"You are a quiet, modest, gentle girl… You will be a kind, compliant wife to your husband." – declared Teacher Wun Zhu, a tall, lean man with thin whiskers jutting out sideways like those of an insect. He himself was like a praying mantis – arms and legs like sticks, with a habit of freezing still, tilting his head to the side, making sure he was being heard.
"What does this verse, the first in the Shijing, tell us? We must not forget that the Shijing canon was given to us by the followers of Master Kong-zi to prevent society from turning into a horde of savages. Xiao Tai!"
"I am here, teacher!" the girl immediately responded. Teacher Wun Zhu just shook his head, disapprovingly.
"I am waiting for an answer, student," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. He froze in this pose and gazed at her. At her? In this language, there are no feminine verb forms; 'she went' is indistinguishable from 'he went'. Still, it is a matter of inner identification, and being split apart inside is uncomfortable. Viktor had partially come to terms with having reincarnated into this body. They say it takes twenty-one days to form a habit, and he had been here for three months already. Autumn had come, the leaves turned crimson, Tian Mountain was tinted delicate shades of scarlet, the nights grew even colder, and the moon seemed to have gone mad, pressing closer to the earth – so huge. Or maybe it was just an illusion?
Third month. During this time he had understood and learned much, but the most important thing – he firmly decided that he needed to attain freedom. And in this world, freedom is a very expensive commodity. To be free, one needs to be very strong, influential, and wealthy. Just like in any other world, of course. However, there are nuances. In his previous world, almost everyone enjoyed some degree of freedom. Any factory worker, maid in a hotel, or office clerk was free. Yes, there was plenty of whining about "economic slavery," forced to work twelve-hour days to pay the mortgage, car loans, and expensive gadgets – but it wasn't the same at all. Absolutely anyone had the right to decent treatment, whether a maid, a cleaner, or a CEO of a major company. Anyone could stand up and say, "I quit, to hell with you all." And they could leave.
This world is different. In the finest traditions of the Middle Ages, you can't just quit. Even a servant in a grand home could essentially be a slave. Sure, there were servants who were treated almost as equals—like Auntie Cho to Lady Mei was more like a friend. The head of the Won Mi house guards, a giant man with a black beard and piercing black eyes, Zhao Tun, was nearly on par with the head of the Baoshu house himself—they would often sit on the open terrace in the evenings, drinking heated wine, admiring the moon, singing songs. Yet in reality, servants of the house had no rights. They could be drawn close or executed just as easily. And nobody would ask, "Hey, why did you impale so-and-so and gut them?" Officially, there would be no investigation. The Silent Screams, the division of the Imperial investigators, didn't bother with such nonsense. They searched for conspiracies against the Emperor. And of course, they found them. How could you not, with the threat of the hook and hot iron? You'd find something right away.
So, things were even worse here than in the Chapayev movie, "The Whites came – they loot, the Reds came too – they loot, so where should a poor peasant go…?" Like the saying, "the owl or the stump, the result for the owl is the same." Social stratification was colossal. Those at the top could do whatever they wanted to those at the bottom. True, it was frowned upon if utter sadists tormented their subordinates too blatantly – that was seen as unseemly. But that was it. Actually, social approval or disapproval was quite a serious mechanism; a lot depended on it. However, if a wealthy and influential person didn't torture their servants in public, but instead in private under some pretense—claiming the servant stole something or failed to obey properly—no one would say a word. Within their rights.
An interesting conclusion follows. Everyone—the rich and powerful big shots and the little nobodies like servants and beggars—absolutely everyone obeys a certain moral code. And the morality here is very Confucian; Master Kong has left his mark here too, a pillar of moral guidance and virtue. So, there wasn't a situation where some spoiled rich kid would roast and devour the children of his servants just for fun. He'd be immediately strung up—not only by the common folk but also by other noble families. The Laws of Heaven watch over all. That's why Viktor did not skip Teacher Wun Zhu's lessons, because the foundations of these very laws were taught during these few hours between lunch and dinner.
"Honorable Teacher Zhu! The first poem of the Shijing canon says, 'You are a quiet, modest, gentle girl… You will be a good, compliant wife to your husband.'" He stood and bowed. This was the custom. Always bow. Mark your status.
