Chapter 2

I knew my place. Ling Yan was not defending me out of concern. His mother’s voice was simply disturbing his meal.

He was always as cold as ice toward me and would not come a step closer than necessary.

I had only ever seen him smile at my sister. It was like snow melting; everything else paled beside it.

To me, though, that smile was worth less than a coarse steamed bun.

You could buy two for a copper coin.

He gave me all his monthly pay from the school to buy our food.

At first he had given it to his mother. After she spent a whole tael of silver on a bolt of cloth, he began giving it to me instead.

That earned me even more dirty looks from her. She found me more objectionable than ever.

I treated her as a noisy toad.

Ling Yan, at least, was easy to feed. He ate whatever I put before him and never commented.

All in all, I was content with my life. I had food and drink, and occasionally a letter from Mother.

She could not read or write. Father must have found someone to write them for her.

Neither could I. Whenever a letter arrived, I could only take it to Ling Yan with a hopeful heart.

He would set his book aside, take the sheet of paper, and read aloud in his clear voice.

“Shuer, everything is well at home. The master has transferred old Madam Wang elsewhere. Now I…”

He stopped. I urged him to go on, leaning closer to the letter even though I could not read a word.

He went still, then moved a little farther away.

“Now I have enough to eat and drink. Madam has had new clothes made for me and given me charcoal. A physician is treating my old illness too. This winter will not be so hard. Shuer, how are you? The master says your husband is a fine young man who will surely make his name one day. Stay with him and you will have a good life.”

His eyes lowered. His gaze seemed to settle on my fingers, cracked from the cold.

I wiped away my tears, trying to keep from sniffling.

“Ling Yan, will you write a reply for me?”

“Were you badly treated at home?”

We spoke at the same time.

I nodded.

So did he.

It seemed to have been no more than a passing question. He picked up his brush and looked at me. “What would you like to say?”

I sniffed, my voice thick. “Just say I’m doing very well. I have enough to eat and warm clothes to wear. Tell her to take good care of herself.”

He considered for a moment, then began to write. He wrote quite a lot. Once the ink had dried, he put the letter in an envelope and handed it to me.

I held it tightly and thanked him.

There was no affection between us as husband and wife. I had never hoped to win his heart.

Clearly, he was pleased that I knew better than to ask for it.

That night, after washing and returning to my room, I found a small jar of ointment beside my bed.

When I rubbed it into my hands, the dry, painful cracks hurt a little less.

The next day, his mother discovered it and took it away, hitting and berating me for being wasteful and selfish.

She even tried to pinch my arm. I nimbly dodged her.

“Ling Yan gave it to me.”

That made her angrier still. “Take a look in the mirror before you lie! Yan would buy something for you? Are you half the woman your sister is? Do you deserve it?”

“I gave it to her.”