“Gou’er… Gou’er…”

Xue Gouzi came back to his senses, staring at the face before him—the same one that had haunted his dreams for years.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I’ll stop overthinking everything from now on.”
He hesitated, then added, “But there’s one thing I’d like to ask. Could you… stop calling me Gou’er?”

Zhao’er blinked in confusion. “But I’ve always called you that. If not Gou’er, then what?”

He paused a moment before saying, “Call me Tingrang.”

“Tingrang? You picked that name yourself?” She looked surprised, then suddenly seemed to understand. She remembered how that brat from the main branch used to mock him behind his back, sneering that ‘Gouzi’ was a name fit for a dog.

Her eyes softened with a flash of heartache, and she nodded repeatedly. “Gou’er—no, Ting’er—you really are different now, a proper scholar. Even the name you chose sounds so elegant. I won’t call you Gou’er anymore, and I won’t let anyone else call you that either. From now on, you’ll be Tingrang.”

In her eyes, anything he said was right.

Xue Gouzi—no, Xue Tingrang—felt a strange hollowness inside. He was less than two years younger than Zhao’er, yet it felt like a gulf he could never cross. But since the words were already out, he pushed on: “And… can you stop calling yourself my ‘sister’ from now on?”

Zhao’er was even more surprised now. She reached out and touched his forehead.
“Ting’er, what’s gotten into you? Did you get possessed or something? You’ve been calling me ‘sister’ since you were little!”

Xue Tingrang took a deep breath and smiled. “But you’re not my sister. You’re going to be my wife. What man calls his own wife ‘sister’?”

He was still pale, half-reclined against the pillows. But the moment he smiled, with his clear, elegant features, it was like a flash of light—so striking she didn’t dare look straight at him.

Zhao’er’s face turned beet red in an instant. She stumbled over her words.

“Gou’er, y-you—what are you saying? I—I—”

“What? You don’t want to be my wife? You don’t want to have my children?” he leaned in closer, voice soft but direct.

She shot to her feet, flustered and scolding: “You’re just a brat—what nonsense are you spouting? You haven’t even grown all your hair yet!”

She blurted out the exact kind of crude line he hated most—and kept going, oblivious.
“What you need to do right now is focus on getting better. As for this kind of talk, save it for later!”

Her tone was fierce, her eyes even fiercer. But right after saying her piece, she lowered her head and started spooning rice into his mouth again.

He glanced at her and ate obediently, a faint smile tugging at his lips. His mood had suddenly lifted.

Maybe… the way they interacted could change.

If he didn’t like something, he could take the lead and change it. There was no need to wait for her to realize it on her own.

After tossing that emotional mess her way, Zhao’er turned and left the room, leaving the rest of the family to finish a stifling, silent lunch.

During the meal, Mrs. Sun tried to make small talk a few times, but no one responded.

Mrs. Yang could barely swallow her food. If not for her in-laws’ presence—and not wanting to lose face in front of her younger sisters-in-law—she would have slammed her chopsticks down and walked out. Instead, she sat there, stomach full of frustration, chewing as if the food were sawdust.

After the meal, Mrs. Sun left with her son Maodan, fully aware that her child had stirred up trouble today and afraid the blame would soon fall on them.

Mrs. Zhou and her daughter Tao’er cleaned up the table, carrying the dishes off to the kitchen. Xue Qingbai helped out too. With that many bowls and plates, Mrs. Zhou couldn’t lift them all alone. When Qingbai wasn’t home, it usually took both her and her daughter to carry them.

Soon, only the main branch—the three mother and sons—plus Old Master Xue and Mrs. Zhao remained in the house.

Mrs. Yang got up, intending to return to the east wing, but was stopped by Old Master Xue.

He slowly took out his pipe, pulled some home-grown tobacco from a deep blue pouch, packed it carefully into the bowl, and lit it with a fire striker.

His movements were unhurried and deliberate. Anyone familiar with his temperament would know: this meant he had something serious on his mind.

And indeed he did. He wouldn’t normally call his daughter-in-law over unless it was something important.

“Little Jun and Little You, go back to your room. I need a word with your mother.”

Xue Youcai glanced at his mother, wanting to speak, but his older brother Xue Juncai pulled him away.

“Father, if you have something to say, just say it.”

Mrs. Yang was thirty-four this year. In the countryside, a woman in her thirties was no longer considered young. With years of hard labor, sun, and storms behind her, her face had already begun to show the wear of time.

Despite her age, Mrs. Yang was remarkably well-preserved. Her face was full and fair, with only a few fine lines at the corners of her eyes. She wore a slightly worn but still elegant stone-blue brocade jacket, and her glossy black hair was pinned neatly into a bun, adorned with a gilded hairpin. On her ears hung a pair of old silver earrings, and her hands—though not exactly slender and delicate—were soft and fair, one of them bearing a gold ring.

