After returning, Minglan immediately came clean to the Old Madam about the mud incident. The Old Madam lay on her side on the arhat bed and said nothing. Minglan grew a little anxious: “Grandmother, do you feel that your granddaughter acted wrongly?”
The Old Madam shook her head and gently smoothed Minglan’s soft hair: “You did nothing wrong. Fourth will not beat the drums and make a public complaint either. However…” Minglan held her breath, waiting. “…One only fears the arrows shot from the shadows, not the spear aimed openly.”
Minglan thought it over briefly and understood. She raised her head: “The day after tomorrow is Father’s day off. I’ll bring him the low-heeled shoes I’ve just finished making. As for this matter, Grandmother need only pretend to know nothing of it.”
The Old Madam nodded.
That day, Sheng Hong had his day off. After morning lessons in which he exhorted Changfeng and Changdong to apply themselves to their studies, he changed into a casual robe and settled into the study in the inner quarters to write a few characters and compose a few lines of verse — a demonstration that after all these years in official service, he had not forgotten the fundamentals of a scholar’s life.
It was then that Minglan appeared, her face arranged into the most adorable of expressions. Sheng Hong’s brow furrowed slightly, and his manner turned somewhat cool. Minglan, however, seemed utterly unaware of this. She produced the new shoes she had made and presented them to her father, directing a maid to help Sheng Hong put them on, then stood to one side smiling and waited to be praised.
The moment Sheng Hong slipped his feet into the thick velvet shoes, he felt a soft and enveloping warmth around his soles, perfectly fitted and comfortable. A warmth rose in his heart unbidden — he thought of how Minglan had been making him things since she was a small child, year after year, always filial and attentive. “My daughter is quite thoughtful,” he said.
The little Minglan happily ran to his side, tugging at his sleeve and chattering — rattling off various small, amusing observations about her daily life with cheerful energy. Minglan’s natural gift for speech was considerable, and when she reached the funny parts, even Sheng Hong couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh.
Minglan put on a long-suffering face: “…An embroidery needle is nothing like a writing brush — it absolutely refuses to behave. I was holding it as carefully as I could, and it kept darting left and right as it pleased. But when I fit a firm thimble on top — it suddenly behaved perfectly! Hmph. Now I know — it’s the same as everything else: it bullies the soft and fears the firm!”
Then she spread out her two small, plump little hands for Sheng Hong to see. Several of her fingers bore numerous tiny needle punctures.
Sheng Hong shook his head, caught between amusement and mild exasperation, and felt a real stirring of tenderness. He teased her for a moment or two. Minglan made herself sweetly endearing and coaxing, and was thoroughly winning. Looking at his youngest daughter — so docile and delightful — Sheng Hong’s lips moved, and at last he couldn’t contain himself: “The other day when you all went to Guangji Temple — why did you throw mud at your Fourth Sister?”
Minglan’s heart sank. Here it comes.
She widened her eyes into an expression of innocent confusion and stared at Sheng Hong: “This… was it Fourth Sister who said so?”
Sheng Hong was momentarily at a loss. That evening, he had gone to rest with Lin Yiniang, and Molan had come in weeping with her grievances. Lin Yiniang had cried as well, and Sheng Hong had been furious and was about to go reprimand Minglan — but Lin Yiniang had held him back and earnestly pleaded: “…My lord, the Sixth Young Miss is the Old Madam’s most cherished child. If today, for Molan’s sake, my lord goes to punish her, Molan will only fall even further from the Old Madam’s favor. How will our mother and daughter manage our days then? My lord, as long as you know of our grievance, your concubine is satisfied. Let us say nothing more of this matter.”
And she had kowtowed repeatedly, begging Sheng Hong not to bring it up, while repeatedly hinting that Minglan relied on the Old Madam’s favor to look down on Molan, and so forth — spreading her poisonous insinuations thoroughly. At the time, Sheng Hong had agreed in anger, and his heart had simmered with resentment against Minglan. But today, seeing Minglan’s guileless and filial manner, he found himself softened — and what he had been suppressing simply came out.
