At dawn, Old Madam Chen’s body stirred, and the maids and matrons keeping night watch all rose at once, gathering around — yes, gathering around, but none dared approach to attend her too closely.

These past years, the old madam had grown more and more addled by the day, truly lucid one moment and confused the next, her temper growing more unreasonable, changeable as summer weather with thunderstorms one moment and clear skies the next.

There were days she’d bound off cheerfully to dig wild greens, and days she’d sit on the ground crying for hours. She could no longer look after herself; her mind wasn’t clear anymore, and she couldn’t even manage the chamber pot properly — there were times she soiled herself.

Everyone grows old this way eventually; the family had long since prepared for it, yet it was still hard to bear.

When the old madam woke, she didn’t trouble anyone — instead, as if she had returned to her old home by the water, she spent her days as though her children were all still alive, going about the housework she had done for half her life.

At the rooster’s crow at dawn she’d rise, moving about stealthily, though there was no one else in the bed. She’d smile sweetly at the big kang, as if seeing a whole bed full of sleeping children.

But that sweetness lasted only that one moment. For the rest of the day, the old madam turned into an absolute terror.

It’s always this way for mothers — fathers can always slip away and play the good guy. It’s the mother who’s the exposed target, who spends the most time with the children, and so has the most grievances with them too.

By the time they’re old, everyone says how pitiable the father is, how kind and gentle he was — never stopping to think how hard a mother’s whole life had been.

In the old madam’s memory there was nothing but endless toil. With so many children, she hadn’t dared be gentle, and had become a harsh, scolding mother — over time she’d even forgotten what her original temperament had been.

Only at this one hour each day was her smile at its best; once the servants brought up the washbasin and she combed every stray hair into place with a fine comb, wrapped a cloth around her head, and put on her stern face, the whole household’s ordeal would begin.

With so many matrons and maids attending her, she couldn’t see them at all — it was as though she lived within a shadow of the past.

She’d put on her shoes and start stomping and clattering about the main hall, cursing and scolding, until Commandery Prince She entered the courtyard.

The old madam looked up, saw him, and came out at once, brandishing a bald broom and shouting at him: “Oh my! What time is it? You useless lump — slow as molasses, can’t catch anything thick or thin, what time do you think this is to show up? You can’t even scrape the bottom of the pot for something to eat, you good-for-nothing!”

She Qingling startled, then bowed his head with a smile, submitting meekly.

He was a eunuch, beardless and pale-faced, which made him look younger than his years.

His mother, addled and furious, was upset that her son had missed mealtime, and She Qingling good-naturedly apologized — though that wasn’t enough either; he still had to take a couple of broom-whacks before the matter would pass.

And when getting beaten, you had to run — if you didn’t run, the old madam grew even angrier, resenting that she’d raised a fool.

This particular case referred specifically to Chen Dasheng’s birth father.

In fact, she didn’t always beat him — it depended on which age the old madam’s mind was dwelling in that day. Today her mind was in early summer; nothing much was happening at home, everyone was lazing about, the fields had just been weeded that morning, and it was a leisurely day.

This son of hers was clumsy and slow, always coming home late — and by the time he did, the food in the pot had usually already been eaten up by the older children.

The old madam, exasperated at his uselessness, finished scolding and cursing, all while her hand rummaged inside her robe.

Seeing this, the servants numbly brought over the pastry they’d prepared in advance, and the old madam grabbed a piece and handed it to the freshly beaten She Qingling, then, winking, said in a low voice toward the corner of the courtyard: “You useless thing, go hide over there, don’t let your brothers see — oh, all you know is eating, eating! Eat till it kills you! Go on!”

She Qingling had never in his life received such warm, intense maternal love. He came every day, and even when going to Yandu he insisted on bringing the old madam along — but once she moved into the commandery prince’s mansion, all she would say, whenever she saw anyone, was: “Am I dead? Am I dead?”

She thought this must be the world after death — it seemed simply too luxurious.

Having, in her mind, tended to all her children’s appetites, the old madam looked satisfied and, familiar with the path, made her way to the corner of the courtyard.

At the edge of the courtyard sat several large earthenware jars. Not every household in the countryside could afford a sweet-water well; most had to fetch water from the village’s communal well, which was tiring work.

So any careful household would set out several jars under the eaves to catch rainwater.

