Zhù Ying raised her right hand and covered her eyes.

The messenger could only see the lower half of her face, frozen in stillness. Absorbed in completing his errand, it was only now, in the quiet, that he began to notice his own heart pounding wildly in his chest.

Beside her, Niu Jin was at a total loss. Gu Tong and the others stood as if turned to wood.

After a long moment, Zhù Ying lowered her hand. In a flat voice she said: “Understood.” She waved the messenger away.

The messenger dared not hold onto his earlier pique at a moment like this and retreated on silent feet. Only once he was outside the office did it occur to him: where should I go now? Right — to the post station to rest, and once rested he still had to return and report!

Inside the office, Zhù Ying cleared her throat. The others seemed to wake from a dream. Of all of them, the most composed, Xiang Le, still had traces of lingering shock on his face as he asked: “Daren, what do we do?”

Zhù Ying had already regained her calm. The Crown Prince was dead — there would inevitably be many upheavals ahead. What use was panic? But the proper appearances still had to be made in full, and not a single task that needed doing could be neglected.

Zhù Ying said: “Niu Jin, circulate this sad news to the four counties below. Send a copy to Asu County as well.”

“Yes.” Niu Jin bolted off, left foot tripping right foot, stumbling as he went. He did not know what he was panicking about — his heart was simply in a panic.

Zhù Ying said to Xiang Le: “Ring the bell and summon the yamen officials. I have words to say to them.”

“Yes.” His steps were far steadier than Niu Jin’s — only a slight stumble at the threshold.

That left only Gu Tong, whom Zhù Ying instructed: “Go and summon Jing Gang. Do not dawdle on the way.”

“Yes.”

Gu Tong drifted out as well.

Zhù Ying then sent word to Xiang An to go to the rear quarters with a message: “Tell them that all colored ornaments are to be removed, and no boisterous entertainment. Plain clothing should be worn. That is all for now. I will go back and explain the rest in detail once the matters in the yamen are settled.”

Xiang An trotted off and, passing Ding Gui in the corridor, said: “The official has no one attending her — go quickly.”

When Ding Gui arrived at the office, Zhù Ying had already stopped performing any semblance of composure. Ding Gui had just returned from outside and did not yet know about the Crown Prince’s death. Walking into the office, Zhù Ying’s expression looked perfectly normal, and so Ding Gui stood beside her normally, waiting for instructions.

Zhù Ying sat in quiet, her mind racing through everything that needed to be done next. Nothing out of the ordinary was visible from the obituary notice; what lay behind it she had no way of knowing. Nanfu was so far from the capital! Cold Yun complained every day about being remote from the capital, and the inconveniences of that distance were now fully apparent. Gathering intelligence was also extremely difficult, so she decided to leave the news side alone for now and first smooth over the surface matters.

Outside, the bell sounded. Ding Gui started with surprise. The bell was rung to assemble people when something happened in the yamen — usually in the mornings, or when some especially momentous event occurred. Was this the latter kind? What had happened?

Sima Zhang’s quarters were close to Zhù Ying’s. He was the first to step out, craning his neck outside, then hesitantly planted himself at Zhù Ying’s doorway and knocked lightly on the open door panel: “Prefect?”

Zhù Ying rose and walked slowly to the door, just in time to see Xiang Le returning. Not far behind came the yamen officials, hurrying with quick steps. None of them knew what was happening; all wore expressions of puzzlement. Some worried whether the prefect was about to deal with someone for some infraction of the law, and were mentally reviewing their own recent conduct — they seemed to have done nothing wrong, though one or two dredged up memories of older transgressions from long past, frightening themselves into a cold sweat.

By the time Magistrate Guo also came rushing in and was startled by the sight of the packed courtyard, Zhù Ying stepped forward and all voices fell silent at once.

Zhù Ying looked out over them — all present except those on duty. In a measured voice she said: “I have just received word of grievous news. The Crown Prince has died.”

People stood blankly for a moment, then the reality of it set in, and every face changed. Ding Gui was struck as if by lightning.

The assembly was complete. The mourning could begin.

Zhù Ying raised her sleeve to shield her face.

The quick-witted had already burst into tears! Zhù Ying had at least seen the Crown Prince’s face once; the others here had never even heard his voice, yet all of them wept as though their hearts were breaking. Zhù Ying and Sima Zhang wept more composedly above — tears falling, no wailing. Below, Magistrate Guo collapsed to the ground, while Director Wang’s snot ran down with his tears.

