Chapter 2: Monthly Allowance

Jia Cong went to the clan school three years ago, and all his classmates sat at least ten feet away from him, out of disgust and fear.

Those who entered the Jia clan school were all eighth-generation Jia descendants living in the capital.

Though the old lady had issued stern orders forbidding anyone to spread rumors about Jia Cong’s inauspicious fate,

the households of Ningguo and Rongguo were too numerous and gossip-prone—there’s no wall in a clan that doesn’t leak.

Most of these young scholars had been warned by their families to keep their distance from Jia Cong, lest they suffer ill fortune.

Fortunately, the Jia household was a wealthy aristocratic family; though Jia Cong’s birth had been disgraceful, he was still a direct-line descendant, and none of the sharp-witted household slaves were assigned to serve him.

That year, a capital official fell from grace, and the steward Lai Da casually bought a new slave and sent him to attend Jia Cong, to avoid gossip reaching the old lady’s ears and bringing shame upon the entire household.

Year after year, though Jia Cong enjoyed none of the dignity befitting a young master, he was raised in ignorance within the black-oiled gate of the eastern courtyard.

Zhi Shao helped Jia Cong lie down on the kang, and Aunt Zhao glanced at the desk and said, “Young master, your calligraphy is truly beautiful—I never knew you had such talent. With this ability, you’ll surely enter the academy and become an official one day; then see who dares look down on you.”

Aunt Zhao went on muttering, “Tomorrow, write me a pair of couplets—I’ll hang them at home for the New Year and show off a little…”

Every time Zhi Shao went to fetch meals, she was given only leftover scraps and coarse rice; sometimes even the rice was spoiled.

Hearing Zhi Shao’s words, he wearily paused his brush, rolled up the rough raw paper, and set it aside.

“When Aunt Zhao returns to the courtyard tomorrow, have her go out and buy some supplies—do we still have silver in the money box?”

Not only was she far more alert now, but her manners had also gained proper restraint—she’d served the young master since childhood, yet he’d never written such fine characters before.

Last month, Jia Cong was severely beaten by the eldest master; to nourish his body, Zhi Shao used her own hard-earned monthly allowance to buy better meat and vegetables from the kitchen, even dipping into her personal savings.

Even with silver in hand, the old women and their daughters in the kitchen still put on a contemptuous face.

Outside, a single egg cost a fortune—just ten cash.

Jia Cong smiled: “No need to wait till tomorrow—I’ll write them now; take them right away, Mama.”

If not for the tight purse, he would have practiced even more.

But Third Master had never been loved since childhood, lacked any sense of hierarchy or calculation, was timid before others, avoided eye contact, and had always written and studied half-heartedly—how could he have developed such an air now?

She too felt puzzled: since waking up, Third Master had changed considerably.

Jia Cong gazed at the snowflakes swirling outside the window, paused briefly, then picked up his brush and wrote two couplets, gently blowing to dry the lingering ink.

The elders in the household said Third Master resembled his late concubine mother—his looks were first-rate, even better than Baoyu, who was favored by the old lady.

Zhi Shao glanced at the paper box on the bookshelf and said, “We’re nearly out of raw paper for Third Master—we’ll need to buy more.”

Jia Cong had just pulled out a sheet of raw paper—he practiced five large-character exercises daily, his self-imposed routine.

Zhi Shao looked at the characters on the paper—they were better than any calligraphy hanging on the walls of the household.

Zhi Shao frowned delicately and said, “We’ve only a few copper coins left—we haven’t even received last month’s allowance yet.”

The old women in the western kitchen always looked down on people and never treated Jia Cong and his servants as human beings.

Aunt Zhao left the courtyard, satisfied, carrying the couplets, saying she’d have Jia Cong’s wet nurse’s son hang them up at home.

Aunt Zhao’s face beamed with smiles; Zhi Shao hurried over to grind the ink.

Every time Zhi Shao asked for a bowl of fresh egg custard, Zhang the old woman, who assisted Liu’s wife, charged her a hundred cash.

Add to that other better meats and fresh vegetables, and by month’s end, Jia Cong and Zhi Shao’s savings were nearly exhausted.

