The next morning, Mother Nie announced that Father had agreed to let Xiaoli attend school. The news sent Nie Xiaoli leaping three feet into the air with joy.
Nie Qinghe was surprised Father had yielded so easily. It seemed some matters still required her mother’s gentle coaxing. Moreover, her father wasn’t the kind of man who obeyed his mother while ignoring his own wife; he could be swayed and shaped.
Mother Nie had prepared breakfast: a pot of salted vegetable noodles. Though the flour was the same as what Nie Qinghe had used the previous night, the taste was worlds apart.
In these times, a full stomach was a luxury. One couldn’t even dream of a gourmet meal. With oil and meat so scarce, how could the food be any good?
Mother Nie hadn’t used any oil, simply boiling the noodles in clear water with salted vegetables. This coarse flour had a bitter aftertaste that only grew stronger if not prepared carefully.
Because he could now go to school, Nie Xiaoli ate without complaint. Only Nie Honghua grumbled a couple of times, saying it wasn’t as fragrant as last night’s dough soup.
Though only nine, she ate more than Nie Qinghe. Mother Nie served her an extra ladleful, jabbing her with a finger.
“Complaining about the taste, yet you’re the one eating the most. You’ll have to earn a lot of money in the future and buy us big fish and meat. Then, your mother will make you food so delicious it’ll be dripping with oil!”
Nie Honghua declared with a smug grin, “Just you wait! I’m learning embroidery now, and I’ll be the best of all of you. One day, I’ll become a head embroiderer at the biggest jewelry house in the Capital. I’ll earn three taels a month, and you’ll all eat pig’s head meat until you’re sick of it!”
The family erupted in laughter.
Nie Qinghe thought her dream was entirely possible. The original owner and her younger sister had inherited Mother Nie’s talent for embroidery. If Honghua put in the effort, she could truly excel.
Of course, that depended on whether the young girl slacked off or persevered. But looking at Honghua’s enthusiasm lately, Nie Qinghe was optimistic. The girl had been accompanying her mother to the Embroidered Apparel Pavilion, where she’d met other young apprentices her own age. The competition had sparked a fierce desire to improve. This was a good sign.
Although Father Nie had agreed to let Xiaoli attend school, they still lacked the funds for tuition. He would need to inquire about the costs first, then take on extra work and borrow a bit more from his employer. They also needed to make Xiaoli a new set of clothes, consult an auspicious calendar to pick a good date, and buy gifts and prepare money to pay the master for his apprenticeship.
At the very least, it would take another half a month. He couldn’t start until the beginning of next month. This was a wait they could manage.
Her older cousin had to take the younger siblings to the Embroidered Apparel Pavilion. She wrapped her own clothes and the children’s in a bundle, planning to wash them during her breaks from embroidery. The summer heat was oppressive, and both adults and children sweated profusely, requiring daily washing to stay clean.
“Big Sister, do you want to come with us?” she asked Nie Qinghe.
She knew Qinghe’s embroidery was superb and figured she could earn even more than she did.
Nie Qinghe shook her head. “No, Sister. I won’t be going to embroider. I have other plans.”
With that, her cousin set off with the younger children.
Nie Qinghe helped Mother Nie tidy up the house. Soon, a group of women arrived, carrying their sewing baskets. They brought snacks—melon seeds, candied ginger, and roasted beans—to munch on and gossip over during their breaks. One woman even brought a small bowl of fermented tofu, which gave off a pungent aroma.
“My brother made this back in our home village and sent some to me,” she explained. “The smell is strong, but it’s delicious. I brought some for the Madam to try.”
Mother Nie accepted the gift without ceremony, then washed the bowl and set it on the stove.
As Nie Qinghe prepared the tools for her mother to weave silk shoes, the women began to praise her. They remarked on how much more beautiful she had become in just a few days, her entire being radiating a new, vibrant energy.
Nie Qinghe offered a few humble words of thanks before turning her attention to her mother’s work.
To be honest, this was the first time she had ever seen shoes woven directly. She had studied so many ancient crafts in her past life, yet she had never noticed this one. After all, making shoes directly from fabric or leather was much simpler—who would go to the trouble of weaving them?
The art of weaving silk shoes was an ancient tradition, reserved for a niche clientele who favored retro styles. Their rarity drove up the price, but the customers’ demands for craftsmanship were also exceptionally high. Currently, only a few women had been selected to perform this work.
