His sudden change of tone left Du Jingyi momentarily speechless.
Eighth Sister Xueniang [the younger aunt, called “Eighth Sister” due to her place in the extended family hierarchy] saw this and could only sigh inwardly. She had long grown accustomed to such scenes—her young nephew always losing his confidence and composure whenever his Eldest Aunt Liu was present. Everything about him seemed to revolve around appeasing her.
Madam Liu (Eldest Sister-in-law, mother of Shang Zhiping) understood this all too well, and it filled her with such fury that she nearly choked on her own words.
But Du Jingyi knew that such deep-seated habits could not be changed in a day. She did not scold, nor did she press him. Instead, she smiled calmly at Shang Zhiping (Ping’er) and said,
“It is no bad thing to love reading and writing. Ping’er, you are still young, yet you already know how to share your mother’s worries. You are a good child.”
Her words carried no reproach. For Shang Zhiping, this was the first time he had ever heard such unreserved acceptance. For a moment, he stood dumbfounded, unable to respond.
At last, his cheeks flushed, and he stammered,
“Sixth Aunt… if… if Sixth Uncle can find me a good teacher, I will study diligently every day and not disappoint everyone’s expectations.”
The determination in his words was clear. But Du Jingyi could hear that his eagerness was more for show than genuine conviction. She did not expose him. Instead, she simply patted his shoulder and said gently,
“I will tell your Sixth Uncle about this. But before that, you must promise me one thing.”
“Aunt, please speak,” the boy said respectfully.
With a serene smile and a firmness in her eyes, Du Jingyi told him,
“Play a match of cuju [an ancient ball game popular since the Han and Tang dynasties, considered the forerunner of modern football] for me first. If you win, then you will be the disciple of the great scholar, Master Qi, whom even the Crown Prince respects. Your Sixth Uncle will invite him for you.”
Shang Zhiping froze in disbelief. That someone would speak to him in such a way—linking learning with cuju—was something he had never imagined. Could he really win? His heart filled with self-doubt, with a thousand denials rising inside him.
Even Xueniang, standing beside him, felt the weight of his hesitation and could not bear it. She quickly urged,
“Ping’er, you must agree. Master Qi is a great scholar, one that even His Highness the Crown Prince reveres. If you can become his disciple, your future achievements will surely be limitless.”
At this, Shang Zhiping frowned slightly and turned to look at his mother.
Madam Liu’s eyes were already alight with excitement. Of course she knew what becoming Master Qi’s disciple meant. Determined to please her, her son finally gave a reluctant nod.
Seeing her son’s long-suppressed interest drawn out by just a few of Du Jingyi’s words, Madam Liu was both astonished and deeply moved.
Sensing her gratitude, Du Jingyi reassured her softly,
“Sister-in-law, there is a long road ahead. When we are within these walls together, speak freely of whatever is in your heart.”
Madam Liu nodded, her eyes shining with unspoken thanks.
They continued strolling through the courtyard together, stopping here and there. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits.
The greenhouse construction was already well underway, and Du Jingyi estimated it would be completed by the end of the month—a remarkably fast pace.
The only matter left unresolved was the naming of the new courtyards. For the main compound of the General’s Mansion, Du Jingyi had decided to keep the name Xitang Courtyard [Xitang means “Western Hall”; it also carried the nuance of her maiden name, a subtle way of marking her presence in the household]. The name was pleasing to the ear and rooted in tradition.
As for the courtyards of Madam Liu and Xueniang, each had their own preferences.
This time, it was Madam Liu who spoke first.
“Fu Qiu [lit. “Autumn Dwelling”] sounds too desolate. Let us change it to Lan Ming [lit. “Embracing the Bright Moon”]. It speaks of lofty aspirations—of soaring high and reaching for the moon.”
Her words evoked an air of youthful vigor and ambition.
Shang Zhiping had no objections and merely nodded.
Xueniang considered it and decided to keep her courtyard’s old name—Hanyi Yuan [lit. “Winter Clothing Courtyard”]—finding it simple and dignified, much like the traditional women’s courtyards reserved for embroidery and seasonal clothing storage.
In the western wing, several other courtyards had been newly designated: Xu Lai Courtyard [“Gathered Grace”], Huan Yun Courtyard [“Joyous Clouds”], and Meng Yu Courtyard [“Dreaming of Jade”]. Their names carried elegance and refinement, softening the solemn atmosphere of the General’s Mansion.
Since General Shang Ji had entrusted all household matters to his wife, there was no need to report the names to him beforehand.
That night, when Shang Ji returned from the barracks, he heard of the new names and praised her with a smile.
“Madam, your name giving skills are excellent.”
His manner was terse, and no wonder—he was a military man, not one of flowery words. Just as servants reflect their master, even Yingtao [the maidservant] had little patience for overly ornate styles such as Luo Yuan.
After dinner, the guests dispersed, leaving only husband and wife together. They settled down to a game of chess.
Neither of them were true chess experts, but perhaps that was why the match was so entertaining—each mistake made the game more lively, and each move more competitive.
As they played, Du Jingyi reminded her husband of the promise she had made to Shang Zhiping about finding a teacher.
This placed Shang Ji in some difficulty.
“I do know a master of cuju,” he admitted. “But as for Master Qi, that is harder. Madam, you think too highly of me. They say Master Qi despises men like me most of all—military commanders, who carry blood on their hands.”
He placed a stone down on the board, capturing one of her pieces.
But Du Jingyi was not perturbed. She replied lightly,
“Do not trouble yourself, General. Leave Master Qi to me. I can invite him. But as for this cuju master, I know nothing of him.”
Shang Ji raised a brow, skeptical.
Seeing her calm confidence, he could not help but wonder, Is the Du family truly so influential? Even to the point of knowing such a great scholar?
In truth, Du Jingyi was relying not on her own family’s power, but on an old debt: Master Yan Zhiqing had once saved Master Qi’s life, and in gratitude, the scholar had left a promise. Thus, inviting him was not beyond reach.
But first, she needed to know who the cuju expert was. Turning to her husband, she asked curiously,
“Who is this master? Would I happen to know him?”
“Who else? It can only be the world-renowned Master Xing.”
Du Jingyi chuckled at his answer. She had underestimated her cousin Zhao (Xing Zhao). Cynical as he often appeared, she had not realized he was so skilled.
“Well, isn’t that convenient? I see Ping’er likes Cousin Zhao very much.”
Shang Ji nodded. Indeed, the boy seemed far more at ease in Cousin Zhao’s company than in his own.
The matter settled naturally. When they moved into the General’s Mansion in a few days, Madam Xing would also bring her son, Xing Zhao, to live with them. From there, teaching Ping’er cuju would come about without fuss.
But before they could close the subject, another matter weighed on Du Jingyi’s mind. She leaned in and lowered her voice, reporting the news their secret agents had uncovered in recent days.
“General, I fear Madam Wei is plotting against my father-in-law.”
Shang Ji’s hand paused mid-move, the chess piece clattering onto the board.
“Why?”
“Because Shang Zhihe’s leg injury is beyond cure. You know the law of our Daxing Dynasty—those with permanent disabilities cannot serve as officials or generals. His future is finished. General, what options do you think remain to him?”