Chapter 4

A fifteen-year-old boy, dressed in a pearl-white round-collared robe edged with misty blue, his slender waist tied with a silk sash of the same hue, carried an air of clarity and grace. Though somewhat slight, he was broad-shouldered and long-legged, towering over most adults. His natural, tender eyes resembled autumn waters stretching wide, caressed by the gentle spring hills.

The ladies in the room momentarily fell silent. Jian Xinlan, regaining composure, hurriedly offered her seat. Who said only girls undergo dramatic changes? Boys’ transformations can be even more striking.

Jian Xun took a seat at a somewhat distant official’s hat chair, his hands resting naturally on the black lacquered armrests—long and fair, so pale that faint blue veins beneath the skin were visible. Those very hands had once held Song Yuan’s as they ran beneath the peach trees in their youth.

Song Yuan lowered her lashes in sorrow. Jian Xun had barely settled before excusing himself on the pretext of attending to his studies. As he withdrew, he bowed respectfully to his elders, his posture both deferential and imbued with the sharp spirit of a resilient pine.

Song Yuan stared after him, as if worlds apart. Five years of separation had wrought a transformation in Jian Xun so profound it left her breathless. The Jian Xun of old had been a delicate, finely carved child, indistinct in gender and notably short in stature.

Jian Xinlan and Mrs. Cheng, estranged for many years, exchanged polite words before fatigue set in, and each retired to her quarters. Mrs. Cheng instructed Nurse Zhang to escort them back to rest.

Mother and daughter were temporarily guests at the modest yet elegant and spotless Yuyue Pavilion in Qingyuan. Jian Xinlan sighed deeply, her mind involuntarily conjuring Jian Xun’s image—the bearing, the grace, and how at twelve he had already achieved the remarkable “Little Three Yuan.” Yet her thoughts drifted to another—the late Empress Dowager’s posthumous son, Prince Su.

Younger by a year than the youngest imperial prince, this little brother was regarded almost as a son by the Emperor himself—spoiled and raised in the lap of luxury. Though she had not seen Prince Su in person, given the Empress Dowager’s renowned beauty, even if he were ugly, it could not be too grievous.

If Sister Yuan’s name had caught the Empress Dowager’s favor at the Flower God Banquet, the Song family’s fortune was hardly surprising. Of course, becoming Prince Su’s consort was no mere matter of desire; Jian Xun was, in truth, the best alternative.

That evening, Scholar Huang dined at home, casting a glance at Huang Shiyu, who was arranging dishes behind Madam Huang, and remarked lightly, “Country folk, why imitate the grand households? Isn’t it pretentious?”

Though his words addressed Huang Shiyu, they were a rebuke aimed at Madam Huang, who paid no heed as she continued eating.

Scholar Huang said, “Meiniang, sit and eat; Hupo will serve Madam.”

Only then did Huang Shiyu gently lay down her chopsticks and seat herself near her father, quietly picking at the rice grains.

The third younger sister, however, fussed over the food, refusing to eat this or that, prompting Madam Huang to slap her into silence.

Father’s eyes favored the third sister and the youngest brother, but when their interests were not at stake, he would glance kindly at Huang Shiyu—such as allowing her to eat on time.

Unusually, Madam Huang was more agreeable today. Though her face was drawn, she did not truly make things difficult.

She had found a new source of income.

Previously, she had only looked upon Second Miss Huang with disdain, annoyed by the child’s premature elegance and beauty, uncertain which wealthy family might claim her as a plaything in the future. Then suddenly, a thought struck her: Huang Shiyu was growing ever more beautiful.

If she nurtured this appearance carefully, who could resist seeking her hand in marriage?

Even the ugly eldest Miss Huang had brought in a dowry; what of Huang Shiyu? Madam Huang’s eyes gleamed.

Though a concubine’s daughter, unfamiliar with high society, she had an elder brother who served as a minor steward in a grand household. This brother was her most formidable contact, frequently mingling with young masters and noblemen.

Today, her brother had secretly glanced at Huang Shiyu twice and told her, “Raise her for another year or two; the master does not favor those too young.”

Though Huang Shiyu was barely of age, her loose clothes and slender frame masked her maturity beyond her years. Her mother had to swallow her words when her brother’s stern gaze pierced the room.

Madam Huang had never imagined that Scholar Huang had already chosen a prospective son-in-law.

Country girls typically began betrothal talks at thirteen and married by sixteen. As a father, Scholar Huang naturally started seeking a match early.

In his eyes, a son-in-law’s character, age, and appearance mattered most, yet the dowry was key—it proved whether the suitor could support his daughter.

Thus, he selected Li Fugui, a fellow villager.

Two years older than Huang Shiyu, strong and robust, known for his diligence, literate, and running a prosperous inn in the county, his family was well-off.

From the perspective of choosing a son-in-law, Scholar Huang was a considerate father.

He even avoided Madam Huang, inquiring alone in his study for Huang Shiyu’s opinion.

Startled, Huang Shiyu blinked a few times before joyfully replying, “I agree! I agree!”

The young girl did not grasp the full weight of marriage but knew that Li Fugui was much admired in the village.

Moreover, Brother Li was truly kind, often helping neighbors and supporting the weak. Living with his family would surely spare her from scolding and ridicule.

Scholar Huang patted her slender shoulder. “I will discuss this with your mother slowly. For now, consider this a hint—do not spread it outside.”

“Okay,” Huang Shiyu obediently nodded.

The next day, unexpectedly, Madam Huang did not assign Huang Shiyu any heavy chores but summoned her close.

“Hold out your hands,” Madam Huang commanded.

Confused, Huang Shiyu obediently extended her delicate hands—tender as bamboo shoots, fingers slender and graceful, a pair of exquisitely beautiful maiden hands, though the palms were somewhat rough.

