And so the days of studying passed — barely five days had gone by when Master Zhuang’s wife finished settling all her affairs and proposed to Sheng Lao that she spend a few afternoons each month teaching the young misses the art of qin. Sheng Lao initially refused, worried about imposing on her, but the Master’s wife slapped her chest with great spirit and swore up and down that it would be no trouble, and so Sheng Lao had no choice but to agree. Minglan, who happened to be in the Pear Blossom Cabinet taking her midday nap at the time, heard this and suddenly understood everything. No wonder Master Zhuang’s fee was so high — it was truly worth every coin. It was a buy-one-get-one arrangement.
However, what comes bundled in for free is not always better. The Master’s wife was even harder to get around than Master Zhuang himself. With Master Zhuang, there were no assignments to hand in, no texts to recite or questions to answer — dashing off a couple of essays when one had the time was perfectly sufficient. But the Master’s wife was inflexibly exacting: each girl sat before her own seven-stringed guqin, and the Mistress taught them finger by finger, hand by hand, and even held timed assessments.
After working through the five tones of gong, jue, shang, zhi, and yu, Minglan was left dizzy and ringing in both ears. She finally understood that she had not one shred of artistic aptitude in her entire being — no wonder she had been turned away from music as an elective back in her university days. Rulan suffered greatly in the guqin lessons as well. She lacked Minglan’s patience, and over the course of a morning might snap five or six strings. Molan, on the other hand, was naturally talented in the arts — she took to it at once, playing with effortless fluency, and after being praised by the Master’s wife several times, she practiced all the more diligently. Within ten zhang of Lin Qi Pavilion, birds scattered in fright.
That said, the guqin is an instrument of rather rarefied taste. In this era, when the primary goal of most common people was simply enough to eat and wear, the number of people who could appreciate the guqin would likely not exceed the number of pandas in ancient times. Minglan weighed her own standing as the sixth daughter of a secondary household and thought to herself: as long as her future husband was not a devoted fan of coarse popular ballads, she would count herself lucky — she had no right to expect him to appreciate something this elevated.
About a month later, Hualan sent home the first letter from the capital. Sheng Lao’s eyes had grown blurred and she could not read clearly; Wang Shi could not read at all; and some of the contents touched on private inner-household matters that were not suitable for the boys or the servants to hear. In the end, Rulan and Minglan worked together and haltingly read through the letter.
It was a letter reporting all was well. Broadly, it said that married life was very happy, and that Yuan Shao treated her with considerable consideration. The only discomfort was that the two chamber attendants who had been in the house before the marriage were both maids who had served him since childhood — this sat uneasily with Hualan, though since the marriage Yuan Shao had paid them no further attention. Her father-in-law, the old Earl of Zhongqin House, liked this lively and charming new daughter-in-law very much, but her mother-in-law was indifferent and doted only on the eldest daughter-in-law. On further inquiry, it emerged that the eldest daughter-in-law was the daughter of the Earl’s wife’s own first cousin — so naturally there was no wedging in there. However, since Yuan Shao was quite accomplished outside the household and was considered a credit to that low-profile Earl’s house, the household’s stewards and managers did not dare slight Hualan, and her days passed rather well on the whole.
As Minglan read, she thought: not bad. The father-in-law is, after all, the true power in the Earl’s household. Having his favor is a good thing. Generally speaking, as long as a father-in-law who likes his daughter-in-law keeps that liking confined to appropriate bounds — and does not carry it to the pleasure quarters — it is entirely a good thing!
Wang Shi listened to every word and then let out a long breath. She knew Hualan was particular — if something were merely good, she would praise it as only one part wonderful. The way she wrote now, life after marriage was clearly quite pleasant.
“It is perfectly natural for parents to lean on their eldest son, and to value the eldest daughter-in-law all the more — tell that eldest girl not to take it to heart. Just live her own days well — be filial to her in-laws, serve her husband…” Sheng Lao could not help but go on and on with advice.
