Chapter 36

Early in the morning, Qi Qian'er was up first, as always. She boiled a pot of hot soup, cooked some wild greens, and pinched coarse-flour dumplings into the pot. There was mutton fat now, so the soup smelled good.

Last night Qi Qian'er had shared the west room with the old lady. Chen Dasheng and his brothers slept in the east room.

The west-room kang was warm too. They had felt mats and a bed-mat now, so a rough spread was no hardship.

If Chen Dasheng were still going off to war, life and death uncertain, some things would be hard to say. But he needn't fight anymore. So the old lady found more understanding, and more pity, for Qi Qian'er's not wanting to share a bed.

Only fifteen. And such a gentle-natured girl. She had grown too fast. All her growing had gone to her height, while her body stayed dry as a stick. A dried-up girl of fifteen couldn't bear a mother's burden. Besides, she had three years of mourning to keep. It was only right to use the time to build her health up slowly.

Chen Dasheng was plain and dutiful by nature. His granny gave him a few quiet words, and he agreed. Not one word of complaint.

He was simply a kind, easy-hearted man.

When Qi Qian'er rose early, he heard the noise, quietly pulled on his clothes, and got up. He said nothing. She washed the pot, he drew water. She cooked, he broke firewood and fed the fire.

He didn't speak. Words came hard to him. So he just busied himself, back and forth, looking pleased the whole time.

His work done, he leaned against the doorframe of the main hall, his back to Qi Qian'er, and sat with his eyes shut, still saying nothing. She put the lid on the pot, and he smiled. She chopped the greens, and he smiled. Even the scuff of her straw sandals on the floor made him smile. He'd made those sandals himself the night before, bored, idly plaiting a pair off the sandal-rack.

The odd thing was, they fit no one else once made. Only his wife's little feet.

So he put them on her, and she'd slipped them on first thing.

Busy back and forth, Qi Qian'er glanced up now and then at the fellow, puzzled. Why was he so happy? He never used to be happy.

In the past life she'd seen him only three times. Once when he came back from Zuoliang Pass three years on. Once, half a journey, to bring home a spirit-tablet. And a third time, when he saw Yu Qingguan's second boy off to the capital for the exams.

She'd never enjoyed his good fortune. But she'd sheltered under him all her life.

This man used to live at night. His face never had the daytime in it. His shoulders always slumped, his head bowed, as if he searched the ground for a way to live. Always earnest, always careful, looking and looking without end.

In a whole life of decades, this man said one soft word to her.

He said: Don't be afraid. I won't let them send you away. I... claim you.

But they were too far apart in the end. Two lamps, both guttered out. Neither could throw its light across to the other.

And the sun climbed higher and higher. The morning light unfolded, bit by bit, and smoothed the gloom from Chen Dasheng's face. It was like a mother's hand wiping the mud from a wild child's cheek, laying bare a clean, small, child's face.

Behind his shut eyes a mist rose. His mother held him and hushed him to sleep. He watched her with all his heart, and she watched him with all hers. She hummed through her nose the tune that loved him most: sleep now, sleep now, why won't you sleep? Are you fooling your mother again?

His mother hummed on and on. And he ran on and on. He stumbled, shoved open the broken woodgate of the old home, put one leg into the yard, and shouted into the house. Mother...!

"Hungry!"

Qi Qian'er heard Chen Dasheng speak, and paused: "Mm?"

His back still to her, he said: "Hungry."

"Oh... mm!"

Behind him, the coarse bowl knocked out the taste of home. The pot-lid, soft with steam, turned kind. The gourd dipper propped up its favor, and filled the bowl brimming with steady, hot food.

Her step was slow and even. One step at a time, she carried it to Chen Dasheng, crouched, and handed it to him.

"Here."

Chen Dasheng took the bowl, but set it aside. Then he suddenly caught the hand that was leaving. The hand froze in his, dumb and warm, spread with calluses no different from his mother's.

He cupped her two hands and looked at them closely, and at last put his face into them, closed his eyes, and breathed in deep. That smell, ha, the same as his mother's. The iron scent of the cleaver, the fresh scent of wild greens, the oily scent of the old cutting-board, all mixed together. And he was home.

He said, softly: "Here...?"

