Early summer of the second year of Baoning, Sweetwater Lane, Wenzhou Prefecture.
At the turn of spring into summer, the morning breeze already carried a hint of heat. The Zhu family courtyard, built beside the water, managed to retain a bit more coolness. A large locust tree that would take three people to encircle shaded half the yard, and the stone mortar by the courtyard wall used for pounding rice was also half-shaded, with locust blossoms scattered across its surface.
In the main house, the matriarch Yang Tieniang smoothed the collar of the gray-blue jacket she had just put on as she walked out. Once the collar was straightened and she stood firm, she squinted at the empty courtyard and the rising sun in the east, then drew a deep breath and bellowed:
“The sun’s glaring down your throats, the heat’s nipping at your backsides! I had a few extra cups of cheap wine for my birthday last night, and now you lot think you can play dead? No reading, no work, no living? Get up this instant!”
Zhu Fusheng, in the west room of the north building, heard the voice piercing through the walls and struggled to open her eyes.
The room was thick with the cloying sweetness of leftover date cakes from the night before. Her sisters sharing the room were already frantically pulling on their clothes.
Four sisters shared this room, yet not one of them knew that she—this seven-year-old youngest daughter of the second branch of the Zhu family—had transmigrated into this world.
The Zhu family was a large household.
The patriarch, Zhu Dingning, was an old scholar who had failed the imperial examinations repeatedly and was said to have a fate that harmed his wives. At twenty-one, he married Yang Tieniang, a butcher’s daughter with a sturdy enough destiny. Because the eldest branch had no sons, and no scholar had yet been cultivated to bring glory to the family, the household had never been divided.
The eldest branch’s Zhu Yongwen was Fusheng’s uncle. He had little talent for study—by eighteen, he still hadn’t passed the child scholar exam. His elementary texts were a mess, though his calligraphy was elegant and spirited. The old patriarch observed him quietly for half a year, saw that he was slick and cunning, with not a shred of his mind on his books, and finally gave up on him. He found him work as a ledger keeper at a restaurant and married him to a scholar’s daughter named Lin Cui. The following year, the eldest granddaughter of the Zhu family, Meisheng, was born.
Unfortunately, the couple never conceived again in the years that followed, raising only Meisheng as their sole daughter.
Lin, considering herself the eldest daughter-in-law, quietly competed and grew twisted in temperament, pressing down on her daughter Meisheng until she became increasingly withdrawn and soft.
The second branch’s Zhu Hewen was Fusheng’s own father. He and his elder brother Zhu Yongwen were twins who looked nothing alike. Unlike his brother’s lack of talent for study, Zhu Hewen had four parts talent and six parts effort, but not a single part of luck. He passed the child scholar exam at eight, delighting the old patriarch so much that he drank and shouted wildly, “Ancestors bless us!” But who could have foreseen that for the next twenty years, every time he sat for the examinations, it would be plagued by natural disasters or man-made misfortunes. Dragged along until now, at twenty-eight, he still hadn’t earned the title of scholar.
If he simply couldn’t pass, that would be one thing.
But he was so unlucky that even getting into the examination hall was a trial. On the one occasion he did manage to enter, an old candidate went mad—of all the examinees in the hall, only he had his paper torn and was beaten until his head swelled like a pig’s.
His luck was so abysmal, so utterly appalling, that the old patriarch dared not tell him to establish a career before starting a family.
In the same year he gave up on his eldest son, that hopeless case with no talent at all, he also arranged a marriage for Zhu Hewen with Hu Xiangdi, the daughter of a farming-scholar family from their hometown. Four months after the eldest branch’s child, the second branch’s eldest daughter, Lansheng, was born. Two years later came the twins: the third daughter, Fusheng, and her twin brother, Junsheng.
Junsheng was the eldest son of the second branch and the eldest grandson of the Zhu family, so naturally he received the old patriarch’s utmost attention.
As luck would have it, on the very night before Hu Xiangdi gave birth, Old Master Zhu dreamed he entered the Wenchang Hall, where the Emperor of Literature bestowed upon him brush, inkstone, and dragon-phoenix paper. Outside the window, a qilin guarded the house, while the Star of Literature held a scroll and a celestial maiden presented a seal, standing side by side, both bathed in auspicious light.
