Fourth Master sold the house to a wealthy merchant from the southern regions, made a tidy sum from it, and used the money to buy a residence in the western part of Yandu instead.

The western districts of Yandu had always been rather middling, but Chen Siniu wanted to go regardless of anything else. Little did he know that the house he’d sold had, in a roundabout way, ended up in his nephew’s hands.

This man had never been clever. Only Qiqian’er still harbored some wariness of him from past impressions — Chen Dasheng and his brothers had long since stopped regarding him as worth bothering with at all.

Time passed swiftly, and in the blink of an eye it was the Insects Awakening solar term in the third month. Early that morning, the old madam took a whole houseful of matrons and set off in the family’s carriages for the estate.

By old custom, on this day one was to “curse the sparrows” — rising early to walk the boundaries of one’s own fields, muttering curses at the birds, threatening them that if they ate the family’s grain come autumn, their mouths and bellies would rot.

Once the old madam had departed with great fanfare, Qiqian’er couldn’t afford to be idle either. She had to bring Ding Yuniang, Zhang Wanru, Madam Lu, and even Master Cheng’s wife and her young sister-in-law to the house together to make offerings to the White Tiger — an ancient rite meant to ward off gossip and disputes.

Once the offerings were complete, the mistresses of each household, as heads of their family, still couldn’t rest — they had to lead the maidservants of the house along every threshold, scattering quicklime to drive away the hundred pests.

This was the rite of spring thunder awakening the hundred pests.

After driving out the pests, there was still no time to relax — the wives had to personally tend the stove and brew a drink to clear the liver and reduce internal heat, in order to properly welcome the year’s first spring thunder. Only some ten-odd days after that would spring plowing begin.

Qiqian’er was thoroughly practiced at these rites — no one her age could match her thoroughness. The three texts, White Tiger, Shooting the Pests, and Clearing Impurities, totaling roughly a thousand characters combined, she could recite backward and forward without pause.

The old madam, however, was not nearly so practiced. She’d gone out with four or five carriages and over twenty matrons, and didn’t return home until the sun was well past its peak — her voice hoarse from cursing.

The old madam, rather cross about it, lay half-reclined on the kang, a handkerchief pressed to her head, and forced her hoarse voice to say, “Gods and Buddhas in heaven, I couldn’t even finish shouting at them all! Qian’er, our family’s land is just too vast — I’m afraid there’ll be a sparrow infestation come autumn.”

The family had several estates, after all — how could the old madam possibly finish cursing them all.

Seeing how seriously she took it, Qiqian’er coaxed her, “Grandma, why not go pray to the Bodhisattva as well?”

The old madam, who had been rather dispirited, brightened at once. “That’s it exactly! Listen to me, going senile in my old age — I have the Bodhisattva’s protection! How could I have forgotten that…”

With that, the old madam happily went off to arrange a visit with others. Unfortunately, once Insects Awakening had passed, spring plowing followed close behind, and the mistresses of each household had no free time — after much back and forth, she could only arrange to go with old Madam Jiang up on the hill (the Empress Dowager Jiang). The very next day, the two of them went together to Qingque Nunnery to perform rites.

That same day, Chen Dasheng received word from home and came out from the palace to collect two large food boxes that Jixiang’s wife had sent over.

Delighted, he carried them to Dongming Hall, quietly had someone call his godfather out to drink the beverage — but before he’d had more than a few sips, he heard His Majesty asking from inside the hall.

“What are you two up to, father and son? Hiding it from the rest of us too?”

She Qingling immediately drained his cup of lotus-seed soup, then waved urgently at Chen Dasheng, signaling with his eyes for him to leave quickly.

Chen Dasheng suppressed a laugh, closed up the food box, and trotted off carrying it.

Once he’d watched his son run off into the distance, She Qingling went back in to report to His Majesty. “Reporting to Your Majesty — isn’t it Insects Awakening today? The weather brings inner heat, so my daughter-in-law sent over a lung-moistening drink to mark the occasion. Since you can’t have outside food, the Empress must surely have prepared something similar for you as well…” Here he glanced somewhat smugly around at the faces of the assembled ministers before continuing, “The honorable ministers’ households must surely have some at home too.”

His Majesty, who was reviewing memorials, paused his brush at this. He looked up with a light laugh. “You mean that wailing daughter-in-law of yours? She sent you an Insects Awakening drink?”

