Cicadas were calling in the tree next door. The old lady’s main hall had two windows open, and the morning sun filtered through the green gauze curtains, spreading light across the room. The room was full of aunties and young wives chatting, though none of it was serious talk.

Madam Guo, Madam Wan, Madam Gao, Madam Lü, and old Madam Tao with her daughter-in-law Madam Huang were all there. Each cradled a small bamboo basket, doing the household’s necessary needlework, except now what filled the baskets was no longer plain mending—the baskets were piled with fine cloth, occasionally silk, and the embroidery frames held patterns worked in an abundance of fashionable colored thread, petals and green leaves in the latest style.

The hands holding the needles had recovered their proper delicacy. It was a fine season, and with a little vanity in her heart, one of them had secretly dyed a couple of fingernails a rosy red with balsam flowers.

Ever since the ancestral hall became off-limits, everyone had taken to gathering at the old Chen family’s old residence, and the old lady enjoyed having them. Occasionally they’d go out to burn incense together, arranging it among themselves—a dozen or so carts, a whole crowd of them, streaming out together. They were closer than blood relatives.

With so many of them united, it became a real force. Of the seven main lanes and dozen or so smaller ones behind Quanhou Street, the women of Imperial Guard Lane got along best of all. If the old lady’s cough acted up some morning, seven or eight women would show up at dawn carrying food boxes with medicinal drinks.

If some rotten household in the other six lanes ever tried to bully a widow’s family, these old sisters would band together against them. However low-ranking each family’s official title might be, no one dared provoke anyone on Quanhou Street.

Coming and going, they were treated with real respect. Within a single spring and summer, they’d all become “Madam So-and-so” of their households—no one dared call them by their maiden surname with “shi” attached anymore, not openly.

Quanhou Village had since been renamed Quanhou Street, and the official families living there had gradually formed their own circles. Except for Madam Qiao, who’d worked her way into the Ministry of Rites Lane crowd, the rest stayed close with the Ministry of War Lane families—after all, at the root of it, everyone here belonged to the Ministry of War, and helping each other out when trouble came was only sensible.

Madam Yang took a few stitches on her new plain skirt, then looked up and asked honest, plodding Madam Lü: “That Xiu the scholar your son goes to—does he really only charge three hundred coins?”

Madam Lü looked up and laughed: “Oh! One meal at home in the morning, then he boards at the teacher’s for the evening meal—three hundred coins a month.”

Madam Yang was tempted. Her own children went to the old scholar’s place on Old City Academy Street, and even without boarding, it cost at least five hundred coins a month per child, and they still had to bring their own food.

So she asked: “Is that Teacher Lu’s teaching any good?”

Madam Lü blinked, then answered honestly: “How would I know? We can’t even read, how could we tell good from bad? I don’t ask—whatever happens, happens. Given their dead-ghost father, they’re not going to amount to much anyway. Not counting on them for the exams—just don’t want them growing up blind to words! We’re not short on those few coins, and if they want to study, I’ll provide it. Not that it matters—those two brats come home jabbering on and on, so annoying! But my tenants, the two gentlemen renting rooms, and their lady both said the boys are reciting well.”

Having said this, Madam Lü seemed to remember something and laughed, her expression easy and unburdened.

In truth, she’d been widowed. A few months back she’d finally gotten word that the man she’d been hoping for wasn’t coming back. So she’d accepted it, cried hard once, and never cried again since.

Whether or not she had a husband hadn’t really changed much for her—she was doing fine on her own now, standing on steady feet.

The Chen family itself was in mourning too, and didn’t mind widows who were also in mourning coming to visit. So these women often came and sat, treating the place like their own maiden family.

Sitting on the heated platform copying a Buddhist sutra, Qiqian’er laughed on hearing this, feeling pleased inside.

This was yet another thing different from her past life. Among their circle, there were seven or eight confirmed widows. In her previous life, with no one to depend on, they’d all ended up driven to crumbling mud huts behind the village, each carrying her own bitterness, spending every day scraping over accounts of five or ten coins. Never mind sending children to school—just filling their bellies halfway was hard enough.

