At the beginning of February, the capital was still bitterly cold, and snow drifted down gently.
The servants of the Zhou family were busy sweeping the snow off the roads.
Inside Madam Zhou’s room, the sound of coughing echoed repeatedly, and as the door was pulled open, a strong medicinal scent wafted out.
“Madam,” a maid knelt and bowed, presenting a name card. “The second daughter of Master Chen is here to see Lady Cheng.”
On the couch, Madam Zhou, who was being fed medicine by a maid, pressed her hand against her chest.
“Don’t tell me about anyone looking for her!” she rasped.
The maid quickly acknowledged the order and hurried out.
“Now that the New Year celebrations are over, and Old Master Chen has recovered, why is she still here? Either send her back or let her leave,” Madam Zhou said, turning to Master Zhou.
“I asked her, and she won’t leave,” Master Zhou replied lazily.
“Won’t leave? This is our home! Make her leave!” Madam Zhou said angrily.
“Make her leave?” Master Zhou said, looking at his wife. “Do you believe that the moment we try to drive her out, she’ll immediately go out and start saying she’s cured, capable of raising the dead?”
Madam Zhou gritted her teeth in frustration.
Master Zhou snorted with a laugh, twisting his short beard.
“Such a clever little mind, calculating everything so clearly,” he remarked.
“I see it now—there’s no benefit for us to gain from her, and we won’t get any either,” Madam Zhou said angrily. “Ever since she arrived, there hasn’t been a single good thing, just endless ridicule. The ‘Old Shan Zhou’ nickname that Grandfather left us has been around for so many years, but thanks to her, in just a month or two, it’s been turned into ‘Foolish Zhou.’”
Master Zhou’s eyebrows twitched, and his hand jerked, pulling out a strand of his beard.
Foolish Zhou…
“She really can bring the dead back to life—that’s true,” he said. “Right now, she’s only claiming to be ill, not that it’s incurable. And if it’s an illness, then there’s always a chance of recovery. If even mental impairment can be cured, how could an unnamed illness like this not be? She knows it, we know it, and people outside know it too.”
Hearing this, Madam Zhou slowly nodded.
Indeed, back then, that lady had only said her illness was currently untreatable, not that it would never be treated.
“She’s just sulking, isn’t she? Sulking because we didn’t look after her earlier. Let her sulk—there’ll come a time when she’s no longer angry, won’t there? She only has two sets of in-laws, and the Cheng family is of no use to her. Now that she has this ability, isn’t she just trying to act superior so we’ll treat her better?” Master Zhou said, pounding his legs as he spoke. “Besides, let people outside say whatever they want. At the end of the day, it’s just a matter of reputation—not some scandalous or criminal infamy. It’s not a big deal.”
Hearing this, Madam Zhou felt her heart skip a beat, and she couldn’t suppress a bout of coughing that suddenly overtook her.
“Don’t talk about this, don’t talk about this,” she said hastily.
Master Zhou looked at her, puzzled.
“About what?” he asked.
Madam Zhou pressed her hand against her chest, and the maid beside her fed her a sip of water, finally calming her down.
“Don’t say ‘it’s not a big deal.’ Every time you say that, my heart starts racing,” she said, panting slightly. “Every time, you say there’s no problem, no problem—and yet, every time, it ends with us being unable to live in peace.”
Master Zhou laughed heartily.
“Every single time, it’s about the same old thing: you think highly of me, I look down on you, I beg you, and you won’t beg me back. What kind of nonsense is that?” He stood up, straightened his robe, and chuckled.
Madam Zhou quickly got up to see him off.
“She’s just a lady—what trouble could she possibly cause? If you’ve got nothing better to do, don’t go near her. Make sure she has enough to eat, drink, and use, and let her do as she pleases. If she’s at ease, you won’t have to get upset either. The most important thing is to take care of yourself, eat well, and rest while taking your medicine,” Master Zhou added.
Watching Master Zhou walk out, Madam Zhou leaned against the armrest, and the maids hurried to massage her legs and back.
“The people sent to Jiang-zhou haven’t returned yet?” Madam Zhou asked, as something came to mind.
“They’re probably on their way back now,” a servant replied.
Madam Zhou let out a breath.
“For this year’s Lantern Festival, take twenty extra pounds of lamp oil to Puxiu Temple,” she said. “Drive away the bad energy.”
“Didn’t Lady Cheng encounter a true master? Should we go to Chongdao Monastery instead?” the maid asked cautiously.
Madam Zhou immediately flew into a rage, grabbing the hand warmer on the armrest and hurling it across the room.
“Who said we’re burning it for her? What, are we actually going to start worshiping her now?”
The room was instantly filled with cries for forgiveness.
In the room, Chen Dan-niang finished the last sip of tea from her cup, while the cup in front of Chen Shi’ba-niang remained untouched.
“Shi’ba-niang, Lady Cheng will wake up soon,” she whispered, sliding closer to her sister and blinking mischievously.
Chen Shi’ba-niang responded with a smile.
In any other household, even if the host were asleep, they would immediately rise to greet visitors. But Cheng Jiao-niang did not. If this were another occasion, the guests would undoubtedly feel slighted or believe it was intentional, prompting them to leave in displeasure, perhaps never to return.
Yet, this lady seemed genuinely to be simply sleeping—just like a child who eats when hungry and sleeps when tired.