With such a portent, Old Master Zhu, who had long hoped for a scholar in the family to bring glory to their ancestors, placed even greater importance on this eldest grandson—and by extension, doted a little more on his granddaughter Fusheng as well. He became convinced that his eldest grandson was the reincarnation of the Star of Literature, and Fusheng the reincarnation of the celestial maiden.
The Zhu children were named in sequence after the plum, orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum. The eldest daughter was called Meisheng, the second Lansheng, and the eldest grandson was named Junsheng, with the wish that he possess the noble and resilient character of bamboo. Fusheng, as the third daughter, should by order have been called Jusheng.
But Old Master Zhu felt she was exceptionally blessed, and the name Jusheng did not suit her. He wanted to name her Fusheng (meaning “blessed”), yet feared she might not be able to bear the weight of such fortune and perish young. So he chose a homophone instead and called her Fusheng (with a different character). This made her unique among her sisters.
Fortunately, Meisheng was gentle-natured and Lansheng protective of her own. Hu Xiangdi felt that the favored child was hers, so she had no complaints. In the household, no one saw anything wrong with it—except for the eldest aunt Lin Cui, whose temper had soured from suppression, and the third aunt Cao Sanqiao, who felt a twinge of awkwardness when her daughter later inherited the name Jusheng.
And Fusheng herself? She had gone by that very name before she transmigrated, so she felt not the slightest discomfort.
As for the inwardly awkward third aunt Cao Sanqiao? Her husband, the third uncle Zhu Bingwen, who only loved woodworking, was skilled at coaxing. He had already soothed his wife’s feelings by the time the fourth daughter Jusheng was six months old. Now that Jusheng was five, Cao Sanqiao had long accepted her daughter’s name. Besides, she was pregnant again, and her only stubborn wish was to bear a son so that her branch of the family might earn a bit more regard from the uncles and grandmother. She had no other thoughts.
As Hu Xiangdi put it—”Cao Sanqiao is a stubborn mule. She’d better not give birth to a little mule!”
Fusheng struggled to crawl out of her bedding. The weather was growing warmer, and because the sisters had been fooling around the night before at their grandmother’s birthday celebration, she had only wrapped herself loosely in an off-white ramie belly band before sleeping. Now, as she sat up groggily, she felt a slight chill.
Meisheng had already thrown on an outer robe and gone out to fetch water. Lansheng was putting on her jacket, and Jusheng, though slower, had already slipped on her shoes. Hearing the bustle both inside and outside the room, Fusheng quickened her pace.
Every morning she had a task different from her sisters’, so she was never on the same rhythm as them—but with Grandmother standing in the courtyard, she couldn’t afford to lag too far behind.
She snatched her clothes from the head of the bed in a flash. By the time Fusheng pushed aside the bamboo curtain and stepped out, she was already dressed in a light green short jacket, matching lake-green trousers with a crotch, and a hemp-yellow wrap skirt tucked around her waist, with the cross-collar of her jacket tucked into the skirt. The whole ensemble suited the early summer season perfectly.
In truth, she was still young and didn’t need to be so particular—she could have gone without a skirt.
But the Zhu family was a scholarly household. Old Master Zhu had taught both grandsons and granddaughters to read and write, and he required the children to dress properly, in keeping with the standards of a cultured family. Thus, when the Zhu daughters reached seven, even if they weren’t accustomed to wearing skirts, they were expected to wear a wrap skirt to complete the outfit.
Fusheng and her sisters lived in the west room of the north house. Stepping out, they entered the main hall of the north house, where a large water vat sat in the center, stocked with several red-and-white koi—specially procured by Old Master Zhu through his connections.
It is said that the red-and-white koi, with its white body and red markings, symbolizes leaping over the Dragon Gate, passing the imperial examinations with distinction, and good fortune coming one’s way. All of it reflected the old master’s hopes that the sons and grandsons of the family would make a name for themselves through scholarship.
Crossing through the main hall of the north house, the east room lay directly opposite. In this east room lived Fusheng’s full brother, Zhu Junsheng—also the most important task Fusheng had to attend to each morning at dawn.
She knocked lightly on the door, but there was no sound from within. It seemed that even Granny’s booming voice had failed to wake Junsheng.
Fusheng shook her head and let out a sigh. She gave the door a harder slap, then pushed it open and walked straight in.
Her elder brother Junsheng’s door had been ordered unlocked by the old master himself half a month ago, precisely so that Fusheng could enter.
