Chapter 2: Days Gone By
The north wind whipped the snowflakes into swirling eddies, and frost coated the blue bricks. In the courtyard, two old women in dark green cotton robes were spreading out mats to collect the falling snow.
Upon seeing Baiyun return, the slightly plumper one paused her work and looked up with a smile. "You're back, miss! Such heavy snow—it must have been quite a journey!"
As a second-tier maid, Baiyun was accustomed to the cautious flattery of these lower-ranking servants. Though inwardly pleased, she replied modestly, "It was just a small errand for the mistress, nothing too troublesome. What are you collecting the snow for?"
Old Woman Li quickly answered, "It's the mistress's orders—she wants more snow water stored in clay jars for later use..."
Baiyun's voice softened involuntarily. "The mistress is awake?"
Old Woman Li nodded. "She woke not long ago and has been reading by the window."
Only then did Baiyun proceed carefully toward the main house, rubbing her hands together as she watched her breath turn to mist in the cold. Lifting the curtain to enter, she was immediately enveloped in warmth. A charcoal brazier glowed in the room, and to the right of the entrance stood an exquisite screen inlaid with white and emerald jade, depicting a hundred birds in intricate detail. Beside it rested a cloisonné Prunus vase adorned with lotus and vine motifs, holding a few half-bloomed plum branches.
By the window, on a large heated kang, a small chicken-wing wood table held an incense burner shaped like an auspicious beast. The mistress reclined against a large golden-cloud-patterned pillow, a book in her hand, her elbow resting on the edge of the bed. She wore a plush sable cloak, her unadorned hair cascading like dark silk over the deep blue satin. Her expression was languid, while Caifu stood silently nearby.
Noticing Baiyun's entrance, Jinchao slowly lifted her gaze. "Did you find out?"
Baiyun nodded and stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Steward Zhou from the kitchen told me that Qingpu was taken by Second Miss two years ago—she must be working in her private kitchen now. Mistress, why do you suddenly ask about her? Wasn’t Qingpu demoted to the kitchen back then for stealing your gold-inlaid jade hairpin..."
Jinchao gave her a cool glance before returning to her book. "Since when do my affairs require your commentary? Your manners are slipping. Go help Old Woman Li and Old Woman Chang with the snow."
Baiyun’s heart clenched—she had overstepped. The mistress's business was not hers to question.
Unease flickered across her face. Outside, the snow fell heavily, and the bitter cold would surely chap her delicate hands if she had to gather snow. Yet she dared not disobey. With a quiet "Yes," she withdrew from the room.
Jinchao looked up again, addressing the silent Caifu. "Where is Liu Xiang? I haven’t seen her all morning."
Caifu replied, "Didn’t you send her to deliver a box of pine nut candy to Fourth Miss? The snow must have slowed her down. Mistress, sitting by the window like this is too cold—you haven’t fully recovered yet. Why not rest on the wormwood bed for now..."
Jinchao waved a dismissive hand. "Empty this incense burner. Unless absolutely necessary, don’t burn incense in the room."
The cloying sweetness of the fragrance was making her dizzy.Caifu acknowledged and went to empty the incense burner. After she lifted the curtain and stepped out, Jinchao finally set down the book in her hands and surveyed the furnishings of her room. Nearby stood a red sandalwood bed intricately carved with magnolias, qilin, and auspicious clouds, draped with silk curtains adorned with interlocking lotus patterns. Through the four-panel screen to the left, one could glimpse a golden nanmu wood table. By the window were two red lacquered chairs, and on a tall stand sat a potted evergreen pine bonsai.
Jinchao closed her eyes.
When she had awoken last night to such an opulent scene, she still hadn’t grown accustomed to it even now. It wasn’t that the surroundings were unfamiliar—on the contrary, this was the place she knew best: the Paulownia Courtyard of the Gu family residence, where she had lived before her marriage. But during her severe illness, her father had already gifted this courtyard to a newly elevated concubine.
As for the maid Baiyun, not long after Jinchao married into the Chen Family, she had been punished by the matriarch for speaking out of turn.
Caifu hadn’t accompanied her to the Chen Family and was eventually given away by her father as a concubine to one of the Gu family’s shopkeepers when she grew older.
Yet now, everything before her eyes remained perfectly intact.
After reading for a while, Jinchao truly felt weary. Without waiting for Caifu’s return, she steadied herself against the nearby tall stand, slipped on her satin shoes, and stood up.
Caifu had mentioned that she had caught a slight chill and had been ill for several days.
Jinchao remembered this incident. Her mother had fallen gravely ill when she was fifteen and passed away half a year later. While her mother was bedridden, Jinchao had heard that Chen Xuanqing and several other young masters from noble families were attending a flower-viewing banquet at the Duke’s residence. Eagerly, she had dressed up, hoping to encounter him there.
Unfortunately, the snowstorm that day had been too heavy, and the plum blossoms had barely bloomed. She and Liu Xiang had waited for a long time, but Chen Xuanqing never appeared. Upon returning, she fell ill and missed four or five days of attending to her ailing mother.
