Regardless of who pitied whom, that night Gu Huaixiu relocated to her second residence since arriving in Tongcheng. Next door was the courtyard where the Zhang family’s young lady used to live. Word had it that the girl stubbornly married a merchant and had since journeyed south, far from home, seldom meeting with Zhang Ying.

Gu Huaixiu woke up early, without being called by her maidservant, Qingdai. She was always an early riser, although waking early didn’t necessarily mean she was fully alert, as she often lingered in a fog of drowsiness.

By the time she finished dressing, the sun hadn’t risen yet. Qingdai was still sleepy and commented, “The food at the Zhang residence is quite refined, but it may not suit Miss’s palate.”

“If there’s good food, of course I’ll eat it,” Gu Huaixiu replied. “If not, what else can I do?” Being a guest, she couldn’t very well act like the host, could she?

Gu Huaixiu felt her eyelids growing as heavy as a thousand pounds, and she thought she ought to return to bed. However, her feet carried her to the lacquered table in the hall of their quarters. She sat down and sampled all the dishes, but only the coix seed and red bean porridge was palatable; the rest she hardly touched.

Without saying a word to the maidservant standing outside the room, she had the breakfast items cleared away. Then she prepared herself to meet the Zhang family’s eldest son.

This young master, Zhang Tingzan, had passed the imperial exams in his early twenties and was a highly learned scholar, currently holding an official post at court. He had accompanied his father, Zhang Ying, back to Tongcheng for ancestral rites, affording him some free time.

Gu Zhenguan would be able to tell all the matchmaking gossips that Gu Huaixiu had become a student under Zhang Tingzan. And when she grew tired of him, perhaps she could even get Zhang Ying, the sitting Hanlin academician, to take her on as a nominal student. Then, at least, she might have a better chance of getting married.

Gu Zhenguan had really put all his efforts into this, so much so that even Gu Huaixiu could no longer bring herself to laugh about it.

She had thought this journey to Tongcheng would be a leisurely trip, but now it felt like a torment.

Guided to the study, she found not only Zhang Tingzan but also Zhang Ying and Gu Zhenguan waiting. After the appropriate introductions were made, Gu Huaixiu noticed Zhang Tingzan’s thinly mustached upper lip and couldn’t help but be struck speechless.

Zhang Tingzan, feeling rather idle in recent days, had previously complained to his father that he had nothing to do. Unexpectedly, Zhang Ying assigned him a new task yesterday. The task of being a teacher? That was certainly within his skill set.

After the introductions, Gu Zhenguan and Zhang Ying excused themselves for a poetry outing, leaving only Gu Huaixiu and Zhang Tingzan in the room, staring at each other.

Zhang Tingzan already knew that his second brother’s engagement to the Gu family’s eldest daughter had been settled. The two families were to become in-laws, and the younger sister of his future sister-in-law should be treated like his own sister. But this sister…

“Why has Third Miss been staring at me? Is there something wrong?” Zhang Tingzan asked.

Gu Huaixiu, withdrawing her gaze from his mustache, shook her head solemnly. “Nothing.”

There was no questioning Zhang Tingzan’s scholarly talent—he was considered to far surpass even his father. Stroking his mustache, he said, “Since I am now your teacher, from today on, whenever you come to the study, you shall address me as ‘Teacher.’ I hope Third Miss will remember that.”

On the table lay a ruler, though Zhang Tingzan hadn’t touched it. His expression, however, turned serious. Wearing a pale white robe, he directed Gu Huaixiu to stand before the desk, upon which several sheets of paper lay spread out.

“Write a few words for me to see,” he said.

“Yes, Teacher.”

Most people would be delighted to receive an esteemed teacher like Zhang Tingzan, but Gu Huaixiu was not like most people; she was anything but pleased.

The moment she picked up the brush, she felt as though she were grasping a sword—one that was going to kill her. Her hand trembled uncontrollably, making it impossible to write properly. After awkwardly scrawling a few shaky lines, she calmly placed down the brush, her hand finally steady once more.