He looked up, his eyes bright: "How is it you're not shy with me?"

As if they'd known each other a lifetime.

Qi Qian'er looked at his face. In the old days she'd stared at his block of wood, every day, every day, every hour, every hour, every moment, every moment, talking to him. Talking of home, of the world outside, of these hard times. And he never answered.

At last he'd answered.

She smiled and said: "Eat up!"

Chen Dasheng nodded, eyes narrowed, and let go of her hands, reluctant. He took up the bowl, slurped a mouthful of soup round the rim, and ate happily. When at last he rested his mouth and looked up, he saw his little wife tiptoeing to the window of the west lower room.

The old lady had locked the west-room door. No matter. His wife reached up, braced the swinging window, and lifted the whole pane off.

Chen Dasheng choked.

Qi Qian'er raised a brow at him: "Shh..."

She pointed her chin toward the old lady's side.

Chen Dasheng nodded. Carrying his bowl, he tiptoed over too, and watched his wife climb through the window as easily as anything. In a moment she came out holding a bowl of mutton, and said to him again: "Shh..."

Half a bowl of mutton chunks glugged into his bowl.

"Shh..."

Chen Dasheng stared. He looked at his bowl, then at his wife.

Amazing!

Qi Qian'er fitted the window back, carried the half-bowl of meat to the stove, and, without a pang, poured it out clean.

Hide it, my foot! Left there, it only spoils!

In the west room, the old lady slowly drew the window-crack shut, curled her lip, and lay back in her quilt, cursing: "Little thunderstruck one!"

Later, a foolish hen that had wandered in from outside the settlement started lazily to crow.

That old alley had been dead. With no people, it had the look of an abandoned temple gathering dust.

But then there were people again. A young wife, a great basket as tall as herself on her back, pointed at a house at the alley's end and said, that one's good, let's go there... And from then the alley was alive again.

No telling what year it was, but along the edge of the old dynasty's hunting-forest, one such copycat settlement after another had sprung up, each built grander than the last.

Yanjing folk always wanted their days handsome and fine. They spent thousands, tens of thousands of strings, to raise houses along Mount Baiquan that they lived in only a fortnight a year.

And now these great mansions had come cheap to these out-of-town mud-legs.

Today was a rare fine day since the start of winter. The sun was warm, and people were glad.

The senior sister was in high spirits, chasing Doctor Cheng round and round the stone table in the yard.

Doctor Cheng ran, pleading with her: "Good senior sister, let me catch my breath, or I'll play you the xiao. Aren't you fondest of hearing me play? 'Joyful Meeting,' 'Immortal Peach,' any tune you like."

At that desperate moment, he heard small, hurried footsteps at the gate. He felt reprieved. He pointed outside and cried low: "There, someone's outside! Let me go see who it is!"

Doctor Cheng ran for his life to the gate, threw it open, stepped quickly out, and saw Qi Qian'er holding a wooden plaque in her arms. Behind her came her husband Chen Dasheng and her grandmother Chen Wu. Chen Dasheng held a brush and half a bowl of ink. Behind them came one-armed Meng Wanquan and the old blades, each cradling a bowl of paste and strips of paper.

Everyone was beaming, glad as at New Year, and jumped when the gate beside them was yanked open.

The whole party stared at Doctor Cheng in surprise. He drew a breath, glanced behind him, then carefully pulled the gate shut and asked: "What's all this?"

Qi Qian'er looked him over, smiling: "Who'd have thought it, we're neighbors now!"

She pointed at the house at the alley mouth, then at Doctor Cheng's gate: "Right next door."

Doctor Cheng smiled sheepishly: "We moved in a few days back. You don't go out, so you didn't know."

Qi Qian'er nodded and said to those behind her: "Quick, paste one up for Doctor Cheng too. This is good, now our alley has a physician!"

The old lady said yes, all smiles, and Guan Si'er brought over a sheet of paper. Ma Ergu briskly brushed a thick coat of paste on the man's gate.

Once the paper was stuck on, Qi Qian'er set down the plaque, took the brush Chen Dasheng passed her, and wrote across Doctor Cheng's door: Residence of Cheng Wanning, Supervisor of the Qingfeng Raw-Medicine Storehouse, Imperial Medical Academy of Great Liang.