Fusheng had transmigrated here a month ago. Half a month ago, she had come to the conclusion that if she wanted to live well in this man-eating ancient world, this family—which was running out of steam—needed someone strong enough to hold up the roof beam.
There were many sisters in the family, and Grandfather kept muttering about needing someone to study and enter officialdom. Seeing that her elderly grandfather and her hopelessly unlucky father were beyond counting on, she fixed her sights on her full brother Junsheng—a boy with considerable talent for study, yet exceptionally fond of play, unable to sit still, always finding a way around any rule, and utterly beyond anyone’s control.
She wasn’t planning to lean entirely on this brother and live as a parasite. She simply didn’t want her future to keep spiraling downward.
If she was going to study hard, then how could Junsheng—her brother with real scholarly talent—not strive to improve day by day?
So, after Fusheng resolved to push her brother toward greatness, one afternoon half a month ago, when the whole family was present, at the very moment Junsheng was once again paying lip service while wasting his time and putting on a pitiful act, she snatched up the feather duster that Hu Xiangdi had newly made, pinned Junsheng to the ground, and gave him a thorough beating.
The scene was quite a spectacle. Fusheng—a quiet, well-behaved, pretty young girl on ordinary days—erupted in an instant, wielding the feather duster with such ferocious vigor that feathers flew everywhere. Had it not been for Junsheng’s piercing howls of pain and desperate pleas for mercy, the Zhu family members, stunned into stillness by Fusheng’s display, might never have snapped out of it.
Junsheng was the only male grandchild in the Zhu family—rare precisely because he was one of a kind. Add to that his youth, his excessive cleverness, his honeyed tongue, and his endless resourcefulness… Those in the Zhu family who doted on him couldn’t bear to speak harshly or act firmly with him, while those who wished him to become a wastrel who squandered the family fortune were only too glad to see him waste more time, letting the golden years of youthful study slip away.
Fusheng was the first person who could make him beg for mercy, shouting, “I’ll study hard for sure!”
The elders of the Zhu family had been stunned, with a hint of irritation, but the moment they heard the words “I’ll study hard for sure,” their attitudes shifted instantly—led by the old master himself, those elders who hoped Junsheng would study diligently and pass the examinations changed their tune—
Wasn’t it simply that a beating could make him study? They couldn’t bear to lay a hand on him, and they always ended up trapped in his schemes and toyed with. But Third Aunt was different!
Third Aunt was willing. Third Aunt could do it. And Third Aunt clearly had plenty of strength and methods!
At that very moment, the old master even found time to recall his dream of the Wenchang star holding a scroll and a celestial maiden presenting a seal, sincerely sighing that Junsheng and Fusheng were truly blessed by heaven to have come into this world together. He remarked that Lord Wenchang must have known his family couldn’t control the reincarnated star of literature, so he had specially sent a celestial maiden to keep him strictly in line.
Old Master Zhu’s words made Fusheng snort with disdain, but she was quite satisfied when he immediately decreed that Zhu Junsheng, as her elder brother, would be under her—his twin sister’s—authority. At least he wasn’t a muddle-headed parent who spoiled his children.
Although before her transmigration she had been a single chef who had never raised children, she’d certainly seen enough to know how it worked. In her view, Zhu Junsheng was simply taking advantage of being doted on, acting recklessly without fear!
There was no such thing as a literary star’s reincarnation or heavenly maiden’s discipline—it was simply her using force to suppress a brat. And thank goodness her body, Zhu Tiniang, had inherited her mother-in-law Yang Tieniang’s natural divine strength; otherwise, she might not have been able to keep him in line!
“Brother?”
Fusheng’s foot crossed the threshold of the north room’s eastern chamber, and the bamboo curtain she’d pushed aside fell behind her with a “clatter,” striking the doorframe with a crisp sound. On the bed, Junsheng, wrapped in his quilt and sleeping soundly, felt a chill run down his back. His mind stirred toward wakefulness, but ultimately he lost to the six characters “slept too late” and “rest not enough,” only pulling the quilt tighter around himself.
“Zhu Dalang?”
The room was undoubtedly a mess, carrying the smell of chicks from a chicken coop—warm and stuffy, even more unpleasant. Fusheng frowned deeply and, reaching out, pulled a feather duster with an ample supply of feathers from the coarse ceramic flower vase on the tall stand by the door—a gift made by Third Uncle Zhu Bingwen, far sturdier than the one his own mother Hu Xiangdi had tied together, and it wouldn’t send feathers flying everywhere.