With her appearance and poise, she could easily pass for the madam of a wealthy landowning household—outshining even Mrs. Zhao in presence and refinement.

Old Master Xue’s eyes swept over her slowly, taking his time to study her, which made her shift uncomfortably where she stood.

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, her father-in-law suddenly asked,
“Eldest daughter-in-law, how many years has it been since you married into our family?”

Mrs. Yang was caught off guard. “Seventeen years. I came to the Xue household when I was seventeen.”

“And how have your mother-in-law and I treated you?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Father, Mother have always treated me like your own daughter.”

Old Master Xue nodded, taking a slow drag from his pipe. Pale smoke curled around his weathered face, obscuring his expression.

“You’re the eldest daughter-in-law of this household. Your mother-in-law has always been fond of you. You and Eldest have always shared our hopes and hearts—we’ve all wanted Jun to make something of himself.”

Mrs. Yang breathed a little easier and even smiled. “Jun really studies hard, Father. Even my father says he’s a rare talent. He’s bound to pass the county exam without issue.”

At the mention of his pride and joy, even Old Master Xue couldn’t help but smile.

Sensing his softened demeanor, Mrs. Yang seized the opportunity.

“But as you know, Father, passing the exam isn’t just about studying at home. Back then, when Jun’s father was preparing, he took my father’s advice and went to study for two years at Qinghe Academy. He made connections with fellow students, got a bit of recognition from his teacher, and even left an impression on the county magistrate. When the time for the county exam came, he passed.”

“As long as the rankings in the county exam are decent, the prefectural exam is at least half a sure thing. It’s only the provincial exam where luck plays a big part. Jun’s father simply didn’t have that luck—otherwise, he might’ve made it long ago.”

This was the real reason Mrs. Yang held such a favored place in the Xue household. It wasn’t just because her father was a licentiate, but because he had once offered key advice that helped Xue Qingshan advance.

And though Mrs. Yang’s words might sound exaggerated, they were rooted in truth. The county and prefectural exams weren’t nearly as strict as the provincial one—especially the county exam, which was overseen by the local magistrate.

The exam had five sessions, but it was really the first that mattered most. Candidates had to write two eight-legged essays and a poem in the official script. As long as the writing wasn’t riddled with errors and the arguments were coherent, they usually passed. Whether a candidate was selected or not often came down to how much they stood out.

Given the choice, the magistrate was more inclined to choose someone with a familiar face.

That’s why attending a reputable academy was so important—it gave candidates the chance to appear in front of the county magistrate. In Dachang, the imperial court placed great emphasis on selecting talented individuals. The number of licentiates, scholars, and even jinshi (presented scholars) a county produced was considered part of a magistrate’s political achievements.

Even the most useless of county officials knew better than to skip that part of their job.

Enrolling in a good academy expanded more than just a student’s social network—it broadened their horizons.

Take the county exam, for example. It tested knowledge of the Four Books, Five Classics, and the Sacred Edicts, but more importantly, how to write properly, and what taboos to avoid—such as the use of temple names, the emperor’s given name, or other forbidden terms. No matter how brilliant the writing, if it violated any of these, the candidate would be disqualified.

But in rural areas like theirs, many private tutors were aging licentiates running schools just to earn a living. Most of them were still fixated on trying to pass the xiucai exam themselves, and had neither the time nor the will to guide their pupils through such detailed pitfalls.

Xue Qingshan had been one of those men—which was why he was now so determined to send Jun to the Qinghe Academy.

Mrs. Yang assumed her father-in-law had summoned her to talk about sending Jun to study, which was why she had spoken at such length. What she didn’t know was that, while her words had indeed touched on Old Master Xue’s concerns, his real purpose was something else entirely.

He took a long drag from his pipe, then finally spoke.

“Everything you said, Eldest has already mentioned. We’ll talk about it later. You’re Jun’s mother—it’s only right you plan for his future. But you must understand, our family doesn’t consist of the eldest branch alone.”

His tone was layered, and Mrs. Yang paused, then forced a smile.

“Of course, Father. I know the Xue family isn’t just us. But you can rest assured—if Jun’s father or Jun himself achieves anything, they’ll never forget their duty to you and Mother.”

Noticing her father-in-law’s expression darken, she quickly added, “Nor to the rest of the family. Jun has always remembered that he owes his education to the support of his uncles and aunts.”

Old Master Xue nodded slowly. “Since you understand that, then you should also know that the other three branches have long been sacrificing for the sake of the eldest. I won’t even speak of the distant past—just look at the third and fourth branches. It’s their hands that till the fields and keep food on the table. Your father is getting old—he doesn’t move like he used to. The fourth son works the land and still carries goods to market, wearing through who-knows-how-many pairs of shoes in a year. Yet every copper coin he earns, he hands over to the household—not once has he kept any for himself.”

