On the first day of class, all the girls were dressed alike — each in a pale fruit-green, round-collared, thin satin straight-cut robe embroidered with apricot-yellow sprays of blossoms at the chest, worn over a plain white cloud-silk long skirt. Each had a jade lock pendant at the chest and wore a radiant gold collar necklace at the throat, its filigree garland pattern and fine gold-wire droplets exquisitely beautiful.
“These gold collars are quite lovely — Old Grandmother has been so generous. I really must go thank her properly later.” Molan smiled and said this to Minglan; since it was the first day of class, Sheng Lao had asked everyone to go to the family school early, and so the morning greeting had been waived.
“They are pretty, though rather ordinary in weight. I already have a gold collar — it weighs a full ten-odd taels.” Rulan said offhandedly, while Changbai, who was flipping through a book beside her, glanced at her with displeasure.
“Ten-odd taels? Wouldn’t that drag your neck right down? No wonder I’ve never seen you wear it. I already find this one quite heavy.” Minglan rubbed her neck and grumbled.
“Sixth younger sister’s jade lock is really fine — it looks like seed jade from the Kunlun Mountains in the Western Regions.” Changfeng examined Minglan’s jade lock closely.
Molan had in fact noticed the jade lock long ago. Seeing her elder brother bring it up, she went over and took hold of Minglan’s pendant to look at it carefully. The lock’s surface was a moist, lustrous white with a faint tinge of jade-green, yet when the light shifted, the play of water within it resembled golden jadeite. The whole piece was finely textured, elegant and refreshing, translucent and round, flawlessly pure. She praised it: “Truly beautiful jade — I have never seen a color like this.”
In her heart she seethed with envy, thinking: this jade is even finer than my own. If I had moved into Shou’an Hall, wouldn’t this jade have been mine? Remembering that Sheng Lao had refused her, she felt a quiet, smoldering resentment.
Across the room, Rulan did not know much about jade. From the moment she entered the hall, she had been staring fixedly at the piece of jade on Molan’s chest. Bearing Wang Shi’s warnings in mind, she had been restraining herself all along. But now that everyone was talking about jade, she could no longer hold back: “Sixth younger sister, you had better watch out — Fourth elder sister has her eye on your jade. Give it a moment and she’ll go wheedle and cry to Father, and that jade of yours might just end up in Fourth elder sister’s pocket.”
Changfeng frowned and turned away to read his own book. Molan’s face flushed red with anger: “What does Fifth younger sister mean by that? Are you saying I make a habit of snatching things from my sisters?”
Rulan caught the warning look Changbai shot her way and remembered the ruler across her palm, so she softened her voice and drawled slowly: “I don’t mean anything — I just saw Fourth elder sister’s jade lock and some foolish thought came to mind. Elder sister need not take it to heart.”
Minglan immediately looked at the jade lock on Molan’s chest. It too was a fine, lustrous piece of white jade, but what made it especially remarkable was that its surface bore ink-toned markings in shifting depths of dark and light, the gradations exquisitely pleasing — at first glance it looked just like a landscape painting in ink wash, and Minglan could not help but inwardly marvel at it. Molan said angrily: “This jade was indeed sent over by the Wang family — Father saw that the color of the jade matched my name and so gave it to me, after which he immediately asked people everywhere to find a top-quality lotus jade even more suited to you. Why must you still not let it rest?”
Rulan gave a hollow smile: “Whether the jade is good or not, this younger sister wouldn’t know — I only know it was a token of my maternal uncle’s goodwill.”
Molan gave an affected smile: “Has Fifth younger sister forgotten — he is my maternal uncle too!”
Rulan gritted her teeth and glared at Molan, but she did not dare to bring up legitimate birth versus concubine-born again. At that moment, Changbai gave a heavy cough and said quietly: “The teacher is here.” Everyone immediately sat up straight.
Sure enough, there was a sound of footsteps, and Master Zhuang came in from the back hall, walking around the decorative screen.
“Nowadays most people read in order to pass the imperial examinations — what is called ‘achieving success and thus serving the world.’ Wanting to become an official — there is nothing shameful in saying so openly. But what of after passing the examinations? If one is shallow of vision and dull of speech, how can one last long in officialdom? Even those who rise will fall again! One’s coursework must be solid; when one’s belly is full of poetry and history, success will follow naturally.”
