The woman, always dressed in Mongolian riding attire,e was the wife of General Aru, whom Chen Ningtian had mentioned. Locals mostly called her Lady Dolan.
The young man’s name was Ertu, General Aru’s eldest son.
General Aru had many children, and his household originally had two Han Chinese tutors. One of them, like Wang Zhefu, was an official exiled here, but he had recently received an imperial edict for reinstatement and left Jilin last month.
General Aru was often away in the army, and Lady Dolan handled most of the household affairs. She wanted to fill the vacancy of a Han Chinese tutor in the household, and after much inquiry and comparison, she deemed Wang Zhefu the most suitable.
Knowing that Han Chinese scholars valued the proper teacher-student relationship, Lady Dolan personally visited with her son to request that Wang Zhefu teach at the General’s residence.
It was common for exiled scholars to be hired as tutors in the residences of local high-ranking officials and generals. Furthermore, General Aru’s residence was in charge of garrison affairs; if Wang Zhefu were to work there, Chen Tu could conveniently relieve him of his land reclamation duties—a good thing.
However, Wang Zhefu still hesitated.
Most of the children of nearby military households studied under him; if he suddenly abandoned them…
The military households naturally wouldn’t dare object to the general’s invitation, but Wang Zhefu felt uneasy. Moreover, even if he taught at the general’s residence, his family would still live there; they would see each other constantly, making it awkward.
“Let’s go,” said Old Madam Dong that evening. “This lady and the young general have visited twice, and we’re not entirely sure of their temperaments. We shouldn’t offend them rashly… Besides, after that troublesome affair with Ji Wu, Deqing is still young, and being a girl, I personally don’t want any more criminals in the family. It’s better not to pay the grain tax. And if you join the general’s household, you’ll make some connections, which might pave the way for the family.”
Compared to her principled husband, Old Madam Dong, who had managed the household for many years, was always the most pragmatic. However, she also considered that it wasn’t appropriate to abandon the military household… While she didn’t care about her husband’s pride or his lofty ideals of enlightening the people, living here meant that social connections were indispensable.
The poorer and more ignorant the place, the more people relied on personal relationships to survive.
The old lady had made up her mind: “I will teach these lessons for now.”
Wang Zhefu was surprised: “This… will it work?”
“Why not?” The old lady glanced at him: “These children won’t learn very advanced Chinese studies, just some characters, some numbers, and a few poems… Ask Deqing, who started her education? And who taught her to read the poems at first?”
Zhenyi answered sincerely: “It was Grandmother!”
Wang Zhefu laughed, agreeing repeatedly, and bowed to his wife: “…You’ll definitely have to call her Teacher Dong from now on!”
Seeing her grandfather give her a look, Zhenyi understood and winked, immediately bowing deeply to her grandmother, bending as low as she could.
Ju Zi raised her two front paws and bowed, which also counted as a bow.
Wang Zhefu clicked his tongue in amazement, praising Ju Zi for having “quite the bearing of a Weasel spirit.”
Qi Sheng, standing nearby, exclaimed, “This orange is so spirited! It’s a true Orange Immortal!”
Zhenyi laughed and picked up the orange. Even the usually stern Old Madam Dong chuckled.
The moonlight of the Lesser Fullness of Grain (Xiaoman) bathed the courtyard in a soft glow. A real weasel leaped into the yard. Through the window, one could see figures inside, laughing and chatting happily.
Next, Wang Zhefu went to teach at the General’s mansion, and Zhenyi’s life gradually changed.
General Aru had a daughter named Baoyin, only a few months older than Zhenyi. In May, she also began attending classes at Old Madam Bu’s place.
Twelve-year-old Baoyin was somewhat awkward and proud. Several of her classmates, the Manchu girls, were somewhat competitive with her, making it even less likely for Baoyin to actively befriend them.
After half a month, Zhenyi was the only one who had earned Baoyin’s favor.
This friendly glance stemmed from a conversation after class one day. Finding herself with no one to talk to, Bao Yin passed by Zhen Yi’s desk, arms crossed, and casually asked, “Is Mr. Wang, who teaches my brother Chinese classics, your grandfather?”
Zhen Yi looked up, a smile appearing on her face, and nodded. “Indeed.”
Bao Yin raised an eyebrow. “So you know who I am.”
Zhen Yi smiled and said, “Of course.”
That smile was sweet, but her eyes were pure and serene, open and honest, giving one a sense of peace.
Bao Yin found it somewhat strange. Although the other knew her identity, she had never tried to inquire about her grandfather’s life in the General’s Mansion, nor had she waited for Bao Yin to fawn over her. Now, when asked, she simply nodded calmly, showing no sign of shame or inferiority because of her grandfather’s criminal record.