The old madam’s hometown was on the banks of the Sanjiang River, and people there didn’t drink rainwater — they used it to sprinkle and clean the courtyard, water the livestock, and irrigate the vegetables.

There wasn’t a single vegetable seedling in this courtyard, yet the old madam watered away vigorously all the same, still muttering curses under her breath, cursing the entire hundred generations of the Chen family’s ancestors up and down.

Chen Dasheng happened to be home today too. Today was Qiqian’er’s first long journey away from home, and he’d been out front helping check her luggage; once he’d finished checking and his father hadn’t come out, he came over this way.

In the courtyard, four matrons and four maids followed behind the old madam, all with their hands spread, not daring to speak or move much.

In any case, the old madam couldn’t see them anyway — what she saw was an illusion of the past.

As soon as Chen Dasheng entered the courtyard, he saw the old madam with a broom tucked under her arm, holding a gilded basin, feeding imaginary chickens and ducks, and while feeding them she seemed to shoo away an imaginary mischievous dog with her foot as well.

Seeing Chen Dasheng come in, she flew into a rage and began stomping around again, even flinging aside the valuable, dented basin, pointing at Chen Dasheng and cursing at the top of her lungs: “Did you take the money I hid at the bottom of the cabinet?”

Chen Dasheng was startled: “Huh? Money — what money?”

The old madam was old, but her memory wasn’t, and she swept toward Chen Dasheng with the force of a killer, demanding: “The money?!” Chen Dasheng shook his head frantically in fear — he too had only learned in recent years that his grandfather had been a family thief.

“I — I didn’t take it?”

The old madam clearly didn’t believe him, and put her hands on her hips, scolding: “You old scoundrel, open your mouth!”

Chen Dasheng looked to his own father for rescue, but his father was hiding in the corner eating his breakfast, sitting there in the corner very obediently indeed.

Seeing Chen Dasheng wouldn’t open his mouth, the old madam wouldn’t let him off either — she reached up, pinched his cheek, and yanked it left and right. Forced to open his mouth, the old madam leaned in and sniffed, smelling the imaginary evidence, and her tears came pouring out.

“You, you rotten, no-good thing, how did I ever end up with you — Dan Niu is grown now and still shares a hole with his parents, huh!”

The broom dropped to the ground; the old madam picked it up, and fearful the neighbors might hear, she beat him silently, and Chen Dasheng silently dodged.

She Qingling, seeing his son’s plight, pulled a few copper coins from his sleeve and dropped them on the ground. The old madam’s motion stopped at once, and she wobbled over to the coins, not even noticing she was wearing brocade robes, sat down on the ground, and gathered the coins while weeping…

Chen Dasheng was stunned speechless; everyone in the courtyard understood too.

That old man had stolen the old madam’s money to buy liquor.

The old madam was always like this. At first, the grandchildren and their spouses had found it heartbreaking; the old madam, who’d once been strong and capable her whole life — but how many days could the younger generation’s heartache last?

They’d grown used to it, and that was that.

Chen Dasheng wasn’t upset either, and walked over somewhat resentfully to squat beside his own father. He too was an official of the Ministry of War with a dignified beard, and yet at home this was the treatment he received.

Today he was playing his grandfather, a few days ago he’d been playing his own father — which just went to prove one thing, his father resembled his grandfather, and he resembled his father — ha, what a mess this all was.

He’d barely crouched down when, from outside, a five- or six-year-old young master came pattering in carrying a small pillow.

This young master looked around the courtyard, saw his father and grandfather squatting in the corner, and ran toward them with eyes brimming with tears, gave a huff, and stamped his foot.

Naturally the two elders couldn’t pay him any mind, so he flung the pillow to the ground in fury and began jumping up and down on it.

He’d only bounced a few times when someone scooped him up bodily off the ground, and without ceremony delivered several smacks to his backside — it was his great-grandmother, scolding: “Wastrel! What do you think you’re doing? Tired of your mother living so long, are you? Trying to kill me with anger? This whole household, young and old, all good-for-nothing scoundrels, driving me to death — what is this, what is this? Perfectly good things, and you go stomping all over them right here, what did it ever do to you, and at your age you’ve already learned to waste things…”

The more she thought about it, the angrier she got, and she gave him a few more smacks — the little dog began wailing.

“Little Dog” was Chen Dasheng and Qiqian’er’s fifth son; as for why he was called Little Dog, don’t believe the official story people told — the truth was, he was simply a handful.

