From the time of the incident at the Four Deities Temple, Zhang Yuanchu had not thought very highly of Chen Baoxiang.
This person was crude and discourteous, ignorant of social convention, and there were even rumors about her killing her own father.
If not for the fact that anything involving her sent Zhang Fengqing into a frenzy, Zhang Yuanchu would have moved against her several months ago, just as the Wang and Gu families had.
But now.
With the great edifice already crumbling and crisis bearing down, he had to go and beg her for mercy.
Zhang Yuanchu went to call upon the Pingqing Marquis estate, steeling himself.
Before going, he had already prepared himself — knowing this was not someone easy to deal with, expecting she might name an exorbitant price.
But Chen Baoxiang looked at him and said only one thing, her expression completely flat: “Give Zhang Zhixu to me.”
Zhang Yuanchu was taken aback: “He is a member of the Zhang family — by rights he should advance and retreat together with the Zhang family.”
“Advance and retreat together?” Chen Baoxiang gave a derisive laugh. “When he was being held responsible for the institutional reforms, why didn’t you think about advancing and retreating together? When Shangjing fell into upheaval and you pushed him forward as your shield and last resort — why didn’t you think about advancing and retreating together then?”
“He was born into an aristocratic family and has lived a privileged life — naturally he has responsibilities he must bear.”
“A privileged life, is that so?” Chen Baoxiang clapped both hands together.
Qianlafu immediately came out cradling a thick ledger, sat down nearby with brush and ink at the ready.
“Do me the favor of calculating how much money you have spent on him over the years — I will settle the entire sum on his behalf.”
Zhang Yuanchu felt some irritation, yet dared not let it erupt, and only pressed his voice down: “A parent’s grace and kindness — can that really be calculated in money?”
“Very well, then let us speak of grace and kindness.” Chen Baoxiang nodded. “Apart from arranging all manner of lessons for him, applying family discipline, and using him to compensate for your own regrets — tell me what else there is in the way of grace and kindness. I’ll have someone record it here.”
Zhang Yuanchu was stunned.
He felt he had been affronted by Chen Baoxiang — what right did an outsider like her have to lecture him about his relationship with his own son?
“Can’t remember anything, can you?” Chen Baoxiang was clearly not prepared to let the matter drop. “After each time you injured him, did you ever send medicine?”
“…”
“When he passed the examination and placed third — when he took up the post as head of the Bureau of Construction — did you ever once praise him?”
“…”
“His birthdays — apart from his coming-of-age ceremony — did you ever spend them with him?”
“Of course I did.” This question he answered quickly enough.
Chen Baoxiang shook her head: “I mean truly spend time with him — not sit in the main hall waiting for him to come and pay his respects, and then put on a performance of lecturing him for a few sentences before leaving him to deal with the guests by himself.”
Zhang Yuanchu: “…”
Unable to contain himself, he said: “We are a distinguished aristocratic family — how can we conduct ourselves the same way as ordinary common households? A strict father is a blessing for his son.”
“Strictness and having not a shred of human warmth are two entirely different things. That it is a blessing is because he was willing to be guided — not because you know how to put on airs.” Chen Baoxiang’s gaze went ice-cold. “What I find strange is how a person with such a fine upbringing could still lack any desire to go on living — it is because you have never truly loved him from childhood to now, and so he came to believe that he could die like a tool, and it would not matter.”
Absurd — his own flesh and blood; how could he possibly not love him?
Zhang Yuanchu carefully searched through his memories of all these years, trying to find some warm and tender recollections of father and son to offer in rebuttal.
But after a lengthy search, he fell silent.
One could not blame himself for this — great aristocratic families were simply different from ordinary households. He had never had the time to accompany a child at play. Many things could be done by servants; he naturally had no need to attend to them personally.
His high regard and expectations for Zhang Zhixu were already the finest grace and kindness there could be.
Chen Baoxiang was a woman — she simply didn’t understand.
“Just tell me directly what your terms are.” He was losing patience.
Chen Baoxiang regarded him with cold eyes, clenched her fist, then unclenched it, and at last bit down and exhaled a breath.
·
Zhang Zhixu woke from his sleep to find himself already in Chen Baoxiang’s room.
He moved his injured arm, and was just about to call for Jiuquan to ask what had happened, when he turned his head and saw his father sitting at his bedside, the corners of his mouth stiffly drawn up.
Seeing him open his eyes, Zhang Yuanchu did not scold him, nor did he lose his temper — instead, using both hands, he lifted a bowl of thousand-thread pork congee and asked him with paternal warmth: “Are you hungry?”
Zhang Zhixu froze.
Twenty years — this most ordinary of exchanges between father and son; not once had he ever heard it from Zhang Yuanchu’s lips.
It all felt rather unreal.
“Ningsu said your teacher found you the finest medicine available, and your injuries have stabilized.” He brought the short side table along with all the dishes on top of it over to set before Zhang Zhixu. “There is nothing I can do to help, so I made some appetizing food for you. Have a taste.”
Zhang Zhixu’s pupils contracted sharply.
His father — with his own hands — had cooked food?
A faint shiver ran through him; he even began to wonder whether the injury to his back was not a surface wound at all, but some mortal disease on the verge of claiming his life.
“Father has been busy of late — there is no need to go to such trouble for me.”
“You are my son — how could I not take extra care of you?” Zhang Yuanchu placed the chopsticks in his hand, and seeing him try to sit up straight, even thoughtfully adjusted the pillow behind his back to prop him higher.
Zhang Zhixu: “…”