Chapter 10

The old woman kicked the gate-pier; the pier stood there, immovable.

The corner of Qi Qian'er's mouth twitched: "Even if you knocked this pier off, there's still the lintel — and where would you find anyone right now to tear down the house and change the gate? Look at the three steps under your feet, the four door-pillars over the gate: in the old dynasty this marked a fourth-grade official's house. That grandson of yours, that Dasheng — is he fourth grade?"

Naturally he was not.

The old woman shook her head helplessly, and, half angry and half resentful, reached out and jabbed Qi Qian'er hard: "You girl — how are you so strange? How do you dare say anything at all? It's peculiar, that — how come you're not shy of strangers?"

Shy of strangers? A whole past life of wrangling day in, day out, three years sharing the edge of one kang, and I emptied your chamber pot more times than I can count — shy of you? She hadn't the leisure for it: she had to get in first and nail down her place in this house.

Qi Qian'er rolled her eyes up at the old woman: "And still you're angry! Did you not see the strip sealed on the gate? An ordinary house, you occupy it and that's that — your grandson does at least hold an official post, he has his dignity, and once I write out a notice tomorrow and hang it at the gate, so long as nothing's overdone, folk will grant him that much face.

"But if you overstep the rites and law and lay hands on what you shouldn't, then you're making trouble for your own children — no sense in your grandson Dasheng risking his neck at the front while you pull the plank out from under the bridge behind him, is there? A house like this — the official who came and sealed it up first has surely got it on the record already. You think it's yours for the taking? What are you dreaming of?"

The old woman, not quite convinced, slapped the gate-pier and grumbled: "You girl, you've a harsh way of talking — if a body can't dream a few nice dreams while she's alive, what's the point of living..."

The old woman's words were only half out when she caught sight of a head at the mouth of the lane, peering furtively about.

---

Madam Qiao, an embroidery hoop in her hand and the sleeping Xique'er on her back, was clinging to the top of the wall and looking into the lane.

Her mood had soured — truly soured — for she felt her good days were over from here on.

One of her cronies had brought word ahead that the old woman had gone and got a young wife for fifty jin of grain and ten strings of cash — and that the girl could read, which made it worse still.

What the Chen family prized, she knew inside out.

Before, the house had just her and that old hag; and for all the old hag squirreled things away and hoarded them close, she had no eye at all, knew only grain — she'd toss aside a fine lacquer box from the old capital workshops, never mind paintings and calligraphy and fine porcelain. All that crude country ignorance — Qiao could pull the wool over her eyes every single time.

Even if the old woman had wanted to find fault, she wouldn't have known how.

The Chen lot were a pack of know-nothings; whatever they turned up at the front, they couldn't tell its worth — knew only to stash away a bit of surface jewelry and grain.

And who was Madam Qiao? Her father had kept a needle shop — a small household, true, but she was a county-town girl raised on fine rice; and later she'd married the son of the dental-remedy shop down the street, husband's house at one end, mother's at the other. Qiao had been steeped in a honey-jar her whole life.

A whole trading street had honed Qiao's eye from childhood. She didn't trust Chen Siniu, so she scraped away at their goods for all she was worth, hid them on the sly, and watched for a chance to send them back to her old home. She always felt her footing in the Chen house was unsteady — that she'd be leaving, sooner or later, always leaving — so not to grab was to grab nothing for nothing.

But now that was over: with this ruinous creature in the house, there'd likely be old accounts settled yet.

Draped over the wall-top, Qiao watched the old bitch and the little bitch kicking at the gate-pier — laughing and chatting, no less — and she couldn't for the life of her make sense of it.

How had they gotten so thick in no time at all?

Qiao seethed with hate, her teeth grinding audibly, itching to take the needle in her hand and poke that pair of pig-dogs full of holes.

As she stewed in her hate, all at once three or five aunties came up, back from grazing their goats. These camp-following women all liked to keep a few goats: at their leisure they'd find a grassy spot and let them browse loose, and once the grass ran out and winter came, they could sell them to the camp for a good deal of army grain.

