Sheng Hong, newly appointed to his post, was eager to make a fresh start in his new term. Determined to cultivate the image of Dengzhou’s finest family — a model of paternal kindness, filial devotion, and household harmony for the people of the entire prefecture to emulate, and to contribute to the wholesome customs of a well-ordered feudal society — after completing his handover of duties, he chose a fine, sunny morning and set out with Wang Shi, four daughters, and several maids and matrons in an impressive procession to pay their respects to Sheng Lao.
Upon entering the main hall of Shou’an Hall, Sheng Hong and Wang Shi bowed to Sheng Lao, then took their seats in the square chairs on either side of the couch. They then had the servants lead the children forward one by one in order of precedence — first the legitimate children, then the four born of concubines. No concubines were present.
Minglan — that is, Yao Yiyi’s new self — had woken up in a daze that morning, not yet having eaten breakfast, and had been carried out of her room. A maid of about fourteen or fifteen led her forward to bow, and since she was second-to-last in the order, by the time it was her turn to kneel, she had become somewhat more alert. The moment her head touched the floor, she snapped fully awake and, stumbling over her words, managed to say: “Wishing the Old Ancestress good health.”
Having not spoken for so long, and afraid of saying something wrong, Minglan’s voice came out weak and halting when she finally opened her mouth, immediately drawing a few soft snickers. Minglan turned to look: Rulan, the young miss, was lightly covering her mouth and laughing. Standing beside her was a little girl with delicate, refined features who appeared to be slightly older — likely the fourth-ranked Miss Molan. She wore a pair of kingfisher-feather white jade rings in her hair and a finely patterned gauze robe in lake green, standing with perfect posture, her head slightly bowed, graceful and respectful.
Sheng Hong’s brow furrowed slightly; he glanced at Wang Shi. Wang Shi immediately shot a glare at the matron standing beside Rulan, and that matron lowered her head in fright.
Looking at Rulan and Molan side by side, Sheng Lao sighed inwardly, then looked again at the dull-eyed Minglan, who didn’t even seem to know she had been laughed at and was still standing in the middle of the group with a blank, bewildered expression. Sheng Lao gave nothing away; she took a quiet sip of tea, lowered her gaze, and waited until even the youngest, Sheng Changdong, had finished his bow. Then she said: “I have long been accustomed to quiet. I do not care for crowds and noise. We are all family — there is no need to stand on ceremony. Let things remain as before: come to pay your respects only once every ten days.”
Wang Shi’s powdered face flushed pink — she had evidently slept very well the night before — and she said: “What a thing to say, Elder! Paying filial respects in your presence is simply the duty of the younger generation. In past years it was I who was thoughtless, neglecting my duty of devotion. The master gave me a thorough scolding the other day, and your daughter-in-law knows she was wrong. I beg you, Elder, in view of your daughter-in-law’s foolishness, please do not hold it against her. Here, I offer you my apologies.”
With that, she rose and knelt before Sheng Lao. Sheng Lao glanced at Sheng Hong, and Sheng Hong immediately followed suit: “Mother, to say nothing of morning and evening greetings — even serving you tea at all hours is her rightful duty. If Mother will not permit it, I shall take it to mean that you are still displeased with your daughter-in-law, and the fault of failing to govern my household properly is entirely mine — I shall go before my father’s spirit tablet to receive my punishment.”
With that, he too knelt before Sheng Lao. Wang Shi dabbed at her face with her handkerchief, and with reddened eyes said: “Mother, your daughter-in-law truly knows she was wrong. Since girlhood in my own family, I was taught that filial piety comes first. But ever since entering the Sheng household, I let my senses become clouded and my temperament go astray, and neglected my devotion to you. You may punish me however you see fit, Elder — only please do not take it to heart. If it is the noise and bustle of many people you dislike, then from now on we shall come separately to pay our respects.”
As she spoke, she began to sob quietly, and Sheng Hong’s eyes also reddened.
Minglan stood at the very last position on the left side and watched from afar, thinking to herself: this husband and wife must have rehearsed together all last night — their coordination was impeccable, trading lines back and forth with perfect timing, their eyes going red on cue. Minglan’s skeptical gaze couldn’t help sliding toward their sleeves. Onions hidden in there, perhaps? Just as she was thinking this, the boys on the opposite side and the girls on her side all knelt down together, each appealing to Sheng Lao in earnest and heartfelt terms, as though if the Elder did not consent to their paying respects, they would simply die of heartbreak on the spot. Young Miss Rulan was a beat too slow and got a shove from the matron behind her, so she knelt down too. Minglan saw this and, a little behind everyone else, followed suit — she just had no idea what to say.
