Chapter 269.1: Hello Chang'an
Chang Suining unfolded the letter.
It was from her teacher.
A letter written in the capacity of a teacher.
So, her teacher had finally seen the painting she had left at Dayun Temple.
As she had expected, once her teacher laid eyes on the bamboo-and-rock painting she had created, he would discern the clues — and this letter now confirmed it.
But on the sheet before her, there were only three lines, nine characters in total.
These three lines posed three questions:
Are you well?
What do you intend to do, where will you go?
Why?
As a truly learned man admired by scholars across the realm, her teacher naturally wrote with impeccable skill. Even claiming that no one in the present age could match him would not be an exaggeration.
Yet, in these nine brief characters, close observation revealed a subtle irregularity.
His strokes were heavy, deliberate, hesitant yet resolute, as if every move had been weighed against disaster.
Beneath this complex, contradictory tension lay but a single unspoken notion: expectation.
Each character seemed to question her, eagerly seeking confirmation from her own mouth. Yet the first concern was always her safety — “Are you well?”
The second question, “What do you intend to do, where will you go?” reflected his concern for her future.
The final, “Why?” sought to verify the truth — reality versus illusion.
Her teacher was skilled in anger, often scolding for days without repetition. But facing a possible deception from her, he reduced his inquiries to these nine words.
The letter conveyed the careful caution of an elder, the hesitation of one returning home after years, fearing to speak too loudly and disturb something precious — a reflection in a mirror, a flower on water — lest a single thought shatter.
Chang Suining sighed softly.
Suddenly, she felt quite unworthy of her role as his student.
How could she, a short-lived soul, have caused her teacher such concern for over a decade?
She did not rush to read the other letters, but first laid out paper and prepared her reply.
In the past, when she had displeased her teacher, she liked to mutter phrases like, “What can I do? Students must follow their teachers.”
A student follows, and so now, replying to a teacher’s three-question nine-character letter, she would answer with nine characters as well.
Chang Suining wrote the nine characters, set down her brush, blew the ink dry, folded the letter carefully, and instructed Ah Che:
“Deliver it to Grand Tutor Zhu’s residence in the capital. Take care not to go via the main roads…”
Now that the Holy Emperor had recognized her as Li Shang, the living Li Shang, who had already left her feeling half joyous, half worried, if she corresponded closely with her former teacher, now Minister of Rites, the half joyous would likely vanish entirely.
Being far from the capital, she feared nothing herself, but her elderly teacher valued safety.
Chang Suining thought further, Better to be even more cautious: “Let it be secretly delivered to Master Wujue at Dayun Temple.”
Having Wujue handle the transfer would ensure extra safety.
Since Wujue was involved, she decided to write him a separate note as well, consulting about military formations — a minor matter, yet an essential practice for any lord to ensure each subordinate feels valued.
Only after Ah Che had sent the letters to these two elders did Chang Suining open the remaining correspondence.
Letters from Duan Shi were full of concern and some rambling about events in the capital, along with subtle probes and misunderstandings.
Yet her insight told her these probes were typical of Duan Zhenyi, and whatever she might glean from them would amount to nothing.
Now that Chang Suining had achieved military feats, appearing to outsiders as a “descendant star in the martial world,” those familiar with her — and with Li Shang’s past — could not help but form their own interpretations.
Duan Shi was one such person. Qiao Yang had sensed something amiss too, but instead of writing, he asked Chang Kuo first.
Chang Kuo replied: “Nothing seems wrong. You’ve been overthinking.”
He felt no pangs of conscience. Was this deception? Not at all. He was merely doing what Wujue had once done to him.
His reasoning: “For your own good; knowing too much too soon would do you no favor.”
Compared to Qiao Yang’s thoughtful suspicion, Duan Zhenyi remained at the shallow level of “How is it that this child has such fate with the prince? Strange, let me ask further.”
Therefore, replying to her was straightforward.
Next came a letter from Yao Xia and her companions.
The handwriting suggested it was from a Wu family lady.
The content filled half the page; the rest was devoted to signatures.
Seeing one familiar name after another, Chang Suining was astonished. She had never seen such a long list of signatures in her life. Rather than a mere letter, it resembled a joint petition.
Upon closer inspection, the names followed a phonetic order, seemingly arranged not by status or proximity, but by surname tones.
Fair, impartial, and methodical — a true reflection of Wu family efficiency.
No doubt, it was the idea of the Lady Wu.
Indeed, originally Yao Xia and the others wished to write individually, but the Wu ladies, appealing with reason and emotion, persuaded them: “I know the feelings of every sister here. But Chang Suining is busy with military matters. Sending dozens of letters would burden her and create disorder. This would only invite her disapproval.”
The other ladies were shocked, swiftly tearing and burning their half-written letters.
Thus arose this “joint letter.”
Chang Suining observed this orderly correspondence and smiled: “This sister Wu is truly talented.”
Though it appeared to be mere playful amusement among young ladies, these women came from varied families, each with different temperaments, yet under Wu Chunbai’s leadership, they behaved with such discipline. Many officials at court could not manage this.
By such small signs, one could perceive her capability.
This sister Wu, Wu Chunbai, was widely known in the capital, a renowned talent in her own right.
Alongside the letter, she sent a small booklet.
It documented Chang Suining’s deeds in Jiangnan, allowing her to check for errors or omissions.
Upon opening it, Chang Suining was impressed.
The record was detailed, thrilling, and portrayed her as the protagonist with appropriate admiration.
She read without embarrassment or false modesty. A person striving for great achievements cannot afford a thin skin.
She aimed to make accomplishments, to earn renown.
Her ambition had taken root long ago, back in Dengtai Tower, when she hosted a poetry gathering.
She understood perfectly: throughout history, to achieve anything, one needed fame. Used well, it could triumph without bloodshed. Combined with strength and prestige, it could even determine outcomes between heaven, earth, and opportunity.
Thus, she welcomed these accounts praising her exploits — the more, the better.
Looking at this handwritten booklet, her heart warmed. These young ladies were pure and beautiful. Their admiration stemmed not only from respect and love but also from a yearning for the freedom she embodied.
Earlier in the capital, she had performed many audacious acts. These were things other young women could not, would not, or did not know they could do.
These girls, drawn to her, shared a desire to break free from social conventions.
She was one, yet not the only one.
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