Lin Feng was still at the barracks. Lin Niangzi stayed at the command office to share the midday meal with Lin Ge. They had eaten at the command office before, so that much was not unfamiliar. Still, the sheer number of people gathered for this meal gave Lin Niangzi a mild start.
The command office provided meals. Anyone who worked there was entitled to one or two meals a day, so the dining hall was never short of people. Most, however, ate in the communal hall, or else gathered with their colleagues in something like the court’s custom of the “group meal,” where those working on the same task ate together.
Zhù Ying was a sensible person. She knew that if everyone was packed together for a meal, those at the far end of the table would be eating cold food by the time the dishes made their rounds — and even if every dish arrived hot, no one could eat comfortably with her looming at the head of the table. So as a rule, she did not organize large group meals on a regular basis.
But this noon, not only were Zhù Ying and Huajie present — Er Jiang, Jiang Zhen, Jiang Bao, Wu Ren, Wu Shuang, Su Zhe, Lu Danqing, and Zhou Wei were there as well, along with Zhù Qingye, Zhù Qingxue, and others. Zhù Ying looked around the table and said, “Where is Su Sheng?”
Su Zhe said, “He’s eating in his room. Shall I call him?”
Zhù Ying nodded.
Su Zhe immediately rose and personally dragged Su Sheng out to join them. It was a room full of women for the most part; Su Sheng quietly squeezed in with the pitifully small number of other young men present, such as Lang Rui. Lang Rui would have dearly loved to reach over and haul his younger brother A’Pu — and Zhao Ji — out from school to keep him company at the table.
Zhù Ying said with a smile, “That’s more or less everyone. Let’s all eat together today — and since Little Lin will be living here from now on, let everyone get acquainted.”
Lin Ge silently stood up and gave the assembled company a bow. Some sat without moving in response; the younger ones returned the greeting with varying degrees of coordination. After the flurry of movement subsided, Zhù Ying said, “All right, everyone sit down and eat.” Then she added, turning to Lin Ge, “Things are casual here in ordinary life — when there are guests, ceremony is called for, but among family, comfort comes first.”
Lin Ge made a sound: “Yes.”
Huajie smiled gently. “If there’s anything you’d like to eat or anything you can’t eat, tell Du Dajie afterward — she’ll let the kitchen know.”
“Yes.”
The others assumed she was nervous and made no effort to force conversation out of her, instead filling the air with their own talk back and forth. Su Zhe said, “From now on you can go to school and come back with Auntie — you’ll have company on the way.”
This had been the arrangement for everyone who lived in the Zhù household, starting with Zhù Qingjun. Su Zhe herself had briefly enjoyed the same. Lin Ge glanced at Huajie, who nodded; Lin Ge then nodded back at Huajie in turn.
Lin Niangzi again said many kind words to Huajie: “Thank you for taking her under your care. I’ve been too busy before to ever see her off to school myself. This way we can rest easy.”
Huajie said, “Little Lin is in the full bloom of youth. At this age, just looking at the young brings joy — where is there any hardship in it?”
Xiao Jiang said, “Exactly — I love watching the young ones these days.”
Lin Ge did not know what was so admirable about herself, nor did she understand why one would “love watching young people,” but at any rate it was kind-spirited, and the tension in her face eased a fraction. Xiao Jiang gave a small smile and turned to Jiang Zhen. “Put your leg down.”
Jiang Zhen straightened up. “What? My posture has been perfectly fine the whole time.”
The table couldn’t help but smile at that.
Lang Rui said quietly to Su Sheng, “Will you be returning to North Pass?”
Su Sheng had been listless and low-spirited for the past several days. He leaned over and said in a low voice, “I’ll follow whatever arrangement the Elder makes.” He personally wanted very much to return to North Pass. He had watched it being built from the ground up, knew every person and every inch of ground there intimately. His ears could pick out individual voices shouting from the far side of the bridge. He could listen to the creaking of the iron chains and the planks and make a rough guess at how many people were crossing and how heavy their loads were.