“Yes, I know,” Chen Shi’ba-niang replied softly.
Footsteps sounded from within. Chen Dan-niang mouthed to her sister, She’s awake, and Chen Shi’ba-niang smiled. The two straightened their posture and quickly composed themselves.
The soft rustling of fabric was followed by a maid lifting the curtain. Cheng Jiao-niang entered, wearing a wide-sleeved robe with flowing straight hems. Her jet-black hair hung loose, and her face was bare of makeup.
Once she was seated, the visitors greeted her with polite bows.
“We’ve come unannounced and hope you’ll forgive us,” Chen Shi’ba-niang said first.
“No harm done,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied, taking a cup of water handed to her by the maid.
“Lady Cheng, are you feeling better now?” Chen Dan-niang asked cheerfully.
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded in response.
Chen Shi’ba-niang couldn’t help but think of the debates among her sisters back home and her grandfather’s remarks. This lady must be deliberately using the excuse of this situation to avoid treatment, they had argued. With such remarkable abilities, and such valuable resources at her disposal, why had she simply declared the condition untreatable and refused to address it?
As Cheng Jiao-niang’s gaze shifted to her, Chen Shi’ba-niang hurriedly looked away, flustered.
The atmosphere grew slightly awkward, though fortunately, Chen Dan-niang’s endless chatter kept the conversation alive.
“Lady Cheng, it was Shi’ba-niang who asked me to bring her to see you,” Dan-niang said, her tone carrying a hint of childlike pride at being entrusted with something important.
Chen Shi’ba-niang couldn’t help but blush.
“Is that so?” Cheng Jiao-niang turned to her. “What is it you wanted to see me about?”
Chen Shi’ba-niang felt a surge of unease. These two, one younger and one older, were far too blunt—how was she supposed to respond to such directness?
She raised her head to look at the lady before her.
Cheng Jiao-niang looked back at her with an expressionless face, slowly sipping her water.
“I would like to ask you to teach me calligraphy, Miss,” Chen Shi’ba-niang finally said, gritting her teeth and lowering her head in a respectful bow.
In the room, both Chen Dan-niang and the maid looked astonished.
“Shi’ba-niang, you want to learn calligraphy from Lady Cheng?” Dan-niang exclaimed.
“Yes.” Chen Shi’ba-niang, having voiced her intention, shed her earlier unease. She looked directly at Cheng Jiao-niang and said, “I deeply admire your calligraphy, Miss, and I humbly ask for your instruction.”
“The Mountain Temple Awaits Plum Blossoms?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked.
Chen Shi’ba-niang nodded.
“Yes, your calligraphy has already spread throughout the capital. If Dan-niang hadn’t mentioned it, I wouldn’t have known it was you who wrote it,” she said.
The maid looked utterly astonished—those few characters had become renowned throughout the capital?
She didn’t know much about calligraphy. At the time, she had simply thought it looked very good, though she couldn’t articulate why.
But she was well aware of how society revered calligraphy. The Hanlin Academy had official scholars dedicated to calligraphy, the Imperial Academy appointed calligraphy professors, and even the Ministry of Personnel used calligraphy skills as a criterion for evaluation. In her previous household, even the old master and master had once quarreled over calligraphy.
The old master had a deep love for calligraphy, but the master, Zhang Chun, didn’t share the same passion. He believed that calligraphy should serve literature and felt that the current obsession with calligraphy had reduced literature to a mere accompaniment to its form. His expectations for his disciples focused on clarity and elegance in regular script, rather than pursuing highly refined styles that might earn them entry to prestigious offices.
For Cheng Jiao-niang’s writing to have become famous across the capital, it was clear that her calligraphy was truly extraordinary.
“Your writing is vastly different from the regular styles of regular script, running script, or cursive. Each character seems to have its own distinct style,” Chen Shi’ba-niang said. “The character for mountain is written in running script with a slanted brushstroke. The character for temple is written in cursive, with a lean, vigorous, and striking form. The character for await is in running script, but it’s soft and graceful. The character for plum is in regular script, flowing like clouds and water, and blossom is written in cursive, with a style reminiscent of Huaisu, but with a bold, free-spirited strength. These five characters, if you observe closely, show the influence of the Two Wang’s (Wang Xizhi and Wang Xianzhi) style, blending in the strengths of various schools. The brushwork is full and strong, yet the strokes are firm and powerful—truly exquisite.”
Dan-niang had just started learning to read, and the maid had a basic understanding of poetry, but Chen Shi’ba-niang’s words left both of them confused.
After finishing, Chen Shi’ba-niang looked at Cheng Jiao-niang with a bit of excitement, as if she had just recited an elegant text and was awaiting the teacher’s judgment.
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at her.
“You speak quite well,” she said, “but what does it mean?”
Chen Shi’ba-niang’s excited expression immediately froze.
Had her preparation not been enough?
Or was it that what she had said hadn’t gotten to the point?
Chen Shi’ba-niang was momentarily stunned, but Chen Dan-niang quickly regained her composure.
“Yes, yes, what do you mean by all that?” she asked. “You said so much, but what does it actually mean?”
Can’t understand?
Chen Dan-niang couldn’t understand, but could it be that this Cheng Jiao-niang truly didn’t understand either?
