“Tonghua? Tonghua?”
Jiang Zhuo slipped on an outer robe and got out of bed, reaching out to feel Tonghua’s forehead.
Was she sick?
Jiang Zhuo grew worried.
But in the darkness, what met her gaze were Tonghua’s tear-filled eyes.
“Why are you crying? Are you homesick? Or did something happen today?” Jiang Zhuo asked anxiously.
“…No, none of that.” Tonghua stubbornly wiped her tears.
“That’s good.” Jiang Zhuo sighed in relief. But out of concern, she brought her own quilt over and lay beside Tonghua.
Though Tonghua occasionally sniffled, her breathing was steady—she really did not seem ill.
Just as Jiang Zhuo finally relaxed and was about to drift off, Tonghua’s soft voice rose in the darkness.
“…This servant… this servant just feels it’s unfair for you, Miss.”
“What’s unfair?” Jiang Zhuo turned over, now fully awake.
“Miss has always been beautiful, your pipa skills are good, and even Prince Jing… even if you don’t say it, this servant knows His Highness has feelings for you. But just at this moment, Master resigned and left the capital, and now Miss can only live in such a simple room, working in the palace where people will make things difficult for you. This servant just… just…”
Tonghua held back her sobs, speaking brokenly, but Jiang Zhuo understood her meaning.
Tonghua had been a family servant since childhood, sent to the Jiang household young to accompany her. Their ages were close, and she had deep affection for Jiang Zhuo—she couldn’t bear to see her suffer even a little.
Jiang Zhuo sighed.
If Tonghua ever learned about the suffering she endured in her previous life, she would probably cry herself sick.
“Tonghua, you said Prince Jing likes me. How did you see that?”
Jiang Zhuo hesitated, thinking she should make her thoughts clear.
“That… anyone with eyes can see it…” Tonghua sounded confused at the question. “Everyone in the capital says Prince Jing has no interest in women. Yet today he waited at the palace gate, personally led you inside, and spoke to you for so long…”
“Tonghua, remember this,” Jiang Zhuo said seriously in the dark, “A man talking to you a lot does not necessarily mean he truly likes you. He may simply want to show off his abilities, his power, or his status. If it wasn’t him today, Granny Li could also have shown me the way. His presence was not indispensable. I do not owe him gratitude, nor should I regard it as unforgettable kindness.”
“Then…” Tonghua blinked in confusion. “Then what does mean a man truly likes a woman?”
Jiang Zhuo froze.
Even with another lifetime of experience, she had never been sincerely cherished by a man.
“…Maybe it’s the opposite? If he really likes you, he should be willing to listen to you, understand your past and present, support your situation and your future. For men, listening, understanding, and supporting are far rarer than boasting.”
She thought seriously before answering.
Silence.
Then—
Snoring.
This wretched girl!
Feeling that her heartfelt advice was wasted, Jiang Zhuo clenched her teeth, wrapped herself snugly in her quilt, and turned over to sleep.
…
Snow danced in the wind. A man in a wide ink fox-fur cloak stood before a blank tombstone.
As a wandering spirit, Jiang Zhuo stood beside him.
Why had he brought people to dig into the mountain? Was he reclaiming land? Searching for something lost?
Yet he gathered only her bones, buried them, and erected a tombstone.
The world was vast, the mountains silent.
Sometimes Jiang Zhuo felt he came for her alone.
Ridiculous.
She smiled bitterly. When she was alive—with an intact body—she never received true affection. Yet now, as bare bones, she dared to dream?
“—Miss! Wake up! If you sleep any longer, you’ll be late for morning roll call!”
Tonghua’s voice pierced the dream.
Half-asleep, Jiang Zhuo rubbed her eyes once, then again.
The man’s sharp brows and eyes lingered in her mind—familiar somehow, yet she was certain she had never met him.
He wore armor, his hands were wounded—surely a general or some military officer.
Jiang Zhuo thought to herself: In this life, I must find him.
After news spread that Jiang Dun had resigned and returned home, the palace seemed to forget Jiang Zhuo existed.
Just like Granny Li said, she was merely holding an idle title in the Bureau of Etiquette. Qin Liuyun and Tao Tao did not assign her any work.
What did need attention, though, was her broken pipa string.
Selecting silkworm threads, twisting them, boiling to set their form, binding and dyeing—
This was what Jiang Zhuo spent the next few days doing.
No one in the Bureau cared whether a connected-household Music Officer came or not, but once they saw she was making pipa strings, many people grew curious.
Especially when she began dyeing the strings—she was quickly surrounded.
“Music Officer Jiang’s pipa is as beautiful as she is. Even the strings are colorful!”
“I’ve never seen dyed strings before. What’s the purpose?”
“Who cares? They’re pretty!”
Hearing their chatter, Jiang Zhuo didn’t hide anything and explained openly:
“The gong string is deep and resonant, like a bell—it can be dyed ceremonial crimson with madder root. The shang string is cool and distant, crisp like cracking ice—it is dyed indigo. The jue string is mellow and bright, like an oriole singing on a willow branch—dyed golden with gardenia. The zhi string is bold and vivid, like leaping flames—dyed vermilion with cinnabar. As for the yu string, it is dark and lingering, like the night wind’s lament—it is dyed black with soapberry, representing winter and the closing of music.”
“No wonder she’s a noble lady—so knowledgeable! I’ve never heard of such a method!”
“Different colors for different notes—that makes teaching new players much easier! Music Officer Jiang is clever!”
Jiang Zhuo smiled and added:
“Using colors not only distinguishes the tones but also prevents decay and extends the strings’ lifespan.”
“That’s something only noble ladies have time to fuss over. For people like us who rely on playing to survive, who has time to study this?”
Jiang Zhuo looked toward the speaker—a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old girl leaning against the wall, her expression cold and disdainful.