Today was the day Jade had arranged for her students to sit their exams.

  It was a two-hour test, with papers covering spelling, reading, maths, and basic common knowledge. Printing was time-consuming - she still relied on the domus’s old-fashioned printing set - so she had crammed a hundred questions into four pages of A4 paper. Even so, she managed to include multiple-choice questions, fill-in-the-blanks, matching exercises, sentence-building, and a short written passage.

  Even Jade herself felt a surge of pride.

  Seriously, she thought, for a baker with absolutely zero teaching experience - let alone experience writing exam papers - it’s practically a miracle these kids learned anything useful from me.

  The classroom was quiet. After Jade read out the words for the spelling section, the students carefully transcribed their answers onto the test paper. As instructed, they kept the papers clean and used their slates for drafts and calculations.

  Miss Jade had told them they could take the exam papers home once she had graded them - to show their parents, to keep as proof that they had received at least a basic education. Proof that they were not merely street brats or disposable labourers with no future, but individuals with a potential beyond the slums.

  Miss Jade had planned this for them.

  Through the iron oven project, she had taught them how to bake, how to sell, how to plan, and how to identify their own strengths and weaknesses - so they might understand what direction to take in life.

  They had spoken with students from other ragged schools. None of their teachers had planned so far for them. Because of that, they cherished the chance to remain by Miss Jade's side.

  Miss Jade herself had no idea how her reputation had quietly grown into something beyond her understanding. She was busy preparing red ink for marking the exam papers - and for stamping the biscuit packaging with best before dates, ingredients, and the domus’s emblem.

  Beetroot juice mixed with a few drops of vinegar for its antioxidant properties, a dash of oil, salt for preservation, and starch glue produced a passable red ink. It would remain bright on paper for at least a week before gradually fading into a muted, tan-brown stain. Jade wasn’t entirely sure whether the recipe was sound, but the colour looked acceptable. That was good enough for her.

  Seated at the front of the classroom, she prepared the ink while overseeing the students as they took their exams. Thus far, she had trusted that they were moral enough not to peek at their neighbours’ papers or cheat for a better grade. In truth, most of them probably had no concept of “good results” yet; she had never heard of any ragged school administering formal exams to measure academic progress.

  Sometimes, Jade wondered whether she had done too much, whether she had drawn unnecessary attention to herself. But ever since receiving the Queen’s locket, and the silent approval of an Earl, the weight on her shoulder had lifted.

  Whatever, she thought. If the Queen doesn't mind my insignificant meddling, who cares?

  The exam gradually came to an end. The students handed in their papers - some confident, others frowning in concentration - but all of them thanked Jade before leaving for their jobs. The younger children, too young for harvest work and not yet strong enough for factory labour, stayed behind to help prepare the biscuits Jade planned to bake and package later.

  The iron oven project was finally taking shape. Jade felt pleased, and confident that soon enough, it could continue without her. She had no intention of remaining at the domus as a teacher forever. Better to plan for the project’s future now, before anything unexpected occurs.

  Sister Miriam was the most suitable person to take over.

  Just as Jade finished packing her things and prepared to head for the bakehouse, a knock sounded at the classroom door.

  Jade looked up. “Oops–sorry! I’ll be right there, just gimme a second to pack all this–”

  “Miss Jade, it’s not about the bakehouse,” Sister Miriam said as she stepped inside. She glazed around the room, ensuring they were alone. “I need to speak with you.”

  “Yeah, sure. What can I help you with?” Jade shrugged, still gathering the items on her desk - exam papers she would burn the night oil over later, the beetroot ink for stamping biscuits packages, and the tools she used for teaching and ink-making.

  “What you said yesterday,” Sister Miriam began, her eyes carrying a meaning Jade could not quite decipher, “about marrying no one - could you elaborate?”

  “Huh?” Jade blinked. “Um… that’s not exactly a view that fits the current norms. Are you sure you want to talk about it?”

  “Yes,” Sister Miriam said quietly. “Please enlighten me, Miss Jade.”

  “Well… all right. As long as you don’t mind,” Jade said. She tried to recall her words from the day before. Honestly, it hadn’t struck her as important - her mind had been far more occupied with today’s exams.

  Still, she continued, “The idea of happiness today is fairly straightforward, right? A husband takes a wife, a wife takes a husband, together they build a family with children. The husband leads, the wife obeys, and the children obey their parents. Before marriage, they simply run through a checklist: wealth, beauty, status, occupation, skills. Correct?”

  Sister Miriam nodded. That was precisely the family structure she herself had grown up with.

  “I don’t object to the idea itself,” Jade said, scratching her head. “Everyone has their own version of ‘happily ever after’. Some people genuinely want that life - or simply more suited to it - especially when it aligns with society’s expectation. But that isn’t my dream.”

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  She paused, choosing her words with care. “I would never obey a husband who speaks or acts like an idiot in private but plays the gentleman in public. My idea of a family is based on love. I love him, he loves me, and if I ever have children, I love them too. But… I don’t see much love in many marriages here.”

  Though Jade lived in a domus, surrounded only by unmarried clergy, she had seen enough of the outside world. On the farms nearby. By the riverbanks. At the stalls where she sold biscuits. She had watched married couples closely.

  “I’ve seen marriages clearly built on love,” she continued. “Mr. Davidson from the Pinky Horse Grocer, for instance. But most? It feels as though they married out of calculation - comparing candidates, weighing benefits, like handling a business deal. Or perhaps the love simply faded after marriage. I don’t know. But, as long as they’re happy, I’m not one to judge,” She exhaled. “However, I don’t think a household where a husband punches their wife in the face is part of the happiness package, you know what I’m sayin’?”

  Sister Miriam remained silent, visibly contemplating.