Wang Shi sighed: “I understand the principle, of course. But Hualan has always been first in this household since she was small — she has never been overshadowed by anyone. Now… alas, once the family separates, things will be better. After all, the Earl’s house will go to the eldest branch — Hualan and her husband living on their own will not be bad either, and the son-in-law is capable besides.”
Under ordinary circumstances, Sheng Lao would have said something about how children should not separate from parents while the parents are alive, and so on. But she had genuine affection for Hualan, whom she had raised, so her heart softened and went along with Wang Shi: “It is also good to practice propriety before the elders — when they eventually establish their own household, they will already have a way of doing things. The more pressing matter is to have news of a child soon…”
Time flew by like a shuttle. The Sheng Mansion remained peaceful and undisturbed. Sheng Lao gradually sorted out the household rules; Wang Shi slowly regained the authority to manage the household; all affairs proceeded according to each person’s proper rank, and anything uncertain was referred to the Old Grandmother. Sheng Hong, seeing that the internal order was harmonious, the servants and stewards all properly obedient, was greatly satisfied. Only Lin Qi Pavilion was full of grievance — Sheng Hong, bearing in mind Nanny Kong’s words, steeled himself to ignore Lin Yiniang. Even when Feng Ge’er and Molan came to plead on her behalf, he put on the face of a stern father and sent them each away with a scolding.
Lin Yiniang was not willing to let matters rest. After more than ten years of exclusive favor, she had long since grown accustomed to it, and so she deployed every kind of stratagem — now falling ill, now pining with melancholy, now weeping and pleading, now sowing discord. But Sheng Hong had shared a bed with her for more than ten years, and the same moves used over and over again lost their edge no matter how effective they once were. He had developed considerable immunity. Instead, the many kindnesses Sheng Lao had shown him in his youth rose to his mind unbidden — the more he thought of them, the more unfilial he felt. Recalling the reason his relationship with his mother had grown distant, he experienced a domino of emotions, and so hardened his heart, kept Lin Yiniang at a cold distance, and channeled all that ardent energy into his work.
He encouraged farming and weaving, managed trade and commerce, and in just two years had brought Dengzhou into a state of prosperity and abundance — a substantial amount of tax revenue was submitted, and his political record was impressive. Moreover, he was skilled at managing relationships, and he kept up regular exchanges with his acquaintances both locally and in the capital. When his term ended, he again received an outstanding performance evaluation, was promoted to the junior fifth rank, and was given a renewed appointment.
Flourishing in his official career, with his official path going smoothly, Sheng Hong paid little attention to Lin Yiniang’s moods as she continued to make difficulties. Instead, faced with Wang Shi’s temperamental and unreasonable nature, he grew accustomed through repeated exposure, and would occasionally have a few quarrels with her. But now that he was standing on solid moral ground, Wang Shi had no grounds for argument — whenever she overstepped, she found Sheng Hong seizing on it precisely. “Unfilial,” “disrespectful,” “improper,” “unvirtuous” — hat after hat came down on her head, and Wang Shi had no defense. Sheng Hong won every exchange. He then paid occasional visits to the young and pretty Xiang Yiniang and Ping Yiniang to lift his spirits, and kept an eye on his children’s studies and conduct. Life passed in a rather leisurely and contented manner.
Seeing that things were going wrong, Lin Yiniang mustered every last ounce of her gentle and yielding manner, and dared not raise any further demands above her station. With tremendous effort she managed to win a portion of Sheng Hong’s attention back, but from this point on she was considerably more subdued.
Minglan nestled in Shou’an Hall, keeping Sheng Lao company and playing with her. The old and the young were very well-suited to each other — harmonious and cheerful, full of laughter and mischief. Every time Sheng Hong came to pay his respects, he found the atmosphere in Shou’an Hall wonderfully warm and comfortable, and he relaxed accordingly. His conversations with the Old Grandmother grew more and more at ease. Sometimes he would take up one of Minglan’s failed embroidery pieces and tease her affectionately, and with Molan and Rulan chiming in merrily beside him, and Changbai and Changfeng showing real progress in their studies, and his wives and concubines having reined in their tempers — all in all, from the outside it looked like a household in harmony. Sheng Hong very nearly had the feeling of a realm in peace.
