Chapter 11

Qi Qian'er hopped down off the kang, ran to the doorway, and hauled the old woman forcibly back into the room. Unable to break free, the old woman flung her sleeves about and shouted in a flustered fury: "What are you pulling me for? What are you pulling me for..."

Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Qi Qian'er asked: "What would you go and do?"

The old woman, somewhat angry, glared and shouted: "What do you think? I'm — I'm going to get our family's things back..."

If she couldn't get them back she wouldn't go on living.

A country old woman after all: at the thought of all that money and grain, her heart and liver and lungs ached as if shattered across the floor, and she wept in true grief, tugging at her sleeve to wipe her eyes, though the tears would not wipe clean.

Heaven — these few years she'd hardly cried at all.

At a loss, Qi Qian'er could only block the doorway and reason with her: "Granny, if I were you, I wouldn't even go and ask — I'd never bring it up again. You just keep the count in your own heart, that's enough. Blowing it all open now does nobody any good, does it?"

"No!" The old woman pointed out the door, trying to explain: "That lightning-blasted one, she's not even family! She's — she's an outsider, she hasn't so much as a marriage contract with your fourth uncle... those things of mine..."

"But my fourth uncle dotes on her! And those things aren't yours either!"

The old woman's thousand words, her whole belly-full of the world's reasoning, were in that instant stoppered up in her throat.

Her poor head couldn't fathom why Qi Qian'er knew the ins and outs of her family's affairs so thoroughly.

What she could call to mind at once was this: when Dingxiang was married off she'd had a great row with Qiao, and Siniu had given Qiao a beating — yet he still hadn't offered to hand the household's affairs, great and small, over to her, his own mother, to manage.

Siniu was the 'fruit' commandant in charge of grain and fodder, and with the grandsons up front tied hand and foot, whatever they wanted to send home still had to pass through his hands.

And how did he put it? Mother, you're this great age now; Qiao's got no real ill will, she's only not used to you yet — spend more time together and you'll come to know her for what she is. You've eaten so much bitterness, you ought to enjoy some ease now; from here on you just eat when you should and drink when you should — I'd sooner starve than let you go short...

These were Chen Siniu's very words; and afterward, when he received up at the front the things Dazhong, Dayi, and Dasheng sent back, he still had them passed along to Qiao.

As for his old mother — well, she was to eat when she should and drink when she should, and that was the size of it.

And how smug that Qiao was! Once she'd got the goods, the very next day she'd pick a moment when plenty of people were about and hand the grain sacks and the cash over to the old woman — so everyone outside said it was the old woman who ran the house. Hmph. Who really ran the house, she and Qiao each knew well enough in their own hearts.

Else she'd never have hated Qiao so.

The old woman dabbed at her tears with her sleeve, and finding no point in standing, hoisted herself half onto the kang, leaned against the wall with her legs tucked up wearily, tucked both hands into her sleeves, and fell to brooding on her troubles.

She'd borne eight children. Except for the two daughters married off and never heard from again, not one of the remaining girls had she managed to keep; of four sons, only this one was left; and the grandsons, being a generation down, were none of them settled with families. The old woman had no wish to provoke the one son she could lean on — but she knew in her heart that this prop of hers was no longer of one mind with her, and what was she to do about that?

With every hope turned to ash, better to be dead and done with it.

At her ear, the young granddaughter-in-law's coaxing voice came drifting slowly — calm and untroubled, without the least whiff of the kitchen about it.

"...Granny, if you go to her, could you even get the matter straight? The past accounts — most likely even my fourth uncle's lost track; all these years of eating and drinking and coming and going take money too, and you couldn't lay it out clear, could you? What I told you — I'd no idea the family had such goings-on; had I known, I'd never have brought it up! True enough, the old dynasty set the rates that way — but it isn't the old dynasty now."

The old woman looked up, unconvinced: "Isn't it, now? Even if it isn't, surely there'd be half as much?" She held up a trembling little finger: "And I never saw even this much."

Qi Qian'er shook her head: "And who's to prove there was any half? Out in front of everyone she says she's given it all to you, doesn't she?"

The old woman thumped her chest and nodded.

"And besides, it's common enough for the higher officers in the army to dock a man's pay and rations. Fine — say she did quietly squirrel those things away; but if you go and demand them now, could you get them out of her?"

The old woman held her tongue. That Qiao — you could beat her to death and she still wouldn't let a single hair drop; stingy she was, and not by a little: cooking each day, she'd all but count the grains of rice into the pot.

Seeing the old woman fallen silent, Qi Qian'er couldn't bear it either, and could only reason with her from the larger view.

