The little maid outside curiously craned her neck toward the doorway, but when she saw Ban Qin walking past the corridor, she quickly drew back.
“Lady Chen, please have some tea,” Ban Qin said softly, pushing a bowl of steaming tea toward her.
Chen Shi’ba-niang turned slightly, lifted it, and took a sip.
“I have been discourteous,” she said in a low voice.
Cheng Jiao-niang gave a small nod in acknowledgment.
The room fell silent for a moment.
“I was the one at fault – impatient, narrow-minded, and rude,” Chen Shi’ba-niang continued.
Perhaps because she had at last spoken out the frustration long pent up in her heart, or perhaps because she had already cried her fill, she grew calm again.
“I came today to thank you…”
At this, she looked toward Cheng Jiao-niang. As expected, that lady was watching her with composed eyes, and Chen Shi’ba-niang gave a self-mocking smile.
Thank you…? Who was she trying to fool?
“Half of the reason I came today was to thank you, and the other half was to earn your approval. But in the end…”
In the end, she gained no approval, and even her gratitude turned into envy – Who was she trying to deceive?
“I came today because I wanted you to see whether my efforts were all in vain, to see whether I had made any progress,” she said, taking a deep breath.
Cheng Jiaoniang let out a quiet “oh,” then picked up the sheet of writing once more and glanced over it.
“You’ve improved,” she said with a small nod and a faint smile.
Chen Shi’ba-niang’s face lit up with a smile.
“Really?” she asked again, sitting up straight on her knees.
“I don’t speak falsely,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied, nodding as she looked down at the writing in her hand. “You’ve improved.”
Overwhelmed with joy, Chen Shi’ba-niang burst into tears, lifting her sleeve to cover her mouth before bowing once more.
“Thank you, thank you,” she said.
So that was all she wanted – why not just say it straight away when she first came in? Ban Qin shook her head.
“I’ve disturbed you long enough. It’s getting late, I’ll take my leave,” said Chen Shi’ba-niang. “Will you be staying in the capital for now?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied. “For the time being, I won’t be leaving.”
“Then… may I come again to seek your guidance in the future?” Chen Shi’ba-niang asked.
“Of course – so long as you wish to,” said Cheng Jiao-niang.
Chen Shi’ba-niang smiled and bowed once more.
Cheng Jiao-niang returned the gesture and rose to see her off.
Lanterns hung bright along the corridor, swaying gently in the night breeze. The wind chimes tinkled softly, and the bamboo pipe dripped in a steady rhythm against the stone basin – everything was just as it had been two years ago.
Chen Shi’ba-niang turned back to look at Cheng Jiao-niang standing under the corridor. The lamplight outlined her figure but left her features indistinct.
Yes – just as always.
Chen Shi’ba-niang bent her knees in a final bow, turned to go, took a few steps, then paused as if she wished to turn back.
But after a moment’s hesitation, she quickened her pace and left.
The carriage rolled into the Chen residence, where everyone inside was in a flurry of anxious commotion.
“Shi’ba-niang, where on earth have you been?” her sisters cried in chorus.
“I went to thank Lady Cheng,” Chen Shi’ba-niang replied with a gentle smile.
Thank her?
Madam Chen was momentarily taken aback and was just about to ask further when relatives and visiting ladies came bustling out from inside.
“Come, come, the honored lady of our household has returned!”
“Never mind anything else – Shi’ba-niang, tonight you must write a piece of calligraphy for me!”
Everyone spoke and laughed at once, and Chen Shi’ba-niang smiled as she thanked them one by one, letting herself be swept along into the hall.
Inside, the lamps shone bright, laughter filled the air.
Madam Chen smiled as well – seeing her daughter’s face alight with energy and radiance, she lifted her skirts and stepped in after her.
In Yudai Bridge, Ban Qin went around extinguishing the lamps one by one until the room grew dim.
By the bedside, Cheng Jiao-niang was loosening her hair.
“Miss,” Ban Qin said after a moment’s hesitation, walking over, “just now – you only answered one of Lady Chen’s questions, didn’t you? Which one was it?”
