Help me?
Chen Shao was taken aback.
“In fact, if we’re being honest, it’s really you who’ve been helping me,” he said after a moment’s pause.
“No, my lord, you give me too much credit,” Cheng Jiao-niang shook her head. “I never intended to help anyone. I was merely doing what I had to do.”
So whoever profited from it had nothing to do with her.
If, without intending to help, she could aid others this much – what would happen if she did decide to?
Chen Shao looked at her, finding it almost unbelievable. The girl sitting before him was around the same age as his own daughter, yet after all that had happened, he could no longer view her as a mere junior.
“Then my thanks. Please – speak,” he said solemnly.
At this point, the matter had to be settled once and for all. It could not be like last time, when the Emperor toyed with balance and compromise, mixing up dissenting opinions just to muddy the waters. This time, there had to be a clear resolution in the civil and military affairs of the Northwest.
Otherwise, wouldn’t Zhou Fengxiang’s sacrifice for righteousness become nothing but a joke?
“My brothers’ military rewards should not be delayed any longer. Please see that they are granted immediately,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
Chen Shao froze. What?
Military rewards?
Had the topic changed?
“Are you referring to the commendations?” he asked.
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded.
“Yes. The commendations – the Emperor has already made his decision on this matter, hasn’t he? Then please don’t postpone it any further,” she said.
So in the end, she was helping herself first – before anything else…
Chen Shao exhaled and nodded in understanding. It was only right. She deserved it. Even though bringing it up now might complicate things, it was fine.
“Very well,” he said.
Chen Dan-niang was already growing impatient.
“Shi’ba-niang, I’m going to find Mother,” she said.
Chen Shi’ba-niang quickly grabbed her arm.
“Wait a little longer – she’s about to come out. That’s Lady Cheng!” she said.
Chen Dan-niang shook off her hand.
“I don’t even know her. If you want to see her, you wait by yourself! What are you so afraid of?” she said, turning to run off.
Chen Shi’ba-niang hurriedly reached out to stop her.
“What nonsense are you talking about – what would I be afraid of? Stand still! Back then, Lady Cheng treated you the best. She’s here now, and you won’t even go say hello…” she said.
The two sisters were still tugging at each other when the sound of footsteps came from nearby.
“Miss,” a maid called out.
Chen Shi’ba-niang and Chen Dan-niang stopped and turned around to see the maid leading a girl and her attendant standing just a few steps away.
She wore a plain-colored blouse and an overcoat of the same hue. Her hair was coiled high, held in place by a simple wooden hairpin, with a small silver comb tucked at the side. After two years apart, her face seemed almost unfamiliar for an instant – but the next moment, the features aligned perfectly with the image in memory.
“Lady Cheng,” Chen Shi’ba-niang said with a bright smile, stepping forward.
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled and nodded in return.
“Eighteenth Lady,” Ban Qin said with a gentle smile, bowing in greeting.
“You…” Chen Shi’ba-niang began with a smile, but then faltered, not knowing quite what to say. “Why don’t you… come sit at my place for a while?”
Before Cheng Jiao-niang could answer, Chen Dan-niang – who had been tilting her head and watching her all this time – stepped forward.
“You’re Lady Cheng?” she asked.
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at her and smiled slightly.
“And you’re Chen Dan-niang?” she asked.
“That’s right. You still remember me?” Chen Dan-niang asked, then shook her head. “But I don’t really remember you that well.”
Chen Shi’ba-niang hurriedly gave her a light smack on the arm.
“Dan-niang,” she scolded.
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled again.
“It’s all right – we can get to know each other again,” she said, dipping into a half-curtsy. “I am Cheng Jiao-niang.”
Chen Dan-niang laughed and stepped forward.
“I’m Chen Dan-niang,” she said, lifting her skirt slightly as she bent her knees in return.
Seeing the two of them like that, Chen Shi’ba-niang couldn’t help but chuckle, and the maids standing nearby also laughed.
“…As expected, this lady still gets along best with children,” one of them whispered.
