Character Index
Zhou Yunqi: The Fifth Prince.
Zhou Kuang: The Third Prince.
Zhou Xianchun: The Seventh Prince.
Shu Yunsong: Zhou Yunqi's maternal uncle.
Shu Zhengyan: Zhou Yunqi's cousin. He was sent away from the capital after acting rashly and replaced by the mild-tempered Shu Zhengyu.
Wu Zhihuan: Former Lord of the Wu clan, one of the conspirators. He was forced into the position of scapegoat by the other conspirators.
Qiu Jinwei: Yunqi's eccentric but brilliant advisor.
Duan Wuxie: A Senior Investigator of the Imperial Investigation Bureau.
Qin Yang: A young Investigator who was on duty at the Zhao household back during the assassination attempt of Book 1 Chapter 57-58. Unlike his four coworkers who were found dead at the Zhao household, Qin Yang was found dead en route to Dengzhou in Book 1 Chapter 66. He had been trained in martial arts by Tan Hui.
Tan Hui: The head of security/bodyguard of Archduke Qi.
Archduke Qi: Brother of the Emperor, one of the conspirators.
Lin Jie: Former Attendant Censor, he was murdered after uncovering the truth of the conspiracy.
Huai Yan: A young archivist. He was arrested after Lin Jie's death back in Book 2 Chapter 62.
Guo Qian: An older archivist who was arrested on Kayla's orders after he implicated Huai Yan.
Alizhi: Grandson of Chieftain Tumidu, Princess Mingda's cousin. Friends with Hu Qing.
General Yan: Commander of the Wu reinforcements. Kayla's tentative ally.
Lord Qu: Oversight Censor sent to negotiate and watch over General Yan.
Hu Qing/Liang Hongfei: Lord of the Liang Clan, Oversight Officer sent to handle General Yan.
Xie Rengui: Hu Qing's retainer, a talented farmboy who General Yan is fond of.
Tuhezhen: The ambitious and much-older nephew of Chieftain Heli.
Heli: Chieftain of the Pugu tribe, a fifteen year old boy. Previously came to an agreement with Kayla to get rid of Tuhezhen.
Chuluo: Khagan of the Eastern Turkic Khaganate. Father of Ashina.
Kulun: Chuluo's trusted tarkhan.
Ju Shou: The Third Prince's poison-tester.
Cao Shuyi: The Third Princess Consort
Royal Consort: Kuang's mother.
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Kuang lifted his eyes from the scrolls on his desk, frowning slightly as he looked at Yunqi. The younger man was staring pensively at the blank wall, lost in thoughts that were doubtlessly bothering him.
“Yunqi,” Kuang called him. “What’s wrong?”
Yunqi jolted back to attention, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing, Brother. Don’t mind me. I’m just a little tired.”
“The executions can be taxing to watch, you should get some rest,” Kuang said sympathetically. “It’s over now, just put it out of your mind.”
“I just can’t stop thinking about the screams,” Yunqi said. “Whether it was the Wu clan or the people watching–the cacophony of it is still ringing in my ears. I don’t understand how people can get so worked up over something like this.”
“A man on his own may be disgusted or frightened, but in a mob, the thirst for blood builds naturally,” Kuang said.
“I can’t understand it,” Yunqi said in frustration.
“It’s because you’re gentle by nature, always have been,” Kuang replied.
Yunqi grimaced. “I just couldn’t stop thinking that it could’ve been me and my clan. If grandfather had backed down any later, if my uncle had gotten caught when he came to the capital, if Shu Zhengyan had stayed to provoke Father or Xianchun–”
“Yunqi, don’t think about such things. I would never let that happen,” Kuang cut in.
Yunqi sighed, shaking his head. “I know, but…they would have cheered on my family’s deaths just as happily as they’d cheered on the Wu clan’s executions.”
“I understand your feelings, Yunqi,” Kuang said gently. “This type of thing brings out the worst in people.”
“I’m not blaming the commoners for getting riled up by a sight meant for that very purpose,” Yunqi replied. “This type of punishment–we shouldn’t have such a thing in our legal system in the first place!”
Kuang patted Yunqi on the shoulder sympathetically.
“I know it’s an ancient law by now, but this type of punishment doesn’t make sense,” Yunqi said grimly.