He missed North Pass.
On the other side of the table, the women’s conversation was more abundant. Lin Niangzi kept saying pleasant things to everyone in the room; she was a capable woman who had no difficulty with a social situation, though she was a little ill at ease — she had come, after all, to deliver her niece.
Wu Ren, when among familiar company, had plenty to say. She pointed out that Jiang Zhen and Jiang Bao had been quick and efficient with their morning tasks. “Keep it up this afternoon.”
Jiang Zhen said, “I finished the whole day’s share this morning.”
Wu Ren said with great seriousness, “In that case, the assignments for you were too few. I’ll add more.”
The women all laughed.
Zhù Ying also smiled. “Very good.”
Jiang Zhen made a face at Wu Ren. But Wu Shuang noticed that her aunt’s gaze at Lin Ge was full of warmth and sympathy, and the meaning clicked into place for her: her aunt had simply noticed that this too was a quiet child who kept to herself, and felt a wave of fellow feeling. Wu Shuang was both exasperated and amused. She made a mental note: in the future, she must not leave her aunt and Lin Ge to manage things together on their own — not when dealing with strangers. If they did…
Wu Shuang could scarcely imagine what kind of disaster that would produce. And yet — she looked at Lin Ge again and felt a growing sense that this girl, though younger, was not really the same kind of person as her aunt at all.
The meal went smoothly. When it was over, Lin Niangzi had to head home: getting out had not been easy, and there was a child at home whose meal she had no idea about. She first took her leave of Zhù Ying, and just before going, pulled Lin Ge aside and said quietly, “Your uncle always says that the greatest fortune in his life was coming to be at the Elder’s side. Now that you’re here, keep your wits about you. You know what home is like — it’s not that they don’t want you. I simply can’t give you what you need there.”
Lin Ge said, “I know.”
Lin Niangzi went on: “If there’s ever anything you can’t talk about here, just come home and say it. Whatever we can handle, the family will handle. Don’t bottle it all up inside.” Then she felt a flash of helplessness — Lin Ge’s greatest heartache was that her entire family had been slaughtered down to herself and her younger brother. That was not something she or Lin Feng could do anything about.
Lin Ge gave a cooperative answer: “I’ll come back to see my younger brother on rest days.”
Lin Niangzi said, “Good.” She looked at the expression on Lin Ge’s face — still without a smile — and finally said what she most wanted to say: “While you’re at the command office, don’t keep that stern face all the time. If you ignore people, people will ignore you — how will you get along that way?”
Lin Ge nodded. Lin Niangzi’s own smile faded. She sighed and said, “In a few days when your uncle comes home, I’ll have him come and see you and take you back to stay for a couple of days.”
“All right,” said Lin Ge.
Lin Niangzi could see she could not delay any longer and hurried home to look after the children. From that point on, Lin Ge stayed at the command office.
The command office was large. Lin Ge did not wander; she traced the routes from her memory and made her way back toward her quarters. She was lodged with Huajie, in one of the most unmistakable corners of the entire compound. Lin Ge was not yet very familiar with the layout of the command office, and in a way that made her feel more at ease. Lin Niangzi had originally wanted to send a little maid along to attend to her, but the command office had declined. Though Lin Ge found the lack of an attendant slightly inconvenient, having no one familiar around actually brought her more peace of mind.
Back at her quarters, she could hear voices coming from the main room — Huajie was already back. Lin Ge walked over intending to ask Huajie about the rules of the household. This was something she knew to do: when arriving somewhere new, one ought to pay attention to customs around daily life and to the things the host kept private. It was proper conduct for a guest.
Drawing close, she discovered Zhù Ying was also inside. Lin Ge hesitated, afraid she might be interrupting a serious conversation. But Huajie waved her in. “Come in.”
Lin Ge stepped inside. “Elder. Auntie.”
Zhù Ying asked, “Has your aunt left?”
“Yes.”
