He spoke: "Whether alive or dead, a girl like Third Sister wandering outside with neither wits nor skills to support herself will likely come to no good end. I now consider her dead. Whether performing merits or conducting memorial services, it's all just to ease my conscience. Don't mention this to Second Aunt - I'm afraid she couldn't bear it."
Xianglan nodded, unconsciously letting out a soft sigh.
For a while, the two conversed casually. Lin Jinlou shared interesting anecdotes from his travels with Xianglan, then said, "I have something to show you." He gave orders, and someone brought in a box. Upon opening it, they found stacks of papers - some correspondence, some small unframed scrolls of calligraphy and paintings. When Xianglan unfolded them, she was startled to discover they were all left by her grandfather and father from her previous life. She looked up sharply at Lin Jinlou.
Lin Jinlou explained, "Lord Shen had excellent penmanship. I originally kept some of his letters as calligraphy models. Later when the Shen family met with misfortune, most correspondence with them in our household was burned. The elders forgot I still had these. With time, I also forgot about them, leaving them gathering dust in this box. I only rediscovered them while cleaning my study a few days ago."
Xianglan browsed through the letters, tears suddenly welling in her eyes. Lowering her gaze and clutching the letters, she said, "Give them all to me. These are the only mementos I have left..."
Lin Jinlou watched her silently. Xianglan looked up and asked, "Do you want to hear about my connection with the Shen family?"
Lin Jinlou was taken aback, then nodded.
"In my previous life, I was the eldest granddaughter of the Shen family, named Jialan. When I told you before, it wasn't just some absurd joke."
"Really?"
"Truly. When my grandfather was convicted, our family was raided and fell from grace overnight. By the next day when I received word, my marital home was already surrounded by troops. After being taken to prison, I found my mother and sisters already in another cell. I didn't dare speak or call out. When the jailers shouted harshly later, I could only look back helplessly. Poor me, still naive at the time, thinking I could see my family again. Little did I know that glance would be our final farewell."
"I heard the Shen women committed suicide at the Bureau of Music and Entertainment... You didn't go there?"
"No, I was exiled with my husband's family. I remember hearing on our departure day that my grandfather and others had been executed at the Meridian Gate. That day was truly bleak - my tears never dried. Later, resting at a dilapidated Guanyin temple along the way, I knelt before the Bodhisattva and prayed wholeheartedly: whoever could collect the bodies of my Shen family and let my ancestors' souls return to the netherworld with a resting place, I would serve them as slave or maid in my next life, repaying them eternally." She glanced at Lin Jinlou and sighed deeply. "I never understood why I became a maid in your household this lifetime until I saw your family's ancestral graves, then suddenly understood."
"What happened then?"
"Later, my husband from that life fell ill and died on the journey. Soon after, I too died from poverty and sickness on the road." Xianglan hesitated but ultimately didn't mention that Song Ke was Xiao Hang. "When I opened my eyes again, half-conscious, I had become a maid in the Chen Family. Sometimes when I recall my previous life, I wonder if it was all just a long dream - but I was so immersed in it that I took it for reality."
"So that's how it was."
"Do you believe me?""I believe, of course I believe. I'd believe anything you say." Lin Jinlou looked at Xianglan with a resolute expression. He thought to himself: No wonder Xianglan specifically paid respects at the Shen family ancestral graves, knew all the old stories of the Shen family like the back of her hand, and her calligraphy and painting style matched exactly with what Grand Tutor Shen had created back in the day. Unless personally tutored by her grandfather from childhood, who could have inherited such authentic skills? He had originally wondered how a couple like Chen Wanquan could raise such a daughter - accomplished in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting; skilled in needlework; refined in dress and manner; dignified in bearing and conduct; and sophisticated in dealing with others. So the root was here. Some minor officials' daughters who later rose to prominence, or some maids in wealthy households pretending to be young ladies, only learned superficial airs and material consumption. But the accumulated refinement of great families over centuries becomes ingrained in one's very flesh and blood - how could merely imitating the surface ever be enough?