But now it was different. Every household had at least a decent, respectable courtyard house, and a well of their own.

As everyone knew, the area around Qingfeng City had lost its water veins. There were rivers nearby, but the river water wasn’t as sweet as Quanhou Street’s well water, and besides, households along the riverbanks tossed all sorts of things into the water, so particular families wouldn’t drink river water—only well water.

Every morning at dawn, an endless line of water carts came down the small road behind Quanhou Street, buying water from the households there with wells, at ten coins a cart.

Not every household sold water—after all, this was a place packed with the private residences of officials, and somehow the feng shui here had picked up a touch of literary fortune, with a mysterious effect of sharpening the mind.

Between Madam Yang’s group of widows, was there a single day any household sold fewer than twenty-some carts? And this water business was good enough to keep going for at least another three years.

Beyond that, though houses in Qingfeng City were cheap, they couldn’t be rented out for lack of water, so the ordinary officials working at the yamens in Qingfeng City preferred to find housing on Quanhou Street—the best street—even paying extra rent gladly, since water was convenient and the neighbors were all similar sorts of families.

These widowed women, though they had no husbands, managed to live quite comfortably on their own. Besides living in their large houses themselves, renting them out brought in four or five strings of hard cash every month.

And under the Chen family’s protection, no one dared bully them either.

Earlier in the year, prompted again by Qiqian’er, they’d bought up land while it was still cheap—just a few hundred coins per mu. So the women had taken their rental income and converted it all into land. Though it hadn’t started paying off yet, it gave them peace of mind.

With a house and land to their name, a person felt settled.

And with the water-selling income too, they now had one or two hundred coins coming in daily—several strings a month, easily enough to support the household, send children to school, and afford ordinary brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones.

Old Madam Tao, thinking of something, set down her needlework and said with distaste: “That ancestral hall used to belong to all of us. Those gentlemen have no shame either—using our space, and now our own children have to go all the way to the old city for school?”

Poor thing, her family’s top scholar had to set off for the old city before dawn every day. Spring, summer, and autumn were bearable, but winter was pure suffering.

Old Madam Tao’s words drew nods all around, and everyone launched into their daily round of complaints, well-worn by now.

There used to be a large ancestral hall at the mouth of Quanhou Street, belonging to no one knew whom. It had since been converted, funded by all the households, into the Three Rites Academy, where several renowned, widely-read elderly scholars had been engaged to teach. That part was good—except the tuition there was steep: two strings a month, not even including meals.

The gentlemen had modeled the Three Rites Academy after the fine academies of the capital, and besides, the wealthy wouldn’t quibble over a few strings of cash.

But Madam Yang and the others did quibble. The cheapest school in Qingfeng City charged only three coins a day—yes, three coins. Around the bustling capital, there were more and more scholars these days, and for one of them to support a family, he generally needed at least thirty students to make ends meet.

The gentlemen who’d taken the lead in founding the school meant well, but didn’t understand the hardships of ordinary people, nor did they realize that even though Quanhou Street was thick with officials, there were still ordinary families there too. They’d set the tuition at the highest rate in all of Qingfeng, and still felt it wasn’t enough.

Because the teachers’ meals and living expenses were split evenly—if a household had several students boarding, whatever the teachers ate and used got divided per head.

Two strings a month, split among four or five elderly teachers’ food and clothing—no wonder Old Madam Tao wasn’t willing.

With no way around it, and not wanting to make a fuss, hardly any child from their circle attended the Three Rites Academy.

A cool breeze swept through, carrying the scent of the osmanthus tree in the courtyard through the light gauze curtains into the room. Yiyue smiled and lifted the bamboo blind, and along with Siyue, carrying a teapot and a tray of freshly made pastries from the kitchen, came in. Several varieties, arranged generously, were set on the table across from the heated platform for the aunties to enjoy.

The Chen family could easily afford these small treats now—the old lady herself didn’t even think twice about it. She was happy to see everyone eating well, and she even remembered who liked which kind, instructing the kitchen to make them regularly for her old friends.

She was becoming more and more like the matriarch of a proper official family.

