In Furong City, March brings endless rain, and April brings embroidery needles.

According to the “Complete Literary Records of Shu,” “The land of Shu is rich, producing silk and brocade. The people craft items like ice embroidery, renowned as the finest under heaven.” Even before the Western Han dynasty, Shu embroidery was as famous as Shu brocade. Now it has evolved into 12 major categories with 122 diverse stitching techniques, ranking among China’s Four Famous Embroideries alongside Su, Xiang, and Yue embroidery.

Clothing gains prestige through embroidery, with silk “enhanced by five-colored craftsmanship and needle-thread decoration” becoming truly precious. It complements brocade, adding flowers to silk.

Needlework was a proper business for unmarried women. In the Tang Dynasty, it was common for young women to make pouches for their lovers, as the saying goes: “Needlework time wasted in casual delay, laughing, she asks how to stitch the characters for ‘pair of mandarin ducks.'”

While the Ji family forbade Ji Yingying from learning dyeing techniques, they strongly encouraged her embroidery.

Better to have her embroider more items than give her a beating—it could even earn some household silver. Widowed Madam Ji, maintaining the household and raising two children alone, made even punishments practical.

Ji Yingying’s embroidery room occupied the western secondary room of the main building. Since beginning her across-the-street gazing with Zhao Xiuyuan, her desire to leave the side courtyard grew more urgent than ever. Except for meals and rest, three embroidery frames stood in her workroom, where Ji Yingying happily stitched away with Ling’er and Xiang’er.

“Young Miss, is this appropriate?” asked Ling’er. She spoke less than Xiang’er and wasn’t disloyal to Ji Yingying. But with her indentured papers in Madam Ji’s hands and orders to spy, she had to report truthfully.

Ji Yingying understood she couldn’t blame Ling’er, though she certainly couldn’t like her. Hearing Ling’er’s question, she looked up and glared: “Madam said to embroider ten scrolls of sutras, but didn’t forbid you from helping, nor specify which sutra! If you don’t want to embroider, go tell Madam. Even if I’m confined, she must keep her word!”

The young miss had a point. Reassured, Ling’er lowered her head and focused on her embroidery.

The Heart Sutra was the shortest, about two hundred characters. With two maids helping, they could finish in under ten days. Ji Yingying felt increasingly pleased with herself. How clever she was!

Just then, loud knocking echoed from the courtyard gate. Ji Yingying instantly recognized her brother’s knock. She stuck her needle in the embroidery frame and ran out happily.

Before reaching the gate, she saw the rough servant woman unlock it and Ji Yaoting entered carrying a large roll of bamboo paper.

“Brother, I missed you so much! You haven’t visited for days—I’m dying of boredom!” Ji Yingying complained, pulling Ji Yaoting to sit on the bamboo chairs under the hackberry tree. She called toward the embroidery room, “Xiang’er, brew some tea!”

Ji Yaoting, preoccupied, studied his sister with scrutiny.

She was in the flower of youth. Her fair complexion was unblemished, with a healthy flush requiring no rouge. Soft down hair framed her ears, resembling tender peaches on the branch, so fresh one wanted to take a bite.

“Yingying…”

“What is it?”

Ji Yingying instinctively drew back. From her understanding of her brother, he only used her name for difficult matters. Usually, it was “sister,” “little sister,” or “my dear sister.” She lifted her chin proudly: “I swore to Mother I wouldn’t enter the dye house or dye anything. Don’t try to persuade me. I don’t want to be confined at home forever.”

Xiang’er came out with a tea tray and set it on the wooden table.

Ji Yaoting waved at her, surveyed the courtyard, and instructed, “Bring some bamboo clips.”

Several clotheslines stretched from tree to wall in the courtyard. What was her brother planning? Ji Yingying looked down at the bamboo paper roll on the table: “Brother, Mother hasn’t changed her mind about having me embroider door curtains or screens, has she? I’m too busy. She said ten sutras, not large pieces. Of course, I could do it—if she lets me go out.”

Tang Dynasty custom favored boiled tea, and Shu’s beautiful mountains held many tea plantations where loose tea had emerged. Ji Yaoting poured two cups of tea and smiled, “Look how suspicious you are. Brother just wants your help appreciating some fine brushwork paintings.”

Really? Ji Yingying felt something was off about her brother today. She reached for the paintings on the table, but Ji Yaoting stopped her: “It’s tiring to look at them this way. Let’s hang them up—it’ll be more convenient.”

Ji Yingying made a sound of understanding, finally realizing why her brother had asked Xiang’er for bamboo clips. She sipped her tea, glancing sideways toward the Zhao mansion, and asked vaguely, “Brother, how did that errand I asked about go?”

