◎Father is Becoming More Sensible◎
It turned out the imperial court, fearing oversight of talented individuals, would hold a unified make-up examination in the province by July. Students who missed the Ke Examination could still directly participate in the Xiang Examination if they ranked within the top thirty.
No wonder scholars flocked to imperial examinations—the court showed remarkable consideration toward educated individuals.
Chen Yan looked at him: “Why such a strong reaction?”
Ping’an conjured an adorable smile: “I’m happy for Father.”
Chen Yan felt somewhat comforted. At least the child knew remorse—perhaps there was still room for redemption. Yes, still a good boy after all.
Ping’an jumped barefoot from the bed, only to be caught around the waist after one step. Chen Yan helped him into socks and shoes, then changed him into fresh summer clothes while advising, “Correcting mistakes is the greatest virtue. Recognizing your errors and avoiding repetition prevents greater disasters.”
“Mmm—” Ping’an rubbed his bird’s nest hair, tearing at his beloved Tiger-Head Pillow while digesting the dreadful news received right after waking.
All that effort wasted!
A Xiang brought water for their washing, then hesitated: “Young Master, I don’t know how to style a child’s hair.”
Chen Yan glanced at the man’s tied-up hair.
A Xiang hesitantly picked up the comb.
“Ouch ouch ouch!” Ping’an nearly leaped up.
Chen Yan sighed, taking the comb to clumsily fashion two lopsided Small Buns atop the boy’s head. Examining his work, he nodded in satisfaction.
Ping’an shook his head before the mirror—the buns trembled precariously, threatening to unravel any moment.
“I miss Mother,” Ping’an declared.
Chen Yan regarded him with helpless sympathy.
Ping’an resorted to self-comfort: this could be considered “misfortune revealing blessings.” Living in the front courtyard meant more opportunities to prevent Father from taking imperial exams. One failure meant nothing—he would regroup and persist!
Just then, A Xiang called from outside. Father and son rushed out to discover Aji had wreaked havoc overnight, gnawing three chairs and shredding two books. Worried about his father’s anger, Ping’an tugged Aji’s collar, trying to hide the dog behind him.
Chen Yan surveyed the devastation, taking a deep breath: “Let’s eat first. After breakfast, we’ll build Aji a house.”
Ping’an immediately beamed: “Alright!”
Following lifelong habits, Chen Yan typically ate light breakfasts. But with Ping’an present today, A Xiang specially brought two steamers of Three Delicacies Buns and one-bite Chicken Soup Mini Wontons from the kitchen. At his growth stage, Ping’an never let worries interfere with meals. Watching him eat, Chen Yan unconsciously finished an extra half-bowl of Red Bean Porridge.
After breakfast, Ping’an sketched a kennel design. Chen Yan had A Xiang bring tools, using ink markers to draw guidelines on wooden boards before sawing along them to create contours and joints. After sanding and oiling, the pieces were assembled with rhythmic tapping. Ping’an and Aji scurried about, touching everything—nearly being helpful.
“Father, teach me carpentry. If our family ever goes poor, I can support us as a woodworker.” If his plans failed and they were exiled to the Nurgan Regional Military Commission, extra skills meant extra survival chances.
Chen Yan dismissed it as childish whims: “This barely counts as carpentry. If you’re serious, I’ll apprentice you to a furniture shop tomorrow.”
Ping’an glared—was this man his real father?
When Aji’s kennel was completed, Ping’an layered straw mats beneath thick cushions inside—it looked incredibly cozy. Aji excitedly scrambled in and out.
The two returned to the study, where Chen Yan fetched writing brushes and ink for him, sending him off to doodle in a corner. With both the child and the dog settled, he could finally read in peace.
On this early summer morning, a rare cool breeze drifted in. In the profound silence, only the soft scratching of Chen Yan’s brush could be heard.
Ping’an was so quiet today it was as if he didn’t exist. As Chen Yan composed his essay, he smugly reflected: Raising a child requires the right approach. Look at this—the same child, under my care, is so well-behaved and not the least bit noisy. Truly, an orange grown south of the Huai is sweet, while one grown north turns bitter…
Suddenly, an ominous feeling stirred within him. He looked up to locate the boy and saw Ping’an, dressed in white from head to toe, sitting cross-legged by the far wall like a plump little rice ball. Gripping a brush in one hand and holding an inkstone in the other, he was earnestly doodling on the wall.
The pristine wall now displayed a chaotic and wild piece of calligraphy.
