Gu Fangruo’s health had been broken by years of discipline, humiliation, and emotional suppression. Having lost all spirit and drive, she fell into chronic depression and was constantly taking medicine. As a result, the original Song Zhiwei spent much of her time caring for her mother.
In her memories, childhood consisted of either helping the maids boil medicinal decoctions for her mother or learning the skills expected of a young lady: needlework, embroidery, and dressmaking; sewing trousers, shoes, and socks for her mother; or knotting decorative cords.
Occasionally, she would help bathe her mother, or sit beside her and offer words of comfort, telling her about auspicious happenings around the household and assuring her that such good omens meant her health would surely improve little by little. The most rebellious things she had ever done were kicking a shuttlecock with the servant girls or playing cat’s cradle.
Song Zhiwei raised a hand to wipe away the tears she had shed moments earlier. The gesture also gave her a chance to gather her thoughts.
“My mother was often ill and rarely able to go out,” she said. “So she taught me to read. I learned a little of proper conduct, and I can read some medical texts as well as essays and miscellanies, which I would read aloud to her to relieve her boredom. Our home in Qingzhou was small, and Mother had the housekeeper teach me some needlework.”
As she spoke, Song Zhiwei pulled out a neatly stacked bundle of socks from her sleeve. The sock cuffs were embroidered with plum blossoms, crabapple blossoms, and peonies. Every seam was even, and the fabric looked soft and well-made.
Keeping her voice low, she continued, “After causing such trouble, all I can think about is how I’ve never done anything for Grandmother. Your food is always the finest, and your clothing is always the newest. My craftsmanship is crude, and I hardly dared present it to you. But I truly wanted to make something for you. So I could only bring these for you to inspect. If Grandmother does not find them too humble, I hope you might accept them.”
The original Song Zhiwei had indeed made the socks. The problem was that she had made them for herself. Before leaving, Song Zhiwei had searched everywhere for an appropriate gift for Madam Xu. Finding nothing suitable, she had no choice but to gather up all the newly made socks instead. Looking at the pink embroidery thread decorating the socks, Song Zhiwei managed to keep a straight face. She merely gazed at Madam Xu with shy anticipation.
Sure enough, the old lady’s heart softened. She picked up the socks and examined them over and over again. “I’ve reached such an age,” she murmured, amused. “And yet you’ve embroidered such beautiful flowers on my socks.”
At her age, socks were typically decorated with auspicious ruyi patterns or longevity motifs. Seeing blossoms and flowers embroidered across them instead felt delightfully fresh and novel. And she rather liked it.
After accepting the gift, the two of them chatted about everyday matters for a rare while. It was nearly time for Madam Xu’s afternoon rest, yet she found today’s conversation with Wei-girl unexpectedly pleasant.
Perhaps it was because she had gone through a brush with death. She seemed to have let go of many things. Unlike before, she no longer avoided her, and no invisible barrier seemed to keep them from being truly close. So not only did Madam Xu refrain from sending her away, but she even said: “We’ve talked for quite some time, and I’m getting tired. Your health isn’t fully recovered either. Why don’t you rest here for a while and stay for dinner this evening?”
Even if Song Zhiwei had wanted to decline, she would never have voiced it at this moment. Naturally, she agreed smoothly.
Having spent years caring for the sick, Song Zhiwei instinctively followed the maid Yun’er and helped attend to Madam Xu as she prepared to rest.
Madam Xu felt somewhat awkward at first when Song Zhiwei began helping her change, but when the girl even removed her socks, another layer of intimacy grew between them. She was old now, and the family had many grandchildren. Each child had their own mother. She had no desire to separate mothers from their children, nor did she often require her daughters-in-law to stand attendance before her.
As a result, the maids and elderly servants in her quarters were the people closest to her and the ones she spoke with most often. Yet she couldn’t share everything with them. At this moment, Song Zhiwei unknowingly filled that small gap. The girl’s mannerisms even reminded her of her late second daughter.
Originally, Madam Xu had only intended to raise her well and provide a suitable dowry when the time came. But now, lying there, she found herself genuinely concerned. Wei-girl’s courtyard was too far away. It was inconvenient for her to travel back and forth. She ought to have her eldest daughter-in-law arrange a closer residence for her.
Song Zhiwei lay on a daybed nearby. She wasn’t truly asleep, merely resting with her eyes closed as she waited for the time to pass.
The room was very quiet. A faint fruit fragrance drifted through the air.
Even without falling asleep, Song Zhiwei felt herself relax considerably. In that peaceful stillness, she could vaguely hear the soft scrape of shoe soles outside the bedchamber and the light clink of teacups. Knowing the maids were bustling about carefully made her relax even further. The feeling reminded her of her previous life in the modern world: finishing a day’s work and finally flopping down to rest while everyone else was still busy working. The satisfaction was hard to put into words. After a while, she suddenly felt a dull pressure in her lower abdomen. She had intended to endure it, but as she grew too relaxed, it became hard to ignore. Letting out a quiet sigh, she sat up and slipped out of the bedchamber as silently as possible. To her surprise, a tall man was seated at the table in the outer room. He wore a dark collarless robe. His features were cold and sharply defined, and his figure was tall and straight.
Hearing movement, he looked over. A trace of puzzlement flashed in his eyes before fading quickly. In that instant, he had likely already guessed why she was there.
“Greetings, Cousin.” Song Zhiwei curtsied as soon as she came to her senses. Her heart inexplicably sped up, likely stirred by the original owner’s lingering emotions, and a faint nervousness stirred.
This man was Gu Ce’an, courtesy name Youli, Song Zhiwei’s eldest maternal cousin.
Male and female members of the Gu family followed separate generational rankings. After Madam Xu’s fourth son of the main branch was killed in battle, the title passed to Gu Ce’an’s father, Gu Huaishan.
As Gu Huaishan’s eldest son, Gu Ce’an naturally became the marquisate’s heir apparent. Although he had not yet reached adulthood, the Empress Dowager had already bestowed upon him his courtesy name and arranged an official military post for him. He was currently serving in the Jinyi Guard. Having seen so many deaths, he carried a cold and detached air that made him seem difficult to approach.
Gu Ce’an’s gaze lingered on Song Zhiwei briefly. Seeing that she appeared to have recovered, he said calmly: “The summer heat is oppressive. Although Cousin Song has regained her health, she shouldn’t be wandering about. It would be best for you to stay in your courtyard and recuperate over the next few days.”
After saying this, he turned to a nearby maid and added, “Later, send some qi-replenishing medicinal herbs to Cousin Song’s courtyard.”
“Yes, Young Master,” Biqing replied softly.
Song Zhiwei understood the implication immediately. He was telling her to stay quietly in her own courtyard and stop coming out unnecessarily. Her expression grew serious. “The things I sent to Cousin previously truly came from my heart. But I won’t send anything again. Cousin needn’t be troubled by it anymore.”
Nothing was wrong with what the original owner had done. She wanted to remain in the Gu household, and she happened to like someone. She cooked him delicious food, gave him small gifts, and expressed her feelings. How could that be wrong? In such an enormous estate, no elder was truly someone a young girl could rely on. They did not particularly care about her. They did not especially like her. They assumed that because she was poor and dependent on others, she must be calculating and scheming.
But Song Zhiwei could not be indifferent to her. After all, that girl was herself. Nor could she join these people in looking down on her or mocking her feelings. She respected the original Song Zhiwei’s emotions and desires. But that person was gone. The affection that had only recently begun to blossom had already faded away. The current Song Zhiwei would naturally never send Gu Ce’an another gift.