The old madam could be quite harsh with her sons, and when this child dared waste something, she felt he deserved a proper beating for it — with so many things weighing on her mind, she reached for her own sash, and Chen Dasheng and She Qingling both shut their eyes together.

The servants rushed over in a flurry — some hurrying to hitch up their trousers, others trying to snatch the fifth young master and flee with him.

Would the old madam let them have their way? By the time Chen Dasheng and the others heard the commotion and opened their eyes, the old madam was already carrying her dented copper basin off toward the kitchen.

Little Dog was tied to a tree with the sash, too frightened to move.

All he’d wanted was to make a fuss so the grown-ups would take him along with his mother when she left — who could have guessed he’d get a beating for it instead?

Suffering his first real grievance in life, the child began to wonder if he was dreaming. He looked pleadingly at his grandfather and father, but neither of them dared relax, and followed the old madam toward the kitchen instead.

They’d only gone a few steps when both of them quickly turned back and crouched again in the corner of the courtyard — the old madam came trotting back with an armful of goat fodder and dumped it right over their heads, still muttering resentfully: “Eat, eat, useless things, all you know is eating, and still not putting on an ounce of flesh.”

Was there anything left these people weren’t allowed to do?

The old woman had a foul temper, seemingly at odds with every single relative, and no easier on the livestock either — she did every chore herself, yet had offended everyone so thoroughly that no one appreciated her efforts.

Having finished scolding, the old madam headed back to the kitchen; despite her great age, once addled she moved with remarkable speed — once she got going, no one could keep up.

She Qingling peeked out to check she’d gone far enough, then plucked the goat fodder off his own head and handed it to Chen Dasheng, saying: “Eat up — eat and put on some meat, easier to slaughter you come New Year’s.”

Chen Dasheng said helplessly: “Father, it’s already come to this and you’re still teasing the old madam. Just tell me — what does His Majesty mean by this?”

She Qingling stood, walked over to Little Dog and untied him, then bent down, picked the child up, wiped his tears, and said with a smile: “What does he mean? Does the emperor consult you before he does things? Don’t worry about An’er either — I trained him myself, and if he suffers a loss… hmph, he had it coming, putting his own face right in front of his enemy for them to hit. If a person never suffers a loss in this life, can you even call it living? Eat up, eating more will teach you a lesson…”

“Father, I don’t like hearing that kind of talk. All these years our whole household, top to bottom, has worked diligently and never slacked on our duties — hmph, and you say things are going well for you two? Is this what you call well? Now your grandson’s been made into someone’s target, and you’ve gone off to hide over here.”

Already the mother of six children, with her eldest son old enough to marry, Qiqian’er still had the fresh look of a young woman. Today she wore a crow-black fitted riding outfit, deerskin short boots, and a small calfskin belt with the five accessories at her waist, dressed as a man.

Even after all these years managing the inner household openly, while secretly holding the reins of jianghu affairs across Baiquan Mountain in the shadows, this woman carried herself unlike anyone else — in men’s clothing, she radiated a sharp, heroic air.

Old married couple that they were, her own husband was still moved to distraction by her, wanting only to please her. But Qiqian’er’s heart was full of anger, and toward him — no, toward the two of them, father and son — she felt more than a little disgust.

Chen Dasheng hadn’t wanted her to go, yet a mother worrying over her son couldn’t be helped — privately, the Huai Tree Order had gone out many times already, but as reports came trickling back day after day, she ultimately couldn’t set her mind at ease.

Just look at this — black and white, opportunists looking to profit from chaos, fence-sitters, everyone wanting a piece of the pie — hmph, was her Chen family’s flesh really so delicious that everyone wanted a bite?

No way. She’d knock their teeth right out.

Word from the Beggars’ Sect said the Little Marshal had already headed toward Jindian.

Which meant the network of contacts she’d laid was, after all, not secure.

All the more reason to go!

In a one-on-one fight, Qiqian’er was confident her son could get out unscathed — but what if Jiuzhouyu sent everyone they had? Back in the day, even Chen Dasheng, wounded and still not fully recovered even now, was Old Blade — a veteran of countless battles commanding thousands. If even he’d been wounded, then what of the son she’d borne?

He was simply too honest for his own good!

She knew her own son best — her An’er was gentle and warm to the bone, the sort who should have been a dignified scholar by rights… thinking of this, her heart ached with resentment at Emperor Wu for using her son as bait, yet she couldn’t very well curse her father-in-law, so she looked around while holding Little Dog and asked: “Where’s the old madam?”

