Chapter 555 - Recentering the Curriculum

Upon assuming the principalship, Dong Weiwei's first order of business was to define the strategic objectives. What, exactly, was this school supposed to produce?

Everyone knew why the transmigrators wanted "Life Secretaries." The unspoken demand was for concubines. However, the exact skillset required was a matter of fierce debate. Some factions envisioned a Lingao version of the "Yielding Breeze Pavilion"—a dedicated academy for erotic arts and bedroom techniques.

The Female Servant Countermeasures Committee, however, threw cold water on these fantasies. The available pool of women was simply too small and the average quality too low. The transmigrator collective lacked the resources to train high-end courtesans from scratch. Therefore, the official verdict was pragmatic: these were not professional entertainers or sex workers, but high-functioning domestic staff with benefits.

"Sexual service is an incidental function," the memo read. "The primary utility of a Life Secretary is household management. Bedroom techniques are a matter of private cultivation by the individual master; the School generally provides compliant raw material."

Dong Weiwei's curriculum reflected this pivot. The core pillar was Mandarin immersion. A Life Secretary needed to communicate deeply and effectively with her master, understanding not just the language but the nuance of modern vocabulary and concepts.

Basic literacy was mandatory, aiming for a Level C diploma: recognition of 500 common characters, basic arithmetic (addition, subtraction, multiplication, division), and simple bookkeeping. They were being trained to run a modern household, not just decorate it.

Cooking was another essential module. While few transmigrators had private kitchens yet, the foundation had to be laid. Cooking was traditionally women's work, but a girl from a starving peasant family who had never seen a wok, let alone a gas stove, would be useless in a modern kitchen. The flavor gap between the Ming Dynasty and the 21st century was a chasm that needed bridging.

Then came the domestic sciences: laundry, sanitation, and deep cleaning. Many of these women came from homes with dirt floors where "sweeping" was a theoretical concept. They had no schema for floor wax, glass cleaner, or the sanitary maintenance of a porcelain toilet.

Dong Weiwei pulled training manuals and instructional videos on hotel management and domestic service from the Grand Library. The Committee even built a "simulation suite" within the school—a mock apartment with modern and traditional decor, a fully plumbed bathroom, and a kitchen—where trainees could practice the art of Western-style housekeeping.

Etiquette and posture were drilled relentlessly. Most trainees were rough peasant girls; malnutrition and hard labor had left them with poor skin, dull hair, and clumsy movements. Even the few who were naturally pretty carried themselves with the slouch of the downtrodden.

Dong Weiwei personally led the physical conditioning. Every day included yoga, posture correction, and an hour of belly dancing. When Wen Desi heard about the belly dancing, he immediately authorized the renovation of a classroom into a mirrored dance studio with barre rails.

Each morning, lines of women walked in circles to the ticking of a metronome, balancing half-bricks on their heads, before moving on to splits and backbends.

"It's a tragedy we can't manufacture spandex yet," Xiao Bailang sighed, watching the class through the window. "If they were wearing bodysuits doing those splits... the Executive Committee really is wise."

Xiao Bailang, who had been conscripted to manufacture the massive floor-to-ceiling mirrors, had spent two days cursing the "arbitrary directives" of the leadership. Now, seeing the results, his grievances vanished, replaced by unabashed voyeurism.

"Forget bodysuits. Just hav 'em practice in bra and panties," Chen Sigen laughed. He was there to audit the nutritional program he had designed.

"Why stop there? Just strip them naked!" Xiao Bailang licked his lips. "Get that big foreign mare Salina to instruct them. Now that would be a show." He shook his head ruefully. "These uniforms are a buzzkill."

Indeed, the uniforms were designed for modesty, not fantasy.

The original BBS threads had been filled with fevered suggestions: high-slit qipaos, French maid outfits with lacy aprons, anything that screamed specific fetish. But the Committee ruled that while such clothes were fine for the bedroom, they were impractical for housework and inappropriate for public display. The transmigrators wanted concubines, but they weren't eager to have their women flashing skin to the neighbors.

The compromise was a standard mass-produced blue cotton pullover and a long skirt—essentially the same uniform worn by students at the Fragrant Meadow School, distinguished only by a cloth chest tag reading "HEALTH CARE."

The only hidden upgrade was the underwear. Each trainee was issued a bra. Produced by the Light Industry Department, these were simple, wire-free designs meant for basic support rather than entrapment. It was the first time bras had been mass-issued to native women.

Chen Sigen ignored Xiao Bailang's leering and focused on the clinic's weekly data. Most of the women suffered from chronic malnutrition or specific micronutrient deficiencies. His meal plans were slowly correcting this, but it was a long game.

As they sat on the clinic porch, soaking up the sun, Liu San arrived with his apprentice, Fu Wuben. The young man was pushing a heavy-laden 'Purple Lightning' bicycle, its cargo baskets overflowing with sealed pottery jars.

"What's the haul?" Chen Sigen asked.

"Tonic medicine," Liu San said with a mysterious smile. "The good stuff."

The jars contained herbal pastes. While the school focused on macronutrients, the "Female Servant Countermeasures Committee" had commissioned the Health Ministry to use Traditional Chinese Medicine to accelerate the "beautification" process.

Liu San had adapted several secret formulas for "nourishing yin" and "improving complexion" from an old army doctor in Leizhou, including the famous Three-White Decoction. He viewed the assignment as a perk—proximity to the water meant getting first glimpse of the moon.

"Conditioning," Liu San called it, though his tone suggested he was "grooming" prize racehorses.

The formulas were standard Runshitang fare, but upgraded. Money was no object; Xiao Zishan had opened the General Affairs Office's war chest for this project. The pharmacists at Runshitang, knowing these tonics were for the Leaders' future bedmates, had sourced the finest ingredients and prepared them with religious care.

The results were undeniable. Between the protein-rich diet, the yoga, and the herbal supplements, the women were transforming. Their skin was clearing, their hair gaining luster, their bodies filling out in all the right places. They were being physically engineered to satisfy the transmigrators' desires and to bear healthy heirs.

"Spot any you like?" Chen Sigen asked, gesturing to the courtyard where the women were jump-roping.

"Doesn't matter if I do," Liu San's face fell. The subject was a sore spot. The "tigress" at home kept a tight perimeter. Aside from a few stolen moments on business trips to Leizhou, he had been forced into monogamy.

"Ah. Right. You brought sand to the beach," Chen Sigen nodded sympathetically.

"She's... vigilant," Liu San sighed.

"The burden of attachment," Chen chuckled. "This is the joy of bachelorhood. The bitterness ends, and the sweetness begins."

Liu San watched the jumping figures with a mix of longing and resignation. The bachelors had a bright, harem-filled future ahead of them. He could theoretically afford a whole squad of Life Secretaries, but in practice, he was destined to watch from the sidelines.

Back in the old world, having a girlfriend was a status symbol, he thought gloomily. Now it's a shackle.

Still, observing the bloom of health on the trainees' cheeks, he resolved not to give up entirely. Even if she was just a "maid" on paper... surely he could smuggle one into the house under the guise of domestic necessity. It was a waste to let such an opportunity pass.