On the fifth day of the first lunar month, in the third year of Yong’an, the lords of Qinwei Lane received an imperial edict at home. Chen Dasheng was promoted directly from a sixth-rank commander-experience post in the Imperial Guard Office to fifth-rank vice director in the Ministry of War; the other six of the “Old Blade” brothers were each promoted a rank as well, to sixth-rank secretaries in the Ministry of War.

This year His Majesty had raised the rank of one hundred thirty-six officials, great and small, rewarding them for their outstanding performance over the past year’s term. Among them, three officials of third rank or above were promoted, yet not a single minister received honors in the form of enfeoffment. Our Great Liang’s emperor, having learned from the previous dynasty’s mistakes, was unprecedentedly stingy when it came to any reward touching on titled fiefs.

And so, amid the crowd of civil officials, Chen Dasheng and the others, quietly transitioning from the Imperial Guard Office to the Ministry of War, had their promotions pass almost unnoticed by the other ministries — partly because it was none of their concern, and partly because the impact was minor, threatening no one’s interests.

Though the official posts of these seven men now belonged to the Ministry of War, they held no real authority in the Carriage Bureau, Armory Bureau, or Bureau of Operations. These seven remained on duty within the Twenty-Eight Guard Offices before the emperor, and the Long Blade Office had always been the most independent of the twenty-eight. His Majesty even planned to expand the Long Blade Office to a hundred men this year — ever since the mad nun had arrived last year, he’d allowed no one to override him and privately reassign the Long Blade Office.

When the emperor wished to favor a few of his personal bodyguards, who would dare say a word against it?

As for the Imperial Guard Office commanders who had once overseen Chen Dasheng and the others, they no longer had any authority over them at all.

Not that this mattered — it truly worked out well for everyone. Originally, Chen Dasheng and his men had come to the Imperial Guard Office already holding substantive posts, and now that all seven had been promoted into the Ministry of War, it freed up one commander-experience post and six magistrate posts within the Twenty-Eight Guard Offices. The Minister of War, Sun Shouyi, claimed two of these, Chen Dasheng arranged two more, and the remaining three were snapped up by various capable figures.

Afterward, Chen Dazhong and Chen Dayi were transferred from the Five Chief Military Commissions to the Twenty-Eight Guard Offices, placed under Liu Daya as magistrates of the Golden Guard, while Chen Dayong remained with the Five Chief Military Commissions — though he needn’t wait in line for a nominal post, and went straight into a real magistrate position. He was put in charge of minor matters concerning garrison farmland around Qingfeng — though with hardly any land near Yandu left for garrison troops to farm, he became the family’s biggest idler, wandering the Commission grounds all day with nothing to do.

The Long Blade Office, meanwhile, quietly grew special. Unlike the chief officers of the other Twenty-Eight Guard Offices, its officers now had the right to attend court — not, of course, standing properly within the hall; rather, on occasions when there was little else to do, if they wished to attend, they would stand outside the hall.

Attending court in the true sense was still out of the question. Once the fifteenth and the Lantern Festival had passed and everyone returned to their posts, the Long Blade Office would relocate its offices, becoming from then on the second layer of the emperor’s personal guard, beyond the regular Imperial Guard.

She Qingling had always played his political games without showing his hand. Quietly, he had been twisting what were once four strands of military power into five — the Ministry of War, the Five Chief Military Commissions, the Imperial Guard Office, the Jiu Si Hall, and the smallest of them, the Long Blade Office — which he judged to be the most balanced arrangement of military power for Great Liang. Even he himself couldn’t quite say why he felt this was the right approach, but years of political instinct told him so, and so he simply did it.

With this stroke of good fortune for Qinwei Lane, from Qipan Courtyard to the Six Ministries lanes, everyone quietly expected a celebration to be held, and each household had even prepared seven gifts in advance to send over in congratulation.

