In the Chen household, servants hurried past with quick steps.
“Grandfather, Grandfather!”
Chen Shi’ba-niang, acting unlike her usual self, lifted her skirts and rushed into Old Master Chen’s hall.
“Lady Cheng has woken up!”
Old Master Chen couldn’t conceal his joy as he stood up.
“Truly awake?”
Chen Shi’ba-niang nodded.
“Mother has already taken Doctor Li to see her,” she said, overjoyed. “Grandfather, Dan-niang and I are going too. Will you come?”
Old Master Chen nodded and took a few steps before pausing.
“You go ahead,” he said.
Since she was well now, there was no need for him to see her.
Watching Shi’ba-niang’s hurried departing figure, Old Master Chen let out a sigh of relief.
As long as she was awake—as long as she was awake, all was well.
…
At the Yudai Bridge, in front of the Cheng residence, the Zhou family had already left, but the entrance remained bustling with carriages and horses, drawing curious glances from passersby.
“Quite a few visitors at this house today,” a pedestrian couldn’t help but remark.
“Must be lively inside.”
Yet, though the outside was lively, the inside was anything but—in fact, it was eerily quiet.
Everyone sat in the main hall, their faces tense.
The host’s seat, which had been empty for days, was now occupied once again by that woman, just as in the past.
Her jet-black hair cascaded down her back, her robes as luxurious as ever.
But something was different.
The girl who had always sat as rigidly as a bell now reclined lazily against an armrest, her expression still unreadable, her eyes lowered. One hand rested on the table as Doctor Li checked her pulse.
The wide sleeves of her dark green satin robe draped gracefully over her wrist.
It was a posture anyone could assume—nothing particularly remarkable about it. Yet, whether it was an illusion of those present, there was an air of effortless nobility about her, as serene and unruffled as drifting clouds.
“How is she, really?” Cheng Si-lang couldn’t help but ask.
Though the room was filled with unfamiliar ladies, making him both uneasy and astonished, the shock of discovering that his supposedly foolish younger sister actually owned three prestigious shops had already steeled his nerves. Now, he could keep his emotions in check.
Manager Wu and the members of the Chen family also watched Doctor Li with bated breath.
Doctor Li withdrew his hand but remained silent. Suddenly, he waved it in front of the girl, who sat with her eyes closed.
“So, are you actually awake and feeling alright now?” he asked.
The entire room was stunned.
Who’s the doctor here, and who’s the patient?
“Doctor Li, are you truly incapable of diagnosing whether an illness has improved—only able to declare when it hasn’t?” Chen Shi’ba-niang couldn’t help but remark.
Doctor Li’s expression darkened instantly.
Madam Chen shot her daughter a reproachful glance.
“Jiao-niang…” she called out, her voice laced with concern, “Are you truly better? Why are you already up? You should rest a while longer.”
Ever since receiving the news and rushing over in haste, the moment they stepped inside, they had seen the girl sitting in the main hall—just as she always had.
It left them dazed, as if she had always been this way, as if her illness and unconsciousness had never happened at all.
Cheng Jiao-niang opened her eyes.
The moment they opened, her wooden, lifeless expression suddenly transformed into something vivid.
No—this is different.
Madam Chen straightened in her seat, her heart pounding. Her eyes! Her eyes have changed!
The girl before them now had large, bright eyes. Once dull and vacant, with more white than black, her pupils now gleamed dark as the night sky. And as her gaze shifted, they shimmered with a brilliance like gemstones.
Wherever her eyes passed, it stole the breath from those who met them.
“I really am awake,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
After Cheng Si-lang, Manager Wu, and the Chen family left, the hall did not empty. Though only one person remained seated—compared to the earlier crowded gathering—laughter and conversation now filled the entire space.
“…The teacher then began reciting with a pompous sway of his head: ‘The Great Learning says, in ancient times, the purpose of the Great Learning was to teach men…’ ”
“…When the King of Hell heard the teacher’s recitation, he immediately ordered a demon to drag him down and said, ‘Since you love the word “zhi” so much, I sentence you to be reborn as a pig.’ The teacher had no choice but to accept his fate, but he pleaded with the King of Hell, ‘If I must be a pig, I dare not disobey, but please let me be born in the south.’ The King of Hell found this strange and asked why…”
“…The teacher replied, ‘The Master said: Southern pigs are superior to northern pigs.’ ”
As Madam Qin’s voice trailed off, crisp laughter erupted in the room.
The maid doubled over with laughter, tears nearly streaming from her eyes.
But Madam Qin herself did not laugh. Her gaze remained fixed on the girl before her.
“Not funny?” she asked.
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded.
“Not funny,” she replied.
Madam Qin’s face fell in disappointment.
“How is it not funny? It’s hilarious! I even tailored it to your Jiang-zhou accent on purpose—why won’t you laugh?” she grumbled, then shot a glance at the maid, who was still clutching her stomach in laughter. “See, that’s a normal reaction. Yours is the abnormal one.”
