Chapter 10

The three siblings had barely taken a few steps away from the grave of Lady Yu when they saw a young boy approaching along the narrow path, carrying a small basket.

Gao Xi walked up to them, his eyes warm and moist. “I’ve come to pay my respects to Second Aunt.”

“Thank you for remembering,” they replied.

Gao Xi offered his condolences, then placed the offerings before the grave and performed the rites.

Descending the mountain, they made their way to the old house at the west end of the village. Gao Xi said nothing the whole way, which was unusual for him—his temperament was lively, and he was usually talkative.

Gao Zhao noticed something was amiss and asked, “Is something troubling you? Speak openly if there is.”

Gao Xi looked at the three siblings with eyes full of pity, opened his mouth twice, hesitated, and said nothing.

Gao Zhao, sensing his reticence, said, “If there’s nothing, you’d best head home. I suspect you came without permission today? If Third Uncle finds out, he’ll scold you.”

“Brother Zhao, I…” Gao Xi frowned deeply, struggling to decide. After a few moments of hesitation, he finally steeled himself and stepped closer. “Next month, Second Uncle is remarrying.”

So that was it.

The three siblings showed little reaction. Gao Xi was uncertain of their feelings and dared not say more.

After a while, Gao Nuan forced a bitter smile. “He managed to observe mourning for my mother for a year—that’s rare enough. Remarrying is only natural. As juniors, we shouldn’t concern ourselves with the affairs of elders.”

Gao Xi understood this principle well. Many around him remarried within half a year of their wife’s passing, and Second Uncle observing mourning for a full year before remarrying was not out of line with propriety. Still, seeing his cousins mourning their mother while Second Uncle prepared to wed again, it pained his heart.

After Gao Xi left, the three siblings sat in their room in silence, all as they had expected. Their father had killed their mother and abandoned them so he could remarry. They had thought he would hurry to wed again, but he had managed to feign deep affection and waited out the full mourning period. He gained reputation and profit both.

The siblings tacitly busied themselves with their own tasks. Gao Nuan brought out her needle basket and sat in the shade by the door to continue her embroidery; Gao Zhao went to the window desk to copy books, as Yiwen Bookshop had recently given him another volume to transcribe; Yu Shensi, as always, helped Gao Zhao grind ink and watched him copy. None mentioned the matter, as if it were merely a breeze passing by.

A few days later, the village hosted a market. The siblings went together. Gao Nuan suggested buying brush, ink, and paper for their youngest brother, so he could start learning to write properly. For the past half year, their youngest had practiced with twigs in the dirt, which was nothing like brush on paper. She worried that delaying too long might affect his writing. At his age, he should begin learning to hold a brush.

Yu Shensi knew the elder two had saved four or five taels of silver since the New Year. But earning those few taels had not been easy: he often saw Gao Nuan embroidering so much that her eyes reddened, and Gao Zhao’s wrist aching from copying so many pages, wrapped in cloth for relief.

Brush, ink, and paper would be a considerable expense. Once begun, the money would flow like water. He didn’t want them to work too hard.

If he didn’t let Gao Nuan buy them, she would worry and eventually buy them anyway, unable to resist. To forestall her thoughts, he smiled and said, “Big Sister, just buy one brush for Yang’er. He read about Master Yan, ‘the sinews of Yan and the bones of Liu,’ who practiced writing by dipping his brush in yellow earth water on the walls as a child, and became a great master. Yang’er wants to be like Master Yan.”

The elder siblings didn’t realize their youngest was trying to save them money; they simply thought he was emulating the virtuous. They felt gratified. Practicing with earth-water was not as good as ink on paper, but it was still a good method. Thus, their youngest’s scholarly ambitions could be met, and they could save some expense.

Gao Nuan smiled. “Alright, Big Sister will buy you a brush.”

At the stationery shop, Gao Zhao helped his youngest brother pick a brush, teaching him how to judge their quality and suitability. Finally, they chose one ideal for a beginner.

With brush in hand, Yu Shensi practiced immediately, dipping it in yellow mud water and writing on the ground and walls. In a few days, he recited everything he’d learned from “The Thousand Character Classic” and “Three Character Classic.” Then he picked up books he hadn’t studied, copying and reciting them silently.

The elder siblings praised his handwriting as excellent, better than many children who’d practiced for half a year or more.

They did not know Yu Shensi’s brushwork was actually quite advanced—he was only holding back to fit his beginner’s status.

In his previous life, his parents had placed great emphasis on his education. To put it plainly, they were “tiger parents,” enrolling him in numerous extracurricular classes from kindergarten onward. The only activities he kept up were calligraphy and chess. When he first learned of his terminal illness, his emotions were unstable; he forced himself to practice calligraphy and play chess to regain control. His current writing level was only to match his supposed inexperience.

In August, Gao Mingjin remarried. Gao Mingtong was in the capital, and Gao Mingda had a servant delivering rice inform them.

Around Mid-Autumn and the end of the harvest, the farmers finally had leisure. The men looked for odd jobs for extra money, the women took up needlework. Some made winter clothes for their family, others embroidered or did other handiwork to earn money.

Gao Nuan stopped embroidering fan covers and began making embroidered sachets and hand warmers. Sachets were useful year-round, and in winter could hold charcoal cakes from the brazier; hand warmers were essential for wealthy families in the city.