  “So, if I judge a potential husband based only on a checklist, and rush into a marriage before thirty just because ‘that’s how it’s done’ with some candidate recommended by a well-meaning auntie, how am I to know he won’t be abusive? How can I be sure he won’t seize my hard-earned money and vanish? I definitely am not going to bet my life on a prayer that he’s a ‘nice guy’ instead of actually getting to know him first.”

  Jade watched Sister Miriam reflect on this before continuing. “Besides, the idea of two strangers, how strange is it, really? To sleep in the same bed. To see each other naked. To bind yourself for life without love.” She tilted her head. “And setting gender aside - if one person is allowed to strike the other under a contract that traps them together forever, doesn’t that mean something is very wrong? If marriage means someone might one day raise their fists at me, why would I step into it at all?”

  “But others will judge you,” Sister Miriam said softly.

  “I know,” Jade replied with a shrug. “Society would discredit me. Finding work would be harder. Feeding myself might be harder. But hey, if I live a miserable life with a wife-beater or a scammer, none of those judges are going to feed or shelter me. If I suffer or die in a cursed marriage, I’m just afternoon tea gossip to them - something forgotten after a conversation or two.”

  She met Sister Miriam’s gaze. “My life versus their gossip? I choose my life above all. I’ll manage somehow. Poor, perhaps? Maybe dependent on charity, like I am now, living in a domus. Or maybe I’d even become a nun. If I must serve something, I would rather serve Mater Lucis than serve a man who abuses me. And honestly?” She gave a small, unapologetic smile. “The world will be perfectly fine without me getting married and producing children.”

  She noticed the flicker of vulnerability in Sister Miriam's expression and quickly added, “Um, that’s just my personal view, okay? I’m not planning to declare this publicly or go against the flow. Again, I don’t oppose what most people consider happiness. It’s simply not to my taste.”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “Also, who cares? I’m a ragged school teacher. A nobody. Noble makes headlines, not me. Whether I marry or not won’t matter to anyone. So don’t worry, Sister, I’ll be fine… Um, you’ll be fine too, no worries!”

  Sister Miriam let out a long sigh and met Jade’s gaze. “Your reason for serving Mater Lucis,” she said quietly, “is the very reason I became a nun.”

  Jade’s eyes widened as she listened. Sister Miriam spoke slowly, each word measured.

  “My father was a wife-beater - the sort you spoke of just now.” The middle-aged nun stared into the distance, as if her thoughts had slipped far beyond the room. “He drank heavily. He beat my mother. He beat me and my siblings. He was not a good father by any measure. Even the village elders scolded him for his behaviour. Some of the older women secretly urged my mother to flee with us.”

  She paused. “We prayed she would.”

  Jade already knew how the story goes. She had read countless stories like this in her previous life, seen them unfold across screens and headlines. She stepped forward and wrapped Sister Miriam in a gentle embrace.

  “She said the children needed a father,” Jade murmured. “That a family had to be complete. That she couldn’t survive without a husband. She likely rejected anyone who suggested leaving - enraged even - didn’t she? Said those who urged her to seek help, to flee, were trying to shame her, to ruin her name.” Jade exhaled softly. “She was trapped. She didn't believe she had the power to escape him.”

  Too many mothers made the same excuses, leaving children to carry dark memories into adulthood, unable to form healthy relationships. Before the internet, these stories lurked in the shadows, unnoticed by others - even by reporters who were otherwise sharp in such cases. But in the era of social media, those voices were amplified and reached Jade’s news feed.

  The young maiden didn’t need to experience it herself to understand the suffocation of such a life; she just needed to observe, and learn.

  Sister Miriam did not cry, but her voice trembled. “She warned me to choose my husband carefully. And yet, when my father sought to marry me off at fourteen to a fifty-year-old man who had already buried three wives - clearly for a price only my father would benefit from - she did not object. She was… pleased, because I was to marry into a better household.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  “My elder brother was the one who acted,” The nun continued. “He found work at the port. He saved every coin he could and bought a passage for us all. He sent us far from that place.” Her lips curved faintly. “But children cannot live on hope alone. Boys found work easily. Girls did not. So we scattered.”

  She closed her eyes. “My younger sister became a maid in a noble household. And I entered the domus. I was too afraid to marry - terrified that any man I chose would simply become another version of my father.”

  “It’s okay, Sister, you’re safe now.” Jade said warmly. “You have a place to belong. You take care of children. You have Brothers and Sisters who care for you. You earn, you give, you live on your own terms. You’re doing well, Sister.”

  “But my mother… she is still there.” Sister Miriam’s voice broke at last. Jade could not see her face, but the warmth soaking into her shoulder told her enough. “We escaped - but we could not save our dear mother…”

  Jade drew a slow, steady breath. “You did nothing wrong, Sister,” she said firmly. “You were a child. There was nothing you could have done to save her.”

  She paused, the harsh truth weighing on her tongue; she suspected the mother wouldn’t have even wanted to be saved.

  She did not know the laws of this world in detail, but she was certain they offered no sanctuary for women. History had taught her that modern safeguards for women and children and women were born from centuries of suffering - a monument built on layers of mistakes, each one paid for in blood and tears.

  And here, she was standing in the middle of them.

  Things would be better one day. They always were, eventually. But not now. Not anytime soon. Policies would not change while parliaments were filled with noblemen who neither saw nor cared for the lives of common women. The setting was different from the historical C-webnovel she had once read - but the core was the same.

  The world did not revolve around her. She could not command it to change.

  This was not a world, not an era, that was friendly to women - least of all to her.

  Luckily I’m under Mr. Rich Sponsor’s protection… Jade thought. Luckily the Queen knows my name.

  She continued to stroke Sister Miriam’s back, offering the only comfort she could give.