But nothing came of it. Chen Dasheng was utterly indifferent to the promotion, and his sworn brothers followed suit — the whole household simply shared a modest round of drinks, discussed how much more in salary they’d draw and how much more grain-stipend they’d receive, and by the next morning, life went on exactly as before.

No helping it — serving within the palace, seeing high officials of the Six Ministries daily, a rank of fifth or sixth grade was the kind of thing one might be hauled out and caned over on a whim. It really wasn’t much to speak of.

On the eighth day of the New Year, around noon, Tong Jintai came home from the small training grounds next door at Hu Yougui’s house. His own household had once had space for practicing martial arts too, along with a fair-sized corner garden, but since his wife wanted to turn it into a flower room, he hadn’t bothered to argue and simply went to practice at the Hu household instead.

Since the Tong and Hu households were so close by, they didn’t like using the front gate to visit each other. At first the two men had simply climbed back and forth over the rooftops between the rear wing buildings, but later Zhang Wanru decided it was unbecoming for the gentlemen to be climbing over walls, and had a stone stairway built up to the roof for them. This set off a trend — the other households followed suit and built their own rooftop stairs, so that nowadays people came and went across the rooftops, and Qinwei Lane had practically turned into one giant version of Qipan Courtyard, with people scattered across every rooftop.

Tong Jintai and his fellows had all come from hard, humble backgrounds, and none of them were particularly clever, but they shared one good quality: diligence. No matter how comfortable their lives had become, they still rose quietly before dawn, and whenever they had spare time, each would find a spot to practice some new fighting technique, often spending an entire morning at it. Even in Yandu, if they weren’t on duty, they had two subjects of study — the classics and histories on one hand, military texts on the other.

Coming down from the rooftop stairs, Tong Jintai wrapped a cloth around his head and took a hot bath. When he came out and asked a houseboy, he learned the kitchen wasn’t lighting the stove today — his wife had gone back to her natal family early that morning.

Well, since she’d gone, he figured he might as well head over to his father-in-law’s place and mooch a meal too.

So Tong Jintai changed into everyday clothes, threw on a half-worn cloak, and, cradling a bronze hand warmer, sauntered out the door. No sooner had he stepped out than he spotted one of Jixiang’s men heading his way with a cart, another cart behind it also loaded down with goods.

One glance told him what this was about — his chief was sending more supplies round to the brothers again.

Ever since Master She had quietly taken up residence at the household, it seemed His Majesty had come to realize just how important he was — nearly every morning now, several carts would arrive from Yandu, loaded with food and goods His Majesty thought good enough, all meant to supplement his sworn younger brothers’ households.

Whatever was given to Master She was, in effect, given to the whole of Qinwei Lane.

Sure enough, once Jixiang reached his gate, he smiled and had someone unload four baskets of fruit. Curious, Tong Jintai bent down to open a basket and found, inside a modest five-jin basket, two baskets of slender-leaf pears, one basket of peaches, and one basket of apples.

A year ago, he wouldn’t have dared dream of eating such things, let alone seeing them — yet this past year, they’d had such treats every few days, so often that they’d nearly grown tired of them.

Some came by way of His Majesty, some by way of following their chief to Master She’s residence, and in the latter half of the year, whatever a man named Ping Shen sent over was even more plentiful than what came from the palace itself. Sometimes, when on duty, if one of the senior consorts in the rear palace happened to have a birthday, there’d be rewards too — and the rewards for these particular men were always special, never anything so paltry as a single dish or a few strings of cash. At the very least it would be an entire banquet setting, and for the sake of appearances, the senior consort in question would always have it paired with all manner of fine fruit.

Eyeing the freshness of the fruit, Tong Jintai grinned at Jixiang’s man. “Hah, this batch went into the cellar back in the ninth month of last year, didn’t it?”

