It was common enough for a young lady to enjoy growing flowers and tending to plants. In a secluded courtyard with fine curtains swaying in the breeze, a few slanting branches of lush green leaves and blooming flowers, butterflies drifting amid the petals, and a light fragrance drifting through the air — all of this naturally appealed to a young woman’s sensibilities.

The curious thing was that Ying Jie’er grew neither the splendid peony nor the fragrant gardenia. Instead, she had filled large pots and small bowls alike with an assortment of medicinal herbs whose names Lin Shi could not begin to enumerate. Many of them neither bloomed nor drew butterflies, and carried no fragrance whatsoever — at a casual glance, they were no different from the wild plants found growing along forest paths.

Medicinal herbs each had their own particular nature, and tending this little herb garden of hers demanded far more time and effort than growing ordinary flowers.

“Qing He, this pot of Solomon’s seal must not be left in direct sunlight — do take care from now on. This newly planted gotu kola is the most easygoing of the lot and the easiest to keep alive. Just remember: it needs more water than ordinary plants — give it a little more.” Ying Jie’er gave her instructions as she worked.

She had no mastery over the five musical notes of the zither — yet she could recite the particular nature of every single herb in her care as readily as if cataloguing old and familiar things.

Seeing her daughter so devoted to this pursuit, Lin Shi had no choice but to let her be.

After Lin Shi left, Ying Jie’er finished tending to the herb garden, tidied herself up, and murmured under her breath, “By now, my younger brother should be out of class,” and set off with happy steps in the direction of her younger brother’s courtyard.

She arrived to find Huai Ge’er had already arranged his scrolls neatly and was sitting in a chair, taking a rest.

“The sweet herbal tea I had sent to the study for you — did you drink it?” Ying Jie’er asked as soon as she came in the door. “Mother said the taste was very good. How did you find it?”

“I drank it.”

It was the tail end of spring and the beginning of summer, and the weather had already begun to carry a subtle mugginess. Once the sun came out, it baked the study until it was stuffy and hot. Sitting inside chanting aloud was the surest way to make one’s mouth dry and one’s body sluggish — and with all the head-swaying and body-rocking on top of it, it was enough to send anyone drowsing off.

And so Ying Jie’er had asked one of the servants to go to their family’s medicinal shop and obtain a few common herbs — monk fruit, licorice root, summer mulberry chrysanthemum, and the like — added some tea leaves, and had a pot of sweet herbal tea specially brewed. Once it had cooled, she had someone send it to her younger brother at the study.

Pei Shaohuai continued: “Jin Ge’er found it extremely good — said it quenched his thirst and cleared his head, and praised Fourth Elder Sister for being more and more thoughtful. I also found it very good — though for my taste, it was a bit too sweet. Next time, if you were to swap in some plum and mint instead, then chill it to refresh and revive — that would be perfect.”

Between this pair of siblings, conversation had never involved going around in circles.

Ying Jie’er let out a scoff at her younger brother and said: “Children from other families are all fond of sweet things — they would only ever complain that things are not sweet enough. Only you are different from everyone else, always finding fault with this and objecting to that. If the tea is not sweet, how can it be called sweet tea? Next time I will make a special pot just for you with a whole basket of plums thrown in — it will be so sour you will not even be able to bite into your pastries at dinner.” Even as she said it, she was quietly making a mental note: her younger brother preferred sour over sweet.

“Do not forget the chilling,” Pei Shaohuai said, not at all put out — rather, quite pleased.

“That part, I cannot promise,” Ying Jie’er said. “Mother has always held to the principle of mild and temperate eating — she will not let you have chilled things in summer. If you can manage to talk her into it, then never mind merely chilling it — I would be perfectly willing to freeze the whole pot into a solid block of ice and send it over.”

Pei Shaohuai could only accept this helplessly. His mother was indeed very loving toward him, but when it came to food and drink, her rules were truly a little too strict — fried things were not to be eaten in excess, fruit was not to be skimped on.