Jing Gang had just entered the yamen and walked straight into the sound of all this weeping. He thought: I was summoned here by the prefect — surely it cannot be that she has died? He looked over to find Zhù Ying still perfectly well on the raised platform, and beside her even Gu Tong had broken into dry sobs. He asked urgently: “What has happened?!”

Could it be the Emperor?

Gu Tong sniffled: “The Crown Prince has died.”

Jing Gang’s breath caught: “What?!”

This one exclamation went unnoticed amid the general crying. Zhù Ying took the opportunity to stop weeping, drew out her handkerchief to dab at her eyes, and said: “The notice has just been received. Old Guo!”

Magistrate Guo was still crying and was given a nudge by the person beside him — one who had been weeping with somewhat less commitment. He wiped his face and struggled to his feet: “Daren?”

Zhù Ying said: “I will need your cooperation with various matters throughout the city. Xiao Wu, go and prepare white cloth.”

There were established regulations governing how each locale was to observe mourning for the death of the Crown Prince. The obituary notice spelled them out: the capital’s residents wore mourning for the longest period; the more distant the location, the less the impact. All government offices would certainly have to remove colored banners and decorations, and the officials would have to wear plain clothing, hold incense offerings and conduct a few mourning ceremonies, and then wear white sashes for a period after. For commoners, the requirements were reduced by a degree compared to officials. As for the New Year — this year’s would almost certainly not be celebratable with great revelry.

By Zhù Ying’s estimate, any prospect of renewed merriment would have to wait until after the New Year had passed.

Winter had set in some time ago, and quick-footed merchants had already begun stocking up on goods to sell over the holiday — colored paper, decorated cards, lanterns, rouge and powder, and the like! What a pity — the common people would take yet another loss!

Zhù Ying issued a succession of orders: red lanterns and the like were all to be taken down; the prefectural school was to be notified to dismiss students for three days of mourning. Word was to be spread among the people that the Crown Prince had died, and an edict was issued suspending all music and entertainment across the entirety of Nanfu — to be lifted in the New Year. Weddings among commoners, however, were not prohibited; in any case, one could hardly imagine anyone wishing to marry with drums and fifes in these days.

Zhù Ying said: “Each of you attend to your own duties. Anyone who causes a lapse at this time will answer to me. Sima — you and the others remain; the rest are dismissed!”

After the clerical staff dispersed, Zhù Ying sent Xiang Le on another run to the barracks: “Take my seal token to Commander Mei and inform him of the situation. Tell him that if he is short of white cloth, I can spare a hundred bolts for his use. Also, he should prepare to submit a report to the court — Lu Mei has returned home to observe mourning, and Commander Mei must attend to this matter promptly.”

“Yes.”

Then Zhù Ying gathered Sima Zhang and the other officials, drawing in Jing Gang as well, for a smaller meeting in the office.

They were officials, some of sufficient rank — such as Zhù Ying herself — some who governed their own areas, such as Magistrate Guo and Jing Gang, and some who served in the prefectural yamen, such as Zhang Jiong. Zhù Ying said: “Everyone must write memorials to the capital!”

The Emperor had lost a son — a message of condolence had to be sent. The country had lost its Crown Prince — officials could not fail to express their mourning. The Emperor might not read them, but they could not go unwritten.

Sima Zhang said: “You are absolutely right.” His family had been in official service for generations; he had seen enough of the world to know what was done. He was not much worried. The others were more agitated. Setting aside the grief of the Crown Prince’s death — though none of them had been part of the Crown Prince’s faction — who knew what strange winds might blow, or whether they might be caught up in something? At a moment like this, the death of a Crown Prince was in some ways more unsettling than the death of the Emperor himself, because everything was now uncertain. Yet they were of low rank and little influence, unable to affect the situation — only to endure it. The unknown was always terrifying. Helplessness was always anxious.

Zhù Ying asked Jing Gang: “And you — will you wait until after the New Year to go back, or leave now?”

Jing Gang said: “With Daren’s clear-sightedness, I was already thinking of packing my things these past few days. As for my memorial — might I trouble Daren to send it along with yours?”

Zhù Ying said: “Of course. Does everyone know how to write one?”

Zhang Sibingling immediately said: “Please instruct us, Daren!” Several of them had risen from clerical positions, and while they were competent enough at routine official documents, writing a memorial was a different matter entirely.

