Yan Zhi’an was born noble and had walked through life smoothly, never knowing poverty or want. But she believed that even unto death, a person should never commit theft or sneaky deeds.
The Madwoman’s deeds were all in the past; she didn’t wish to pursue them. But she needed Xunqi to understand that copying calligraphy and paintings was an elegant practice—it had nothing to do with underhanded dealing.
Xunqi was bewildered. “Did I not paint it accurately?”
The girl was simple-hearted, thinking only that her skill was lacking, without considering the root of the matter.
Yan Zhi’an was somewhat impatient, but seeing her bewilderment, she paused and said, “Xunqi, the Madwoman taught you to copy paintings to give you the means to survive, but you must know it isn’t acceptable. She copied paintings and passed off fakes to support you and herself, and I am grateful. But now, you no longer need to do such things. And I must tell you—it is wrong.”
“A person stands in this world, looking up at heaven and earth. Each has their own aspirations and is born with pride. One should not throw away that pride for a few pieces of silver.”
“A person must have pride.”
Xunqi met her mother’s helpless eyes, opened her mouth, then silently shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
Yan Zhi’an: “…”
In an instant, her smug certainty vanished without a trace. She said, “Copying calligraphy and paintings to sell as genuine is against the law. Don’t you understand?”
“This time, I understand. Then I won’t copy anymore.” Xunqi nodded obediently and beamed at her. “I don’t like copying anyway.”
Yan Zhi’an was so angry she nearly fell backward. Xunqi’s eyes were limpid, as filial as could be. “Forget it. As long as you understand, go practice your calligraphy. No need to kneel.”
Xunqi’s face changed drastically. In anguish, she said, “I’d rather kneel.”
Kneeling was still better than practicing calligraphy!
Yan Zhi’an’s brow twitched, as if she sensed something. She responded with a chuckle, “Then practice two more sheets.”
Xunqi looked at her as if life had lost all meaning and tried to wheedle. From outside came Wushuang’s voice. “Head of the Family, Headmaster Yuan is here.”
“Why does she have to chase me all the way home?” Yan Zhi’an was thoroughly annoyed and couldn’t help throwing another cutting glance at Xunqi. It’s all your fault!
Yan Zhi’an ordered, “Find a calligraphy copybook and practice. I’ll go see Headmaster Yuan first.”
What in heaven’s name did that damned Yuan Fusheng want now!
Yan Zhi’an rose. Xunqi obsequiously offered her own hand warmer. Yan Zhi’an let out a dry laugh. “Even if you give me your hand warmer, you still have to practice.”
Xunqi blinked and said, “Mother, I think Headmaster Yuan is quite beautiful.”
The next moment, Yan Zhi’an seized her ear, dark eyes rippling with displeasure. “I’m standing right in front of you, and you praise someone else’s beauty? Yan Xunqi, is it that I’ve taught you poorly, or are you already entertaining romantic thoughts at such a young age?”
“I’m a girl, and she’s a girl. What’s wrong with a compliment?” Xunqi was deeply confused, reaching out to grasp Yan Zhi’an’s wrist. “The Madwoman said that when a woman praises a woman, it is the purest thing, carrying the highest admiration.”
At that, Yan Zhi’an’s expression grew even worse. She wanted to say: Yuan Fusheng likes women!
Oh, you silly girl!
Yan Zhi’an withdrew her hand, clasped it behind her back, and strode away. Only Xunqi remained, rubbing her tormented ear, utterly puzzled. Fine, I won’t compliment her next time.
The moment Yuan Fusheng entered Quxian Tower and saw Xunqi’s poem, she didn’t hesitate. Abandoning the scholars and refined guests who filled the building, she rushed straight to the Yan Mansion without stopping.
Today, all the Yan family were at Quxian Tower. When she arrived, a servant immediately went to summon the Head of the Family.
Yan Zhi’an was sick of her, but her face bore a smile. She shot Yuan Fusheng a light glare. “What are you here for?”
“The study?” Yuan Fusheng set down her teacup, rose, and looked around. “Too many eyes and ears here.”
Yan Zhi’an sighed. “Are you here to raid my nest?”
Yuan Fusheng was delighted. Taking Yan Zhi’an’s hand through her sleeve, she pulled her along. “Come, let’s talk in the study.”
After two steps, Yuan Fusheng seemed to remember something. She hastily let go and stole a glance at Yan Zhi’an.
Yan Zhi’an’s expression was calm, neither pleased nor angry. Yuan Fusheng looked a bit awkward. “I came because of your Young Mistress’s poem.”
“What about it?” Yan Zhi’an asked flatly.
Yuan Fusheng said, “I want to take her as a student. What do you think?”
Yan Zhi’an: “…”
“Yuan Fusheng, oh Yuan Fusheng. Which of us is mad? She only came to me at thirteen. How could I hand her over to you?”
Actually, it wasn’t that she was unwilling to send her—she didn’t dare. If she sent Xunqi today, Sima Shenrong might come killing tomorrow.
“She’s not your own daughter. Is she a bastard of one of your brothers?” Yuan Fusheng lowered her voice, watching her intently. “Didn’t you adopt her because you valued her talent?”
Yan Zhi’an looked at her as if life had lost all meaning and played along. “Yes, you’re right. But I can’t give her to you.”
“Why? You’re so busy—affairs of state come first.” Yuan Fusheng was a little tense and sighed. “Isn’t it fitting that I share some of the burden?”