"Granny, let her stockpile these things for now; later, when the whole family's together again, then you raise the matter in front of them all. As for — the fourth uncle's an elder, and he's on his own too, isn't he; and as you said yourself, Qiao doesn't count as family, right?" Qi Qian'er raised an eyebrow and smiled: "Even with a grievance now, you'd need some magistrate holding court to hear it out, wouldn't you? But where's the great magistrate? And I'm a generation lower — so who's to judge, those aunties in the hamlet? Isn't that just handing yourself over as a side-dish to go with their rice? Not even enough to give them a good laugh!"

"So what's to be done?"

"What's to be done? Act as if it never happened! Eat when you should, drink when you should — and mind you don't go letting on you know, hear? The new dynasty's only just founded, and the Emperor's about to reward his meritorious officials with titles and land and proclaim a general amnesty! At a crucial moment like this, and us all army dependents — if some ugly name got out, why, unfilial conduct is a grave crime. Let it spread, and never mind outsiders laughing at us — should it block the fourth uncle's prospects, then the bond between mother and son is well and truly wrecked."

The old woman muttered, unconcerned: "Wrecked, then, and good riddance!"

Qi Qian'er raised an eyebrow again: "Listen to you — bad as he is, he's still the one you bore and raised! You'd best wish him well! From here on we'll just wish him rank on rank and a hall full of children and grandchildren; we won't even ask him to be dutiful to you or to help us out. When a man goes about outside, others look on us as one family. If you go out there now — fine! quarrel it open, smash it all up, be done with it! Heh! And afterward, they're still tucked under one quilt: farting and picking their teeth, they're a family. Isn't that so?"

The old woman fell silent, and only after a good while slid her a sidelong glance: "Then — if I'm not to count on him, am I to count on you to be dutiful to me? I — where would I have such... good fortune!"

Qi Qian'er hopped down off the kang, braced both hands against the ceiling and gave it a few shoves; finding it truly wouldn't hold, she let go and turned back, looked at the old woman gazing at her so eagerly, and said: "You — don't count on me! A newly-come house sparrow with not two taels of meat on her, what can I do? As you said, I've come to your house to lie in a nest of good fortune — you mustn't talk nonsense now, wouldn't that be a lie?

"Who are you? You're an old woman with three 'fruit' grandsons — whoever goes short, how could it be you? If they dared treat you so, let them try it — the spittle alone would drown them."

Hearing her say so, the old woman managed a smile at last.

A smile, but a forced one all the same.

The old woman sighed with a bitter smile: "Hmph, I never did enough good, that's all. Ai! In the old days, when the beggars passed our door, I grudged them so much as a mouthful — and now, see, the comeuppance has caught up with me here..."

The old woman muttered on, all doom and death, while Qi Qian'er dragged the basket over and pulled the bedding out of it, busy with her own work, taking no notice of the old woman's flat, saltless prattle.

"...Tell me, girl, why am I so angry? She spat right in my face, and still I'm to bear her? I'd be better off finding a rope and hanging myself at the door and having done with it all..."

Folding the bedding, Qi Qian'er rolled her eyes and said, with a hard, vicious little edge to her voice: "Fine then, off you go, I certainly won't stop you! How nice — with you gone, they'll all cry a few tears, and maybe be glad in their hearts besides!

"Silly old woman, so unable to let a thing go — you'll spare everyone the trouble of waiting on you and keeping you in your old age!

"A new dynasty, a house full of official 'fruits,' and without a single proper mouthful you neatly kick off and vacate your spot for someone else — truly a thin fate, too poor in luck to enjoy any blessing! Heh, and won't there be a fine to-do then: the fourth uncle's wife hounds the old mother to death — gross unfilial conduct — so he can't be a 'fruit' any longer, and Qiao can't be kept on either. There now: chickens flown and eggs smashed, and you think they'd fall in with you? By tomorrow they'd not even spare you paper money at your grave — you believe me?"

Qi Qian'er glared at the old woman, and it made her crane her neck back; but this was a woman who'd never take a loss in a war of mouths, and her lips still wouldn't rest: "So we just let her off easy, then?"

Not a chance. Now that she, Huo Qiqian, was back, anyone might have an easy time of it — but that Qiao could forget it entirely.

"Off easy? Take a look at me." Qi Qian'er pointed at her own face: "I'm the read-and-reckon wife you brought in for your great big ten strings of cash and fifty jin of grain. Tomorrow you borrow me a brush and ink, and I'll write it all out plain, front to back, and you get someone to carry word to those grandsons of yours up front, and to my Scabby too: not one single copper is to be sent back home!"