“The laws of the ancestors cannot be easily changed. Exterminating a clan to the ninth degree will probably remain in law for hundreds, if not thousands of years after,” Kuang remarked. “Ever since this punishment was instituted in law, it’s been a source of great suffering. But it’s also done its fair share to prevent further suffering by forewarning anyone who would otherwise indulge the worst of their natures. If you can just end all your troubles with your own death, then those who would transgress morality and law would do so with much less abandon, wouldn’t they?”
“Perhaps, but If the culprit was framed, then you would be killing hundreds of innocent people for nothing. If they weren’t framed, then someone who could commit a crime worthy of such a sentence wouldn’t be the type to care about their family in the first place!” Yunqi protested. “Just look at the Grand Duke–do you think he cared about his kinsmen at all?”
Kuang conceded the point with a nod.
“Not everyone can do what Wenyuan did,” Yunqi said quietly. “Even Qiu Jinwei said of him that ‘the three constant bonds have been broken, if one does not leave, they will be caught in disaster.’ But that’s the type of behavior that we encourage through punishments like these, is it not? Even though the stability of our nation itself rests on the three fundamental bonds.”
“You’re as kindhearted as ever, Yunqi. But this punishment is not just about prevention, but about power. The reason why no ruler has ever removed it from law is precisely because it remains the most effective tool to uproot a political threat. A starved camel is still larger than a horse–even a noble clan suppressed by the Emperor into near-oblivion can gain supporters and rise from the Eastern mountain again by virtue of pedigree. Sometimes, this is just the only way,” Kuang said. “In some ways, it may save more lives in the long run by circumventing disaster.”
Seeing Yunqi’s look of discomfort, Kuang softened his tone.
“Even what happened today is more than just what meets the eye. Father may have acting on emotion alone when he ordered for Wu Zhihiuan’s clan to be exterminated to the ninth degree, but politically, he made the right decision. For the remainder of his rule, however long that may be, few would dare to challenge his power despite his weakened state.”
“That wasn’t why he did this,” Yunqi pointed out. “He just wanted revenge.”
Kuang shook his head. “Don’t forget, Yunqi. Father was raised by Grandmother’s hands. Temperamental as he may be, he’s been molded into a political monster since he was born. He instinctively moves to protect his interests and his power in any circumstances.”
Yunqi looked away uncomfortably. “I just hope that you will never have need for such methods, Brother.”
Kuang gave a small smile. “Not with a brother like you to rely on,” he said.
Yunqi managed a smile back.
With a rush of sympathy, Kuang gently patted Yunqi’s shoulder.
Even if I say that, there’s no guarantee, is there?
He would show mercy where it was due, but there were certain decisions that Kuang couldn’t avoid either. Their father was running out of time, and a Crown Prince still had not been named.
Every sign pointed to Kuang’s imminent victory, but that final step was the most difficult one of all. And once it had been made, there was still one problem left to him.
Xianchun.
Kuang withheld a sigh. Undoubtedly, Yunqi would want to spare their youngest brother, but that was a request that Kuang couldn’t grant. Lowering his gaze, he silently steeled his heart.
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Under Duan Wuxie’s watchful eye, a young Investigator organized the cold case files from the last two years into sub-categories, labeling them with different colors one by one. It had only been upon looking into the Archdukes that Duan Wuxie realized how poorly some of the more recent files were organized. After giving a long lecture to his subordinate, whose usual duties had nothing to do with organizing said files, Duan Wuxie settled in to the actual task of it.
He watched as the familiar names appeared and disappeared.
Hmm?
Duan Wuxie furrowed his brows. Recognition tugged sharply at the back of his mind, but it faded too fast for him to grab onto it.
“Turn the files back, one at a time,” Duan Wuxie ordered. “Do it slowly.”
Giving him a quizzical look, the young Investigator complied.
Duan Wuxie watched as the names flashed by his eyes again, trying to catch on to whatever the thought had been. Even when his subordinate had finished, the thought didn’t reoccur.
“Do it again from the start,” Duan Wuxie said.
The young Investigator obeyed, slowing his movements even further and angling each file towards Duan Wuxie as he flipped through them.
Duan Wuxie’s eyes caught onto a familiar name.
“Stop!”
He took the offending file, hesitating before he flipped it open.
