After repeated pestering by Lin Fang, Dalang ultimately grew concerned about his daughter’s health and taught her a set of the Five Animal Exercises.
Thus, every morning on the grassy patch in the courtyard, one could see Lin Fang twisting and turning in awkward, peculiar movements, while the maidservant standing by would occasionally gasp in alarm—another sign that Lin Fang had lost her balance and fallen. Still, she refused any help, picking herself up each time and continuing to practice. Completing the entire routine took her several times longer than it would others, leaving her disheveled and covered in dirt.
During these moments, Li Cuimei and Dalang would watch over her with full attention. Though Li Cuimei offered constant encouragement, her heart ached with worry. Dalang, under the guise of offering immediate corrections, was actually uneasy—after all, their daughter’s feet were too small, making her stance unstable and prone to injury. Only once everything was settled and their daughter remained unharmed would the couple begin their daily routine.
“Sixth Sister, Yuán’er is here to play with you! What are you doing?”
Hearing this voice, Lin Fang immediately felt a headache coming on. Lin Yuan, Guicheng’s daughter, was a year younger than Lin Fang, and the family called her Seventh Miss. This little girl was anything but quiet—whenever she was around, Lin Fang’s ears knew no peace. Her mother had started binding her feet that spring, forcing her perfectly healthy feet to stop growing. The poor girl wailed in pain, and Dong Panyu, usually so indulgent—willing to pluck the moon and stars for her daughter—was uncharacteristically firm on this matter. No amount of begging from the child or pleading from her husband could soften her resolve.
Calling for a maid to help Lin Yuan sit, Lin Fang chided, “Seventh Sister, why are you running around with your feet hurting? Aren’t you afraid of making it worse?”
Mentioning the pain wiped the smile off Lin Yuan’s face, replacing it with a pout. “There’s nothing to do, and my feet hurt even more,” she said, dramatically sucking in a breath as if the pain were unbearable, which made Lin Fang’s own heart clench in sympathy.
Ah, others had perfectly good feet bound small, while her own mother hadn’t forced her—yet her feet stubbornly refused to grow. Sighing inwardly, Lin Fang set down the brush she had been using to practice calligraphy and signaled Xiān’er to clear the ink and paper. She then went behind the screen to change out of the special robe she wore for writing—because her movements were still uncoordinated, no matter how careful she was, ink stains inevitably found their way onto her clothes.
Once tidied up, Lin Fang took a red string from her dressing table drawer and played cat’s cradle with Lin Yuan.
But before even half a quarter-hour had passed, Lin Yuan lost patience and asked, “Sixth Sister, is learning characters fun?”
She had asked this question countless times before, and Lin Fang patiently answered again, “Seventh Sister, learning characters is about gaining skills and broadening your mind, not about fun.”
In her past life, Lin Fang’s penmanship—as her father had put it—looked like “piles of matchsticks, and even those matchsticks were deformed.” Her brush calligraphy had been nonexistent. Every New Year, while her father wrote couplets, he would grumble that though his daughter was a university graduate, his second daughter-in-law a college graduate, his eldest son and daughter-in-law high school graduates, and his second son part of the new generation of middle school graduates—all more educated than him—it still fell to him, the old middle-schooler, to write the scrolls. And every time, her smooth-talking second brother would joke, “Blame it on your timing, Dad. You learned to write with a brush first. Even though we’ve studied more, schools don’t teach brush calligraphy anymore.”
During university, every letter from her father urged her to practice her handwriting, saying it was a person’s “face.” She would always promise, but after a couple of days, her patience would run out. Up until her rebirth, the only characters she could write decently were her own name—thanks to frequent signatures—while the rest remained as messy as ever. So in this life, Lin Fang was determined to persist and master beautiful handwriting, if only to honor her father’s endless nagging.
“But Mother says, ‘A woman without talent is virtuous.’ She doesn’t know any characters, and Father still loves her dearly.”
Looking at Lin Yuan’s confused expression, Lin Fang sighed. Dong Panyu’s thinking aligned perfectly with this world’s norms, while her own parents were somewhat unconventional—though that suited her just fine.