Zhù Ying knew this well — back in her own day, it had taken Zheng Xi pulling her by the ear through several revised drafts before her memorials were passable.

“First: place His Majesty at the forefront. Second: the Crown Prince was His Majesty’s son, and a son must not be placed above a father. As for the rest — think for yourselves. If you do not know allusions, do not attempt them; check carefully for wrong and variant characters; we must not give anyone grounds to call us unlearned.” No one expected officials from a remote posting to produce any remarkable literary composition — an adequate and inconspicuous effort was safest. Nanfu had no need to distinguish itself in this affair! Passing unnoticed without drawing anyone’s attention was the best outcome.

Having given her instructions, Zhù Ying dismissed each person to draft their memorials, and told Jing Gang that the memorials would be gathered for dispatch to the capital in three days — he would need to deliver his on time. Jing Gang hurriedly agreed.

Xiao Wu had by now fetched the white cloth and set about cutting lengths, replacing lanterns, and preparing the mourning altar and so forth.

Once everything had been arranged, Jing Gang joined the yamen staff in the mourning rites. Magistrate Guo returned next door to his own county yamen, only to be greeted upon entering by the sound of weeping already in progress — the formal official document had arrived, and the deputy magistrate had already opened and read it.

Thus the day proceeded — two mourning services, and when the crying was done, everyone went back to their duties, though a few more slips than usual found their way into the work. Outside the yamen, the common people were not weeping much, but there was a great deal of hushed conversation — anxious, yet not quite. The Crown Prince was dead — what did that have to do with the ordinary man and his daily measure of grain? The Crown Prince had bestowed no particular blessings on this corner of the realm. Still, word was that the death of a Crown Prince was no good thing, and people went along feeling vaguely uneasy, taking down the more obviously festive signs from their shops — and that was about the extent of it.

After settling the front yamen, Zhù Ying tied a strip of white cloth at her waist and walked a circuit of the compound herself. She found the clerical staff and runners had stopped crying but were now huddled together in hushed groups. They had no connection to these court affairs, yet were deeply interested in them regardless; only they could discuss them with any pretense of authority: “I suppose they’ll be setting up a Crown Grandson now?” “No, no — I hear the Crown Grandson is still very young; they’ll have to name a prince.”

Zhù Ying gave a cough, and everyone flinched and pulled their heads in. Zhù Ying said: “Pass my order: discussion of the Crown Prince’s succession is forbidden. First offense: twenty strokes of the rod. Second offense: forty. Third offense: eighty. Fourth offense: death by rod.”

The whole yamen fell into a dead silence.

Zhù Ying made another round of the yamen, scolded a few who seemed distracted, and when she was satisfied that the yamen was running normally again, she went back to the rear quarters.

……——

In the rear quarters, the household was already in a flurry.

After the winter wheat sowing, the New Year holiday was drawing close. The gifts for the capital were already on their way, and this year the household had far more members. Setting aside Qiao’er returning to her own home, Xiang Le, Xiang An, and Gu Tong might also return home; all others had nowhere else to go and would be spending the New Year with the Zhù family — which meant there was a great deal more to prepare.

They had begun the preparations as soon as the twelfth month started. Red strings and little red shoes were being set aside for the little girls; red-based tiger-head caps were being prepared for the little boys; red paper for cutting window decorations had just been bought; the red cloth for new year garments had only just been taken out — and then the Crown Prince died!

Zhang Xiangu was distressed for half the day: “Oh dear, the Crown Prince — such a kind man!”

Qiao’er and the other maidservants had little investment in the Crown Prince’s life or death, but found Zhang Xiangu’s remark rather interesting, and even several of the widowed servants asked: “Old Mistress, have you met the Crown Prince?”

“Well, just the once — exchanged a few words. Such a kind manner! So young — how could he just be gone?”

Sister Du, beside them, was considerably more distressed, for no particular reason she could name — those who had come from the capital always seemed to feel a closer bond with the imperial family.

Huajie was more anxious than any of them. Zhù Ying was an official; now that the Crown Prince was dead, officials would certainly face greater repercussions — what was to be done? She untied a colorfully embroidered sachet from her waist as she worried. The children nearby were all entirely unconcerned.

Then Zhù Da, who had been circling about, suddenly said: “You’re done in the front?”

Everyone went to greet Zhù Ying together. Zhù Ying cast a glance around and said: “Tidy up — it’s just that we won’t be able to celebrate this year.”

