On Lingbo’s side, there was not much worry spared for Han Yueqi. She had a thorough understanding of Elder Sister Han’s methods — a combination of proper means and a few fewer scruples than Qinglan — so it was not yet their place to worry about her. She simply applied herself wholeheartedly to planning the arrangements for Cui Jingyu’s marquis-conferral banquet. For this reason, she had also relaxed her oversight of Yanyan and A’Cuo, and had not even noticed that A’Cuo was behaving somewhat strangely.

Yanyan was still her usual self — blissfully eating and playing all day long, perfectly content. As for A’Cuo, ever since Shen Biwei had caught her and Wei Yushan together, she had been somewhat absent-minded. Afraid that Lingbo might notice, she let Yanyan drag her off to Tao Li’er’s house to visit. The sweets at Madam Tao’s home were renowned throughout the capital for being exceptional, yet A’Cuo ate them as though she were chewing wax.

They had barely arrived home before they found an old woman of about sixty sitting in the main hall, drinking tea. When she saw them come in, she smiled and said: “My, how cold it is outside. Where has the youngest young miss been? The Old Madam has been waiting quite a while — she’s already sent me to inquire twice.”

The inner household of the Ye Family had fractured into its current state, yet the people from Old Madam Ye’s quarters were still diligently addressing everyone by rank — eldest young miss, second young miss. Yanyan was the fourth, and in the formal capital dialect that was not a pleasant-sounding title, so she was called the youngest miss instead, which had a particularly pampered ring to it. A’Cuo, however, was not about to be charmed by such treatment. When Yanyan asked her, “Shall we go together to pay our respects to Grandmother?”, A’Cuo simply replied: “I have had a bit of a cough these past two days, and I’m afraid of passing the illness to the Old Madam. I ask that Nanny Wu please relay my apologies to the Old Madam on my behalf, and beg her forgiveness.”

Nanny Wu, hearing the manner and wording of her reply, could immediately tell it had been cast from exactly the same mold as Lingbo. She smiled accommodatingly and said: “What are you talking about? The Old Madam dotes on the young miss cousin and can never get enough of her company. She specifically sent me here to remind the young miss cousin to treat this as her own home and feel at ease — don’t stand on ceremony. There will be plenty of time to spend together, no need to rush.”

After exchanging a few pleasantries, Nanny Wu accompanied Yanyan and departed. Again, Yanyan stayed for the better part of a day, and by the time she returned in the evening, she had changed into a fresh set of clothes — a pomegranate-red short jacket of cut-silk weave, draped with a silver fox cape. Lingbo was reviewing the food menu for the year-end celebrations when she saw her and laughed. “Bringing back goods again? Let me see — this is the old cut-silk from Suzhou, a piece that was once presented as tribute. Elder Sister Han has long wanted to find something like this to trace the pattern. How convenient that Old Madam just gave it to you.”

Though Yanyan’s haul was generous, Lingbo felt no particular gratitude toward Old Madam Ye. The new year was nearly upon them, and the Wutong Courtyard was well stocked with supplies. Out in the small outer gatehouse, the household manager Yang Niangzi and Steward Yang were directing a cluster of young male servants and capable matrons to take inventory of the year-end goods sent up from the estates. The capital lay in the northern reaches, and once heavy snow fell, the outdoors became a natural icehouse — the venison, mutton, whole flanks of beef, and entire halves of pork could all be stored in snowdrifts outside the small storage house. Being counted alongside crates of vegetables, fruits, assorted grains, and various seasonal medicinal herbs, it was as bustling as a market fair. In the kitchen, cooks worked through the night making pastries — frying all varieties of meatballs and new year’s snacks, the fragrance of various butter-based delicacies mingling with the sweetness of brown sugar, the honey-scent of dates and bees’ nectar, the fresh warmth of steamed dough just lifted from the baskets — all blending together, set against the dark snowy night outside. It was the scent of the new year, as memory had always held it.

Yang Niangzi was an exceptionally capable household manager. In the midst of taking inventory of the year-end goods, she still found the presence of mind to check on the kitchen. When she saw that the kitchen had fried a batch of lotus blossom pastries, she promptly had a plate sent to the warm inner chamber. The matron who delivered them also knew exactly what to say: “Second Young Miss, Yang Niangzi says this is the first batch of lotus blossom pastries this year, and asks the Second Young Miss to taste them — to see whether the kitchen has lost its touch, and whether it’s the same taste as in the Madam’s day.”

Lingbo had been reviewing the accounts, but on hearing this, she could not help but try one. Her eyes curved with pleasure. “That’s the taste. A’Cuo, come try one too.”

