Leaving one's hometown can be as easy as it is difficult.
Datong Prefecture was where the Wen family had lived for generations, with ancestors serving in the local government for several generations. Later, Wen Lu was transferred to the capital at the age of thirty due to his notable achievements in the region. Dingyi was born after this move, so her understanding of homesickness remained merely conceptual, without any deep-seated feelings. For her, survival was possible anywhere—whether well or poorly was secondary, but the state of mind made all the difference.
The streets bustled with people as she sat sideways inside the threshold, combing a customer's hair. The peachwood comb, dipped in hair oil from a bowl, had teeth that gleamed darkly. With each stroke from root to tip, she coiled the hair into a soft bun, securing it with a hairpin and embellishing it with a kingfisher feather inlay the size of a fingernail. The hairstyle was now complete.
She handed the hand mirror to the customer with a smile. "When combing, the teeth shouldn’t press too close to the scalp—it’ll make the hair look sparse." She demonstrated with a lock of her own hair. "Like this, loosely gathering it bit by bit. This technique is all the rage in the capital—it adds volume, so the hair doesn’t appear thin."
The customer tried it, then turned the mirror to inspect the back. "You’ve got quite the skill, miss. Common folk like us can’t afford a hairdressing nanny, so we have to figure out hairstyles ourselves. My hands are clumsy—I never do it right, and I use too much oil. My hair ends up looking like it’s been dredged from water, and my pillowcase needs washing every other day. It’s embarrassing to admit."
Dingyi offered a few polite words before turning to pack the selected bottles, jars, and combs into a cloth bundle, placing it in the customer’s vegetable basket. "Come back when you run out. My oils are freshly made and can last a year or two without spoiling."
The customer nodded, then studied her. Dingyi’s jet-black hair cascaded down her back, tied only halfway with a ribbon. Puzzled, the customer wondered why someone so skilled didn’t style her own hair. With so many beautiful hairstyles nowadays, how could someone in this trade neglect her own appearance?
"Miss, you’d look lovely with a long braid or a bun. I often see you styling others, but what about yourself? Is it too tricky to do your own hair?"
Dingyi paused while tidying the table, then turned to gaze at the sun rising over the opposite rooftop. A faint, distant smile touched the corners of her eyes. "I have my own hairdressing nanny," she said. "He promised to learn many styles and would slowly do my hair for me in the future."
The customer didn’t quite understand. Where was this nanny? Since Dingyi had opened her shop, no such person had ever appeared. Letting the boss go around with her hair loose—if such a nanny still existed, it could only mean Dingyi had remarkable patience.
After the customer left, the shop fell quiet. Dingyi put everything in its place before sitting down on the daybed. The sun climbed higher, filling the room with a faint, indistinct fragrance—one that carried a cloying undertone, its source unclear. Yet she loved this scent, ever since the day the Twelfth Master had gifted her the hair oil. And then there was that rhinoceros horn comb, always carried with her, never forgotten.She thought there must be many men in the world who gave little trinkets to the girls they loved—things like tassels, rouge, hairpins, and such... So she opened a small shop, squeezed between a bookstore and an antique store. The tiny space was only about ten square feet, specializing in items for young women. Sometimes she sold hair oil, and women who struggled with styling their hair would come to her for advice. In truth, she had only been a girl herself for a little over half a year and hadn’t mastered any real techniques. She had no choice but to learn from others first before passing it on to them. Even when she could style her own hair, she only did it for others. She had thought to herself that if she ever saw the Twelfth Master again, she would tie up her hair—after all, she wasn’t a young girl anymore. But if they never met again, then so be it. Without someone to comb her hair for her, what was there left to long for?