“They’ve all worked so hard—for what? Isn’t it all for our family? For the sake of the eldest branch?”

Mrs. Yang’s smile grew strained. “Father, how can you say it’s all for us? If Jun’s father succeeds, doesn’t that bring honor to the whole Xue family? Ever since he passed the tongsheng exam, people in the village look at us differently. Even the Zheng family shows more respect to our surname. This isn’t just for our branch—it’s for the good of the entire clan, for the future of our descendants…”

Old Master Xue let out a sigh and interrupted her. “I understand what you’re saying—your mother-in-law does too. But there’s a saying: the rod doesn’t hurt until it lands on your own back. Put yourself in the shoes of the third and fourth branches—how do you think they feel? They do the bulk of the work, yet can’t even get a decent bite to eat. Everything ends up in someone else’s bowl.”

That last sentence echoed what Zhao’er had said earlier, and Mrs. Yang’s face flushed bright red with embarrassment.

“Father, how can you say everything ended up in my bowl? I—”

Old Master Xue ignored her and turned to scold Mrs. Zhao. “And you—you show your favoritism right in front of everyone. Go on, keep it up. Keep making the third and fourth feel like outsiders. Let them get cold-hearted and talk about splitting the household—then you can go farm the fields and support Eldest and Jun’s exams!”

By the end, his voice was full of frustration, a deep disappointment that they still didn’t understand.

Mrs. Zhao didn’t like hearing that one bit. She grumbled, “What favoritism? What did I do? I was just thinking Eldest and Jun need to study, and that takes brainpower—of course I’d give them more to eat. It’s not like I kept the good stuff for myself!”

Her voice rose in indignation. “Now they want to divide the family? Are they trying to turn the heavens upside down? As long as the parents are still alive, no one splits off! Even if I let them, the ancestral rules never will!”

Old Master Xue gave a bitter smile. If it weren’t for the two of them still holding the house together—if it weren’t for the authority of the family’s ancestral rules—things might have already fallen apart. Who wants to be the beast of burden, working themselves to the bone, only to be pushed around?

He turned his eyes back on Mrs. Yang. “You know our family’s situation. Your mother-in-law and I can keep order for now—but not forever. If you truly want to send Jun to the academy in town, you’d best start mending ties with the third and fourth branches.”

“Father, I…”

“I never said anything before because your mother-in-law favored you—but you know what’s right and wrong. Starting tomorrow, you’ll join the third and fourth families in sharing the public work.”

With that, Old Master Xue stopped talking and silently puffed on his pipe. Mrs. Yang couldn’t remain any longer; she lowered her head and quickly left the main hall.

Just as Mrs. Zhou finished cleaning up the kitchen, she saw her eldest sister-in-law walk back toward the east wing, her expression clearly sour.

Mrs. Zhou’s eyes flickered toward the south-facing part of the west wing—that was the fourth branch’s room.

Behind its window, someone stood just out of sight. Mrs. Zhou knew Mrs. Sun had been keeping watch on everything happening in the courtyard. Pretending not to notice, she wiped her hands on her apron and returned to her room.

But by dinner that evening, something unexpected happened. Mrs. Yang, for once, dressed in plain homespun clothes and came to the kitchen, insisting she would help Mrs. Zhou cook.

Mrs. Zhou tried to refuse, but Mrs. Yang smiled and said warmly, “You’ve been working so hard. Take a break—I’ll handle it today.”

Pushed out of the kitchen, Mrs. Zhou ended up face to face with Mrs. Sun by the west wing door. Both women looked equally stunned.

What surprised them even more was what happened afterward.

From that day forward, Mrs. Yang completely changed her ways. She started doing chores—every kind of chore. Though her hands were clumsy from years of not lifting a finger, she still did them.

Not only that—she became unusually generous. She’d often convince Mrs. Zhao to give up some money, buy meat, or fetch eggs so she could prepare a nice dish for the whole family to share.

Thanks to that, the tension that Zhao’er had stirred up began to settle, and peace returned to the Xue household.

During this time, Xue Tingrang’s health finally improved. He regained enough strength to move about the house.

One morning, after they finished breakfast, Zhao’er decided it was time to make a trip into town.

The scraps of fabric Zhao’er had brought back from the embroidery workshop had already been turned into sachets, embroidered shoes, and other small items. She’d been saving them up for days—it was time to take them back to the workshop and sell them.

She packed everything neatly into a basket and, before leaving, reminded Xue Tingrang that it was a fine day and he should go out to get some sun.

Xue Tingrang obediently nodded, and only then did she leave the house feeling at ease.

Not long after she left, Xue Tingrang stepped outside.

The courtyard was quiet. The door curtains of the other rooms hung low, making it hard to tell if anyone was home.

He stood by the doorway for a moment, then began walking toward the front gate. The black dog, which had been lazily sunbathing, immediately stood up and trotted after him.

=^_^=