At the mouth of South Cheng alley, someone was sneaking peeks around when a child suddenly jumped out and gave him a fright.
“What are you doing!” the child shouted.
The servant glared and waved his hand.
“Get lost!” he barked, trying to sound fierce.
But instead of cowering as usual, the child actually picked up a stone from the ground and hurled it at him. The servant could only curse and turn tail, running away.
“Funeral arrangements?” First Master Cheng asked in surprise.
“Yes, quite a lavish one,” the steward replied. “They’ve even covered the peachwood charms on their doors, and the servants have all tied mourning sashes at their waists.”
First Madam Cheng slammed her teacup down in anger.
“Who are they cursing!” she shouted. “Isn’t it bad enough that they’ve already made a mess of the family? Now they’re cursing us to die as well?”
First Master Cheng shot her a glare.
“Stop shouting,” he said irritably. “We don’t even know the full story yet, and you’re already making a scene. Haven’t we suffered enough already?”
“So you mean all our losses are my fault?” First Madam Cheng immediately retorted.
Women’s thinking really was quick…
First Master Cheng pressed his hand to his forehead.
“Tell Si-lang to go find out,” he said, ignoring her protest.
The steward quickly obeyed and retreated, but as he reached the gate, he could still hear the quarrel inside:
“…Explain yourself, how is this my fault? Clearly it’s yours – and Er-lang’s household’s fault as well…”
“…No one said it was your fault. Why so defensive…”
“…That’s the same as saying it’s my fault! I can’t live in this house anymore, I’m leaving…”
“…Leaving? And where would you go? To your brother and sister-in-law? You think they’d take you back?”
Crying broke out at once.
The steward fled as if for his life.
Cheng Si-lang nearly ran the whole way to Cheng Jiao-niang’s house. Sure enough, the bright festive decorations in the courtyard had all been taken down, and under the veranda Ban Qin was sitting there in tears, tearing strips of white mourning cloth to tie onto her own head.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
“The sworn brothers of my lady…” Ban Qin sobbed.
“The gentlemen Ban Qin once told me about?” Cheng Si-lang asked.
Last New Year’s, the new clothes he had worn were still the unused ones originally made for those men. He also knew a little about them from Ban Qin in the capital.
“They were the ones my lady relied on most,” Ban Qin cried, “closer than her own kin. They fought wolves together…”
And killed men together too…
At that, Ban Qin once more lifted her hand to wipe away tears.
Gone. Truly gone…
How could they be gone just like that? Even now it still felt like a dream to her, and any moment she expected to wake up.
“They died in service to the crown…” Cheng Si-lang sighed after hearing the news.
Injuries and deaths in military affairs – such things were inevitable, beyond anyone’s control.
“Back then, everything was fine. Why did they have to leave? Wouldn’t it have been better to stay in the capital?” Cheng Si-lang asked.
Ban Qin’s heart clenched at once.
“Fourth Young Master, it wasn’t my lady who forced them to leave – my lady never-” she blurted.
But before she could finish, she froze. Cheng Si-lang, too, was taken aback.
So… would she blame herself even more? Would she be even more heartbroken? If only they had stayed in the capital…
Ban Qin’s tears suddenly poured down like rain.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” she said, bowing her head and covering her face, sobbing bitterly.
Cheng Si-lang could only try to comfort her.
“No, truly not. Is she that kind of person? Of course not. She only ever acts when others earnestly ask it of her. It was those men… they chose to leave, that’s why they left. Besides, in this world, you can’t speak in ‘what ifs.’”
Ban Qin choked back her sobs and whispered her thanks.
“My cousin…?” Cheng Si-lang asked again, his worry deepening.
For a moment, there was no response.
“Miss – she’s gone to see Cheng Ping,” Ban Qin said, wiping her tears. “I stayed home to prepare the funeral offerings to be sent to the northwest. Steward Cao went with her.”
Cheng Ping? What sort of man was he?
In Cheng Si-lang’s mind, it felt as though his cousin and them belonged to entirely different worlds…
Outside the door, Steward Cao stood and cast a glance inside. Under the veranda,
Cheng Ping and Cheng Jiao-niang were sitting face to face.
“Whenever Miss sees this man, she always loses her composure… At a time like this, isn’t it even worse for her to see him?” one attendant whispered.
“Perhaps fighting poison with poison is the best cure,” Steward Cao murmured, his eyes turning once more toward the scene inside.
“There’s nothing to be sad about if it wasn’t for the Emperor’s cause,” Cheng Ping said with a yawn.
This girl was truly baffling – capable enough to toss the entire Cheng family into disarray on her own, yet at times she seemed like a clueless child, running over to ask laughable questions.
“I’m not sad,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, shaking her head. She lifted a hand and brushed her fingers lightly across her eyes.
Even now, not a single tear had fallen. On the battlefield, life and death had never been certain. Besides, to her, the people here – everyone here – were already… dead.
