WSMTATMC C41

Chapter 41

“Such a thing—is it true?” Lu Chang’an was utterly incredulous. After all, from his mother’s words, Chen Qingyan had always been the model “child of other families.”

At five, he entered the village school; at seven, he knew his characters fluently; by ten, he had mastered the Four Books and Five Classics; at fourteen, he passed the tongsheng exam (child student). To call him a prodigy was hardly exaggeration.

And yet such a person, accused of cheating at the county exam?

Seeing Lu’s disbelief, Zhang Shiqiu pressed on in earnest tones: “At first, I too could not believe it. After all, I had even lived together with him in the county. Brother Lu knows my family is poor; I could only afford common lodgings of ten cash a night, sharing the floor with strangers.

“Brother, poverty does not weigh a hero,” Lu hurried to console. “There is no shame in such things.”

“I thank you for your understanding. At the time, Chen too said as much, and of his own will invited me to lodge with him, so that I might read in peace. Of course, I was grateful.”

Zhang paused, eyes lowering, then continued: “I thought his kindness born of goodness. But in time, I realized—it was nothing more than play‑acting, showing off status. He gifted me used brushes as though an act of mercy, and even flaunted Hui ink I’d never once seen before. Worst of all, when he lost one stick of ink, he accused me of stealing!”

“What! How could he?” Lu Chang’an slammed the table, face turning red. Before, he had thought Chen merely aloof, reserved—never did he imagine such meanness behind closed doors!

Feigning a tight throat, Zhang went on: “At the time, I was helpless as a child. I wished to move out immediately but feared his retribution. So I endured in terror until the exams were over—then I broke from him entirely.”

“Never did I expect, upon returning, to see him again at a friends’ debating meet. I smiled to greet him—but in front of everyone, he cursed me. He shouted that I had slipped cheat‑sheets into his brushes, claiming I ruined his chance at the exams, then struck me with his fist. I, in anger, flung a cup in return—but unexpectedly it split his skull.”

Lu leapt to his feet, shouting angrily: “Far too much! I shall tell my mother well—never again shall she stir with the Chen family!”

Zhang, though inwardly gleeful, put on downcast looks. This Lu is a fool. Fond of righteous indignation, with wide social circles. Through his mouth, it would take little time for Chen Qingyan’s name to stink through every alley. Soon, Qingyan would not dare step beyond his gate!

His heart swelled at the thought; he had to cover his grin with a hand, pretending grief. “I never wished to feud with him. His family are wealthy landlords, said even to have official uncles. Should they pursue vengeance…”

“Rest at ease!” Lu declared hotly. “Leave it to me—you shall not be wronged.”

“Then… Brother Shiqiu thanks you indeed!”

“No thanks between brothers!”

They conversed till dusk. Lu wished him to stay the night, but Zhang excused himself—his underclothes yellowed, and he had no wish such shame should be seen.

As he left, he said artfully, “Brother Lu’s tea is fine indeed. Even I, a rough man, could taste its fragrance.”

“Hah! Look, I nearly forgot. Afu—wrap him a portion to take.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Take it. Tea is worth nothing.”

Feigning reluctance, he accepted. But once out of sight, his lips split in delighted laughter. How foolish can this Lu be? To swallow my every word like a pig.

Waving the tea loftily in hand, he headed straight to the pawnshop.

But when he offered it, the broker dismissed coldly: “At most seventy cash.”

“What? This is Maojian tea from the southern provinces—worth far more!”

“However dear, it is still only tea. Who in this town drinks such? And those wealthy enough to drink will not be buying second‑hand from a pawnshop.”

“Seventy is far too little—at least one hundred!”

“Or else take it home to drink.”

Grinding his teeth, Zhang surrendered. “Fine. Seventy.”

When he emerged, night had fallen fully. His home was in a small alley of the town’s west quarter, seven or eight families packed close. Few burned oil through the night; the lane was thick with darkness.

Picking his way, he reached his door. Just as he bent to open it, a voice called from behind:

“Are you Licentiate Zhang?”

“I—yes. And who are—?”

Before he could finish, a burlap sack slammed over his head. Instantly came “thud thud!” upon his legs—searing agony stabbing through bone.

“AAAAH!” Zhang shrieked once in terror before fainting clean away.

The man pressed his boot upon the broken limb, feeling the slackness of fracture, then strode swiftly into the night.

Now was the twenty‑eighth day of the twelfth month.

At the Chen manor, New Year’s stores were fully prepared. With Third Aunt and her sons here this year, more was bought than ever.

Wang Ying had specially purchased a pig and a sheep—meats to roast at home.

Madam Li and Chen Rong busied themselves at needlework. Chen Rong’s hand had been famed in girlhood, her stitching fine and elegant.

Compared to her, Madam Li was less adept. She simply ordered ready clothes for the boys from the tailor shop: autumn garments for Lin Qiu and Lin Sui, and likewise new sets for Qingyun and Qingsong.

Time was short, so Spring outfits must be sewn after the festival.

This very day, the tailor delivered. Madam Li had all gathered in the front court for trying.

