Chapter 73

For men of a certain age, especially those who are middle-aged or older, no matter how progressive or loving they are towards their only daughter, if you asked if they’d want a son if given the chance, the answer would often be yes. Traditional values might be softened by external factors, but deep down, they still linger. Due to various reasons, Ruan Aihua only had one daughter, Ruan Qing.

He cherished her deeply, of course, but when He Ling discussed the idea of her future children, he expressed a desire for Ruan Qing to have more than one child, and even suggested that one of her children take his family’s surname. The plan was that one child would take the He surname and inherit the He family’s assets, while another would take the Ruan surname and inherit Ruan’s. It seemed fair enough—until they agreed that the firstborn would carry the He name, and only the second child would carry Ruan.

While he didn’t mind the first child’s gender, Ruan Aihua secretly hoped the second would be a boy. There’s a strong cultural pull for men to have a male heir, and he worried that if the second child were a girl, the Ruan surname might disappear in a couple of generations. He never voiced this hope, but there’s no hiding such thoughts from a spouse of several decades. His wife, however, didn’t see it as a conflict. She, too, wanted Ruan Qing to have more children. In her eyes, times had changed; marriage, especially for younger generations, had become more like an economic arrangement.

A well-matched partner from a respectable family would always be safer than a poor, self-made one. And she believed in relying on one’s own bloodline rather than a man who may or may not stay in the picture. Having been unable to give Ruan Qing any siblings, she worried that, once she and her husband were gone, Ruan Qing would be alone. Her friend’s bitter experience reinforced her belief: it’s wiser to depend on one’s children than on any man.

Ruan’s father coughed softly and muttered, “You know… it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if we had a son-in-law come to live with us…”

Ruan’s mother let out a dry laugh. “So at family dinners, when people ask about our son-in-law’s background, we’ll say he’s from some remote mountain? And for his education? No degree. His background? Dirt poor.”

She was traditionally minded; to her, an “ideal” man was someone like He Ling—well-educated, from a good family. Men like him could excel whether they were out working or managing the family business. As for Nian Qi, she did admit that she rather liked his demeanor, his manner of speaking, and even his looks. But his background was more than just poor; it was unusual, almost superstitious.

Ruan Qing had secretly hoped that Nian Qi might climb up to her window in the middle of the night, just as he had in the village of Lao Mei Valley. She waited for hours, but eventually fell asleep, and by morning, she thought, “Really? He’s too well-behaved!”

Under her parents’ watchful eyes, Nian Qi wouldn’t dare pull any tricks. He stayed in the guest room, completely disciplined. As someone used to waking up at dawn, he was up early. One thing her family’s home had that the Jiang City apartment lacked was a large, private yard—a perfect place to practice his martial arts.

As Nian Qi was practicing his morning routine, he heard a noise and turned to see Ruan’s father stepping out of the house, surprised to spot him. “Up this early?” Ruan’s father said, mildly astonished. It was, after all, quite early—most middle-aged people wake up early because of lighter sleep. Young people, on the other hand, typically sleep in as long as they can when there’s no work, often staying up late into the night and waking at noon. Finding a young man up this early without needing to be was rare.

“It’s a habit,” Nian Qi replied. “Up with the sun, down with the sun—and training in between.” Ruan’s father then remembered that this young man used to live in the mountains, practically as a recluse. He nodded approvingly. “That’s a healthy way to live. Young people today, though—completely backwards. They stay up all night, can’t wake up in the morning. It’s unhealthy.”

What could Nian Qi say? With a future father-in-law, everything he said had to be met with agreement! If the man declared rocks could bloom, Nian Qi would say, “Right, I’ve seen it myself.” He nodded quickly. “Your routine is very healthy too, Uncle.” Glancing at the item in Ruan’s father’s hand, he asked, “Is that…?”

Ruan’s father gave the item a flourish, sending the tassel spinning gracefully through the air. “It’s a tai chi sword,” he explained, “I practice tai chi and swordsmanship daily—it’s great for one’s health.”

“Oh,” Nian Qi said with genuine interest.

“You know martial arts, right? And you come from a Daoist background too.” Ruan’s father perked up with curiosity. “Here, I’ll show you a routine—tell me what you think, give me some pointers on my form.”

Nian Qi nodded keenly, receiving the sword from him and giving it a light heft. He immediately noticed, from how the blade glinted, that it was blunt. Twisting his wrist, he sent the sheathed blade smoothly spinning around in front of him, then brought it back behind his back in one fluid motion. He extended his hand in invitation, “Please, Uncle.”

Oh, that felt good! Ruan’s father was thrilled. Back when Ruan Qing still lived at home, they used to talk about martial arts movies and novels. After she left for college, he rarely had anyone to discuss it with—apart from the occasional chat with Uncle Qi. His wife, however, didn’t care for such things at all. But now, with an actual martial artist in the house, he could tell just from Nian Qi’s stance that he knew his stuff. It was a whole different energy! This was the real thing!

