Chapter 2

The matriarch, Madam Sun, listened with an indifferent expression. She said, “What’s the point of going to school? It’s useless; you can’t take the imperial exams, there’s no money in it. Lian already went, but her head’s still as muddled as ever. Take her to buy meat and she can’t even do the accounts better than this old woman!”

Although the new emperor and the princess encouraged elementary schooling, regardless of gender, there were still few girls attending. Even with the government waiving fees, common folk were reluctant to send their daughters.

At six years old, a child from a poor family was already part of the workforce. Who would send a girl to school for three years instead of having her work? What kind of accounting was that?

Left with no choice, the Princess of National Peace proposed a new rule to encourage families to send their daughters to school: every household that sent a girl would have all fees waived, and each year, that daughter would receive a small stipend of silver and rice—not much, but still a benefit.

The court was essentially paying families to let their daughters attend school. Thanks to this policy, the number of girls at the school increased.

But the benefit was limited to only one daughter per family. If there were more girls, only one would receive the stipend; the rest would follow the old rules.

The Zhu family had three daughters; Zhu Lian was already enjoying the benefit. To Madam Sun, the remaining two, Zhu Xuan and Zhu Ying, were just “optional.”

Sitting nearby, Zhu Xuan heard her grandmother’s words and stood up indignantly, protesting loudly, “Why can’t I go? If my brother and sister can, why not me? What sense does that make?”

In Madam Sun’s eyes, of her three granddaughters, the eldest Zhu Lian was sensible and obedient, the youngest Zhu Ying was slow but never talked back, but the middle one, Zhu Xuan, for all her quick wits, was too clever for her own good—a willful child, impossible to discipline.

Madam Sun still bore a faint tooth mark on her belly, courtesy of Zhu Xuan when she was teething.

Back then, Zhu Xuan was just a little one. Madam Sun took her to town to visit her daughter Zhu Qing. While they chatted, Zhu Xuan played with her grandmother’s sash, tying a dead knot in it. As dusk fell, Madam Sun wanted to head home.

But Zhu Xuan refused to leave until the knot was undone. Madam Sun, thinking the child simply wanted to stay and play, tried coaxing, but grew impatient and picked her up to leave.

Who could have guessed the child was so stubborn? Seeing Madam Sun about to haul her off, she bit down hard on her grandmother’s belly through her clothes.

Madam Sun yelped and fell to the ground. In the end, Zhu Xuan had to be pried off by her aunt Zhu Qing—no one knew where such a tiny, freshly teething child found such strength.

After biting her grandmother, Zhu Xuan received her first ever parental double beating from Zhu Ming and Shen Yun.

And the tale of the “mad dog” who bit her grandmother as soon as she grew teeth became a legend in the small Reed Village.

People said, “The Zhu family’s second daughter is as fierce as a hunting hound—just grew teeth and already bit her grandmother.”

Now, Zhu Xuan had grown into the very embodiment of “sharp-tongued.” As she stood there arguing, Madam Sun’s belly tingled at the memory of that bite.

She truly disliked Zhu Xuan, scolding, “Why are you shouting when I speak? No manners! School? You’re already unruly—school will only make you worse! You’d do better to stay home and learn discipline from your mother. What future is there for a girl at school? Your eldest brother went to private school for another two years and he’s still a blockhead! Your sister Lian went and she’s still dull! You think you’re the reincarnation of the God of Literature?”

Zhu Tang and Zhu Lian, also caught in the line of fire, didn’t feel embarrassed. Zhu Tang just grinned sheepishly, unconcerned.

Zhu Lian bowed her head, not really understanding her younger sister’s longing. She herself preferred playing at home to going to school. If she’d known Zhu Xuan wanted it so badly, she would have let her have the stipend; she only regretted being born a few years earlier.

Zhu Xuan quickly glanced at Madam Sun, her voice a bit quieter but still defiant: “I’m smarter than my brother and sister—why can’t I go when it’s my turn?”

She wanted to argue more, but was silenced by a tap from Shen Yun, who gave her a stern look. Zhu Xuan fell silent at once. Facing Madam Sun, Shen Yun resumed her gentle manner: “Let’s talk about Xuan’s schooling another time. Ming has only just come back…”

Zhu Ming scratched his head, regretting that the subject had come up.

…

Because Zhu Ming had returned, they really did have meat for dinner that night.

Madam Sun, in rare generosity, cooked a big bowl of braised pork with bamboo shoots. The dried bamboo shoots, soaked and stewed with the pork, cut the grease and absorbed the flavor—the meat was tender and mouthwatering.

Thanks to the nearby river, fish wasn’t scarce in Reed Village, so Madam Sun and Shen Yun also made a loofah and fish soup; the milky broth was flecked with vivid green loofah, as bright as jade.

Golden scrambled eggs scented with scallions, a big bowl of lotus root fritters stuffed with meat, deep-fried to a golden crisp—plus cold dishes of roasted eggplant and smashed cucumber—all made for a feast by the Zhu family’s standards.