That done, she braced her knees and made a bow: "Congratulations on your new post as Supervisor, Doctor Cheng. My best wishes to you."

Doctor Cheng looked baffled, until Meng Wanquan came over, laughing: "I meant to tell you last night, but you ran off in a hurry, and you weren't at the camp today, so I thought I'd tell you when I saw you."

He put his mouth to Doctor Cheng's ear and murmured a good while. Doctor Cheng heard it out, unbelieving at first. Then, after Meng Wanquan explained again and swore up and down, his face broke into great joy. He straightened his cap and gown, came down the steps, and cupped his hands to Qi Qian'er: "This, this is a good thing beyond all my hopes. Truly, thank you for looking after me, sister-in-law."

Every man who lives on this earth wants a home to hold him. Who doesn't?

When they'd all gone off laughing, Doctor Cheng stepped back a few paces and gazed, dazed, at the house, at the lintel, at that line of writing.

Then he smiled and said softly: "Who'd have thought it, to put down roots here, of all places? To have a home at last."

Just then a head rose slowly over the wall. The senior sister looked at him, her face bright as a flower, teasing: "Junior brother? So happy?"

Doctor Cheng panicked at once. He glanced left and right, then bolted toward the crowd, calling as he ran: "I'll go lend a hand, neighbors should help each other!"

Seeing him gone, the senior sister opened the gate and came out too. Step by step she backed against the wall opposite, gazing at that door, saying nothing for a long time. Then she rubbed her belly and said, helpless: "Why won't you buck up? Still won't come?"

At the alley mouth, four raw-iron spikes pulled from cart-shafts held a wooden plaque.

The spikes held it fast. Chen Dasheng worked at it a little, left and right, saw it was firm, and said to Qi Qian'er: "Steady. Write."

Qi Qian'er nodded, dipped the brush deep in the bowl, wiped it on the rim, turned and looked at the plaque a long while, then set the brush down and wrote three great characters.

Guard Lane.

She finished, and someone behind her read it out.

Doctor Cheng nodded, satisfied: "Good! Where Great Liang's imperial guards live, of course it's Guard Lane!"

Once they understood what she'd written, the crowd scattered with a whoop, rushing into the lane to pick their houses.

A pack of the blind, with no notion of what power the name Guard Lane held.

One man was one man. But a whole lane of imperial guards was another matter. Never mind a petty clerk, even a full department director would have to bow and step wide around it.

Guard Lane was long and broad, wide enough for three carts abreast. Its ground was laid, with care, in interlocking strips of grey stone. Against slipping, the masons had chiseled shallow teeth into every face. In good years, paving-stone this fine, hauled down from the hills, cost a good six hundred cash a slab, if not more.

Looking in from the alley mouth, you could see a mounting-stone lying at every gate, and three grey hitching-posts to each side, each topped with a finely carved stone lion.

From that you could picture the rich and splendid life this place had once held. And now, not one courtyard wall was whole. Every one had been picked over.

At the lane's tail, the middle house stood like a prop under the rest. Some unlucky family had chosen the wrong spot: they hadn't dared set up hitching-posts at the gate, but used iron hitching-rings set into the wall instead. Later, in the war, someone had taken even those iron rings, no one knew who.

Down the whole long lane, the two-court houses facing each other cornerwise came to a full ten.

The crowd pressed round Qi Qian'er and walked in. Behind Doctor Cheng's house Meng Wanquan laughed: "Doctor Cheng and I are colleagues now. This one'll do."

Qi Qian'er nodded, and they pasted paper for him.

Residence of Meng Wanquan, Company-Head, Raw-Medicine Storehouse Guard-Company, Qingfeng Right Garrison, Great Liang.

When it was done, Meng Wanquan looked at his gate and sighed: "My rank's the smallest, and my house-name's the longest." Then he turned and smiled at Qi Qian'er: "Read it me again, sister-in-law."

Qi Qian'er read it again.

When she'd finished, Meng Wanquan lifted his one arm, stroked the paper, and sighed: "That's me. So I've a name to come and go by now too."

"Sister-in-law, quick, quick, write ours, it's our turn!"

