Chapter 3: Daily Intelligence? Gossip Today!

Chapter 3 Daily Intelligence? Today, We Feast on Gossip!

Xiao Jinghóng was, without a doubt, breathtakingly beautiful.

Though Xiao Dié remained tight-lipped, offering no explanation for her admiration. Her actual words were: "Xiao Dié finds that Lady Xiao is very, very beautiful… truly, truly beautiful."

Yet Chen Yì had already discerned her sincerity from her stammering and darting eyes—Madam Xiao Jinghóng was indeed a rare gem of unparalleled beauty in this world!

Still, perhaps her beauty differed somewhat from conventional notions of attractiveness?

Chen Yì mused that as long as she wasn't a female version of Zhang Fei, he'd be willing to trade a lifetime of power and fame for her—after all, a son-in-law from the Wei Dynasty wouldn't achieve any merit or hold any significant office, so power and fame were of little use to him.

Better yet, to pursue something practical.

Moreover, Chen Yì didn't wish to serve as an official, seeking fame and fortune.

Beyond disliking the toil of work, scheming, and conflict, he simply didn't want to bear any additional burdens.

In his past life, he'd been an animal, waking up to labor and study. In this life, he merely desired a peaceful existence.

Reciting the old Taoist's verse: "Gathering chrysanthemums under the eastern fence, I behold the southern mountains at leisure."

Chen Yì sought precisely that tranquility and ease.

Before he realized it, a month had swiftly passed.

From early spring to mid-spring.

The flowers in Shuhe Garden bloomed more vibrant, the grass grew greener.

Especially the vast pond spanning ten mu of land, shaded by willows and dotted with pavilions and arbors—truly a picturesque sight.

"Sitting there fishing, sipping tea, with a gentle breeze—it must feel wonderful."

But Chen Yì could only lean by the window, eyes fixed on that little pavilion, aching with a nostalgic longing reminiscent of iron-barred windows.

If only he could venture out.

Alas, Lady Xiao Jinghóng insisted he remain "protected" for a hundred days.

Chen Yì turned his head toward the doorway, meeting the gaze of four towering, muscular armored warriors—each standing nearly two meters tall—whose expressions remained unreadable. He smiled warmly.

"The sun is bright today, perfect for a countryside outing!"

Seeing them still expressionless, he chuckled apologetically, rising to remove the wooden beam from his window, shutting it shut.

He wondered what these warriors ate to grow so tall and strong.

Though Chen Yì wasn't short himself—seven feet—he still fit his self-image as a "scholarly weakling."

"My lord, the count is complete."

At that moment, Xiao Dié approached, clutching a bundle of cypress paper.

Chen Yì casually inquired, "How many?"

"Eight hundred in total," Xiao Dié sighed in admiration. "My lord, you've written a solid six hundred pieces this month—averaging twenty a day, two thousand characters!"

Still two hundred short.

Chen Yì mused that if he used a pen or pencil, he could easily write a hundred pages a day.

But with brushes, he had to balance calligraphy skill, so his speed was truly slow.

Still, it didn't hinder his satisfaction: "My lord, I'm impressive, aren't I?"

This time, Xiao Dié offered a sincere compliment: "Impressive."

"Knowing you're impressive, why not present it to the ladies promptly?" Chen Yì patted his stomach. "I'm hungry—remember to bring lunch back."

The handwriting of Wei Qing was meticulous, with bold strokes and broad frames—somewhat akin to the brushwork of the historical calligrapher Mi Fei. It drained his energy.

"Right, right—I'll go. Xiao Qin said the chef prepared roast duck at noon, and it won't be good if it's cold."

Xiao Dié dashed out the door, still reminding the warriors to keep watch over Chen Yì.

That girl.

Chen Yì smiled and shook his head, leaning back on the reclining chair, his eyes sparkling.

A phantom screen materialized:

Name: Chen Yì

Book Learning: Minor Accomplishment (35/100)

Calligraphy: Wei Qing (Proficient·Complete)

Fate: 1

[Daily Intelligence·Grade Yellow, Top-Notch: A rainy day in the ugly mountains of Hubei. The wealthy family's daughter, Fang Riyu, elopes with her lover Wang Boyuan to this place, only to be forcibly separated by family and have their union torn apart. Yet, they gain only a minimal amount of fate threads.]

