My name is Shen Yuzhu. Above me is an elder sister named Zhenzhu, and below me are two younger sisters named Baozhu and Jinzhu. My elder sister and I share the same mother, while the two younger sisters do not.
I have always felt great sympathy for my youngest sister. With such an auspicious-sounding name, everything she wore or adorned from childhood onward had to be related to pigs — for instance, a small bracelet dangling a golden pig’s head, and a pair of fuzzy shoes embroidered with plump little pigs in gold thread.
My youngest sister was a melancholy soul.
In my view, one cannot blame Father entirely. He was never good at naming people to begin with — all of our names were chosen by Mother. Elder Sister, being the firstborn daughter, got the best pick. I came into the world a little late, and so ended up with something along the lines of “flawless jade.” Of course, one cannot blame our stepmother either; she never intended to have so many children. In fact, the milk-names she gave my four half-brothers on her side were even more pitiable to behold — in order: Big Mao, Little Mao, Ah Mao, and Mao Mao. Even the little mongrel dog raised by Steward Zhou’s son had a better name than those.
They say a humble name keeps a child hearty and easy to raise, and that saying was not wrong — all four of the Mao brothers were strapping and robust, especially Big Mao. He had just turned ten, and within fourteen moves could already knock Elder Brother flat on the ground. Father was delighted, declaring this to be a sign of exceptional natural talent. But our Yiniang, who was also our little maternal aunt, was not at all pleased, and she dragged us siblings off yet again to weep before our late mother’s memorial tablet.
Why “yet again”? Because Little Aunt led us in this activity every two or three days. If Father heard her, all the better. If he didn’t, she would cry until he heard. If he pretended not to hear, she would cry until he could no longer pretend.
I found it thoroughly tiresome.
From the time we were small, Little Aunt told us to be on guard against Father’s new wife — that stepmothers were all black-hearted, that our younger sisters would steal Father’s affection, that the half-brothers would steal Elder Brother’s title. She was forever fond of invoking the harrowing tales from the Ningyuan Marquis household to motivate us not to let down our guard against our stepmother and the half-siblings.
Beyond that, Little Aunt was always urging us to ingratiate ourselves with Father, to seize opportunities to ask for this or that — farmsteads, shops, assignments, rewards — the more the better. Elder Brother stiffened his face and had no idea what to do. Elder Sister was born to be a grand young lady of a great house and only knew how to wait for others to dote on her. In the end it fell to me to be blunt and say directly: I would not do it.
Little Aunt had no choice but to demonstrate herself.
In truth, she had no particularly clever methods — it was merely the same cycle of weeping before Father over how virtuous and selfless our late mother had been, making implicit and explicit reminders that he must remember her day and night, that he must not be without conscience. I greatly disliked this. I felt that Mother could find no peace even in the earth below — dead, and still people would exploit her.
Elder Sister was profoundly dissatisfied with my uncooperative attitude, thinking me a heartless little wretch with no sense of which side she was on, and she tearfully murmured, “Have you forgotten our departed mother?”
This accusation made me feel both guilty and deeply wronged. When Mother passed, I had not yet learned to speak and had no memory of it at all. Of Mother, I retained only a dim impression of a gentle, warm feeling. Everyone said my mother was wonderful — the most considerate person in the world — and I believed this without the slightest reservation.
Of course Mother was wonderful. But what did Mother being wonderful have to do with whether Little Aunt was good or bad, or with our maternal uncles and aunts and the sixth female cousins of the Zou family? Little Flower and Little Yellow were kittens born of the same litter — one was perfectly sweet, always curled on my lap basking in the sun, while the other was terribly mischievous, biting and carrying things all over the garden, causing endless trouble.
Father had always trusted Mother deeply, and loving her associates by extension was understandable — but did that mean one must also trust every wall and crow that came with her?
At any rate, I did not trust the Zou family people — including Little Aunt.
Little Aunt disliked my stubborn, contrary nature. When she opened her mouth, it was always “Elder Brother this” and “Elder Sister that,” and I tired of listening to her carry on.
She was always saying that we siblings were her own flesh and blood, and that having us was all she needed. Then why did she spend all year hunting for physicians, seeking out Daoist priests, and petitioning nuns, spending money like water? All to have a child — swallowing such bitter medicine, enduring scalding moxibustion, burning herself black and yellow in patches until she looked like the mangy dog of little Zhou An. Why go through all that?
