That comb was very old. Where gems had once been inset, there were now only pits and holes. The comb teeth were incomplete, many broken off.
But she remembered.
On the back of the comb, there had been sixteen phoenix stones, purple and ink-black alternating, and thirty-two crystal stones, white ones scattered at one end like a comet’s tail.
She remembered so clearly because she had made this comb with her own hands. In her mind’s eye appeared her hands cradling the heart’s-blood-red spring heartwood, shaping it bit by bit into a comb, then carving out each tooth with an extremely small, fine blade. Phoenix stones, crystal stones—she had set them in one by one, purple, ink-black, white, each one precious.
Who had given her the spring heartwood? And who had used this comb to brush her hair? A shadowy figure in the mist stood at the clear boundary, just one step away. She could see that person’s sleeves—purple, embroidered with cloud patterns and ocean waves, a deep purple gemstone on the ring finger, a phoenix stone more lustrous than the hairpin in Miss Ye’er’s hair.
Was it the Young Marquis?
No, that person’s silhouette was taller than the Young Marquis, more imposing.
The Young Marquis gave her a somewhat nostalgic feeling. But she feared that person!
No, don’t come near her! Go back! Return to the depths of the mist, never appear! She cried out in her heart, her powerless body sitting on the ground trembling like chaff.
“Young master, what’s wrong with you?” When Mo Zi suddenly collapsed, it naturally frightened the woman, who hurried around to check on her. Seeing she didn’t respond, she reached out to push her shoulder. She mustn’t have an incident right in front of her stall—that would truly be adding frost to snow.
When the woman pushed her, Mo Zi came to. Her body temperature returned from an ice cave to normal warmth, and her vision recovered too. The fragments no longer danced chaotically, but this time the headache didn’t immediately subside. She felt a burning pain somewhere at the back of her head, and her temples throbbed violently. Trying to get up, her legs went soft and she sat back down.
The woman cried out in alarm.
Mo Zi took several deep breaths to regulate herself, gathered her energy, and forcibly stood up, face pale. She gave the woman a strained smile. “Auntie, I think I got heatstroke.”
The woman happened to have water and quickly poured some into a bowl and brought it over. “Young master, this is spring water from the back mountain where I live—it’s clean, best for beating the heat.”
Mo Zi couldn’t afford false politeness at this moment. Her whole body was sweating—she needed to replenish fluids. Taking it, she drank in large gulps, truly feeling cool relief.
“Auntie, at this time of year, if you could carry some of this cool, sweet spring water to the gates of wealthy households to sell, it might be better than selling sundries.” She suddenly had this idea.
The woman thought about it, her eyes brightening. “If I start early, catch the first wave, enter the city before dawn—maybe people really would want this good water.”
“Though toilsome, it’s a no-capital business. Try it, and if it doesn’t work, you can go back to selling sundries. When hawking, you must highlight the spring water’s advantages—like heaven and earth’s spiritual energy, prolonging life, pure and sweet, and so on. Free tasting of a small bowl and such. When you see a shrewd customer, give them some sweetness—like buy two urns, get one jar free. When you see someone with deep pockets, strive to offer the convenience of daily door-to-door delivery. In short, be flexible and adaptable—conduct business according to the person.” After drinking the water, her inner panic subsided. Was she really in the mood to guide someone out of confusion?
Mo Zi just wanted to use the opportunity of talking with the woman to balance the seesaw between present and past, to paper over the cracks in her heart.
“The way you put it, young master, I’m actually eager to try! That’s right—a no-capital business won’t lose money even if it fails.” This woman was resilient. “Thank you, young master, for thinking of this livelihood for my daughter and me. May I ask where you live? If we mother and daughter can have food and warmth this summer, we’ll definitely come to your door to kowtow to you.”
“No need to be polite, auntie. I’m just running my mouth.” Mo Zi was struggling internally—this comb, should she buy it or not?
“Young master, just pick whatever you like from this cabinet today—I won’t charge you.” Seeing Mo Zi’s kind heart, the woman wanted to thank her this way. “Does the young master like this comb? If you don’t mind that it’s used, just take it.”
Only when the woman spoke did Mo Zi realize her left hand had already picked up the comb. A bit embarrassed, she wanted to put it down but couldn’t.
“The young master has good taste—this comb is an object from Yuling’s palace. My husband is a craftsman apprentice in the palace. Perhaps in the chaos or something, when we fled the city, it fell out of a craft book he treasured. Though it’s a used item, even my husband says the workmanship is good. And the peony carving on the back is truly lifelike. My daughter says the flowers bloom and sway in the wind. I initially thought the child was talking nonsense, but after staring at it for a while, the flowers really seemed to come alive. Counting carefully, dozens of peonies are carved on this small comb. My husband said this comb was valuable, but when I took it to a pawnshop the other day, they said it was just a wooden comb and only offered me ten wen, so I didn’t sell it.” Better to give it to a good person.
Mo Zi turned the comb over—indeed peonies were carved. She had some impression, but not as clear as the memory of the gem-studded side. She had carved it herself, but how she carved it, she didn’t know.
“Auntie, since it’s from the palace, it must be extraordinary. How could I take it for free?” When intact, this comb had been priceless.
“However extraordinary, the gems on top are gone, the teeth have fallen out—even if the peonies are beautiful, a comb that can no longer brush hair, how much can it be worth?” With one statement, the woman awakened the dreamer.
Mo Zi smiled with infinite self-mockery. Indeed, what value did a comb have if it couldn’t brush hair? However, since she had made it herself, she might as well take it back herself.
“I do like the peonies on it—I could use them to copy and paint.” Not the truth, but a white lie. “Auntie, why not name a price? If it’s within my means, I’ll buy it.” Her meager fortune, after several months, now amounted to about ten taels.
“Young master, I said I’m giving it to you.” The woman refused to name a price.
The little girl cried again.
Mo Zi took the opportunity to say, “Auntie, I see your daughter is hungry. How can she fill her belly without silver? How about this—I don’t have much silver on me, only five taels. I’ll give it all to you.”
The woman hadn’t expected Mo Zi would be willing to give so much silver. She hurriedly waved her hands, saying no. “Young master, you’re a great benefactor showing kindness, but five taels of silver is excessive sympathy. Though I’m a woman, I understand dignity. My daughter and I truly lack food and clothing, but living by our own abilities, we sleep peacefully. Of course, as you said, I can’t let my child suffer because I’m useless as a mother. Then I’ll brazenly name a price—one tael of silver, and I’ll be endlessly grateful.”
Mo Zi pretended she couldn’t produce exactly one tael, forcibly stuffed two taels in her hand, took the comb, and left.
The woman bowed deeply toward Mo Zi’s retreating back, patting her daughter and saying today they could eat their fill—just endure a little longer.
But she didn’t know: Fortune relies on misfortune; misfortune hides within fortune.
The woman was just planning to pack up her stall and go buy some rice and flour to return home before the sun set when suddenly several more people appeared before her cart. Today, not a single female customer had come to browse, yet male customers came one after another. But looking at these few, they had an entirely different aura from that refined gentleman just now.
Among them, she remembered one—it was the pawnshop manager from several days ago, the one who said the comb was worth ten wen.