The man chuckled and lowered his voice as he came closer. “Third Master has a sharp eye — indeed, these slender-leaf pears went into storage in the ninth month. New supplies arrived from the south yesterday, and the palace cellars had no more room, so since there was a surplus, His Majesty figured he might as well pass along the older stock. Sent over several hundred jin before dawn today — Madam had baskets found and portions handed out to every household. This kind of thing is rare for the season, so Third Master and Third Madam had best eat up quickly — mustn’t let it spoil.”

Thinking of his pregnant wife, Tong Jintai nodded, spotted an empty basket on the cart, grabbed it, and filled it himself with a selection of the largest pieces from each basket on the ground. Covering it, he told a servant to take it in and set it aside for his wife, then hefted the basket and headed off down the lane.

Curious, She Jixiang’s man asked, “Where’s Third Master off to?”

Tong Jintai turned back. “Where else? Off to mooch a meal at my father-in-law’s.”

Jixiang’s man laughed and gave him a thumbs up. “Third Master really landed himself a fine match — don’t even need to light your own stove at home.”

Tong Jintai was rather pleased with this fact himself, and nodded firmly. “That’s right!”

With that he strode off, practically floating with pride.

Nor was he alone in this — Qinwei Lane was full of such freeloaders. The married men had it easy enough, but the unmarried ones would go around at mealtimes asking what each household was cooking, and if it sounded good, they’d invite themselves over. Sometimes they didn’t even need to ask — whether it was the Cheng family making medicinal stew or the Meng family’s Meng Wanquan making spiced hotpot, word always went round in advance; and as for their chief’s household, someone came round to ask nearly every meal whether they wanted a plate sent over. Even after marrying, it was just the same, as if nothing had ever changed.

The greatest freeloader of them all was Tong Jintai. His father-in-law’s house was just one lane over, past Libu Lane, and if anything, they thought of him even more than he thought of them.

Being so close by, his mother-in-law would often drop by unannounced. At first Madam Dong had tried to keep up appearances, but over time, having grown used to him, she realized her son-in-law’s temperament was simply and endearingly straightforward — good to those who were good to him. He never even called her “mother-in-law,” but followed Zhang Wanru’s lead and called her “Mother” outright.

No matter how many times she visited her son-in-law’s house, he always greeted her with a smile, sometimes even bringing her flowers to wear, and if he came across something nice in Yandu, he’d bring it back and have his wife tell her it was for her and his father-in-law.

Such affection, one could never get enough of.

Basket in hand, Tong Jintai sauntered up to his father-in-law’s house. Before he’d even reached the gate, the gatekeepers spotted him from a distance and stood up grinning — they all knew this was their son-in-law coming to mooch a meal.

The Zhang family had been officials under the previous dynasty. In the old days several branches had lived together in their ancestral home in Yandu, but with the new dynasty risen, life for surrendered officials of the old regime was never easy, and they dared not draw attention to themselves. So they’d sold the old family home in Yandu, hidden away all their former extravagance, and quietly moved to Quanhou Street in Qingfeng. Since the family’s old matriarch was still living, the family couldn’t formally divide, and so all four branches crowded together in one compound. It was only because Zhang Wanru had struck it lucky with such a golden match for a husband that the Zhang family finally had someone to lean on, and so the other three branches had only dared, at the end of last year, to buy land on Quanqian Street, planning to build their own houses come spring.

The gatekeeper of the eldest branch, spotting his son-in-law from afar, hopped down the steps and trotted over to take the basket, bowing as he greeted him. “Ah, Son-in-law’s here.”

Tong Jintai asked with a smile, “Where’s your young mistress right now?”

Better to find out where his wife was first, so he could mooch off both households at once.

The gatekeeper answered, “Reporting to you, sir — the young mistress went early this morning with the eldest madam to the Tang family’s tea gathering…”

Tong Jintai paused. “Not here?”

The gatekeeper nodded, then added with a grin, “The old madam had the kitchen prepare braised mutton tripe today — that dish is the best thing to go with wine.”

And of course the whole household knew he loved it.

