The door to the North Wing was open, with a small oil lamp flickering inside, casting a dim light.
The moment Chen Anshun stepped over the threshold, the atmosphere in the room shifted.
The Third Madam sat in a rosewood armchair, a steaming cup of tea resting by her side.
In her early forties, she was well-maintained, dressed in a raven-blue satin robe, with two gold and jade hairpins adorning her hair, embodying the demeanor of a noblewoman from the Assistant Magistrate's household.
Her body had been slightly leaning forward, poised to launch into a tirade.
But as Chen Anshun entered, her back straightened abruptly.
The teacup she held paused mid-air, the surface of the tea rippling with fine waves.
The aura of a Second-rate Martial Artist was entirely different from that of a third-rate one.
Third-rate martial artists trained brute strength; no matter how strong, they were akin to a sturdy ox. Second-rate was different; their strength seeped into their bones, their qi and blood formed a cycle, and even when standing still, a natural pressure emanated from their body.
This pressure wasn't heavy, but everyone present could feel it.
The Third Madam felt it.
The maid Little Cui standing behind her felt it too, instinctively taking half a step back.
Chen Anshun took two steps forward, stopping in the middle of the hall, and cupped his hands in greeting.
"Third Madam summoned this old man, may I ask what instructions you have?"
The Third Madam didn't speak immediately.
Her gaze swept from Chen Anshun's face to his feet, then back up again. His back, which had been hunched upon entering, was now straighter by two inches, and his steps on the stone floor were steady, unlike those of an eighty-year-old man.
Her mouth opened.
The first word almost leapt to her tongue: "Chen Anshun, I ask you, on the day Tian Yang fell from his horse..."
She stopped abruptly, swallowing the rest of the sentence.
Silence lingered for three breaths.
The Third Madam picked up her teacup, took a sip, and set it down. The porcelain clinked softly against the table.
"Congratulations."
The word squeezed out through clenched teeth, as if she were chewing on a stone.
Chen Anshun kept his head lowered, not responding.
He was waiting.
The Third Madam wouldn't call him over just to offer congratulations. This woman had managed the Zhao Residence's inner quarters for over twenty years and was the shrewdest among Zhao Guangfeng's three wives. The servants in the residence all shrank back when her name was mentioned.
Sure enough, after the word "congratulations" landed, more words followed.
"Recently, there was a small incident in the residence." The Third Madam's fingers rested on the armrest, her nails neatly trimmed and coated with a thin layer of lacquer.
"Tian Yang's horse was startled. My son Chengqi was frightened and bedridden for several days."
Chen Anshun's expression remained unchanged.
"I had someone investigate, and it was concluded that the horse's fright was purely accidental." The Third Madam paused, "However, Chengqi is timid and was quite shaken. As his mother, I can't help but feel uneasy."
Her gaze lifted, fixing on Chen Anshun.
"As the stable steward, when there's an issue with the horses, there should be an explanation."
This was originally meant to be an accusation, but it had been softened to a suggestion, from reprimand to a gentle reminder.
Chen Anshun understood clearly.
The Third Madam had found out.
No matter how discreet the methods, with Tian Yang plotting for his steward position and then falling from his horse shortly after, anyone aware of the stakes could easily deduce who was behind it. As for Zhao Chengqi, the chubby boy, he had simply scared himself.
If this had happened a day earlier, the Third Madam would have summoned him, berated him, docked three months' pay, and forced him to apologize to Zhao Chengqi on his knees, and he would have had to endure it.
But today was different.
Second-rate.
The gap between a Second-rate Martial Artist and a third-rate one was like a chasm.
Third-rate only trained strength; no matter how hard their fists, it was just brute force. Second-rate began training techniques; once strength seeped into the bones, the speed, precision, and lethality of their strikes were on a completely different level. A serious strike from a Second-rate Martial Artist could handle ten third-rate ones.
In Qingquan County, a Second-rate Martial Artist was someone who could enter the main hall of the County Yamen and have tea.
No matter how formidable the Third Madam was, she was merely a concubine of the Assistant Magistrate. Even the Assistant Magistrate himself would have to courteously offer tea to a Second-rate Martial Artist.
That's why the words "on the day Tian Yang fell from his horse" were swallowed back.
That's why "accusation" turned into "suggestion."
That's why she said "congratulations."
Chen Anshun lowered his eyelids and spoke.
"Rest assured, Third Madam. I've managed the stables for twenty years, always with care. The horse was agitated from eating wild grass, but I've re-screened the feed. Such incidents won't happen again."
His words were calm and steady. No admission of fault, no apology, but he gave her a way out.
The Third Madam's nails lightly scraped the armrest.
"That's good." She took another sip of tea, "Let's leave it at that. Chengqi is old enough now; he should learn to be braver."
The matter was closed.
Chen Anshun cupped his hands and took his leave.
