Chapter 24

The renowned Commander of the Jinlong Bureau, Lu Feng, was said to be so fearsome that he could stop a child’s crying at night.

Although Lu Huaiyi was young, he knew his father’s impressive reputation well. Having accompanied his father, he had met many people who revered Lu Feng. Their restrained and fearful gazes meant they dared not even look directly at Lu Huaiyi, this young child. But when he was alone, with his identity unknown, he often encountered people who dismissed him due to his age.

This gentleman was the first person to bend down and speak to him at eye level. Lu Huaiyi did not want to deceive him.

Pei Zhang was momentarily stunned upon hearing Lu Huaiyi’s words. Instead of the infamous Lu Feng, the first thought that came to his mind was of a woman.

A radiant and stunningly beautiful lady he had once seen in a narrow alley. It was her child—no wonder he was so strikingly handsome.

He looked at Lu Huaiyi with a complicated expression, feeling an inexplicable urge to reach out and touch him. The boy’s eyes closely resembled his mother’s—deep, bright black pupils framed by thick, long lashes that fluttered like wings, stirring something deep inside.

Beneath his sleeves, Pei Zhang clenched his hand into a tight fist. His upbringing forbade him from making such an inappropriate gesture. He took a step back and restrained himself, saying, “So, you’re the son of Master Lu.”

“I am your…” He paused, choosing not to say “uncle,” and instead continued, “I am your father’s colleague. My surname is Pei, and my given name is Zhang.”

After exchanging names, Lu Huaiyi learned that Pei Zhang held an official position. He respectfully bowed and said, “Greetings, Master Pei.”

“There’s no need for formalities.”

Pei Zhang spoke with a soft and unhurried tone, like a gentle spring breeze. “Since you’re the son of a colleague, it’s only right that I look after you. Are you heading out to buy inkstones? Let me accompany you.”

Unable to refuse such sincere kindness and feeling a liking toward the refined Pei Zhang, the two walked together to the shop Pei Zhang had mentioned earlier. It was a bookstore whose shopkeeper was an old acquaintance of Pei Zhang.

This shop’s inkstones were far superior to the previous one. Remembering Pei Zhang’s comment that the earlier ones were worth sixty taels, Lu Huaiyi took out his one-hundred-tael silver note. However, the shopkeeper declined to accept it.

Pei Zhang smiled and said, “I’m a few years older than you. Let these three inkstones be my gift to you as a meeting present.”

Before Lu Huaiyi could refuse, Pei Zhang continued, “If you truly want to thank me, then don’t let my goodwill go to waste. May you persevere and steadily improve your calligraphy skills.”

Feeling embarrassed to begin with, Lu Huaiyi blushed even more upon hearing these words. Lowering his head in shame, he murmured, “Master Pei, I… truly feel unworthy of this.”

Recently, the characters he submitted for review no longer earned his father’s approving circles or encouraging remarks. Instead, the comments had become increasingly stern, and he grew more fearful of his father’s disappointment. He had let his father down.

Pei Zhang said nothing further. Instead, he requested an ink stick and a sheet of Xuan paper from the shopkeeper. Leading Lu Huaiyi to the desk, he said, “Write the character ‘永’ (eternity) for me.”

The character “永” encompasses the eight basic brushstrokes in Chinese calligraphy: dot, horizontal, vertical, downward left, downward right, hook, upward stroke, and press-release. Most beginners start with this character, so it wasn’t unfamiliar to Lu Huaiyi. He added water to the inkstone, ground the ink stick himself, and carefully wrote the character “永” on the paper, stroke by stroke.

“Master Pei?” Lu Huaiyi turned to look at Pei Zhang. The character “永” (eternity) was the one he had practiced the most and felt confident that he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of Master Pei.

Sure enough, Pei Zhang studied it for a moment and nodded, saying, “It has some charm and spirit.”

Lu Huaiyi exhaled slightly in relief. Pei Zhang then changed his tone, continuing, “Although it has spirit, its structure is flawed. The brush strokes are loosely composed—the horizontal isn’t straight, the vertical isn’t upright, and the transitions are rigid and abrupt. This diminishes its vitality.”

Pei Zhang’s voice was gentle, but his words were sharp and pinpointed the flaws directly. Ashamed, Lu Huaiyi lowered his head and said softly, “My father and teacher say the same thing. I’ll keep practicing and improve.”

Pei Zhang chuckled and walked behind Lu Huaiyi, holding his small hand to guide him in writing.

“Like this—gentler. The dot should tilt slightly, with a firm side stroke falling sharply. When finishing the stroke, ensure it gathers strength and precision.”