Shanxi wasn’t actually that far from Beijing. Gazing eastward, her mind conjured up scenes of Dengshikou Street and the vast expanse of Houhai. She knew those places well—she had struggled to survive there and met the man fate had destined for her. But she didn’t know if she could ever go back. The passage beyond the pass had been cut off, forcing them to wander from place to place. Resisting the authorities wasn’t easy. After hiding for so long, being unable to leave Great Britain made things difficult. In the end, with no other choice, Rujian suggested returning to Datong—their roots were there, and even if something happened, they wouldn’t regret it.
The decision turned out to be the right one. Things were relatively peaceful here. Rujian, quick-witted as ever, went into the coal business with some partners. Left with nothing to do, she found herself lost in thought, so she opened the shop to pass the time.
The siblings each busied themselves with their own affairs, and life settled into a quiet rhythm. But sometimes, the longing for Hongce became unbearable, and Dingyi couldn’t help resenting her third brother for ruining her chance at love. Meeting someone you truly loved in this life was rare, and missing that chance might mean never finding it again. She had nothing left but the memories of that night, and thinking of them filled her with sorrow.
She wondered how he was now—did he ever think of her? Sometimes she felt confident, believing herself irreplaceable, but more often, she was plagued by doubt. She feared he might marry someone else, whether he wanted to or not. Imperial decrees were hard to defy, and even he might be powerless. So she tried not to dwell on it. At first, she would inquire about news from the capital, but gradually, she let it fade, hoping to free herself from the torment. Clinging to it forever wasn’t the answer.
Calming herself, she attended to a few more customers. By midday, Rujian came to see her. That was one good thing—no matter how busy he was or how much money passed through his hands, Rujian always made sure to share every meal with her. Even if it was just two bowls of noodles and a basket of pastries from the neighboring shop, they would eat and talk together.
He picked out the best pieces of meat from his bowl and gave them to her. “I met with Master Pang today. We’ve secured the northern mountain plot—it’s prime land. We could live off it for years.”
Dingyi hummed in acknowledgment. “Master Pang is selling off mountain plots—isn’t he afraid of the higher-ups questioning it?”
Rujian waved it off. “He wouldn’t dare without the prefect’s approval. This place is poor—the court’s annual allowance for honest service isn’t even enough to fill the gaps. When a money-making opportunity comes along, they all scramble for it. If trouble comes, they’ll deal with it then.” Sensing her concern about exposure, he quickly added, “Don’t worry. I had someone else front the deal. Even if they investigate, it won’t lead back to us. How about you? With so many people coming and going, it might not be safe to keep this up. You’re at the right age—Third Brother has found someone for you, from a respectable family, decent character. Let’s settle it before the year’s end!”He tried to speak as lightly as possible, but Dingyi was still greatly shocked. "In our current situation, Third Brother wants me to marry?"
"A woman must have a home. I fear delaying you, and if something were to happen to me one day, at least there would be someone to take care of you." Rujian set down his chopsticks and glanced at her, frowning. "I know your thoughts. Some fates cannot be forced—when it's time to look ahead, don't turn back. The family I mentioned isn't involved in official circles; they're old friends of ours, which saves a lot of trouble. You won’t suffer if you marry into their household. Once I see you settled, my heart will be at ease. After that, I can focus solely on earning money. If our family grows stronger, you’ll stand tall there, and no one would dare bully you."
Dingyi listened quietly, her hands folded in her lap, her heart shrouded in gloom. "I suppose that family has already secretly seen me?"
Rujian nodded. "You insisted on opening the shop, greeting and seeing off customers. It wouldn’t be hard for anyone to catch a glimpse of you."
Her original intention in opening the shop was to signal that she wouldn’t marry in this lifetime. After all, a proper young woman, especially one of Han descent, had no business exposing herself to public scrutiny. Yet even so, she couldn’t escape being arranged for. Unwilling at heart, she set down her chopsticks. "Why bring misfortune upon others? Even if I marry, I won’t be able to devote myself wholeheartedly to the marriage. Does Third Brother find me a burden? We’ve only been reunited as siblings for half a year, and already you’re in such a hurry to marry me off. If that’s the case, I might as well have stayed with Twelfth Master. Third Brother, I left with you out of sibling loyalty, not to be married off somewhere else."
