The Classic of Filial Piety?

Lang Jiuchuan lowered her head and looked at the book lying at her feet. She nudged it with the tip of her shoe and smiled.

She lifted her gaze to Cui Shi and asked, “Before we go any further, why don’t you tell me, Madam — what exactly is kindness?”

Cui Shi’s pupils gave a faint tremor. She stepped back, her face ashen: “You—!”

“I have no manners, I know nothing — but I do know one phrase: a loving mother raises a filial child.” Lang Jiuchuan said with a sneer. “Madam, first comes a loving mother — only then comes a filial child!”

“How dare you — insolent girl!” Cui Shi’s lips quivered with rage.

Cheng Nanny, deeply worried, stepped in to mediate. “Madam, anger harms the body. The weather is cold, and the young miss has only just returned. Why not let her wash up first? As for the ancestral hall…”

“Nanny, the old master’s mourning period hasn’t even been a month, and she dares to wander away from home without returning. This act of unfilial conduct — inside the Marquis Residence, there are family members who shield her. But out there, wouldn’t people tear her apart with words?”

Cheng Nanny said dryly, “But wasn’t it said that the young miss went to pray for the late Marquis’s peaceful passage?”

Lang Jiuchuan said, “No need to say anything more. Show me where the ancestral hall is, and I’ll go.”

Cui Shi was taken aback.

But Lang Jiuchuan said nothing further. She directly singled out a maidservant and told her to lead the way, then walked straight out of the courtyard. As for the Classic of Filial Piety lying on the ground, she didn’t spare it a single glance, let alone bother picking it up to read.

Not tearing it to shreds right in front of Cui Shi’s face was, all things considered, a sign of her good mood and magnanimity — fruits of a productive journey.

As for the ancestral hall — that was a fine place to go. Sheltered by the Lang Family’s ancestors, nourished by accumulated virtue and merit, it was the perfect spot to absorb and consolidate what she had gained on this trip. Ideal.

Her untamed, wild manner left Cui Shi feeling as though she had thrown a punch into cotton — all that effort landing on nothing. She pressed a hand to her chest, gasping in short, furious breaths.

“Just look at her — does she even act like a young lady should?” Such brazen defiance — which proper young girl behaved like that?

Though Cheng Nanny found this mother-daughter pair, forever at each other’s throats like needle and sharp grain, deeply troubling, she noticed something: because Cui Shi had worked herself into a fury, some color had returned to her face. Unlike before — that dead, lifeless pallor — she looked almost alive again.

She supported Cui Shi’s arm and gently advised, “The young miss is still young. You never raised her a single day in the past, so it will take time to teach her. And you needn’t be so harsh with her. A body like hers, truly kneeling in the ancestral hall in weather this cold — how could she bear it?”

Cui Shi said, “Are you blaming me too, Nanny?”

“This old servant is afraid you and the young miss will only grow further apart.” Cheng Nanny sighed. “My dear lady, in this entire household, there is no one closer to you than the young miss. You two ought to be of one heart, supporting each other. Even if an heir is adopted in the future, that bond still cannot compare to the one between you and her.”

Cui Shi fell silent.

Seeing she didn’t argue back, Cheng Nanny continued, “Even if you are displeased, this old servant must still speak up for the young miss. She spent over ten years alone on a farm estate. If she harbored not even a trace of resentment, that is what would truly frighten me.”

Even a sage could not achieve such a thing — let alone a young girl who had not yet come of age.

If there were truly not a shred of grievance in her, how deep would her schemes run? Could anyone sleep soundly at night around such a person?

Cui Shi opened her mouth but ultimately said nothing.

News that Lang Jiuchuan had been sent by Cui Shi to kneel at the ancestral hall as punishment spread through the Lang household, drawing varied reactions. Among the younger generation, some reveled in schadenfreude; the adults sighed. The second branch was already so thin in numbers — a mother and daughter who should have been each other’s lifelines couldn’t even get along. What was to be done?

Lang Zhengping felt he could not stand by and watch. He went to find Wan Fang and asked her to comfort Cui Shi — there was no need to be so severe.

Wan Fang smiled lightly. “You certainly have a soft spot for your niece, the ninth girl.”