[Evaluation: Though the scene hasn't occurred yet, nor the voices heard, nor the event witnessed, fate descends without being seized—a testament to one's lazy and indolent nature.]

Chen Yì mused, "The content of these daily intelligence reports has grown increasingly peculiar."

Over the past month, the reports refreshed daily, ranging from minor scandals within the Xiao household to major territorial conflicts in Shu, all making him feel the "daily intelligence" provided rather ancient and archaic opportunities.

Take today's report about the wealthy daughter and impoverished youth eloping—likely, the scene would unfold as:

The Fang family, disregarding their daughter's sobs, forcibly dragged her away.

Meanwhile, Wang Boyuan struggled to grasp his beloved's hand, only to be knocked unconscious with a single blow, collapsing in the rain and wind.

The imagery would be deeply impactful—piercing the heart, wrenching with sorrow.

When that moment came, Chen Yì found himself wondering whether he should snack on kernels and watch the spectacle, or feel moved by their sincere efforts to aid each other.

"Daily intelligence? This is the perfect time to feast on gossip."

If only he weren't confined indoors, with armored warriors stationed outside, he could sneak out to investigate these daily reports firsthand.

With such thoughts, Chen Yì shifted his focus to book learning, concentrating his spirit on the "Calligraphy" category.

"Eight hundred pages of regulations, writing eight thousand characters to elevate Wei Qing's script to Proficient—Complete. Not bad."

Though his book learning was minor, it couldn't directly grant him calligraphy experience or the stamina of decades of writing.

Yet, as he wrote, it enhanced his understanding of calligraphy—from basic strokes and character structure, to each piece's composition, spacing, and intent—greatly accelerating his growth in book learning.

Others might take years, decades, or even centuries to achieve such calligraphic mastery—he'd reached it in just a month and a half.

"Unfortunately, minor book learning can only elevate calligraphy to Proficient-Complete. If he were to break through further, the minimum would be becoming a renowned calligrapher of Wei."

Chen Yì thought that, then pulled out a book to peruse.

These days, aside from copying the regulations, he spent his leisure time reading—mostly historical texts, some tales or travelogues.

According to the records, since the Wei Dynasty overthrew the Qingyang Kingdom two hundred and fifty years ago, the current Emperor Anhe is the thirteenth emperor of Wei. The first fifty years saw continuous wars of expansion and conquest.

Thereafter, two hundred years of peace followed, experiencing the prosperous reign of Rongping and the benevolent governance of Huijing, as all nations paid homage, elevating Wei's influence to its peak.

Yet all things follow the cycle of rise and fall. In recent years, neighboring states have risen, clashing with Wei and sparking conflicts.

Like twenty-five years ago, when the southern barbarians rebelled and marched north, led by the late Duke of Qing, Xiao's family, waging war for five years before finally repelling them.

That battle was so devastating it could be described as "wounding a thousand enemies, losing eight hundred of oneself." In Shu, all major cities, counties, and villages bore the scars of war.

After that, the Xiao household began its slow descent into decline.

Though no such grand conflict had occurred in the past twenty years, the barbarian tribes would occasionally launch raids under the guise of autumn winds, and every few months, a brave soul from the Xiao family would meet a heroic end.

It was no surprise that even his wife, Lady Xiao Jinghong, would choose to don armor and ride out to meet her fate.

“In the lands of barbarians and foreign neighbors, we are forever on the defensive, forever turning away visitors.”

“If we do not raze them to the ground and exterminate their clans, how can we ever know peace?”

Chen Yi had always held a certain belief: that the hearts of other tribes and nations would inevitably differ from ours.

When dealing with the barbarians or the western Buddhist kingdoms, one must, like Huo Qubing did with the northern Xiongnu, slaughter them until they tremble with fear, and only then might peace be enjoyed.

“Hm, thinking too far ahead, thinking too far ahead.”

“I’m just a idle husband, content to live a peaceful life.”

With that, Chen Yi set down his book, gazing longingly toward the courtyard beyond the door.

Oh, Xiao Bie, if you don’t return soon, I’ll truly starve to death here.

……

Jiaxing Garden, named for the blessing, “When the family is at peace, all things flourish.”