She Qingling disliked hearing this and rolled his eyes slightly. “What do you mean, ‘wailing’? If word of Your Majesty saying that gets out, will my daughter-in-law even be able to hold her head up? Your golden words carry weight, so please mind your tongue! Everyone already agreed it was the servants who passed along the wrong message — why bring it up again? Not to boast, but my daughter-in-law is truly the most filial child there is. She’s simply young, and hasn’t experienced certain things yet — that’s why she panicked that day… Wouldn’t you all agree, honorable ministers?”

The hall was lined with two full rows of ministers. Hearing Eunuch She ask this, apart from the officials of the Ministry of Rites, the rest naturally laughed and agreed at once.

Seeing She Qingling pleased, His Majesty grew pleased too. After he’d finished his long stretch of defensive praise, His Majesty set down his vermilion brush and handed a memorial to Meng Dichen, who stood waiting. “With you talking like that, what’s left for anyone else to say? Your whole family’s a bunch of stubborn mules — the reasoning’s always on your side…”

Meng Dichen took the memorial with both hands, glanced at it, and said, “Yes! I’ll send someone to see to it at once.”

He turned to leave, but His Majesty spoke behind him, “Wulang, wait a moment. Lately those book-reading brats in the palace have been getting more and more out of line. Go and gather them all up — oh, and don’t forget Aman and Guier. That stinker of his is idle too, so call him along as well. Have them all follow you and handle some official business — it’ll do them good to learn some practical sense. Not one of them is young anymore.”

Meng Dichen assented and turned to leave.

Once he’d gone, She Qingling went into detail with the assembled ministers about the drink from home — his daughter-in-law’s skill was excellent, and his old mother thought of him too. Though it was a lung-moistening medicinal broth, the flavor was genuinely top-notch, and one felt the effects the moment it went down…

The season had turned, and both court and countryside now had a sense of budding life. His Majesty was in good spirits that day, and after the small morning court session, went to the Empress’s quarters and drank three whole bowls of the fire-clearing, lung-moistening drink. He hadn’t even made it to the next day’s court to brag with She Qingling — that very night, he came down with diarrhea.

Chen Dasheng wasn’t on duty that day either, and since his godfather had already had his drink, he needed to head to the new long-sword bureau. But just as he carried the food box to the southern gate of the palace, two palace guards trotted up and stopped him, saying he was to wait at the gate of Jiu Si Tang — His Majesty had assigned him a task.

And so, Chen Dasheng could only hand off the food box, and left the palace utterly puzzled, riding on horseback to Jiu Si Tang.

He arrived early, and the moment he reached the gate of Jiu Si Tang, he was led to the entrance of the large rear courtyard.

The wind in early third month was still fierce, and this large courtyard had two wind-tunnel corridors running through it. As the biting cold wind poured in, the courtyard filled with an indescribable, almost ghost-wail-like eerie sound.

Chen Dasheng hadn’t stood there long before a fair-faced, scholarly-looking figure came out to greet him. He recognized this man — it was Xie Wuhao, the Northern Chief Commandant under Jiu Si Tang.

Xie Wuhao greeted Chen Dasheng with a smile, “Eldest Young Master.”

This was a rather strange way to address him. Chen Dasheng and this Xie Wuhao were, in a sense, fellow officials at court — even setting aside official titles, why call him “Eldest Young Master”?

Chen Dasheng blinked, then returned the greeting with an expressionless face, “Commandant Xie.”

They knew each other, but rarely interacted, and certainly had no real friendship between them. After a few polite pleasantries, Xie Wuhao led the way, guiding him to a sheltered spot in the courtyard hung with bamboo curtains.

Chen Dasheng looked around and saw this was an entire wind-sheltered corridor hall, lined with over twenty low tables and chairs that could seat three people each. Curious, he turned and asked Xie Wuhao, “Commandant Xie, I wonder — did His Majesty have some other task in mind for me today?”

Xie Wuhao smiled and shook his head. “Nothing else was mentioned. Our Commander-in-Chief only said that His Majesty wanted all the young masters to come learn something today. As for what exactly — the Commander-in-Chief didn’t say, and we underlings certainly wouldn’t dare ask.”

Since he wouldn’t say, Chen Dasheng could only nod and find a seat at a table off to the side.

Once he’d settled, several servants in Jiu Si Tang livery soon came carrying a brazier, tea, and four rather plain pastries, setting them out.

Before long, more sons of noble and imperial relations began trickling into the courtyard, along with companions who studied alongside the imperial princes — even several direct descendants of veteran ministers’ households showed up.

It was only at this point that Chen Dasheng finally understood why Xie Wuhao had called him “young master.”

So today wasn’t about official business after all — this was a study hall.

These young masters each had their own social circles, and upon arriving, sat together with people they knew. With so many people around, Chen Dasheng found himself increasingly isolated — no one sat with him at all, at most offering a nod and a polite smile.

