Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The madam left in a hurry, still half-doubtful, half-convinced. Before she went, she threw out one last warning: if she found out I had been stirring up trouble, I would regret it.

She even forgot to take the water bucket with her.

I seized the chance to drag the man, who was down to his last breath, into my room.

While I was at it, I filled the water vat for the madam, then went to the kitchen and lit a fire.

There was no food, but at the very least, I had to boil him some water.

He was already this sick. If he drank raw water and died right there on my bed, wouldn’t I have saved him for nothing?

The madam came back just as the water was about to boil.

“You really are…”

She stared at how practiced my movements were and froze for a moment. In the end, she changed what she had been about to say.

“You adapt quickly.”

How could I not?

It had been more than ten times now.

I was almost numb to dying.

The madam did not tell me what she had found out.

I did not ask.

For once, there were no honeyed words hiding knives between us, and no cursing either. We each took a little stool and sat by the stove, watching the red-and-yellow flames that made our eyes sting from the smoke.

“You…”

The madam paused. She stared blankly at the fire for a while longer before finally continuing.

“What exactly did your family do before?”

Mm. That was a good question.

I had no answer.

I picked up the large copper kettle, now smoked gray from the fire, patted the ash off my cotton robe, and returned to my room to try whatever I could on a hopeless patient.

The original owner of this body had not left me with clear enough memories.

Who she was, why she had fallen so far as to be driven out of the capital, what had happened to her family, where her parents and clan had gone-to me, all of it was nothing more than a few vague instincts.

I could only faintly sense that the original owner might not have come from a low background. She had probably been spoiled at home, too. Still, she seemed to know most of the skills women of this era were expected to master.

Needlework and embroidery, reading and keeping accounts-she was decent at all of them.

But on this street, none of those skills were of any use.

With only a hundred or so coins coming in each day, the madam’s accounts were simple and straightforward. There was no need for a bookkeeper.

There were only four or five girls in the house altogether. You never saw me, I looked down on you; all the twists and turns of an inner courtyard’s scheming would be wasted here.

No phoenix could alight on coarse sackcloth. No orchid could be embroidered on filthy scraps of rag.

When your going rate was twenty copper coins a night, who cared about eternal devotion?

The madam was a smart woman. She would not choose to fall out with me at a time like this.

As far as I was concerned, it was enough to plant the thorn. As for when it would blossom and bear fruit, that was up to fate. I had no say in it.

The door curtain was lifted.

For once, the person lying on the bed was not me.