That night, Minglan’s sleep was fitful. Half-dreaming and half-awake, she kept feeling the persistent weight of someone’s gaze upon her. In a hazy moment she forced open her eyes, and found Gu Tingye lying slightly on his side, half-propped up beside her, gazing at her intently. Drowsy, Minglan murmured a vague “Why aren’t you sleeping yet?” Gu Tingye was quiet for a long while before saying gently, “Sleep well. You’ve worn yourself out these past few days.”

His voice was filled with a deep and tender pity and indulgence — and within it, a barely perceptible undercurrent of remorse.

The girl’s long, fine lashes gave a sudden flutter.

She was, indeed, very tired.

Managing a household as vast as this one was tiring. The constant social engagements, gift-sending, and receiving of guests was tiring. Being perpetually on guard against others’ scheming was even more tiring. Every word had to be turned over several times in her mind before she dared say it aloud; every matter had to be weighed back and forth seven or eight times before she dared act on it. She feared being criticized, feared being rebuked, and feared above all being caught on a weak point and causing trouble for him. If this went on much longer, she might as well leap straight into an asylum.

A very long time ago, she had once made a vow before the Buddha: she would work hard and live well.

Each and every day, no matter how busy she was, she carved out time to rest, to admire flowers, to read, to play chess, to paint, and to do her secretly beloved “Mountain Support series” needlework. She would recite sutras again and again, facing the pristine sweep of lake and mountain scenery, and let herself be steeped in those graceful and enchanting poems, those sweeping chronicles of vast mountains and rivers — as joyful as a clear breeze passing over a mountain ridge, carrying with it a strange and soothing power.

With a smile on her face, she prayed, beseeching the Buddha’s compassion — wishing only for peace and happiness, for a heart as clear as a bright mirror.

Everyone said she was blessed — but at the very least, this man knew her weariness and hardship.

Minglan let herself lean over, burrowing into his arms like a little dirt-streaked puppy, wriggling and turning to nestle in. In the cold, crisp depths of an early summer night, it seemed that only the embrace of this man beside her was truly warm.

After breakfast the next morning, the two women from Kouixiang Garden came as usual to pay their morning respects.

Qiu Niang’s eyes were swollen like two large walnuts, clearly having wept through the entire night. Her demeanor was listless and dispirited. Hong Xiao, on the other hand, was still all smiles and cheerful chatter as though completely unaware of anything that had happened. As for Rong Jie’er — fed and well-nourished day after day — she had at last taken on a somewhat fair-complexioned appearance. Yet she still only managed to produce single words or brief phrases from her mouth.

Minglan warmly engaged each of them in conversation, taking the initiative for a sentence or two with each person and leaving the rest to their own responses. Hong Xiao typically served as the main performer in these exchanges — but today, Minglan added a few extra words of her own.

“Nanny Chang will be coming this afternoon. When the time comes, have Nanny Hua bring Rong Jie’er over to meet her.”

Qiu Niang’s lips moved slightly, but she said nothing. Rong Jie’er also lifted her lowered little head a fraction. Hong Xiao’s face lit up with undisguised delight. “Nanny Chang is coming! I’ve heard the master speak of this Nanny so many times. Now that we’re all in the capital, we’ll be able to see each other often.” Her tone was one of eager anticipation.

Minglan glanced at her, raised her teacup, and said evenly: “The master has given instructions that since Nanny Chang once looked after Rong Jie’er, Rong Jie’er should come out to pay her respects to Nanny.”

Qiu Niang’s complexion grew visibly worse. Rong Jie’er sat with her small head bowed in a pondering expression, as though trying to recall something. Hong Xiao’s eyes flickered briefly, then she immediately broke into a full smile and steered the conversation in a new direction. Minglan let her hold court for five minutes, then raised her teacup to signal that the visit was concluded and saw them off.

Once they had left, Minglan gazed up at the elaborately carved and brocade-paneled ceiling beams, her mind drifting into a blank reverie. To speak of this Nanny Chang — she was truly an extraordinary person.

