Chapter 12: The Peculiar Mastery of Sarcasm

His question went unanswered, for the old woman knew no more than that.

Later, fearing that changing clothes for too long might arouse suspicion, Chu Muqing gave the old woman a jade pendant as a token, instructing her to come find her at the Rejuvenation Workshop if anything happened—that was her territory.

Then Chu Muqing went to participate in a polo match. Among the nobility, secrets were scarce; everyone knew she had grown up in a temple and assumed she couldn’t play polo. Their aim was to ridicule her.

Their sly glances and schemes were unmistakable.

Chu Muqing deliberately feigned clumsiness, confirming their assumptions.

But on the field, relying on awkward maneuvers, she skillfully evaded their joint attacks and scored several goals.

What made it worse for them was her innocent, delighted expression as if discovering the game was simple, mocking them as fools, which infuriated her opponents to the point of spitting blood.

The author portrayed this episode with exquisite detail—the conspiracies, the protagonist’s peril, and how casual, seemingly careless moves at critical moments turned the tide, leading to a stunning victory. The ebb and flow resembled a fiercely contested polo match.

“Those fools don’t know that Lady Chu learned polo from her master, who’s an expert.”

“When I play, winning is just winning, but why does Lady Chu look so excited playing polo?”

“Hah, with your lousy riding skills, you’re no better than a child on the same team.”

“Hey, watch your words. You read books; don’t take it personally.”

In the end, Chu Muqing’s team triumphed, earning newfound respect. The instigator of the match, Chu Muxue, glared bitterly at her sister’s popularity, puzzled over where Chu Muqing had acquired such riding prowess.

Seizing the moment when Chu Muqing left the field, she dragged her into a secluded corner, accusing her of cheating. Chu Muqing impatiently brushed away her hand, and Chu Muxue fell, covering her face and sobbing.

“Sis, I knew you disliked me, but you can’t hurt me like this.”

Their voices caught the attention of King Li, who, seeing Chu Muxue in tears and harboring resentment toward Chu Muqing, embraced the fallen girl and scolded Chu Muqing for her malicious jealousy, unable even to tolerate her own sister.

“This King Li is blinded by affection, unable to distinguish right from wrong. He doesn’t know the truth. Why accuse Lady Chu? She is his rightful princess.”

“That sister is truly venomous! She’s the one envious and spiteful, hating to see her sister excel and be admired.”

“I’m so angry I could burst,” someone gasped, clearly upset.

Chu Muqing laughed in irritation, unwilling to entertain them further, and turned to leave. At a corner, she encountered Prince Jia following Chu Muxue. Knowing he admired her sister, Chu Muqing deliberately led the two to collide with King Li and Chu Muxue’s confrontation.

Seeing King Li holding his beloved, Prince Jia could not contain himself, and a quarrel broke out. Neither king yielded, and a fierce fight ensued. Chu Muqing, pale with worry over the fallout, was now terrified beyond measure.

“Please stop fighting, don’t ruin your brotherly bond on my account,” she pleaded tearfully.

But her words only fueled the brawl further.

From the sidelines, Chu Muqing egged them on, praising her sister as the finest in Yanjing, deserving only the most outstanding princes. She urged them to show their best and style, challenging who was superior, as if one of the combatants was not her husband.

The fight grew brutal, blood and teeth flying, the spectacle riveting.

“Hahaha, this is thrilling! King Li is no match; Prince Jia dominates.”

“Lady Chu is so mischievous, clearly not respecting King Li as her husband. But it serves him right.”

The two combatants, carried away by rage, suffered grievous injuries. Prince Jia was bruised and unable to stand without support; King Li fared worse, with two broken ribs and multiple lost teeth, even a front tooth, speaking with a lisp.

Both were severely reprimanded by the emperor, and Chu Muxue was placed under house arrest by their father.

Chu Muqing suspected her maternal family’s downfall was tied to her father and resolved to investigate his interests over the years.

Thus ends Volume Three.

“Sigh, it’s finished again, but I’m not ready to stop reading!”

“Never thought I’d still love reading like this! Before, when my family beat me, I couldn’t bear to read.”

“Wait, there’s another page!”

“What? Let me see.”

The three eagerly flipped the page, only to find not the continuation but a message from the author.

“It must be the author’s note,” they guessed.

The note explained that the author had recently received letters questioning the use of classical punctuation marks and wished to clarify.

First, the author expressed no disdain for classical punctuation, outlining its benefits and importance in interpreting classics.

Then, shifting tone, the author discussed the advantages of modern punctuation, which, though lacking the cultural prestige of classical marks, provided indispensable convenience for common folk with little time to analyze texts.

An example illustrated this: the classic story of “Heaven spares man no favors.”

