Chapter 8
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Song Jingchen immediately covered his mouth with his small hand, staying silent.
Song Jingrui, wearing a stern expression, said, “Even if you don’t say it, big brother can tell. You must have picked it up from those older kids in the backstreets—so young, learning all sorts of nonsense. I’ll tell father later and have Third Uncle keep an eye on you.”
Song Jingchen shook his head quickly, tugging at Song Jingrui’s hand, and obediently said, “Brother, I’ll change.”
The old lady smiled fondly at the two boys and pinched Jingchen’s chubby cheek. “A real man keeps his word. Is our Jingchen a little man yet?”
Jingchen’s eyes darted around, refusing to fall for grandmother’s trick. In a soft, childish voice, he replied, “Grandmother, Jingchen is still a child now. He’ll be a man when he grows up.”
The old lady gently coaxed, “Even children must keep their promises. Lying is not good behavior.”
Jingchen felt unconvinced. In his mind, adults lied all the time. Especially when mother was with First Aunt and Second Aunt—they all lied. That must mean lying was necessary.
Otherwise, why would mother praise Second Aunt as pretty and make her so happy when Second Aunt was clearly not as beautiful as mother?
Father praised mother’s embroidered pouch as beautiful, making her happy, yet he never actually showed the “beautiful” pouch to anyone.
Besides, just now, both grandmother and the old matriarch were lying. Even he and his brother had told fibs. Grandmother had just praised him, then immediately said lying was bad.
Clearly, adults’ words couldn’t be trusted entirely!
With this thought, Jingchen obediently said, “Grandmother, I understand.”
“Our Jingchen is truly obedient.” The old lady affectionately patted her grandson’s head, eyes full of approval.
Jingchen thought to himself: So that’s it—adults actually prefer children who lie without getting caught.
The three generations returned home, and when the three daughters-in-law heard that Song Jingrui had a chance to become a disciple of the great scholar Chen, they were all overjoyed.
Except Jiang was genuinely moved to tears, Wang forced a smile and congratulated Jiang, while Xiuniang tried to lift the corners of her mouth but was inwardly heartbroken.
Everyone knew the previous dream was unreliable and just laughed it off, but this time it was real—and that made it hard to bear.
Why wasn’t their own son chosen?
It was so unfair.
By afternoon, the men from each household gradually returned.
Eldest son Song Dalang felt a pang of envy upon hearing about his little nephew but quickly came to terms with it.
As the primary heir, family honor mattered most to him. When one thrives, the whole family rises; when one falls, all suffer. If one child succeeds, he can lift the entire family.
Song Erlang was ecstatic, reciting poetry wildly with joy. After laughing, he couldn’t help but embrace Jiang, crying softly.
Jiang understood her husband well—after failing the imperial exams four times, now their six-year-old son had a chance to study under Master Chen. Who wouldn’t shed tears of joy?
Compared to the reactions of the eldest and second brothers, Song Sanlang was much more composed: This was just the beginning. The long journey had yet to start.
The path to officialdom was arduous, requiring the perfect alignment of time, fate, and luck.
Even if one were to reach the peak by chance, a smooth ending still depended on these three. Brother Rui’s road to success in the imperial exams would be difficult.
At night, after washing off sweat and the smell of paint, Song Sanlang entered the room.
He found Xiuniang lying listlessly on the bed, fanning their son absentmindedly—a stark contrast to her usual lively self. Amused, he teased,
“Why so glum, my lady?”
“Because your lady’s child isn’t as good as others’, so your lady is gloomy. Father, please cheer her up.”
Their barefoot son, sitting cross-legged beside his mother, fiddling with a puzzle lock, didn’t even look up. Then, with his soft childish voice, he sighed, “Ah—women. Fathers should take care of their own women.”
Afterward, the boy lowered his head and continued playing with his toy.
“You naughty child! How can you talk like that with such big ears!” Xiuniang scolded, trying to tug at his small ear.
Jingchen quickly scrambled over to his father, clutching his neck with hands and feet.
“Father, help! Your lady is trying to kill her own son!”
Song Sanlang scooped up the little rascal, frowning. “Kill? Where did you learn such words?”
Jingchen’s eyes twinkled. “I heard the storyteller say it.”
Song Sanlang squinted. “Repeat what the storyteller said to father.”
Jingchen blinked. “I forgot, only remember that line.”
Song Sanlang flipped him over, placing his head down on his thigh, pretending to spank him.
“Father, wait! Let me think again.”
