Is it really so frightening to admit that you’re not as good as others?
Chen Su, what are you afraid of?
Chen Shi’ba-niang closed her eyes and knelt down, covering her face.
“I am dull and ignorant – please teach me, Grandfather,” she wept.
Inside the room, everyone was seated. A maid brought over a towel and carefully wiped Chen Shi’ba-niang’s face, then handed her a cup of hot tea.
At the doorway, Chen Dan-niang peeked in, but was quickly pulled away by a maid.
“She refused the Imperial Consort’s invitation – because she became famous for that piece of running script. But how was that running script written?” Old Master Chen asked.
Chen Shi’ba-niang set down her teacup and lowered her head to listen.
“Her sworn brothers died for the country, and their merits were usurped and buried. She, a mere young lady, dared to offend the will of His Majesty himself – raising such a great commotion, and only by sheer luck did she achieve what she set out to do. Think about it: how many unexpected dangers lay along the way? Any one of them could have rendered all her efforts meaningless – not just meaningless, but ruinous to herself. Even if now it seems as though the storm has passed and the skies have cleared, there are still many hidden risks beneath the surface,” said Old Master Chen.
“Shi’ba-niang, you were raised under your parents’ care, and our Chen family is one of standing and reputation. For you, even pricking your finger with a needle can feel like a grave misfortune. With such a state of mind, how can you compare yourself to that Lady Cheng?”
Chen Shi’ba-niang lowered her head.
“Have you ever seen her smile?”
“Do you know why she rarely speaks?”
“Because to her, the affairs of this world are too cruel. She cannot smile, nor does she have anything left to say.”
“Shi’ba-niang, you know everyone praises that epitaph – calling it second only to the finest under heaven. You know they all say it is good – but do you know why they say so?”
“It is because it was written from a grief too deep for words – each character carved straight from the heart. Only thus could such writing be born.”
“How could she possibly treat it as a piece for amusement? How could she take pride or joy in becoming famous for it?”
“She would rather never have written those words at all. She never wanted to write them.”
“Shi’ba-niang, what is there in that to envy?”
“Shi’ba-niang, I’ve told you before – always keep compassion in your heart. Look at all those things people praise her for, that fame she carries in the eyes of the world – do you understand how she came by them?”
“Shi’ba-niang, she doesn’t care. Whoever wants them can take them – she doesn’t care! It’s others who care. What do you expect her to do? What can she do? Besides herself, who else can she control?”
“If, as you say, she shouldn’t even carve the gravestone, shouldn’t even cry for her sworn brother – then what? Must she hide away in secret just to be allowed to grieve? She wrote, she wept before others, and the world praised her for it – and that makes her vain and self-serving?”
“As for setting a table and writing by the gate, that too came from her heart. People wanted to watch, and she happened to want to write – why shouldn’t she? Her conscience is clear, her heart at ease. Must she constantly worry about what others think? About who will be pleased and who will be offended? If she must always consider others, then what is left of herself?”
“Shi’ba-niang, that is bullying – nothing less than cruel!”
“Shi’ba-niang, Heaven may be without mercy, but people should not be. Be kinder; show some compassion.”
Chen Shi’ba-niang bent down again and wept bitterly on the ground.
“Grandfather, I was wrong,” she cried, rising to her feet. “I’ll go and apologize to her.”
“You need not go,” Old Master Chen called after her. “A fault is a fault – no apology can undo it.”
Chen Shi’ba-niang stopped in her tracks and covered her face.
“I’ll go with Dan-niang,” the old master said, standing up and walking out as he called for her.
Chen Shi’ba-niang stood by the doorway, watching her grandfather and Chen Dan-niang, who came running over, already impatient.
“…Are we going to Lady Cheng’s house? That’s great… it’s all Shi’ba-niang’s fault – I still wanted to learn cooking from her…”
The childish voice drifted over.
How wonderful it must be to be a child – to admire her, to look up to her without a single burden in the heart.
Grandfather, admitting that you’re not as good as someone else isn’t what’s frightening.
What’s frightening is admitting that someone who should have been beneath you has surpassed you.
On the eighteenth day of the tenth month, the Imperial Observatory chose it as an auspicious day – Princes Ping and Qing were to leave the palace and move into their respective residences.
The next day, Chen Shi’ba-niang prepared her carriage and set out.
“Shi’ba-niang, are you going to Prince Ping’s residence?” Madam Chen asked, a little uncertain.
“Mother, I should go and give His Highness his writing lesson,” Chen Shi’ba-niang said with a gentle smile.
Madam Chen and the daughters standing behind her all looked somewhat uneasy.
“Shi’ba-niang, after what the Imperial Consort said… you still–” one of her sisters couldn’t help but speak.
Back then, when the Imperial Consort had wanted to invite Lady Cheng to teach calligraphy, someone had tactfully suggested that Chen Shi’ba-niang’s handwriting was also quite fine – after all, she was the one the Emperor had permitted to instruct the First Prince.
The Imperial Consort had merely sneered.
“She only knows how to write. There are plenty of people in the world who can write – we want the very best.”
Naturally, such words could not be kept secret for long, and that was why, on that day before Lady Cheng’s door, those two young ladies had mocked them with the words, “We don’t know how to write.”
“His Majesty granted me permission to teach His Highness calligraphy – there was no imperial decree saying I should not go,” Chen Shi’ba-niang said with a gentle smile. “What others say has nothing to do with what I must do.”
