Chapter One: Jinchao
It was the heart of winter, and a heavy snow had just fallen.
Jinchao sat by the window on the large heated platform, gazing blankly through the lattice at the cobblestone path in the courtyard. The plum trees lining the path stretched their branches freely, their crimson blossoms filling the garden with color. In the distance, the green bricks and glazed tiles were blanketed in white snow. Sunlight reflected off the snowy ground, and the damp chill seeped into the room, making it feel desolate.
The clothes Jinchao wore were old-fashioned, from years past. Perhaps from too many washings, even the embroidered Haitang flowers on them had faded. She rested her head against the window frame, the orange sunlight casting a faint glow on her cheeks. Yet her face was gaunt, her eyes sunken, clearly worn out.
Once the renowned beauty of the Gu family in Shi'an, she had been the talk of the town. But now, plagued by severe illness, she had aged rapidly. Coupled with prolonged melancholy, none of her former radiance remained.
Shiye entered carrying a basin of hot water and saw Jinchao still staring out the window. She approached and curtsied slightly, speaking softly, "Madam, you mustn’t tire yourself. Your health is frail—you need to rest well. Shall I close the window for you?"
"Madam?" Shiye hesitated when she received no response and glanced outside as well.
Beyond the window was a wintersweet tree, its leaves fallen, its branches dotted with pale greenish-yellow buds, not yet in full bloom. Further away stood willows and banyans, all white from the recent snow. There was nothing particularly beautiful to see, yet the Third Madam was staring so intently.
Jinchao looked out with disappointment. Spring had not yet arrived, and she feared she would not live to see it.
Shiye suddenly understood—that wintersweet tree had been planted years ago by the eldest young master.
Her nose stung with emotion. "Madam, are you waiting for the Seventh Young Master...? Please don’t dwell on it. He’s accompanying the Thirteenth Young Master in the main hall, receiving guests."
Jinchao lowered her lashes and murmured, "I am only his mother in name. Do not speak of this again... Besides, I wasn’t waiting for him."
Shiye had always been blunt, unlike Wansu’s careful nature. But she was fiercely loyal—otherwise, she would have left when Jinchao had been stripped of her authority.
Shiye bowed her head, choking back tears. "Yes, Madam." After helping Jinchao wash, she took the copper basin and left.
The door curtain fell, and the heavy scent of sandalwood filled the room.
Jinchao had once loved fragrances—not the solemn incense of worship, but the delicate scents of flowers. Bright and youthful, she had believed that her allure would surely captivate him. For so many years, she had clung to that foolish hope, only to end in sorrow. Now, with illness consuming her...
After all this time, she still hadn’t forgotten...
Jinchao let out an almost imperceptible sigh and lifted her face to the sunlight. Suddenly, she remembered the first time she had seen Chen Xuanqing, all those years ago.
It had been in her third uncle’s study. He had worn a dark bamboo-leaf-patterned soft cyan robe, tall and poised, sitting quietly in an armchair. His long, strong fingers held a book as he glanced at her calmly and said, "If the young lady of the Gu family believes me to be a scoundrel, feel free to cry out." Back then, Gu Jinchao had been so flustered and angry that she bit his hand and fled.
She had bitten him hard—so hard that a faint scar remained on Chen Xuanqing’s left hand. Afraid that others might hear and come to investigate, he hadn’t even dared to cry out in pain. All Gu Jinchao remembered was his slightly furrowed brow and the warmth of his strong hand.At that time, she was just at the age of budding affection, and this first encounter made her fall for him. Yet, he found her utterly tiresome, telling others that the young lady of the Gu family was arrogant, domineering, and lacked propriety.
She delayed marriage until nineteen, while he wed a respectable girl from a prearranged match.
By then, Jinchao should have awakened to reality, but fate played its cruel game—she could never forget the scar on his hand. Later, when Chen Xuanqing’s father lost his first wife, she defied her grandmother’s wishes and became his father’s second wife, just to see him every day, to catch a glimpse of him.
The once haughty and foolish legitimate daughter of the Gu family now seemed absurdly ridiculous in her folly.
After her marriage, every time she witnessed the intimacy between Chen Xuanqing and Yu Wanxue, her heart ached with unbearable pain. She couldn’t stand seeing them together—how he gently held her hand under the sunset, how he smiled warmly while painting her delicate features amidst the bright **.
Consumed by jealousy, she mistreated Yu Wanxue. As the legitimate mother-in-law, Gu Jinzhao’s orders were not to be defied.
When Yu Wanxue was punished for a minor mistake—kneeling in the icy ancestral hall to copy Buddhist scriptures in the dead of winter—her frail body couldn’t endure it, leading to a miscarriage. Jinchao defended herself before Tai Furen, claiming she hadn’t known about the pregnancy and that Yu Wanxue had erred first, so punishment was justified. Tai Furen didn’t reprimand her harshly, only advising Yu Wanxue to recuperate and not dwell on it.
From then on, Chen Xuanqing’s attitude toward her changed.
By that time, Jinchao was already managing the Chen household’s affairs, her mind far more mature than the Gu Jinzhao of years past. Yet she remained ensnared by love—whenever Chen Xuanqing showed her the slightest care or spoke softly, her heart would still flutter.
