My name is Shen Yuzhu, and I have an older sister named Zhenzhu, along with two younger sisters named Baozhu and Jinzhu. My sister and I share the same mother, while my two younger sisters have a different mother.
I’ve always felt sorry for my youngest sister. With such an auspicious name, everything she wore from childhood onward had to feature something pig-related—like little bracelets with golden pig-head pendants, or fluffy shoes embroidered with plump little pigs in gold thread.
My youngest sister was deeply melancholy.
In my opinion, you can’t entirely blame our father. He was never good at naming things to begin with; all our names were chosen by our mother. As the eldest daughter, my sister got the best name. By the time I came along, I had to settle for “round and smooth as jade.” Of course, you can’t blame our stepmother either—she never intended to have so many children. In fact, the nicknames she gave my four half-brothers were even more appalling: Damao, Xiaomao, Amao, and Maomao. Even the little mutt raised by Steward Zhou’s son had a better name than that.
They say humble names help children thrive, and there might be some truth to that. All four “Mao” brothers were exceptionally sturdy, especially Damao. By the time he turned ten, he could knock our eldest brother off his feet within fourteen spear thrusts. My father was delighted, calling it “the sauce door’s paste son,” but our Concubine, who was also our aunt, was deeply displeased. She dragged the three of us siblings to weep before our mother’s spirit tablet once again.
Why “again”? Because our aunt led us in this activity every other day. It was best if Father heard us; if he didn’t, we’d cry until he did. Even if he pretended not to hear, we’d cry until he could no longer keep up the act.
I found it utterly tiresome.
Since we were young, our aunt had warned us to be wary of Father’s new wife—that stepmothers were black-hearted, that our sisters would steal Father’s affection, and that our brothers would usurp our eldest brother’s title. She often used thrilling tales of the Ningyuan Marquis Household to motivate us to stay vigilant against our stepmother and half-siblings.
Not only that, but our aunt also frequently urged us to curry favor with Father, seizing every opportunity to ask for things—estates, shops, appointments, rewards—the more, the better. My brother would stiffen uncomfortably, at a loss for what to do. My sister, born a refined lady, was used to others catering to her. As for me, I was blunt: “I don’t know how.”
Our aunt had no choice but to demonstrate herself.
Truth be told, she didn’t have any brilliant methods either. She’d just repeat the same routine, weeping to Father about how virtuous and self-sacrificing our late mother had been, subtly—and not so subtly—reminding him to remember her day and night and never be ungrateful. I disliked this intensely. It felt as though even in death, our mother couldn’t rest in peace, still being used for others’ gains.
My sister was highly dissatisfied with my uncooperative attitude, accusing me of being an ungrateful child who couldn’t tell friend from foe. With tears in her eyes, she reproached me, “Have you forgotten our late mother?”
This accusation made me both guilty and resentful. When Mother passed away, I could barely speak clearly and had no memories of her. All I retained was a vague impression of warmth and gentleness. Everyone said my mother was wonderful, the most considerate person in the world, and I firmly believed that.
Of course, Mother was absolutely wonderful. But what did her goodness have to do with whether our aunt was good? What did it have to do with our uncles, aunts, or the various relatives of the Zou family? Xiaohua and Xiaohuang were kittens from the same litter—one was well-behaved, always curling up on my lap to bask in the sun, while the other was mischievous, biting and dragging things all over the garden, causing nothing but trouble.
Father had always trusted Mother completely, and it’s right to love the crow for the sake of its nest—but must we also trust the crow for the sake of its nest?
In any case, I didn’t trust the Zou family, including our aunt.My aunt dislikes my stubborn nature and constantly refers to me and my siblings as "the eldest boy" and "the eldest girl" – I can't stand her nagging either.
She always claims we siblings are her own flesh and blood, that she needs nothing else in this world but us. Then why does she spend fortunes year-round consulting physicians, begging Taoist priests, and pleading with Buddhist nuns? To conceive a child, she swallows bitter medicines and endures scorching moxibustion until her skin turns blotchy yellow and black, resembling Young Zhou An's mangy dog!
When I asked Nanny why, she smiled affectionately and patted my head: "Our Jade Girl is truly clever, far more perceptive than your elder brother and sister."
That was tolerable enough. But my aunt actually wants to marry me off to my uncle's youngest son?!
She endlessly praises my uncle's household and how much my aunt-in-law adores me, pestering me every few days with "Would you be willing?" She even told Father: "Jade and Shun'er get along splendidly, playing together daily until they're inseparable – truly 'plum blossoms stewed with horseflesh'!" The moment I retorted "We fight constantly, I detest him," my aunt laughingly cut me off, declaring "Children grow closer through quarrels" – infuriating!
Nanny once said marriage means spending your entire life with someone. Who'd want to live forever with that wretched fatty?!
