Zhù Ying had mentally traced the route to Jinsuo Temple countless times, yet the number of times she had actually set foot inside could be counted on one hand.

The New Year was approaching, and Jinsuo Temple had gained a rare smattering of worshippers — still far fewer than the renowned grand temples in the city, such as Bao’en Temple, built for the Empress Dowager after the Emperor’s ascension, but noticeably livelier than Jinsuo Temple’s usual desolation.

Zhù Ying dropped a string of coins into the merit box with a crisp clang. A young monk intoned a phrase of the Buddha’s name, an elder monk recorded the entry in the ledger, and off to one side, an old monk tapped steadily at his wooden fish. Huajie was staying at this temple — in practice, renting a room, a lodger — yet she had come out to help all the same. The temple belonged to the monks, and the accounts were naturally none of her business; she simply tended to the offerings and the incense candles.

After Zhù Ying placed her donation, Huajie stepped forward and handed her a stick of incense. Zhù Ying paid a few more coins, bowed reverently, and inserted the incense into the censer. Huajie said, “Have a name recorded, won’t you.”

Zhù Ying murmured, “What — do you people report accounts to the Buddha here as well?”

Huajie scolded fondly, “You’re being mischievous again.”

Though she had spoken in jest, Zhù Ying still went to the elder monk and had an entry made — in Yu Miaomiao’s name. Huajie heard it and could not help feeling a pang of sorrow. Zhù Ying said, “I think I came here before?”

Huajie said, “You claimed you had walked through the wrong door and asked why it wasn’t a nunnery, and whether the establishment had changed hands.”

Zhù Ying let out a laugh. “What a sin, what a sin.” She threw a few more coins into the merit box; for the sake of the money, the monks bore with her. He was not the most irreverent visitor they had ever seen, and since he was willing to donate, they deemed him a person with a heart inclined toward the Buddha.

Zhù Ying glanced around and said, “Today you seem livelier than the last time I came — about… let me count… one, two, three… thirteen more people? Three separate groups?”

Huajie was delighted. “How did you know?”

Zhù Ying just smiled, then said to a monk, “You have quite a way with words.”

“I would not dare claim such a thing. This humble monk does not care for talk; I came to the capital solely to study the Dharma.”

“In that case, do you have any scriptures I might borrow? My mother has taken to worshipping the bodhisattvas of late, but she doesn’t really understand it and just kneels before whatever she sees. Nothing too advanced, please — she’s the one who’ll be reading them, not me, and she’s not very literate. Would you help me choose something suitable?”

“There are some.” Huajie glanced inquiringly at the old monk.

The old monk set down his wooden fish and said, “If the official wishes to look, this humble monk has a good selection.” He moved to arrange for the young monk to tend the stall and was preparing to escort Zhù Ying personally. Zhù Ying smiled and said, “No need — you’re busy today. Head Abbot, you attend to your proper duties. Have her accompany me instead.”

The old monk looked somewhat reluctant but ultimately nodded. “I must trouble you, Nephew Wukong.”

Huajie pressed her palms together, then led Zhù Ying away to her room.

Once inside her own room, Huajie busied herself at once, telling Zhù Ying first, “Go sit over there — it’s cold, don’t sit on that bare chair.” Then she fussed about boiling water, steeping tea, and fetching small pastries for Zhù Ying.

Zhù Ying sat on the edge of the bed, swinging both feet back and forth, and said with a smile, “Don’t fuss. Come sit with me. Let’s talk.”

Huajie said, “Talk until your mouth goes dry!”

Zhù Ying surveyed the room. It was clean and tidy; the furniture was sparse, but the bedding was thick and new. There was a small charcoal brazier, and all the everyday necessities were present — table, chairs, a few scripture books, a wooden fish, prayer beads, brushes and ink. There was a lamp, a water jar, and so on.

She said, “You’re living in just this one room now?”

Huajie reached up to light the lamp, then let the door curtain down and shut the door. “Yes — I’m alone, and I prefer something smaller for just myself. Small as it looks, once the door’s shut and the windows latched, it’s quite cozy. You may laugh, but these days I can even sleep a little later in the morning. The monks here rise no earlier than I used to at home. And how are you?”