Pei Zhang had Lu Huaiyi rewrite the character under his guidance. The result was significantly better than before, and Lu Huaiyi stared in amazement, his eyes wide. He couldn’t believe he was capable of writing so well.

“You’re not lacking effort.” Pei Zhang explained, “You’re simply physically weak, with insufficient strength in your wrist.”

“May I ask boldly, young friend—have you been practicing your father’s handwriting?”

Lu Huaiyi nodded, “Yes, it’s my father’s calligraphy.”

The copybook Lu Huaiyi used to practice his calligraphy was written by Lu Feng himself, one character at a time. The one he was using now was the second volume; the first had been accidentally soaked when he spilled a cup of tea. His father had stayed up late that night, painstakingly rewriting the entire book for him, not resting until the job was finished.

Lu Huaiyi devoted himself diligently to practicing calligraphy. But no matter how hard he worked, and even though his teacher praised his intelligence, he couldn’t seem to write well.

Pei Zhang offered clarity, saying, “Young friend, you seem to be physically frail.”

Speaking gently, he explained, “Master Lu is a martial artist, and his strokes are sharp, like swords and spears, with power that penetrates the paper. You, being young and weak, lack the strength in your wrist but insist on imitating Master Lu’s vigorous and solid strokes. In the end, it can only result in an unbalanced style. Instead, try to slow your strokes, soften your force, and let your own spirit emerge.”

Lu Huaiyi’s eyes brightened as he listened. No one had ever told him this before!

His teacher had only commented that he was still young and unsteady with the brush, advising patience. His father’s stern criticism left him bowing his head in silence, too intimidated to argue.

Was it true that he wasn’t clumsy or hard to teach but simply weak?

His eyes sparkled with excitement, and his cheeks flushed with enthusiasm. Unable to resist, Pei Zhang bent down and gently touched the boy’s hair.

“I come to this bookstore to read every fifth and tenth day of the month. If you ever feel puzzled again, you can come find me here.”

Fixing his calligraphy was simple—he just needed the right remedy. The flaws weren’t visible on paper alone, but after personally guiding him once, it became clear that the issue lay in his weak wrist. It seemed the Lu family’s teacher, out of respect for their status, didn’t dare overstep boundaries, and with Master Lu being a strict and dignified figure, he likely wasn’t the kind of father to teach his child hand-over-hand. That’s why no one had noticed the problem.

“Really… is that true?” Lu Huaiyi restrained his excitement and stammered, “Wouldn’t it interrupt your reading?”

“It wouldn’t, not at all.” The tall, lean shopkeeper in a blue robe chuckled as he chimed in. He was an old acquaintance of Pei Zhang and spoke to him in an easygoing, familiar tone. “Our shop’s collection is small, and Master Pei has already gone through most of it many times. He knows where every book is better than I do.”

Lu Huaiyi looked at Pei Zhang with admiration, his eyes shining. “Is this what they mean by ‘reading a book a hundred times and its meaning will naturally appear’?”

By now, Pei Zhang seemed like a legend to him. Whatever Master Pei did, it was bound to make sense!

“Something like that.”

Pei Zhang let out a soft, wry laugh and pulled out a copy of Qi Wu Lun he had borrowed many times before, placing three copper coins on the counter as usual.

“Sigh, Master Pei, it now costs five copper coins,” the shopkeeper lamented. “It’s not that I’m trying to overcharge you. With rising grain prices and higher land rents, my humble business needs to feed an entire family.”

Feeling slightly embarrassed, the shopkeeper added, “You frequently borrow Qi Wu Lun. Why not buy the book outright? I’ll charge you the original price.”

In his heart, the shopkeeper thought: In the past, Master Pei didn’t have much and could only borrow books. But now, with his current wealth, he could easily buy out the entire shop. Yet, he still comes here to read—how peculiar.

Pei Zhang, understanding the situation, calmly took out two additional copper coins and said, “That won’t be necessary.”

He offered no further explanation.

Lu Huaiyi noticed that Master Pei seemed somewhat despondent. Was it because of this book?

The dark eyes of Lu Huaiyi swept over the copy of Qi Wu Lun, secretly noting it down.

---

At the Jinlong Bureau, Lu Feng had just concluded discussions with officials from the Ministry of Justice and the Court of Judicial Review regarding public cases, only to find himself facing a personal matter at home.

Jiang Wanrou sat quietly, stroking her belly, her gaze lowered. Two maids stood trembling, Chang’an remained expressionless, and on the ground lay a dazed maid who was barely conscious, further crowding the already cramped side room.

