Chapter 142: Lacking Martial Virtue (Seeking Monthly Tickets)

Chapter 142: Unprincipled (Seeking Monthly Votes)

At this moment, Chen Yì was still unaware of the intricate emotions simmering in Xiao Wǎn'ěr’s heart. Even as he watched Cui'er and Juan'er feeding Xiao Wǎn'ěr herbal soup, his mind finally relaxed. He had been planning to continue fishing in the Lotus Pond Garden. Yet, he could not have anticipated that Master Yue of the Guixing Academy would send him something unexpected.

—Approximately forty or fifty calligraphy practice sheets.

They were neatly labeled, supposedly to help him acquaint himself with the students’ calligraphy skills before tomorrow’s class.

Chen Yì glanced at the two stacks of practice sheets arranged on the stone table, each pile towering two chi high. He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Master Yue, surely you’re not planning to have me finish all the annotations today?”

The man who approached was named Ma Guan, a slender youth with a plain face. His long blue robe was faded, with patches visible at the hem and cuffs, revealing the mended fabric beneath. Clearly not well-off, yet his demeanor was unassuming and respectful.

When Chen Yì questioned him, Ma Guan bowed politely, his gaze steady and unwavering. “The abbot has entrusted the matter of annotations to your discretion, Sir.”

Chen Yì nodded, eyeing him critically. “Is there a separate register?”

“I’ve brought one for you,” Ma Guan said, sifting through the stacks until he withdrew a palm-sized booklet, which he presented with both hands bowed.

Chen Yì took the register, flipped it open, and froze. After a few careful checks, he pointed to the names at the front and chuckled hollowly. “Master Yue and Brother Zuo—are they also planning to practice calligraphy with me?”

Ma Guan met his eyes, his expression tense but trying to mask it. “The abbot said, ‘Learning has no hierarchy; those who are capable come first.’”

“With your mastery of calligraphy, Sir, they would find it effortless.”

Chen Yì shook his head. “Though that may be so, they likely haven’t considered the consequences.”

He then instructed Little Butterfly to fetch ink and brushes from the study. As he dipped his brush, he wrote their names. Had it not been for Yue and Zuo’s standing, he might have simply scrawled, “Stop this nonsense.”

Ma Guan watched, stunned. “Sir, this—this… the students might not know what to say when they return…”

Before arriving, Master Yue had personally briefed him, emphasizing the need for Chen Yì’s approval of the register. Unaware of Chen Yì’s authority, Ma Guan had carelessly crossed out several names.

After writing a few characters, Chen Yì handed the register back. “Take this to Master Yue. They’ll understand.”

Ma Guan bowed hesitantly. “Yes, Sir.”

Chen Yì glanced at the remaining sheets. “And these other calligraphy… never mind, I’ll finish them today.”

“But do inform Master Yue that my annotations are rather harsh. He should prepare accordingly.”

Ma Guan blinked. “Prepare… how?”

“Just a jest. Simply relay that my comments are strict, and all will be well.”

This Ma Guan seemed deeply influenced by Confucian ideals—balanced, upright, yet rigid in manner. When he studied, he was solemn; as an official, he might face trials. Either he’d adapt to corruption or remain principled and suffer the consequences.

Compared to him, Li Huàzǔ, the academy’s top scholar, was more lively and quick-witted.

After Ma Guan left, Chen Yì exhaled, picking up the topmost sheet. On its first page, two bold characters read: “Yue Ming.”

He paused, straightened his back, and sat upright, examining the calligraphy practice sheet with renewed focus.

Setting aside the impropriety of Master Yue granting him special treatment, the characters themselves spoke of diligence. Thus, Chen Yì could not afford to be casual. He resolved to treat him with sincerity, as the ancients said: “A gentleman treats others with sincerity; I shall do the same.”

He turned page by page, finding a passage from the Wei dynasty called “Notes on the Pine Tower.” The text was about five hundred characters long. After a minute’s reading, he finished.