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at her and smiled.
“You have improved as well,” she said. “You even thought of more than one question.”
Ban Qin couldn’t help but laugh.
“Miss, I may be slow, but I’m not stupid,” she said half in jest, sitting down beside her. “Miss, you’re not angry, are you?”
Cheng Jiao-niang shook her head.
“I never get angry,” she said with a gentle smile.
Only then did Ban Qin breathe out in relief and nod. She rose to her feet.
“Miss, you should rest now,” she said. “Tomorrow you still have the tombstones to carve.”
The door closed softly. The lamplight dimmed.
Behind the bed curtain, the girl lay on her side.
Because you’re too good – too good – so you deserve to die.
I’m not angry, only sometimes… a little sad.
By mid-September – ten days after the divine crossbows were first presented on the Emperor’s birthday – a convoy guarded by the Imperial Army sped westward, carrying three hundred of the newly forged Divine Arm Bows.
The Imperial Armory, already a place of strict military defense, was now sealed tighter than ever; not even a fly could slip through. From afar, one could only hear the constant clanging of hammers ringing day and night within.
“We’ll soon see their power proven on the battlefield,” said the Emperor from his dragon throne, his spirits high and unable to hide his smile. “Let’s see which western bandit will have the honor of serving as the offering for My crossbows.”
Outside the capital, a troop of sturdy, well-trained soldiers galloped in and came to a halt before the Imperial Guards.
“Zhong Chengbu, Chief Commander of the Xi-zhou Garrison Office, reporting by imperial order – transferred to the Northwestern Command!”
At the escort’s loud announcement, a tall young officer of about twenty-seven or twenty-eight urged his horse forward.
Though more than two years late, Zhong Chengbu – once personally recommended by Chen Shao – had at last obtained the post he had long desired. Yet, owing to his youth, he had not been immediately confirmed as Commissioner himself.
Still, there was not the slightest trace of frustration on Zhong Chengbu’s face; instead, there was a hint of pride.
So what if he was young? All he needed were a few victories to his name.
His gaze fell on the wagon. Reaching out himself, he lifted the oilcloth covering, revealing the neatly arranged crossbows beneath.
“These are the so-called divine weapons,” he said, his tone edged with doubt, “said to pierce elmwood at over three hundred and forty paces, and punch through iron armor at seventy?”
He picked up one of the crossbows. The rough burrs along the wood scraped painfully against his palm.
Such crude workmanship…
“It’s not said to be,” a somewhat youthful voice spoke up beside him. “It is.”
Zhong Chengbu turned his head to see a young officer standing nearby.
“You must be Zhou Fu, the Imperial Guard who earned his post for demonstrating the Divine Arm Bow before His Majesty?” Zhong Chengbu said with a faint smile.
Zhou Liu-lang bowed.
“General,” he said respectfully.
Zhong Chengbu laughed heartily and set the Divine Arm Bow back onto the wagon.
“Then let me see for myself whether its reputation is deserved,” he said.
Whether he was referring to the Divine Arm Bow – or to Zhou Liu-lang – no one could tell.
Expression calm and unreadable, Zhou Liu-lang straightened and mounted.
“Move out.”
At the signal of the herald’s call, the great army thundered westward.
The travelers on the main road had long since stepped aside, only returning once the great army had thundered off into the distance.
“Did you see that? The wagons were carrying the Divine Arm Bows,” someone pointed out.
The passersby all turned to look. Among them were several young men dressed as scholars – dust-covered from travel, clearly having come to the capital early to prepare for next year’s civil examinations.
News of the Divine Arm Bows, presented during the emperor’s birthday celebrations, had already spread far and wide. A few poems about the event were circulating as well – most of them empty praises piling flattery upon the Emperor – but that didn’t stop the weapon’s fame from growing.
The scholars traveling to the capital had all heard the stories along the way, though they still harbored some doubts about how true they were.
“Every year there’s some new ‘auspicious omen’ being presented – so what comes of it?” someone said, shaking his head.
“Whether it’s truly a divine weapon or not, we’ll see once it proves itself in battle,” another replied.
