The Zhou family, a prestigious lineage spanning centuries, was renowned for its literary tradition. Zhou Jingwan lived up to this reputation, surpassing her peers in scholarly pursuits from a young age. She was widely recognized as a talented young lady among the elite families of the capital.
Zhou women never lacked suitors, and after Jingwan came of age, potential matches flocked to their households. However, her mother turned them all away, citing the excuse, “My daughter is still young. I wish to keep her by my side for a few more years.”
While this reason seemed plausible, Jingwan understood her mother’s true motives. It wasn’t about keeping her at home longer; rather, her mother found the suitors unsuitable. Ever since Jingwan’s elder sister, Zhou Jingshu, had married into the less prestigious Li family, their mother harbored discontent. Despite Jingshu’s loving marriage and comfortable life (save for the lack of children), their mother maintained that a Zhou daughter deserved a more illustrious match.
Jingwan, however, had a clearer perspective on the matter of family status. Her father held a high position as a royal advisor and was well-respected among scholars. Marrying into another prominent family of officials might raise suspicions of political alliances.
While Jingwan had contemplated her marriage prospects, she never imagined that the renowned Deputy Commander of the Imperial Guard, Lu Ting, would personally come to propose.
“Young, powerful, and with a bright future,” her mother remarked approvingly at dinner the night of Lu Ting’s proposal. “I find this Commander Lu quite suitable.”
Jingwan paused, chopsticks in hand, and gently reminded her mother, “But Mother, Commander Lu has a fearsome reputation…”
“Mere gossip! We mustn’t believe everything we hear,” her mother chided, turning to Jingwan’s father. “My lord, I found Commander Lu to be well-mannered and humble, not at all the brute some claim him to be. At such a young age, he’s already close to the Emperor. Surely you must know him from court?”
“Lu Ting? I’m not familiar with him,” her father replied offhandedly, focused on his meal.
Her mother scoffed, “Always buried in your work at the Hanlin Academy! How could you know anyone?”
Realizing his misstep, her father quickly backtracked, “What I meant was, although I don’t know him well, Lu Ting is indeed close to the Emperor. He must be quite capable.”
He paused, as if in deep thought, then added, “The Lu family has a history of loyalty to the throne. Lu Ting is now the sole heir. The Emperor trusts him, though his personality is—” He hesitated, noticing Jingwan’s expectant look, then finished, “—somewhat reserved. He’s a man of few words, which is good. It means a peaceful household.”
Jingwan felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. From the moment Lu Ting proposed, she sensed this marriage would be difficult to refuse.
The Lu family had a long history of high-ranking officials, but they faced a tragic demise for supporting the current Emperor’s ascension. Only Lu Ting escaped the massacre. This connection earned him the Emperor’s favor, leading to his appointment as Deputy Commander of the Imperial Guard at a young age. He held the third-highest rank and commanded the imperial army, undoubtedly a trusted confidant of the Emperor.
In the capital, suitors who met her mother’s standards without raising suspicions of political alliances were few. Lu Ting was indeed an excellent choice.
However, Jingwan was deeply reluctant about this marriage. Though she had seen Commander Lu before, she never dared to look at him directly. She only remembered the scar on his left forehead and the fierce look in his eyes. His notorious reputation sent chills down her spine at the mere mention of his name.
After much persuasion from her friends Ming Tan and Bai Minmin, who reminded her of her own words about the Prince of Beiding, Jingwan reluctantly agreed to meet Lu Ting at the Great Xiangguo Temple.
The meeting only strengthened her resolve against the marriage. She found him ruthless, arrogant, and vulgar, assuming he could win her over with a lavish dowry.
Jingwan left the meeting, vowing to resist the marriage. Yet, despite her outward defiance, she feared the consequences of offending such a powerful man. She worried about the trouble it might bring to her family. Moreover, she didn’t truly wish to die; having overcome a weak constitution through years of bitter medicines, she didn’t want to throw her life away needlessly.
Torn by indecision and worry, she spent many nights in secret tears, eventually falling ill.