Reflecting briefly, he wrote beneath “Yue Ming” in Wei Qing’s script: “Your virtue is upright, but your stature lacks grandeur and does not align with your nature.”

Calligraphy, calligraphy—it must reflect one’s true path. Scholars like Master Yue, who embrace the role of nurturing others, possess a vision vast enough to encompass the world. Yet his characters here were rigidly bound to Wei Qing’s style, square and unyielding, clashing with his own spirit. To stray from the Way of Calligraphy is to walk a wrong path, and thus one cannot gain entry.

He then reviewed the other registers. Most faced similar issues. Each person’s mindset and skill differed; their adherence to the Way depended on their individual path. He annotated each as a gift to Yue and Zuo. Whether they accepted or rejected his words was their choice.

The remaining sheets received less scrutiny. A quick glance revealed the students’ calligraphy levels and their earnestness. His comments were mostly straightforward: “Needs more practice,” or “Poor; attitude improper—suggest starting anew with basic strokes.”

In the time it took to light one incense stick, he finished all the sheets, setting down his brush. “In the imperial examination system, where ‘examination’ is the focus, these students prioritize classics over calligraphy, judging only by neatness. None show promise; the best they achieve is ‘fair.’”

Little Butterfly, who had watched him annotate, laughed. “Master, won’t they complain to the abbot tomorrow?”

Chen Yì shrugged. “I wish them success.”

Had he no hidden agenda, he would never have taken a teaching post here.

However, he was well aware of it. In the current environment where Confucianism was in vogue, with its deep reverence for teachers and the Way, he dared not even utter a single word of criticism about those students. Naturally, he could not possibly bring a lawsuit against them for their harsh annotations. If those students were to file a complaint, it would only serve to make him regard them with a slightly elevated gaze.

When little Butterfly had finished arranging things, Chen Yì glanced at the sky, recalled that there was still a matter to attend to that day, and decided to pay a visit to the Bai Caotang.

"Young Master, the sky is growing dark. You still intend to go out?"

"Yes, I'm going to Bai Caotang to delay the matters my elder sister entrusted to me. She has just fallen ill and needs to rest for some time."

Upon hearing this, Xiao Wugou, who had been playing Go nearby, looked up and asked, "Brother, is your elder sister's illness nothing serious?"

Chen Yì paused, glanced at Jia Xing Yuan, and said, "She should be fine. Why don't you go and have a look?"

"Very well."

Before Xiao Wugou could set down his chessboard, Chuier emerged from Jia Xing Yuan's direction, smiling and bowing politely:

"Young Master, Princess has invited you to visit her. There are wild game in the manor, and she wishes for you to join her for dinner this evening."

Xiao Wugou's eyes lit up, and he was about to follow her.

Suddenly, he noticed Chen Yì beside him and asked, "Brother, why didn't Princess invite Brother to come as well?"

Chuier shook her head, her smile carrying a strange edge: "The Princess said Young Master doesn't care for such wild game."

"……"

Chen Yì understood the implication behind Xiao Wugou's question, and a sense of irony tugged at his heart.

What had happened that morning in his treatment of her—those matters—had been discovered by her.

Yet how could he blame her for it?

How could he treat her without lifting the covers?

Xiao Wugou, unaware of these things, puzzledly blinked his eyes at Chen Yì: "Brother?"

Chen Yì could only nod with a smile, "My elder sister is right; I truly don't care for such things."

Speaking of which, he instructed Little Butterfly to accompany him.

Little Butterfly nodded, not forgetting to remind him: "Young Master, do remember to return early."

"Understood."

Chen Yì watched them depart, finished tidying up, fastened the folding rifle across his back for unforeseen circumstances, and then left the Chunhe Garden.

By then, the sun had begun to set, and the late afternoon light was no longer as glaring.

The once pristine clouds were tinged with a faint golden hue, the temperature was pleasant, not scorching.