Concubine Shen kept the same kind of watch over Jin Ge’er. And so, in the time left over from their lessons, the two brothers would often sit together in shared misery, sighing: “How I would love to eat some crispy fried meatballs” — “How I would love to eat some little fragrant fish” — “How I would love to eat some roasted goose.” The result was always the same: the more they thought about it, the hungrier they became, and a painted cake could not fill an empty stomach.

But back to the matter at hand. After the siblings had traded a few more jokes, Ying Jie’er said: “I got so caught up talking that I nearly forgot the real reason I came. The seeds you promised me last time — have you had someone fetch them back?”

It turned out she had been thinking about this all along.

Pei Shaohuai reached into the drawer of his desk and produced several small cloth pouches, which he handed to his elder sister. “Yesterday Chang Zhou went back to the country estate to visit his grandmother. I asked him to bring these back when he returned today.”

Chang Zhou was the young manservant who attended on Huai Ge’er — twelve or thirteen years of age, and quite sharp-witted.

Ying Jie’er received the herb seeds with delight, turning them over in her hands and unable to set them down. “Tomorrow I will remember to brew you a pot of sour tea as my thanks,” she said. With that, she took her leave and returned to her own courtyard, where she instructed Qing He to gather as many porcelain pots as she could find. She wanted to get the seeds planted before the height of summer arrived.

……

Seeing his elder sister so happily occupied with what she loved, Pei Shaohuai felt a warmth of happiness alongside her.

In the original story, none of this had existed. The book had written: from early childhood, Huai Ge’er was restless and troublesome, forever getting into mischief. Lin Shi’s energy had been entirely consumed by her son, and she had always neglected the daughter she had raised at her side.

Ying Jie’er, considerate of her mother’s burdens, had always been quietly well-behaved, never asking for anything, never complaining of anything.

Because Huai Ge’er was raised beside his grandmother, the brother and sister had little contact and a distant relationship — nothing that could be called truly close. Otherwise, it would not have come to that later day when Pei Shaohuai, in order to cover debts, had sent away his only elder sister.

……

Now, Ying Jie’er’s deep interest in medicinal herbs had come about both through the natural inclinations of her own temperament and with a measure of assistance from Pei Shaohuai.

It had begun when Ying Jie’er was five years old and fell ill with a fever. She lay drowsy and uncomfortable and wept, “Mother, Ying’er’s head hurts so much.”

Lin Shi brought the medicine and fed it to her, coaxing her: “Ying’er, be a good girl and take your medicine — sleep through it, and once you have broken a sweat, your head will not hurt tomorrow.”

Ying Jie’er bore the bitterness and finished the medicine spoonful by spoonful, and after a long, heavy sleep, she woke the next day to find her headache truly gone.

After that, for several days running, Lian Jie’er chased after Lin Shi with her small, childish voice asking: “Mother, why does that black, bitter medicine make Ying’er’s illness go away?”

“Bitter medicine heals well — medicine cures illness.” That was the only answer Lin Shi could offer.

Ying Jie’er’s repeated questions were taken by the rest of the family as simple childlike curiosity. But Pei Shaohuai felt differently — children in their natural state say and do things as they come to them, without concealment. His elder sister’s persistent questioning meant that she held sufficient curiosity about “that bowl of medicine.”

Then on another occasion, Chang Zhou accidentally cut his hand and bled quite a lot. He picked a few stalks of Japanese climbing fern from the corner of a wall, crushed them, and applied them to the wound. Before long, the bleeding stopped.

Ying Jie’er happened to be passing by her younger brother’s side of the courtyard and saw this happen. She asked: “Chang Zhou, this unremarkable little plant growing out of the wall — how can it stop bleeding?”

“Fourth Young Miss, how would I know a thing like that?” Chang Zhou said, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. “I only know it because my grandmother taught me when I was small, and I remembered it. My elder brother has already started learning to cultivate medicinal herbs — perhaps he knows something more. I will ask him next time.”

Chang Zhou’s grandparents lived in the countryside and helped the Earl’s residence tend their herb garden, so they naturally had some knowledge of medicinal properties.

From this incident, Pei Shaohuai became even more certain that his elder sister had a genuine and lively interest in traditional medicine and herbal knowledge. Perhaps Ying Jie’er had not even consciously recognized this about herself — she had only spoken out of instinctive curiosity.