Ruan’s father stepped into the open area he’d specially renovated for his practice sessions, complete with a tai chi symbol laid out on the ground. His wife had been annoyed with him about it since the rest of the house was in European style, and here he’d gone and set up a traditional Chinese tai chi symbol in the yard. It felt mismatched to her. This part of town had been developed some years ago, back when European aesthetics were in vogue, so they had gone with it.

Once in the center of the tai chi diagram, Ruan’s father spread his legs and steadied himself, fully focused. Nian Qi, watching intently, also grew serious. Taking a deep breath, Ruan’s father raised his arms into the opening position, moving through a “Parting the Wild Horse’s Mane” and then “White Crane Spreads its Wings.”

“How’s that?” he asked, demonstrating and explaining at once. “My teacher’s very impressive—an 88th-generation direct descendant of the Nangong Tai Chi family. His lessons require car service for pickup and drop-off, house calls, and each session costs twelve hundred.”

“He’s a true advocate of our traditional culture, with formal ceremonies for each season and a master-disciple ritual,” Ruan’s father explained as he transitioned from a “Brush Knee Twist Step” into a “Playing the Lute” movement. “It’s so detailed and refined—I waited for months just to get a spot,” he added with a proud smile.

Nian Qi was speechless. Somehow, he felt a little sorry for Ruan’s father, paying twelve hundred per lesson.

Ruan’s father continued seamlessly, moving into a “Step Back and Repulse Monkey,” first to the left and then to the right, exuding confidence. “My teacher, Master Nangong, keeps his hair long just like you,” he mentioned. “Last night, Qing’s mother was fussing, wondering why you have long hair. Isn’t that silly? I told her, of course, it’s because Nian Qi grew up in a Daoist monastery.” He added, “Though Master Nangong doesn’t wear a braid—he keeps a proper topknot with a hairpin. Has this air of a true reclusive sage.”

In ancient times, only street ruffians and playboys let their hair down; anyone respectable had a topknot. Nian Qi wore his hair in a braid simply because Ruan Qing liked it that way. It seemed that even the older generation found topknots more dignified. Eager to explain, he said, “Originally, I did keep it in a topknot, but people on the street found it strange. Ruan Qing also thought it didn’t look good and suggested the braid instead.”

“Bah,” Ruan’s father scoffed. “Her taste is all about those trendy boys—shallow!”

Nian Qi lowered his gaze respectfully, staying quiet. When Ruan’s father finished his tai chi routine, he let out a long breath and returned to his stance. “So, what do you think?” he asked, eager for feedback. After practicing for years, he felt he had really reached a level of finesse and inner depth.

Nian Qi praised him, “Smooth, balanced, continuous, and deeply rooted!”

Ruan’s father lit up at the comment, pointing a finger in the air. “Ah, you know your stuff! You’re a real connoisseur!” He moved over, reaching for his sword, but Nian Qi skillfully flipped it in his hand and, with a subtle twist, held it respectfully forward, both hands presenting it in a deeply courteous manner, bowing slightly with a dignified air.

Ruan’s father paused, momentarily taken aback by the perfect etiquette, and pulled his hand back. “Show me a routine, will you?” he asked, then added, “You know sword forms, don’t you?”

Nian Qi replied, “I primarily trained in saber techniques, only dabbling in swordsmanship.”

Ruan’s father was thoroughly delighted by Nian Qi’s refined language. While most people would simply say they “knew a bit,” he said he “dabbled.” Traditional culture truly was fading in modern times—such a loss! “No matter,” he encouraged, “give me a demonstration.” He folded his arms and stepped back.

Nian Qi, naturally obedient to his elder’s request, moved to the center of the courtyard. Having nothing else from his past, only his martial arts had traveled with him, ever-present. With a father-in-law so passionately interested in martial arts, he could hardly miss this chance.

He cupped his hands in respect toward Ruan’s father, who straightened up and returned the gesture, thrilled. Rarely did he get the chance to fully embrace the traditional gestures; they often seemed silly in daily life. But now, he had someone to share this old-world experience with, making him feel completely in the moment.

When he lowered his hands, however, he noticed a change. As soon as Nian Qi assumed the opening stance, his usual gentle and respectful air transformed into something entirely different, a fierce energy, as if he were a different person.

…

Ruan Qing came downstairs after a restful sleep, yawning. Her mother was already in the kitchen, greeting her with a familiar scolding, “Up late as usual. Come and have breakfast.”

Ruan Qing, unbothered, looked at the time. It wasn’t that late, really. Sitting at the table, she looked around. “Where’s Dad? And where’s Nian Qi?” Earlier, as she passed the guest room upstairs, she’d noticed Nian Qi was already out.

Her mother replied, “They’re in the courtyard. Your father’s showing off his ‘authentic’ Nangong family tai chi,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Ruan Qing took a couple of sips of porridge when the two men entered, one after the other. Huh? Her father’s eyes seemed oddly fixated.