Chapter 38
A Scholar's Smile and Family Secrets
Elegance is ninety percent posture, ten percent pretending you slept well."
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Jia Lan woke early, slipping from soft blankets into the golden hush of dawn. The window was slightly open, letting in a breeze that fluttered the lace curtains like the breath of summer.
She tied her hair into a sleek braid and washed her face with rose water so cold it jolted her soul awake. Then came her outfit: a crisp cream blouse with faint embroidery at the cuffs, a soft jade-green vest, and high-waisted slacks pressed to perfection. She dabbed powder over her cheeks, applied a pale coral tint to her lips, and selected pearl earrings that caught the light without screaming for attention.
Over it all, she looped a silk scarf — a delicate white piece embroidered with lotus blossoms, a gift from Grandmother Zhao. Her leather satchel, already packed with her Youth Arts Bureau forms and a hidden history book, rested at the edge of her desk.
As she left her room, she bumped into her eldest sister-in-law, Xu Li, who gave her a sleepy smile. "So early again?"
Jia Lan nodded, polite. "The early bird gets more time to revise."
> And the early bird doesn't have to fight for the bathroom.
After breakfast — fried dough twists, soy milk, and steamed sweet potatoes — she stepped into her polished shoes and caught the 8:00 tram, scarf fluttering like a war banner.
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☀️ Midmorning – Youth Arts Bureau
The Bureau office was calm, its rhythm like a steady stream.
Typewriters clicked softly behind closed doors, and the main room held the scent of paper, ink, and chrysanthemum tea. Sister Li adjusted the cultural event calendar on the wall while humming a song from the radio. Wang Fei trimmed a batch of posters with careful scissors, brow furrowed in silent focus.
Jia Lan sat at her desk by the window, transcribing event notes with a brush pen. The sunlit table gave her skin a gentle glow, and her handwriting flowed like water — beautiful even in bureaucracy.
> They don't pay me extra for calligraphy. But they should.
Zhao Meiling passed by and gave a soft nod of approval before continuing to the filing cabinet.
At mid-morning, they broke for tea. A quiet five minutes. Jia Lan sipped slowly, eyes falling on a little vase by the window with half-wilted violets.
> A metaphor for bureaucratic dreams. Beautiful. Brief. Slightly depressing.
Wang Fei offered her half of a peanut bun.
"Thanks," she said with a smile. "I needed that sugar rush. I have a meeting with ink smudges and slogan edits later."
He chuckled. "Courage, Comrade Jia."
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🍵 Evening – Jia Household
Dinner that evening felt extra comforting after a long, quiet day. The table was filled with warm rice, steamed vegetables, tofu in a light sauce, stir-fried eggs with bitter melon, and fresh lotus root soup.
Jia Lan arrived just as the bowls were being set out. She slipped into her seat after refreshing her lipstick, as always.
She teased Jia Wei for misplacing his chopsticks, praised Yao Jing for her new hair ribbon, and complimented the soup with the grace of a visiting dignitary.
"Your tofu's too bland, Ma," Jia Wei mumbled.
"It's subtle," Jia Lan corrected. "Unlike you."
"Lanlan, don't bully your brother," Xu Li said, chuckling softly.
Xu Li, however, ate little and seemed quiet.
"She must've had a long day," Jia Lan thought to herself. "Bureau wives are strong, elegant, and slightly terrifying when hungry."
After dinner, while Jia Lan helped stack bowls, she caught Grandmother Zhao watching Xu Li with narrowed eyes. The old woman said nothing, but her gaze lingered just a bit too long.
> Did something happen? Never mind. Not my business. I've got a date with my paperclip and study notes.
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🪷 In the Kitchen – Quiet Observations
Grandmother Zhao and Lin Shunhua stayed behind to finish cleaning.
"She didn't touch her tofu," the elder said quietly, rinsing a bowl.
Lin Shunhua turned, surprised. "Xu Li?"
"She's tired. Craving pickles. Said the cabbage smell made her dizzy."
The two women exchanged a meaningful glance, then said nothing more.
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📚 Back in Jia Lan's Room
By lamplight, Jia Lan reorganized her notes. Her desk was a kingdom of stationery: golden pens, graph paper, revision schedules. She clipped the new rose-gold paperclip to her vocabulary list with pride.
> Check-in successful. Three yuan and a shiny paperclip.
One step closer to passing the university exam and avoiding housewife jokes for the rest of my life.
A knock came.
"Lanlan?" her eldest brother, Jia Zhe, stepped in. "Still working?"
"Yes," she said, lifting her pen.
He peeked at her notes. "Did you already finish Bureau reports?"
"I submitted them before lunch. Efficient is elegant," she said with mock pride.
He chuckled. "Don't stay up too late."
"Don't worry, Ge. If I faint tomorrow, it'll be with perfect posture."
He left laughing.
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📝 System Notification
> Ding!
✅ Daily Check-In Complete
🎁 Reward: 3 yuan and a rose-gold paperclip
Jia Lan smiled faintly.
> Some people get love letters.
I get office supplies.
Honestly, still a win.
She picked up her history book and began reading, soft candlelight casting her silhouette against the wall.
📚 Continued – Jia Lan's Room
Jia Lan stared at the same history paragraph for the fifth time.
> "The land reform movement of 1950…"
Nope. My brain is reforming into tofu.
She reached for a candied hawthorn stick from her drawer — only to find it empty.
Eyes narrowed. She whispered into the shadows:
> "Which ungrateful sibling touched my emergency snack stash?"
From the hallway came Jia Wei's muffled laughter.
> You'll regret this treason. I hope your soy sauce spills on your clothes.
With an exaggerated sigh, she poured herself a cup of warm water and returned to her notes, sitting cross-legged like a scholar-sage.
> In this household, you must fight for your dreams.
And sometimes, your hawthorn.
As she copied dates onto her study scroll, the faint sound of laughter from the living room drifted in — her father teasing her grandfather, the clatter of teacups, the hum of familiar voices.
She paused, pen in hand.
> I'm lucky, she thought quietly. To have this life. This family. This strange, sweet second chance.