Ever since stepping foot into the Cheng family home, Tang Shen had wanted to stay as far out of it as possible. But today, even without Wen Yizhuang, Tang Shen had come to understand a single truth: no matter how weak or small Cheng Baoyi might seem, she was still Tang Shen’s backing within the Cheng family.
Tang Shen had seen no shortage of stories about turning weakness into strength, or even winning against the odds with a weaker hand. She herself was a prime example. Back at Starlight Elementary School, there were many such children: Tinghua’s family didn’t want to let her go to school, filling her spare time with chores, but after education bureau officials personally came to their home to counsel them, she eventually tested into a key municipal high school. When Zhuliang first arrived in Guangzhou, he was insecure and timid, but after discovering his talent for jump rope, he skipped his way all the way to the city championship, with his sights set on the national tournament…
Tang Shen didn’t go to Cheng Baoyi directly.
Instead, she took a detour and sought out Teacher Zhao. She said that there was no need to rush the Cheng family’s contact person over the next couple of days, that she would handle this matter, and that the school could rest easy. However, there was one thing: “Since Mingming is good at drawing, have him draw a picture, and have a dozen or so children sign their names on it, to use as a thank-you gift for Ms. Cheng.”
Ten days later, Cheng Baoyi returned to Guia Hill.
Regarding this matter, the servants gossiped endlessly, and some even ran over to probe Tang Shen. Tang Shen put on a bewildered expression. “I’m just Kejia’s tutor; I don’t know anything about these things.”
Nobody in this house was a fool, yet everyone could sense that something was amiss.
For instance, a childish child’s drawing had appeared in Cheng Baoyi’s room. For instance, some people had spotted Cheng Baoyi and Tang Shen out for night runs together. And even more people spoke with absolute certainty, claiming that Cheng Baoyi’s return this time was meant to snatch back everything that rightfully belonged to her—and that Tang Shen was her strategist.
Uncle Zhong, presuming on the small rapport they had built back when he picked Tang Shen up from Zhuhai, tried to fish for information indirectly. Tang Shen continued playing the fool, pointing to her own nose with an expression of sheer astonishment: “A strategist? Me?”
“Yeah. Otherwise, why would you always be hanging out with Ms. Cheng? And going into her room all the time. Weren’t you two going in there to discuss things?”
Tang Shen replied that Ms. Cheng was also interested in Chinese history, so she was giving her lessons. Uncle Zhong remained half-convinced.
She hadn’t actually lied to Uncle Zhong, though. On the day Cheng Baoyi returned, she told Tang Shen: Starting today, you’re coming to my place to give me history lessons, and you’re going to tell me every single story about power struggles, fighting for the succession, and recovering lost territory. Tang Shen said she hoped these lessons wouldn’t be held inside her house.
“Why? I don’t want to go back and see them… and Mommy.”
In Rome and Verona, Cheng Baoyi had visited two colosseum arenas. Wasn’t the Cheng family just a colosseum? She refused to be a slave, led around by the nose, fighting a desperate struggle like a caged beast. Her goal was very simple: to take back what belonged to her, to claw back the portion of power that had been stripped away—nothing more, nothing less.
Tang Shen had never been to Europe and had never seen a colosseum. The only things she had ever seen remotely associated with Europe were Macau’s omnipresent churches, the man-made Venetian canals, the Eiffel Tower, and the London Big Ben. This didn’t stop her from asking Cheng Baoyi: After achieving your goal, what then? Are you fighting for yourself, or are you fighting for the second branch?
Cheng Baoyi certainly hadn’t pondered that question back in the colosseum. Damn Italy—the weather was too hot, there were too many pickpockets, and the ground was too filthy. It wasn’t until she returned to her air-conditioned room in Macau that she finally calmed down completely. She asked out loud, was there a difference? Deep down, she knew full well—of course there was a difference, of course there was.