"That means the true virtues of a woman are in modesty and obedience, in following her husband and supporting him in all things," Viktor replied. In that time, he had studied not only the Shijing but many books and treatises as well; the Won Mi family's library was quite extensive, and the habit of reading and remembering everything at once carried over from his previous life. The locals read very slowly, furrowing their brows and moving their lips, sounding out the text to themselves, even with expression. It was very amusing at times to watch Lord Baoshu reading about battles—he would frown so intensely!
By the way, ordinary maids were barred from the library, but not Xiao Tai. A special order was given for her—let her read, since she was able. Moreover, Viktor suspected that the very head of the house himself enjoyed having someone literate around, and he decreed that if Xiao Tai was reading, she was not to be disturbed with housework. Thus, he preferred to spend his evenings in the library, sitting over a treatise, pretending to read. Despite the library's size and many scrolls—bamboo slips, parchment, and leather-bound books—he read everything in the general section in the first month. The reading speed of a modern person differed greatly from the local norm.
"Give another example of a song praising these virtues in young women," said Teacher Wun Zhu, patting his fan against his palm, "one that lets us understand more deeply what Master Kong wanted to tell us."
"A quiet girl is so good and gentle! There, by the wall, she is waiting for me. I love her deeply, but I cannot approach her; You scratch your head, but shyness remains as strong as ever," Xiao Tai recited.
"Song number one hundred and fifty-three!" the teacher was slightly surprised, placing his hands behind his back. "Good, good. Sit down. I would note, young lady, that Master Kong-zi was fair in his collection of instructions and songs. Not only do women have obligations, so do men. Marriage is like the symbol of Yin and Yang, a cycle of mutual responsibilities. Thus, in song number one hundred and forty-four, a husband's cruelty is condemned—'The husband forgot the old covenants, he became harsh to his wife.' Also condemned are drunkenness, depravity, and gambling, even if it's cricket races or mahjong. Xiangqi is also considered a game of chance, since one person wins and the other loses." Here, the teacher twitched his thin whiskers and cast a look at the quietly sitting Xiao Tai. She understood what he was hinting at: that even the head of the house had played xiangqi with her a few evenings recently—at first just for fun, but having lost, he got stubborn. So what? They played, so they played; the master had that right, but not others… That wasn't right. He couldn't outright ban it—it wasn't his house; Teacher Wun Zhu was a hired tutor, after all, but still he aired his opinion.
"Xiangqi is considered not only a game but an exercise for the development of strategic thinking," said Xiao Tai, "but I admit that players often feel excitement. Nevertheless, since intention is more important than outward form, I want to note that I do not feel excitement during this game."
"Oh. You dug deep, young Xiao. It is true, intent is important, but so too is form. From the standpoint of intention, an upright husband would have no complaints against you, but in terms of form… When you are a wife, ask yourself, is it really appropriate to sit in a pavilion playing xiangqi with your own servants day after day? I think the answer is clear."
"Honorable Teacher Wun Zhu. However, you are playing tricks here. The question was about how much xiangqi is a game of chance and whether it can be played without excitement. But you offered a hypothetical, an example of a possible future. I have never been a wife, and if I became one—I would not behave as you described. It's like if I gave an example in which Teacher Wun Zhu attacked our cook with a knife, demanding he stop playing xiangqi—is that good? And which sin is greater—inno-cent play without excitement, or murder?"
"Sophist!" sighed Teacher Wun Zhu, but Xiao Tai saw the smile at the corner of his eyes. Teacher Wun Zhu was truly a good teacher; his lessons, though somewhat tedious, were informative. And he allowed argument—a rare thing by local standards. Here, teaching was simple—through rote memorization. People just sat and memorized, who did what to whom in the Battle of Red Cliffs. Torture for most, but a photographic memory from a past life helped learn everything in one go. After noticing this, the teacher continued teaching, but then allowed debates and expressing opinions. This was very rare and said a lot about the teacher being not an ordinary man.
"All right," Wun Zhu put his fan in his sleeve, folded his hands together, "let's say you're right. Playing xiangqi, you do not feel excitement. I can believe it, as you always win. But those who play with you—they do feel it. How ethical is it, then, to draw other people into the sin of gambling? And what comes next? The sin of drunkenness, gluttony, lust, betrayal of family and Empire? Blasphemy?"
"Honorable teacher. This insignificant student does not dare to give you advice on how to live your life."
"Why are you being so modest all of a sudden?" the teacher narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but Xiao Tai continued.