Zhang Xiangu was still dwelling on how the Crown Prince had died; Zhù Ying said: “Stop dwelling and stop speculating — what could you possibly figure out from three thousand li away? In a few days I’ll be going to the prefectural capital to see Sir Leng — perhaps he’ll know more.”

Zhù Da said: “It’s a good thing that Daren Zheng is no longer in the East Palace.”

Zhù Ying thought to herself: He’s taken a great loss this time!

She looked at the little group of children — still plainly divided into two camps — and shook her head, going to the front to write her memorial. Just as she finished, Xiao Wu came running in: “Daren, I truly cannot write this!”

Zhù Ying said: “Write it — I’ll review your draft.”

Xiao Wu had no choice but to produce something: his character count was half of Qi Tai’s, and there was not a literary allusion to be found. Zhù Ying circled the wrong characters and had him delete the several lines where he had been overly lavish in flattering the Emperor. Xiao Wu’s face turned green — removing those lines left almost nothing, and his store of words was exhausted; what was he to do?

Zhù Ying ended up adding a few lines for him herself, warning: “If this keeps up, you’ll be beyond help. If you don’t even understand the memorials and dispatches going up and down, you’ll be sold out and end up helping count the money.”

Xiao Wu said: “I’ll study! I’ll study!” Gu Tong was only half-competent himself, and with the yamen so busy lately, the two of them had been studying together less and growing lax — as this debt now showed.

Over the following two days the others’ drafts were submitted one by one. Zhù Ying did not comment on them in front of the writers, but privately reviewed each one before allowing them to be dispatched. Sima Zhang’s and Jing Gang’s were perfectly composed and she did not touch them. The others she let pass as long as they contained no forbidden language or phrasing. Only Zhang Sibingling’s was on a par with Xiao Wu’s; she had him summoned and corrected in person before gathering them all for dispatch.

Three days later, the mourning altar was cleared, and the ritual objects burned.

Jing Gang came to the yamen with white cloth still bound at his waist to take his leave. Though hurrying back now was already too late — this was not the capital, and commoners were not required to observe imperial mourning for as long a period — he still had to return.

He brought a gift and, this time, was accompanied by both his parents and his wife and children.

Jing Gang had come for one purpose: to entrust his family to Zhù Ying’s care.

Zhù Ying received them in the rear quarters. Jing Gang said: “I now take my leave. My family — please look after them, Daren. If they transgress the law, please deal with them without hesitation.”

Zhù Ying said: “The Jing household resides here in Nanfu; I will naturally keep watch over them.”

Jing Gang gave a rueful smile: “My parents are growing old and may at times be hard of hearing. I ask for your forbearance. Whatever benevolent policies Daren implements, the Jing family will certainly support them.” He glanced at his father.

Old Master Jing had also become considerably more subdued than before: “I ask Daren to be lenient in view of my failing eyes and ears.”

Zhù Ying said: “What are you saying? We will get along well enough; there is a long road ahead.”

Jing Gang added: “I must press on and cannot conveniently bring my wife with me. She will return in the spring. This time I will take the Fifth Young Master with me.” He had thought it over — it was better to keep his younger brother under his own supervision. Left at home, their parents could not control him, and his younger brother’s wife would also find it hard to manage a husband who ran wild outside. If he ended up in trouble with Zhù Ying again, how many times could he count on the woman to show leniency? Better to take him away!

Zhù Ying said: “Beware that once you’ve left for your post, people may curry favor by indulging him — the stricter you are at home, the more he may be let loose outside. In a place where warmth and strictness alternate like great heat and great cold, what grows is something neither one thing nor the other. You will need to keep a careful eye on him.”

Jing Gang said: “Yes.”

After a brief exchange, Jing Gang returned home to haul his younger brother off with him. The Fifth Young Master would be spared the humiliation of sitting the prefectural school’s selection examinations, and Jing Gang’s proposed lecture at the prefectural school had also come to nothing. Zhù Ying felt a pang of regret.

With things as they now stood, the prefectural school was likely not in the right frame of mind; Zhù Ying made another visit there.

The school was indeed in a state of agitation. The students there shared a common interest with the clerical staff and yamen runners — unauthorized commentary on grand affairs of state. They were intensely engaged in speculation about who the new heir apparent would be.

