My birth mother passed away while I was still in swaddling clothes. The cause of her death was a closely guarded secret throughout the Marquis’s mansion. When I first began forming memories, half-asleep one afternoon, my wet nurse sat beside me, stroking my head while sighing to the maids: “Though Young Master De was born into wealth, he’s still pitiful. His mother was so heartless, leaving like that out of spite – what will become of this child? Though the Marquis dotes on him, he’s still a man with his career to build outside, how can he always look after him? Tsk tsk.”
When I woke that afternoon, I went to ask Father about my mother, and what they meant by “leaving out of spite.” Father, usually kind and smiling, showed me for the first time his cold, stern face as he demanded harshly: “Which blind servant dared gossip in front of the young master!” He ordered someone to take me out to play, but I sneaked back to see my wet nurse and the maids kneeling before Father, slapping their faces.
After that, no one dared mention my mother in front of me. A few days later, Father took me to his study to see a painting on the wall. It showed a woman in light green clothes, with black hair and a powdered face, smiling downward while holding a lotus flower. Father said “This is your mother” but could say no more, his face full of sorrow and melancholy as he stroked my head repeatedly. I had many questions but dared not ask, only staring blankly at the woman in the painting, unable to imagine she had once been a living person.
I had older brothers and sisters who treated me with extreme coldness, ignoring me entirely. In the whole mansion, only Father and my serving maids treated me well. I secretly regarded my wet nurse as my mother, then my personal maid Bi Chan as my mother, but it felt wrong – they looked nothing like the woman in the painting. It wasn’t until I met Uncle Lin’s concubine Chen Xiang Lan that my heart finally settled – my mother must have been like her.
Xiang Lan treated me extremely well, speaking to me gently, showing caring concern for my welfare, personally making my clothes and shoes, teaching me to read and write, and listening to my thoughts. Once, my legitimate second brother from the main wife bullied me, cursing: “Born of a servant, raised by servants, even your birth mother was low-born!” Enraged but unable to beat him, I waited until he wasn’t looking and hit his head with a stone. He cried immediately in pain, and the maids and servants quickly separated us. Father wasn’t home, so my eldest brother came to judge the matter. Since Second Brother was also in the wrong and I was young, the matter was dropped.
I excitedly told Xiang Lan about this, hoping for praise, but unexpectedly she looked stern and said: “Go face the wall in the corner and reflect.”
I was confused, blinking and pouting, not knowing what I’d done wrong, only able to look at her with pitiful eyes. Xiang Lan said: “Think carefully about where you went wrong. I’ll have questions for you later.”
Xiang Lan was like a mother to me, and I didn’t want to anger her. I could only sigh softly, put down my wooden knife, and lower my head as far as possible, looking miserable with slumped shoulders, barely dragging my feet forward as if they were chained with iron. I walked slowly, looking back hopefully every few steps, but seeing Xiang Lan’s raised eyebrows and stern face, I’d turn back with a pout, dejected and listless, resting my head against the wall in the shadows.
After some time, Xiang Lan said: “Alright, come here.”
I sighed in relief, turned, and ran to hug her arm: “I didn’t speak or move just now, I was very good!”
Xiang Lan stroked my head: “Young Master De is most brave, like a true man, taking responsibility for his mistakes.”
Hearing this, I became happy: “Really? Like my father?”
Xiang Lan nodded immediately: “Indeed, Young Master De is becoming a little gentleman.”
“Oh!” I immediately straightened my shoulders.
“Now tell me, what did you do wrong?”
Hearing this, I lowered my head again, wringing my hands. I truly didn’t feel I’d done anything wrong and couldn’t speak after struggling for a long time. Then Xiang Lan said: “You were wrong to resort to violence over mere words. Remember this for the future – no matter how unpleasant others’ words may be, you must control yourself, not get angry, and not resort to violence. If you act on impulse and harm someone, causing great trouble, you’ll regret it deeply.”
“But he insulted my mother, I couldn’t help it.”
Xiang Lan pulled me close, looking into my eyes: “We can’t control others’ idle talk. A towering mountain doesn’t lose an inch to any amount of slander; the vast ocean doesn’t lose a drop to any amount of criticism. Only small leaves flutter away at the slightest breath. You must steady your heart, be like a mountain, unmoved by others’ words, like the ocean, able to contain even the harshest words. Don’t jump up brandishing weapons at every acid remark – though it seems like saving face, it shows a lack of confidence and self-control. If you can’t even handle a few harsh words, how will you accomplish great things in the future?”
As she spoke, she wrung out a towel to wipe my face, saying softly: “Your mother was the most principled and upright person. She would be happy if you made her proud, and if she were here, she surely wouldn’t like you hurting others with stones. The more others try to provoke you, the more you should ignore them, stay calm, and strive to make her proud. True competition isn’t in words or fists, understand?”
I leaned against Xiang Lan’s embrace, nodding, feeling my heart immediately smoothed.
Xiang Lan held up her finger, whispering in my ear: “Let’s make a promise – next time, no matter what unpleasant things you hear, you won’t use violence, and won’t curse like a shrew, okay?” I said “okay” and linked my pinky fingers with hers.
Afterward, whenever I heard idle talk, I’d remember Xiang Lan’s words, quickly extinguishing my anger and calmly letting go, only silently striving to make others proud. Many years later, reflecting on this incident, I finally understood what Xiang Lan had taught me that day.