Seeing this scene, Sheng Lao let out a long sigh and decided not to press the matter further. She waved for the maids to help Sheng Hong and his wife to their feet: “Very well then — as you wish.” Then her eyes landed once more on the dazed Minglan — the thin little girl who had been the last to stand up on her own — and she sighed again inwardly.
Sheng Changdong was too small to stand steadily for long; after his bow, he was carried away by a matron. The remaining members of the household took their seats in order.
Until now, Minglan had never quite understood what “paying respects” actually entailed. Taken literally, it seemed to mean asking the elder a single “how do you do?” — with perhaps “are you well?” or “are you ill?” tacked on at most. But watching as the little maids brought out round padded stools and low benches one by one for the young masters and misses, Minglan felt it was time to revise her understanding.
Paying respects — it was, in the inner household of ancient times, a highly significant affair. The daughter-in-law in charge of household affairs would report recent developments to her mother-in-law, or present plans for the near future. If the children were being raised by the grandmother, this was a chance to steal a quick look at one’s own offspring — lest one later fail to recognize which belly had produced which child. If the children were being raised in one’s own quarters, one would bring them out for the grandparents to see, to enjoy a moment of domestic warmth, or to exchange news and gossip and make the elders happy.
Unfortunately, Wang Shi had been absent from this duty for a long time. Striking the right tone with Sheng Lao was not easy — too familiar would be inappropriate, too distant equally so — and it was even harder to judge what to say to her. So today Sheng Hong had made a point of accompanying his wife, serving both as a peacemaker and as the one who would first break the ice.
“Mother, have you been comfortable these past few days? The climate here in Dengzhou is not as warm and mild as Quanzhou,” Sheng Hong said.
“It is a bit cooler, but nothing to trouble me,” Sheng Lao replied.
“Personally, I think Dengzhou suits me better than Quanzhou — the mountains are grand and the waters are broad, everything feels open and spacious, and being near the sea keeps the air from being too dry. I tell the master he has landed a fine post: neither too cold nor too parching,” Wang Shi said with a smile.
“An old woman like me hardly notices the difference. I wonder more how the young ones are finding it — are any of you unwell?” Sheng Lao said, her gaze moving along the rows of grandchildren on either side.
Wang Shi’s eager eyes darted immediately to Sheng Changbai. Elder Brother Changbai rose with proper decorum, gave a slight bow, and replied: “In reply to the Elder: your grandson finds it very well.”
And that was it — twelve characters, concise and to the point — then he sat back down.
Sheng Lao set down her teacup and looked at Sheng Hong and Wang Shi, then turned her gaze to the remaining children. Sheng Hong showed no particular reaction; Wang Shi looked somewhat embarrassed and secretly shot her son a glare.
The second to speak was Sheng Changfeng. He bore a strong resemblance to his full sister Molan — round, fair, smooth features framed by a warm, modest smile, his voice clear and bright: “Quanzhou is soft and gentle; Dengzhou is grand and sweeping. Each place has its own merits, and truly, what place in our dynasty is not good? I was reading Du Mei’s poem just the other day: ‘How majestic is Mount Tai! Boundless green stretches across the lands of Qi and Lu. The Creator has concentrated all divine beauty here; its southern and northern faces divide darkness from light.’ Shandong has given birth to sages and is home to Mount Tai — truly a magnificent place. Perhaps one day when the Old Ancestress is in the mood, we could all go together to see that mountain of the sacred imperial rites.”
His voice rang out clearly, every word well-articulated. Sheng Hong nodded repeatedly with an expression of satisfaction; even Sheng Lao could not help looking at him a moment longer, and said: “Feng Ge’er has been doing well with his studies. Word is that his poetry and essays have earned him considerable praise from his teacher.”
The atmosphere in Shou’an Hall warmed considerably, and Sheng Hong grew even more pleased. The younger children let out a collective breath of relief. Only Wang Shi’s smile was a little strained. Minglan stole a sideways glance and noticed that Wang Shi was twisting her handkerchief in a death grip, as though she could somehow squeeze more words out of Sheng Changbai’s throat.
Hualan glanced at Wang Shi, then turned her head toward the seat of honor and said with a playful pout: “Old Ancestress, you keep praising the brothers — are you tired of us girls?”