After losing her newborn daughter, she had gone to serve as a wet nurse for the Bai family, devoting herself to the task with great care and attentiveness. Old Duke of Bai had offered to take Nanny Chang’s household under his patronage, but she had politely declined, preferring to forgo the added benefits rather than lose her independence. As Old Duke of Bai grew ever more prominent, Nanny Chang was valued and well-regarded for her loyal service, and the family’s circumstances gradually improved. When Lady Bai married out, many servants competed to follow her to the marquis household for a comfortable life — but Nanny Chang was not among them. Instead, she returned to her hometown to tend to her own small family.

After Gu Tingye’s meteoric rise, Nanny Chang still showed no rush to attach herself to him, remaining firmly committed to her life as an ordinary free commoner. Even when Cheng Garden was first being established, she had come to help put the household in order for a period at Gu Tingye’s request — but once Mr. Gongsun arrived from the south, she returned home again.

Even for this visit, she had specified that she would come only in the afternoon.

This was interesting to consider. In ancient times, calling on someone was mostly done in the morning — and Minglan quietly mulled over Nanny Chang’s reasoning: firstly, arriving in the afternoon meant a higher chance of coinciding with Gu Tingye’s return; and secondly, an afternoon visit would not put the host in the position of having to offer a meal.

Nanny Chang, however distinguished her standing and however venerable her seniority, had once occupied the position of a wet nurse in the Bai household, and that half-servant’s identity still clung to her. She refused to sit at the same table and eat alongside the master of the house — yet if she were openly required to state clearly that “a servant does not dine at the master’s table,” that was a kind of self-abasement she seemed equally unwilling to endure. And so she simply chose to come in the afternoon.

This old woman was a stickler for the rules of rank and hierarchy — yet she was also a very proud person.

At around the second quarter of the hour of Wei, Minglan woke from her afternoon nap, washed her face, and was in the middle of fixing her hair when someone outside came to announce that Nanny Chang’s party of four had arrived. Minglan immediately sent Little Cuixiu over to Kouixiang Garden to bring Rong Jie’er, then finished dressing and made her way to the small reception hall to wait. Shortly after, Liao Yong’s wife led the guests into the hall.

At the head of the group was an elderly woman with white-streaked hair, wearing a plain dark teal brocade jacket without patterning and trimmed with a two-finger-wide border of black velvet. Her round, deeply wrinkled face was expressionless. Behind her followed a woman not yet forty, wearing a long rust-red thin satin robe with a subtle allover round pattern. Behind her came a pair of young children — the girl, wearing a small apricot-yellow jacket embroidered all over with winding floral stems, was about fifteen or sixteen years old, while the boy beside her appeared to be barely past ten, dressed in a simple, plain-colored scholar’s robe.

This style of dress was very familiar to Minglan — her younger household brother Changdong habitually wore much the same — except that the fabric and embroidery of this boy’s garments were considerably superior in quality.

Minglan rose slowly to her feet and smiled as she stepped forward to give Nanny Chang a small curtsy. “Nanny has come at last — I have been looking forward to this for such a long time! The master must have mentioned Nanny dozens of times.”

Nanny Chang shifted slightly to one side, avoiding Minglan’s bow, and at the same time bent her knees and gave Minglan a proper, formal curtsy. With composed dignity she said, “This old woman greets Madam.”

As she spoke, she was also taking stock of Minglan. Before her stood a young mistress in the first full bloom of youth, dressed in a sheer gauze jacket with pale purple cloud-pattern brocade and folded lotus sprays. Her hair was swept up in a loose, cascading knot pinned simply with a white jade ruyi-head hairpin shaped like a lotus flower — fresh as the morning’s first dewdrop condensing at daybreak, clear and lovely, incomparably beautiful. In her speech and manner, she was gentle and even-tempered, her gaze warm and bright, her bearing refined and pure.

At first sight, Nanny Chang could not help but quietly nod to herself in approval.

She turned slightly, gesturing to those behind her. “This is my daughter-in-law, whose maiden name is Hu.” The middle-aged woman bowed her head and gave Minglan a curtsy. Minglan smiled and returned a half-bow, saying, “Greetings, Elder Sister Chang.”