Seeing Qiao peering about so furtively, one big-voiced auntie crept up smiling and suddenly bawled right in her ear: "Oi! Siniu's woman! What are you doing draped over there?"

Having hollered, the auntie leaned over to look too, but she'd barely stolen a glance before Qiao yanked her back, pleading: "Auntie, keep your voice down — if our old lady hears, she'll only give me another going-over."

These few aunties had just been grazing goats at the creek mouth and hadn't heard the old woman had betrothed a granddaughter-in-law; at the word they were keener still to look, and all together crept over, craned their necks for a few glances, then turned back to Qiao, curious.

"Ho, isn't that the old lady? Who's that standing at the gate with her? Never seen her before. Don't tell me the old woman's bought herself a servant?"

Qi Qian'er wasn't tall, thin-haired up top, a jacket hanging off her and a pair of holey shoes on her feet — her looks were nothing to speak of.

Qiao twisted her lips, put on a wronged little air, and said: "You don't know, aunties — just now the old woman came trotting home, locked the gate like she was guarding against thieves, and before long... out she goes with a great big sack of things on her back, and there you have it — ten strings of cash and fifty jin of grain to buy a child-bride for our third branch's Scabby..."

"Ah! This — this is madness. In times of war and upheaval like these, what good could come of it — someone with no known roots or background... What was that? Bought for how much?!"

"Ten strings!!"

"Ho-ho! Then your old lady's got a full purse, hasn't she."

Qi Qian'er had seen them too. Betraying nothing on her face, she gave the old woman a little jerk of the chin, gesturing at the house behind her, then at the lie of the land to either side.

The old woman had her own calculations, and her one fear was that people would learn of this business and it would leave her out of pocket; so the moment she saw Madam Qiao over there gathering a crowd to run her mouth, her temper flared and she wouldn't have it.

She took Qi Qian'er by the hand and trotted over, and before she'd even arrived she could hear Madam Qiao, in that usual poor-me, playing-the-good-soul tone of hers, larding it with lies.

"...Ai, and it's the fourth I pity — a whole heap of nephews to look after, never mind keeping the few of us besides; he's up at the front risking his neck, and here I am fretting the whole day long, night after night tossing and unable to sleep. The family's scraped together a little at last, and the old woman's gone soft in the head... and that was ten strings of cash..."

Full of her grievances, Madam Qiao didn't notice the few goat-leading aunties nimbly stepping back, nor the big-voiced one winking and grimacing at her like mad.

Quick as Qiao's wits were, she felt a cold draft at the back of her neck; her legs went weak, and with two sheepish laughs she raised her voice: "That's true! Scabby and the others aren't young anymore, and I've been worried too — last time the fourth uncle came home he even told me to look out for a good match, only there's been no chance, and I've fretted over it, thinking once things settled I'd go out and look about... hah, but it's our old lady who's the clever one. My — our old lady dotes on her children most of all; day in, day out she scrimps and saves, and for whom? For her children — aagh!!"

There came the dull, hard crack of a pipe against a skull; startled, Xique'er woke muddled and burst out wailing.

Qiao gave a yelp, and though her head throbbed she didn't dare run; she clapped her hands over it at once and crouched, exposing the Xique'er on her back, and begged: "Old lady, hit me softer, not the head — there's plenty of meat on my back; nights I still have to get up to see to Xique'er, and feed the goats, and cook and boil water for you..."

Always like this, always like this! Every time it came to nothing much, yet outsiders would think she'd done the woman some terrible harm.

Old Madam Chen was so angry she saw stars, choked with a wretched helplessness — she had no way to deal with this crooked, roundabout talk, and so she really did just lay hands on her.

"Black-hearted thing! I'll teach you to smear muck all over your mouth! Look at the twisting guts in that belly of yours, scheming, scheming all day long! You — you wait: when Siniu comes home tomorrow I'll drive you out... 'a bought wife,' is it, and — and spending your money, was it?"