“Teacher, I’m finished,” she announced, expressionless.

Zhang Tingzan, sitting nearby and reading poetry, was taken aback by how quickly she had finished. Rising to inspect her work, he nearly stumbled at first glance.

The old saying goes, “The writing reflects the person.”

Goodness! If Gu Huaixiu’s handwriting was anything like the person…

Zhang Tingzan was speechless for a long moment. Gu Zhenguan and Zhang Ying were clearly setting him up for failure. He could carve something presentable from ordinary wood, but with rotting timber—even a master craftsman could do nothing with it.

Gu Huaixiu knew the effect her handwriting could have. She had seen that same expression on the faces of more than a few of her previous tutors. Her so-called “excellent” penmanship had already driven away countless instructors.

In truth, there was little anyone could criticize her for—apart from her good looks, she was lazy, unmotivated, and rather unskilled. But her skin—thick as it was—was unrivaled. “Teacher must think my calligraphy has the grace of dragons and serpents in flight, iron strokes with silver hooks, full of unique flair, no?”

Zhang Tingzan: “…”

This student… He truly could not teach her.

He glanced up at the wooden beam above and then made a difficult decision. Spotting his second brother, Zhang Tingyu, walking down the hallway outside, Zhang Tingzan immediately planned his own escape, sacrificing his brother in the process.

He said, “Indeed, Third Miss’s calligraphy is undoubtedly one of a kind. However, I lack the skills to be your proper teacher. I shall find someone even more qualified.”

With that, he swiftly bowed and practically fled.

Outside in the corridor, Qingdai had been struggling to hold back her laughter. Finally, her shoulders began to shake, and she let out a stifled giggle.

“You made me laugh so hard, Miss! Is there any teacher left in this world who can withstand you? Another one gone!”

Gu Zhenguan—esteemed among scholars far and wide—had tried to tutor Gu Huaixiu himself but failed. Despite his towering reputation in intellectual circles, no one could teach Gu Huaixiu.

Those tutors who came always ended up praising her elder sister: Gu Yaofang is wonderful, Gu Yaofang is wonderful. If asked why, they would simply say, “Gu Yaofang is good in every way.”

As for Gu Huaixiu—

Heh, let someone else teach her.

Actually, Gu Huaixiu quite enjoyed this. Only someone capable of driving all her tutors to their limits could achieve her level of expertise in this “profound” art. Smugly, she mused, “Little girl, laugh while you can. One day, I’ll tell my father it’s high time you learned to read. Otherwise, how will you avoid being completely illiterate when I’m out there embarrassing myself?”

Her tone was cold and carried a subtle threat, which Qingdai, of course, caught right away. Terrified, she instantly stopped laughing and shook her head vigorously, like a drum toy, “Miss, you misunderstood. I was only praising you.”

Gu Huaixiu didn’t believe that for a second but let it go, glancing at her crooked calligraphy. She rubbed her delicate chin and muttered, “In fact, I do think I’ve made some progress.”

Just then, the sound of soft footsteps came from the entrance.

Gu Huaixiu turned her head and was surprised to see Zhang Tingyu standing there. Him, of all people? She suddenly recalled Zhang Tingzan’s parting words. Could this “someone more qualified” be him? Embittered memories of their previous encounters surfaced, and Gu Huaixiu was reluctant to accept it.

Be it the concern for propriety or general reluctance, she highly doubted that he could properly teach her. Teasing her, however, was entirely within his realm of expertise.

“Good day, Second Young Master,” Gu Huaixiu greeted him cordially, at least outwardly.

Now that Zhang Tingyu had finally gotten a close look at her, he realized that her reputation for beauty was well-earned: a delicate oval face, almond-shaped eyes, a fine nose, full red lips—her appearance was impeccable. Yet her reputation was atrocious.

