Nie Qinghe lacked the typical bashfulness of young women from this era. She spoke plainly, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Crash!
Mother Nie felt as if a massive iron hammer had shattered the heavy stone crushing her chest. Suddenly, her vision cleared, and an overwhelming sense of relief washed over her.
Her daughter had truly given up on the little Xiucai! She was no longer the only one stubbornly clinging to the idea.
Mother Nie slapped her palm down and began pacing the main hall, searching for something.
“Mother, what’s wrong?” Nie Qinghe asked in surprise.
Overcome with emotion, Mother Nie’s words came out in a choked, incoherent rush. “I… I need to find incense and candles. I’m going to the Niangniang Temple to fulfill my vow and kowtow… I’ll kowtow a hundred times—no, a thousand!”
Until this moment, she had worried day and night. She was certain her daughter would be despised and mistreated by the Song family after marriage. Every soft-spoken plea or harsh demand from Mother Song and Eldest Aunt Song had been like a nail driven into her heart, making each day more agonizing than the last.
Nie Qinghe stared at her mother.
Oh, Mother… just how many times did you pray to the Bodhisattva for this breakup?
She set down her sewing basket and helped Mother Nie into a chair. “Mother, please, calm down.”
Mother Nie took a long, deep breath and nodded. “You’re right. I can’t lose my head. We can’t just end this so abruptly. Even if we’re calling it off, we shouldn’t be the ones to say it first.”
Nie Qinghe was puzzled. “Why?”
“If we could just tell them it’s over,” Mother Nie said, “would they have dragged this out for so long?”
After a moment’s thought, Nie Qinghe understood.
The situation was complicated by the Song family’s public display of goodwill. Years ago, Mother Song had taken Nie Qinghe into her home, openly proclaiming her as her future daughter-in-law. The neighbors had all praised her generosity and kindness.
Furthermore, Father Nie had saved Father Song’s life. The Song family would never voluntarily break the engagement, as doing so would leave them vulnerable to accusations of ingratitude—a stain that would tarnish the reputations of both Song Kun and Song Qingyuan.
Even if the Nie family took the blame for the breakup, Mother Song would never agree. Such a move could still be twisted by Song Kun’s rivals to claim the Song family was using their power to force a poor family into submission. Moreover, for a young scholar to be jilted—or to jilt someone else—would be a permanent blot on his record.
If her parents tried to call off the engagement, the Song family wouldn’t just refuse; they would accuse the Nie family of betrayal. They would question what they had done wrong, and to protect their son’s reputation, they might even smear Nie Qinghe’s name. In a feudal dynasty where power was everything, the Nie family stood no chance in a direct confrontation.
They want it all, Nie Qinghe thought bitterly. The benefits and the prestige, while they couldn’t care less about the plight of the Nie family’s daughter.
Mother Nie, however, thought the matter was simple. With Song Kun gone for most of the year and Father Nie never bringing up the marriage, the engagement would naturally fade into obscurity as long as no one mentioned it.
When the time came for them to marry, their daughter could find a dependable young man, and the Song family could secure a well-matched official’s daughter. Everyone would be happy, and no one would lose face. To outsiders, it would seem the children had simply made their own choices, and their parents had no choice but to support them. This would prevent anyone from criticizing the Song family.
The more Nie Qinghe thought about it, the more she felt the original owner of this body had been wronged. So they never wanted her, yet they still treated her like a seamstress, forcing her to make all those clothes and shoes for that little white-eyed wolf!
Did they have any idea how exhausting it was to sew shoe soles? With five or six layers of thick material, the needle couldn’t even pierce through. She had to use an awl, twisting it with all her strength to punch holes. The girl’s fingers had been pricked until they were raw and calloused, all to make him the perfect clothes and shoes.
And they hadn’t shown her a shred of gratitude! As if it were her duty to serve him.
How outrageous!
Even if they had hired someone, they would have paid them.
Nie Qinghe’s mind raced, her mental abacus already clacking away as she calculated how much the Song family owed the original owner in wages—and how much fabric would be needed to compensate for it.
Mother Nie, worried her daughter might still be resentful or unable to let go of Song Qingyuan, said gently, “Daughter, there’s no rush. Just see him less from now on. He won’t be coming to see you anyway, so this whole matter will naturally fade away.”
Nie Qinghe, already plotting her next move, smiled. “Mother, I’ll listen to you from now on. I’m going to finish making Brother’s shoes first.”
Her older brother, Nie Dali, was a kind-hearted and handsome young man of sixteen. He had been an apprentice at Liu’s Jewelry Workshop since he was thirteen, returning home only once every ten days. The apprenticeship was grueling—not only was he unpaid, but he also had to handle all the chores and heavy lifting, essentially serving as a general laborer. The only upside was that they were fed well, with meat on the menu every now and then.
The thought of Nie Dali filled Nie Qinghe’s heart with warmth. He was not only a devoted son but also a wonderful brother, treating the original owner of her body with exceptional kindness.
Though he was only two years older, he had never let her do any heavy work during the years he lived at home. He did all the water-carrying, courtyard sweeping, and firewood gathering himself. He even frequently went outside the city to pick wild fruit for her to eat.
Nie Dali and Song Qingyuan were both tall and wore the same shoe size. But while Song Qingyuan had worn cloth shoes since childhood, Nie Dali wore straw sandals in the warm weather and rush-woven socks in the winter—both made of woven straw. The original owner had always wanted to make him a pair of cloth shoes, but every time she started, she ended up making them for Song Qingyuan instead.
From now on, she would only sew for her own family.
The little scholar? Let him find someone else to cool his heels. He’d never wear another stitch of her handiwork again.
Nie Qinghe sat beneath the eaves, her head bowed in concentration as she began to stitch the shoe’s upper. First, she used an awl to pierce the layered sole, then threaded the coarse hemp twine through with a large needle. Her embroidery skills taught her the secret to a truly sturdy seam: each stitch was locked, ensuring the shoe would withstand years of wear.
A call from the gate interrupted her work. Nie Qinghe rose to answer it.
When she opened the door, she found Qiuyue, a maid from the Song family, accompanied by an old servant carrying a shoulder pole.
Qiuyue was a slender girl with a natural grace that, when enhanced by her love for finery, made her striking. Today, she had clearly dressed to impress. She wore a thin, crimson summer blouse cinched at the waist, paired with a moon-white skirt. Her embroidered shoes, adorned with twin lotus blossoms, made her gait sway with a practiced, coquettish charm. Her hair was styled in a duoma bun, secured with two golden lotus hairpins that matched the dangling earrings that swayed with every tilt of her head.
Every time the girl appeared before Nie Qinghe, she dressed with the express purpose of making Nie Qinghe’s drab, dusty clothes look even more wretched. The original owner of this body, however, had been too preoccupied with Song Qingyuan to ever notice.
Qiuyue shot Nie Qinghe a disdainful glance, her crimson-painted lips parting in a smirk. “Oh, Miss Nie, you’re home? When your uncle and aunt came looking for you the other day, we thought you’d run off to play somewhere.”
Nie Qinghe swept a cool gaze over her. Suddenly showing up here to flaunt herself—is she insane? Just because I don’t look down on her for being a maid doesn’t mean she can look down on me.
Qiuyue had always disliked the original owner of this body, but she’d only ever dared to compete in dress, never overstepping her bounds in speech. Today, however, she seemed to have lost her mind.
Nie Qinghe raised an eyebrow. “Oh, Qiuyue the maid. Is that really you? I almost mistook you for some noble young lady. Why are you dressed like Miss Liu? Are you trying to be a poor imitation of her?”
Miss Liu was known as the most fashionable lady in Jintai City, and many young women copied her style. Qiuyue had gone to great lengths to dress impeccably just to outshine Nie Qinghe, naturally drawing inspiration from Miss Liu.
The remark left Qiuyue fuming. She hadn’t expected the usually gentle and soft-spoken Nie Qinghe to suddenly turn so sharp-tongued. Yet, she didn’t dare retort, forcing a strained smile instead. “Miss Nie, you’re always joking.”
Nie Qinghe rolled her eyes without a hint of courtesy. “Do you have a point?”
Qiuyue gestured for the old servant to follow her inside, her smile returning. “The Madam sent us to deliver fabric for the young lady. Summer is almost here, and it’s time to make the Young Master’s new summer and autumn robes.”