Qiao sprawled and sobbed: "I — I never said such a thing..."

Old Madam Chen spat at her: "Pah! You're the bought one, a thief who ruins the house! You're the good-for-nothing my Siniu bought off your own husband's hands. I spared you the shame of saying it — and here you go slandering Scabby's wife! What quarrel has Scabby's wife got with you? She doesn't even know you! And you slander her like this? Is she anything like you? She's a chaste maiden from a decent house, brought in with Doctor Cheng himself as go-between, with a marriage contract, with dowry and betrothal gifts — and what are you? What have you ever done for our Chen family?"

The old woman hated Madam Qiao to the very death.

Qiao had been crying out pitifully, but at some word of the old woman's — which one, there was no telling — she suddenly fell silent and only lay there, taking her beating without a sound.

The big-voiced auntie sidled over to Qi Qian'er and tugged her sleeve, signaling her to go and break up the fight.

Qi Qian'er had a blood feud with Qiao and her husband; having come back by Heaven's grace, she didn't dare take revenge and lose virtue by it — but neither did she mean to meddle in these two's affairs.

In her last life there'd been no such scene: Qiao said "bought," and the old woman let it stand, since Madam had, after all, cheated the family.

Oh — so after all this fuss, everyone was bought.

Qi Qian'er lowered her head and plucked at her collar.

Another auntie came over and murmured to the big-voiced one: "What are you tugging at her for — she's only just come in the door herself. Funny, really."

With that several aunties went up and, all hands and feet, pulled the old woman off.

Hauled back in grand style, the old woman kept both legs thrashing away.

Qiao darted for the corner of the wall to dodge, and the old woman's kick landed square on the wall instead — with a yelp she grabbed her foot and rubbed.

Rubbing away, she went on cursing at Qiao: "Long-tongued shrew! It's only now that the rules have gone slack, with no clan elder to keep an eye on you! In the old days, if you'd dared wag your tongue like this, they'd have swelled your face for you in the ancestral hall, you ill-bred, unschooled, lightning-blasted thing..."

Whatever good this old woman did, her mouth undid it by giving offense, and the few aunties breaking up the fight all wore sheepish looks.

And no wonder: in the better days of the past, the village wives could well enough work together, and with a crowd you could say what you liked — the fields, the housework, new clothes, all fair game — but in a village of strict rules, gossiping about others behind their backs was never, ever allowed.

Sowing discord with the tongue was one of the seven grounds for divorce — it was only now, with no one to enforce it, that it went unchecked.

Seeing the old woman worked into a real fury, Qi Qian'er went over and crouched down, patted her chest, tugged her sleeve, and stole a glance at the house at the far end of the lane.

The old woman had things on her mind, and her heart ached for Xique'er besides, so she gave one more spit, stood, and pulled Qi Qian'er away with her.

Qiao's tears streamed down, and she'd bitten the corner of her mouth bloody. When someone moved to help her up, she shook them off, covered her face, and ran.

Xique'er cried fit to tear the heart.

Only when she'd run a good way off did an auntie give a soft laugh: "And here we thought she was a good sort — turns out she was bought."

By the custom of former days, once these women married they took the husband's surname, and abroad others would address them by the husband's surname joined to their own.

As for what a woman had been called to begin with, that was generally not much known to others — only family and close intimates used it among themselves. The big-voiced one's husband's family was surnamed Guo and she was born a Yang, so this village crowd called her Guo-Yang's, or Madam Yang.

Bad-tempered by nature, she led her goat off, spat, and said: "Yu-Wan's wife, less of your nonsense — which of us here is from her first nest, eh? Whose household didn't just muddle together somehow? As if I don't know how you came to be here in the first place! The crow laughing at the pig for being black, truly. And that old woman's no good thing either — didn't you see how she used to bully poor Lanxiang in the old days?"