Master Zhuang understood his students’ goals clearly, and understood even more clearly what they sought to achieve, so from the very first lesson he went directly to the Four Books and Five Classics, weaving in surrounding content from historical texts and collected works, and supplementing it all with many past examination questions from across the dynasties. Since nearly all of his students had participated in the imperial examinations, he had in his hands a great number of cases of success and failure. He would take essays as examples — for the good ones, he would point out what made them good; for those that had failed, he would identify where they fell short.
This clear-eyed, well-organized method of teaching immediately inspired in Minglan a deep respect for this ancient teacher. She had always felt that Confucian scholars of antiquity were somewhat hypocritical — every last one of them was studying to pass the examinations and become an official, yet they went about every day wearing the air of reading purely for moral cultivation. But Master Zhuang did not conceal this at all: “‘Those of antiquity who wished to make virtue shine throughout the realm first governed their states; wishing to govern their states, they first regulated their households; wishing to regulate their households, they first cultivated themselves; wishing to cultivate themselves, they first rectified their hearts… When the heart is rectified, the self is cultivated; when the self is cultivated, the household is regulated; when the household is regulated, the state is governed; when the state is governed, there is peace throughout the realm.’ The question is not how many essays or poems one has written — it is a matter of overall cultivation and discipline. To stand firm over the long term, one must be thorough and grounded!”
Changbai and Changfeng sat in the front row. Boys of that age are still growing, and Sheng Hong’s genetic inheritance was good. Little Changdong at the end could not yet be judged, but the two young men both sat with straight, upright bearing. In the second row, the girls were all delicate and well-mannered, each gesture measured and proper. Though they were still young, two of them already showed the faint outlines of great beauties-to-be. Master Zhuang looked at them with a smile, stroking his sparse beard and nodding repeatedly. Mm — these eyes are very good. And at his age, with these old bones, he was already somewhat distant from the conventional notion of a man, so there was no longer any need to maintain gender separation from the female students.
There were six students in the family school in total, one teacher, and outside in the covered veranda waited a number of maids and manservants whose job was to heat water and tend the brazier. In classrooms across all of history, there has always been one unavoidable step — recitation, and the head-swaying, body-rocking kind at that.
No matter whether you already knew it backward and forward, you still had to sway your neck, bob your head, half-close your eyes, and drag out each line in a long, drawn-out tone — reading it with feeling, with rhythm, and with inexhaustible layers of meaning. Molan felt that the movement looked unbecoming on a girl and always refused to do it. Rulan would sway twice and immediately feel dizzy, so she would quit — and in any case, Master Zhuang never said anything to the girls about it.
Only Minglan found it genuinely useful. This circular movement of the neck was exactly what was needed to loosen the cervical spine made stiff and sore from bending over one’s writing and needlework. After a few sways, her neck and shoulders immediately felt much better. Minglan finally understood how ancient scholars could spend ten years bent over their books without developing cervical spine inflammation. As a result, she threw herself into the head-swaying and body-rocking all the more enthusiastically, so that Master Zhuang glanced at her twice during the morning.
Master Zhuang had strict rules: servants were not allowed inside, so grinding the ink and replenishing paper all had to be done by the students themselves. The others managed well enough, but Changdong was still very young, and his small hands could not even hold the ink stick steady. As it happened, he was sitting directly behind Minglan.
Minglan heard a series of panicked clinking and clattering sounds from behind her and felt she ought to lend a hand. Taking advantage of a moment when Master Zhuang was not looking, she turned swiftly around and neatly swapped her own freshly-ground ink slab with the one on the desk behind her — a perfectly swift and light motion all at once. Master Zhuang looked up, and Minglan was already sitting properly, wrist raised, grinding ink, looking very earnest and focused.
Master Zhuang’s small eyes flickered for a moment, then he continued his lecture. Minglan let out a quiet breath of relief. At that moment a tiny sound reached her from behind, thin as a small mole-rat: “…Thank you, Sixth elder sister.”
Minglan did not turn her head — she only gave a small nod to signal she had received the message.
Because of this bond forged between them, on the second day when Changdong came to Shou’an Hall to pay his morning respects, he slipped over to the doorway and quietly pulled Minglan’s sleeve, twisted his small body, made a little bow of cupped fists to express his gratitude, then hemmed and hawed for a long while. Minglan looked at Changdong, who stood a full head shorter than herself, and found this height difference most satisfying. She said patiently: “Fourth younger brother, what is it? You can tell elder sister freely.”
