“I know you don’t like me.” Liu Qiao’e said. “That’s fine too—better than you deceiving me. Then let me ask: is it possible for you to like me?”
Mu Daoying felt uneasy inside. He still did not know the answer to this question. But looking at Liu Qiao’e, the one thing he knew was that he did not want to see her like this.
Having seen her smile in the sunlight just now, no one would wish to see that dark, reclusive, scrawny woman again.
Precisely because she rarely smiled, this one smile was like a river thawing, like grass and trees sprouting.
In Mu Daoying’s heart, it was as if tender grass tips were breaking through the soil, itching faintly.
Liu Qiao’e gave a self-mocking smile. “After all, I’ve been harsh to you, often beating and scolding you. I don’t even recognize many characters.”
Mu Daoying was silent for a while before interrupting her. For some reason, he did not want to hear her speak like this. “Old Mother, feelings arise unknowably. Romantic love between man and woman has no cause. It won’t increase because one knows more characters.”
“Ying has single-mindedly pursued the dao all these years, ignorant of romance. Ying has never considered such things. Ying only knows the Great Dao, not the winds and moons—”
Liu Qiao’e thought he was about to reject her again.
But the next second, his youthful, clear voice rang crisply by her ear.
“Ying’s meaning is this: though ignorant of romance, he also knew the Great Dao was boundless. In this world, there were a thousand paths and billions of stars—endless possibilities. Ying naturally might also like you.”
As soon as these words left his mouth, not only did Liu Qiao’e freeze, but Mu Daoying also froze.
What he had just said came without thought, straight from the heart.
Though he came back to his senses and felt a bit embarrassed, words once spoken were like spilled water, impossible to take back. He could only pretend to be calm and apologize to her. “My apologies. What Ying just said was no jest… It all came from the heart. If there was any rudeness, I hope Old Mother will forgive it.”
The sun burned Liu Qiao’e’s cheeks until they grew hot.
Yet no matter how hot they felt, they could not compare to the attention drawn by Mu Daoying’s gaze.
“Don’t look at me.” Liu Qiao’e wanted to suppress the heat in her cheeks, but it had little effect.
The young man’s gaze was as bright as the sun, warm as spring, gentle and frank. She felt like a little bug under a brick or tile exposed to the sunlight—nowhere to hide, scrambling in panic.
She grew angry from embarrassment.
Since she was prone to sudden mood swings, Mu Daoying had made a habit of watching the changes in her expression.
At her words, Mu Daoying paused for a moment, then hesitated and nodded, shifting away his overly direct gaze.
“Aren’t you supposed to teach me to read?” Liu Qiao’e steadied her mind and, in her panic, blurted out a topic to change the subject.
She muttered as she turned first and walked into the room.
Mu Daoying embarrassedly licked his dry lips and followed her inside.
Teaching was his home turf. He let out a breath of relief and forced himself to steady his mind. He took out a scroll of the Classic of Poetry from his sleeve, and his voice unconsciously softened, like a gentle spring breeze. “Old Mother, today we shall study poetry.”
Mu Daoying was undoubtedly a qualified teacher.
Once he took on the role of tutor, his heartbeat steadied, and he quickly regained his former calm composure.
He had his own reasons for choosing to teach poetry.
Liu Qiao’e knew some characters, just not many.
Children’s primers like the Three Character Classic were no longer suitable for her.
Poetry was just right—not too simplistic, yet not too obscure.
“The sage said of the three hundred poems in the Classic of Poetry that they could be summed up in one phrase: thoughts without depravity,” Mu Daoying explained leisurely. “They overflow with true emotion, expressing the heart’s innermost feelings.”
This might suit Liu Qiao’e, whose actions often carried a sharp edge.
He sat facing Liu Qiao’e.
The scroll of Poetry lay open between them.
Mu Daoying turned to the first page and paused.
He had forgotten that the first poem was the Ode to Guan Ju.
On any other day, it would not have mattered, but after that recent conversation, his face could not help but redden a little.
Mu Daoying quickly steadied his mind and told himself inwardly that he should not.
Thoughts without depravity.
Today, as her tutor teaching her to read, how could he let his mind wander?
Supporting the page, Mu Daoying sat upright and began to recite steadily. “Guan guan, the ospreys…”
Who would have thought that as soon as he opened his mouth, Liu Qiao’e’s face changed abruptly. “I’ve heard this poem before!”
Her intense reaction caught Mu Daoying off guard. His fingertip paused, and he looked up. “Old Mother?”
A complex surge of emotions churned in her eyes, as if she were lost in thought.
“If that’s the case, how about Ying switches to another poem?” Mu Daoying saw her expression was poor and did not force it, instead discussing it with her.
“No need.” The intensity in Liu Qiao’e’s face gradually faded, and her tone softened. “You read it. Before, I didn’t grasp it deeply and didn’t understand its meaning. Today, I actually want to figure it out.”
Mu Daoying paused again. On second thought, this was the opening poem of the Classic of Poetry, widely circulated—most common folk had heard a line or two. It was not unusual for Liu Qiao’e to know it. Though he did not know why her reaction was so strong, it must involve some past events…
It was basic etiquette not to pry into others’ private matters unless they brought it up themselves.
He gave her a slight nod, not paying it much mind.
Liu Qiao’e looked at the young man so close at hand.
His fair neck was framed by the collar of his Daoist robe, his jawline smooth and gentle.
She stared at him, yet seemed not to see him at all—her thoughts had already flown out the window.
Mu Daoying’s voice as he read was low and earnest, clear and bright like a youth’s, striking jade like cracking ice, carrying a chill that was not cold—like an ice chest in summer. It was pleasing to the ear, bringing boundless ease.