Rujian was taken aback by her words. "I suggested marriage for your own good. Why say such things? We share the same parents—I’d sooner resent myself than you. Fine, if you’re unwilling, I won’t force you. I can afford to support one sister. Let’s eat. Consider what I just said unsaid. I’ll find a way to decline later."
How could Dingyi still eat? They were fugitives, after all. If they agreed to a marriage proposal in one place only to back out later, what if the other family bore a grudge? Sometimes she felt Rujian was adept at using soft knives to cut people—claiming everything was up to her when, in reality, there was no room left to retreat. But this time, she couldn’t compromise. Marrying someone else would mean betraying Twelfth Master. She’d rather others wrong her than owe anyone anything herself.
"Have you inquired about our family’s case since then? Is it still under investigation?"
Rujian said, "The court has stopped the investigation—it ends here. Perhaps the Emperor felt there were no leads and continuing would be a waste of effort. Twelfth Master has now stepped back, staying secluded in his residence and never stepping out. This is for the best. Since there’s no hope of overturning the verdict, it’s better for things to settle quickly. Once the storm passes, we won’t have to hide anymore."
After that, each lost in their own thoughts, they finished the meal in silence. Rujian left again to attend to business, leaving Dingyi feeling hollow. She stood by the window, lost in a daze. The case being dropped was not good news for her. The last thread connecting her to Twelfth Master’s heart was gone—slowly, he would forget her. Before parting, she had said she hoped he would forget her, but those were lies. In truth, she wanted him to remember her for the rest of his life, to never marry anyone else. Yet she couldn’t be so selfish. She hadn’t left him a single word. She didn’t know what he was thinking—perhaps he was gritting his teeth in hatred for her now.She sighed endlessly, from spring to autumn, and now winter was approaching. It seemed this would be her life from now on.
The sun gradually shifted, reaching its zenith at noon. The streets were sparsely populated—this was never a particularly bustling market, and business wouldn’t pick up until mid-afternoon. Dingyi was accustomed to closing shop at midday. She didn’t rely on this store to make a fortune, so without much pressure, her days passed in relative ease and comfort.
She went to the door to set up the wooden panels—each about a foot wide and taller than a person. Though the storefront wasn’t large, it still took patience to slot in over a dozen panels. As she lifted the last one, she glanced outside and saw a man standing under the eaves of the shop across the street. He wore a neat long robe with a Red Belt cinched at his waist, and his gaze was fixed on her. Her heart skipped a beat. The Red Belt was worn by the imperial collateral line to signify their status. Since the time of the founding Emperor, the main imperial line—the Imperial Clan—wore Yellow Belts, while the descendants of the Emperor’s uncles and brothers, known as the Gioro, who were related to the imperial family but not part of the direct line, wore Red Belts. What was a Red Belt doing in such a small place? Could trouble be brewing? Flustered, she hurriedly slotted the last panel into place.
Now she couldn’t sleep. She sat quietly inside for a while, relieved when the man eventually left without further commotion. She exhaled—probably just a coincidence. Yet, deep down, she couldn’t help but hope: What if it was the Twelfth Master looking for her? She missed him terribly. Nine months apart, and sometimes in her dreams, she only saw his back. She feared that with more time, she might forget his face entirely.
The rest of the afternoon, she had no mind for the shop. She dragged her feet until closing time and then headed home.
They had rented a house in an alley—nothing extravagant, just an ordinary dwelling, similar in layout to a Beijing courtyard home, standing alone at the deepest part of the lane. The neighbors exchanged nods and greetings but kept their distance, maintaining only superficial acquaintance.
