Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The distance from the study to the main courtyard was the distance between court and home.

My father taught me the former; my mother taught me the latter.

When I arrived, Mother was often seated beneath the south-facing window, reading.

I would bow respectfully, and she would give a quiet murmur of acknowledgment, eyes still on her book, never looking at me.

She would only say, “At last month’s birthday banquet, we set out thirty-six tables. Each table had eight dishes of delicacies and eight meat dishes. There were three rounds of wine and five servings of tea. Calculate it for me-how much rice, how much meat, and how much wine did we use in total?”

I counted on my fingers.

When I finished, Mother asked again, “If it were an ordinary family banquet and the standard were cut in half, how much could be saved?”

I was about to start counting on my fingers again when Mother glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “Do it in your head.”

I stood quietly in the center of the room, went through it three times in my mind, and only then opened my mouth.

Mother lowered her book, and her gaze fell on me.

“Remember that number. When you manage a household in the future, you must never stint on what ought to be spent, even if it costs ten thousand gold. But on what ought not to be spent, not a single coin should be wasted.”

She broke that principle down and kneaded it into the daily matters of firewood, rice, oil, and salt to teach me.

She had me look through the kitchen purchasing accounts day by day.

I watched when the price of eggs rose, and when it fell.

I learned the proper seasons for fresh vegetables and where the fresh fruits came from.

I studied the faces of peddlers and errand runners, remembering who was honest and who was slippery.

“Managing a household is like governing a country. One concerns ten thousand li of rivers and mountains; the other, three feet of stove.”

“But the principles are the same. You must see clearly, calculate accurately, and keep a firm grasp.”

“You need not be in a hurry to understand all this. There is still a long road ahead. Walk slowly, and watch slowly.”

On my fifth birthday, the winter solstice arrived.

A little girl came to the estate. Her name was Yin He.

She had been sent by the Luoyang Branch. Three months younger than me, she was said to have a quiet temperament and an excellent head for arithmetic.

She wore a padded jacket that was already half-worn, and her eyes were bright and clear.

Mother brought her to meet me. “This is your second younger sister. From this day forward, she will eat and sleep with you, study with you, and advance with you.”

I looked at her.

She looked back at me too, neither flinching nor dodging. “Greetings, Elder Sister.”

That afternoon, Father tested us.

First, he had me recite the newly learned section of Youxue Qionglin. Then he pointed to one line and asked me,

“‘Wind follows the tiger, clouds follow the dragon’-what does it mean?”

I thought for a moment. “It’s like how wind rises when a tiger runs, and clouds trail a dragon when it flies.”

After a pause, I added, “It is also like how something will always gather around a formidable person.”

Father turned to another passage. “What does ‘measuring the sea with a ladle’ mean?”

I had not learned that far yet, so I honestly shook my head.

He closed the book, rose, and went to the washbasin to scoop up a ladle of water.

“A li is a ladle made from a clamshell.”

He poured the water back into the basin. “If someone wanted to use this little ladle to measure all the water in the sea, what would you think?”

I stared at the rippling surface of the water and said softly, “That would be very foolish.”

Father nodded and placed the clamshell ladle in my hands.

“But you must know this: in this world, there are many people who hold a clamshell in their hands and believe they have measured all beneath heaven.”

My grip tightened around the clamshell ladle.

For once, Father’s words were gentle. “You are still young. It does not matter if you do not understand yet.”

“You need only remember this: the bowl of water before your eyes cannot contain the seas of the world, and a ladle handed to you by someone else cannot measure your own depth.”

I nodded. “Your daughter will remember.”