“A man’s reputation mirrors his adherence to the virtues of propriety and decorum,” began Master Qiáng. His tone, as always, was firm and exacting. In his mid-forties, Master Qiáng had earned a reputation for being a strict and serious master, unyielding in his views on moral conduct.
Among the assembled students sat Xu Liang, his interest barely flickering in the face of such teachings. The lessons, designed for the wealthy elite, were tedious to him, and his mind often wandered. His body, heavy with fatigue, craved rest. He longed for the comfort of a soft pillow.
He hadn’t slept well the previous night, having stayed at the Lotus Garden until dawn to witness the rare and delicate bloom of the lotus flower. 
His thoughts, drifting far from the moral teachings, returned to Lin Hua, the new gardener who had stayed by his side during those quiet hours. 
Lin had played the flute, shared wine, and prepared food with an attentiveness that Xu couldn’t ignore.
Xu smiled to himself as he recalled the evening. Lin Hua wasn’t just a simple gardener, he thought. He’s handsome, talented, and his food... Xu’s heart stirred at the memory. 
Lin had a care that felt genuine, far beyond any arrangement Lady Mei might have made. For a brief moment, Xu allowed himself to imagine that Lin’s affection was more than just duty.
But as he sat in the classroom, a subtle tension gripped his chest. His hand instinctively brushed against his heart. Could it be? he wondered. Am I developing feelings for Lin Hua?
The thought troubled him. His mind reeled with questions he didn’t dare speak aloud. Am I truly falling for him? Or is this nothing more than a passing fancy? His heart and mind wrestled with each other, pulling him in conflicting directions.
Could it be magic? Xu thought. Can emotions so deep develop in just one night?
The more he thought of Lin, the more the boundaries of his world seemed to close in on him. He was a nobleman, expected to follow the strict codes of his family and society. 
To even think of confessing his feelings—especially for someone like Lin—seemed unthinkable. Lin was, after all, destined for a maiden from his own village. 
Would he even feel the same? Xu wondered, knowing full well that any affection he harbored could never be spoken of freely.
Master Qiáng’s voice cut through his wandering thoughts. “Imagine a serene pond, its surface still, reflecting the heavens and the mountains. The pond’s stillness does not create the reflection; it is the clarity and purity of the sky that is mirrored. In the same way, a man’s reputation reflects the virtues he practices.”
The master’s gaze swept over the students. “Propriety, decorum, respect, humility—these guide our actions. A man who holds true to these virtues will have a reputation that shines like the sky’s reflection. But if he strays, his reputation will become clouded, like a pond muddied by the disturbances within.”
A silence settled over the class, the weight of the lesson pressing on each student.
Suddenly, Yǔxuān, a cousin of Jiao Ming, raised his hand. He was someone Xu had admired before—handsome, perfect in demeanor, another noble son. “But Master, what if a man keeps a secret so deep that it threatens to undo all his propriety? What if he cannot reveal it to anyone, yet it burns within him?”
Xu Liang’s pulse quickened. Yǔxuān’s question struck too close to home, and it made him feel exposed, vulnerable. 
Master Qiáng narrowed his eyes, clearly displeased with the disruption. “A man’s inner turmoil must be tamed, just as he tames his outward actions,” he replied coolly. “If one allows the storm of his secret to overcome him, it will inevitably reflect in his actions. He will falter, and his reputation will suffer. Such a man must choose—does he give in to the chaos of his desires, or does he maintain the virtues that uphold his standing?”
Yǔxuān pressed further, “But what if that secret defies the very virtues you speak of, Master? What if it threatens to tear his reputation apart, yet he cannot ignore it?”
Master Qiáng’s jaw tightened, and the room seemed to still as all eyes turned toward him. “There is no room for such weakness,” the master said, his voice now steely. “A man must decide what he values more—his desires, or the respect of his peers. If he allows the former to control him, he is no better than a beast driven by instinct. He must suppress it.”
Xu’s heart pounded. The words felt like a sharp rebuke to his own thoughts. Was Master Qiáng right? Could he suppress these feelings? Or would they eventually consume him, leaving his reputation and his life in ruins?
Yǔxuān’s voice grew quieter, more contemplative. “But if a man’s true self is hidden by these expectations, Master, can he ever be truly happy?”
A tense silence followed the question. Master Qiáng’s eyes hardened, his voice cold. “Happiness, Yǔxuān, is not the goal. Honor is. A man’s duty is to his family, his name, and his reputation. Happiness is fleeting—honor endures.”