Madam Gao set down her embroidery frame, poured herself some tea, and took a pastry. After finishing it, she wiped her mouth in satisfaction and said to the old lady: “Old Lady An? Isn’t that the one you hired the best midwife in Qingfeng City, the Min woman? Her skills are something else! Ten strings a delivery, tsk—getting more particular by the day. The other day when Fourth Master came home, I saw him—such presence, such bearing, getting more dignified by the day. Reminds me of the great lords I used to see back in the provincial capital.”

Her intention was to compliment the Chen family’s rising fortunes, but unfortunately, the old lady still wouldn’t let Madam Qiao set foot in the courtyard, and never asked after or inquired into whatever happened in the next courtyard over. She’d learned her lesson long ago—just smile, that was the way. Family disgrace was not for airing.

Madam Qiao never brought up the bad blood with the old household. Having made connections with two ladies over on Ministry of Rites Lane, she now held herself too high to socialize with her old sisters here, so everyone assumed the relationship between the two branches was slowly mending.

The old lady smiled, set down her prayer beads, and said to Madam Gao: “I went to the temple yesterday, and saw them cleaning up the stage at the Dragon King Temple again. Whose family’s having an event?”

Of the houses on Quanhou Street, only the two chessboard courtyards had their own private stage courtyards—the other households had no such luxury.

Ordinarily, hiring a storyteller or singer to come pass the time at home was fine, but for major life events—births, illnesses, deaths—that called for the three old temples on Quanhou Street.

The Dragon King Temple, the Grandmother Temple, and the Sanctuary of Three Sages all had stages, and now, having collected fees from every household, they’d all been refurbished quite handsomely.

Madam Gao loved opera above all else, and said with great excitement: “Oh! Who else but the Tang family at the chessboard courtyard! Their Second Master’s concubine had a son, and they say they’re putting on three days of opera. Of the ten days of opera a month here on Quanhou Street, his family’s taking up half of it—they hired a fine troupe from another prefecture, said their painted-face roles are unmatched! Yesterday morning their Second Branch’s servant, the one surnamed Mi, brought the invitation to my house herself, said she saved me a good seat…”

The old lady glanced at Yiyue, who glanced at the tall stack of invitations on the cabinet by the heated platform, then nodded: “It came a while ago—sent by the personal maid of the Second Branch’s concubine…”

Without looking up, Qiqian’er cut in: “More and more shameless, aren’t they. We’re not going. Tomorrow I’ll find some drum-singers from Qingfeng City to come entertain you all instead.”

Once Qiqian’er said this, she glanced around the room, which was enough to make Madam Gao say hastily, “Not going! I’m not going, I know—except for the First Branch’s madam’s invitation, you don’t accept invitations from a concubine.”

Qiqian’er smiled, glanced at the reluctant old lady, who glared back at her and pursed her lips, continuing to turn her prayer beads.

In her previous life, when the family got no invitation at all, the old lady still went to every single show, sitting in the back, pitifully watching along with the outsider old ladies from other streets.

Back then they hadn’t understood, so they didn’t care. Now that they understood, they truly couldn’t go.

That Tang family was a mess. In their Second Branch, the proper wife didn’t run the household—a concubine did.

Everyone in this room, however humble their circumstances, were all mistresses in charge of their own households. If they accepted an invitation from a concubine, they’d lose face in front of others afterward—it simply wasn’t proper self-respect.

The Tang family had moved to the capital from another prefecture, made a good marriage, built a large estate. Their eldest son and heir, Tang Jiuyuan, held real power in the Ministry of Justice’s records office, so several branches of the family had moved together into the chessboard courtyard—though they hadn’t managed to squeeze into the capital proper.

Four generations under one roof, several branches crowded together, inevitably breeding friction and infighting. It would ease eventually—as long as the old couple lived, Tang Jiuyuan would have to endure it.

After Madam Gao finished, the whole room piled on, all saying: “That family! Not going! You’re just greedy—won’t hurt you to miss one show with those eyes of yours…”

Poor Madam Gao, thoroughly wronged, kept arguing back.

