15. Taking Up the Pen

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Returning from the Palace of Tranquil Longevity to the Southern Third Study was a blessing only in that the walk was shorter for Yu Yan. After finishing lunch, she could leisurely stroll to Yinzhen’s study.

When she arrived at the door, Xingde was standing there alone, motionless.

Curious, Yu Yan asked, “Why aren’t you going in?”

The child replied honestly, “Nanny told me to wait here for my cousin before going in together.”

Yu Yan examined her makeshift cousin carefully. His clothes and accessories were all in order, but his pair of fair hands, exposed to the cold, were reddened from the chill. He seemed oblivious and stood stiffly at the study’s door.

Like a fool.

She sighed and handed him the hand warmer prepared by Aunt Chen. “Nanny told you to wait here, so you wait? Don’t you have any sense of your own? Aren’t you afraid of freezing out here in this bitter cold?”

A barrage of questions like that might have annoyed another, but Xingde only felt relief as the warmth soothed his ice-cold hands. He apologized softly, “Sorry, cousin. Next time I’ll go in first.”

Yu Yan’s expression turned even more pitiful. She guessed this child hadn’t been treated kindly in the Consort’s courtyard. The servants in the main residence treated him merely as a tool borrowed by the eldest prince, without even the courtesy of a hand warmer in the dead of winter—his fine clothes served only as a façade.

Such a poor soul.

“Hey, stop standing at the door. Hurry up and go in.”

The winter wind bit painfully against Yu Yan’s face, which she had smeared with ointment, and she could hardly imagine how Xingde had endured the chill so long. If it were her, she wouldn’t have lasted a second.

Yu Yan nudged him inside. The heated floor warmed the room, and color quickly returned to Xingde’s previously pale cheeks. Yinzhen sat at the desk with several rolled, well-used volumes beside him. Today, two small tables were set up in front of his desk, apparently prepared especially for Yu Yan and Xingde.

Xingde sat on his stool, eyes fixed on the “Thousand Character Classic” laid out before him.

Yinzhen nodded inwardly. Though the boy had always been raised by women, his temperament was decent—patient and steady. He then glanced at Elinzhu, who, upon sitting, immediately flipped open the “Expanded Wisdom Texts” on the table and dangled her feet from the support bar beneath the desk… Yinzhen’s face darkened.

“Is this how you learned at Zhalafen?” Yinzhen asked patiently.

Yu Yan nodded. “Father, here we have to sit on stools. When it’s cold, the aunties let me sit on the heated kang.”

The conditions could hardly be more comfortable.

Yinzhen was troubled. He himself was the strictest of men. Had Elinzhu been a son, he would have disciplined her severely to correct her manners. But since she was a daughter destined to marry out, and her carefree days at home numbered only twenty years, he lacked the heart to be so harsh.

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“Look how properly Xingde sits. Doesn’t Elinzhu want to look as good as him?”

Yu Yan glanced at Xingde, who sat upright and proper, his back straight, truly resembling a child raised by a cultured family—quite pleasing to the eye. But she wasn’t swayed by such examples, fluttering her big eyes and feigning innocence: “It looks nice, but it’s too tiring. Elinzhu just watches him.”

Yinzhen’s vision darkened again, and finally he could no longer restrain his stern expression: “Sit properly. You’re the eldest sister. How can you set such a careless example for your younger siblings?”

Only then did Yu Yan straighten her posture.

In front of her father, who had rules etched into his bones, it was best to avoid any mischief. After all, he was a ruthless man. To uphold the dignity of a gentleman’s attire, he once bundled himself so tightly in summer he nearly fainted from heatstroke. Who could match him?

Though Yu Yan and Xingde were the same age, Xingde’s learning had been intermittent. He was still reciting the “Thousand Character Classic” taught to him by the Consort in her leisure moments. Unlike Yu Yan, who was mature beyond her years, Xingde struggled to keep up even when Yinzhen lectured using familiar material. Watching Yu Yan tackle the lessons with ease, he looked on with envy.

“Cousin is so smart.”

Though Yinzhen intended to support his consort’s family, he would not let Elinzhu’s studies lag. After teaching a passage of the “Thousand Character Classic,” he instructed Xingde to recite it one hundred and twenty times according to the elder brothers’ study customs, then turned to Yu Yan.

“You’ve already been taught this by your fifth aunt; there’s no point in repeating it.”

Yinzhen placed prepared brushes, ink, and copybooks before Yu Yan. “Since you’re still young and have never practiced writing, start with a few strokes.”

Curious, Yu Yan took the copybook—it was the elegant small regular script of Lady Wei from the Jin Dynasty, the most popular among young ladies. It was beautiful, but she wished to learn Wang Xizhi’s running script like the Fifth Princess. Doing as she pleased, she looked up and said, “Father, I want to learn the ‘Preface to the Orchid Pavilion.’”