No wonder Yang Niangzi had taken special care to send some over. A’Cuo had rarely seen pastries of such artistry even back in Yangzhou — crimson red on the outside, golden stamens within, each one fried in the shape of a lotus blossom, layer upon overlapping layer, sweet fragrance rushing forth. Still hot from the oil, just fried — the taste itself was almost secondary; this kind of charm and craft was rare.

“The young miss cousin probably doesn’t know — after the water lily banquet that year, the mistresses of every great house in the capital had their own kitchens try to replicate our lotus blossom pastries, and not a single one could match the taste…” The matron went on to share this with A’Cuo in a lively, flattering manner.

A’Cuo instinctively looked toward Lingbo. Lingbo only smiled warmly, eyes curved, glancing back at her.

“Go on and eat. These are fried in vegetable oil, and have lotus seeds in them too — you needn’t worry about gaining weight,” she said to A’Cuo.

She had misread the situation, assuming A’Cuo was afraid of getting fat — that bad influence of Tao Li’er, always going on about wanting a willowy waist and refusing to eat fried dough snacks, complaining they were too oily.

But A’Cuo had been beautiful her whole life — she had never given any thought to that. What she had actually sensed, with quiet acuity, was that Lingbo always carried a faint undercurrent of melancholy when preparing for the new year.

Otherwise, Lingbo would not have been so generous in rewarding this matron. She set down the lotus blossom pastry and said: “You have all worked hard these past few days — staying up so late in this bitter cold. Tell Yang Niangzi to have the kitchen set up two mutton hot pot stoves tonight so everyone can warm up. Everyone gets an extra month’s wages, and those on night watch get an extra hundred coins. Take it from my personal accounts.”

The matron was of course full of gratitude, saying: “Thank you, Second Young Miss, Second Young Miss truly has the heart of a bodhisattva…”

She bowed low, and Xiao Liu’er had already grabbed a handful of coins to press into her hands, saying with a smile: “Auntie, take this — give it to the little ones as new year’s money.”

The matron thanked them profusely, carried the message back to Yang Niangzi, and outside a wave of jubilation naturally erupted — handmaidens and matrons all came to give their thanks, a scene of cheerful liveliness. In the midst of it all, Lingbo only smiled faintly, that smile never quite reaching her eyes.

Anyone truly perceptive would never have assumed that Lingbo was genuinely happy in that moment. But the Nanny Wu whom Old Madam Ye had sent to escort Yanyan home clearly did not understand Lingbo well, and truly mistook this for a good opportunity, stepping forward with a smile: “Second Young Miss, your skill in managing the household is truly beyond compare — even more thorough than when the Madam was here. Even I am filled with admiration seeing it. How convenient — just two days ago the Old Ancestor was saying how she missed these lotus blossom pastries, that only the Madam used to make them right, and that none she’s had since have tasted the same. It would be perfect to fry a few more and let me bring them to the Old Ancestor — that would also be a token of your filial devotion, wouldn’t it…”

Lingbo still smiled pleasantly. “How lovely — only, I was just trying this year for the first time. I scraped together just enough ingredients to fry this one plate, and it’s already been eaten. It wouldn’t do to give that to the Old Madam — it would seem disrespectful. To make more would require going out to buy fresh lotus seeds and lotus root. Give it a couple of days, and when the new batch is ready, I’ll bring it over to the Old Madam in person. Fortunately, today’s kitchen fried more than just this one variety of pastry. Xiao Liu’er, have the kitchen pack two boxes of the peach blossom pastries and egg yolk pastries for Nanny Wu to take back.”

Between those well-versed in subtle maneuvering, a touch was always enough to make the point. Old Madam Ye, bedridden and bedridden, would naturally have no taste for deep-fried pastry snacks. To say she missed the lotus blossom pastries that the late Madam Ye had been most skilled at making was clearly an overture of goodwill toward Lingbo. Yet Lingbo simply refused to accept this goodwill, and deflected with an artful reply.

What were peach blossom pastries and egg yolk pastries, after all? They were not lotus blossom pastries — and you know it. Some things in this world simply cannot be replaced. Even if time passes and regret sets in and one wishes to make amends, what meaning would there be in that?

Lingbo had once said that after Madam Ye passed away, those in the Wutong Courtyard — herself included — had endured some difficult days. As the “Old Ancestor” of the Ye Family, the true mistress of the inner household, could Old Madam Ye truly be considered without blame in all of this?

Lingbo had plainly said nothing — yet she seemed to have said everything. Just as she was clearly smiling, and yet the sorrow in her eyes lingered like the jade-green tint in her teacup — present, yet not quite there.

A’Cuo stood at Lingbo’s side, and her only regret in that moment was that she was a few years too young. If she had entered the capital a few years earlier, she could have been by her side back then.

