Chapter 378: I Have a Special Way of Talking
For more than ten days, the once-bustling scene of carriages passing in and out of Xiahe Village finally began to quiet down. Only then did Madam Chen, Zhu Ping’an’s mother, find the leisure to step out of her home. In the days before, the house had been constantly filled with visitors and carts—she hadn’t been able to leave her doorstep even for a moment.
Madam Chen was already past forty, though at first glance she looked barely over thirty. Her complexion was smooth and radiant, her features soft and healthy-looking, made even more youthful by the recent lightness in her mood.
Among the village women of her generation, most had long been worn down by the years—faces weathered, backs slightly stooped, hands roughened by endless labor. Whenever they encountered Madam Chen, they could not help but glance her way with envy, their mouths spilling forth sincere compliments about how well she had maintained herself.
Each time, she would wave a hand and laugh it off, pretending to deny their words. Yet the delight and pride that glimmered in her eyes could not be hidden, no matter how she tried.
Life had indeed become exceptionally comfortable for the Chen family. Ever since her younger son, Zhu Ping’an, passed the provincial examination and became a juren, the family’s fortunes had risen like the tide. Day by day, their circumstances grew more prosperous. Now, the Zhu household owned over a hundred mu of fertile farmland—more than sixty of them being top-grade paddy fields—and that was not even counting the portions that others had voluntarily donated to them in gratitude or admiration. If those were added in, the number would be even greater.
Their home, too, had been entirely rebuilt—a spacious, sturdy residence that looked grander than the manor of even the wealthiest landlord in the village.
With so much land to manage, they had hired tenants and helpers, yet still needed someone trustworthy to oversee things. Zhu Father, a man who had always found contentment in working the soil, decided to give up his old job of driving the ox cart and instead took to tending the fields himself, spending his days among the ripening crops.
The task of driving the carriage to and from the nearby town now fell to Zhu Pingchuan, the eldest son. It was a good source of income, and Madam Chen refused to let anyone else handle it—such work should stay within the family.
Her eldest son had married a diligent young woman, and though the couple was often glued together like newlyweds tend to be, they were still filial and never forgot their mother’s kindness.
But what filled Madam Chen’s heart to overflowing was the news that had arrived only a few weeks earlier—her younger son, her beloved Ping’an, had taken first place in the metropolitan examination, becoming Huìyuán! From the moment the message reached her, her joy had been uncontainable.
Aside from occasionally worrying about whether her son was eating well and resting enough in the capital, her days were now wrapped entirely in contentment.
“Juan’er, keep an eye on the house for me, will you? I’ll go for a little walk,” Madam Chen said, holding a half-finished shoe sole in one hand and her sewing kit in the other as she stood by the doorway, calling to her daughter-in-law.
“Yes, Mother. Take this stool with you—if you stand too long, you’ll tire yourself out.” The young woman hurried after her, offering a small bamboo stool.
“All right. And you, don’t overwork yourself either,” Madam Chen said with a kind smile. “You’ve already made two sets of clothes for me, your father-in-law, and Pingchuan. Rest your eyes a little.”
She was thoroughly pleased with her eldest daughter-in-law. The girl had a strong figure—a sign of good childbearing fortune—was quick and capable with her hands, and knew how to speak with tact. Unlike her dull, honest husband, she had wit and presence of mind.
“I’m fine, Mother, really,” the young woman replied with a soft laugh and a shake of her head.
“You silly girl,” Madam Chen chided fondly, clicking her tongue. “Don’t even know how to enjoy a bit of peace. There’ll always be work to do—no need to rush.”
“Yes, Mother,” her daughter-in-law said obediently, lowering her gaze and smiling bashfully.
With her instructions given, Madam Chen, pleased and humming lightly, tucked the small bamboo stool under her arm and stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, heading toward the spot where she and several familiar village women often gathered.
As expected, by the time she arrived, seven or eight women were already seated there. Some were stitching soles like her, others spinning thread, and a few were sorting rice in wide wicker baskets. The chatter and laughter rose and fell like the rhythm of a familiar song, blending with the sounds of village life—the occasional bark of a dog, the distant cluck of chickens, the rustle of the autumn breeze.
“Ah! Ping’an’s mother! You finally decided to show your face again!” one of the older women called out with a grin.
“Ah, the past few days have been too busy at home, I couldn’t get away,” Madam Chen replied cheerfully.
“See? Didn’t I say so?” another woman nudged the one beside her with her elbow. “Doesn’t she look younger again? Look at her—fair as ever!”
“Isn’t that the truth?” a plump aunt chimed in. “Ping’an’s mother and I are about the same age, yet look at me—I’ve turned into an old yellow-faced woman, while she looks like a bride barely past thirty!”
“Oh, stop your nonsense,” Madam Chen said, smiling so wide her dimples showed. “I’m already over forty!”
“I swear I’m not making it up,” the woman protested with mock solemnity. “Anyone who sees you would say the same!”
The rest of the group nodded in agreement, voices echoing their amusement.
Madam Chen waved her hand as though to dismiss them, but her delighted expression betrayed how much she enjoyed their words.
Settling herself down, she began stitching as the conversation flowed on. Despite the smallness of their village, gossip was never scarce. They talked about everything—the wild boar that had wandered into Wang Family Village a few days ago, how someone’s daughter-in-law had argued with her mother-in-law, or how Sister Lǐ’s dog had just birthed a litter of puppies. Each topic spun into laughter and chatter that could last an hour.
Madam Chen listened for a long while, her needle flashing in and out of the shoe sole. Yet to her faint disappointment, no one mentioned what she truly wanted to hear—her son’s triumph in the examinations.
She had, after all, prepared an entire arsenal of words, ready to tell and retell the tale of her son’s glorious success. But without anyone bringing it up, she felt like a knight who had mastered dragon-slaying techniques only to find there were no dragons left to fight.
Still, that didn’t bother her for long—because Madam Chen had her own special conversational skills.
Waiting for a pause in the gossip, she looked up and said casually, “Auntie, doesn’t the weather feel especially nice today?”
“It does,” came the murmured replies, heads nodding as a few women glanced at the clear blue sky.
“Mm-hmm, really pleasant,” someone added.
Madam Chen smiled faintly, her tone bright and deliberate as she continued, “And look at that cloud up there.”
She set aside her sewing, raised a finger, and pointed toward a small tuft of white drifting lazily across the sky. Her voice was rich, ringing with pride.
“Tell me—doesn’t that cloud look just like my younger son, the one who passed as Huìyuán?”
The group of women fell silent for a heartbeat.
Even the cloud, if it could speak, might have blushed under such praise—it had been idly floating, shapeless and free, only to be declared the image of the famed Huìyuán of the Zhu family.
But her words—light as a feather yet sharp as a blade—hit their mark precisely. The topic turned instantly, as she knew it would.
“Oh yes! Speaking of which, Ping’an’s mother, when will your son be coming home?”
“I saw all those carriages coming to your place lately—people bringing gifts, weren’t they? Who were those fine-looking folks?”
“What exactly does being Huìyuán mean? Is he going to be an official now?”
“You’re truly blessed, Ping’an’s mother! Your son’s future is set!”
Surrounded by eager voices, Madam Chen’s face shone brighter than the midday sun. She answered every question with lively enthusiasm, her pride barely contained.
And from that moment on, the conversation never left the orbit of Zhu Ping’an—the brilliant Huìyuán. Whenever the talk began to drift elsewhere, Madam Chen would skillfully steer it back again, always with that same unflagging delight.
After all, for a mother whose son had risen above all others, every cloud in the sky could look just a little like him.