In late spring, the black walnut medicine rack at the west corner of Suiyuxuan stood there, like a silent old man. Freshly picked mugwort and mint were spread out to dry, seemingly enjoying the unique warmth of the late spring afternoon sun. Su Jinli, graceful as a blooming green lotus, crouched quietly before a half-man-high bamboo winnowing basket. Her slender fingertips gently picked up an oval leaf, then slowly raised it to her eyes, examining it closely in the sunlight slanting into the courtyard.
Under the soft light, every detail of the leaf was revealed. A dense layer of fine white hairs covered the underside of the leaf, like the first snow of winter, gently covering it. And beneath this hair, a few faint purple lines appeared, as if they were mysterious patterns carefully sketched by nature's magical painter. Su Jinli's eyes flashed with certainty; she had already recognized it as the perilla, a plant with warming properties and a detoxifying effect. Then, she gently placed the leaf into the glazed ceramic jar that Luye was carefully holding. At the bottom of the jar, a layer of dried mint had already been carefully spread. Its crisp scent, mixed with the slightly bitter taste of mugwort, was like a melodious melody, slowly spreading in the warm breeze of late spring afternoon, lingering throughout the courtyard.
"Miss, do you think this is an Arisaema?" Lu'e asked softly, her voice as clear as a forest bird. She held a soiled herb in her hands and slowly approached Su Jinli. The curved veins on the thick leaves shone in the sunlight, giving them an alluring, glossy sheen, like the veins of jade inlaid in the leaves. Just as Su Jinli was about to answer, a flurry of hurried footsteps echoed from outside the moon-shaped doorway.
The maid, Chuntao, ran like a frightened deer, her hair disheveled. The pomegranate blossoms swayed wildly as she ran, nearly falling behind her ears. Chuntao's chest heaved violently, as if she were engaged in a fierce competition. She gasped for breath, calling out anxiously, "Miss... The master is calling you from the front hall! He even specifically asked me to tell you not to be afraid..."
Su Jinli's heart tightened slightly upon hearing this, and she slowly stood up. As she rose, the dried medicinal residue on her fingertips fell like tiny stars on the hem of her moon-white skirt, like traces left by time. She remembered that her father hadn't been heard from since he smashed the teacup that morning, and now he suddenly summoned her. A trace of doubt crept into her heart. Could it be that her father regretted his harsh punishment of Liu and wanted to push her back into the calculating Wang family?
She subconsciously straightened her clothes. Passing the bronze mirror in the hallway, she caught a glimpse of her wrist. The jade bracelet Liu had given her, supposedly meant to soothe her spirits, had long since been discarded in the depths of her dressing table, like a past too painful to recall. Even now, a faint indentation still lingered on her wrist bone, like a faded scar, silently telling of past pain.
In the front hall, a gilded chime clock struck three times, its resonant creaking sound a warning to the tranquil space. The bronze pendulum, illuminated by the sunlight streaming in from the window, shimmered with a cool light, casting swaying specks of light on the blue brick floor, like a ghostly shadow dancing freely. With his back to the door, Su Hongye stared intently at the painting of Pine and Crane hanging on the wall. The red-crowned crane in the painting, standing on one leg, bore an uncanny resemblance to his tense figure at the moment, both radiating an indescribable loneliness and fortitude.
On the desk, three scarlet signature slips lay side by side. Written in neat handwriting on gold-sprinkled rice paper, they read "Li, Editor of the Hanlin Academy," "Zhou, Doctor of Mathematics at the Imperial College," and "Wang, Inner Court Tutor." The handwriting was my father's usual Ouyang Xun style, with a strong, yet more hesitant stroke than usual, as if he had gone through countless inner struggles while writing.
"Jinli," Su Hongye turned slowly, and as he did so, the ivory ring that slipped from his sleeve clashed with the corner of the rosewood table with a ding. The Taotie pattern carved on the jade ring instantly left a thin mark, like the scars carved by time in his heart. He looked at the herbal debris stuck on the corner of his daughter's plain white skirt, and couldn't help but think of Liu Cheng's report this morning, saying that the small kitchen of Suiyuxuan had been drying herbs these days. His throat rolled involuntarily, as if there were thousands of words stuck in his throat, "I have asked Liu Cheng to burn the Wang family's marriage certificate. What are your plans for the future?"
It's finally here, Su Jinli thought to herself. As she lowered her gaze, she caught a glimpse of the shadows of the pomegranate tree outside the window, casting tiny specks of light on the blue bricks, a reflection of her complex emotions. At this time in her previous life, Liu should have sent her eldest sister, Su Qingyao, to urge her to prioritize the family's honor. But now, Su Qingyao was in the storeroom, counting the keys to the household. Even the maid sent to serve tea was wearing newly forged red gold armor, her demeanor exuding the authority of a matron of honor.
"My daughter... wants to study." Su Jinli suddenly looked up, her gaze firmly meeting her father's suddenly wide eyes. The April sunlight, like golden threads, streamed through the lattice window, scattering on her trembling eyelashes, casting a shadow like a butterfly's wing. Her pupils clearly reflected her father's stunned expression, like two clear springs reflecting the skylight, pure and unwavering.
"Read...read?" Su Hongye jerked the blue-and-white lotus-patterned teacup in his hand. Like a spirit out of control, the scalding Biluochun tea splashed onto the python-patterned jade belt buckle, scorching his fingertips and causing them to flinch. His mind suddenly flashed back to the scene of yesterday's court session, when his colleagues had pointed at him and jeered, "Prime Minister Su is trying to teach his daughter to become the top scholar." Then he looked at the gleam in his daughter's eyes, the same gleam he'd seen in his late wife's—the same sparkle his wife had once displayed while skiing and copying books under the lamp.
"Father," Su Jinli slowly knelt on the cool blue bricks, her back as straight as the sturdy Xiangfei bamboo brush in the study. Her voice, like a mountain spring, crisp and firm, "Confucius said, 'There is no distinction in teaching.' I don't seek to teach like Ban Zhao and be remembered in history. I just want to be literate and understand the truth. Even if I don't marry in the future, I can make a living by writing, sewing, or working as a copyist and accountant." She deliberately skipped the old talk of "marrying into a wealthy family." From the corner of her eye, she saw her father's fingers twirling his beard, resting midway between his graying mustache, his knuckles slightly white, a sign of his inner struggle.
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