“Zhu Junsheng!”
Eyeing her elder brother, who had curled himself into a silkworm chrysalis on the bed, Fusheng took aim and raised her arm. The feather duster, nearly as long as her entire arm, cut through the air with a whistling sound and landed steadily on the lump bulging beneath the quilt.
“Ow!!”
Along with the muffled thud landing on the quilt came Junsheng’s howl, startling the birds that had just perched on the large locust tree into flight, startling Lin Cui, who had just smoothed the hair at her temples and stepped out, into stillness—but failing to stir Yang Tieniang, who stood beneath the eaves.
“Good girl! More and more like me in my youth!” Yang Tieniang glanced toward the north room, feeling quite pleased.
Hearing Yang Tieniang’s words, Lin Cui’s hand gripping the doorframe tightened, her fingernails gouging shallow marks into the wood. Her eyelids drooped, her gaze fixed straight at the ground, and her other foot paused inside the threshold, not moving half a step for a long while.
“Cuiniang, what are you blocking the doorway for?”
In recent years, Zhu Yongwen had found it increasingly hard to understand what his wife was thinking about all day—she was always blocking doorways and gouging at the wood. If the doorframes in their home weren’t sturdy, the frame of the eastern chamber’s door in the east room where they lived would have long since failed to hold the door up.
Lin Cui was lost in thought, and when Zhu Yongwen spoke, it startled her into a jolt. The foot she’d kept inside the threshold shot forward, catching on the threshold and nearly sending her sprawling face-first.
She scrambled to grab the doorframe, but in doing so, she bent back the fingernail she’d specially grown long for splitting embroidery thread, and the pain made her eye sockets flush red in an instant.
“Aiya!” Zhu Yongwen cried out in surprise. Tilting his head, he saw that Lin Cui’s eyes held no tears, only reddened rims, and he let out a relieved breath, his expression turning easygoing again. “Don’t block the way now—we got up late today. If we don’t wash up soon, we’ll truly be late for work!”
With that, he squeezed past her from the side. Catching Yang Tieniang’s glance, he put on a cheeky grin and headed toward the kitchen.
In the kitchen, his daughter, the eldest girl Meisheng, had already heated up the washing water.
“Alright now, what’s with the long face this early in the morning? Trying to spite me on purpose?”
Yang Tieniang could not stand her eldest daughter-in-law’s appearance. She also did not understand—when the woman had first entered the household, she had seemed like a proper, respectable person. How had she become someone who reddened her eyes at nothing within such a short time? Over all these years, she would put on a bitter face at the slightest provocation, and her fortune was nearly being wept away.
Yang Tieniang lived up to her name. Though she was not ill-favored in appearance, her sturdy build and years spent as a pig butcher gave her an air of iron-blooded dominance that came naturally to her. Even now, dressed in the most ordinary of women’s clothing, when she cast a sideways glare, it was still quite intimidating.
At least in Lin Cui’s eyes, her mother-in-law Yang Tieniang was as fierce as a tiger or a wolf.
She answered in a timid, faltering voice, then lowered her head once more. Because Yang Tieniang was in the courtyard, she retreated back into the house.
By the time Fusheng had slapped Junsheng awake with two resounding smacks, watched him pick up his book and begin reading, and then emerged from the north room, the last corner of Lin Cui’s skirt had already vanished beneath the curtain of the eastern room’s inner door.
Fusheng had heard what happened outside. As for Lin Cui, this eldest aunt who reddened her eyes at least three times a day, Fusheng could only admire her.
In the month since she had arrived, she had gone from initially wondering whether Lin Cui was being treated unfairly to now, like everyone else in the household, simply pretending not to see it. It had not taken much time, but the emotional toll it had exacted was immeasurable.
It was just as well that Lin Cui had gone inside.
Thinking of the brother inside who had been beaten and was now playing pitiful to beg for food, Fusheng walked over to Yang Tieniang with the intention of using this as an opportunity to refine her own culinary skills:
“Grandmother, elder brother says he wants to eat meat-filled steamed buns. The day before yesterday, Aunt He taught me a fresh new flavor. We have all the other ingredients at home—we’re only short a basket of fresh bamboo shoots.”