On the twenty-fourth day of the eleventh month, the first snow of the season arrived in the capital — light flakes drifting down, laying a thin, pale layer over the rooftops.

But the snow could not hold on the ground. Before long it melted away, leaving the streets wet and dark.

It was at this moment that Hua Zhi entered the city. Though every part of her was weary, her heart was soaring.

Home was almost within reach.

If only the rules did not forbid galloping through the city streets, she would have cracked the reins and ridden flat out all the way home — to see her family, and then sleep as long as she wanted.

Before entering the city, the two had already parted ways with their shared horse. Hua Zhi turned to look at Gu Yanxi riding beside her. “If Master Lu has matters to attend to, please go ahead. When you’ve finished, do come by — I’ll have Fu Dong prepare a proper table of good food for you.”

Gu Yanxi’s eyes were deep and heavy. In the end he said nothing, and insisted on seeing her all the way to the alley where the Hua family residence stood.

He watched her knock at the side entrance. He watched the person inside fall before her and call out in a voice barely held together: “First Young Miss — you’re back at last — Old Madam is not going to make it!”

Hua Zhi stood at the gate for a brief moment. Then she turned back and gave Gu Yanxi a bow of cupped hands. And then she walked in with great strides.

Her cloak swept behind her, and the sound of it was almost like the roll of wind and thunder.

The servant at the door also gave a hurried bow and then pulled the gate shut and rushed after her.

Wang Rong leapt down from the rooftop and knelt before Gu Yanxi.

“What is the situation?”

“She has not regained consciousness. The physician said she would not last two days — but today is already the fourth day.”

She had been waiting for Hua Zhi to return. Old Madam had not been able to let go. And now Hua Zhi had returned. Gu Yanxi raised his eyes to the sky — this snow looked as though it would fall for several days yet.

“Let us return.”

“Yes.”

He looked at the Hua family residence once more, then turned his horse and rode away. He had to make a trip into the palace. He needed Chen Qing posted here — he trusted no one else for this.

From the side gate to the inner courtyard, there was enough distance for Hua Zhi to learn what had happened. She listened without any expression on her face. The hand gripping her riding whip tightened. Her steps grew faster and faster until the servants had to trot to keep up.

The atmosphere in Old Madam’s courtyard was heavy with grief. The courtyard was filled with servants standing in silence; inside the main room gathered the Hua family’s descendants; and in the inner chamber, the four wives of the Hua family’s branches and Physician Chu.

Physician Chu sighed and shook his head toward them all. He had used every method at his disposal.

Zhu Shi began to weep on the spot.

Wu Shi clutched her handkerchief until her knuckles whitened and said in a hoarse voice: “Please, Physician Chu, do everything in your power — whatever it takes, please give us a little more time.”

Because Zhi’er had not returned. The one person who could truly let Old Madam depart in peace was still on her way home. And what she would bring back was the news Old Madam most wished to hear.

Physician Chu was about to speak when a sudden commotion rose from outside, and through it came a soft exclamation: “First Young Miss!”

“Elder Sister!” The confirmation in Hua Bailin’s cry made it certain — it was truly Hua Zhi. Wu Shi was already racing for the door before Zhu Shi could move. She had never known how grueling it was to carry an entire family on one’s shoulders. Yet Zhi’er had held the Hua family together through its most desperate hour, and from all appearances had done so with an air of easy composure. That was the measure of the distance between them.

“Zhi’er…”

Hua Zhi gave her a brief nod. She stepped inside with the cold of the wind and snow still clinging to her, and for a moment it was as though the entire room had dropped in temperature.

Chu Shitang rose and turned around. His gaze met hers, and he gave a slow, quiet shake of his head.

Hua Zhi’s expression did not change. She undid her cloak, set it down on the table together with her whip and gloves, and brought both hands up to cup her own face.

Then she walked to the bedside and knelt on the low footstool, and with hands that had warmed just slightly, gently took her grandmother’s hands in hers. She called out softly: “Grandmother, I’m back. Grandfather asked me to bring you a letter. If you don’t wake up, I’ll go ahead and open it myself.”

Old Madam’s fingers moved — a faint, trembling motion, as if she were fighting her way through something. Hua Zhi kept calling to her, kept saying “Grandmother,” and after a long moment, Old Madam’s eyes at last slowly opened. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

Hua Zhi shifted aside and looked toward Physician Chu. Without a word from her, Chu Shitang came over immediately — but the moment he took the pulse, he knew that his remaining here served no further purpose. Old Madam was spent, like a lamp that had burned through its last drop of oil.

He sighed and shook his head toward Hua Zhi.

Hua Zhi closed her eyes for a moment. Then she turned and poured a cup of water, and Wu Shi stepped forward at once to help ease Old Madam upright.

This time, Old Madam did not turn away as she had before, when nothing could be swallowed. She drank every last drop from the cup. Then her eyes turned to Hua Zhi, full of something that was asking, hoping.