Yu-Wan's wife was a bit petty; at that she let go, took up her own goat, and walked off, muttering as she went: "Big fool!"

"Who are you calling that?"

"Myself! I'm the big fool! Off home!"

"Go home then, go on — as if anyone hasn't got a house of her own... I'm not sharing a courtyard with you anymore!"

"Go wherever you please — as if I set much store by you."

"Pah!"

"Heh — pah!"

Heh — it was only that, with war-troubles everywhere now, this pack of women had no household properties to tend and were bored out of their minds.

The old woman had no idea anyone had fallen out over her family's affairs; supported by Qi Qian'er, she walked on in, complaining as she went: "Why wouldn't you let me curse her some more?"

Qi Qian'er, wearing an expression that said "you really are a slow one," replied: "You got to curse to your heart's content, all right — and from now on the fourth aunt and I have a knot between us."

The old woman waved it off, unconcerned: "Afraid of her? You've got me. What do you have to fear from her?"

Qi Qian'er laughed despite herself: "Right! What do I have to fear from her — it's only that I was thinking..." She stopped and looked at the old woman, and put it to her: "If a dead rat fell into your own gruel pot, would you still eat the meal?"

Eat it, why wouldn't she? Was food to be wasted just like that? So a rat fell in — so what? Might even count as adding a meat dish.

Of course the old woman knew that wasn't what Qi Qian'er meant; unable to work it out, she said, puzzled: "Girl, could you say it so I can follow? Don't talk in circles — I can't tell the true from the false."

Coming from the old woman's mouth, this counted as a rare bit of softness.

That was good, that was good.

Qi Qian'er laughed softly: "All right! Words you can follow, Granny: from now on, our own household's business is for us alone to know. What good does it do to have outsiders know? Besides laughing at you, can they make your decisions for you?"

The old woman fell silent, and only after a good long stretch of walking did she say, as if suddenly enlightened: "Heh! My own mother said the very same thing back in the day — how did I go and forget it?"

Who could say.

Reluctantly passing by the two-courtyard great house, grandmother and grandchild came to the end of the lane, where the old woman, as before, fetched a brick, battered the gate, and kicked it in.

Once in the courtyard, they looked up and saw a finely carved grey-brick spirit-wall of "Deer and Crane, Long Life."

This grey-brick spirit-wall was exceedingly fine: in the center a deer and a crane, lifelike, and above, at the heart of a peony blossom, were carved the characters Rites, Decorum, Benevolence, Wisdom, Trust, and Filial Piety.

The old woman looked around, stamped on the square grey-stone paving underfoot, and said: "Girl, your eye's the better one after all. I'll say this — this place is solid, no worse than that other one. I — I didn't get a good look last time; I climbed over the wall at night and had a peek inside their house, and heh! I came too late — there was nothing left at all!"

Perhaps resigned to it now, and willing to trust Qi Qian'er, the old woman really did start looking the place over as her own home, praising it as she went.

And a fine place it was — in the old days, when An'er passed by here, he'd said to her: Mother, what a fine house this is, if only ours were like it; they've got a well, so you wouldn't have to watch Fourth Granny's face just to carry water.

Qi Qian'er's eyes stung — mm, she held it back again.

No more crying. What use was crying?

On to the real business. Right now the old woman and her lot were all grabbing the great courtyards to live in; but after a while, when the second and third waves of dependents were sent over, people like them would be driven back layer by layer, until in the end they lived in the mud huts behind the hamlet.

And what reason did they use back then? That's it — overstepping rank: how dare the dependents of a mere junior officer live in a fourth-grade senior official's mansion. Only later, when people had gained some sense, did they realize that "overstepping" was a word used mostly of the imperial house — what did it have to do with a pack of robbers? They were only frightening you, and you really did take fright.

The old woman's wish to find someone literate was, in the end, not without reason.

A pack of ignorant women with no one to look after them, who couldn't even state their own household's standing — of course they were left at everyone's mercy.