The old woman nodded, trembling, and stammered: "All right, all right — that's it?"

Seeing the old woman afraid, Qi Qian'er felt an odd urge to laugh — she couldn't make sense of it: an old woman like this, why had she been so afraid of her before?

She wasn't so hateful after all — she was, rather, quite pitiful.

Qi Qian'er looked the useless old woman up and down and drew a breath: "Right, that's it! Aiya! You seem a sensible enough sort — how is it you can't see through this? The big one you can't lean on — so put your heart into the little ones instead, warm them up more. That fine mansion, you go on and occupy it; walk about here and there and see what household goods can be gathered up; whatever good furnishings there are, you bring them back and set the place up — it's all ownerless things now anyway.

"Seventy, eighty years old, and still doing all this — if they don't remember your goodness for it, then they're not even human, and when they die and stand before King Yama, they'd never answer for it, would they?"

The old woman, gloomy a moment before, grew brighter and brighter of eye, and when Qi Qian'er had finished she clapped her hands in delight: "Yes, yes! That's what I'll do, that's how I'll be from now on! Let the whole lot of them go wandering — not one hair of mine will I let them take off me. Just you wait!"

The old woman, as if she'd vented her spleen, hopped down off the kang, but at the door she added one more thing: "So — so I'll be off, then? So — a seventh grade really can't get into the capital? Seventh grade's no small thing, is it? Even a fruit fetches two or three big bright coins a jin..."

Qi Qian'er was so exasperated she coughed — the petty-minded thing.

Fine — she'd prattle it all out for her in detail, and save the old woman fretting and scheming behind her back.

"Set your mind at ease — no getting in! Certain to be no. Other things I can't say, but of the goings-on in the capital I heard plenty at home. In the old dynasty people entered the capital slowly, little by little, coming up for the exams once every three years. And now what have we? All at once the old dynasty's gone, whoosh, and the new dynasty's officials, from every corner of the land, come pouring in, whoosh, with their families and all.

"The houses in Yanjing aren't like Qingfeng's — they weren't struck by Heaven's curse; there are living people over there who've lived in them generation after generation, and you can't very well drive them out, can you? Right now the Emperor's in a hurry to win a bit of the people's hearts — so why would he go seizing the family estates their ancestors handed down?

"Don't go thinking this hamlet's just backcountry — it's a fine spot, not far from the capital; a fast horse makes it in four hours. In the old days the capital was full of officials who couldn't afford a house there, and officials posted out in the provinces — they all bought their residences in Qingfeng.

"The steward's wife back where we were said the hamlets round here were mostly grants to the great lords of the old dynasty — and granted to the very first batch, at the old dynasty's founding, at that. Think about it: if the place were no good, they'd not have granted it to them, would they? As for those old-dynasty folk — if they're not afraid of losing their heads, they're welcome to come back."

The old woman mulled it a good while and swallowed the reasoning down whole, nodding fawningly: "Isn't it just!"

That said, she looked up at Qi Qian'er and thought: who'd ever have guessed — she'd only meant to see a wish fulfilled, meant, on a whim, to do a good deed — and how had she gone and brought home so great an ancestor for the family?

An ancestor, then, so be it — at least this one knew everything, a hundred times better than being blind in both eyes. It was only her Scabby she pitied — Granny had truly done him wrong. She'd only ever said the boy was dutiful and a bit of a simpleton, and so she'd favored him a little extra — who could have foreseen this?

---

Flocks of crows flew over the golden throne hall, and warriors in gold armor with silver blades, on horses in fine and imposing barding, filed past before the Xinghe Gate...

Drums and music, banners waving — and a few lumps of crow shit got flicked into a corner of the Chonghua gate-tower.

A voice roughened by the north's wind and sand asked, full of puzzlement:

"Big Brother...?"

"...... ...... ...mm...?"

"...There's shit on your shoulder."

"...... ...... your...?"

"...A crow's."

Chen Dasheng lazily raised his head, sneezed, and saw a few crows perched on the edge of the glazed tiles of the resplendent Chonghua Gate.

He looked down again at the imposing figures passing by beneath the gate in clump after clump, then looked at the six grubby, foolish little short-stumps to his left and right, three a side — ah, all squatting there watching the show, so short-stumps every one.

Himself included.

Rising a touch on his toes, Chen Dasheng picked up his "Valor" helmet — already caved in on one side — and slowly set it on his head.

The short-stumps beside him glanced at one another and all picked up their own eight-petal cap-helmets and put them on.