The assassination attempt on Zhao Wenyuan, Duan Wuxie thought to himself. Everyone from the Archdukes to the Grand Duke himself had been under heavy suspicion, given that the assassination attempt had taken place right within the Zhao household–even the Imperial Guard had gotten involved.
That had been months ago, but they’d made no progress on the case. Four Investigators had died onsite, and a fifth had died en route to Dengzhou.
My own student at that. He gave a beleaguered sigh, thinking of the promising young man. Qin Yang had come a long way to the rank of Investigator, rising from a poor peasant’s son to a skilled martial artist, only to die an ignoble death and remain forever suspect as a traitor.
But it wasn’t Qin Yang that caught Duan Wuxie’s attention, but the one who had taught him martial arts.
Tan Hui.
Archduke Qi's most faithful retainer. The Archduke was sick to the heart, and every surveillance report the Bureau received served to confirm that. With the man’s frail condition, no one would be surprised even if he passed away. Tan Hui, on the other hand…now that was a different story.
Tan Hui is well-educated, and he’s known for lacking neither refinement nor martial skill.
And more than that–Duan Wuxie strode over to a shelf and pulled out the topmost scroll, opening it single-handedly.
The internal investigation into the archive members for Lin Jie’s death was still ongoing, with two suspects under house arrest. One was the young and loose-tongued Huai Yan, who had already been reprimanded in the past for speaking carelessly. The other was the man who had accused Huai Yan in a backfired attempt to preserve his own career, the elderly and reserved Guo Qian.
Guo Qian’s hometown was the city of Anqin. The same place as Tan Hui.
“Give me a list of every place that Guo Qian used to frequent ten to fifteen years ago and send it to my office!” Duan Wuxie ordered.
“Yes sir!”
The young Investigator hurriedly put the files back before rushing off.
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Duan Wuxie slipped further into the archives, his fingers ghosting over scrolls until finally stopping before a shelf.
He carefully dug out the old surveillance records on Tan Hui from beneath piles of innocuous looking reports. That was back when the Emperor still regarded Archduke Qi as a beloved brother, when surveillance on the Archduke had been at a minimum.
Or at least, that was the official story. In truth, the Empress Dowager’s watchful eye had been following Archduke Qi and Tan Hui for years before the two fell from favor.
One by one, Duan Wuxie fished out the reports on Tan Hui’s activities.
Wu Zhihuan had been active in the capital as well, hadn’t he? No, but that was much earlier, before Empress Gongsun had been deposed.
But both Tan Hui and Guo Qian had already been in the capital by then.
Piling Tan Hui’s records into his satchel, he began rummaging for Wu Zhihuan’s records.
Activity in the capital started two decades ago…but he wasn’t monitored until the Emperor marked the Gongsun as a threat. We only have his transaction and activity records from then on. That would have to do.
Warily thinking back to Lin Jie’s fate, he sent off a message to the Director.
Unlike Lin Jie, Duan Wuxie was one of the strongest fighters in the capital. But one never knew which would come first, a twist of fate or the next morning.
He lugged the scrolls back to his own office and spread a fresh sheet of parchment, preparing himself to comb through the records for any potential interactions between Guo Qian, Tan Hui, and Wu Zhihaun. It had been years and years by now, and there was little way to trace any evidence backwards from the present. Even if he did find something–
His mind went back to the five dead Investigators, each of whom once had a bright future.
Their Director was convinced this wasn’t over, and Duan Wuxie found himself agreeing. It didn’t matter if his efforts turned out to be for nothing. If there was even the slightest reason for suspicion, something that they’d overlooked, then Duan Wuxie couldn’t ignore it.
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Alizhi sat inside General Yan’s tent, his eyes glazing over as the negotiations continued between General Yan, Lord Qu, and Hu Qing. After a long but surprisingly civil discussion, the three finally came to an agreement. Unbeknownst to him, the presence of Alizhi and Xie Rengui had done wonders to keep tempers even. As a seasoned commander, General Yan instinctively gravitated towards setting a good example before talented young men with no experience and overly trusting mindsets, something that Lord Qu had quickly picked up on.
It was why Alizhi had ended up sitting in on a discussion he was not involved in for hours on end.
“Now the problem is of how to communicate the General’s wishes to the Duke,” Lord Qu said. “This is a sensitive matter, and it wouldn’t do if we end up alarming the Khaganate or the court.”