At this thought, Jinchao couldn’t help but clench her fists. How absurd she had been back then—her mother was critically ill, yet she had been fixated on meeting the boy she fancied, unaware that her mother had only four or five months left before succumbing to her illness.
Jinchao sat before the dressing mirror, staring perplexedly at the young girl reflected in it. This mirror had been brought back from Jiangsu by her third uncle during his travels, its edges exquisitely carved with peonies and mythical beasts. Her grandmother had gifted it to her.
The girl in the mirror had raven-black hair cascading to her waist, a complexion as fair as jade, eyes like clear autumn waters shimmering with light, and lips as tender as fresh peach blossoms.
Beauty comes in many forms—some delicate as willow, others refined as orchids. Yet Gu Jinchao was like a beguiling, radiant begonia.
Though her features were striking, they gave the impression of a decorative vase, lovely to behold but lacking depth.
Despite having studied under a tutor during her time with her grandmother, reading foundational texts and even touching upon the Four Books—more educated than most noble young ladies—she never appeared particularly clever. Instead, her brilliance was overshadowed by her dazzling beauty.
In her youth, Jinchao had cherished her looks, but as time passed, she grew increasingly weary of them. She despised her own ostentatious behavior, and eventually, even her appearance became a source of disdain. She wished only to fade into the background, unnoticed by anyone.
Gu Jinchao touched her face, utterly bewildered. She couldn’t comprehend why she had returned to the Gu family or why she had reverted to her fifteen- or sixteen-year-old self.
Could this all be just a dream? Once she awoke, would she still be the Third Madam of the Chen Family, merely waiting to die?She had been awake for two days now, but during this time, she had been in a daze, lacking energy. She only felt as though someone was speaking beside her, yet couldn’t make out the words. It wasn’t until earlier today that she felt slightly better, mustering the strength to speak with Caifu and the others. Only then did she learn she had been ill for many days. And everything around her felt too real, too vivid—it didn’t seem like a dream at all.
Perhaps Heaven, pitying her for a lifetime of hardship, had allowed her to return for another look?
Jinchao was moved. She walked to the huanghuali wood table enshrined with Guanyin, knelt on the gold-embroidered cushion, and prayed sincerely: “If the Bodhisattva truly pities me, let me stay a little longer—at least long enough to see my mother and younger brother…”
Her room originally had no such things. But when her mother’s serious illness showed no signs of improvement, Jinchao grew frantic with worry and began enshrining Guanyin in her own room, praying for her mother at dawn and dusk. Whenever she had time, she would also hand-copy Buddhist scriptures to burn as offerings.
Caifu soon entered carrying an incense burner and, seeing the young mistress kneeling before the Bodhisattva about to rise, hurried over to support her.
Jinchao glanced at her. Snow clung to her hair and shoulders—she must have been standing outside in the snow for quite some time. But why would scattering incense ashes require standing in the snow for so long?
“Have you finished scattering the ashes?” Jinchao asked.
Caifu replied, “I scattered them in the flower bed where the holly grows. I heard incense ashes are good for plants.”
Through the lattice window, Jinchao saw Baiyun standing in the snow, which was still falling heavily. Two maids were rolling up the mats. She didn’t expose them—Baiyun had always been a gossip, and Jinchao had indulged her in the past. But after entering the Chen Family, Baiyun’s loose tongue nearly caused a disaster, almost implicating Jinchao herself. Such behavior really needed to be reined in.
Caifu draped a mink cloak over Jinchao’s shoulders. As she did, Jinchao asked softly, “What were you saying about me?”
Caifu’s hands tensed. The young mistress’s expression was calm and composed, yet for some reason, a chill ran down Caifu’s spine. She forced a smile and said, “The young mistress is overthinking. This servant was only discussing with Sister Baiyun how to store snowwater properly.”
Jinchao hummed in acknowledgment. “Then tell me, how should it be stored?”
Caifu answered, “Seal it in a jar, preferably buried underground or placed in a shaded area among plants. Otherwise, the snowwater will lose its spiritual essence and become ineffective.”
Jinchao studied Caifu intently. This maid was cleverer than Baiyun—why hadn’t she noticed that before?
She knew all too well how reckless and impulsive she had been in the past, with a terrible temper. At the slightest displeasure, she would scold or punish her maids. Few among them had been truly loyal—most feared her sudden fits of rage, which could leave someone half-dead.
Hadn’t Qingpu been the same? Originally a senior maid brought from her maternal grandmother Madam Ji’s household, she had merely displeased Jinchao over a matter involving Chen Xuanqing. Disliked, she was demoted to the inner courtyard’s kitchen to do menial work.
Jinchao didn’t press further. She gathered the cloak’s ties in her fingers, noticing how slender and pale her hands were. “Help me change. We’re going to see Mother,” she instructed Caifu. How was her mother doing now? She hadn’t visited despite being ill for so long. And… she also wanted to see Concubine Song. At the thought of that woman, Jinchao’s heart tightened. If not for Concubine Song, she and her mother would never have ended up in such dire straits.
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