After sobering up, Cheng Jinzhou hastily tore the tablecloth he'd brought back into strips while interrogating his attendants Shiyan and Shimu. Rubbing his temples, he asked, "Besides those diagrams I drew, did I do anything else stupid?"
"You vomited," Shiyan ventured cautiously.
"That's nothing." Cheng Jinzhou, completely unaware that his violent sickness had been orchestrated by his dear cousin, massaged his temples with his thumbs. "Did I say anything foolish?"
"Master Wu and Minister Liu both praised you. Minister Liu even said you should visit him sometime to chat."
Cheng Jinzhou showed no relief at this news, curling his lip. "That's just the side effect of my foolish words. What else?"
"Then there was something about a 'crisis'... You said Master Wu was wrong and mentioned something about misconduct... We were too far away to hear clearly." Shiyan spoke softly, then seeing Cheng Jinzhou's dark expression, quickly added, "But Master Wu seemed deeply impressed by you—he kept nodding while you spoke..."
"I'm practically beyond saving." Cheng Jinzhou waved dismissively and slumped into a chair.
Calculus was a key—one that unlocked the door to modern mathematics, the natural barrier between elementary and advanced mathematics. Poetically speaking, through it one could glimpse a new world of roaring steam engines, endless coal supplies, and molten steel. Its importance couldn't be overstated.
Newton and Leibniz had employed one-tenth of the world's most brilliant minds to perfect it—yet Cheng Jinzhou had regurgitated one-tenth of that knowledge after just one moderately expensive drinking session.
He truly didn't know what changes he might bring to this world.
Pursing his lips, it took Cheng Jinzhou a long while to console himself: If Liu Kuang has already begun studying analytic geometry, then calculus can't be far behind.
Heaven only knew how many geniuses' lifetimes were needed to advance mathematics by even an inch.
...
Cheng's father returned home later, even more intoxicated, stubbornly clinging to his wine cup. Cheng's mother, surrounded by noblewomen like Liu Qingshuang, had missed her son's performance. Before she could inquire, the maid Zhuer eagerly embellished: "Young Master was magnificent today—he left that astrologer Wu completely dumbfounded!"
As the Cheng family's retained astrologer, Wu Zong and his peers held exalted status among the servants, akin to how modern white-collar workers might view millionaire executives.
"What exactly did he say?" Hearing of her son's triumph, Cheng's mother perked up immediately.
The maid's education barely reached elementary level, and she hadn't been close enough to hear properly, but she had her methods. Smirking, she said, "You should have seen that Third Branch from the Long lineage—his eyes bulged like a frog's, practically frothing at the mouth with envy! He drowned his jealousy in wine until he passed out. And that garrison commander—his son supposedly studies at Shaonan's Holy Academy, touted as top talent destined to replace the current prefectural bishop—even he was coughing with envy, his eyes darting about helplessly..."
Cheng's mother listened with growing delight, urging the maid to continue. Cheng Yuan'an, half-conscious, raised his cup and declared, "That Liu Bin... he called Jinzhou 'son-in-law'..."
In Great Xia's aristocratic circles, not every son-in-law earned that title—it signified recognition and status. The more established the family, the more weight it carried, reflecting society's collective insistence on social parity.
Liu Bin's single word "son-in-law" instantly eased Cheng Yuan'an's insecurities about overreaching.
As a civil official, Cheng Yuan'an's life revolved around maintaining face—being regarded with respect, avoiding gossip, and leaving some reputation for posterity. That sufficed for his happiness.
Cheng's mother was more pragmatic. While reveling in tales of her son's heroics, she ordered, "Cuier, have the kitchen prepare hangover soup—go easy on the water chestnuts—and bring some to Jinzhou too."
Then, smiling, she told Zhuer, "Continue."
The poor maid had no choice but to keep fabricating stories.
...
The dose of medicinal herbs spared Cheng Jinzhou from most hangover symptoms, allowing him to sleep soundly and wake unusually early—no small feat given his frail health.
Shiyan waited outside with hot water, announcing, "Minister Liu requests your presence today, Young Master."
"This early?" Cheng Jinzhou glanced at the dew-laden leaves outside his window as servants dressed him.
"Minister Liu departs for his new post soon—he's seeing guests tomorrow then leaving," Shimu had already gathered the details.
Cheng Jinzhou nodded slightly, eyeing his thumb ring. A few hundred taels more would make yesterday's vomiting worthwhile.
Shiyan walked ahead, head bowed. A year or two older than Shimu and more mature, by Great Xia's standards he'd be considered an adult in half a year. Only Cheng Jinzhou's poor health justified having such an old study companion.
Servants spotted Cheng Jinzhou from afar, immediately making way with bows and smiles. Those serving in the ancestral home were exceptionally well-informed and shrewd—to them, the Cheng household was an intricate hierarchy.
Coming from the 21st century, Cheng Jinzhou acutely felt this hierarchy. In just one month, his treatment had transformed from roadside stall to five-star hotel. Modern service workers couldn't compare in dedication to these generational servants.
Liu Bin occupied a self-contained compound complete with pavilions and towers. His tenure as garrison commander meant numerous retainers—lower-ranking ones were housed separately.
Unlike before, burly, battle-hardened soldiers now guarded the gates, their murderous aura palpable. Two horses tethered nearby had wiry messengers standing ready—though the Cheng estate lacked proper riding space and the gravel would harm hooves, such displays of power mattered more than practicality to nobles.
To Cheng Jinzhou's twelve-year-old frame, these towering veterans seemed more intimidating than modern soldiers, making him unconsciously slow his steps.
Liu's head maid greeted him with a smile, passing between the guards with a curtsy: "The new son-in-law, I presume? The master awaits in the hall."
"New son-in-law" made Shiyan and Shimu beam, the former showing teeth like a squirrel in a nut warehouse.
Liu Bin, the Transport Commissioner and Cheng Jinzhou's new father-in-law, showed no signs of hangover. Across from him sat an elderly scholar stroking his beard amiably.
"Uncle Liu." Cheng Jinzhou's bow lacked aristocratic polish—he still hadn't mastered noble etiquette.
"After yesterday's drinking, we had no proper chance to talk." Liu Bin introduced warmly, "This is my advisor, Master Yang Ming."
Personal advisors typically shared close bonds with their patrons. Despite his frail, wispy appearance suggesting fragility, Yang Ming's vigorous spirit and deeply lined face proclaimed his vitality.
Cheng Jinzhou bowed properly. "Master Yang."
"Greetings." Yang Ming rose slightly, revealing his own refinement.
While seating himself, Cheng Jinzhou discreetly scanned the room for his fiancée, disappointed by her absence. His drunken stupor meant even his own brilliance had to be relayed secondhand. By Great Xia's customs, it seemed he'd have no chance to see the unnamed young lady.
After some pleasantries, Liu Bin glanced at Yang Ming and smiled. "Jinzhou, do you have any concrete ideas about land surveying?"