My cousin is Third Uncle's late-born son – domineering, ugly, illiterate, and a bully. Yet his mother treasures him like gold, even daring to strike my maids! The mere thought of his pig-like face makes me nauseous!
My sister had the audacity to counsel me with her prim eldest-sister demeanor, urging me to honor our deceased mother's memory. I shot back: "If you cherish our uncle's family so deeply, why don't you marry Eldest Cousin yourself?"
She instantly clammed up like a throttled old goose.
Hmph! Anyone can offer others' generosity! I refuse to believe Mother would've condemned me to that vile monster! My aunt clearly targets the vulnerable – knowing my sister aspires to marry into nobility, she bullies me for being young and easily manipulated.
Among us three siblings, only Elder Brother truly trusts our aunt.
Our uncles even schemed to have Brother marry a cousin from the Zou family as his Heir Apparent consort.
Though Brother was willing, Father exploded in rage. He immediately sent our long-staying cousin back to the Zou family, decreed that no Zou girls could visit before Brother's wedding without his permission, then caned Brother dozens of strokes, slapped our aunt across the face, and ordered her to copy Buddhist sutras three hundred times.
Our aunt wept hysterically, accusing Father: "Does the Marquis hold the Zou family in such contempt? Was my sister not a Zou herself?"
Father laughed mirthlessly – for the first time responding with conviction when our aunt invoked our mother: "Your own sister said this while alive! She declared her brothers worthless, their wives unfit to raise decent children. We might offer the family support, but never sacrifice our children to such marriages!"
After this, our aunt remained despondent for half a year, and the Zou family finally ceased scheming over our marriages.The wet nurse held me, secretly shedding tears: "Your mother had a bitter fate, born to toil all her life with few days of happiness. When she was a maiden, the Old Master was weak-willed and indecisive, and the virtuous Old Madam passed away early. Her elder brother and sister-in-law wanted to use her to climb socially through marriage, but she stubbornly married into this family instead. After marrying your father, she busied herself inside and out—was there any matter in the household or the princely estate that didn’t require her attention?! My old sister also urged your mother to take care of her health. But for over a decade, your mother had grown accustomed to handling everything personally and striving to excel—how could such a nature be changed?"
I didn’t fully understand, but I felt inexplicably sad and cried along with her.
Not long after, my cousin the princess married into our family, and the household grew even livelier.
My eldest brother, having been egged on by someone, demanded that his wife treat his aunt "as a proper mother-in-law." The princess sister-in-law was so furious she nearly flipped the roof, sending my brother scrambling in fear. But all the fuss was in vain—the aunt refused to let go of my brother, frequently meddling in his affairs: one day sending a maidservant, the next inviting Cousin Zou for a stay to reminisce with my brother.
The princess sister-in-law was enraged and went to the palace to lodge a complaint. Then our aunt the Empress was angered, sending palace matrons to give the aunt a sound thrashing. My second prince cousin even offered a terrible idea: directly arranging a marriage for Cousin Zou with a man whose name I can’t recall—reportedly, the prospective groom was not only ugly but also from a mediocre family.
The princess sister-in-law smiled coldly at the aunt: "If you ever try to introduce extramarital affairs to my husband again, I’ll ask Her Majesty to arrange marriages for the Zou family daughters (and there are many female cousins in the Zou family). You’ve been warned."
The princess sister-in-law was formidable, but the aunt was no pushover either. When open methods failed, she resorted to scheming against the princess sister-in-law behind the scenes. Then my brother would inexplicably turn foolish—either neglecting the princess or quarreling with her. Each month, the sister-in-law spent half her time sulking alone in the princess residence and the other half fighting with my brother at home, occasionally with my second prince cousin joining the fray.
Half the Shen residence was in chaos. My father couldn’t stand the turmoil and simply moved entirely to the South Garden to live with my stepmother, where they proceeded to have children with great enthusiasm.
Due to my eldest brother’s troubled marriage, when it came time for my sister to discuss marriage arrangements, my father stubbornly insisted on consulting my stepmother.
Our aunt the Empress still doted on my sister and presented two top-tier candidates: one was the Heir Apparent of the Prince of Wei, elegant and noble, exceptionally talented and handsome; the other was the young General Bo, who had recently returned from achieving merits at the border—a heroic youth, handsome and extraordinary.
My stepmother spoke bluntly, immediately favoring the Bo family: "For daily life, one must consider the fundamentals. The Bo family has simple household dynamics, substantial wealth, and good family traditions—it would surely be worry-free. Although the Heir Apparent of Wei is excellent, he is after all a royal prince. He can have four consorts and secondary consorts recorded in the imperial genealogy—how could there be any lack of romantic entanglements? Moreover, being part of the imperial family, even if one suffers grievances, what can anyone do?"
