The scholar seated before the desk, his originally stern face now faintly flushed with anger, thought to himself:
This girl won Father’s favor, so I assumed she knew her place—yet it seems she’s nothing more than this!
“You know nothing of court affairs, you ignorant child! War is a dire matter, only to be resorted to when all else fails. You sit comfortably at home, indulging in music and revelry, oblivious to the suffering of the world—how dare you presume to lecture on matters of state and warfare!” Zhang Chun roared.
He despised people like this the most. Nowadays, there were far too many of them—those who had read a few books, heard a smattering of half-truths, and then began dictating how the nation should be run, all while wallowing in their own arrogance.
Cheng Jiao-niang lowered her head in a bow.
“I stand corrected,” she said. “Your rebuke is justified, sir. How laughable of me to act like the fool who asked, ‘Why not eat meat porridge?’*”
With that, she rose to her feet.
“I’ve said all I came to say. Thank you, sir, for your patience,” she continued. “I take my leave now.”
And just like that, she was leaving?
Who could endure such a scolding without protest? the maid thought. Especially when she came here seeking help…
Her emotions in turmoil, the maid stood up and, sure enough, saw Cheng Jiao-niang walking out without so much as a backward glance.
The maid hurried after her but couldn’t resist looking back. Inside the study, Zhang Chun remained seated, rigid and unmoved, showing not the slightest intention of stopping her.
Of course the master would react this way!
“Miss, Miss!”
The maid hurried a few steps to catch up, wanting to say something but unsure of what to say.
By now, they had already reached the outside of the academy. Just as the maid opened her mouth to speak, someone stepped out from the side.
Startled, the maid froze in place, and the person who emerged seemed equally surprised.
“So it really is you!” Cheng Si-lang exclaimed, wide-eyed. “What brings you here?”
“A small matter,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied, bowing slightly in greeting.
“What kind of matter?” Cheng Si-lang couldn’t help but ask.
“Just a trifle,” she said.
It was clear she wasn’t willing to elaborate. Cheng Si-lang understood—since she refused to say more, he dared not press further.
Though he addressed her as “sister” casually, the truth was, he had only met her three or four times at most.
Cheng Si-lang let out an awkward “Oh,” suddenly at a loss for words. After a moment of hesitant silence, he seemed to remember something and fished out a money pouch from his robe.
“Here’s some money for you. Take it for your needs,” he said.
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled faintly and accepted it with a graceful hand.
“Thank you,” she replied.
Cheng Si-lang gave an embarrassed chuckle, quickly muttering that it was nothing and that she should come to him again if she needed more.
“Then I shall take my leave now,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
Cheng Si-lang hastily stepped aside and personally escorted her to the waiting carriage.
“Wang Shi’qi… he hasn’t been bothering you, has he?” Cheng Si-lang asked hesitantly.
“No,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied simply.
“His family sent people to keep him under watch. They’re taking him back home, so you needn’t worry—he won’t trouble you again,” Cheng Si-lang said, visibly relieved.
His tone made it clear he hadn’t been entirely confident about this assurance earlier.
Cheng Jiao-niang gave a noncommittal hum and continued walking.
“If… if Wang Shi’qi ever treats you poorly, you must tell me,” Cheng Si-lang added after a few more steps, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
And what would you do if she did?
Could you kill him for her?
The maid shot Cheng Si-lang a sidelong glance, her thoughts sharp with silent judgment.
My mistress certainly could.
With a faint, knowing smile, Cheng Jiao-niang bowed slightly in thanks before stepping into the carriage.
The carriage had traveled a considerable distance when, upon looking back, they could still see Cheng Si-lang standing at the academy gates, his figure gradually shrinking into a distant black speck.
Lowering the carriage curtain, the maid couldn’t help but sigh, gazing at the money pouch in her hand.
“Those who don’t need help receive it freely, while those who truly do are left with none,” she murmured.
“People give what they can. We cannot force others beyond their means,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
The maid naturally understood these principles. She looked up at Cheng Jiao-niang, her expression thoughtful.
Truth be told, she already grasped everything her mistress had just said—yet still…
“Miss,” she suddenly asked, “how do you do it?”
“Do what?” Cheng Jiao-niang inquired.
