Leaving one’s homeland—easy to say, yet difficult in its way.
Datong Prefecture was where the Wen family had lived for generations. Their ancestors had served in local government for several generations. Later, Wen Lu was transferred to Beijing at the age of thirty due to his notable achievements in the region. Ding Yi was born after this move, so her feelings of homesickness remained only at a surface level, without being deeply etched into her bones. For her, survival was possible anywhere—whether she lived well was secondary, but her state of mind made a significant difference.
People came and went on the street as she sat sideways in the doorway, styling hair for customers. A peachwood comb dipped in a bowl of hair oil, its teeth deeply penetrating. With one stroke to the end, she wound the hair into a graceful bun, secured it with a hairpin, adorned it with emerald kingfisher feather decorations the size of a fingernail, and completed the hairstyle.
She smiled as she handed over a mirror for the customer to see, “When combing, the comb shouldn’t touch the scalp too closely—pressing too tightly makes the hair appear thin.” She lifted a strand of her hair to demonstrate, “Do it like this, gathering loosely, teasing back bit by bit. This technique is most fashionable in Beijing now—it creates volume, so the hair doesn’t seem sparse.”
The customer tried it herself, looking in the mirror from different angles, and smiled, “Young lady, you have excellent skill. Ordinary families like ours can’t afford hairdressers, so we figure out hairstyles ourselves. My hands are clumsy—I can’t style well and use too much oil. Every day it looks like I’ve been fished out of water. The pillowcase needs washing every other day—it’s embarrassing to admit.”
She made a few polite remarks, then turned to pack the selected bottles, jars, and combs into a bundle, placing it in the customer’s basket. “When you’re done, come back next time. My oils are freshly made—they won’t spoil even after a year or two.”
The customer nodded, then studied her—a mass of glossy black hair cascading down her back, with only the upper half tied back with a cord. She wondered why, with such skill, the young lady didn’t style her hair. There were so many beautiful hairstyles nowadays—being in this profession, why didn’t she take care of her appearance?
“Young lady, you’d look good with a big braid or a topknot. I often see you styling others, but what about yourself? Is it inconvenient to do your own?”
She was tidying things on the table and paused at these words. Turning her head to look at the rising sun above the opposite shop, a faint smile appeared at the corners of her eyes. She said, “I have my hairdresser. He says he’ll learn many hairstyles and gradually style mine for me.”
The customer didn’t quite understand. Where had this hairdresser gone? Since the young lady opened her shop, this person had never appeared. Leaving the shop owner with her hair loose every day—keeping such a hairdresser could only mean the young lady was exceptionally patient.
After the customer left, the shop quieted down. Ding Yi put everything back in its place and sat down on the couch. The sun rose higher, and the room was filled with a faint fragrance. Yet the scent wasn’t pure—it carried a certain stickiness that made its source indiscernible. She liked this scent, had liked it since the day the Twelfth Prince gave her the hair oil. And that rhinoceros horn comb—she always carried it with her, never daring to part with it.
She thought there must be many men in the world who gave small trinkets to the girls they loved—things like tassels, rouge, hairpins, and the like… So she opened a small shop, situated between a bookstore and an antique shop. The tiny space, only about ten square feet, specialized in items for young ladies. Sometimes she sold hair oil, and women who couldn’t style their hair well would ask for her advice. Having been a girl herself for just over half a year, she hadn’t mastered many techniques, so she had no choice but to learn from others, and then pass on what she learned. She could style hair but only did so for others. She had thought to herself that if she ever saw the Twelfth Prince again, she would put her hair up—after all, she was no longer a maiden. If they couldn’t meet again, she would remain this way for life—without someone to style her hair, what was there to look forward to?
Shanxi wasn’t far from Beijing. Looking eastward, she could mentally sketch a scene with Dengshikou Street and the vast waters of Houhai. She knew that place well—where she had struggled to survive and met the man destined for her. Unfortunately, she didn’t know if she could ever return. The passage out of the border had been cut off, forcing them to move through many places. Fighting against the authorities wasn’t easy. After hiding for a long time and finding it difficult to leave the Great Ying, they had no choice. Ru Jian had suggested returning to Datong—their roots were there, and even if something happened, they wouldn’t feel regret.
This decision hadn’t been wrong—it was peaceful here. Ru Jian, being resourceful, had partnered with someone in the coal business. With nothing to do herself and a tendency to overthink, she decided to open a shop to pass the time.
The siblings each had their activities and coexisted peacefully. However, sometimes she missed Hong Ce unbearably and blamed her third brother for ruining her relationship. Finding someone who truly cared for you was rare in a lifetime—miss this chance, and there might never be another. She had left nothing behind except memories of that night, which filled her with bitterness when recalled.
She wondered how he was doing now—did he miss her too? Sometimes she felt confident, believing herself unique, but more often she felt uncertain. She feared he would marry someone else—willing or not, imperial edicts were hard to defy, and he would be powerless. So she tried not to think about it. At first, she would inquire about news from Beijing, but gradually this faded. She hoped to withdraw from these thoughts—clinging to them for life wasn’t the answer.
