Chapter 10: Teasing Shen Hong (Part 1)
As the maids changed their seasonal attire, most guests attending the old madam's birthday banquet had departed, leaving everyone breathing sighs of relief.
Meanwhile, the study hall in Qinyuan's "West Lake Paradise" resumed classes. Though Qinyuan served as the Duke's estate garden, both the second and third branches maintained small connecting gates. These remained open during daylight hours for the young ladies' studies, guarded by elderly matrons who locked them each night.
Ji Chen followed Shen Cui from the third branch's garden through an apricot grove, passing through a moon gate to enter Qinyuan.
West Lake Paradise occupied Qinyuan's western section, its expansive waters forming one of the capital's largest garden ponds. Near the broken bridge lay a lotus pond designed in the "Quyuan Wind Among Lotus" style of West Lake, though in early March its surface remained dormant.
The classroom stood in an open pavilion extending over the water. With window panels removed and bamboo curtains rolled up, crisp lake breezes carried spring blossoms' fragrance into the airy space - refreshing yet bracing.
Lian Puhui already awaited them. The students bowed collectively before settling quietly. His gaze lingered briefly on Ji Chen as he smiled faintly, then opened The Spring and Autumn Annals to begin.
Professor Lian's historical lectures proved both engaging and insightful. While men might use such lessons to understand contemporary governance, women equally gained wisdom through analogous reasoning.
Mornings featured two sessions - history and classical texts - while afternoons offered diverse subjects: needlework, music, and even culinary arts.
The needlework instructor hailed from the palace embroidery bureau, assisted by a southern stitching master. Music lessons fell to Hanbi GuGu, whose "Three Variations on Plum Blossoms" once captivated Jiangnan. Sold into brothels by unscrupulous brothers during hard times, she'd gained Second Young Master Shen Che's notice during Hangzhou's courtesan selection. He redeemed her to become their household's music tutor.
Ji Chen found it curious that despite Hanbi's stained reputation, she could teach Shen Yan's cohort. For culinary studies, a southern chef brought exotic utensils Ji Chen recognized only from ancient texts. Chef Liu's extravagant methods - using only sheep cheek meat while discarding entire carcasses, employing solely scallion hearts requiring basketfuls per meal - proved ruinously expensive. Fortunately, the young ladies would only practice such skills occasionally.
"Our family hires instructors based on personal interests," Shen Yan told Ji Chen. "Fifth Sister supposedly adores needlework, hence Third Aunt specially engaged Madam Fu."
That Shen Cui should enjoy needlework seemed improbable. Both girls shared knowing smiles - clearly Lady Ji Lan sought to temper her daughter's willfulness through embroidery.
"Xun Mei wishes to study qin, so Second Brother secured Hanbi GuGu," Shen Yan continued. Though barely twenty, the former courtesan received the respectful "GuGu" title as an instructor.
Curiosity overcoming hesitation, Ji Chen asked: "Why would Second Young Master choose her?"
"We were all astonished, especially since Princess Mother opposed it. Second Brother convinced her we shouldn't dismiss teachings based on the teacher's background. He argued those rising pure from mud deserve greater respect."
"But many maintain virtue despite adversity. Must he defy his mother specifically for her?"
"You've not heard Hanbi's 'Plum Blossoms'! Her rendition carries both winter's nobility and lingering fragrance. Second Brother insists one must learn from the best or not at all."
Such declarations suited Duke Qi's household scions. "I agree with Second Brother's view," Shen Yan added, covering a laugh. "Though even without arguments, Princess Mother capitulates. For all her dignity, she's defenseless against his charm."
Princess Anhe's sole son, spoiled since childhood, had naturally become that sort of dandy - though the family fortune could sustain decades of his extravagance.
"Cheng Mei, what would you study?" Shen Yan inquired. "Don't feel constrained by our choices. If hesitant to ask Third Aunt, I can arrange tutors."
Ji Chen declined politely: "I'll join Third Sister's culinary classes."
"Learning cookery? Planning marriage already?" Shen Yan teased. Raised as future matriarch by Lady Huang, she recognized Ji Chen's situation - a fifteen-year-old marriage candidate abruptly residing long-term at the Duke's estate.
Though anticipating such assumptions, Ji Chen flushed hot enough to boil eggs when confronted.
