In a daze, she found herself back on that snowy night.

The cold pressed in wave after wave, the wind howling, snowflakes as large as goose feathers, so bitterly cold that her body had grown strangely hot instead. She’d wedged herself into the woodpile, refusing to come out, and when she saw her mother approaching, she’d burst into loud sobs. “Why me? Why not Sister? Why does it have to be me?”

She was five years old that year — though it was, in fact, exactly the question she should have been asking.

She had grown up in a small fishing village in the south, though her family didn’t make its living from fishing. She had an older sister at home and a younger brother below her — she was her sister’s little sister and her brother’s big sister, the second child. But for some reason, even though the harvests weren’t bad and her father still worked at the landlord’s workshop, the family kept growing poorer and poorer — none of which, at five years old, she understood at the time. It was only when the child trader came to their home for the second time, on that very snowy night, that she’d run outside and hidden in the woodpile behind the house, too frightened to go back in, until her mother finally came to bring her back.

“Why does it have to be me?”

She’d cried out the question, and though no one in the family answered, she somehow already knew. She had no idea what the future held, but she knew — she was the one being sent away. Even though the family had so little, was so poor, she still knew that staying home was best — better than anything out there. She knew it wouldn’t be her brother being sent away, but she didn’t understand why it wasn’t her sister either, even though she didn’t want her sister to leave either… Her mother, holding her and crying, said: “Because you’re clever. You’re cleverer than your sister. Being clever, out there, you’ll have a better chance at life than she would. Don’t blame your father. Blame me…”

She had always remembered her mother’s tearful words — that she was the cleverer one. She was sold, passed through several hands, eventually sold into a brothel — trained, beaten and scolded, sometimes fed, sometimes starved. A few years passed; she grew into her figure, her looks refined and pretty, and because of her cleverness, she was well-fed and cared for, given tutors to teach her deportment, reading, and the arts.

She always remembered her father and mother, remembered that snowy night, remembered those words — that she was the cleverer one, that she’d have a better chance at life than her sister. By the time she truly came to understand all this, she wasn’t sure whether she should hate her parents or not. Nearing thirteen, she made her first appearance in the brothel as an unspoiled courtesan receiving guests. By the time she was nearly fifteen, the copper coins and scraps of silver she’d saved up had finally been exchanged for one large silver ingot — enough, finally, to earn a bit of proper regard from the brothel’s madam, and a chance to go home once to visit her family.

She remembered how, when Madam Yang told her this, her face had held only contempt and mockery — Madam Yang had always been cold toward women of no value, and Jin’er, unable to grasp the full meaning behind that look, had only felt afraid. Clutching that ingot in both hands, she’d even asked one of the elderly attendants at Jinfeng Tower to rent her a small carriage, and set off on the journey home. Along the way, she still hadn’t decided how she’d face her father and mother — whether to hate them or forgive them. She thought once she arrived, she’d know for certain, that she could let the mood of the moment guide her — curse them and turn her back on them forever, or leave the silver ingot behind and turn away, never to think of them again either way. One ingot, fifty taels of silver, was enough to support a family for a long time.

But she never got the chance to hate them, nor to forgive them.

Her father had gone up the mountain to gather firewood and had fallen to his death. Her brother had fallen ill; they’d borrowed money from the landlord’s family, but the illness couldn’t be cured, and after her brother died, her mother had died too. She remembered what her mother had said — that she was clever, that she might have a chance at life.

As for her sister, she had married into the landlord’s family as a concubine to their son, and was still alive.

So Jin’er changed into a villager’s clothes and went to see her sister. She never told her sister that she’d become a prostitute. In the back courtyard of the landlord’s household, her sister never asked about the years that had passed for her — only talked on and on about how she competed for favor against the other concubines, how she resented this one or that one, the mistreatment she suffered, how her literate husband still spent his days squandering money at brothels in town, and so on and so forth. She hadn’t even stayed until noon before leaving, because the landlord’s son had come home and seen her, and something had shifted in his gaze — after that, her sister’s eyes toward her had changed too, growing hesitant and wary.

Later, when she rose to become the reigning beauty of Jinfeng Tower, her sister’s looks hadn’t been bad either — but ten years of vastly different upbringing had made all the difference. Even dressed in patched clothes, she’d been far too striking next to her sister — her sister had even seemed a little afraid she might stay and compete with her for favor. Clutching that silver ingot, she’d returned to Jinfeng Tower with the attendant who’d accompanied her, and never went back to that small fishing village again.

She was a clever girl, one who could carve out a path to survival. From that point on, she knew what she wanted — to walk that path of survival, happily. She was already, at the very least, living a far better life than her father and mother ever had. She stopped dwelling on it and grew cheerful, thinking that perhaps someday some brilliant, well-connected young talent would take her home as a concubine, and she’d live out a happy, contented life.

Of course, there were still some things she’d always secretly longed for.

That elder sister named Yun Zhu — she’d first seen her while studying alongside her under the same tutors, and had found her good-natured, always willing to help others. She’d heard Yun Zhu had once been an official’s daughter, and perhaps that lingering air about her was exactly that — the bearing of an official’s daughter. Jin’er didn’t have that quality herself, only felt… a bit envious of it.

Of course, the two of them hadn’t had much to do with each other back then — they later both became unspoiled courtesans at Jinfeng Tower, exchanging little more than nods of acquaintance. Jin’er felt she harbored a kind of admiration for her, though it was hard to put into words exactly what that admiration was. Not everyone at Jinfeng Tower had approved of Nie Yunzhu’s manner, of course — some of the girls had been openly hostile toward her, disliking her background, her aloof bearing, her refusal to put on a cheerful face, disliking that even without such cheerfulness she could still hold fame equal to the most popular courtesans. Even Madam Yang Xiuhong had seemed dissatisfied with Nie Yunzhu, occasionally scolding her.