At the orphanage, there had been a rule: children who scribbled on walls would be punished by standing in the corner. Ping’an had always considered such behavior utterly childish. But in this life, he suddenly discovered how delightfully satisfying it was to draw on walls.
His mother had cleared out the eastern wing of the estate, installing low shelves for his toys and covering the floor with carpets. The remaining white walls were his to decorate freely, repainted only at the New Year—a habit he had grown accustomed to.
“Ping’an,” Chen Yan called out.
Ping’an turned, brush in hand, his face smeared with ink. Grinning to reveal a row of tiny white teeth, he asked, “Father, guess what I’m drawing?”
Chen Yan: …
“Guess, guess!” Ping’an urged.
“The plants from the neighboring garden,” Chen Yan replied through gritted teeth.
“You got it!” Ping’an exclaimed. “I award you a little red flower.”
Chen Yan: …
It suddenly occurred to him that swallowing his pride and apologizing to his wife might not be such a difficult task after all.
Ping’an stepped back to examine his work from a distance, then tugged at Chen Yan’s hand. “Father, my drawing isn’t good. Please fix it for me.”
Chen Yan let out a slow breath. “It’s perfectly fine.”
“No, it’s not!” Ping’an insisted, lifting the heavy inkstone with trembling hands and offering it to him.
Fearing the boy would spill ink everywhere, Chen Yan snatched it away with a frown. “Stop this nonsense.”
Ping’an said, “Mother draws with me every day and teaches me to write. She never calls it nonsense…”
Chen Yan: …
Carrying the inkstone to the wall, he dipped the brush generously in ink and with a few deft strokes transformed the messy scribbles into a vivid scene.
Ping’an showered him with praise.
“Father, you’re amazing!” He pointed to an empty spot on the wall. “Now draw me!”
Chen Yan complied, sketching a little boy with hair tied in topknots, arms outstretched as he chased butterflies. Beside it, he inscribed:
Along the path sparse shadows sway,
Where blossoms fall, no shade holds sway.
A child runs after fluttering wings,
Lost amid blooms of golden springs.
With a flourish, Chen Yan tossed the brush aside—he was not one to fall for cheap provocations; he simply enjoyed painting on walls.
Ping’an admired the artwork contentedly. “Father, teach me to draw. If our family ever runs out of money, I can sell paintings for a living.”
Chen Yan: …
“If it ever comes to you selling paintings or doing carpentry, our troubles would go far beyond mere poverty,” Chen Yan remarked, lifting the barefoot child onto a chair. “Where are your socks?”
Ping’an shook his head. “I don’t know.”
As cold is said to enter through the feet, children in this era wore socks and shoes year-round, regardless of season. Just then, A Xiang entered, and Chen Yan instructed him to fetch another pair of socks.
“I’ve lost seven pairs in just half a day,” A Xiang said. “Young master, where did you lose them?”
“I really don’t know,” Ping’an replied.
A Xiang shook his head helplessly and turned to Chen Yan. “Sir, someone from the county office has come. They said a new basket of premium grapes has arrived and would like you to go taste them.”
Chen Yan had anticipated this – Magistrate Sun would certainly express concern about him missing the Ke Examination.
Most local magistrates would, to some extent, cultivate relationships with outstanding young scholars in their jurisdiction. This so-called “tending the cold stove” had to be done while the other party hadn’t yet achieved success.
With Chen Yan’s talent, passing the provincial and metropolitan examinations was only a matter of time. Moreover, Chen Yan’s teacher had been transferred to the Censorate with promising prospects. These were ready-made official connections. Unless Magistrate Sun was foolish, he would certainly adopt the posture of a senior mentoring a junior in his treatment of Chen Yan.
As for Chen Yan, since his clan had lived in Sheng’an County for generations, maintaining good relations with the local magistrate was crucial for living and working in peace without harassment.
Their friendship was built upon this mutually beneficial exchange.
Chen Yan glanced at Ping’an sitting on the chair, swinging his little legs and eating Jade Belt Cake. Under normal circumstances, he might have politely declined, but today he suddenly felt like going. Regardless of how he evaluated Magistrate Sun as an official, the man had one remarkable talent – he had raised eight children at home.
Eight.
Chen Yan could hardly imagine what a bloody scene it would be if there were eight Chen Ping’ans in one household. Therefore, when he looked at Magistrate Sun today, there was even a touch of admiration in his gaze.