“We have ways to communicate with the Duke through a relay call,” Alizhi pointed out. “My grandfather has a line set up all the way to Luoyang. If needed, our men in the Khaganate can connect us to the Anbei Protectorate, and we could–”
“How many different people would that go through?” General Yan said in disbelief.
“It’s a secure line,” Alizhi offered.
“Secure my ass! Even if it’s secure in the Wu, it’s not secure in the Khaganate!”
“The General has a point,” Lord Qu pointed out. “It is extremely difficult to ascertain whether individual men in a foreign land have been compromised. It only takes one man to ruin it all.”
“We could say that the Tiele came to escort us since we were inexperienced with navigating the grasslands,” Hu Qing said. “Most of the delegation’s Han. We only have one guy who’s from Nanzhao Kingdom and one guy who’s half-Arab, and both of their families have been in the Wu for several generations by now. It would make sense that we needed an escort.”
“I served on the Northern border for two decades,” Lord Qu pointed out.
“Yes, but you’re getting on in your years and it’s affecting your sight,” Hu Qing replied.
“It’s not,” Lord Qu said defensively. He paused for a moment. “No, you’re right. Of course it is. We can send some of your men back–not necessarily all of them, if that’s what you wish.”
Alizhi nodded. “Of course I can do that. In fact, I’ll personally arrange it for you. But what excuse do I use to get the Duke’s response back to you guys? We still don’t have an open line of communication.”
“Set up your men in the Khaganate like you mentioned before,” Hu Qing said. “As long as we have someone on the other side who understands what we’re saying, we can just write in code.”
General Yan nodded thoughtfully. At their expectant looks, he cleared his throat.
“Alright then. But I want someone to go down to the capital in person and confirm this,” he said. “You must realize that the fates of all these men hinge on my decision, I can’t just base it on empty words alone.”
Lord Qu raised a hand before anyone could protest.
“What kind of confirmation do you want?” Lord Qu asked.
“A written agreement by the Duke’s own hand, stamped with both his seal and that of the Third Prince’s,” General Yan said firmly. “Magically sealed.”
“Very well,” Lord Qu replied. “A good stipulation. Then we’ll find some excuse to have Sir Alizhi send the document to us. Does that satisfy you, General Yan?”
“It does,” General Yan agreed.
“Excellent. Then let’s discuss the code,” Lord Qu said.
Hu Qing turned to Alizhi as Lord Qu and General Yan began eagerly working out the details.
“Take the Pugu men with you as well,” Hu Qing murmured quietly. “Don’t tell them why you’re going back, just say it’s the General’s orders. If you see them leave the group at some point, don’t stop them.”
Alizhi gave him a look of confusion that slowly melted into realization.
“I suppose they have the Duke’s approval?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. But I won’t involve my men in this.”
“Of course not. The Pugu can figure it out themselves,” Hu Qing agreed. Or at least he hoped they could. “But if they fail, Tuhezhen can’t be allowed to survive.”
“So you’re telling me to get involved anyways,” Alizhi said in annoyance. “Isn’t there an easier way to do this?”
“Of course there is,” Xie Rengui said in a whisper. “Ask General Yan. If he has something to hold over the Duke, he’ll feel much more secure in the deal.”
“Are you kidding?” Hu Qing hissed.
“You’re already discussing it in his tent,” Xie Rengui pointed out. “You might as well. This isn’t a big deal for the Duke, but it is for the General. The only way to weigh out the disparity is to give the General something else to hold on to.”
Alizhi nodded enthusiastically, drawing General Yan’s attention.
“What are you brats up to?” He demanded.
Shooting a glare at Alizhi and Xie Rengui, Hu Qing reluctantly went with the flow.
“There’s someone we need to get rid of from the Tiele. We can’t let him go back to the Wu alive,” he said. General Yan glanced over to Alizhi in disbelief.
“The Pugu chieftain’s nephew, Tuhezhen,” Alizhi offered.
“What—what kind of bullshit are you stirring in now? We’re talking about negotiations! What are you dragging in an assassination for?!”
“Tuhezhen’s thirty-two,” Xie Rengui said helpfully. “Chieftain Heli is fifteen.”
Lord Qu raised his eyebrows slightly and patted General Yan’s shoulder.
“Might as well show the Duke a gesture of sincerity,” he said meaningfully. “After all, he’s the Tiele’s primary patron in the capital, along with the Sixth Princess.”