Madam Huang frowned and signaled the senior maid Yin Fang to bring something—a round blue-and-white porcelain box. The balm inside exuded a fragrant scent.

“From now on, wash your hands and face daily, then apply this, do you understand?”

“Okay...”

“When it runs out, ask Yin Fang for more. If you slack off, I’ll skin you alive,” Madam Huang warned sternly.

Huang Shiyu assented, her heart pounding.

“Yin Fang, help her fix her hair.”

Madam Huang wished to see Huang Shiyu adorned as a proper girl and ordered her hair to be styled.

Huang Shiyu sat beneath the large window in the upper room, bathed in soft, golden morning light, her fine baby hairs neatly arranged by Yin Fang’s skillful hands.

Her eyes remained bright and lively, without a trace of sorrow or distress.

She looked at Madam Huang in puzzlement.

Madam Huang’s expression froze, and after a long moment, she swallowed hard and sharply ordered, “Yin Fang, undo it.”

Yin Fang then dismantled the coiffure and restyled Huang Shiyu’s hair into that of a young boy.

Madam Huang fell silent, a dark current swirling beneath her gaze.

“Mother, may I go now?” Huang Shiyu asked.

Madam Huang only waved her off impatiently.

Rationally, Huang Shiyu was like a pile of silver ingots; emotionally, she bore the hatred Madam Huang held for her birth mother.

Madam Huang desired wealth but could not accept Huang Shiyu living a life of silk and satin.

Huang Shiyu left the upper room lightly, sunlight bright. The cherry tree in the yard had borne fruit, almost ripe in three or five days—delicate, juicy, sweet, and tart.

Alas, she would have to return to the Sweet Water Shop early the next morning.

Since Madam Huang had unexpectedly allowed her a brief respite, she decided to visit her sister in town.

The round trip took less than an hour—much closer than the shop.

She arrived at her sister’s home in Locust Tree Alley.

Her brother-in-law was on duty at the county office, and her sister’s mother-in-law had gone to a village banquet, leaving only her sister, a maid, and an elderly woman busy in the household.

“Meiniang!” Her sister’s tired eyes suddenly brightened upon seeing her and embraced her warmly.

Huang Yingzhi was nine years older. Their mother had died young; Huang Shiyu had barely nursed at her breast. Borrowing from here and gathering from there, plus Yingzhi’s own rice gruel, she had miraculously survived.

Because of their mother’s early departure, Huang Shiyu had long believed Madam Huang to be her birth mother.

No matter how harsh the real mother’s scoldings, just a call would turn the young girl’s head—like any young creature.

Thus, before age five, no matter how many whippings she endured, at Madam Huang’s summons of “Meiniang,” Huang Shiyu would nestle back in.

It was a cruel game Madam Huang enjoyed.

Now, reunited after so long, the sisters were joyous.

The maid fetched water for Huang Shiyu to wash. Her sister wiped her eyes and resumed steaming buns, carefully crafting a little dog-shaped bun for Huang Shiyu, just as in childhood, and placed it on the steamer.

The day was bright and mild; sunlight danced across the sky. A pond in Qingyuan shimmered with lotus leaves floating on rippling water, and a few fresh lotus blossoms stood tall and elegant—an enchanting sight.

Fusheng carried a zither behind the young master.

This was the path Jian Xun took to the upper chamber to play for his mother.

The household had a new cousin, yet she was not unfamiliar.

Before their father’s death, the cousin often played with him.

After turning ten, their visits became rare.

Yesterday, they had met in the east antechamber, but out of decorum, he had not glanced foolishly.

Yet fate brought them together again. After five years, Song Yuan looked different, but at a single glance, he knew it was her.

Song Yuan stood by the shore, watching her maid pick fresh lotus blossoms, smiling sweetly. As if sensing two burning gazes, she turned with lingering smiles.

Their eyes met, and the breeze that day seemed to soften and linger.

Jian Xun stood quietly.

“Brother Axun,” Song Yuan murmured shyly, breaking his momentary daze.

Jian Xun replied softly, “If you want lotus flowers, I can have Ping’er borrow a boat from Nurse Zhang.”

Song Yuan did not dare meet his eyes. “I only want one; no need for trouble.”

A single flower lay by the shore, but Ping’er’s arms were too short to reach it.

Jian Xun stepped over, easily plucked the blossom, and handed it to her.

Song Yuan received it with both hands; the soft sleeves of her youth brushed his hand, leaving a faint fragrance.

She cradled the flower he gave her and smiled radiantly.

Jian Xun clasped his hands behind his back and took his leave, bidding farewell to his cousin.

Song Yuan looked at his calm face, said nothing more, bowed politely, then could not help but tilt her head to watch his retreating figure. Had he been the young Axun of old, he would surely have held her hand, speaking endlessly.

After lunch, Jian Xun received another gift from a girl.

“Again,” for he was reminded of the simple, earnest Huang Shiyu next door.

Fusheng said, “It was delivered personally by Sister Ping’er. The young master of the Song family passed through Shaoxi this year and bought several sets to share with his siblings. The top layer is for you; the second layer is from Miss Yuan.”

He had no interest in gold, silver, jade, or ancient paintings but loved porcelain—especially that produced in Shaoxi.

So Song Yuan had remembered.

Her gift was a brand-new, complete set of twelve zodiac figurines—animated, nodding, and adorably naive. But the study table could only hold so much.

He glanced toward the dog figure Huang Shiyu had sent, resting by the brush stand.

Moved by a thought, he tucked the dog and rabbit from Huang Shiyu into a hidden compartment on his left and rearranged the entire set from Song Yuan on the desk.