The old Zhang family had served as officials for generations, and their cooks always had a signature dish or two up their sleeve. It happened to be Tong Jintai’s favorite, and hearing this he broke into a grin and asked, “And my father-in-law?”

The gatekeeper, though he’d heard it countless times, still found it strange every time — up and down the six lanes of Quanhou Street, there wasn’t another son-in-law quite like this one. The eldest branch had three sons, two by the principal wife and one by a concubine, and all of them addressed their father formally — none called him simply “Dad” the way this one did.

The gatekeeper answered with a smile, “The Eldest Master is in the west wing of the front courtyard, giving the young masters their lessons.”

The old Zhang family was strict about educating its children, and though they no longer dared keep a family school open, the four brothers took turns teaching the younger generation at home.

Chatting idly with the gatekeeper, Tong Jintai passed through the Zhang family’s gate. Once inside, he didn’t head for the rear quarters, but went straight for the west wing, where he could already hear the sound of recitation drifting from a distance.

A few more steps brought him to the three-bay west wing. Peeking in, he saw four or five desks inside, where the older young cousins-in-law sat quietly studying. In the central room sat a cluster of little cousins-in-law, swaying their heads back and forth as they recited their lessons, while his father-in-law sat in the seat of honor, bent over studying a rubbing of an inscription, occasionally reaching out to trace a stroke with his finger.

Before the New Year, Zhang Zhengci had found himself increasingly sidelined at the Ministry of Personnel, and felt he wouldn’t last much longer there, so he’d claimed illness and stayed home. Yet who could have guessed that, near the end of the twelfth month, word had come from a senior official at the ministry that he should report back for duty in writing once the Lantern Festival had passed — a sign they intended to make use of him after all.

And so Zhang Zhengci had thought to use the time before the New Year to give the younger generation extra tutoring. He and his three younger brothers, thanks to the stain of having served the previous dynasty, had no real prospects left for themselves in official life — but the younger generation could still sit for the new dynasty’s imperial examinations. For a time, the whole Zhang household was in an uproar over it, legitimate and illegitimate children alike groaning under the strain — lessons continued even on New Year’s Eve.

Tong Jintai, shameless as ever, watched for a few moments, then reached out and pushed open the window, calling in with a grin, “Father, ah! Still keeping the little brothers hard at their studies at this hour?”

The Zhang family was strict about education — even his two brothers-in-law by the principal wife, who were fathers themselves now, didn’t dare slack off. Hearing their brother-in-law’s voice, the two looked up and broke into broad, delighted smiles.

Tong Jintai grinned back, flashing a snaggletooth, and held up the basket toward his scowling father-in-law. “Lucky timing — got hold of some good fruit for the little ones to share.”

Zhang Zhengci had once looked down on military men, and had it not been for a catastrophe that toppled the old dynasty, he never would have imagined marrying his legitimate daughter off to a rough soldier. But now, his two sons by the principal wife plus one by a concubine, put together, still weren’t half as endearing to him as this one son-in-law.

Having said his piece, Tong Jintai stood in the doorway of the west wing, gazing hopefully at his father-in-law.

Zhang Zhengci, resigned, set aside the rubbing, stroked his beard, and said to the assembled children, “That’s enough for today. Don’t slack off when you go back either — keep practicing diligently. I’ll be testing you first thing tomorrow, and if any of you fail to—”

A cough sounded from outside the door. His life-saving son-in-law stood there, coughing and grinning.

Zhang Zhengci gave up, waving his hands as if shooing away flies. “Go on, all of you, go!”

The cluster of little cousins-in-law, the youngest no older than seven or eight, didn’t dare cheer outright, but stood and bowed properly to their eldest uncle before gathering up their books and filing out quietly — though their steps were noticeably livelier and quicker than usual.

Chen Dasheng — recognizing the eldest sons of the other three branches — picked out two pieces of fruit for each of them to take home. Fruit like this was hard to come by in this season, and far too extravagant for a child to have one all to himself.