Surprisingly, Lu Ting, upon hearing of her illness, quietly sent various tonics and a letter explaining the misunderstanding from their meeting. He hadn’t intended to offend her with talk of the dowry; he had simply misunderstood the classical reference she had used and responded inappropriately.
The letter, though poorly written, was earnest. What could have been explained in a few sentences filled two pages? As Jingwan read, she couldn’t help but smile.
Soon after, the marriage between Jingwan and Lu Ting was arranged. With both families in agreement, the traditional ceremonies proceeded smoothly. However, due to a natural disaster and subsequent epidemic in Lingzhou, the wedding had to be kept low-key and simple.
On the wedding day, as Lu Ting carried Jingwan to the bridal sedan, he whispered a solemn promise: “Jingwan, I, Lu Ting, vow to spend the rest of my life making up for the grand wedding procession you deserve today.”
Amidst the celebratory noise and being held by a man for the first time, Jingwan, hidden beneath her red veil, was too flustered to fully grasp his words. It wasn’t until much later that she realized this man was doing everything in his power to give her what he believed she deserved.
Initially, Jingwan felt uncomfortable in her marriage to Lu Ting. They had grown up in completely different environments and had many conflicting habits.
She valued cleanliness, but Lu Ting often had to be coaxed into bathing after returning home. She had a delicate constitution and preferred light meals, while Lu Ting enjoyed rich, meaty dishes. Their dining table was always a clear division of their differing tastes.
Jingwan loved reading, writing, and painting, but Lu Ting was completely unfamiliar with these pursuits. In the early days of their marriage, they often struggled to find common ground in conversation.
While other couples might make up for a lack of verbal communication with physical intimacy, Jingwan’s fragile health limited such activities. For most of their first month sharing a bed, Lu Ting had to restrain himself.
Even Jingwan herself expected their relationship to grow colder and more distant over time, potentially leading to Lu Ting taking concubines. However, as days passed, there were no signs of additional women in their household.
One day, while having tea at Ming Tan’s residence, the conversation took an interesting turn. Ming Tan casually mentioned, “By the way, my husband told me that during a sparring match with Commander Lu at the capital’s military camp, a copy of the ‘Nanhua Jing’ fell from Lu’s sleeve. The Commander was quite perplexed by the book. Are you perhaps being too hard on him?”
Zhou Jingwan was taken aback. “The ‘Nanhua Jing’?”
“You didn’t know?” Ming Tan’s expression turned playful. “I’ve heard that your Commander Lu has recently set up a fine set of writing materials at the Imperial Guard headquarters. He’s been going through stacks of Yunyang paper every day.”
Jingwan was speechless.
Upon returning home, Jingwan maintained her composure. She dined with Lu Ting, bathed, changed, and then stood at her desk to practice calligraphy.
Usually, she rarely engaged in reading or writing when Lu Ting was present. Seeing her sudden interest, Lu Ting seemed unsure of what to do, sitting idly on the couch, polishing his gleaming sword.
After finishing her writing, Jingwan called out, “Husband, come here for a moment.”
As Lu Ting approached, she asked softly, “How is my calligraphy today?”
“Your writing is always excellent,” Lu Ting replied without hesitation. However, upon closer inspection, he paused. “‘All things are it; all things are not it. From it, one cannot see it, but through understanding, one knows it.’ This is… from the ‘Nanhua Jing’?”
Jingwan nodded. “The ‘Nanhua Jing’ is difficult. I don’t fully understand its meaning, so I’m writing it out repeatedly.”
Lu Ting hesitated. “Are there things you don’t understand as well?”
“Of course,” Jingwan replied gently. “Even my father, who has read thousands of books, wouldn’t claim to understand everything. Progress in learning takes time and shouldn’t be rushed.”
Lu Ting seemed to grasp her meaning.
Without further explanation, Jingwan laid out fresh paper and opened a copy of the “Analects”. “Would you like to practice calligraphy with me?”
Lu Ting was more familiar with the “Analects”. Starting from the beginning didn’t seem too difficult. After a brief pause, he nodded. “I have nothing else to do, so why not?”