I asked my wet nurse why, and she smiled with great warmth and stroked my head: “Our Miss Yu is truly clever — much sharper than your brother and sister.”
That was beside the point. What was truly astounding was that Little Aunt actually wanted to marry me off to our maternal uncle’s youngest son!
Day after day she told me how wonderful Uncle’s household was, how much Aunt loved me, and every two or three days she would press and ask, “Are you willing, dear?” She even told Father, “Yu’er and Shun Ge’er get along splendidly — they play together every single day and can’t bear to be parted. It truly is ‘a match made in heaven!'” The moment I started to say, “We fight every day and I can’t stand him,” Little Aunt laughed and cut me off, refusing to let me continue, saying, “Children always grow closer the more they quarrel” — this drove me absolutely mad!
Wet Nurse had always said that marriage is spending an entire lifetime living alongside another person — who would want to live out a lifetime with that fat fool?!
Little Cousin was Uncle’s late-born child, at once domineering and unattractive, who did not study and loved to bully people. Yet Aunt treated him like the apple of her eye. He even dared to beat and scold my maids — what gall! The very thought of that pig-faced mug of his made me feel ill!
Elder Sister actually came to persuade me with that expression of a dignified elder sister and opened her mouth telling me to bear our late mother’s kindness in mind. I shot back at once: “Since Elder Sister holds Uncle’s family in such warm regard, why not marry Big Cousin yourself?”
Elder Sister went as silent as an old yellow goose with someone’s hand around its neck.
Hmph. Who can’t be generous with someone else’s sacrifice? I simply did not believe that if Mother were still alive, she would make me marry that ugly brute! Little Aunt only picked on the soft target — knowing Elder Sister had her heart set on a prestigious match, she preyed on me for being young and easy to deceive.
Of all us siblings, it was Elder Brother who trusted Little Aunt the most.
Our maternal uncles had even harbored the idea of having Elder Brother marry a Zou family cousin as his principal wife.
Elder Brother was willing enough on his own, but it sent Father into such a rage that he nearly fell over backward. He immediately drove out the cousin who had been lodging in our household, issued a stern order that until Elder Brother was married, no Zou family girls were to visit without his express approval, had Elder Brother given several dozen lashes, slapped Little Aunt several dozen times across the face, and had an entire canonical scripture transcribed as penance.
Little Aunt wept as though she were dying, pointing at Father and crying: “If the Marquis holds the Zou family in such contempt, does he forget that my elder sister bore that name?”
Father laughed aloud right there in his fury and, for the first time when Little Aunt invoked Mother, spoke with perfect clarity and conviction: “Those were your sister’s own words while she lived. She said the brothers on her side of the family were not worthy of trust, and that the sisters-in-law were not the sort who could raise good children. One might extend extra support to them in other ways, but absolutely not allow our sons and daughters to be drawn into such marriages!”
After this, Little Aunt wilted for a full six months, and the Zou family finally quieted down and stopped scheming over our siblings’ marriages.
Wet Nurse held me and wept quietly: “Your mother’s life was a hard one — born to toil from the start, she barely enjoyed a day of ease in her entire life. As a girl, your grandfather was weak-willed, without backbone, her virtuous mother died young, and her brothers and sisters-in-law wanted to use her to climb higher — yet she held firm and married your father. After following your father, she managed everything inside and out: the household, the Wang estate, every matter found its way to her. My old companion advised your mother to take care of her health. But for over a decade your mother had grown accustomed to doing everything herself, always pushing forward and striving — how could a temperament like that ever change!”
I did not fully understand what I heard, but felt a sadness well up without cause, and wept along for a while.
Not long after, our cousin the Princess was betrothed into marriage, and the household grew even more lively.
Elder Brother, having listened to who knows whose persuasion, demanded that his wife “treat Little Aunt as a proper mother-in-law.” Our Princess Sister-in-law nearly had her nose twisted sideways with rage and nearly lifted the roof off the house, while Elder Brother fled in every direction in fright. But all the commotion was for nothing — Little Aunt refused to release her grip on Elder Brother, and kept meddling in his household affairs. One day she sent in a maidservant, the next she invited the Zou cousin to stay for a visit and rekindle old feelings with Elder Brother.