Zhù Ying said, “It’s the holiday, so I’ve been wandering about. I didn’t tell them.”

Huajie said, “You’ve gone to trouble for my sake.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“You’re already working so hard every day — official duties, family matters, and now you have me to worry about on top of it all.”

“Think nothing of it. Aren’t you my elder sister?”

Both of them broke into laughter. Huajie took a small bundle from the cabinet and held it out. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

Huajie said, “I’ve had time on my hands — no rules to observe, no household to manage — and I haven’t put down my needlework. You’re still growing, so I cut it a bit larger than usual. Try it and see if it fits.”

Zhù Ying opened the bundle to find a set of shoes and socks, along with a back-warmer that Huajie had also sewn. Huajie said, “There are certain days of the month when you feel achy and heavy, when your head or stomach hurts — wear this, and it’ll offer some protection, keep you more comfortable.”

“Oh… oh…”

Huajie smiled and stroked Zhù Ying’s head. “You’re doing so well!”

Zhù Ying asked, “And what about you? What are your plans? Last time I still had duties and had to leave in a hurry — I didn’t have time to discuss things properly with you. Now that we have a moment, shall we put our heads together? Even if there’s something you’d rather not say, at least let me know how to reach you.”

Huajie said, “Me? I’ll wait at least until spring. I’m not like you — you can run and jump; I’m a little behind in that regard. Growing up I was never quite a grand household lady, but I never did heavy labor either, so I may as well wait for better weather to start moving about. Besides, you mentioned last time that the household — the funeral was — well! It’s been so short a time. I’d rather wait a few more days and let them really start to forget me — though I suspect they’re forgetting me already.”

Zhù Ying said softly, “You…”

Huajie said, “I’m not as grief-stricken as you might think. Sanlang, you were born and raised with your parents by your side. You haven’t experienced what I have, so you don’t know — even between parents and children, if the temperaments don’t match and they rarely spend time together, the bond is never as heavy or as ‘natural’ as the books describe.

When you first told me, I wept. After I’d cried and thought it through, I realized — if it hadn’t been for the lucky chance of meeting you and A’Niang two years ago, Mother and I likely would have come to no good end. From the moment I met you, every day has been a life reclaimed. Going further back — that year when the household fell into trouble, if not for Nanny Wang and the others, I should have been dead long since. They have finally held a funeral that was long overdue. What do I have to resent?

Better to look forward! Think about what to eat tomorrow, think about what to do come spring.”

Zhù Ying asked, “Have you thought it through? I feel that staying here much longer isn’t quite right. Jinsuo Temple may be cleaner than some places, and it serves as a temporary shelter, but it’s no place to live permanently.”

Huajie said, “I’ve thought about it too. Looking at this temple, there may be few people, but there’s no shortage of small scheming. Which of the two disciples will inherit the temple property? Who’s been skimming from the accounts? Where does tomorrow’s rice money come from? Even monks, however pure of the six senses, must eat. They themselves may fast, but their disciples still have to live. This monastic place turns out to be no less vexing than an ordinary household — what do they mean by ‘escaping through the gate of emptiness’?! The empty gate is still a gate! Step across the threshold and you’re entangled with everything inside — just as tiresome.”

Zhù Ying smiled. “You’ve seen it clearly.”

Huajie got up and brewed the tea, placed a few pieces of dried food on the small charcoal tray to warm slowly, and said, “Jinsuo Temple’s property isn’t large by capital standards, but it’s not tiny either. When times get hard I dare say it’ll be mortgaged off. All things considered, this place is already quite manageable — the master and disciples may bicker, but there’s no real filth here. The larger ones are likely the same as those grand mansions. Ha! Temple gates are painted the same vermilion as those mansions.”

Zhù Ying said, “So are you thinking of taking this place over and making it a truly peaceful retreat? Or what?”

Huajie said seriously, “I’ve been thinking about two things: first, my household registration; second, my livelihood.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“You can’t keep worrying about everything for me. The registration can wait — I can manage with this ordination certificate for now. Since you say they’ve taken me for dead, I may as well just go back to being a nun in a little while. Then I’ll find a nunnery to lodge in.”

“Oh?”