Qiqian’er found it entertaining and laughed. This Tang family had taken the lead in building roads and founding the school—genuinely good deeds—yet they’d managed to offend this entire group of women on Quanhou Street. So no matter what that family did, this crowd wasn’t going to show up in support.

Except for the one opera fanatic, Madam Gao, who’d probably go in disguise anyway, refusing a proper seat just to watch.

She’d already been caught doing that several times.

The women all knew what Qiqian’er was laughing at and joined in laughing along. Just as things settled into easy laughter, Sheji Xiang’s wife came running in from outside.

Jixiang’s wife bowed to all the ladies, then said to Qiqian’er, a little breathless: “Madam! Master Yu’s old mother and his wife and children have arrived! They’re at the mouth of the lane right now!”

Qiqian’er was overjoyed at the news. She put down her brush and said: “Finally! I knew it had to be soon. Quick! Go call Shi Jie and his wife, and Big Dun and Little Dun…”

Siyue came over smiling and helped Qiqian’er into her shoes.

Jixiang’s wife came to support her, saying: “They’ve been longing for their family for months—you don’t need to call anyone, they’re already waiting at the mouth of the lane to greet them.”

The escort team sent to fetch Yu Qingguan’s family had set out in early March; now it was early August before they returned—the length of that journey alone showed how difficult the trek must have been.

The other women watched Qiqian’er rush off with seven or eight people in tow, and praised her to the old lady: “Our young mistress really is more and more the lady of the house every day. Compared to the mistress over at the chessboard courtyard, she’s not lacking in the slightest.”

The old lady beamed with pride: “Her? Add up every mistress in charge over there, could they match my Qian’er? That one doesn’t even see other people—look how she rides in and out in her sedan, won’t even yield the road to an elderly lady. No manners at all! Hmph!”

This was, however, a misunderstanding.

The old lady judged by country standards, but Tang Jiuyuan’s wife was truly a daughter of a great noble house.

She was the third daughter of Grand Tutor Li Zhang, and the elder sister of Li Jinggui—would such a woman think highly of anyone living on Quanhou Street? Impossible. Her marriage into the Tang family was, if anything, a step down for her, and the whole family fawned over her as their revered lady of the house. She rarely went out at all, and when she did socialize, it was always in the capital…

If it came to who she thought highly of, the only two people on all of Quanhou Street that this Madam Tang actually respected were Qiqian’er and the old lady.

Unfortunately, no one had ever introduced these two notable ladies to each other, and Qiqian’er never socialized in the capital, so the connection never formed.

Leaving the Tang family aside—now to the Yu family, six people in all.

One night in early May, Old Madam Yu, her half-deaf daughter-in-law Ding Yuniang, and four grandchildren—Yu Daniu, Yu Erniu, Yu Shoutian, and Yu Youtian—were asleep at home.

Too poor to afford lamp oil, they went to bed early. Besides, with their filial son away and their unfilial elder relatives ignoring them, the family’s hard labor during the day left them exhausted—no sooner had they lain down than they’d all drift off.

Yu Qingguan’s youngest son, Yu Youtian, only seven this year, had already been out working the rented fields alongside his grandmother and mother.

It had been an ordinary day like any other—until, in the dead of the night, someone quietly slipped into their courtyard.

Qiqian’er had hired one of the best escort agencies in Qingfeng City, the Ma Escort Agency’s veteran chief escort. With generous payment, before setting out, Chief Escort Ma had been given clear instructions, good and bad both: if Yu Qingguan’s elder brother and sister had shown any filial devotion, pay them off and let them be; if they’d been unfilial, steal the family away.

So Chief Escort Ma made the journey, and upon arrival, spent two full days quietly asking around. Well—forget filial, they weren’t even in contact anymore.

That poor large family had survived only through Yu Qingguan’s half-deaf wife, Ding Yuniang, who led her two older children through years of bitter toil.

Old Madam Yu cried every day, nearly blind from tears.

Though Qiqian’er and Yu Qingguan had arranged to spirit the family away quietly in the night, Chief Escort Ma, being an old hand who’d seen much of the world, played it cleverly—he set off sleeping incense to knock out all the neighbors on every side before entering the courtyard.

