Chapter 81: Longing for Home, Firm in Duty and Affection (Please Collect and Follow!)

Shishu entered Yingchun’s chamber and saw her sitting in the morning light, the warm sun bathing her slender, graceful form in a soft, serene glow.

In her hands, she was sewing a shoe upper—its style and size clearly that of a man’s boot.

Shishu stepped forward, staring at Yingchun’s needlework: “Miss, are you making shoes for Third Master Jia Cong again?”

Yingchun looked up, smiling faintly: “Yes, he’s grown so fast these past two years—his shoes wear out quickly.”

Though Jia Cong has been studying outside these past two years, Wu’er and Qingwen attend to him with care, and he’s partnered with Qu Hongxiu in the perfume trade—he never lacks silver.

His days are now full and comfortable, nothing like the hardship of before, and he’s caught up with his growth spurt.

Every time he returns to the mansion, Yingchun notices he’s grown taller, and his shoes become too small within half a year.

Yingchun’s nature is gentle and yielding; though she was never abused like Jia Cong, her biological father and stepmother have always ignored her, and Granny Jia keeps her close merely for the sake of company.

Since Yingchun’s father and stepmother were both disliked by Granny Jia, she never valued Yingchun as much as she did Tanchun.

Though Yingchun has sisters in the garden to keep her company, her heart remains hollow.

Yingchun beamed: “That’s wonderful—I haven’t seen Congdi in months. Last time he sent word he was entering the academy exam—I wonder how he did.”

Later, during Granny Jia’s eightieth birthday, the Lady of Nan’an requested to meet the Jia girls.

Shishu noticed her mistress’s eyes sparkled with joy—clearly because Third Master Jia Cong was returning today.

Granny Jia summoned Baochai and her sister, Daiyu, Xiangyun, Tanchun, and others to meet the visitor—but she didn’t call Yingchun at all.

These past few years, Tanchun has blossomed into a striking beauty—slender shoulders, narrow waist, supple as a willow branch—her youthful figure now exquisitely graceful, her spirited elegance beginning to show.

“Today Third Brother returns—I’ll find the pieces I’m most proud of and let him look them over.”

Shishu said: “My mistress sent me to tell you—yesterday, Master Jia dispatched a servant to the academy, instructing Third Master to return for Granny Jia’s birthday. Third Master Jia Cong will be back today.”

Ever since the Eastern Courtyard days, my mistress has taken to this cousin more than even to her own brother, Second Master Bao.

Yingchun asked: “Why are you here so early, not attending to your mistress? Is something the matter?”

Of all, she and Cousin Jia Cong are the most at ease with each other, sharing similar interests and speaking the most when together.

She keeps this younger brother close to heart, feeling a quiet kinship in their shared loneliness, and over these past years, Jia Cong has grown especially fond of her as an elder sister.

Each time Jia Cong returns, Tanchun drags him off to critique her calligraphy, and in her spare moments, she copies the calligraphy scrolls he made himself—just for her own pleasure—and has even learned to imitate them to seven or eight parts of their original spirit.

…

“It’s in the painting box on the third shelf of the bookcase—why are you looking for these writings now?”

…

She is neither as gentle and quiet as Yingchun, nor as subtle and refined as Daiyu.

“Shishu, where did I put the piece I wrote last month—‘The Hard Road’?”

Every time Jia Cong returns, she pulls out her latest best work, waiting for him to critique it.

Each rare return, he comes to her room to sit and talk with her; the shoes and socks he wears are stitched by her own hands—she can’t help him in other ways, so she does these small things.

Shishu left Yingchun’s room and returned to Tanchun’s chamber, where she found her mistress organizing scrolls on her desk.

In Daiyu’s room, Zijuan saw her mistress take out the letter Jia Cong had sent through a messenger days ago—this letter, she had read countless times.

Each time she read it, she would flip through books on the shelf, and Zijuan couldn’t help but wonder why.

Then she saw Daiyu neatly copy the letter, and carefully place the original in her jewelry box.

At that moment, Baoyu entered, wearing a purple-gold coronet with inlaid gems, a moon-white robe embroidered with silver floral patterns and sword-style sleeves, tied with a silk cord adorned with knotted tassels—still the very image of a wealthy young master.