Sheng Lao smiled warmly: “What nonsense is this child talking? When you were small, your grandfather personally taught you to read and write, and even went out of his way to hire a private tutor for you. Who would dare look down on our family’s eldest young miss? Hua’er, you’ve grown up, and you’ve gotten more mischievous with age.”
Sheng Hualan had been born at the most auspicious of times. Back then, Wang Shi and Sheng Hong were still in the honeymoon flush of new marriage, living in harmony with Sheng Lao, and before long a younger brother had arrived as well. Sheng Hualan was beautiful and charming, and as the legitimate eldest daughter, she had truly been showered with boundless love and indulgence. She had spent some time being raised by Sheng Lao, but Wang Shi could not bear to be without her and had her sent back — yet Hualan had already forged the deepest bond with the Elder of any of the grandchildren. By comparison, her full sister Rulan, who had been born later under far less favorable circumstances, had not been so fortunate.
“Father taught Elder Sister? Then why didn’t he teach me? I want a private tutor too!” Sure enough, Rulan jumped down from her low stool, ran to Sheng Hong’s side, and tugged at his sleeve, wheedling.
Wang Shi pulled Rulan to her own side and scolded: “Stop making a scene. Your father is burdened with official duties — how can he possibly sit and play with you? You can’t even sit still through your own copy-writing practice; what business do you have wanting a private tutor!”
Rulan refused to accept this, stomping her feet and pouting. Wang Shi coaxed and cajoled her; Sheng Hong had already let his expression grow stern. Sheng Lao watched the scene with a gentle smile. At this moment, Molan, who had been sitting quietly without a word, suddenly spoke: “Fifth Sister is young, and copy-writing requires the most patience — of course she finds it tedious. Still, a little poetry and the principles behind it would be very good for her. I don’t think we need to hire a separate tutor for it either — Elder Sister is so accomplished; why not ask her to teach her? Wouldn’t that be just right?” She finished with a demure smile, graceful and artless.
Seeing his daughter speak so thoughtfully and with such gentle, elegant composure, Sheng Hong could not help saying appreciatively: “Molan has a point. Girls don’t need to sit for the imperial examinations, so there’s no need to drill the fundamentals too rigidly. But reading a little poetry and prose to cultivate one’s character is entirely worthwhile. Hua’er, when you have time, do teach Ru’er as well — as the eldest sister, you ought naturally to guide your younger siblings.”
Wang Shi’s face tightened; she ignored the comment. Hualan gave a barely perceptible look of disdain. But Sheng Lao was watching the only one who had not yet spoken — Sheng Minglan — who was staring at Molan with a blank expression. Inwardly, the Elder sighed again.
After a few more rounds of casual conversation, Wang Shi gradually steered the topic toward Hualan’s coming-of-age ceremony. Before she had said much more, Sheng Lao spoke up and had the matrons set out breakfast in the room — two tables, one in the main chamber for the adults, and one set up in the side room for all the children together.
When the meal was brought out, it was unexpectedly simple — even Minglan, who didn’t have a strong grasp of such things, found it somewhat sparse: a large ceramic platter of plain steamed buns and sesame-oil flower rolls, a pot of clear congee made from white polished rice, and a few small side dishes.
Minglan looked up and caught a flicker of what appeared to be remorse on Elder Brother Changbai’s face. Changfeng and Molan took up their chopsticks and ate with perfectly composed expressions. Hualan and Rulan both pursed their lips at the same moment — with different degrees of subtlety, but identical angles at the corners of their mouths.
Minglan, attended by her maid, ate slowly along with the others. She thought back to the breakfasts she had been eating in her room over the past few days: lotus root and honey cake, cream-filled pine nut pastry rolls, fried cakes, pork floss and garlic flower rolls, honey sesame balls, date-simmered white rice congee, red rice congee, cured pork steamed egg, bird’s nest custard, dry-shredded tofu stir-fried with beef jerky, sesame-oil cold poached smoked pork strips, and an eight-treasure assorted pickle box with sixteen varieties of condiments arranged in colorful sections…
Great households observed the rule of silence at mealtimes, and in any case the six siblings came from several different “production lines,” having barely exchanged a few words between them before today. So at this meal, the only sounds were the faint, gentle movements of spoons and chopsticks.
After breakfast, Sheng Hong hurried off to his offices. Wang Shi returned to her own courtyard. The children, having finished eating, were each taken away by their respective matrons. The matron assigned to Minglan had not yet arrived from the side room. Minglan jumped down from her stool and peered out the door; not daring to wander in an unfamiliar place, but strolling along the corridor by the entrance seemed harmless enough.
