The main hall was relatively spacious, divided from left to right into three rooms: the inner chamber, the flower hall, and the study. Though there were doorways, they lacked actual doors, and even the reed curtains were tattered and worn.
Ming Baoqing truly disliked sharing a room with others. After a private inspection, she noticed the side chamber to the left of the main hall, originally used as a storage room. Inside were piled farming tools like hoes, baskets, and rakes, along with a rolled-up mat.
"Mother, I'll take this side chamber."
Lan Panxiao had always regarded Ming Baoqing as the most esteemed figure and instinctively replied, "But this side chamber is so small, with no bed or windows."
Ming Baoqing looked around again and said, "There's only one bed here anyway, which should be for you, Mother. Besides, the eaves of this side chamber align with those of the main hall, with a ceiling height of over ten feet—it’s not too stifling."
"Alright then." Lan Panxiao glanced at the remaining people: the two young ladies Ming Baoshan and Ming Baoying, along with Aunt Zhu, Aunt Lin, and Old Aunt Miao. Including herself, there were six people in total, all of whom would have to squeeze into the main hall together.
Aunt Zhu wore a pained expression and noticed Old Aunt Miao shuffling in slowly, hunched over with downcast eyes. Her features seemed wrapped in wrinkles, making them nearly indistinguishable.
"Hey," Aunt Zhu called out to her, "why don’t you stay in the Water Room outside? There’s no space for you here."
Old Aunt Miao lowered her hands, set down the tabby cat, and slowly turned to leave, only to be stopped by Lan Panxiao.
Aunt Zhu sighed and lamented, "We’ve already done our utmost by bringing her along. Isn’t the Water Room just a bit damp? At least she gets a room to herself."
"There’s enough space. I’ll share the inner chamber with Aunt Miao and Fourth Mistress. Third Mistress and Aunt Lin can stay in the study, and you and Er Niang can take the flower hall," Lan Panxiao decided.
The tabby cat leaped gracefully into Ming Baoying’s arms, and she whispered, "Let Aunt Miao stay with us, Mother. You and Little Sister can share the room."
Ming Baoshan had wanted to complain that opening the door would lead directly into the flower hall, making it impossible to sleep soundly. But with Ming Baoying’s interjection, she couldn’t voice her grievances and merely inwardly scorned Ming Baoying as a flatterer.
With the living quarters roughly divided, Lan Panxiao began planning to boil some hot water.
‘Fortunately, there’s some firewood in the kitchen. Let’s cook those beans too.’
She knew her daughters had never lifted a finger for household chores and were utterly clueless about kitchen work, so she told them to tidy up their living spaces first.
But once in the kitchen, Lan Panxiao found herself at a loss. She fumbled around the stove for a while before remembering to roll up her sleeves and tie back her clothes.
Ming Baojin had quietly followed her at some point and now crouched obediently nearby, staring blankly into the dark stove chamber.
"Mother, do we need to start a fire?" Ming Baojin had once sneaked into the Marquis's Mansion kitchen and seen flames roaring in the stove pit.
"Yes, yes." Lan Panxiao hurriedly stood up, pacing aimlessly for a few steps before finally recalling the key detail. "Fire, flint—yes, flint. We need to find flint first."
Though the kitchen wasn’t large, Lan Panxiao had no idea where to begin searching. She wandered around like a headless fly until Ming Baojin asked, "Mother, is this the stone?"
In her hands, she held two stones—neither sharp nor blunt—that she had just retrieved from a gap in the firewood pile. They were indeed flints.
"Yes, yes." Lan Panxiao took them and murmured, "We still need tinder."
"What’s tinder?" Ming Baojin asked curiously.
The Marquis's Mansion's kitchen kept fire starters. If a fire was needed in the rooms, fire sticks were usually used, while flint and tinder were only handled by the servants in the kitchen. Lan Panxiao hadn’t touched them in a long time.
"Tinder is used to start a fire. My family used fine hemp in the past, but the Marquis's Mansion mostly uses wood chips coated with sulfur."
Lan Panxiao looked around but couldn’t even find a hemp rope. Glancing down at the plain cloth sachet tied to her waist, she exclaimed, "I’ve got it, I’ve got it!"
Ming Baojin was extremely curious. Seeing Lan Panxiao pull out a tuft of gray-green fluff from the sachet, she asked, "Is this tinder?"
"This is mugwort fluff. It can also be used as tinder." Lan Panxiao smiled bitterly. "Luckily, this sachet isn’t valuable, so they didn’t snatch it away."