“Yuan Fusheng, to be honest with you, I don’t dare make that decision.” Yan Zhi’an had no choice but to say it. She reached out, took Yuan Fusheng’s right wrist, and led her toward the study.
At that pull, Yuan Fusheng’s gaze was caught by the hand resting on her cuff. Slowly, she moved her eyes to Yan Zhi’an’s brilliant, resplendent gaze. She took a deep breath, her heart fluttering.
Once they were past the front courtyard, Yan Zhi’an released her. Yuan Fusheng frowned slightly, but quickly composed herself. She glanced back—her maidservant was following far behind.
“What was the meaning of that just now?” Yuan Fusheng reached out, clutching her own right wrist, her breathing slightly uneven.
Yan Zhi’an slowed her steps. “She is the daughter of the Female Emperor and Emperor Ming.”
“You’re insane!” Yuan Fusheng was so shocked her foot slipped. A pair of hands caught her waist, steadying her just in time.
Yuan Fusheng flushed red. Soon, the hands left her waist. Still shaken, she asked, “What are you trying to do?”
“Yuan Fusheng, there’s nothing I can do.” Yan Zhi’an showed her helplessness, a childlike innocence in her eyes. “I refused, but you should know—when Heaven’s wrath falls, a million corpses litter the ground.”
Yuan Fusheng hesitated, then remembered something. “The poem today—did you write it for her?”
“Do I look that eager for quick gain?” Yan Zhi’an frowned. “It was Wang Mingqing who insisted on butting in. Go home now. You’ve heard what you needed to hear. Don’t bother me.”
The winter was harsh and still. The two stopped on the corridor path, gazing at the garden’s colors, which had lost the liveliness of spring and summer.
Yuan Fusheng’s excited heart calmed. But then Yan Zhi’an said, “She is like a piece of jade, shaped at my whim. I take some pride in it. The fate of the realm will rest in her hands, yet her fate lies in my control. I’ve somehow gained the power to steer the realm—I wonder if that’s a blessing or a curse.”
The future sovereign, raised and taught by her, would naturally grow close to the Yan family. That was her goal.
Yuan Fusheng was tongue-tied for a long while. She, who could usually talk circles around anyone, couldn’t find a single word today.
After a long time: “After the New Year, send her to my place. Let me test her.”
With that, she left!
Yan Zhi’an walked back dejectedly. The pressure was too great; finding someone to share it was only natural. She came to me of her own accord—it has nothing to do with me, Yan Zhi’an.
Back in the room, Xunqi was propping up her little head with her hand, tilting it as she stared into space. Yan Zhi’an walked over and knocked on the table. “What are you doing?”
“Slacking off.” Xunqi said it with complete ease, then turned to meet her mother’s icy stare. The smile at the corner of her lips vanished at once.
Startled, she joked, “Mother, I’ll write now. I’ll write right now.”
“Mm, I’ll watch you write.” Yan Zhi’an was suddenly in a refined mood. She had someone bring a round stool, sat down, and leisurely watched Xunqi set brush to paper.
Xunqi might have been able to slack off, but now she felt as if she were sitting on a bed of needles. She turned back and met her mother’s gaze—in that instant, a chill ran down her spine.
“Write faster.” Yan Zhi’an urged. “You were quite clever today, having Seventeenth Miss write for you. With your handwriting, people would die laughing.”
Xunqi was in agony, wriggling her waist, only to receive a soul-searching question from behind: “Is your waist being poked?”
“No!”
“Write!”
After watching for half the day, Seventeenth Miss returned. She poked her head in, and at the scene before her, was so frightened she turned and ran.
“Seventeenth Aunt…” Xunqi had finally spotted a glimmer of hope, but the woman fled in panic.
Yan Zhi’an sneered. “Write!”
“Don’t you have anything else to do?” Xunqi hung her head. “You could go do other things. I’ll write by myself.”
“Your handwriting makes me lose face.” Yan Zhi’an was honest, resting her chin in her hand as she gazed at Xunqi. “Xunqi, I became famous young. If I raise a daughter with chicken-scratch writing, how can I show my face in Jinling?”
Deeply provoked, Xunqi immediately picked up her brush and wrote with furious determination.
A whole day of hard practice still couldn’t pass Yan Zhi’an’s inspection. Every sheet was marked with red circles around flaws—at a glance, a pitiful sight.
Xunqi’s wrist ached terribly, but Yan Zhi’an stared at her hand and said, “If you hadn’t just returned to me, I’d beat your palm.”
Those words frightened Xunqi into stepping back and hiding her tender hands behind her back.
Yan Zhi’an rose lazily. “Play by yourself. I’m going out for a stroll.”
“I’ll come too.” As if granted amnesty, Xunqi immediately stood and followed. But Yan Zhi’an looked at her in surprise. “I’m going out for a drink. Why are you following me?”
“I want to drink too.” Xunqi looked at her with pleading, flattering eyes, brows curved sweetly.
This time it was Yan Zhi’an’s turn to look at her as if life had lost all meaning. “Children can’t drink!”
Xunqi said with full confidence, “The Madwoman said that after the New Year I’ll be fourteen—old enough to be betrothed.”
Yan Zhi’an gave a cold laugh and mocked her, “And who would you be betrothed to?”
Then she poked her cheek. “You want to get engaged? Dream on!”
