A Single Tie Of Long Hair Seals A Lifelong Commitment - Chapter 29

A pair of tall, glazed ceramic vats stood in front of the main hall of the Xuanping Marquis’s Residence. They were carved with four-clawed golden pythons, had hollow bases, and housed several ornamental goldfish and red carp.

One afternoon, Chen Liangyu picked up a handful of white pebbles and tossed them in. The stones sank with a “plop,” and layers of ripples spread across the wide surface of the water, startling the fish, which began circling rapidly with flicking tails.

Chen Luan appeared from somewhere, holding a food box, and stood hesitantly in the distance.

A troop of manor guards walked towards him. Chen Luan quickly stepped aside to let them pass.

How could the Second Young Master give way to his subordinates? The leader stopped abruptly, nervously stepped to the side, bowed his head, and respectfully cleared the passageway.

Chen Luan, thinking he was in the way, hurried past, half-walking and half-running, brushing against the railing.

Chen Liangyu also saw him.

How should one put it? For over a decade since her birth, the family had never had concubines. Then one day, Steward Yan suddenly brought back a relative of the opposite sex, barely three years her senior, and told her this was her half-brother. The mixed feelings were difficult to express.

Even now, she still hadn’t fully reconciled with the situation and only acknowledged Chen Linjun as her brother.

She buried this intricate and unsettling conflict in her heart, intending to slowly process it, which led to a certain disconnect in her behavior.

She wanted to follow her parents’ wishes to break the ice and get along, yet instinctively, she kept her distance. Aside from the day he arrived and Steward Yan forced her to acknowledge him as her Second Brother, she had never initiated a conversation with Chen Luan.

Today, she intended to pretend not to notice him, but after repeated hesitation, Chen Luan finally started walking toward her.

One was on the veranda, sitting awkwardly with a few crushed white stones in her hand. The other stood below the veranda in the courtyard, holding a small, two-tiered food box with slightly shifty eyes.

Chen Liangyu realized he was coming for her, straightened up, and looked at him in confusion.

Chen Luan tried to pry open the lid of the food box, but his fingers kept losing strength, whether from nervousness or something else. His nail finally caught the seam between the top layer of the box and the wooden lid, and after a faint scraping sound, the box opened.

He carefully held it out to Chen Liangyu, stammering, “D-do you want some? Aunt Shan just made it, and it’s still warm.”

Inside the box were snow-white cotton cakes, dusted with dried osmanthus petals. A white mist rose as the box was opened and the cakes met the cool air, and a sweet, delicate fragrance wafted towards her.

She habitually started to wave her hand to politely decline, but realizing this was his way of extending an olive branch, she paused. She reached into the carefully presented food box and took a soft white cake, even though she wasn’t hungry. “Thank you…”

The address “Second Brother” was still too unfamiliar to her, and the word caught in her throat. She could only take a bite of the cotton cake to cover her pause.

“If you’re not used to calling me brother, just use my childhood name. I’m called Da Sheng; they used to call me Shengzi.”

He was also trying very hard to find a way to fit into this family, which seemed not to value him much. Everyone in this household held the affairs of the nation in their hearts, and he felt like an inconspicuous weed in the corner, not worth the attention of these ‘important people.’

There was no warmth, only a multitude of rules.

Although for Chen Liangyu, the norms of hierarchy and etiquette were deeply ingrained and barely counted as ‘rules’—good posture and conduct were just daily life—people outside still considered her to be one who overstepped boundaries.

Chen Luan felt even more apprehensive, constantly fearing that he would make a mistake and bring disgrace to the Marquis’s Residence.

He couldn’t blend into this family, just as the imperial court couldn’t accommodate Chen Liangyu.

They had both suddenly intruded into territory that didn’t belong to them, exploring and adapting in a new domain, trying to integrate into the native group with the goal of being accepted.

She had her father and elder brother to escort and protect her, but her second brother had to face this entirely new environment alone, forcing himself to actively approach strangers whose intentions were unclear. He was likely far more anxious.