Zhù Ying slipped into the prefectural school without announcement. Without a beard, wearing plain scholar’s robes, she looked something like a young student. She crouched listening for quite a while, then finally rose, dusted off her feet, and said to the students who had been debating “succession by legitimate heir,” “succession by seniority,” and “succession by imperial favor”: “While His Majesty’s house has just suffered a fresh bereavement, for you to speak of such things here is inappropriate. The Crown Prince held the position of heir apparent for more than twenty years, and before his bones are cold you are already deliberating over his successor in the name of greater principle. That is not right. As people, it is better to have a little human feeling. Give the departed some dignity, give the living some care — the ministers at court will not neglect the affairs of state.”

The reasoning she gave was high-minded and unimpeachable. She did not forbid students from speaking of court affairs, nor did she scold them for having no standing to discuss them.

Without scolding, knowing well that no order could stop people’s mouths — not just at the prefectural school; even the highest officials in the capital were probably no better behaved right now.

The students, finding her composed rather than stern, all bowed respectfully and admitted their fault. Even the most impassioned, Zou Jinxian, only said: “We were only speaking in agitation; there was no other intent.”

Zhù Ying nodded: “No need to follow me — where is the academician?”

Zhù Ying discussed with the academician the postponement of the prefectural school’s student selection to the twentieth day of the first month of the new year, with names finalized before the second month, and formal classes beginning in the second month.

The academician said: “That can be done.”

Zhù Ying strolled out of the prefectural school and wandered along the road. Some people recognized her; others did not. Those who recognized her were startled, but she smiled back and exchanged a few words, moving on if they seemed uncomfortable, lingering for a longer chat if they showed some spirit — asking about the harvest, asking about livelihoods, asking whether the streets were safe and peaceful.

As soon as she stopped, people began gathering around her, the crowd growing thicker and thicker.

People clustered around her, smiling. Zhù Ying said: “When the yamen does not make trouble, there can be a good deal more peace — wouldn’t you say?”

The onlookers all laughed. There was undeniable truth to that.

Zhù Ying, though now a prefect, remained in conversation just as captivatingly as ever, and in no time had grown familiar with a great many people. Finding her approachable, the townspeople gradually lost their wariness. Some were curious about her contest with the “fox immortal,” some were interested in how she had caught the thief, and the bolder ones pressed forward to talk with her. The shyer ones stood or crouched to one side, watching with smiles.

Suddenly, a window on the second floor of a roadside building flew open, and an orange came hurtling down! Zhù Ying sidestepped, saw it was just an orange, reached back — and caught it just one inch above the head of a small girl crouching among the onlookers.

The crowd burst into applause: “Excellent!”

Then, out of nowhere, Zhù Ying heard a sharp bellow: “What’s going on here?! You lousy performing act! Setting up a stall here without paying your brother his cut?”

The onlookers both laughed and dared not laugh, thrilling to the spectacle. A gap opened in the ring of people around Zhù Ying — and through it she could see a broad-shouldered, dark-skinned, muscular man who had left his chest open to the elements even in this weather.

Well, then…

The dark and muscular man had not expected to find a scholar-looking person — and one nearly his own height at that — but he was not afraid. He stepped forward with large strides: “Where do you come from?”

He had some eye for people and, seeing that Zhù Ying did not look like a local, asked first.

Zhù Ying said earnestly: “I have no brother.”

The onlookers laughed again. The dark and muscular man turned red, enraged. His fan-like hand rose, poised to swing down. Under ordinary circumstances, one such slap would be enough to knock a few teeth out of a soft-faced bookish type and swell half his face, leaving him dazed enough to learn some sense. Blast it all — he absolutely despised soft-faced types!

The crowd let out a collective gasp!

Zhù Ying had a great deal of experience on the streets. Bullies of the local variety tended to be much alike — the moment she saw his shoulder shift, she knew what was coming. Either it was a real blow or a feint to intimidate; in either case, the hand would swing.

“Clang!” Zhù Ying drew her short blade.

Walking through Nanfu she had not brought her long sword; with the short blade out of its scabbard, edge outward, held steady in her hand, right leg stepping back half a step, she planted herself firmly and waited for that hand to deliver itself.

“Ow!” The man’s blow was real, and across his palm opened a deep, narrow wound down to the bone.

Zhù Ying took another step back with her left foot, putting some distance between them. She thought: where are the patrol runners?

The prefecture city was far larger than Fulu County, not the kind of place where you could see from one end of the street to the other. The runners had no idea yet that the prefect herself had come down to the street and gotten into a brawl.