General Yan’s eyes flicked from Lord Qu to Alizhi and then back again. After a moment of deliberation, he gave a small laugh.
“Why now, why didn’t you just say so? Tell the Duke I’ll take care of this problem for him, so I expect him to take my demands seriously as well,” he said with finality. “Have this Tuhezhen go with my men on patrol tonight, you’ll leave without him tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, General!” Alizhi gave the General a warm smile, receiving a nod in return.
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Chuluo watched impassively as the Tiele riders disappeared into the distance. A few men had stayed, supposedly as navigators for the helpless Wu delegation. Among the remaining Tiele, one Pugu man had suffered a horseback injury the night before after being startled by an animal and confusing it for an enemy combatant.
The natural ease of the Tiele men as they left seemed to suggest they had nothing to hide.
Chuluo knew better.
“Escorts, were they?” He murmured.
His tarkhan stepped closer.
“My liege suspects otherwise?” Kulun asked. “They did pack lightly.”
“The Tiele are not so Sinicized yet, even if they lower their heads to an Emperor rather than a Khagan. They pack lightly by custom,” Chuluo replied. His eyes narrowed. “The Wu Emperor claims that he sent a delegation to express his support and emphasize the importance he places on our alliance. Do you believe that?”
“It is difficult to believe he has no ulterior motive,” Kulun admitted. “But he sent us a commander who is blessed by the gods, did he not? Unless your liege believes that General Yan’s victories were due to luck?”
“Fortune or not, we have benefited greatly thanks to him,” Chuluo said. “But the Wu Emperor is a man with great cunning. The words of the Chinese people are sweet, their fabrics are soft. If a person is far away, they give bad fabrics to them; if a person is close by, they give good fabrics to them. If we forget that in the face of their favors, we will surely suffer for it.”
“I will have our men in the capital look into this,” Kulun promised.
“Contact my daughter,” Chuluo said. “Tell her to find out what she can from that husband of hers.”
“As you wish, my liege.”
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Ju Shou buried his head in his blankets, muffling his silent screams of frustration beneath the piles of fabric. Tears threatened to spill out from his eyes, and he furiously tried to blink them back. If someone noticed–if someone saw–it would be over, all of it!
Yet the thought of his poor baby son made the tears well out, shamelessly trickling down his face even as he resented their doing so.
He was trapped, caught in an impossible decision.
Three days ago, he had suddenly lost contact with his son and Linhua, the boy’s mother. After his last visit, they hadn’t picked up a single call from him. When he asked a friend to check in on them, the house had been empty. Frantic with worry, Ju Shou had been about to beg the Third Prince for help when a message had mysteriously appeared in his room.
Tell anyone and we’ll kill both the mother and the child.
With no way to respond, Ju Shou had been forced to wait in utter agony until a second message had appeared. Yet his relief faded at the impossible demand. He couldn’t do it, they were demanding the impossible, it went too far, asked too much.
Biting down a string of shouted curses, Ju Shou felt a surge of rage and resentment towards his wife. That dour, dumpy woman with the temper of a tigress–that sad lump he’d been trapped with for ten years now—she was the one who refused to let him bring his son and lover into the household.
The bitch had threatened to throttle Linhua and smother his son if the two ever set foot into the household, and no amount of pleading or shouting did any good. Ju Shou wasn’t allowed to register Linhua as his concubine nor little Xuhuan as his son, at risk of provoking his wife’s bloodlust.
Almost in revenge, he spent most of his visits home at Linhua’s house instead, the one he had purchased for her. But then his wife would go crying to the Steward’s wife on a regular basis, and that nosy woman would threaten to take it to the Third Princess Consort, who would intervene–as if it were their business, as if any of it had to do with them! If only his wife had relented, none of this would have happened in the first place!
The rage burned his tears dry, and he was left seething in the middle of his nearly bare living quarters. He had never wanted to marry his wife. But the Royal Consort had wanted to thank him for his years of service to her son, and had arranged this soul-crushing match for him out of “gratitude”.
Some gratitude it was. Years of misery and anger every time he was in the presence of that infuriating sow, and the constant irritation that simmered under his skin when he was at work. The Third Prince was kind enough, yes, but the prince would never interfere on his behalf.
The woman had no dowry, no looks, and a terrible personality. The only thing good about her was that she was descended from someone famous–someone that Ju Shou certainly had never heard of.
