Against the Current - Extra Chapter

Extra Chapter - Yuan Chengde

My biological mother passed away while I was still in swaddling clothes. The cause of her death was a taboo subject treated with profound silence throughout the entire Marquis Manor. When I was just old enough to form memories, during the half-asleep hours of early afternoon, my wet nurse would sit by my side, stroke my head, and sigh long and short sighs to the maidservants: "Don't let master De be born into a wealthy household and think he has it easy; he is actually a pitiful child. His mother was truly ruthless, walking out in such a fit of anger—what is this child supposed to do in the future? No matter how much the Marquis dotingly loves him, he is still a man with a career to establish outside; how could he possibly look after him every minute? Tsk, tsk."

When I woke up in the afternoon, I went straight to my father to ask about my mother—what did "walking out in a fit of anger" mean? Father was ordinarily a kind and smiling man, but that was the first time I ever saw him draw his brows in a cold glare. With a chilling voice, he demanded, "Which blind-eyed servant has been chewing on maggots in front of the young master!" He ordered someone to lead me out to play. When I secretly slipped back to take a look, I saw the wet nurse and maidservants kneeling before my father, slapping their own faces in punishment. After that, no one ever dared to bring up my mother in my presence again. Two or three days later, Father led me to his study and showed me a painting hanging on the wall. The painting depicted a woman wearing pale green attire, with her hair dressed in a crow-wing bun and a powdered face, lowering her head with a gentle smile while holding a lotus flower in her hand. "She is your mother," Father said, before he choked up and could speak no further. His face was filled with sorrow and lingering grief, and he patted my head stroke by stroke. Filled with a belly full of questions that I dared not ask, I could only stare blankly at the woman in the painting, unable to fathom that she had once been a living, breathing person.

I had older brothers and older sisters, all of whom treated me with extreme coldness, ignoring me completely. In the entire manor, only my father and the servants attending to me treated me well. In my heart, I secretly regarded my wet nurse as a mother, and my personal maid Bicchan as a mother, yet I felt something was amiss—they bore not a single resemblance to the woman in the painting. It wasn't until I saw Uncle Lin's concubine, Chen Xianglan, that my heart finally settled securely in place: my mother ought to have looked just like her.

Xianglan treated me exceptionally well, speaking to me with the utmost gentleness, caring for and comforting me against the cold, personally making clothes, shoes, and hats for me, teaching me how to read and write, and listening to me share my innermost thoughts. On one occasion, my second elder brother from the primary wife's quarters bullied me, cursing me as: "A slave's spawn raised by a slave, even your biological mother was a base seed!" Filled with furious indignation and unable to beat him in a fight, I seized an opportunity when he wasn't looking to pick up a stone and smash it against his head. He cried out in immediate agony, and the maidservants and matrons hurriedly rushed forward to pull us apart. Father was not at home, so the eldest brother came over to judge the matter. Since second brother was also in the wrong and I was very young, the incident was ultimately left unsettled.

I eagerly recounted this event to Xianglan, hoping she would praise me, but to my utter shock, Xianglan simply set her face in a stern expression and said, "Go stand facing the wall and reflect on your mistakes."

I was completely bewildered, blinking my eyes and pouting, having no idea where I had gone wrong, and could only look at her with pitiful, sorrowful little eyes. Xianglan said, "Think carefully about what you did wrong. I have questions for you in a moment."

In my heart, Xianglan was a mother figure, and I had no desire to incur her anger. I could only let out a small sigh, put down the little wooden knife I was holding, and lower my head as far as it would go. Miserable and wretched, with slumped shoulders, I dragged my feet forward with the utmost reluctance. It felt as though iron chains were bound to my feet, rendering every single step unbearably heavy. I walked as slowly as I possibly could, turning my head back every two steps with hopeful, pleading eyes. Seeing that Xianglan had her brows arched and her expression settled in grim seriousness, I could only pout, turn my head away, and drag the entirety of my dejected, drooping, spiritless head over to press against the wall, sinking deep into the shadows.

I know not how much time passed before I heard Xianglan say, "Very well, you may come over now."

I let out a breath of relief, turned around, and ran over to hug Xianglan's arm. "Just now I didn't speak and I didn't move, I was extremely well-behaved!"

Xianglan gently stroked my head. "De'er is the bravest, just like a real man—one who bears responsibility for his own misdeeds."

Hearing those words, I immediately brightened up. "Really? Just like my father?"

Xianglan nodded without hesitation. "That's right, De'er is a little lord now."

"Oh!" I immediately squared my shoulders.

"Then tell me, where did you go wrong?"

At that question, my head drooped once more, and my hands twisted together. I truly did not feel that I had done anything wrong, and after holding back for a long time, I was still unable to utter a word. Then I heard Xianglan say, "Your mistake lay in turning a mere verbal altercation into a physical assault that harmed someone. You must remember this for the future: no matter how viciously or harshly others may speak, you must exercise self-control. You must not fly into a rage, and you must not resort to heavy blows. If you cause a catastrophic disaster and harm someone through a momentary impulse of rashness, you will be left with endless regrets."