Thinking of this, Chen Liangyu picked up the conversation, asking, “Da Sheng—is that the ‘Sheng’ from ‘Inner Sage, Outer King’ meaning a sage?”

Chen Luan blushed, gave a shy smile, and replied, “It’s the ‘Sheng’ from ‘leftover food’.”

“Why were you given that name?”

“My mother died of an illness very early. I grew up begging for leftovers, and the families I begged from all called me Da Sheng. Father said that a name is also fate, character, and ambition, so my name couldn’t be inappropriate. He discarded the old one and gave me a new name, Chen Luan, taken from Luan River, signifying a heart as vast as a river that can accommodate all things. He also said that once I come of age and go through the capping ceremony, he will give me a courtesy name.”

As he spoke of his names, his eyes were bright, and his face was full of smiles that reached his eyes, making him seem much less reserved.

It seemed he was filled with great anticipation.

Perhaps he was too excited, for his hand slipped and the food box fell, scattering the cotton cakes on the ground. His panic was visible, and he quickly bent down to pick them up.

“You can just have a servant clean it up,” Chen Liangyu said.

Chen Luan kept his head down, looking embarrassed, seemingly blaming himself for messing things up again.

“It’s better if… I don’t trouble others.”

Chen Liangyu could only squat down and help him pick up the cakes. “Second Brother.”

Chen Luan immediately stopped and looked at her, waiting for instructions.

“It’s only a few cotton cakes; it’s no big deal. You don’t need to be so humble, and don’t be afraid of saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing. This is a family, and a family is a place that forgives mistakes.”

But you still have to kneel in the ancestral hall.

She didn’t say that part.

Besides his fondness for offering food to people, Chen Luan only loved to read.

His room was filled with books, all retrieved from the family’s library pavilion.

Steward Yan saw them, flipped through two, and said that his selection was too broad and disorganized, lacking a system, and that studying this way was useless.

It happened that Hanhong Academy was recruiting new students for the autumn intake, so he told Chen Luan to try for it.

It was impossible not to feel anxious. He had only studied a few classics with Han Song’s father.

Han Song’s father was a Xiucai (a provincial graduate), but after passing that exam, he repeatedly failed the higher ones and was unable to become a Juren (a metropolitan graduate). Only a Juren could report to the Ministry of Personnel; a Xiucai could only be exempted from some taxes and could not hold an official post, so he set up a few tables and taught people to read and write to make a living.

Hanhong Academy was founded by the Emperor’s tutor, Gu Changxue, and was located in Cangnan Commandery. It only considered a student’s talent and character, not their family background. Consequently, countless wealthy good-for-nothings who tried to use their family influence to get in and “gild the lily” at Hanhong Academy were all—like picking beans—identified by the sharp-eyed examiners and rejected.

As a result, many common-born individuals who entered officialdom in Daliang came from here. Although the academy still primarily had noble students, it had the highest number of commoners compared to other academies.

Since its founding, Hanhong Academy has supplied the court with countless key officials. They adhered strictly to rites and laws, were upright and unyielding, and dared to speak out against contemporary flaws and denounce blemishes.

Over time, they naturally formed their own faction: the Hanhong Faction.

Grand Tutor Gu was over sixty and no longer had the energy to manage the academy, so he handed Hanhong Academy over to his eldest son, Gu Heng. Fortunately, since Gu Heng took over, the rule of ‘talent over family background’ has not been broken. Anyone who wishes to enter the academy must pass a unified entrance examination; royal family and nobles are no exception.

To be admitted, one must rely on genuine ability.

At that time, there was only a little more than a month until the exam. Steward Yan forcibly crammed with Chen Luan for a while, and he surprisingly passed the examination.

Steward Yan greatly praised him as quick to learn and highly talented.

At that time, Chen Liangyu said, “It’s true that Hanhong Academy doesn’t care about family background, but it’s selective—it doesn’t admit women. In my opinion, the ‘Number One Academy in the World’ is nothing special.”

Steward Yan asked, “Then what do you intend to do?”

Chen Liangyu clasped her hands behind her back, held her head high, and said, “Naturally, I intend to establish an academy where women can study.”