"Forgive this unseemly elder sister!" Shen Yan grasped her hand. "Truthfully, I detest cookery myself. You know I'm betrothed to the Tongxiang Zengs?"
Ji Chen knew nothing of this, coming from different circles. She soon learned the Zengs were century-old literati, producing over a dozen imperial scholars including a former Prime Minister - an illustrious lineage.
Unnoticing Ji Chen's discomfort, Shen Yan continued: "Their tradition requires brides prepare a family feast upon entry. My lessons prepare for that day."
The Zengs maintained ancestral customs despite long absence from Tongxiang. "Such traditions exist?" Ji Chen marveled.
Now culinary studies implied aspirations to similar matches. Yet music disturbed her, needlework bored her - what remained?
"If you enjoy cooking, join me with Chef Liu," Shen Yan offered. "Even without such rituals, these skills please mothers-in-law."
Grateful, Ji Chen admired this Duke's daughter - poised, perceptive, preserving dignity while covering all aspects. Worth emulating indeed.
After classes, Ji Chen proceeded directly to Lian Puhui's residence in Qinyuan's northwest corner. Its side gate connected to the gardens while the main entrance faced Sanjing Lane like independent households.
A maid greeted her entrance. The familiar pungency of wine met her nostrils.
“So you already knew I would come?” Ji Cheng laughed, her smile carrying a hint of playfulness that starkly contrasted with her usual demeanor around others.
“When you visited days ago, I happened to be away visiting friends. Cong’er informed me, so I knew you’d return today,” Lian Puhui said, pouring Ji Cheng a cup of wine. “How thoughtful of you to remember my fondness for your plum wine and deliver it all this way.”
In truth, Ji Cheng’s finest brew was the wine from “Grape Wine in Luminous Cups”—she owned a vineyard and had collected numerous luminous cups from the Western Regions. Yet when Lian Puhui joined the Ji household and expressed a preference for plum wine, Ji Cheng crafted a jar specifically for her, which soon became Lian Puhui’s favorite.
Though Ji Cheng brewed wines, she rarely drank herself, savoring only the aromas. Thus, she accompanied Lian Puhui with water instead of wine during their meal.
“Third Sister mentioned you often speak of your former students?” Ji Cheng inquired.
Lian Puhui glanced at her, amused. “Sometimes I can’t help boasting. Why hide such exceptional pupils?”
Ji Cheng understood Lian Puhui’s modest and reserved nature made such open praise extraordinary. In silent acknowledgment, she raised her cup in a toast.
“Why study cooking with Shen Yuan?” Lian Puhui pressed. “Unless married into a household, such skills offer little visibility. Even masterful culinary talent rarely brings renown for unmarried girls—hardly worth your consideration.”
Their relationship transcended teacher and student; Ji Cheng never bothered hiding thoughts from Lian Puhui, knowing attempts would fail. “Why do you address Third Sister by her full name?”
Lian Puhui chuckled. Ji Cheng recognized her true nature—outwardly stern yet informal, holding unconventional views that alienated conventional minds.
“You know my needlework is hopeless. Why embarrass myself further?” Ji Cheng replied. Moreover, her passion for archery and horsemanship demanded sharp vision, while embroidery strained the eyes. “With Yun-jie and Xun-mei already learning guqin, adding me would overwhelm Hanbi Gu-gu.”
“If painting interests you, I can recommend a master,” Lian Puhui offered.
Anyone endorsed by Lian Puhui warranted attention, regardless of one’s inclinations—and Ji Cheng had dabbled in painting since her days in Jin, though lacking proper instruction. “Who do you suggest?”
“Madam Yu.”
Ji Cheng frowned. “I’m ashamed to admit I don’t recognize the name.”
“No matter. Surely you’ve heard of Sanhe Jushi?”
Recognition dawned. Every painting enthusiast knew the recluse whose works fetched thousands in gold yet remained scarce as phoenix feathers.
“Master Lian! You’ve hidden your connections well—to think you know Sanhe Jushi herself!” Ji Cheng’s eyes widened.
When Lian Puhui brought Ji Cheng to Yu Zhenyuan’s residence, she discovered Madam Yu was the concubine of retired Minister Lin. After his first wife’s death, he never remarried, and society gradually accepted “Madam Yu” as her title.