Huajie said, “This temple may have few worshippers, but there are some neighbors nearby, and some of them come to make a vow or two. From what I’ve observed these past months, many of the women who come to burn incense are seeking children or a good match — or praying for family members. But when it comes to themselves, many of them are suffering from illness. I want to try practicing medicine — specifically women’s health. It would be better than having them suffer in shame before a male physician, or being blocked by their families from seeing one.”

Zhù Ying’s eyes lit up, then she thought for a moment and said, “You’ll have to endure some hardship. It’s not as if the world will feel grateful toward you simply because you’re doing something it needs.”

She had reason to say this. Even male physicians held no great social standing; what of a female one? Her status would be little better than a shaman or a street charlatan. Female physicians existed, yes — but extremely few. Many of those who practiced were spirit-mediums, midwives, and the like doing double duty. Take Zhang Xiangu, for instance — she’d spent years performing rituals for people, burning paper charms and stirring the ashes into water for the sick to drink. Cold water, at that. If the patient recovered, it was fate; if not, that was fate too.

And this was considered a tolerable outcome. When women fell ill, households of means could manage; households of lesser means largely left them to fate.

Given these circumstances, the prospects for a female physician were predictable enough. There was a derogatory phrase commonly applied to capable women — “showing their face in public.”

There was no shortage of women who worked outside the home — peddlers, the “three aunties and six wives” all made money and supplemented the household income — yet few spoke well of them. How much worse for a female healer, who generally couldn’t earn as much as a male physician, who even her patients would prefer to replace with a male physician. Learning the craft was difficult too — few masters were willing to take on female apprentices. Even after mastering it, she would earn less than a male physician, and people still preferred male physicians.

If Huajie was to be a nun and practice women’s medicine, she would also need to take on midwifery — making her, among the “three aunties and six wives,” one auntie and one wife at once.

Huajie said, “Life is long; I want to try. You’re always helping others. I’ve seen the hardships people face, and I want to learn from you — to reach out a hand. Then every day that follows, I’ll have lived with some meaning. Not like being locked inside a deep-walled compound, where it makes no difference whether you live or die, whether you have a name or not, whether you’re yourself or someone else, propped up by an identity — not really a person, but more like some creature animated by a spell.”

“I’m not so good-hearted as all that,” Zhù Ying muttered. “I learned it from you.”

She said, “All right! I understand!”

Huajie smiled. “And what exactly do you understand?”

Zhù Ying said, “There are two difficulties: first, finding a proper master will be somewhat challenging; second, what physician doesn’t know their medicinal herbs? But I do have one avenue. As for medical texts — I’ll find some for you! I’ll bring them after the New Year! Hmm, whatever you want to know, I’ll inquire on your behalf too. And the medicinal herbs — let me think about that further…”

Coroners had at least a rough grounding in medicine — enough to serve as a foundation! Good — she was already planning to visit the coroner Yang’s home for New Year’s; she could look there for introductory medical texts and the like.

Huajie laughed. “No need to go to all that trouble. I’ve already made inquiries. Go two lanes over that way and there’s a small herb shop. The shopkeeper’s elderly mother has burned incense at Jinsuo Temple, and I’ve had a few conversations with her about Buddhist teachings. The old woman was quite capable in her younger years — her husband was chronically ill, and she kept the family afloat alone until her son came of age and she handed the business back to him. She still has influence there. She’s agreed to have me come to her shop in spring to learn the properties of herbs and some medical theory. Once I have a basic grasp, I’ll find a nunnery to lodge at.”

Zhù Ying said with a smile, “I rather think the monks here won’t want to let you go.”

Jinsuo Temple was poor. With Huajie’s rent, the temple had gained a relatively stable source of income, enough to guarantee two simple vegetarian meals a day rather than eating only when charitable contributions happened to come in.

Huajie said, “That won’t matter.”

Zhù Ying set down a small bundle. “I have a salary now — don’t scrimp.”

Huajie said, “This…”

Zhù Ying looked at her with a smile, and Huajie smiled too, accepting it readily: “All right.” She brought out tea and dried food, and the two of them ate and chatted side by side.

Huajie said, “Don’t think me meddlesome, but you must think about a way out while you’re serving as an official in the capital. I often think — if I had planned my escape from the moment I arrived in the capital, I wouldn’t have needed to waste so much time when I finally left the household.”

