Pei Peng was half angry, half complaining:
"It's not my brother at all! He's just a, a low… a book boy!"
Pei Peng had originally wanted to belittle Ye Jinghe, but the words died in his throat. This person wouldn't be bothered even if humiliated, so saying anything would be pointless!
"What? A book boy? Pei Peng, you'd better not be fooling me, boy? Cheng'er, you tell me!"
Pei Cheng blinked and nodded:
"Brother isn't lying, it really is Changfeng."
Upon hearing this, Pei Changli couldn't help but draw in a sharp breath. His gaze swept over the four people before him, and he said in disbelief:
"All four of you were outdone by a mere book boy?"
"Father! Isn't Pei Du the same? Why are you only scolding us?"
Pei Changli ignored the four of them and simply waved them away. Seeing that he had escaped disaster, Pei Peng immediately slipped off with his three younger brothers.
Pei Changli sat down beside Third Master and drank tea for a full quarter of an hour:
"Father, I recall you saying that when Eighth Brother had been studying for a month, he could barely recognize a hundred or so characters, right?"
Third Master nodded:
"That's right. And even that made him the most accomplished among all you brothers. Time flies—Qingyan has already become a teacher. It goes by so fast. In the blink of an eye, it's time for Peng'er and the others to start their studies."
Pei Changli lowered his gaze, pondering something. After a long while, he said:
"What do you think—since our family has no scholars, and those four little rascals are wilder than wild, shouldn't we invite someone with literary refinement to come and keep them in check?"
"Someone with literary refinement? Do you take people for guardian beasts at the gate?"
Third Master shot Pei Changli a look of contempt. Pei Changli immediately said:
"Third Brother has Pei Du as his scholarly mind. That Changfeng fellow is just a book boy for Pei Du—he might as well come to our house and be our guardian beast! He'd definitely be willing!"
"Hmph, since that child is naturally gifted and intelligent, he certainly won't just follow you back like that."
"Tsk, Father, what do you mean by that? How about we make a bet? I bet that child will come back with me. If you lose… you're not allowed to protect that brat Peng'er anymore!"
"Bet it is. If you lose, just stop hitting the children. That temper of yours—you should learn to control it."
Third Master glanced at Pei Changli's hands. Pei Changli's ears turned red:
"As long as that boy doesn't make me angry!"
With that, Pei Changli strode away.
The ancestors of the Pei family were accomplished in both letters and martial arts. By this generation, all the literary refinement had gathered in the main branch, while the children of the second branch seemed more inclined toward martial training.
The elder brother's two sons had gone to the military last year, and the four Pei brothers didn't look like they were cut out for studying either. Pei Changli felt quite dissatisfied with this.
At this moment, Pei Changli was thinking about how to lure that boy to his household when, distracted, he collided head-on with a young maid from his wife's courtyard.
"Ouch! Girl, where are you off to in such a hurry?"
The young maid fell to the ground but still protected the basket in her arms. The first thing she did after scrambling up was to lift the floral blue cloth covering the basket to check inside. Only after a coquettish and delicate "meow" came from within did she breathe a sigh of relief:
"Master is back? Yesterday, Madam saw Fourth Madam bring back a puppy, so she specially sent this servant to 'invite' a cat!"
The young maid lifted the floral blue cloth to show Pei Changli, but he hadn't even gotten a clear look before she pulled it back:
"Cats are shy of strangers. This servant will go report to Madam now?"
"Go on."
Pei Changli watched the maid walk away and rubbed his chin. Even a cat needed to be properly "invited"—he would have to put some thought into acquiring his guardian of literary refinement.
A flower blooms in two places; let us tell one story at a time.
Pei Peng had made his escape. Ye Jinghe and Pei Du packed up their book bags and strolled leisurely back to the Jianjian Courtyard.
The sunlight was excellent today, and a trace of warmth still lingered in the air. Pei Du had someone set up a table in the courtyard and began working on his punishment writing.
When it came to his own matters, Pei Du was always accustomed to standing straight and taking his punishment. Now, holding the brush, he wrote with earnest concentration, carving every stroke into his heart.
Ye Jinghe also helped Pei Du grind the ink, observing Pei Du's brush lifting and movement in silence as he worked.
Say what you will, but Pei Du had absolutely inherited Pei Qinghe's talent as a master calligrapher.
At such a young age, the moment he picked up a brush, he was composed and unhurried. Character after character of black ink leaped onto the paper—horizontal and vertical strokes perfectly straight, balanced between thick and thin, landing on the slightly yellowed paper with a natural, rustic charm.
"Changfeng?"
Ye Jinghe snapped back to attention and immediately praised Pei Du's writing:
"Young Master's calligraphy is plain and elegant, with well-proportioned spacing. You must have put in a great deal of effort, haven't you?"
Pei Du was silent for a moment, then said softly:
"This is nothing. I've been writing since I was three, yet I still haven't reached even a tenth of my father's skill."
Three years old?
Ye Jinghe couldn't help but click his tongue. The bones in a three-year-old's hand wouldn't even be fully developed, would they? Did the young master really push himself that hard?
"But I think it's already very good—far better than mine, not by just a little…"
At the very least, it was far better than his own!
Pei Du smiled and looked at Ye Jinghe:
"Then let me teach Changfeng to write. Otherwise, what will we do if the teacher deducts points from your evaluation again next time?"
"Can… can you really?"
Ye Jinghe's eyes lit up instantly—when it came to calligraphy, he was completely lost!
"Of course we can. Someone, bring paper and brushes!"
The paper was laid out flat, with paperweights placed on top.
Pei Du asked Ye Jinghe to write a character first. Ye Jinghe thought for a moment, then wrote the character "heaven".
