[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-my-life-as-a-rising-force-in-the-red-chamber":3,"chapter-my-life-as-a-rising-force-in-the-red-chamber-my-life-as-a-rising-force-in-the-red-chamber-chapter-5":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","My Life as a Rising Force in the Red Chamber",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2310803,4515,"Chapter 5: Jia Shun Prince","my-life-as-a-rising-force-in-the-red-chamber-chapter-5",5,"\u003Cp>Shishu did not know where she had heard that Zhang Pozi, who tended the flowers in the garden, was from the same hometown as Jia Cong’s wet nurse, Aunt Zhao.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She gave Zhang Pozi two taels of silver for wine, and soon heard a flood of gossip about Jia Cong.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Miss, I heard Jia Cong’s concubine has a bad reputation, and the Old Mistress dislikes her greatly.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“A bad reputation?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing Tan Chun’s puzzled expression, Shishu leaned close to her ear and whispered a few words, causing Tan Chun’s face to flush red, yet stirring a pang of pity for Jia Cong within her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Back then, the affair involving Jia Cong’s birth mother had caused a huge scandal, bringing shame to the Jia family; the Old Mistress had issued a strict silence order, and for years, all those in the household who knew the truth had remained tight-lipped. Tan Chun had not yet been born, so naturally she knew nothing of it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It’s said Jia Cong’s birth was ominous—his concubine died the very next day, and the midwife and maidservants who assisted in the delivery all died suddenly.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The First Master and the First Lady despise him; daily beatings and scolding are commonplace. Since childhood, they’ve confined him to the grain storage room in the Eastern Lu Courtyard, sharing a room with a maidservant.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I heard last month he broke the First Master’s jade ruyi scepter, and the First Master beat him until he was covered in blood, seemingly dead—only by sheer luck was he saved later…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tan Chun herself was a concubine-born daughter, having endured the humiliations of an obscure birth mother, and she felt a certain kinship with Jia Cong’s origins, instinctively wanting to protect him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tan Chun was sharp-witted; sending him books and paper could be explained as admiration for his calligraphy, a token of gratitude for his brushwork—no one could find fault with it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He possessed talent and broad insight; how could he fail to recognize the extraordinary quality of this running script? The writer had nearly reached the pinnacle of founding a school.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tan Chun turned pale, her eyes reddening; the Jia household, under the Old Mistress’s firm control, rarely saw outrageous behavior—she had never heard of anyone being mistreated in the family since childhood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Take these books and Xuelang paper to Third Brother Cong, be careful in your words and actions—Eastern Road Courtyard is not our part of the house; don’t bring trouble upon yourself.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If you feel pity, sending extra medicine or silver might embarrass the First Master and First Lady, and might even bring misfortune upon Jia Cong.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shishu pouted as she tidied the desk, asking: “Miss, shouldn’t we send something else? Third Brother Cong is so pitiful—he’s still injured, and after all, he’s your brother.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the Jia Shun Prince’s mansion, the Jia Shun Prince paced excitedly, holding a couplet written on red nitre paper, his left hand sketching the strokes in midair, murmuring praises repeatedly—his usual scholarly calm had vanished.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had seen countless master calligraphy pieces in the imperial treasury; his discernment naturally far surpassed that of ordinary people.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That Zhang Pozi also said Jia Cong resembles his mother in appearance—he’s extremely handsome, and his concubine was once a renowned courtesan…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You said he’s only… ten years old?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Changyan, find out the writer’s name.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even among masters, servants and maids are treated with outward kindness, let alone legitimate grandchildren of the household—no one had ever heard of anyone treated as wretchedly as Jia Cong.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“He is Jia Cong, the concubine-born son of Jia She, First-Class General of Rongguo Mansion, aged ten.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These old military aristocratic families have long declined; their descendants can neither ride nor wield a spear, and over the years have produced nothing but frivolous, wasteful degenerates—yet now one such talent emerges?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Changyan’s remark that the writer was only ten years old left the Jia Shun Prince stunned.