Chapter 320 Step by Step

Chapter 320: Gradual Progress

At dusk, as the sun set, Song Tingzhou returned from his official duties, bringing Wu Zhaoyuan with him. Everyone could see what Lady Zheng meant by bringing her niece to the capital, yet the two people most concerned could not defy their elders' orders.

"My mentor took me in as his disciple when I was at my lowest, and my mentor's wife married Shen'ge to me. Their kindness is as heavy as a mountain, and I truly cannot bring myself to speak of it."

For an ordinary man, this matter would have been grudgingly accepted, after all, the old couple genuinely had Wu Zhaoyuan's best interests at heart, even willing to put their own son at a disadvantage for his sake. If Wu Zhaoyuan were to say anything harsh, wouldn't it chill the old couple's hearts?

But if he were to accept Shiniang, Wu Zhaoyuan felt it wouldn't be right either. He couldn't quite articulate why, but over the years, he had come to envy the harmonious marriage between Song Tingzhou and Meng Wan.

A crowded inner quarters brought nothing but trouble—he knew this all too well from experience. Shen'ge was already a sensitive soul; if he worried too much and ruined his health, wouldn't that be losing sight of the greater good for a lesser concern?

"I've racked my brains but can't think of a good solution, so I've come to seek your help, brother-in-law." Wu Zhaoyuan was truly at his wit's end. Had anyone else heard his plea, they would have said he was biting the hand that feeds him.

This matter was indeed troubling. In modern times, there was such a thing as being childfree, but in this era, if you dared to say you wanted no children, your parents would break your legs first.

Meng Wan spoke frankly, "There's no good solution at the moment. A Xun says that both you and sister-in-law are physically healthy; it's just that because of his unique physiology as a male consort, conception is difficult. Add to that the fact that sister-in-law has been bottling everything up inside, his heart heavy with pent-up emotions—that also has an effect. For now, the only option is to delay Lady Zheng's proposal of taking a concubine and reassure sister-in-law."

Lady Zheng was his own mother, not a stepmother, and no matter how many rules the Zheng family had, they still knew how to cherish their son. If Zheng Shushen were to have a child of his own, Lady Zheng would naturally abandon the idea of having Wu Zhaoyuan take a concubine.

"Shen'ge was actually very happy after his stay at the estate with you last time. Why not take him out again?" This would also conveniently avoid the elders at home.

Meng Wan agreed readily, "That's not difficult, but Uncle Zheng and his wife don't think too highly of me. I need to change their view of me first before I can take sister-in-law out."

Song Tingzhou frowned slightly, "I'll go speak with the old master."

Wan'er's temperament was already the finest in the world, and he had friends everywhere—why should he suffer the indignity of dealing with an old stick-in-the-mud like Zheng Su?

"No, even if you speak to him, he may not listen. Better let me handle it." A stubborn traditionalist like Zheng Su wouldn't easily change his views, and Meng Wan still needed to ask him to tutor his son, so he ought to put in the extra effort.

Meng Wan finished the painting that Song Tingzhou had left incomplete, but instead of giving it to the Wu family as a gift, he had Zhifan hang it in Chang Jinhua's residence. In its place, he substituted the painting he had completed in the Hall of Supreme Harmony that day.

That painting, completed in the great hall that day, had originally been used by the Emperor to assert his authority, but was later claimed by Prince Yerqiang of the Tibetan Empire as a gesture of goodwill, making up for the half of the tribute that had been withheld.

Unfortunately, when Lezheng Qi later accused the Lezheng family and the Tibetan Empire of plotting treason, Prince Yerqiang had his arm severed on the spot, and the painting naturally returned to Meng Wan's hands.

The painting had quite a legendary history, and having received the Emperor's approval, no matter how aloof Zheng Su was, he surely couldn't refuse such a painting.

"This painting is too precious. You should take it back." Zheng Su spoke words of refusal, but his eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the long scroll spread across the table.

Meng Wan reached out and began rolling up the scroll, with a feigned sigh, "Since the old master feels this way, this junior will not insist."