To welcome his son home, Old Man Zhu even brought out a flask of homemade rice wine, planning to drink a few cups with Zhu Ming over the delicious spread.

With so many people, they had to cover the Eight Immortals table with a round top to fit everyone. The children sat in a row, oldest to youngest, all eyeing the food hungrily.

Zhu Xuan had only meat on her mind. At Madam Sun’s command, “Alright, let’s eat,” she immediately lunged with her chopsticks at the braised pork in the center.

Madam Sun saw her move but didn’t have time to speak before Zhu Xuan had snatched a piece of pork, pressing it into her rice and eating it up. It was a piece of pork belly, perfectly braised, the sauce soaking into the rice, irresistible.

“Here, my good grandson, have a big piece,” Madam Sun said, putting a large piece of meat in Zhu Tang’s bowl.

The youngest, Zhu Di, having just learned to eat, was being fed by Shen Yun. He stared longingly at the meat, so Shen Yun gave him a small piece to taste. Zhu Lian, ever dutiful, only picked a bamboo shoot. Zhu Ying wanted to copy Zhu Xuan but her arms were too short to reach.

So Zhu Xuan stretched her chopsticks out for more, but saw her grandmother staring at her from across the table as if she were eating her way into the old woman’s own share.

Zhu Xuan pretended not to notice and quickly picked up two more pieces, tossing one into Zhu Lian’s bowl—since she didn’t like meat—and giving the other to Zhu Ying, who couldn’t reach. She took a bamboo shoot for herself, savoring its meat-soaked flavor with her rice.

For once, Madam Sun said little during the meal, the food being so delicious. The Zhu men all had second helpings. Zhu Xuan got up for more, but Madam Sun only gave her a small scoop, saying, “That’s enough for you.”

Madam Sun was famous in Reed Village for her “microscopic” accuracy in measuring rice. Each person’s portion was carefully calculated; rice was cooked to be neither too much nor too little.

For Zhu Xuan, that meant a not-quite-full bowl, with a little extra only as a rare treat.

The women of the house—herself and Shen Yun—could have a packed bowl, and Shen Yun, being pregnant, a bit more. Old Man Zhu and Zhu Ming got two bowls. Zhu Tang, not yet grown but still developing, received one and a half, firmly packed.

This skill at measuring rice made Madam Sun renowned across Reed Village. Whenever families needed to feed a crowd during busy times, they had her do the cooking, because whether for many or few, her rice never came up short or excessive.

She prided herself on this housewifely expertise, believing it the best skill to pass down. If the girls mastered it, they’d be ideal daughters-in-law in a bustling household—no mother-in-law could find fault. What could those girls at the school possibly learn to match that?

She shot another glance at Zhu Xuan, determined not to let her go to school but to keep her at home, teaching her to cook and tempering her willful spirit.

Of her three granddaughters, Zhu Xuan was the prettiest, but also the most likely to “ruin things” with her stubbornness.

Everyone knew the tale of the girl who bit her grandmother as soon as she grew teeth. Such a beautiful child—if her wild ways made her unmarriageable, it would bring shame on the family. As she ate, Madam Sun stared at Zhu Xuan, fretting over her future.

Zhu Xuan felt her grandmother’s gaze fixed on her as if she were a piece of meat. Uneasy, she lowered her head and kept eating. Why was her grandmother staring? It made her skin crawl.

She was self-aware enough to know Madam Sun disliked her. Her meager serving disappeared quickly, and even though she wanted more, she knew there’d be none left—her grandmother’s “perfect calculation” meant the pot was empty.

Zhu Ming, unlike his mother, was fond of Zhu Xuan—she was pretty and smart, and her stubbornness reminded him of his own youth, learning to paint.

Just as Zhu Xuan, feeling only three-quarters full, was about to sigh with regret, her father, newly returned, grinned and asked, “Still hungry, Xuan? I’ll go scrape the crispy rice from the pot for you.”

At this, all the children looked up eagerly. Zhu Tang, in his cracking voice, joined in: “I want crispy rice too.”

Zhu Ming put on a mock stern face at his sooty son: “You look like a piece of crispy rice yourself!”

In the end, every child got a piece of the pot’s crispy rice. There truly was nothing left; Madam Sun’s measurements were spot on.

Madam Sun, having withheld extra rice, just squinted and snorted, “Go ahead and spoil her, Ming—spoil her until she’s completely out of hand. When she’s grown and can’t marry, you’ll regret it then.”

Old Man Zhu, having finished his meal, sipped his wine and tried to placate her: “Enough with the curses—why say such things about our girls? If your words come true, you’ll only regret them later.”

“Hmph! By then I’ll be dead—I won’t have to see it, so what’s there to regret?” Madam Sun retorted even louder.

Zhu Xuan, munching on her crispy rice, didn’t care. The crispy rice was delicious. Marriage? What did that have to do with her? Her grandmother always nagged her about such things—she’d heard it so often she’d grown calluses in her ears. It was just tiresome.

Shen Yun looked at her oblivious second daughter and could only sigh. She patted her own belly, sensing that this child would also be a girl, and silently hoped she wouldn’t take after her second sister.