Lin Yuan pressed on, “But Father says I should spend more time with Sixth Sister and learn some skills, to be as accomplished as Auntie. Sixth Sister, who’s right—Mother or Father? Who should I listen to?”
“This—” Lin Fang hesitated. From her perspective, Guicheng’s view was undoubtedly correct, but she couldn’t say so outright. Not only would it confuse a four-year-old further, but her own unorthodox ideas at such a young age would make her stand out—and she wanted nothing more than to live quietly, avoiding trouble. At least for now.
“Sixth Sister, you don’t know either?” The little girl grew impatient.
Lin Fang deflected, “Oh, you know—’Different strokes for different folks.'”
“What does that mean?” Lin Yuan blinked, her eyes brimming with curiosity.
“It means everyone has their own reasoning.”
“But who’s actually right?”
The child was persistent. Lin Fang rubbed her temples.
“Madam, Eldest Young Master and Second Young Master have returned—along with Young Master Qi.”
The announcement from Xiaoqin’s mother outside was like music to Lin Fang’s ears. Her brothers’ timing was perfect—now she could sidestep the question entirely. As for that Qi fellow, she automatically dismissed him. He always tagged along with her brothers when he came back, treating his own home like an inn. And once here, he barely spoke, making him practically irrelevant.
Thirteen-year-old Lin Wen resembled Dalang even more now. He had shot up in height, his masculine features pronounced—his Adam’s apple prominent, and sparse stubble dusting his upper lip and chin. Though his voice was in the midst of changing, it wasn’t unpleasant to the ear. Dressed in a blue martial outfit, he must have ridden back in haste.
The Lin estate had expanded again, its grounds now twice as large. The family resided in the second courtyard, while the first housed servants, horses, and other necessities. The three young men dismounted before entering and walked to the second courtyard.
Lin Meng stood a head taller than Lin Wen, his build much stockier in comparison. Unlike the boy who had followed Aunt Tong to their relatives’ home three years ago, he now carried himself with more steadiness. Also in the midst of his voice change, he spoke in a deep, booming tone that made Lin Fang want to cover her ears. His martial outfit, the same dusty gray as his face, was covered in grime.
Qi Biao, aside from having grown taller and developed an Adam’s apple, showed little noticeable change. His naturally dark complexion, paired with his black martial attire, made any subtle differences hard to spot.
After paying their respects to Li Cuimei, the three sat down to chat. Lin Yuan, wide-eyed, looked from one to the other with fascination. Pampered by Dong Panyu, she rarely went out, and as Lin Wen and Lin Meng had been studying in Shengcheng—returning home only once every two months—even if she had met them before, her memories were faint. Suddenly, her expression shifted, as if startled. Following her gaze, Lin Fang saw Qi Biao looking their way—apparently, this brooding, dark-skinned fellow was the culprit.
When Lin Fang glared at him, Qi Biao stiffened before turning away. By the time he looked back, Lin Fang was already holding Lin Yuan’s hand, laughing and joking with her brothers, paying him no further attention.
After some banter, Lin Meng excused himself to find his parents. Lin Wen picked Lin Fang up, bouncing her a few times before chuckling, “Little Sister, you seem sturdier. Have you been up to mischief?”
Lin Fang retorted, “Why assume the worst, Second Brother? It’s not mischief—I’ve been practicing the Five Animal Exercises diligently. That’s why I’m stronger.”
“Oh? Why would you practice those? With your unstable stance, you must’ve suffered quite a bit.”
Lin Fang grimaced. Why did everyone treat her like glass?
Li Cuimei laughed. “Your sister pestered your father endlessly, insisting on learning martial arts for self-defense. He couldn’t refuse, so he taught her the Five Animal Exercises to build her constitution.”
“But her natural limitations make martial arts unsuitable. What if she gets hurt?” Just as Lin Fang expected, Lin Wen echoed the same concern.
Qi Biao, silent until now, spoke up. “Madam, if Sixth Miss wishes to defend herself, I might have a method—though I’m unsure if you’d approve.”
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