No amount of gold can purchase a truly inquiring mind.

Herbal knowledge, too, was a kind of scholarship.

Pei Shaohuai naturally did not let such an opportunity pass. He felt that giving his elder sister the chance to explore and discover what she was curious about was a fine and worthwhile thing in itself — not for any particular purpose or end goal, but simply and purely for the sake of satisfying the desire to know.

Pei Shaohuai had not studied medicine in his previous life and had only the most superficial understanding of the subject. And so he decided that his role would be primarily one of gentle guidance.

By that time, Ying Jie’er had already learned to read. Pei Shaohuai went through his father’s study and found several books and scrolls related to herbal knowledge, which he gave to his elder sister. He also had Chang Zhou make frequent trips back to the country estate to bring back easy-to-grow medicinal herbs and relay information about their cultivation and properties — and other such small things.

Gradually, Ying Jie’er grew more and more captivated by these plants of every form and variety — these small, unremarkable herbs. It was as though a narrow opening had been pried apart, and she had leaned forward and peered inside, discovering that this world, old and enduring through all its years and seasons, could hold more within it than needlework and embroidery, music and chess and painting, and the tending of husband and children.

……

……

Since Pei Bingyuan had entered the Imperial Academy, he could only take leave and return home every half month. Those at home noticed that he, already somewhat thin, had grown thinner still — more spare than ever. From this, it was clear that he had not simply gone through the motions to obtain a graduation and a rank, but was genuinely and wholeheartedly immersed in his studies.

When Lin Shi saw him, she felt a deep pang of concern. By means unknown, she had arranged things through the right channels, and every two or three days, she had someone deliver nourishing tonics to Pei Bingyuan’s quarters at the Academy. Whenever he returned from classes, he would find something waiting for him to drink.

Lin Shi said: “The matters of study and officialdom — I am only a woman and understand little of such things. I only hope my husband will take care of himself and keep well.” Many of the nourishing tonics that her elder brother Lin had brought back from Yangzhou were quietly channeled by Lin Shi into her husband’s stomach.

Between Pei Bingyuan and Lin Shi, though they had been married for many years and had a son and daughter together, if one were honest, the feeling between them over those years had been more like two people of mutual respect living side by side — close moments had been few.

Unexpectedly, living apart within the same city had in a strange way drawn the two of them closer together. Pei Bingyuan, in the Academy, felt keenly that he had left his wife alone at home — managing the children, overseeing the entire household and all the family members within it — and that it was no small thing she shouldered. Lin Shi, seeing her husband wholly committed to his studies, felt it was not her place to hold him back, and so put him first in all things, refusing to trouble him with worries.

On one occasion, Pei Bingyuan had only just left home and been back at the Imperial Academy for a few days when he sent a letter to Lin Shi through a messenger. No one knew what tender, lingering words of deep feeling were written inside — but Lin Shi, after reading it, had a glow about her for days on end. Whoever she encountered, she met with a smile.

Pei Shaohuai saw all this and thought privately: never mind how imposing the Jingchuan Earl’s residence looked from the outside — enviable to ordinary households. To those who lived within it over the long years, it was more like being sealed within a solitary island. Sometimes, pushing open the gates and going out to see the world beyond, refusing to be confined within a few square feet of ground, was not necessarily a bad thing at all.

Whether it was Elder Sister Pei Ruolian or Father Pei Bingyuan — looking at things as they now stood, both were faring better and better.

Even a faint light can illuminate the way.

……

With Pei Shaohuai now past six years of age, it also meant that more than three years had passed since he had seen his elder sister married out, and that Second Elder Sister Pei Ruolan was approaching the age of the coming-of-age ceremony.

Once again, the Earl’s residence grew busy.

Lin Shi had the experience of the last ceremony behind her, had by now been managing all the household affairs for several years, and the finances of the Earl’s residence were in considerably better shape than they had been a few years ago. For her, this coming-of-age ceremony posed no particular difficulty.