Thus encouraged, Changdong stumbled his way through an explanation. He had neither the advantage of legitimate birth nor of particular favor. Xiang Yiniang was a maid who had served Wang Shi — even the mistress herself was illiterate, so naturally the maid was even more so. Changdong had reached the age of five without any literacy instruction, and attending Master Zhuang’s lessons was like listening to a foreign language — both torturous and humiliating: “Elder brother… used to teach me a few characters before. But then he had to prepare for his examinations, and I did not want to trouble him… Sixth elder sister, I…”
He rarely had occasion to speak with others, was timid by nature, and spoke haltingly.
Minglan gave a soft “oh,” and thought to herself: which is better — to keep one’s distance or to lend a helping hand? She glanced over and caught sight of Changdong raising a small, shrinking face toward her, his whole expression full of eager hope, yet careful and restrained, afraid of being refused.
Minglan felt a sudden surge of compassion. She looked inside and saw that the Old Grandmother was talking with Wang Shi, and thought there was still some time before the morning greeting. She led Changdong into the Pear Blossom Cabinet and rummaged through a slim carved rosewood table until she found a character-tracing copybook, which she handed to Changdong with a gentle voice: “This is one Grandmother gave me for practicing characters. I never used this copy — it is still new. I’m giving it to you. You are young, so there is no need to rush. If you write just ten characters a day, that is already quite clever. From now on, each day when you come, I will assign you a few characters. While you listen to Master Zhuang’s lectures, memorize the characters at the same time — how does that sound?”
Changdong’s small face broke into a wide, wide smile. He nodded vigorously and thanked her again and again. Minglan looked at his tearfully grateful expression and thought of her own little nephew back home, who had to be coaxed and pleaded with by four or five adults just to attend class — and suddenly felt a sharp pang of sorrow.
That very day she taught Changdong five characters on the spot, demonstrating the starting and finishing strokes. Changdong stared wide-eyed and committed each one to memory with great effort, then during class followed along in his copybook, and after finishing the traced copy, practiced again and again on plain paper. By the time class ended and Minglan looked back, all five characters already had a respectable form.
“Changdong is truly clever — Father will certainly be pleased when he finds out.” Minglan smiled warmly and patted Changdong’s soft little head.
Changdong’s small face flushed red with delight.
Minglan had expected the child to have no staying power, but from that day on, Changdong came half a shichen early to Shou’an Hall every morning, taking advantage of the morning greeting time to find Minglan for his character lessons. The only problem was that Minglan was an utter lazybones, rising every day at the last possible moment. Danju had nearly resorted to splashing water on her face to get her up — and now things had truly become dire.
“Sixth elder sister, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — please sleep well. I came too early. I’ll wait for you outside…” Changdong, realizing Minglan was still in bed, had stopped short at the doorway and was saying in an alarmed voice, already turning to run, when Danju grabbed him and held him in place. She gave the bed curtains — behind which Minglan was clinging to her quilts — a reproachful look, while Nanny Cui by the bedside smiled bitterly, and little Xiaotao by the washstand squinted and narrowed her eyes. Minglan felt her scalp prickle, and dutifully got out of bed.
A child of four or five is ordinarily at the most drowsy, muddled stage of life, yet little Changdong had the willpower to rise before dawn for his character lessons. Had he been born in a modern single-child household, the whole family would likely have been setting off firecrackers and burning incense in celebration overnight. Out of admiration for this kind of spirit — truly worthy of respect — Minglan could neither bear nor bring herself to let a small child stand waiting. Gritting her teeth with a pained expression, she made herself get up early every single day.
“Remember — brush strokes go from left to right, from top to bottom. The beginning stroke requires a reversed entry, the ending stroke requires a lifted breath, and when writing the sweeping and slanting strokes you must slowly lift the wrist so the tip of the brush comes out looking fine…” Minglan and little Changdong sat side by side before the low kang table as she demonstrated each stroke. Nanny Cui came in from outside carrying a small black lacquer tray painted with floral roundels, on which sat two small white porcelain covered cups painted in five colors.