Her sisters nodded in agreement.
Madam Chen sighed softly, a hint of relief in her expression.
“It’s just that Prince Ping only moved into his residence yesterday – perhaps you should wait a few days before going?” she suggested.
Chen Shi’ba-niang shook her head.
“His Highness is a very diligent person,” she said. “Not to mention today – even yesterday, he surely would not have let his studies fall behind.”
Even if one lacks natural talent, with diligence and unwavering resolve, Heaven itself has no right to deny them.
The carriage rolled along the street, and when it reached Yudai Bridge, Chen Shi’ba-niang lifted the curtain and looked out. Before the house across the way, there was still a crowd of people.
At the center sat that woman, poised and composed, brush in hand, writing upon a sheet of paper hung on the wooden frame. From this distance, it was impossible to make out what she was writing.
Since she could not compare, she might as well do her own work.
Chen Shi’ba-niang let the curtain fall.
Her carriage passed on, while over on the other side, Cheng Jiao-niang finished her calligraphy and the gathering dispersed. As the crowd thinned, the street became congested, and a carriage ahead was forced to stop.
The attendants beside the carriage immediately stepped forward to clear the way, but were stopped by the man inside.
“Just wait a bit – it’ll pass soon enough.”
The curtain lifted, revealing a man in plain robes – it was Attendant Scholar Gao.
“What’s the rush?” he said lightly.
The attendants obeyed and stepped back. Attendant Scholar Gao looked toward Yudai Bridge, where the scene was still lively, and by the riverbank below, several people were rinsing their brushes in the water.
“Aiya, I’m in the middle of doing laundry!” a few women grumbled.
“Forgive us, forgive us,” the young scholars said with a laugh. “Clothes can wait to be washed – but brushes cannot!”
Their banter stirred up a lively commotion, full of the charm and humor of street life.
“These people – they’re the ones who come here to watch the writing?” Attendant Scholar Gao asked with amused interest.
“Yes, my lord,” the attendant replied respectfully. “After they finish reading and copying the characters, they all come here to rinse their brushes. There are so many of them each time that the river water turns black. Someone even painted a ‘Rinsing-Brushes Scroll’ of the scene – it became quite popular. They say, ‘In ancient times, there was the Essay on Encouraging Learning; today, we have the Rinsing-Brushes Scroll.’”
Attendant Scholar Gao couldn’t help but laugh.
“These scholars certainly know how to praise themselves,” he said, his gaze falling on the gate of that house.
“But this Lady Cheng has really become famous, being so adored by all those scholars. No one calls her a charlatan who deceives the people anymore – anyone who does is scolded for being ignorant,” the attendant said in a low voice. “Nowadays, everyone even calls her the Lady of Jiangzhou.”
“The people of Jiang-zhou must feel proud,” Attendant Scholar Gao said with a faint smile, narrowing his eyes. “Fame is a fine thing – reputation is finer still. I imagine her parents must be quite pleased.”
“My lord, they say Lady Cheng doesn’t get along with her family. Back in Jiang-zhou, she even took her own uncle to court over money,” the attendant said, a strange smile tugging at his lips.
“Don’t speak recklessly,” Attendant Scholar Gao said, shaking his head. “That must surely be a misunderstanding. How could Lady Cheng be a woman so devoid of loyalty, righteousness, and filial piety?”
The attendant couldn’t help but shiver.
If it wasn’t a misunderstanding… then wouldn’t Lady Cheng indeed be disloyal, unrighteous, and unfilial?
And in an age when His Majesty prizes benevolence and filial virtue – if he were to learn that such a celebrated young lady was, in truth, unfilial and faithless…
Ah, no wonder they called this man formidable – a tongue as soft as silk, yet sharper than a blade.
“Oh, speaking of which,” Attendant Scholar Gao said with a faint smile, “this Lady Cheng’s father should be due for reassignment this year, shouldn’t he? What was his name again?”
Meanwhile, far away in Jiang-zhou, Second Master Cheng let out a loud sneeze.
“Which damned soul is talking about me now?”
Second Master Cheng was in a foul temper – furious upon furious – and finally got up to pace back and forth across the room, muttering under his breath a long list of names.
Second Madam Cheng, sitting nearby, was not unfamiliar with those names. Even if she had been once, she certainly wasn’t anymore.
They were all his former superiors and classmates – people he had once associated with, even accepted favors from – yet now he cursed their names through gritted teeth every single day.
“They said it clear as day – Lai–zhou, Lai–zhou! When they were taking my gifts and my money, every one of them swore it was certain! And now it turns out they were just making a fool of me!” he fumed. “Hai-zhou! They’ve sent me to Hai-zhou instead! Said it was almost the same! Since when does being one syllable off make it the same thing?”
Second Madam Cheng was so anxious that blisters had formed at the corners of her mouth.
“Where did things go wrong? It was clearly all settled!” she asked anxiously.
“They said it was the higher-ups, the higher-ups! What higher-ups? I’ve spoken with everyone from top to bottom – all agreed! How is it that now the higher-ups suddenly say no?” Second Master Cheng snapped.
“Could it be that you haven’t visited them enough?” Second Madam Cheng suggested. “That Liu Yukun is completely unreliable.”
That was possible.
Second Master Cheng frowned and stopped pacing.
“No, I’ll have to go there myself,” he said firmly.