Keeping this in mind, Zhang Tingyu returned the pleasantries. “My elder brother was just summoned by my sister-in-law for something urgent. Before leaving, he asked me to temporarily step in as your tutor—to supervise your reading and writing practice.”

Gu Huaixiu listened to his formal explanation and nearly bristled with anger. She wanted nothing more than to sever ties with the entire Zhang family right then and there.

But after a brief moment of reflection, she suppressed her initial reaction. If she could drive away one teacher, she could certainly drive away a second. The Zhang family had four sons: having already sent one brother packing, they had swapped in the next. By the time she managed to chase this one off, surely they wouldn’t resort to sending someone as young as Zhang Tinglu, who was only a few years older than herself!

Thus, driving Zhang Tingyu away would guarantee her days of freedom.

Suddenly, a bright smile spread across her face, and she softly greeted him as “Second Teacher.”

Second Teacher? What a bizarre title.

Zhang Tingyu resisted the urge to comment, remaining as expressionless as always. Taking the same place his elder brother had stood, he responded, “Then, may I have the honor of viewing Third Miss’s calligraphy?”

Calligraphy again?

Qingdai nearly doubled over in laughter, though she did her utmost to keep it contained, only letting out a faint sound.

Gu Huaixiu shot her a stern look, then smiled and turned over the paper she’d just written on, saying, “Please, Second Teacher, have a look.”

Zhang Tingyu: “…”

In an instant, he fully understood why his elder brother had fled.

On this fine sheet of xuan paper, painted with the finest ink, was nothing short of—

Scribbles.

There was no other way to describe it.

Squiggling and slanted in all directions, her handwriting resembled a collection of drunken men who had lost all sense of direction.

Maintaining an austere expression, Zhang Tingyu slowly picked up the ruler from the table and gently rubbed its smooth bamboo surface with his thumb, remarking, “Miss Gu’s characters—though ugly, I must admit—are not beyond saving.”

It was the first time anyone had bluntly called Gu Huaixiu’s handwriting “ugly,” and it was also the first time someone had implied that her writing could be salvaged.

More notably—it was also the first time someone had picked up the ruler.

For reasons unknown to her, seeing Zhang Tingyu holding the ruler set her on edge.

She reassured herself that this gentleman would never strike a woman, especially not her. Forcing a smile, she said, “You’re the first—”

“In the study, you ought to refer to me as ‘Teacher,’” Zhang Tingyu interrupted, correcting her.

Gu Huaixiu was momentarily stunned. This man was so rigid. She had the urge to argue, but decided to hold back.

“Very well, Teacher,” she corrected herself, grudgingly.

“Let’s start by correcting how you hold the brush,” Zhang Tingyu instructed. He paced back and forth, commenting, “One’s handwriting reflects their character. A woman as naturally graceful as you should not produce such clumsy characters. Crooked writing comes from improper posture.”

You hold the brush wrong! Gu Huaixiu mentally translated his words with a scowl.

Her usual slouch returned the moment she stood in front of the desk. She felt her limbs growing heavy and lifeless again, but Zhang Tingyu’s insistence left her no choice: she reached out and gingerly gripped the writing brush.

Before her hand had even fully grasped the handle, a sharp crack echoed through the room.

Zhang Tingyu had smacked her hand with the ruler and coolly remarked, “Straighten your posture.”

“I already did! Why are you hitting me?!” Gu Huaixiu cried out, tears welling up in her eyes, as a bright red welt appeared on the back of her hand. She glared at him.

To her surprise, Zhang Tingyu, in his plain blue robe and with the face of a nobleman, showed not the slightest hint of pity. His lips merely curved a fraction into something that was far from a smile. His gaze was sharp, even a bit cold, as he quietly flipped the ruler in his hand and said, “A ruler is intended to ‘measure’ and ‘guide.’ As a teacher, I must measure and correct my student. What is the issue with that?”