Chapter 2

The visitors belonged to the Jiang family of the capital.

The Jiangs had a thirteen-year-old daughter born to the lawful wife. They had come to find her a study companion of good character and talent.

Uncle had freed us from the slave register the very day he bought us, so the choice to go or stay was mine.

In the main room, dressed in coarse gray cloth, I smiled at the Jiang housekeeper. “It would be a great honor to study with Miss Jiang. But I have a little sister. How could I leave her behind?”

The woman was courteous and kind. “Naturally she would come too. We would never part sisters.”

“My family has fallen on hard times, but I cannot sell myself and bring shame on my ancestors.”

“Your sincerity and devotion to your parents are praised everywhere, miss. We have come because of your reputation, to invite you into the Jiang household. You will be treated as a guest. No one will slight you.”

Aunt was an ordinary woman from the streets. She had never encountered a housekeeper of such bearing.

She stood to one side, scarcely daring to breathe. As she listened to our exchange, delight and anger mingled on her face in a riot of changing colors.

She was delighted that she could finally sweep the two of us out of her house.

She was angry that we had found such a good future—good enough to make her jealous.

Women who served great families were, of course, shrewd judges of people.

Seeing Aunt’s unfriendly expression, the housekeeper promptly ordered a tray of silver and several lengths of silk brought in. Only then did Aunt manage a smile as she saw us out.

After kneeling to bid Aunt farewell, Yi and I climbed into the carriage bound for the capital.

Mountain after mountain, river after river. The old scenery remained; my heart had changed.

I had been born and raised in the capital. Yet when, a year later, hooves once again rang over the familiar blue bricks of its lanes, my fingers trembled. I was too frightened to lift the dark curtain before me.

The Jiang family had two sons and a daughter. The eldest, Jiang Chen, was a lecturer at the Hanlin Academy, newly promoted to the fifth official rank the month before.

The second son, Jiang Shi, had trained in martial arts since childhood. I heard he had followed the Ninth Prince to Luozhou to suppress bandits and was still away.

Their daughter, Jiang Nan, was a gentle girl with a round face like a silver moon and two shallow dimples when she smiled.

The family had originally lived in Yangzhou. They had moved to the capital together after Master Jiang was promoted at the end of the previous year to Assistant Director on the Right of the Office of Transmission.

Once we entered the Jiang house, Yi and I were indeed treated as honored guests.

By day, the three of us attended our tutor’s lessons at Facing-the-Wind Hall. At night, Yi kept Jiang Nan company over their needlework, while I went alone to read old books in Moon-Gathering Pavilion.

It was a small building in the rear garden, with more than a dozen compartmented shelves packed tightly with books.

The nights stretched endlessly, and I tossed and turned without sleep. Often I read there until the moon stood high overhead.

Sometimes I stayed so late that my eyelids began to droop. I would lie down on the floor with a book for a pillow and only return to my room in the last watch of night, walking through dew beneath the frosty moon.

Everyone in the Jiang household knew I loved books as dearly as life.

Madam Jiang, in particular, came from a scholarly family. Far from reproaching my informal ways, she often brought brushes, ink, paper, inkstones, and books to my room herself.

“I know you care little for rouge or powder, jewelry or fine dresses. This is a new commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals, just published in the capital. I brought it for you to enjoy.”

She said this with a warm smile one crisp autumn day in the ninth month.

I took the new volume, fragrant with ink, and curtsied. “Thank you, madam. You feed and house us, and give us a monthly allowance besides. How can we accept still more of your kindness without feeling ashamed?”

Madam Jiang squeezed my hand, her moon-round face as kind as any ordinary mother’s.

“Since you became her companions, Nan’s needlework has improved, her learning has grown, and even her disposition has become much livelier. I ought to be thanking you.”

“Miss Nan is simply kind enough to put up with us.”

“It makes me happy to see you get along. Only—”

She frowned slightly, looking troubled. “Nan is a good child, and her eldest brother is good too. But she has a second brother with a difficult temper. That rascal returned the day before yesterday and has been in a terrible mood. If he offends you, please don’t pay him any attention.”

“What is troubling the second young master?” I asked, curious.

“I hear someone schemed to steal the credit for his victory over the bandits.”

I smiled. “Then I can hardly blame him.”

The young masters lived in the front courtyard, and I in the rear. In that large, enclosed house, where men and women kept apart, we were unlikely to meet.

What I never expected was that within two days, the shameless second son would come looking for trouble himself.

The autumn night had been deep and still. Once again, I lost track of time in Moon-Gathering Pavilion and only pushed open the door at first light, rubbing my sore eyes.

As I passed an osmanthus tree in the rear garden, a pebble suddenly fell from above, landing with a tap before my feet.

“Swindler! Is this how you did it?”

I looked up. A young man in a scarlet robe, his hair secured with a jade pin, lounged high in the branches.

He held a flatbread in one hand and crumbled it with the other, tossing the pieces out with a careless sweep of his arm. Soon the early birds landed and hopped about, their little beaks pecking eagerly at the food.

“The filial daughter of South Mountain! Sacred birds with souls! Hah. Is the whole world blind?”

He leaned against the osmanthus tree, provocation in his eyes and a sneer on his lips.

I stood in the morning breeze, aloof and silent, my brows drawn together.

Contemptuous, slightly angry, and arrogant, he looked increasingly pleased with himself when I made no answer. “What’s wrong, swindler? Exposed at last and nothing to say?”

I shook my head calmly and pointed to the hair at his temple, my gaze pitying, my voice sincere. “There’s bird droppings on your head.”

“What?!”

He must have been very particular about cleanliness. His body lurched, and he jumped straight down from the tree.

“What rotten luck!”

Flustered, he fumbled a handkerchief out of his robe and wiped his head again and again in disgust. When he finished, he furiously flung the cloth onto the ground.

I snorted. “Anyone who goes looking to spoil another’s luck should expect bad luck of his own.”

“What are you so pleased about? The Jiang household has no room for someone who deceives the world for a false reputation.”

He was much taller than I, standing before me like a green pine.

The morning breeze was cool; the pine cast its shade.

I looked up at him. A lock of hair, disarranged by the handkerchief and still bearing an indefinable grayish white contribution from the birds, swayed stubbornly back and forth in the breeze.

I lowered my eyes, pressed my mouth tight, bit my lip, and slipped around him to escape. “Then I’ll leave.”

I had to go.

If I stayed another moment, I would burst out laughing without mercy.

At Facing-the-Wind Hall, I told Jiang Nan and Yi what had happened.

Yi went a little pale and clutched my sleeve. “Sister, will the second young master really turn us out?”

Jiang Nan took her hand and smiled. “Why ever would he? Come, I’ll take you both to see Father.”