A carriage pulled up at the gate of the Ning estate.

Servants hurried over with a mounting stool.

A young man stepped down first — tall, long-limbed, sharply handsome, dressed in fine embroidered silk.

This was the First Young Master of the Ning house. Ning Gan.

Behind him, a man of about fifty climbed down from the carriage, with a scholar’s face and a bearing that set him apart from other men.

This was the sitting Minister of Rites. Ning Ziming.

Ning Gan shoved the servants roughly out of the way and took his father’s arm himself, all eagerness.

“Gan’er (TL Note: adding “-er” to a son’s name is an affectionate diminutive, roughly the warmth of “my boy.” Worth noticing who in this family gets it and who doesn’t.), I’ve had them stew an old hen. Eat well tonight, build your strength back up. These past few days must have worn you out.”

The past few days had been the Great Xuan’s imperial examination, which came around once every three years. Ning Gan had just finished taking it, Ning Ziming had gone to collect him in person, and the two of them were only now getting home.

“Thank you, Father!”

Ning Gan walked his father inside, holding his arm.

They had barely cleared the gate when Ning Gan saw his third brother, Ning Mao, standing there with a handful of house servants, all of them holding clubs and looking murderous.

Ning Ziming’s brow creased. “What is all this?”

The moment Ning Mao saw his father, the viciousness on his face turned to injury.

“Father, you have to do right by Second Brother.”

Ning Ziming’s voice went low. “What happened to your second brother?”

“Father, Ning Chen — that bas—” He caught himself. “He stole Second Brother’s jade pendant. Second Brother went to ask for it back, and Ning Chen not only played dumb, he cracked Second Brother’s head open with a porcelain pillow.”

“If Second Brother hadn’t run fast, he might not have made it.”

Ning Mao sobbed it out and squeezed two whole tears onto his cheeks.

Ning Ziming’s face darkened — concerned, but also caught off guard. Ning Chen had always been meek to the point of cringing. In front of his father the boy didn’t dare raise his voice. So where had he found the nerve to hit someone?

Ning Gan said furiously, “This family feeds him and clothes him. Where have we ever wronged him? And he turns on his own brother like that. He’s a wolf you can’t tame, no matter how you raise him.”

Ning Ziming thought a moment. “Where is Ning Chen?”

Ning Mao answered before anyone else could. “The West Court.”

The West Court was where the servants lived. Nobody in the Ning family saw anything strange about that.

Ning Ziming and the others made their way to the West Court.

The moment they stepped into the yard, they saw Ning Chen standing on top of a woodpile with a torch in his hand.

The smell of pine oil hung in the air.

“Ning Chen, what devilry are you up to now?”

Ning Mao barked it across the yard.

Ning Gan was the more calculating of the two. “Ning Chen, what do you think you’re doing? Your father is standing right here. Bow to him. Have you forgotten every rule we ever taught you?”

Ning Ziming looked at Ning Chen with open distaste.

Some men, once they rise in the world, work hard to scrub away the mess they came from. Everything before is a humiliation to them.

And Ning Chen was Ning Ziming’s humiliation.

Ning Ziming was an intensely proud man, and a man who cared what people thought.

He didn’t want anyone knowing about his past. He especially didn’t want anyone knowing that the woman he’d once promised himself to was a peasant girl out in the countryside. It made him look small.

Ning Chen looked back at him, calm, and said it mildly.

“Do I have a father? I don’t recall one.”

Ning Ziming’s face went ugly all at once.

“Unfilial wretch (TL Note: 逆子 — a formal, heavy accusation, not casual name-calling. In a culture that ranked duty to one’s father above nearly everything, calling a son this is close to disowning him in public.). Do you know what you’re saying?”

Ning Gan jumped in to make it worse. “Ning Chen, you’ve gone too far. Father feeds you and clothes you. Without Father you’d still be out begging on the road.”

Ning Chen started to laugh, his eyes full of contempt.

“Feeds and clothes me?” He reached down and pinched the thin shirt he was wearing between two fingers. “Minister Ning gave me this shirt the day I entered this house. That was what, two years ago? Three?”

“And food. I’m the Fourth Young Master of the Ning house, and this house’s own young master isn’t allowed at the table. Every day I eat your leftovers and your scraps. Some days there aren’t even scraps.”

