1919, New Year’s Eve.
The Chai Residence, Beijing.
"Mother—"
Chai Rendong burst into the kitchen clutching a silk-wrapped bundle. She had grown quite a bit recently, her height now reaching the branches of the plum tree in the courtyard. With shoes on, she stood nearly a head taller than boys her own age. "Mother, Mother, Mother, Mother!" she chirped like a sparrow as she crashed through the door. "Mother! You have to save me!"
"What era do you think this is, still calling me 'Your Ladyship'?" A woman wrapped in a black fox-fur stole sat on an Eight Immortals chair, speaking with unhurried grace. "Our house doesn't harbor an Emperor."
Chai Rendong’s face was clouded by the soot and steam of the stove, but she didn't bother to wipe it. "How could I let you be anything less than a Ladyship? If you weren't, would the rest of the Imperial Harem even have a chance to live?"
Several pots were simmering on the stove. The woman was watching the fire while leafing through a book in a foreign tongue. She glanced up slightly as her daughter rushed in as if fleeing a disaster. "You’ll be an adult in a few years. You went to Shanghai once and your manners have only grown worse."
"That talk won't work on me anymore! When I was in Shanghai, I heard people say that back in the day, you chased my father down Nanjing Road three times over with a scalpel in your hand, all for the sake of a single medicinal formula..." Chai Rendong stuffed her bundle into a large vegetable basket. Just as she was about to make her escape, she spotted something on the stove. "Ooh, a First-Rank Pot! Mother, can I have a bite?"
"That’s a New Year’s dish. It’s for tonight." The woman turned a page. "The chestnuts are heating in the pot next to it."
Chai Rendong beamed and reached for the lid, but a man’s voice drifted in from outside the kitchen: "Dong’er! Have you been testing your medicines on your brother again?"
The voice wasn't loud—it was even somewhat gentle—but it carried an underlying tone of authority. Chai Rendong shivered, kicked off her shoes, and scrambled out the window. "Mother, I’m off! When your man gets here, help me hold him back!"
"Safe travels, Miss Chai," the woman said tonelessly. "The bills from the Eight Great Chutes arrived yesterday. It’s the New Year; try to save your dear parents some money."
Chai Rendong’s voice was already fading into the distance. "Oh, the wind is too loud! I can’t hear you!"
The door curtain was lifted again, and a man entered. He wasn't exceptionally handsome, and his temples were touched with grey, but his age gave him an air of tranquil dignity. He tucked a hand-warmer into the woman’s lap. "It’s cold. The stove smoke is bad for you. Why must you insist on cooking yourself, my lady?"
"Your daughter ran away." The woman didn't look up from her book, merely pointing at the basket by the stove. "Your son is lying in there, unconscious."
"Outrageous." The man’s voice was stern, though his face didn't show true anger. "Shuxin is only two. How can she use such a small child for acupuncture and drug trials? I see I’ve been too lenient with her over the years; she hasn't learned a shred of prudence..."
"I think you’re the one who spoiled her." The woman turned another page. "Rendong is six months shy of sixteen, yet you were in such a hurry to take her to Shanghai to buy medicinal ingredients. She heard all about your youthful follies there; it’ll be hard for you to put on airs as a father now."
The man leaned down to check his young son’s pulse. Finding it steady, he reached for the pot lid, his movements identical to his daughter’s. "I see my lady’s First-Rank Pot is coming along well."
"And I see Mr. Chai’s talent for changing the subject is coming along well, too." The woman set her book down and rested her chin on her hand, reflecting for a moment. "I’m thinking that when the weather warms, I’ll pass the family recipes to Rendong. It’ll be hard to raise that girl to be a refined lady, but she should at least learn to fake the 'proper' skills like needlework and cooking."
The man smiled. "My lady has always disdained pretense, yet you’ve compromised your integrity for the sake of the girl."
"Since when have I disdained pretense?" The woman looked at her husband, her gaze strikingly beautiful. "It’s merely a means to an end. As long as one’s heart is upright, it matters not."
Standing and sitting together, the couple did not seem a perfect match in appearance. The man was past forty, while the woman looked barely twenty, her features exquisitely vivid. She was dressed in the common style of a Beijing matron, following the old fashions of the previous dynasty, yet her lips were meticulously painted—not in a style a local would recognize, but with Max Factor lipstick only found at the Sincere Department Store in Shanghai.
