Chapter 6: Filial Piety to Ji Lan (Part 2)
Shen Cui leaned sideways and glared at Ji Cheng: "Cousin, are you stupid? Today Su Jun clearly looked down on you and wouldn't even speak to you. Why keep courting her disdain? And those others - the moment they heard you're my mother's niece from her maiden family, they sneered. How can you still smile?"
Ji Cheng turned with crescent-moon eyes: "Fifth Sister, I never knew you cared for me so."
Shen Cui froze awkwardly: "Who cares about you, silly goose!"
Ji Cheng smiled silently.
Sitting upright, Shen Cui pressed closer: "Truthfully, Su Jun's nothing special. Her looks can't compare to yours, and the Su family's long past its glory. Only provincial simpletons would flatter her like some celestial beauty."
Ji Cheng hadn't expected this dislike for the popular Su Jun. Praising the girl would alienate her needed ally, yet outright agreement felt improper when long-term school relations mattered. "As our guest from afar, we naturally show Su Jun courtesy. That doesn't make her superior to you or Sister Yan."
Shen Cui scoffed: "Then why don't they show you equal courtesy? You're also an out-of-town guest."
A bitter smile: "My birth circumstances aren't mine to choose."
"What right have they to scorn us?" Shen Cui bristled. "Their fathers' achievements, not their own merits!"
There was truth here - weren't nobility and officials merely born to their stations?
After silence, Ji Cheng answered: "Men strive to secure family fortunes - 'planting trees for descendants' shade.' Our ancestors bled on battlefields like Duke Shen, buying better prospects with their blood. Their pride... even yours... isn't wholly unearned."
Shen Cui sneered: "So merchant-born girls should grovel?"
Pure sophistry. Ji Cheng remained unruffled, though she'd often pondered why her honest, prosperous family ranked so low. "People shouldn't be graded like goods. Without merchants, where would your jewels, silks, or delicacies come? Even homemade wares lack commercial convenience."
"Then why the disdain?" Shen Cui challenged.
"True wealth springs from land," Ji Cheng finally said. "Emperor Taizu prioritized farming, fearing commerce's lure would abandon fields. Since courts suppress trade, merchants stay lowly."
"Exactly!" Shen Cui crowed. "Your sort makes peasants restless - that's why we scorn you!"
Ji Cheng swallowed her rebuttal. Some truths couldn't be shared - like her secret belief that Taizu erred blaming merchants instead of making farming profitable. To her, farming and trade were equal choices based on skill. But such radical thoughts weren't for Shen Cui's ears.
After gloating, Shen Cui relented: "Don't undervalue yourself. Your words hold sense - life would falter without merchants."
Entrenched beliefs defied quick change. Ji Cheng merely smiled.
That night beneath bed curtains, Ji Cheng faced herself. The slights stung, but not as Shen Cui's crude "courting disdain" implied. She despised her own balancing act - seeking circle entry while clinging to pride.
Thinking of Su Jun's vivacious beauty and secure marriage prospects brought wistfulness. Though rumors suggested the Su family's decline, old prestige lingered. Su Jun's visit likely aimed at securing a capital match.
Not that they'd compete - their marital pools differed. Better make friends than enemies for future capital life.
Rolling over, Ji Cheng contemplated her uncertain prospects. Next year's imperial exams might yield a scholar husband. With Ji family wealth and Shanxi merchant networks, they could elevate such a man - but unknown quantities risked revealing vile traits after sudden success.
Though Taizu had broken aristocratic exam monopolies for commoners, three weak emperors later, great families still controlled governance and examinations. Talented poor faced steep climbs, while successful candidates from privileged backgrounds would spurn merchant brides.
A soft laugh, a sigh. Restless, she rose to the western chamber's felt mats from Shanxi. Practice energized rather than calmed. Drawing her sword, she danced in the empty courtyard until sweat-drenched, then washed briefly before returning to bed.
Though unusual for maidens, northern border regions near barbarian territories maintained martial traditions. Girls often practiced swordsmanship - for health and deterring ruffians. Current dynasty's relaxed female etiquette, rooted in Taizu's nomadic heritage where palace ladies danced at revelries, made such displays acceptable.
Lying abed, Ji Cheng recalled the recent Duke's birthday extravaganza - carriages clogging Bronze Sparrow Street, the mansion bursting with dignitaries. These days she'd accompanied Aunt Lan to assist with young guests, even married daughters returning to help.
Post-celebration banquets for relatives brought slight respite. Witnessing the immense effort behind grand events, Ji Cheng marveled at how the Duke's wife Lady Anhe delegated everything to Lady Huang, with Sister Yan managing specific tasks - all executed flawlessly.