The flowers, trees, pavilions, and towers within Hou Manor also occasionally welcomed a gentle breeze.

Chen Yì's mood was rather good.

However, as he moved from the backyard to the front courtyard, the expressions of the soldiers and servants along the way were less relaxed than before.

Moreover, in contrast to two days prior, their faces bore an added layer of solemnity.

Somewhere in the midst, whispers drifted through the air.

"They say that at noon, the Second Lord had a fit of rage, claiming that officials from the office had spread a rumor that the killer of Liu Jing might be someone from the Xiao family."

"The detectives were almost certain they had caught the culprit last night, but he was killed during the chaos."

"The killer is dead?"

"At least that's what the officials say."

"If the culprit is already dead, with no evidence or accusation, why would the office dare to spread such a rumor? They must be expecting the Lord to come knocking on their doors."

"Hm, that's the way of it, isn't it?"

Chen Yì, upon hearing this, found himself muttering in thought.

Though the midnight plot to frame him had failed, it had nonetheless drawn the attention of the detectives and the magistrate's office toward the Xiao family.

Yet he was not as tense as he had been before.

Originally, having killed Liu Jing himself, he had felt a measure of guilt, and had intended to secretly help the Xiao family resolve the matter with the Liu family.

But when he had seen that black-clad assassin with the large gun the previous night, and guessed that he might be from the Xiao family, he had come to understand that the Grand Duke had his own designs.

In that case, he too would not rush to act.

Or rather, he wished to observe how the Xiao family would respond, and from that deduce the Grand Duke's intentions, then make his decision.

Upon careful thought, the vast Hou Manor could not be so simple.

As he pondered what to do next, Chuier, wrapped in bandages, approached him head-on.

"Good day, Young Master."

Chen Yì came to his senses, "Ah, Fourth Brother, how is your injury?"

Liu Si raised his hand, "There's still some discomfort, but nothing serious."

Chen Yì nodded, noticing that he had returned from outside the manor, and smiled, asking, "You're walking around with that injury?"

Liu Si let out a bitter laugh, "No offense, Young Master, but I went to the southern city to help Third Brother relieve the siege."

"Oh? Wasn't Third Brother just with you in the southern city, along with several ladies—Stopping Cloud, and the others?"

"Yesterday night, that scoundrel somehow got involved with one of the ladies there."

"That evening, the lady was desperately seeking a way out, and we managed to rescue her. Only then did we learn that Third Brother said he would go there that night to perform a ritual for her."

Chen Yì felt a slight tremor, "Ritual? He didn't go?"

Liu Si let out a hearty laugh, "He's always been extravagant, and he doesn't have the money, so naturally he didn't go."

"That scoundrel never imagined his idle words would be taken seriously by that lady."

"Still, when he returns, a good beating is sure to follow."

Upon hearing this, Chen Yì smiled slightly, chatted with Liu Si for a while, and then left Hou Manor.

After walking a considerable distance, he came to his senses.

"So that night in the Fireworks Lane, there was a lady who jumped into the river, saying those words."

Ah, that explains it.

No wonder the tiger-like girl had mentioned that Third Brother had done something strange, and she kept glancing at him.

It must be that someone from the covert group in the southern city had secretly passed along some intelligence.

Chen Yì understood: "The siege at the Three Cities' granary…"

Third Brother's commotion was not for any other reason, but to send a message regarding his and Xiao Dongren's plans.

It seemed that Xiao Dongren had applied considerable pressure on him the day before.

Thinking this through, Chen Yì glanced at the towering blue brick outer wall of Hou Manor, and with a calm expression, set off toward the western market.

Xiao Dongren, Third Brother, Cui Qingwu.

The three silver-tipped officials, their statuses distinct, their strength varied, their assignments bound to differ.

Yet together they struck down the Xiao family, which was, after all, a bit unscrupulous.

Pray for a guaranteed monthly ticket, pray for a guaranteed monthly ticket, thank you.

(End of chapter)