This time even my father found her reasoning sound. Unfortunately, my sister and the aunt completely disagreed. The aunt even told my sister that this was my stepmother’s scheme to prevent her from marrying into a prestigious family. My sister firmly believed this.
Later, my sister indeed ended up with a crowd of ‘good sisters’—all shapes and sizes, every variety imaginable.
Later, that young General Bo ended up marrying the eldest niece of Aunt Gu.
My stepmother even took me to their wedding banquet. I didn’t get to see the bride, but I overheard many ladies chatting—they said the second wife of the Yuan family was famously fertile, beautiful, and virtuous, so her eldest daughter must be quite commendable too.Later, General Bo and his wife indeed enjoyed a harmonious marriage and were blessed with many children.
After my elder siblings had married one after another, my stepmother, unable to bear the sight of me and Da Mao running wild all day, covered in mud and dirt, and behaving utterly unruly, finally sent me to the Zheng family's girls' school. She hoped the teachers would discipline me and help me rein in my wild nature.
Concubine Zou grew anxious again but dared not speak to my father, fearing another beating. Instead, she hemmed and hawed around me for a long while until I lost patience: "Isn't Xue Dajia a good teacher?" Concubine Zou replied, "...She is an excellent teacher."
"Will the Zheng family bully me?" With my aunt there, how could they?
Concubine Zou said, "Well, not necessarily."
"Then why are you unwilling to let me go?"
"The mistress is deliberately trying to win you over! She wants to co-opt you!"
I glared and said, "So what?"
Concubine Zou always overthought things. Though she was about the same age as my stepmother, she seemed decades older.
Several years after my elder brother and his wife married, their relationship remained icy, and they had no children. As my younger siblings grew day by day, my father grew increasingly worried. That year, when the old Prince of Wei passed away, my sister had to accompany the Heir Apparent to his fiefdom. Before her departure, Father specially gathered the three of us siblings for a meal.
After several rounds of drinks, my father—a man of iron will and unwavering resolve—broke down in tears. He, who had never shown my brother a hint of softness, suddenly wept.
My eldest brother immediately panicked.
Father said to him, "...Consider this your father begging you. Send Concubine Zou away. You and the princess cannot continue like this... The princess is no ordinary daughter-in-law. She is now full of resentment—she has no Legitimate son of her own and refuses to acknowledge any born of concubines. When the time comes, this title..."
My sister and I understood. She also began to cry and pleaded, "Brother, listen to Father just this once. Concubine Zou... she is not a good person... she has ill intentions."
I shed no tears and said flatly, "Our cousin, the eldest prince, will inherit the throne sooner or later. If you keep being this stubborn and neglecting Princess Sister-in-law, you won't even need to worry about lacking a Legitimate son. After Father passes, the title will skip you entirely. By then, as a consort, you'll have to rely entirely on Princess Sister-in-law for survival."
In truth, both imperial cousins held Father in high esteem, but Father had more than one son—every younger cousin was also his child. Who inherited the title made little difference to me, but seeing Father's distress was pitiable.
Father was tormented. He genuinely adored the younger brothers born to my stepmother, growing fonder of them with each passing day. Yet, in the stillness of midnight, his heart remained burdened by the memory of our deceased mother. Trapped between advancing and retreating, he weathered the years until frost touched his temples.
He was just an ordinary man—neither exceptionally steadfast nor particularly cold-hearted.
Of course, he cherished my mother deeply, but time erodes all things, and his later wife and young children were with him daily. He could only strive, while his resolve held, to do everything possible for my eldest brother—to give all he could—to honor the conscience he had pledged years ago.
Father wept bitterly, his tears streaming down his aged face, staggering as if to rise: "...Must your father kneel before you? I beg you, don't make me too ashamed to face your mother in the afterlife..."
My eldest brother finally broke down. Through his sobs, he agreed.
The next day, my sister left the capital to accompany her husband to his fiefdom. For the rest of her life, she never returned to the capital. Whether her future held fortune or misfortune, she would have to rely on her own strength to endure.
On the same day, a group of matrons and servants bound Concubine Zou in the dead of night and moved her out of the Shen residence, directly confining her to the family temple under strict supervision.After learning of the situation, the Empress Aunt specifically summoned the Princess sister-in-law into the palace for a talk. The Princess returned with red-rimmed eyes, and my brother went over with his own eyes reddened. Gradually, their relationship softened. A few months later, the Princess sister-in-law became pregnant.
Father finally breathed a sigh of relief.
My stepmother remained unmoved, as if these tragicomedies had nothing to do with her at all.
In truth, I thought my stepmother had it quite tough. Despite coming from such a prestigious family, she became a remarried wife at a young age, with an unreliable stepson like my eldest brother who couldn’t even maintain appearances. Someone slightly more delicate would have long been overwhelmed with worry. Yet she could command guards to fight off thieves in the dead of night, gripping her sword with such fierce intensity—both imposing and spirited—far surpassing my trembling aunt, brother, and sister.