Perhaps the sachet had been used for too long, and the mugwort fluff had absorbed moisture, or maybe Lan Panxiao was out of practice. She struck the two pieces of flint several times between her fingers. Though sparks flew, making Ming Baojin laugh with delight, the mugwort fluff refused to catch fire.
"Mother, strike the stones faster," Ming Baojin crouched nearby, watching intently, and had already grasped the trick.
Lan Panxiao was afraid of burning her hands, but without fire, nothing could be done. She had to try again, striking harder, her chin tensing as the two pieces of flint clashed rapidly in her hands.
"It’s smoking! It’s smoking!" Lan Panxiao cried out in surprise. The smoldering flame flickered and nearly died, so she quickly struck a few more times, and it finally burst into a proper flame.
Only when she felt the real heat of the burning did Lan Panxiao toss the flint aside. Watching the mugwort fluff burning at the mouth of the stove, she hurriedly brought a small bundle of straw close to it, letting it catch fire completely, then pushed the flame deep into the stove along with a piece of firewood.
That bit of mugwort fluff was gone in an instant, swallowed up and vanished without a trace.
Lan Panxiao simmered bean porridge in the pot and walked out of the kitchen, only to see Ming Baoying struggling to carry water into the house.
She withdrew her gaze and noticed Ming Baoqing standing somewhat dazedly in the doorway of the small side room in the corner of the main hall. She stood too rigidly, not even a tremor in the handkerchief held in her fingertips, as if awaiting some judgment to descend.
Lan Panxiao sighed softly, fetched a bucket of water, unrolled the mat in the side room, and carefully scrubbed it clean.
"Yuan Niang, why not sleep with Little Sister and me?"
Lan Panxiao still remembered her own surprise when she first stepped into Ming Baoqing’s boudoir.
In her boudoir, every step was cushioned by carpet mats—white felt and crimson rugs, changed three times a season. The bed was high and wide, with curtains and drapes hanging around it, enshrining her like a goddess.
As for straw mats, Ming Baoqing probably only stepped on them when crossing puddles on rainy days.
Ming Baoqing shook her head.
Lan Panxiao brought a bundle of straw from the kitchen’s firewood pile and spread it on the ground, laying the mat on top. She then moved an armrest and a folding stool from the main room into Ming Baoqing’s side room, placing Ming Baoqing’s small bundle on the mat to serve as a pillow.
She gently patted the straw mat and said, "Yuan Niang, come and sit for a while."
Ming Baoqing sat down cautiously and slowly, feeling a momentary sense of emptiness and unease. But soon, the earthen floor conveyed a feeling of solidity.
She let out a soft sigh, no longer pretending everything was fine, no longer maintaining composure, allowing a wave of despondent and bleak emotion to wash over her.
That night, everyone slept in their clothes, curled up haphazardly on mats, couches, and makeshift chairs.
The floor was cold, the mat thin, and with Ming Baoqing’s heavy heart, sleep was impossible.
Though she had passed the stage of being utterly distraught, true peace of mind remained far from reach.
In these days of plummeting from the clouds into the mire, fragments of memories flashed through her mind, leaving her dizzy and exhausted, yet sleep eluded her completely.
In the deep silence of the night, her stomach rumbled, croaking and gurgling as if she had swallowed two frogs—a most undignified sound.
"Hah." Ming Baoqing laughed at herself, thinking how absurd it was that she still cared about the impropriety of a growling stomach.
Suddenly, the door was gently tapped. Ming Baoqing startled, instinctively asking, "Who is it?"
"Elder Sister."
Ming Baojin's voice was as soft as a kitten's meow. Ming Baoqing rose, moved the rake propped against the door aside, and let Ming Baojin into the room. "Why have you come? It's cold at night."
Ming Baojin removed her shoes and stepped onto the mat. Seeing Ming Baoqing look at her, she quickly lay down on her back, lifting her clean, plump little feet for her sister to see.
"Mother washed my feet for me." Being young, she was utterly exhausted and had already fallen asleep while everyone else was drinking bean porridge. Still, Ming Baoqing thought it was no great loss to miss that porridge.
The beans left at the bottom of the jar must have been stored for a long time—no matter which bean you poked, they remained whole. The porridge was thin and watery, not exactly moldy or bitter, but it carried a stale taste.
Ming Baoqing used a few thin padded jackets as blankets, wrapping Ming Baojin inside as well.
