At that same time, Hua Zhi arrived at the Hua Family’s residence outside the city.

For the sake of convenience in coming and going, she had the steward purchase two short-legged horses. With so many women in the household, they could not be without a proper carriage.

She had brought a good number of people with her as well — of her senior maids, only Ying Chun had been left at home. Four second-tier maids had come along, and Steward Xu had selected six reliable servants from the front courtyard. He had also sent along his second son, Xu Ying — that, at least, put his mind at ease.

The residence, though not large, was set in surroundings of great beauty. A grove of bamboo encircled it, rustling with a soft and continuous sound in the breeze. Even in the height of this summer heat, walking through it felt surprisingly cool.

Fourth Uncle loved nothing better than to call friends together here for drinking and merriment — he spent roughly half of every summer at this place. It was also here that he had been taken away. She did not know whether he had been awake or drunk at the time, but even if drunk, the shock must have sobered him quickly enough.

Imagining that scene, Hua Zhi felt a shameless flicker of amusement rise in her — and then the amusement faded, and her nose grew a little tight. With Fourth Uncle’s temperament, even if he was startled at first, he would probably adapt quite quickly. He had said it himself, long ago: everyone ate the Emperor’s rice, and misfortune could fall on anyone. And so it had, in the end — come round to the Hua Family.

“Miss…” Bao Xia looked at her Young Miss with worry, her own heart aching in sympathy. Fourth Master and the Young Miss had always been closest, and he had never forgotten to think of her whenever he came across anything good. Who knew whether he was suffering now.

“I am fine.”

The eight servants of the residence came out all together to bow in greeting. Hua Zhi raised her hand in a light gesture for them to rise and then walked into the courtyard. One could see they had done their best to put things back in their proper places, but no amount of effort could restore it to what it had been. The things that had been taken away could not be conjured back.

Looking at those empty spaces, a bitterness rose again in Hua Zhi’s heart.

One word from the Emperor, and blood could run outside the Noon Gate. That was imperial power. By comparison, exile was already a mercy.

Hua Zhi walked toward the inner courtyard and gave instructions as she went: “Xu Ying, come with me. Everyone else, go about your tasks.”

“Yes.”

Xu Ying had been given his instructions by his father before setting out and followed without a word of hesitation.

The household had come to regard this residence as Fourth Master Hua Pingyang’s personal domain for leisure and pleasure; ordinarily, no one else made use of it. But Hua Zhi had come here with Fourth Uncle on several occasions, and each time Fourth Uncle would stroke the bark of a pagoda tree in the inner courtyard with a proud pat, then circle round it with an air of satisfaction.

Fourth Uncle assumed she had long since forgotten the things of her early childhood. He did not know that she remembered everything — including the very first words she had heard upon coming into the world. She had certainly not forgotten the moment on her third birthday, when Fourth Uncle — still a young man then — had held her in his arms and whispered in her ear, with an air of great mystery, that he was going to save up a magnificent dowry for her. More magnificent than any trousseau that ever set out in ten li of red procession, he said — it would make people look up to her.

In an age where the size of one’s dowry told the world whether you were cherished at home, and where it determined whether you would be looked down upon after entering your husband’s family, Hua Zhi knew the full weight of that gesture.

So every time Fourth Uncle patted that pagoda tree, she had known where his secret was buried.

Beneath it lay the dowry Fourth Uncle had been preparing for her.

Hua Zhi stood before the tree for a moment, then stepped forward and tapped a spot on the ground with the tip of her foot. “Dig here.”

Such work was naturally not for the women. Xu Ying retrieved a hoe from the storage shed and began to dig with cautious strokes. When he felt something beneath the surface, he switched to a different tool and carefully loosened the earth above until the top of a large chest appeared.

At Hua Zhi’s signal, Xu Ying lifted the chest up. He reached into the pit and pressed around to the side, then reported: “Young Miss, there are more beside it. Shall I continue digging?”

“Continue — carefully, and take your time.”

“Yes.”