With that bit of laughter, the earlier stiffness and awkwardness between them quickly melted away.
“Mm, now that I look more closely, I think I do remember you a little,” Chen Dan-niang said, tilting her head.
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled faintly.
“Lady Cheng, I’ve been waiting here especially for you. Let’s go to the courtyard and talk,” Chen Shi’ba-niang said.
“No, I still have some matters to attend to – let’s do it another day,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
Was that an excuse? Or avoidance? Or perhaps… something else?
A flurry of thoughts flashed through Chen Shi’ba-niang’s mind, but then she quickly came back to herself. Watching Cheng Jiao-niang speak to Dan-niang with quiet attention, she couldn’t help but give a self-mocking smile.
When this lady said she was busy, she truly was – there was nothing more to read into it.
Cheng Jiao-niang gave a polite bow and began to walk away.
“Lady Cheng,” Chen Shi’ba-niang hurried after her. “Let me see you off.”
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled and nodded.
Though they hadn’t seen each other in two years, nothing much had changed – Lady Cheng was still not one for talking. Fortunately, there was always someone who was.
“I don’t really know you, so I don’t know what to talk about,” Chen Dan-niang said.
“Neither do I,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied with a gentle smile and a nod.
At once, Chen Dan-niang’s eyes lit up.
The maids before and behind them all chuckled softly.
This lady certainly had a way with children.
“But I think we’ll find something to talk about,” Chen Dan-niang said happily as she followed beside her.
“That’s easy – just say whatever comes to mind,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied with another nod.
Watching the two of them chatting so cheerfully, Chen Shi’ba-niang fell a step behind.
“Who says they’re not familiar? Isn’t this just like old times?” she said, shaking her head with a smile.
The carriage was already waiting by the gate. Ban Qin helped Cheng Jiao-niang up into it.
Chen Shi’ba-niang, who had been silent all this time, stepped forward.
“Lady Cheng,” she said softly, “everything will be all right.”
“Yes,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied with a gentle smile and a nod. “It will be all right.”
As the carriage rolled away, Chen Shi’ba-niang still felt uneasy. After sending off the chattering Chen Dan-niang, she went to her grandfather’s quarters – only to find her father already there.
“Father, did Lady Cheng come to ask for your help?” she asked directly. Then, before Chen Shao could answer, she added pleadingly, “Father, please… help her.”
Chen Shao gave a small laugh – but it was a rather strange one.
“She came to help me,” he said.
Chen Shi’ba-niang was startled, thinking she must have misheard.
“Help you, Father? Help you with what?”
To see that the Maoyuan Mountain brothers receive their military rewards.
Chen Shao thought to himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell his daughter, but rather that no matter how he tried to explain it, it wouldn’t make sense.
Just who was helping whom, after all?
“It’s she who’s helping you,” Old Master Chen said after a moment’s thought, his gaze heavy as he looked at Chen Shao. “Sometimes, letting you help her is the greatest help she can give.”
Letting someone help you is the greatest help? What did that even mean?
Chen Shi’ba-niang turned to her father and saw his expression grow complicated as he slowly nodded.
If she wouldn’t even let him help her anymore – then that would mean they had truly become strangers.
…
“What is this?”
In the Hall of Diligent Governance, the Emperor looked down at the memorial Chen Shao had just presented.
“It concerns the commendations for the five men of Maoyuan Mountain,” Chen Shao replied.
At those words, both Duke Jin’an and the First Prince, who were kneeling to the side, turned to look at him – the First Prince even showing a hint of surprise.
At a time like this, he would bring that up?
As expected, the Emperor’s expression darkened. He placed the memorial heavily onto the desk before him.
“I am aware,” he said curtly.
But Chen Shao did not withdraw.
“Your Majesty, the Imperial Archives has already reviewed the matter. I humbly request that Your Majesty approve it,” he said.
“Are you truly that impatient?”
The Emperor’s voice rose sharply, ringing through the hall.
“So eager to repay a favor that you cannot wait even a single moment?”