Notably, Madam Yu’s origins mirrored Hanbi Gu-gu’s—though instead of being sold to brothels by kin, she hailed from an official family ruined by her father’s crimes. The women were consigned to government brothels until Minister Lin’s relentless efforts freed her.
Who could imagine the revered Sanhe Jushi bore such a history? Yet all lives, however humble, held value—each soul fought for survival through life’s cruelties.
That night, Ji Cheng dreamed—or rather, relived memories. She tried fleeing, but dark tendrils coiled around her ankles, dragging her toward an abyss. A scream tore her from sleep.
“Miss! Another nightmare?” Liu Ye’er scrambled up, heedless of the stool she’d knocked over, and pulled aside the bed curtains.
Ji Cheng sat drenched in cold sweat, pallid as a corpse. Three years hadn’t dulled the horror: her second brother Ji Ze imprisoned for her sake, Zhu Jijun threatening his execution unless the Ji family delivered her as a concubine.
Eavesdropping outside her parents’ chamber that frigid March night, she’d heard her mother Yunniang weep: “What choice remains? Must we let Ze’er die? Send A’Cheng! Her beauty might soften Zhu’s heart.”
Jin’s chill paled beside the ice gripping her heart. She blamed no one—mothers cherish all children, yet discard the useless when forced to choose.
“I’m fine,” Ji Cheng rasped. “Sleep. I need quiet.”
Donning a robe, she leaned against the moonlit window until calm returned. She’d become indispensable—never again the discarded one.
Ultimately, Father had berated Mother. The Ji family surrendered half their fortune and persuaded Aunt Ji Lan to suppress the matter. But what if another crisis arose?
Ji Cheng stepped outside, plucked a bamboo leaf, and blew a soft, mournful note. So many debts—she must persist, hoping someday to repay them.
Determination alone was not enough. Ji Cheng, feeling frustrated, tossed away the leaves in her hand. She had turned fifteen in March—officially of marriageable age—yet remained utterly directionless in securing a match.
She stood up and paced. Though she disliked the Wang sisters intensely, missing the Wang family's peony banquet would still be regrettable.
The night breeze carried coolness without bite. The more Ji Cheng pondered, the more wakeful she became. Compelled by restlessness, she opened the courtyard gate to wander the garden's northwest corner. Liu Ye'er followed anxiously behind—a considerate maid whose presence Ji Cheng noted with quiet appreciation.
Walking along the garden wall, Ji Cheng's thoughts tangled further until something struck her head. She looked up to find a small child perched on the adjacent low wall, swinging his legs mid-air. Clutching another fruit, he hurled it at her.
Though instinct urged evasion, Ji Cheng willed herself still. The dried jujube hit true—surprisingly painful.
The four-year-old boy above giggled. "How clumsy!"
"Who are you?" Ji Cheng glared at the smug child. "Why wander alone so late?"
The boy's eyes rolled theatrically before he declared with artificial grandeur: "My grandmother guards these gardens. I'm waiting while she patrols."
Ji Cheng bit back laughter at his transparent lie. Undergarments of Songjiang three-shuttle cloth—a hundred taels per bolt!—hardly suited a gardener's grandchild. Her family's textile trade had honed her eye; this recognition alone explained why she'd endured his jujube assault.
"Aren't you afraid of mountain spirits?" Ji Cheng scanned their surroundings. Gathering her skirt, she stepped back and leapt onto a thigh-high protruding rock. Without pause, she twisted mid-air and alighted on the wall with practiced ease.
Shen Hong gaped at the willowy beauty before him. She'd seemed fragile as drifting blossom, yet scaled walls like a swallow!
Ji Cheng brushed dirt from her palms—residue from the wall—before mimicking Shen Hong's leg-swinging. "They say ghosts walk without touching ground. Did my heels meet earth just now?" Her smile glittered.
The boy shivered visibly yet held his gaze.
"Care to inspect my feet?" Ji Cheng lowered her voice to an ethereal murmur.
Shen Hong's neck hairs bristled. Her tone echoed forest spirits! Yet her face... indescribably lovely, skin luminous as morning eggshell—not a specter's pallor, but living pearl.
(End of Chapter)