Princess Sister-in-law was furious. She went into the palace to lodge a complaint with the Empress, and then the Empress Aunt was furious. She dispatched palace matrons to give Little Aunt a thorough beating, and the Second Imperial Cousin came up with a particularly bad idea: he simply arranged a marriage for the Zou cousin that I cannot even name — the future husband was reportedly not only homely and coarse, but of unremarkable background as well.
Princess Sister-in-law gave Little Aunt a gentle smile that conveyed: introduce my husband to another romantic entanglement again and I will ask the Empress Consort to arrange lifetime matches for the Zou family daughters — there is no shortage of them — and you may think about that carefully.
Princess Sister-in-law was formidable, but Little Aunt was no pushover either. When direct methods failed, she worked in the shadows to trip up Princess Sister-in-law, causing Elder Brother’s nerves to misfire — at times he would grow cold toward the Princess, at times they would quarrel. In a given month, Sister-in-law spent half her days sulking alone in the Princess Residence, and the other half squabbling with Elder Brother at home, with the Second Imperial Cousin occasionally coming to help.
Half of the Shen household descended into chaos. Father could not bear the disruption and simply moved entirely into the Southern Garden to live with our stepmother, the two of them proceeding to have children to their hearts’ content.
Because Elder Brother’s marriage was so troubled, when it came time to arrange Elder Sister’s betrothal, Father clung desperately to our stepmother, insisting she help deliberate.
The Empress Aunt still cared deeply for Elder Sister, and had two options on hand, both excellent. One was the heir to Prince Wei’s estates — refined, distinguished, handsome and talented. The other was a young General Bao who had just returned to court after winning distinction at the frontier — a youthful hero, upright and extraordinary in bearing.
Stepmother spoke plainly and at once declared the Bao family preferable: “When it comes to daily life, one must look at the substance. The Bao family has a simple household, solid wealth, and a fine family reputation — that will be a household free of worry. The Wei heir is admirable, but he is after all of imperial royal descent — a noble prince’s household could accommodate four officially recognized secondary consorts, each with their own entourage of attendants. And since it is an imperial family, even if one suffers mistreatment, what recourse is there?”
This time even Father found it reasonable. But sadly, Elder Sister and Little Aunt were completely opposed, and Little Aunt told Elder Sister that this was the stepmother trying to prevent her from marrying into a prestigious household. Elder Sister thoroughly agreed.
In time, Elder Sister acquired a great many “good companions” — all varieties and shapes, plentiful as flowers.
Later, that young General Bao ended up benefiting the maternal granddaughter of Cousin Gu’s aunt. Stepmother actually took me along to drink at their wedding banquet. I did not see the bride, but I overheard many female guests chatting, saying that the second daughter of the Yuan family was well-known for her fertility, being also beautiful and virtuous, and that her eldest daughter was bound to be no different.
In time, the young General Bao and his wife were indeed a very harmonious couple and indeed had many children.
After both Elder Brother and Elder Sister established their own households, Stepmother saw that my days were spent running wild in mud and dirt with Big Mao — behaving impossibly — and, unable to bear it any longer, she sent me to study at the Zheng family’s school for young ladies, putting me under a teacher’s supervision to settle my nature somewhat.
Little Aunt panicked again, yet did not dare speak to Father directly for fear of being beaten again, and instead fumbled about with me for some time. Growing impatient, I said: “Isn’t Madam Xue a fine teacher?” Little Aunt replied, “…She is indeed a fine teacher.” “Would the Zheng family mistreat me?” With my little aunt present, how could they? Little Aunt: “Well, not necessarily.” “Then why are you unwilling for me to go?” “The Madam is deliberately being nice to you! She is trying to win you over! She wants to curry your favor!”
I stared at her and said: “And so what if she does.”
Little Aunt simply thought too much. She was roughly the same age as our stepmother, yet carried herself as though she were ten years older.
Years after Elder Brother’s marriage, the union remained cold and produced no heirs, while the Mao brothers grew bigger by the day. Father was deeply troubled. That year, the old Prince Wei passed away, and Elder Sister was to follow her husband to take up residence in his fief. Before she departed, Father specially gathered us siblings together for a meal.