Most would take home just two to share, letting the servants slice them up so each child could have a taste — and count themselves lucky their family even had a son-in-law who could get hold of fruit at all. An ordinary household, even with money to spare, would have nowhere to buy such things in the dead of winter, since the roads made it impossible.

Getting fruit in wintertime was, thanks to the difficulties of transport, something even an emperor couldn’t always manage — hadn’t there been that old story of a single delivery of lychees nearly tarnishing an emperor’s reputation for enlightened rule? That’s how extravagant it was.

Once the fruit had all been handed out, Tong Jintai’s two legitimate brothers-in-law finally came strolling out to greet him properly. The elder one was named Zhang Ziwei, twenty-three this year; the one in the middle was Zhang Zicheng, twenty this year.

His father-in-law also had two concubines — one surnamed He, one surnamed Li. Concubine He had given birth to a daughter, Wan Ning, who’d married off in Yandu long ago and, though only twenty-one this year, was already mother to three children. Concubine Li had been Madam Dong’s dowry maid; she’d conceived late — during the chaotic war years, when Lord Zhang was consumed with worry over the state of the realm, his mother back home, his second brother, and his daughter, Concubine Li had unexpectedly fallen pregnant, giving Lord Zhang quite a shock. And so Tong Jintai’s youngest brother-in-law was only four this year.

Lord Zhang later described the feeling to a friend this way — like dozing peacefully by a lotus pond on a leisurely autumn afternoon, sound asleep, when suddenly a frog leapt with a plop into the pond and startled him awake — he woke to find himself still in the middle of the chaos of war.

And so Tong Jintai’s youngest brother-in-law’s childhood name became A’Wa (“Little Frog”).

One could see the Zhang family temperament clearly in Zhang Wanru — open and easygoing. Coming from a family that had favored antiquities for generations, they’d also picked up a fondness for having fun.

Once lessons were done, Zhang Ziwei spoke up. “Brother-in-law, I want to invite some friends over for drinks after the New Year — the house is too crowded here, could we use your back courtyard?”

Tong Jintai waved a careless hand. “Why ask me about that? My wife runs that household — and I’m off on duty ten or fifteen days out of every month anyway. Do as you like.”

Zhang Ziwei brightened at this, and was just about to thank him when his father cuffed him hard on the back of the head from below. “Your sister’s pregnant — don’t you dare bring your rowdy friends around to disturb her.”

Zhang Ziwei’s face fell at this; he nodded and trudged off dejectedly, books tucked under his arm.

Seeing how crestfallen he looked, Tong Jintai said with a laugh, “Never mind, Guan Si’er’s got a big enough garden — I’ll have a word with him, you can go carry on over there instead, so you won’t disturb your sister.”

His brother-in-law brightened at once, and turned to look at his father — who, finding this arrangement acceptable, nodded his consent.

Lord Zhang had meant to walk off with his hands clasped behind his back, but noticed the ripe red apples in his son-in-law’s basket and, unable to resist, took one. Playing the part of the carefree, unconventional scholar he fancied himself, he wiped it a few times on his sleeve without much fuss and headed for the back courtyard, munching as he walked.

The Zhang family’s four branches, together with their household servants, were crowded into a single second courtyard, so the whole way there was full of people. Since the family’s fortunes had turned around at the end of last year, everyone along the way wore smiles, and even their bows carried a certain new ease.

Tong Jintai didn’t recognize most of them, but strolled along smiling after his father-in-law as though gliding on air — ordinarily, on a walk like this, he’d have been stopped and greeted at least seven or eight times.

By the time the group reached the back courtyard, they looked up to see little A’Wa, pants undone, relieving himself against two “snow mountains” the servants had piled up. Once he’d finished, two maids came forward silently to clean up, then helped pull up the young master’s trousers; seeing the elders and young masters arrive, they bowed silently and withdrew quickly, retreating so fast one could barely spot them.