Zheng Aman and Li Jinggui arrived last. Once they came in, they stood at the entrance looking around, and upon spotting Chen Dasheng, walked over smiling and sat down beside him.

“Does Brother Feilian have any idea why His Majesty called us all here today?” Li Jinggui warmed his hands at the brazier a couple times, frowned at the plain pastries, and his tone wasn’t especially pleasant either.

Chen Dasheng shook his head to say he didn’t know. Zheng Aman pulled out his handkerchief and set about vigorously wiping down the table in front of him. Once done, he tossed the handkerchief aside and slumped over the table without any energy in his posture, his eyes darting around before he finally said, “They told you to come, so you came. Look at this whole setup — everyone we know to be trouble is gathered right here today.”

Li Jinggui blinked at this, and finally began seriously surveying his surroundings.

This young man had always held himself aloof, walking with his chest out and head high, carrying himself like a rooster — he never looked at people with his eyes, only with his chin.

Once he’d made out who exactly was present, he snorted coldly. “Well! Now this is interesting. Tell me — why has His Majesty lumped the three of us in together with this lot of swine and dogs?”

Hearing this, Chen Dasheng frowned and rapped the table with his hand. “Listen to what you’re saying — you just cursed yourself along with the rest of them.”

Li Jinggui was momentarily flustered by this. Zheng Aman burst out laughing, but before they could talk further, more servants carrying books began entering the courtyard.

Watching how steadily these servants walked, one could tell at a glance they had rock-solid footwork — clearly trained for years in stance work.

The servants laid out the books table by table, then set out brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones, before withdrawing again without a sound.

Chen Dasheng grew even more puzzled. Once they’d left, he reached for a book, glanced at it, and found it was a romance titled The Paired Fish Pendant. Setting it down, he picked up another, which turned out to be The Song of the Phoenix Pair. Flipping casually through the rest, he found that of the large stack of books, about half were scholar-and-beauty romance scripts, while the rest were the sort of newly published stories that had come out since Great Liang’s founding — the kind everyone had long since grown used to hearing about.

These young men, each with their own thoughts, glanced at each other and began flipping through the books in earnest.

There were always a few restless ones among the group, though — one showy young master picked out one of the romance books and loudly read aloud the most obviously salacious passage, prompting a round of bold, brazen laughter from the more daring among them.

Just as they were enjoying themselves, several gong strikes suddenly sounded. No one knew quite how large Jiu Si Tang’s gongs were, but after just a few strikes, the teacups on the tables were rattling.

Before long, the four Chief Commandants of Jiu Si Tang were seated outside the curtain, composed as if presiding over a court session. One of them said, “Well then. Let us begin.”

Zheng Aman, feeling uneasy, frowned, reached for the pastry in front of him, and bit into it with a loud crunch.

He wasn’t picky about food — back when he’d gone hungry in the past, even undercooked dried pig skin had been treasured like a delicacy.

The atmosphere had turned serious, and the assembled young masters exchanged glances before finally falling silent.

Then someone called out to bring in the accused. This was interesting — anyone termed “accused” in a case would be either a defendant or someone implicated in it. Who could these people be?

It wasn’t long before the junior commandants of Jiu Si Tang began escorting prisoners into the courtyard.

Strangely enough, the prisoners brought in today were dressed in remarkably odd fashion — some wore full opera costumes, some were teahouse storytellers, some were drum-singers from perfume-and-powder houses… there were even several blind performers, dragged along, shouting for help and asking who had done this.

One man, his face only half made up for a role, had been arrested mid-performance — gagged the whole way so he couldn’t cry out, terrified into constant weeping, the makeup on his face washed into two long streaked trenches by his tears, an utterly wretched sight.

Besides these, there were also opera troupe managers, madams of powder houses, teahouse proprietors, and even a lowly clerk from the Bureau of Music, all dragged in as well.

If one were to give these people a collective name, they would be “storytellers.”

Being storytellers, they naturally had loud voices, and perhaps caught off guard by their arrest, the moment they entered the courtyard and had their gags removed, the whole place erupted into wailing — a cacophony of accents from every region, each crying out their grievances, the combined sound thoroughly deafening.

The courtyard was vast — large enough to trot a horse in, able to hold three or five hundred people — yet in the span of barely one stick of incense, it was already full.

Once everyone had assembled, the lead junior commandant reported up the chain, and one of the four Chief Commandants said, “Since everyone’s here, let’s begin the beating.”

Just like that? Not even a trial first?

Chen Dasheng and the others exchanged startled glances, then had their attention drawn by the sound of slapping across faces in the courtyard.

