Huaijin was still buzzing with the excitent of their successful escape and the thrill of having her father’s undivided attention for the next two hours, but she imdiately adopted a deanor of respectful quietness, a habit ingrained from both her current and past life.
Seated at a large, intricately carved table near the center of the room was their ho tutor, Mr. Shen.
He was a gentleman of perhaps forty, with kind, intelligent eyes frad by reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.
He possessed a neat, scholarly air, his jacket slightly elbow-worn but his posture impeccable.
Mr. Shen looked up from the open textbook with a warm, gentle smile. He was the kind of tutor the Chi family kept precisely because he was both learned and personable, managing the stringent demands of the family with an air of unflappable kindness.
"Ah, good afternoon, Yuanying, Song. You’ve arrived just in ti," Mr. Shen said, his voice calm and lodic. He gestured toward the seats across the table, where notebooks and fountain pens were already laid out.
Yuanying and Song imdiately stiffened, the brief taste of freedom dissolving instantly.
They moved to their places with the automatic obedience of children well-trained in the routines of excellence.
Mr. Shen then turned his attention to the tiny figure of Huaijin, who stood slightly behind her cousins, radiating an unnerving mixture of innocence and intense observation.
"And you must be little Miss Huaijin," he said, his smile widening slightly. "It’s a pleasure to have you join us. I heard from your cousin that your father, Professor Yuanfeng, is a man of remarkable intellect. We were just starting our session. Tell , little one, how was your journey today?"
Huaijin looked up at the kind gentleman. Her internal assessnt of him was swift.
’No imdiate threat. Genuine kindness. A valuable resource for assessing cousins’ academic weaknesses.’ She didn’t feel afraid or reprimanded at all, treating the conversation as a straightforward professional exchange.
She replied with her sweetest, most honey-dripping voice, the tone perfectly calibrated for maximum charm.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Shen. It’s a pleasure to et you. My journey was perfectly fine, thank you for asking. Daddy always ensures our transportation is sound and safe." She offered a tiny, innocent-looking tilt of her head, ensuring the ’sound and safe’ comnt landed without conveying the full, comical truth of "The Rattler."
Mr. Shen seed a bit surprised by the mature, yet sweetly delivered, response. He was clearly accustod to either shyness or childish exuberance, not this confident, poised civility.
He quickly recovered, accepting her unusually composed attitude with a professional grace that impressed Huaijin.
"You are very articulate, Miss Huaijin. I see the Professor has been tutoring you well," Mr. Shen said warmly. "Now, since you are here, we have two options. Would you like to sit and study along with your cousins today, or would you perhaps prefer to roam the library and find a book to read to your liking? You are welco to do either."
Huaijin didn’t hesitate. She preferred the latter option, though not because she was truly yearning to wander aimlessly.
She was intensely curious about the subjects Mr. Shen taught and, more importantly, how her cousins handled the material.
"Thank you, Mr. Shen," Huaijin said, her eyes sweeping over the massive bookshelves with feigned awe. "I think I will explore this magnificent library. I believe the sheer intellectual weight of this room requires a proper, solitary introduction. I promise to be extrely quiet."
Her reply, once again, employed the jargon ’intellectual weight’ that made the tutor smile, utterly missing the irony that this "little one" was preparing to conduct a secret academic surveillance.
"Very well," Mr. Shen said, picking up his textbook. "Miss Yuanying, and Little Master Song, let’s begin with the History of the Ming Dynasty. Please open your books to Chapter Four."
As the lesson began, Huaijin moved with quick, silent steps, a tiny, stealthy operative in the grand hall of knowledge. She didn’t roam aimlessly.
She quickly scanned the nearest shelves, found a book, a massive, beautifully illustrated volu on Comparative European Architecture, and returned to the main table.
She didn’t sit across from the tutor, where her presence would be disruptive. Instead, she occupied the large, empty chair imdiately beside Yuanying, positioning herself perfectly for observation.