“I think you should take it back,” Mother Nie said, emerging from a neighbor’s house where she had been discussing embroidery patterns. She had come out the moment she heard Qiuyue’s voice. “Our Qinghe has been sick for days and hasn’t fully recovered. She’s in no condition to be sewing. We can’t let her illness delay Qingyuan’s new clothes.”
Her daughter had been ill for days, yet the Song family hadn’t offered a single word of concern. Now, the moment she showed the slightest improvement, they were already demanding she make clothes.
They’re treating us like their personal servants, Mother Nie fumed. You have a maid of your own, Qiuyue. Why are you still trying to order our daughter around?
Qiuyue curtsied. “Greetings, Madam Nie. The Young Master has been so busy studying with his friends that he hasn’t had a moment to come by and pay his respects. We had no idea Miss Qinghe was ill. I will inform the Madam immediately.”
“There’s no need,” Nie Qinghe interrupted. “I’m feeling better. Just leave the fabric here; I’ll find time to sew it.”
Mother Nie tugged gently at her daughter’s sleeve, worried she was still too fond of Song Qingyuan to refuse. Nie Qinghe squeezed her hand, silently reassuring her that she had a plan.
Qiuyue directed the old servant to carry the shoulder poles into the courtyard, then handed Mother Nie a gift list. Though the Nie family was largely illiterate, Mother Song had still prepared a formal list, as if they were delivering a holiday gift.
Nie Qinghe sneered. So they’re keeping a detailed account, are they? Fine by me.
She snatched the list and scanned it. Every single item was meticulously recorded—even the number of thread spools. Besides the fabric for Song Qingyuan’s clothes and shoes, there were fan covers, book covers, headcloths, and the rest of the complete set. The only items for her were two gauzy flowers, likely from Eldest Aunt Song’s shop.
If the Song family refuses to speak plainly and expects the Nie family to keep quiet, then they’re playing a dangerous game of delay. They’ll regret this later. When we break off the engagement, they’ll be paying for the emotional distress!
She tossed the list onto the fabric.
“Madam, Miss Qinghe,” Qiuyue ventured, “the shoes we asked you to make for our Young Master… are they ready?”
Mother Nie’s anger flared. “Didn’t we already tell you? Qinghe has been ill for some time. How could she possibly have had time to make shoes?”
She’d had plenty of time, Nie Qinghe thought. She’d just finished making them for her eldest brother.
Seeing Mother Nie’s fury, Qiuyue hastily apologized and took her leave, returning to the Song family’s home on the west side of the city with the old servant.
As soon as she arrived, Qiuyue went to the main room to report to Mother Song. She first removed the gold hairpin from her hair and placed it carefully on the table by the kang. Just as she was about to take off her earrings, Eldest Aunt Song spoke.
“You can keep the earrings,” she said.
Qiuyue stopped mid-motion.
Mother Song wore a simple, well-worn cotton dress. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun, secured by a hairnet and a silver hairpin carved with a three-pronged design. She was the picture of modesty.
Across from her sat Eldest Aunt Song, a stark contrast in her flamboyant attire. Draped in fine silks and adorned with a headful of pearls and jade, the aunt’s fingers were heavy with rings of the same precious stones. Even the golden qishi ornament on her collar was encrusted with gems. She shimmered with a dazzling, almost blinding brilliance, looking more like a living mannequin than a person.
The two women sat together, chatting idly as they cracked sunflower seeds.
Qiuyue had just finished recounting the encounter. She’d exaggerated Mother Nie’s displeasure and Nie Qinghe’s sarcasm, adding her own colorful flourishes to the tale.
“In the past, they always treated me with such courtesy, inviting me inside for tea,” Qiuyue complained. “But today, they were so cold and dismissive. They were clearly trying to embarrass me.” She had, however, refrained from hiding the fact that Nie Qinghe had been ill.
Mother Song dismissed Qiuyue with a wave, instructing her to send some nourishing gifts to the Nie family later. She was to explain that she had been too busy to hear about Qinghe’s illness until now and was deeply concerned.
Once Qiuyue had gone to attend to her other duties, Mother Song cracked a large black seed and spoke slowly to her sister. “It seems the Nie family has finally found some backbone.”
