Chen Shi’ba-niang saw a great many people.
To be fair, she had witnessed large crowds before – every year at the Lantern Festival the streets were packed wall to wall – so compared to that, the number before her eyes right now wasn’t really so many.
In front of the Cheng family lady’s residence, on this side of the Yudai Bridge, the once-empty open ground was now filled with people. Old and young, men and women – the men were seated on one side, the women, veiled beneath their gauze hats, on the other. Some had set up proper desks before them, some balanced paper on their knees, and a few who were clearly poor children were simply using branches to write in the dirt.
The bustle formed a strange yet awe-inspiring scene.
And the lady seated at the center of it all seemed not to notice the crowd at all – before her, paper, ink, and brush were neatly laid out, and at this moment, she was quietly writing.
Chen Dan-niang finally squeezed her way to the woman’s side. Taking advantage of being both a young lady and a child, she settled herself right beside her hand and, in all earnestness, laid out her own paper and brush.
“Miss, I didn’t see that character clearly – could you write it again?” she suddenly called out.
Cheng Jiao-niang answered gently, “All right,” and indeed lifted her brush to write once more. The sheet she had just finished was set aside, and a maid picked it up and turned toward the crowd.
In that instant, Chen Shi’ba-niang could feel the burning gazes from among the people.
“Me,” someone cried, raising his hand high, his voice trembling slightly. “It’s my turn to have it today.”
Ban Qin walked over and handed the sheet in her hand to him.
Amid the envious looks of the others, the man received it with trembling excitement.
Yet everyone else only gave it a fleeting glance before quickly turning their eyes back to Lady Cheng, afraid to miss even a single stroke of her brush.
“Shi’ba-niang.”
Someone called from behind her.
Chen Shi’ba-niang started and quickly turned her head, seeing that it was a few young ladies she knew.
“Shi’ba-niang, you came to watch Lady Cheng write too?” one of them said with a smile, shaking the box in her hand that held her brush, ink, paper, and inkstone.
Before Chen Shi’ba-niang could answer, another lady laughed.
“How could Lady Chen have time for that? She has to go teach Prince Ping his calligraphy,” she said. “She’s not like us, who can’t even write properly.”
Chen Shi’ba-niang’s hand, hidden beneath her sleeve, clenched tightly.
“Hurry up, Lady Cheng only writes for half an hour each day – let’s not miss it again,” another urged, tugging her along.
The two ladies brushed past Chen Shi’ba-niang on purpose, bumping her lightly from either side before striding inside with a touch of smugness.
Her maids hurried to steady her, their faces full of indignation.
“My lady, shall we go over too?” one of them asked hesitantly.
Go over?
Go over for what?
Words were meant to convey feeling and meaning, not for show or amusement. I am a common person – I do not know how to write for show, nor how to teach others to write beautifully.
She had already said she could not teach fine calligraphy – so what was the point of going over? To beg her?
Chen Shi’ba-niang stood where she was, watching from afar.
Just as those two ladies had said, half an hour later Cheng Jiao-niang rose and left, while the maids distributed the characters she had written that day to those present, then gathered up the tables, brushes, and ink, and departed.
Chen Dan-niang naturally followed them inside.
The Cheng family’s gate closed. Some people before it hurried away; others, still reluctant, sat right down to trace the characters again. Some were laughing and chatting, some rinsed their brushes by the river – and the street once more returned to its usual bustle.
“This is what it means to be truly hidden in plain sight – the most common is the most refined.”
“She cares neither for birth nor for background; anyone who wishes to learn may come. Such generosity of spirit – she is truly a great scholar in her own right.”
“In the past, Master Jiangzhou preached under the trees in the open fields of Wang Prefecture, drawing hundreds to listen – that was the Way spoken aloud. Now this Lady of Jiang-zhou sets her desk before her door and writes, allowing all to watch closely – this is the Way passed on in silence.”
“…So you mean to say, there are now two ‘Masters of Jiangzhou’?”
“Master Jiangzhou”…
There were few worthy of being addressed by their place of origin; even Chen Shao was merely called “Minister,” and could not bear the title of “Chen of Quzhou.”