What Lin Shi had in mind, however, was something somewhat different. She smiled and said to the Old Ancestress: “With the theater expansion currently underway, and the autumn harvest just coming in at several of the estates outside the city along the river, this daughter-in-law truly cannot be spared for such a significant occasion as Lan Jie’er’s coming-of-age ceremony — and I fear being too pressed for time might lead to oversights. What if, in addition to having Mother guiding things from behind, we also invited Concubine Shen and Zhu Jie’er to lend a hand? The whole family working together, consulting with one another.”

Having spent so much time at Lin Shi’s side, Pei Shaohuai had come to understand his mother’s nature well, and he knew that when she made a decision like this, she had her own reasoning behind it.

For one thing, Pei Shaohuai had once overheard his uncle advising Lin Shi: “A cup overfilled will spill — you must learn when to loosen your grip.” By now Lin Shi had come to know the entire Earl’s residence inside and out. Faced with such a great handful of sand, trying to grip it too tightly would only cause it to pour through her fingers — which would do her no good at all. Better to relax her hold, let a little slip through the gaps, and she would be able to hold on longer.

There were so many matters, inside and outside the Earl’s residence, that Lin Shi simply could not manage them all. It was better to hand the smaller ones over to Fengyu Pavilion to handle, and spare herself the burden. Beyond that, Concubine Shen had conducted herself with proper decorum throughout all these years, managing things appropriately, and had raised her pair of children well. With Zhu Jie’er and Jin Ge’er growing older by the day, it would hardly do to simply leave her to live out each month on her set allowance.

For another thing, though Lan Jie’er had improved considerably, she still harbored unwillingness and resentment at heart, and her relationship with Lin Shi remained tense. Since Concubine Shen had once served Lan Jie’er’s birth mother, Lan Jie’er’s relationship with Concubine Shen was actually quite good.

There were certain things Lin Shi had no desire to argue over or tangle with her stepdaughter about directly. It was better to handle them properly through Concubine Shen as an intermediary.

Pei Shaohuai felt that his mother’s approach was one that would benefit everyone involved.

The Old Ancestress, hearing Lin Shi’s proposal, praised her for showing the bearing of a true head of household, and gave her approval.

Since the Old Ancestress had spoken, Concubine Shen naturally agreed as well, saying: “This servant was once only in the position of waiting on others. Zhu Jie’er is still young. To be involved in a matter of this significance — I can only hope the Old Ancestress and the First Madam will offer guidance and instruction along the way.”

Beside Concubine Shen, Zhu Jie’er could barely conceal her excitement, already eager to begin. She also bowed and said: “I thank Grandmother and Mother for giving Zhu’er this opportunity to learn. Zhu’er will certainly study it carefully and will not fail Mother’s kind intentions.”

After two or three months of preparation, Lan Jie’er’s coming-of-age ceremony was held as planned — every bit as splendid as Lian Jie’er’s had been in its day. The ceremonial garments and the hair ornaments were all of the finest quality, holding their own among the many noble households of the capital. The noblewomen who came to witness the ceremony were considerably more in number than those who had attended Lian Jie’er’s ceremony.

The guests praised the Earl’s residence for conducting the rites beautifully, and praised Lan Jie’er for her bearing and looks, saying she was no less lovely than her elder sister.

After the coming-of-age ceremony, on one particular first day of the month when Pei Bingyuan came home for his leave, the whole family shared a meal together. Lin Shi, seeing that the mood around the table was warm and harmonious, said casually: “My husband mingles with many colleagues and academic officials at the Imperial Academy. In your spare moments, you might listen out for word of any suitable young men from good families — the girls at home are none of them young anymore.”

It was a gesture of goodwill — she hoped Pei Bingyuan might help find a fine match for Lan Jie’er, as Xu Zhan’s family had been for Lian Jie’er.

Yet Lan Jie’er was not the least bit grateful. Her expression cooled, and she said: “There is no need for Madam to be in such a hurry to find someone to marry me off. In this capital, there are plenty of noble households where women do not settle their marriages until the age of eighteen.” The way she phrased it made it sound as though the mistress of the household was rushing to push her out the door.

With a single sentence she crushed Lin Shi’s good intentions to dust, leaving Lin Shi embarrassed and at a loss. In the end, Lin Shi only had herself to blame for thinking too highly of Lan Jie’er — she deeply regretted having raised the subject at a gathering like this.

