In ancient times, for those born into official or noble households, once basic survival was secured, the next concern was how to live well.
That was when each person had to resort to their own means, like the Eight Immortals crossing the sea – each displaying their unique prowess.
Some were born as pearls in the palm – favored and cherished – and could coast through life as winners with little effort. Others, unfortunate enough to be born to concubines, had to be sensible and ingratiate themselves with the legitimate wife, much like Chen Rou-niang and Chen Wan-niang. And then there were those with enough ability to win the favor of the family matriarch, which elevated their status entirely.
Cheng Danruo had attached herself to the Old Madam Chen, which seemed to be the third case – but in truth, it was not.
Crash! The teacup fell to the floor and shattered into pieces.
The Old Madam Chen’s face stiffened, and she muttered vaguely in reproach, “Can’t even hold a teacup steady.”
The young maid who had served the tea dropped to her knees with a thud, trembling as she begged for mercy. “Please, Old Madam, calm your anger.”
“Go and brew another cup at once, won’t you?” Cheng Danruo dismissed the girl, then turned to soothe the Old Madam. “It’s just a cup of tea – please don’t let such trifles upset you.”
She stroked the Old Madam’s back, occasionally pressing on acupoints, gradually easing her agitation.
Once the Old Madam’s temper had settled, she could no longer sit upright and slumped back onto the daybed.
Cheng Danruo picked up a sutra from beside her and asked, “Shall I read a passage to you?”
The Old Madam nodded.
“Guanshiyin Bodhisattva…” She began to chant the Heart Sutra. Duoxi, the head maid attending to the Old Madam, quietly lit some sandalwood incense, letting the compassion of the Buddha drift through the entire room.
The Old Madam Chen grew drowsy and leaned against the soft pillow, dozing off.
Cheng Danruo continued reading in a slow, measured voice, but inwardly she reflected: the Old Madam had her authority, yet it all depended on what kind of authority it was.
What could a stroke-stricken old woman really teach? She had long lost control over the household affairs, nor did she have any worldly wisdom to impart.
On the contrary, she was temperamental, quick to anger, incontinent, and partially paralyzed.
Yet Cheng Danruo chose to attend to her rather than curry favor with Lady Huang – and she had her reasons: first, to repay the Chen family for raising her, and second, to build up some reputation.
In ancient times, reputation was everything. A man with a good name could become a celebrated scholar and be summoned by the court to serve as an official – and the same held true for women.
A favorable reputation was a solid pass that could bring many advantages. A chaste widow or a faithful wife was out of the question, but the reputation of a filial daughter was not beyond her reach.
The ancients governed the realm by filial piety. Blind, foolish filial piety was unacceptable, but the renown of a filial son or daughter was a protective talisman.
Cheng Danruo had no parents or clan to shield her. To survive in this devouring world, she had to possess something aligned with the prevailing values of society.
The Old Madam Chen broke into a violent fit of coughing.
Cheng Danruo patted her back to ease her breathing, motioned for a young maid to bring over a spittoon, helped her expel the thick phlegm, then had her rinse her mouth and cleaned her oral cavity.
By the time all that was done, dusk had fallen, and it was nearly time for supper.
In ancient times, there was the custom of paying morning and evening respects to one’s elders. But since the Old Madam Chen had suffered a stroke and could not endure such exertion, this ritual was waived – when it was time to eat, they simply ate.
Stroke patients were advised to eat light fare – low in salt and low in fat, and as little as possible.
However, the elderly often found their palates dull, and food with too little salt was hardly appetizing – which inevitably led to a fair bit of grumbling.
Cheng Danruo spent a good while coaxing and soothing her before finally getting the old lady through her meal.
By then, the lamps in the room had been lit. The brass lampstand was exquisitely crafted, shaped like a lotus blossom, but the candlelight was only so much – faint and yellow-tinged, casting a drowsy glow over the room.
Duoxi said, “Miss Cheng, you should rest now. We’ll take care of the Old Madam here.”
There wasn’t much left to do – just washing up and changing into nightclothes, tasks the maids performed far better than Cheng Danruo could. She did not intend to make things hard for herself. “Very well,” she said. “If anything comes up, you can always come find me.”
Only then did she return to her own room.
“Miss, wash your hands.” The maid Zisu brought over a small copper kettle and poured some warm water into a basin. Cheng Danruo carefully washed her hands, then picked up two pieces of cold white sugar cake from the table and ate them.