Having circled the courtyard, the old woman clung to the well in the corner and peered down. She dropped in a stone, heard the heavy sound of water, and only then looked up and said with a smile: "The water's-eye is no small one — enough to last eight generations. Girl, you've a good eye; this courtyard's a solid bargain."

Qi Qian'er smiled too, and pushed open the door into the courtyard's main hall — those mud huts over the other way, she'd no wish to go back to at all.

This courtyard at the lane's end was a typical Yanjing layout: three bays of main rooms with three bays to either side, two screen-walls just inside the gate, and — roughly speaking — one side a place for the firewood stack, the other a place for the livestock shed.

Best of all, the courtyard had a back yard of three fen of land, where she could grow vegetables later.

Inside the main hall Qi Qian'er looked around: just as the old woman had said, there was truly nothing left — only a solid stone milling-roller lying across the doorway of the east room, though who it was meant to block there was no telling, since it had blocked no one in the end: the east room's very door had been carried off.

Without much thought, Qi Qian'er, copying the old woman, gave the stone roller a kick — and without even putting any force into it, she watched the roller go trundling off with a rumble and thud against the east wall.

Qi Qian'er shuddered with fright, utterly stunned.

The old woman called from the courtyard: "What is it?"

Qi Qian'er stared at her own foot in astonishment. Something was wrong — truly wrong — something big had happened!

These past couple of days at Huo Manor she'd felt something off about her body. Before, she'd been old, her waist and legs aching and weak; coming back had struck her dumb with shock, but she'd put it down to the vigor a young person ought to have — quick and strong at everything. Yet however strong she was, the girl she'd once been could never have shifted a thing like this!

A stone roller this big was one a sturdy donkey pulled.

Hearing footsteps, Qi Qian'er hurriedly steadied herself and called out: "Granny! It's nothing."

That said, on instinct her feet carried her back before the stone roller, and she gave it another kick.

The stone roller was absurdly light — like a block of tofu it went, kicked clean from the east room straight into the west, and thudded dully against the west wall.

Thud!!

"What is it! What is it!"

The old woman came scurrying in, looked at Qi Qian'er — who was staring blankly at the top of the west wall — and Qi Qian'er pointed over there and stammered: "That — over there, the roller fell off the edge of the kang, and it — it gave me a fright!"

The old woman went to look, and saw a patch of the wall's plaster knocked off; luckily this was a grey-brick, tiled house pointed with glutinous-rice mortar, so there was only a white mark left on the wall.

The old woman grumbled: "Who was so wicked? Some comeuppance-deserving creature — what did they put a stone roller up on the kang for... What's there to be scared of? You stay here; I'll go and fetch your bedding back."

That said, the old woman made to go out — then remembered that last time she'd come in, the roller had been at the doorway, hadn't it? Had that lightning-blasted one been here again?

That said, the old woman went out, leaving Qi Qian'er standing where she was, face gone white, dazed a good while. She couldn't make sense of it — mm... so she stopped trying.

Only now did she gather her wits and look around: the main hall was one big empty room, with two stove-pits, their iron pots gone, set against the fire-walls of the east and west rooms.

This family had done things properly — they'd not grudged the expense of two big stoves.

The hemp-paper ceilings of the east and west rooms drooped down pitifully. And some wicked soul had left two lumps of shit in the corner of the room — by the look of them no longer fresh, sitting there black and disgusting.

Wicked, too — not content with fouling the house, they'd burned a heap of ash right there on the floor; likely, seeing nothing left, they'd used the furniture too big to carry off as firewood.

Tsk — truly nothing left at all.

Qi Qian'er searched all round, and at last spotted, on the east room's kang, one tung-oiled bamboo kang-mat that had at least been left behind — and only then did a hint of a smile show.

This kang-mat was a rare thing — a mat only a refined household would have.