Because of this, she remained in low spirits through the evening. Lingbo assumed she was just anxious waiting for Qinglan to return, and came to check on her before bed. Seeing A’Cuo sitting in a daze, she smiled and said: “Don’t wait up — Qinglan and Elder Sister Han have no end of things to say to each other, it won’t be before the second night watch that she comes home.”

A’Cuo only murmured a vague response. Hearing her humming listlessly, Lingbo assumed she must have caught a chill and reached out to feel her forehead. “Could you have come down with something? Those pomelos are delicious but they draw in the cold.”

She was referring to the several large baskets of fruit Elder Sister Han had sent over — all varieties not found in the capital. Though the Ye Family had their own estates, all left from Madam Ye’s dowry, because the two daughters were now managing the household, they had sold the estates far from the capital and kept only a few outside the city, entrusting them to male servants to manage on their behalf. Elder Sister Han had no such concerns — the estates in her dowry extended well beyond the capital region, yet every year without fail, year-end goods were delivered to the capital. The fruit was particularly impressive: one variety of tribute orange, two varieties of pomelo — one thin-skinned and exceptionally sweet, one round and good for perfuming a room, more fragrant than a Buddha’s hand. A’Cuo had tasted them for the first time, found them novel, and eaten a bit too many.

Lingbo was this attentive, this caring — A’Cuo felt her chest fill with an aching blend of warmth and sorrow, and she could not help but lean her cheek against Lingbo’s hand. She felt it for not being able to help her, and for the secret she was keeping from her.

Though she was young and rarely inclined toward such dependence, Lingbo’s sensitivity caught it immediately. She shifted to sit down beside her, drew her arm around A’Cuo’s shoulders, and asked with a smile: “What’s wrong? Are you really not feeling well?”

A’Cuo shook her head and buried her face in Lingbo’s arms.

In Yang Hua’s eyes, this was the perfect moment to confess. She knew Lingbo — knew that if someone had been keeping something from her, it was far better to come forward yourself than to be found out, in which case there would be absolute chaos. So she couldn’t help but cast meaningful glances at A’Cuo.

But A’Cuo still said nothing about Wei Yushan. She simply kept her face buried in Lingbo’s arms and asked in a muffled voice: “Second Elder Sister, what does it feel like to have a mother?”

She too had lost her parents from infancy, and had been raised by her elderly grandfather. A tenderness welled up in Lingbo’s heart. She gently stroked A’Cuo’s hair, her gaze growing distant.

What did it feel like to have a mother? She herself was beginning to forget.

It was probably — no matter where you went, no matter how far, always knowing she was home waiting for you. No matter how late, how cold, as long as she was there, the house had warmth and light, and hot soup waiting. In winter there were warm quilts; in summer, ice-cold watermelon already set out. She knew where everything in the house was, and knew how to handle anything you asked her. It was the kind of thing anyone could do — a household manager could, an elder sister could — yet when she was there, it was always different. Even the smell of the home was different. It was like when you were sick and she pressed her hand to your forehead, and fed you spoonfuls of medicine that didn’t taste good at all, and you drifted off in a haze of drowsiness — yet felt so completely at ease, because you knew that when you woke, she would still be there. She would always be there.

Lingbo drew her gaze back, and gently stroked A’Cuo’s head.

“It’s probably like dozing off on top of a warming basket — drowsy and warm, half asleep, half awake, like being small again…” She knew that no matter how beautifully she described it, it was only a reflection of water, a flower in a mirror. So even as A’Cuo looked up at her with eyes full of longing, she did not wish to say more — afraid of adding to the regret in A’Cuo’s heart. She smiled and comforted her: “But it doesn’t matter — the four of us together, that’s a family too. Especially Qinglan — these past two years she’s taken on more and more of that ‘elder sister as mother’ presence. Don’t let the fact that she went to the Shen Family fool you — if she found out we hadn’t gone to bed on time, she’d scold us all over again.”

A’Cuo was obediently cooperative, lying down properly, and allowed Lingbo to tuck the quilt corners around her. Lingbo went to check on Yanyan sleeping in the outer room, caught her hiding a woodcarving knife in her bed with wood shavings all over the floor, gave instructions to Yanyan’s senior handmaiden on a few minor matters, and only then returned to sleep.

Yang Hua held herself back as long as she could, and finally, once everyone had dispersed, quietly asked A’Cuo: “Young Miss, why didn’t you come clean with Second Young Miss? The day after tomorrow is the marquis-conferral banquet. When Miss Shen finds out that Second Young Miss still doesn’t know, she will surely tell her.”

“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing,” A’Cuo said coolly.