Right — with a helmet on, the crows would shit on the cap instead.

Big Brother was Big Brother; the chief was the chief.

On with watching the show.

From the hills to the east came cannon-fire that shook the earth and mountains, and the seven short-stumps hunkered down a little and slowly covered their ears...

Chen Dasheng went on sneezing, and rubbed at his snot in distress, thinking: was he coming down with a chill? Surely not?

Soldiers with peacock plumes stuck up top, in colored armor of red, green, blue, and black, colored banners on their backs, went showing off down the street on a matched string of big chestnut horses...

The seven short-stumps watched them off into the distance, eyes gone perfectly round.

The new one, Guan Si'er, not even pausing to blink, asked the officer beside him: "Brother, my mother says the house the Emperor lives in has nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine consorts inside it, and every day the Emperor has to change rooms and sleep with a new consort."

At that Chen Dasheng sucked in a cold breath, and there rose at once in his mind the image of the Emperor, all glittering gold and fat and round.

He had seen the Emperor — more than once.

In his mind the Emperor, fat though he was, could do anything at all. But however much he could do, to be carried by the guards from room to room, one room to the next, every single night — that Emperor was too pitiful for words.

At that thought Chen Dasheng turned his head very earnestly to the new one and said: "...Pitiful."

Guan Si'er, not knowing what Big Brother meant, turned to look at Tong Jintai beside him.

Tong Jintai, of course, had no idea what the Big Brother he worshipped above all was thinking; but he couldn't let on that he'd never once walked the paths of Big Brother's heart, and so he put on a scornful face, rolled his eyes at Guan Si'er, and gave a contemptuous cold snort.

Guan Si'er felt deeply ashamed, bowed his head and thought a good while, then said as if suddenly enlightened: "Big Brother, right enough!"

Chen Dasheng sneezed again.

Hearing himself praised out of nowhere, he was quite bewildered inside, and blinked a few times — mm, a bit cold, was he catching a chill?

And he tucked both hands into his sleeves.

The other six short-stumps copied him, and all tucked their hands into their sleeves too.

The new one still gazed at his Big Brother with worship all over his face. He'd charged into Yanjing behind him, watched him swing his long saber at the front and reap men's lives — no one could withstand three of Big Brother's strokes; however tall the steed, however thick the armored warrior, one pass of Big Brother's long blade and everything came apart in two halves...

Unlike three days ago, Big Brother now was all languor; the sun poured full on his face, and he looked as impassive and kindly-browed as the Lord Lao in the temple — see his long slits of eyes, his dangling string of snot — ahem, forget that last part... Big Brother truly was handsome beyond compare; even his... can't-wake-up look was somehow a cut above everyone else's.

Drums and music clamored to the skies; below the wall the columns passed row on row — blade-bearers, spear-raisers, riders on white horses, red horses, dappled horses — so many horses, and how much land they could plow...

"Big Brother?"

"...Mm?"

"Us, now — why are we squatting here?"

"...To. Save. Food."

"Big Brother's wisdom!"

Yu Qingguan spat down at the horse-column below, thinking with boundless admiration: what ignorance mine is — what a head Big Brother has! Don't move, and sure enough you don't get hungry; it really does save food.

A grumble sounded from someone's belly; Ma Ergu looked a little sheepishly at his brothers. Ever since they'd stormed into Yanjing, they'd lost all word from their commanding officer.

The few of them had roamed all over the palace at Big Brother's heels; people tried to kill them, and they'd killed no small number in turn.

Big Brother was a clever one, and led them to the places no one else went, where they truly scraped up no small number of fine things. At the thought, Ma Ergu drew from his robe an embroidered shoe set with seed-pearls, gave it a sniff, and pictured for a moment the beautiful little woman it belonged to — and at that, he only got hungrier.

Four years ago they'd trained out of the new-recruits' camp together, and after all the stumbling of the road since, Ma Ergu had finally grasped one truth: follow Big Brother and you don't go hungry, and you've a way to stay alive.

See — and now they didn't even have to go and suffer down below like players in some grand opera.

And so, having sniffed his fill of that sweet-smelling shoe, Ma Ergu turned his head toward his Big Brother, Chen Dasheng.

Ai, there was really no doing anything with this lot.

Chen Dasheng got languidly to his feet, snatched up the long saber wrapped in rag from the ground and slung it on his back, and so, scuffing along the rising and falling parapet, slowly, slowly, he went off by instinct to find food...

His brothers trusted him, and not one so much as looked back at him or worried on his account.

