A night of fine snow had fallen, leaving a pale dusting across the bluestone courtyard.
From the quiet camellia garden came the murmur of voices. Through the lattice window, the sound drifted into the room and reached Shen Qingluo’s ears. She opened her hazy eyes.
At the head of her bed hung a palm-sized embroidered sachet, stitched in gold thread with the character “Fortune.” Inside lay a protective charm. She remembered it well.
At twelve, she had been struck by a grave illness, fever burning for three days without relief. Her grandmother summoned every physician in the city, and even journeyed to Tanhua Temple beyond the walls to seek a talisman.
In her fevered delirium, she recalled her grandmother sitting at her bedside, fastening the charm with her own hands, her voice uncharacteristically gentle: “My good granddaughter, get well soon.”
After recovering, Shen Qingluo had always believed it a dream. Her grandmother was stern, unsmiling, the ruler’s rod never far from her hand. Any mistake brought swift punishment. Resentment grew in Shen Qingluo’s heart, so much so that when her grandmother later fell ill, she had not served her a single bowl of medicine. Now tears brimmed in her eyes. She struck her own cheek.
“Miss,” came Nanny Bai’s voice from outside the door.
Shen Qingluo quickly wiped her tears. “Come in.”
The curtain lifted, carrying in a gust of snow. Nanny Bai’s sharp eyes caught the redness around Shen Qingluo’s gaze. She asked softly, “Miss, are you homesick?”
By “home,” she meant the Marquis’s household.
Shen Qingluo shook her head, her voice thick: “I miss Grandmother.”
Nanny Bai paused, recalling what Shen Qingluo had said yesterday. Gathering her courage, she sat at the edge of the bed. “Miss, this old servant has something to say, though I don’t know if I should.”
“Speak, Nanny.”
“The Old Madam was strict with you—for your own good.”
Shen Qingluo nodded through her tears. “I know… only I realized it too late.”
“The Old Madam was born to a merchant family. When she married the Old Master, he was but a junior officer in the army. She brought half the Li family’s fortune with her, and the Old Master respected her deeply.”
Nanny Bai sighed. “Later, the Old Master won great merit in battle, was granted the title of Marquis and a grand residence. Immersed in the splendor of the capital, within two years he had taken a formidable concubine.”
Shen Qingluo: “The daughter of the Assistant Minister of Rites.”
Nanny Bai nodded: “Why, that was the daughter of a fifth-rank official’s household. How could she, as a concubine, endure having a merchant’s daughter as her mistress? From then on, the household knew no peace. The Old Master himself grew weary of the Old Madam’s humble origins; even at the ladies’ banquets in the capital, she was no longer invited—while Madam Wei took her place instead.”
She went on: “After the Old Madam gave birth to the present Marquis, she thought her days might finally hold promise. Yet the Old Marquis despised her background and raised the boy in Madam Wei’s quarters. As the Marquis grew older, he too turned away from his own mother. By the time he was ten, the Old Madam, disheartened, moved back to the ancestral estate.”
She remained there for thirty years.
“During that time, she only returned to the capital the year the Old Master passed away. That year, the young lady was ten.”
It was then that Madam Shen brought Shen Qingluo to the ancestral home.
But swayed by those around her, Shen Qingluo came to resent her grandmother—believing she had been dragged from a noble girl of the capital into a country nobody. Only at the brink of death did she realize: her grandmother had brought her back to the ancestral estate to save her.
At her birth, Shen Qingluo nearly cost the Marchioness her life. Meanwhile, the Marquis, out racing horses, fell and broke his leg. A seer declared that Shen Qingluo was born to bring misfortune to both father and mother. The Marchioness, devout in her Buddhist faith, carried that shadow in her heart ever after.
The year after giving birth to Shen Qingluo, the Marchioness bore another daughter—one who resembled her closely. The Marchioness adored this child beyond measure and raised her personally.
Shen Qingluo, however, was left to the care of nursemaids.
When Shen Qingluo was ten, the Marchioness fell gravely ill and did not recover for a long time. She summoned a seer, who declared that Shen Qingluo was destined to bring her misfortune. The Marchioness grew angry. Coupled with Shen Qingluo’s withdrawn, taciturn nature, which made her hard to love, the Marchioness grew increasingly displeased with her. She ordered Granny Wang to push the girl into the water and drown her.