Ning Ziming frowned. He honestly hadn’t known that part. His wife managed the household’s expenses. He had never involved himself in any of it.

Put plainly — it wasn’t that he had never involved himself. It was that he had never involved himself where Ning Chen was concerned.

Ning Gan said quickly, “Ning Chen, stop talking nonsense. Whenever Mother had clothes made for us, she never once left you out.”

“And at meals, we sent people to call you. You’re the one who wouldn’t come to the table.”

Ning Chen shook his head and laughed. “You really are your mother’s good boy. Covering for her, keeping it all tucked away — afraid she’ll end up with a name as a mean, poisonous woman?”

“Minister Ning. My two fine brothers. It’s autumn. If I’d had one slightly thicker piece of clothing, I never would have gotten sick.”

“But pour water on a man’s bedding and make him sleep in it cold and wet, and no amount of clothing is going to save him.”

Ning Gan was shocked and enraged at the same time. Ning Chen had always been so meek. Where had this come from?

He snapped, “Ning Chen, you’re talking nonsense. Turning black into white, slandering your own father and mother. That’s thirty strokes of the rod.”

“They’re your father and mother. What have they got to do with me?”

“Last night I lay in that cold, wet bedding with my life hanging by a thread. If I weren’t hard to kill, I’d have died right there.”

Ning Chen roared it at them.

A good number of servants were listening from around the edges of the yard. Ning Gan, worried what this would do to his mother’s name if it went on, changed the subject. “Ning Chen, enough about things that never happened. We came here about you hitting Ning Xing.”

“He is your brother. He’s treated you well enough. Why would you do something so vicious?”

Ning Chen let out one cold laugh after another. “Treated me well? The way he treats me well is beating me and cursing me every day and accusing me of stealing from him?”

“Before, that was on me. I was pathetic. I was greedy for that pitiful scrap of family feeling, so I swallowed all of it. I didn’t hit back, I didn’t talk back. All I wanted was for one of you to look at me twice.”

“Last night I came back from the dead, and I finally understand. Fuck family.”

Now Ning Gan and the others understood. So this was why he’d changed.

Ning Chen threw the torch down at Ning Ziming’s feet.

“Minister Ning. I hit your precious son. So now I’ll give him my life back. The firewood under my feet is soaked in pine oil. All you have to do is pick up that torch, and you can avenge your precious son. Go on!”

Ning Gan and Ning Mao backed away, badly frightened. Had he lost his mind?

Something moved in Ning Ziming’s face. For one instant it went slack. Then the rage came, and it came with no bottom to it.

What was this?

Was this little bastard threatening him?

Uncle Chai was shaking so hard he couldn’t keep his hands still. He dropped to his knees with a thud. “Master, Master, please, don’t be angry. The Fourth Young Master’s fever has muddled him. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“I’m not muddled. I’m clearer right now than I’ve ever been in my life.”

There was something wild in Ning Chen’s face. He shouted, “Minister Ning! What are you waiting for? Do it!”

Ning Ziming’s face cycled between red and white. He was past anger now.

“Unfilial wretch. You think throwing a fit like a madman is how you get my attention?”

Ning Chen froze.

Christ.

Where does this guy get the confidence?

Ning Chen almost snorted out loud. But underneath it he felt the sheer injustice of it on behalf of the previous owner of this body.

He honestly couldn’t imagine what the poor kid had done in a past life to end up with a father lower than a pig or a dog.

Ning Ziming said in a low voice, “Unfilial wretch. The more you carry on like this, the more I detest you.”

Then he had someone put out the torch, flung his sleeves back and walked out.

Ning Gan and Ning Mao were openly gloating.

They also thought Ning Chen had done all of this to get their father’s attention.

Too bad for him. He’d gone for the chicken and lost the rice (TL Note: 偷雞不成蝕把米 — the thief who fails to steal the chicken and drops the handful of rice he brought to lure it. A scheme that costs you more than it wins.). Now Father detested the little bastard more than ever.

Ning Chen looked at the pair of them. Then he bent down, picked up a length of firewood, and hurled it at them as hard as he could.

It flew past Ning Gan’s ear, close enough to graze it.

Ning Gan went rigid with fear.

“Ning Chen, you madman! You bastard—”

Ning Mao was still cursing, but the moment he saw Ning Chen bend down for a second piece of wood, he flinched, grabbed Ning Gan, and bolted.

(End of Chapter 2)