Chapter 11

There was much to prepare for Bai Zhu’s upcoming wedding, so most of the tasks around Cui Yuan fell to Sang Ye. For several days, she had no time to tend to Maodou.

Maodou was the name of the pair of parrots—a playful, humble name meant to imply they were easy to care for.

Ye Ying understood the reasoning, but the name felt a bit too down-to-earth.

Even the chief lady’s nanny had a little white dog named Snowball.

When she learned that the name was personally given by the eldest son of the top-ranked scholar at the engagement ceremony, she was left speechless.

It wasn’t an unpleasant name, just... somewhat at odds with his refined image.

Cui Yuan, however, saw nothing wrong with it. Every day, with a face like a clear breeze and bright moon, when he grew tired of staying indoors, he would walk to the window and call out in his cool, calm voice, “Maomao, Doudou.” Then, the two parrots would obediently flutter to his side, competing for his affection.

As he groomed their feathers, he taught them to speak—a leisurely, idyllic life worthy of immortals.

Lately, his paintings had also featured a pair of lively little treasures.

Putting down his brush, Cui Yuan examined his latest work with satisfaction.

“Frame it and hang it behind the desk,” he instructed.

The landscape scroll that had once hung there was taken down.

As Sang Ye prepared to roll up the painting and put it away, she lamented to Ye Ying, “This was painted by Master when he was sixteen, during his travels through the Southern Mountains. It has always hung in the study.”

Hearing this, Ye Ying took the painting from her hands and examined it inch by inch, utterly captivated.

She knew the top scholar was talented and elegant, but she had no idea his artistry in painting was so exquisite.

Thousands of peaks and valleys, layers of mist and clarity—she felt as if she were truly there.

As she gazed, her eyes suddenly fixed on a faint stroke of vermilion amid the dense ink mist. It formed a small human figure, standing proudly atop the mountains, robes fluttering, dark hair bound high.

She looked at the painting, so free and expansive.

Unlike the faintly lifeless notes Bai Zhu had been sorting through before, this painting exuded pride and heart.

She seemed to peer through time and glimpse the sharp young man who once ascended Mount Nanyue, overlooking the majestic rivers and mountains with such spirit.

Ye Ying then glanced back at the top scholar, gently playing with the parrots.

Morning light filled the inner chamber, illuminating the parrots’ soft feathers and casting a glow on his calm, serene expression.

Compared to the cold, aloof persona he projected, it was clear that the one who treated small lives with such care was far more convincing.

She blinked, her gaze softening.

Cui Yuan caught her glance and turned to look at her.

---

The rising sun streamed through the lattice window, casting bright light on her translucent face.

A gentle smile played on her lips, her eyes curved like crescent moons, sparkling like water.

It was unclear whether the light favored her or she made the light more radiant.

Cui Yuan’s lips curled slightly.

He beckoned, and Ye Ying obediently approached.

“What are you so happy about?” he asked.

Her eyes curved again. “I was looking at your painting. ‘To climb to the mountain’s peak and see all other mountains below.' You’ve painted so beautifully.”

She lifted her head slightly to admire him. “It’s the most beautiful painting I’ve ever seen.”

She even added softly, “Really.”

In an ordinary household, a maid’s praise like this might have been met with a half-smile and a “How many paintings have you seen?” without pride.

But meeting her clear, pure gaze inexplicably made Cui Yuan feel that these eyes must have witnessed much beauty to remain so untainted.

And she knew “Viewing the Mountains.”

It reminded him that Bai Zhu had once mentioned she understood the qin.

A young girl who knew the zither, painting, and poetry was rare among maids. Even Bai Zhu only grasped the basic meanings of common characters.

This gave him a spark of hope.

“Du Shaoling’s poem,” he asked, “Have you studied?”

Ye Ying nodded shyly.

An hour later, she wished she could have gone back and slapped that nodding self.

All morning, the top scholar had pressed her on her knowledge, leaving her sweating profusely, as if fried on both sides in an oil pan, her weaknesses laid bare.

She had always preferred to stay in the kitchen among soot and smoke.

When Cui Yuan brought out brush, paper, and pigments again, she stepped back, waving her hands in surrender.

“Master, I really can’t do this…”

Finishing a painting in one day was difficult, so he relented.

“Your calligraphy needs practice, and your qin skills are rusty,” Cui Yuan assessed sternly. “Your poetry and literature are barely passable.”

Ye Ying felt ashamed.

---

She never had high expectations for herself in the first place! How could she compare to the top scholar?

The villagers had no demands of her; she was truly lax. Coupled with her fleeting interests—sometimes fascinated by medicine, other times by embroidery—she had only learned the surface of many things, leaving her knowledge broad but shallow.

Her one reliable skill was cooking, simply because it satisfied her own appetite.

Cui Yuan felt he had already tested her at a very low level. Given that she had some schooling, why was she barely ahead of his eight- or nine-year-old cousin?

He couldn’t say he was disappointed; deep down, he understood his cousin came from an official family, naturally gifted and with better opportunities.

Ye Ying, perhaps limited by the village school’s quality or distracted by household chores, had only reached this level.

None of this was her fault.

Besides, he had only been curious to see her abilities. Her skill level was of no consequence to him.

That was his thought, but he said, “Forget the rest, your calligraphy still needs practice. It helps focus the mind. Buy some good paper and ink—it’ll make a big difference.”

“Mm-hmm,” Ye Ying nodded, blushing, thinking she’d just humbly comply.

“Fine, so you don’t have to worry about spending silver.”

Cui Yuan demanded, “Every day, spend at least an hour practicing in the study.”

Calligraphy was settled; he would personally supervise.

“...” Ye Ying widened her eyes slightly.

Cui Yuan smiled. “Why are you still standing there? So happy you’re dazed?”

“...” Ye Ying was so happy she nearly cried. “Thank you, Master.”

Sang Ye stood nearby, her expression strange.

Setting aside why the master would test a mere maid like Ye Ying, she had seen him test several cousins and young ladies before. When they failed to answer, had he ever simply said “forget it”?

Moreover, the third young master of the second estate was weak in basics and often hoped for the master’s personal guidance, but he was too lazy to bother, only advising himself to study hard. He had never put in money and effort to “teach” anyone else like this.

By Sang Ye’s understanding, if someone treated a person unusually differently, that person must be special to them.

But Bai Zhu insisted the master wasn’t interested.

So Sang Ye thought the master must be, as Zhong Yun said, “just bored.” Truly.