The carriage came to a steady stop before the mottled red-lacquered gates of Lin Manor.
Old Zhao, the gatekeeper, was leaning against the doorframe, picking his teeth. Seeing a carriage blocking the entrance, he frowned and opened his mouth to scold:
"Which blind fool is this? Do you even know what kind of place this is? How dare you—"
Before he could finish, the carriage curtain was lifted.
A foot clad in a pair of official satin boots with pink soles stepped down. Then came a long blue silk robe, and at the waist, a Bronze Waist Token glittered in the sunlight, nearly blinding Old Zhao.
The Imperial Military Examination token issued by the authorities bore the words "Qinghe," radiating an authority that brooked no offense.
Old Zhao's curse caught fast in his throat, turning into a violent coughing fit.
When he got a good look at the man's face, his legs went weak, and he nearly dropped to his knees.
He knew that face all too well: the timid little bookboy who had once been ordered around at every turn.
"Chen... Chen..."
Old Zhao stammered, cold sweat soaking his back in an instant.
Chen Ping paid him no mind. He simply stood beneath the steps with his hands behind his back.
The autumn wind swept up a few withered leaves, sending them tumbling to his feet.
He lifted his head and gazed at the two imposing, ferocious stone lions.
Three years ago, in late autumn, his predecessor had knelt beside these stone lions, begging for a mouthful of leftovers. The cold had stabbed through his knees, and he had knocked his forehead bloody before finally earning the chance to enter the manor as a servant.
Back then, this threshold had been as high as a mountain.
Now he stood here. The threshold was unchanged, but he was no longer the same man.
"It feels like a lifetime ago."
Chen Ping sighed inwardly, his thumb unconsciously rubbing the Bronze Waist Token at his waist. It felt cool to the touch, its metal hard and solid.
A flurry of hurried, disorderly footsteps came from inside the manor.
The Head Steward came rushing out, his normally neat melon-seed cap askew.
When he saw Chen Ping, his deeply lined face took on a complicated expression.
"Well, well! If it isn't Scholar Chen!"
The Head Steward bent at the waist, bowing even lower than he did before Master Lin. His voice was so obsequious it grated on the ears.
"This humble servant was blind and didn't realize you'd come, sir. I deserve to die, I deserve to die!"
From "Brother Ping" to "Chen Ping," and now to "Scholar Chen."
The changing forms of address reflected the rigid class divide of the Liang Dynasty.
Chen Ping glanced at him, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint, unreadable smile. He neither returned the greeting nor said a word, simply stepping over the tall threshold.
The Head Steward hurriedly moved aside, then followed close behind him, not daring to breathe too loudly.
In the main hall, Master Lin was already seated at the head of the room.
Though he was the master of Lin Manor, when receiving a military scholar who held an official title, he had to rise and greet him. That was the custom—and the way of the world.
"My worthy nephew, what a rare guest."
Master Lin cupped his hands, a polite smile on his face, but his eyes roamed over Chen Ping, weighing him with suspicion and wariness.
"Master Lin, you're too kind."
Chen Ping returned the greeting with an unhurried, composed gesture. At Master Lin's indication, he walked straight to the seat of honor on the left and sat down.
A maid soon brought tea.
Chen Ping lifted the lid and gently skimmed away the foam. A delicate fragrance rose to meet him.
Yuqian Longjing.
When he had served in the study, he hadn't even been allowed to smell this tea. He'd had to make do with bitter water brewed from tea dregs.
He took a small sip. The tea was faintly bitter at first, then sweet. It was indeed good tea.
He set down the cup. Porcelain tapped against the tabletop with a soft "tok."
The mood in the hall tightened at once.
"You don't come to the Three Treasures Hall without a reason."
Chen Ping didn't beat around the bush. He reached into his robes, took out a thick stack of banknotes, and gently laid them on the table.
"Here's five hundred taels."
His voice was calm, but his words carried weight.
"I want to buy Yun Niang's freedom."
Master Lin's gaze swept over the banknotes, and one eyelid twitched.
Five hundred taels to buy the freedom of a widowed servant—an exorbitant price.
But what mattered more to him was Chen Ping's status now.
If he could use Yun Niang as a link to win over a military scholar, it would greatly benefit the Lin Family's future business.
"My worthy nephew..."
Master Lin picked up his teacup and blew on it leisurely.
"Yun Niang has served in my manor for many years. She's diligent and conscientious, and my wife is quite fond of her. As for buying her freedom..."
He deliberately dragged out the last few words, hoping to gain the upper hand.
The smile on Chen Ping's face slowly faded.
He leaned forward slightly. His eyes, usually lowered and mild, fixed on Master Lin.
