During the period of national mourning, there was of course no proper celebration of the New Year that year. Still, starting from New Year’s Eve, the Old Madam and the Ancestress from Qingque Convent set up a dozen-odd porridge stalls at the charity pavilion outside Qingfeng City, keeping the fires burning nonstop as they accumulated merit through good deeds.
An ordinary household wouldn’t have dared keep up such long-term, openly public porridge distribution—small households couldn’t afford it, and wealthy ones feared being accused of buying a reputation for themselves.
But since these were nuns from Qingque Convent doing the giving, none of that mattered.
The Old Madam was having the time of her life out there. Since there was no New Year celebration to speak of anyway, she simply didn’t bother going home, spending her days at the charity pavilion ladling out porridge to the poor. She didn’t mind the exhaustion herself, and not a single one of the incense-pilgrimage sisters backed out either—even Zhang Wanru’s mother, Madam Dong, brought her own household servants along, contributing both money and labor.
Thanks to this, the beggars and poor households around Qingfeng Prefecture were in luck this year—food to eat, a place to warm themselves by the fire—which lightened Uncle Xin’s burden considerably.
“If I’d known such good days were coming, this old man would’ve led an uprising back in the previous dynasty.”
Qiqian’er teased him. “Oh, please. With those legs of yours greased up with three pounds of oil, you’d still be leading an uprising?”
“Heh, listen to this girl talk—everyone was young and strong once. Don’t judge this old man by how I look now; back in my day I could really stir up trouble. Don’t believe me, go ask around—old Xin of the Beggars’ Guild used to be a living legend, not like now. This new dynasty comes along, and instead of getting the respect due me, people see me coming from a mile off and take the long way around. Such disrespect, such lack of manners, ai…”
Uncle Xin squatted in the corner of the room chatting idly with Qiqian’er—mainly because this winter had been kind to him, and with the windfall he’d made at last year’s temple fair for the goddess, he’d been able to go visit relatives here and there.
The old man was up in years now, with few people left to worry about. In his final years he’d formed a good bond with Qiqian’er, Xie Liuhao, and Zhou Wujiu, and thanks to Qiqian’er’s protection, aside from those already ill, not a single beggar in Qingfeng City had frozen or starved to death these past two years.
Jixiang and his wife stood cautiously at the courtyard gate. Early that morning, Grandmother had called in the old beggar man who usually knocked his fish-shaped clapper for alms outside their gate, and no one knew what they were discussing inside.
That old man, with his shifty, rat-like eyes, didn’t look like he was up to any good at first glance.
Qiqian’er had no idea what anyone else thought—she was rather touched at the moment. Uncle Xin hadn’t come empty-handed; he’d brought a sack of rice gathered from a hundred households, meant for An’er’s great-grandmother to eat, for added blessings and longevity.
Qiqian’er accepted the gift and called for Siyue, telling her to bring in the gray rabbit-fur coat they’d prepared back in autumn.
Uncle Xin took the fur robe, stroking it fondly a few times, and said with a smile, “Heh, you really do think of everything—who’d have imagined I’d receive something from you like this. You must have known I’m heading off on a long journey tomorrow, and prepared me something I can use both to lie on and cover myself with!”
Qiqian’er was surprised. “You’re going on a long journey?”
Uncle Xin looked taken aback. “Liuhao didn’t tell you?”
Qiqian’er shook her head. “No, he hasn’t. Isn’t it because his office has been busy since Great-Aunt-in-Law passed? He left before the New Year and still hasn’t come back, even past the first month now.”
Uncle Xin nodded, then asked her, “So you’re the one raising his elder brother’s child now?”
Qiqian’er nodded proudly. “That’s right! Let me tell you, that child is just wonderful. I’m not just bragging—small as he still is, and he hasn’t said more than a few words yet, but he truly understands everything. As long as I’m around, he won’t go to anyone else.”
Uncle Xin asked eagerly, “Could I have a look at him? His grandfather and I went way back.”
Qiqian’er shook her head instead. “You wait a moment. Seeing him is easy enough, but let me ask you something first—at your age, in this weather, what kind of long journey are you setting off on?”
