Chen Ping'an stood where he was.
An orphan from Mud Bottle Alley, raised on food from a hundred households, had ultimately come to stand here. Only he knew the bitterness and sweetness he had endured; the road had not been easy.
This courtyard covered an enormous area, worthy indeed of a former Prime Minister's mansion. Dense shade lay beneath the trees, while the sun shone high overhead, scattering fine flecks of golden light across the flawlessly fitted blue-brick ground like golden-thread embroidery. Even with such paving, the ground had not bulged in the slightest; the craftsmen had clearly been skilled. This was the place where family head Ma Yan studied: seven bays wide, eight rafters deep. Perhaps it was true that once granaries were full, people came to understand propriety. Such a jaw-dropping study was piled with precious books that had never been opened after purchase. There were several priceless ancient zithers, several half-man-tall jade mountains, and golden tower ships. The capital's high officials and nobles who came here for tea and wine all praised its refinement, calling it richly cultivated indeed. If they showed even a trace of dazzled admiration, the master would always feel himself a genuine scholar. Ma Yan had actually always wanted to lay Green Glazed Tile over the roof, like those Daoist temples and Buddhist monasteries—beautiful to look at. But his wife had talked him out of it, saying such a thing was called overstepping one's station. Emperor His Majesty was neither deaf nor blind; there was no need to flaunt such lavish splendor and invite jealousy and hatred. Only when the Family Ancestral Hall was covered in jinshi plaques would they truly be a scholarly household. Then, when their eldest son returned home someday and saw it, he would surely be pleased. Ma Yan