“As the saying goes, ‘A gentleman uses words, not fists.’ If you have an issue with Mr. Smith, you can argue your case and try to persuade him. Resorting to fists to reason is the way of a roughneck. Besides, it’s not as if Mr. Smith couldn’t beat you—he didn’t fight back out of respect for your status and to follow the rules. You’re already in the wrong…”

Edward Clark liked peace and quiet, but the noise made it impossible to copy his books, so he put down his wolf-hair brush and looked up:

“Miss Johnson, are you that bored?”

Grace Johnson pursed her lips and stood properly in front of the desk. “As the saying goes, ‘A teacher for a day, a father for life.’ I help Father lead you all in morning study, so I count as half a teacher. In the ‘Xue Ji’ you’re copying, there’s a line: ‘A strict teacher is hard to please; only when the teacher is strict is the Way respected, and only when the Way is respected do people know to revere learning.’ It means one must respect teachers and value the Way…”

Edward Clark nodded and stood up. “You’ve memorized it well. Perfect.” He walked toward Grace Johnson.

Grace Johnson looked a bit confused, holding the ruler to her chest, taking small steps backward until she was pressed against the bell tower’s wall with nowhere left to retreat. Nervously, she said:

“You can’t hit me, or… or you’ll have to stay for another seven days. With these seven days, that’s half a month…”

“Why would I hit you?”

Edward Clark walked up to her, tilting his head slightly. “Copy the ‘Xue Ji’ ten times, or I’ll throw you down.”

Grace Johnson glanced back—the bell tower was over three zhang high. She shivered in fright, thought for a moment, then shook her head seriously. “No, making you copy the ‘Xue Ji’ is so you’ll recognize your mistakes and change. How could I help you copy it?”

Edward Clark nodded and raised his right hand.

Grace Johnson pursed her lips, but showed real backbone. She closed her eyes and turned her head, looking as if to say, ‘Go ahead and hit me, beat me to death if you want!’ But soon, she felt her body suddenly lighten. Opening her eyes, she found herself being lifted by the back of her collar and carried toward the small desk.

“Ah—!”

Grace Johnson was a head shorter than Edward Clark. Her embroidered shoes kicked in the air, sending ripples through her skirt, and the collar was tight around her neck, making her uncomfortable. She raised the ruler in her hand:

“Your Highness, how can you do this? I… I’m going to hit you now…”

Edward Clark set her down beside the small desk, his expression slightly cold:

“This is your last chance. Will you copy it or not?”

Grace Johnson saw that reasoning was useless, so she pursed her lips, lowered her head, and gave a soft hum. “I won’t stoop to your level, you brute…” She tried to leave, but was immediately lifted into the air again and thrown straight out of the bell and drum tower, her skirt swirling up a flurry of snow.

“Ah—!!”

A sharp scream.

Dressed in a jacket and skirt, Grace Johnson instantly turned pale, flailing her arms and legs, watching herself fly over the wall in horror.

The bell and drum tower was about three stories high, with a stone-paved ground below. The consequences of falling were obvious.

Grace Johnson was so scared her mind went blank. She flailed a few times, then squeezed her eyes shut.

But after a long while, she felt no pain. She opened her eyes a sliver and saw she was suspended in midair, still very high up. Terrified, she quickly shut her eyes again and trembled:

“Let me go…”

Edward Clark let go of his right hand.

“Ah—no, pull me up… wuwu…”

The sound of crying rang out.

Edward Clark pulled Grace Johnson back up and set her down beside the desk again:

“Will you copy it or not?”

Grace Johnson’s face was snow-white, streaked with tears. The hand holding the ruler still trembled slightly. After a long while, she finally caught her breath, pursed her lips, and was about to say something when she saw Edward Clark raise his hand. Frightened, she quickly picked up the wolf-hair brush and, with seven parts grievance and three parts fear, began copying the ‘Xue Ji’, muttering under her breath:

“You’re too much. How is this being a gentleman…”

“I’m not a gentleman. I’m an ignorant, idle son of a rich family.”

“A spoiled brat…”

“Heh, as long as you know…”

--------

It was still early, but the palace was already hung with lanterns. David Smith hurried through the covered corridors and entered a palace hall, where palace maids and eunuchs waited outside, bowing in silence.

Inside, a warming stove was burning, and incense curled through the air. A beautiful woman in palace attire was reclining on a soft couch, dozing. Over her warm yellow palace dress she wore a vest, and a phoenix crown adorned her head. Her figure was plump but not overweight, her brows and eyes like red apricots, and her long years in power lent her a touch of majesty—dignified and gorgeous.

David Smith entered the hall and immediately threw himself in front of the couch, wailing loudly and pointing to his swollen, pig-like cheeks:

“Aunt, look, David was beaten!”

The beautiful woman leaned against the couch, her eyes half-closed. Startled awake, she frowned slightly, a bit displeased:

“David Smith, in two years you’ll be of age. A man should not shed tears lightly—how unseemly to cry and wail like this?”

David Smith sobbed and sniffled, lying on the edge of the couch:

“If Edward Clark can hit me, why can’t I cry? Aunt won’t let me hit him back…”

the Empress Dowager opened her eyes, waved away the palace maids, and sat up a little straighter:

“Edward Clark hit you? Why did you provoke him?”

“Huh?”

David Smith’s tearful expression froze, then turned to one of deep grievance. “Aunt, how can you say that to David? I was reciting poetry and essays at the Imperial Academy, minding my own business, when Edward Clark suddenly appeared and gave me a beating…”

As the legitimate daughter of the Huainan Xiao clan and long in power, the Empress Dowager could tell something was off from David Smith’s expression. But since he was family, she didn’t press further, only said gently: