Right at the end of the year, Guiwan hung two strings of red firecrackers by the doors of the small courtyard and the main room.
When Shen Quebai was four years old, he read a poem about osmanthus flowers and asked her why she didn’t just call herself Osmanthus, as it would be easy to pronounce and remember. Guiwan had only entered the Marquis Yongding Residence as a maidservant after her family fortune declined in her early childhood, and she had also learned a few characters when she was pampered at home. At that time, smoothing out the two deep folds on her eyelids, she recited a line of poetry: “‘With the passage of years, late leaves wither.'”
That night, secretly holding a candle in the small study, Shen Quebai stayed up the entire night, flipping through every book he had at hand until he found this poem titled Ode to the Osmanthus Tree at Dinglin Temple.
So, the skinny and short Nanny wasn’t an osmanthus flower—she was an osmanthus tree.
The next day, when he was pulled out from a pile of books by Nanny, he said, “Nanny, your name is unlucky.”
Guiwan hugged him and tucked him into the bedding of the main room, saying, “Is there any leaf that doesn’t wither? When the late leaves fall to the dust, it can also be considered dying a natural death.”
With a swollen face that was greasy from staying up all night and eyes as red as walnuts, Shen Quebai said, “I don’t want Nanny to wither.”
“Each has its own goodness,” Guiwan said with a smile, adding, “With Nanny standing here, Baoer this little white magpie can lean on her. When Nanny falls and shatters, she will drift away as the wind, supporting Baoer so he can fly steadily.”
Shen Quebai slid his hand out from the edge of the blanket to hook her withered hand, and said in a soft, clinging tone, “When I grow up, I will spread my wings and cover Nanny so that wind and rain will never touch her.”
How could there be such a big white magpie? He might as well swallow an immortal elixir.
Guiwan looked at him with a warm smile and said nothing.
The following year, a new osmanthus tree was added to the left side of the small courtyard; the seeds had been given to Shen Quebai as a reward by his tutor for helping water the flowers at the academy. Next to the osmanthus tree was a small vegetable patch enclosed by a wicker fence, Nanny said vegetable vendors were craftier than ghosts, and with one glance they would know she was an outsider and overcharge her.
In the beginning, the vegetable patch only grew two or three kinds of vegetables that Shen Quebai loved to eat. Later on, every year brought more variety, and whatever was sorted out could even be exchanged for a little pocket money. To make Nanny walk fewer steps, Shen Quebai pointed his little finger and had the cesspool dug right at the edge of the vegetable patch. With the lid removed, the smell could be smelled day and night, and over time, he felt as though he had been pickled in the scent of osmanthus and manure.
This year, Shen Quebai was the most prosperous. He won first place in the academy’s calligraphy and painting competition, and the tutor rewarded him with a small lacquer inkstone and a string of copper coins tied with red silk. After school, he used the money to buy a set of winter clothes for Nanny, and the remaining coins were exchanged for several fish—every single one of them was wonderfully plump.
Guiwan was preparing the New Year’s Eve dinner and refused to wear the new clothes, so Shen Quebai hopped around her like a little bird. With eyes so moist and bright—how could anyone say no? She changed into them: bright red leather embroidered with golden osmanthus leaves, looking exceptionally pretty. As soon as Guiwan touched the fabric, she knew Shen Quebai had spent a fortune, and her heart was soaked in hot water, stinging with a peculiar, itching warmth.
Heavy snow was falling in the courtyard. Shen Quebai was wearing a cyan cotton-padded jacket with a small round hat on his head, half of his face tucked into his collar. He carried the small inkstone given by Mr. Xuan nestled against his chest, and tied around his waist was his mother’s keepsake a brocade pouch for peace. Squatting on the stone steps in front of the kitchen, holding a small wooden stick while smelling the aroma of sweet and sour fish, he slowly drew patterns in the snow.
The moment those people pushed the door open, Shen Quebai had just finished drawing an osmanthus tree, with only a single late leaf falling into the empty air, descending toward the white magpie beneath the tree.
Two men, wearing short jackets and long padded trousers, had eyes that Shen Quebai thought looked like jackals.
“Who is here?” Nanny asked from inside. Shen Quebai said nothing; he stared at them, pulling his hand out from his sleeve to press it against his chest.
“Why aren’t you” Hearing no reply, Guiwan came out of the kitchen, and the expression on her face changed instantly at a single glance. Over the past six years, the old servants sent by the Marquisate every year to deliver gifts were all people she recognized, but these two today were not. They brought no gifts, nor did they wear any smiles.
Guiwan’s hand, stained with fishy grease, was suddenly grasped. Looking down at Shen Quebai’s soft, dough-white face, she barely held back her tears.
The two men walked step by step into the courtyard. One stayed to secure the courtyard gate while the other laid bare their purpose: “Fifth Young Master Shen has caught a chill and is running a persistent high fever. His tender young body cannot withstand the affliction and he has unfortunately passed away, Nanny Gui, if you write this letter for me, I can give you a sum of money so you can return home to retire in old age.”
Guiwan understood instantly that these two men were not sent by the Marquis, and because they feared the Marquis would grow suspicious and investigate, they needed to use her hands to prove that her precious Baoer had died cleanly and harmlessly. Gripping Shen Quebai’s trembling little hand, she called out softly, “Baoer.”
