Chapter 8: Lady

In the waterside pavilion, the boys who had finished their exams stared fixedly at the white wall ahead, behind which lay a room filled with bookshelves.

At the center of the room stood a black wooden desk, where Master Shen and Wu the steward stood, heads bowed as they sifted through the exam papers.

After a long while, they exchanged a glance and both sighed.

“Most couldn’t even recall a tenth. The better ones managed maybe two or three tenths.”

Wu the steward chuckled bitterly.

Master Shen sifted through the pile of papers and pulled out four.

“These four managed to recall about four tenths—decent prospects.”

Wu the steward picked up the papers, nodded, then sighed again: “You’re right, Master. These are the three child scholars, and the fourth has studied for six or seven years.”

“It’s normal,” Master Shen said without surprise. “Apart from true geniuses, the more you study, the better you get at it. Even just a few years of elementary schooling teaches you some method of memorization.”

“As for those born with innate knowledge—how often do you actually meet one?”

As he spoke, he idly flipped through the pile of papers.

After a while, he pinched one paper between his fingers and furrowed his brow slightly.

“Huh? Is there an overlooked gem?” Wu the steward, curious at his expression, leaned in to look—and immediately recognized the paper.

“Isn’t this… isn’t this Zheng Fa’s?”

Wu the steward’s memory of Zheng Fa was unforgettable.

He had even specifically examined Zheng Fa’s paper, and his only thought afterward was—what the hell?

Not a single character was correct.

Recalling how confidently he’d claimed Zheng Fa had some substance inside him, even Wu the steward, seasoned as he was, felt a flicker of embarrassment.

Master Shen ignored him, silently studying the paper for a long while, then suddenly looked up and bowed to Wu: “Brother Wu, I’ve finally seen the depth of your discernment!”

“…?” Wu the steward glanced again at Zheng Fa’s paper, left and right, finding it painfully ugly. He scowled: “Master Shen, I know you’re testing the servants—using a cannon to kill a chicken—and you’re annoyed. But speaking to me in this sarcastic tone? That’s not fair. We’re both just carrying out orders.”

Master Shen, realizing his misunderstanding, waved his hand, his expression earnest: “I truly admire your eye!”

Wu the steward refused to believe his words—he thought this scholar had a talent for tormenting people, delivering biting mockery with perfect seriousness. Who could endure that?

“Fine! I admit it—I misjudged him! I shouldn’t have thought well of that Zheng kid. My eyes are blind today, is that it?”

“Brother Wu, you don’t understand—Zheng Fa’s paper has extraordinary qualities!”

“What extraordinary qualities? It looks like he wrote a lot, but not a single character is right…”

Faced with Zheng Fa’s utterly abysmal paper, Wu the steward was certain Master Shen was mocking his blindness.

“He got half a character right!” Master Shen clapped his hands in admiration.

“…Huh?”

Master Shen set Zheng Fa’s paper aside and pulled out the original text of the *Qingjing Jing*, placing them side by side.

“Did you notice?”

“Notice what?”

“Zheng Fa’s version of the *Qingjing Jing* looks, at first glance, like not a single character is correct—but look closely!” Master Shen pointed with one finger at Zheng Fa’s paper, the other at the original, comparing character by character.

“So… he really got half a character right?”

After staring for a long while, Wu the steward finally saw it.

Zheng Fa’s paper was peculiar: nearly every character was only partially correct.

Without close inspection, it was nearly impossible to tell what he was trying to write.

“What do you see?” Master Shen’s voice held a hint of excitement.

“I see… a desperate, struggling illiterate?”

“…That proves the boy has real talent!” Master Shen pointed at Zheng Fa’s paper. “Though every character is wrong, when compared to the original, he got nearly nine tenths of it right.”

“Photographic memory?” Wu the steward began to grasp Master Shen’s meaning.

“Exactly. An illiterate, in such a short time, memorizing these characters—only photographic memory can explain it.”

“So you weren’t mocking me after all…”

“Of course not! Photographic memory is unusual, but I’ve heard of such people before. Yet something else strikes me as even more remarkable about this boy.”

“What?” Wu the steward was now intrigued.

“Look—he writes each character as if missing strokes, but think again: his characters follow their own logic. I even feel—each one has his own form, yet nearly all preserve the essential core of the original character.”

Wu the steward found this hard to believe.

To invent his own script?

That wasn’t genius—that was a monster.

“Could it be he simply didn’t memorize the correct forms?”

“That…” inwardly, Master Shen admitted Wu the steward’s theory made more sense—his own idea sounded absurd.

He shook his head: “Regardless, if we judge by talent, Zheng Fa is the best among them.”

Wu the steward grinned: “I told you—my eyes don’t lie! This boy is a talent!”

“But from this paper, it’s clear his family is poor—he’s never been to school, and he’s older. Even with talent, he may not develop quickly enough. I doubt Lady will take him.” Master Shen sighed.

At this moment, Wu the steward placed Zheng Fa’s paper among the other four selected papers and held them in his hand.

“You don’t understand our Lady,” he said, smiling as he walked toward the door. “To our Lady…”

“Family background,” he pointed through the wall at the boys still waiting outside, “these children are all servants’ kids—rich or poor, it doesn’t matter.”

“Scholarship,” he turned, pointing at himself, then at Master Shen, “is just what it is—useful, keep them; useless, replace them.”

“I bet you anything—the one chosen will be this Zheng boy. Our Lady treasures talent.”

Holding the papers, he walked deep into the mansion, past the lotus pond, through the rear garden.

Until he reached a two-story pavilion.

From above, music drifted softly.

He ascended the sandalwood staircase to the second floor, where heavy curtains hung. Through layers of gauze, a graceful, slender figure lay upon a wide low couch.

The woman propped her head with one hand, listening to three young maidens playing in the corner, while idly twirling a golden hairpin in the other.

Wu the steward dared not look up or speak.

He stood silently before the curtains.

After a long while, the music ended.

The woman raised her hand and lightly tapped a jade ring hanging from the curtain with the tip of her hairpin.

*Ching~*

The clear sound echoed through the layers of fabric.

Wu the steward knew he could speak now.

“Lady, today’s selection of servants for Young Master Seven yielded a few acceptable papers. I’ve brought them.”

*Ching~*

A maiden stepped forward, took the papers from Wu the steward, and returned to the couch.

She handed the papers to the woman lying upon it.