They were about to leave anyway — might as well leave on good terms rather than pick a fight; regretting it the whole journey wouldn’t do any good.

She wasn’t like the old madam, with her iron tongue but a heart of a bodhisattva — no, in this life people were most heartless when it came to looking only at their own interests, who cared about your feelings? It was infuriating and exhausting all at once.

Father and son, seeing the injured party before them, felt a flash of shame — after all, failing to protect their own descendants was their own disgrace, and having their daughter-in-law and wife reproach them left them with nothing to say.

Now that their daughter-in-law seemed ready to let them off, they were as relieved as if pardoned, and together pointed toward the kitchen: “The old madam’s gone to the kitchen.”

“Why’s she gone there again?”

Qiqian’er muttered, and with Little Dog tucked under her arm, dashed off toward the kitchen.

Little Dog wanted to tattle, but at six years old he found it hard to adjust to his mother transforming from woman to man, so he simply thought it over as he was carried along after her.

Ah, these past years had been hard on everyone — raising this old madam was more trouble than raising six children put together. No matter how big the kitchen was, if the old madam went over there and didn’t set the place on fire, she’d only do one thing: hunt down a lock and lock up every cabinet in sight.

To keep mice — and daughters-in-law — from stealing food, she’d also personally search out big rocks and stone slabs to weight down the household’s grain jars.

Every stone drum sitting outside the gentry households in this whole lane had suffered for it, constantly being hauled from those doorsteps to sit atop the Chen family’s grain jars instead.

The old madam, sharp as ever in her own way despite her confusion, couldn’t lift them herself, but in her memory her sons and her husband were all still alive, so she’d order them around and have them steal the neighbors’ stone drums for her.

Sure enough, once they reached the kitchen… there was the old madam, bottom in the air, bent over on the floor, clearly up to something.

Today was actually quite good — she hadn’t moved any rocks onto the jar lids. Hearing the old madam muttering to herself, Qiqian’er walked over and saw that she’d somehow found a needle and thread from somewhere, and was lying on the floor stringing together, one by one, the wilted vegetable leaves and radish peels the kitchen maids had thrown away, all the while cursing without pause: “Can’t even manage a household properly, can you, can’t manage at all — come winter this’ll be a lifesaver, haven’t I already let you go hungry a few times…”

Hearing this, Qiqian’er felt a pang in her heart. She’d meant to go over and coax her up gently, but then remembered this old madam didn’t respond to coaxing, so instead she quickly composed her face into something cold and overbearing and called out loudly: “Mother! What are you doing here!”

The old madam startled badly, shuddering as she turned, not recognizing Qiqian’er, and asked cautiously: “You — who are you?”

Qiqian’er strode over holding Little Dog and scolded her: “Who am I, who am I? You tell me who I am!”

She played so many roles herself, how was she to know who she was supposed to be?

The old madam thought hard about it, then looked at Little Dog and asked hopefully, trying to please her: “You — you’re Zhi’er?”

A housewife’s aging truly begins the moment she starts fearing her daughters-in-law — she realizes she now has to eat at their mercy, and suddenly she becomes all sweetness.

What’s more, the Chen family genuinely owed these daughters-in-law a debt. The old madam had forgotten the most painful scenes of her life, yet some instinct told her not to provoke this woman — she couldn’t afford to cross her.

Seeing Qiqian’er approach, the old madam scrambled up at once and, holding out her string of wilted vegetable leaves, said ingratiatingly: “The white radish greens grew so big this year, I’ll pickle some for all of you for winter, something extra to eat come the new year — sour and delicious, you know.”

She felt herself old again, and seeing her daughter-in-law glaring without moving, she felt her arms and legs ache with exhaustion, wanting sympathy, hoping it might excuse some of her past harshness, so she could feel a little better about herself.

After all, these women had suffered plenty at her hands, and she herself had been rather severe in the past… oh, it was all so exhausting.

Raising children and grandchildren for nothing! For nothing!!

Qiqian’er held back a laugh, watching the old madam, thoroughly senile now, feel her way along the wall and shuffle out the door, rubbing off flakes of whitewash as she went.