The dark and muscular man was hollering for his associates to come; the onlookers said nothing to reveal Zhù Ying’s identity, simply waiting to watch him come to grief. He retreated while cursing: “Soft-faced trickster — pulling a weapon!”

“Ah,” said Zhù Ying.

She answered with that single syllable while the man ranted on, which infuriated him half to death. She was simply puzzled — she had a weapon and he had come off the worse for it, so why wasn’t he running?

What the muscular man was thinking was: soft-face hasn’t run — good. Once my brothers arrive we’ll deal with him together; he can’t take on all of us alone, and that knife of his looks like fine goods — I’ll have it off him for certain.

“Hey! What’s going on here?!” Ding Gui arrived on his patrol, saw the crowd, and moved to disperse it.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Zhù Ying. “Take him.”

Ding Gui recognized Zhù Ying’s voice, ran over and looked: “What? Daren?! Where is Xiang Er? What is he doing? And Niu Jin, that dead wretch — has he been slacking off?”

Zhù Ying had assigned the people around her to duties in the yamen, not keeping them by her side in “pampered ease.” She did not need so many male servants around her.

Only at this moment did the dark and muscular man realize what was happening. He immediately dropped to his knees and knocked his forehead against the ground. He had not even gotten to crying yet before a voice came from behind: “Big brother?! Who dared upset big brother?”

“I did,” said Zhù Ying. “Take them all.”

Good — time to clear the streets a bit.

Zhù Ying said: “Tell the Legal Registrar and the Military Registrar to come to me, and call Magistrate Guo as well. I’ve been wondering why something felt unfinished — turns out it’s because I haven’t dealt with all of you!”

The crowd broke into warm applause.

Thugs and ruffians existed everywhere; it all depended on whether the local authorities did anything about them. Zhù Ying had cracked down hard in Fulu County. Coming to Nanfu, pressed from all sides with one thing after another, and lacking the time she had spent intimately surveying Fulu County, she had been unable to pinpoint targets with the same precision. The people in each area also had their habitual tendency to endure without lodging complaints. Many things could only be discovered when officials went to look themselves. If you did not look, life went on — only at the suffering of the common people. If you looked, things improved.

Zhù Ying said: “I haven’t even collected taxes from the street performers! Take them in, beat them!” She would have every cent sweated out of them — she was genuinely furious! When she herself had been telling fortunes from a little roadside stall, she had also paid protection money, nominally for protection, but without these people she would have owed nothing in the first place.

She surveyed the scene and said: “Anyone who has suffered under this pack of ruffians may come to the yamen to file a complaint.”

The window on the second floor had already been shut. Behind the crack in the window, a young girl stuck out her tongue and then summoned the courage to peer down again. She pressed her hand to her wildly thumping heart and let out a long breath. No trouble caused!

Zhù Ying returned to the yamen and, with the perfectly legitimate pretext of “causing an incident during the mourning period for the Crown Prince,” launched a campaign to clean up the streets! The entire yamen, in fact, had found through this a release for the bewildered anxiety that the Crown Prince’s death had stirred up. Li the Legal Registrar personally led men on street patrol, feeling genuinely ill-starred — he had nearly not had that ruffian beaten to death, which would have made him look derelict in his duty! Taking protection money from a man and then holding a knife to the Prefect?!

Magistrate Guo also wore a pained expression. The prefecture city of Nanfu was also a city within Nanping County — poor public order was partly his responsibility.

Convenient enough — with the Crown Prince dead, there was no way to have a lively New Year anyway; this commotion could stand in for one.

But Zhù Ying found herself facing a different kind of “assault.”

First was Gu Tong, who leapt three feet in the air: “How could Teacher put herself in danger like this?”

Second was Xiang Le: “It is entirely my fault — I should have stayed with Daren.”

Then Ding Gui: “I should have been more alert and arrived sooner.”

Next was Zhang Xiangu, once she found out: “What do you think you’re doing? Doing everything yourself — what’s the point of getting promoted, then?” Well, that was a distinctive point of view.

Zhù Ying said: “I was going out for a breath of air, not specifically out to catch criminals! I happened to encounter the situation and dealt with it — it’s not as though I couldn’t handle it.”

Hu Shijie said: “From now on, when you go out, I go with you.”

Zhang Xiangu said: “Hu Niangzi, I leave it to you!”

And so it was arranged for Zhù Ying whether she wished it or not. Zhù Ying said: “There really is no need.”