The Old Madam Chen’s meals were prepared separately, and Cheng Danruo ate along with her – seven out of ten meals left her half-full, so she had to make do with snacks.
After those two pieces of cake, her stomach finally felt more comfortable.
Cheng Danruo glanced at the sky outside. To protect her eyesight, she never read or practiced calligraphy after dark. She said, “Bring me my sewing kit.”
“Right away.” The other maid, Baizhi, acknowledged the request, opened the cabinet in the corner, and took out a bamboo basket containing needles and thread, along with half a bolt of new cotton cloth.
Cheng Danruo picked up her scissors and began cutting the fabric.
Needlework was an essential skill for women in ancient times – not just as a measure of virtue, but mainly because productivity was low, and clothing, food, shelter, and transport all depended on manual labor. Like weaving, it was a highly practical and indispensable skill.
Without the ability to sew, one wouldn’t even have undergarments or sanitary belts to use.
Thus, although Cheng Danruo rarely put much effort into elaborate embroidery, she had nevertheless learned enough to make clothes, shoes, and socks after a fashion.
As she worked, she asked Zisu, “Has anything new happened today?”
Zisu immediately pressed her lips into a smile and said, “Two young juren candidates came to visit the master today. They were quite handsome – quite a few of the maids were sneaking peeks.”
Cheng Danruo raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“One is surnamed He, the other surnamed Lu.” Zisu elaborated, ” Scholar He has a full beard – he looks old enough to have been a father for years. But that Scholar Lu – young and promising, with proper features – I hear the master often praises him. His future prospects are boundless.”
Cheng Danruo nodded but did not take the bait.
She had two maids by her side, Baizhi and Zisu: Baizhi had come with her from the Cheng family – her parents had been dowry attendants to Cheng Danruo’s grandmother, and it was they who had traveled a great distance to deliver Cheng Danruo to the Chen household for refuge.
Living under someone else’s roof, it was unwise to have too many mouths to feed. Once Cheng Danruo was settled, she had freed Baizhi’s father and mother from their servitude – they were no longer bondservants. The couple now ran a small business outside and managed to get by.
As for Baizhi herself, Cheng Danruo chose not to release her for the time being – first, to maintain a channel of communication with the outside world, and second, to have someone she could truly trust.
Zisu, however, was a maid given by Lady Huang – a household-born servant whose parents, younger brother, and entire family all worked within the Chen estate. She was well-connected, had her ear to the ground, and had ties in every quarter.
That little speech of hers just now – it was by no means idle chatter.
Cheng Danruo had come of age in February – at fifteen, she was already a young woman eligible for marriage in ancient times. Having attended to the Old Madam Chen all this while, it was only natural that Master Chen, whether out of regard for her filial devotion or for the sake of family ties, would consider arranging a match for her.
Scholar Lu’s qualifications were quite impressive by ancient standards.
Though he had not yet earned the jinshi degree, being a juren already put him ahead of at least nine out of ten men – the illiteracy rate in ancient times was as high as 80 to 90 percent, and those with official scholarly titles were even rarer.
Moreover, a juren was eligible to hold office and could be exempted from taxes and corvée labor. Many families would have been eager to register their farmlands under his name – he would never go hungry.
And that was not even taking into account that Scholar Lu was still young. If he could go even further and pass the imperial examinations with honors in the future, that would be a once-in-a-lifetime stroke of fortune.
“From the way you talk about him, it sounds like he’s bound to become the Chen family’s son-in-law.” Cheng Danruo smiled, showing little reserve when it came to discussing marriage.
Though the Three Bonds and Five Constanties still held sway at the time, the textile industry in the Jiangnan region was thriving, and quite a few women earned their own income, affording them a certain standing within their households. Among the scholarly class, the new currents of the School of Mind were gaining popularity. Coupled with economic prosperity, ideological constraints were not as oppressive as they would later become under the Qing dynasty.
Baizhi hesitated, then said, “But in terms of age, miss is younger than the Third Miss, yet…”
“The Third Miss is the Chen family’s third daughter.” Cheng Danruo bit off the cotton thread and concluded, “Good water shouldn’t flow into outsiders’ fields.”
Zisu ventured carefully, “But miss is of age now, and marriage must be discussed eventually – should we ask the Old Madam to keep an eye out?”
Cheng Danruo shook her head. Zisu’s mother had previously suffered from a persistent cough that several prescriptions failed to cure – it was Cheng Danruo who had treated her successfully. Though Zisu’s contract was not in her hands, the maid was grateful and often thought of her mistress’s welfare.