Northern architecture was so different from the south — tall, broad columns, square, solid stone benches along the walkways; nothing as delicate and refined as the mansion back in Quanzhou, but open and bright in its own dignified way. Minglan kept one hand on the wall as she walked and looked around, losing track of how many corners she had turned and how many rooms she had passed. The more she saw, the more she shook her head. The chambers here were spacious but simply furnished; apart from the essential pieces of furniture, there was not a single gold ornament, jade antique, or curio to be seen. Most of the servants and matrons were women well advanced in years, with only a handful of young maids doing the sweeping and laundering. They looked more plain than the maids elsewhere in the household; the courtyard had no flowers and no trees, only a bit of simple pruning — the place had a bare, forlorn air about it, like a cold and cheerless cave dwelling.
Minglan thought to herself: so the rumors are true.
The Elder of the Sheng household was born of the Yongyi Marquis estate, a woman of innately proud bearing. In her youth she had been sharp-eyed and imperious, and fond of making trouble; it was said she had managed to offend both her husband’s family and her own. Later, when the late Master Sheng passed away, she had widowed and her temperament had changed. Once Sheng Hong came of age and took a wife, she had handed over every bit of the Sheng family’s assets to him without keeping a single thing for herself, leaving very little in the way of her own private means.
She prayed and kept a vegetarian diet, cutting herself off from the world entirely. Every servant in Shou’an Hall lived as though they had renounced the secular world along with her. Their daily meals were meager, their duties offered no extra perquisites, their life was stripped bare of comforts — for a period the very gate of the courtyard had been kept shut, as though she had sealed herself off entirely from the warmth and vitality of the living world. Servants dreaded being posted to Shou’an Hall to suffer through it, so the only ones still serving there were the old retainers who had originally come as part of the Elder’s dowager household.
Minglan’s summary: a cold, out-of-favor department. Low returns. Thin benefits. Leadership with no ambition. Staff lacking in initiative.
Coming around yet another corner, Minglan suddenly caught a familiar scent. She froze. That smell seemed to rise from the very deepest recesses of her memory — from a past she had already resolved to forget. She followed the fragrance to a doorway and pushed open the door.
A small, low-ceilinged room. Directly opposite was a long rosewood table bearing only a few scripture volumes. To the left were two ruyi-patterned square stools, beside them a lingzhi-patterned rosewood square table. Going further in, Minglan caught sight of a small Buddhist shrine: overhead hung an autumn-fragrance-colored black-gold cloud-embroidered gauze canopy; below it was an incense altar, and at its center stood a white jade four-legged, double-eared mythical beast incense burner, from which thin coils of fragrant smoke were drifting upward. The scent Minglan had caught was sandalwood. On either side of the altar stood a low incense stand, and between them, below, sat a meditation cushion. This was a private Buddha hall.
Enshrined upon the altar was a small, exquisite white jade Guanyin. Minglan looked up at it. The bodhisattva’s bearing was solemn and dignified, yet her eyes held infinite compassion, as though she had witnessed every sorrow the mortal world had to offer. Minglan’s eyes suddenly stung, and she could not hold back her tears.
She thought of her mother — how, before she had left for the countryside, her mother had gone out especially to buy a jade Guanyin pendant, had it consecrated at a temple, and then pressed it earnestly into her hands, urging her to keep it on her for protection wherever she went. At the time, Yao Yiyi had been impatient with her mother’s fussing and had scrambled onto the vehicle in a hurry. Now she would have given anything to hear that voice again.
Now, thinking back to those last moments before she had lost consciousness, she dimly recalled hearing someone outside trying to pry open the vehicle door — help must have arrived. She had no way of knowing whether the judge and her other colleagues had been rescued. Could she really have been the only one to die in the line of duty? At the thought, a surge of grief and indignation rose within her, and then it gave way to numbness, and then to desolation. She found she had no particular will to go on living.
She felt heaven had treated her unfairly. If death was inevitable, she ought at least to have been reborn into a better body — why was it that Hualan, Rulan, and even Molan could all enjoy the devotion of a thousand tender indulgences, while she had to start her struggle all over again? She would have to acquaint herself with this strange world, learn to win over Wang Shi — a woman who was not her real mother — and no doubt swallow her pride and endure petty humiliations as a matter of course. She would be learning to read people’s faces again, relearning the survival skills of a woman in ancient times.
And this was not a world that was kind to women.