How did it go? The Zhao family matriarch, Zhao Xiuyuan’s mother, clearly disapproved. Seeing Ji Yingying trying to act casual while betraying shy affection, Ji Yaoting couldn’t bring himself to say it: “The brocade competition is on the ninth of the tenth month. Old Master Zhao wants another brocade painting woven, so he’s too busy.”

She had guessed as much. That wretched Zhao Xiuyuan couldn’t even send Zhao Ping to tell her, making her go to the back mountain for nothing, where she even encountered a caterpillar. Just wait until he finished his brocade—she’d show him. Ji Yingying grumbled internally but brightened visibly: “Brother, let me see what paintings you’ve brought!”

“Close your eyes and don’t peek. Wait until I’m ready, then turn around, understand?” Ji Yaoting picked up the paintings and stood, calling Xiang’er to fetch Ling’er to help clip the paintings to the clothesline.

The two maids looked at the paintings in surprise, but a glare from Ji Yaoting sent them away with a wave of his hand.

“Brother, are you done yet?” Ji Yingying truly resisted turning around, though she noticed her maids’ strange expressions. They curtsied to her and ran back to the embroidery room, faces red.

“Sister, come look!”

Ji Yaoting was proud of his efforts these past few days. The trouble had been worth it!

Ji Yingying turned around happily, then froze. A long row of fine brushwork portraits hung on the clothesline. Each depicted a man—some standing, some seated, both full-body and facial portraits.

What was her brother doing?

Ji Yaoting strode over and pulled his sister by the arm to the first painting: “This is the young master of Shengji Woodworks. You know Shengji, right? Their furniture is said to last a hundred years. Last year at the brocade competition, you admired that complete set of redwood vanity boxes—nine boxes nested inside each other, with those especially delicate silver inlays. You said you wanted to save your private money to buy them. Remember? Young Master Sheng is seventeen this year, very skilled with his hands. Look, isn’t he refined? Most importantly, he only has two sisters, both engaged. No one to fight over the inheritance. Everyone in the neighborhood knows his good temperament. He definitely wouldn’t bully you.”

Ji Yingying’s heart felt like it had been pricked by a needle. She shuddered.

“This portrait is of Second Young Master Zhu from the Zhu family dye house in Sandaoyan. You like dyeing silk, right? You can’t learn as a Ji daughter, but it’s no problem as someone’s wife. You’ve met Second Young Master Zhu—when you were little, you kicked him into the water and he just smiled foolishly at you. Now he’s grown tall, an inch taller than me even. His friends praise his generous and chivalrous nature. I could tell from childhood—Second Young Master Zhu only shows his foolish side around you. He’d be wrapped around your finger.”

Ji Yaoting grew increasingly excited. Among these men were some who had previously proposed, like Second Young Master Zhu, and others he had sought out himself. He had invested heavily, spending lots of private silver hiring idlers to gather information. Not only was the information complete, but he had commissioned artists to paint careful portraits. Every family’s status matched the Ji family’s, and each man had good looks and temperament. He had even considered their parents, choosing only from kind-hearted families.

Tears fell without warning from Ji Yingying’s eyes. She looked up through the hackberry branches toward the Zhao family’s Vine Garden. She couldn’t believe it. She refused to believe that Zhao Xiuyuan, who had stood at his empty window spreading his arms toward her, wouldn’t marry her.

“Yingying.” Ji Yaoting had been speaking enthusiastically when he happened to look back and saw his sister’s tear-streaked face, making his heartache. He gently drew her into his embrace, softly patting her back, momentarily at a loss for words.

“Let him tell me himself.” Ji Yingying pushed away from her brother. She pressed her lips together, her tear-soaked eyelashes betraying her stubborn expression.

Ji Yaoting scratched his head. He hadn’t even seen Zhao Xiuyuan.

“The Zhao family is busy with the brocade competition…”

“In a few days is the Mid-Autumn Festival. Mother will let me go to Huanhua Stream to release lanterns. I’ll wait for him at Songxian Bridge,” Ji Yingying declared, then glared at Ji Yaoting. “If you don’t want me to marry him, let him tell me himself. Then I won’t pursue him!”

She turned and walked toward the house. Ji Yaoting opened his mouth but couldn’t call her back. Dejectedly, he took down all the paintings.

After a few steps, Ji Yingying turned back to Ji Yaoting and said, “Keep them all for me, don’t throw them away!”

“All right, all right.” Ji Yaoting agreed, then burst out laughing. See, this was his sister—she wouldn’t die of heartbreak over a man who couldn’t marry her.