Setting down the brush, Pei Du studied Ye Jinghe's handwriting carefully and frowned slightly:
"Changfeng, you… have you written before?"
"I have. I used to watch the fortune-telling old man explain characters to people, and later I practiced on my own."
"No wonder. You move the brush freely, but your pauses are too forceful—it gives me the feeling that you're desperately trying to write down everything you know.
But to write good calligraphy, first you must not be impatient. Also, there's a technique to loading ink—you only need to dip about three-tenths of the brush.
What you just did was soak the entire brush tip in ink. Characters written that way come out weak and soft, bleeding into the paper—which is why you ended up with this… well, this black blob of a character."
Pei Du put it tactfully, but Ye Jinghe's ears still reddened. He immediately improved:
"Then let me try again."
Ye Jinghe reloaded the brush and wrote again. Pei Du nodded:
"Not bad! Changfeng is really clever!"
"Yes, yes, exactly like that!"
"…"
Ye Jinghe was so dizzied by Pei Du's praise that by the time he looked at the thick stack of practice paper he'd filled, he belatedly realized:
It seemed he'd been coaxed into accompanying the young master with his homework!
Still, today's practice had greatly improved his writing habits, so Ye Jinghe just rubbed his face and said with a hint of complaint:
"Young Master, if you want me to keep you company with your lessons next time, you can just say so directly. We've delayed so long today—who knows when I'll finish those three hundred characters?"
Ye Jinghe sighed, then a flash of inspiration struck him, and he hinted heavily:
"Young Master, need any help?"
Pei Du didn't speak. He simply picked out one of Ye Jinghe's characters and placed it next to his own—the difference was like comparing an ugly woman to a beauty!
Even Ye Jinghe felt embarrassed. No wonder the teacher wasn't worried about him writing for the young master—the gap was way too big!
Thinking this, Ye Jinghe obediently went back to practicing.
Practice!
Practice until death, and if he didn't die, practice even harder!
He refused to believe he couldn't write a good hand!
And so, the two practiced from outside to inside, from daylight to darkness. By the time Pei Du had finished thirty large sheets, Ye Jinghe was still writing.
Only now, the snow-white paper had turned black beyond recognition. Pei Du couldn't help but ask:
"Changfeng, what are you writing?"
Ye Jinghe looked up with a smile:
"Young Master, I took the used paper and your discarded sheets to practice strokes! These papers aren't cheap—throwing them away would be wasteful."
Pei Du glanced over and realized Ye Jinghe had already used up all the paper allotted to him.
"Why didn't you tell me you ran out of paper?"
"What's there to say? My handwriting isn't good—writing on good paper would just be wasting it!"
What Ye Jinghe didn't say was that his old notebooks had to be written on at least three times: once in pencil, erased and rewritten in pencil, then again in ballpoint pen, and if there was a red pen, he'd layer another pass on top.
"No, Father said that great calligraphers are nurtured by good brushes and good ink. Precisely because paper is expensive, every stroke must be deliberate, every stroke must be thought through—that's how you improve."
Pei Du spoke seriously, and Ye Jinghe was genuinely surprised. He… had been convinced.
Then Pei Du directly had someone bring another stack of paper and handed it to Ye Jinghe:
"The family business includes a paper mill. Changfeng needn't worry about these things—use as much as you want, there's plenty!"
Ye Jinghe opened his mouth, then finally bowed deeply:
"Changfeng thanks the Young Master!"
Since transmigrating, Ye Jinghe had thought that barely clinging to life through his early days was enough. He never expected that not only would he have the chance to learn to read and write, but even incidental things like practice paper would be covered for him.
"Young Master, you're so handsome today!"
"Handsome? What does handsome mean?"
"It means really impressive!"
Ye Jinghe hugged the thick stack of paper, overjoyed. Pei Du glanced at Ye Jinghe, washed the ink from his fingertips in the water, and curved his lips slightly:
"Then Changfeng is also very handsome today! Not only did you win the bet, you also sent Pei Peng running for the hills!"
"Hehe!"
By the time Ye Jinghe washed his hands, it was already dinner time. Before Pei Du could even speak, Ye Jinghe slipped away first.
The table was laden with delicious dishes wafting fragrant aromas, but as Pei Du slowly picked up his chopsticks and swallowed bite after bite, the food tasted like nothing.
He still felt that eating was more enjoyable when he was fighting Changfeng over food like they had at breakfast!
Ye Jinghe had no idea that Pei Du had lost his appetite eating alone after he left. At this moment, he was just warming up today's offerings from Jianjia Courtyard on the stove in the pantry.
This was a special meal Madam Pei had prepared just for him, and it was different every day. Today it was rice mixed with lard made from polished rice—snow-white grains topped with a solidified block of lard that, as the stove's warmth spread, melted into glistening oil, flowing and seeping completely into the rice, releasing the rich, savory aroma unique to animal fat.
Vivid green scallions and thick, dark-brown soy sauce filled every crevice of the rice. With one bite, an indescribable sense of satisfaction washed over Ye Jinghe, and he couldn't help but curl his lips into a blissful smile.
Days like this weren't bad at all!
＊
In a remote mountain village, a middle-aged man lay on a bed, frail and ravaged by illness, his cheeks sunken deep. A woman bowed her head, wiping away tears.
"Dear, do you have any last wishes?"
"Jing… Jinghe…"
The man opened his mouth, speaking with difficulty. The woman's tears fell like rain.
"You heartless man—even at the end, you still think of your nephew. If you go, what am I and our daughter supposed to do!"
"Heh heh… Jinghe…"
"Alright, alright. At dawn, I'll go find him…"
The bright moonlight streamed into the room, the man's ashen face meeting the woman's tearful eyes. The room fell into utter silence.