“Then settle in here without any worry. There will likely be more companions in the future — it won’t be lonely.”
“Yes.” Lin Ge was actually a little more at ease in front of Zhù Ying than she was in front of other people. She snuck another glance at Zhù Ying and thought: if I could become like her, I would not need to be afraid of my great-uncle anymore.
She unconsciously cleared her throat and said, “I… am not very good at my lessons.”
Huajie said to Zhù Ying, “She simply started late.”
Zhù Ying said, “I’ve looked at your coursework. It’s not so bad as all that. The more anxious you are to make progress, the slower you’ll go. Starting today, you study one page at a time — don’t look at what anyone else is doing. Follow only the lessons I set for you. This same day next year, look back and see.”
Huajie cast Zhù Ying a curious glance. Zhù Ying said, “And not only she — I need to be making progress myself in the coming years as well.” She still did not consider herself very skilled at teaching students, but she had by now gleaned certain principles from experience; the truths of the world were ultimately connected, like grains of sand gathering into a tower. Lin Ge was still young and had been through a great upheaval; her mind and spirit were unsettled. What she needed was someone to steady her.
Gently guiding her back onto the right track — things would improve from where they now stood.
As for the rest, it could only be left to fate. Zhù Ying had never believed in fate. But thinking of the current witless Crown Prince, she was finding it difficult not to consider the possibility that heaven above had a taste for cruel jokes.
Huajie had already taken up the thread: “Still, your method does seem to genuinely work. Little Lin, let’s start tomorrow. For today, just rest. Auntie Jin will help you.”
The command office employed help, but kept no slaves. Across all of Annan — apart, perhaps, from the outer five counties — there were no longer any slaves. Huajie’s quarters had servants and apprentices who helped with household chores, and Lin Ge’s room would be tidied by Auntie Jin. The western campaign had produced many widows and people left alone in the world; the command office took some of them in to provide for their livelihoods. Auntie Jin was one of these. She was from Zhu County and shared a common language with Lin Ge without difficulty; Lin Ge accepted the arrangement without protest. Being made to take care of everything by herself — she was not practiced in that either at the moment.
Auntie Jin was a woman of around forty, clean and capable. She efficiently led Lin Ge off to the side room. Lin Ge clasped her hands together in a bow to Zhù Ying and Huajie, and followed her out.
Huajie watched the two of them leave — one older, one younger — and then said to Zhù Ying, “From the sound of it, you intend to place more people here with me?”
Zhù Ying said, “If it’s only her, she’ll stand out too much. There’s nothing particularly distinctive about her at this point anyway — it’s better to raise her like the others. As I mentioned before, pay attention to children from ordinary families. This command office of mine is fast becoming a celestial court full of immortals, with not a single mortal in sight.”
Huajie sighed too. They genuinely did not care about background. But one reality stood before them: children from ordinary families had very poor conditions for learning, so the children of village headmen and officials, though fewer in number, had a far higher rate of success. Ordinary families had many more children, but few managed to rise above their circumstances. Even here in Xizhou, which Zhù Chonghua so envied — a city now free of slaves — the children of ordinary families still had to help around the house and look after younger siblings, and a good many still had no means of attending school.
Unless one had talent so overwhelming it could not be suppressed — as with Zhù Ying herself — or unless, like Zhù Qingjun, one had a particular talent that happened to meet the right moment, it was very hard to rise. And if fortune was a little worse — if one was born in some remote village — it was even harder: schools had only recently begun to reach the various villages. Huajie could say with confidence that not every village had a school; in some of the more distant ones, a handful of villages pooling together to support one school was already considered fortunate.
She said, “How could I not know? I’ve been selecting already. Try as I might, the best I can do is to take equal numbers from official and wealthy-merchant families on one side, and from ordinary families on the other.”
“That works too,” said Zhù Ying.
“So… shall we go and take a look tomorrow?”
“All right.”
Huajie said, “This child, Lin Ge — her fate… Since we’ve accepted her into the household, we’ll do our best to raise her well.”