After several rounds of wine, Father — always so resolute and iron-boned — wept. Father, who had never shown Elder Brother the least leniency, suddenly wept.
Elder Brother immediately panicked.
Father said to Elder Brother: “…Consider this your father begging you — send Yiniang Zou away. You and the Princess cannot go on like this… The Princess is no ordinary daughter-in-law. She is full of grievances now, and having no legitimate heir herself, she refuses to acknowledge the children born of concubines. At that point, the title…”
Both Elder Sister and I understood. Elder Sister also wept and added her voice to the plea: “Brother, please listen to Father just this once. Little Aunt… Little Aunt, she is… not a good person… she harbors ill intentions.”
I did not shed a single tear, and only said: “The First Imperial Cousin will sooner or later ascend the throne. If you continue to be this stubborn, Brother, coldly neglecting Princess Sister-in-law, you need not even wait until there are no legitimate heirs — once Father is no longer here, you will have no share of the title at all. By that time, you, as a prince consort, will only be able to live in dependence on Princess Sister-in-law.”
In truth, both Imperial Cousins held Father in considerable respect, but Father’s sons were not Elder Brother alone — every half-brother was equally Father’s son. Who inherited the title made no real difference to me; I only saw that Father looked truly pitiable.
Father was in great pain. He genuinely loved the brothers Stepmother had given him — each day he loved them a little more — yet in the depths of night his heart was still weighted down by our dead mother. He could neither advance nor retreat, and slowly wore himself to two temples of silver-white hair.
He was just an ordinary man — neither so unyielding as to be saintly, nor so cold as to be without feeling.
Of course he had loved our mother deeply and truly. But he could not withstand the erosion of years, with a younger wife beside him day after day. He could only act while his resolve was still firm — doing for Elder Brother everything that could be done, giving everything that could be given, honoring the promise of conscience made so many years before.
Father wept so wretchedly that tears streamed across his aged face, and he swayed as he made as if to rise: “…Must your father actually kneel before you?! I beg you — do not let me die unable to face your mother in the world below…”
Elder Brother finally crumbled. He wept as he agreed.
The following day, Elder Sister left the capital to travel far away with her husband to their fief. In this life, she never returned to the capital; from that point forward, whether things went well or ill for her, she could only hold her spine straight and endure it herself.
On the same day, a procession of matrons and maids bound up Little Aunt in the middle of the night and removed her from the Shen household, sending her directly to the family temple under strict supervision.
When the Empress Aunt learned of this, she specially summoned Princess Sister-in-law into the palace for a talk. The Princess returned with red-rimmed eyes, while Elder Brother went to her with red-rimmed eyes as well, and the two of them slowly softened their relationship. A few months later, Princess Sister-in-law was with child.
Father finally let out a long sigh of relief.
Stepmother remained as unmoved and composed as ever, as though this entire unfolding drama of sorrow and joy had nothing whatsoever to do with her.
In truth, I felt Stepmother had it rather hard. Such a fine family background, yet she had married into our household young as a replacement wife, inheriting a stepson as unreliable as Elder Brother, who could not even keep up appearances. A slightly more fragile woman would have long since died of anxiety. Yet she could direct household guards to kill intruders in the dead of night, gripping a sword with murderous resolve, at once imposing and spirited — far superior to that Little Aunt of mine who only trembled and shook, and to Elder Brother and Elder Sister as well.
Stepmother was not in truth very skilled at managing the household, nor did she have any particular enthusiasm for it. What she longed for was a peaceful, tranquil life of poetic beauty. Yet all her children were impossibly lively and energetic — from morning to night, there was not a moment of quiet in her courtyard.
Every time she had finished reviewing my lessons and sat down in the inner room, a cup of clear tea in hand, just settling herself to trace a few strokes of spare mountain-and-water ink painting, or compose a few lines of verse — at that precise moment —
Big Mao would be in the main room secretly taking Father’s treasured sword to play with, and Father, not daring to grab it by force, could only shout “Guifen, come quickly!” — Little Mao would be in the side room smearing Jinzhu’s face with ink until she looked like a painted cat, Jinzhu sitting on the heated bed wailing at the top of her lungs — Ah Mao and Mao Mao would be tussling into a heap in the adjacent room — Baozhu would abandon her calligraphy practice, climb up on my head to peer at the battle next door, and raise her voice shrilly: “Mother, listen, listen, the little brothers are at it again!” — while I screamed in fury: “You wretched girl, get down this instant, don’t pull my hair, I’m correcting my characters!”