She had once watched the drama “Autumn in My Heart,” and while her friends had wept themselves half to death over Eunhee’s dramatic fate, Yao Yiyi had found her sympathies going instead to the other girl, Shin-ae. Under the iron law of the female lead, Eunhee appeared beautiful and virtuous in every light, while Shin-ae was portrayed as scheming and petty. Everyone’s emotions followed Eunhee’s side of the story — but everyone overlooked one thing: Shin-ae was the one who should have been born into wealth and privilege. She belonged, by birthright, to that warm and sheltered family, while Eunhee, by rights, should have grown up in that squalid little shop, enduring her brother’s cruelty and her mother’s volatile tempers.
In Yao Yiyi’s view, it was Shin-ae who had been wronged. If Shin-ae had grown up from the beginning in an environment where everyone cherished and protected her, perhaps she would never have developed into someone petty and calculating. Instead, because of that wretched upbringing, even after she was finally reunited with her birth parents, she could not be close to her mother the way a true daughter might — that natural intimacy had been severed forever. And who was Shin-ae supposed to hold accountable for any of it?
In the end, when both leads died, Yao Yiyi had even harbored the uncharitable thought that Eunhee had seemed destined to come to that family to collect a debt. She would have died of her leukemia regardless — yet she had not only received more than a decade of happiness that was never rightfully hers, she had also dragged the foster family’s only son down with her into death. And the one left behind to fulfill filial duty toward that adoptive couple, in the end, was none other than Shin-ae — the one who had never been loved.
Eunhee was pitiful, certainly. But was Shin-ae not pitiful too?
Now Yao Yiyi found herself in exactly that position. Her own full and good life had been stolen away and replaced with the life of a wretched girl. If she had been reborn into the body of a girl doted on and pampered from birth, she might have felt a twinge of guilt — but after a few moments of inner conflict, she would probably have made her peace with it and moved on. The situation she faced now, however, was a step backward from everything she had known.
Her old life had been without maids and matrons to attend her every move — but she had been free. She had already made it through the gauntlet of university entrance exams and job hunting; the hardest first chapter of a woman’s life was behind her. She had a good career and a warm family waiting for her. She remembered that just two days before the mudslide, her mother had called to say she had found some excellent candidates lined up for her to meet when she came home. Barring the sort of melodramatic disasters that only happened in soap operas — secret mistresses, terminal illness, car accidents — she would have lived out her days like most ordinary young women: quietly, fully, and contentedly.
And what about little Miss Minglan, her current self? Her birth mother was a concubine — and already dead, no doubt waiting somewhere to be reborn. Her father had four sons and four daughters and did not seem to hold any particular affection for this lowly concubine-born daughter. And presiding over everything was a wife who had absolutely no ambitions toward sainthood. On the plus side, she would not have to sit exams or pursue career promotions or professional certifications. On the minus side, she would have no voice whatsoever in the choice of her future husband. Her entire life would be left to chance. If she was beaten, she could not call the authorities; she would dab a bit of safflower oil on her bruises and make do. If her husband took a second or third or even further concubine, she could not make a scene — she would be expected to treat them as her “sisters” with gracious “virtue.” And if her husband was truly vile and unbearable and life became absolutely unlivable, she still could not take him to court.
Oh — and there was one more thing, even worse than all of that: she might not even manage to secure the position of first wife at all. Daughters born of concubines had always been prime material for becoming concubines themselves.
How could Yao Yiyi be expected to accept, without resentment, a life as full of obstacles as this?
But she had no choice.
Following the memory of how her mother used to pray, she knelt respectfully before the image of Guanyin, pressed her palms together, and with sincere and wholehearted devotion offered up her prayers: wishing that those she had left behind — her mother, her siblings — would remain safe, healthy, and at peace, and would not grieve for her. From today onward, she too would pay attention to the simple things — to grain and vegetables, to rivers and mountains — and live on with care and purpose.
Scalding tears poured down in great drops. She sobbed without making a sound, the tears running down her thin, pale little cheeks — some soaking into the faded blue-green meditation cushion and disappearing, others falling to the floor and merging with the dust. The early morning light filtered through the lotus-pink gauze window into the Buddha hall, clear and serene, the soft luminance gentle and tranquil.
Minglan’s small body lay prostrate on the cushion, and for the first time her heart felt a stillness and peace she had never known before. With genuine, heartfelt reverence, she murmured her prayer in a low voice: may the merciful Guanyin Bodhisattva, in her compassion, illuminate the emptiness of all five aggregates and deliver all suffering; may the heart know no hindrance, and in knowing no hindrance, know no fear; may all inverted and deluded thinking be left far behind, and may the ultimate peace of nirvana be attained.
…