Bao Yin thought about it. In the past two weeks, the other girl seemed mostly focused on her studies. She hadn’t deliberately socialized with anyone, and didn’t seem to care much about what those around her were doing. However, everyone seemed to like her.
Bao Yin had initially harbored some prejudice against Han Chinese women, but this stemmed from the fact that those women always held prejudices against her first. The daughters of Han Chinese officials in Jilin often privately mocked her for being uncouth. Even if they didn’t say it outright, their disdain for her was subtly revealed.
Through spending time together, Bao Yin gradually realized that Zhen Yi wasn’t like that at all.
Zhen Yi wasn’t a bookworm either. Although she seemed to have a good temper, her speech was exceptionally clear, and her eyes were particularly bright—definitely not a dullard.
Bao Yin liked her and slowly began to show kindness to Zhen Yi, always wanting to be with her.
One day after school, Baoyin mounted her horse and saw several Manchu girls coming out with Zhenyi. She reached out to Zhenyi, inviting her to mount her horse: “Come on, I’ll take you to find Mr. Wang!”
Once Zhenyi was on her horse, Baoyin’s expression became even more smug. She raised an eyebrow at the girls, shouted “Giddy up!” and spurred her horse away proudly.
This was Zhenyi’s first time riding a horse.
Baoyin had been learning riding and archery since she was seven, and her horsemanship was already quite skillful. The horse galloped along the summer path, and Zhenyi nervously gripped the horse’s neck, urging Baoyin, “Slow down, slow down!”
From that day on, Baoyin often took Zhenyi back to the General’s Mansion. The oranges that came to pick Zhenyi up were packed in her book box and taken along as well.
The General’s Mansion had its own grassland horse farm, where in the afternoons, the young people from the mansion and the neighborhood would practice riding.
Baoyin wanted to teach Zhenyi to ride a horse, something Zhenyi had never dared to imagine: “…Me? Can I even learn?”
“You didn’t bind your feet, how could you not learn? Perfect, you teach me my studies, and I’ll teach you riding and archery!”
Although Zhenyi was eager to try, she felt this was a big deal and said seriously, “I still need to ask my grandfather first.”
Baoyin immediately pulled Zhenyi to find her mother, Lady Dolan: “…If Mother asks, Mr. Wang will surely agree!”
Lady Dolan looked at Zhenyi being led by her daughter and smiled slightly.
She could see that Baoyin, seemingly strong, actually relied quite a bit on Zhenyi.
Zhenyi seemed quiet, but she had her own ideas and a very settled mind; such a child would learn anything faster than others. Lady Dolan granted her daughter’s request but refused to allow her daughter to teach Zhenyi. Horse riding was no joke; if she were to teach someone, she had to do it properly, otherwise a good deed could turn into a bad one.
After obtaining the King’s permission, Lady Dolan personally taught Zhenyi riding and archery.
Lady Dolan was skilled in riding and archery, and many children studied under her; adding Zhenyi wouldn’t be a problem. Knowing this, Zhenyi felt relieved, gratefully and solemnly bowing, formally beginning her apprenticeship.
Lord Orange, who had always worried that Zhenyi was overworking her eyes and brain by focusing solely on studying, also supported this, wanting to cultivate a healthy child, both physically and mentally. It was good that she had at least one sporting skill.
Afterwards, Zhenyi attended classes at the private school in the mornings, and after class, she and Baoyin returned to the General’s Mansion to learn riding and archery.
Everything was fine, except Chen Ningtian’s pout grew ever higher.
After class that day, Chen Ningtian not only pouted but also made a loud rustling sound as she turned the pages of her book.
Zhenyi, sitting in front of her, couldn’t see her pout but could hear the rustling. She turned around, leaned forward, and placed her hands on Chen Ningtian’s desk, asking softly, “Wanyu, what’s wrong?”
The two were only a year apart in age and often addressed each other by their courtesy names in private. In public, Zhenyi addressed her as “Elder Sister Chen.”
The elder sister from the Chen family ignored Zhenyi, still pouting and flipping through her book. “Don’t say I haven’t done anything wrong,” she said. “Even if I had, you’ve found a new sister, Baoyin, now that you’re out there, you might not even have time to think about me…”
Zhenyi let out a soft “Ah,” reaching out to stop Chen Ningtian from tearing up the book. Just as she was about to speak, Baoyin, who had been watching, walked over and said to Chen Ningtian, “How about this? After class, you can come riding with us!”
Baoyin didn’t dislike Chen Ningtian, but more importantly, she was afraid that if Chen Ningtian pitifully shed a few tears, Zhenyi would soften and be coaxed back, never to ride and play with her again!
Invited by Baoyin, Chen Ningtian subconsciously looked at Zhenyi, who nodded repeatedly.
Chen Ningtian was overjoyed and pleaded with his grandmother and father for three whole days, finally obtaining their permission. However, Chen Wen was still worried about his daughter, so he sent his sixteen-year-old eldest son along to look after Zhenyi.