Mu Daoying finished reciting one stanza, but got no reaction from Liu Qiao’e. When he looked up, he saw her mind wandering, lost in the clouds.
He did not let it show and curved his finger to tap the table. “Old Mother?”
Liu Qiao’e came back to herself. “Oh, oh, continue.”
Mu Daoying’s brows furrowed slightly. “…”
He came from a scholarly family with strict upbringing—heavy respect for teachers and the Dao was ingrained in his bones. Whether studying or cultivating, one should always maintain a proper attitude.
Seeing Liu Qiao’e so distracted and casual, Mu Daoying felt a faint dissatisfaction deep down but did not show it.
He endured it patiently and began reciting from the start again. “Guan guan, the ospreys…”
This time, Liu Qiao’e did not let her mind wander and interrupted him.
“What kind of bird is a guan ju?”
Mu Daoying slowly drew a deep breath; by now, he was eighty percent dissatisfied.
But he held it back and did not show any disdain, correcting her earnestly. “Guan ju are not a bird—it’s the ospreys crying guan guan as they call to each other.”
Supporting the page, he lowered his lashes and recited clearly to her. “Guan guan, the ospreys, on the river islet. Graceful is the beautiful lady, fine is the gentleman’s quest…”
Perhaps influenced by Liu Qiao’e’s perfunctory attitude toward learning, by the time he finished this stanza, his own mind was a bit restless, unsettled.
He kept replaying their conversation in the corridor earlier, and his ear tips began to burn and redden.
Mu Daoying took a steadying breath and finally calmed his mind before raising his eyes. “I’ll recite a line, and Old Mother repeats after me.”
“Guan guan, the ospreys.” He recited.
“Guan guan, the ospreys.” Liu Qiao’e repeated.
“On the river islet.”
“On the river islet.”
“Graceful is the beautiful lady.” His voice hesitated, slowing a little.
“Graceful is the beautiful lady.”
“Fine is the gentleman’s quest.” Mu Daoying steadied his mind.
“Fine is the gentleman’s quest.”
“Old Mother, which characters don’t you recognize?” Mu Daoying asked. “This one will explain them for Old Mother.”
Liu Qiao’e pointed in one breath: “ospreys”, “graceful”, “virtuous”, “quest”.
Mu Daoying patiently explained each one to her.
Fortunately, though Liu Qiao’e had been a bit distracted at first, she had a heart for learning and soon immersed herself.
On the other hand, Mu Daoying’s Dao heart had been disturbed by her and remained unsettled. Even as he explained, he frequently hesitated and paused.
Looking at Liu Qiao’e, who was now focused and unmoved by the eight winds, he sighed softly in his heart.
She learned quickly, so Mu Daoying took out a model text of large red-script characters for her to practice.
The copybook was one he had written overnight the day before—his strokes were expansive, upright without stiffness, still carrying bold and elegant spirit, just like a gentleman.
Liu Qiao’e copied it as well.
Mu Daoying picked it up and looked, slightly surprised. Liu Qiao’e’s writing was not particularly beautiful, but clearly practiced. Most importantly, her script naturally resembled his own a little.
“Has Old Mother practiced calligraphy before?” he could not help asking.
Liu Qiao’e’s face reddened a bit, a touch nervous. “I have.”
Like the vast majority of common folk illiterate in classics, Liu Qiao’e held a natural reverence for these scholars.
She just rarely showed it—that awe was hidden beneath her sharp exterior.
“What copybook did Old Mother practice?”
Liu Qiao’e paused for a moment.
Mu Daoying assumed she had just used whatever was at hand and did not know, so he did not press further.
“It was the Cao Quan Stele.” Liu Qiao’e quickly let out a breath.
Mu Daoying paused again, then nodded with a sense of shared experience. “When I was young and first practicing calligraphy, I also used the Cao Quan Stele.”
“As a child, Father even took me to rubbings from Han steles.”
Liu Qiao’e did not want to continue on the topic of copybooks.
She tugged at her thin lips and met his gaze. “Master Mu, if I’ve finished writing, is there a reward?”
Mu Daoying fell silent for a moment, then calmly countered, “In private school teaching, rewards and punishments go hand in hand. Old Mother wants a reward, but has she considered punishment if her attitude is improper?”
Liu Qiao’e furrowed her brows. “You’re going to punish me? How do you plan to punish me?”
Mu Daoying sighed and set down the copybook. “Ying was only joking. Old Mother need not take it seriously.”
But Liu Qiao’e wrinkled her brow and actually took it seriously.
If they were going to learn, then they would learn properly.
“Wait here.” She pushed open the door and went out. After a while, she returned from somewhere with a willow switch.
She placed the willow switch in his palm. Mu Daoying paused, then could not help but smile wryly.
He looked up. “This one really was just joking. Old Mother is too much.”
“Hit me.” Liu Qiao’e said.
Mu Daoying paused for a while. “Old Mother is serious?”
Liu Qiao’e glared. “I said hit me—why so much nonsense? Weren’t you just complaining I was distracted?”
Mu Daoying sighed softly, set down the willow switch, and turned to fetch a few fruits from a small basket in the corner.
He was handsome, and people often gave him fragrant fruits whenever he went out. He had refused a few times, but they insisted on stuffing them into his sleeve.
“Eat.” Mu Daoying placed the fruits in Liu Qiao’e’s palm and coaxed her gently like a child. “Studying is dull; a wandering mind is human nature. No punishment is due. Old Mother memorizes quickly and writes well—she deserves a reward.”