Zhù Ying said, “I’ve thought about it too. For now, don’t buy property in the capital — buy some land in the countryside instead.”

Huajie was a woman who had managed a household, and her thinking was more careful than Zhù Ying’s. She said, “Choosing a safe location matters more than whether the land is good. You three are outsiders in this city. While you have official status, everything is negotiable. When your career is flourishing, by all means buy the best farmland, the best shops, the best houses. But if the worst should happen — since this is meant to be a fallback, buy modest land, the kind that doesn’t attract envy. High officials and powerful families won’t covet it. And around the capital, the powerful are everywhere — the good farmland rarely falls to anyone else.”

The Zhù family had been paupers all their lives, had never truly possessed even half a mu of cultivated land, and had never had occasion to consider such things. Back in Zhu Family Village, even poor land would have been desirable — their family had never managed to cultivate even half a mu of poor land. Thinking carefully back on the property deeds she had seen during the confiscations, they all seemed to be quite fine land.

She earnestly sought Huajie’s guidance on these matters of household management and property, and Huajie said, “It’s all small, practical things — not difficult. The best way is to handle it yourself for a period, and you’ll understand it all. For now I’ll tell you what I can think of. But don’t be anxious — do your official duties well first, and don’t neglect your real work. You don’t need to come see me all the time either — don’t let it distract you, all right?”

Zhù Ying said, “I’ve just been tied up with a major case in the Court of Judicial Review, but once it’s done next year I’ll have an easier time. Think about it — how many treason cases can one emperor encounter? His Majesty has already had two of them now; that ought to be enough. And speaking of which — the days left to Gong Jie and that lot are numbered.”

Huajie felt a wave of emotion but said nothing of it, only remarking, “I occasionally hear people speak of you. They say you have a kind heart, that you released quite a few people. You really are very, very good.”

Zhù Ying said, “It cost me nothing! A minor official of the eighth rank from below — how much power do I have? Should I use whatever small opportunity comes my way to torment people? What would be the point? Am I so irritated by the insufficiency of those in bondage that I must add to their suffering? When I see the cruel servants of great households, I want to make them answer for it; when I encounter people just struggling to survive, I have no desire to make their lives harder.”

Huajie smiled. “In the end, it’s because you have a kind heart.”

“Heh heh.”

Huajie watched her keep swinging her feet idly. A child still, she thought to herself.

Though it pained her, Huajie stood up, took the bundle, and said, “It’s getting late — don’t get caught in the curfew; being an official and getting arrested wouldn’t look good. Don’t forget this, and also — you came to get scriptures, so let me put one in your bundle.”

Once everything was packed and ready, Zhù Ying left with great reluctance. There was so much she couldn’t say to her parents, and even less she could say to her colleagues, who wouldn’t really understand her meaning. Only with Huajie could she express perhaps four or five tenths of what was on her mind. She didn’t really want to leave. Clutching the bundle, Zhù Ying let out a sigh and said, “How about we meet again for the Lantern Festival? I’ll tell Chen the elder young master that if I’ve found you, I’ll have to count you as my elder sister. But it’ll have to stay hidden from Minister Shen for now — we can’t let on to them yet.”

Huajie said, “Don’t say anything to them yet either. I’ll first learn some medical theory, and you go and sort out your land holdings. Once we’re both better prepared, we’ll have a proper fallback.”

“All right.”

Leaving Jinsuo Temple, Zhù Ying walked over to take a look at the herb shop Huajie had mentioned. The shop was already closing up for the night. A talkative apprentice called out, “Young official, here to buy medicine? You’d better be quick — curfew’s coming!”

Zhù Ying said, “I can’t make it today. It’s nothing urgent — I wanted to get something to aid digestion.”

The apprentice smiled. “A prosperous young official like yourself must eat very well over the New Year — our shop has excellent hawthorn pills.”

Zhù Ying said, “I’ll come tomorrow. Will you be open?”

The apprentice said, “Come early then — tomorrow is the Kitchen God ceremony day.”

The New Year meant not just the Kitchen God ceremony but also the ancestral rites — things others took very seriously, while Zhù Ying regarded them with mild indifference. She murmured an agreement, tucked her bundle under her arm, and headed home, only to find the household there already in a flurry of activity.