Chief Escort Ma reasoned that a hasty, confused departure wouldn’t do—what if the family had hidden savings left behind, and the old lady later made trouble, forcing them to come back and sort it out?

That night, Old Madam Yu was overwhelmed with shock and joy—learning her son was alive and now an official in the capital, she wept bitterly. When she learned her son didn’t want his elder siblings brought along, her heart broke all over again.

This old woman, honest and meek her whole life, unable even to control her own daughter-in-law, had nonetheless found the clarity in this crucial moment to know she mustn’t let the elder son drag down the younger.

For a mother to be wounded this badly said everything about how thoroughly Yu Qingguan’s brother and sister had behaved.

The Yu family was dirt poor. Told to pack up, the six of them gathered what little clothing they had, along with a family genealogy book and a few ancestral memorial tablets—the entire household didn’t even own a single egg-laying hen. Truly, it took less time than a stick of incense to burn before they were packed and following Chief Escort Ma, neat and clean.

Their husband had been gone seven years; the Yu family’s feelings toward their hometown, their relatives, their clan, had been severed completely.

Qiqian’er had provided ample funds, so Chief Escort Ma naturally brought two good carriages, and found two women from the escort agency to accompany and attend to them along the way.

Once out of their hometown, the Yu family traveled three to five hundred li straight before daring to stop and settle themselves—and ate their first full meal in this world.

Though the journey battered them badly, they each put on some weight, feeling every day that this was already the best life imaginable.

But then, entering Qingfeng, they were stunned by the bustle of the main streets, and by the time they reached Quanhou Street, Chief Escort Ma led them to the mouth of Imperial Guard Lane. When the family climbed down from the carriage, their heads went completely blank, as if in a dream.

Even the pack animals pulling carts up and down this street looked more dignified and valuable than any livestock they’d seen on their whole journey.

Yu Qingguan’s fifteen-year-old eldest daughter, Yu Daniu, would probably remember this day forever.

That day, she helped her grandmother down from the carriage, and the whole family stood at the mouth of the lane, gazing anxiously inward, hearts in their throats with a fear they couldn’t quite name—just fear, plain and simple.

Old Chief Escort Ma got down from the carriage too, his face full of joy, and said to the grandmother: “Ah, old lady! What a journey that was, truly not easy—but you’ve made it! You’re home! Home to your son’s house!”

Grandmother Yu’s hands and feet were trembling. She looked all around and said: “Home? Is Qingguan here? My son? Why hasn’t he come to meet me?”

The old chief escort laughed heartily: “Now don’t you blame him, old lady, today isn’t a rest day. Your Master Yu is on duty in the capital. Just wait a bit, the young mistress will come out to greet you any moment.”

The whole way, Chief Escort Ma had been praising the Chen family’s eldest daughter-in-law, telling them how capable she was, how she and her husband had personally helped arrange for their house and belongings, and that it was her idea to find a way to bring them out here.

Yu Daniu had listened the whole journey, and had come to feel both awe and closeness toward Qiqian’er.

She’d longed for this moment the whole way, but now that she’d arrived at the gate, she found herself afraid. She stood there, dumbstruck, not knowing what to do, gripping her mother’s hand, which trembled too.

Ding Yuniang, half deaf, spoke with difficulty. Eyes brimming with tears, she comforted her daughter, forcing out the words one by one: “Niu. Don’t. Be. Afraid. Your. Father’s. Here…”

Yu Daniu burst into tears at once. Her mind flashed back to the day her father had left—being the eldest, her heart had already sunk to the bottom of a river that day, and without thinking she’d run after him, chasing and shouting, Father, don’t go, Father, come back…

But her father never turned around. He kept walking, and walking, until his whole figure faded from memory, leaving only a silhouette, growing ever more blurred…

Father was gone, grandmother had grown old, mother had fallen ill, the younger siblings were still small. Yu Daniu wasn’t old in years, but her heart had aged early. She wasn’t mute, yet she’d become as silent as her mother, her mind blank, enduring and bearing it day after day…