For Wang Ying, Chen Rong had made a robe of azure satin—cloth from her dowry, never before cut. The color suited only the pale of skin; to darker, it would worsen their complexion.

Her nephews were somewhat tanned, but upon Wang Ying’s cold fair skin, the robe shone like polished jade.

Chen Rong clapped, beaming. “Did I not say this bolt was meant for Ying’er? Upon him it is perfect!”

Blushing, Wang Ying fingered the smooth sheen. “Such good cloth—only for me to waste it, when I spend my days over vegetables.”

Chen Rong shook her head. “Not waste. Clothes are for wearing. To see you pleased is my joy.”

“Then I am pleased indeed!”

He smiled sheepishly. She then produced a second robe—indigo blue—for Qingyan.

Loose and gentlemanly, its lines hung gracefully upon his newly slimmed frame, lending a mien like that of a scholar‑immortal. Wang Ying could not look away.

“Thank you, Aunt. I love it much.”

The children too donned new dress. Clothes make the man—like horses prancing on fine saddles, they gleamed bright.

Madam Li stroked Sui and Qingyun’s hair, marveling. “One fairer than the next—what fortunate matches they’ll make.”

Both flushed, turning aside—already thirteen, the age betrothals begin, with marriages at sixteen.

Chen Rong’s eyes fell to Qiu, and her face shadowed with worry. With seventeen near, and no match secured, good chances might slip away.

Madam Li noticed. “Of late, I have made inquiries. After the festival, we shall visit some households and look.”

“Ahh…” Chen Rong sighed quietly.

Just then, the gate porter hurried to report: “Madam, a man outside delivers New Year gifts.”

“Could it be from Fourth Uncle in Laizhou? Their gifts never arrive before the fifth or sixth day. So early this year?”

They went to look. At the gate stood a tall young man, in navy long‑robe and dark mink cap. Seeing them, he removed it quickly and bowed.

“I am Cao Kun. Greetings to the Madams and young lords.”

“Boss Cao?!” Wang Ying nearly bulged his eyes. In trimming his beard, he seemed almost a new man.

“Shopkeeper Wang, well‑met for the holiday.”

He signaled his men to unload: half a hog, eight boxes pastries, ten catties of white sugar—a worth of four or five strings of cash at least!

Wang Ying doused in suspicion, pulling him aside to whisper: “Why such extravagance? We’re hardly so close.”

“Why say so? I have profited from you much. A visit is only proper.”

“Ying’er, who is this?” asked Madam Li.

“An old client of our shop. He has come to pay respects.”

“Then bring him in for tea.”

Wang Ying, Qingyan, and Cao passed to the front hall. Once seated, Ying said bluntly: “You’ve come for my cousin, haven’t you?”

“Shopkeeper Wang is perceptive.”

Ying’s brow furrowed. “But two faces only, barely knowing each other—is this not hasty?”

Cao was prepared. From his bosom he drew his household registry. “I am twenty‑four, not yet wed. I have no siblings, only my elderly mother who is healthy. Years of labor in the courier trade have earned me savings. I own a shop in the county, which I would entrust to him after marriage.”

Qingyan and Wang Ying exchanged bewildered looks—such frankness left them speechless.

“And do you know my cousin’s situation?”

“I know. He was once betrothed, but the groom died. Then his father arranged him to be wife of Fang Second in exchange for a shop. Finally, his mother divorced, bringing the boys here.”

Such detail—nearly prying up the graves of their ancestors!

Qingyan said sternly: “Since you know, you must also know my Aunt will never give him lightly. Come with a proper matchmaker.”

This was the opening he awaited. Unfolding in deep bow, he vowed: “Be assured Brother, I will send word after New Year.”

Already he called them “Brother,” thick‑skinned as walls.

After he left, Wang Ying related it all to Madam Li and Aunt.

“What? He comes to propose to Qiu?”

“Yes. In fact, I saw him once before in the county when I sent gifts. Again at the pharmacy when Qiu was hurt—that salve was his gift.”

Chen Rong frowned. “But he is so much older. Why still unwed?”

Wang explained: “He said his family were poor. His father died early, his mother raised him alone. From sixteen he labored in the courier trade. Life was hard, no time for marriage. Later he rose to deputy head, busier yet, so postponed. Only now—thinking of marriage.”

Madam Li nodded. “If true, it is a solid match.”

Chen Rong wavered, scarred by her husband’s betrayal, fearful of repeating such mistake.

Wang Ying reassured: “Fear not. I’ve dealt with him in business; his character seems reliable. We can discreetly ask about his household. No need for haste.”

“…Good then.” At last, her heart eased some.

Later, Wang directed servants to carry the gifts inside. Chen Bo sidled close and whispered: “Young Master, the silver is delivered.”

“All done?”

“All done.”

“You do not think me too cruel?”

Chen Bo shook his head quickly. “Cruel? After what he cost you—loss of the examinations? Only breaking one leg is lenience!”

“Then let us leave it so. Not a word to any other.”

“Yes.”