As the saying goes, when three walk together, one must be my teacher. He believed this experienced man must have wisdom to impart.
Magistrate Sun felt somewhat embarrassed under his gaze and got straight to the point: “Yan Zhang, I know you’re steady and composed, but everything should be done in moderation. The imperial examinations should be taken sooner rather than later. Don’t delay until you end up like me – nearly forty years old, having wasted half my life, still just a seventh-rank county magistrate.”
Chen Yan spoke earnestly: “Your Honor is a metropolitan graduate, governing this county on behalf of the Son of Heaven. As the parent and protector of tens of thousands of common people, you’ve already achieved what ordinary people can only admire from afar.”
These words made Magistrate Sun feel both ashamed and immensely pleased. He chuckled a couple of times before asking about Chen Yan missing the Ke Examination.
Chen Yan had nothing to hide: “I’m ashamed to say, my son hid my Examination Pass the night before the test.”
Magistrate Sun opened his mouth, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “So that’s the reason! Your son is quite mischievous.”
Chen Yan smiled wryly and shook his head. “He is rather naughty.”
Magistrate Sun adopted the manner of an experienced person: “It’s nothing. Children at a certain age just enjoy hiding things.”
Chen Yan frowned. “I don’t remember having such a habit in my childhood?”
Magistrate Sun recalled: “It usually happens around one or two years old. Naturally, you wouldn’t remember.”
Chen Yan thought to himself that perhaps his child was just a late bloomer…
Magistrate Sun said: “Speaking of raising children, I do have some experience to share with you. The more you deliberately try to correct such behavior, the more likely it is to backfire. Don’t make a fuss, avoid excessive questioning, let him be, and it will naturally improve after some time.”
Chen Yan took this to heart and decided not to mention the matter again after returning home.
…
While Chen Yan was out socializing, Ping’an was sent to his grandparents’ courtyard.
It was only then that Zhao Shi learned that Ping’an had nearly been spanked, that the young couple had quarreled, and that both father and child had been banished to the front courtyard.
She was momentarily speechless, unsure how to mediate, and could only grab her husband to complain.
“Am I to blame for this?” Old Master Chen felt deeply wronged.
Zhao Shi retorted, “Who was it that sent me to complain to our daughter-in-law?”
“No, you yourself said this idea was feasible,” Old Master Chen argued.
“If you hadn’t suggested it, when would I have had the chance to say it was feasible?”
“You… I…”
Ping’an watched them holding his breath. Well, this was just great—now his grandparents were quarreling too.
Fortunately, Old Master Chen didn’t dare to stay angry with Zhao Shi. He simply smoothed things over by saying, “The young couple will resolve their own matters. Let’s just pretend we know nothing about it. Dear grandson, remember—you didn’t say anything when you came here today.”
Ping’an glanced at his grandmother and cautiously asked, “Grandmother, did I say it or not?”
“You didn’t,” Zhao Shi shot Old Master Chen a glare. Truly, a crooked tail will catch in the door—the flaws of the elder corrupt the younger.
…
Chen Yan took his leave of Magistrate Sun and brought back a basket of fresh grapes from the county office. It was said they had been transported from Daze Mountain to Jiangnan via the Fresh Produce Boat.
Upon returning home, he learned that his wife had taken the opportunity to visit her parents. Chen Yan scoffed inwardly: Did she think this would make him yield? Impossible—he was feeling incredibly strong-willed now.
As he walked inside, he instructed A Xiang, “Take the grapes to the kitchen. Set aside thirty percent to chill on an ice plate, and deliver the rest to the Lin family.”
A Xiang started to laugh but quickly suppressed it.
“What are you laughing at? It’s to show filial respect to my parents-in-law,” Chen Yan said.
A Xiang wanted to laugh even more.
Ping’an returned from his outing with his grandfather, sweating profusely from play. The cool grapes dispelled the summer heat and refreshed his spirits as he ate them. Smiling with his eyes curved like crescent moons, he used his free hand to climb onto his father’s lap, his short legs swinging playfully beneath the table.
“No leg shaking,” Zhao Shi said.
Ping’an stopped for a moment, then took advantage when his grandmother wasn’t looking to swing them a few more times.
Chen Yan merely smiled faintly.
“These taste better than usual grapes. It’s a shame Mother can’t have any,” he mumbled.
Chen Yan laughed. “I’ve already sent some to your maternal grandfather’s house.”
Ping’an patted his father’s shoulder, his little face full of approval. “Father is becoming more and more sensible.”