The great hall fell silent. Seeing the Emperor’s anger, Duke Jin’an and the First Prince both rose from their kneeling positions and stood with their hands lowered respectfully.
“Your Majesty,” Chen Shao said evenly, his expression calm, showing neither guilt nor defiance. “After Lady Cheng treated my father’s illness, she accepted one of our family’s residences as payment.”
“So you believe that means you no longer owe her any debt of gratitude?” the Emperor sneered.
“I do not think so, but that is what the lady herself said,” Chen Shao replied. “She said: she was the doctor who saved a life, and I was the patient who paid the fee – it was freely given and willingly accepted, what one sought and the other granted. Therefore, she owes me nothing, and I owe her nothing in return.”
The Emperor let out a low laugh.
“So, because this little lady can speak in such terms, you find her… rather extraordinary, do you?” he asked with a hint of mockery.
Chen Shao smiled faintly and nodded.
“Indeed extraordinary – but also rather pitiable,” he said.
“Pitiable?” The Emperor gave a cold laugh but said nothing more.
“If she hadn’t been driven to utter despair, why would she reject both faith and human ties?” Chen Shao said.
Most people see through the world yet cannot let go of it – but to truly let go, one must see through it so completely that there is no path left to retreat.
Duke Jin’an lowered his gaze.
“Your Majesty must already know of this Lady Cheng’s background,” Chen Shao continued. “Born dull-witted, nearly drowned as a child, her mother dead, her father abandoning her – shunned by all, she has a family name but no kin to claim her.”
“There are countless pitiable souls in this world,” the Emperor replied. “But pity is not an excuse… for action. You may harbor compassion, but you cannot disregard the laws of the realm.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Chen Shao answered.
“That is precisely why I do not believe my debt of gratitude to her is erased. I have long wished to repay her – but I did not expect that even repaying a kindness could prove so difficult.” He gave a small, self-deprecating smile.
The Emperor’s expression remained impassive – almost disdainful – but he did not stop him from continuing.
“Two years ago, when the matter of the deserters arose, she was the first to come to me for help,” Chen Shao continued. He sighed, giving a wry smile. “But, Your Majesty, I could not help her.”
The Emperor had nearly forgotten that incident from two years past, but this reminder brought it back to mind. He nodded slightly – indeed, at that time, Chen Shao had not intervened.
“On the contrary, I even advised her that the laws of the state and the regulations of the army could not be defied. Though Your Majesty made the final decision, even now, I still believe that deserters deserve execution,” Chen Shao said, lifting his head, his expression solemn.
His words were not false. The Emperor remained silent.
“When I rejected that lady’s plea back then, I felt no regret – but I did feel a lingering sense of guilt. Later, when she left the capital to return home, I had no chance to make amends.”
“I did not expect that two years later she would return to the capital – and the moment she did, she came to me again.”
“This time as well, I could not take her side…”
“When I learned what she was petitioning for, I was greatly astonished. It was a grave matter, one that required caution. So I did nothing at first – merely asked a subordinate a brief question about the situation in the Northwest, intending to investigate it slowly. But then Lu Zheng, acting on his own initiative, went to inquire ahead of me – and what followed afterward, Your Majesty already knows.”
“Your Majesty, not only did I fail to grant that lady’s request this time, but I even cut off her last avenue of appeal. You reproach her for not striking the Drum of Remonstrance to bring her grievance before the court – but in truth, it was I who drove her to desperation, leaving her no choice but to act so boldly. If we are to speak of fault, all of this began because of me.”
As he spoke, Chen Shao produced another memorial, holding it up respectfully with both hands.
“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing low, “I request to resign from my post.”
Resign?
Both Duke Jin’an and the First Prince turned to look at him – this time, even the Duke Jin’an could not hide his surprise.
It was hardly unusual for court officials to submit letters of resignation. Some did it out of pique when their petitions were rejected by the Emperor; some out of spite after being impeached by the censors; others as a formality before promotion, or to express remorse. There were countless reasons – and most of them were merely for show.