Chen Shi’ba-niang drew a deep breath and stepped toward Cheng Jiao-niang’s gate.
“I’m not leaving yet,” said Chen Dan-niang quickly when she saw her coming in.
Chen Shi’ba-niang looked at her in puzzlement – the girl had her sleeves tied up and looked ready to get busy.
“I’m going to make pastries with the lady,” Chen Dan-niang said, a hint of pride in her voice.
Make pastries?
Cheng Jiao-niang came out from the inner room then, having changed her clothes and tied up her own sleeves as well. Under the veranda, three unfamiliar maids were already standing respectfully, waiting.
What was all this for?
“Idleness leaves one with nothing to do – cooking is also a kind of amusement,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
Amusement? This lady knew how to amuse herself? Chen Shi’ba-niang had thought she was some emotionless, joyless, senseless wooden figure.
Chen Shi’ba-niang forced a faint smile.
“May I borrow a moment of your time to speak privately?” she asked.
Cheng Jiao-niang glanced at her and nodded.
“There is something I cannot make sense of,” Chen Shi’ba-niang said directly once they were inside the main hall.
“If it concerns me,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied, “please, speak.”
“Aren’t you the one who said you wouldn’t show others your fine calligraphy? Then what are you doing now?” Chen Shi’ba-niang asked, taking a deep breath and lifting her head.
“I’m still the same as before,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied. “I simply write every day. There’s nothing shameful in that. If others wish to watch, then let them watch.”
“Cheng Jiao-niang,” Chen Shi’ba-niang stepped forward, biting her lip, her voice trembling slightly, “I once thought you were an open and honest person, but it turns out you’re just as double-hearted as the rest. You call this bad writing? Would bad writing be hailed as the second greatest running script under heaven? Would bad writing win the praise of the Imperial Consort, the Empress Dowager, and His Majesty?”
“That is what they believe, not what I believe,” Cheng Jiao-niang said calmly. “I don’t think my writing is good. I can only be honest with myself. As for others – I can neither control nor influence them.”
Chen Shi’ba-niang let out a sharp, bitter laugh, as though she had just heard something absurdly funny.
“You can’t control others, nor influence them?” she said, pointing at herself, her eyes glittering with tears. “Do you know that because of a single word from you, I – Chen Su – have become the laughingstock of the entire capital?”
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at her.
“I didn’t know,” she said.
Chen Shi’ba-niang laughed again – laughed until tears streamed down her face. “You didn’t know? Of course you didn’t know, because you never cared.”
“I don’t care,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “There are too many people in this world, Chen Su. I can’t care about them all. I can only manage myself. We can only care for ourselves – don’t care about others, Chen Su. Don’t care about me. Care about yourself.”
“Of course you don’t care about others! Everything you do follows your own rules. You have rules, and you live by them – but you have no humanity! In your eyes, feelings mean nothing at all!” Chen Shi’ba-niang shouted, then turned, flung the door open, and stormed out.
The maids and servant girls in the courtyard – Chen Dan-niang among them – were all startled by the raised voices coming from inside.
“Sister!” Chen Dan-niang called.
But Chen Shi’ba-niang didn’t stop; she strode straight out without a backward glance.
Fuming and anxious, Chen Dan-niang had no choice but to hurry after her.
Hearing the sound of carriage wheels and hooves leaving from the front gate, Ban Qin quickly looked toward the hall. Cheng Jiao-niang emerged, her expression calm as ever.
“Miss, are you all right?” Ban Qin asked uneasily.
Cheng Jiao-niang shook her head.
“I’m fine,” she said.
As for others…
Ban Qin didn’t trouble herself over that. Hearing her mistress’s answer, she let out a quiet sigh of relief.
…
Footsteps sounded outside the door, followed by knocking.
“Shi’ba-niang, open the door,” came Madam Chen’s anxious voice.
“She argued with Lady Cheng! She made a scene with Lady Cheng! She was so rude!” Chen Dan-niang’s sharp voice rang out as well.