The way Jiu Si Tang handled cases truly defied expectation — they didn’t even use the court-sanctioned instruments of punishment. Instead, two men held the accused’s arms from behind, yanking their hair to force their faces upward, making it convenient for a third person to slap them across the face with both hands, back and forth.

Chen Dasheng, now in his early twenties, considered himself someone who’d seen a fair bit of the world, yet he’d never witnessed such an elaborate spectacle of face-slapping before.

The ones administering the punishment at Jiu Si Tang were all junior commandants, and whatever force was behind their slaps, it wasn’t long before some of the older, frailer storytellers were slapped unconscious.

Before long, a faint smell of blood began to rise in the courtyard, muffled thuds and screams echoing back, mixed with teeth swallowed down along with mouthfuls of blood dripping down…

Many fainted, but no one bothered reviving them with cold water — they were simply left lying there. Once they’d recovered a little and opened their eyes, another round of slapping would begin, over and over, cycle after cycle… It seemed bearable enough at first glance, but watching further, it truly was cruel.

Especially for those who made their living off their looks — that line of work was likely finished for them from now on.

While the accused were being beaten, servants placed several handwritten storybooks on each young master’s table.

Chen Dasheng picked one up and found it was a storybook called Chronicle of Hot Blood.

He knew this book — it had become popular in Yandu toward the end of last year. It told a story set in some unspecified dynasty, of a benighted and incompetent ruler whose misrule left the common people destitute and suffering, at which point a group of wandering swordsmen rose up in righteous fury, roaming the world dispensing justice with their blades.

The book featured all manner of extraordinary heroes and swordsmen, already running over ten volumes, and it was wildly popular among the young people of the capital.

Looking at this storybook again now, and thinking about where he was, Chen Dasheng flipped it open, noticed some marked passages, and pondering the veiled implications within them, he finally understood.

He looked up at Li Jinggui and Zheng Aman beside him, only to find both had already caught on — their eyes were blazing with fury, red-rimmed, glaring at the accused in the courtyard, their bodies trembling with rage.

Looking around at the other young masters in the room now, those who understood were naturally solemn with anger, but they were the minority.

Some, misreading the situation, thought it was simply that recent excesses and guilty consciences had earned someone an example made of them by His Majesty — killing the chicken to scare the monkey.

The soft-hearted lowered their heads; the timid closed their eyes and trembled; and there were even some vulgar ones staring at the several female storytellers among the accused, not looking at their faces at all, but at what was fleetingly exposed during their struggling, laughing in a most unseemly way, tsk tsk… Truly, all manner of humanity on display — regardless of background, this single round of slapping revealed everyone’s true nature.

Finally, Zheng Aman couldn’t bear it any longer, and slammed the table furiously, cursing, “This is utterly shameless! Are the souls of our tens of thousands of Great Liang war dead not yet even scattered, their blood not yet even cold, and already someone else claims the credit?!”

The moment he finished, Li Jinggui chimed in, his face twisted with fury. “Their intentions are unforgivable! Their intentions are unforgivable! Better to just beat them to death and be done with it — a few slaps and that’s it? If the commandants are trying cases this way, what’s the point? This case ought to be transferred to the Ministry of Justice, dug into thoroughly and punished without mercy!”

The moment he finished speaking, the sound of slapping in the courtyard stopped.

The commandants seated at the front stood up, turned, and bowed slightly to the assembled young masters together. The one called Xie Wuhao spoke with a somewhat apologetic tone. “Young masters, please don’t be angry. This case has already been thoroughly investigated — all those involved who could be caught have been caught, and those who fled are being pursued as we speak. These storytellers are all simple, ignorant folk with little real understanding, who spoke recklessly only for a few strings of cash to feed their families. His Majesty, in his mercy, has already approved the punishment measures. This case truly isn’t suited for wide publicity — rumors shouldn’t be trusted lightly, and yet it’s precisely rumors that ordinary folk trust most readily. We hope the young masters will understand.”

Zheng Aman’s chest heaved several times before he slammed the table and said furiously, “I — I’m going to see His Majesty about this right now.”

With that, he turned and walked off. Li Jinggui looked at the still, unmoving Chen Dasheng, then stamped his foot and followed after him.

Chen Dasheng lowered his head, thought for a moment longer, then had someone roll up the bamboo curtain in front of him, and asked the commandants in an even tone, “His Majesty must have further instructions, I take it?”

At this, Commandant Xie finally said, “Yes. His Majesty has ordered the young masters to select, from the opera scripts and miscellaneous tales on the tables, those suitable for the common people to view.”

