Chapter 1

Chapter 1

After my mother died, my father suddenly remembered that he had a daughter.

Once I came of age, he carefully selected several young gentlemen for me to meet, annotating every candidate in meticulous detail.

Each was upright in character and handsome in appearance.

Two stood above the rest.

One was Cui Zhaoyu, the second son of the Cui family. He came from a distinguished scholarly clan, had studied the Four Books and Six Arts since childhood, and was gentle, modest, and unfailingly proper.

The other was Xie Jinyan, the third son of the powerful Xie family. Gifted from a young age, he was proud of his talents and rather aloof, but his character was beyond reproach. Not long ago, he had nearly been flogged for speaking too frankly before the throne.

The moment I heard that, I moved Xie Jinyan to the bottom of my list.

Aloof?

Until my mother died, our home had always been aloof and cold enough for me.

Once, she wanted to visit the Lantern Festival. My father said he disliked crowds and told her not to join the crush either.

She had already dressed for the outing. With a sigh, she removed her makeup and went to bed.

On another occasion, my father left the capital on official business and promised to bring her the finest cloth from the region.

That fabric reached the capital before he did and became all the rage.

Remembering his promise, Mother stubbornly refused to buy any.

When Father finally returned, however, he came home empty-handed.

He had forgotten what he had said before leaving.

Mother was bitterly disappointed.

After that, whenever Father told her to wait for him, she no longer believed him.

She went on with her life as she pleased, but she was never quite as happy again.

What she wanted, after all, was affection, not things.

One winter, snow fell so heavily it filled the sky. Mother wanted to take a walk through it.

It was rare for anything to catch her fancy by then, and she went to ask Father to join her.

He said the snow was too heavy and the air too cold. There was no sense risking illness merely to go outside.

Mother watched the flakes drift down and said nothing more.

So I went instead. I put on my cloak, pulled up my hood, walked through the snow, and brought back a branch of brilliant red plum blossoms.

Father had lied.

Snowfall was not the coldest time; the thaw was.

Playing outside while snow fell was delightful. The world looked freshly washed. White buried every color beneath Heaven, except for the red plum blossoms struggling through the snow, their small faces proud and unbowed.

I gave the branch to Mother.

She smiled and placed it in a plum vase. Then she stared at it in a daze, her faint smile touched by a cold, quiet sorrow.

Not long afterward, she fell ill.

The sickness came fiercely. Soon she could no longer leave her bed.

As she lay dying, Father asked if she had any final wish.

Just then, snow began to fall outside.

Mother watched it swirling beyond the window. A single tear slid from the corner of her eye before she closed them forever, still unwilling to let go.