The kitchen was preparing travel rations for the lady of the house; seeing the old madam leave, everyone’s wits returned to them, and the head cook let out a startled cry, then, well practiced, grabbed a sturdy stick, walked to the cat-proof cupboard, pried the cabinet door open, and lifted the whole door off its hinges — the spatulas and vegetables inside clattered down onto the floor.

They really were quick about it.

Qiqian’er grimaced, but didn’t bother saying anything about the trouble this caused them — she’d told them long ago, if you’re careful about the old madam early in the morning and lock the cabinets yourselves ahead of time, none of this fuss would happen. Every one of them was getting on in years too, and not without some cunning of their own, and yet every single time, the addled old madam managed to outwit them all the same.

By the time Qiqian’er reached the courtyard with Little Dog, the old madam had already tied on her own apron and was sitting there obediently, waiting for her meal.

She kept muttering the whole time: “I’m old now, wasting food — give it to the children instead.”

Then she gave an awkward little laugh, trying to please Qiqian’er: “Have you eaten yet?”

A servant brought over some soft, well-cooked food. Qiqian’er felt both pity and irritation at once — but she couldn’t coddle her either, not with an old madam who’d climb straight over your head given the chance. She set the child down, brought over bowl after bowl of food herself, and finally, though it pained her, said fiercely: “Eat!”

The old madam trembled, opened her mouth as if to try to please her, but seeing the sour expression, took the spoon with a shaking hand instead, eating one spoonful after another, still trying, between bites, to flatter her: “…Good food, you cook so well, it’s my favorite.”

Qiqian’er said fiercely: “Just eat!”

The old madam looked around aggrieved, searching for someone to back her up, but She Qingling and Chen Dasheng were crouched off to the side, playing dumb like sheep.

In short, there wasn’t a single one of them who dared cross her.

The only one in the whole household with the strength to bring the old madam to heel was Qiqian’er.

Watching the old madam eating earnestly over there, Qiqian’er finally jerked her chin toward the gate.

The three of them slipped out quietly; the old madam, eating with her head down, furtively glanced up, and seeing them gone, let out a long, long breath of relief.

Once outside, Chen Dasheng complained: “You shouldn’t be so harsh with the old madam — coax her gently and she’ll eat just fine.”

Qiqian’er laughed coldly: “Fine, whether I coax her or not, I’m about to leave anyway. Starting tomorrow, our ancestor’s meals are your responsibility.”

The unfilial grandson gave a shiver and turned to look at his own father. She Qingling smiled and nodded at Qiqian’er: “Mm, Qian’er, go with an easy mind — don’t worry about the household, I’m here.”

Living in this great household for so many years, She Qingling had long known his daughter-in-law was no ordinary woman, though he’d never let on he knew — only now, as she was about to leave, did he finally say: “Ahem, daughter-in-law… that, well.”

The old commandery prince laughed a bit awkwardly, turning to look at the gable wall beside him: “Tomorrow, when you see the old… ahem, grandson, just give him a couple of swats and let it go.”

Qiqian’er wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction, and instead handed Little Dog over to her father-in-law with a cold snort: “Oh? You think it’s just a matter of a couple of swats?”

With that she turned and walked off, muttering as she went: “Just you all wait, every single one of you — learning bad habits, are we? Some elder brother he is, not acting like one, and the little brat’s no better…”

By the time that woman had leapt onto her black steed, she called out to a girl dressed as a boy at her side: “Ying’er, let’s go.”

The one called Ying’er gave the reins a flick, just as her step-grandfather She could be heard behind them, pleading: “Daughter-in-law, drag them home first before you beat them.”

Their lady turned and nodded: “Understood.”

Seeing his mother about to leave, Little Dog began to wail loudly, dry-eyed — poor thing, from today on his mother wouldn’t be by his side.

His wife gathered up the reins; Chen Dasheng hurried over a few steps, blocking the horse, and reminded her: “Do you have your token with you?”

Qiqian’er kicked the horse’s belly with her foot and nodded: “All packed — money, token. Once I arrive, I’ll go straight to the Ministry of War relay station first, and if I run into anyone I don’t like the look of, I’ll drag them off somewhere quiet and deal with them. You’ve told me a hundred times already — get out of the way, quickly, or you’ll make me late.”

Chen Dasheng felt reluctant to let her go, yet he also knew that the only one who could drag those two little troublemakers home was his wife.

Never mind the younger one — even the elder, if he really let loose, who would dare stop him?

Even His Majesty rarely spoke harshly to him.