Yinzhen smiled faintly. “Wang Xizhi began learning calligraphy at seven, studying under Lady Wei—who came from a family of calligraphers—and his uncle Wang Yi. He also extensively studied the seal and clerical scripts of the Qin and Han Dynasties, blending many styles with painstaking effort over years to create his distinctive running script. Without a solid foundation, there would be no ‘Sage of Calligraphy.’ Elinzhu hasn’t even mastered the basics yet, and she already wants to rush ahead. How can that be?”

Without a firm base, everything shakes. His daughter’s temperament mirrored his own exactly—impatient and reckless, rushing forward heedless of consequences. Having suffered wounds young himself, he could not bear to let her endure the same. The best he could do was gently guide her now while she was still young.

“First, hold the brush. ‘Fingers firm, palm light’—use your fingertips to control the brush…”

Yinzhen carefully adjusted Yu Yan’s grip. She was young and held the brush weakly, her strokes on the rice paper resembling sketches. What frustrated Yinzhen most was her lack of flow: if a stroke on the copybook was missing a dot or a flick, she would simply blot it over.

Afternoon sunlight poured like gold through the window onto Xingde’s desk. He cautiously lifted his head from the “Thousand Character Classic.” Opposite him, Yinzhen stood like a towering mountain behind Yu Yan, his stern face shifting between frustration and resignation as he patiently guided her plump little hand stroke by stroke.

So this was Father’s way.

Xingde tried to recall the faint memory of the man’s face but found it slipping away. He remembered that whenever the man returned home, his expression was always grave, exchanging a few words with the wet nurse before leaving hurriedly.

“Father, I’ve finished reciting,” Yu Yan remarked, noticing him dazed. To spare her father’s temper, she quickly changed the subject.

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“Better to die than let a fellow cultivator suffer, cousin, I’m truly sorry!”

Yinzhen knew his daughter’s little tricks well. He shot Yu Yan a sharp look, then turned to Xingde’s desk and asked him to recite. Children were quick imitators; while understanding was difficult, Xingde’s speed in rote memorization was only slightly slower than Yu Yan’s.

He recited fluently and clearly. Yinzhen nodded, placing another set of brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone before Xingde. “This is prepared for you by your aunt. Honghui has been ill lately and is very busy. She might have overlooked some things. Don’t take it to heart.”

Xingde smiled shyly. “Aunt has been very kind to me.”

When he first arrived at the household, the consort personally cradled him to sleep for two nights—that was the first warmth he ever felt from family. The other concubines cared for him too, but their attention was always distant. They had their own children and many affairs, at most sending someone to inquire if he was well-fed and warmly clothed. But no one else, like the consort, patiently tutored him in his studies.

The wet nurse often cried upon entering the palace, lamenting his hard fate—a noble son fallen to borrowing a life. Xingde never minded; he had always been alone in this world. His mother had died young, his father abandoned him. If his life could bring joy to his cousin and aunt, it was worth it.

Yinzhen nodded and, like with Yu Yan, held Xingde’s hand. Boys seemed younger at this age, and Xingde was thin and weak. His handwriting was even worse than Yu Yan’s. He knew this and nervously looked at Yinzhen.

“You’re both still young. It’s enough to write smoothly,” Yinzhen comforted. “Haste makes waste.”

Yu Yan jumped down and ran to Yinzhen’s side, peering at the rice paper. Seeing that Xingde’s copywork was even worse than hers, she nodded with satisfaction and, adopting a grown-up tone, reassured him, “It’s okay, cousin. We’ll practice more. I’m only a bit better than you.”

With such modest words, Xingde blushed. Yinzhen only felt a headache. He wasn’t one to boast—could Elinzhu have inherited her mother Li’s temperament? Yet Li never flaunted herself before anyone.

“Father, you told Eighth Uncle before that to practice calligraphy, you should suspend the wrist. Can we practice that way too?” Yu Yan blinked.

Yinzhen was surprised. “How do you remember that so clearly at your age?”

“I have a good memory,” Yu Yan grinned. “So can we do it?”

“You’re both too young. Wait until you’re six and have the wrist strength. Otherwise, you might injure your wrists. What if your mother comes to the study to cry to me then?” Yinzhen laughed. “Or perhaps Elinzhu is just waiting for that day?”

Yu Yan blinked. “No way, Elinzhu is so obedient.”

Yinzhen tapped her forehead and addressed both children: “That’s enough for today. When you return, copy ten sheets of calligraphy. Xingde, finish memorizing and recognizing the characters I taught you today, then practice a few more times before your aunt.”

Xingde obediently nodded, clutching the copybook and his “Thousand Character Classic.”

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