In the old days, to want one like it you'd have to lay out two or three taels at the least, and place the order two months ahead with a bamboo-worker in the city; once the bamboo mat was woven it had to go to a fan-maker's, be lined with lengths of stitched coarse cloth and pasted down, then have tung oil worked into the cloth over and over, and be dried out through a whole summer before a single mat was done.

Qi Qian'er went over and rubbed off a thick layer of dust, then lifted the mat and, seeing there was no felt pad beneath, began to think on it.

Thinking how, later, her child would roll and crawl about on the bed, and how cold and raw it was under the kang, she'd have to get some good felt to lay down at least... mm, it had to be the very best. She had money now.

Once she'd finished inspecting the big kang, she picked up a broken brick and rapped along the edge of it, tapping until, at a spot down by the floor, the sound came back different — hollow — and then her face broke into a full smile.

By the custom in these parts, whatever a household had of any value, they hid it near the big kang.

While Qi Qian'er was rummaging around over here, the old woman came into the room dragging her big basket in from the yard, and seeing her busy away, said with a broad smile:

"Girl, this house, this spot's not bad. Tomorrow you take me round to look about too — see whose house still has a fine bed, and we'll move it back here. Don't fret about not being able to carry it: over at the camp I'm Meng Wanquan's godmother, and your Scabby set out the incense table with him — proper relations, they are — so we've hands to spare! You just help Granny weigh things up. Anywhere your cousins could live, we'll grab a few more courtyards, and save having to build for them later on."

How fine — houses for free! Now there'd be betrothal gifts for taking wives, a family estate of houses, and even a courtyard of dowry-property to make up to Dingxiang.

Qi Qian'er took the basket, gave it a little heft, and her expression turned somewhat odd.

Seeing something off about her, the old woman asked: "What? You don't want to?"

Qi Qian'er helped her sit and said: "How could that be! It's only — I don't know where the cousins are posted now, or what grade of grain-salary they draw. Once I know, I'll be able to help choose for them."

What would the old woman know of that? She thought a long while before saying, unsure: "Seems like — like a general of the commandant sort, I suppose."

Rather sheepishly.

Qi Qian'er blinked: "Commandant, is it — but there are several grades of commandant. Zhaowu? Zhenwu? Xuanjie? Renyong? Which of those words is it, I wonder? Think carefully now — and, my — which grade of commandant is our man?"

This too was men's talk — big, big men's talk.

The old woman's eyes shone; delighted, she took Qi Qian'er's hand and said with a smile: "Good child, how do you know so much? Not a word of what you just said did I understand."

Qi Qian'er's very heart was trembling; unused to it, she could hardly bear the old woman's fawning.

The old woman spread her hands, blunt as you like: "How would I know all that? I only heard them say it was — 'kitchen fruit,' that's it, fruit! Last year, seems, he became a 'fruit'! I was puzzled at the time too — call him a general and be done, I thought, so why a 'fruit general'? A 'fruit' now, that's unlucky — anyone could take a bite out of it, couldn't they?"

As she spoke she stroked Qi Qian'er's hand — one who'd suffered holding the hand of another who'd suffered — and she didn't find Qi Qian'er's hand rough at all.

Qi Qian'er, who'd never been shown such things, awkwardly drew her hand back; looking up and seeing the window-paper intact, she climbed over and propped the window open to air the room.

Airing it, she asked the old woman: "By what you say, then, he's a Resolute Commandant — though that's the old name; no telling whether the new dynasty will still call it 'Resolute.' Mm — if it's Resolute, then he's seventh grade at least... but a seventh grade, now, really can't go up to the capital."

The old woman's face was all shock and delight: "Ho, so a 'fruit' is seventh grade — seventh grade, no less!"

"Mm — seventh grade, seventh grade at the least."

"Why, that's grand!" The old woman flung her arms wide extravagantly: "You girl, your talk's boundless big — the lord back in the town, how little rank he had, and the airs on him! Out the door in a sedan chair, the soles of that lord's feet so pale-white they never touched the smell of dirt! And I know for a fact he was but a ninth grade, wearing that tall hat — and your grandfather, every time he saw him, so scared he... every time he saw him he'd kowtow! Tsk — the men of the old Chen house, that's just their sort, spineless things, kowtowing to others and then coming home to show off about it to me. Tsk... I'll not even waste breath on them."