Seeing that Meng Wan didn't even put up a token protest and actually rolled up the painting, Zheng Su's small eyes bulged in surprise in an instant, then twitched twice as he averted his gaze.

Actually having to ask a younger person for the painting would be more painful than death.

Meng Wan held the scroll, speaking with a hint of melancholy, "Could it be that Uncle Zheng refuses this junior's painting because he disdains this junior for being a merchant?"

It was true that he had previously looked down on Meng Wan, thinking it improper for an official's male consort to be so restless, engaging in trade and lowering himself. But now that he knew Meng Wan was a disciple of Xiang Yun, a master of brush and ink, his genuine appreciation for the artwork was also real.

Zheng Su opened his mouth and dryly forced out two words, "That is not so."

"Uncle Zheng has also seen this junior's painting. When my master first took me as a disciple, he often said I lacked a painter's heart. It took me years to understand what that heart truly is." Meng Wan's eyes grew nostalgic; mentioning Xiang Yun's words was not an act.

"In the art of painting, there are many schools, and this old man knows little of it. But your work is good—better than Xiang Yun's."

Xiang Yun might have the greater fame, but in terms of standing, Zheng Su was considerably higher, for his disciples were all genuine scholars, degree holders, and even officials serving in court.

The "Zheng Su Academy" had been passed down for a hundred years, and Zheng Su indeed had the authority to judge.

Meng Wan said solemnly, "This junior believes that in the way of painting, there is no such thing as who is better or worse. As long as a painter has found their heart, they paint where their heart leads."

"The reason this junior was able to complete that painting in a single stroke at the Hall of Supreme Harmony that day was because of all I had witnessed along the way. Why can merchants profit through cunning, while farmers only know how to toil in the fields, often going to bed hungry?"

Zheng Su was initially disdainful of discussing such matters with a young male consort, but Meng Wan's painting served as a door-opener, making him unconsciously respond, "Merchants are cunning, skilled at getting more for less. Farmers are simple, at the mercy of landlords and country gentry."

Meng Wan pressed further, "Then why can't those farmers learn to be as shrewd as merchants to protect their own interests?"

Zheng Su was stumped. Farmers and merchants—these seemed like stock metaphors in essays and policy discussions. When people wrote eloquently about them, they were merely one-dimensional symbols, not real, complex groups of people.

Farmers were farmers—honest, sincere people.

Was it because they were born willing to be ordinary farmers?

No, it was because they had no other choice.

Meng Wan's question remained sharp, "If only the children of the clever are clever, and only the kin of the wise produce geniuses, then must the children of farmers remain farmers forever? Must the children of merchants spend their lives in trade?"

Zheng Su's throat was dry. He picked up his teacup and took a large gulp, the liquid wetting the long beard on his chin, but he had no time to tend to it now, "N-no... not necessarily."

Meng Wan progressed from the shallow to the deep, hitting at the crux of the matter, "Children of farming families are naturally at a disadvantage compared to aristocratic families. The six arts of a gentleman—my husband only encountered them when he reached the level of a government student at the prefectural school, but aristocratic children are trained in them from childhood. That is the gap. The children of farmers may not be content to scratch a living from the soil forever, but they have no other choice. Over time, if those in court deliberately suppress them, the righteous faction will decline, and won't the entire court become a single voice for the aristocratic families?"

Zheng Su's hand holding the teacup trembled, "Ah?"

No wonder there were widespread rumors that His Majesty intended to reform the aristocratic families these past two years. So the situation at court had become this dire?

Meng Wan spoke with complete seriousness, his expression even more solemn than Zheng Su's, "Uncle Zheng, do you know that aristocratic families did not rise overnight, and ordinary people are not without opportunities to defy fate?"

Zheng Su was somewhat afraid to respond, his mind buzzing. Having spent years in education, he still strove to steady himself, "Though farmers face difficult circumstances, those with true talent, as long as they are diligent and hardworking, can still hope to rise."

Meng Wan shook his head, "But a handful of scholars can hardly change anything, nor shake the foundations of the aristocratic families."

