turning light and easy. “Well, look who’s here! What, my own family’s food not good enough for you two?”
Meng Wanquan chuckled and nodded. “Well, of course — a big communal pot can’t compare to a proper seated feast.”
Master Cheng, stroking his beard, nodded in agreement. “Just so, just so — we were starving ages ago, but had to wait on you, you black-hearted so-and-so, before we could even get up. Poor us, stuck here as guest-companions starving until this hour.”
With that, the two of them caught sight of the jingling string of pendants at Chen Dasheng’s waist and burst out laughing together — Meng Wanquan even stood up to show off his own set to Chen Dasheng, since he had one too, and so did Master Cheng.
Old Madam Tao’s manner of hosting today really was rather irritating — it being the twelfth month besides, with the blessing-pot feast already underway on the other side — if you’re going to host a feast, you ought to at least have a proper occasion for it! Summoning people so abruptly for drinks with no stated reason at all left guests no room to maneuver — it was, frankly, a breach of etiquette.
Everyone felt the displeasure privately, but out of four or five years of shared hardship as neighbors, they were willing to grant this much face. Zhou Jizong, for his part, looked rather embarrassed too, well aware his family’s conduct was less than gracious, and hurried to usher them to their seats. Chen Dasheng, holding the highest official rank among them now, was seated in the place of honor; once he was settled, the dishes began to arrive.
Old Madam Tao’s family had spared no expense today, having engaged the kitchen of the finest restaurant in Qingfeng City, serving the region’s finest soup-based dishes — chicken, duck, fish, meat, vegetables, all of it stewed in broth, presented in dainty little clay pots of just the right size. In the dead of winter, having every single dish arrive as a clear, visible broth with vegetables floating in it was quite an extravagance in itself — this single feast alone must have cost no less than ten guan.
Chen Dasheng didn’t drink liquor while out, so he substituted tea for wine and drank three cups first.
No sooner had he set down his teacup, chopsticks not yet raised, than Old Madam Tao was helped into the room by two of her daughters-in-law.
Upon entering, she instructed the grandson standing at the door: “Zhuangyuan, I need to have a word with your uncles — help your grandmother shut the door.”
Chen Dasheng, hearing this, said with a laugh, “Old Madam, what are you saying — you’ve got the generations mixed up!”
The boy called Zhuangyuan immediately went in and shut the wooden door; in the last narrow gap before it closed, Chen Dasheng caught sight of the boy shooting a resentful glare back at his two uncles.
Once the door was shut, the faint, warbling sound of the opera outside grew as distant and thin as if it were coming from a neighboring village. The room fell silent, and Old Madam Tao, supported by her two daughters-in-law, was brought to a seat at the table.
She sat without speaking for a long while, and finally lifted her face, lips trembling, and said, “The three of you — I know today’s invitation makes no sense at all, and I know it must be terribly irritating to you all. But… there was truly no other way!”
The old woman was utterly wronged, and as she finished speaking, tears began to fall from her eyes — one drop at a time, a slow river of sorrow.
Seeing her weep, Zhou Jiye and Zhou Jizong could no longer stay seated; both rose at once and knelt on the floor, not daring to make a sound.
Meng Wanquan and Master Cheng were startled, and both turned to look at Chen Dasheng.
In the old days, Chen Dasheng would have been flustered at once — an elderly woman his own grandmother’s age, whom his family had known for six years, however humble her standing, was still an old neighbor, an old friendship — he’d surely have stood up at once to offer comfort.
But he was different now. Look at the company he kept these days, the world he moved in, the things he did day after day. Never mind private matters — even in the ordinary course of things, he regularly witnessed officials losing their composure at court, watched them dragged out and beaten, occasionally accompanied His Majesty down into the secret dungeons, and had come face-to-face with the mad nun herself. He’d long since grown accustomed to far worse.
Watching the old woman weep so wretchedly, Chen Dasheng felt a headache coming on. He reached for a spoon, ladled himself half a small bowl of soup, drank it down warm, and once his stomach felt more settled, finally spoke. “Old Madam, if you have something to say, you should simply say it plainly at home. All of us old neighbors know exactly how your family’s been getting by these days — every bit of it earned through your aunts’ and sisters’ own two hands, thread by thread, labor by labor. Why waste money like this? Now you’ve gone and summoned us here specially, putting on this whole display — isn’t that just putting people in a difficult position? I’ll be honest with you — I’ve grown rather hard-hearted these days. This sort of thing won’t work on me.”
With that, he picked up his chopsticks and began eating. Since he’d already come, he might as well not let the food go to waste.
Never mind Old Madam Tao — even Meng Wanquan and Master Cheng were startled by this new side of Chen Dasheng.
Old Madam Tao sat stunned into silence. Trembling, she lifted her head, only to see Meng Wanquan smilingly placing a piece of hot tofu onto Chen Dasheng’s plate.
Did none of them care at all?
Overcome with distress, the old woman began to sob. Seeing his mother in such difficulty, Zhou Jizong, still kneeling, spoke up. “My lords, this whole affair is our fault, both of ours — ai!”
With that, he stopped kneeling, reached up, and slapped himself hard across the face, left and right, then stood and said to Chen Dasheng, “I won’t hide it from you, my lords — what our family’s done today wasn’t proper at all. But my mother’s simply desperate. The two of us have come back this time only to see our families settled, and tomorrow we must set off to report for duty at the Zuoliang Pass. My mother doesn’t want us posted to the border, and out of desperation, resorted to this.”