The man’s smile deepened, reflecting a hint of his younger self. Taking his eldest daughter to Shanghai had been something of a trip down memory lane. Years ago, he had traveled to Shanghai alone to see a patient—an elderly woman living in the French Concession with a chronic ailment. Because her son had married a Chinese woman, the family held great respect for Traditional Chinese Medicine. Among the guests at their salon was a diplomat named Gu, who had some old ties to the Chai family. He had sent a formal invitation to Beijing, earnestly requesting the head of the Chai family to make the trip.
Arriving at the Chai residence alongside the invitation was a debt collection letter from Tiansuanzi, accompanied by a sprig of peach blossom.
Once he reached Shanghai, he understood exactly what Tiansuanzi’s exorbitant divination fee was for. The French matriarch had a granddaughter who had just returned from studying abroad. As the servants led him into the mansion, he saw a young woman crouching in the courtyard, dissecting a dog.
*“Miss! Miss, the Madam just had that dog buried yesterday! Why have you dug it up again?”* The servant had panicked, bowing repeatedly to him. *“Sir, please don't take offense. The dog was hit by a car. Our young lady studied Western medicine abroad...”*
*“Mother and Father are in Paris; they won't be back until next month. If you don't tell, how will she know?”* The girl stood up, dressed in riding gear. She asked him in somewhat rusty Shanghainese: *“Are you the doctor who came to see my grandma because she’s feeling poorly?”*
The servant hurriedly introduced him: *“This is Mr. Chai.”*
*“You’re quite good-looking.”* She looked him over, nodding thoughtfully. *“It seems Mama was right; the young men back home are quite presentable.”*
Though her words carried a hint of flirtation, they lacked any sense of cloistered fragility. Her vivid beauty was like a weapon, striking the observer into a state of awed stillness. He looked back at her, adjusted his sleeves, and bowed. *“Greetings, Miss.”*
Yet even for Lingquzi, his voice had trembled slightly at the end of his greeting—like a line from a play. A marriage fated across a thousand miles; it was a perfect encounter.
Tiansuanzi hadn't calculated a romance in years, and he had certainly earned his fee.
With Tiansuanzi’s divination as a guarantee, the marriage had proceeded smoothly. Even the most conservative elders of the Chai clan had nothing to say. After the wedding, the woman moved to Beijing and learned to manage a household. Recalling the past, the man’s smile reached his eyes. "I remember your mother saying that in your first month of cooking, you blew up the stove three times. Aren't you afraid Dong’er will follow in her mother’s footsteps?"
"Let her. She has to learn. Back then, my mother practically dragged me by the ear to pass down these recipes; Rendong won't escape either." The woman said, "Besides, Rendong’s temperament is like yours—still waters running deep, just a bit restless in her youth. Your family business needs a steady hand to lead it; it’s best to leave it to her in the future."
"Why talk of things so far off?" The man laughed. "We can see who’s fit for it when they’re older. We should ask them what they want, too."
"Didn't your fortune-telling friend say that Shuxin takes after me?" The woman appreciated Tiansuanzi’s matchmaking and spoke of him with respect. "If he takes after me, it’s trouble. He’s bound to go mad later. He might even burn this house down."
"If he burns it, he burns it. When I was young, I always wanted to smash the walls and move out." The man didn't seem to care. "The elders bought a manor in the south specifically to prevent the young master from sleeping on the streets."
"You mean the medicinal manor in the south?"
"Yes. It’s been empty for a long time, kept specifically to cultivate Yae-Kanko plums." The man tucked the fox fur closer around his wife. "Next year, when family matters are quieter, we can go south for the New Year. I hear the plum blossoms in that courtyard are magnificent."
"My mother’s ancestral home is in Jiangnan. I heard her talk about the Eight Beauties of Qinhuai when I was little." The woman mused. "If we take Rendong there, your entire year’s medical fees will be gone in a flash."
Everyone in the capital knew that the eldest Miss Chai was the first female regular of the Eight Great Chutes.
The man gave a helpless smile. "Many ailments are awkward for male doctors to examine. She goes there to treat the courtesans."
"I know. She stole aspirin from my trunk a few days ago." The woman said flatly. "She follows those girls to learn how to do her hair and dress up, insisting on sticking all those pins in her head. She spends a fortune, yet I haven't seen her bring home a single wife or husband. I wasn't like that when I was in Paris."