Zhù Da struck up his elder patriarch’s manner: “What do you mean, no need? It’s settled! Hmph!”

In the yamen, once people heard the full story, Sima Zhang also advised her: “A gentleman does not stand beneath a crumbling wall. A dragon in disguise swimming with ordinary fish is ultimately unsuitable.”

Director Wang and the others also said: “Daren should take a few attendants along. Those ruffians have no eyes in their heads — they wouldn’t recognize a jewel for what it is. What if you were scratched? Daren has far more pressing matters to attend to!”

Xiao Wu had tears streaming down his face before her.

Seeing this, Zhù Ying said: “Very well.” She agreed first. Whether she would actually comply could be determined later.

Those who had urged her felt their advice had been taken; she, having her own intentions, was now spared from further nagging. Both sides expressed satisfaction. In practice, for the next few days whenever Zhù Ying went out she invariably found Hu Shijie shadowing her, so she limited herself to a brief loop of the streets, checking that the runners were not arresting innocent people and claiming credit, then returned home to do a bit of practice herself.

Hu Shijie had recently acquired two young students: Su Zhe and Hammer. Hammer was ashamed of not having beaten the girls; Su Zhe was ashamed that three against two had not ended in a complete rout. Both considered a draw a disgraceful result and both wished to improve through practice.

Hu Shijie taught them both a little — nothing like the instruction she had once given Xiang Le and Xiang An; more like bringing children along to play. Xiang Le and Xiang An in their day had not performed the head-bowing, master-as-father ceremony — their relationship had been more like that of a tutor hired for the household. Hu Shijie had not come intending to serve as a tutor, but since the two small monkeys wanted to learn some martial arts, she taught them a little: first horse stance, then fists and kicks, spear and staff.

Both children had genuine desire: Hammer envied the technique of the plum blossom posts, while Su Zhe had heard about Hu Shijie’s skill with iron balls and wanted to learn.

Whenever Zhù Ying came by, the two small monkeys followed, neither willing to show weakness in front of the other, both stubbornly holding their horse stance in the front courtyard.

Su Zhe wanted to learn the iron balls. Hu Shijie simply said: “Not suitable.”

Su Zhe appealed to Zhù Ying to intercede: “A’Weng, girls can fight just fine!”

Hu Shijie was both amused and helpless — this was not even among her family’s prized skills; it merely required practice, and Su Zhe was simply too young. For a daughter of a prominent family, there was no need to learn this. Yet no explanation could get through to the child.

She grabbed a handful of iron balls and let Su Zhe try holding them. How large were Su Zhe’s hands? She could barely hold a few. Hu Shijie rubbed and pinched and flicked — the ball flew and struck the center of the target. Su Zhe pinched and flicked her fingers — crack — the ball dropped to the ground.

Zhù Ying laughed: “Oh my — short hands!”

Su Zhe was furious, swung her head sideways and charged at Zhù Ying’s thigh; Zhù Ying opened her palm and caught the child’s forehead: “And is my hand very long?”

Su Zhe made a sulky sound. Zhù Ying opened her palm alongside the girl’s: “There. Whether you like it or not, this is the length of your hand. Denying that you have short hands and still imitating your teacher’s technique will not help. Unless you grow a little taller, and your hands grow longer. Right now, if you want to learn, you need to ask whether there is a method suited to short hands.”

Su Zhe had, from a young age, disliked being told there was anything wrong with her. Being called “short” again and again was making her angry. Zhù Ying tilted the girl’s head to face her and repeated slowly: “Knowing what you are right now, knowing where your shortcomings lie, knowing how long you can grow and how to work with your current shortcomings — that is what matters.”

Zhù Ying had no idea how to teach children, but sharing the truths she understood with them was at least doing her part… she hoped.

Su Zhe seemed to grasp something, and asked Hu Shijie: “Shifu, how should I practice then?”

Zhù Ying was fully satisfied: “Hu Niangzi — what is the technique for this iron ball throwing?”

She was curious too! It was far more convenient than carrying a bow and arrows. There were bows designed to shoot iron balls, but she had never learned that; her training had begun with archery. She might as well learn the bare-handed method now.

Hu Shijie walked through the key principles from start to finish, not actually expecting anyone to pick it up immediately. But Zhù Ying took an iron ball, adjusted her grip a few times, worked through half a pouch, and was already hitting the target. Then she flexed her arm and wrist and said: “Accuracy is still lacking — will still need practice. And be careful of the force — use the wrong amount and you’ll dislocate something.”