“Let’s not bother with all that empty talk about auspicious signs,” a third person interjected, changing the subject. “If we’re talking about something genuinely remarkable in the capital, it would be the five-character inscription by the anonymous hand at Qieting Temple.”
As always, scholars’ favorite pastime was discussing poetry and calligraphy – and when such topics came up, their interest flared, tinged with a faint competitiveness.
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard people mention it often.”
“I’ve been waiting to see for myself what’s so extraordinary about it.”
“The rubbings I’ve seen never quite capture the essence – finally, I’ll get to see it with my own eyes.”
The scholar who had first spoken found himself overshadowed by the others and followed along sullenly. By now, the city gates were visible in the distance – and suddenly, something off to the side caught his eye.
“Ah! Over there – that’s the Maoyuan Mountain tomb!” he called out loudly.
The scholars who had been discussing calligraphy turned at his shout, looking puzzled.
“Whose tomb is that?” they asked.
Why had none of them heard of it before?
“The Maoyuan Mountain brothers,” the scholar said proudly. “Ah, that’s quite a long story – and as it happens, even these Divine Arm Bows have something to do with them.”
“The five characters at Qieting Temple – that was three years ago, nothing new. But this Maoyuan Mountain affair – now that’s the real sensation of late. At the time, the whole city was abuzz, everyone talking about it…”
As the scholar spoke, the others gathered around him. And as the tale unfolded, they listened – by turns astonished, indignant, and moved to sighs of sorrow.
“…And now that Lu Zheng has been released, he’s even been promoted…”
“Well, that’s as it should be – he was, after all, a censor who stood up for what was right.”
“Since we’re here, why don’t we go pay our respects at the heroes’ tomb?”
“Yes, yes – only a pity we didn’t bring any wine, or we could have offered a bowl.”
Laughing and chatting, they dismounted and began walking over. At the mention of wine, the scholar who had first spoken chuckled again.
“That Lady Cheng smashed more than twenty jars of strong liquor before their graves,” he said with a grin. “It’s said the very earth here still smells of wine – and plenty of people come just to catch the scent and whet their appetites.”
At that moment, the group stopped before the tomb. Hearing the remark, they all laughed – and one of them actually bent down before the grave.
“Let me see if I can catch the scent,” he said.
“They say it was the strongest liquor in the world – so potent that day it felled countless men…” the scholar was saying when – thud! – a sudden sound made everyone jump. They turned quickly and saw that the man who had bent down before the tomb was now kneeling.
Kneeling?
“Tiansi, have you really gotten drunk just from the smell?” someone called out with a laugh.
But the kneeling scholar stared blankly at the tombstone.
“Drunk…” he murmured, trembling as he reached out to touch the carved stone. “Xu Maoxiu…”
The way he looked – it wasn’t drunkenness at all, more like he’d fallen under a spell. Everyone hurried closer to ask what was wrong, but he didn’t reply; he only kept tracing the tombstone with his fingers, whispering again and again:
“Xu Maoxiu…”
Who was Xu Maoxiu?
Everyone turned to look at the tombstone – and froze.
“Th-this… wasn’t this an unmarked grave? When did an inscription appear?” the scholar who had spoken earlier muttered. But his words trailed off, and soon his expression grew as vacant as that of the man kneeling before the tomb.
“Xu Maoxiu…” he murmured.
At the same time, more voices began to echo around them –
“Fan Shitou!”
“Layue!”
“Xu Bangchui!”
“Fan Sanchou!”
Name after name rang out before the grave. The gathered scholars surged forward in confusion – some half sitting, half standing, unable to steady themselves. Their strange, disordered gestures drew the attention of passersby on the road.
“What on earth is happening?”
People stared in shock. They recognized the place – it had once been lively for a time, when drunkards came here to chase the lingering scent of wine. But that had long faded, and since it was a burial site, no one had come for ages.
Why were there suddenly people here again – and scholars at that, not drunkards –acting as if possessed, raving like men in a stupor?
“Could it be… haunted?” someone whispered.