If not for Liu’s daughter, who was close to Zhi Shao and often secretly slipped them extra provisions, their silver wouldn’t have lasted a single month.

Seeing Jia Cong roll up the raw paper, as if unwilling to use more, Zhi Shao’s heart ached.

She twisted her slender waist and turned, stepping out of the room, crossing the pebble path in the courtyard, then passing through the covered walkway.

The eastern courtyard where Jia She lived had originally been carved out from the rear garden of Rongguo Mansion.

Though the eastern courtyard was not large in area,

Jia She was a dissolute playboy who, as the eldest son, had been moved out of Rongguo Mansion by the old lady, who felt some guilt over it.

She allowed him to draw from the household’s public funds to renovate the modest eastern courtyard into an elegant, refined space—its pavilions arranged in graceful disorder, winding paths leading to secluded corners.

Each courtyard was decorated with noble elegance; the garden bloomed year-round with fragrant trees and rare flowers.

Though these scenes were less grand and magnificent than those in the western Rongguo main mansion, they surpassed them in delicate beauty.

After walking for half a cup of tea, they reached a bright, tidy little courtyard—this was the accounting room and storage of the Donglu Courtyard.

Though she knew Wang Shanbao’s wife would make trouble, Jia Cong was recovering from injury and needed silver; Zhi Shao had no choice but to return and beg once more.

Wang Xifeng, the proper daughter-in-law of Lady Xing, had not taken charge of the eastern courtyard of her husband’s household; instead, the old lady had assigned her to manage the western household.

Such cases of flowers blooming beautifully inside the wall while the outside remained barren were rare in wealthy, noble households.

Lady Xing came from a petty family, narrow-minded and greedy for power; she had always feared and disliked Wang Xifeng, who was sharp, capable, and from a great household.

She feared this formidable daughter-in-law would steal her face and control her silver and wealth.

Moreover, this daughter-in-law was the blood niece of the second branch’s household—she had long regarded her as a rival and obstacle.

When the old lady hinted she wanted Wang Xifeng to manage the western household, Lady Xing eagerly pushed her out.

She shut herself in the eastern courtyard and ruled as a queen of her own.

Every bit of silver and wealth that reached the eastern courtyard was swept to her feet; every expenditure and income was under her sole control—truly the greatest delight.

Wang Shanbao’s wife was Lady Xing’s personal attendant, her right arm and left hand, equally cunning and heartless; she spent her days idle in this small courtyard.

The courtyard echoed with Zhi Shao’s clear, pleasant voice:

“These past days, Third Master Jia has been injured—medical treatment, medicine, and nourishing meals have cost far more than usual; our meager savings are gone. Third Master’s monthly allowance hasn’t been paid for over two months—we have no choice but to beg you, Auntie, to show mercy and release his allowance…”

Wang Shanbao’s wife’s wrinkled, orange-peel face twisted with cruelty; seeing Zhi Shao’s exquisite beauty, she felt an inexplicable surge of envy.

“Jia Cong is young—what’s a little injury? You little wench keep harping on it—everyone in the household knows his lowly status. Hah! No matter how pampered he thinks he is, who are you trying to fool?”

Don’t think I don’t know—you make Liu’s wife prepare him rare delicacies every day, serving them to that unworthy wretch, even Lady Da doesn’t have such a luxury.

Such extravagance will drain even mountains of gold and silver. No wonder Master and Mistress are furious—how dare you come here now asking for your allowance? I’ll go straight to Mistress and have her judge this matter.”

Zhi Shao’s face turned pale with rage, yet she held her temper and said:

“Third Master is injured, so we asked the kitchen to prepare fresh broth to nourish him—we dare not be reckless. Besides, Third Master is still studying; he needs silver daily for brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone. Please, Auntie, show some understanding and grant us this favor.”

Wang Shanbao’s wife, stung by Zhi Shao’s soft resistance, grew even more ashamed and angry: “Hmph! He still needs brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone? He won’t be studying anymore—he won’t need any of these things.”

