Coarse garments and plain cloth bespeak a simple, pure cold; a shabby room and humble door share shadows side by side.
“Mingyu, heading out so early today?”
Shen Mingyu was walking down the alley when she ran into Aunt Zhao, who was just returning from the market. Holding a basket, Aunt Zhao cracked her bright red lips into a smile and asked her.
The young girl nodded, holding a cloth bag tightly to her chest and smiling so brightly that two small dimples appeared on her cheeks.
“I want to go to the draper’s shop to buy some fabric to make new clothes for Pei Lang. Spring is here, and he doesn’t have any clothes that fit properly. His old clothes have so many patches, and he can’t bear to throw them away.”
“What a good, thoughtful girl! Well then, hurry along! I heard from the Zhou family that the draper’s shop just got a cartload of fabrics last night. Those colors and patterns, oh my… they’re so fashionable. If you go too late, there will only be what others picked over left.”
“Okay! I understand. Thank you so much, Auntie.”
The sunlight spilled onto the girl’s translucent cheeks, pressing against her long eyelashes. Her eyes were light and bright, as if filled with fragments of starlight.
She was naturally clever and bright-looking, with a soft, gentle voice, and she felt genuine gratitude toward this woman who looked after her. Just as she was about to leave, she remembered something else, turned back, and said earnestly, “Auntie, I’ve already cooked the noodles and left them on the stove. I dropped two eggs in them. Auntie, your legs and feet aren’t very good, so don’t just eat plain noodles—you need to nourish your body.”
“Oh my goodness, Auntie knows! Hurry up and go!”
Urged on by Aunt Zhao, Shen Mingyu smiled, nodded, and turned away.
The winter snow had melted, and the first wisps of a spring breeze blew across the earth. The bluestone alley, where the morning sun was broken into pieces, was filled with the girl’s light footsteps.
Clutching the large cloth bag to her chest, she pondered how to split her saved copper coins in half—Aunt Zhao was from White Cloud Village, and in order to stay closer to Pei Lang, Shen Mingyu had been lodging at the Zhao family’s house for a long time. Even though Aunt Zhao said she didn’t lack clothes and her sons had sent her several outfits for the beginning of spring, Shen Mingyu still wanted to make an outfit for Aunt Zhao, as it would at least repay some of the older woman’s kindness.
Today the clear light was just right, the weather grew warmer, and people felt warmer too.
The spring breeze brushed past the girl’s hair, but it also carried some idle gossip—the voices of Aunt Zhao and someone else talking: “You say that girl… she hasn’t even married into the family yet, and she’s throwing herself at him like this. She has no modesty as a young maiden.”
“You ask about her parents? Don’t even mention it; they’re no good. Her father is a gambler who drinks and plays for money, and her mother doesn’t care about her either. The little girl is so pitiful, which is why I didn’t ask her for rent. Let’s just say, we aren’t lacking that little bit of money from her family, are we?”
The wind carried the words over, and the girl quietly lowered her long eyelashes, clearly feeling somewhat disappointed.
She rubbed her ears, decided simply not to listen anymore, and tried to quicken her pace.
The draper’s shopkeeper was a short man, as thin as a pole. His two dark eyes narrowed as he sized people up, revealing a shrewd glint.
Shen Mingyu spun her wits quickly, bargaining for half an hour before she managed to fish two pieces of fabric from the shopkeeper’s narrow fingers.
One piece was an autumn-fragrant color with a ruyi cloud pattern, which could be used to make clothes for Aunt Zhao.
The other piece was grayish-blue, meant for Pei Lang.
Stepping out of the draper’s shop, the girl looked down at the flattened coin purse tied around her waist and touched it with a twinge of heartache. But very quickly, she let out a long breath of relief and stepped forward into the sunlight.
When Shen Mingyu returned home, the noodles on the stove had already been eaten, leaving only an empty bowl with remaining soup.
She carefully put away the fabric, washed the bowl, and then rolled up her narrow sleeves to start picking, washing, and shredding vegetables. Her set of movements was practiced, smooth, and clean.
At noon, Aunt Zhao was not home, so Shen Mingyu left a fire going in the stove to keep the food warm. As for herself, she ladled out a small bowl of noodles, pulled up a low stool, and sat under the eaves to eat.
The bright sunlight fell on the tiled walls, fences, and green trees.
The stew had very little meat in it, and Shen Mingyu had left all of it for Aunt Zhao. Even with a bowl of plain soup noodles, the girl ate with great relish.
Birds chattered on the branches, pleasing and melodious to the ear. Her bright eyes looked around the small courtyard enclosed on four sides, and she softly hummed a tune.
Being able to fill one’s stomach was one of life’s great happinesses. In the past, she rarely had enough to eat. Her mother would scold her, asking why she ate so much and reminding her that flour didn’t grow on trees.
Later, as she grew older and could help her mother with chores, Madam Qin didn’t like farming and didn’t own any land, so their livelihood relied entirely on selling tofu. Shen Mingyu would help her mother grind the beans. Although she was drenched in sweat and expended a lot of energy, she was scolded much less often.
Even so, she still often went hungry.