That afternoon there was once again a guqin lesson with the Master’s wife. Minglan had been feeling her fingers ache since the morning, and now Master Zhuang was still lecturing on and on with no sign of stopping. If he kept running over time like this, there would be no time to rest at noon at all. She raised her head in miserable protest, and found that apart from herself and Changdong, who was busy practicing his characters, everyone else was engaged in an animated discussion with bright, energetic faces.
The most sensational topic in the capital right now was the struggle for succession between the Third Prince and the Fourth Prince. The Third Prince had recently taken in a great many new concubines and was toiling away day and night at the matter until his eyes were glazed — yet his efforts were spread thin with little yield, and to this day he had produced no son. The Third Prince’s mansion was packed full of Daoist priests and Buddhist monks, burning incense and offering prayers every day, which caused no small number of censors and remonstrating officials who had been sitting on the fence to feel displeased. Meanwhile, the Fourth Prince’s only son was growing steadily and had already begun to babble his first words. The Fourth Prince, broad of mind and full of good cheer, had actually grown better-tempered of late, and his supporters were multiplying by the day.
The Emperor’s health was declining day by day, and the debate over the choice of heir had reached a fever pitch. Both sides had their own partisans rallying and waving banners, constantly citing classical precedents, arguing with inexhaustible enthusiasm.
Today Master Zhuang had been lecturing on the text “Kong Family Sayings · Qu Li and Gong Xi Chi’s Questions,” which contained the passage “Gong Yi Zhong’s legitimate heir died, and his younger brother was established in his place.” Being a good teacher — one who habitually links theory to practical application — and given his naturally bold and free-spirited character, he threw open this topic and invited his students each to debate it: is it better to establish the legitimate eldest son, or to establish one of superior virtue and ability?
At first, Changbai and Changfeng both objected, saying that to rashly discuss affairs of state was to invite disaster. Master Zhuang waved his hand and smiled: “No matter, no matter — even the teahouses in the capital talk of nothing else these days, to say nothing of the noble houses and high officials who discuss it behind closed doors. There is no harm in speaking a little among ourselves. Moreover, what we are discussing today is the question of legitimate heir versus capable heir — it has nothing to do with current affairs. Come, everyone weigh in!”
This was a question of considerable practical relevance within the Sheng household as well. Now that the teacher had said so, the students immediately jumped in with enthusiasm. The two sides were clearly drawn: Changbai and Rulan were the natural partisans of the legitimate eldest, while Changfeng and Molan were instinctively drawn to the capable-heir side. Among the rest, Minglan went fishing for fish instead of taking sides, and Changdong abstained.
Changbai opened by making the oblique point about Qin Er Shi — Hu Hai — the original precedent-setting disastrous emperor, arguing that disregarding legitimate succession had been enough to bring down a perfectly good dynasty. Changfeng immediately countered with the example of Emperor Wu of Han — after all, Liu Che had been about the tenth or eleventh in line among Emperor Jing of Han’s sons. Changbai had read the historical texts more thoroughly than Changfeng, and he immediately pointed out, concisely and incisively, that no matter how much Emperor Jing favored Liu Che, he had first elevated Lady Wang to the position of Empress, thereby completing the matter in terms of ritual propriety — thus allowing the “little piglet” to ascend the throne with full legitimacy. This, he said, was precisely proof of the principle of legitimate succession.