Zhi Shao’s face changed: “What do you mean, Auntie? Third Master won’t be studying anymore?”

Wang Shanbao’s wife’s face darkened: “Master Jia She says he’s a base seed, disrespectful, wasteful, and unworthy of study. Better to feed the silver to dogs than to him. Master Jia She has already spoken to Dai Ru the Elder at the school—he’s forbidden Jia Cong from returning.”

Zhi Shao felt as if struck by lightning—her lovely face turned deathly pale. Even if Third Master was disliked, he was still a son—how could any father speak so of his own child?

Third Master had been abused since childhood, and only through study and advancement could he ever hope to carve out a future—now, even study was denied him—his entire life was ruined.

She recalled how Jia Cong, despite his wounds, still struggled to write—Zhi Shao’s heart clenched with pain; tears burst from her eyes, and she covered her face and ran from the courtyard.

A middle-aged man walked toward her, his face pale and sallow, with a short beard freshly shaved, dressed in a broad-waisted robe of brown-gold Sichuan brocade with coin patterns.

Zhi Shao’s face stiffened slightly; she curtsied: “Master Jia.”

This man was Jia She, the eldest son of Jia Mu of Rongguo Mansion, and Jia Cong’s father.

Jia She’s eyes were slightly swollen, his sclera streaked with faint blood, fixed on the beautiful Zhi Shao with a lustful, lecherous gleam.

Zhi Shao’s heart fluttered in panic; she hurried away as if on fire.

To be fair, Jia She had never truly looked at Zhi Shao before.

In the eastern courtyard, Jia She’s lust was common knowledge—any girl with even a hint of beauty had been dragged into his bed.

Later, Lady Xing learned to be clever; any new maids assigned to the eastern courtyard were chosen for their plain looks.

Jia She had always despised Jia Cong; the father and son avoided each other like cats and mice, meeting only a few times a year.

Zhi Shao, too, had always stayed within Jia Cong’s courtyard; most outside errands were handled by Aunt Zhao.

So Jia She had rarely seen Zhi Shao—and years ago, she had been just a scrawny girl, unremarkable.

Now, seeing such a lovely maid appear in the eastern courtyard, and realizing he’d never noticed her, Jia She felt a sudden itch inside him.

He turned back, his eyes burning as he watched Zhi Shao’s graceful, slender back.

Now that he was older, he craved such youthful, supple beauty more than ever.

Could she be one of the maids from the old lady’s or Baoyu’s side? But he’d seen all their maids—none matched her.

Wang Shanbao’s wife, seeing Jia She pass by the courtyard gate, spotted him and hurried forward to flatter him.

“Which room is that girl from? I’ve never seen her before.”

Wang Shanbao’s wife was a shrewd one—she knew this master was a lustful glutton; his expression gave away his thoughts instantly.

She knew Lady Xing always fawned on her husband, even helping him take concubines to secure her own position.

Such behavior was called “not jealous,” but in truth, it revealed a lack of self-worth—a lady without dignity, groveling like a servant.

Though Wang Shanbao’s wife was a slave, she was cunning and cruel; her own husband’s lust had long since stripped her of all decency.

Though she secretly despised this old lecher, outwardly no one matched her for obedient deference to her mistress.

“Reporting to Master, this girl is Zhi Shao from Third Master Jia’s quarters. She’s grown tall this past year—now she’s become quite lovely.”

Jia She’s face darkened: “That beast dares to employ such a girl? I leave household affairs to you, and you grow ever more insolent—is this how you manage things?”

Wang Shanbao’s wife stammered helplessly—she knew he desired Zhi Shao, and Lady Xing didn’t yet know; she dared not speak carelessly.

“You were brought in by Mistress; Mistress can’t bear the burden—so you must pay more attention to household affairs…”

“I have no suitable people around me, yet you’ve arranged that beast so comfortably—hmp!”

Wang Shanbao’s wife smiled beside him, thinking: You have no suitable people? You’ve already dragged them all to your bed as concubines.

Though she mocked him inwardly, she also felt a cruel satisfaction—now that whore’s brat and his maid were going to suffer terribly.

(End of Chapter)