Yu Qingguan and the rest crowded round Qi Qian'er, hemming her in, eager and warm.

Every house in the lane had been lived in, each built a different way. But these men were not choosy. They just picked a house at random, never going in to look, tore the Ministry of Revenue's notice-strip off it, flung it aside, and warmly hailed the others.

"Come, come, sister-in-law's pasted yours up, write it, write it!"

Residence of Yu Qingguan, Commander's Registrar, Long Saber Garrison, Imperial Guard, Great Liang.

Residence of Tong Jintai, Commander's Registrar, Long Saber Garrison, Imperial Guard, Great Liang.

...

It was a funny thing. People in this world don't know their own names, but they know their marks. As slip after slip was filled in, the crowd around Qi Qian'er grew thinner. She wrote the last one, Great Liang Imperial Guard, Long Saber Garrison, Qingfeng Outer Barracks. When she and the old lady and Chen Dasheng turned round, there was no one else in sight.

Each man stood guarding his own gate. The keener ones had dragged out a rag and a broom from somewhere and were busily sweeping.

The old lady looked at the writing on their gate, traced it in her mind a good while, couldn't read it, and turned to ask Qi Qian'er: "Qian'er, what does ours say?"

Qi Qian'er read it to her. The old lady wasn't pleased: "Didn't you say it was our woodshed?"

Qi Qian'er laughed, unbothered: "Never mind! This one's not on the garrison rolls either. I'm just flying a big flag to hold the name. Next year, if anyone comes to take the house, they'll see this slip and not dare. Once things are settled and the titles fixed, we'll go to the yamen and write our own name, get the land-deed and house-deed, and it's done. Rest easy, I'm here. No one's taking it."

That settled the old lady. But her eyes rolled, and she pointed at the last house: "Then this fine one, give it to your..."

Qi Qian'er didn't wait for her to finish. She trotted over, smiling, brushed on paste, stuck a slip up, and wrote: Residence of Chang Lianfang, Roving Cavalry General and Deputy Battalion Commander of the Jinwu Front Guard, Imperial Army, Great Liang.

Mm! Done! Full! No one else could come now!

The old lady hurried over, eager, and when she'd heard Qi Qian'er read it, wasn't pleased: "You girl, your elbow turns outward! Your three cousins' houses have nothing at all! And your fourth uncle, bad as he is, you still can't just cut him off! Why give it to little Hua'er? What's he to us? Does he want for this scrap of yours?"

Qi Qian'er smiled: "Whether he wants for it, I don't know. What I do know is that your Scabby's run up quite a debt to him lately. Granny, a person should have a conscience, no? Look how he runs about for us. Half of what you eat and use now, isn't it little Hua'er who sent it? A son of your own body couldn't do more. I'd say your own kin fall short of little Hua'er."

The old lady curled her lip: "His house is so rich, he wants for nothing..."

"And besides, he's a third son too. I don't believe his parents would bear to set him up with a ten-thousand-string mansion."

At "ten thousand strings" the old lady wavered again. She'd have liked to sweep the dozens of great houses of Quanhou Manor all into her own family.

Qi Qian'er helped her back toward home, saying as they went: "Granny, look at you, what do you take me for? This spot of ours, on the outer edge, is too much in the eye! A whole lane of nothing but Chens, that wouldn't look right, would it?

"Tomorrow the Ministry of Revenue's officers would have something to say. Oh, you, a mere sixth-grade officer, and you've taken this many houses? That's bad for Dasheng's name!"

"Then, then your cousins..."

"Rest easy! I've picked out the ones behind the manor for the three of them, no fear of losing them. As good as ours, at the least. But we sent word and they haven't written back. Right now I don't even know which general's camp the three of them are serving under. Once word comes tomorrow, I can write their slips, proper and aboveboard, isn't that better?"

"Then, then your fourth uncle?"

"Fourth uncle? I'll not touch his house! How much silver has he squeezed out of our Scabby? It's well I don't go after him! And you fret he'll lose out, a sly pair, and that Qiao easy to get the better of? Look at last night, whoever of us laid out his money, it was five hundred taels at the bottom. And him? I never saw one copper..."