There weren’t many young ladies in the household. Setting aside those already married, three remained unwed — one from each branch. Yet Lang Zhengping was notably indulgent toward Lang Jiuchuan, this niece who hadn’t grown up before his eyes.

“She is, after all, Second Brother’s only flesh and blood. And her constitution is so frail — if she were to…” Lang Zhengping couldn’t finish the thought, his worry for Lang Jiuchuan’s health evident.

Wan Fang said, “Why not invite Imperial Physician Guan to come and carefully prescribe a restorative treatment for her?”

Lang Zhengping nodded, then also asked Wan Fang to send someone to the ancestral hall to arrange matters — kneeling as punishment was merely symbolic; actually letting her kneel until something went wrong would send Cui Shi to her grave with regret.

Lang Jiuchuan, still unaware of the household’s various reactions to her kneeling punishment, now stood in the courtyard of the ancestral hall within the Marquis Residence, taking in the grand yet intricately crafted ancestral shrine before her. She listened to the crisp ringing of the bells hanging from the hexagonal upturned eaves, and the corner of her lips curved slightly upward.

It was already evening. The ancestral hall sat in the northwest corner of the Marquis Residence, off the beaten path. The entire shrine was hung with paper lanterns — not exactly brilliantly lit, but the hall’s plaque bore four large characters written in gold paint: Ancestral Virtue, Lineage Merit. A small lamp hung directly above the plaque, its light falling precisely on those characters, casting them in a layer of gilded radiance.

Word had it that after the Lang ancestors followed the founding Emperor to conquer the realm on horseback and earned great merit, they established their clan and built this ancestral hall — and specifically petitioned the founding Emperor himself for those very words on the plaque.

The man keeping watch over the Lang Family’s ancestral hall was an old soldier who had served under the late Marquis. His leg bore an old arrow wound, leaving him with a slight limp, and beneath one eye ran a long scar. Unable to move freely and with his features marred, he had remained in the Lang household’s service, and was eventually assigned to guard the ancestral shrine. When he saw Lang Jiuchuan, he was briefly struck still.

For no particular reason, he saw in her the image of a young man from years past — but that boy had long since met the same fate as his forebears, returning wrapped in a horse’s hide.

He’d heard the second master’s only daughter had come back. Was this the one before him now? She looked far too frail.

The old servant gave her a slight bow.

Lang Jiuchuan returned the courtesy and said, “I trouble you, elder. I have come to the ancestral hall to reflect on my faults.”

The old servant said, “Ninth Young Miss may simply call this old servant Old Chang.”

He stepped forward first, unlocked the ancestral hall’s great doors with a key, then went to the lacquered red incense box on the offering table, took out several sticks of incense, and handed them to Lang Jiuchuan.

At the center of the ancestral hall stood an enormous wooden rack holding numerous spirit tablets — all bearing the names of Lang Family members, many of them the souls of Lang sons who had died in battle. From these tablets alone, one could see how much merit the Lang Family had once accumulated, making it all the more sorrowful that they had fallen so far, drifting to the margins of the court.

A sigh.

Lang Jiuchuan accepted the incense, lit it with solemn reverence, bowed three times, and placed it in the incense burner.

She then looked around and made her way to the left wall, where numerous portraits hung — all men of the Lang Family who had distinguished themselves in service.

Lang Jiuchuan stopped before one portrait. The subject appeared to be barely past twenty. Thick brows full of heroic spirit, long narrow phoenix eyes, his chin tilted slightly upward. He wore a full suit of armor, one hand gripping a long-tasseled spear, the other cradling a champion’s cap held against his hip. He looked vibrant and glorious, commanding and brilliant — and just a little insufferably proud.

Lang Jiuchuan held the painted eyes in her gaze, and something stirred faintly in her chest.

This was the biological father of the body she now inhabited — Lang Zhengfan, the young general who, had he not died before his prime, would surely have accumulated outstanding battle achievements.

“This was your father at twenty-one.” Old Chang stepped forward, stopping just behind her, and said, “He had just been conferred as a fifth-rank general then — quite the striking figure he cut. The household happened to be having portraits done for the old Marquis at the time, so they painted one of him as well. But who could have known that…”

Lang Jiuchuan’s fingers brushed over the portrait. “May I see the genealogy?”