Seeing Daiyu poring over a book, he smiled: “Little sister, working so hard again? What new book is this? Let me take a look.”

Ever since Baoyu smashed his jade and made Daiyu vomit blood, she refused to speak to him for a long time.

Fat Baoyu kept coming to her room to beg forgiveness—after all, they were childhood cousins—and after many months, they finally began speaking again.

These past two years, Lin Meimei has grown into a beauty, more exquisite each day, her celestial grace beyond words, and Granny Jia dotes on her more than ever.

Though many sisters in the garden stand out, in Baoyu’s heart, all the essence and spirit of the world resides in Lin Meimei—no one else could ever compare.

But these past two years, Baoyu has clearly sensed that Lin Meimei is no longer the same—she’s grown distant, no longer as warm as in childhood.

When he visits her room to talk, she’s always buried in books, and they barely exchange a few words before falling silent.

Only when with her sisters does Lin Meimei speak more freely, her voice returning to its former gentle ease.

This troubles Baoyu deeply, but after that incident that made Lin Meimei vomit blood, he dares not lose his temper before her again.

He has grievances he cannot voice, often sinking into solitary melancholy.

Later, Madam Wang learned of this and thought it no bad thing—she even scolded Baoyu several times: now that all the girls are grown, they must behave properly, not as they did as children.

Fat Baoyu, as usual, fell into another bout of spring sorrow and autumn grief—but helplessly, he could only accept it.

…

Baoyu noticed a sheet of paper on Daiyu’s desk covered in writing.

Curious, he stepped forward and read: “The gentleman’s pursuit of learning values substance above all, and demands full adherence to the Dao. Substance without dignity cannot sustain learning; yet if the Dao is incomplete, how can one ever succeed…”

It looked familiar, but he couldn’t recall its source.

These past two years, he’d only visited the Imperial Academy fewer than ten times; he’d memorized the classics once, but half had already slipped from his mind.

Though Jia Zheng disciplined him harshly, it was like beating a broken gong—his efforts yielded little.

Baoyu saw Daiyu carefully reading the Annotations on the Analects, and his face stiffened.

What has happened to Lin Meimei? Such a celestial being should be reading poems of flowers and snow—why is she studying such vulgar texts on officialdom?

A gloom settled over him—he felt the vast heavens and earth, and not a single kindred soul in sight. He stood there, stunned.

Had he ever applied himself to study, he wouldn’t be such a fool—he’d have recognized that Daiyu’s writing was an eight-legged essay based on the Analects.

Two years have passed, and Baoyu remains unchanged—aside from learning more of the delicate sorrows of girls, he understands nothing else.

Daiyu noticed Baoyu standing beside her, looking as if he’d slipped into one of his trances, and her heart tightened.

“Baoyu, I’m tired—I need to rest. Go play with the other sisters for now.”

Watching Baoyu walk off in a daze, Daiyu finally exhaled—yet she did not rest, continuing to read the Annotations on the Analects.

Zijuan, curious, asked: “You’ve read this letter from Third Master Jia Cong countless times, even copied it out—what exactly does it say?”

Daiyu smiled: “This letter contains Third Brother Jia Cong’s eight-legged essay from his academy exam.”

Zijuan found this strange—Third Master was odd, sending a letter not with personal news but his exam essay, and yet his sister didn’t find it dull—she read it with real delight.

Zijuan laughed: “You’re so learned—what do you think of Third Master’s essay? Will he pass and earn his degree?”

“I read the Four Books as a child—though not as thoroughly as Third Brother Jia Cong—I’ve read many essays written by Father, and these past days I’ve studied the Annotations on the Analects closely.

Comparing them, I find his essay excellent—he will surely pass and earn his scholar’s degree!”

Zijuan noticed her mistress’s eyes gleaming with pride as she spoke, her expression as if she herself had passed the exam.

Over these past two years, Zijuan had observed carefully—when the mistress vomited blood that year, it wasn’t merely because Second Master Baoyu angered her; his words struck at her deepest heartache.

From that moment on, she lost her heart—perhaps she had lost it even earlier, though she herself never realized it.

(End of Chapter)