After the midday meal, Shen Mingyu saw a pile of clothes in a wooden basin—these were the ones Aunt Zhao had changed out of.
Sensible as always, she went to the well to draw water, carried it to the shade under the eaves, and began scrubbing and wringing them out.
The sun slowly moved westward, casting a thin dusk over the distant mountains as the setting sun dipped low. By then, the chimneys of the Zhao family were already puffing curls of cooking smoke, carrying the fragrance of steamed locust tree flowers.
As the sky gradually darkened, a young man came down from the mountain forest with a full load of firewood on his back.
“A-Min, you’re just getting home now?”
It was starting to drizzle—a fine, misty rain that drifted into the long, winding bluestone alley.
Raindrops fell upon the sharp lines of his brow bone, snaking down along his jawline before sliding into his lean, well-defined collarbone and vanishing into his clothes.
The youth lightly wiped his face. As he passed in front of the Zhao family’s door, he heard someone calling out.
It turned out to be Aunt Zhao, who was also returning late.
Madam Zhao was holding an oil-paper umbrella. Seeing him, she hurried over to hold the umbrella above his head and said with concern, “The weather is really strange today. It was clear this morning, but it’s raining again by evening. Next time you go out, you must remember to bring an umbrella. What would you do if you caught a cold from the rain? And this firewood is all wet too…” Madam Zhao looked toward his back.
Pei Xiuwen wiped his face and smiled. “It’ll be fine once it dries in the sun. It’s no trouble.”
Aunt Zhao nodded. “Look at you, living all by yourself, yet every time you chop firewood, you still send some over to my house. Carrying so much wood must be tiring. Auntie has sons of her own; why would she lack this little bit of firewood? Keep more for yourself.”
Pei Xiuwen smiled, but offered no further reply.
Just as he was about to take his leave, Aunt Zhao remembered she had more to say and pulled him back.
She glanced around, then pulled him into a secluded spot. “A-Min, Auntie watched you grow up and treats you like her own child. There’s something I simply have to say.”
Madam Zhao looked around again and lowered her voice. “Mingyu is indeed hardworking and helps Auntie with chores. But when we take a wife, we look at more than just the person—we have to look at her maiden family too, right?
“Her maiden family is just too terrible. In the future, they won’t be able to help you much; not dragging you down would already be a blessing. If you want a virtuous wife, how many families are there in White Cloud Village? Look around, are you afraid there wouldn’t be any? Auntie is telling you, the Zhou family is quite good. You know them—the girl’s father is the personal cousin of our county magistrate’s assistant.
“You’re handsome, know how to read and write, and even passed the county examination as a Xiucai. You’re the most promising young man in our village. This afternoon, the Zhou family even asked Auntie to sound things out for them. If you think it’s a good match too, tomorrow Auntie will help you ask about the Zhou family’s intentions…”
The other person did not make a sound.
Aunt Zhao glanced at him again. Rain was trickling down the youth’s handsome face, immersing him in silent darkness.
“Well? Give me an answer at least!” Madam Zhao was anxious on his behalf; with such obvious prosperity right before him, if he missed this village, he wouldn’t find another shop like it.
“Sorry to trouble you, Auntie, but there’s no need.”
The babbling rainwater dripped rhythmically, as if washing away the mundane dust of the world, and everything returned to nothingness.
Pei Xiuwen calmly raised his head, gave a final bow to Madam Zhao, and vanished into the twilight of the flowing rain.
Shen Mingyu finished steaming the locust flower cakes and left one basket for Aunt Zhao. The other basket she carefully packed into a food box and waited at the entrance of the Pei family’s home.
Shortly afterward, amid the flowing curtain of rain, she saw the youth returning with his load of firewood.
Shen Mingyu hurriedly put down the food box and went to help, but was stopped by him: “Mingyu, don’t come over. Mind you don’t get wet. Go inside the house first.”
The young girl was always obedient and nodded heavily. “Mm!”
When Pei Xiuwen was still an infant, his aunt had carried him while fleeing from famine; he was not a native of this village.
Therefore, his home was rented. Thick thatch was piled upon the roof on the east, west, and north sides, enclosing a small courtyard. It wasn’t large—just barely enough for two people to live in.
But good times did not last. When he was seven years old, his aunt passed away from illness. After burying her, the young boy—barely half a man’s height—solely shouldered the burdens of the household.
In the dozen or so years since then, in this small thatched courtyard, the youth had been entirely solitary.
He matured earlier than his peers in the village: at five, he learned to wash clothes and cook; at eight, he went up the mountain to chop firewood; and by ten, he could carry game to town to sell. Every day, he worked from sunrise to sunset.
Unlike the Zhao family’s home, Pei Xiuwen’s house had simple furnishings.
Aunt Zhao loved flowers and would place various green plants and floral arrangements of all colors in her courtyard—some Shen Mingyu knew the names of, while many others she had never seen before. Aunt Zhao would introduce them to Shen Mingyu with a proud look, telling her how much silver and effort it took to get them.
The Zhao family’s courtyard was full of gorgeous colors, and even the fence was dotted with small, pale purple blossoms.