Not a single day after that had been easy—hardship piled into bitter waters that couldn’t be bailed out no matter how hard she tried. But through it all, no matter who said her father was dead, or that he’d run off and married into wealth elsewhere, Yu Daniu never gave up hope. She always believed her father was alive, that he’d come back eventually…

Every day when she went up the hillside to gather firewood, she’d stand and look toward where her father had disappeared, trying hard to remember his face. She couldn’t recall his features anymore, but she remembered his hands—big as fans, able to lift her up high enough to reach the green fruit in the trees…

Yu Daniu gazed eagerly down the road ahead of her, wider than the best road back in their hometown—and her father, he was somewhere along this road, somewhere in this very place.

She let her imagination run: that she’d walk into this very lane, step by step, and push open some door called home, and there they’d sit together in the courtyard, trying hard to recall her father’s face together…

The lane’s road surface was spotlessly clean, cleaner even than the heated platform back home. On either side of the road stood facing gates, unimaginably grand—so tall, so imposing. Could someone like her really live behind gates like these?

Was this a dream?

The breeze blew away the muggy summer air, and Yu Daniu caught a nose full of sweet fragrance. It was only later she learned it was the osmanthus trees growing along the lane, releasing their scent.

Later, after she married, wherever she went with her husband, the very first thing she’d do was plant an osmanthus tree in the courtyard.

They’d stood there only a moment when four or five people in blue clothing came running out. Reaching the family, they knelt and kowtowed. Grandmother, frightened, kept trying to dodge away, and the servants, afraid of startling the old woman, quickly scrambled back up, smiling, diligently helping Uncle Ma unload the luggage…

That evening, Yu Daniu learned these were her own family’s servants. The one leading them was named Shi Jie, and there was also Auntie Shi, and Big Dun and Little Dun—these people would be bound to her family from now on, never to be parted, even in death; their burial plots would lie near her grandmother’s and parents’.

Yu Daniu’s eyesight was sharp, and trembling with excitement, she looked all around, seeing every leaf, every blade of grass with perfect clarity… even the water droplets sliding off the leaves were spotlessly clear, and one droplet slid down and landed right in her eye.

Later, more people came running from the far end of the lane, all hurrying out.

Everyone was smiling—men, women, the elderly… fifteen years of a lifetime, and it felt as if all the smiles this world owed this family were being repaid in a single day.

Hazily, from the end of the lane came the old lady they’d longed for, and the young mistress too.

Truly, Yu Daniu felt it the instant she saw them—these were her own family’s kin. Everything good this world owed her family, she could see and feel it radiating from these two women.

The old lady’s hands were warm. Without minding her disheveled state at all, she touched Yu Daniu’s hair with trembling fingers and said: “You’ve—you’ve come. Was it hard? You’re home… you’re back… there’s always a way back… how wonderful… how wonderful…”

The young mistress moved like an empress from the opera stage, walking with perfect dignity. Supporting the old lady, she came forward step by step, and when she reached them, she smiled, then suddenly reached out and embraced Yu Daniu’s mother… her mother wept, her voice hoarse.

Yu Daniu’s ears were both ringing. She heard the young mistress—whom she now thought of as an actual blood aunt—say to them: “You’re home now.”

In that instant, whether or not her father was even there stopped mattering. All she could see was this young auntie who’d supported and emboldened them all.

“Is this our Daniu?”

The young auntie took her hand and turned it over gently, not minding her roughness at all.

Yu Daniu felt ashamed of herself, knowing how dark, coarse, and unkempt she was… even Grandmother apologized to the young auntie with an embarrassed face: “We’re filthy, don’t let our dirt get on you…”

But before Grandmother could finish, the young auntie embraced her, saying: “What is the old lady saying? Looking at this child, I see my own daughter…”

It was only days later that Yu Daniu learned this young auntie who called herself “mother” was only a year older than herself, yet was someone she’d already come to depend on completely.

As for that faceless, useless father of a memory—he really couldn’t be relied on at all.