“Never mind who said it! Just tell me whether it happened!” Sheng Hong said in a coaxing tone. “It was only sisters squabbling. If you made a mistake, all you need do is offer your Fourth Sister an apology.”
But instead of speaking, Minglan only let large, round tears fall one by one, biting her lip in silence, her wide, glistening eyes brimming with hurt. She said in a choked voice: “Does Father truly think me that kind of unreasonable person?”
Sheng Hong, thinking over Minglan’s conduct these past few years, which had indeed always been measured and commendable, hesitated: “Could there be more to this?”
Minglan had been dreading exactly this kind of anonymous slander from Molan — the sort that would leave her unable to defend herself even if she tried. Now that it had come into the open, she actually felt a measure of relief.
She raised her head and looked at Sheng Hong with an expression of tender filial trust: “Father, please have Fourth Sister called in. Whatever the truth may be, it is easier to speak with her present.”
Sheng Hong thought this over and waved a hand to send a maid to fetch Molan. Before long, Molan arrived. She had been practicing calligraphy in Shanyue Pavilion and, upon hearing Sheng Hong’s summons, had selected a few pieces of her own work she was particularly pleased with to bring along, intending to show her father. But the moment she stepped into the study, she saw Minglan’s reddened eyes and Sheng Hong sitting beside her with a consoling manner. Sheng Hong, moved by Minglan’s tearful distress, had long since stopped being angry with her and was saying reassuringly: “Don’t cry, child — it was only a bit of mud. Even if it was a mistake, your sister will certainly forgive you…”
Molan heard this, and her heart went suddenly cold.
No matter what Sheng Hong said, Minglan stayed silent, weeping softly. The moment she spotted Molan enter, she stood up, tears still in her eyes, and asked immediately: “Father said that I threw mud on Fourth Sister the other day — was it Fourth Sister who told him?”
Molan immediately looked toward Sheng Hong, with an expression that clearly said, Father, why did you go back on your word? Sheng Hong’s face went awkward, and he put on his most authoritative manner: “Today you are both here — whatever needs to be said, say it plainly!”
Minglan stepped forward and took hold of Molan’s sleeve, swaying it gently with apparent frailty, tears and words coming together: “Say it then — say it. If there is some grievance between us, you are the elder sister. You could have come to me directly. Why go to Father to lodge a complaint, only to say nothing now that you are standing here?”
Pressed by Sheng Hong’s gaze, Molan gritted her teeth: “That’s right — you threw it. Are you saying otherwise?”
Minglan quietly wiped away her tears: “Very well. Then sister, please tell everyone — what quarrel did we have that led me to act so unreasonably as to throw mud at you?”
Molan’s face reddened, and she said vaguely: “It was simply a falling out.”
When pressed on what exactly the falling out was about, she could not produce an answer.
Minglan turned to face Sheng Hong with an expression of grievance: “In all the years Fourth Sister and I have been sisters, we have never once quarreled. Even if something came between us, by the next day it would always be resolved. Father, think — is there any matter so pressing that your daughter would need to make a scene in public and humiliate her sister?”
Sheng Hong saw how evasive and shifty Molan’s manner was, and his suspicion was already kindled. Thinking of how Molan and Rulan quarreled practically every other day, he fixed Molan with a sharp look: “Could it be that you falsely accused your sister?”
Confronted by her father’s glare, Molan’s composure crumbled further. She began dabbing at her eyes in haste, saying nothing — hoping tears might buy her time. But Minglan turned the tables: “No, Father — your daughter did indeed throw the mud. But your daughter’s conscience is completely clear.”