Uncle Xin sighed helplessly. “Who wants to go anywhere, honestly? It’s just that Abbess Siku came to find me—says the Qin clan and the Yuegong Mountain people can’t keep fighting like this. Keep it up and it’ll draw the imperial court’s attention. It’s dragged on so long already, so many dead on both sides, and both parties need some way to step back gracefully. This old set of bones of mine doesn’t carry much weight, but I’ve lived long enough and have a bit of old standing, so I figured I’d make the trip. Shouldn’t be too much trouble…”
Qiqian’er suddenly thought of someone and said mockingly, “Back when Jiu Si Tang set all those rules, they claimed to have everything under control—heh! Now look, they still need to bother you after all this fuss. Catching physicians, sure, they’re good at that, never miss. Liuhao used to say the young commanders of Jiu Si Tang privately admitted it too—that it’d be good for all three sides if the court would just step in and mediate. But if you ask me, this Meng Dichen fellow is nothing special. All he does is hover around His Majesty; everything else, I don’t think he’s got much sense at all. My husband came back and told me His Majesty calls him so affectionately—’Fifth Brother,’ tsk!”
Uncle Xin’s face immediately took on a look of contempt. “Heh, can’t really blame him—the man used to be a monk, after all, and it’s no surprise some of those monkish habits have stuck with him. He’s mastered some skill at going along with whatever anyone wants, but it’s not worth much in practice! If he genuinely wanted to sort out this whole mess, he ought to first find people a proper way to earn a living—that’s the truth of it.
Even papering over the cracks would look more presentable, but you can’t rely on him for that! Whatever’s bound to descend into chaos and disaster out there hasn’t lessened one bit—he just goes around with his men, cangue in hand, waiting for someone to slip up. That’s no way to fix anything. Oh, and he’s forever hanging around that Second Prince too, chasing after the achievement of having backed the right dragon early on. This old beggar’s read a few books in his time too, you know—how old is the Emperor even now? It’s all moving too fast.”
Qiqian’er looked puzzled. “Too fast?”
Uncle Xin nodded. “That’s right. He wants a hand in everything, but no matter who ends up on the throne, he won’t be satisfied… Wandering knights-errant, yes, that’s what they used to be called—and back then it was actually a fine term, meant valuing loyalty and righteousness over one’s own life, righting wrongs wherever you found them!
But later it turned into nothing but idle rogues and vagrants—beggars belong to that world, monks belong to that world, fortune-tellers belong to that world, monkey trainers belong to that world too. And you, my lady, you see things clearly—you’ve never touched a single tael of that offering money. Look at how the wandering folk of Baiquan Mountain act now compared to how they used to act around officials—night and day difference!
I heard just the other day there was a lawsuit between a trading house near Xiaonan Mountain’s three-fork road and one of our escort agencies here. The magistrate opened court, and the moment he heard it was one of our Baiquan Mountain escort agencies, no matter how much the other side tried to bribe him, he wouldn’t take a cent—went through the proceedings fair and square, whoever owed compensation paid it, whoever deserved punishment took it, and we all accepted the verdict!
Not like the old days, when falling into the prefect’s hands meant getting fleeced down to nothing. That’s a genuinely good thing—no more needing to band together just to feel safe, now we can actually rely on the court. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Mm, that’s what my own Dasheng says too—the Shaoshang faction is a hundred times better than the old officials, at least they’ll let you speak your piece and reason things out properly.” Qiqian’er bounced An’er gently in her arms and took up a small spoon to give him some water. “But I won’t take credit for any of that—what reputation do I even have? Does the local government even know who I am?”
Uncle Xin laughed too. “Don’t underestimate that bit of silver of yours. Word from the court is that from now on, if any retired official-in-hiding doesn’t want the money, it’ll go into the local treasury instead—so local students heading to the capital for exams, repairing schoolhouses, opening relief efforts in winter, the magistrate will have some ready cash on hand instead of having to go begging the local gentry every time trouble comes up. That’ll strengthen his backbone. It’s just a pity you’re the only one in this whole world of the wandering folk who thinks this way, and you’re not even one of them yourself.”