"And since this insignificant one does not dare give advice, and her advice is not wanted, how could she advise others how to live their lives? She can hardly manage her own life—how is she to judge others or tell them what to do? She cannot read another person's mind and know if they feel excitement or not. However, she believes that every person is inherently virtuous, and if this insignificant one feels no excitement while playing xiangqi, then others may not feel it either. After all, how pitiful this unworthy student is compared to those nobler folk who stoop to her level, offering to play a game or two."
"You talked your way out," Teacher Wun Zhu approached her desk. "Now, stand up. Turn around. Again. Again. All right, you may sit."
"Teacher?"
"Just wanted to check if this student has a fox's tail sticking out from under her clothes."
"Teacher!"
"Yes, yes, I'm still the teacher. And you are a wayward student! The only thing that softens my view of your behavior and this game is that you can defend it in debate and that you win. You win?"
"This insignificant one…"
"You win, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Even against Lord Baoshu? The Head of this house?"
"… yes?"
"You still have much to learn. Oh, so much!" The teacher sighed deeply and shook his head. "Life will teach you. But I fear, it will be a painful way. Well, let's finish the lesson here on moral foundations and virtue. What about your cultivation of the Lotus Pearl? How are you progressing, student?"
"Honorable teacher, this unworthy student has still not been able to unlock her qi. I do not have it." Xiao Tai bowed her head.
"That is very bad." The teacher pursed his lips, and his mouth became a thin line. "Very bad. We have little time, student Xiao, you must unlock at least the first level before the autumn Harvest Festival. You don't feel your meridians at all? Stand up again. Come over here." The teacher took his hand out of his sleeve. Xiao Tai came closer.
"Don't move," the teacher said, and his palm began to glow, just faintly. He held his palm a few centimeters from the girl's stomach. Closed his eyes. Moved his lips. Xiao Tai looked at his thin whiskers and thought that she didn't feel any meridians. It would be nice if she could—she saw Zhao Tun reinforcing his body with this qi and then breaking rocks with his bare hands. Though… maybe that monster could do that even without qi. But this body needed all the strength it could get, borrow, or steal. The body had recovered, muscles grown, she was no longer blown about by the wind, but Xiao Tai herself was small and skinny. Genetics, she guessed. So she nurtured no illusions—in an open fight, she couldn't stand a chance even against a small man or teen boy. Like a puppy jumping on a grown dog, this body could be broken with a single good blow. Like the biologists say—sexual dimorphism, with female sea lions weighing seventy kilograms, while males can be eight hundred. Ten times heavier! How do you fight someone ten times larger? In hand-to-hand—no chance.
But that doesn't mean you just lay down and die; people, after all, win with brains. Weapons, preparation, everything is needed—but if she could also master this mysterious qi… it would only help. In this situation, anything at all comes in handy.
Yet the third eye wouldn't open, the dantian point wouldn't respond, and there was no feeling of energy running down the meridians. Sigh.
Xiao Tai did not intend to live long in the Won Mi household; too many things raised questions. For example—why, being a maid, did she not do any real housework? Why was she being taught at all? No other maids were being taught anything. All other maids lived together in the maids' wing, but she was housed separately. And she was being taught two things—how to be a worthy wife and something called the cultivation of the Lotus Pearl, which wasn't working out for her. More than that, for the past two weeks the teacher had been feeding her strange bitter pills, tiny brown bead-like things she had to chew and swallow with water. Cultivation pills. She'd heard that these cost a fortune. Why feed such a thing to a maid?
Suspicious. And then the deadlines—the teacher had made it clear she needed to unlock this "Peal" before the harvest festival. So she needed to run away before that date. Nothing good would come of the harvest festival. What if they performed human sacrifices every autumn, giving a maiden to some pagan god of the harvest? Or, even worse, passed her around before doing so, so nothing went to waste? Horrific, but such traditions do exist, and anything is possible in this world. Maybe they found a naive fool to put into the Wicker Man and burn at all four corners. Or… maybe she was meant to be buried with an esteemed person, by custom? Like if the Lord Baoshu was dying of cancer or had to commit ritual suicide in the autumn, and to keep Lady Mei from following him—they'd raise Xiao Tai as a stand-in, so as not to disgrace the family before the ancestors in the afterlife.
"Bad," the teacher shook his head, "after so many tries. Even after the Blood Moon Pills. And no progress. I'll have to discuss this with the Head."
"Honorable teacher. Has this unworthy one brought more trouble upon herself?"
"What? Oh… no. Not yet." Teacher Wun Zhu replied absent-mindedly, but for some reason Xiao Tai didn't believe him.