Chapter 3

After more than a decade in this era, I knew how difficult it was to survive.

So I decided to find a way, wait for my chance, and win the young master’s favor.

If I could attach myself to him, even as a concubine, I would be better off than I was now.

But not yet.

I was only twelve. It was far too soon for anything. I would have to plan patiently.

And so my life as a kitchen fire maid began.

Compared with going out before dawn and coming home late, never getting enough to eat, this was a considerable improvement, even if the older women bullied and scolded me.

At least I had a bowl of rice. It still did not fill me, but it was so much better.

Every day I worked diligently: chopping firewood, washing vegetables, scrubbing bowls, cleaning the kitchens and the courtyard outside. I never shirked.

Whenever I saw a supervisor or someone who had served in the household for years, I would offer a few pleasing words.

I was sweet-spoken and well behaved. The older women who had once treated me coldly gradually softened toward me.

I still had just as much work, but at least I was scolded less and given a little more to eat.

And, of course, I could learn more about getting along in the world from those shrewd old women.

Unlike the numb-faced people around me, I was determined to stay alert and be prepared.

However tired I was, however hard the work, I always kept myself clean.

I went further: when I swept the courtyard in the scorching heat, I would find a scrap of cloth and make a mask to protect my face from the sun.

Over time, compared with the other kitchen drudges, I grew fairer and prettier. I had not been bad-looking to begin with.

But that was nowhere near enough.

As I worked, I paid particular attention to the older women’s idle chatter.

Where the young master went each day, for example, and what he liked.

I quietly committed every detail to memory. For a lowly maid like me, even catching sight of him was all but impossible.

Since I tended the kitchen fires, what I knew best was his taste in food.

I knew one thing: the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach.

So, besides doing odd jobs, I watched the cooks at the stove, learning how they prepared dishes and pastries.

Time flew. Another three years passed in a blink.

Looking at my reflection in the water, I could see how much prettier I had grown.

After three years of preparation, I knew it was time to find out whether I could succeed.

The young master was actually two years older than me.

Apart from the day I first entered the household, I had seen him only once in those three years.

That had been last New Year’s Eve, when he came to inspect the banquet preparations at his mother’s request.

He wore a moon-white brocade robe, carrying an air of privilege wherever he went.

Since our first meeting, he had grown into a tall, graceful young man.

Several maids followed him. They were all lovely. A single glance made me feel ashamed of my own looks.

But I quickly encouraged myself again. There was no use comparing myself with others. I was one of a kind.

After all that waiting, today offered a chance.

I had learned from the older women that the young master would visit the kitchens again.

If I could make an appearance before him, standing among the other maids with their sallow complexions and numb expressions, I was certain I would catch his eye.

I even stole moments from my work to practice in a basin of water, studying which expressions and poses might make him fall for me at first sight.

Before he arrived, however, Granny Wang, who supervised the kitchens, hurried over.

Her eyes swept across us. “Put everything down, quickly. Madam orders us all to wait in the front courtyard.”

No one dared delay. We dropped our work and hurried toward the front of the house.

I followed the crowd at once. Once we reached the courtyard, I stood properly among the others.

Granny Zhang looked more solemn than I had ever seen her. Something serious must have happened in the household.

Sure enough, Madam soon appeared before us with a stern face.

“Are all the servants here?” she asked the older woman beside her, her voice cold.

“All here,” the woman answered. Madam gave a single look, and a maid was dragged forward and forced to her knees.

No one dared breathe too loudly. Neither did I.

I glanced at the girl, then obediently lowered my head and waited for Madam’s judgment.

I was still wondering what had happened when screams began to rise from the front.

I stole a look. The maid had been tied to a bench. Two menservants were striking her with wooden rods, over and over.

She pleaded through the pain. “Madam, I won’t change. Please, Madam, spare me…”

However she screamed and begged, Madam acted as though she heard nothing. The rods never paused.

At last the girl’s skin was split and her flesh torn. Even her pleas fell silent.

Only then did the older woman beside Madam step forward to check for breath. “Madam, she’s gone,” she said quietly.

My eyelids twitched uncontrollably. They had beaten her to death?