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Such a talent should be impossible to obtain—even a single character is priceless—yet he used such coarse red nitre paper to write a couplet, and casually had it pasted on the gate across the street.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“We don’t need those anymore; there’s plenty of time ahead—go quickly.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet he was still shaken by the calligraphy: warm, ancient, simple, elegant, and uniquely graceful.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To have grown up confined in that grain storage room, how difficult it must have been to master such exceptional calligraphy—thinking of it, Tan Chun’s eyes welled with tears.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That the writer came from the Jia family, an old military aristocracy, already struck the Jia Shun Prince as strange.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tan Chun’s eyebrows snapped up. “Stop! Don’t you know where you are? Don’t repeat such vulgar gossip—his birth mother deserves respect.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Such calligraphy cannot be mastered even after ten years of grueling practice—could this man have begun writing in the womb? Or is it pure talent?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet a ten-year-old child has had at most five or six years to hold a brush—how could he achieve such calligraphy, worthy of founding a school, in so short a time? This talent is terrifying.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Changyan, you truly confirmed it? He really is a ten-year-old from the Rongguo Mansion?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Changyan smiled bitterly: “I didn’t believe it at first either—until I learned the woman was Jia Cong’s wet nurse, who had raised him since infancy and had personally seen him write this couplet. I had no choice but to believe.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Jia Shun Prince’s face showed shock; though still skeptical, he knew Zhou Changyan was meticulous—if he hadn’t verified everything, he wouldn’t have brought the couplet to him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What a rare talent… After the New Year, send him an invitation to the Nanxi Literary Gathering—I’d like to see this wonder for myself.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Changyan’s expression turned startled—he never imagined the Prince valued this calligraphy so highly as to invite the writer to the Nanxi Literary Gathering!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing Zhou Changyan’s reaction, the Jia Shun Prince smiled: “At ten years old, such calligraphic attainment is extraordinarily rare. In a few years, he will surely become a master of his own school—he deserves it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Nanxi Literary Gathering had its own history.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On Qifeng Ridge just outside Shenzhou City, the Jia Shun Prince owned a quiet, elegant villa called Shuyun Retreat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The clear, rushing Nanxi River, channeled by artisans through the entire villa, formed a wondrous flowing-cup watercourse within the grounds, making it a famed literary haven in Shenzhou City.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Jia Shun Prince revered culture and, to attract and cultivate talented scholars, held the Nanxi Literary Gathering every other year—it was among the highest-status literary gatherings in Shenzhou City.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Although hosted by the Jia Shun Prince, the Retired Emperor had attended twice, and even the current Emperor had appeared at the gathering two years ago.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thus, the Nanxi Literary Gathering, besides its imperial connections, was regarded by the scholarly world as nearly semi-official; participants were invariably renowned scholars and literary talents.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Being invited to the gathering was a great honor; through it, one could exchange ideas with contemporary luminaries and greatly enhance one’s reputation among scholars.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Outstanding poems composed at the gathering would spread across the land within days, and their authors would achieve fame throughout the realm in a short time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Therefore, young scholars in the capital flocked to the Nanxi Literary Gathering, hoping to shine, gain recognition from esteemed patrons, and suddenly rise to prominence.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet for an ordinary person without exceptional talent or renown, receiving an invitation was as impossible as a dream.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now, the Jia Shun Prince intended to invite an unknown boy—clearly, he had been utterly convinced by the calligraphy on the couplet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Li Xiaocheng sipped his tea thoughtfully: “Forget the formal invitation—write him a personal letter instead. I’ll write it myself.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Since he has such mastery in calligraphy, he must be well-versed in poetry and classics—a scholar. If I write to invite him, he will surely reply.