"But he cursed my mother, and I couldn't help it."

Xianglan pulled me right in front of her, looked directly into my eyes, and said, "Idle gossip and vicious words belong to other people's mouths; we cannot control them. No matter how much vilification is hurled against a towering mountain, it will not diminish its height by even a single inch. No matter how much slander is cast upon a vast ocean, it will not reduce its volume by a single drop. It is only the tiny leaves that are blown away the moment an ordinary person breathes on them. You must steady your heart so that you are like a great mountain, remaining utterly unmoved no matter what others say, and like the boundless ocean, capable of containing even the most hateful slander. You cannot simply leap into the air with drawn swords and bristling bows the moment someone speaks a few sour or spiteful words. It may look as though you are refusing to suffer a loss and are safeguarding your pride, but in truth, it reveals a lack of inner conviction and steadfast concentration. If you cannot even endure a few sour and hurtful remarks, what great undertakings could you possibly accomplish in the future?"

As she spoke, she personally wrung out a damp towel to wipe my face, and lowered her voice to say, "Your mother was a person of immense pride and uncompromised integrity. Had she seen you distinguish yourself, she would have rejoiced. If she were still here, she certainly would not have liked you picking up stones to injure others. The more deliberately malicious people are with their spite, the more you must ignore them, the more serene your mind must remain, and the more you must strive to better yourself. Contention does not lie in the sharpness of your tongue or the force of your fists, understand?"

I leaned against Xianglan's embrace and nodded, feeling the turbulence in my heart instantly smoothed away.

Xianglan extended a finger and whispered softly beside my ear, "Then let's make a pact: next time, no matter what ugly things you hear others say, you are never to resort to physical violence, and you are even less permitted to curse like a shrew, agreed?" I murmured a soft "agreed," extended my little finger, and linked it with Xianglan's.

Later on, whenever I heard malicious gossip, Xianglan's words would instantly flash through my mind. They allowed me to quickly extinguish the fires of resentment, let go with a peaceful heart, and focus silently on self-improvement. It was only many years later, when I looked back on these events, that I finally understood with sudden clarity what Xianglan had taught me that day.

Sometime later, my father took Uncle Lin's fourth younger sister as his second wife, making Xianglan my aunt. I held no deep emotional attachment to my stepmother, maintaining merely a superficial courtesy, though she never made things difficult for me either. The two of us could never put on a performance of doting mother and filial son, so we simply let matters rest, keeping out of sight to preserve peace of mind. Aunt continued to care deeply for me; the moment she returned to the capital, she would have me brought over, or send someone to escort me to Jinling for half a year at a time.

I cherished the time spent with my uncle and aunt; their household was serene, tranquil, and warmly affectionate. An awe-inspiring, overlord-like figure of a man like my uncle would turn into a cat basking in the sunlight the moment he was in front of Aunt. Over the course of her lifetime, Aunt bore him two sons and a daughter, and Uncle never took a concubine throughout his entire life. I remember once, a junior official named Han Guangye sent an absolute beauty as a gift, and Uncle actually shoved her straight over to me, patting my shoulder with a sigh: "Kid, you've reached the age where you should understand worldly matters. Your old man has terrible taste—just look at the ghostly mugs of the maidservants around you. Uncle pities you, so I'm giving you a good one."

I was left torn between laughter and tears, embarrassed to the point of utter helplessness, and stammered out excuses in disjointed confusion: "You-you should keep her, Uncle, you keep her..."

Uncle chuckled heartily. "If I keep her, your aunt might not say it out loud, but it would surely ache in her heart." Then he let out a long sigh. "You've never been on a battlefield; you don't understand what kind of bond is forged by sharing life and death. Your aunt and I share a bond of life and death, not to mention that I love her deeply in my heart and cannot bear to see her suffer. Besides, those delicate, water-tender little maidservants are only good for pleasing the eye. What kind of human sentiments, worldly experience, or profound learning could they possibly articulate? There's no real meaning in it. If you truly want a comforting warmth in your heart, it's the person sitting right there by your bedside. When you find someone who touches your heart in the future, you'll understand." Speaking with the air of a consummate romantic sage, he patted my shoulder once more with the expression of, "I've been through it all, you're still too green to understand, you don't understand, no one truly understands me," and walked off jauntily with a string of long sighs to seek out Aunt.