The man’s hand paused. "I don't often hear my lady speak of her past."
"Husband." The woman closed her book. "The First-Rank Pot should be ready. Help me taste it."
The man picked up his chopsticks and tried a flower mushroom. "Back then, I saw a photograph in the mansion. I heard your father say it was from a romance play you performed with friends in a drama club..."
Before he could finish, there was a *clack* as his chopsticks hit the floor. The woman stood up, propped her unconscious husband against the chair, and spoke to her son in the vegetable basket: "Did you see that, you little rascal? Take notes. A man should be less jealous, or he won't come to a good end."
Then she fell into deep thought. "When exactly did Rendong sprinkle the powder into the pot?"
***
Fengdu.
"Self-drawn, All One Suit!" Mozi pushed her tiles over, slamming the table with bravado. "Everyone drinks!"
This was a mahjong stall in the Ghost Market. Wu Nie, Zhu Baizhi, Wuchangzi, and Mozi sat around the table. At the head sat a woman with a red blade strapped to her back, a sprig of yarrow in her mouth. Her features were as bold and free as a splash of ink. "I brought plenty of wine from Guanshan Yue—all the finest vintages. No one leaves this table until every drop is gone!"
She had indeed brought plenty. The four of them were perched atop a mountain of wine jars, sitting much higher than the other mahjong tables.
"I'll drink! You think I'm afraid of you?!" Wu Nie, frustrated by her losses, felt a surge of anger. She snatched a jar of wine, slapped off the mud seal, and tilted her head back to gulp it down. The fragrant liquid spilled from the corners of her mouth, wetting the greasepaint on her neck. She wiped it away carelessly; the eerie, demonic charm of her face blended with the festive New Year atmosphere, radiating an auspicious red.
The jar she had grabbed was right under Zhu Baizhi’s seat, causing the old Zhuque to tumble off his chair, nearly ending up heels-over-head. Wuchangzi hurried to help him up, whispering, "Old Zhu, that yarrow in Mozi’s mouth... isn't that what Tiansuanzi uses for divination?"
Zhu Baizhi, outmatched in skill and unable to handle Wu Nie, hissed back, "It’s Yaochi grass from beneath the Kunlun Terrace. Mo Qingbei must have brought it back from Penglai years ago. I bet the Mo girl won it all from him; she’s using her last reserves of capital."
The previous Mozi had been a God of Mahjong—a true high-roller who once nearly won half the world in a single game. Everyone thought this generation would be better, but she was worse: a gambler and a drunkard, yet a master of both. Every holiday, she would win her way through every household until even Changshengzi started closing his doors to guests.
Only Lingquzi was clever enough to marry a Shanghai lady. Shanghai women were masters of Pai Gow, and she was the only one who could fight Mozi to a draw.
"What are you old fossils whispering about?" Wu Nie slammed the wine jar down in front of them. "Hurry up and drink for our house!"
The two dared not voice their anger. With no choice, they began to drink in silence. Mozi wasn't exaggerating; she always did things with grand flair, and the wine she brought was top-tier. At their rate of drinking one jar per lost round, they would have been dead if they were in the mortal realm.
They had played many rounds. Zhu Baizhi was so drunk he was about to revert to his true form, and Wuchangzi had rolled under the table several times only to be dragged back out by Mozi. "...I really can't anymore." Zhu Baizhi struggled to open his eyes, which were bulging like copper bells. He asked Wuchangzi, "When are the reinforcements you mentioned coming?"
"I told Zixu beforehand... my son should be here any moment, any moment..." Wuchangzi drifted back under the table.
Only Wu Nie grew more spirited as the battle raged. She downed another jar, wiped her mouth, and said, "Again!"
Mozi slapped the table. "Bring it!"
Suddenly, a smiling voice rang out: "Bring what? Why don't you tell me too, my lady?"
Mozi’s eyes lit up instantly. She threw down her tiles and spun around to pounce. "Wife! Why are you here?"
"It’s the New Year. I came to see you." The Oiran embraced her, shooting a look at Wu Nie. The Taishui understood immediately, standing up to peek at Mozi’s hand and surreptitiously swapping the tiles for her "self-drawn" win.
