Winter had come to the capital earlier than usual that year. The first snowfall alone lay two inches deep, covering their ankles. In wealthy, powerful households, people cradled hand warmers while servants swept away the snow and brewed tea. How refined! Poor families, meanwhile, had to brave the wind and snow themselves, gripping iron shovels with red, swollen fingers.
Xiniang’s family was one of the latter. Her father, He Dakui, was a tall, powerfully built man. Out in their narrow courtyard, he shoveled away by himself, grunting with the effort yet seemingly never tiring.
The He family’s home was small: two rooms in the main building, with a little kitchen tacked onto one side. The courtyard was cramped. Apart from a small open space, there was only a passage just wide enough for one person. Three rooms stood on the eastern side, beside the passage. The smallest served as a woodshed; her elder brother, He Song, occupied one of the others, and she had the last.
The north wind howled past, rattling the window lattice. Six-year-old Xiniang lay on the heated brick bed, listening to the scrape of her father’s shovel outside, and prepared to get up.
She put on a small, reddish-brown jacket with a standing collar and gray undertrousers, then added a thicker padded jacket and a heavy blue cotton-padded skirt. Once she had donned her tiger-head hat and shoes, she pushed open the door.
She had barely stepped out when He Dakui called, “Little girl, what are you doing up so early? Go to the kitchen and ask your mother for some hot water to wash your face.”
“All right,” Xiniang answered, making her way along the path he had already cleared.
The kitchen was full of smoke and heat. Yet the sight of the beautiful woman wielding a spatula amid it all seemed almost unreal.
It was simply that her mother, Mrs. Wan, was as lovely as a delicate blossom. Her teeth gleamed white when she smiled, and even an ordinary gray cloth jacket could not conceal her snowy complexion and beauty.
When Xiniang had first arrived in this world, she had found the match rather puzzling. Her parents hardly seemed suited to each other: one was tall, stout, and strong, with quite ordinary features; the other looked like the celestial maiden of the Ninth Heaven.
Only later had she happened to hear the story. Her mother had been one of the dowry maids brought into the Duke of Zhenguo’s household by the heir’s wife, Young Madam Cheng. Beautiful and attentive, she had caught the heir’s eye. His wife had promptly seized upon some arbitrary fault and married her off to He Dakui, a menial servant of the lowest rank.
Apparently, when Mrs. Wan was driven out, she had not even been allowed to take her personal belongings. She had left with nothing. Only afterward had Haitang, another maid who had come with her as part of the dowry, secretly brought out the hairpins, jewelry, and clothes she had accumulated over the years, worth more than a hundred taels of silver. With those, Mrs. Wan and He Dakui had been able to spend thirty taels on this little courtyard house on the street behind the duke’s mansion.
Seeing her daughter, Mrs. Wan smiled. “Xiniang, sit by the stove and warm yourself for a while. Once I’ve dished up the vegetables, I’ll get you some water to wash.”
“All right, Mother.” Xiniang smiled, her thoughts drifting far away.
Her name had been He Xixi. Before transmigrating, she had worked as a nurse at a top-tier tertiary hospital. After finally becoming head nurse, she had been planning to take her parents on a trip. Instead, after working through the night, she had suffered a heart attack on her way home that morning. Her head had spun—and she had arrived in this family’s womb.
By coincidence, the child’s name was also He Xi, with Xiniang as her childhood name.
The He family had served the Duke of Zhenguo’s household for generations. He Dakui’s grandfather had originally fled from Jiangling Prefecture in Huguang to Suzhou after a flood. Later, with both parents dead, he had been driven out by his clan and gone to Zhejiang to work in salt production. From there, he had been recruited as a soldier and sent to Xuanfu, where he fought under the old duke. Eventually, he had simply entered the duke’s household as a servant.
By the time of He Dakui’s father, although the family still knew some martial arts, the realm had been at peace for so long that those skills had fallen into disuse. He Dakui’s father had merely driven carriages and worked as a groom.