“Thank you, Nanny Cui — I’m sorry to trouble you. It is all my fault for causing Nanny Cui to take such pains.” Changdong’s small face turned red as he accepted the covered cup Nanny Cui offered him and thanked her softly. Back at Wang Shi’s quarters, he had rarely been allowed out and spent entire days speaking to no one but Xiang Yiniang, sometimes not exchanging more than a few words all day. After these few days of lessons with Minglan, he had not only made good progress in his characters — he had even become more fluent in speech.
“Amitabha — my little young master, what are you saying? If anything, we ought to thank you for coming! Without you here, we’d exhaust ourselves just trying to get the young miss out of bed!” Nanny Cui laughed, casting a reproving glance at Minglan. Minglan pretended not to hear and simply bent her head to blow on the cup in her hands. Nanny Cui then turned to Changdong: “Fourth young master, please drink up. This is a sweet tea brewed fresh from luo han guo and plum-powder brown sugar — it soothes the lungs and warms the stomach. There is nothing better to drink in the morning, and it will open your appetite for breakfast.”
Changdong held the covered cup in both hands and took a sip. His little mouth was warmed pink by the steam, his white and tender cheeks puffed out, and the sweetness went straight to his heart. He said shyly: “It is truly delicious. Thank you, Nanny. …But coming every day like this — it must be costing you all so much. There is no need to do this from now on — really, I do not need it…” His voice grew softer with each word.
Nanny Cui laughed: “Fourth young master — are you teasing us? What kind of expense is a little cup of tea? If you come every day, I will bring you tea every day! The only question is how long your sixth elder sister’s patience holds out…”
With that she looked over at Minglan with a laughing eye. Minglan thought to herself with bitter amusement: which book ever said that transmigrating into ancient times as a young miss meant you could sleep in as late as you liked? What a deception!
Outside the Pear Blossom Cabinet, Danju was packing up Minglan’s book bag and the bamboo basket filled with writing brushes, ink, paper, and ink stones. Xiaotao was helping beside her and asked naively: “Danju elder sister, it is good that Fourth young master comes — but our young miss is working herself quite hard, isn’t she? Look at her, yawning constantly. I’d rather let her sleep a bit longer. Why doesn’t she just teach Fourth young master in the afternoon nap time?”
Danju had delicate features. She made a sealing gesture at Xiaotao’s mouth and said softly: “Speak less of things that don’t concern you! In this household there are so many young masters and misses, and every one of them is compared to every other — nothing is ever even. It is difficult for Grandmother too. As the grandmother, she must hold the scales level for everyone. Our young miss is fortunate to be raised at Grandmother’s side — and even that came about through the business of Wei Yiniang’s death, and even so, there is no telling how many people resent and scheme against it. Outward flattery, hidden slander — even an extra needle or thread is enough to set tongues wagging endlessly. Fortunately our young miss is broad-minded and has never let such idle matters trouble her.
If she now draws close to Fourth young master, and has him constantly going in and out of Shou’an Hall, there will be another round of gossip. Yet Fourth young master is truly pitiable, and our young miss cannot simply ignore him — even Grandmother would pretend not to see. By using the morning greeting as a cover and teaching him a few characters that way, things are kept just right.”
Xiaotao was silent for a long moment, and then a shadow of melancholy crossed her freckled little face: “…Danju elder sister, our young miss is so gentle-natured and never quarrels with her sisters. She is only here because Grandmother took pity on her and loves her a little more — yet how can there be so much gossip about her?”
Danju said softly with a smile: “There is no need to fret. Things in the inner household are mostly like this, and it is not only our family that is this way. Our household is fortunate still to have the Master and Grandmother to keep things steady — it is already considered peaceful. You come from a farming family in the countryside and are used to a frank and free-spirited life — you have never encountered these twists and turns before. You will get used to them. And there is no need to fear them either. ‘A kind person is taken advantage of’ — when the situation calls for dignity, one must carry it. Otherwise disgracing ourselves is a small matter; disgracing our young miss would be the greater wrong.”
Xiaotao nodded earnestly, lowered her head, and went back to her work. Then she suddenly said: “Oh, right — I still need to go and instruct those four girls in green that they are absolutely not to go spreading word outside about the young miss teaching Fourth young master his characters!”
Danju covered her mouth and laughed. Imitating Minglan’s manner, she struck a pose and said in a dignified voice: “Very good, very good — you have grasped the principle from one instance. Truly, a student worth teaching.”