She calmed herself and completed a few transactions. By midday, Ru Jian came to find her. This was one good thing—no matter how busy he was or how much money passed through his hands, Ru Jian had every meal with her. Even if it meant ordering two bowls of noodles and some pastries from the neighboring shop, they would eat and talk together.
He picked out a large piece of meat from his bowl for her, “Today I met Master Pang. We’ve secured the northern hillside—it’s an auspicious location. In the future, it will be enough to sustain us.”
Ding Yi made a sound of acknowledgment, “The master selling hillsides—isn’t he afraid of being questioned from above?”
Ru Jian said, “He wouldn’t dare without the prefect’s authorization. This place is poor—the few hundred taels of ‘clean hands’ silver the court sends annually isn’t even enough to fill a tooth gap. When a money-making opportunity arises, everyone’s eyes turn red as they scramble to grab it. If problems arise, they’ll deal with them later.” Sensing her fear of exposure, he quickly added, “Don’t worry, I had someone else put their name on it—even an investigation wouldn’t trace back to us. How’s it going here? With many people coming and going, this situation may not be good long-term. You’re of marriageable age now. Third Brother has found someone for you—from a good family with decent character. Let’s arrange the wedding this winter!”
He tried to sound casual, but Ding Yi was still shocked, “In our current situation, Third Brother wants me to marry?”
“A woman needs a home. I’m afraid of delaying and ruining your chances. If something were to happen to me one day, at least there would be someone to take care of you.” Ru Jian put down his chopsticks, glanced at her, and frowned, “I understand your feelings, but some relationships can’t be forced. When it’s time to look forward, don’t look back. The family I mentioned isn’t involved in government—our families were old friends, which saves many complications. You won’t suffer if you marry into their household. Seeing you settled would put my mind at ease. Then I could focus entirely on making money. As your natal family grows stronger, your position there will strengthen, and no one will dare mistreat you.”
Ding Yi just listened, hands folded in her lap, her heart darkening. “I presume that family has already seen me?”
Ru Jian confirmed, “You insisted on opening a shop, with people coming and going—it wasn’t difficult for others to see you.”
In her mind, opening the shop meant she had decided never to marry. Otherwise, as a proper Han Chinese girl, there would be no reason for her to be so publicly visible. Yet even so, she couldn’t escape being arranged for. She was unwilling and put down her chopsticks, “Why harm another family? Even if I married, I couldn’t be wholeheartedly committed. Does Third Brother find me a burden? We siblings have only been reunited for half a year, yet you’re already eager to marry me off. If that’s the case, I might as well have stayed with the Twelfth Prince. Third Brother, I left with you out of sibling affection, not to marry elsewhere.”
Ru Jian was taken aback by her words, “Having you marry is for your good—why speak like this? We were born of the same parents—even if I disliked myself, I couldn’t dislike you. Very well, if you’re unwilling, I won’t force you. I can still support one sister. Let’s eat—forget what I just said. I’ll find a way to decline the proposal.”
Ding Yi had lost her appetite. As refugees, settling in a place, agreeing to a marriage proposal, and then backing out—what if the family harbored a grudge? Sometimes she felt Ru Jian was skilled at using a soft knife to cut people. While saying everything was up to her, he had brought her to a point of no return—what choice did she have? But this time she couldn’t compromise. Marrying someone else would betray the Twelfth Prince. Her principle was that she’d rather others wrong her than she ever wrong others.
“Have you inquired about our family’s case? Is it still being investigated?”
Ru Jian said, “The court has stopped the investigation—it ends here. Perhaps the Emperor thought the case had no leads and continuing would be a waste of effort. The Twelfth Prince has now stopped, secluding himself in his residence without venturing out. This is good—since there’s no hope of redressing the case, the sooner things settle down, the sooner we won’t need to hide anymore once the attention passes.”
They each harbored their thoughts through the rest of the meal. After finishing, Ru Jian went out on business again, leaving Ding Yi feeling empty. Standing by the window, she stared blankly. The case being dropped wasn’t good news for her—her only connection to his heart was gone. Slowly, he would forget her! Before parting, she had said she hoped he would forget her, but that was a lie. She wanted him to remember her forever, to never marry anyone else, but she couldn’t be so selfish. She hadn’t left him even a word, and she didn’t know what he thought. Perhaps he was gritting his teeth in hatred toward her now.
Her sighs were endless, from spring to autumn. Winter was approaching—perhaps this is how it would always be!
The sun gradually moved overhead, and by noon, there were few pedestrians on the street. This small market wasn’t very busy to begin with and wouldn’t see business until the hour of Shen (3-5 pm). Ding Yi was accustomed to closing at noon—after all, she wasn’t relying on this shop to make a fortune. Without much pressure, her life was relatively relaxed and pleasant.
