Chapter 2: Everyday

A few months after the principal's wedding, the days in Xikou seemed soaked in warm water, flowing at an unhurried pace; the private school in the ancestral hall opened as usual, the clacking of the Jiang Family's salt shop abacus remained crisp, even the tune of the copper bells at the eaves blown by wind sounded just like before. Yet Li Yuxuan knew that some things had quietly changed—such as a jade pendant at Ruiyuan's waist, hanging from the embroidered pouch of his new wife Mao Fumei; and the lights in the West Wing often stayed on later than elsewhere.

Of course, what hadn't changed was the principal's relentless energy, and… after every mishap, he himself was always the one taking the blame.

That afternoon the sun was scorching, heating the blue stone slabs to a feverish glow. Li Yuxuan had just filled the courtyard's water jar when Jiang Ruiyuan grabbed him and hauled him toward the back door. The boy ran fast, his cloth shoes pattering on the ground, the stray hairs on his forehead drenched in sweat and stuck to his brow.

"Xiao Xuanzi, hurry, hurry!" the principal called back, his eyes shining as if they held hidden stars; if he were caught by his mother a little later, he'd get another scolding!

Li Yuxuan gasped, stumbling from the pull: "Young Master, where are we going?"

"You'll see when we get there!" Jiang Ruiyuan smiled mysteriously, pulling him into a narrow alley beside the old street. At the alley's end was a bamboo grove, and deep within the grove lay a small stream, its water so clear you could see the river stones— their secret hideout, where Jiang Ruiyuan loved to fish for catfish and shrimp or lie back and watch the clouds.

Just as they settled under a willow by the river, Li Yuxuan couldn't help rolling his eyes: "Young Master, I'm saying, it's been two years since you got married—could you stop always screwing me over?"

He rubbed his lower back, where the bruise from the last beating still lingered. It was also by this river that Jiang Ruiyuan had secretly taken the family's fishing net to cast, only for the net to snag the ducks raised by a neighboring landlord and be reported to Jiang's mother Wang Caiyu. Jiang Ruiyuan stubbornly claimed Li Yuxuan had urged him, and Wang Caiyu, without hesitation, seized a rattan rod behind the door and gave him a severe beating, leaving him too scared to sit on a hard stool for half a month.

Jiang Ruiyuan, just taking off his shoes, slipped his feet into the cool river water, raised an eyebrow at the remark: "Are you the Young Master or am I the Young Master?"

"You are, you are." Li Yuxuan replied irritably.

"Then tell me, when there's something tasty or fun, why didn't you think of me?" Jiang Ruiyuan hummed, pulled a wax‑paper packet from his chest, opened it to reveal two pieces of Osmanthus Cake wrapped in oil paper, sent yesterday by Miss Mao Fumei's family, very sweet, saved especially for you.

Li Yuxuan watched the two oil‑shiny pieces of Osmanthus Cake, his throat moving. Mao Fumei's skill was indeed superb; the pastries were sweet and glutinous, a flavor he had never tasted in his previous life. Yet that sweetness could not compare to the pain of being beaten.

"But Young Master, I'm the one who gets beaten every time," he muttered, yet took the Osmanthus Cake, broke off a small piece and shoved it into his mouth. The sweet fragrance instantly spread on his tongue, but his heart felt uneasy—Mao Fumei was fairly generous to the servants; sometimes when she saw him being tossed around by the principal, she'd secretly slip him a steamed bun, but after all she was the young lady of the house, and some things she would inevitably turn a blind eye to.

Jiang Ruiyuan gave no reply, just twirled a branch to tease the little fish in the water; after a while, he suddenly blurted out: "Mom, don't be stubborn."

Those three words were his catchphrase—coarse‑sounding but not malicious, more like a teenager's mutter when he's defiant. Li Yuxuan knew arguing further was useless; this Young Master, though two years older, hadn't changed his temperament, was stubbornly confident, and once he set his mind on something, even eight oxen couldn't pull him back.

The two stayed by the river until the sun tilted westward; Jiang Ruiyuan caught two small crucian carps, strung them on a grass rope, and walked back proudly. As they neared the Jiang Family Courtyard, they saw Wang Caiyu standing under the locust tree at the gate, wearing a blue cloth coat, leaning on a cane, her face as gloomy as an impending rain.

Li Yuxuan's heart gave a sudden thump, thinking something was wrong. Jiang Ruiyuan's smug grin froze, and he clumsily tried to hide the fish behind his back, but the two flopping fish were impossible to conceal.

Before they could get closer, Wang Caiyu's voice floated over, not loud but bearing undeniable authority: "Ruiyuan, where have you been wandering again?"