The process began by weaving the sole from hemp fibers. The upper was then crafted from high-quality silk thread. At the opening of the shoe, a colorful border was woven using a technique of breaking the weft while keeping the warp intact. Intricate patterns were also added through a jacquard-like method, all featuring elements popular in ancient times. The most challenging part was creating the special heel; the toe could not be flat but had to be upturned and even decorated with specific designs.
Nie Qinghe tried her hand at it and quickly caught on. It was essentially a miniaturized, simplified loom, combined with weaving techniques similar to those used for baskets and palm-leaf fans.
The other women watched her learn so fast, their eyes wide with astonishment. “We’ve all tried,” one remarked, “but we could never figure it out.”
Mother Nie beamed with pride. “Our Qinghe is a natural at whatever she tries.”
One of the women watched them, her gaze a mixture of envy and bitterness. Nie Qinghe had always been simple-minded—a real fool—but after her illness, she seemed to have sharpened overnight. Word was the Song family had already withdrawn their marriage proposal. Wouldn’t Squire Liu be all the more eager to propose now, offering to marry her to the Third Young Master? If that happened, what chance would her own daughter have?
Lost in her thoughts, the woman pricked her finger with a needle.
“Ouch!” she winced.
Mother Nie gave her a warning look. “Be more careful. We feel the pain from a prick, but they’ll dock our pay if we stain the embroidery.”
The woman immediately turned her focus back to her work.
As she wove, Nie Qinghe chatted with her mother, suggesting a more efficient approach. “In some places, you can just weave by hand and press it tight with a ruler,” she said, demonstrating. “And for certain parts, you can even use a crochet stitch.”
“How do you ‘crochet’ it?” the others asked, puzzled.
Nie Qinghe smiled. “The same way they weave fishing nets. They use a hook to pull the thread through.”
Just outside Jintai City, by East Lake, Boss Qin raised a large stock of fish and frequently cast nets into the water.
Mother Nie’s eyes lit up. “You’re right! I only ever learned it one way—I never thought to adapt the method.”
In truth, it wasn’t that she hadn’t considered it; she simply hadn’t dared to experiment. The materials for these silk shoes were of the highest grade. If she ruined a single piece, she couldn’t afford to pay for the damage.
Nie Qinghe fetched some paper and ink for her, sketching out a few new patterns. The designs popular for shoes at the time were mostly simple geometric motifs or characters. She shared a few easy-to-weave patterns with her mother, suggesting she ask the Embroidered Apparel Pavilion during the next delivery if they would accept this style.
The other women praised her again, and Mother Nie found the compliment even more rewarding than if she had been praised herself.
After discussing the shoes, Nie Qinghe announced she wanted to go for a walk.
Mother Nie’s face clouded with worry. “You’re not going to see Song Qingyuan, are you?”
Sensing her mother’s anxiety, Nie Qinghe smiled reassuringly. “I’m going to the Jewelry Pavilion. I might find a lighter, more lucrative job there.”
If I’m embroidering for a hobby, I can sit and do it all day. But if I’m forced to do it for money, I won’t touch it.
She believed in earning a living with her mind, not just her hands. If she couldn’t use her money to make more money, she would use her wits to make it as easy as possible.
She shouldered her crossbody bag—a handmade piece from her predecessor, embroidered with a delicate orchid and purple jasmine. Though the design was refined and elegant, the fabric had grown worn, and the embroidery had begun to fade.
Nie Qinghe stepped out and headed straight for the intersection of East-West Main Street and North-South Main Street.
For tactical reasons, Jintai City’s south and north gates were offset, preventing them from aligning directly. Consequently, South Main Street and North Main Street did not connect, but were separated by a gap of about two hundred steps.
Her destination was Liu’s Jewelry Shop, where she intended to find a job.
Jintai City, located about three hundred li from the capital, served as a hub for both Suzhou-style goods arriving via the canal and Palace-style treasures flowing out of the imperial city. Business was booming, attracting scores of noblewomen and young ladies draped in pearls and jade who came to try on and purchase exquisite jewelry.
While several other jewelry shops dotted the area, Liu’s and Huang’s—located just a hundred meters away—were the most prosperous, their doors constantly thronged with customers.
At Liu’s expansive five-bay shop, Nie Qinghe observed a steady stream of women. Some arrived with their elderly maids and personal attendants, making a brief appearance in the main room to draw admiring glances before retreating to the private inner rooms to browse in peace. Others stayed in the front, carefully selecting and trying on the displayed pieces.
Nie Qinghe greeted an acquaintance among the clerks, then stepped aside to observe quietly.