What she felt was only a dull, stifling weight in her chest, a strange heaviness she couldn’t put into words. That was why she simply wanted to find someone to talk to.
“That’s more like it. Since they were loyal to the Emperor’s cause and fulfilling their duty, what’s there to be sad about?” Cheng Ping said. “The moment they chose to become soldiers, they knew this could be the outcome.”
“But no one becomes a soldier for the sake of dying,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
Just as the Cheng clan hadn’t supported the new emperor for the sake of being exterminated! No one’s death was ever something that should happen, something natural or deserved, something that could be dismissed with a light ‘it was fate.’
“Then you’re wrong again,” Cheng Ping said. “We should concern ourselves with why we began, not why we ended.”
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at him.
She had once been the brightest in her family, with a flawless memory and quick comprehension – what took others a year to learn, she mastered in a month. Yet in front of this ancestor, she always felt like a fool.
Her nose stung with bitterness. Was it because she was facing kin? Even kin separated by three hundred years.
“They knew why they became soldiers, and for that cause they were willing to strive and fight – that alone is enough,” Cheng Ping continued. “In other words, to die for the right cause is to have lived with purpose.”
To die for the right cause… Yes, she understood that. To die for the right cause could indeed be called meaningful. Her brothers had fallen, but they had fought bravely. Though not for the royal cause, their names would be remembered, their merits recorded, and they would be honored and rewarded. That, too, meant their lives had not been wasted.
But what about her father? What about their kin and friends, the whole clan? They too had struggled and given their all, yet in the end, they died at the hands of such men. Everything they had fought for came to nothing. Their deaths were not for the right cause. Their lives had been wasted – lived in vain.
“What did you say?” Cheng Ping tilted his head, catching her muttering under her breath. He vaguely made out a few words. “You said… if one struggles but gains nothing, then it isn’t a worthy death? That their lives were wasted?”
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at him.
“Isn’t that so?” she asked.
“Of course not,” Cheng Ping replied with a frown. “Little lady, what does ‘worthy’ mean?”
“What one wills, what one strives for,” Cheng Jiao-niang answered.
“Exactly. That’s what I just said – you must remember why you began,” Cheng Ping said. “Those people you spoke of… did they not know what they were fighting for?”
“Of course we knew,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
We fought to support the new emperor, to win honor and build a legacy.
We? Cheng Ping arched a brow, but thought little of it and let her speak.
“And for that, you struggled and fought without regret?” he asked.
“Without regret,” Cheng Jiao-niang said firmly.
They had charted the heavens and measured the land, they had led troops into battle, fighting through blood and fire – none of them had ever faltered.
“Then that settles it,” Cheng Ping said, spreading his hands. “How is that not a worthy death? How is that not enough?”
“How can it be enough?” Cheng Jiao-niang’s voice rose sharply.
From outside the door, Steward Cao hurriedly peeked in and shot Cheng Ping a warning gesture.
Cheng Ping only curled his lips.
“So it’s just because you didn’t get what you wanted?” he said. “Who ever said that whatever you desire, you’re bound to receive? Who ever said that if you strive and struggle, you’re guaranteed success, fame, and glory? Who said things will turn out exactly as you wish? Anyone can talk like that – if words alone could make it so, wouldn’t the world be nothing but chaos?”
But…
“You strove, you struggled, didn’t you? And what about others? What about those on the other side? Did they not strive and struggle too? Why should you be the one to succeed, and they the ones to fail? You are you, and they are they – where is this supposed ‘ought to be’?” Cheng Ping said.
What?
Cheng Jiao-niang stared at him, momentarily stunned.
“…As long as one knows why they began, and strives and struggles for it, that is purpose – that is a worthy end. Lord Pei rising to become emperor was a worthy end; the Hegemon-King of Western Chu meeting his fate at the Wu River was also a worthy end. A beggar receiving a single meal has found his end; an ant crawling ashore and not drowning has found its end. Heaven and earth are without benevolence, treating all things as straw dogs. What gives you the right to judge worthiness by success or failure? What authority do you have to set the order of heaven and earth, to decide what end is worthy? That is only your definition of worthiness, not the decree of the Dao of Heaven.”
Cheng Ping continued, his voice ringing, his expression alight, his spirit blazing.
Even Steward Cao outside the door was struck dumb, staring blankly at the ragged boy.
When he saw Cheng Jiao-niang stride away, Steward Cao turned back, seized Cheng Ping in a rough grip.
“Ow, ow, ow…” Cheng Ping cried out.
“My lady is already in a foul mood – what nonsense are you spouting at her?” Steward Cao hissed, gripping him tightly and refusing to let go.
“I was just trying to console her!” Cheng Ping shouted, looking utterly wronged. “To help her open her heart – remind her to remember why she began, not fixate on how it ends. Only by holding fast to her true self can she find joy.”