Ju Shou had found refuge from the grating existence of daily life in his mistress Linhua, a childhood friend he had been reunited with after making an unfortunate match with his wife. After years, they'd finally had a son together. The little boy was the most precious presence in his life, and now the five-year-old was trapped in the hands of some scoundrel who couldn’t care less if the poor child was hungry or cold or uncomfortable–
Ju Shou felt his tears welling up again. The decision was agonizing, but poor little Xuhuan, and poor Linhua, forced to suffer in the hands of brutes because of his negligence. Yet to do what they asked–Ju Shou owed everything to the Third Prince. Even if it was as a poison tester, as someone hired to die in the Prince’s place, he had benefited from it. The Imperial household bought out his life with money, enough for him to settle Linhua and his son, keeping them housed and fed when his wife would gladly see them dead in the streets.
And his employer was a good man. The Third Prince was kind, and probably going to become the next Emperor. Was Ju Shou to destroy all that by sentencing the man to death? He wavered, torn between love and loyalty. Then realization struck.
To the prince I’m disposable, Ju Shou realized. I’m paid to be disposable. Even if I die, he’d have a replacement in time for the next cup of tea–that’s how I got hired in the first place. But my son and Linhua, they only have me.
He already owed them too much. The rightful positions in his family tree, the proper recognition as his concubine and son, all these things that he should have–would have given, if not for the looming pressure of the Royal Consort and her daughter-in-law who upheld her wishes.
Taking a deep breath, Ju Shou slowly let it out through his nose. The trembling in his limbs subsided, a strange coolness descending over him as he finally decided.
I'm sorry, my prince. But I choose my family.
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Cultural Notes
诛九族/Exterminating a clan to the ninth degree: As Kuang suggested, it would remain a legal punishment for a thousand years after the Tang Dynasty, continuing to occur even in the Qing dynasty till the end of Imperial China. Collective punishments are thought to be partially due to the collectivist nature of Chinese society, but in truth, similar practices exist in other societies as well (not necessarily to the same extent, but killing the family of a criminal or defeated political opponent is not uncommon). It is used as an intimidation tactic and also because the crimes they were applied to were usually ones so serious that it was assumed that someone who would commit such an act wouldn't care even if they died. So the natural thought press was to up the stakes for any potential criminal, but despite the high stakes, the recurrence of the punishment suggests that it has a limited effect for preventing serious crimes.
祖宗之法不可变/The laws of the ancestors cannot be changed: An argument often used by conservatives in Ancient China.
三纲绝矣! 不去，祸将及人/The three constant bonds have been broken, if one does not leave, they will be caught in disaster: This line was spoken about Wang Mang, who would go on to usurp the Western Han Dynasty before being usurped by the Eastern Han Dynasty. It refers to the dogblood incident in which an increasingly power-hungry Wang Mang killed his son for trying to dissuade Wang Mang via counterfeiting supernatural signs (by splashing dog blood on the door).
瘦死的骆驼比马大/A starved camel is still larger than a horse: A Chinese saying that means a ruined noble family still has prestige and connections. By relying on people who have resources but lack social prestige, they can gain support much easier than someone from a commoner background.
东山再起/Rise again from the East Mountain: An Ancient Chinese proverb meaning to rise again after a setback.
政治怪物/Political monster: A Chinese colloquial phrase.
永远不知道明天和意外哪个先来/But one never knew which would come first, a twist of fate or the next morning: A Chinese saying.
南诏国/Nanzhao Kingdom: An ancient kingdom in the Southwest of China, straddling modern-day Yunnan and Myanmar.
Navigating the grasslands: It's a common conception that people from the Central Plains (middle of China) or from the South have trouble navigating the grasslands and steppes of the North.
The words of the Chinese people are sweet, their fabrics are soft…If a person is far away, they give bad fabrics to them; if a person is close by, they give good fabrics to them: These quotes are pulled from the Orkhon Kul Tigin inscriptions, one of the oldest existing inscriptions in Ancient Turkish. These quotes refer to the divide and conquer strategy used by the Sui and Tang dynasties to deal with their Turkish rivals.
家谱/Family tree: The family held an important position in Ancient China and being added to a family tree meant having a legitimate heritage and access to the family's resources. Without it, one had a far weaker social position.