Five days later.
Cui Weijin wore a deep sky-blue wide-sleeved robe, his waist cinched with a jade belt. Compared with his usual court attire, this ensemble emphasized elegance and grace, with less of the official aura.
Entering Chengxin Hall, his eyes immediately fell on Princess Ming Zhao seated at the desk by the window.
Today, she wore a bright yellow cross-collar ruqun, her hair simply tied back, with a strand draped over her shoulder, secured with a pair of pearl hairpins.
She lowered her head, focused on the book open before her.
Morning sunlight bathed her figure, outlining a quiet, attentive profile.
Cui Weijin paused in his steps and murmured, “She’s here this early?”
He had expected that even if the Princess didn’t arrive late, she would appear at the appointed hour, somewhat reluctantly.
Yet she came so early—and so properly—that it truly surprised him.
Just as he was pondering this, a proud inner voice suddenly rang in his mind.
【I was dragged out of bed before dawn by Cuiguo to get dressed and do my hair.】
【Tremble, man—let me show you what a model student is!】
He knew then that this was the real Princess.
He walked steadily to the main seat in the study and sat down gracefully.
Princess Ming Zhao finally noticed someone had entered. Seeing Cui Weijin, her eyes curved into a smile. She set her book down and stood.
“Grand Tutor Cui.”
Cui Weijin’s gaze landed on her face, and he nodded slightly. “Princess.”
“From today onward, I shall temporarily oversee your studies.”
“The Imperial Astronomical Bureau reported yesterday that two days from now is an auspicious day. The palace will arrange a formal teacher-acceptance ceremony. Before that, we shall begin with your coursework.”
Upon hearing this, Princess Ming Zhao immediately stepped around the desk, walking to the center, and performed a proper student’s bow toward Cui Weijin.
“Student Princess Ming Zhao greets Grand Tutor Cui.”
Her tone was neither obsequious nor distant, light and brisk.
“Please guide me patiently in my studies, Grand Tutor.”
The words “Grand Tutor” sounded naturally affectionate, with a playful lilt at the end.
Cui Weijin acknowledged her bow with a slight nod.
This gentle, obedient Princess was entirely different from the bold, unrestrained version at the palace banquet, the seemingly delicate one outside the yamen, and even the Princess in the carriage five days ago who had wrapped herself in his cloak to argue cleverly.
He couldn’t help but wonder if agreeing to tutor her had been the right decision.
Such doubt rarely crossed his mind; he was methodical, decisive, and rarely second-guessed his choices.
But with Princess Ming Zhao, uncertainty often surfaced.
Accepting the role of her tutor might lead to situations far more difficult to control than he had anticipated.
Cui Weijin composed himself and gestured for Princess Ming Zhao to sit.
She obediently returned to her seat at the desk, hands folded on the table, back straight as a brush tip, showing the appearance of a diligent student.
Without further words, Cui Weijin retrieved several scrolls and books from a green cloth case he had brought with him.
He slid them gently toward Princess Ming Zhao.
Curious, she leaned forward to peek. On top lay a copy of Shangshu, beneath it Zuo Zhuan of the Spring and Autumn Annals, followed by The Art of War, and a compilation of Qi Min Yao Shu.
There was even an old edition of Records of the Commanderies and States.
Yet there were none of the usual texts for instructing women in this era, like Lessons for Women or Biographies of Exemplary Women.
She picked up Shangshu, flipping a few pages, then glanced at the stack beneath, raising her head to Cui Weijin with surprise.
“Grand Tutor Cui,” she shook the book in her hands, “I thought that for your first lesson, you would have me read Lessons for Women or Inner Training.”
She indicated the stack with her chin. “Are these really meant for me?”
Cui Weijin’s expression remained unchanged, calm and measured as always. He answered without hesitation: “Those books are not suitable for you, Princess.”
Princess Ming Zhao paused, then he continued deliberately.
“Princess is decisive, quick-witted, composed in danger, and…” He chose his words carefully, “…capable of planning and adapting.”
He seemed to refer to how she had cleverly maneuvered in front of Zheng Yingying at the yamen, ensuring he would agree to be her tutor.
“From observing your actions, Princess, you are not the type of woman content to stay in the inner chambers, treating her husband as the heavens.”
“Reading those books would only restrain your character and suppress your potential—it would be of no benefit.”
Unspoken, however, was that she had the courage and cunning to manipulate circumstances at the yamen, even on Laba night, to leverage his name to escape danger.
Such audacity and adaptability could never be contained by the rigid rules of Lessons for Women.
Teaching her those would be a waste.
She did not need taming—she needed guidance.
Princess Ming Zhao’s heart stirred at his words.
【He doesn’t think I should learn those silly submissive rules? He actually thinks learning them would waste my talents?】
As a modern-minded woman, she had always despised and rejected the traditional books meant to bind women, to stifle independent thought—chains imposed on countless women, voiced by men like Ban Zhao on behalf of all men.
Cui Weijin’s words not only avoided this trap but affirmed her entirely.
Her gaze lingered on him, less performative, more touched with genuine emotion she hadn’t realized herself.
She pulled a copy of Book of Rites from the pile, leaning forward slightly to shorten the distance between herself and Cui Weijin.
“Grand Tutor,” she said, pointing to a line on the page, “‘The gentleman is cautious when alone,’ and it also says, ‘Before joy, anger, grief, and pleasure manifest, it is called moderation; when expressed appropriately, it is called harmony…’”
Her eyes were puzzled, genuinely troubled by the question.
“Student is dull and does not understand why a gentleman must constantly restrain himself, even his joy or anger cannot be shown freely?”
“Happy, but cannot laugh; sad, but cannot cry; angry, but must suppress it. Is that still a living person? How is that different from clay or wood?”
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze shifting from the page to Cui Weijin’s face, a look of sincere inquiry, waiting for his answer.
The posture resembled a devoted student earnestly seeking guidance—but the slight lean forward and the fleeting glint in her eyes betrayed another, more calculating intention.