Chapter Ten: Competing for the Minister’s Daughter

Yuan’er suddenly seemed to recall something and asked in puzzlement, “Lingran, your father is a censor, so he must be well informed about the affairs of the court. How is it that you seem to know nothing at all?”

Lingran stammered for a moment, but her mind was quick, and she immediately came up with an excuse. “I grew up with my mother and grandmother back in our hometown, living a secluded life. How could they possibly know anything of court matters? It’s only recently that I came to the capital, hoping to reunite with my father—who would have thought disaster would strike from the heavens! Alas!” She even managed a theatrical sigh.

It was common in ancient times for officials to serve in the capital while their wives and relatives remained in their hometown. Her story was therefore quite plausible, and Yuan’er and Biqing were so focused on comforting her that they never suspected she was making it up.

“Where is your hometown, then?” Yuan’er asked casually.

Lingran’s mind went blank, and she was momentarily at a loss for words. Fortunately, she reacted quickly, crying out in exaggerated pain, muddling the question in her feigned agony.

Still, it served as a reminder—she needed to find out exactly who Zhang Ning was. Otherwise, she might eventually give herself away.

By this time, the other noble girls were returning one after another, their hair damp and their faces pale, as if they had suffered some great humiliation. Hardly anyone spoke.

Yuan’er patted Lingran reassuringly, Biqing made a funny face, and the two of them returned to their own beds.

In her previous life, it would still have been quite early—Lingran guessed it was no later than seven or eight o’clock. But when Song’er and Xiao’e came in to extinguish the oil lamps and the candlelight faded, plunging the surroundings into darkness, Lingran had no choice but to visit the world of dreams.

After a night’s sleep, Lingran felt much better. She rose with everyone else at the fourth watch. Song’er came in to inform them to wear short skirts.

Lingran donned a plain yellow outfit and moved her limbs experimentally—the wound was no longer much of a hindrance, and her spirits lifted.

The skirt barely reached mid-calf, revealing the trousers beneath. A cloth belt cinched her waist, the front was fastened with frog buttons, and the sleeves were narrow—a much more practical and comfortable outfit compared to what she’d worn before. It seemed that ancient clothing was not entirely unsuited to her. But recalling how everyone had to share a single “chamber pot”—unsanitary and foul-smelling—she truly could not endure it.

She began to miss the flush toilet with a longing that knew no bounds…

At last, everyone had finished washing and dressing, and the two maidservants led them into the courtyard.

The sky was still dark blue, with no hint of dawn in the east—just a few scattered, bright stars shining with distant, faint light. The only illumination in the courtyard came from the yellow glow of lanterns carried by the maids and house guards.

Lingran noticed several young men of about twenty, all dressed in identical training outfits, standing in the courtyard. When the group of girls emerged in their finery, these young men tried to maintain stern expressions, but their eyes betrayed their true feelings—each one’s gaze lit up, and their faces came alive.

At the center stood a short but sturdy youth with a baby face, looking honest and a little shy, his posture somewhat stiff and awkward. He cleared his throat and called out loudly, “Line up!”

The girls had never seen such a scene and were all at a loss, creating a flustered commotion.

Lingran, who’d been sports monitor in primary school, almost wanted to run over and demonstrate a lining-up gesture. Instead, she kindly asked the baby-faced officer, “Should it be a horizontal or vertical line? Should the tallest be in front, or should we line up from left to right by height?”

His expression grew even more rigid, likely feeling his authority challenged by a slip of a girl. He barked, “You! The shortest—go to the end of the line! Everyone form a vertical line!”

Lingran exhaled through her nose, deciding not to argue with this “radish-head.” Glancing around, she realized that, among the ten of them, she really was the shortest. Speechless and indignant, she obediently moved to the back.

“From today, I, Captain Song, will lead you in a half-hour morning run each day. Whoever performs the worst will not be allowed breakfast and must empty the chamber pots for a whole day,” he declared.

The girls broke into uproar, pushing and shoving each other in protest. In the end, Xu Shanquan managed to compose herself and bowed, saying, “Captain Song, we are but gentlewomen raised in seclusion, taught to be upright, dignified, and reserved—to never show our teeth when we smile, nor sway our skirts as we walk. Running is a man’s pursuit—how can it be asked of us?”

Her words were both proper and graceful, with a touch of righteous dignity that lent a radiance to her otherwise unremarkable face. Though it was all feudal nonsense, Lingran couldn’t help but admire her a little, thinking, “If only I could be as composed as she is!”

Captain Song stepped forward to check the name tag on her chest. “And you are…” Xu Shanquan, mortified, stepped back and accidentally trod on Mo Suxian’s foot, prompting a cry of pain and a shove from Mo Suxian.

Shen Zhu stepped out of line and said, “Gentlemen, do you see? True daughters of scholarly families cannot be imitated. If there is to be running, let others do it. Miss Xu and I certainly will not participate.”

Captain Song’s expression darkened. “Xu Shanquan, daughter of the former Minister of War Xu Youzhen—truly a noble family! Alas, your father is now exiled to Jinchi. You can no longer claim the title of minister’s daughter, and your slave contract is in my general’s hands.”

His words weren’t particularly harsh, but Xu Shanquan was already trembling with indignation.

“The general has ordered that anyone who refuses discipline will be tied up and sent straight to the Music Bureau,” Captain Song continued, fixing his gaze on Shen Zhu. “If you object, step forward now.”

No one was foolish enough to do so.

Shen Zhu shrank back, embarrassed, and retreated into the line.

Lingran was curious—what made the Music Bureau so terrifying? She heard Captain Song say to Xu Shanquan, “Speaking of Ministers of War, I recall that during the reign of Emperor Chengzu, Minister Tie Xuan was executed, and his wife and daughters were sent to the Music Bureau as slaves. His sons became eunuchs, his daughters were forced into prostitution for generations, and people vied to consort with the minister’s daughters. Even in death, their bodies were fed to the dogs! Yet Tie Xuan was a man of iron, and when Emperor Renzong took the throne, he pardoned his family. But your father, Xu Youzhen, falsely accused and murdered Yu Qian, Wang Wen, and others. Even Prime Minister Chu could not tolerate him. What right do you have to pose as a virtuous maiden?”

Xu Shanquan, likely never having been scolded so directly, burst into tears, covering her face.

“Captain Song, you are young and hot-blooded, but surely you have not forgotten General Peng’s instructions? At least leave some dignity for us instructors from the Music Bureau,” came a voice.

Lingran turned and saw Madam Xu and the other three instructors approaching gracefully, led by the long-browed, smiling Zhenniang. Today, all four wore black short-sleeved tunics over white underskirts, with colored headscarves—strict and efficient, looking even more like female drill instructors than before.