Hearing Lin Jinlou's words, Xianglan forced a smile and slipped her small hands into his, as if drawing strength from his touch: "At first I thought that if grandfather and the others were reborn like me, we might meet again in this life. But later I learned about the veil between lifetimes, and considering the vast sea of humanity and life's impermanence, even if we encountered those from our previous life, we wouldn't recognize them. And even if we did recognize each other, who knows whether it would bring blessing or calamity. I just regret... ultimately, I never got to see my dearest ones one last time."
Seeing Xianglan gazing wistfully out the window, her brows veiled in melancholy like a lotus flower holding dew, Lin Jinlou felt indescribable emotions. That Xianglan had confided her deepest secret to him showed her complete trust. His heart ached for her, yet he also felt some relief. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her for a long moment before saying: "Whether you were originally a maid or a young lady of the Shen family, to me, you are just you - my wife. There's no difference. But thinking of all the hardships you've endured makes my heart ache. How the Shen family fell remains a sensitive topic even now. The Eastern Palace once privately lamented that the punishment dealt to the Shen family was too severe. When the new emperor ascends the throne, he will surely restore the Shen family's reputation."
After he finished speaking, Xianglan remained still for a long time. When he finally looked down, he found her quietly nestled in his embrace, her face already streaked with tears.
Lin Jinlou took a handkerchief and wiped her tears, holding her and gently rocking her for a while. Looking out the window, he saw the sky had darkened - it was already time to light the lamps. He said: "Today is the Ghost Festival. Why don't we go out? There's a temple fair outside, very lively."
Xianglan said hoarsely: "But there are so many people outside, we might get crowded..."
"How could I take you somewhere crowded? Come, I'll take you to a wonderful place."
After giving orders to prepare what they needed, and since Xianglan was feeling depressed and genuinely wanted to go out to refresh her mind, they both changed into outdoor clothes. Xianglan rode in a sedan chair out through the side gate of the mansion, passing through bustling markets and streets filled with endless vendor calls. The sedan was carried straight to a small hill not far away, where Lin Jinlou had already ordered soldiers and guards to clear the area and open the path.Xianglan stepped out of the sedan chair, and Lin Jinlou took her hand as they ascended the stone steps together. Soon, a pavilion appeared halfway up the mountainside. Ling Qing, Ling Su, and Xue Ning were already there, with multiple red candles burning on the candlesticks and delicate palace lanterns hanging overhead. The stone benches were draped with thick, glossy satin cushions, while a gilded silver censer with animal-shaped handles on the stone table emitted fragrant smoke from incense cakes to ward off mosquitoes. Wisps of blue smoke curled upward, and seasonal fruits were arranged alongside an assortment of candied treats and pastries in pale pink official kiln dishes—almonds, pinellia, layered fragrances, olives, mint, cinnamon, yam cakes, water chestnut powder cakes, toad pastries, goat cheese, rose preserves, and more. Upon seeing their arrival, Ling Su hurriedly brewed hot tea, its aroma suffusing the air with a misty warmth. At Lin Jinlou’s wave, the three quietly withdrew.
“Well, isn’t this place lovely? I’d originally planned to bring you here for the Mid-Year Festival moon viewing.”
“It truly is a wonderful spot,” Xianglan nodded.
They stood side by side, the autumn crickets chirping in their ears. Below the hill lay a bustling market, brilliantly lit as if daylight, with a continuous stream of pedestrians. The sky hung low, the night so thick it seemed impenetrable, dotted with sparse, twinkling stars and a icy moon hanging like a jade plate in the heavens. The earthly and celestial realms mirrored each other, evoking a sense of transcendence. Though clearly in the mortal world, this secluded nook felt detached, as if the universe had shrunk to just the two of them.
Lin Jinlou wrapped an arm around Xianglan, and she rested her head on his shoulder. In silence, they immersed themselves in this intimate, wordless understanding.
Before long, the faint strains of opera singing drifted to their ears. Lin Jinlou frowned and said, “Beyond this pavilion uphill is the Moon-Viewing Tower, where other nobles are enjoying the moon and festivities. They must have hired actors to perform.”