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Changyan was stunned—the Prince himself was writing a personal letter to invite Jia Cong, a completely unknown child? Such courtesy was unbelievable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But upon hearing the Prince’s true intent—to obtain Jia Cong’s reply—he understood: the Prince still doubted a ten-year-old could produce such extraordinary calligraphy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For the Prince to personally write and extend such an invitation, regardless of his noble status, even by scholarly hierarchy alone, Jia Cong could not merely receive the letter and accept—he must reply, to uphold proper etiquette.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Once he received a handwritten reply, it would be clear whether Jia Cong truly possessed such astonishing calligraphy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though the Jia Shun Prince was learned and elegant, appearing carefree and unbound by convention, he also had a meticulous and cautious side.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When Shishu returned, she brought back a piece of calligraphy written by Jia Cong on Xuelang paper.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tan Chun eagerly unrolled it—the familiar, exquisitely graceful script leapt into view.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I think of plum blossoms by the Xi Zhou, pluck one to send north. My single robe is apricot-red, my twin braids black as crow chicks…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tan Chun smiled inwardly—earlier, when she met Aunt Zhao, she had been wearing a long robe with apricot-red base and floral embroidery on the collar.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Aunt Zhao must have mentioned it—Third Brother Cong knew how to respond appropriately. Clearly, he chose this Southern and Northern Dynasties poem, “Xi Zhou Ci,” with care.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then she recalled the poem carried a woman’s longing—her cheeks flushed, yet she thought no further.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Third Brother Cong merely wished to echo the opening lines, and since the imagery was beautiful, he selected it—paired with his calligraphy, it was perfectly matched.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Where is Xi Zhou? At the bridge’s end, the ferry crosses. At sunset, the boisterous bird flies, the wind stirs the black locust trees. Beneath the trees lies the gate; behind the gate, jade hairpins gleam.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The gate opens, but my lord does not come—I step out to gather red lotuses. In the southern pond, autumn arrives; lotus blossoms tower above heads. I bend low, play with the lotus seeds—the seeds are as clear as water…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The poem was exquisite, but the calligraphy even more so—Tan Chun could not put it down, her right hand tracing the strokes in midair.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Miss, when I went to Eastern Road Courtyard, I couldn’t find Third Brother’s quarters—I had to ask for directions before locating the grain storage room.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shishu’s words jolted Tan Chun out of her calligraphy trance. She frowned: “Is Third Brother Cong truly living in the grain storage room?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Truly. The courtyard has only three rooms; Third Brother and his maid occupy one, while the other two store miscellaneous items from the Eastern Courtyard.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“His room is like a snow cave—furniture is all worn and broken; his sleeves are patched. I’ve never seen any young master of the household treated so cruelly.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tan Chun’s character was generous yet sharp; the maids and wives of the Western Courtyard nicknamed her “Rose Flower”—a rose, red and fragrant, beloved by all, yet its thorns pierce the hand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shishu, Tan Chun’s personal maid, had been trained by her and shared her frank, bold nature. Seeing Jia Cong’s living quarters, she felt indignant and blurted it out to her mistress.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tan Chun’s face darkened at the maid’s words—but this was the First Master’s affair, separated by household branches and elder status; what could she do openly?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She stared deeply at the calligraphy on the desk: “Tomorrow, find the best scroll-mounting artisan and have this piece mounted properly—don’t let it get damaged.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Third Brother Cong endures such hardship yet still masters such fine calligraphy—this man has iron in his bones. He won’t remain lowly forever—just wait and see.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Outside the window, evening clouds hung low, crimson clouds painted the sky. Tan Chun spoke these words—no one could tell if she was speaking to her maid or to herself.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1958,"2026-06-20T12:19:54.434Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","b225256c636c5bf2a63f4395c97315229067643ebe8c6009b65c75a683069455","my-life-as-a-rising-force-in-the-red-chamber-chapter-6","my-life-as-a-rising-force-in-the-red-chamber-chapter-4",920,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-rising-force-in-the-red-chamber-cover.jpg"]