It told of a poor scholar who often found excuses to visit a wealthy friend’s house for free meals. One rainy day, the friend left a note: “Rainy days keep guests; heaven spares man no favors,” intending to say guests should stay because of the rain, but heaven does not spare man.

The scholar interpreted it as: “Rainy days keep guests; keep guests, yes?” and shamelessly stayed.

The author emphasized that classical and modern punctuation each had their place, encouraging readers to understand and adopt both dialectically rather than reject either.

Finally, the author detailed the specific punctuation used in the text.

After reading, someone sighed, “The author truly cares for the nation, unlike those aloof elites.”

“The author is generous, calmly explaining punctuation even when insulted, sharing knowledge politely.”

“The author’s mischievousness is hilarious—‘keep guests, yes?’ Haha, that cracked me up.”

“I never noticed before, but these punctuation marks really are useful.”

Yet privately, the gracious author was far less composed. She spent days fuming over the letter, waking at night to curse, “No, is this guy crazy?”

After several drafts, she angrily copied a retort and sent it to the address the letter bore.

The sender had the audacity to include his own address, as if expecting her to repent and visit him for forgiveness.

“Impudent wretch! How dare you!”

A sharp rebuke echoed, accompanied by the pounding of a desk.

A frightened servant nearby lowered his gaze, trembling, fearing to attract his master’s ire.

The servant had just brought the letter from the gatekeeper and handed it to his master, who had been quite pleasant until reading it.

Master Tian was reading in his study when told of the letter’s arrival. He had hoped that the young man named Yue Ming had realized his mistake and apologized.

Joyfully, he commanded the servant to bring the letter, but upon opening it, found nothing of the sort.

The letter contained no apology nor insult. Instead, it sarcastically questioned if Master Tian’s criticism of the protagonist stemmed from dislike of his wife and secret affection for another cousin, hinting at a long-standing attachment and possible plans to marry off his daughter.

Xu Chengyue, knowing how to argue, avoided falling into the trap of self-defense, never claiming the protagonist only retaliated because of harm from her father and husband.

Stubborn traditionalists who wield “rites and laws” as their shield would never accept such reasoning, insisting, “If the father wants the son dead, then the son must die.”

She attacked the critic by pointing out his flaws, using sarcastic comments like “Are you teaching me how to do things?” and “No way, no way,” aiming to break his composure.

Of course, in reality, she would never behave so boldly, lest she be beaten.

Nor would she use such words if reason prevailed.

Tian, furious beyond measure, had never been spoken to so disrespectfully, not even in his youth as a schoolmaster, where students dared not be so rude.

Now, old and respected, with officials in Luoyang giving him due respect, he assumed everyone treated him with the same deference—never expecting such audacity.

His anger surged, his beard twitching, palms red from pounding the desk.

Countless curses flashed through his mind, none uttered to unleash his fury.

“Lady, you’re here,” said a maid, lifting the curtain to reveal a woman entering.

The trembling servant sighed in relief, glad the lady had come.

Tian paused his pounding and withdrew his hands.

The lady brought a tray of pastries, sat gently, placing them on the desk, and asked softly, “What’s wrong, my lord? Why such anger?”

“Thank you for your concern, my lady. It’s just a foolish youth, unworthy of fear,” Tian replied, fingers moving to hide the crumpled letter.

“Is that a letter? Let me see.”

She reached for the paper first. Tian dared not snatch it back.

...

The lady read and tears fell.

“No wonder you were so attentive to the visiting cousin during the new year—your feelings were already stirred. I was mistaken.”

“Absolutely not! That youth speaks nonsense. I have never even glanced at the cousin,” Tian insisted. In truth, the cousin’s face was already lined and wrinkled.

“If not a direct look, then surely a sidelong glance, skillfully hidden. You are truly a man of deep reserve!” The lady wept harder.

Tian hurriedly wiped her tears. “My lady, please do not blame me. My heart belongs only to you; heaven and earth bear witness.”

“And our daughter? Do you really intend to marry Lingling off?” the lady asked, continuing to read.

“How dare I? Lingling is my precious gem, my only pearl. Even Dalang can’t compare. How could I let her marry?”

Lingling had been married for over ten years, her children literate and grown. When arguing, she chased her husband around with a stick—no talk of marriage alliances now.

Alas, their family was unfortunate, but luckily his wife was virtuous. When he once considered taking a concubine, she refused. A man of ambition does not indulge in pleasures.

With such tender words, the couple rekindled their affection, speaking softly and lovingly.

The servant quietly withdrew, not wanting to disturb their tender moment.

How to say it? Hearing a couple in their sixties speak like this was truly heartwarming.

Who would have guessed that Master Tian, who preached strict Confucian morals, was in fact “under the thumb” at home?