Years ago, Fengdu had made a pact with Mozi, allowing the Oiran to stay at the Bridge of Helplessness for five years. However, out of a sort of "homesick" trepidation, Mozi didn't visit her often. For the formidable Master of the Red-Licking Blade, this was perhaps the only cowardice in her life. Even for the New Year, she came with great fanfare and gambled loudly, wishing to stage a "Havoc in Heaven" in Fengdu—likely just to tell her fated one: *I’ve come to spend the New Year with you.*
Wuchangzi, ever the observant one, had brought his three-year-old son down and instructed him: *The moment your Auntie Mo starts acting up, go fetch the beautiful sister from the Bridge of Helplessness.*
Wu Zixu was just past three, a delicate child like a jade carving, wrapped in festive silks. He held the Oiran’s hand, looking quite satisfied. When his father had given him the task, he had asked: *There are so many beauties who died young at the bridge; which one is the sister I’m looking for?*
His father had waved him off, telling him to ask less and just do it.
When he saw his mother and Grandpa Zhu getting embarrassingly drunk, he trotted on his short legs to the Bridge of Helplessness. There, he saw a sea of people sitting on and around the bridge. The newly deceased weren't even rushing to reincarnate; they were crowded around a beauty holding a pipa. She was singing "The Lantern Riddle," a play from the mortal New Year.
He immediately understood what his father meant. Among the thousands of souls at the bridge, only this one was fit to be Auntie Mo’s beloved.
The children of the Wu family matured early. While Song Wentong was still barking at stray dogs with his baby teeth, Wu Zixu was already happily holding hands with the beautiful sister.
"Alright, my silly grandson." Wu Nie pinched his cheek. "Let go. If you don't run now, that crazy Mo woman will chop off your little chicken claws."
"You think too little of me." Mozi gripped the Oiran’s hand tightly, while her other hand drew the Shi Hong Dao and held it out to Wu Zixu. "Here, Xu-ge’er, your New Year’s money!"
Wuchangzi and Zhu Baizhi were both astonished. For someone not of the Mo family to even touch the Shi Hong Dao was a monumental stroke of luck.
Wu Zixu didn't quite understand the significance. He tried to grip the hilt, but the ancient blade was too heavy and crashed to the ground. Mozi burst into laughter. "Xu-ge’er, it won't be too late to dream of beauties once you can lift this sword!"
Wu Nie said snidely, "Just because you got a wife, look at you showing off."
"You’re just sour because you can't have what I have." Mozi was triumphant. "I have a beauty. Do you?"
"Alright, my lady, you’ve had too much to drink again." The Oiran smilingly pinched the soft flesh at Mozi’s waist. "Let’s go home and sober you up."
Lord Taishui, having lost all night and fueled by wine-induced rage, was completely triggered by Mozi’s words. She grabbed Zhu Baizhi. "Old fossil, transform for our house!"
"Let go of me!" Zhu Baizhi flared up. "Transform into what?"
"A beauty!" Wu Nie’s shout was thunderous. "It’s just a beauty, right? Who doesn't have one? This is Wu family territory; you think I’ll let a Mohist take the lead?"
The great Lord Taishui was usually full of dignity, but she was driven mad with pique. Wu Nie had lived in Fengdu for nearly a millennium, and only the current Mozi could rile her up like this. The gold bracelets on her wrists jingled—she didn't look like a terrifying Taishui, but like a petulant young woman.
Zhu Baizhi was dazed by her outburst and instinctively complied. The white-haired elder shimmered and transformed into a voluptuous, Tang-style beauty.
"Eww." Wu Nie was instantly repulsed. "What kind of Li-Tang aesthetic is this? Would it kill you to have smaller breasts?"
Zhu Baizhi was fuming. He snapped his silk handkerchief viciously. "Take it or leave it!"
Mozi spat out a mouthful of wine, laughing so hard she nearly buried her face in the Oiran’s skirts.
"It’s the New Year, it’s the New Year." Wuchangzi held his son, hurrying to save the situation by handing out red envelopes. "Come, come, this is New Year’s money for Wentong."
"Oh right, New Year’s money." Mozi looked at Zhu Baizhi. "Old Zhu, you owe me quite a bit in gambling debts. It looks like we won't finish this wine today. What do you plan to use as collateral?"
Zhu Baizhi immediately grew wary, his beautiful eyes darting around. "What does Mozi want?"
Mozi spat out another mouthful of wine. The Oiran’s skirt was officially ruined. Her wife grabbed her by the ear and pulled her aside, telling her to bring new fabric next time she visited.