Zhang Xiangu had prepared two large platters of maltose candy, along with some offerings, and was eating the candy herself. When she saw Zhù Ying come in, she said, “Where have you been? What’s that you’re carrying?”

“A scripture.”

At the mention of a book, both Zhù Da and Zhang Xiangu lost interest at once. Zhang Xiangu said, “Your father has something to discuss with you.”

Zhù Ying put the bundle in her room and came back out. “What is it?”

Zhang Xiangu fed her a piece of the maltose candy. It was sweet; Zhù Ying’s eyes curved into crescents. Zhù Da cleared his throat and said, “We ought to hold the ancestral rites as well.”

Zhù Ying nodded. “Mm, of course.”

Zhù Da rubbed his hands together. “So… let’s work out how to do it.”

“Ah?” This was something Zhù Ying hadn’t thought about.

“I asked around about how other families in the capital do it, and I asked Old Xu too.”

Zhang Xiangu finished a piece of candy and scolded, “You can’t stop thinking about him, can you?”

“Stop nagging!” Zhù Da said. “They all told me — you’re an official now, so you ought to keep ancestral tablets. But our ancestors’ names… well… haven’t been passed down. Sanlang, what do you think we should do?”

The Zhù family — what ancestors did they really have? Their circumstances had led to a complete breakdown of all ritual propriety. Though they were spirit-mediums, even their ceremonies were perfunctory. In years past, the Kitchen God offering amounted to no more than pasting a paper image of the Kitchen God outside the stove and kowtowing before it. As for the ancestors, as Zhù Da had said, not even their names had been passed down — let alone tablets. There was only one grave they could even locate.

In previous years, Zhù Da would burn paper at the street corner, set out a few chicken feet and chicken heads on a table at home, and then take back the steamed buns from the ancestors’ table to eat himself. But now that Zhù Ying had become an official, Zhù Da felt the need to do things properly — to inform the ancestors that the Zhù family had finally amounted to something.

Zhù Ying thought carefully. Her grandfather had had a proper given name, supposedly bestowed by her great-grandfather, who had known more than a thousand Chinese characters and could perform the ancestral arts of their trade — things like geomancy and grave-siting, sutras for the dead, and even scaling a blade-lined pole at temple fairs.

But her grandfather had been even less clever than her father Zhù Da and could not write his own name, so by the time it reached Zhù Da’s generation, the name had been forgotten. The great-grandfather’s name had never been passed down at all.

Zhù Ying said around the candy in her mouth, “Well then, let me give them names.”

Zhù Da stared. “Nonsense!”

Zhù Ying said, “How is that nonsense? When descendants are failures, they live off their ancestors’ legacy. When descendants have made something of themselves, the ancestors get to live off their descendants’ reputation! They’re living off me now. I have plenty of books — let’s draw lots. If they have any spirit, whichever book I happen to open to, I’ll roll a die on that page and land wherever it lands.”

Zhù Da, being a spirit-medium himself at heart, said, “Fair enough.”

Zhang Xiangu laughed. “Good idea.”

Zhù Ying said, “Why not give names to my maternal grandparents too — since we’ll be offering to them as well, we may as well do it all together.”

Zhù Da said, “They have their own descendants on that side.”

Zhù Ying was astonished. “What? Do I have maternal uncles and cousins? Where are they?”

Zhang Xiangu said irritably, “You don’t! I’m burning paper for my own parents myself — is that not allowed?”

Zhù Ying said, “I’ll go get the books!”

The family of three spirit-mediums followed Zhù Ying’s arrangement and drew lots to select names for both sets of ancestors. Zhù Da muttered “Different surname” but ultimately went along with it. He thought of how his only heir was a daughter, and his objection softened. He said, “Then we’d better hurry and find a carpenter to make the tablets!”

Zhang Xiangu was quite pleased. “I know which shop is cheapest! Discounts for buying in bulk!”

Zhù Da wanted to show off. “Get the plain blank ones and have Sanlang write them herself — so the ancestors can see that our Sanlang has really made something of herself!”

Zhang Xiangu said, “Excellent!”

Zhù Ying said, “All right then — tomorrow, Mother goes to fetch the tablets. Get a few extra in case I make mistakes in the writing. I still need to go out as well, to prepare some things. Father — how is Daoist Xu doing?”

