At the break of dawn, Fang Wan rose from bed.
She replenished the incense and candles in the mourning hall, then went to the kitchen and boiled a pot of water. Her mother was still asleep in the inner room. She had cried herself sick these past few days, and her body could no longer bear it. Fang Wan had added two red dates to her calming decoction specially so that her mother could sleep a little longer.
Today, the Song family was coming to look her over as a prospective bride.
Fang Wan stood before the water jar, looking down at her reflection. After days of ceaseless toil, there were dark circles beneath her eyes, and her lips had little color. She filled a basin with clean water and washed her face carefully, then combed her hair again and coiled it into a simple round bun.
She opened the wardrobe, her gaze passing over the brightly colored clothes inside. Her father had had all of them made for her while he was alive. The fabrics were not the finest, but the styles were all fashionable in the city. Although her father had kept her from going out, he had never been stingy when it came to her food, clothing, or daily needs.
But her father had only just passed away, and she was still in fresh mourning. She could not dress too brightly.
Fang Wan selected a plain moon-white satin jacket. The collar and cuffs were trimmed with pale silver edging so subtle that it was almost invisible unless one looked closely. She paired it with a crow-blue mamian skirt, its hem embroidered with several sprigs of understated orchids that she had stitched herself in her spare time.
She wore no jewelry, merely pinning a white woolen flower beside her hair.
She studied herself in the bronze mirror. She looked plain and elegant, dignified without violating the rules of mourning.
Mother Fang had woken at some point without her noticing. Leaning against the doorframe, she looked at her daughter, her eyes reddening again. “Wan'er, if your father could see you like this today, who knows how happy he would be. He always said you were too beautiful to be buried in a village.”
“Mother.” Fang Wan went over and smoothed the disordered hair at her mother’s temples. “Father is gone, but we still have to go on living. I won’t let the Fang family fall.”
Granny Wang’s bright voice rang out from beyond the door. “Sister-in-law Fang, the Song family has arrived!”
Fang Wan drew a deep breath, took one last look at herself in the mirror, then turned and lifted the curtain to go outside.
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Song Shi followed behind his mother, his face dark all the way.
He had already made up his mind: today was merely a formality. Once he saw the village girl, he would fob her off with a few casual words, then return home and tell his father that he had not taken a fancy to her. He was the second shopkeeper of a silk and satin shop in the city. How could he marry a country girl?
Mother Song was unhappy as well.
She had never thought highly of an eldest daughter who had lost her father, believing that such a girl had a hard fate, would bring harm to her family, and was ill-omened. She had muttered about it with Old Master Song for half the night yesterday, but the old man had been determined, insisting that Miss Fang was a good girl. Unable to argue with him, she had no choice but to come.
“Sister-in-law Song, this way, this way.” Granny Wang ushered the mother and son into the courtyard with a broad smile.
Song Shi cast a cold eye over the small courtyard. Its walls were built of gray brick, and after so many years, patches of moss had crept over them. A clump of green bamboo grew in the corner, rustling in the breeze. Several kinds of dried vegetables lay neatly arranged on the flagstones beneath the windowsill. A few plain white garments hung from the clothesline, washed and starched so cleanly that not a single wrinkle showed.
Song Shi’s heart stirred faintly. This courtyard was kept remarkably neat.
“Sister-in-law Fang, the Song family has arrived!” Granny Wang called toward the house.
Mother Fang came out of the inner room to greet them. Her eyes were red, and her voice was timid. “Sister-in-law Song, you’ve come. Sit, sit. Wan'er, come out and pour the tea.”
The curtain to the inner room lifted, and someone stepped out.
Song Shi raised his eyes listlessly—
Then he froze in place as if struck by lightning.
The young woman wore a moon-white jacket and a crow-blue skirt, her entire person as clean and pure as a new moon. Her hair was simply coiled, with only a white woolen flower pinned beside it. There were no pearls or jade ornaments, no makeup, and yet that face—
Song Shi felt as though his heart had missed a beat.