Qi Qian'er had no way to answer that, so she just smiled and said: "Even a ninth grade has entered the official ranks, drawing the government's grain-salary — you mustn't look down on him. A man like that takes three strings five hundred cash a month from the court, and on top of that eats a hundred and eighty-seven dou, four sheng of grain a year besides."

At that the old woman near went mad: "How much?!"

Qi Qian'er had to repeat it.

The old woman's lips twitched, and then she began counting on her fingers: "Your grandfather said this once — in our forefathers' day an ox sold for three strings; later, when the court went dirt-poor, oxen got dear, and by the time we left home one sold for fifteen strings.

"His eight generations of ancestors! This town lord's forebears were monks, were they? Chanting sutras life after life to store up this much blessing for the present lot! A whole year, and the court just hands him three big plow-oxen for free!?"

Seeing Qi Qian'er nod, she grew more envious still, and said in high dudgeon: "Your Scabby, back when he'd go to town, all he wanted was a fried rice-cake — one big coin apiece, and his own father grudged buying it for him! Well! The town lord eats three thousand of them a month, and never mind it bursting him! No wonder the court went dirt-poor — serves them right for beggaring the whole house!"

That said, her eyes rolled and she grew all the more curious; she crawled over on her knees to Qi Qian'er's side, bent her face down low, and asked: "So — girl, your Scabby, and his cousins and uncles, they're all 'fruits' now; how much does a seventh grade take home?"

Qi Qian'er left off tidying, sat up, and cast her mind back: "Seventh grade, now — I only ever heard them mention it in passing. The old days can't be compared with the new dynasty; but I'd reckon that with the new Emperor just enthroned, and men being wanted for use, they can only give more — the higher-ups wouldn't dare give less."

The old woman pulled her down to sit and, eyes hungry, urged her to get on with it: "Just tell me the shabby old days' rate; never mind the flush times now."

Qi Qian'er sat and thought it over carefully: "A seventh grade in the army draws what's called military pay — which, since ancient times, has never been as much as a civil official's."

"Those wicked cutthroats — the ones who lose their heads get less than the ones who push a brush about? Well, then, just tell me your soldier's kind of pay..."

"Mm. Military pay generally comes in five ranks; let's just put them all at the middle rank. A 'fruit' commandant is above the common soldiery, so — reckoning at the very least — he ought to bring in around twenty strings a month, three dan of grain or more; and on top of that, if the commanding general he serves under is open-handed, there ought to be pickle money, spring and winter clothing money, money to fit out armor; and all year round, come the festivals — Cold Food, the Winter Solstice, the Dragon Boat — there ought to be special-issue money besides. A middling-to-upper seventh grade could draw twenty or thirty strings in special issue. On top of that, in spring there ought to be fine silk — two bolts at the least — and in winter, firewood, which comes to about eight strings too..."

Qi Qian'er sat there tallying up the account, and the more she said, the whiter the old woman's face went; until at last the old woman stopped listening altogether, scrambled down off the kang, got to the floor, pulled on her shoes, and rushed for the door.

Startled, Qi Qian'er leaned on the window and asked: "Granny, where are you off to?"

The old woman stood in the courtyard, trembling all over with rage, her face white and her mouth quivering: "I — I'm going to fight that lightning-blasted one to the death! I don't want to live! I won't live another single day!! There's no living with it! The wrong done to me!!"

As she talked the old woman fell to weeping, and through her tears, hand shaking, she pointed off into the distance: "Up at the front, your Scabby's pay, and his cousins', and Siniu's too — all sent home to her, they say — and I, I only ever saw a bit of grain and a few strings of cash. Never mind pickle money and silk — I never so much as saw one extra stick of firewood..."