Qiqian’er liked hearing that, so she nodded. “Right, I’m not! What’s it got to do with me, all this business of blades and swords everywhere? I can barely manage my own days as it is—why should I concern myself with them?”
Uncle Xin understood her feelings well enough and just smiled. “Well, whether you like it or not, you’ll have to manage it now. I came today to say my goodbyes to you. I’ve already entrusted things to Liuhao and Wujiu too—good lads, both of them. With their standing, my little beggar children won’t be bullied. But over these next few months, if anyone comes to your goddess temple with a formal petition asking you to arbitrate some dispute in the wandering world, you’ll have to go handle it yourself.”
Qiqian’er’s bowl slipped right out of her hand at these words. She stared at Uncle Xin, dumbfounded. “You—what did you just say?”
Uncle Xin chuckled. “What did I say? Don’t think I’ve been living rent-free in those two temple rooms of yours all this time without paying my dues. These past two years, whenever there’s been any dispute among the wandering folk of Baiquan Mountain, they’ve all had to bring a formal petition to Yushu Grandmother Temple—that’s simply the custom of that world, and no one else governs them. Luckily this old face of mine was still worth a little something, so I could step in and mediate for you, and it actually helped. But now I’m heading off on this long journey, and if anything comes up these next few months, you’ll have to go yourself. Otherwise, disputes among the wandering folk don’t always stay on the sparring platform—blood can be spilled.”
Uncle Xin stood up, holding the fur robe. He started to reach out to touch An’er’s soft, pale cheek, then glanced at his own rough, weathered hands and smiled instead. “This child’s a fine one—bright eyes, watches people closely. Raise him well. When he’s older, I’ll help teach him, pass on some of my old tricks of the trade?”
Qiqian’er glared at him. “Don’t get ahead of yourself! Am I really supposed to go? I don’t understand any of this!”
Uncle Xin laughed heartily. “What’s there to understand? No need to understand a thing! People are cheap creatures at heart—give them a friendly face first and talk it through. If they won’t listen, give both sides a beating and be done with it. You think they’re anything special? Chicks just out of the nest, plenty of noise when there’s a crowd, chirping away like they’re pecking at bugs—won’t cause any real disaster flapping around like that. All they really want is face. Give it if you’re willing, and if not, throw them out—they won’t dare so much as fart after that.”
Qiqian’er had someone bring in Gennu for Uncle Xin to see. The old man looked rather sorrowful at the sight of the child but still didn’t touch him, only saying, “Being head of a household, carrying on the family line—the worst thing is to be used and then tossed aside. Such a pity for this good child. That Meng Dichen fellow, avoiding all responsibility at every turn, glib-tongued as anyone alive—goodness knows what sort of advisor’s post he’s really holding. In the end, though, he sent the boy to you—well, so be it, I suppose that’s his fortune. You truly are a living deity.”
Qiqian’er wanted to say that this was unfair to Meng Dichen—it had been His Majesty’s own idea, and Chen Dasheng had also kept pressing the matter in his letters, which was how she’d come to be this makeshift mother in the first place.
But then she thought of how long the child had been with her now, and how the Xie family, despite being thousands of li away, had sent someone once with gifts—yet Liuhao had come back saying the Head Commander had only called him in twice to offer comfort, saying the court would surely look after uncle and nephew both, that every reward due them had been granted in full, all thanks to his own efforts on their behalf, and that from now on he must serve even more loyally, forever mindful of the boundless imperial grace, and so on…
Pah! The child’s own adoptive grandfather was a Prince, and even he didn’t put on such airs as this official.
Thinking of Xie Wu’s smug, radiant face, Uncle Xin felt a pang of distaste. “The Xie family’s always had a conscience, at least—you won’t be raising him for nothing. Given this child’s background, his bones are bound to be good. Someday, you’ll know great fortune because of him…”
Once the old man finished speaking, he left. Qiqian’er didn’t see him out, though she did worry his old bones couldn’t handle the jostling of travel, so she sent someone running after him with a bag of steamed buns and some warming tonic medicine.
The old man, going door to door begging for alms, never accepted money—only old clothes and dry rations.
