Juan’er crept along the base of the wall, sneaking back into Second Miss Huang’s chamber like a thief.
Huang Wanyi took the latest issue of Jinshi Xinshi from her personal maid. “No one caught you, right?”
Juan’er: “Don’t worry, Second Miss. I’ve been clutching it to my chest the whole way. I guarantee no one saw it.”
Juan’er was puzzled herself— these past two days, the Huang Family had been acting strangely.
Yesterday, Young Master and Second Miss had a lively gathering with friends and went out, but around noon, the Second Young Master stormed back alone, scowling like a whirlwind, locked himself in his room, and refused to see anyone.
Both yesterday’s dinner and today’s breakfast were personally delivered to him by Master.
After leaving Young Master’s room, Master issued a strict order: no one in the household was allowed to read newspapers, and all newspapers were to be confiscated and destroyed.
This meant that even Second Miss had to sneak around like a thief just to read a newspaper.
“You’re such a good Juan’er. Thank you for your hard work,” Huang Wanyi said, pointing to the butter cookies on the table. “Here, have some. They’re specially saved for you.”
Juan’er cheered, “Second Miss, you’re the best!”
She bit into the butter cookie but was reluctant to swallow, savoring it slowly in her mouth.
Butter cookies were precious— bought at a foreigner’s bakery, a small portion cost two silver dollars.
“Ha…”
Juan’er watched Second Miss, who was reading the newspaper while covering her mouth, stifling laughter.
She was struggling so hard to hold it in her face was red, tears gleaming in her eyes, and her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
“Second Miss, is there anything interesting in today’s paper?”
If she hadn’t asked, it would have been fine, but the moment she did, Second Miss instantly lost her composure and burst into a joyous laugh.
Juan’er was dumbfounded.
Who didn’t know that Second Miss Huang was famed for her quiet elegance, a refined socialite who had never laughed so wildly?
…Oh, wait, there was one other time— just the day before yesterday.
Juan’er belatedly recalled that the day before yesterday, Second Miss had also laughed uncontrollably, disturbing Madam and the concubines.
Juan’er’s worry grew.
Could Second Miss have been possessed? Should she tell Madam?
Huang Wanyi had no idea about her maid’s concerns; she was now feeling utterly exhilarated, as if the grievances of nearly twenty years had been swept away. She had never felt so happy.
She thought again about what had happened yesterday.
In truth, even now, she was still overwhelmed by the shock she had experienced.
People often say, “Dragons beget dragons, phoenixes beget phoenixes, and mice beget blind offspring.”
Huang Wanyi had always dismissed this kind of belief in one’s birth.
Looking back at history, countless great men had risen from humble beginnings.
Take Zhu Yuanzhang, for example— he was nothing more than a small beggar.
What decided a person’s future success was talent and character, not birth.
After all, birth carries class distinctions, but talent does not.
Yet, all these truths were like airy notions in Huang Wanyi’s heart, lacking any real substance.
She had never contemplated how extraordinary one’s talent had to be to bridge the chasm of class.
Until yesterday, when she saw Jiang Mingchuan.
The young man was ragged, but in front of those wealthy young masters, he neither kowtowed nor was servile.
Calm and unflustered, he carried himself with grace and dignity, plainly displaying the bearing of a true gentleman.
Wasn’t this exactly—
“Among my classmates, all wear embroidered robes, caps with red tassels, jade belts, carrying swords on the left and perfumed pouches on the right, shining like divine beings; but I, in my worn robes and patched clothes, have no desire for such splendor, finding joy in simple things, unaware if my manners match theirs.”
He lived in the cheapest, smallest, most dilapidated house in Shanghai, using it as a warehouse, stacked full of goods, with barely any space to move.
Wasn’t this a modern-day On Horses?
And phrases like “Today I tether my wings to the dark swan, one day I will not be ashamed to transform into a dragon,” “A great roc once soared with the wind, rising ninety thousand miles,” “Are nobles and generals born by lineage?” “Though poor, remain steadfast, never lose your aspiration to ascend the heavens”…
All those stirring yet intangible verses Huang Wanyi had learned from books came alive in this one person in a single day.