The shop employed only male clerks. When pitching jewelry to the women, they had to remain behind the counters, relying solely on their sales talk. They couldn’t use gestures or physical proximity to build rapport or enhance the customer experience.
Nie Qinghe decided not to approach the manager for a job just yet. She would wait for the right moment to prove her value, making the shop need her. Being sought after was far better than desperately seeking employment; the treatment and respect she would receive would be worlds apart.
After listening for a while, she understood why the women were flocking to the shop. The new prefect of Jintai City had arrived from his hometown with his wife, and she had already hosted three lavish events. The first was for the wives of her husband’s colleagues. The second was for the matriarchs and wives of the city’s most prominent families. The third, a garden party, invited the young ladies and daughters of the gentry to admire pomegranate blossoms and drink tea.
Beyond the ancestral Six Families, Jintai City also had a rising class of gentry and merchants—all of whom the prefect needed to cultivate relationships with for his official duties.
But the crowd before her wasn’t truly wealthy. Truly affluent ladies wouldn’t gather in a group to browse jewelry; they would bring their own gold and silver to the shop to be crafted into custom designs—whether for hair pins or other ornaments—striving for a unique style.
Their most magnificent jewelry was custom-ordered from the Capital’s largest jewelry houses, each piece engraved with an exclusive mark. Whenever the Jintai City shops created new designs, they would proactively send samples to these women’s homes for their inspection and selection.
And even if they felt like strolling through a shop on a whim, they would be preceded by a large retinue of maids and attendants. They would go straight to a private room, sip tea and eat pastries, and only then slowly select a few items.
Ordinary people had no access to this elite class. These women moved in circles of their own status, and even the ladies of the city’s middle-class, prosperous families weren’t qualified to socialize with them. Therefore, Nie Qinghe didn’t consider them her target customers for now.
As for the city’s lower-class poor, they used wooden or bronze hairpins. Many would never dare to set foot in such a luxurious jewelry shop in their entire lives, so they weren’t her target customers either.
Nie Qinghe’s target customers were exactly the group of women currently swarming the shop—covered in beads and jade, a mix of excitement and guilt on their faces.
These women belonged to the city’s middle class, mostly from moderately prosperous families.
They were all eager to attend the third Garden Party, especially since the prefect’s wife had allowed women to join the festivities. It was a crucial opportunity to show off—not only to make connections with the great estates’ madams but also to brag within their own social circles. Anyone who skipped it would lose face; anyone who showed up looking plain would be humiliated.
Unable to afford a limitless collection of fine jewelry, they still craved the status it brought. They formed a competitive yet cautious circle, constantly measuring themselves against one another, terrified that someone else might outshine them. This drove them to shop together, favoring popular, mass-market styles and gilded silver accessories.
Nie Qinghe’s gaze settled on a square-faced woman addressed as Madam Fang. She was adorned with the most pieces, her hair a shimmeringly gaudy mix of silver and copper plated in gold. She held her head with stiff precision, either out of fear that her jewelry would fall or that she would sprain her neck from the weight.
Nie Qinghe felt a sympathetic ache for the woman. Even the mannequins in the shop couldn’t possibly bear such a load. Besides, a hairstyle like that required a master’s skill—one wrong move and the entire bun would unravel, sending her precious ornaments clattering to the ground in a catastrophic loss of both jewelry and dignity.
Madam Fang was glowing. Today, she had outdone herself—her attire was the most dignified and lavish, her jewelry perfectly matched, and her overall look positively majestic.
She had even brought a maid along, a luxury none of the other women could claim.
Turning to a woman who wore the least jewelry and seemed only to be window-shopping, Madam Fang remarked cuttingly, “I’m speaking to you, Mrs. Zhang. You really should dress up more. When we go out, it’s not just about us—we’re representing our husbands’ faces, after all.”
She gestured vaguely. “If you don’t know how to style your hair, you should hire a hair-stylist. They can fix it up pretty and secure, pinning in all sorts of hair ornaments—long, short, you name it. It makes you look elegant and impressive. Just look at me!”
Madam Fang tilted her chin up, cupping her neck with one hand to present her profile. “I went to Madam Wen on the west side of the city. She’s a true artist—women queue up just for a chance to have her style their hair. I only managed to get an appointment through my sister-in-law’s connections.”
A woman in the group immediately chimed in with a flattering tone. “It must have cost a fortune, then?”