Not long after he left, Jixiang’s wife came rushing in, her voice trembling. “Grandmother, hurry and go greet the honored guest at the mouth of the lane! He’ll be here any moment now, he’s already entered Quanhou Street.”
Qiqian’er froze at this. “An honored guest? Who?”
Jixiang’s wife said, “The one the Old Master has been attending to in Yandu this past month.”
She pointed in the direction of Yandu.
Qiqian’er broke out in a cold sweat at once. “Who?”
Jixiang could barely get the words out, just pointing outside and hissing, “Just go out there already! Who else could it possibly be!”
She hastily handed the baby off to a matron to take to the west room, and without thinking too much about it, Qiqian’er threw on a coat and hurried on foot to the mouth of the lane to receive the guest.
But the carriage had already arrived.
She Qingling got down from the carriage first, and turned back to offer his arm—only to be waved off by His Majesty. “What kind of nonsense is this? I’m not seventy or eighty years old, I don’t need you helping me along.”
His Majesty stepped down on his own, then began looking around with some curiosity at Chen Dasheng’s home, and at the Qinwei Lane that She Qingling so often spoke of.
Everyone had described this place as some kind of paradise removed from the world; looking around, he found it to be just an ordinary lane, though admittedly quite clean and tidy.
Qiqian’er came running out and saw, standing behind her father, a tall figure in gray cloth robes and a black cloak, his face covered in stubble, his cheeks hollow, his features haggard and worn—yet with eyes like lightning, commanding awe without a hint of anger. Could that be…?
His Majesty, in turn, took in the sight of that legendary little wife everyone had spoken of. She wasn’t tall, rather small and delicate in build, above-average in looks—but there was a certain steadiness about her that set her apart from women her age.
Seeing her head wrapped in plain cloth, dressed in unadorned homespun clothing, His Majesty felt a flicker of goodwill toward her. On the whole journey back from the imperial tombs, he’d meant to stop first at the Zheng residence to offer some comfort—but who could have imagined that household, coming and going, was still draped head to toe in silks and brocades, standing before their mansion just as grand and unabashed as ever.
A whole crowd of people lined up to submit calling cards, stretching a dozen-odd zhang past the stone lions of the Zheng residence and along the outer wall. His Majesty was furious and demanded to know who these people were.
His attendants reported: outsiders who’d come to the capital seeking official posts.
At a time when the household ought to be observing mourning behind closed doors, what exactly was the Zheng family playing at?
His Majesty flew into a rage on the spot and was about to give orders, when a fast horse came galloping down the main street. Poor Ah Man leapt down from the horse and began whipping the gatekeepers with his riding crop without mercy.
This boy had knelt in mourning vigil for a whole month, only to now have to clean up this disgraceful mess left by these shameless people.
Ah, no wonder his mother, even at the point of death, had only ever arranged for this one Ah Man—the old woman must have long since seen through the affairs of this world with perfect clarity.
Feeling wretched inside, His Majesty thought once more of his own birth mother, whose troubles weighed on his heart—he felt he had no face to see her right now anyway, since his legitimate mother had only just died and he couldn’t very well turn around immediately to go fetch his birth mother home.
And so His Majesty ordered his carriage to head instead out of the city to Qingque Convent to check on her—but who could have guessed it, the old woman wasn’t even there, and the convent gate was locked?
His Majesty broke out in a cold sweat on the spot. He knew his mother had suffered in silence, knew she’d spent her whole life longing for some measure of justice, yet he’d never known how to help her seek it. Sometimes he felt he could split himself clean in two—one half devoted to his birth mother, the other to his legitimate mother.
Just a few days ago they’d told him his mother wanted to become a nun, but with his legitimate mother’s coffin still lying in state, he couldn’t spare a single moment. He’d sent Aduo to check on her, but Aduo had come back saying the old woman refused to see him and had chased him off.
Even being Emperor himself, there was nothing he could do about it—he simply couldn’t get away.
Once the Ministry of Rites called for the ceremony, he had to lead the offerings of worship; no one else could leave in his place, and neither could he…
Later, his birth mother, out of pity for him after all, had sent someone into the palace to tell him: whatever foolish thoughts she’d once entertained, she was past them now, and he should set his mind at ease and take care of his health. A lifetime of mother and son, she owed him nothing, and he ought to see the deceased off properly, just as a true son should—that was simply the way of this world.