Far, far off, cries of "Long live the Emperor!" scattered in every direction... and the hills and rivers rose and fell with the cheering.

How long passed, no one knew, but Chen Dasheng came ambling back along the parapet with a great bundle on his back; his brothers, quick to sense it, felt him coming and together found a corner out of the wind to squat in.

Catching the fragrance, Ma Ergu sharply and solemnly drew from his bosom a greasy, gleaming square of coarse cloth and spread it out, even lovingly brushing off dust that wasn't there from the oilcloth.

Chen Dasheng came up close and squatted, and from the bundle on his back set out the food onto the cloth, bowl by bowl.

No one knew where he'd been. The palace was so vast — some places thick with people, others all crumbling walls and broken ruins that couldn't keep a rat alive.

Nor did anyone know how he'd dodged the crowds and carried this whole heap back, bowls and all, without spilling so much as a drop of soup.

A bowl of oiled-noodle rice, a bowl of pork rice, a bowl of soup dumplings, a bowl of lotus-seed rice, a bowl of longan rice, a bowl of chicken rice, a bowl of fish rice — and last of all, a great big pig's head.

The food was exquisite beyond compare, and pretty characters cut from red paper were even stuck on top — a pity that of these seven squatting there, not one could read.

With a small cheer they looked at one another: Tong Jintai took up the oiled-noodle rice, Cui Erdian the pork rice, Ma Ergu the longan rice, Hu Yougui the lotus-seed rice, Guan Si'er the fish rice, Yu Qingguan the chicken rice.

The soldiers, hearts full of reverence, offered up the sweet soup dumplings and the pig's head for Big Brother to eat.

Chen Dasheng hoisted the pig's head, split his mouth open, and sank a mouthful of big white teeth into its brow; a cheer went up around him, and everyone briskly took up their bowls and began to eat.

"Big Brother! It's so good!"

Chewing, chewing, chewing.

Guan Si'er, the newcomer after all, ate in one long go until his belly would permit him to speak, and only then asked Chen Dasheng in reverence: "Big Brother, it's so good! Where'd you get all this?"

Chen Dasheng said nothing, his greasy, shining lips and cheeks working away without end.

How to tell them where he'd been? Chen Dasheng had a whole belly-full of words, but half the great pig's head had gone down before he'd worked out how to say it.

His spirit went drifting back over the path he'd taken: down from the gate-tower, crawling all along the palace's gravel paths, over the roof of a great hall, over the head of a little bridge, springing back and forth through the big trees, until at last he came to a room full of enshrined god-images.

The little palace maids, hair oiled and smooth, in beautiful colored robes, filed along in a line, carrying all sorts of food and drink to store away in the room — so much of it, so much... whole big tables of it... if he didn't eat it, it'd only spoil.

Chen Dasheng reckoned he was a subject of merit, so eating a little was no matter. He even kowtowed, and the immortals in the hanging paintings raised no objection.

And so he chose an inconspicuous little table, took the seven bowls off it; the pig's head set out in the very center smelled too good, and his brothers had put in oxen's labor storming Yanjing, so Chen Dasheng took the pig's head along too.

Guan Si'er's innocent eyes were still on Big Brother; Chen Dasheng, pitying how young he was, tender toward his foolishness, set the pig's head down, wiped his mouth, drank half a bowl of soup dumplings, hauled Guan Si'er over to a notch in the parapet, pointed at the palace, and said: "Down from here... mm... mm-mm... mm-mm-mm-mmm~~~~mm-mm... mm-mm!"

He was certain he'd said a great deal, in careful and thorough detail — only a blockhead could fail to grasp what he'd laid out. He held up two fingers and traced them up and down and over the palace, and Guan Si'er's head swayed back and forth along the arcs he drew.

Having told Guan Si'er the route, and seeing him nod, Chen Dasheng contentedly patted his shoulder in praise of his cleverness and went back to gnawing the pig's head.

Yu Qingguan pulled a slice of ear off the pig's head, and eating it, said with a low laugh to Chen Dasheng: "Chief, is it fun, picking on the little one?"

At this, Chen Dasheng's wooden face squeezed out the faintest ghost of a smile that no one could have detected; he glanced at Yu Qingguan, looked off at the sea-roar of the distant spectacle, and said: "...Just like you back then — like a silly pig..."

Yu Qingguan shook his head with a soft laugh, and when he'd done laughing he patted his bulging belly, leaned against the great pillar of the Chonghua Gate, and started humming a country ditty; humming, he said: "Say, Chief — once things over there wrap up tomorrow, this lot of us — where do you reckon we'll go?"