Changfeng’s heart sank a little. Molan followed up, raising the famous foolish emperor of the Jin dynasty — Emperor Hui — in a soft, gentle voice: “…The whole court, civil and military alike, knew that Emperor Hui was dim-witted — yet because he was the legitimate eldest, they still installed him, and thus came the exclusive power of Jia Nanfeng and the Rebellion of the Eight Princes. If a different prince had been chosen from the start, the Jin dynasty need never have retreated to the south. Elder brother, what do you say?”
Rulan lacked Molan’s arsenal of theoretical arguments, but she made up for it with sheer forcefulness: “How many in the world are as foolish as Emperor Hui of Jin? Is Fourth elder sister saying that all legitimate eldest sons in the world are fools?”
One side brought up Emperor Yang of Sui as a glaring example of the evils of setting aside the eldest in favor of another, lamenting with great feeling the immense suffering the tyrant’s rule had brought upon the common people. The other side immediately countered with the example of Li Shimin, and went on at length extolling the prosperity of the Zhenguan reign, proving that the younger son is not necessarily inferior to the elder. Both sides argued back and forth without yielding, evenly matched. With Master Zhuang presiding, no real ill will was stirred up — everyone spoke with some restraint, though the undercurrents ran deep.
After arguing for so long everyone’s mouths were parched, and at that point they noticed that Minglan had been idling contentedly to one side all this time. They immediately turned their collective fire on her and demanded she take a position. Minglan’s eyelids twitched. This was asking her to declare her allegiance! Yet if she played the coward right now, she would gradually be excluded from being treated as an equal among her siblings. The fate of a person too timid and too afraid to speak up — retreating from everything, tiptoeing everywhere — had already been amply illustrated by young Miss Yingchun.
Of course, it also did not suit Minglan’s character. She thought for a moment, then smiled and said to her elder siblings and Master Zhuang: “I have a thought in mind, but I am clumsy with words and cannot express it well. Why don’t I perform a little scene for everyone to watch — it should be good for a laugh. Only, once I start, no one may say a single word.”
Master Zhuang was always the first to enjoy a good spectacle. He nodded in hearty agreement, and the others all did the same. Minglan immediately called Danju in, bent close to her ear, and gave her a series of quiet instructions. Danju assented, and in a short while returned with a small maid wearing double-bun hair. Among them was Yancao, newly assigned to serve Minglan, and two other small maids belonging to Rulan and Molan respectively.
The three small maids stood shyly before the hall, kowtowed and paid their respects to their mistresses, and then stood awkwardly, looking at one another in bewilderment.
Minglan addressed the three of them warmly: “Just now Master Zhuang was teaching us, and the lesson came around to a discussion of how our sisters compare with one another. Master Zhuang has not been in the household long, and it would not be proper for us to praise ourselves, so I thought of asking the three of you, who have quick tongues, to speak up for us. Whoever gives the best answer — your mistress will reward you!”
Yancao and the others looked up at Minglan in pleased surprise. The other two glanced at their own mistresses, who each gave a nod of confirmation, so they believed it to be true. Minglan smiled and cast a quick glance at her audience, then looked back at the three maids with a serious expression: “Now, first tell me — of Fourth elder sister, Fifth elder sister, and myself, which of the three of us is the most virtuous, the most intelligent, and the best-natured?”
The little maids were still young and not very deep in their calculations, so they each spoke in turn. One said that Rulan practiced calligraphy every day and was filial to her parents. Another said that Molan composed poetry and wrote essays daily and carried herself like a true cultivated lady. Yancao said that Minglan worked painstakingly at her embroidery day and night, constantly making one piece and then another. At first they spoke with relative restraint, but under Minglan’s persistent encouragement from the side — a well-placed question here, a raised reward there — they grew more and more energized. As they went on, they grew flustered, their faces flushed and ears red, and they began accusing each other of making things up, before sliding into personal attacks on one another at the level of the servants’ quarters.