But Chen Shao had never done such a thing before. Not once since entering court service had he ever sought to resign – not even when he was impeached by the censors did he follow protocol and step aside from his post.
“To receive the Emperor’s grace is to devote oneself wholly to the affairs of the realm, without ever shirking one’s duty.”
Those had been Chen Shao’s very words to the Emperor back when he was personally chosen at the palace examination – a conversation that had left a strong impression on them both. And through all the years that followed, he had indeed lived by those words: upright, unyielding, never compromising on matters of state.
The Emperor’s expression softened. He let out a quiet sigh as he looked at the minister bowing before him – without realizing it, the once spirited young scholar, the flower-adorned court graduate full of pride, now had silver at his temples.
“Only, before resigning, I must still ask Your Majesty to approve the military rewards,” Chen Shao said, bowing once more. “Regardless of the other matters in the Northwest, at least this one is clear – there are witnesses and material proof, and the verdict is certain. Your Majesty has already given your word. In submitting this petition, I act in full accordance with your decree – there is no violation of law. It is merely that, at last, I can do a small part for that lady, while failing neither the law of the realm nor Your Majesty’s will.”
The Emperor looked at him for a long moment, then reached out and took up the memorial lying to the side, unfolding it.
Not long after, word of Chen Shao’s resignation petition spread throughout the court.
“Truly desperate – cornered enough to resort to these pathetic theatrics!” Attendant Scholar Gao sneered. “He knows a great campaign is about to begin, and that changing commanders now would shake the army’s morale – yet he still dares to threaten the Emperor, caring nothing for the interests of the state. A spent trick from a desperate man.”
“My lord, it seems what he’s asking for isn’t about the Northwest,” a subordinate said cautiously. “It’s about the commendations for the Maoyuan Mountain men.”
Attendant Scholar Gao froze for a moment.
“That’s it?” he asked, then gave a derisive snort. “Impossible. Who would have the time to bother with such a thing right now?”
“It really is that,” the subordinate said. “And His Majesty has already approved it.”
What on earth was Chen Shao playing at?
Attendant Scholar Gao frowned. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he felt that Chen Shao had been acting more and more strangely of late. The higher his rank climbed, the more people he interacted with – yet somehow, he seemed more distant, less familiar than before. Almost as if the more one knew him, the less one understood him.
“Perhaps he thinks this matter is bound to fail,” one of the aides said. “Rather than let the Emperor grow suspicious of his and Lady Cheng’s secret dealings, he chose to admit their connection outright – maybe even hoping to appeal to the old bond between sovereign and minister, so the Emperor might let go of his doubts.”
Just that?
Attendant Scholar Gao stroked his beard in silence.
A faint unease stirred in his chest – Chen Shao had already caught him off guard once. Fortunately, Heaven still seemed to be on his side…
“My lord, this war is beyond anyone’s control – do you think it can simply vanish because someone wills it so? No matter what happens, His Majesty won’t risk unsettling the army’s morale at a time like this. Whether it’s Zhou Fengxiang or Chen Shao, neither of them can turn the tide now,” the aide said.
That was true enough.
Attendant Scholar Gao nodded.
“Keep an eye on him,” he said, then hesitated before adding, “and on that fool from Jiang-zhou as well.”
For a mere “fool from Jiang–zhou” to linger in Master Gao’s thoughts – mentioned in the same breath as Minister Chen – well, that was a blessing earned from burning a great deal of incense on his ancestors’ graves.
The aide thought this to himself and replied respectfully, “Yes, my lord.”
“…The hundred men of Linguan Fort were besieged by bandits, yet they held their walls firm without retreat, fought with all their strength, and defended their post to the death. Their loyalty and righteousness did not waver – let their families be doubly compensated…”
In the courtyard by the Yudai Bridge, the imperial official was reading the decree aloud in a resonant, measured voice.
“…Fan Shitou, Xu Maoxiu, Xu Layue, Fan Sanchou, and Xu Bangchui are posthumously recognized and restored to rank as Zhengming military officers. Fan Jianglin is granted the title of Palace Attendant, and Xu Bangchui’s son is appointed as a third-class auxiliary officer…”
The townsfolk gathered outside the gates began murmuring among themselves as they listened, their eyes falling on the small child cradled in a woman’s arms.