Jiang Ruiyuan tucked his neck in, the swagger he'd shown by the river vanished. He took a few steps to Wang Caiyu, then with a "thump" knelt down, his movements crisp and practiced as if rehearsed a hundred times.

"Mother, I was wrong." He lowered his head, his voice muffled, admitting he shouldn't have slipped out to fish and missed the task the master assigned.

Li Yuxuan stood behind, staring dumbfounded.

He thought, "No way! That's the Young Master who was bragging by the river just now? That's Jiang Ruiyuan, the one who dared to talk back to the master and snapped a private‑school ruler in half? When he saw his mother, he just knelt—where did that swagger go?"

He froze, neither able to advance nor retreat. Jiang Ruiyuan had knelt—what about his own follower? Follow suit? But he was a servant; there was no reason for a servant to kneel with his master before the matriarch. Not kneel? Wang Caiyu's gaze had already landed on him, clearly counting him as an accomplice.

While he wrestled with himself, Wang Caiyu's eyes fell on him, and she asked coldly: "Xiao Xuanzi, are you also joining the mischief?"

Li Yuxuan felt a pang of helplessness; just as he was about to explain that the Young Master had pulled him, his knee seemed to have its own mind and thumped onto the ground with a "thud." He didn't know why he knelt—perhaps he was caught up in Jiang Ruiyuan's decisive kneel, perhaps the matriarch's authority was overwhelming in this era, or perhaps… subconsciously he thought that being punished alongside this future principal was better than facing punishment alone.

Wang Caiyu looked at the two half‑grown children kneeling on the ground and sighed. Her son was good at everything except his wild temperament, which she couldn't control; luckily there was an honest Xiao Xuanzi with him, otherwise the trouble could have been far worse. She glanced at the fish tail protruding behind Jiang Ruiyuan and then at the mud clinging to Li Yuxuan's knee, understanding roughly seventy‑plus percent of the situation.

"Ruiyuan, you're punished to copy the Analects three times today; if you don't finish, you may not eat." Wang Caiyu's voice softened a bit. "Xiao Xuanzi, you're a servant; you should have warned the Young Master, yet you followed his mischief. Go to the accounting room and receive five wooden boards as a lasting lesson."

"Thank you, Mother." Jiang Ruiyuan didn't even lift his head.

"…Yes, Mistress." Li Yuxuan rolled his eyes internally; sure enough, he was the one getting beaten.

The two followed Wang Caiyu into the courtyard; Jiang Ruiyuan was ordered back to his room to copy texts, while Li Yuxuan hung his head and walked toward the accounting room. Passing the West Wing, the curtain fluttered slightly; Mao Fumei peeked out, gave him a glance with a hint of apology, then quickly withdrew.

Li Yuxuan forced a wry smile and kept walking. Five wooden boards struck his backside, burning hot, yet his heart was no longer that angry. He recalled Jiang Ruiyuan's kneeling moments and suddenly thought that this future principal was, at this moment, just a son afraid of his mother.

When night fell, Li Yuxuan carried a medicine bowl to Jiang Ruiyuan— it was a broth the kitchen had simmered at Wang Caiyu's order, meant to replenish the son laboring over copying. Jiang Ruiyuan lay on the table, one hand pressing the paper, the other gripping a brush, his brows tightly furrowed, murmuring under his breath, clearly stumped by the three rounds of the Analects.

"Young Master, the medicine is here." Li Yuxuan set the bowl on the table.

Jiang Ruiyuan looked up, his eyes a bit red, likely from the master's calligraphy torment. He glanced at Li Yuxuan and asked softly: "Does your backside hurt?"

Li Yuxuan blinked, shook his head: "It's fine."

Jiang Ruiyuan let out a small "oh", lowered his head to continue writing, and after a while pulled a wax‑paper packet from the drawer, handing it to him: "Mao Fumei's mung bean cake, cooling the fire."

Li Yuxuan clutched the mung bean cake packet, and as he stepped out of the room, saw the West Wing's light still on, the paper window casting Mao Fumei's silhouette as she bent over needlework. A wind rose outside the courtyard, making the copper bells at the eaves tinkle, and he suddenly felt that life in the Jiang Family Courtyard was like those bells—noisy and bustling, yet carrying an indefinable homely warmth.

Only he didn't know how much longer such days could last. The world, now, was already unsettled.

Li Yuxuan brushed the mung bean cake in his chest, feeling a vague premonition: these warm‑water‑like days were likely nearing their end. And the road ahead with this Young Master who always pits him against trouble would be hundreds, even thousands of times harder than copying today's Analects.