Sheng Hong was baffled. Minglan, her manner composed and steady, recounted the events of that day in a few plain words — her voice clear, her speech crisp. As Molan listened, her face turned redder and redder. As Sheng Hong listened, his anger rose and rose, until he could contain himself no longer and slammed the table: “You have no sense of propriety whatsoever! The plum grove was full of men — and you dared try to walk into it! Where is your sense of shame? What possessed you?!”
Molan’s knees buckled. She sank to the floor, weeping in small, pitiful sounds, repeating: “…How would your daughter dare? I only wanted to see the rest of the Nine Dragon Screen — it looked so beautiful, and I didn’t want to stop. My sisters spoke harshly to me, and I was angry, and in a moment of stubbornness I thought to go further!”
Minglan, watching Molan weep with all the beauty of falling petals in the rain, quickly knelt down beside her as well. She took Molan’s sleeve in both hands and shook it gently, her face full of anguished emotion: “Sister, how could you be so muddled? No matter how beautiful the Nine Dragon Screen is — is it worth more than Father’s reputation? Father has spent his entire career as an official being so careful and diligent. We, as his daughters, cannot ease his burdens for him — but must we add to his troubles? The plum grove was full of prominent young gentlemen from the capital’s finest families. If they had seen you, then what — then what…”
Minglan could not go on. Her voice broke in a strangled sob, and she turned aside, covering her face as she wept.
Sheng Hong’s fury boiled over. With one stroke of his hand, he sent a teacup flying — porcelain fragments scattered across the floor. His face had gone the color of iron, his wrists trembling with barely controlled anger. He bore down on Molan: “What are you crying for? All those years growing up, and you still have less sense than your younger sister! I don’t know where you picked up these twisted notions of yours. Do you take everyone else for fools? You brazen creature — and you still had the face to go complain about your sister!”
It was the harshest reprimand Molan had ever received from Sheng Hong. She wept harder.
Minglan did not rest either. She edged on her knees toward Sheng Hong and grasped the hem of his robe, her eyes swimming with tears, her voice tremulous and full of sorrow: “I thought only that sister had been momentarily confused, and I feared making a scene of it. I was afraid Grandmother would blame sister, so I tucked this matter tightly in my heart — I didn’t even tell Grandmother. I thought to myself, we are flesh and blood after all, and even if something went wrong between us, by the very next day it would be all right again. But who could have known — who could have known — that sister would still go and say these things behind my back?!”
With an expression of utter heartbreak, Minglan turned to Molan, full of wounded, sorrowful reproach: “Fourth Sister — why would you do this to me?”
Molan was visibly stunned. In all honesty, in the contests of weeping and of playing the wronged party, she and her mother had never once suffered defeat — they had been without rival in the entire Sheng household. But now, without warning, they faced a challenge they had never encountered before.
Minglan collapsed against Sheng Hong’s feet in grief, weeping brokenly. Sheng Hong’s heart ached for her. He helped Minglan up and settled her into a chair to one side, then turned and pointed at Molan. His tone was sharp and his face severe as he delivered a furious rebuke: “You wicked creature! How I have coddled and indulged you all these years — and this is what I get? Your own sister protected the family’s dignity and tried to stop you, and you harbored a grudge and looked for the first opportunity for revenge. At your young age, to have such a vicious heart toward your own flesh and blood — what use is it to keep you? Fetch someone — go and summon your mother!”
Wang Shi was in the middle of teaching Rulan to examine a scale-ledger. Rulan had no patience for it and made two consecutive errors, to the point that Wang Shi was on the brink of losing her temper and scolding her daughter — when a stroke of wonderful luck fell from the sky. She hurried to the study, where she found her husband’s face the color of iron, unleashing a furious torrent of criticism at Molan. Kneeling to one side, weeping, was Lin Yiniang.
Within a few exchanges, she pieced together the full situation. Wang Shi’s heart soared with barely concealed delight. She then looked over at Minglan, who had already cried herself into a gasping, weakened state, and immediately took on the role of the gracious, loving principal wife — calling for someone to help Minglan back to her room to rest.