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at her and smiled faintly.
Madam Qin waved her hand dismissively.
“That smile doesn’t count,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’ll take my leave now—you should rest. I’ll go back and think harder. I refuse to believe I can’t make you laugh.”
Cheng Jiao-niang stood as well.
“Don’t bother moving. You’ve only just recovered, and after lying ill for so many days, your body is still weak. The last thing we need is for you to faint again,” Madam Qin said with another chuckle. “Stay well, and I’ll return with a better joke. If you collapse again, it’ll be even harder to get a laugh out of you!”
Cheng Jiao-niang lowered her head slightly in a polite bow, while behind her, the maid, Ban Qin and the others knelt and pressed their foreheads to the ground in a deep farewell.
Madam Qin smiled, waved her hand again, and strode out.
The maids who had been kneeling in the corridor rose and followed behind.
Before Madam Qin had even stepped out the gate, Qin Shi’san-lang’s horse came to a halt at the entrance.
“Mother!”
The young master, who had jumped off before his steed fully stopped and was rushing inside, hastily checked his steps and called out.
“Careful now, what’s the hurry?” Madam Qin said, pursing her lips in amusement.
Qin Shi’san-lang acknowledged with a respectful “Yes.”
“I was about to leave, and only now do you arrive. Ah well, I suppose I’ll accompany you inside once more,” Madam Qin said with a chuckle, feigning resignation.
Qin Shi’san-lang looked at her and returned a similarly helpless smile.
“Mother, this time I admit defeat. I barely managed to slip away from my tutor’s watch. I beg your mercy,” he said with a bow.
“Honestly! After raising you all these years, now you’d chase your own mother away,” Madam Qin lamented dramatically to her maids.
Yet the servants showed no alarm—instead, they all smiled knowingly.
“Madam, this is entirely your own fault for being so quick-witted and full of chatter,” they teased. “That Cheng maiden barely speaks a word, stiff as a wooden doll. With you around, she’d probably clam up completely. Wouldn’t that render Young Master’s visit pointless?”
Madam Qin laughed behind her fluttering fan.
“That’s her peculiarity, not my fault,” she retorted playfully, then tapped Qin Shi’san-lang’s shoulder with her fan. “Go on then, don’t dawdle.”
With another bow and a smile, Qin Shi’san-lang stepped through the gate.
Cheng Jiao-niang had already stepped out and stood beneath the eaves, her gaze meeting his.
Qin Shi’san-lang quickened his pace with a smile, studying her intently.
Just as before—exactly as before. What a rare blessing, to find everything unchanged.
“Who am I?” he suddenly asked, pointing at himself.
Cheng Jiao-niang gave a faint smile and shook her head.
“Truly don’t remember?” Qin Shi’san-lang asked in surprise.
“Might I inquire after your honorable name?” she replied.
“I,” he said, straightening with formal dignity, “bear the surname Qin, given name Hu, courtesy name Zhile, thirteenth in my clan’s generational order.”
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded and sank into a curtsy.
“Young Master Qin,” she acknowledged.
Qin Hu? Zhile? The Thirteenth Young Master?
“Then why does the Sixth Young Master call you ‘Sangzi’?” Ban Qin, standing to the side, couldn’t help but interject.
“Because ‘the mulberry bow and arrowgrass arrows six, to shoot heaven, earth, and the four directions—heaven, earth, and the four directions represent all affairs of a man,'” Cheng Jiao-niang replied slowly, her gaze fixed on Qin Shi’san-lang.
Qin Shi’san-lang’s face broke into a radiant smile.
“You truly have recovered,” he said. “And in ways beyond expectation.”
He had seen the books on her desk—simple, common, even trivial unofficial histories and anecdotes. Before coming to the capital, from Ban Qin’s accounts, she would forget whatever she read immediately, so naturally, she wouldn’t have read much. After arriving in the capital, as far as he knew, the same book had always lain on her desk.
Yet now, she could effortlessly cite the origin of his name. This was proof of remarkable improvement.
Was the sender of that letter truly her master?
The one who had cured her foolishness, taught her miraculous skills and ingenious strategies…
Had that letter truly awakened her, just as she had once infuriated him to the point of collapse before healing his leg? No breakthrough without destruction, no resolution without crisis?
Qin Shi’san-lang studied Cheng Jiao-niang with renewed seriousness.
“Then, may I ask, who are you?” he inquired.
Who are you?
It was this very question that had struck her down before!
These past near thirty days had felt like an entire lifetime of torment to them.
They never wanted to hear these three words again for as long as they lived!
Ban Qin and the maid paled slightly and stepped forward protectively.
But the girl standing composed beneath the eaves did not collapse into that terrible state. Instead, she smiled faintly.
“I am of the Jiang-zhou Cheng clan, named Fang,” she replied.
Born of the sun, just beginning to shine.
You are the brightest daughter of our Cheng family.
In the sunlight, the faint silhouette of a tall, scholarly man seemed to materialize midair, smiling at her before dissipating like smoke.