Xianglan smiled. “The singing is quite beautiful—it’s the scene ‘Dreams Retained.’”
Lin Jinlou rubbed his nose and muttered, “Why must they perform this particular piece?” Originally, after The Story of Hermit Lanxiang spread among the people, someone expanded it from twelve to eighteen scenes, adding episodes such as Xianglan’s past mutual affection with a young scholar, Lin Jinlou’s intervention to save her father by forcing her into the household, and other plot twists. New music was composed, and the play was renamed Lanxiang’s Destiny. Its elegant lyrics and moving melodies quickly made it popular, surpassing even the earlier Mandarin Duck Dream in fame. When Lin Jinlou learned of this, he brooded for days. Suppressing a laugh, Xianglan said, “The revised version isn’t entirely untrue, Eldest Master. Why trouble yourself over it?” Lin Jinlou grumbled resentfully, “If I ever find out who fabricated this nonsense, I’ll make sure they’re finished!” Seeing Xianglan’s barely concealed amusement, he could only sulk. This scene, “Dreams Retained,” depicted the episode where Lin Jinlou compelled Xianglan to become his concubine.The melody, with its intricate twists and turns, seemed to voice all the grievances she had felt upon first entering the mansion. Hearing it now, memories surged like a tidal wave, carrying her back to the day she had entered the Lin household as a maid. She had encountered a harsh master, faced constant harassment, and later, after severing past ties, became a concubine to save her father, only to fall victim to schemes and live against her will. Time and again, she had reached what seemed like insurmountable lows, shed countless tears, and committed many foolish acts, yet she always found the strength to rise again. Each step was paved with blood and tears, yet with each hardship, she grew steadier and more resilient. Overcoming each obstacle tempered her, shedding her former clumsiness and sharp edges, gradually polishing her crude and arrogant heart into a luminous pearl of jade. Returning to her origins, she now viewed the world with the greatest kindness, humility, and harmony.
Lin Jinlou suddenly spoke, "Thinking back on how I treated you back then, I really was a scoundrel."
Xianglan turned to him in surprise. In the flickering candlelight, his face was half in shadow. She said, "I've long since let go of the memories of how you mistreated me." She reached out, took his large hand, and placed it over her abdomen, gazing into his eyes. "What matters is the long road ahead, and besides, we have him now." With a light, carefree laugh, she added, "All those past hardships were merely the remnants of my unresolved karma."
That faint smile was far more captivating than any radiant grin. Lin Jinlou's expression shifted, touched with emotion, sorrow, and joy. He stared intently into Xianglan's eyes, as if peering into her very soul, etching her into his bones and blood.
He grasped her hand and said, "Come with me." Leading her outside the pavilion, he ordered a servant to bring a tray. Pointing at it, he explained, "Today, by custom, we should release lotus lanterns on the river, but there's no river here. We'll use these instead—they're prayer lanterns, for making wishes and dispelling ill fortune." The lantern, made of red paper, stood nearly half a person's height and was exceptionally large. Together, they held it as Lin Jinlou took out a fire starter and lit the oiled paper inside.
The flickering flame within the lantern cast a glow on Xianglan's jade-like face, making her starry eyes shimmer and her peach-blossom cheeks flush. Lin Jinlou was nearly entranced before he snapped back to reality and said, "Let go." They released their grip, and the lantern drifted lazily into the sky. Lin Jinlou then lit another one with her.
Together, they lit ten prayer lanterns and ordered the guards and maids to light over forty more. The moonlight, clear as water, cast a silvery glow, and the lanterns rose into the night sky like scattered stars, shining like gold—a magnificent sight. Below the hill, many commoners paused to watch, pointing upward.
Xianglan marveled, tilting her head back to gaze unceasingly.
Lin Jinlou smiled and asked, "Do you like it?"
Xianglan nodded.
He then picked up a white lantern. "This one is for the deceased. Write whatever you wish to say to your loved ones from past lives. It's said that the departed can see it from below."