Such a little one – already made a military officer. Though it was the lowest rank, compared with the title his father had earned with his life, it almost seemed too easily granted.
The Emperor, they all thought, was being truly generous and magnanimous this time.
“It shows that His Majesty is merciful – he rewards true merit and redresses all injustices. He has merely been misled for a time.”
Hearing the murmurs of the crowd, the imperial envoy reading the decree allowed himself a faint sigh of relief, though he felt little real satisfaction.
Right now, there was no time to dwell on such things. The Emperor was already at his wits’ end over the crisis in the Northwest. If his judgment in that matter went awry, it would no longer be a question of being mocked by the world for yielding to a so-called “sorceress’s coercion” – it could very well spark chaos among the ministers, perhaps even drive him to weep and confess before the ancestral shrines.
The official handed the decree to Fan Jianglin, who was kneeling to offer his thanks, and after uttering a few perfunctory words of formality, he departed with his attendants.
As soon as the officials left, the onlookers crowded forward, offering their congratulations.
Nearby, a maid had already prepared two baskets of coins and called for the young servants to bring them over.
“Many thanks to all our neighbors,” she said, motioning for the boys to set the money down.
At once, the area by the Yudai Bridge erupted into cheerful commotion.
Meanwhile, at Tai Ping Residence, Immortal’s Abode, and Yichun Hall, money was being handed out at the doors, setting off another wave of noise and excitement in the streets.
Outside, the city bustled with celebration, but inside, Fan Jianglin and his family paid no heed to it. Sitting in the main hall, he stared at the official patent of appointment and the imperial edict laid out before him, reading them over and over again through reddened eyes, while his wife beside him could not stop wiping away her tears.
“Sister,” Fan Jianglin said, holding up the document, “I’ll go to their graves and let them share in this joy.”
Cheng Jiao-niang, seated nearby, shook her head.
“Not yet,” she said. “It’s not enough.”
Not enough?
Fan Jianglin froze, looking puzzled.
“Have you ever thought about what you want to do next?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked.
Fan Jianglin’s expression dimmed.
Ever since his injury, though he could still move about normally, he could no longer draw a three-stone bow as before, nor fire ten arrows in succession, nor cleave through an enemy’s armor with a single swing of his blade. At best, he could hold a crossbow and shoot at close range – yet on the battlefield, how often was there a chance for that?
All this time, his only thought had been to clear his brothers’ names; he had never considered what would come after. Now that his wish had been fulfilled, Cheng Jiao-niang’s question left him deflated.
He was a cripple now – what could he still do?
Beside him, Lady Huang was startled. She mustered her courage to glance at Cheng Jiao-niang – surely this was not the right time to be asking such a thing.
“I… I’ll just stay in the capital and look after the shop,” Fan Jianglin said with a deliberately carefree smile.
“You don’t wish to fight the enemy anymore?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked.
How could he not wish to…?
But how could he fight?
Fan Jianglin looked at Cheng Jiao-niang. This younger sister of his had never made decisions for others – she only acted in accordance with their own hearts.
Before her, there was no need to conceal one’s feelings or to second-guess hers. Whatever she asked meant exactly what she asked; all one had to do was speak one’s true thoughts aloud.
“I do,” he said at last, taking a deep breath and nodding heavily.
“Then I will help you become a man who stands against ten thousand,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, rising to her feet.
A general?
Fan Jianglin stared at her in shock. He knew what that term meant.
Xu Maoxiu had once told them: skill in archery and horsemanship makes one a warrior who can stand against one man; no matter how great your martial prowess, the enemies you slay and the merit you earn are still limited. But those who command others in battle – those generals who lead men to victory – they are the ones who stand against ten thousand.
A commanding general? How could he ever become that? He couldn’t even recognize a single written character!
“There are ways to be a man who stands against ten thousand beyond being a general,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “Brother, come with me.”