It was only a pity that someone like himself, who commanded military authority, made too obvious a target, or he would have gone along with his wife.

Seeing him look so pitiful, Qiqian’er felt a pang of sympathy too, but could only nod vaguely in agreement, and finally, she rode off after all.

In truth it was still barely past the last quarter of the Hour of the Rabbit — the moon had only just set, and the old madam, sleeping lightly as the elderly do, always rose early; once she rose, this whole Relative Guard Alley woke with her.

As for the household, Little Bao was only three and still a fool of a child; the elder ones, Gaoxing and Lingguan’er, had already been brought to the Yandu residence by Little Flower to be looked after, since they also had schooling to attend, and so they knew little of the family’s affairs.

Only once the hoofbeats had faded entirely did Chen Dasheng mutter: “What’s a ‘little troublemaker’ even supposed to look like?”

She Qingling walked over, took the crying child from him — the boy, seeing his mother truly gone, had begun weeping silently — and said: “Just like this, that’s what. Well, let’s go home and wait — with your wife making a move like this, someone from that side is bound to come asking questions soon.”

He meant His Majesty.

Chen Dasheng felt a flicker of anger too, though he wasn’t afraid, and said with a mocking laugh: “Then tell me — who do you think he’ll send?”

She Qingling patted his grandson patiently, mocking in turn: “Who else could it be — Tan Er’s own root and branch, that’s all that’s left by his side.”

With that, the old man jutted his chin toward the mouth of the alley and said: “He sends his nephew all the way out here — I notice their family rarely comes around this way at all.”

The old man was referring to Tan Weitong’s eldest son, Tan Xingye, who doted on his concubine and had long since broken off relations with the Wu family, treating his wife with contempt.

Back when Wu Xiu had sent her sister’s son to live on Quanhou Street, no one from the Tan family had ever come looking for this mother and son — even years later, when Tan Xingye, under his uncle’s arrangement, married the legitimate daughter of the wealthy Duanmu family of Great Liang, the Tan family still hadn’t uttered a word of protest.

They’d chosen this way to smooth over the old grudge instead — everyone minding their own business, the Wu family free to earn their silver, while the position of the Tan family’s official matriarch was kept reserved for her. It counted as generous enough, as these things went.

Chen Dasheng sat down and took the hot tea a servant brought him, his mind already turning to his wife, and he drank half the cup in a distracted daze before remembering his father had been chatting idly with him.

What, was his father worried he missed his wife? How could that be? …Well, all right, maybe a little. If that reckless woman of his really got angry, oh, how would he ever manage to smooth things over.

In any case, he knew he could never beat her in a fight anyway.

And he knew perfectly well in his heart — the day he’d received the imperial order to suppress Jiuzhouyu and had suffered such a wound, his wife had never quite let go of her resentment over it. Even setting their son aside, for the sake of that old grudge alone, the Chen family and Jiuzhouyu were bound to have their reckoning sooner or later.

He suddenly shook his head and laughed. She Qingling asked, curious: “What’s my son laughing at?”

Chen Dasheng set down his teacup and explained: “Nothing much, just… someone’s about to have some bad luck, and I’m happy about it, that’s all.”

She Qingling, thinking of his own delicate little daughter-in-law, wanted to ask more, but then heard his son change the subject: “The Tan family wouldn’t dare come around here.”

“Oh?” She Qingling asked, somewhat intrigued. “And why is that?”

Chen Dasheng, recalling the intelligence reports he’d seen, laughed: “You don’t pay attention to these things, but I’ve got several boxes’ worth of reports on the matter. From the Yong’an era down through this Changshun era, the Tan family has kept a low profile and quietly built up their strength — what’s there to speak of in that poor, rugged wasteland of Jindian? If you want to develop it, you need money.”

Little Dog, having cried himself out, drifted off to sleep with tears still on his cheeks. She Qingling handed him off to a servant, and once he saw no one else was around, asked: “So what, have they become someone’s creditor now?”

Chen Dasheng nodded: “Mm, something on the order of tens of millions of strings of cash, tsk tsk — from the main line down to the collateral branches, Wu Xiu has become the Tan family’s biggest creditor these days! You know what that Wu Xiu does, and she’s also grown quite close with the Duanmu family — the Tan family, guilty conscience and all, doesn’t dare show themselves in front of Wu Ling. And besides, they don’t actually want to repay the debt either — they’ve just gone through the motions of marrying off an heir-grandson as a token gesture. Heh! After all these years, this family is still the same disgusting sort — generations of them, and they still can’t wash off that same nauseating streak… but what can we do about it? Even His Majesty tolerates it — am I supposed to go stirring up trouble over it?”