“Husband, don’t rest your arm on the table when writing. Try to keep it suspended, as if you’re wielding your sword.”
“That’s too forceful. Try to be more gentle.”
“There’s no need to correct mistakes. Simply start over.”
As the night grew quiet and the candlelight flickered, only Jingwan’s soft instructions could be heard. When Lu Ting struggled, she would gently guide his rough hand with her small one, carefully demonstrating each stroke.
To be fair, Lu Ting wasn’t a natural student, but he was patient and diligent, never becoming frustrated or giving up when he made mistakes. As they practiced writing and reading together, their conversations became more frequent and their interactions more natural.
Since their marriage, Jingwan had warmed to Lu Ting but still felt somewhat intimidated by him. Gradually, she discovered that while he could be awkward and silent, he was also attentive and gentle. She, who had always been mild-mannered, began to show a more capricious side, often displaying little moods towards Lu Ting.
Their most serious quarrel occurred when the Jing’an Marquis’s household faced trouble. Despite understanding Lu Ting’s duty and the inviolability of imperial orders, Jingwan couldn’t help but vent her frustrations on him. Lu Ting didn’t argue back, enduring her outbursts silently and following her constantly even when she ignored him.
Later, she asked why he had insisted on marrying her when they had only met once before his proposal. Lu Ting corrected her, “It wasn’t just once.”
He recounted a time from his youth, after his family’s downfall. Learning that the Shou family, with help from the Cheng’en Marquis’s household, was responsible, he rashly stormed into the Cheng’en Marquis’s residence seeking revenge.
Surrounded by the Marquis’s eldest son and his men, Lu Ting was brutally beaten. A blade slashed from his eye to his forehead, blood pouring down his face as he was pinned to the ground. The son’s mocking voice rang out, “You lucky dog, you should have died with the rest. How dare you come here seeking trouble?”
Lu Ting never forgot that day’s humiliation and torment. Nor did he forget the gentle, shy smile he glimpsed through a latticed window.
That day, the Cheng’en household was hosting a flower-viewing party. The Marquis’s son had stumbled upon Lu Ting while trying to peek at the female guests. As his men tormented Lu Ting, the son leisurely stood by the window, commenting on the women.
“Who’s that lady in the grey-green dress? I’ve never seen her before. She looks so demure – just my type.”
Lu Ting thought to himself that the gentle, demure lady was his type too. Her smile, like a spring breeze rippling across the water, seemed to ease the pain of his wounds.
Years later, when Lu Ting personally oversaw the confiscation of the Cheng’en household’s property, the man who had once pinned him down now groveled at his feet, begging for mercy.
Later, at the Great Xiangguo Temple, while Ming Tan’s literary references bored him, Zhou Jingwan’s subtle smile captured his attention completely.
Three years into their marriage, Jingwan’s maternal grandmother in Jiangnan passed away. Jingwan accompanied her mother to attend the funeral. Unable to leave his duties with the Imperial Guard, Lu Ting could only send letters every three days to ease his longing.
Jingwan replied to his letters, always first critiquing the numerous errors in his writing.
Under her strict guidance, Lu Ting’s writing improved significantly. But after three months of correspondence, with no sign of Jingwan’s return, Lu Ting finally expressed his impatience.
“My dear wife Jingwan, I’ve been reading ‘The Spring and Autumn of the Ten Kingdoms’. King Wu Su of Qian wrote to his wife: ‘The flowers bloom along the path, you may delay your return.’ The scenery in Jiangnan must be beautiful, but with flowers blooming, will you delay your return?”
Jingwan smiled upon reading his letter. After some thought, she replied tenderly, “Your letters are becoming more concise, husband, and free of errors. However, it’s autumn now, with withering leaves and fading flowers. How can I delay my return to admire them?”
After sending her reply, she rose and glanced at her packed luggage before leaving the room.
Though there were no fields of flowers along her journey home, she knew that by returning now, she could still catch the golden ginkgo leaves carpeting both banks of the Xian River. She could share the beautiful Mid-Autumn scenery with him, their reunion as perfect as the full moon.