Minglan quickly waved her hands and stopped them before they actually came to blows, then asked: “Now I have another question for you. Of us three sisters, which one is the eldest?” At this, all three maids had no disagreement. After a moment, they each murmured in small voices that it was Molan. Minglan heard a stir behind her but paid it no attention. She then asked: “And of us three sisters, which one is legitimate-born?” This time, Rulan’s maid said loudly: “Of course it is our young miss.” The others had no grounds to dispute it.
Minglan turned back to face everyone with a smile. A trace of faint approval flickered in Master Zhuang’s expression, and he gave her a slight nod. Minglan knew this was as much praise as she would get, and she turned back in cheerful satisfaction. Without warning, she caught sight of elder brother Changbai looking straight at her — and the moment their eyes met, elder brother Changbai did something almost otherworldly: he smiled at her.
Sheng Changbai was an anomaly in the entire Sheng household. By nature he was taciturn, his conduct upright and measured, a young man old beyond his years in manner. Whether in studying or in conduct, he was invariably composed and capable, the complete opposite of the eloquent, sociable, and smooth Sheng Hong. He was said to take after the Wang family maternal grandfather who had long since passed away. It was said that he typically wore an expression like a man who had just lost his mother even when facing his own birth mother, Wang Shi.
For him to smile today — even his younger sister Rulan probably had never been on the receiving end of it before. Minglan felt a chill run down her suddenly cold neck.
At this moment Changfeng could not hold back: “Sixth younger sister’s demonstration is not quite right.” Everyone looked at him. Changfeng raised an eyebrow and said: “These little maids have only just come in — their training is not yet complete. How can they tell the difference between virtuous, intelligent, and good-natured? Naturally they argued out of loyalty to their mistresses.” Changbai said nothing, but the corners of his mouth lifted faintly. Minglan gave an “oh” and said: “Elder brother makes a fair point — then let us change to something easier to assess.”
She turned back to the three small maids again, her face perfectly earnest: “You are too young to know the rules, but you all have eyes. Let me ask you — of the three misses here, which one was born the most beautiful, the most drop-dead gorgeous, devastatingly beautiful, breathtakingly lovely, like a flower surpassing flowers, like a goddess descended to earth?”
She finished in one breath. At these words, the whole room burst into laughter at once. Master Zhuang gripped his desk, shaking with laughter. The others all burst out giggling, and even Changbai was shaking his head with an amused smile. But mingled within these sounds was a distinctly different, soft laugh — coming from behind the decorative screen behind Master Zhuang. There was a rear door there. Could one of the servants have slipped in without realizing?
After the laughter subsided a little, everyone looked curiously toward the screen. Changbai said in a firm voice: “Who is back there? How dare you enter this place uninvited?”
The next moment, a young man stepped out from behind the screen. He wore a lake-blue long robe with a cross collar, embroidered with delicate silver-thread scattered plain roundel patterns. At his waist was a pale blue jade-beaded belt, from which hung a gourd-shaped sachet in moon-white with a blue border, fastened with a gleaming cerulean tourmaline bead as a decorative clasp. The young man seemed to have just come in from outside — a few soft pink peach blossom petals still rested on his shoulders. His raven-black hair was loosely gathered in a jade-pinned crown.
Master Zhuang looked up and saw him, and said with a laugh: “Yuan Ruo, why have you come in here? Where is your teacher’s wife?”
The young man walked to the front of Master Zhuang’s desk, cupped his hands and bowed, then straightened and said in a clear, ringing voice: “Teacher, I hope you have been well since we parted in the capital. It has been my great fortune to see you again today. Teacher’s wife told me to wait outside, but I waited and waited, and teacher would not end the lesson. My heart grew so impatient I could bear it no longer, and so I crept in through the back hall without permission. I ask that my fellow students, elder brothers and younger sisters alike, please not take offense.”
With this, he made a sweeping bow in the direction of the Sheng siblings. The young man’s smile was warm and refined; his lips were red, his teeth white, his eyes bright and his brows elegant. His bearing was upright and graceful as a tall stand of green bamboo. Truly — one look at him and every person present thought: what a splendidly handsome young man!