He had three sons in all. The eldest, He Daqi, had inherited his position as a groom. He Daqi himself had never amounted to much, but his daughter Douniang was a third-class maid in the eldest young lady’s rooms. The eldest young lady had married the Third Prince in the eleventh lunar month that year, and Douniang had gone with her as a dowry maid. Before leaving, she had brought home her personal savings. The eldest branch of the He family had then bought a house with two courtyards on the rear street and sent their son to school. They were doing quite well.
Of course, both her eldest uncle and his wife worked in the duke’s household, and their monthly wages were higher than those of her own family. The same was true of her third uncle’s family. He helped in the main kitchen, while his wife swept and cleaned in the mansion, so they too had two wages coming in.
Xiniang’s family, by contrast, relied entirely on her father’s earnings.
That was because he wanted to protect her mother. Mrs. Wan was far too beautiful. If one of the masters took a fancy to her, He Dakui feared he would be powerless to protect her. He could only keep her at home, where she spent her days washing clothes and cooking.
Fortunately, He Dakui had made something of himself. He had originally been a personal attendant to the Third Master, a promising man who, despite being a legitimate son of a noble family, had passed the provincial examination while still young. But the Third Master had died in his prime. With their patron gone, He Dakui and the other servants had been dispersed throughout the household. He had started with menial work, then become an attendant at a corner gate. Now he was stationed at a side gate.
His regular monthly wages averaged around four qian of silver. Running errands and carrying deliveries brought in another three to five qian, making roughly seven or eight qian a month altogether.
Today’s meal consisted of wheat cakes, cabbage stir-fried with minced meat, stewed pig’s blood with glass noodles, and two small plates of pickled vegetables.
As Xiniang slurped her noodles, she listened to He Dakui talk about a fellow gatekeeper who had been transferred to the main entrance.
“The tips he gets at the gate—he can hardly keep up with them,” he said enviously. “Still, it was all because he had Steward Liu put in a word for him.”
“Father, don’t the servants at the main gate have to know at least a little reading and writing?” Xiniang asked.
He Dakui paused. “They do. Unfortunately, I only recognize a handful of characters. If I could write visiting cards, I wouldn’t still be stuck where I am.”
Xiniang knew nothing about the world she had entered, but she understood the value of literacy. Whatever else happened, investing in it early was essential.
“Father, could you send Brother and me to school together? Once I can read and write, I can teach you. Then it won’t be long before you can get transferred to the main gate.”
In her previous life, her parents had struggled to support the family by farming a few mu of land.
Fortunately, she had done well at the village primary school, then passed the entrance examinations to schools in the town and county, and finally gained admission to a bachelor’s degree program in nursing. Working at a top-tier hospital had been exhausting, but the pay was good. She had even been able to buy a home in the city. She had, in her own way, been a carp leaping through the Dragon Gate.
Many of her old classmates in the countryside had left school as soon as they finished primary school and gone away to work making clothes. Others had begun going astray in junior secondary school and ended up at vocational high schools. Few were like her—not exceptionally clever, but able to stay focused and persevere.
Her parents were staring at her as though she were speaking some incomprehensible language. Having made up her mind, Xiniang pressed on before she lost momentum.
“Brother will be eight next year. In a few more years, when the household needs servants, he could do more than menial work if he knows how to read people and behave properly. And if I can write and do sums, perhaps I could even become a female steward one day.”
They had been born into servitude. Sooner or later, they would have to enter the mansion and work. Since that was the case, why not secure a better position?
For all his burly appearance, He Dakui was more thoughtful than he looked. After considering it briefly, he actually agreed.
“My daughter started talking early, and you learn tea service and needlework from your mother faster than other children, too. What you say makes sense. Very well, I’ll send you both to school.”
“Won’t schooling cost a great deal?” Mrs. Wan asked. Over the years, she had borne a son and a daughter, and the expense of feeding, clothing, and raising them had used up almost all her personal savings.