Ming Baojin smiled sleepily at Ming Baoqing and pulled a crumpled handkerchief from her clothes.
"What's this?"
The handkerchief was wrinkled like a cloud, yet it exuded the scent of cold grain, making Ming Baoqing involuntarily swallow.
"Pepper and fermented bean flatbread," Ming Baojin said. "Sister Chan Niang secretly slipped it into my hand. She had also prepared some fermented bean curd, but she nearly got caught by that fierce gentleman, so she didn't dare give it to me. Elder Sister, you eat it. I heard your stomach growling."
Chan Niang was Ming Baoqing's former maid, now married. She was supposed to follow her husband to Longyou for business after the New Year, but she had stayed longer for the Ming family's sake, running around and pleading for help—like an ant trying to shake a tree, utterly futile. In the end, just before leaving for Longyou, she had secretly come to bring them a little food.
"That must have been a day ago," Ming Baoqing said, stroking Ming Baojin's cheek. "Why didn't you eat it?"
"Sister Chan Niang meant it for you," Ming Baojin replied.
Ming Baoqing suddenly wanted to take a closer look at this little sister she wasn't very familiar with. But the side chamber had no windows, and only a faint light filtered through the latticed paper on the door. She could only make out the outline of Ming Baojin's upturned face, her expression sincere.
"Then let's eat it together."
Pepper and fermented bean flatbread and almond wheat porridge were Chan Niang's specialties, dishes Ming Baoqing often had for breakfast in winter.
Truthfully, she preferred the sweet and fragrant wheat porridge. She ate the pepper and fermented bean flatbread only because she believed the spices—pepper and fermented beans—were beneficial for health in winter, and freshly baked flatbread was crispy and aromatic, pairing well with porridge.
Ming Baoqing had never eaten cold pepper and fermented bean flatbread before. All crispness was gone, replaced by a tough chewiness that required some effort to tear apart.
She fed a piece to Ming Baojin and took one for herself. At first, it tasted bland, and the aroma of pepper and fermented beans was subdued. But as she chewed, saliva moistening the bread, the flavor of the grain, guided by the spices, gradually emerged.
When hungry, anything tastes delicious, especially proper grain seasoned with salt and spices.
Ming Baoqing's chewing grew faster and faster, several times nearly forgetting to feed Ming Baojin.
She felt it was only the blink of an eye before the two bowl-sized flatbreads were reduced to nothing but a tiny piece held between her fingertips.
Ming Baoqing placed the morsel into Ming Baojin’s mouth and smiled bitterly, saying, “I never realized flatbread could taste so good.”
Ming Baojin savored the lingering aroma of pepper and fermented beans in her mouth and replied, “Elder Sister, don’t worry. Now that we have a lodging place, Uncle will surely find us. When he does, we’ll bake a whole tray of lard-sesame flatbreads to eat.”
Ming Baoqing fell silent for a moment before asking, “What if Uncle doesn’t come?”
Ming Baojin had actually been mimicking Aunt Zhu’s words, so when Ming Baoqing asked her this, she knew she had said something inappropriate but didn’t know how to respond.
“Let’s sleep,” Ming Baoqing said. Having never experienced hunger in her life, she vaguely regretted eating that small piece of flatbread—it only made her hungrier.
Back when everyone was still under house arrest in the mansion, Ming Baoying had once found a forgotten packet of jushengnu pastries.
Though they had been left for over ten days, being fried food, they were naturally less prone to spoilage. The outer layer, coated with osmanthus-infused honey syrup, had formed a thick, sticky crust, and they remained golden and fragrant when chewed.
Everyone ate hurriedly yet carefully, picking up the sesame seeds that fell onto their clothes and popping them into their mouths. Watching their manner of eating, Ming Baoqing couldn’t bring herself to take a bite and instead handed her piece of jushengnu to Ming Baojin.
Thus, she alone had endured the worst of the hunger. Now, she had to rely on chewing over the words “lard-sesame flatbread” to fall asleep—how laughable.
Humans are, first and foremost, flesh and blood. The most essential thing is three meals a day. No matter what books one has read, what principles one has learned, or what dignity one upholds, hunger is hunger. In such moments, all those empty, unsatisfying things can be cast aside.
Ming Baoqing suddenly felt terrified, fearing she might not endure this torment. When her father and brothers were taken away, her grief outweighed her fear. When the Buliang Ren tormented her, her anger outweighed her fear. Now, with everything quieted, fear surged up alongside hunger, churning within her more fiercely than ever.