Stepmother wasn’t particularly skilled at managing the household, nor was she keen on it. What she yearned for was a peaceful, serene, poetic life. Unfortunately, her children were all lively and boisterous; from morning till night, there wasn’t a moment of quiet in her courtyard.
Every time she finished checking my homework, holding a cup of light tea, and had just settled in the inner room to sketch a few elegant landscapes or compose a couple of lines of poetry—
Eldest Mao would be in the main room sneakily playing with Father’s prized sword. Father, not daring to snatch it back forcefully, could only shout, "Guifen, come quick!" Meanwhile, Little Mao would be in the side room using ink to turn Jinzhu into a painted mess, and Jinzhu would sit on the kang wailing loudly. Nearby, Amo and Maomao would be wrestling fiercely. In the adjacent room, Baozhu would abandon her calligraphy practice, climb onto my head to peer at the commotion next door, and raise her voice: "Mother, listen! Big Brother and the others are at it again!" I, in turn, would shriek angrily, "Get down, you wretched girl! Don’t pull my hair—I’m correcting my mistakes!"
A vein would bulge on Stepmother’s forehead, her brush grip creaking under her clenched fingers. More often than not, the outcome was her gathering her energy and roaring with the fury of a Henpecking Wife, shaking the very roof tiles—"All of you, get out!"
The gap between life and ideals was truly vast—as Marquis Gu’s wife once remarked with a laugh upon witnessing such a scene.
Many people said Stepmother wasn’t close to me. To be fair, she wasn’t particularly close to my two younger sisters either, usually avoiding lecturing them as well. People have different temperaments: there are those like Aunt Gu, born with smiling eyes and a charming mouth, who would hold Rongjie’s hand to teach her writing, and then there are those like Stepmother—proud and unyielding, never one to soften her stance.
At the very least, most of what she did for me proved greatly beneficial.
At school, I made a few sincere and loyal friends, learned many principles of conduct, mastered accounting, could sew simple garments, and in the presence of elders, could feign dignity and gentleness, smiling without showing my teeth.
The only exception was shortly after I started school, when I encountered an arrogant boy in the Zheng family’s backyard. He taunted, "What’s a girl doing studying? Planning to sit for the imperial exams? Better go home and embroider!" I retorted, "If you’re so capable, why don’t you take the exams and show me?" Words led to blows, and we ended up in a fierce fight. We were evenly matched, both returning home bloodied and bruised—and then scolded.
Later, my young aunt told me that he was Stepmother’s young nephew, the youngest grandson of the old Duke of Ying. Several years later, he attained the title of Martial Arts Champion and came to propose to me. My father was so overjoyed he couldn’t stop grinning, nodding in agreement as if afraid the other party would change his mind.After the engagement was settled, my stepmother sought me out for a heart-to-heart talk for the first and only time in her life. She looked at me with a complex expression and said, "You're a good child, broad-minded and open-hearted. You never hold onto worries—that's the greatest blessing."
When Big Mao learned I was to be married, he immediately burst into tears as if his father had died.
I heard that Stepmother had a difficult time giving birth to Big Mao and should have doted on him dearly. However, with a string of subsequent children like Mao and Zhu being born one after another, she couldn't manage to give him much attention. Since childhood, Big Mao and I had been the closest—running wild together, being punished together, and I even accompanied him to discard his fallen baby teeth.
Big Mao wept bitterly for days, glaring fiercely at my future husband as if he were a thief, and vowed to "show him what's what" if he ever treated me poorly!
My husband and I shared a deep affection. In public, I gave him face by exemplifying virtue, appearance, speech, and diligence without fail; in private, he gave me substance, often crawling on the kang to let me ride him like a big horse.
Years later, after we moved out and started our own household, I sought the elders' consent and went to the family temple to bring my aunt home—her hair was streaked with white, her face deeply wrinkled, she had aged beyond recognition.
"From now on, you'll live with us. We'll celebrate New Year's Eve and festivals together. With many children in the household, you can help keep an eye on them, and I'll make sure they respect and care for you."
I dared not promise her a life of wealth and luxury, but at the very least, she would be surrounded by warmth and liveliness, with children and grandchildren inquiring after her well-being and attending to her needs, even serving medicine by her bedside.
My aunt trembled, her voice hoarse: "You, you... why..."
Back then, she had clearly disliked me the most, and I had clearly resented her too. Yet now, it was I who would provide for her.
"No particular reason," I said. "You are my mother's sister and raised me for several years."
My aunt broke into loud sobs, tears streaming down her face.
She had lived half a life of folly, and in the end, this was the outcome she met.
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