Xianglan took up a brush, thought for a moment, and with a heart full of tender emotions, wrote only a few brief lines: "Separated by life and death, I remember you deeply, tears falling freely. In this life and the next, we may never meet again, yet I will never forget you. I am well and hope you take care." She then lit the lantern herself and, together with Lin Jinlou, sent it soaring into the sky.
Xianglan watched as the lantern drifted farther away, the night breeze tousling her hair.
Lin Jinlou removed his cloak and draped it over her shoulders, holding her as they gazed into the distance. He asked, "What did you write just now?"
"Nothing much. Just that I'm doing well now and hope they are too.""Feeling better now?"
"Yes, much better."
"Then don't hold any regrets from now on. Consider this your farewell to your loved ones from past lives. Let all the storms, rains, and miseries of the past be quickly turned over... You have me from now on." Lin Jinlou lowered his head and kissed her temple.
Xianglan felt something lodged in her chest, as if past affections and old matters had truly faded into fragility, ready to shatter at the slightest breeze. She had countless words she wanted to pour out to Lin Jinlou, yet they stuck in her throat, and she couldn't utter a single one, merely staring at him in a daze.
Lin Jinlou straightened with a solemn expression and spoke in a steady voice: "I desire nothing more."
She desired nothing more either.
She looked at him, and the two faced each other in silence.
In this corner of the world, it was bustling and fervent, filled with sky lanterns, opera singing, heavenly music, and the noisy market crowds at the foot of the mountain—the myriad hues of mortal dust, all imbued with the breath of earthly life. Yet the entire world was also so serenely silent, as tranquil as the mountains, as the verdant peaks, as the autumn wind, as the frost-like full moon atop the tree branches. All things had reached nirvana, entering the realm of non-birth.
The wind rose, stirring Xianglan's sleeves and skirt, making her momentarily dazed. She couldn't tell whether she was in a dream or reality, in her past life or present one, completely unaware of where she was. In all directions, only this person filled her vision, leaving no room for anything else. In a state of complete self-forgetfulness, she repeatedly called her beloved's name in her heart.
(End of Main Text)
Extra: Yuan Chengde
My birth mother passed away when I was still in swaddling clothes. The cause of her death was a deeply guarded secret throughout the marquis' estate. When I was just beginning to form memories, during a drowsy noon nap, my wet nurse was by my side, stroking my head while sighing to the maids in a drawn-out tone: "Don't be fooled by De Ge'er being born into wealth—he's still a pitiable child. His mother was truly heartless, leaving in such a fit of pique. What's to become of this boy in the future? Even if the marquis dotes on him, he's still a man with achievements to make out in the world. How could he always attend to him? Tsk tsk."
After waking at noon, I went to ask my father about my mother—what did "leaving in a fit of pique" mean? My father was usually a kind, smiling man, but that was the first time I saw him with cold, stern eyes as he demanded: "Which blind servant has been spreading poison in the young master's ears!" He ordered someone to take me out to play, but I slipped back and saw my wet nurse and maids kneeling before my father, slapping their own faces. After that, no one dared mention my mother in front of me again. After two or three days, my father took me to his study and showed me a painting hanging on the wall. In the painting was a woman in light green robes, with raven hair and powdered face, smiling with lowered head while holding a lotus flower. My father said, "She is your mother," then could speak no more, his face full of sorrow and melancholy as he repeatedly stroked my head. I didn't dare ask the many questions filling my heart, only staring blankly at the painted woman, unable to imagine she had once been a living person.
I have older brothers and sisters, but they all treated me with extreme coldness, ignoring me completely. Throughout the estate, only my father and the servants attending to me treated me well. In my heart, I secretly regarded my wet nurse as my mother, and my personal maid Bichan as my mother, yet I felt this wasn't right—they bore no resemblance whatsoever to the woman in the painting. It wasn't until I met Uncle Lin's concubine Chen Xianglan that my heart finally settled into complete peace—my mother should have looked exactly like her.Xianglan treated me extremely well, speaking to me gently with warm concern, personally making clothes, shoes, and hats for me, and teaching me to read and write while listening to my troubles. Once, my elder half-brother from the first wife bullied me, shouting: "Born and raised by servants, even your birth mother comes from lowly stock!" Enraged but unable to beat him, I seized a stone when he was off guard and struck his head. He cried out in pain, and maids hurried to pull us apart. With Father away, our eldest brother mediated. Since my brother was at fault and I was young, the matter was dropped.