“It so happens I’m off duty today. I’ll go and ask,” He Dakui said with a smile. “We’re not trying to make poets of them, after all. They only need to learn a few characters.”
As soon as he finished eating, he went out to inquire. When he returned, however, he seemed reluctant to speak.
Seeing his expression, Mrs. Wan asked, “What is it? Is it really that expensive?”
“I heard of one school that charges eight taels a year, but when I went to have a look, the atmosphere wasn’t good. There’s another, run by Scholar Du, two streets away. It has a good reputation, but it costs ten taels a year. That’s twenty taels for both children.”
He Dakui simply did not have that much money to spare.
During his years running errands as the Third Master’s attendant, he had managed to save a little. But after the children were born, their frequent minor illnesses had eaten into it. He now had only thirty taels left. He was unwilling to spend nearly all the family’s savings on schooling.
That meant they could afford to send only one child.
Mrs. Wan shook her head. From an old jujube-wood chest, she took out a set of cloud-brocade clothes. Though no longer new, they had been a reward she received years ago.
“Take these to the pawnshop. They should fetch at least seven or eight taels. The old embroidery on them is the sort you might not find now, even with money to spend. Let’s have the children study for a year and see how they do. If neither makes any progress, we needn’t keep spending money. But if they both do well, that will be a blessing for our family.”
“You hardly have any fine clothes left. We still have thirty taels, don’t we? Let’s use that,” He Dakui said, refusing.
Mrs. Wan continued to persuade him. “Why are you making such a fuss? What good does it do to keep things sitting here when we could pawn them?”
She had once been the most outstanding maid in Young Madam Cheng’s service. Her looks, needlework, and ability to handle affairs had all been first-rate. But she knew her mistress’s temperament and fierce jealousy. She had never entertained any foolish ambitions and had avoided the heir whenever possible.
Unfortunately, the heir was a dissolute womanizer who often grabbed at her. That had drawn Young Madam Cheng’s attention, and she had promptly dragged Mrs. Wan off to be married.
When she married He Dakui, everyone said he was only a coarse menial servant and that she had fallen from the clouds into the mud. At first, when she had been hauled away to be married off, she had wished she could hang herself.
Yet He Dakui had turned out to be much more than a hulking fool. He had hidden strengths. She had heard that he had once hoped to join the personal guard and practiced archery every day. His aim was excellent, and he was quite skilled in martial arts. He never drank and was devoted to his family.
Whenever the mansion distributed food, or someone gave him something while he was on gate duty, he could never bear to eat it himself. He always brought it home for her and the children.
That was enough to make her content.
Now, after hearing what Mrs. Wan had to say, He Dakui offered, “I do have an idea. If the tuition is ten taels for a year, then half a year should be five. We can send both children for six months first. That way, we’ll only spend ten taels, and you can keep your clothes.”
“Will you be able to persuade him?” Mrs. Wan seldom went out. Even her daily shopping was done at the nearby street market, so she knew little about such matters.
“Why wouldn’t I? Leave it to me.”
The He family ate only twice a day. After breakfast, Xiniang worked on her needlework in her room. She had begun learning to tie butterfly knots at five; now, at six, she was learning to split embroidery threads and handle a needle.
For their evening meal, they had mixed-grain noodles, a plate of cured pork stir-fried with garlic shoots, and another of bean sprouts they had grown themselves.
Mrs. Wan told the children the good news over dinner. Xiniang had not expected her parents to take such pains for them. Tilting her face up, she said, “Don’t worry. I’ll study hard.”
Of course, she wanted more than a good position in the mansion. She wanted to leave the servant registers. If the whole family could own a little property and their descendants no longer had to live as servants, a modest, comfortable life would be enough.
But getting her family to listen to her would take more than words. She would have to prove what she could do. It was far too early to talk about gaining their freedom. First, she had to learn to read and write so that her father could earn a promotion as soon as possible.