With that, he reached down and scooped Old Madam Tao up, moving to carry her out.
Old Madam Tao struggled against him. “Let go of me! Son, your mother would rather die than let you go get yourself killed!”
In the struggle, the old woman’s hand caught his face, leaving three bloody scratches.
Zhou Jizong showed no sign of pain, simply cooing to soothe her. “Now, now, what kind of talk is that — the realm grows more peaceful by the day, what do you mean ‘get killed’? Third Brother and I are off to build our futures…”
Old Madam Tao cursed loudly. “Nonsense! I haven’t even gotten to enjoy a single day of good fortune thanks to you, and now you drag this whole crowd here to burden me — I can’t afford to feed them! Get them out, get them out of here…”
The old woman had completely lost her composure today.
Zhou Jizong didn’t lose his temper either, simply carrying his mother out while saying, “Yes, yes, nonsense, nonsense, we’ll get them out, get them out…”
As the voices grew fainter and fainter in the distance, Zhou Jiye, still kneeling on the floor, gave a cough and slowly got up. He hopped straight to the door first, poked his head out to check that no one was around, then shut the door and trotted back to the table — and without so much as a word of greeting, picked up a spoon in one hand and chopsticks in the other and began eating heartily.
By the time he’d eaten himself half full, Zhou Jizong came running back in from outside, and the two brothers began wolfing down food like starving ghosts reborn. Between mouthfuls, Zhou Jizong occasionally looked up with a grin and said, “Don’t mind us, my lords — we’ve done so many shameless things this past year, we’ve simply got no face left to lose!”
Zhou Jiye, not even looking up, added, “Right, right — the moment we walked in the door just now, our mother had been starving us on purpose, just to keep us from going to the border.”
Both of these two men were in their mid-thirties to early forties, and watching them put on such a performance was rather entertaining.
Chen Dasheng poured himself more tea, stood, and said with an easy smile as he drank, “No offense taken at all. Slow down, you two, no need to rush.”
Zhou Jizong, swallowing a mouthful of soup, looked up and said, “Ha? My lords — please, there’s no need to show us such respect, knowing we’re headed to the Zuoliang Pass. We’re not worth it!”
Zhou Jiye nodded. “Right, right, right, not worth it at all.”
With that, he picked up half a chicken and, ignoring how hot it was, began gnawing at it with his bare hands, chewing away for a long while before he finally seemed satisfied enough to speak properly again.
He said with a sheepish grin, “As for me — I came straight from the army’s holding cell to seek refuge with my mother. Won’t hide it from you gentlemen — I embezzled a bit of silver I shouldn’t have, didn’t share it with my commanding officer, and got caught. If it weren’t for that bolt of brocade from your household, I’d be facing exile at the very least right now.”
Zhou Jizong went on with a grin of his own. “As for our family’s sordid business, the old neighbors probably already know it all by now. Won’t hide it from you either — I picked up a habit of cutting corners from following our father around, and picked up a bit of scheming from our mother. As children, we can’t very well say our elders taught us wrong, can we? But the two of us talked it over — since this round of putting down rebellions doesn’t fall to men like us, if we want to bring our mother some real honor, we have to take the proper path. So we arranged to go to the Zuoliang Pass — there’s a bit of scheming in it too, if I’m honest. We’re willing to endure ten-odd years of hardship, all to earn our mother a title of honor someday.”
He gave Chen Dasheng a rueful grin. “Our old mother, you know — she envies your old madam something fierce, practically to death.”
Chen Dasheng laughed at this, sat back down, and picked up the small clay pot in front of him, swapping it for Zhou Jizong’s now-empty one. “No wonder your old madam’s invitation came so suddenly — so that’s what this was about!”
Zhou Jizong, having been starved by his mother for two days, was eating in a thoroughly undignified manner by now; he accepted the pot with grateful reverence, took a few more mouthfuls, head bowed, before looking up with a smile and saying, “What else could we do? Who else does she even know?”
His eyes reddened slightly; he tilted his head back, holding it in for a moment, then forced a smile again. “My lords — we’re old neighbors, after all. We wouldn’t dare ask you for any great favor. But might the two of us brothers ask for one small favor?”
Chen Dasheng considered this, then nodded. “So long as it’s not difficult, I’ll help — no need for the other two to get involved.”
“That works, that’s even better!” Zhou Jiye, sitting beside him, set down his now-empty pot and said with a smile, “Two things. First — the two of us are registered in the Ministry of War’s rolls under the surname Zhou; we’d like it changed to Tao. Since this concerns military personnel headed to the border, the two of us alone don’t have the standing to get it changed.”
Chen Dasheng nodded, smiling. “That’s a small matter.”
Seeing him agree, Zhou Jizong brightened. “Wonderful — that way, even if we die out there, at least our headstones won’t bear the wrong name. As for the second thing — the two of us aren’t exactly well-off right now, and we’re too embarrassed to ask our mother for it, so we thought we’d ask you instead, heh heh…” He held up two fingers toward Chen Dasheng. “We’d like to borrow two full sets of proper military-issue armor, weapons, and warhorses. Would that be too much trouble for you?”