I recounted this triumphantly to Xianglan, expecting praise, but she sternly said, "Go face the wall and reflect on your actions."
Bewildered, I blinked and pouted, unsure of my mistake, gazing at her with pitiful eyes. Xianglan said, "Think carefully about what you did wrong. I’ll question you later."
To me, Xianglan was like a mother. Not wanting to upset her, I sighed softly, set down my wooden toy knife, and trudged forward with slumped shoulders, head bowed low as if weighed down by chains. I moved slowly, glancing back hopefully, but seeing her stern expression, I turned away dejectedly and pressed my forehead against the wall, sinking into shadow.
After what felt like ages, Xianglan said, "Alright, come here."
Relieved, I rushed to hug her arm. "I didn’t speak or move—I was very good!"
She patted my head. "De Ge’er is brave, like a true man who bears his own mistakes."
Delighted, I asked, "Really? Like my father?"
Xianglan nodded. "Yes, De Ge’er is a little gentleman now."
"Oh!" I immediately straightened my shoulders.
"Then tell me, what did you do wrong?"
At this, I hung my head again, fidgeting. I truly didn’t feel at fault and stayed silent until Xianglan said, "Your mistake was turning a war of words into violence. Remember: no matter how hurtful others’ words are, you must restrain yourself from anger and fighting. Acting on impulse could lead to irreversible harm."
"But he insulted my mother—I couldn’t help it."
Xianglan drew me close, looking into my eyes. "We can’t control others’ gossip. A towering mountain won’t shrink an inch from slander; a vast ocean won’t lose a drop from lies. Only a leaf flies away with a breath. Steady your heart like a mountain—unmoved by words—or like the sea, absorbing all ugliness. Don’t leap to defend your pride at every insult; that shows lack of conviction and composure. If you can’t endure harsh words, what great things can you achieve in life?"As she spoke, she wrung out a towel herself to wipe my face, whispering, "Your mother was the most strong-willed and upright person. If you prove yourself worthy, she would be delighted. If she were still here, she certainly wouldn't approve of you hurting others with stones. The more others deliberately provoke you with sarcasm, the more you should ignore them, remain calm, and strive to better yourself. True victory isn't won with words or fists, understand?"
I leaned against Xianglan's chest and nodded, feeling my heart instantly soothed.
Xianglan extended a finger and whispered by my ear, "Then it's settled between us—next time, no matter what nasty things you hear others say, you mustn't resort to violence, and certainly not curse like a shrew, alright?" I murmured "Mm," and hooked my pinky finger with hers.
Later, whenever I heard gossip or harsh words, I would recall Xianglan's advice. It quickly extinguished the flames of hatred in my heart, allowing me to calmly let go and quietly focus on improving myself. Only years later, upon reflection, did I suddenly realize what Xianglan had truly taught me that day.
Some time after that, my father married the fourth sister of Uncle Lin as his second wife, and Xianglan became my aunt. I had little affection for my stepmother, merely maintaining superficial courtesy, but she never made things difficult for me either. We couldn't pretend to have a loving mother-daughter relationship, so we simply avoided each other to keep the peace. My aunt still cared for me—whenever she returned to the capital, she would either bring me to stay with her or have someone take me to Jinling for half a year at a time.
I've always enjoyed staying at my uncle and aunt's home—it's peaceful and warm. My uncle, who usually acts like an overlord, becomes as docile as a cat basking in sunlight around my aunt. She bore him two sons and a daughter in her lifetime, and he never took a concubine. I remember once, a subordinate named Han Guangye sent him a stunning beauty. Instead of keeping her, my uncle pushed her toward me, patting my shoulder with a sigh: "Kid, you're at the age to learn about worldly affairs. Your father has terrible taste—look at those maids serving you! Since your uncle dotes on you, I'll give you a proper one."