After hosting a banquet for relatives and close family friends, Ji Cheng missed the Changchun Garden dancers' performance at Qing Garden. Ji Lan had fallen ill from exhaustion, and as her niece, Ji Cheng naturally stayed behind to care for her, demonstrating filial devotion.
Shen Cui also fulfilled a day of filial duties for Ji Lan but eventually succumbed to her desire to watch the performance. Ji Lan indulged her, permitting her departure to Qing Garden.
"You should attend too," Ji Lan said, dabbing her forehead with a handkerchief. "Madam Guo of Changchun Garden rarely performs these days—she’s only here due to the Shen family’s influence. I’m merely fatigued, nothing serious." Her voice carried a faint note of discomfort.
Ji Cheng replied dutifully, "I’ve never enjoyed bustling crowds—they give me headaches. Staying here offers a welcome quiet. Besides, fatigue weakens the body’s defenses against illness. You mustn’t underestimate it." Her words even furnished Ji Lan with a plausible excuse to remain bedridden.
"What a thoughtful child," Ji Lan said, patting Ji Cheng’s hand. "Rest assured—I’ll secure you an excellent match."
Ji Cheng willed herself to blush, though no genuine shyness stirred within her. Her future marriage seemed little more than a strategic tool, a notion repeated so often it now left her numb.
For four days, Ji Cheng tended to Ji Lan while Changchun Garden performed. By the fifth day, most guests had departed.
Liu Ye’er and Yu Qian’er fretted over their mistress. At Ji Cheng’s age, marriage prospects demanded visibility among the capital’s noblewomen. Yet Ji Cheng persisted in her ministrations—brewing medicines, arranging flowers, reciting sutras—surpassing even a biological daughter’s diligence.
That evening, the typically reserved Liu Ye’er burst out, "Miss, isn’t this excessive? Why must you alone play the filial role? Fifth Miss attends freely! I suspect Auntie schemes against your prospects."
"Auntie isn’t so short-sighted," Ji Cheng countered gently.
Initially, Ji Cheng had interpreted Ji Lan’s behavior as a reminder of dependence—that without her aunt’s patronage, advancement proved impossible. This held truth: Ji Cheng recognized their mutual benefit in securing a favorable match. While some might sabotage others out of spite, Ji Lan’s decades-long hold on Third Master Shen proved her pragmatism.
By the fourth day, clarity emerged. Ji Lan’s confinement served dual purposes: curbing Ji Cheng’s pride from befriending Shen family girls, and avoiding social obligations. Despite Ji Lan’s complaints about familial tensions, the matriarch appeared fair, and Second Madam Huang’s nature remained unknown. More likely, Ji Lan’s insecurity about her own humble origins made her despise the capital’s snobbish circles.
With a sigh, Ji Cheng acknowledged her dwindling reliance on Ji Lan. Better to cultivate the matriarch’s favor—her slightest benevolence could prove invaluable. As for Ji Lan’s insistence on being nursed? Merely theater to deflect suspicions of feigned illness, transparent as it was.
"If I’m right," Ji Cheng told Liu Ye’er, "Auntie will recover tomorrow. The third daughter-in-law’s absence during farewells would fuel rumors of discord with the matriarch."
Meanwhile, in Ji Lan’s chambers, maid Linglong prepared her bedroll on the floor.
"Master visited Concubine Mei again," Ji Lan remarked. "You’re younger—why let her surpass you? Bear a child, and I’ll advocate for your promotion."
Linglong served her water. "You jest, Madam. The master respects you above all—that concubine isn’t fit to tie your slippers. I’d rather serve you faithfully. When youth fades, a stewardess’s position awaits—far more dignified than fleeting favor."
Ji Lan smiled. "Wisdom befits my trust." She then deflected, "What think you of Ah-Cheng?"
"Remarkably poised for her age."
"Her wit mirrors my brother’s—the architect of our family’s rise. Who’d expect Yunniang’s daughter?" Ji Lan’s tone mingled pride and irritation. Yunniang, Ji Cheng’s mother, descended from a tofu peddler.
Initially, Ji Lan had envisioned installing Ji Cheng as a pliable imperial consort—a brainless beauty requiring her support. Emperor Jianping, once ailing and heirless, now sired princes abundantly after herbal treatments. With a royal grandson, the Shen family’s third branch could eclipse the others.
But Ji Cheng’s sharp mind foiled manipulation. Had she neglected nursing duties to attend performances, Ji Lan could’ve tarnished her reputation. Instead, Ji Cheng’s impeccable devotion left no room for sabotage.
Still, Ji Lan remained undeterred. Hearts change—perhaps Ji Cheng would yet embrace the palace. Failing that, a respectable marriage sufficed, though diminishing Ji Lan’s own advantage.
(End of Chapter)