Tang Shen said, “If you’re doing this for yourself, then you might need to learn to…” She paused deliberately, putting on an affected air. This was her teaching technique; only by doing this would students pay serious attention to what came next.
Cheng Baoyi looked at her with rapt attention.
Tang Shen began: “First, detach yourself from the identity of the ‘second branch.'”
“Why?”
“When the old lady looks at you, she shouldn’t think of the second branch—she should think of Cheng Baoyi.”
“…Alright. I understand.”
“Second, divide the people of the first branch into as many separate factions as possible.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Tang Shen looked straight into her eyes, “the more people there are, the more mixed their loyalties, and the harder it is for them to stay united.”
The old lady had recently caught a cold and stayed in her room, not coming out to dine with the rest of the family. Naturally, the members of the Cheng family went in batches to show their concern and visit her. Tan Meiqi wanted to take her two children along, but Cheng Baoyi, keeping Tang Shen’s advice in mind and hoping the old lady would strip away her identity as “a person of the second branch,” made up an excuse that she was busy and would go later. In reality, she intended to go alone.
While Tan Meiqi took her son to visit Grandma, Tang Shen wasn’t sitting idle either. She went to knock on Sister Hao’s door and handed her a box of Guangzhou specialty pastries, Shuangchengji.
Sister Hao didn’t want to be indebted to others, especially since Tang Shen seemed a bit too clever. Clever people were always most wary of other clever people. So she smiled and said, “Oh, thank you. I won’t have any. I rarely eat these things anyway.”
“They’re low in sugar and oil. Sister Huan, Uncle Zhong, and the others all got some, and this last little portion is for you. Otherwise, they’ll accuse me of playing favorites.” Prompted this way, Sister Hao had no choice but to accept. She waited for Tang Shen to fish for some information, but Tang Shen simply wished her a good night and returned to her room.
Cheng Baoyi was sitting inside her room. When she saw Tang Shen come back, she didn’t greet her at first, sitting in silence for a brief moment. Cheng Baoyi finally couldn’t help speaking up, asking what she was thinking about. Only then did Tang Shen snap out of it, offering her a leisurely smile. With that, she shared her observations with Cheng Baoyi.
In this household, the person the old lady trusted most wasn’t any of her children or grandchildren—it was Sister Hao. Everything about Sister Hao was an extension of the old lady’s personal preferences.
During their brief conversation just now, Tang Shen had noticed that the glass cabinet behind Sister Hao neatly categorized and stored the old lady’s belongings: her regular medications and reading glasses went without saying. In addition, there were small iron boxes containing plum candies and ginger candies for the old lady to suck on after meals. On the calendar, everyone’s birthday in the household was circled; Sister Hao would remind the old lady ahead of time.
Beyond that, there were other details Tang Shen had observed through everyday watchfulness: “Whenever the old lady coughed, everyone else would swarm forward with profuse expressions of concern, but Sister Hao would be the very first person by her side pouring warm water.”
A sudden realization dawned on Cheng Baoyi. Compared against this, everyone else looked affected and pretentious, while Sister Hao was the only one who genuinely cared about Grandma.
“Sister Hao’s hands are always impeccably clean, her fingernails cut extremely short, and she doesn’t use any products with irritating scents—she washes with mugwort soap and uses honey locust pods for her hair.”
Another wave of epiphany hit Cheng Baoyi. She had never noticed that Sister Hao used all sorts of methods to minimize her own presence, making the old lady as comfortable as possible around her.
“Should I imitate Sister Hao and learn to be exactly like her?”
“No. Just keep it in mind. You are different from her.” As she spoke, Tang Shen began writing a checklist on a piece of paper. She jotted down items like plum candies and ginger candies—things Cheng Baoyi needed to buy and keep on hand with her at all times.
“When the old lady picks a successor, sure, she wants someone she likes. But most importantly, she has to choose a suitable person.”
Someone truly capable of carrying the future of Cheng Yongtang’s legacy on their shoulders.