I was caught between laughter and embarrassment, fumbling over my words: "You should keep her, Uncle, really..."
He chuckled deeply: "If I kept her, your aunt wouldn't say anything, but she'd be hurt inside." Then he sighed profoundly: "You haven't been to battle yet—you can't understand life-and-death bonds forged on the battlefield. That's what I share with your aunt. Besides, I love her dearly and can't bear to see her hurt. Those fresh young things are merely pleasing to the eye—what do they know of human affairs or scholarly pursuits? True comfort comes from the one sitting by your bedside. You'll understand when you find the right person someday." Speaking like some romance sage, he patted my shoulder again with that "I've been through it all, you're still green, nobody gets me" expression, sighing dramatically as he scampered off to find my aunt.
Their eldest son Lin Kuo was carved from the same mold as my uncle, though his temperament was remarkably restrained and steady. Even as a child, he carried natural authority, never complaining during martial and literary training. He eventually succeeded my uncle in commanding the Lin Family Army. When Kuo was eight, my aunt gave birth to a daughter named Lin Junrong—a jade-like child my uncle adored. At five, Rong began learning the zither. Every plucked string sounded like nails scraping one's temples, worse than cotton-fluffing noises outdoors. Yet my uncle, perhaps deafened by affection, considered it celestial music. Whenever free, he'd have her "play a tune for your father's enjoyment," often sitting grandly in the Autumn-Clipping Pavilion's armchair, beating time on his thigh while swaying his head. As Rong's playing gradually improved, my aunt bore their youngest son Lin Xian. My uncle boasted: "My two sons—Lin Kuo (Vast) and Lin Xian (Leisure)—will have wealth and leisure. Profound naming, isn't it?" But Xian was mischievous as a monkey since childhood, never staying still. Though he resembled my aunt more, his temperament mirrored my uncle's exactly—a little tyrant constantly causing trouble. Everyone thought such rascals make fine generals, expecting another military leader for the Lin family. Unexpectedly, he later blossomed academically, eventually rising to Provincial Administration Commissioner.
I grew as close to these three as real siblings. When Rong married, Kuo couldn't return from campaigning in the southwest, so I carried her on my back as her stand-in elder brother. My uncle's eyes stayed red-rimmed throughout, secretly wiping tears. My aunt whispered that he hadn't slept all night, regretting not finding a live-in son-in-law instead of marrying her to the Imperial Examination's third-ranked scholar for vanity.I reached the age for marriage discussions and had already attained the position of a fourth-rank military commander, entirely through my own efforts with blade and sword. My stepmother wanted to interfere in my marriage arrangements. My father maintained a distant relationship with her, constantly occupied with military affairs and rarely returning home, instead taking me along for military training. My stepmother had no choice; she had given birth to two daughters, and though her third child was a son, he died prematurely. Everyone advised her to plan early—having her own child would be best, but if she couldn't bear one later, she should select one from the younger children to adopt under her name. After much consideration, she chose me and also wanted to find me a powerful in-law family. My aunt, aware of this, personally arranged matters and had my uncle convey the selected candidate to my father, who agreed immediately. I married the daughter of Scholar Qiao from the Hanlin Academy. Lady Qiao was elegant and charming, extremely virtuous, lively and fond of laughter, with a modest understanding of classics, history, philosophy, literature, music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Our married life was very harmonious.
In the second year of my marriage, the emperor passed away, and the Eastern Palace succeeded to the throne. Soon after, he personally overturned the unjust case against the Shen family, returning all the confiscated property. However, the Shen family members had all perished, and in the end, the property was transferred to me. My father looked at me with a complex expression and finally brought up the past, posthumously recognizing my birth mother as his deceased wife. My mother’s grave was at last honorably moved to the Yuan family’s ancestral cemetery. My father personally oversaw the relocation. When the coffin was exhumed, he gently touched it, his eyes filled with sorrow, his lips pale. Though it was early spring and not particularly cold, he trembled slightly all over.