Shen Quebai leaned against her leg, exhaling plumes of cold mist, trying from this very moment to become that little bird spreading its wings to shelter the osmanthus tree. He said, “Nanny, write the letter for them and go.”
“Silly Baoer, whether I agree or not, they won’t let me go, and they certainly won’t let me live.” Turning her back to the man, Guiwan squatted down to meet Shen Quebai’s gaze. Her tone was very light yet carried immense weight, striking Shen Quebai’s eardrums with a sharp pain. “Baoer, remember: Nanny can die, and you perhaps… may not escape either, but we cannot die silently and ‘clearly.'”
This old woman had been gentle and mild her entire life, her eyes veiled by a gentle mist for most of it, but right now an astonishing flash of fire erupted from them. Yet just listen to what kind of foolish things she was saying.
Before Shen Quebai’s little mind could fully process it, the old woman before him suddenly turned and lunged at the man. She was like a ball of raging fire, and the narrow, thin kitchen knife hidden in her sleeve viciously stabbed into the man’s abdomen. Blood splashed across her face, washing away her fearful tears.
Everyone was stunned. She pulled the blade out and stabbed it in again, hacking away with the ruthless fury of chopping spare ribs. The man’s intestines burst out, dropping onto the snow right by Shen Quebai’s feet where he had just been drawing.
Shen Quebai’s hands and feet went numb, and at that instant he almost fell backward in a faint. The other man also reacted, cursing loudly as he lunged forward to grab her. She jerked upright, fueled by the rising blaze, wildly brandishing the bloody knife and roaring, “Who dares to kill my Baoer!”
Wielding the knife, she chased after the man, hacking out a path for Shen Quebai like a madwoman. Shen Quebai tumbled off the steps, scrambling and rolling as he rushed toward the courtyard gate.
The man tried to give chase, but she drove him back with furious, roaring slashes of the blade. It seemed as though she was coughing up her very lungs.
Shen Quebai crashed to the ground before the door, his forehead bruised and red. For a brief second, his vision darkened, but his two hands desperately clawed at the door bolt, pulling and yanking with all his might. He knew they lived in a remote place, and he had to run outside to call for help! Nanny was burning brightly in his mind, and though his icy hands suffered a sharp, stinging pain from the friction, they still had strength—he had to desperately, desperately open this door.
Two more men were standing right outside the door.
“Fucking stubborn bastards after all,” cursed the man on the right as he entered. Reaching out, he grabbed Shen Quebai by the throat and violently hurled him onto the snow-covered ground, while the man behind him reclosed the courtyard gate. Dragging the white-eyed, gasping Shen Quebai all the way into the middle of the courtyard, the man cast a vicious, sinister glare at Guiwan.
Lying prone in the snow, Shen Quebai gasped rapidly, saliva sliming his neck like a panting whelp.
Disregarding everything, Guiwan rushed forward, but this man was different—he possessed some martial arts skills and effortlessly knocked the kitchen knife flying. The flying vegetable knife struck the osmanthus tree on the left, and Guiwan was kicked squarely in the lower abdomen, crying out in agony as she collapsed onto the ground.
The man pressed his boot onto Guiwan’s left hand. “This letter will you write it or not?”
Agonized by the shattering pain in her hand bones, Guiwan raised her face half stained with blood, half the color of snow. Looking at Shen Quebai, her heart ached more than her body. “Today… I die, and one day, you all will pay with your lives! Filthy wretches, taking filthy money to… to harm a child” The man crushed the bones of her left hand further. Screaming in agony, she hoarsely rasped, “In your dreams!”
“You refuse a toast only to drink a forfeit!” the man cursed under his breath, sweeping a glance with his eyes toward the carrying pole leaning against the vegetable patch fence. “The old bitch has a stubborn backbone. Fetch that carrying pole! Aside from her head and right hand, break her with random strikes of the stick!” Kicking Guiwan aside, his posture arrogant and vicious, he added, “Whenever you change your mind and yield, we’ll drop the sticks at any time.”
The man nearby, whose back had just been slashed by the kitchen knife, now weighed the carrying pole in his hands. The first blow landed with the sound of a roaring thunderclap.
Shuddering at the waist, Shen Quebai forced himself up onto his knees, crawling toward them with every ounce of his remaining strength. Stop! Stop! His throat had been bruised from being throttled, rendering him incapable of even shouting. Saliva mixed with blood streaks sprayed outward, along with the raw fury of a young beast.
The man nearby hauled Shen Quebai up by his collar. Desperately, Shen Quebai kicked out at the man’s legs, landing a direct hit right between the man’s thighs. Wincing in pain, the man loosened his grip, and Shen Quebai tumbled back to the ground. Like a wild dog, he lunged forward, using his head to ram the shin of the man holding the stick! The stick-wielding man buckled at the knees and crashed down right on top of Guiwan. With the limbs of a wild dog, Shen Quebai scrambled forward and pounced, pulling out the precious small inkstone from his chest and smashing it with all his might against the back of the stick-wielding man’s head!
The man convulsed all over and went completely still.