Mozi let out a breath. The strong liquor burned down her throat and rose as a warm current to her heart. She wiped away tears of laughter. "Wife, our son is as tall as the flute Zhao Niang carries."
The Oiran paused, blurting out, "Isn't that a bit short?" Then she looked at Mozi with annoyance. "Are you not making sure Song-ge’er eats properly?"
"Heaven and earth be my witness!" Mozi raised both hands. "That’s our own son. How could I not care?"
The Oiran looked at her skeptically, then sighed. She pulled out a gold hairpin and used it to tie up Mozi’s messy hair. "It’s cold in the first month. Don't go around dressed like a wandering swordsman every day. You have a family now; remember to wear more layers."
"Yes, wife." Mozi nodded like a chick pecking grain. "I’ll remember, wife."
"I embroidered a sachet for Song-ge’er. Remember to take it back to him."
"He’s just a kid. Let him learn to charm girls into giving him sachets later. Why does he need this? Give it to me instead."
"You’re his mother; aren't you ashamed to say such things?"
"Not ashamed. Why would I need dignity in front of my wife—wait, wait, wait! I was wrong! I was wrong! Don't pinch! It hurts! I’ll take it back to the little brat! Wife, don't bite me! If Zhao Niang sees this when I get back, she’ll beat me again!"
"Keep it safe, don't keep it for yourself. How is Zhao Niang lately?"
"Don't even get me started. She’s thrilled. All the girls in the music house are rushing to make clothes for our son. When he puts on those little skirts..."
***
By the time Mozi returned from Fengdu, night had fallen on the mortal world. Amidst the crackle of firecrackers, Zhao Niang stood at the entrance of Guanshan Yue. Seeing the disheveled Mozi, she put her hands on her hips and yelled, "Where have you been gallivanting now?!"
Mozi yawned. "Went to see my wife."
"Where did another wife spring from?" Zhao Niang’s brows shot up. "Song Bainian! You spend every day visiting this one and that one, keeping a whole nest of little vixens. Do you even care about your son anymore?"
"Can I choose not to?" Mozi picked at her ear. "I’ll sell him to you for three cents a pound. Want him?"
Zhao Niang shrieked in rage, lunging at her with a feather duster. Mozi scrambled away, leading a chaotic chase up the stairs. The music house was doing brisk business; halfway through the chase, Zhao Niang was intercepted by a guest. She hurriedly tossed the feather duster aside, smoothed her hair, and instantly transformed back into a soft-spoken, moon-faced beauty.
Mozi, having escaped with her life, leaned over the railing and muttered, "Women are terrifying."
From beneath her feet came a sound: "Woof!"
Mozi looked down. "Holy crap, kid, what are you doing here?"
It was two-year-old Song Wentong. Her son seemed both brilliant and dim; he could already walk and talk, and could even perform a move or two with the Shi Hong Dao. Yet he seemed to have a streak of madness in his bones. He could talk but wouldn't do it properly; he could walk but preferred not to. He spent his days barking at stray dogs and scurrying around on all fours. If you didn't know better, you’d think she’d given birth to something else.
Mozi picked up her son, wiped his feet, and then started on his face. He was covered in lipstick prints, clearly having been fussed over by the courtesans. "You’ve got quite the luck with the ladies. I had to spend tons of gold and silver just to get on their good side..."
Song Wentong’s sharp eyes spotted the sachet hanging from his mother’s neck. He opened his mouth to bite it. Mozi quickly yanked it away. "Not this one! Bite something else. This is mine!"
Song Wentong glared at his mother. "Woof!"
Mozi looked at her son, who refused to speak human, and felt a headache coming on. "It’s the New Year. Let’s make a deal. Can you speak like a person? If your mother sees you like this, she’ll kill me."
Song Wentong seemed to understand. He thought for a moment, then adopted a look of pure schadenfreude, as if he’d be delighted to see his mother hunted down. He happily went back to barking.
Mozi knew exactly what her son was thinking. She rolled her eyes and tossed the child onto her back, letting him use the Shi Hong Dao as a teething ring. Standing at the top of the music house, she suddenly heard the chime of a windbell under the eaves. A long-legged, red-beaked bird stood outside the window—it was Zhu Baizhi.
"Oh, Old Zhu. Not satisfied with being a beauty?" Mozi pushed open the window. "What have you turned into now?"