My wife whispered to me, "Father-in-law is like this because he is grieving. I heard he has kept a portrait of mother-in-law hanging in his study all these years—such genuine devotion." Her words carried a hint of envy. I silently offered a toast to my mother, pouring the wine before her grave. I thought to myself, what my mother cared about was not this—not the posthumous vindication, the extravagant honors, or my father’s decades of guilt and sincerity. That poor woman must have wished for a life like my aunt’s, with a husband and children, living in harmony and joy. Sadly, she was filled with despair back then, not knowing when the long wait and suffering would end, so she could wait no longer and could bear it no more. If she had known that the Shen family would one day be exonerated, what would she have done? If she had known I would achieve so much, what would she have done? Would she still have been so resolute in leaving me behind and departing like that?
But alas, there are no "ifs" in this world.
Afterword
I originally planned to finish this novel in a year, but it ended up taking nearly three times as long. In these less than three years, there were times when it felt like enduring the seasons, each day as long as a year, and other times when it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, fleeting and hurried.When I wrote this novel, I was going through the most difficult period of my life so far. My previous life had been simple and peaceful, filled with smiling faces wherever I looked, and the darker aspects of human nature were mostly encountered in books, merely played out in my imagination. Starting to write "Lan Xiang Yuan" coincided with my true initiation into reading the great book of society, and right from the beginning of my career, I faced continuous storms, repeatedly pushed to the brink with no retreat possible. I remember that Spring Festival, when I visited my alma mater's old principal and casually mentioned some work-related matters. Suddenly, the principal looked at me with deep compassion in his eyes and said, "You've only just begun; every day is a struggle. What will you do in the future?" I hadn't thought I'd said anything particularly serious—it was just everyday conversation—but this expression of concern brought tears to my eyes on the spot. Later, an elder with considerable life experience and social status told me, "Many people have to go through such storms in life, but for someone your age, it's happening too early."
I'm not sure whether these experiences came too early or too late, but as Laozi said, "Good fortune lies within bad, bad fortune lurks within good." Looking back now, I realize that great leaps in life don't come from self-discipline alone but often from external blows. I tasted the bitterness of being marginalized and surrounded by malice, the helplessness of being unable to defend myself despite having countless arguments, the frustration of being made a scapegoat and having my achievements stolen, and the pain of being caught in mutual scheming and framing. I witnessed the evil in human nature and came to understand that some things cannot be accomplished no matter how hard you try, and struggling desperately doesn't always lead to a turnaround. This was also the time of my greatest confusion and bewilderment. Every day, after completing the workload of two or three people, I would start writing "Lan Xiang Yuan" late at night, utterly exhausted, constantly pondering: What is true strength and maturity? Is it about becoming so adept and shrewd, with such deep cunning that you fear no one's schemes and can even counter them with your own tactics and means—is that success? No matter how freely the characters in novels indulge in revenge, when reality hits you personally, the thought of turning yourself into a perpetrator like those who harm others—calculating every inch and retaliating in kind, getting entangled in endless conflicts to protect yourself—causes me great pain. In this state of contradiction and confusion, the subsequent outline of "Lan Xiang Yuan" once came to a standstill.
What should I do, then? I began to contemplate questions like "Who am I? Where do I come from? Where am I going?" Everyone has their own moral code and a gray area where good and evil are hard to define. I wanted to find an ultimate guide for my actions. I read some philosophy books and started delving into religion, and then I encountered Buddhism.
