Chapter 513: The Gentleman Stays Far from the Kitchen

The afternoon passed in an unhurried, almost lazy rhythm. Zhu Ping’an spent the time teasing Li Shu, while occasionally tossing feed to the plump pigs in the backyard. Laughter, light banter, and the soft grunts of satisfied animals blended together, and before he knew it, the sun had begun its slow descent toward the horizon, casting long, golden shadows across the courtyard.

As evening approached and it was nearly time to prepare dinner, Li Shu—ever the cunning one beneath her gentle appearance—hurried off once again to Madam Chen’s side to “perform.” A pampered young lady who had grown up surrounded by luxury was now competing to pick vegetables, wash them, and slice them with surprising speed and efficiency. Her movements were nimble, her expression earnest, and she worked with such enthusiasm that Madam Chen couldn’t stop praising her.

Meanwhile, Zhu Ping’an had hauled two buckets of water into the kitchen and carried firewood in twice, yet Madam Chen seemed not to notice him at all.

Mother… is Li Shu the only one you can see?

Your son has been working too, you know. Back then, I would at least get a word of praise for this…

Is it really that hard to earn a single compliment now?

Unwilling to be completely overlooked, Zhu Ping’an tried to make his presence known. After stacking the firewood, he even sat down by the stove, intending to help tend the fire.

But his plan failed immediately.

“You’re a grown man—what are you doing meddling in here? Out you go!” Madam Chen snapped, not even giving him a chance to explain before shooing him out of the kitchen.

Standing at the doorway, Li Shu had tied a rough linen apron around her neck, a bundle of freshly washed vegetables in her hands. Watching Zhu Ping’an being chased out, she narrowed her bright, watery eyes and deliberately drew out her words with a teasing lilt, brimming with smug delight.

“A gentleman should keep his distance from the kitchen~~ Why don’t you go study your books instead?”

“A gentleman keeps his distance from the kitchen?” Zhu Ping’an echoed, glancing at her with a faint smile tugging at his lips. He shook his head. “You’ve got that wrong.”

“Wrong?” Li Shu pouted, her lips forming a soft, rosy curve. “A gentleman should stay away from the kitchen.”

“That phrase isn’t saying that a gentleman ought to avoid cooking,” Zhu Ping’an replied, his tone calm but firm. “You’ve misunderstood Mencius.”

In truth, many people—even up to modern times—had taken that phrase at face value, assuming it meant that kitchens were beneath men, or solely the domain of women. But that was far from its original meaning.

“How is it wrong?” Li Shu challenged, clearly unconvinced. She had heard the phrase all her life—how could it be mistaken?

Zhu Ping’an recited slowly, his voice steady:

“‘A gentleman, in his dealings with animals—when he sees them alive, cannot bear to see them die; when he hears their cries, cannot bear to eat their flesh. Therefore, a gentleman keeps his distance from the kitchen.’”

He paused, then explained gently, “Simply put, it means that Heaven cherishes life, and a gentleman cannot bear to take it. It’s about compassion—not about refusing to enter the kitchen.”

As he spoke, his gaze remained fixed on Li Shu. On the surface, it seemed harmless enough, but there was something in his expression—something faintly reminiscent of a teacher lecturing an unstudious child—that made Li Shu grind her teeth in irritation.

“You…” she began, puffing her cheeks slightly, but found herself momentarily at a loss for words.

Seeing her at a disadvantage, Madam Chen immediately stepped in to defend her beloved daughter-in-law. She shot Zhu Ping’an a mock-stern look, a rolling pin in hand as though ready to discipline him.

“So what if Mencius said that?” she asked with a half-smile. “Does your mother’s word count or not?”

“It counts,” Zhu Ping’an surrendered instantly, not daring to argue further.

Li Shu covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with soft, delighted laughter.

Since he clearly wasn’t needed in the kitchen, Zhu Ping’an returned to his room. He took out the two brushes his father had made and softened their bristles slightly with warm water. Setting one aside, he laid out a sheet of fine xuan paper on the table, ground ink slowly in the inkstone, and dipped the brush until it was saturated.

Then, with a steady hand, he wrote eight bold characters:

“Plundering like thieves, combing like soldiers—killing the innocent to claim merit.”

Earlier that morning, during a banquet with the magistrate of Huaining County, the magistrate had mentioned recent developments at court—including the memorial Zhu Ping’an had submitted before leaving.

Zhu Ping’an hadn’t expected his memorial to stir up such a commotion. It had coincided with two other petitions impeaching Yan Song, amplifying its impact. Nor had he realized that the centurion Zhao Daying—who had falsely claimed merit by killing innocent civilians—had been promoted by Yan Song himself, and had long since aligned himself with Yan Shifan as one of their faction’s men.

Even so, Zhu Ping’an felt no regret.

Even if he had known of Zhao Daying’s connections at the time, he would have acted the same. A man like that, left unchecked for even a single day, would bring suffering to countless innocent people.

If an official does not stand for the people, he might as well go home and sell sweet potatoes.

At the banquet, the magistrate had even shown him a recently arrived court bulletin from the capital. It clearly stated that Zhu Ping’an was to present himself before the Ministry of Justice to give an account.

The magistrate, a cautious man, belonged to neither faction. He sought only to serve out his term peacefully without incident. As Zhu Ping’an was a native of Huaining—and a top-ranking scholar at that—he represented a significant achievement for the magistrate’s record. Naturally, the magistrate viewed him favorably.

He had even offered advice: perhaps Zhu Ping’an could seek help from Zhao Wenhui. After all, Zhao had once served as an education commissioner in the Southern Zhili region during the year Zhu Ping’an passed his provincial examination. By that connection, Zhao Wenhui could be considered his academic superior.

Moreover, Zhao Wenhui’s reputation for greed was no secret within official circles.

Most importantly, Zhao Wenhui was closely tied to Yan Song—he was, in fact, Yan Song’s adopted son. That connection carried far more weight than Zhao Daying’s.

If Zhao Wenhui were willing to speak a few words on Zhu Ping’an’s behalf, the matter could likely be resolved with ease.

That was why the magistrate had suggested it.

But Zhu Ping’an had no intention of relying on such connections.

A clear conscience fears no accusation. He had done no wrong—why should he fear explaining himself before the Ministry of Justice? Moreover, he had not acted rashly when submitting his memorial. He had thought it through carefully and made preparations in advance.

Cases of falsely claiming merit by killing innocents were not uncommon in history—especially in the later years of the Ming dynasty. Many such cases had escalated all the way to the Ministry of Justice, even reaching the emperor himself.

Having studied numerous such cases in his previous life, Zhu Ping’an had gained considerable insight into how to handle situations like this.

Thus, he felt no anxiety about what lay ahead.

So you have connections, do you?

You like kneeling before the Ministry of Justice to cry injustice?

You think yourselves untouchable?

You want me to present my case?

Heh… we’ll see.

Seated at his desk, Zhu Ping’an carefully sifted through the cases he remembered, recalling them one by one. He noted key points onto the paper, paying particular attention to examples from the Chongzhen era, whose circumstances bore striking similarities to the present.

Brush strokes flowed steadily, ink spreading across the page.

By the time dinner was ready, he had filled three entire sheets of xuan paper.

And in his heart, he was already fully prepared for what awaited him at the Ministry of Justice.