The eldest son born to Aunt was named Lin Kuo. He was carved from the exact same mold as Uncle, though his temperament was exceptionally introverted and steady. Even at a tender age, he carried an air of unforced authority, never uttering a single word of complaint regarding his martial training or scholarly studies. In later years, he stepped directly into Uncle's shoes to command the Lin Family Army. The year Kuo was eight, Aunt gave birth to a daughter named Lin Junrong, who grew up as adorable as carved jade. Uncle adored her beyond measure. When Rong was five, she began her initial music lessons on the zither. Every single day, the sounds of "chu-chu chi-chi, a tangled, chaotic plucking," every single hook of the finger, and every abrasive scratch of the strings felt as though they were being struck directly against one's temples. It was so wretchedly agonizing that it defied description—even someone out beating cotton could play more melodiously than her. Uncle must have been completely tone-deaf, for he genuinely believed that Rong's playing was celestial music from the mortal realm. Whenever he had a moment of leisure, he would demand that Rong "play a tune so your father can thoroughly enjoy it," often sitting squarely in a grand master's chair at Jianqiu Pavilion, slapping his thigh to the rhythm and shaking his head in self-absorption. By the time Rong's playing grew increasingly refined, Aunt gave birth to their youngest son, Lin Xian. Uncle proclaimed with pride, "These two sons of mine, Lin Kuo and Lin Xian—wealthy and at leisure! The implication behind these names is profound indeed." Yet from early childhood, Xian was as mischievous as a little monkey, never resting for a single second. While he favored Aunt in appearance, his temperament and temper were the spitting image of Uncle. He caused no end of trouble growing up, behaving much like a little tyrant. Everyone believed that a rowdy boy would turn out to be a fine general, and that it was a near certainty the Lin family would produce another military commander down the line. To everyone's astonishment, however, his academic studies suddenly unlocked as if enlightened, and his official career ultimately carried him all the way to the post of Administration Commissioner.

I grew exceptionally close to the three children of my uncle's household; it felt as though they were my very own younger brothers and sister. On the day Rong was married, Kuo was commanding troops in the southwest and unable to rush back in time, so I shouldering the responsibility of an elder brother carried Rong on my back to send her off in marriage. Uncle's eye rims remained reddened the entire time, and he kept covertly wiping the corners of his eyes. Aunt whispered quietly that Uncle hadn't closed his eyes for the entire previous night, endlessly regretting that he hadn't sought a matrilocal son-in-law from the start instead of giving in to vanity and marrying her off to a top-ranking palace graduate.

By the time I reached the age for marriage, I had already attained the rank of a military commander of the fourth rank, every bit of my official merit carved out by sword and blade. My stepmother wanted to meddle in my marriage arrangements. Father maintained a distant and indifferent relationship with her, devoting himself entirely to military affairs day in and day out, rarely returning home, and keeping me by his side to undergo rigorous training within the military camp. Powerless to intervene, stepmother—who had given birth to two daughters, only for her long-awaited third child, a son, to pass away midway—found herself urged by everyone to plan ahead. While it would be best if she could bear another child herself, failing that, it was wise to select one of the younger children and register him under her name as her own. She picked and chose until her eyes landed on me, and sought to find me an influential marital family. Upon learning of this, Aunt personally stepped in to investigate and arrange matters, sending her chosen candidate through Uncle to present to Father, who gave his immediate consent. I married the daughter of Hanlin Academician Qiao. Lady Qiao was delicate, pretty, exceptionally virtuous, lively, and cheerful, possessing a working familiarity with the classics, histories, collections of literature, zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Our married life afterward was deeply fulfilling.

In the second year following my marriage, the Emperor passed away, and the Crown Prince ascended the throne. Not long after, he personally cleared the grievances of the Shen family, returning all of their previously confiscated properties in full. However, every single member of the Shen family had already perished, and in the end, this massive estate was returned directly into my hands. With a complex expression, Father finally brought up the past events of those years, posthumously recognizing my biological mother as his formal wife, and her grave was at last relocated with proper dignity into the Yuan family ancestral tombs. Father personally presided over the relocation ceremony. As the coffin was lifted out, he gently stroked the outer shell with eyes full of sorrow, his lips drained of color. Though it was early spring and not yet cold, Father was trembling slightly from head to toe.

My wife softly whispered to me, "Father-in-law is grieving like this out of deep sorrow. I've heard that he kept a portrait of your mother hanging in his study all these years—it has been like that for decades. Truly, it is a testament to genuine feeling and unwavering devotion." Her words carried a trace of underlying envy. I silently poured a cup of wine for my mother and poured it out before her grave. I thought to myself that what mother cared about was likely none of this—not posthumous rehabilitation, nor the height of funeral honors, nor Father's decades of remorse and true devotion. That pitiful woman likely only wished to live like Aunt, surrounded by a husband and children in joyful harmony. It was a pity that back then, she was utterly consumed by despair, unaware of when this long, agonizing wait would ever reach its end, which was why she could no longer wait and could no longer endure. Had she known beforehand that there would come a day when the Shen family's name was cleared, what would she have done? Had she known that I would achieve such distinction, what would she have done? Would she still have hardened her heart to abandon me and leave the world like that?

Yet alas, in this world, there are never any "ifs."