Later, my father married Uncle Lin’s fourth sister as his second wife, making Xiang Lan my aunt. I had little emotional connection with my stepmother, merely maintaining appearances. She didn’t mistreat me, but we couldn’t pretend to be a loving mother and son, so we simply kept our distance. Aunt still cared for me, having me visit when she returned to the capital or sending someone to bring me to Jin Ling for half a year.
I loved staying with my Uncle and Aunt – it was peaceful and warm. Uncle, such a dominating figure, was like a cat basking in sunshine around Aunt. She bore him two sons and a daughter in her lifetime, and he never took another concubine. Once, when an official named Han Guang Ye sent a beautiful woman as a gift, Uncle tried to pass her to me, patting my shoulder and sighing: “Boy, you’re old enough to know about these things. Your old man has poor taste – look at those ghost-faced maids around you. Uncle loves you, so here’s a good one.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, awkwardly stammering: “Uncle should keep her, Uncle should keep her.”
Uncle chuckled: “If I keep her, your aunt won’t say anything, but she’ll be hurt inside.” He sighed deeply, “You haven’t been to the battlefield yet, you don’t understand what it means to share life-and-death bonds. Your aunt and I share such a bond, and I love her – I can’t bear to hurt her. Besides, those green girls are just fresh to the eyes; they can’t discuss worldly matters or share knowledge – there’s no meaning there. For true comfort, it’s the one sitting in your house by your bed. You’ll understand when you find someone you truly care for.” Speaking like a romantic sage, he patted my shoulder again with an “I’m experienced, you’re too green, you don’t understand, no one understands me” expression, then hurried off to find Aunt while sighing repeatedly.
Aunt’s eldest son, Lin Kuo, looked exactly like Uncle but was extremely reserved and steady, showing natural authority even at a young age. He never complained about martial arts or studies, and later took over Uncle’s position commanding the Lin family army. When Brother Kuo was eight, Aunt bore a daughter named Lin Jun Rong, who was delicately beautiful. Uncle adored her immensely.
Sister Rong began learning the zither at age five, daily producing “discordant notes in confusion.” Every pluck and every string seemed to strike one’s temples, unbearably awful – even cotton beaters outside played better. Uncle must have gone deaf, as he thought Sister Rong played heavenly music, always asking her to “play a tune for Father to enjoy” whenever he had free time, sitting majestically in the Moon-Viewing Pavilion’s armchair, patting his leg to the rhythm, nodding his head.
By the time Sister Rong’s playing became somewhat decent, Aunt bore their youngest son, Lin Xian. Uncle proudly said: “My two sons, Lin Kuo and Lin Xian – ‘broad’ and ‘leisure’ – there’s deep meaning in these names.” However, Young Master Xian was mischievous as a monkey from childhood, never still for a moment.
He looked more like his Aunt but had an Uncle’s temperament completely, always causing trouble like a little tyrant. Everyone thought the troublemaker would make a good general, perhaps another Lin family military leader, but unexpectedly he suddenly showed aptitude for studies and eventually became a Provincial Administrative Commissioner.
I was very close to my Uncle’s three children as if they were my real siblings. When Sister Rong married, Brother Kuo couldn’t return from the southwest where he commanded troops, so I carried her to her wedding sedan as an elder brother. Uncle’s eyes were red all day, secretly wiping them, and Aunt quietly said Uncle hadn’t slept all night, regretting not finding a live-in son-in-law instead of seeking prestige with the Top Scholar.
When I reached marriageable age, I had earned the rank of Fourth-Grade Commander through sword and valor alone. My stepmother wanted to arrange my marriage. My father’s relationship with her was cool and distant; he was busy with military affairs and rarely home, keeping me with him in the army for training. My stepmother had no choice. She had two daughters, and though her third child was finally a son, he died young. Everyone advised her to plan – better to bear children herself, but if she couldn’t, better to choose from the existing children to adopt as her own. After much consideration, she chose me and wanted to find me a powerful family to marry into. When Aunt learned of this, she arranged matches, having Uncle pass the chosen candidates to Father, who agreed immediately. I married the daughter of Hanlin Academy’s Scholar Qiao. Lady Qiao was pretty and virtuous, lively and cheerful, with knowledge of classics and arts. Our married life was very satisfying.
In my second year of marriage, the Emperor passed away, and the Crown Prince inherited the throne. Soon after, he reversed the Shen family’s wrongful case, returning all confiscated property. However, the Shen family was extinct, and ultimately this property came to me. My father’s expression was complex when he finally told me about the past, posthumously recognizing my mother as his wife, and her grave was properly moved to the Yuan family’s ancestral burial ground. Father personally oversaw the grave transfer. When the coffin was lifted, he gently touched it, his eyes full of sorrow, lips pale. Though it wasn’t cold in early spring, Father trembled slightly.
My wife softly told me: “Father is like this because of grief. I heard he’s kept Grandmother’s portrait in his study all these years – what true devotion.” Her words carried hints of admiration. I silently offered Mother a cup of wine, pouring it on her grave. I thought, this probably wasn’t what mother cared about – not posthumous vindication with full honors, nor Father’s decades of guilt and true feelings. That poor woman probably wanted to live like an Aunt, happily with her husband and children. But she had been full of despair, not knowing when the long wait and torment would end, so she could wait and endure no longer. If she had known the Shen family would one day be vindicated, what would she have done? If she had known I would make her so proud, what would she have done? Would she still have heartlessly abandoned me?
But there are never any “ifs” in this world.