The night was deep, and the candle flame flickered.
With a thud, A Le, who had been dozing off, bumped her head on the table, startling herself awake.
Chu Zhao laughed. "If you're tired, go to sleep."
A Le rubbed her forehead and watched as Chu Zhao held a brush, writing earnestly. Beside her lay a piece of writing by someone else.
A Le recognized it as the calligraphy of the young man who had defeated her mistress earlier that day.
At the thought of that young man, A Le's expression turned furious. He had been extremely rude—even after being declared the winner, he hadn't stopped. Standing before the desk, he wrote one style after another, tossing the papers at her mistress.
"Can this writing defeat you?"
"Can this writing defeat you?"
He repeated the question over and over, and her mistress had no choice but to answer each time, "Yes."
A Le had been so enraged she could have struck the arrogant scholar, but her mistress remained calm and endured the humiliation. After the scholar flung his sleeves and left, amid the laughter of the onlookers, her mistress even bent down to gather all the scattered papers.
A Le had intended to burn them—unlike the other writings from the competitions at Chu Manor, which her mistress had ordered to be collected and handed over to the publishing house.
Unexpectedly, her mistress refused to let her burn them. Instead, she studied them while practicing her own writing, continuing late into the night.
"His calligraphy is excellent. I had studied it before and was on the verge of mastering it, but Xiao—"
Chu Zhao trailed off. A Le, who had been listening intently, asked in confusion, "Xiao what?"
Xiao Xun had taken a new consort, a beauty who played the zither exceptionally well. Xiao Xun listened to her music daily and even played duets with her—Xiao Xun himself was a skilled zither player.
So, she had abandoned calligraphy and hurriedly turned to learning the zither—
"It's nothing." Chu Zhao smiled at A Le. "I was too young then—impatient, lazy, unable to distinguish what was important, lacking judgment, and blind to true value. I never mastered it. Now that I have this opportunity to see such fine writing again, I’ll pick it up and study it properly."
Though she found the phrase "blind to true value" a bit odd, A Le quickly nodded in agreement. "You're absolutely right, Mistress. This is what they call, 'When three walk together, one must be my teacher.'"
Chu Zhao clapped her hands. "A Le, you've improved! You even know the sayings of Confucius now."
A Le chuckled. "After hearing so many every day, of course I can't let it go to waste."
She gazed at the girl under the lamplight. The girl had clearly grown thinner, even more so than during their arduous journey through the wilderness.
During the day, her mistress held three competitions, battling ten opponents each time. Though it wasn't horseback archery or warfare, by the end of each session, A Le could see her mistress's hand trembling as she held the brush, her eyes bloodshot, her body as frail as a sheet of paper, looking as though a gust of wind could topple her.
Such mental and physical exertion could wear a person to death.
But after a full meal and a scalding bath, her mistress would regain her vigor. She studied at night, competed during the day, and studied again at night, repeating the cycle day after day, growing thinner with each passing day.
Yet, her mistress did not become frail or withered. Instead, she shone brighter and brighter.
A Le took a deep breath and declared, "Since you're working so hard, Mistress, I must not fall behind either."
Chu Zhao reached out and gently stroked A Le's cheek. "I'll write one more piece and then stop. Besides studying, we must take care of our health. Let's sleep early, and remember to wake me for archery practice in the morning."
A Le nodded. "Don't worry, Mistress." Then she added, "When the time comes, you can challenge them to an archery contest. Shoot arrow after arrow, never missing, grazing their faces as you ask, 'Are you scared? Are you scared?'"
Chu Zhao laughed heartily."Miss Azhao, Miss Azhao." A maid entered cheerfully, holding a piece of paper.
This maid wasn't from Chu Zhao's quarters but served under Chu Ke.
Chu Ke, being a scholar who prided himself on elegance, required his maids to be literate. Though they seldom used these skills in daily life—since Chu Ke neither brought them along when socializing nor watched them read or write at home—he simply wanted them to understand and admire his literary pursuits when he studied, wrote, or composed poetry.
This time, however, their skills came in handy.
Chu Zhao had A Le round them up to guard the competition grounds, record and transcribe the matches, and compile the results into a book.
Chu Zhao looked at the maid with a smile and asked, "Why aren't you asleep yet? If today's tasks aren't finished, you can wake up early tomorrow to complete them. Don't stay up late."
The maid felt a pang of emotion. Since Miss Azhao had arrived in the household, Young Master A Ke had disliked this cousin and forbade them from getting close to her, fearing they might be tainted by her vulgarity and shallowness.
Later, Miss Azhao had first struck Miss Liang, then stolen money from the family and run away. Not long after returning, she had beaten Young Master A Ke until he was bruised and swollen, unable to show his face—truly fierce and uncouth.
After Miss Azhao was challenged to a competition and cornered, Young Master A Ke and Miss A-Tang had both fled, leaving their maids with nowhere to hide. They were seized by Miss Chu Zhao—
But Miss Chu Zhao hadn't bullied or beaten them. Instead, she assigned them tasks.
At first, they were nervous and fumbled, but Miss Azhao didn't scold or strike them, allowing them to take their time.
Now, her first words were to ask why they weren't resting.
Truth be told, Young Master A Ke was also a very gentle youth, always addressing them as "sisters" and often bringing them fun trinkets and tasty treats from the streets, easily swayed by flattery.
Yet, for some reason, Miss Azhao's simple question softened her heart entirely.
"I'm about to sleep. Everything that needs to be sent for printing tomorrow has been sorted," the maid said softly, then her expression brightened. "Miss, look at these past few days."
She placed the paper on the table. A Le leaned in to look and saw circles and crosses, recognizing them as records of wins and losses.
"Miss, over these three days, you've won one more match each day than the previous," the maid said happily.
Chu Zhao laughed heartily. "That's wonderful."
Was winning just one more match each day really that good? Worth the maid's excitement? A Le thought the capital's maids seemed like country bumpkins. She snorted. "In the future, Miss will win several more matches each day, winning more and more."
Before, hearing A Le speak like this would have struck the maid as vulgar—such blunt boasting and flattery of one's master was truly low-class. But at this moment, it didn't feel inappropriate at all.
She had never imagined she would be happy over a girl winning just one more match each day.
The Grand Master was a renowned minister, and Miss A-Tang was famous throughout the city for her intelligence. She wasn't some unsophisticated country maid.
Her gaze fell on the desk, where stacks of books, papers, and chess manuals lay, alongside brushes worn down to nubs.
This gradual increase of one win per day was what the girl had fought desperately to achieve.
Seeing effort rewarded was the most thrilling thing.
"Miss," she said, her gaze gentle yet firm as she looked at Chu Zhao. "You will win more and more."
Chu Zhao smiled, her expression calm. "As long as I dare to compete, I will not keep losing."In that lifetime, she had studied to please men, only to be abandoned because of them. Now revived and flourishing once more, this time her efforts were no longer to gratify men, but to earn renown for herself.
When people spoke of her, they would no longer say, "That useless daughter of Chu Ling."
Nor would they add, "Like father, like daughter—both equally worthless."
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