Hadn’t she said she’d let it go?
In that moment, Yang Zao had felt utterly panicked.
Fortunately, She Qingling, drawing on his experience, remembered there were agents stationed permanently on the mountain and had one summoned to ask. It turned out she’d left with the Old Madam of Qinwei Lane.
At that, the anxious knot in his heart finally loosened. Say what you would, there was always someone who’d step in during his moments of crisis, giving him room to breathe.
And so His Majesty had come looking for her.
Qiqian’er’s face went pale. She stepped forward, meaning to kneel, but her father stopped her.
“I didn’t bring many people with me. No need for that. Where are our old ladies?”
Qiqian’er could only offer a small curtsy instead. “The Old Madams are outside the city at the charity pavilion, distributing porridge and praying for blessings. Ever since the first month began, they’ve had five pavilions and ten cauldrons going out there. You… didn’t know?”
A silence fell over everyone present—no one could guess what the honored guest might be thinking. At last they heard him let out a soft sigh and say, “I see. Well, that’s good too—doing some good in the world… is a fine thing. Let’s go have a look, then.”
She Qingling said helplessly, “Ai, not a single one of them ever gives us peace of mind. Come on then, into the carriage, lead the way!”
Qiqian’er pressed her lips together and glanced up at the weather, then looked at her own father—so worn and haggard, his clothes hanging off him as though from a coat rack, after just a few days apart.
Her heart ached for him, and she asked the honored guest cautiously, “Since we’re already at the gate, why not come in and sit a while? You… look, with everything going on at home, and you being the pillar of the whole household, you must be exhausted. Rushing around all month like this, and now stepping out even at a time like this—have you eaten anything at home? Come in first, let me make you a hot meal? I ground the flour myself, it’s quite fine. Why not go sit on my heated brick bed and rest a moment, shall we?”
His Majesty was rather taken aback. Even in his days as Grand Commander, no one had ever spoken to him with such homely, everyday concern.
His heart, which had been so heavily weighed down, felt a little lighter for this simple, unaffected kindness.
He shook his head, but a faint smile finally showed through. “No need. Some other day, perhaps. I still have to head back today—I won’t come in…”
Qiqian’er had no choice but to hurry into the carriage and lead the way.
Five li outside Qingfeng City, at the charity pavilion, it was just about suppertime. Two great iron cauldrons were bubbling away, and crowds of destitute, ragged people stood in line clutching broken bowls and ladles, waiting for their portion of gruel.
A group of Qinwei Lane’s ladies stood by with baskets, handing out coarse flour cakes to the crowd—wealthy officials’ wives, every one of them, yet the Old Madam had, over these dozen-odd days, turned them all into sharp-tongued street matrons.
Whenever someone broke the rules and tried to reach a hand straight into the basket, Zhang Wanru’s mother would smack it away hard—a real slap, sharp and loud.
When the time came and the lid came off the thick porridge, the fragrance hit at once, and the crowd—already half-starved and unable to hold back any longer—surged forward all at once.
His Majesty, watching from his carriage not far off, stared in astonishment. He saw the Old Madam of the Chen family and his own birth mother, each wearing a large apron, standing atop a high stone step, shouting themselves hoarse:
“What are you all grabbing for? You famished ghosts reincarnated, mind you don’t shove some child straight into the stove pit… I’ll cook the lot of you ungrateful wretches myself if you don’t watch it, you hear me? Grab, go on, grab your ancestors… Oy, won’t listen, is that it? Not enough beatings for you? You again? Hey, hey… this is plain porridge, what do you think you’re reaching in for, meat porridge? Isn’t this just asking to be hit?”
And then, His Majesty watched as his own gentle, endlessly forbearing mother—a woman who had spent her whole life yielding and holding back—her face flushed red with sheer excitement, raised a great wooden ladle in both hands and, without the slightest fear, waded straight into that ring of half-starved people, swinging it down on head after head with a resounding series of thwacks.