Blue veins would stand out at Stepmother’s temples, the brush handle squeaking under her grip, and the usual result was that she would summon her inner energy and roar with all the fury of a lioness, shaking the very rafters of the room: “All of you — get OUT!”
The gap between life and one’s ideals is really rather vast — so remarked the Marchioness Gu upon witnessing such a scene on one occasion, with a smile.
Many people said that Stepmother was not close to me. In all honesty, she was not particularly close to the two younger sisters either — her usual approach with them was discipline, and they avoided her. Each person has a different nature. In the world there are those like Auntie Gu — born with smiling eyes and a pretty curve to the lips, who will take Rong Jie’er’s hand and teach her characters stroke by stroke — and there are those like Stepmother, proud and fierce, forever unable to soften herself.
At the very least, what she did for me yielded great benefit.
At school, I made several kindred sisters of deep feeling and integrity. I learned many principles of how to conduct oneself in the world. I could keep accounts, sew simple garments, and out in society in the presence of elders, I could present myself as refined and gentle, laughing without showing teeth.
The one exception was shortly after I first arrived at the school, when I encountered a conceited young boy in the rear garden of the Zheng household. He mocked me, saying “What is a girl doing reading books — is she going to sit the examinations and become a top scholar, or had she better go home and embroider flowers?” I shot back at him, “If you have such ability, why don’t you pass the examinations and let me see it?” Our words did not agree, and right there and then we fought each other ferociously. We were evenly matched in strength, and both returned home with broken skin and bleeding, whereupon we were both scolded.
Later, my little aunt told me that this was Stepmother’s young nephew — the youngest grandson of the old Duke of Ying. Several years afterward, he passed the martial examinations at the top of the list, and came to seek my hand in marriage. Father was so delighted he couldn’t stop smiling, and gave his consent with eager haste, as though afraid the other party might change their mind.
After our engagement was settled, Stepmother sought me out for a private conversation for the first and only time in her life. She looked at me with a complex expression and said: “You are a good child — broad-hearted and magnanimous, able to let worries pass without letting them burrow in. That is the greatest blessing.”
When word came that I was to be wed, Big Mao immediately wept as though his father had died.
I have heard that Stepmother’s labor with Big Mao was very difficult, and she should have felt especially tender toward him — but then with one Mao and one Zhu after another tumbling into the world, she found she could not tend to him very closely. From childhood onward, Big Mao and I were the closest — we went wild together, we were punished together, and when his baby teeth fell out, I was the one who accompanied him to toss them.
Big Mao howled in misery for several days, glowering at my future husband with murderous eyes, treating him as though he were a thief, and loudly declaring that if he ever mistreated me, he would make him “pay dearly!”
My husband and I were very happy together. In public I gave him face — presenting myself in the four virtues of womanhood, perfectly and without fail. In private he gave me my way, often lying flat on the heated bed to let me ride on his back like a great horse.
Many years later, when we separated into our own household, after consulting our elders, I went to the family temple and brought Little Aunt out — her hair a white-and-gray jumble, her face deeply creased with wrinkles, she had aged beyond recognition.
“From now on, you will live with us. We will celebrate the new year and keep festivals together, and there are many children in the house — please watch over them and worry on our behalf. I will see to it that they show you proper respect and care.”
I dared not promise her great wealth and splendor, but at the very least, warmth and bustle, with children and grandchildren to inquire after her warmth and cold, and to tend to her medicine at her bedside.
Little Aunt’s voice trembled and went hoarse: “You… you… why…?”
In her time, she had plainly liked me the least, and I had plainly been coldest to her; and now it was I who had come to care for her.
“It is nothing,” I said. “You are my mother’s younger sister, and you raised me for some years.”
Little Aunt wept aloud, tears and snot streaming down her face.
Half a lifetime of foolishness — and in the end, it came to this.