This might be what Jimmy Liao meant by, "In the deepest despair, you meet the most beautiful surprise." Encountering Buddhism was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me. The Buddhist scriptures contain infinite wisdom and dialectics, like a bright lamp suddenly illuminating a dark room that has been shrouded in darkness for a thousand years.After listening to Buddhist scriptures, I began to understand that ultimate strength and maturity lie in harmonious magnanimity. Compassionate forgiveness and steadfast adherence to kindness allow one to relinquish personal interests and attachments, acting as alum in the midst of suffering and evil—letting it settle rather than stirring it up like a stick, causing it to swirl. It is easy to seek revenge with satisfaction, but difficult to practice compassion and tolerance. Therefore, people readily appreciate confrontational attitudes—the fierce pleasure of "repaying a hundredfold what you owe me"—yet seldom comprehend the magnanimity of yielding in conflicts, willingly accepting losses, or even returning good for evil. This likely stems from the structure of modern society, which instills fear in many, compelling them to embrace competition and a ruthless way of life. They rapidly arm themselves with cunning and tactics as armor and weapons to enter a harsh society, while viewing traditional virtues like benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, faith, gentleness, kindness, respect, frugality, and humility with suspicion. Consequently, novels often dismiss such traits as "holier-than-thou" or "pushover," reminding people to maintain vigilance in interpersonal relationships and, after fully weighing their gains and losses, either retaliate or reciprocate with appropriate affection.
Returning to The Fragrance of Orchids, after being cleansed by Buddhist teachings, I felt much more assured when putting pen to paper. If Lin Jinlou is the vital spirit of this novel, then Chen Xianglan is its soul. The people I've encountered and the events I've witnessed have all become material for this book. Lin Jinlou is actually quite easy to grasp, as he shares many similarities with my own personality, and outwardly expressive characters are always vivid and easier to write. Chen Xianglan, however, posed more difficulty. Introverted protagonists are always subtle and nuanced. I wanted to create a female lead with the delicate yet resilient fragrance of an orchid, much like The School Sayings of Confucius states: "Orchids bloom in deep valleys, not ceasing their fragrance for lack of admirers; gentlemen cultivate virtue and morality, not altering their principles due to poverty or hardship." Born in the most vulgar and humble circumstances, she nonetheless blossoms into the most beautiful flower.
When Xianglan first appears, she resembles the heroines of many novels—having experienced hardships, she is guarded and sharp-tongued, unyielding in retaliation, yet full of hope for the future. Because her parents are incapable, she seeks to escape the fate of generations of servitude and marrying into servitude by entering the Lin household. Like every fresh-faced newcomer entering the workforce, she strives to work hard, find a patron (a good superior or mid-level leader), gain recognition, and ultimately achieve her goals. Yet reality seldom goes as planned. Most popular heroines today are iron-willed warriors who, no matter what they face, either remain optimistic and cheerful or display superhuman resilience, quickly calming their minds by gritting their teeth—as if showing weakness or shedding tears makes them "delicate flowers." Those who write such characters often have little firsthand experience with true despair, which is why they can depict it so lightly. I prefer to portray the cowardice and helplessness amid trials, the tears and fragility, the fear of an uncertain future, and the breakdown where "everyone understands the grand principles, but few can control their minor emotions." These are simply human nature—there is no shame in them.Jiang Xiyun is a character I deliberately selected. If she were adorned with the halo of a female protagonist, she would embody an image widely embraced by the public—realistic, rational, and well-versed in worldly tactics. She knows how to speak eloquently and ingratiate herself, maneuvering skillfully in all directions. She treats those aligned with her kindly, yet never hesitates to strike down those in opposition. Though she possesses a sense of kindness, once her absolute interests are at stake, that kindness can justifiably be compromised, and she absolves herself with the excuse, "I'm not a saint." Most people in the world fall into this category of "neither good nor bad" yet consider themselves kind and upright—a highly typical portrayal. These two character archetypes represent different value systems, fundamentally rooted in divergent intentions and motivations. The former's driving force is "me"—"my interests, face, status," "how comfortable my future will be," "better others suffer than myself." The latter's motivation extends beyond "me" to include "others"—"will my actions harm someone," "I see their struggles, so I'm willing to bear losses and forgive." When these two mindsets confront an unavoidable dilemma together, shattering their cordial coexistence, intense conflict erupts. Adversity often serves as a test—it can either destroy a person or elevate them. One may be dragged down by the murky realities, tainted in a world of right and wrong, finding excuses to forgive oneself; or, after recognizing all that is ugly, one may still choose kindness, willingly sacrificing to preserve innocence.
This is what I intend to convey.
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