Chen Shi’ba-niang simply covered her ears with her hands and turned toward the wall.
After a while, the voices outside quieted, and it seemed the people had left.
Chen Shi’ba-niang lowered her hands, drew her knees up, and sat there in a daze.
“Shi’ba-niang.”
A voice called from outside the door.
Chen Shi’ba-niang started – it was her grandfather’s voice.
“I just came to ask whether anything’s wrong.”
Chen Shi’ba-niang lifted her sleeve and wiped away her tears.
“I’m fine,” she said.
There was a brief sound of acknowledgment from outside.
“As long as you know you’re fine,” said Old Master Chen.
She heard his footsteps as he turned to leave.
You know yourself… you know yourself…
Why did everyone only ever talk about themselves?
Chen Shi’ba-niang stood up, took a few quick steps, and pulled the door open.
Hearing the sound, Old Master Chen, who had already stepped into the courtyard, turned back toward her.
“I don’t know myself – I don’t know why she has to do this! Why she’s always so high and lofty, why she always has to push others down! Why she had to make me a laughingstock!” Chen Shi’ba-niang cried, raising her sleeve to cover her face.
Old Master Chen’s expression darkened as he turned back toward her.
“She doesn’t know. You do,” he said.
“Grandfather!” Chen Shi’ba-niang shouted.
“No one can make you a laughingstock – only you can make yourself one!” Old Master Chen’s voice thundered.
“Why does she act like that? Why?” Chen Shi’ba-niang sobbed.
“Because she wants to – and she can,” Old Master Chen barked. “You don’t want to, and you can’t – so put away your envy and jealousy! Look properly at who you are. Do well in what you can do. If you wish to accomplish something, first understand whether you are capable. To be able and still desire – that is obsession. To be unable and yet desire – that is delusion. Chen Su, you haven’t even reached obsession – and already you’re lost in delusion!”
“I didn’t… I didn’t…” Chen Shi’ba-niang shook her head, crying. “I just… I just couldn’t accept it…”
“Couldn’t accept it?” Old Master Chen closed his eyes for a moment, then suddenly opened them wide. “Shi’ba-niang, do you think your two years of practice have been hard?”
Hard… Chen Shi’ba-niang bit her lip but said nothing.
“You think you’ve worked hard enough, don’t you?” Old Master Chen went on.
Hard-working… Chen Shi’ba-niang still didn’t speak – she only wept.
“Shi’ba-niang, do you know how many years Wang Xizhi practiced?” Old Master Chen asked.
Chen Shi’ba-niang’s face changed slightly – as if she already knew what was coming. She tensed her body, as though by doing so she could stop it – but of course, she couldn’t.
“Shi’ba-niang, you’ve worked hard, you’ve toiled – that’s half of your achievement. And the other half,” Old Master Chen said, enunciating each word slowly, “is because your surname is Chen, because your father is Chen Shao, because Chen Shao is the honorable Minister Chen.”
That glory, that favor – it all came from imperial grace, from the honor bestowed by the court.
No. No – nonsense, lies!
Chen Shi’ba-niang shook her head, retreating step by step until she stumbled against the door. She raised her hand to cover her mouth as tears poured down like rain.
“No, that’s not true!” she cried. “Grandfather, why would you say that – why would you say such things about me?”
The young girl’s face had gone pale; her eyes were brimming with tears, her voice trembling, her whole body shaking. If a moment ago Old Master Chen had merely been scolding her, his tone still carried warmth – but this final sentence struck like a sudden volley of cold arrows, swift and merciless, piercing straight into her heart.
Looking at the girl on the verge of collapse, Old Master Chen let out a long, heavy sigh.
Who am I? Those three words – truly a blow that wakes like thunder.
A sharp weapon, too; no wonder even that Lady Cheng had nearly fainted under their weight.
But what else could he do? To drive out illness, the needle must draw blood; to cure a blockage, one must use fierce medicine.
“Shi’ba-niang,” Old Master Chen said more gently now, stepping forward with a sigh, “is it really so terrible to admit that you are not as good as someone else?”