Hearing this, Chen Dasheng thought of a few opera pieces from his family’s Qifu Pot restaurant, picked up his brush, dipped it in ink, and quickly wrote out over a dozen titles on the paper.

Once done, he looked up and asked, “Are these to be submitted before the throne?”

Commandant Xie said, “Yes.”

Chen Dasheng nodded, then wrote at the end of the page: hoping that skilled writers at court might compose more scripts of this kind for circulation among the common people as reference material.

That was all he wrote — what more could a dim-witted man who’d only had a single year of schooling possibly understand?

Once finished, Chen Dasheng left and went straight into the palace. The moment She Qingling saw his son return, he smiled and said, “What? My son didn’t go make a scene in front of His Majesty after all?”

Chen Dasheng removed his outer robe, handed it to a eunuch standing by, walked straight to the meal that had been swiftly laid out for him upon his return, sat down, picked up his chopsticks, and said, “I came up through the Tan family’s army — my position was never going to be as righteous as those two young masters’. As for the person who wrote Chronicle of Hot Blood, their intentions truly are unforgivable. It’s no great matter in this dynasty, but I worry that later generations might mistake it for official history when studying the past — then the poison would spread on without end.”

She Qingling nodded, walked over to sit at the table, and picked out a few bites of his son’s favorite dishes for him. Watching him eat with relish, he smiled with satisfaction and said, “This is nothing more than some vagabond writer, seeing His Majesty’s displeasure, deliberately seeking out someone with a skilled pen to fabricate this nonsense. Put plainly, it’s just using public opinion to pressure the court, hoping to gain a bit more attention. But still — public opinion is indeed a fearsome thing.”

Chen Dasheng swallowed his food, considered His Majesty’s attitude that day, and raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think His Majesty seemed angry, though.”

She Qingling laughed lightly. “It’s nothing but a trivial matter. More importantly, His Majesty is actually worried the funds for this year’s canal dredging won’t come together in time. Spring plowing’s coming up again — never mind the common folk, even the Ministry of Works can’t manage to allocate the farm tools and materials needed for the military farming settlements this year in time. Great Liang has only just been founded, and letting the common people recover and rebuild is the true matter of state. As for everything else — a thousand-foot mountain ridge has plenty of small grass on it regardless, it’ll bend whichever way the wind blows…”

Mm. That was just how it was.

Chen Dasheng thought of those bloodied faces of the accused, shook his head after all, picked up his bowl, and gulped down three large bowls of plain white rice.

Once he’d finished eating and rinsed his mouth, She Qingling finally said with a smile, “Actually, right after you left today, your third elder cousin came by.”

Chen Dasheng blinked at this. “My third elder cousin? Wasn’t he off inspecting the military farming settlements?”

She Qingling nodded seriously. “Exactly so. Except he’d just arrived with his superior at the fief of the Fuhe County Mistress, and there he happened to see your kinsmen.”

The moment She Qingling finished this sentence, it rang in Chen Dasheng’s ears like a thunderclap. His whole mind filled with those two words — kinsmen, kinsmen, kinsmen…

After a long stunned silence, he shook his head and asked, his voice trembling, “Father — father, what did you say?”

She Qingling patted his shoulder to comfort him. “Don’t panic, my son. Your third elder cousin said that while inspecting with his superior at the fief of the Fuhe County Mistress, he happened to see your family’s kinsmen working as tenant farmers on the estate there — and said there were quite a few of them, perhaps as many as a hundred or so.”

Could this — could this really be true?

Chen Dasheng staggered backward again and again, his head shaking uncontrollably, utterly unable to believe it, his lips trembling, his throat too dry and choked to say anything at all.

His mind filled entirely with the image of his old home — the floodwaters rushing in, house after house collapsing with a crash, wailing filling both his ears… and his family’s trees, his family’s village, his family’s kinsmen filling his eyes everywhere he looked…

As a small child without shoes to wear, he used to run through the whole village whenever he caused trouble, his mother chasing him with a stick, and he’d flee wailing the whole way — and all along that path, it was always kinsmen laughing and calling out:

“Aiyo, Choutou, made your mother angry again?”

“Third sister-in-law, don’t hit him now, the child’s so small, what does he understand?”

“Good child, come over to Ninth Grandfather’s side — I’d like to see your mother dare come into my arms to hit you.”

“Third branch’s boy is simple-minded — what are you hitting him for? He’s our old Chen family’s own grandson…”

“Choutou, run! Your mother’s caught up!”

“Brother Choutou! Up the tree! Up the tree, Choutou — up the tree and your mother can’t reach you…”