What a pair of eyes they were.
Calm and deep, yet touched with an indifference that sent a shiver through the heart.
Just like the eyes Wang Meng had seen on the night he died in the alley.
Master Lin's heart gave a jolt. The hand holding his teacup trembled faintly.
It suddenly occurred to him that this young man before him had "accidentally" beaten someone to death on the fighting platform. He was the Tanhua military scholar who had crawled out of a pile of corpses—not the servant boy Master Lin could once knead and shape as he pleased.
"Master Lin..."
Chen Ping tapped the banknotes twice with his fingers, each knock dull and heavy.
"Five hundred taels for a piece of paper. It's a fair deal."
The air grew taut.
A fine sheen of sweat broke out on Master Lin's temples. The invisible pressure made it hard for him to breathe.
Weighing the pros and cons took no more than a moment.
"Haha, you're quite right, my worthy nephew!"
Master Lin gave a dry laugh and quickly dropped his airs.
"Since you hold her in such regard, how could I spoil your good deed? Steward, fetch Yun Niang's contract!"
The Head Steward looked as if a pardon had just been granted and hurried out as fast as he could.
A moment later, a yellowed deed of servitude was laid on the table.
In front of Chen Ping, Master Lin tore to pieces the paper that had determined half of Yun Niang's life. Then he personally picked up his brush, wrote a document granting her freedom, and stamped it with the seal of Lin Manor.
Chen Ping took the document, dried the ink, folded it carefully, and tucked it close to his chest.
The heavy stone lodged in his heart finally fell away.
"Thank you."
Chen Ping stood up without sparing another glance at the banknotes on the table.
"I'm going to bring her home."
Master Lin opened his mouth. He'd meant to ask someone to bring Yun Niang over, but when he saw Chen Ping's straight, proud back, he swallowed his words.
He crossed the covered walkway and passed the rockery.
Chen Ping had walked this path for three years.
The maids and servants he passed all stepped aside and bowed to this distinguished guest in silk, whose bearing was far beyond the ordinary. Their eyes were filled with envy and awe.
Several old matrons who had once bullied Yun Niang shrank into a corner, trembling with fear.
Without looking to either side, Chen Ping walked straight toward the secluded, chilly courtyard where the woodshed stood.
The late-autumn wind was cool, stirring dust from the ground.
In the courtyard, a familiar figure sat on a low stool with her back to the gate.
She wore a thin, coarse-cloth jacket, her sleeves rolled high, exposing hands reddened by cold water as she scrubbed a huge basin of laundry with all her strength.
"Thud, thud, thud."
The washboard struck the wet clothes, each dull, monotonous blow echoing through the yard.
Chen Ping stopped. His throat tightened, and a pang of bitterness rose in him.
He called softly:
"Sister Yun."
His voice was quiet, but the figure at work went rigid.
The mallet slipped from Yun Niang's hand with a clatter, splashing water across the ground.
She slowly turned around, her movements stiff, as if she couldn't believe her ears.
When she saw the young man standing at the courtyard gate in a long blue silk robe, tall and graceful, she froze completely.
Sunlight spilled over Chen Ping, gilding his figure.
The person before her had shed the patched clothes and boyish appearance of the past. He had become a man who could hold up the sky.
Yun Niang's lips trembled. She wanted to speak, but no sound came. Tears spilled from her eyes, blurring her vision.
Chen Ping strode forward, heedless of the muddy water, and seized Yun Niang's wet hands, icy to the touch.
They were covered in chilblains and calluses, rough enough to scrape against his skin.
But in Chen Ping's palms, they were the most precious treasures in the world.
He held them tight, warmth flowing steadily from his hands into hers.
"Sister Yun..."
Chen Ping met her eyes, his voice gentle yet firm.
"Come home with me."
Those four simple words shattered every last bit of Yun Niang's strength.
She could hold back no longer. She threw herself into Chen Ping's arms and wept like a child who had suffered one wrong after another.
Chen Ping gently patted her thin back, letting her tears soak into the silk across his chest.
Only after a long while did Yun Niang stop crying. In a fluster, she tried to wipe the tears from Chen Ping's clothes.
"I'm dirty..."
"You're not."
Chen Ping caught her hand, took the document granting her freedom from his robes, and placed it in her palm.
"From now on, no one will ever call you dirty again, and no one will dare bully you."
He took Yun Niang's hand, lacing his fingers through hers.
"Let's go."
With her hand in his, Chen Ping led her out, step by step, from the cage that had held her for years.
They crossed the covered walkway and the courtyard.
Countless pairs of eyes watched from the shadows, filled with envy, jealousy, and quiet emotion.
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