Twenty years prior, the late Duke Xiao, seeing his household reduced to ashes and ruin, summoned a learned immortal to bestow a name upon the estate, altering its title.

Now, separated from Chen Yi’s Spring Lotus Garden by but a single wall, it was the residence of Xiao Lady Wan’er and young Duke Xiao Wugou.

Compared to the Spring Lotus Garden, Jiaxing Garden was smaller in extent.

To the east and west stood each a three-story wooden pavilion, trees before them, gardens behind, shaded by green canopies, a sight clear and serene enough to command admiration.

At this moment, within the western wing, some distance away.

Xiao Bie placed the cypress paper delicately upon the table, then said in a low, respectful tone: “My lady, the family regulations he copied today are all here.”

“Hmm.” From the room beyond the curtain, a voice asked: “Xiao Bie, has he shown any recent signs of wanting to flee?”

The voice was smooth and melodious, like the gentle rain of southern Jiangnan, though tinged with a certain weakness.

Xiao Bie shook her head: “None at all. These recent days, he’s either copying the family regulations or reading, and has not once resorted to writing poetry as he once did.”

After a moment, she added: “Though… though Xiao Bie might discern that he has long been holding back, often gazing toward that pond.”

Laughter echoed from the study.

“Human nature is the same. Had I remained in this room, never venturing forth, I too would grow restless.”

The voice drew near.

The curtain was lifted, and a graceful woman emerged.

She was extraordinarily beautiful, her face a perfect oval, brows like distant mountains, eyes bright as stars, resembling a celestial being who had just descended to the mortal realm.

Yet in this midsummer heat, she still wore a thick overcoat.

From her pale, marble-like skin, however, one could discern a hint of illness—slight pallor, a touch of fatigue.

It was Xiao Lady Wan’er.

“Soon, take this message to him: After completing these one thousand family regulations, he may roam freely within the Spring Lotus Garden.”

Xiao Bie hesitated, “This…”

“Rest assured, I will pen a letter to Jinghong, assuring her she will not blame him,” Xiao Wan’er said, picking up the cypress paper and examining each one, her tone sharp:

“It’s been nearly a month and a half since her marriage, and she’s been hiding away like this—it’s no longer fitting.”

Xiao Bie pulled back her head, wary of speaking freely about the second lady.

“Do as I say, convey the message to your husband. As long as he remains safe within the manor, the Xiao family will not neglect him.”

“Ah, yes, I’ll go at once.”

After Xiao Bie departed, Xiao Wan’er gazed at one of the family regulations, her delicate features revealing a flicker of surprise.

“His calligraphy is truly exceptional.”

From Xiao Wan’er’s keen eye, one need not doubt Chen Yi’s skill.

As the saying goes, “Writing is like painting.” One reads calligraphy as one would a ink wash painting, discerning the brushstrokes, the pressure, the structure, and the negative space.

From the first family regulation Chen Yi copied to the eight hundredth, his characters had gradually revealed a subtle aura—much as the late scholar of Jinling Academy, Ying Shuo, had once praised:

“Chen Qingzhou’s script is quite vibrant, a youthful burst of vigor and spirit.”

Though Xiao Wan’er did not perceive “vigor and spirit,” she did observe the ease with which he adapted, the composed serenity of one at peace—truly a model of noble bearing.

“If not for seeing it with my own eyes, I surely could not have imagined it was penned by Chen Yi.”

With such calligraphy, one could understand his early choice to flee the marriage—his poem “A Song of Shu Zhou: Entering the Xiao Household” also reveals this.

Yet one wonders whether Jinghong, upon learning of this, might yet soften toward him.

For on the very day of their wedding, her husband fled—how could any woman forgive such a betrayal?

Especially since he was a son-in-law from the Xiao family, and especially… especially one so proud as Jinghong.

After a moment’s thought, Xiao Wan’er sat at the table, took up the brush, and wrote a few lines in delicate script:

“Jinghong, your dear, I write with words that mirror the face:

You’ve overseen the three towns of Shu Zhou for a month now, and all is well within the household.

Grandfather’s illness has improved, and several old friends have visited lately, bringing him great comfort…

Furthermore, your husband has shown signs of repentance. I trust you will take heed—Xiao Wan’er.”

(The chapter ends.)