Su Zhe and Hammer’s eyes went bright. Zhù Ying said: “In a few days, ask Xiang Le to find some smaller iron balls for them and set up a closer target.”

Su Zhe shrieked: “A’Weng! You had a solution all along!”

Hu Shijie laughed too.

Zhù Ying looked at Hammer — the child had grown considerably taller since coming to her household, and his build was sturdier than most children his age.

The next day, after finishing with yamen business, she had Xiang Le bring Hammer and Stone to the front yamen.

……———

Summoned by Zhù Ying’s instruction, the two children were also no longer playing about in the household; their outer clothes were covered by small pale-grey overshirts. They looked around the front yamen with wide eyes — they had rarely been permitted in this part of the compound.

Zhù Ying looked at them for a moment, then asked: “Do you still remember the village from the mountain?”

Both shook their heads. Hammer’s expression was more stricken than any official hearing the news of the Crown Prince’s death. What did asking about home mean? He had just been fighting with Su Zhe, and then had been competing with her in Shifu’s training. Su Zhe was the master’s relative and the master’s guest — was he about to be driven away?

The household was always kind to them and never struck or scolded them, but a host was still a host…

Stone had fewer complicated thoughts. Hearing Zhù Ying ask the next question — “Would you like to go back?” — he answered immediately: “I’ll go wherever Hammer goes.”

Hammer felt more trapped than ever. Here at least, clinging to Stone, he could still manage; somewhere else would not be so certain. He looked at Zhù Ying with a touch of stubbornness and a touch of pleading: “D- Daren, can we… stay?”

Zhù Ying said: “Of course.”

Hammer was flooded with a feeling of escaping from death itself. He said: “From now on, I won’t fight with Su Xiaoniang anymore. If she hits me, I’ll take it. If she scolds me, I’ll listen.”

Zhù Ying said: “Why would you do that?”

Hammer was stumped — he didn’t know how to answer.

Zhù Ying said: “What a strange thing to say. Go on.”

Hammer said: “Yes.” And he pulled Stone toward the rear quarters.

Xiang Le caught one in each hand and hauled them back: “Come here — follow along when we go out.”

That was wonderful! Servants who were permitted to accompany their master on outings were not easily discarded. Hammer happily followed behind Zhù Ying.

The further they walked, the more people there were around them; they arrived at the market.

Because of the Crown Prince’s death, the market had been closed for three days and had now resumed normal trade. Because of the Crown Prince’s situation, certain transactions could no longer be carried out. Zhù Ying had come for two purposes: first, to do a personal assessment — small traders feared above all else the stagnation of goods and capital, and if small traders had accumulated too much unsold stock, the yamen would purchase it at cost with public funds, to be sold again the following year, providing them with working capital. Second, it was for the “mountain peoples.”

There were Liji traders at this market, and of course also Qixia traders, as well as some others. Zhù Ying needed to see for herself before she could have any real sense of things.

Her most familiar group was the Qixia — that is, the Ying people — and after that, the Liji. Looking around, she found a Liji stall.

The Liji person was also selling mountain goods; the products were not much different from what the Asu family had once traded, though by now Asu County had introduced tea trees and other things, giving them a somewhat broader range. This stall had the same old offerings — mainly medicinal herbs of various kinds. It was precisely for this reason that Huajie had come across it and mentioned to Zhù Ying in passing that the proprietor spoke the local dialect quite well. Zhù Ying decided to start here.

She strolled in and asked: “Is the proprietor in?”

The owner came out: “What can this customer be looking at?”

Zhù Ying noticed that his clothing was now barely distinguishable from that of an ordinary lowland merchant. She was mildly curious. He was not like Zhao Niangzi — one would expect some demonstration of their origin, their tribal affiliation. Displaying the specialty goods of one’s home region usually meant showing off the trappings of that home — it was ordinary commercial sense, like a shop with the signboard “Old Wang Pockmark” doing best to hire a pockmarked attendant to receive customers. Yet this man had abandoned it entirely.

Zhù Ying said: “Are you not of the Liji people? There is nothing about you to suggest it at all!”

The proprietor’s face flushed crimson: “I have wholeheartedly embraced civilization and have no wish to continue being called a barbarian! If this young official must know, I have already obtained my household registration.”

Well now… This man smelled even more thoroughly of Zhao Su than Zhao Su himself did?!