Zheng Su knew this too—even if the literary culture flourished south of the Yangtze, how many of the yearly crop of successful candidates could actually remain in the capital? In contrast, the sons of noble families had hereditary quotas to enter the Imperial Academy, and after some maneuvering, they could secure a sinecure as a capital official.

A commoner's life's work was merely the first rung on the ladder for the privileged.

"What you speak of is too fanciful, not something ordinary people seek." That was all Zheng Su could say in response.

Meng Wan argued earnestly, "How can it not be sought? If books reach every commoner, and learning spreads to every village, the malady of ignorance will naturally be eliminated. People can discern right from wrong, enlighten the ignorant, open their intellect, and free themselves from the trap of foolishness. Moreover, they can cultivate virtue and develop talent, and a natural sense of right and wrong will emerge!"

"This... how is this possible?" Zheng Su felt Meng Wan was speaking more and more outrageously, yet his favorable impression of Meng Wan had risen more than a little.

To understand the suffering of the common people so deeply, even surpassing his own carefully trained students.

Though Meng Wan spoke in plain language without ornate rhetoric, his words had substance. Were they written into a fine essay, how astonishing they would be.

Zheng Su was startled by his own sudden thought, and in a daze, he sensed Meng Wan's purpose in spinning this long discourse.

"How could it be impossible? Mencius said: 'On self-reflection, if one is in the right, though thousands stand against me, I will go forth.'"

Meng Wan quoted an ancient passage he had seen in Song Tingzhou's books, speaking with fervor and passion as he stood before Zheng Su, "Does Uncle Zheng not wish to see the glorious sight of all people in the nation of Yu, from top to bottom, knowing propriety and understanding decorum, admired and praised by foreign lands?"

"The Foolish Old Man moved mountains, chipping away at rocks and digging at the earth—we are the predecessors!"

Meng Wan had become quite skilled at feeding people inspirational rhetoric. Even the Crown Prince, who revered imperial authority above all and was cool and rational, could be swayed by his words. A staunch old Confucian like Zheng Su, who revered the way of Confucius and Mencius, who won people over through virtue and cultivation, and constrained himself with ritual propriety, was easy prey.

In just two short sentences, Zheng Su had already forgotten how he had ignored Meng Wan yesterday, declaring that inner quarters should not casually meet outside males.

Clearly, those pedantic notions were merely the means by which aloof scholars, in their self-importance, constrained women and disparaged merchants.

Zheng Su and his wife often had complaints about Meng Wan's merchant activities, little knowing that Meng Wan carried his own pride in his heart.

As Li Bai wrote: "The old scholar expounds on the Five Classics, white-haired yet stuck in textual annotations. Ask him about strategies for governance, and he is as if lost in a fog."

Zheng Su is always going on about propriety and ethics, holding forth with his students on matters of the world, yet in truth he has no idea how much a shoulder-load of firewood costs or how many dou of grain are needed to get through the winter.

The Zhengs admire Song Tingzhou, but they could never become the kind of good official he is, precisely because they cannot lower their haughty heads, and thus cannot see the suffering of the common people.

Meng Wan arrived at the door early in the morning, and Old Madam Zheng, out of propriety, had been waiting in the rear courtyard of the second compound since early. But when he never showed up, she sent her old nanny to the front courtyard to check, only to hear that the old master was deep in conversation with Meng Wan, while the two Song children beside them were nearly nodding off.

Though puzzled, Old Madam Zheng did not dare disturb her husband, so she could only wait patiently.

Zheng Shushen's eyes were red and swollen, and she had calmed down a bit. The night before, Wu Zhaoyuan had had a heart-to-heart with her until midnight.

The couple had laid out their worst-case plan: if they still had no children by forty, they would buy a woman of clean background from outside and bring her in as a concubine.

If Zheng Shushen could conceive, whether it was a boy or a girl, Wu Zhaoyuan would never take a concubine, ever.

In truth, Zheng Shushen had been prepared to follow her husband's will since before marriage, but after all these years of mutual respect with Wu Zhaoyuan, and since Wu Zhaoyuan never brought it up, she had chosen to play dumb.