Zhu Baizhi huffed. He was carrying a cage in his beak, which he set on the windowsill and pushed inward. "This is the collateral Mozi wanted. I will come to fetch him tomorrow. I hope Mozi treats him with care..."
Before he could finish, the woman burst into laughter. She opened the cage and hauled out the sleeping, scruffy-feathered chicken. "This is the current Master of the Stars? Old Zhu, you didn't just steal this from someone’s coop to fool me, did you?"
Zhu Baizhi had already had too much to drink. Hearing this, he spat out a burst of Samadhi True Fire. "This is the Young Master of the Zhu family! Your kid is the one who looks like he was picked up from a dog kennel!"
"You know, lately I really have been wondering if my son was born in the Year of the Dog." Mozi pulled the child from her back and handed him the scruffy chicken. "Here, a New Year’s gift. I’ll trade you this for the sachet."
Song Wentong held the scruffy chicken, which was almost as big as he was. He looked it over, then suddenly said, "I don't want it. I want the sachet."
Mozi pretended not to hear, turning to ask Zhu Baizhi, "Why won't your kid wake up? Is he hibernating?"
"Yinxiao is currently in a deep sleep phase; he definitely won't wake up. Mozi, take great care..." Before Zhu Baizhi could finish, the scruffy chicken in Song Wentong’s arms somehow opened its eyes. Seeing an unfamiliar toddler, it immediately pecked him.
A peck from a Zhuque was no small matter. Song Wentong’s face immediately bled. Zhu Baizhi’s expression changed. "Yinxiao, do not be impudent!"
Mozi didn't seem to mind. She put the two little ones on the floor together. "Fine, looks good to me. You two go play."
Having been pecked, Song Wentong stared at the scruffy chicken for a long time, then nodded. "Your skills are okay. Come on, I’ll take you to fight some dogs."
As for how the little Mozi and the little Zhuque fought three hundred rounds against stray dogs in the streets, and how Zhao Niang ended up with a glittering golden sparrow-feather duster—that is a story for another time.
***
The Ancient City.
The Mu Manor was rarely this lively. With the troops resting, Commander Mu had finally come home for the New Year, bringing his son and four staff officers. A group of grown men were now squeezed into the kitchen. Mu Gesheng was climbing up his father’s trouser leg to reach his shoulder, then jumping onto the staff officers, as if climbing five tall trees.
"This soup tastes wrong. It’s all sour and funky." The First Staff Officer, a man from the Northeast, tossed his spoon into the Second Staff Officer’s pot and shouted, "Brother, look at this spoon! Commander, did you use this spoon to dye your hair? It’s pitch black!"
"It is a bit black." The Second Staff Officer calmly fished out the spoon. "Still whiter than the Commander’s face."
"Hey, I said just a pinch of those chilies is enough! Stop! Are you trying to poison someone?" The Third Staff Officer, from Henan, snatched the chili jar from the Fourth Staff Officer. "I told you Hubei folks can't cook. Move aside!"
The Fourth Staff Officer was a man of few words but great violence. He shoved the Third Staff Officer’s face directly into the sink. As the two began to scrap, the Second Staff Officer silently took over the frying pan that was about to burn and threw out all the moldy chili jars.
As for Commander Mu himself—the man recognized by the entire army as the founder of the "Beast Style" of cooking, specializing in wild knife-work and leftover medleys—he had been stripped of his power the moment he entered the kitchen. Relegated to water-boiling duty, he was currently nursing an enamel mug of tea.
"Dad." Mu Gesheng tugged at his father’s leg. "I’m hungry. When can we eat?"
"No rush." The Commander spat a tea leaf back into his mug. "Your Third Mom and Fourth Mom just started fighting. They won't be done for at least two hours."
Mu Gesheng immediately ignored his father. He who provides milk is mother; he who provides no food is no father. He ran to tug on the leg of the most reliable-looking Second Staff Officer. "Second Mom, when can we eat?"
The Second Staff Officer was a graduate of the Army Academy, a high-achieving intellectual and the most refined of the lot. But there was a reason "a gentleman stays away from the kitchen." Once inside, refinement vanished. "Stop adding sodium chloride!" he roared at the First Staff Officer, slamming down his spatula. "Too much salt will kill people!"
"Oh, for heaven’s sake, you unlucky brat, don't you know what’s good? You have to use salt to bring out the flavor. Look at that aroma rising..."