The rest of what followed Minglan did not witness personally, for she was genuinely in a state of emotional exhaustion. That evening, Rulan came dashing over with great excitement to report: Molan had received ten strokes of the discipline rod on each hand, her palms swollen to half their normal height. She was sentenced to six months of household confinement, banned from reading poetry and verse, and ordered to copy out the Admonitions for Women and the Standards for Women each once in full.
Wang Shi had originally considered extending the punishment further, but Molan had shown some backbone — biting down firmly on the claim that Lin Yiniang had also been deceived and had not been aware of what was happening. So Lin Yiniang received only fifty strokes of the discipline rod and was confined for one month.
……
“You knew about all this from the beginning?” Sheng Hong, who had barely had one day of rest, had been brought to the boiling point of anger and was lying on his bed and groaning.
Wang Shi sat before her bronze mirror, carefully applying her fragrant beauty balm, and answered lightly: “I did. Rulan told me that very same day.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?!” Sheng Hong struck the bed board in frustration.
Wang Shi was in high spirits. She had put on a fresh new outfit — a flowing silk gauze robe in water-red Suzhou fabric embroidered with pale yellow lotus leaves and crickets, all delicate craftsmanship. She turned toward him with a smile: “How would I dare say anything about matters in that room? You would surely blame me for being petty and having it in for Fourth. I had no desire to bring trouble on myself. And it wasn’t just me — I told Rulan not to say anything either, for fear you’d blame her too.”
Her voice was drawn out long and slow, laced with a touch of gentle mockery.
Sheng Hong was left speechless. Wang Shi rose gracefully and came to sit at the edge of the bed: “This time, you should know that Fourth is no simple creature, shouldn’t you? Not to say too much, but when it comes to cunning, ten Rulans put together wouldn’t add up to half of Fourth. What a pity her cleverness isn’t put to proper use!”
Sheng Hong, his own heart still smoldering with irritation, considered for a moment: “Did the Old Madam know nothing of this?”
Wang Shi let out a scoffing laugh: “The Old Madam is not one to overlook anything. If she had known, do you think it would still be sitting quietly where it is now?… Tsk tsk. Sixth is a good one, though — out of consideration that Fourth might lose face, she even hid it from the Old Madam. A shame, really — her good heart was taken for a donkey’s liver and lungs, and she got bitten in return.”
Wang Shi said her piece with cool satisfaction, deeply pleased.
Sheng Hong sighed and shook his head: “This is the Old Madam’s good upbringing at work. That child is filial, sensible, honest, and genuine — and she knows the value of keeping siblings in harmony.” At that, he suddenly sat up, and with a hardened voice: “Fourth must not be allowed to spend time with Lin Yiniang any further — letting all those devious little tricks rub off on her.”
He was not unaware of Lin Yiniang’s small machinations within the household. Given their history as former sweethearts, he could tolerate what was tolerable, and when things crossed a line, he reprimanded her sternly enough to keep her in check. A concubine stirring up modest trouble within the inner quarters was something Sheng Hong considered of no great consequence. But seeing his own daughter following the same path — that he would not have.
He made up his mind on the spot to keep the two of them apart.
……
“Stop crying! I know you’re feeling terrible inside — it’s all Fourth Sister’s fault. We won’t have anything to do with her from now on!”
Rulan had not lifted a single finger and had been treated, free of charge, to the spectacle she had dreamed of for years — watching Molan cry out at every stroke of the rod and get dressed down in contemptuous language by Sheng Hong. Elated as she was, she found a scrap of patience and tried to comfort the hero of this episode. She spent a good while at it, but finding that Minglan’s tears showed no sign of stopping, she couldn’t help complaining: “Why are you still crying?!”
Minglan kept her head bowed, dabbing at her eyes with a damp handkerchief. To herself, she thought: That osmanthus hair oil that Sister Lan sent over really lives up to its name. The proof is in the results, not the advertisement.