Madam Fang gave a slight, knowing toss of her head and smiled. “Nothing much, really. She usually charges three mace of silver for a full styling, but I only paid one.”
Nie Qinghe silently did the math. One mace of silver was a hundred copper coins. It seems being a hair-stylist is quite a lucrative trade.
Madam Zhao, who had always been Madam Fang’s rival, smiled thinly. Her tone was dripping with sarcasm.
“Will you be hiring Madam Wen to accompany you to the garden party in a few days, then? I heard she only goes out with the nobility now, and her fee is ten taels of silver per trip.”
“Oh my god, that expensive?” Several of the women gasped, their expressions turning sour. While spending a hundred or two hundred copper coins didn’t hurt their wallets much, ten taels of silver was a fortune.
Madam Fang’s smile faltered, and she looked a bit uncomfortable. “With so many noble ladies competing for her services, how could I get an appointment? We’re still the juniors in their presence, after all.”
Nie Qinghe listened quietly as they chatted. She realized that hair-styling had become a profession; Madam Wen managed a troupe of skilled women who specialized in styling and attending to the wealthy. It seemed to be a highly lucrative business.
But it was far beyond their means, Nie Qinghe thought.
Even the ordinary stylists under Madam Wen’s command charged fifty copper coins for a single session. To have one accompany a client on an outing would cost at least two hundred coins. To the rich, such a sum was trivial, but to women like Madam Fang and Madam Zhao, it was still a considerable expense.
Nearby, Madam Fang and Madam Zhao were at it again, their mutual disdain fueling a tense standoff that quickly escalated into a verbal spat.
Madam Zhao shot a sharp glance to two other women, who immediately began to provoke Madam Fang, deliberately trying to incite a fight.
Trapped in the center of the group, Madam Fang was forced to pivot constantly, snapping back at her attackers on all sides. Her head jerked from left to right as she argued, and the vigorous movements began to loosen her improperly secured hairstyle. A hairpin wobbled precariously.
“Oh, a wasp!” Madam Zhao cried from behind. She shoved one of the other women into Madam Fang.
The impact sent Madam Fang’s head snapping to the side. A hairpin loosened and clattered to the ground.
Madam Fang bent down quickly to retrieve it, but Madam Zhao “accidentally” shoved her again. This time, the rest of her hair ornaments fell loose, striking the ground with a series of sharp metallic clinks. The loosely secured coiffure itself finally gave way, cascading down her back in a tangled mess.
Nie Qinghe sighed. Madam Fang is about to get herself into a lot of trouble.
Sure enough, Madam Zhao seized the opportunity.
“Oh, Madam Fang! You told us you went to Madam Wen to get your hair done? This is the result? Don’t you think you should go back and ask for a refund?”
Another woman immediately played along. “You’re right! Sister Fang, let me go with you. We’ll make them pay!”
Madam Fang’s face drained of color. How could she possibly go? She had never gone to Madam Wen to have her hair done; she’d simply watched her sister-in-law get it done once and tried to copy the style herself. But her self-taught skills were clearly insufficient, and now she was suffering this public humiliation.
The embarrassment was one thing, but the real problem was that she had claimed Madam Wen had styled her hair. If her coiffure fell apart here, it would tarnish Madam Wen’s reputation. If Madam Wen came to confront her, Madam Fang would be forced to apologize and offer a gift of compensation.
Panic and fury seized her. She turned on Madam Zhao, who had shoved her earlier, and tore at the woman’s hair. Madam Zhao’s own coiffure came undone, her hairpins clattering to the floor.
The other women rushed forward to intervene, urging them to maintain their dignity. In the chaos, they were caught up in the fray. Hairpins fell like rain, striking the ground with a metallic clink, clank, clatter.
The group of women, who had been so concerned with maintaining their poised and dignified appearances while arguing, now looked utterly disheveled. They scrambled to retrieve their fallen hairpins, creating a scene of utter disarray. Other customers quickly backed away from the commotion.
The shop assistants grew frantic. They couldn’t allow their customers to make a scene and lose face in their establishment; it would reflect poorly on the shop’s own reputation.
One shop assistant rushed to fetch the manager, while two others tried to break up the fight, though they kept a cautious distance.
Nie Qinghe stepped forward, her voice crisp and clear.
“Oh, ladies, please stop fighting! A few silver hairpins have fallen here, and they aren’t marked. Which ones belong to whom?”
Swish!
The women all turned to stare at the hairpins in her hand, each claiming them as her own.
After all, they all wore the exact same ones.