The old lady, in the wrong, quickly wriggled free of Qi Qian'er and hurried toward the house, saying as she went: "I, I'll just, I'll go see to the fire... it's near time for the midday meal."

Chen Dasheng followed behind, holding in a laugh. He could see straight through his little wife's every thought, and would never once let on.

Qi Qian'er gave a soft snort and shot the wretch a sidelong glare. But before she could get a sour word out, Chen Dasheng caught her hand and drew her to the corner of the stable in the yard. From his horse-bag he took a good-sized bundle and handed it to her.

Qi Qian'er was strong beyond measure now, and the bundle felt heavy in her hand. That weight. Nothing but gold could be so heavy.

She opened it, and her breath caught. It was true: a whole bundle of pure gold jewelry.

She reached in and took out a gold bracelet, filigree worked in a ruyi cloud pattern. One look told her it was palace-made.

She slid it onto her arm and asked: "Where'd it come from?"

Chen Dasheng said: "The taking of Yanjing. I went into the palace by the south gate."

"Stripped off a dead body?"

Chen Dasheng blinked honestly: "No. I passed a great house, a great palace-hall, and some women ran out and begged me not to kill them. I don't kill women. So they stuffed me a bundle of this."

Qi Qian'er nodded, pleased: "Mm, very good."

That said, she dropped Madam Wang's jade bracelet into the bundle, and kept the gold one on.

She wore it, admired it, pleased, a moment, then looked up and asked, smiling: "Why didn't you give it to your granny?"

Chen Dasheng pressed his lips in a smile: "Granny took all my broken silver, and the fifty taels last night too... Truth is, if not for that letter of yours, I'd have sent this back with fourth uncle next time he came. Qingguan and the rest sold theirs off. I thought, the price is poor just now, so I'd send it home to keep. Fourth uncle... I never thought he'd do that."

Qi Qian'er looked at the bracelet on her arm, and after a long while cursed through her teeth: "Chen Siniu! Qiao! Thunderstruck good-for-nothings!!"

Chen Dasheng's face went awkward. A long moment passed before he stammered: "Wrong to curse them. They're... they're all of one ancestor."

Qi Qian'er paid no mind to what he thought. She reached out, pinched his chin, rose on her toes, and rewarded him with a kiss, the way you'd kiss a child: "Well done! Do it this way from now on! Good boy!"

Just knowing to hand the money to her made him a good boy! He must be rewarded!

Kiss given, she clutched the bundle, craned her head toward the main hall, saw the old lady wasn't there, and tiptoed in at a trot to hide her treasure fast in the west room.

She never saw that Chen Dasheng had been struck as if by five thunderbolts, his very soul flown clean away.

A long while later, Chen Dasheng backed slowly to the wall, leaned against it, and began to knock the back of his head against it, once, and again.

---

Outside the battalion of the Zhuoning Pass garrison, Chen Siniu sneezed into the cold wind. He sat on the long bench in the gate-lodge, and had sat facing that cold wind a whole morning. The battalion commander had been busy the whole time and hadn't sent for him.

Just now word came that the business was done, and they'd begun calling men in. But they called others, and never him.

Plenty of men came and went, all of them once soldiers under the general, known to one another these many years. Yet every time it was Chen Siniu who met them with a smile, and they who wore cold faces, or pretended not to see him.

In short, of all who came and went, not one thought anything of him.

"Oh, Captain Chen's caught a chill. Here, here, let me warm your water."

The old gatekeeper was a kindly sort. Seeing him sneeze, he brought out a brass kettle and filled Chen Siniu's long-empty cup with hot water.

Chen Siniu thanked him, and drank the hot water slowly, cherishing it.

As he drank, now and then he'd feel at the bulge over his chest.

This time he'd brought respects enough. He only hoped the battalion commander, mindful of all his years of gifts, wouldn't make him march off with the army to hold Zuoliang Pass.

The old gatekeeper carried the kettle back inside, and a page loafing there came over, smiling: "Who's that? Been a nuisance all morning. If the battalion commander won't see him, why not go? Shameless, hanging on like that."

The old man filled the kettle, set it on the iron basin, glanced at the gate, then stepped over and whispered in the page's ear: "That's Chen Fear-Death!"

"Him!!" The page was startled, then covered his mouth and laughed.