“The Old Madam is in poor health – I need to look after her for another couple of years.” She made her intentions clear to her two personal maids. “Don’t go prying into this matter anymore – best not to invite any unwelcome attention.”
Baizhi and Zisu exchanged a look and both gave wry smiles.
Indeed – the Old Madam could hardly do without Miss Cheng, so how could she be willing to arrange a match for her? Not holding her back would already be a blessing.
They were about to say more, but Cheng Danruo had already set down her sewing and said, “Fetch some water for washing up – let’s turn in early.”
The night-time conversation came to an inconclusive end.
Lady Huang came from an official family – her father had served as a Vice Director in the Court of Imperial Sacrifices – and she was well-versed in household management.
For instance, among the five children in the household, the three daughters born of concubines were all raised by their respective birth mothers, under the gracious pretext that she could not bear to part mother from child. But both the second son, her own flesh and blood, and the fifth son, born of a concubine, she kept under her own wing – firmly in her grasp.
At this moment, she was seated before a pear-wood dressing table, while a maid carefully removed her hair ornaments. The mirror case stood open, and the polished bronze mirror, propped on its stand, reflected her image with clarity.
Master Chen, meanwhile, sat on the bed, having his feet washed by a young maid, his expression relaxed.
The couple chatted idly about household matters.
Lady Huang said, “From what you’ve said, that Scholar Lu does seem quite promising – but his family background is a bit thin. Marrying him off to Rou-niang would be doing her a bit of a disservice.”
See? It was all a matter of comparison. To Cheng Danruo, the faceless Scholar Lu was a catch beyond her reach, but when it came to a daughter of the Chen family, he was the one reaching above his station.
It was perfectly normal for an official’s daughter to marry a juren – but even among juren, there were differences in family circumstances. Naturally, it was better if the family was well-off and had relatives in office.
“Hmm, Zijie’s family is indeed on the modest side.” Master Chen did not deny this. Scholar Lu had no one in his family serving as an official; he had achieved his current standing entirely through his own diligent study.
“I was thinking – how about matching him with Dan-niang instead?” He discussed the matter with his wife. “She’s also of age, and since we’re family, we ought to find her a proper match for life.”
Lady Huang hesitated.
Scholar Lu’s qualifications were not the best, but they were still within the bounds of acceptability. A young and promising juren was not easy to come by – and if she let him go to an outsider, she felt a pang of reluctance.
When all was said and done, neither Rou-niang nor Wan-niang was her own flesh and blood. What did it matter if they endured a little hardship? Securing a good marriage alliance was far more important.
“Although Dan-niang is a relative, she no longer has parents living – the other party might not be willing,” Lady Huang pointed out the crux of the matter. “If you truly think highly of him, it wouldn’t hurt to offer Rou-niang instead.”
If Scholar Lu was seeking a match, it was surely because he wanted to form a favorable connection with Master Chen. Fobbing him off with a commoner girl from a collateral branch might very well make him feel slighted – and turn a potential alliance into a grudge instead. That would be a net loss.
Master Chen considered this and found it reasonable, but he still wavered. “I had originally planned to wait until the three-year term was up, pull some strings to get transferred to the capital, and then arrange matches for Rou-niang and Wan-niang.”
At the time, officials in office were subject to performance evaluations: one after three years, a second after six, and a comprehensive review after nine. The ratings were divided into three tiers: commendable, satisfactory, and unsatisfactory.
The results of these three evaluations would determine whether, after nine years of service, one was promoted, kept in place, or demoted.
Master Chen had received his first official appointment eight years ago. In his first three-year term as a county magistrate, he performed well and was transferred from a civil administration post to that of a Surveillance Commissioner’s Assistant, moving into the judicial branch of the Surveillance Office. After completing six years – though his performance was merely average – he had greased the right palms and made no major mistakes, so he was once again promoted, this time to Surveillance Vice Commissioner.
In short, he had been promoted every time – his official career was on a smooth upward trajectory.
But Master Chen was ambitious and far from complacent. He wanted to make one more push and secure a post back in the capital. Whether he later went out to the provinces again or joined one of the Six Ministries, having that metropolitan “gilding” on his resume would be an excellent move.
Lady Huang’s family was in the capital, and her father was also a capital official. Upon hearing this, she was immediately intrigued. “You have far-sighted plans, my lord. Now that we only have two daughters at our side, if we could arrange a marriage for them in the capital, that would be ideal.”
The couple talked for a while longer before finally retiring for the night.