Her brows were like distant mountains touched with dark green, and her eyes resembled autumn waters rippling across a river. Her skin was smooth as congealed cream, pale and nearly translucent, like the finest white jade. The strain of her recent days had left her complexion somewhat pallid, with faint dark marks beneath her eyes. Yet rather than diminishing her beauty, it gave her an added air of delicate vulnerability.
Once he looked at her, he could no longer tear his eyes away.
Qingluo was fair and pretty. In his eyes, she had already been one of the rare beauties in the world. But now, as he brought her appearance to mind and compared the two, her brows and eyes were not as exquisite, her skin not as fair, and her overall bearing was separated from Fang Wan’s by ten thousand li.
Qingluo was a maidservant. No matter how presentable she might be, there was always a trace of cautious attentiveness in her bones, the wariness of someone accustomed to watching other people’s expressions. Yet the Miss Fang before him was clearly standing in a small courtyard in this impoverished backwater, and still her unhurried composure seemed even more precious than that of the daughters of prominent families he had seen in the city.
Forget Qingluo—even the pampered young lady of his employer’s family probably could not compare with her.
Song Shi suddenly remembered the things he had said yesterday: “I’d sooner marry a great family’s maid than a small family’s daughter,” and “A village girl isn’t worthy of me.”
At this moment, all those thoughts shattered into dust.
What Qingluo? What the employer’s daughter? Compared with the woman before him, they were not even fit to hold her shoes!
He was even somewhat shaken by the thought. Fortunately, his father had forced him to come back. Otherwise, if he had missed such a beauty, he would probably have regretted it for the rest of his life.
Fang Wan approached with a tea tray in her hands. Her steps were neither hurried nor slow, her back straight, her gaze calm and open.
“Mother Song, please have some tea.” She set a cup before Mother Song, her voice clear and light, like a spring flowing over stones in a mountain ravine.
Mother Song was also studying Fang Wan.
She had come unwillingly, having decided long ago that a girl who had lost her father was inauspicious, and had already given her a poor score in her heart. But now that she had seen her, not one of the critical remarks she had prepared would come out.
The girl was far too beautiful.
It was not the ordinary prettiness commonly found in a country girl. It was a beauty so extraordinary, so nearly unreal, that it left people speechless. Even an old woman like herself felt her heart tremble at the sight. More importantly, there was her bearing—neither servile nor overbearing, open and composed. She seemed more like a well-bred young lady from a great household who had seen the wider world.
“Good, good girl.” Mother Song accepted the tea, her voice softening against her will.
Fang Wan poured tea for Granny Wang as well, then finally went over to Song Shi and gave him a slight curtsy. “Young Master Song.”
Song Shi shot to his feet. The chair tipped backward and nearly overturned.
“Miss F-Fang!” He hurriedly took the teacup from her, his hands trembling. Most of the tea spilled, scalding him until he bared his teeth, yet he still forced out a smile. “N-no need to thank me!”
Granny Wang nearly burst out laughing. When this gentleman had entered a moment ago, he had worn such a cold expression, as though someone owed him eight hundred strings of cash. And now? His soul had practically flown away.
Fang Wan glanced at him without the slightest emotion in her eyes. She merely inclined her head, then withdrew to sit beside Mother Fang.
Mother Song observed everything, and her heart suddenly gave a jolt.
She saw that her son’s eyes were glued to Miss Fang, as though they had been stuck there with paste and could not be pulled free. The foolish, lovestruck look on his face made him seem as though he had lost his soul.
Mother Song quietly drew her brows together.
The girl was beautiful, that was true—but she was too beautiful. Beautiful enough to make her uneasy.
She knew the son she had raised. Shi-ge’er was simple-hearted and could not withstand temptation. If he married a wife who looked like a celestial maiden, would he still be able to settle down and work? Would he even continue doing his job at the shop? Besides, overly beautiful women easily attracted swarms of admirers. Would there be any peace at home afterward?
The more she thought about it, the more unpleasant she felt. The trace of a smile on her face slowly faded.