“What’s going on?” Lu Feng scanned the room and walked directly to Jiang Wanrou. “Is your stomach bothering you?”

“Chang’an, call the imperial physician.”

“No need, I’m fine,” Jiang Wanrou replied, lifting her chin slightly. She gestured to the maid on the floor and added, “Perhaps my husband should call the physician for that maid instead. Her master must be heartbroken over her injuries.”

Her words were dripping with sarcasm, something Lu Feng could hardly miss. He looked at her, puzzled, and she met his gaze with an angry glare.

Someone dared cause trouble right in front of her, and yet she was forbidden from expressing her indignation?

Chang’an stepped forward, intending to whisper something to Lu Feng, but Jiang Wanrou suddenly stood up, cradling her belly, and struggled to bow. She said, “Since my husband’s words are not meant for me to hear, I’ll leave. There’s no need to speak behind my back.”

“Ridiculous.” Lu Feng’s expression darkened instantly.

Cui Zhu, Jin Tao, and Chang’an immediately knelt. Lu Feng pressed down on Jiang Wanrou, who was halfway bent over. His arm was heavy and firm, and Jiang Wanrou couldn’t resist his strength. Yet, unwilling to let him touch her, she twisted and turned. Concerned for her pregnancy, Lu Feng restrained himself, and after a brief struggle, she ended up trapped in his arms, unable to move.

Lu Feng said coldly, “All of you, leave.”

Teaching a child in the hall, guiding a wife in private—he didn’t want to embarrass her in front of others.

Jiang Wanrou, emboldened by her pregnancy, refused to accept his goodwill.

“Oh, don’t! After all, she went through so much trouble to come here, only to be beaten like this just for a chance to see Commander Lu. Sending her away now would surely break her heart.”

Her repeated provocations made Lu Feng’s expression grow even darker. His gaze swept over Chang’an. “Speak.”

Chang’an lowered his head, not daring to meet his eyes. “Reporting to you, sir, the woman on the ground is… a maid from ‘that person’s’ side. She failed to recognize the madam and offended her.”

“Take her away and beat her to death with a rod.” Lu Feng’s expression darkened, his gaze shadowed as he looked at Jiang Wanrou. “Is it worth getting so angry?”

He hadn’t even bothered to look closely at the maid’s face—just like that, it was a matter of life and death.

Jiang Wanrou felt a chill run through her heart, and her voice was unconsciously lowered. “Didn’t you hear what Chang’an said? She’s from ‘that person’s’ side. You’ve been keeping secrets from me, and I can’t even be angry about it?”

Chang’an’s evasive words led her to quickly connect it with the recent discrepancies in the household accounts—coincidentally, the missing items were all women’s goods like powders and cosmetics.

Lu Feng had always entrusted the management of the inner household to her, but she had overlooked one key detail: the storeroom keys, including one that the master himself held.

As much as she didn’t want to believe it, the evidence was undeniable. Jiang Wanrou’s mind went blank; her usual composure vanished, leaving her at a loss for what to do.

No, deep down, she knew exactly what would be best for her.

She should take the initiative and bring the person into the household, keeping her firmly under her control so she couldn’t stir up trouble. That way, no one outside could accuse her of being jealous, and Lu Feng might even appreciate her magnanimity. She already had Huaiyi, was expecting another child, and had managed the household impeccably for years—Lu Feng would give her the dignity she deserved.

She needed only to focus on her responsibilities: raising the children and maintaining order. No matter how many concubines or lesser wives Lu Feng might take in the future, none would surpass her. That was the path she had originally chosen for herself.

Duke Lu’s household was of the highest status; she had never expected a love that lasted forever. But over the years, Lu Feng had indeed not touched another woman. He treated her with increasing gentleness—holding her with such care, teaching her to play dice, quietly entering her room late at night to cover her with a quilt, stroking her belly, and reading stories to the child within.

It had made her develop a foolish hope.

They were fine as they were, weren’t they? Why did there have to be another woman involved?

Lost in her bittersweet thoughts, Jiang Wanrou was interrupted as Chang’an hesitantly said, “Madam seems to have misunderstood… Misunderstood that ‘that person’ is your mistress.”

Both Jiang Wanrou and Lu Feng froze, their expressions varying in complexity.

After a long silence, Lu Feng sighed and looked at the woman in his arms, her eyes faintly red. “Was it all because of this?”

Jiang Wanrou, dazed, stammered, “What—what misunderstanding?”