Three men make a play; four men make a war; five men blow up a kitchen. Mu Gesheng watched the flying vegetable leaves and the spraying water and fire. His father was still calmly holding his enamel mug, watching the show. Gesheng decisively gave up, fished some money out of the Second Staff Officer’s pocket, and ran out to find his own food.
On New Year’s Eve, few stalls were open. Mu Gesheng wandered through the city, his playful nature making him forget his hunger. The wonton stall in the east of the city was still open. The owner knew he was Commander Mu’s son and wasn't surprised to see the boy running wild alone. He asked with a smile, "Young Master, why aren't you at home for the New Year?"
Mu Gesheng ate with his head down, only answering after a moment, "My dad’s backyard is on fire. His wives are fighting, and no one’s looking after me."
The owner was stunned. He’d heard Commander Mu was a romantic who refused to remarry after his wife died. Few matchmakers even dared knock on his door. Where had these "wives" suddenly come from?
Before he could ask more, another guest sat down next to Mu Gesheng. It was another child, carrying a porcelain bowl filled to the brim with copper coins. "Boss, two bowls of wontons, please. One to go."
"Master Lin, you’re still coming down the mountain on New Year’s Eve?" The owner served one bowl and carefully packed the other. "Is this for Mr. Mo?"
"Master’s orders. He told me to fill this bowl before I come back." Lin Juansheng pointed to the bowl of coins and began to eat with proper etiquette, forming a sharp contrast to Mu Gesheng’s "stray dog" eating style. Mu Gesheng finished quickly and set his bowl down, his attention caught by the miniature adult beside him. "Hey, do your parents not feed you either?"
"It’s more than just not feeding me; I have to cook for him." Lin Juansheng sighed, looking a bit teary-eyed. "My parents died when I was little. I was adopted. Even for the New Year, I have to come out and earn food money..."
Mu Gesheng’s sympathy surged. "Whose kid are you? Why don't you come to my house for dinner?"
Lin Juansheng sighed again. "If there was food at your house, would you be out here eating wontons in the middle of the night?"
Mu Gesheng was speechless. That made perfect sense; he couldn't argue. "Then... is there anything I can do to help?"
Lin Juansheng secretly dipped a finger in the vinegar dish and swiped it across his eyes. The tears flowed even harder. "My... my family are fortune-tellers. If the Young Master wants to help, how about a divination?" He sniffled. "Ten wen for a small hexagram, two taels for a medium one. Master said if I don't bring back enough, he won't let me home..."
The owner: "..."
"I’ll take it, I’ll take it. Give me the most expensive one." Mu Gesheng immediately pulled out his money. "Wait, how much is two taels of silver? Can I give you silver dollars?" He handed over all the money in his pocket. At the time, he didn't realize that handful of silver dollars was worth far more than two taels. He would be scolded into the ground by his "Second Mom" when he got back.
"Thank you for your generosity, Young Master. Happy New Year." Lin Juansheng quickly gathered the silver dollars into his robe and stopped crying. He pulled out a Mountain Ghost Coin and tossed it. It landed on the table in a specific formation, the coin emitting a faint, low vibration as it sensed a fated person.
"Hey, that coin-tossing trick is pretty cool. Can you teach me?" Mu Gesheng leaned in. "What’s the hexagram? Is it good?"
Lin Juansheng looked down and froze for a moment. Then he smiled. "Good. An excellent hexagram. You are destined to meet a benefactor, Young Master."
Mu Gesheng thought to himself that his father had plenty of "benefactors," and they were currently fighting in the kitchen.
Firecrackers boomed, marking another year. The ancient city was filled with lanterns. Lin Juansheng and Mu Gesheng huddled together as the "scammed" patron was taught how to toss copper coins with grace and style. In Beijing, fireworks filled the sky. Chai Rendong led the women from the Eight Great Chutes over the wall to her home to eat medicinal dishes. The women, feeling their low status, were fearful, but the eldest Miss Chai patted her chest and told them not to worry—her parents were likely asleep in the kitchen by now.
Behind the wall, Madam Chai, holding her son in one arm and her husband in the other, sighed. She left the manor through the back gate to have the New Year’s dinner at a pre-booked restaurant, leaving the lively courtyard to her daughter.