It happened just as the Old Master died—too many eyes, too much confusion for anyone to pursue the matter. Perhaps Heaven pitied Shen Qingluo, for just as she fell into the water, Old Madam Shen, on her way to the Marquis’s household, came upon the scene. She rescued the child and, under the pretense that the ancestral estate was too lonely and needed company, took Shen Qingluo away.
“Miss,” Nanny Bai explained, “the Old Madam never told you these things because she did not want you to harbor resentment. What child does not long for their parents’ true affection? The Old Madam always knew Nanny Wang was misleading you, but compared to telling you the cruel truth, letting you resent her was easier to bear.”
Shen Qingluo wept until she could no longer speak. Her grandmother’s entire life—no one had ever truly understood the bitterness in her heart.
What did so-called kin amount to?
That afternoon, Nanny Bai delivered the belongings the Old Madam had left behind: five great chests filled with gold, silver, jewels, silks, and brocades, enough to fill the room. She said with pride, “The Li family was once a renowned household, and the Old Madam was skilled in trade. All of this she saved as your dowry.”
Looking at the dazzling treasures before her, Shen Qingluo remembered how, in her past life, these things had been given away. The Marchioness had decreed they would serve as Shen Qingyi’s dowry instead.
The Marchioness had said: “You are to marry into a fallen, impoverished family. There is no need to send too much wealth into another’s pocket. But your younger sister is to wed into the Ye family of Shengjing, whom everyone longs to be connected with. If her dowry is too meager, she will be looked down upon.”
Shen Qingluo’s cold gaze flickered, then softened as she gently instructed Nanny Bai. She handed over all the steward’s keys she had reclaimed from Nanny Wang: “From now on, my courtyard will be under your care.”
Nanny Bai, afraid she might not manage well, tried to decline. But Shen Qingluo clasped her hand: “I’ve only just awakened to the truth—surely you don’t wish to see me fall into another trap?”
The Old Madam cherished Shen Qingluo most dearly, and Nanny Bai, in her heart, regarded the girl as her own daughter. How could she bear to see her misled again? She accepted the keys at last: “This old servant will watch over everything for you, Miss.”
From the doorway came the creak of hinges. Soon, a little boy appeared—solemn as a grown man, standing at the threshold without stepping inside.
Shen Qingluo laughed at his small frame and serious manner, beckoning with a smile: “Douzi, come here.”
Only then did the boy enter, eyes lowered, not daring to glance around:
“Why did you call me in?”
“You child, you must show proper respect to the young lady,” Nanny Bai scolded, frowning. But seeing Shen Qingluo unbothered, she relaxed.
The young lady truly had changed—changed for the better.
Perhaps unwilling to hear his mother’s nagging, Douzi bent low and gave a formal bow: “Greetings to the young lady.”
Seeing the bruise at the corner of the boy’s eye, Shen Qingluo asked about it. Nanny Bai, distressed, explained: “This child is so filial. Yesterday, he was hurt while protecting me…”
Shen Qingluo touched his head and smiled: “Filial piety is the foremost of all virtues. You will achieve great things one day.”
Yet in her past life, Douzi had died too.
In the ruined temple, the beggars refused to let Shen Qingluo—already at death’s door—remain inside, fearing she would defile the place. They forced Nanny Bai to cast her out. Douzi, trying to shield her, was beaten to death by several men.
In his final moments, he glared at Shen Qingluo, tears at the corner of his eyes: “Ever since I was little… I hated you. You always thought yourself above everyone. This ending—you brought it on yourself. Don’t die with me. If by chance we were reborn together…” Before he could finish, his beautiful eyes closed forever.
Douzi never knew he had lived a tragic past life. Nanny Bai had picked him up as an abandoned child. All he knew was that his mother had raised him with difficulty, and he must study hard, break free from servitude, and give her a better life. He disliked Shen Qingluo touching his head, but since he liked hearing her words, he let her take such liberties.
His proud, stubborn manner made Shen Qingluo laugh. She called out his name, then mused: “If you are to achieve great things in the future, then you cannot be called ‘Douzi’ forever.”
Nanny Bai laughed: “This old servant is a country woman, never learned to read. When he was born, just a tiny bean of a baby, I called him Douzi—and the name stuck.”
She turned to Shen Qingluo: “Miss, you’ve read so many books. Why don’t you give him a proper name?”
The path of her past life would not be repeated; Douzi would live well this time. Shen Qingluo thought for a moment, then said: “Your surname is Song. Let’s give you the name Xu. Xu means beginning, a starting point. This name will mark your new beginning.”
Song Xu.
Douzi whispered it under his breath, then lifted his tender face: “I like this name.”