Standing beside the carriage, the maid was on the verge of tears — a mix of grievance, shame, and anxiety.
“Master went to the academy,” she sniffled and said.
“Then we’ll head to the academy too,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, lifting the carriage curtain. Seeing the maid’s aggrieved face, she smiled and added, “It’s not someone’s duty to help you. If they help, it’s a favor; if they don’t, it’s only natural. If you’re asking for help, you should lower your head. What are you feeling wronged about?”
The carriage turned and headed out of the city.
“That’s just how Master is.”
In the carriage, the maid said indignantly and with lingering grievance.
“He’s very stubborn — if something displeases him, he’ll show no regard for others. He’s obviously a man of excellent manners, cultivated and humble, yet sometimes his actions… Back when he was lecturing in Lian-zhou, no one knows what he said or did that was so offensive — the local scholars even sent assassins after him. If it weren’t for the local officials who protected him, he would’ve lost his life. How could he have ever made it to the imperial court now otherwise?”
“You’re wrong. If it weren’t for that, he might not have made it to the imperial court,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
Speaking ill of one’s former master behind his back was inappropriate. The maid had blurted it out in her anger, but now she said no more. Hearing Cheng Jiao-niang’s words, she smiled in response.
“Even after all that, you still praises Master,” she said.
“He is someone worthy of praise,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
They traveled in silence and soon arrived at the academy outside the city. Fortunately, upon inquiring there, they did not hear that Zhang Chun was absent.
A young servant in a blue robe came to lead the way. He seemed familiar with the maid and cheerfully called her “sister,” which helped her regain some of the dignity she’d lost when turned away at the Zhang household.
“Something urgent came up yesterday — he had to write an important essay on the Classics, so he came to the academy for some peace and quiet,” the servant said with a seemingly casual smile.
The maid’s sullen face finally broke into a smile.
At that moment, classes at the academy had just ended. The students were scattered about — some practicing the Six Arts, others exchanging what they had learned.
One student recited a poem aloud, drawing cheers and praise from those around. Among them, Cheng Si-lang suddenly froze. His raised hand paused mid-air, then he stood up, startled.
“Huh?”
“Brother Mingde?” someone beside him called. “What’s wrong?”
“I think… I just saw my sister,” Cheng Si-lang said, and without thinking, took a few steps in that direction.
Sister?
These days, many women could read and write, but they usually hired private tutors at home. Women were never allowed in academies — and visiting family here? That was out of the question.
Hearing this, everyone turned to look — sure enough, on the small path through the bamboo grove, a young servant was leading two girls along. They were still quite far off and seen only from the side, so their features weren’t clear. But just from that distant glimpse, everyone couldn’t help but be momentarily stunned.
Bamboo forest, plain robes, unhurried steps — it looked just like a painting of a beauty walking through the mountains.
Very soon, the group disappeared into the depths of the bamboo grove.
“That’s the servant of Master Jiangzhou, and they’re heading toward his private courtyard. Your sister… is going to see him?”
Everyone snapped out of it and began to question Cheng Si-lang in surprise, glancing him over again with renewed curiosity.
Everyone here had more or less looked into each other’s backgrounds — family status, origin, and connections. Cheng Si-lang’s family was nothing remarkable, and his own aptitude was average at best. He’d only gotten into this academy because he was from the same hometown as Master Jiangzhou.
And ever since arriving, apart from regular classes, he hadn’t even caught a glimpse of the gentleman.
He couldn’t see him — but his sister could?
“I might be wrong.” Cheng Si-lang gave an awkward laugh.
That sounded more plausible, and everyone relaxed.
“Isn’t your sister in Jiang-zhou? How could she come from so far away?”
“First time away from home, right, Mingde? Missing your family already…”
“Looks like your sister is quite close to you.”
Everyone teased him playfully, then sat back down in a circle, continuing with their poetry and word games — though it was obvious Cheng Si-lang was distracted.
His sister was in the capital. And she did have some connection to the Zhang family.
Her maid was originally a maid from the Zhang household.
Could it really have been her?
Cheng Silang turned to glance toward the bamboo grove, unable to hide the surprise in his eyes.
What was she doing here? Visiting him? But if so, why would she go to see Master Jiangzhou first?
The maid had been to the academy a few times before. Although she wasn’t very familiar with it, when she saw the young servant in blue lead them directly into Zhang Jiangzhou’s study instead of having them wait in the side hall, she let out a breath of relief.
“Sir, Lady Cheng has arrived,” the servant said under the eaves.
On this autumn day, the hall door was open, and one could see straight inside. A tall, middle-aged scholar in long robes, bent over his desk writing, looked up upon hearing the words.
His appearance was as solemn and upright as his stature.
Cheng Jiao-niang stepped forward and offered a respectful bow.
“Come in,” Zhang Chun said, setting down his brush.
Cheng Jiao-niang gave her thanks, then stepped into the hall and knelt on a cushion placed below Zhang Chun’s seat.
After serving the tea, the young servant bowed and quietly withdrew.
“Thank you for saving my father,” Zhang Chun said directly, offering her a formal bow.
“It was merely a small effort — just a piece of preserved fruit. I don’t dare accept such a grand gesture,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied, returning the bow.