Zhù Ying said, “Her grandfather had many schemes, but he never wronged me. The fact that their family’s affairs have come to this pass — I cannot simply ignore it. It’s not that I have any prejudice against the children of headmen or officials. It’s simply that when I think of how few chances ordinary people get, and how much talent may be buried and lost that way, I feel a pang of regret.”
“I understand.”
Early the next morning, Lin Ge heard sounds while still half-asleep, and quickly climbed out of bed, dressed at speed, and opened the door. Auntie Jin came at just that moment, bringing her hot water.
In the main room, Huajie was already dressed and ready, smiling. “Come — let’s go eat.”
Breakfast was at Zhù Ying’s place. Zhù Ying had been up since dawn doing her morning exercises and was just finishing wiping herself down and washing her face with Elder Sister Hu. “Mm, nearly done.”
They sat around a crabapple-blossom table, just a few people, with a simple breakfast — but plenty of it. Zhù Ying reached out and pushed the plate of sugar-filled pastries toward Lin Ge. “Here — you’re at a growing age. Eat up.”
Lin Ge pressed her chopsticks into a pastry and lifted it to her lips. The warm, sweet filling flowed out, fragrant and honeyed. Slowly, the tightness in her chest began to ease.
After breakfast, Zhù Ying actually accompanied Lin Ge to the school — Lin Ge went for class, and Zhù Ying’s own business there remained unknown. When lessons ended, Huajie called her to come home with her. The school was a short distance from the command office; they rode a carriage. When Lin Ge reached the carriage, she found a girl already standing there — slightly older-looking than she was.
Huajie said, “This is Zhù Tong.”
Zhù Tong was also quiet. The two girls looked each other over, clasped their hands in greeting, and stepped into the carriage together. Inside, Huajie introduced her: “She also only started school not long ago. From now on she’ll live here with us.”
Lin Ge studied Zhù Tong. In one glance she could tell that the girl had not come from a particularly well-off background. Lin Ge herself was the granddaughter of a village headman; she knew what headman families looked like and what slave families looked like. A headman’s family did not guarantee tall, fair, and refined looks, and slave families had their share of pretty children too, but the bearing was always different — it showed in the hair, the skin, the limbs, the movements. More telling still was the surname: Zhù. In Annan, anyone named Zhù who was not Zhù Ying was almost certainly of slave origin.
She did not say any of this aloud. She could only guess that Zhù Tong had some story behind her, some path that had brought her to live at the command office as well. She had heard the stories of Zhù Lian and Zhù Qingjun; she wondered whether this Zhù Tong might be a similar case.
Zhù Tong’s story was indeed very like Zhù Qingjun’s. She was the girl who had guided Zhù Qingjun during the western campaign. Both her parents had since died, and she had young siblings, and Zhù Qingjun herself was not yet on steady enough ground to be counted on, so she had placed Zhù Tong and the younger children in Xizhou. In recognition of her service in guiding the way, Zhù Tong and her siblings had been enrolled in school and given the same treatment as orphans of fallen soldiers.
Zhù Qingjun had initially calculated that this girl was sharp and had a bold streak — after a few years of study she might be drawn over to serve as an assistant. Nothing was set in stone, so Zhù Qingjun made no promises — a caution that now resulted in Zhù Ying and Huajie stepping in first.
Huajie said with a warm smile, “You’ll have even more companions in time.”
This cohort of students was somewhat older than Zhù Lian, Su Zhe, and Lang Rui had been when they first came to the Zhù household as very young children. After another two or three years of study, these students would be able to work half-time at the command office.
Meanwhile, Zhù Ying summoned Zhao Ji and the others. “Your lessons are coming along well.”
Zhao Ji and the rest were delighted; they puffed out their chests.
Zhù Ying said, “Which means it is time for you to work for me!”
Zhao Ji opened his mouth and, without meaning to, let a slightly dazed smile escape — then worked hard to press the corners of his lips back down, and failed.