In Fengdu, Wuchangzi took his son through the Ghost Market. A young girl dancing atop twelve stacked tables smiled and patted the child’s head, handing him a flower ball to play with. Zhu Baizhi huffed nearby—five hundred years of cultivation, used to amuse a toddler. The girl shut him up with a single sentence: *At least I didn't send my own grandson away as gambling collateral.*
Song Wentong was leading the scruffy chicken in a grand battle against stray dogs in the alleys, dragging the Shi Hong Dao along as a club. Mozi stood atop a high building, leisurely playing a flute.
At the Bridge of Helplessness, the Oiran seemed to feel something. she adjusted her strings and played in harmony, a melody bridging heaven and the mortal realm.
Late at night, the monks of Baishui Temple struck the blessing bell. Lin Juansheng walked up the mountain path and finally returned to the library. He looked at the Master of the Ginkgo Library, who was standing by the water with his eyes closed, listening to the bell. "Master."
"You’re back?" Mo Qingbei turned to his eldest disciple and smiled. "How was your harvest today?"
Lin Juansheng thought for a moment. "I saw a very strange hexagram today."
"Oh? What kind?"
Lin Juansheng took out the Mountain Ghost Coin and arranged it on the ground. Mo Qingbei looked at it, and after a moment, he gave a soft smile.
As the bell echoed through the library, Lin Juansheng heard his master say, "This hexagram is called 'Evergreen'."
"Evergreen?"
"It is a rare hexagram. I have only seen it once in my life."
He couldn't remember how long ago it had been. A time of peace and prosperity. The young novice monk had gone to Penglai for the New Year, playing chess under the moon with Changshengzi. While his master was engrossed in the game, he had taken his sword and run through the snow to the Sword Pavilion to drink with Hua Bucheng. In their excitement, they had sung to each other—though the verses were unrefined, it was a rare and wonderful intoxication.
*Take the gold beneath my knees to pay for time.*
*Forge the copper in my bones to slay the Torch Dragon.*
*See the gods close their eyes in a great dream, willing to follow the master’s touch, piercing the heart’s blood to dip in the moonlight.*
When it was his turn for the final line, he suddenly remembered the hexagram Tiansuanzi had cast upon his arrival. He laughed and wrote with a flourish:
*Betting my auspicious night to beg for the Evergreen.*
***
**Glossary**
Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation
---|---|---
万年青 | Wan Nian Qing / Evergreen | The title of the chapter and a rare, auspicious hexagram.
柴忍冬 | Chai Rendong | Daughter of the Chai family. "Rendong" means Honeysuckle.
柴束薪 | Chai Shuxin | Son of the Chai family. "Shuxin" means a bundle of firewood.
灵枢子 | Lingquzi | Master of the Spiritual Pivot; a title for the head of the Chai family (medical sect).
天算子 | Tiansuanzi | Master of Heavenly Calculation; a title for the head of the Lin family (divination sect).
一品锅 | First-Rank Pot | A traditional large-pot stew (Huizhou style).
八大胡同 | Eight Great Chutes | The famous red-light district in old Beijing.
蜜丝佛陀 | Max Factor | A Western cosmetics brand popular in early 20th-century China.
舐红刀 | Shi Hong Dao / Red-Licking Blade | The signature weapon of the Mozi (Mohist) line.
乌孽 | Wu Nie | The current Taishui (a powerful supernatural entity).
朱白之 | Zhu Baizhi | An elder of the Zhu family (Zhuque/Vermilion Bird).
无常子 | Wuchangzi | Master of Impermanence; head of the Wu family (underworld/ghost sect).
花魁 | Hua Kui / Oiran | Courtesan Queen; Mozi's lover.
乌子虚 | Wu Zixu | Son of Wuchangzi.
松问童 | Song Wentong | Son of the current Mozi.
朱饮宵 | Zhu Yinxiao | The young Zhuque (Vermilion Bird).
木葛生 | Mu Gesheng | Son of Commander Mu.
林眷生 | Lin Juansheng | Disciple of Tiansuanzi.
莫倾杯 | Mo Qingbei | The Master of the Ginkgo Library (Yingxing).
山鬼花钱 | Mountain Ghost Coin | A type of numismatic charm used in Taoist rituals and divination.
剑阁 | Sword Pavilion | A location in the immortal realm/Penglai.
画不成 | Hua Bucheng | A character from the immortal realm.
烛龙 | Torch Dragon | A mythological dragon in Chinese folklore.
僧繇点睛 | Sengyou's Touch | Reference to Zhang Sengyou, a painter who "dotted the eyes" of painted dragons to make them come to life.