Eldest Aunt Song scoffed. “If they didn’t have some pride by now, they’d have no shame at all. We’ve practically pointed at their daughter and told them she’s nothing more than Qingyuan’s seamstress. If they still had the gall to hope for a marriage alliance after that, they’d be truly shameless.”
“The Nie brothers and their sister-in-law aren’t that kind of people,” Mother Song said. “They aren’t social climbers.”
Eldest Aunt Song sneered. “Hard to say. You never know what’s in someone’s heart. Our Qingyuan is a treasure—so many families are asking about him. An old official from the Six Ministries in the Capital even sent word that he wants to meet him. I’ll arrange for Qingyuan to go in a few days. Sister-in-law, just put your mind at ease. Your good days are still ahead. Qingyuan’s future is bright.”
“Whether she’s a proper lady or not,” Mother Song countered, “it still comes down to what Qingyuan wants. He’s still young, and as for the marriage—”
“I know, I know. You don’t need to worry about that. We just need to keep the Nie family in line so they don’t cause a scene. Our family can’t afford to lose face.” Eldest Aunt Song’s voice dripped with disdain. “That girl is always clinging to Qingyuan. It’s bad for his reputation. We should have done what I suggested long ago. See? A little scheme was all it took.”
She wore a triumphant expression, clearly expecting Mother Song to praise her cleverness.
But Mother Song didn’t play along. Instead, she spoke slowly and deliberately. “It may have worked, but it’s still a blow to our moral standing. I’ve been dropping hints all along. The fact that they finally got angry proves my method works. By keeping that girl busy with needlework, she has no time to pester Qingyuan. The Nie family will naturally understand the situation and give up on their own.”
Since Mother Nie was now angry, she would likely restrict her daughter from clinging to Song Qingyuan. This meant the engagement was already halfway broken.
Mother Song, however, would never allow the Nie family to be the ones to call it off. She couldn’t bear the thought of her son carrying the stigma of being jilted. If the engagement had to end, it would have to be because Nie Qinghe had developed a bad reputation—but she couldn’t bring herself to do that either.
The best solution, she decided, was for Nie Qinghe to realize she was out of her league, accept that she could never marry her son, and find a young man of her own social standing. That way, no one would lose face.
Suddenly, Eldest Aunt Song’s expression turned sly. “Actually, that Nie girl is quite something. She’s truly beautiful—the most elegant young lady I’ve ever seen. If we were to send her to the Capital, to one of those wealthy young lords…”
“Sister, don’t you dare entertain such ideas,” Mother Song interrupted, her face darkening.
Eldest Aunt Song coughed and quickly regained her composure. “I was only joking. What I mean is, her needlework is superb, and she’s devoted to Qingyuan with all her heart. It would be a waste to let her go. Perhaps she could become his second wife later on.”
Mother Song sighed. “You’re right. I’m fond of the girl myself—she’s sincere and uncomplicated. And Qingyuan has never shown interest in anyone else, only her. He would be heartbroken if they truly broke up. If she’s willing to be a second wife, it would be the perfect solution for everyone.”
The girl had always been so affectionate toward Qingyuan, yet now she was acting cold and distant. Her mother must have gotten to her. It seemed she wasn’t as innocent and pure as she appeared on the surface; she still harbored greedy ambitions.
Eldest Aunt Song raised an eyebrow. “What does she have to complain about? When Qingyuan becomes an official, being his second wife—or even a concubine—would be a huge honor for her. The daughter of a mere artisan, born into such a low status, dares to dream of becoming the Zhuangyuan’s wife? If she keeps dreaming, we’ll be the ones laughing at her.”
Mother Song frowned. This woman is such a nouveau riche, she thought. Always spewing nonsense.
“Sister, watch your words,” Mother Song reminded her gently. “Bringing up birth and status is beneath us, isn’t it?”
After all, her own husband had once been a yamen runner—a low-ranking official’s assistant, one of the lowest social classes. And Eldest Aunt Song’s husband was a merchant, a class ranked even lower than artisans.
Eldest Aunt Song seemed to realize her mistake. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said sheepishly. “Our ancestors were a prestigious clan. Now we have wealth and talent, and we’re destined for a noble and honorable future. We’re in no comparison to those small-time families. And that whole clan of theirs in Hejian… that old hag is a piece of work. If we ever became their in-laws, we’d be humiliated.”