Having untangled her own heart and found clarity about the path ahead, Yuan Jin’er lived quite happily, soon finding more and more silver ingots of her own coming her way. She simply watched it all unfold, keeping a small corner of her heart to admire that woman named Nie Yunzhu, while maintaining a cool, distant acquaintance with her. Later, Nie Yunzhu did indeed leave Jinfeng Tower. Madam Yang was, in her way, cold on the outside but warm underneath — her kindness never given carelessly, but she genuinely cared about the talented girls at the tower. She’d once said that in an environment like that, if you couldn’t fight to make something of yourself, you didn’t deserve to survive — and if you were unfortunate enough to lack good looks, well, that was simply heaven’s decree, nothing to resent or complain about in this world.

Scolding her back and forth like that had been Madam Yang’s way of trying to get Sister Yun Zhu to face reality, to choose an easier road — but in the end, it hadn’t worked, and despite this, she’d still given Yun Zhu the chance to come teach music at the tower.

As for herself, she’d never take that path. As she gradually grew up and came to understand what she truly longed for in her heart, she also knew it was nothing but an unnecessary, unrealistic wish. She was clever; she would keep walking this path of survival — call her calculating if you like — sometimes she thought that her parents sending her away had simply been about wanting her to live, and as long as she was alive, that was enough… Only, whenever she saw Nie Yunzhu struggling, she couldn’t help wanting to send her some money…

I’m a calculating person, she told herself — but in the end, clever as she was, she couldn’t help thinking further. Once she’d left Jinfeng Tower, had Madam Yang’s sharp tongue been hiding happiness or disappointment? Probably both. And what would her father and mother, up in heaven, think? Would they feel she’d done right, or that she’d thrown away her chance at survival? She didn’t know.

But she lived happily. Two women who’d come up together out of that kind of environment easily became close as sisters, leaning on each other through everything — and from then on, she’d treated Sister Yun Zhu as the person closest to her heart. And then there was that strange man who kept appearing and disappearing, who became a kind of wedge between her and Sister Yun Zhu — but who had also shown her sights she’d never once imagined seeing.

Gradually…

She’d come to enjoy bantering with him. Watching him crack jokes. His unserious way of being. She liked watching his helpless expression whenever she monopolized Sister Yun Zhu’s attention. She liked seeing his smug look after taking advantage of Yun Zhu’s affection while Jin’er wasn’t paying attention. Did he know that was on purpose? She liked watching him act composed in front of her and Sister Yun Zhu. Composed in front of others too. She liked hearing people talk about him, praise the things he’d done. She liked him when he was serious. She liked how he protected her and Sister Yun Zhu in front of the Su family. She liked — and also didn’t like — how he looked stained with blood. Did he even know how much she liked him?

It was because of him and Sister Yun Zhu, too, that she gradually came to see it — that little girl standing in the wind and snow deep inside her heart, clutching her silver ingot, crying and crying — that little girl was still there, inside her, and perhaps she herself had been in a great deal of pain all along. It was a shame she’d never been able to see that girl before, never been able to feel that pain. It was only now, gradually, that she was starting to see her — and having seen her, she felt, somehow, that the pain no longer hurt.

…

“…Nothing seriously wrong — it’s not quite an illness and not quite not one. She’s been feeling low, her spirits and energy a bit disordered — there’s something weighing on her mind, bottled up inside with nowhere to go. These past few days her sleep and appetite have probably been affected, but overall her constitution seems fine, and it hasn’t been going on too long. Just give her some simple medicine, enough to put her mind at ease. She was… probably a fairly lively sort before, wasn’t she?”

Beneath the eaves, golden sunlight pouring down, the middle-aged physician with the medicine box on his back spoke thus. Ning Yi listened, then turned to glance back into the room, and nodded. “Yes, fairly lively… Are you sure it’s really nothing serious?”

“A trouble of the heart like this — it’s hard to say how big or small it really is. It’s not much on its own, but for some, it can be quite serious indeed — some women, shut away in deep households, weighed down by unresolved worries, if it drags on too long, could shorten their lives by years.” The middle-aged physician offered this bit of gossip, then shook his head with a smile. “But looking at this young lady, I don’t think it’s anything of that sort. Find the root of what’s troubling her, talk it through with her a bit — once she’s eating and sleeping well again, she’ll be fine on her own… I’ll have someone send the prescription over shortly. I’ll take my leave now.”

“Here’s your consultation fee… my thanks. Safe travels.” Ning Yi drew out some silver from his sleeve, cupped his hands as he saw the physician off, then stood there beneath the eaves, gazing into the room at the woman still asleep on the bed. After a moment, he lifted his head, drew in a breath, let it out slowly, and stepped forward into the room.

“Honestly…”

…

When she woke, she realized she’d just had that long dream. Opening her eyes, bright sunlight fell across the doorway, motes of light swirling in the air; the window on the other side had been opened too, a breeze drifting in, cool and bright, stirring the books and papers with a soft rustling sound.

Only then did she register — she was lying in the bed in Ning Yi’s room, a damp cloth resting on her forehead. It felt faintly cool, quite pleasant, though the spot where she’d hit her head earlier still ached a bit — probably swollen into a bump.

Turning her head, she saw Ning Yi sitting at the desk, sorting through his drafts. Jin’er recalled how she’d scattered his papers everywhere and felt a pang of guilt, so she didn’t dare move, quietly closing her eyes and pretending she hadn’t woken up.

It wasn’t purely the matter of the papers that made her feel she couldn’t face him just now — well, since that was the case, might as well bury her head in the sand and pretend all was well with the world for now…

So she thought to herself.