Pei Bingyuan set down his chopsticks and rebuked her: “The older you get, the less you understand yourself.”

The Old Ancestress stepped in to smooth things over: “Child, your mother was only saying this with good intentions.” Then she turned to Pei Bingyuan and said: “Shizhen made a fair point — while you are at the Academy, do take care to look out for a suitable match.”

Seeing his mother treated with such disrespect, Pei Shaohuai felt deeply displeased. He thought: Lan Jie’er did not know how to recognize genuine care, and no wonder she ended up the way she did, going her own headstrong way. He also thought: with a temperament like hers, if she did not face real consequences — if she did not hit the wall hard enough to draw blood — she would likely never turn back.

He was deeply torn inside.

The one thing that did not waver was his resolve: he would not allow the entire household to pay for Lan Jie’er’s mistakes. That was unchanged.

As a young man, it was not appropriate for Pei Shaohuai to involve himself directly in what was said. He had no choice but to give his elder sister a meaningful glance from the side.

Brother and sister understood each other without words. Ying Jie’er caught his meaning at once and stepped in on their mother’s behalf, saying: “Second Elder Sister need not be so sensitive. After all, Second Elder Sister is not the only unmarried daughter in this household — perhaps Mother is thinking of long-term arrangements for me and Zhu Elder Sister as well.”

One sentence left Lan Jie’er with nothing to say. Stung, she retreated alone to her own chambers.

And the warm, harmonious atmosphere of the meal was left cold in her wake.

……

……

The last of the snow melted into the gentle air of early spring. A fine, soft rain fell through the slight chill of the season. The winter plum blossoms had faded, and willows were just beginning to put forth their first green.

Another spring had come.

Both Huai Ge’er and Jin Ge’er had turned seven years old.

One day, before the lesson began, the two brothers were leafing through a collection of Tang poetry to pass the time, and came across the lines: “After rain, the grass takes on a green deep enough to dye; above the water, peach blossoms glow as though about to ignite.” Both of them loved the lines very much. Then, thinking that the next day was the fifteenth — a day of leave from studies — they made plans together: they would go out the following day to enjoy the spring scenery.

“Just looking at the scenery might not be enough — we should bring plenty of those crispy fried meatballs and little fragrant fish. And we must not let Mother find out,” Huai Ge’er proposed.

“We must bring a pot of Fourth Elder Sister’s herbal tea as well,” Jin Ge’er added.

“Then ask Chang Zhou to get some boiled peanuts from the estate — bring along two packets,” Huai Ge’er said.

“I’ll have my younger maidservant make some pastries too,” Jin Ge’er said, already growing a little impatient with anticipation. “That should be enough, right?”

Huai Ge’er nodded. “As long as Third Elder Sister and Fourth Elder Sister do not find out, it will be plenty for just the two of us.”

Jin Ge’er immediately deflated, lowering his head in resignation. “How could we possibly get past those two? We had better bring more — otherwise we will end up not having eaten a thing while they finish it all off.”

“Indeed, indeed.”

The brothers were still in the middle of making their plans when the time for the lesson arrived. They waited for a quarter of an hour, but Master Cao was nowhere to be seen.

This was something that had never happened before. Master Cao was a punctual man.

Huai Ge’er asked: “Did Master Cao say anything yesterday about having no lesson today? I don’t recall that he did.”

“He said nothing of the kind.” Jin Ge’er’s memory was too reliable for him to be mistaken about that. He added: “Could Master Cao have made an error and assumed today was the leave day?”

“I do not know. Let us keep reading the poetry scrolls and wait a little longer.”

Another quarter of an hour passed. The brothers Huai and Jin waited in vain for Master Cao — and instead found their grandfather walking in, his face marked with worry.

Not knowing what had happened, Pei Shaohuai asked: “Grandfather, where is Master Cao?”

“He has just handed in his resignation to me, and sighed deeply —” Grandfather Pei let out a long, helpless breath, looking as though he could not decide whether to be pleased or troubled. “Master Cao said that with his abilities, he is no longer able to teach the two of you — and asked me to seek out a more capable teacher.”