As he turned, he almost couldn't contain the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
He exhaled.
A breath of stale air, pent-up frustration, twenty years of humiliation from tending horses. All expelled today.
Previously, Tian Yang, relying on his youth and strength, with the Third Young Master as his backing, constantly schemed to replace him, neglecting the horses and even poisoning him. Even if the people in the residence knew, they wouldn't side with an eighty-year-old stablehand with no future.
But now?
Even the Third Madam of the residence couldn't utter a harsh word.
Strength. It's all about strength.
In this world, with a strong fist, one stands tall. This truth never changed; it was just that his fists weren't strong enough before.
Footsteps approached from behind.
"Master Chen, wait."
Little Cui came running out from the North Wing, holding an oil paper package. A girl of seventeen or eighteen, with a round face, almond eyes, her figure not yet fully developed, but already showing signs of beauty.
"The Third Madam asked me to see you off." She walked beside Chen Anshun, handing him the package, "These are osmanthus cakes freshly steamed in the kitchen. The Third Madam said you've worked hard, take them home to try."
Chen Anshun accepted the package. The osmanthus cakes were still warm, their fragrance seeping through the paper.
When he was called earlier, not even a cup of tea was prepared, but now he was leaving with osmanthus cakes.
"Thank the Third Madam for me."
Little Cui didn't leave immediately. She followed alongside, taking a few small steps, tilting her head to glance at Chen Anshun.
"Master Chen, you're a Second-rate expert now. We servants will rely on you for support in the future."
Her voice trailed off, soft and gentle, carrying an indescribable undertone.
Chen Anshun's steps paused.
His body's reaction was faster than his mind. A warmth surged from his lower abdomen, descending three inches.
A face inexplicably flashed in his mind. Not Little Cui's round face, but Zuo Qingqing's smile when she tilted her head while dividing the gold.
Chen Anshun's ears burned for a moment.
He rubbed his nose, grinned, and replied in a hoarse voice.
"I wouldn't dare say support. I'm just a stablehand. If there's anything with the stables, feel free to come to me."
With that, he quickened his pace, heading towards the stables without looking back.
Little Cui stood at the end of the corridor, watching the hunched old man walk away, pressing her lips together.
A Second-rate Martial Artist.
An eighty-year-old Second-rate Martial Artist.
In her three years as a maid in the Zhao Residence, she had seen fewer than a handful of Second-rate experts.
Lin Wei, the head of the guard retainers, had been domineering in the residence for over a decade, with people lining up from the front gate to the back to curry favor with him. Now, a more formidable figure had emerged from the stables, and he was an old man without a family.
Little Cui turned back to the North Wing, a smile playing on her lips.
The news spread faster than Chen Anshun's steps.
First, it was Xiaochen from the stables.
He had seen with his own eyes how Chen Anshun's stature seemed two inches shorter when he entered and two inches taller when he left, and heard Little Cui's words "Second-rate expert" from the North Wing. He immediately shouted about it in the stables.
Then it spread to the kitchen, the flower house, the gatehouse.
Among the hundred or so servants in the Zhao Residence, by the time the hour of You arrived, fewer than ten hadn't heard the news.
In the study, Zhao Guangfeng was under the lamp, perusing a document sent from the prefecture.
Steward Uncle Zhou knocked lightly on the doorframe.
"Master, there's something to report."
"Speak."
"The stable steward Chen Anshun broke through to Second-rate today."
Zhao Guangfeng's hand paused on the document.
He didn't look up, his fingers brushing the edge of the paper.
"The eldest told me a few days ago that the old man was pushing for Second-rate." Zhao Guangfeng closed the document, leaning back in his chair, "Didn't expect it to be so soon."
"Nor did I," Uncle Zhou stood at the door, not entering, "This Chen Anshun has tended horses in the residence for twenty years, without a word."
Zhao Guangfeng's fingers tapped the desk twice.
The study fell silent for a few breaths.
"Stubborn mule." He repeated the term, identical to how he had said it earlier in the day.
But this time, the tone was different. Earlier it was a lament, now it carried something else.
Zhao Guangfeng stood, walking to the window. The study's window faced south, offering a view of the shadow of the old locust tree in the courtyard.
"Uncle Zhou, how far do you think an eighty-year-old Second-rate Martial Artist can go?"
Uncle Zhou pondered for a moment.
"I don't understand martial arts. But in my view, no one in the residence matches his tenacity."
Zhao Guangfeng didn't reply.
He returned to his desk, pulling out a thin booklet from the drawer. The cover was wrapped in fine leather, the Zhao family crest embossed in the lower right corner.
The Jade Tree Treasure Robe Diagram, a Zhao family heirloom.
Originally intended to aid the old stablehand, it seemed unnecessary now.
He thought for a moment, then suddenly smiled:
"Very well."
"Have Chen Anshun come to see me in the study at the hour of Chen tomorrow."