“Greetings, Madam.” Nanny Chang’s daughter-in-law, Madam Chang Hu, raised her head just slightly. She was not without a certain degree of looks, though her skin was rather dark, and her habitual downward set of mouth gave her a perpetually put-upon expression. She opened her mouth at once to flatter, her face wreathed in smiles. “I have long been thinking of coming to pay my respects to Madam. They all say Madam was sent down by a fairy — at first I did not believe it, but now that I’ve seen you today, oh my — however could the Queen Mother of Heaven bring herself to let Madam descend to the mortal world?!”

The moment Minglan caught sight of Madam Chang Hu’s outfit, she could not suppress a twitch of the corner of her mouth — wearing such a dark red with a complexion that dark, one had to say, took real nerve. Hearing these words, she could not help bursting into a laugh. “Elder Sister Chang is such a wit! Please do be seated.”

But Madam Chang Hu was in no hurry to sit. She glanced at her mother-in-law. Nanny Chang gestured to the two children behind them. “These are my granddaughter Chang Yan and my grandson Chang Nian. Yan, Nian — go and pay your respects.”

The two children came forward at once, flanking the adults on either side, and bowed in greeting. Minglan accepted the bow with perfect ease this time. When the two children looked up, Minglan gave a small start of surprise.

The siblings resembled each other quite closely — both with dark complexions and fine, clear features — yet their bearing and temperament were strikingly different. Chang Yan was no more than an ordinary young girl of modest family background, and having spent the past few years living in the rural outskirts of the capital, she still carried a trace of rural simplicity about her. But Chang Nian had the open, upright air of a boy who had grown up among books, his speech clear and precise, his conduct confident and unaffected, entirely without the hesitancy and constraint one often saw in children from ordinary families encountering wealth and status for the first time.

Everyone settled down to talk, and even the Chang children were brought stools to sit on.

Madam Chang Hu and her daughter appeared to be visiting for the first time. After taking their seats, they could not resist casting their eyes about the hall, admiring the furnishings — Madam Chang Hu in particular was almost unable to stop herself, for the hall was appointed with quiet, refined elegance, its quality all the more apparent for its restraint.

There was a white jade vase about a foot in height, flawlessly pure throughout, placed simply on one of the tiered display shelves. Two rows of carved purple sandalwood chairs stood in the hall, their wood dark and deeply lustrous. Madam Chang Hu kept running her hands over the chair beneath her as she sat, praising without pause: “What a wonderful place Madam has here — I feel as though I’ve walked straight into a celestial palace! Oh my, look at this potted plant arrangement… could that possibly be made of jade and precious stone? And this cool bamboo mat — what kind of bamboo is this woven from…?”

The woman’s speech and manner carried a whiff of common market bustle, not quite suited to polished company. Beside her, Nanny Chang knitted her brows slightly, shot her daughter-in-law a glance, and held herself back from saying anything. Then she looked at Minglan — who had not let any hint of disdain or impatience cross her face, but had also not gone out of her way to flatter. She simply smiled lightly and traded pleasantries, as though she genuinely found Madam Chang Hu’s remarks rather charming.

“I don’t know all the details myself,” said Minglan, searching her memory. “I believe it is bamboo from Sichuan — great towering bamboo, split into strips, with only the finest-grained and most supple inner slices selected, then drawn out into long, even strands the thickness of a bamboo skewer, polished over and over again with rough rounded stones — supposedly polished more than a thousand times — until they are as fine as bamboo silk threads, and then woven into this mat.” Only then would the finished mat be as soft and white as cotton satin.

Madam Chang Hu sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes flooding with frank admiration. “Heavens above and all my ancestors — what an unimaginable amount of labor! How precious it must be! No wonder it feels so deliciously smooth to the touch. To think that we plain folk could ever have the good fortune to use something like this…”

Minglan had no room for modesty here. In ancient times this was no commercial society, and sometimes even having money was not enough to obtain certain things — for in an imperial system, the very finest goods were those produced as imperial tribute, crafted by specialized palace workshops and artisans.

Ever since the days had grown warmer, the palace had been sending down a steady stream of gifts to ward off summer heat, and many of these items Minglan had never laid eyes on before. Like this bamboo-silk cooling mat — had she not been concerned about bamboo growing moldy in storage over time, Minglan would have wanted to lock every last one of them away in the storeroom.