Gu Jinzhao had been raised by her grandmother, making her bolder and less bound by propriety than other women. But betraying moral principles was something she would never dare to do. Besides, she had come to realize—how could Chen Xuanqing ever truly care for her?
Yet her heart itched like a cat’s scratch, unable to let go of him. So she picked up a brush and wrote him a letter, tactfully rejecting him.
That letter later fell into Tai Furen’s hands—only its contents had been completely altered. The handwriting was hers, the envelope was hers, even the lily-scented perfume on the paper was hers.
Though veiled, the words unmistakably hinted at her feelings for Chen Xuanqing. Jinchao turned pale reading them—just a few tweaks had twisted the meaning entirely.
From then on, Gu Jinzhao was stripped of her authority and banished to a remote courtyard by the Chen family. By then, her father had abandoned her, and her younger brother treated her with icy indifference. Not a single soul in the entire Gu family would help her—they despised her for shaming them and wished she would die forgotten outside!
As one of her father’s newly elevated concubines put it, if Gu Jinzhao had any sense of shame, she should’ve hanged herself with a white silk rope from the rafters. What was the point of clinging to life so shamelessly?
Her life afterward became one of extreme hardship. Disillusioned, she slowly tempered her spirit and patience in such conditions, gradually understanding truths she had never grasped before. The passions and grudges of years past faded—love was just that fleeting. She wasn’t foolish; she had simply been blind.Half a year later, Gu Jinzhao's grandmother passed away. When she heard the news, she was trimming the branches of the holly in the courtyard. Her scissors paused, nearly cutting off a cluster of red berries.
On the day her grandmother died, Jinzhao collapsed in grief before the spirit tablet, and from then on, she lost all vitality, rapidly wasting away.
Later, due to severe illness—and the fact that she was, after all, the birth mother of the Thirteenth Young Master—her circumstances improved considerably compared to before. Chen Xuanqing even moved her out of the damp little courtyard, allowing her to live according to the standards befitting a Chen Family matron.
Jinzhao looked at her fingers and felt there was nothing left to cling to. Everything she had loved had been destroyed. Without hope, life held no spirit. In truth, when she counted carefully, she was only thirty-seven this year.
Chen Xuanqing, on the other hand, was still in his prime, growing more composed with age. He was at the best stage of a man's life, while she had already aged.
Last February, in early spring, Chen Xuanqing took a concubine. Jinzhao sat waiting for the concubine to pay her respects. She looked at Yu Wanxue, then at the concubine kneeling before her, tender as a spring onion.
Her heart was as calm as still water.
After so many years of entanglement, she had long seen through Chen Xuanqing. So she merely smiled and nodded, slipping the bracelet from her own wrist and personally placing it on the concubine’s arm, the jade-like skin gleaming like frost. He seemed afraid she might harm his beloved concubine, suddenly stepping forward but then stopping.
Jinzhao saw the thick disgust between his furrowed brows. Smiling, she withdrew her hand, merely lamenting how time had abandoned her. She, too, had once been beautiful, but now her face was haggard, not a trace of her former charm remaining.
No need to be tense—where there was no love, there was no hatred. Jinzhao had long ceased to feel any strong emotions toward him.
Shiye entered again. The room was too cold, so she brought in a heated charcoal brazier. Jinzhao heard the faint strains of opera and asked, "What’s happening in the estate? Why is it so lively?"
Shiye replied, "The Thirteenth Young Master is getting married—to the eldest daughter of the Liu family from Baodi. The Seventh Young Master dotes on his younger brother, so the arrangements are grand."
The Prodigy was getting married. Jinzhao was momentarily dazed.
Chen Xuanlin was the child she had borne in her second year at the Chen Family. He was sixteen this year. Since the age of six, he had never stepped into her quarters. She had only caught distant glimpses of him during festivals. The boy was handsome, somewhat resembling his uncle. Her own child, yet they were so estranged—he treated her like an enemy.
Whoever had raised him must have taught him from childhood not to be close to his mother. When Lin was young, Jinzhao had been busy with household affairs and entrusted him to Tai Furen’s care, so naturally, they were even less intimate.
The charcoal brazier was warm, but Jinzhao suddenly felt cold. The bedding was warm, yet the chill seeped from her bones. Slowly, she closed her eyes. She didn’t think to blame anyone—what could she resent Chen Xuanqing for? His heartlessness? His scheming nature? It all seemed somewhat delusional. She only resented herself for failing to see through it all.
But now, what did it matter? She would just sleep, and slowly, her remaining days would come to an end.
The lively opera music continued, gradually weaving into her dreams, becoming scenes within them.
*In the chaos of spring, emotions are hard to dispel,
Suddenly, the sorrow of longing arises.
Born delicate and fair,
Choosing a noble family,
A match made in heaven.
Yet such a fine fate has cast youth far away.
Who has seen my dreams of sleep?
I can only follow convention, demure and shy.
Whose side do my hidden dreams linger on?
With Wormwood, they drift unseen.
Delayed, where can these feelings be spoken?
Tormented, this wretched life has no answer but to ask the heavens.*
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