Chapter 10

Another ten years have passed in the mortal world.

I wandered around Qiantang, hearing many stories.

The mother of the Magistrate of Lin’an County fell ill. The old lady passed away at the age of sixty.

Everyone said the old lady was a blessed person.

Her surname was Zhao, originally the daughter of the Jianggan Futai Family.

She was pampered since childhood, and at fifteen, her family arranged a marriage for her.

Everyone said her fiancé came from a distinguished family, had achieved the title of Flower Picking Scholar, and was a handsome and gentle gentleman.

Her fiancé was serving as an official in the Capital. When she was seventeen, he was supposed to come to propose.

But unexpectedly, his father died, and he had to observe three years of mourning.

In reality, Miss Zhao waited only a year before her fiancé suddenly sent a letter, stating frankly that he was observing mourning for his father and feared delaying the young lady’s prime years, so he wished to cancel the engagement and asked her to choose another husband.

Because of this letter, Lord Futai was furious and humiliated, severing all ties between the two families from then on.

A year later, that fiancé was implicated in an Official Grain embezzlement case at home and was executed along with his family.

Shocked as she was, Miss Zhao also felt fortunate.

She later married not far from home in Lin’an. Her husband was also young and promising, cherishing and protecting her.

Later, her son became the county magistrate. She was a kind mother, and her son was filial, with grandchildren surrounding her knees.

…

Qiantang is full of painted boats and taverns, making the nights lively.

I became enamored with the wine of the mortal world.

Perhaps because I had lost my Cultivation, drinking the wine left me faintly tipsy.

Then, in a tavern, I saw an old woman passing by on the street.

She was already very old.

But I recognized her at a glance-she was Sister Qiushi.

After the Shen Family was confiscated, servants like her and Shuanger were all dismissed.

Qiushi, trembling, leaned on a cane, carrying a basket in her hand and leading a young child.

Her days seemed hard; both grandmother and grandchild were dressed in rags.

I caught up with her and, in front of a few shabby houses outside the city, knocked on the door to ask for some water.

She opened the door and invited me in. Under the dim Oil Lamp, she scrutinized me, squinting as she said, “Miss, you look very much like someone I once knew.”

I smiled at her without speaking.

As if afraid I wouldn’t believe her, she shakily got up and brought out a painting from the inner room.

The yellowed scroll slowly unfurled-it was a “Moon Goddess Riding a Luan Painting.”

As expected, the fairy in the painting resembled me.

The familiar handwriting in the inscription bore not only Shen Qilang’s name but also the words Daomei Fairy.

Qiushi sighed and said to me, “Don’t look down on this old woman for being poor. When I was young, I was a maid in a wealthy household. The young master I served was truly a good person. I’ve never seen anyone so kind-hearted, gentle, and courteous, never looking down on servants. If you went to him for help in trouble, he never refused if he could help.”

“The young master was an official, but later his family was implicated in a case and their property was confiscated. Sigh.”

Qiushi’s hands trembled as she tried to put the painting away.

“I later went to the Prison to see him. Do you know the name of the girl in this painting? Her name is Niannian. The young master liked her.”

“She disappeared before the family was confiscated. He searched for her for a long time but never found her. Later, he died in prison… Before his death, he still wanted to see her one last time. Niannian didn’t come. The young master told me before he died that he didn’t blame her.”

I lowered my head and drank a bowl of water. The child beside me reached out his dirty hand and touched my face, saying, “Sister, why are you crying?”

Along the ten-mile river, painted boats drifted. A courtesan played the pipa, singing the Plum Blossom Prelude. The song drifted faintly-

The flower stirs up sorrow, reflecting the moon’s worry, morning clouds bright and beautiful.

Sipping jade dew, fragrant and faint, wanting to hide yet revealing, tenderly shy.

The plum blossom’s second refrain brings autumn tears, auspicious clouds drift, the bluebird lingers to watch.

…