Song Sanlang started counting down, “Ten, nine, eight, seven...”
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Jingchen urgently said, “That little lady, are you trying to kill your own husband?”
Song Sanlang roughly guessed where his son had heard this.
He didn’t emphasize whether the words were good or bad. Children were pure and naive. If you kept explaining and hiding the truth, they’d only become more curious and might understand too much.
He said, “From now on, Jingchen, don’t run around with those older boys. If you stray too far from our doorstep and encounter kidnappers, the older brothers will run faster, and you’ll be the slow one caught.”
“If that happens, father and mother will never see Jingchen again, and Jingchen won’t see them. Even if father and mother cried their eyes out, they wouldn’t find their son. How sad would that be?”
Jingchen tilted his head and added, “The kidnappers would sell Jingchen to others. He wouldn’t be their child. The stepfather and stepmother would hit Jingchen, scold Jingchen, make Jingchen do many chores, and not even give him food.”
“Father, I almost have it memorized.”
Song Sanlang was speechless.
The little fellow had learned to interrupt—this speech must have been repeated too often.
Xiuniang saw Jingchen’s indifferent expression and couldn’t resist warning him, “Being sold to stepfather and stepmother isn’t the worst—they might even sell you to the palace…”
“Cough, cough,” Song Sanlang interrupted, signaling Xiuniang with his eyes. She realized her mistake and pinched her son’s chubby cheek.
“In short, it’s very scary. Don’t think father and mother are just scaring you.”
Seeing their parents so serious, Jingchen pretended to be frightened and buried his head into his father’s chest.
“Father, kidnappers are scary. Jingchen will listen and not run off with the older brothers anymore.”
“Good boy.” Song Sanlang patted his son’s head, then looked at Xiuniang.
“Lately, there have been many cases of missing children in the city, especially kids Jingchen’s age. Kidnappers like children who look lovable. Jingchen is so adorable, they’ll fetch a good price. If kidnappers target him, we can’t defend against it. You must watch him closely, so we don’t regret it later.”
Jingchen perked up his small ears, sensing the seriousness, fear flickering in his big eyes.
Xiuniang was also frightened by her husband’s words. From now on, they had to keep a closer watch on the child, not letting him sneak out under the pretense of looking for his brothers.
Seeing both mother and son afraid satisfied Song Sanlang, who comforted them:
“Just stay away from the backstreets. Our doorstep is still safe. Kidnappers won’t dare come here easily.”
Xiuniang nodded quickly, “Better be careful.”
If their son really got kidnapped, she wouldn’t survive. No matter how foolish, he was still her own.
Noticing the time, Song Sanlang turned off the oil lamp on the table.
If the light stayed on, the child wouldn’t sleep. The more tired the adults were, the more energetic the child seemed. Song Sanlang was utterly exhausted by this.
“Father, it’s so dark, there are ghosts. I’m scared.” The boy rolled into Song Sanlang’s arms, seeking protection.
Song Sanlang embraced him, thinking, There are no ghosts. Your father is the real ghost here. If you’re not afraid of your father, what ghosts do you fear?
Xiuniang believed in gods but not ghosts. Belief in gods brought benefits; belief in ghosts only scared oneself. She had seen divine manifestations but never ghosts.
If ghosts really existed, why hadn’t any vengeful spirits succeeded in revenge?
She said, “There are no ghosts, just shadows of tree branches.”
“No, ghosts disguised as tree shadows.”
Xiuniang was speechless.
Song Sanlang chuckled and patted his son’s back. “Jingchen, do you think father is stronger or ghosts are stronger?”
Jingchen replied confidently, “Of course father is stronger. Father’s fists can knock ghosts down.”
Song Sanlang’s strong physique and calm demeanor gave Jingchen immense security. To him, father was omnipotent.
Song Sanlang said, “When Jingchen grows up, he’ll be as strong as father. We’re small now, but we’re getting stronger. Now, clench your little fist.”
Jingchen did as told, tightly clenching his tiny fist.
Song Sanlang asked, “Can you feel the strength?”
Jingchen nodded, “Yes, father.”
Song Sanlang said, “Now tell father, where is the strength?”
Without hesitation, Jingchen said, “In Jingchen’s palm.”
Song Sanlang affirmed, “Exactly. The strength is in your own hand. So do you believe you can handle those weak ghosts?”
Jingchen said, “I can defeat weak ghosts like brother.”