In contrast, Pei Xiuwen had very few possessions. The courtyard contained only an old tree and a small stove built in a corner—bleak and desolate, it was no exaggeration to call it dirt-poor. Even if a thief were to sneak in, the only thing they could possibly make off with would probably be the coarse cloth shirt hanging out to dry on the bamboo pole.
However, he didn’t care much about that either.
Pei Xiuwen unloaded the firewood and walked over to Shen Mingyu, only to discover she had also brought a basket of pastries.
Shen Mingyu was always like this; every time she came, she brought something—sometimes food, sometimes small trinkets she had made for him.
Pei Xiuwen knew she had run away from home and had no money on her. Although he had told her many times that he didn’t want or need anything, the young girl persisted stubbornly, never once arriving empty-handed.
“Pei Lang.”
Shen Mingyu nervously twisted her fingers. “You must be tired today, so don’t bother cooking. You can have some locust flower cakes to fill your stomach.”
When she looked at him, her cheeks wore a shy, blushing smile.
Half a year ago, Shen Mingyu had been sold by Madam Qin to an elderly master in the county to be a concubine because they saw she was pretty and had a delicate, charming appearance, offering fifteen silver taels. Before Madam Qin could even warm the silver in her pocket, her daughter had jumped out of the bridal sedan chair and fled.
Shen Mingyu was not from White Cloud Village. Later, no one knew where she had heard about a thirty-tael bride price, but she had actually tracked him down.
Pei Xiuwen still remembered the day Shen Mingyu showed up at his doorstep carrying a small bundle—she had earnestly introduced herself, explaining how hardworking and capable she was, and saying that if he married her, she would surely be a virtuous wife.
To speak so straightforwardly was practically like a peddler praising his own melons, boasting of herself. Whenever Pei Xiuwen recalled how things were that day, he couldn’t help finding it amusing.
Pei Xiuwen was well aware that he had no relatives and no savings from past generations; his conditions were inferior to many men in the village. The reason he had been generous back then was simply because he wanted to marry a good wife.
Having been parentless since childhood, the money he had used was hard-earned through hunting and helping others with tasks, representing his entire accumulated net worth up to that point.
At the very beginning, Pei Xiuwen would reject her overtures.
As someone of unknown background with obvious intentions, he had never once considered marrying her.
Yet she refused to leave no matter how he drove her away. Gradually, as days turned into months, Pei Xiuwen found he could neither dissuade her nor wear down her persistent visits.
The young girl was lively and considerate; every time she came, she would decorate his desolate yard, make pastries for him, and mend his clothes. Although Pei Xiuwen hadn’t paid her much mind at first, as time went on, he surprisingly grew accustomed to this kind of presence—
At this very moment, the rain outside pattered down in a drizzle. As Pei Xiuwen looked at her, those words he had heard on the mountain earlier suddenly echoed in his ears. Those two people were also from White Cloud Village, and one of them had said, “That young lady hasn’t left yet? She’s still staying at Aunt Zhao’s house? It’s been almost half a year now.”
“What’s the matter, did you take a fancy to her?”
“She certainly is pretty. If she had come to my house, I definitely would have married her and brought her in early.”
“Look at you talking; I don’t believe it. Didn’t you hear Aunt Zhao say her maiden family is no good, and she only ran away because she was escaping an arranged marriage? What if she gets dragged back one day? Wouldn’t the bride price given for her go down the drain? That fellow surnamed Pei is much smarter than you; he knows it’s a bottomless pit and he can’t marry her!”
Hearing that, the other person gave an embarrassed laugh. “Ah, you’re right. I wouldn’t dare marry her either.”
“If she stays any longer, once the fellow surnamed Pei actually marries someone else, she’ll really be in a tight spot. Dragging it out from winter into spring, putting in all that painstaking effort for nothing, in the end she’ll only be able to tuck her tail between her legs and slink away in disgrace.”
“A young maiden like that has no modesty, nobody wants her, and the fellow surnamed Pei wants her even less. Even if I were to marry, I’d have to marry someone decent and sensible…”
When he heard those words on the mountain back then, Pei Xiuwen’s footsteps had halted, his long eyelashes casting shadows.
This was the first time he had heard gossip about her, and it turned out to be so harsh.
He thought of the orchid-chrysanthemum pastries, osmanthus rolls, locust flower cakes, and all sorts of other foods Shen Mingyu had made, knocking on his door time and time again. Sometimes it was in the foggy dusk, sometimes on rainy days.
He didn’t know when these rumors had started, but silently and quietly spreading as they were, how much of it had she heard herself? Yet she still stood in the wind and snow clutching her things, smiling at him and calling him Pei Lang.
Right now, Shen Mingyu held the food box for a long time without the other person saying a word.
Feeling puzzled, she called out softly again: “Pei Lang, would you like to try some? If they sit too long, they won’t taste as good.”
In this small main room, the warm yellow candlelight reflected the young girl’s round, soft, and sincere face.
Pei Xiuwen looked at her, then silently lowered his gaze.
Finally, he took the pastries, but gently took her hand instead. With a voice so light, so faint, as light as the dust of the clouds, he said, “Mingyu, shall we get married?”