Chen Siniu had a famous nickname in the Zhuoning garrison: Chen Fear-Death.

He'd carried it in the Tan army too. The man could do anything. Dirty work, bitter work, hard work, he feared none of it. He only feared meeting the enemy face to face.

Back then he'd faint dead away going into battle. When the fighting was over, he'd come to, wobbling, and make his own way back, dizzy.

However often his officers dealt with him, flogged him, drove him on with the flat of a blade, he still fainted. Once down, he'd not rise for an hour or two.

Later, an officer in the Tan army, Shangguan Yizhi, fell out with Tan Shiyuan and meant to break away with his men. Tan Shiyuan fobbed off on him a heap of rubbish soldiers to take along.

So Chen Siniu passed from the Tan army into Shangguan Yizhi's command. In those days the ranks were a shambles, and Shangguan Yizhi was only a junior fifth-grade general.

Now he was a full fifth-grade battalion commander of the Zhuoning Pass garrison.

And now this garrison had fresh orders: they were to be sent to Zuoliang Pass.

Zuoliang Pass was no match for Zhuoning. It was a bitter, frozen frontier, and beyond it lay endless wild grass. Who would want to go?

Well, Shangguan Yizhi was willing. He'd risen from junior fifth to full fifth grade. For an official, anywhere is a stepping-stone. It was only the soldiers under him who were to be pitied, all now scrambling for connections, pulling strings to get transferred elsewhere.

Of course Chen Siniu didn't want to go. He'd had a fine post at the rear. They might despise him for clinging to life, but over these five years, hadn't the ones who didn't cling to life all died?

Dead is dead, and then there's nothing. What use is a fine name?

Chen Siniu saw it clear. To keep this safe grain-transport post that spared him death, he'd given the battalion commander no small gifts these years, a hundred or two hundred taels every season, without fail.

Behind him a burst of laughter went up in the gate-lodge. He didn't need to look. Chen Siniu knew it was aimed at him.

He didn't care. He was used to it.

He only felt the bulge over his heart and thought: this time it's five hundred taels. What's the battalion commander's whole year's salary, even?

But five hundred taels! This was his four nephews' blood-money, earned with their heads on the killing-field. How was he to face them hereafter?

Another cold gust blew, and Chen Siniu hunched his neck and edged into the shelter of the gate-arch.

He waited, and waited, until past midday, when no more callers came. Only then did the usher inside remember him, and jerk his chin, careless: "You. Come with me. The battalion commander will see you."

Chen Siniu quickly set down the cup he'd warmed his hands on, and said, all smiles: "Thank you, young sir."

The man didn't care to answer. He led him through rockeries and a flower-pavilion, and at last to a dining-hall.

Chen Siniu came in, stepped into the hall, and knelt: "Your servant pays respects to the battalion commander!"

The man above didn't tell him to rise. He went on shoveling in his rice, noisily, until he was half full and had drunk down some soup. Then Battalion Commander Shangguan looked up and said, careless: "Get up."

Chen Siniu scrambled up, and at once drew a silver-pouch from his breast. He bowed, and raised it in both hands over his head to Battalion Commander Shangguan.

The battalion commander didn't take the silver. He jerked his chin at a page in the hall.

The page went up, took the pouch, weighed it in his hand, and held up an open palm to the battalion commander.

The battalion commander saw it and smiled: "I say, Chen Siniu, Captain Chen, what's the point of this, time after time? How much have I taken off you these years? I'm near ashamed of it. What does a transport captain make in a year? I've seen a bit of the world, and never yet met a man who hands his officer silver like you and works for the court for free! You, you're this!!"

He parted his chopsticks and held up a thumb.

Chen Siniu pressed his lips, and at last said: "My mother's old, and I'm the only son left to hold up the house. Your servant dares not die!"

At that the battalion commander laughed: "No, no one's asking you to die! It's only the frontier. That talk rings hollow to me!"

But Chen Siniu said: "It's too far from my old mother. And my wife at home is a second wife. My nephews are all off in other commanderies. Your servant... dares not be too far from the old lady..."

The room went quiet. A long moment passed. Then Battalion Commander Shangguan spat a length of chicken bone out in front of Chen Siniu.