Song Sanlang rubbed his forehead. “Then you deal with the little ghosts. Father will drive away the big ghosts. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Good, now sleep. Keep your mouth shut. No more talking.”
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...
After a while, bored and unable to sleep, Song Jingchen tugged at his father’s beard, murmuring, “Pull, pull, pull, oh dear, I pulled out a father, one father, two fathers, three fathers...”
Song Sanlang gritted his teeth. “Song Jingchen, how many fathers do you want?”
Jingchen mumbled drowsily, “Many, many fathers.”
Song Sanlang was speechless.
His beard was so abundant Jingchen couldn’t count it. Soon, Jingchen’s eyelids drooped, and he fell asleep.
After the child was sound asleep, Song Sanlang waited a moment, then, under the moonlight, gently pried Jingchen’s little hand off his beard, rescuing his treasured whiskers.
Xiuniang whispered, “Spoil him too much, you’ll lose all your beard sooner or later.”
Song Sanlang chuckled softly, laid the boy in the adjoining room. Children were adorable but demanding; one had to always keep an eye on them.
Back in bed, only the couple remained.
Xiuniang murmured, “Sanlang, do you really think Brother Rui can become a disciple of that great scholar Chen?”
Song Sanlang nodded confidently, “He should.”
Though the little nephew was not a prodigy, he was close. Moreover, few could match Brother Rui’s perseverance and determination.
If Master Chen truly loved talent as rumored, he wouldn’t miss such a promising seedling.
Xiuniang sadly said, “What about our Jingchen? Brother is so good at studying, he makes us look like fools.”
Song Sanlang stroked Xiuniang’s head gently. “Don’t compare others’ strengths to our child’s weaknesses. Brother Rui has many shortcomings too; don’t underestimate your own son.”
Xiuniang said, “I heard walnuts help the brain. Should we buy some for the child?”
Song Sanlang laughed and tapped her head. “You believe that? If it were true, would walnuts even be available for you to buy?”
Xiuniang realized he was right and felt a bit foolish for not seeing through such a simple matter.
Song Sanlang’s tone turned serious. “What you did earlier wasn’t right. Our Jingchen is thick-skinned, but other children might get very hurt. They’re already not as good as their brothers and still get looked down on by their own parents. Think about how pitiful that is.”
Xiuniang slapped her forehead, frustrated. “I only thought of my own feelings, never Jingchen’s. That was terrible.”
Song Sanlang held her hand. “It’s okay. You didn’t think it through this time, but you will next time. No one can be perfect all the time. Don’t blame yourself too much. You’re his mother; whatever you do comes from love. I understand.”
Xiuniang leaned into her husband’s broad embrace. “Sanlang, you’re wonderful—better than any man I’ve ever met.”
Song Sanlang gently pulled her close, kissed her on the tip of her nose. “Sleep now.”
Xiuniang kissed him back lightly, like a little dog licking, making him laugh.
She mischievously covered his mouth. “No laughing.”
“You’re such a bossy little wife.” Song Sanlang removed her hand and smiled.
“Because my husband is the best, he loves us both so much.”
Song Sanlang was speechless.
The next day.
After a night’s rest, Xiuniang had mostly digested her envy and jealousy toward the second household. She eagerly ran to Jiang’s room to gossip that their own matriarch actually knew such an influential figure in the capital.
Heavens, that was the First Lady—a world apart from their own family—yet she had shown respect to their matriarch.
Jiang, married into the Song family long ago, had heard the old man mention the matriarch’s background several times and knew she was quite well-connected. She also heard from her son that the matriarch had given her dowry to the First Lady.
Moved, Jiang felt only another woman could understand the hardships the matriarch had endured all these years.
From Xiuniang’s words, it seemed she didn’t know why the matriarch had to show respect to the First Lady. After thinking it through, Jiang guessed the matriarch had instructed Jingchen not to tell anyone.
Having gained such a great advantage, Jiang felt a bit embarrassed and treated Xiuniang sincerely that day, giving her a pair of chrysanthemum-shaped knotted buttons she made.
Xiuniang thought Jiang was just in high spirits from the good news and readily accepted the gift with pleasure.
Wang, tossing and turning all night, bitterly regretted not having a capable child. She was so distressed!
She hadn’t wanted to visit the second household and make Jiang even more proud, but seeing Xiuniang go, she couldn’t stay still and hurried after her. If Brother Rui really became a disciple of Master Chen, it would benefit their family greatly—not just in the future, but right now.
Even the value of their maid Bamboo would rise.
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