The pit grew larger and wider, and from it rose the strong fragrance of wine. Hua Zhi stood at the edge looking down at the rows of large wine jars sealed with red clay below. She pressed her right hand’s web of skin between thumb and forefinger hard with her left hand and bit down on the tip of her tongue, using the pain to hold herself steady. She could not afford to fall apart right now — not for a single moment.

In Jiangnan, families who cherished their daughters would bury a jar of yellow rice wine the year a daughter was born, and dig it up only on her wedding day to serve the guests. This wine was known as a daughter’s red.

She did not know how Fourth Uncle had come to know of this custom — but he had buried so much of it here beneath the old pagoda tree. Had the Hua Family never fallen into misfortune, when this wine was dug up on her wedding day next year, she could not imagine how many girls would have burned with envy. And she herself — she probably would have wept.

Xu Ying had assumed this was wine Fourth Master had laid down for his own drinking. He was just about to look up and ask what should be done with it when he caught sight of the Young Miss’s expression and wisely held his tongue.

After a moment, Hua Zhi crouched down and brushed the soil from the surface of the chest. She ran her hand along its edge, drew a slow, deep breath, and lifted the lid.

As expected, what lay inside was not gold or silver. The items were not many and were varied in nature: scrolls of calligraphy and paintings, antiques and curios, gemstones — and even a pair of luminescent night pearls.

She counted silently. The number matched her age exactly — fifteen items, no more and no less. Every single thing that the celebrated Hua Pingyang of the capital had thought worthy of setting aside as a treasure was, in all likelihood, priceless beyond reckoning.

After wiping her hands clean, Hua Zhi took up one of the calligraphy scrolls and unrolled it. When she saw the inscription, her gaze remained fixed on it for a long time.

She had no particular interest in calligraphy and painting — it was not a hobby she had ever pursued. But what one ought to know, she knew. The signature on this piece belonged to the hermit scholar known as Wuwen — a celebrated master of calligraphy from two dynasties past. His miserliness was as famous as his art. It was said that to prevent anyone from obtaining his work, he would complete a piece, study it to his satisfaction, and then burn it. The few pieces in circulation outside had been gifts to close friends, or presented to those he could not bring himself to refuse — such as the reigning emperor of his day.

Because so few existed, the value was all the greater. The work of Wuwen had always commanded no fixed price. Countless collectors had sought a single piece in vain. She genuinely could not imagine how Fourth Uncle had laid hands on this one.

Setting it carefully back in place, Hua Zhi picked up a small box from within, removed an ink stone from it and examined it closely. On the underside, as she expected, she found a carved seal mark and two further seal impressions. Of the three names — one belonged to a figure with a detailed entry in the historical records; the other two were great literary masters whose names had been handed down through the ages.

She looked once more at the remaining items. Hua Zhi thought: if these were laid out one by one to be called out in a wedding procession, she wondered how many eyes would redden at the sight. Without securing a match from a family of the highest standing, one could not even guard against thieves coming to the door.

She set down the ink stone and closed the lid of the chest. If these things were sold, the proceeds would sustain the Hua Family for several years and still leave enough to send silver north — enough to buy her grandfather, father, and the others a somewhat easier life.

But was earning money difficult? For Hua Zhi, it was not. The difficult part was not earning it — it was spending it well, spending it in ways that had real quality and real purpose, and ultimately becoming the force that brought every last one of the Hua Family’s men home from the north.

More than that — this was a rare and precious gesture of love, and she did not want to sell it. Fourth Uncle had done as he promised. He had been earnestly and faithfully putting together a magnificent dowry for her, piece by piece. She would keep these things for the rest of her life and guard them well — even if she never married, they were her dowry, and they belonged to her.

“Xu Ying — take some men and personally bring these wine jars back. Be careful on the way. Not a single jar is to go missing.”

“But Young Miss, you are still going on to the estate — how could this servant presume to return ahead of you?”

“These jars of wine,” Hua Zhi said, offering no further explanation, “were buried by my Fourth Uncle over ten years ago, to be used on the day of my wedding.” Xu Ying understood instantly what the wine meant to her, and bowed his head in quiet assent.