Steward Cao gave him a violent shake.
“Speak human words!” he barked.
“Do your utmost, leave the rest to Heaven, and keep a calm heart.”
“You brat! Dressing up characters into a mountain of words – if that’s not swindling, then what is?”
As night fell, Steward Cao walked uneasily into the inner courtyard. Ban Qin waved him off.
“It’s fine – she’s washed up and is going to sleep,” she whispered.
“Truly all right?” Steward Cao asked in a low voice.
Ban Qin shook her head.
This lady was impossible to fathom – or perhaps she was simply never close to anyone. How could there be so much grief? Steward Cao shook his own head.
“If anything comes up, call me. I’m on night duty today,” he said.
Ban Qin nodded and watched him leave. Then she stepped under the veranda, looking toward Cheng Jiao-niang’s room. A single lamp was still lit, casting a dim shadow of a lone, upright figure on the window paper.
Ever since washing up, she had been sitting there for a long time. Cheng Ping had said so much earlier that her mind now felt dazed, hollow.
No more thinking. No more.
She shook her head, and the hair she had loosely pinned slipped down, just as something fell to the floor with a faint thud.
Cheng Jiao-niang turned her head. At the hem of her skirt lay a small silver comb, glinting dully under the lamplight.
“My lady, the seven of us are all brothers from the same hometown, from Maoyuan Mountain. Our lowly names are not worth remembering – only that we ask our benefactress her name, so that we may never forget this kindness.”
“Yes, yes, you saved my brothers and even gave us silver.”
“Truly like reborn parents to us…”
“We must set up a longevity tablet for you…”
The clamor of voices filled the empty room.
The corners of Cheng Jiao-niang’s lips curved faintly. In truth, what kindness was there? It had only been a small effort on her part.
And yet, she hadn’t expected to see familiar faces die again so soon. The feeling was a strange one, a grief that tangled together with the sorrow of losing kin – sometimes near, sometimes distant, half real, half illusory.
She reached out and picked up the silver comb.
So then, in this world, these people – this person – would never exist again.
“Quiet, quiet, my third brother is about to sing!”
“Brotherhood, blades to the ribs, through life and death, ah – loyalty higher than the sky. Young lady, give me a smile…”
“…For all ages I bear the weight of honor on my shoulders, for a confidant I would cast aside all things, defying heaven’s law in a crown-shattering rage.”
“Beauty… grows white-haired… yet a devoted heart never ages…”
In the side room, Ban Qin – lying sleepless in her clothes – suddenly sat up and tilted her head to listen.
It wasn’t an illusion. On the night wind came the beat of a drum-pot and the low strains of song.
She rose and slid the door open, and the sound rushed in with the night breeze.
“Ask the hero… what sorrow… cannot be eased…”
Is Miss singing?
Such a sorrowful song. Ban Qin couldn’t stop the tears streaming down her cheeks.
Of course – how could she not be grieving, not be heartsick? It was only that her lady didn’t know how to say it.
But… what song was this?
Ban Qin did not know, but Steward Cao stood listening in a daze.
“Do you still remember?” he murmured blankly.
The two attendants beside him exchanged glances and shook their heads.
“Oh, of course you don’t remember. You weren’t there at the time.” Steward Cao gave a small laugh at his own words. Though he laughed, his eyes remained vacant, unfocused.
He reached out and slid the door open, letting the singing and the beat of the drum-pot drift in more clearly. Before his eyes, the firelight flickered, and suddenly it was as if he had returned to that valley on that day.
“Laugh at life, a fleeting wisp of smoke – empty, all is empty!”
A man’s rough voice rang in his ears. That unshaven, bedraggled-looking man was grinning broadly in the firelight.
“The vast sea changes in an instant, so I urge you, friend, don’t grieve… Though a thousand pieces of gold be scattered, dreams go on without end…”
A lady sat on the ground, cloaked in a cape, her head bowed as she beat time on a wine jar in accompaniment.
Around them, the laughter and swaying shadows of several men filled the night.
Gone. Gone forever.
Steward Cao couldn’t help but tilt his head back.
“Steward Cao, are you… crying?” one of the attendants asked in surprise, blinking at him.
“Crying? Of course I’m crying,” Steward Cao muttered, sniffing as he kept his head raised. “Didn’t I say it? That boy Cheng Ping – using poison to fight poison – he was bound to talk her around. Look, isn’t she crying now? Crying is good. Crying means she’s normal again.”
How could one not cry? How could one not grieve? No matter how clear-headed, rational, or composed – one still had feelings. And that’s what makes one human.
The attendants exchanged glances. So who exactly was struck by the poison? The lady isn’t crying – why are you the one in tears?
The singing and the steady beat on the wine jar echoed again and again above the compound, circling with the night wind, scattering in all directions, weeping and wailing into the darkness.
Oh my…this…i cant…😭