General Aru was Chen Tu’s superior, and although they were just friends, Chen Wen still prepared gifts and sent them to the general’s residence, explaining that his two children were mischievous and playing together, and asked Madam Dolan to be understanding.
As the autumn wind brought a touch of coolness, Zhenyi was able to ride her horse slowly for a couple of laps on her own.
Zhenyi’s initial riding attire was Baoyin’s outgrown clothes. Later, Zhuo Mama and Tao’er made two new outfits for Zhenyi. The materials weren’t necessarily of the highest quality, but Zhuo Mama was very skilled and attentive to Zhenyi’s needs—since the incident with Ji Wu, Zhuo Mama’s feelings for Zhenyi had expanded beyond that of a mistress and servant.
Zhenyi wore a light green riding outfit, its tightly cinched belt embroidered with small white plum blossoms that resembled orange paw prints—the work of Mama Zhuo.
The twelve-year-old girl, dressed in the light green riding outfit, sat on horseback, her whole being radiant and carefree.
Sports naturally bring joy and cheerfulness. As Zhenyi bounced along on horseback, the two braids in her hair, tied with light yellow ribbons, swayed back and forth. To Orange, watching from afar, they resembled the drooping ears of a puppy; Zhenyi looked exactly like a carefree, happy little dog.
This “happy little dog” in Orange’s eyes was suddenly startled.
A fast horse galloped towards them, and Zhenyi hurriedly tightened the reins to dodge.
The large horse reared up high and then slammed down, accompanied by the joyful laughter of the boy on horseback.
Still shaken, Zhenyi was mocked. Looking over, she saw Ertu, who wore a smug expression.
As General Aru’s eldest son, Ertu spent the first half of the day studying and the second half practicing riding and archery or serving in the army.
“What are you doing!” Baoyin rode up, questioning her brother and brandishing her whip.
Ertu disdainfully caught the whip that was swinging through the air, then tossed it aside and rode off.
“You wait! I’ll get revenge for you!” Baoyin threw down the words at Zhenyi before angrily chasing after her brother.
Seeing that Zhenyi was alright, Ju Zi was relieved. She lightly jumped onto a nearby wooden shelf, crawled into Zhenyi’s bookcase, and peacefully began to sleep—of course, for Ju Zi, it was work; guarding the bookcase was a very important task.
Being disturbed while “working” annoyed Ju Zi. The bookcase shook slightly from being patted. Orange opened one eye and saw a handsome young man’s face.
The young man’s eyes held a hint of curiosity. He had just reached a hand to the edge of the bookcase when Orange suddenly slapped him.
Orange hadn’t used its claws; a paw strike wouldn’t hurt, but the cat’s punch was so fast and sudden that it startled Ertu, who quickly withdrew his hand.
“What a jerk,” Ertu scoffed, turning and walking away. Orange continued to concentrate on its “work.”
Orange nestled comfortably in the bookcase, sniffing the air, catching the scent of autumn harvest in the breeze.
The King’s Auxiliary no longer needed to farm and pay taxes; the previous wheat harvest had been helped by the nearby military households, and the fields had been distributed. Two acres of wasteland were cultivated nearby, managed by Zhuo’s mother and Qisheng, for self-sufficiency.
Wang Zhefu taught at the General’s mansion, leaving early and returning late each day, always escorted by carriage.
Several Han Chinese advisors worked at the General’s mansion, assisting General Aru with miscellaneous tasks. When Wang Zhefu wasn’t teaching in the afternoon, he would either visit his granddaughter at the horse farm or chat and play chess with the advisors. As evening approached, he would take his granddaughter and Ju Zi home.
Zhenyi loved this journey home.
Most of the time, sitting in the carriage, Zhenyi could see the dense starry sky and listen to her grandfather talk about the arrangement of constellations and the ways of nature.
If they returned early and there were no stars to see, she would listen to her grandfather’s calculations.
Occasionally, it would rain, the rain pattering on the carriage roof. Zhenyi would listen to her grandfather talk, sometimes falling asleep against the orange tree, her dreams filled with its purring. When she heard the dog barking, Zhenyi would groggily wake, knowing she was home.
Every time she entered the courtyard, she would first smell the aroma of food.
Upon entering, Zhenyi, carrying her book chest, would always call out, “Grandmother, we’re back!”
Autumn passed quickly, and by winter’s month, heavy snow had buried the roads. Zhenyi no longer went to school or the General’s mansion, spending her time at home reading, playing with the cat, and doing needlework.
On the eighth day of the twelfth lunar month, a letter arrived from Jinling.
The letter had been sent in September, but the winter roads in Jilin were difficult to traverse, and it took nearly a hundred days to reach Wang Zhefu.
The letter contained both good news and bad news.