“Before he departed, my father instructed me that if you were ever in difficulty, I must do everything I can to assist,” Zhang Chun said.
Before Cheng Jiao-niang could respond, he continued,
“Even so, if your difficulty goes against propriety, morality, or the laws of the state, then I must beg your forgiveness — I cannot comply, and I hope you will understand and refrain from making such a request.”
Outside in the corridor, the maid knelt and bit her lower lip, turning her head to look into the room.
Master already knew why they had come. Desertion from the army — by law, it was punishable by death. The master was clearly making it known he wouldn’t help them.
She knew he’d be like this!
After Zhang Chun finished speaking, a heavy silence fell over the room.
“I wouldn’t dare put you in a difficult position, sir. I only hope that you’ll allow me to say a few words,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
“Please speak freely — I am all ears,” Zhang Chun replied.
Cheng Jiao-niang lowered her head and offered her thanks. “Since you have spoken so openly, sir, then I too shall speak frankly,” she said. “I did not come here to ask you to help my brothers escape punishment.”
Not to escape punishment?
The maid looked slightly puzzled. Zhang Chun’s expression remained unchanged — he had the demeanor of someone unmoved, no matter what she said.
“Though my brothers fled only because they were wrongfully accused and driven by injustice, the crime of desertion is real — no one can deny that,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
Zhang Chun gave a quiet grunt of agreement.
“Well said,” he replied. “You’ve said they had no other choice — but so what?”
“Nothing,” Cheng Jiao-niang said calmly. “Being forced by circumstances is not a justification for evading guilt.”
Zhang Chun said nothing more.
“I only wish that people may die with dignity,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “I don’t know how they were before, but since coming under my care — whether at Tai Ping Residence or at the Immortal’s Abode — no matter how hard their work was each day, these few brothers of mine practiced with sticks and poles, pulled strong bows and lifted stone weights, diligently training their martial skills and toughening their bodies, come rain or shine.”
“At Tai Ping Residence and Immortal’s Abode, they were practically half-owners. The dividends they earned were enough to secure their food and clothing for the rest of their lives — enough to live as wealthy gentlemen in the capital.”
“When Liu Kui came to capture them, with their skills they could have easily escaped unscathed. I even instructed them that no matter what, they must not be caught and thrown into prison. As long as they were free outside, even if they killed someone, I could find a way to protect them.”
“But they didn’t. Just because of a few words from Liu Kui, they gave up resisting.”
“Afraid of death? They’re deserters — they know full well the penalties for desertion. If they feared death, why would they surrender so easily?”
“Because they understand reason and righteousness.”
“A true gentleman must know right from wrong, discern good from evil. He does not seek fame or glory, only to die with dignity. My brothers may not be true gentlemen, but they understand that loyalty is right, fleeing is wrong, killing the enemy is good, killing one’s comrades is evil. They accepted the punishment of capture for desertion willingly, but to be killed because of desertion — that is to die without dignity.”
“Well said,” Zhang Chun nodded. “But so what?”
“So nothing,” Cheng Jiao-niang said again. “I just wanted someone to listen. Right now, only you are willing to hear me out. No one else wants to or will listen. To them, whether the one who fled was a soldier or a dog, it makes no difference. What they care about is the word ‘desertion,’ not ‘soldier.’”
“They were sentenced to death — it’s not undeserved, the law is strict.”
“Only that they died without dignity.”
“Killing deserters is meant only to intimidate and warn. But executions in the capital, then announcements sent to distant garrisons — for soldiers thousands of miles away, who can truly be intimidated by a piece of paper?”
“They say deserters deserve execution. But how many deserters are there in the world? Do the officials really know? If they were all caught and killed, how many people would be left to guard the borders? My brothers only erred by being in the capital, caught up in political factional struggles, and obstructing the plans of powerful men. A mere stumbling block — once kicked aside, just a few worthless lives. Intimidation? Warning? Nice words. If they really died like this, it’s an injustice, let alone dying with dignity.”
“There are many who die without dignity in this world,” Zhang Chun said.
“That’s why there are disputes about the Dao and debates over righteousness — all to make people understand reason, to know what should and shouldn’t be done,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
“So, after all you say, it’s still about clearing their names,” Zhang Chun remarked.
“Killing deserters is meant to discipline and strengthen the army, to resolve the nation’s crisis and relieve the frontier troops’ hardships — not for personal gain or petty disputes.”
“They do it for personal gain? And aren’t you also pursuing your own interests? You speak so grandly.”
Zhang Chun’s voice was as his name suggested — pure and calm. In contrast, Cheng Jiao-niang’s hoarse voice sounded harsher.
However, both spoke slowly and steadily. To the maid sitting outside the door, their words sounded like the plucking of a pipa string — a harsh, relentless, pressing noise.
“When man becomes slave to his desires, he extinguishes heavenly principle and indulges bottomless cravings. My desires bring no harm to state affairs—but theirs? Their aim was never about executing a few deserters or not. The killing itself was merely a means to their true ends.”
“Ignorant child!”
Zhang Chun’s voice suddenly rose, interrupting Cheng Jiao-niang’s words. The maid, already tense, trembled in fright.