She suddenly understood— those historical tales of brilliant but impoverished youths were just like this, astonishing prodigies.
Her genius younger brother, Huang Tianjiao, was a prodigy from age three, taught by renowned teachers from multiple countries, mingling with top domestic scholars, had studied abroad in Europe at fourteen, Britain at fifteen, and was set to head to America at nineteen— a rising star in diplomacy.
She had thought Huang Tianjiao was a genius.
Now she knew Huang Tianjiao was merely intelligent, fortunate to be born into wealth, with tutors and no worries about life’s hardships, allowing his studies to advance rapidly.
What about Jiang Mingchuan?
He was a farmer’s son digging in the dirt, almost eaten alive by famine, a slave who never went to school and was perpetually hungry and cold.
His hands were rough and calloused from hard labor— not the hands of a scholar.
Yet, he was a genius.
Not like Huang Tianjiao, who had been packaged as a genius— he was a genuine genius.
Practice outstrips others by months of accumulation.
Just like she herself was four years behind.
As Juan’er was stunned, Second Miss suddenly stopped laughing, her eyes reddening, and tears began to silently fall.
“Second Miss, what’s wrong?!”
Huang Wanyi sobbed, “I… I just feel so useless and childish. I was born into wealth and never had to worry about food or clothes. I didn’t seize the chance to study hard, yet I still get upset over trivial things. And there’s someone who is clearly a genius but never went to school, barely had enough to eat, and had to struggle for a copper coin. He’s the one who should be discontented, yet… yet he lives so optimistically and positively…”
Her voice nearly failed her.
Juan’er stared in shock, watching the sister who had just laughed so wildly now so vulnerable and fearful.
Second Miss, second Miss— was she possessed?!
–
In the Jinshi Xinshi editorial office, Editor Wang held a cup of tea long since gone cold, staring at the gray sky outside the window as he recited Han Yu’s On Horses with rising and falling emotion, even a subtle choke in his voice.
“There was Bo Le, then came the thousand-mile horse. Thousand-mile horses are common, but Bo Le is rare. Thus, although there are famous horses, they are humiliated in the hands of slaves, dying side by side in stables, never known for their speed…”
He had been repeating this piece all morning; the manuscript on his desk was covered with that tearful passage.
Strangely, none of his colleagues found him annoying.
Especially when he read “humiliated in the hands of slaves, dying side by side in stables,” a young assistant who had recently graduated even blushed and looked away.
A wave of sorrow and indignation silently spread through the cramped office.
In everyone’s hearts, the young man named Jiang Mingchuan was a hidden, trampled talent in desperate need of a Bo Le to save him.
“Ridiculous!” a middle-aged editor slammed the table, making the teacup lid clang. “To treat such a born prodigy as a mere slave and drudge! What short-sighted fools those masters are, squandering such treasure!” His beard trembled with anger.
Editor Wang sighed deeply, took off his glasses, and rubbed his aching nose bridge. “Who would deny it! But Mr. Jiang… sigh, he is too kindhearted. No matter how much we inquire, he won’t reveal the name of the harsh master who mistreated him. Otherwise, I would publish a scathing editorial for three days straight, condemning those ignorant villains to eternal disgrace!”
Another senior editor, nicknamed Mr. Liu, wearing thick glasses, was even more grief-stricken, pointing his accusation deeper. “The world is in turmoil, imperialist powers glaring like hawks and tigers, while our China retreats step by step, weakened beyond measure! Is it because there are no talents here? No! Absolutely not! It’s because too many treat talents like draft animals, suppressing prodigies, hindering the nation for centuries!”
“Excellent! Brother Liu’s words are wise!” Editor Wang’s dim eyes brightened, as if seizing an idea. “This is a perfect entry point! Brother Liu, please write an editorial immediately. Use Jiang Mingchuan’s case as a reason to harshly criticize our stagnant, decaying education and social evils that kill talent!”
As the editorial team grew passionate and eager to defend this unknown genius, a young man came rushing breathlessly into the office, holding up a freshly printed newspaper still smelling of ink.