So, hand in hand, Yu Daniu was led slowly toward home… The road home felt smooth, strange—she could even feel, through her thin shoe soles, the shallow bumps and unevenness of the road surface. Years later, she’d grow old and still dream of the road home, and it would always feel exactly like this beneath her shoes—not slippery, solid, sweet, one step at a time.

Home was the second courtyard on the left, its gate so tall they all had to tip their heads back just to see the top.

Shi Jie and his wife, walking ahead, pushed open the gate for them, and it swung slowly open, its back edge scraping against the blue-brick wall…

Her hand was gripped again—it was her mother, face streaked with tears, gripping her daughter’s hand for courage.

Yu Daniu’s eyes couldn’t take it all in fast enough as she followed along—the brickwork patterns in this courtyard were so beautiful… Entering the main hall, was all this vermilion-red furniture really theirs?

They were led to the main hall, seated to eat in their own home, surrounded by a circle of aunties fussing over them, adding rice, serving dishes… afterward the young auntie led her to a side room in the back.

This family had known they were coming and had everything prepared in advance… Looking around, stunned, dazed, Yu Daniu found herself in her own room?

Her own room?

The young auntie smiled and said to her: “This is our young lady’s very own boudoir!”

Was she a young lady now?

Yu Daniu didn’t know what to do, just followed along numbly with her grandmother and mother, looking around at the room stuffed full of furniture… all hers?

Finally, the young auntie opened a cabinet that reached the ceiling, pointing to the clothes and shoes stacked neatly inside, saying: “Your father, what a fool—every time he came home he’d have your clothes folded and refolded…”

She then pulled a good-sized box from the cabinet, set it on the heated platform, and called them over to look.

The young auntie said to her: “Young lady, come look at these. These are all the jewelry pieces your father personally picked out for you.”

Yu Daniu slowly let go of her mother’s hand, not even realizing she was crying—she’d been crying the whole time, never having tasted sugar before, yet finally understood what sweetness felt like…

The wealthy little box was opened—it had three tiers, and even a mirror inside. Yu Daniu glanced at herself once, then quietly closed the mirror.

Qiqian’er pursed her lips and smiled, pulling her close. “It’s alright, our young lady has good bones underneath—give it time and you’ll surely turn out lovely!”

With that, she slowly slid open the drawer of the small box.

Yu Daniu’s eyes grew wider and wider, feeling her temples throbbing.

Was this really hers?

The jewelry box drawer slid open. One tier held small porcelain jars of fragrant powder and rouge; the second held all sorts of silver jewelry. Yu Daniu couldn’t find words—her mind was just filled with pattern after pattern, thinking only, how beautiful, is this a dream, if it is, let me die dreaming right here.

When the third tier opened, revealing a white jade bracelet and a gleaming gold one, Yu Daniu heard the young auntie say to Grandmother: “Your son is ten thousand times better than that fool of mine. See this? He got all of this himself, said our young lady’s coming of age, and he wouldn’t have many years left to dote on her… every time he came back from duty in the capital, he’d add another piece to this box, said he had to prepare plenty for her—in case she married far away, so a thin dowry wouldn’t let her in-laws bully her… such foolish talk…”

Before Qiqian’er even finished speaking, a heart-wrenching wail tore through the air beside her.

“Father…!”

Yu Daniu sat down on the ground and burst into sobs, not knowing what to do, feeling her heart shatter into pieces, aching, overflowing, breaking further, filling further…

She cried out: “Father… come back quickly…”

Then hurried footsteps sounded from the courtyard—someone seemed to stumble, someone shouted, the master’s home, he’s back—

Everyone froze.

Father, right there in the courtyard, called out: “Niu’er! Niu’er! Don’t cry, Father’s here—here! Father will lift you up high to reach the fruit…”

Yu Daniu sat on the ground, crying and laughing at once, thinking, Father is really foolish—when he left I was eight, I’m grown now, Father can’t lift me anymore…

Years later, Yu Daniu was curious about one thing, and she once asked her father—Father, all those years you never saw me, how did you know it was me crying?

Her father said: my girl, when she cries, she only ever goes “ee-ee-ee,” so silly, can’t even manage to cry a proper wail.