The whole farce finally came to an end. Jiang Wanrou went through stages of anger, self-pity, and eventually overwhelming embarrassment. When the evening came, and only the couple remained in the room, she still couldn’t help but complain: “This Chang’an is far too unreliable in his work!”

Lu Feng ultimately didn’t reveal who “that person” was and merely stated that she was a relative of an old acquaintance whom he was temporarily helping. He assured her that once things were resolved, the woman would be sent away.

Jiang Wanrou was unconvinced earlier and had pressed him sharply: “If she’s truly a relative of an old acquaintance, why keep me in the dark? Do you think I, Jiang Wanrou, am so petty that I can’t spare a bit of powder and rouge?”

Lu Feng raised his brow. “What powder and rouge?”

Chang’an’s face turned pale in an instant. It turned out that Lu Feng had instructed him to fulfill “that person’s” requests to the best of his ability. Chang’an noticed that the items requested were all common women’s goods, like makeup and cosmetics, and since the storeroom was filled to the brim, he had cut corners and sent items directly from the household supply. By taking this shortcut, he saved himself an extra trip, saved money for his master, and freed up storage space—seemingly achieving three benefits at once.

Being a man, Chang’an couldn’t have foreseen the complexities of the inner household nor realized how meticulous Jiang Wanrou was in managing the household. She had noticed discrepancies in the accounts that very month, leading to this embarrassing situation.

Chang’an’s reaction didn’t seem fake, and Jiang Wanrou believed him about seventy to eighty percent. Still, she stubbornly held onto her anger and said, “And what about her?”

She glanced at the maid on the ground, still harboring resentment. “She kept insisting that Commander Lu is her master.”

Without even looking up, Lu Feng ordered, “Someone, splash water to wake her.”

He remained calm and composed, but before anything could proceed, the maid fainted again—whether from fright or something else, it wasn’t clear. Dressed in thin spring clothing, the maid had clearly suffered greatly that day, paying the price for her insolence. Feeling softhearted due to her pregnancy, Jiang Wanrou didn’t allow anyone to torment her further.

In truth, when Lu Feng claimed that “that person” was a relative of an old acquaintance, Jiang Wanrou had already believed him.

First, Lu Feng wasn’t the type to stoop to lying to her.

Second, Lu Feng wasn’t the type to desire a married woman.

After five years of marriage, Jiang Wanrou knew Lu Feng well enough in this regard. He had the fastidious habits of a nobleman raised in luxury—obsessively clean.

For example, he would never drink from a cup that someone else had used. His tea cups had to be scalded three times before being served, and anything older than ten days needed to be replaced. She had secretly observed that their son, Lu Huaiyi, shared the same peculiar habits as his father—they were the very image of pampered men who didn’t understand the value of household affairs.

Lu Feng was even more particular, carrying an air of condescending arrogance as a person in a high position. He disdained anything touched by others. When his colleagues invited him to a private room at the teaching hall to discuss matters, knowing his self-disciplined nature, they purposely didn’t invite any entertainers. Even so, Lu Feng didn’t show up in the end.

Jiang Wanrou knew that it wasn’t about self-discipline—it was about disdain.

…

After all the commotion, it turned out she had been the one being unreasonable. Jiang Wanrou found herself unable to maintain her toughness in front of Lu Feng. Overcome with shame and embarrassment, she diligently attended to him, helping to dry his hair.

“Enough, go and rest,” Lu Feng said.

Lu Feng took the embroidered handkerchief from her. Since her pregnancy had advanced and her body had grown heavier, he rarely let her do anything herself.

Remembering how she had clutched her belly earlier, sulking and jealous, he was both exasperated and amused. He pulled her in front of him and asked, “So afraid I’ll take a concubine?”

Jiang Wanrou’s face flushed pink. “It’s all Chang’an’s fault! I was just momentarily upset—I’m not usually like this.”

Normally, she wouldn’t have been so impulsive as to confront him directly. Strangely, he hadn’t even gotten angry.

“Who said I wasn’t angry?”

Lu Feng looked at her, his tone cool. “A father teaches his son before the family altar; a husband teaches his wife by the pillow. Today, I gave you all the face you needed in front of the servants.”

“And you?” His dark, sharp eyes lifted. “Have you thought about how you’ll make it up to me, my wife?”

Jiang Wanrou paused, her mind racing, then laughed coquettishly. “Make what up? Husband, I’m too dull to understand.”

Lu Feng’s lips quirked, but she remained unruffled, nestling comfortably into his embrace. She took his large hand and pressed it against her belly.

“Feel—he just kicked me.”