Especially with the Zhu and Song families around her, both of whom stayed faithful to their wives, this had given Zheng Shushen the false impression that everyone lived this way.

This time, her mother bringing Shiniang along felt like a slap in the face for Zheng Shushen, leaving her momentarily unable to accept it.

Having been married to Wu Zhaoyuan for six years, she knew her husband well—Zhaoyuan wasn't one to chase after pretty women, was upright in character, and if he made such a promise, he would certainly keep it.

In the past, Zheng Shushen might have guiltily helped Wu Zhaoyuan arrange it, but now, having witnessed the devotion between Song Tingzhou and Meng Wan that had lasted over a decade, could she really just hand her husband over to someone else?

Her father had always called the shots in the Zheng family, and Wu Zhaoyuan was her father's beloved disciple, so for now, the best move was to have Wan Geer talk some sense into her father first.

Wan Geer is resourceful—if he steps in, it'll definitely work!

Having made up her mind, Zheng Shushen pressed the snow-chilled handkerchief to her eyes, then sat silently beside her mother with her eyes closed.

Old Madam Zheng's heart ached slightly, and she tried to engage her daughter in conversation. "Shen Geer, your father's never been one to chat with the womenfolk of the household. Why has he kept Meng Fulang talking for so long this time?"

Zheng Shushen said flatly, "Aren't you also a woman of the inner quarters, Mother? Has Father not spoken to you for years, only writing love poems with the concubines?"

"You—" Old Madam Zheng's face turned ugly.

Shiniang tried to smooth things over: "Sister Shushen, how can you speak to Auntie like that? She gave birth to you and raised you, always offering you earnest guidance. My mother died when I was little—you have no idea how much I envy you."

Zheng Shushen's unhappiness lately came not just from her parents but also from this simpering little cousin. She said coldly, "Since you envy it so much, and your natal family has no one left anyway, why not just get adopted into our family?"

If she were truly adopted into the Zheng family, Zheng family daughters are never given away as concubines, and an adopted daughter can't outrank a real daughter, so Shiniang would have to marry some scholar or provincial graduate.

Juren usually married young, so suitable ones would be few and far between—at best, Shiniang could marry some poor, pedantic village scholar. How could some poor village scholar compare to Wu Zhaoyuan—a bangyan from the Hanlin Academy, a capital official?

Shiniang wrung her handkerchief and said nothing.

Old Madam Zheng looked at the two of them, but couldn't very well scold the outsider, so she scolded her daughter first: "I raised you for seventeen years and then married you off. Where are your manners and upbringing? How did you get so sharp-tongued and mean?"

Zheng Shushen's eyes began to well up again. The scolding from her own mother cut like a dull knife, hurting her to the core.

She took a breath to steady herself, and was about to speak when Meng Wan's voice came from the doorway: "What's all this, Old Madam Zheng? Why so worked up? My mother told me to come in person to invite you over to the Song house. Would the old madam grace us with her presence?"

He'd spent half the day talking and had finally won Zheng Su over, getting this old fossil to listen to a thing or two he had to say, and also handled a few other little problems on the side. And of course, his painting had conveniently been left hanging in the main hall.

With Zheng Su won over, his wife and that little cousin didn't matter much anymore.

Old Madam Zheng had been about to refuse flat-out, but remembering how Meng Wan had called her "Aunt Zheng" yesterday and now "Old Madam Zheng," and that Lord Song was close with her son-in-law, she managed to force a smile. "I didn't sleep well last night, and I'm a bit tired. Besides, it's getting late—let's do it another day."

Meng Wan had been waiting for her to say exactly that. "In that case, I'll take Sister-in-law with me. My mother's been saying she misses Sister-in-law, and she's even made her favorite—lamb steamed in milk."

Old Madam Zheng was taken aback. "Lamb steamed in milk? What kind of dish is that? Shushen, won't you stay for the meal? I've had them prepare—"

Zheng Shushen rose and gave her mother a distant curtsy. "Mother, Aunt Song personally cooked and invited me over. I can hardly say no. Let Shiniang keep you company for the meal."