“Hanging on — no better, no worse. Who knows if he’ll die tonight or live another twenty years.”

Zhù Ying said, “Very well. Send him another set of new winter clothes, some food, and some charcoal. Tonight we perform the Kitchen God and ancestral rites; then we get on with buying New Year provisions. I’m on duty on New Year’s Eve, and I’ll be back on the first day of the New Year to celebrate and pay calls.”

Zhù Ying laid out the arrangements; her parents raised no objections. True to her word, the next day she went to the herb shop to buy hawthorn pills. The talkative apprentice spotted her and called out, “The young official really came back! Please come in! Master, didn’t I tell you she would?”

Zhù Ying said, “Don’t go claiming credit yet — I want clean, honest pills. I’ll need to check whether your ingredients and equipment are clean, whether the backroom water supply is good, whether the people making the pills are tidy. If everything’s satisfactory, I plan to buy quite a lot.”

The apprentice said, “And how much would ‘quite a lot’ be?”

Zhù Ying said, “Twenty jin to start.”

Goodness! A big sale! Twenty jin of a digestive — even for the New Year, two jin would more than suffice. The apprentice looked her up and down; she didn’t look like someone short on money, so he relaxed and prepared to fleece this well-heeled young fool. He gave a deep bow: “Right this way!”

Zhù Ying made a thorough inspection of the shop’s front and back, observed an aging physician who seemed to be merely putting in time, and looked over the apprentices. Then she had them weigh out twenty jin of hawthorn pills, packed half a jin to a packet — forty packets in all — bagged them up in a large sack, paid, and carried it home.

Back home, she wrote out all the blank tablets Zhang Xiangu had bought, making no mistakes. Zhang Xiangu said, “What a waste of money buying extras.” Zhù Ying picked up her brush and on one blank tablet wrote Yu Miaomiao’s name; on another, she wrote Yu Miaomiao’s son, Zhù the Elder. Zhang Xiangu sighed, “Yes, of course.”

Zhù Da said, “Will they accept offerings from another family’s altar?”

Zhù Ying said, “More or less — give them their own table.”

Zhù Da said, “Then later we’ll go to the street corner and burn some paper for them.”

Zhang Xiangu started to speak, then stopped herself, thinking: it’s right not to write Huajie’s name — a person needs something to hold onto. A’Niang cherished her daughter-in-law and would not leave her to go hungry; offerings burned for A’Niang were as good as offerings for Huajie.

She had no idea that Zhù Ying had done this on Huajie’s behalf, substituting for Huajie who could not conveniently offer the rites herself.

The family’s own tablets were enshrined in the western room of the main hall; the other two tablets were placed on a separate wall. With three walls in that room — one for the bodhisattva, one for the ancestors, one for “relatives” — the room from that day forward was always wreathed in incense smoke.

With the ancestral rites completed, the family threw themselves into New Year preparations. In years past, the Zhù family would scrape together their last coins to buy two sheng of rice, a little flour, a few eggs, and either a chicken or a few jin of meat — and consider that a plentiful year.

Last year had been somewhat better, but Zhù Ying had ended up in prison. This year, Zhang Xiangu and Zhù Da set out in high spirits, hiring a donkey with baskets slung on either side, and went off in force to buy New Year provisions. They bought chicken, fish, meat, and eggs; a lamb leg was already simmering on the stove; they also bought oil, sugar, tea, and wine. However frugal Zhang Xiangu might be, she was determined to have a bright and festive New Year and sweep away the ill fortune of years past.

Zhù Ying wandered about as well, watching the passersby on the streets, strolling past the recently confiscated mansions and those whose confiscation was still to come. On the twenty-eighth day, Jin Liang personally arrived with a small attendant and said, “Duty is a full day — you’ll need to be there first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll come again tomorrow morning to see you off. These things are for your parents to eat at home; I’ll bring your meals hot.”

Zhang Xiangu fussed over him and said how much trouble he’d gone to, and Jin Liang smiled and said, “Elder sister-in-law, don’t stand on ceremony — we’re all family here.”

Zhù Ying said, “Exactly!”

Zhang Xiangu said, “You child, how do you speak to people?”