The two maids in the household both named Mei were like that — capable, efficient, quick-witted, and always reading the room.

The back courtyard, too, operated under very different rules from the front, with far fewer people about.

As Zhang Wanru had once explained to Tong Jintai — in her family, the back courtyard used to be just like any other: the fathers and uncles all harbored ambitions, forever scheming to rise in rank and enter the cabinet someday, while the one who truly kept order was their grandmother — she alone held sway over all the wives and concubines, and everyone held their breath in front of the old matriarch. On the surface the rules looked very strict, but underneath, there was no shortage of rivalry between wives and concubines, no shortage of brothers scheming against each other. Yet who would have thought — after the disaster that befell their family, comparing then to now, all those petty grievances from before suddenly seemed so pointless, and overnight, seemed to simply resolve themselves. By the time she’d returned to secular life from the Daoist temple and come back to Yandu, she barely recognized her own home — even her father felt like a father again, her uncles felt like uncles again…

Tong Jintai didn’t know what the Zhang family used to be like — he simply thought things were quite good now, and felt fondness for everyone he met. Even the family’s blind old matriarch, just to lure him into eating a few more meals with her, had the kitchen make braised mutton tripe every single day.

Tong Jintai handed off most of the small basket of fruit to his brother-in-law, then bent down and scooped up A’Wa.

Startled, A’Wa let out a squeal, then, recognizing his brother-in-law, sighed with delight. “Ah! Brother-in-law, did you come to take me riding?”

Tong Jintai suppressed a laugh and nodded. “That’s right — but we’ll have to eat first.”

“Riding” really just meant sitting the boy up on the horse with him while he made a string of battle noises, which was more than enough to satisfy him. Since it wasn’t far, he often took his little brother-in-law out this way.

Hearing his brother-in-law agree, A’Wa nodded the way his father did and said, “Splendid, marvelous…”

But before he could finish, Concubine Li came trotting over and snatched him away, giving him a swat on the bottom. “Marvelous my foot — turn your back for one second and you’re off causing mischief in the old madam’s courtyard again.”

The old madam’s dining table wasn’t somewhere just anyone could sit.

Concubine Li, worried A’Wa would grow too used to sitting there and lose all sense of proportion, had come running to scoop him up.

A’Wa looked ready to cry, but Tong Jintai pressed a pear into his hands. Being only four, once he had fruit in hand, he stopped crying, just clutched it with tears still welling, and begged, “Brother-in-law, remember to come get me after you’ve eaten.”

Tong Jintai solemnly promised, and stood watching as his little brother-in-law was carried off by his aunt. Through all this — the wetting, the crying — Lord Zhang said not a word; he’d learned a hard lesson once, and had lost all interest in the inner household ever since.

In the past, Lord Zhang had favored Concubine He, and cared more for his concubine-born younger daughter Zhang Wanning than for his legitimate daughter Zhang Wanru. Because of this favoritism, the household had always seethed with internal rivalry, though at the time he hadn’t noticed, believing instead that his household was harmonious and that he was managing his family rather well as its head.

Who could have known — amid the chaos of war, Concubine He proved unable to endure hardship: she first asked Lord Zhang for a release document to set her free as a concubine, became the concubine of a rising new-dynasty power broker, then went on to arrange her daughter Wan Ning’s marriage into another newly powerful family of her choosing.

Such poetic justice is rare in this world — Lord Zhang’s departure from Yandu had, in fact, been partly due to covert suppression by that very same power broker.

Now, having weathered all this, Lord Zhang had let go of much of his old thinking, and no longer dared dote excessively on A’Wa — he only watched quietly from the side, loving him carefully.

Once A’Wa had been carried off, the group of men finally made their way into the old matriarch’s room.

Before he’d even stepped inside, Tong Jintai called out cheerfully, “Grandma! I’m here!”