“Before, whether it was the old master or others—even I myself—believed I was clever, sensible, and perceptive. I thought I understood people and situations clearly, that no matter what trials or circumstances arose, I could remain steadfast. But it turns out… it was all just my own presumption,” the maid confessed.
“You never had the chance to face such trials before,” Cheng Jiao-niang said gently.
“But neither had you, Miss,” the maid pressed. “The difficulties at Tai Ping Residence, the complications of marriage affairs, and now…”
Any one of these matters alone would have been an immense ordeal for most—enough to leave them restless, anxious, and utterly distressed. Let alone for a young mistress barely in her teens.
“…Miss, how do you really do it?” the maid continued. “I’ve been so flustered, my mind unsettled, unable to sit still. Yet you remain completely unruffled. Even after all this time by your side, I still can’t learn to…”
Cheng Jiao-niang turned to look at her and smiled faintly.
“This isn’t something you need to learn,” she said. “It’s not a good thing anyway.”
The maid’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Miss, how can this not be a good thing?” she asked. “This is composure, magnanimity, steadiness in the face of turmoil. Isn’t this exactly what many spend their whole lives cultivating…”
“Whether others do or not, I wouldn’t know,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied. “But for me, it’s simply because I have no heart.”
The maid froze.
She was saying this again…
“I’m merely handling matters, not dealing with people,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “I’m doing these things—not so much for their sake as for my own.”
These were people she had saved, brothers she had acknowledged. To have them suddenly seized and condemned to death—though one could argue they’d brought it upon themselves—still left a knot of unresolved resentment when she thought about it.
Truth be told, wasn’t this how most things went? When others sought her help, she might assist out of duty or affection, but pride and self-satisfaction inevitably played some part. Similarly, when things went awry, it often boiled down to wounded pride or perceived slights to one’s status, sparking indignation. Buddhas fight for a stick of incense; men fight for a breath of dignity.
The maid gave a bitter smile.
“Miss, why must you always speak so harshly of yourself?” she said. “Everyone else acts and speaks the same way—why must you draw such clear lines and lay everything bare?”
“I need to remember clearly,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied. “What I do, I do for myself. No one owes me anything.”
That way, when others treated her poorly, there would be no room for resentment, disappointment, or grief.
She raised a hand and pressed it to her chest.
In this world, the only ones who can truly take your heart are those from whom you desire or expect something.
The maid sighed softly. In the end, her mistress truly had no one to rely on.
“So what do we do now? Who else should we seek out?” she asked.
“We’ve already finished. There’s no one else to find,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
“But… didn’t the master refuse to promise anything?” the maid pressed.
“I didn’t come to seek Master Zhang’s agreement—only to make him listen,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, then smiled faintly. “Master Chen would never have heard me out. Right now, Master Zhang is the only one who would. And as you saw, he did listen. That’s enough.”
That’s enough?
The maid didn’t understand.
“Then… what happens next?” she asked.
“Next, we leave it to chance,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, smiling again.
Ah… so it still comes down to luck…
The maid stared blankly at her mistress, suddenly noticing something unusual about her smile.
All this time, Cheng Jiao-niang’s expressions had been limited—either blankly detached or softened by the faintest of smiles. But this time… her smile seemed… almost…
A cold smirk?
Back in the academy, Zhang Chun set down his brush once more.
“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.”
That grating, hoarse female voice echoed in his ears again.
Such an insolent child!
Zhang Chun shook his head and picked up his brush.
“War is a dire matter, only to be resorted to when all else fails. You sit comfortably at home, indulging in music and revelry, oblivious to the suffering of the world—how dare you presume to lecture on matters of state and warfare!”
“Your rebuke is justified, sir. How laughable of me to act like the fool who asked, ‘Why not eat meat porridge?'”
With a final thud, Zhang Chun slammed his brush onto the desk.
“That Jiang-zhou fool!” he spat through gritted teeth.
Translator’s Note:
* Originates from《晋书·惠帝纪》 (Book of Jin: Chronicles of Emperor Hui). When told that peasants were starving due to famine, Emperor Hui of Jin (司马衷) naively asked: “何不食肉糜？” (“Why don’t they just eat meat porridge?”). Highlights the absurdity of a ruler’s ignorance of his people’s suffering.