That day, as she returned, she noticed movement at the gate of the house next door. The place had been vacant for some time—the owner had left for business elsewhere, leaving the property in the care of relatives. They had originally intended to buy that house, but it was too large. Even with just her, her brother, and Rujian’s two attendants—four people in total—it would have felt too spacious. So they settled on their current home instead. Now, seeing people coming and going, she guessed it had been sold—new neighbors were moving in.
She stood watching for a while, idly curious, when the young wife from across the alley stepped out with a basin and called to her from the brick ledge, “I heard they’re from your hometown—also from the capital.”
She was surprised but replied casually, “That’s nice. We can visit each other in the future.” Without lingering, she smiled and went inside.
They ate out at noon, but in the evening, she cooked at home. In the kitchen, she chopped vegetables rhythmically, pounding garlic and tossing cucumbers for a cold salad. Even in Datong, their tastes remained distinctly Beijing-style—she still loved making dishes like stuffed eggplant. Their stove wasn’t the best—the previous owner, for convenience, had dug a hole in the wall instead of installing a chimney. The wind dictated where the smoke went, turning the kitchen into a smoky battleground during cooking. Today, with a southern wind, all the smoke poured straight into the new neighbor’s north-facing room. Dingyi stood in the kitchen, listening. Before long, violent coughing erupted from next door. She wiped her face, guiltily sticking out her tongue.Later, she didn’t dare cook too much, just made do and planned to visit the blacksmith’s shop the next day to have a curved pipe made. That night, she anxiously worried the north house might come knocking to argue, but fortunately, they had good manners—there was no movement for two days, and the matter gradually faded from memory.
Life continued at its unhurried pace. Dingyi opened her shop on time every day, no different from before. Only sometimes when she returned home, she’d find two fish or a bunch of amaranth hanging on the door knocker. Assuming Rujian had passed by but hadn’t had time to come in, she didn’t ask further. Later, the offerings turned into flowers—woven into wreaths or placed in a water-filled earthen jar with a bunch of roses dangling inside. That’s when she began to suspect something was off. Maybe it was that promising young man Rujian had her eye on, trying to sweeten her up to get closer.
She wasn’t pleased. The next time she saw such gifts, she left them by the door instead of taking them inside. Strangely enough, lately, she often felt as if someone was secretly watching her. She paid close attention to her surroundings but found nothing amiss, unsure where this unease came from. Until one day, while planting scallions by the wall, she discovered a cup-sized peephole hidden behind a loofah trellis—finally realizing all the suspicion stemmed from the new neighbor next door.
Furious, she considered confronting them but worried they’d deny everything. After all, without proof, who would admit to spying? After some thought, she stuffed the hole with a scrap of cloth. If they’d been enjoying the view, suddenly being plunged into darkness must feel like a slap in the face. Satisfied, she went about her chores—cooking, watering the plants—until it was time to light the lanterns.
Rujian came home late today. Bored, Dingyi’s thoughts drifted back to that hole. A sudden idea struck her—if they could watch her, why couldn’t she look back? She wanted to see just who this mysterious figure was and what kind of household they kept.
She went over, cautiously approaching the spot, and reached out to remove the cloth plug. Pressing her eye to the opening, she peered through.
The other side was rather ordinary—a three-bay house with black tiles, four pillars lining the front, and an Ox-tendon Lantern hanging under the eaves. Two attendants stood guard in front of the main hall, suggesting the occupant was someone of considerable means. But if they were well-off, why stoop to peeping? What a despicable habit! Lost in thought, she wondered if she’d overreacted. Maybe the hole was just from years of wear, not intentionally made to spy on her. If so, what she was doing now wasn’t exactly proper either. She should pull back—no harm done, and she was just being paranoid.
Just as she was about to retreat, a corner of fabric fluttered into her limited view—celadon satin embroidered with lotus rosettes, the patterns so clear she could make out every detail. Stunned, she barely had time to react before the lotus rosettes vanished. Light from the eaves lantern spilled over, illuminating a temple—
Dingyi nearly screamed.
Because on the other side of the wall, someone was staring right back at her.
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