Jin Liang laughed loudly. “Whatever rank you rise to, you’ll always be a child!”

Zhù Ying rolled her eyes. “Come on then — New Year’s gift money.”

Jin Liang said, “Only if you bow and kowtow — come on, bow!”

The two of them bickered while Zhang Xiangu covered her mouth to hide her smile.

On the twenty-ninth, Zhang Xiangu was up at the crack of dawn, and together with Zhù Da she packed a clay crock of lamb leg and broth for Zhù Ying, along with flatbreads. Jin Liang arrived early with his attendant, carrying two large food boxes and two bundles.

Zhù Ying said, “I’m going on duty, just one day and one night! Are you outfitting me to stand guard in the Court of Judicial Review for several days?”

Jin Liang smiled. “You’re the foolish one — only you would be cheerful about being on duty for New Year’s Eve! Everyone else assigned to New Year’s Eve duty is miserable! Bring plenty of food; invite your fellow officers to eat together — wouldn’t that taste good? Isn’t it worth making some friends? You’re so sharp about everything else — how can you be so dense about this? One day and one night? That’s three meals plus a midnight snack — shouldn’t you bring extra? You’ve eaten the food they serve to those on duty — is it any good?

These are pig’s trotters your sister-in-law braised for you — twenty of them! That’s two pig heads, split open! This box is a full table of dishes — on New Year’s Eve evening, have the kitchen heat it up and invite everyone to eat together. This is roasted lamb, excellent — warm it at the edge of the brazier, sprinkle some fine salt, it’ll taste just like fresh off the fire! Remember — the edge, not over the flame directly, or you’ll turn it all to charcoal…”

Zhù Ying’s eyes went wide. “All this fuss just for one day on duty?”

“Off you go!”

Jin Liang had brought a cart; he loaded everything and Zhù Ying onto it and personally escorted her to the palace gate. The officer on duty that day was Lieutenant Li, who knew Zhù Ying well. Seeing all the things Jin Liang had packed, he laughed and said to Zhù Ying, “I’ll come find you tonight!”

Zhù Ying said, “Come whenever you like.”

Jin Liang said, “Brother, my little sibling here is a bit simple-minded — honest to a fault. Please look after them.”

“Leave it to me!”

Lieutenant Li was not a man who made friends with just anyone; he did not know Jin Liang, but he could smell the veteran soldier on him. One question confirmed it. The two men parted with a salute, and Lieutenant Li had Zhù Ying’s belongings carried into the Court of Judicial Review. Jin Liang circled around outside and asked a guard, “Is General Zhou You on duty?”

He was told, “A man of his standing, on duty on a day like this? He’ll need to dress himself up handsomely to pay respects at the Two Palaces tomorrow.”

Jin Liang left reassured.

Zhù Ying’s predecessor on shift was the Left Registrar. Apart from the elderly Counselor Wang, all those who had been promoted and benefited had been arranged by Zheng Xi to take the shifts when people most wished to be home. The two of them completed the handoff, and the Left Registrar sniffed the air. “Something smells good! Little Zhù, you’ve got… ha ha ha ha! Your mother really dotes on you.”

Zhù Ying handed him two still-warm flatbreads stuffed with large chunks of lamb. “Eat before you go — it’s so cold; wouldn’t it be miserable heading home on an empty stomach?”

The Left Registrar accepted without ceremony, sat back down for breakfast, and said over his tea, “We’ve signed our names. Nothing much happening — just strangely quiet. If you’ve nothing to do, keep the charcoal brazier going strong. Don’t spare the fuel.”

Zhù Ying signed the papers and sat with him chatting over tea until he’d finished, then saw him to the door. The Left Registrar said, “Don’t forget my wine!”

Zhù Ying pressed two hawthorn pills into his hand. “I won’t forget.”

The Left Registrar chewed the hawthorn pills as he walked away.

Zhù Ying first settled in her bedding and arranged her food and supplies, then set to examining the case files — she needed to look into the specific details of the case involving the Guanglu Grand Master Yan, whose matter old Ma had asked her to look into. Since she had given her word, she would see it done properly. She also looked through the confiscated properties for any that might include herb shops or private temples and nunneries.

She couldn’t make sense of the accounts, but she could read phrases like “shop of such-and-such number of rooms.”