No sooner had he spoken than an old voice, tinged with delight, rang out to meet him. “My boy, you always did have a knack for good timing — we just made braised mutton tripe today, and here you are.”

In truth, the old matriarch had the kitchen prepare this dish for every single meal whenever she knew Tong Jintai was in the house.

Tong Jintai walked in grinning. “Well, that’s lucky then — say what you will about me, but I’ve always had good luck with food when I’m with you.”

“That’s right, that’s right! Come here, come closer…”

The blind, lame old matriarch was helped up by an attendant, groping forward with an outstretched hand. Tong Jintai took a pear from the basket and placed it in her palm.

The old woman started slightly in surprise, felt it over with her fingers, then sniffed it and broke into a smile. “Oh my, this time of year — wherever did you find such a fine pear?”

Tong Jintai handed the rest of the basket to a nearby old servant woman, then sat down near the old matriarch to chat with her a while.

Seeing his mother’s delighted expression, coaxed into smiles by her son-in-law, Zhang Zhengci felt his own spirits lift as well. No wonder — his mother appeared kind and doting now, but in her younger years she had been formidable indeed, and had managed to offend all four of her daughters-in-law. The one grievance none of them could get past was this: before the war, she had insisted on returning to the old family home to have the ancestral estate renovated, and had further insisted on bringing Wanru along, while forbidding her from returning to the capital — and as if that weren’t enough, to ensure grandmother and granddaughter made it home safely, the second brother had been forced to take an extended leave to accompany them.

Who could have foreseen that amid the chaos of war, the second brother, in protecting his mother and niece, would take a blade across the face from marauding soldiers, ending his prospects for good — while the old matriarch, in her panic, broke her leg.

To this day, Zhang Zhengci had never dared ask his daughter exactly how she’d endured it all. All he knew was that every last servant in the household had fled, and his daughter had driven a carriage through the night carrying the old matriarch and her uncle up into the mountains, where they’d sought refuge at a well-known Daoist temple and lived there as clergy for safety.

In the years that followed, the old matriarch’s health declined from pent-up grief and anger, and she gradually went blind.

These days, in the old matriarch’s quarters, the second sister-in-law never came to visit, nor did his own wife; only the third and fourth sisters-in-law came by out of formal duty as propriety demanded — since they were concubine-born, the old matriarch had never warmed to them. It was only his daughter and second brother who, after years of enduring the war together, had come to see things clearly, and remained close to this day.

Thinking this over, Zhang Zhengci felt at peace, and settled himself down to sit.

No sooner had he sat than the curtain at the door lifted, and in came his disfigured second brother, carrying a jar of old wine, his expression fierce as ever. Spotting his son-in-law, he broke into a grin. “Jintai’s here.”

Tong Jintai, delighted to see his favorite uncle, stood and bowed. “Uncle! I thought you’d gone off to visit friends.”

Zhang Zhengjue sat down with a smile and cracked open the wine jar. “Back when we sold the old family home, I dug up a few dozen jars of old wine from the old garden — no telling which ancestor buried them, generations back. Your father-in-law was kind enough to let me have them all to drink as I please. Come, try some, see if it’s any good.”

The old matriarch, overhearing, laughed and scolded, “What ‘generations back’ — that wine was buried by your great-grandfather for your aunt’s dowry. Later, I don’t know how it happened, but by the time your aunt got married, only half of it remained…” Her voice grew subdued as she trailed off.

That aunt’s entire family had perished, every one of them.

Zhang Zhengjue, carefree in temperament these days, reached out and poured his nephew-in-law a bowl of amber-colored old wine. “Try it — this is the Zhang family’s old wine recipe.”

Tong Jintai, fond of drink, took the bowl and downed a mouthful, then sighed in appreciation. “Fine wine! Uncle, save me a couple of jars, would you — if that recipe still holds, and when Wanru gives me a little daughter someday, I’ll bury a hundred jars myself, to give her as part of her dowry.”