Hua Zhi understood. She reached into her breast pocket and drew out an oil-paper parcel wrapped in several layers. She unwrapped it, took the topmost letter from the stack, and held it out. “I’ll read it to you.”

But Old Madam shook her head. She raised a frail arm and with quiet stubbornness took the letter herself. She tried to tear it open, and failed again and again.

Hua Zhi took it back without a word and opened the seal for her, then took out the letter and unfolded it and placed it in her open palm.

Old Madam read the letter slowly. As she read, she smiled — her eyes curving softly at the corners like a girl who was young again.

When at last she finished, she folded the letter carefully, and then pointed toward a red wooden box.

Nanny Su had served her for a lifetime and understood her meaning better than anyone. Wiping her tears, she took out all the small cases inside the red box and arranged them on the bedside, opening each one.

“The Hua family has very little left. Take these pieces of jewelry among the four of you and divide them up — keep them as something to remember me by.”

The voice was faint, and slow, but without a trace of wavering. Old Madam knew that her time was running short.

“Everything else — all of it goes to Zhi’er.”

A case of keys. A case of deed-of-ownership contracts for the servants. The last case was the most sparsely filled — only two jade seals, sitting in a small corner of it.

The seals appeared to be of some age. Old Madam looked at them, and seemed to be recalling how she had felt the day she received them.

“The white one is the Hua family seal, passed down from generation to generation since our ancestors. It represents not only your grandfather, but the whole of the Hua family. This seal is passed to the head of the family alone. I am entrusting it to you for now; when the time comes to pass it on, that decision rests with your grandfather. The one carved from chicken-blood jade is my personal seal. That one I leave to you as well.”

Hua Zhi nodded with great force. No one noticed that by this point her mouth was filled with the taste of blood.

Old Madam looked once more at the four wives. “Whatever becomes of the Hua family in the days ahead, you must all live in harmony and support one another. Help Zhi’er restore the Hua family’s name and standing. If anyone ever tries to destroy the foundations of my Hua family — I will not let them go even from the grave!”

All four of them knelt and pressed their foreheads to the floor. “Your daughters-in-law will remember this always.”

Old Madam then shifted to lean against Hua Zhi. She had never been a harsh mother-in-law, and none of her daughters-in-law had been cruel women either. It was only that the bond between them was not meant to last long.

“That is enough. Walk the road ahead well.”

The four of them wept as they performed three prostrations and nine bows, then retreated from the room backward.

Old Madam rested against her granddaughter’s shoulder for a moment, and when she spoke again her voice was weaker still. “Zhi’er — they are all well, aren’t they? Tell me they are.”

“Yes. Your husband, your son, your grandsons — they are all well. Grandfather is doing light work. Aside from the weather being colder than at home, they have not suffered any other hardships.”

“That is good.” Old Madam turned her head with great effort to look at her. “Zhi’er, you must forgive your grandmother. Forgive me for placing such a heavy burden on your shoulders. Forgive me for being so fragile and unequal to it. You must forgive your grandmother…”

Tears slid down Old Madam’s face. Her granddaughter was only sixteen years old — the age of a flower waiting to bloom, waiting to be given in marriage. And yet here she was, bound to the Hua family, and who knew when she would ever be free of it. And now Old Madam was leaving too, leaving her to carry everything alone. She had wronged her.

Hua Zhi’s expression was as composed and steady as it always was, and there was even the faintest warmth of a smile in her voice. “Go in peace. I am here. I remember the promise I made to you. I will keep the Hua family safe and sheltered. Those who are meant to study will study. Those who are meant to embroider will embroider. I will bring the Hua family’s men home. One day, the Hua family will reclaim every last bit of the glory it once had. You will see it.”

“Your grandmother will wait for that day.” Old Madam raised her hand — but in the end, only her fingers moved.

Hua Zhi lifted that hand and pressed it gently against her own face. “Grandmother. It is time to go.”

Old Madam’s eyes slowly closed. Her hand slipped away. The letter she had been clutching in her other hand fell loose. The corner of her mouth curved gently upward, as though she had entered a beautiful dream.

That year, she had learned she was to be married to the young man of the Hua family, whose talent and refinement were praised throughout the capital. She had secretly inquired about his plans, learned he would be going to the outskirts of the city for a spring outing, and had booked the private room overlooking the street in advance. From behind the gap in a window, she had stolen a glance at him — a young gentleman in a pale blue robe, folding fan turning lazily in his hand, his bearing beyond elegant, beyond refined, and there was no one else her eyes could hold after that.

That year, she was married in splendor, dressed in red. She held one end of the ceremonial red ribbon; he held the other. They bowed before the altar; they entered the wedding chamber together. He used the bridal comb to lift the veil from her face, and smiled down at his bride with laughter in his eyes. She flushed with shy joy.

That year, they had their first child.

And then came many years.