She Qingling shook his head slightly and cautioned Chen Dasheng: “Don’t go meddling in other people’s business. They’re using Wu Xiu’s money to fund His Majesty’s troops — as for how our lord plans to deal with it, even I, your father, can’t guess anymore these days. As for Wu Xiu, being too big a creditor is a dangerous position to be in.”

Seeing him looking somewhat listless, Chen Dasheng smiled and tried to reason with him: “That’s not entirely fair of you to say, either — how many times have you even gone to the palace these past years? Aman is the way he is, practically wishing he could move into a wine jar. Little Flower and Li Jinggui avoid His Majesty entirely. And there’s the Tan family’s young marquis — showing up at His Majesty’s side every single day, playing the dutiful grandson!

A person’s affections need tending. Yang Zhen behaves the way she does, and has too many ties to the south besides; Sixth Brother nearly shaved his head and became a monk over it. Fifth Brother, Seventh Brother, Ninth Brother — every one of them was left thoroughly disillusioned by that old business, and they’ve all kept their distance. His Majesty — sigh, he suffers in his own way too, but he doesn’t have what you have: children and grandchildren filling the house, a big happy family, that kind of blessing.”

She Qingling’s expression stayed flat, and only after a long while did he say, with some reserve: “Well, that’s true enough — he can’t compare to me on that front…”

On the official road heading toward Little South Mountain from Qingfeng, Qiqian’er rode a proper Western steed at a gallop. Her horse was called Big Black Wind — a careless enough name, but the horse was actually one of Gen’ge’er’s prized pets; the boy loved collecting all sorts of valuable things out of boredom, and this was one more example — he’d built up an entire stable of them without ever riding them, just kept them around to look at, letting them live out their lives as they pleased.

As for the girl dressed as a boy at her side, she too was an old acquaintance.

She was the daughter of a righteous man who had died entering the capital in service of Pang Tu years ago, named Bai Ying, known in the jianghu by the alias “Yipin Hong” — First Rank Red.

This “Yipin Hong” was the name of a poisonous flower, signifying that this woman’s methods were sharp and ruthless, with nothing girlish about her at all. Fortunately, she had no wish to marry either, and simply made her own way freely through the jianghu.

Back then, Uncle Xin had made her a promise: raised by the Beggars’ Sect as one of the Baiquan Mountain bloodline, once Bai Ying had finished her training she’d been sent out to head a small outpost in the outer prefectures. That she’d come today was also because her father’s blood debt had been avenged by none other than the Elder Huaishu — this counted as a way of repaying that debt.

Uncle Xin trusted Qiqian’er completely, yet Qiqian’er, despite having returned to the jianghu, had no real experience of it — Bai Ying, by contrast, had been dressing as a boy and moving through the jianghu since she was young, which was why she’d been sent along.

They’d set out that morning at the start of the Hour of the Dragon; Qiqian’er, her heart weighed down with worry for her son, rode hard, resting only half an hour along the way, and by dusk the two women had already covered over a hundred li, arriving within the borders of Guangshun County.

Men traveling could lodge at the roadside inns outside the city walls, but since these were two women, they chose to enter the city to rest instead.

Within two hundred li of Yandu, everywhere was a bustling place; even though this was only a county seat, entering still required identity verification.

Among the many tokens Qiqian’er carried, she produced her legitimate Ministry of War lieutenant’s token, and so paid no fee, riding her horse along the outer city road into the inner city, where she asked around for the area where the local inns clustered, intending to put up at the Guang’an Inn.

Such a large inn — the moment her horse stopped, why wasn’t there a single attendant coming out to greet them?

It had been a long day too — the horse more exhausted than the riders. Qiqian’er dismounted herself, tossed the reins to Ying, and walked into the inn with her hands behind her back.

But no sooner had their lady set foot inside than she backed straight back out again.

Ying, puzzled, was about to ask when she heard Qiqian’er say to her, her face full of astonishment: “Ying’er — well, I suppose I really haven’t been out in the world much — you go in for me, on my behalf, Uncle, and take a look. It looks to me like there are two groups of Daoist nuns inside, and it seems like they’re about to fight?”