Hearing this, every man in the room turned to look at him; even the old matriarch, though blind, seemed to “look” too, her clouded eyes turning his way.

Watching him finish his drink, his brother-in-law poured him another bowl and asked, “Brother-in-law’s fond of girls, is he?”

Tong Jintai nodded earnestly. “Of course I am. Of the seven of us, I envy Qingguan-ge the most — you should see it, whenever he comes home now, his two daughters swarm around him, one rubbing his back, the other doing needlework for him, tsk…”

He picked up his chopsticks and gestured respectfully to his father-in-law first, waiting for him to eat.

Once his father-in-law had taken a bite, he helped himself to a dish he liked, chewed, swallowed, and said, “Girls are wonderful — so affectionate…”

Zhang Zhengci’s heart, which had been half on edge, settled at this. He even picked out a piece of magnolia-bark slice his son-in-law liked and set it in his bowl, and only once he’d seen him eat it did he go on, about to sing the praises of daughters further —

But just then a gatekeeper’s voice came from outside. “My lord, Young Miss Wan Ning has returned — she’s sitting at the gate crying.”

Lately the second young lady had taken to coming home often, only she could no longer be let inside.

Having borne three daughters in a row, with her mother having gone from concubine to another man’s concubine besides, she had no one to lean on for support, and so had no choice but to turn back to her natal family for help.

But now, she could no longer even set foot through the Zhang family’s gate.

The old matriarch had made her position clear — even if it meant the whole Zhang family died out, they would not acknowledge this daughter again.

Every family has its own difficult chapter. Tong Jintai didn’t involve himself in such matters — instead, basking in the old matriarch’s affection and his father-in-law’s and brothers-in-law’s warm care, he ate his fill, body and heart both well satisfied.

⁂

By late afternoon, having listened to his half-tipsy father-in-law hold forth for a good while, Tong Jintai finally staggered out of the in-laws’ house and made his way, swaying, to the mouth of the lane.

There, he heard someone call out to him in a coquettish voice.

Turning around, he saw a beautiful woman approaching gracefully, greeting him with an elaborate bow and the words, “Greetings, Brother-in-law.”

Tong Jintai hiccupped and asked, “You— who are you, then? Hic…!”

The young woman really was lovely — fair-faced, almond-eyed, willowy in figure. She lifted her face, seeming to want to say something yet holding back, and said, “Does Brother-in-law truly not recognize me?”

That struck Tong Jintai as a rather pointless question, and being a straightforward man, he answered plainly, “Why should I have to recognize you? Hic…”

The woman looked wounded at this, tears welling faintly in her eyes. “Back in the old days, at home, Sister and I were closer than anyone… when we were little—” She glanced up, seeming to spot someone, and suddenly smiled instead. “Brother-in-law’s had a bit too much to drink today — there are things I can’t say plainly to you right now.”

With that she bowed and turned to leave — but after only a few steps, a handkerchief embroidered with magnolia blossoms slipped from her sleeve and fell to the ground.

Tong Jintai watched this strange woman walk off, looked down at the handkerchief lying there, stood silent a moment, then broke into a grin. “Heh heh, finally my turn.”

With that, he backed up a few steps, sighted a straight line with his hand, then wove his way forward at an angle, taking a great stride toward the handkerchief.

Alas, too drunk — he missed his mark, and had no choice but to retreat and try the angle again, weaving forward once more, stepping over it.

At the mouth of the lane, two sisters harboring old grudges against one another watched this foolish man wander back and forth, stepping over the handkerchief again and again — which was, frankly, rather insulting, and repeatedly so.

Zhang Wanru, one hand on her belly, watched for a while, utterly puzzled as to what her husband thought he was doing. Unable to hold back any longer, she leaned on her maid’s arm and called out, “Husband? What are you doing?”

Hearing his wife’s voice, Tong Jintai spun around, delighted, and called out loudly, “Wife! Come — come see me step over this handkerchief for you…”