Steward Yan said, “I wish you success,” and then ushered her out, telling her not to disturb her Second Brother’s studies.

A few days before Chen Luan’s departure for Cangnan, the imperial court dispatched Chen Liangyu to Xiling again. Having proposed the “reclamation instead of suppression” policy, she apparently had a responsibility to inspect its results. If there were any errors, they could be corrected in time.

Chen Yuanqing (her father) instructed Chen Luan to accompany her, ostensibly to provide an extra person for assistance.

Chen Liangyu hardly needed a powerless scholar to assist her, but she probably understood why her father wanted her Second Brother to go with her, so she didn’t decline.

As expected, Chen Yuanqing emphasized his instruction to Chen Luan: “Light an incense for him.” After a moment’s thought, he added, “Light an incense for him on your father’s behalf.”

When a departed friend’s senior living relative cannot attend, it is a tradition for a male family member to offer respects on the father’s behalf. Chen Luan thought that since Chen Yuanqing had been wounded in battle and was not well, and his Eldest Brother was not home, it was appropriate for him to make the offering, so he dutifully agreed.

But looking at it from every angle, Chen Liangyu didn’t need him for assistance; he was more likely to be a hindrance.

He quickly rationalized his role: “Maybe Father is afraid you’ll be captured by bandits again, and I can run back in time to call Father and Sir Yan to rescue you.”

“Don’t bring that up.”

Chen Liangyu was accustomed to traveling on horseback, but Chen Luan’s riding skills were poor. Fearing he would fall off the horse and disappear, they took a carriage for the journey.

More than a month later, their mood was completely different—a mix of complicated emotions—as they traveled this road again.

About eighty percent of the burned-down houses in Bo Gong Village had been rebuilt, and the green rice shoots had ripened into a golden yellow.

When they saw A-yin again, she had just finished harvesting the last ridge of the field, straightening her back from the ground and wiping the sweat from her brow with her sleeve.

A-yin led them to Lin Jianshu’s grave. The tombstone was just a simple piece of wood with characters written in black charcoal. A rainstorm had washed the writing away, and it was illegible.

Chen Liangyu found another piece of wood suitable for a marker, used her Lan Cang sword to meticulously carve the name, and erected a new tombstone.

Chen Luan knelt before the grave, bowed three times, lit the incense, and burned some spirit money.

“Will he come again?”

The immense hatred in A-yin’s eyes was gone. After a brief conversation, she said that from everyone’s own perspective, no one had done anything wrong, and therefore, she no longer hated them.

Finally, she asked this question.

“Can I see him one more time?”

Only then did Chen Liangyu remember that when she had handed Zhai Ji over to A-yin, she had tricked her by saying Zhai Ji would marry her once his injuries healed.

Seeing Chen Liangyu freeze, A-yin smiled and said, “I know you were just humoring me. He is a prince, and I am a village girl; we are fundamentally mismatched. I didn’t take your words seriously.”

She waved her hand and bid them farewell.

“A-yin,” Chen Liangyu called out to her. “Would you be willing to join the army?”

She had actually had this idea when she realized the bandit she captured was a woman.

Where there are officials, there are common people; where there are soldiers, there are bandits. Conversely, if she could be a bandit, she could also join the army.

Women across the land should have a wider scope for life, not just the single path of studying and entering an academy.

Studying was something only the daughters of officials and nobles would do; most common people were illiterate, so the path of scholarship was closed to them.

Joining the army, however, was possible.

Bandits and peasant women, who constantly wielded hoes and sickles, carried heavy loads, and fetched water, possessed plenty of strength. She wondered if she could form a women’s army that could charge into battle and be brave and take the lead.

A-yin stood in the golden sunset, where the light merged with the shining rice fields. Standing against the light, she considered Chen Liangyu’s question seriously before answering.

“Almost all the men in the village are dead. We need a backbone to lead everyone to recover, so I can’t leave yet.”

She walked away against the light, her rough hemp clothing appearing as if it were a golden brocade robe draped over her, plated with sunset light.

“But if you need me someday, I will come to find you,” she said without looking back.