She placed the enormous, intimidating architecture book on the table, opened it to a random page depicting the elaborate Gothic buttresses of a French cathedral, and leaned over it, adopting the perfect pose of a small, deeply absorbed scholar.
In reality, Huaijin wasn’t reading about flying buttresses; she was listening intently, processing the content, and analyzing her cousins’ reactions.
The subject was Chinese History, focusing on the complex political and social structure of the late Ming Dynasty.
Mr. Shen was a good teacher, patiently explaining the concepts of imperial bureaucracy, the rise of the eunuch factions, and the devastating impact of the Little Ice Age on peasant revolts.
He frad the material not just as facts, but as complex systems of cause and effect, exactly the kind of critical thinking Grandpa Chi valued.
Yuanying was clearly stressed.
She scribbled notes furiously, her hand shaking slightly. When Mr. Shen asked her to explain the concept of the Mandate of Heaven and how it related to dynastic cycles, Yuanying recited the definition perfectly, hitting all the key terms.
However, her explanation lacked insight. She presented the facts, but failed to connect them to the contemporary political corruption they were supposed to be discussing.
She’s brilliant at rote learning and performing under pressure, which is exactly what her parents demand.
But she is so focused on the fear of error that she doesn’t allow her mind the freedom to make creative, insightful connections, the exact thing Yuanfeng excels at, and what Grandpa Chi secretly desires in a successor.
Her brilliance was caged by her fear.
On the other hand, Chi Song was the enigma. He took minimal notes, his pen moving only when Mr. Shen highlighted a crucial philosophical shift.
When asked to analyze the economic impact of the silver trade influx from the Aricas on the Ming economy, Song paused for a long, silent mont.
Huaijin watched him intently. Then, he delivered a concise, asured analysis that went beyond the textbook:
"The influx of silver initially stabilized the currency but ultimately led to deflationary pressures on the agricultural sector, causing widespread peasant indebtedness because taxes were still required in silver. This weakened the dynasty’s rural base, making it vulnerable to external threats."
It turns out that Chi Song had high synthesis, with an extrely efficient recall. He wasn’t aiming for a perfect recitation; he was aiming for the most accurate, concise, high-level analysis.
His lack of visible effort masked a deep, thodical intelligence. He was a thinker, a quiet strategist. His calm was not indifference; it was highly effective concentration.
Song is not rely an indifferent follower.
He is a High-Potential Rival that possesses the analytical mind the Chi family requires. His lack of emotional engagent is a shield, but his intellect is formidable.
But his one visible weakness was his fierce, quiet protectiveness over Yuanying. This is a variable to be monitored and potentially leveraged.
The lesson continued, moving from history to advanced geotry.
Mr. Shen was demonstrating how to calculate the area of complex polygons by breaking them down into simpler shapes, challenging the children with a difficult tessellation problem.
Yuanying quickly beca frantic.
The problem required spatial reasoning, a skill she didn’t possess naturally, and her attempts to apply rote formulas failed spectacularly.
She chewed her pen cap, her breathing growing shallow. The pressure was visibly mounting.
Huaijin knew that if Yuanying failed, the sha would fuel her sense of inadequacy, reinforcing the very psychological trap that led to her villainous future.
It was about ti for a tactical intervention as Huaijin silently nudged Yuanying’s elbow with her own, drawing the older girl’s attention. Yuanying looked down, irritated, convinced Huaijin was being disruptive.
Huaijin didn’t speak.
She subtly pointed to the massive book of Comparative European Architecture open beside her.
Her small finger tapped the page, specifically pointing to an image of a complex, circular stained-glass rose window, which was essentially a complicated arrangent of interwoven geotric shapes.
Yuanying looked at the image, confused.
Huaijin then tapped her own head, mid breaking sothing into pieces, and then whispered, in a honeyed, carrying whisper that Mr. Shen couldn’t ignore but was too sweet to reprimand.
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