She went to the doorway to move the wooden panels—each about a foot wide and taller than a person. Though the storefront wasn’t large, it still required the patient installation of more than ten panels. Holding the last panel, she glanced outside and saw someone standing under the eaves of the shop across the street. Dressed in a neat long robe with a red sash around his waist, he was looking in her direction. Her heart raced—red sashes were used by members of the imperial clan’s collateral branches to display their status. Since the Founding Emperor’s generation, the main imperial line was called “zongzi” and wore yellow sashes, while the descendants of the Founding Emperor’s uncles and brothers were called “Gioro” and wore red sashes, indicating their relation to the imperial family without being in the main line. Why would someone with a red sash be in such a small place? Could there be trouble? She panicked and hurriedly installed the panel.
She couldn’t sleep now. After sitting quietly in the room for a while, fortunately, the man eventually left, and there was no further activity. She breathed a sigh of relief—perhaps it was just a coincidence! Yet she secretly hoped that if it were the Twelfth Prince who had found her, how wonderful that would be. She missed him terribly. Separated for nine months, she often dreamed of him with his back turned to her. She feared that with more time, she would forget his face.
In the afternoon, she had no heart for minding the store and closed early at the end of the hour of Shen.
They had rented a house in an alley—nothing grand, just an ordinary dwelling similar to the courtyard houses in Beijing, with a single entrance at the deepest end of the alley. The neighbors would nod and greet them but kept their distance, maintaining only superficial acquaintances.
On returning home that day, she noticed people moving around in front of the house across the wall. That house had been vacant for some time; the owners had gone out of town for business, leaving relatives to look after it. They had initially wanted to buy that house, but it was too large for the four of them—the siblings plus Ru Jian’s two attendants—so they had chosen their current one instead. Now, seeing people coming and going, she figured it had been sold and new neighbors had arrived.
She watched for a while, merely out of curiosity. The young wife from across the way came out with a basin, standing on the brick ledge and calling to her, “I heard they’re from your hometown—also from Beijing.”
She was somewhat surprised and casually replied, “That’s wonderful then—we can socialize in the future.” Without lingering, she smiled and went back inside.
Having eaten out at midday, she made dinner herself, chopping vegetables in the back kitchen, and preparing cucumber salad with crushed garlic. In Datong, she maintained Beijing-style cooking, preferring dishes like braised eggplant. Their stove wasn’t very good—the previous owner, seeking convenience, had just made a hole in the wall without installing a chimney. The smoke would go wherever the wind blew, turning the entire kitchen into “a world of smoke and fire” during cooking. Today the south wind was blowing, sending all the smoke into the north room of the new neighbor’s house. Standing in the back kitchen, Ding Yi heard it—before long, earth-shattering coughs came from across the wall. She wiped her face, feeling guilty, and stuck out her tongue.
Later, she didn’t dare cook much more, making do with what she had. She planned to go to the blacksmith the next day to get a curved pipe made. That night, she anxiously worried that someone from the north room would come to complain, but fortunately, they showed good tolerance. There was no reaction for two consecutive days, and the matter was forgotten.
Days passed unhurriedly, with Ding Yi opening her shop at regular hours for business, just as before. Sometimes when she returned home, she would find two fish or a bunch of amaranth hanging on the door knocker, assuming Ru Jian had left them when passing by without time to enter. She didn’t inquire further. Later, the vegetables turned into flowers—a wreath or a pot filled with water, containing roses—making her suspect something was amiss. Perhaps it was the potential brother-in-law Ru Jian had in mind, offering sweet gestures to get closer to her.
She wasn’t pleased and no longer took these items inside, simply leaving them by the door. Strangely, she recently felt someone was secretly watching her. Upon careful observation of her surroundings, she found nothing inappropriate, not knowing where this feeling came from. Until one day, while planting green onions at the base of the wall, she discovered a cup-sized peephole hidden behind a loofah trellis, realizing all suspicions originated from the new neighbor next door. She was furious and wanted to confront them but worried they would deny everything. After all, without evidence, who would admit to spying? After some thought, she found a piece of cloth to plug the hole. Those who had been comfortably watching would suddenly see nothing but darkness—like being slapped in the face! After blocking it, her mind settled, and she busied herself with cooking and watering plants until lantern-lighting time.
Ru Jian returned late that day. Bored, she thought again about the hole. A flash of inspiration struck her—if they could watch her, why couldn’t she watch them back? She wanted to see who these people were and what kind of household they had.
She went over, carefully approached the spot, and reached out to remove the cloth plug. She put her eye to the hole.
The view across was quite ordinary—a three-bay black-tiled house with four pillars in front of the door and ox tendon balls hanging from the eaves. Two attendants stood guard in front of the main room, suggesting someone of means had rented it. With such means, why engage in peeping? What an inappropriate habit! As she pondered alone, she wondered if she was overthinking, and perhaps the brick had simply deteriorated over time, not that someone was spying on her. With this thought, what she was doing now seemed improper. She should withdraw—the other side hadn’t done anything wrong; it was she who had a petty mind.
Just as she was about to retreat, a piece of clothing floated into her limited field of vision—sky-blue brocade with lotus patterns, the design visible. She was astonished and had no time to react before the lotus patterns disappeared. The lamplight from the eaves shone over, illuminating a temple. Ding Yi nearly screamed in shock—across the wall, someone was staring directly at her through the hole.