The Jade Hairpin on Stone is Fragile
When she saw Jiang Manlin again, it was a month later.
It was Jiang Manlin’s personal maid who came looking for her, saying Miss Jiang was dying and only wanted to see her once.
That day brought heavy snow, with gray skies. The car was blocked on the road, so she got out and walked through the deep snow to Jiang Manlin’s home. Manlin lay in bed, gaunt as withered wood, her complexion ashen. The doctor who’d been called said she’d been severely poisoned and couldn’t be saved.
As soon as Jiang Manlin saw her, she reached out to grip her hand tightly, her eyes flashing with the brightness of a final rally, “Qingqing, I thought you wouldn’t come.” Jiang Manlin vomited large amounts of blood that congealed on the white bedsheet in patches of red. Now she was breathing heavily, tears falling down her pale cheeks, “Qingqing, I truly envy you, truly envy you…”
Jiang Manlin’s hand struggled to reach under the pillow. She still had a needle in her hand, and the doctor, afraid she’d dislodge it, tried to stop her. But she held onto that last breath with all her strength, forcing her hand under the pillow until she finally struggled to pull out a jade-green mandarin duck pair.
Jiang Manlin placed the mandarin duck pair in Lan Qingqing’s hands. She exhaled her final breath with difficulty, her lips gray-white, her face showing a desolate smile, “Qingqing, these ducks were already broken, weren’t they? But I saw with my own eyes how he pieced this jade duck pair back together, piece by piece…”
“How much he loves you—even talking in his sleep, he calls your name. But the more he loves you, the less he can be near you. He doesn’t want you to… end up like me.”
“Qingqing, he can’t bear to part with you… he never could…”
The repaired mandarin duck pair was back in her hands. The doctor covered Jiang Manlin’s face with the bloodstained bedsheet. She was pushed out the door. With all the commotion around her, she held the jade mandarin duck pair and walked downstairs in a daze, then out the door. Outside was overwhelming heavy snow, with winds growing stronger.
She wore a pink cloak, walking slowly forward through the wind and snow.
The snow was swept up by the wind, snowflakes hitting her face—ice-cold, blinding her eyes. Snow water melted in her eyes, gradually warmed up, and rolled down her cheeks. Yet her hands holding the jade mandarin duck pair were hotter than these tears, burning like hot coals.
The first time she’d seen him was when she learned that Jiang Manlin was being forced by their master to accompany a local gentleman for drinks. What good could come of such a situation? If she weren’t the opera troupe’s star performer, earning some consideration from their master, she would probably meet the same fate. But she was extremely angry at the time and went to the restaurant without telling their master, only to burst into the wrong private room and furiously unleash her temper on him.
Whenever he later spoke of this incident, he would burst into hearty laughter, “In my whole life, I’ve never seen such a fierce woman!”
Yet all these things seemed like stories from a previous life. At this moment, like the howling wind and snow, they rushed through her mind. The pedestrians around her had nothing to do with her. A group of newsboys were shouting hoarsely, desperately trying to sell today’s newspapers. Their voices competed with the howling wind and snow, but the wind and snow were too loud, so the newsboys’ voices became fragmented sentences…
“…Tiger son of a military family, Yu Mingxuan, blood spilled at Luping…”