Nanny Chang’s brow had by now tied itself into a knot. She shot a pointed look at her daughter-in-law and successfully put a stop to Madam Chang Hu’s incessant chatter. Minglan herself did not mind, and after responding to a few more remarks, she turned to speak with Nanny Chang directly. “…I hear Nanny is now settled in Cat Ear Lane. I hope the house is comfortable? Is it convenient to come and go?”

The lines of wrinkles on Nanny Chang’s face softened. “All thanks to Ye’er. The house is very good — two courtyards, two rows of rooms, front and back. It’s more than enough for four of us, widowed and orphaned as we are. And when Nian comes of age, takes a wife, and has children, there will still be room to spare. The neighbors on both sides are respectable, well-behaved families. The lane connects to main streets at both ends — whether by carriage or sedan chair, it’s easy to come and go.”

“That is good — the master and I can rest easy then…”

Minglan had just picked up a bright, vivid fruit from the pale blue ceramic dish and was smiling, about to continue, when Madam Chang Hu broke in again: “Well, not everything is perfect. The location is a bit out of the way, and it’s a touch quiet and secluded. When you need to buy brush and ink and books for Nian, or add new clothes for Yan, you have to travel half a day to get there. If only we could…”

“Hold your tongue,” said Nanny Chang, her expression beginning to turn dark. She brought her teacup down on the side table with a sharp clack. “What foolishness are you babbling?”

Madam Chang Hu fell immediately silent. Minglan watched with great curiosity. The woman had stopped talking, but showed no particular sign of shame or embarrassment — it was as though her skin were thick enough and her face brazen enough that she was thoroughly accustomed to being scolded by her mother-in-law and harbored no real fear of being publicly dressed down. She even resumed eating from the platter of refreshments and fruit without missing a beat.

Nanny Chang finished glaring at her daughter-in-law, then turned back to Minglan and said, “Madam, please don’t be polite on our account — we’ve already imposed on Ye’er more than I can say. Ah…this old woman isn’t afraid to lose face, so I will simply say it plainly.” She sighed, her voice dropping low. “It’s all because of that worthless son of mine. He was no good at studying and went off to do business with others — got himself swindled, lost everything the family had, and worse, got beaten half to death. We were on the brink of disaster. That was when I swallowed my pride and dragged the whole family to beg our way to the capital. As it happened, my eldest daughter had passed away more than ten years before — we were at the end of our rope. Had it not been for Ye’er, who helped us get land and a house, we would not have survived to this day.”

At these words, Minglan could not conceal her surprise.

It was not so much what Nanny Chang had said that startled her, but rather the fact that Nanny Chang would speak of it so openly and without concealment, airing her own family’s disgrace.

None of these matters had ever been mentioned to Minglan by Gu Tingye — not a single word. But Minglan had already reasoned through it herself long ago.

In ancient times, the custom was to guard one’s home and one’s homeland — to fall and return to one’s roots. People simply did not leave their birthplaces on a whim. If Nanny Chang had been living perfectly well back in Haining, why would she have suddenly uprooted herself and brought her whole family to the capital? And having been out of contact with her former employer’s family for nearly a decade or more, it was hardly plausible that she had suddenly experienced an outpouring of loyalty. There was no indication that anyone in the Chang family was coming to sit for the imperial examinations or had any commercial venture planned for the capital.

There was, then, only one conclusion: the Chang family could no longer remain in their hometown, and had come to seek shelter with their former employer.

Since the day of their marriage, Minglan had harbored many things she did not understand — the death of Yan Hong, the full story of Man Niang, and the matter of that other child. If Gu Tingye chose of his own accord to tell her, she would listen — but she had never taken the initiative to ask. Even between husband and wife, there were hidden shames buried in the heart that were not convenient to speak aloud, and Gu Tingye clearly had no inclination to bring any of it up.

Nanny Chang had been in the capital for nearly ten years and certainly knew all the details. She was precisely the key that could unlock these questions — and so, ever since quite some time ago, Minglan had been quietly and deliberately studying Nanny Chang’s character and conduct.

So then — what kind of person was she, exactly?