She no longer gave her work to Aunt Gui, who guessed the reason. Aunt Gui felt guilty: her son Hutou still went to study with Yang’er, and she was embarrassed to send him. Her son snuck over on his own, but Gao Zhao treated him no differently, teaching him as he did the other village children.

Other neighbors sent Aunt Gui on errands, and when they didn’t see Gao Nuan, they curiously asked about her absence. Aunt Gui brushed them off, “Nuan must be busy with other things.”

When alone, Meier worried, “She won’t tell, will she?”

Aunt Gui felt sure Nuan would not. If she wanted to, she would’ve said something long ago, or come to demand answers, not remained silent as if nothing had happened. She must be sparing Aunt Gui’s dignity.

That evening, the other women came to collect payment and found their embroidered goods fetched a few more coins than usual.

Aunt Gui explained, “We’ve always sold to the Zhang family’s embroidery shop. It was time to raise the price. I argued with the manager for a while, and he finally agreed to pay a bit more for each item.”

“Thank goodness for you, Sister Gui! You always know how to talk,” the women thanked her.

Gao Nuan heard about it, but made no comment, acting as she always did. When asked why she hadn’t embroidered much, she replied she was preparing winter clothes for her brother, so had embroidered less.

This was true. All three siblings had grown taller that year. The old clothes sent by Gao Mingtong had sleeves too short, exposing their wrists. In summer it didn’t matter, but in winter it did. She was indeed making winter clothes and shoes.

Her maternal grandfather and uncle were tailors, and her mother had been skilled in cutting and sewing; she had learned some of their craft. She didn’t care for style, but her work was solid.

In late autumn, Meier’s marriage was arranged—to the youngest son of Scholar Fan from Fan Village. At the formal ceremony, the groom came to Gao family village. Gao Nuan glimpsed him from afar—a youth of seventeen or eighteen, average in appearance and stature, but clearly educated, polite, and proper. Meier, being pretty and capable, matched him well. The villagers thought it a good match, and many girls envied Meier marrying into a scholarly family.

Later, Fourth Aunt said Aunt Gui admired Scholar Fan—a man from two generations of scholars, perhaps the next generation would produce a licentiate. Aunt Gui wanted to be close, so she could send her own son to be taught by Scholar Fan. With the families related, how much tuition could Scholar Fan charge? Surely he’d teach her son wholeheartedly.

It was a shrewd plan.

In the twelfth month, the cold wind cut like a knife, and snow was imminent. After the snow, travel would be difficult. Before it fell, Gao Nuan made a trip to the county town to exchange several embroidered pieces for cash—the next visit would be in the new year.

The embroidery shop was attended by the same tall, thin clerk as before. Seeing the siblings’ faces red from cold, he kindly poured them hot water and took a letter from the drawer for Gao Zhao, smiling. “Young Master Zhong asked me to deliver this to Young Master Gao.”

Both Gao Zhao and Gao Nuan were surprised, looking at the letter. The envelope was addressed, “To my brother Zhao, personally.” They recognized the handwriting—it was from Zhong Yi, Gao Zhao’s schoolmate.

Zhong Yi was a few years older than Gao Zhao. Gao Xi had mentioned before that he had passed the licentiate exam last year, was recommended by the magistrate, and entered the prefectural academy. Since they went to the capital last year, they had had no contact.

The siblings wondered how he had arranged for the clerk to deliver the letter, and how Zhong Yi knew they sold embroidery there. They asked the clerk, who was equally puzzled. “I really don’t know. Young Master Zhong didn’t say—maybe he saw you here once?”

Zhong Yi was in the prefectural academy, hundreds of miles away, rarely returning. Could it be such a coincidence? If he had seen them, surely he would have greeted them, not left a letter so circuitously.

Unable to fathom it, Gao Zhao prepared to open the letter and see what it said. He glanced at it, but instead of reading it, he put it away. The clerk watched him, hoping to hear some news and learn how Zhong Yi had known they came there, but seeing Gao Zhao’s action, he looked puzzled.

“I’ll read it at home,” Gao Zhao smiled, changing the topic to discuss prices for the embroidery.

The clerk, a bit disappointed, turned his attention to the goods and gave them a fair price.

After leaving the shop, the siblings went to their usual noodle house for a meal. Gao Zhao handed the letter to Gao Nuan. “This is for you, Big Sister.”

Gao Nuan was puzzled and looked inside—the envelope contained another letter. On this one was written, “To my dear sister Nuan.” So it was for her. Zhong Yi had used Gao Zhao’s name to protect her reputation.

In the letter, Zhong Yi first offered condolences for her mother’s passing, then spoke of his concern for her. Since circumstances prevented him from visiting, he urged her to take care, offering everyday words of comfort.

Gao Zhao saw his sister receive the letter and smiled, “What did Brother Zhong say?”

Zhong Yi was not only his schoolmate, but also his future brother-in-law, betrothed to his sister since childhood. He had often acted as messenger between them.

Gao Nuan was silent for a moment, then forced a smile. “Nothing much. Eat quickly, the noodles will get cold. Winter nights fall early—we shouldn’t linger.”

Seeing his sister’s strained smile, Gao Zhao did not press further. On the way home, Gao Nuan was uncharacteristically quiet, distracted and heavy-hearted.

As they neared Gao family village, they saw a small figure standing on a roadside stone. As they drew near, he jumped down and ran to them.

“Big Sister, Big Brother, why are you so late? I was worried.”

“We went to buy you a treat,” Gao Nuan replied, pulling a still-warm bag of roasted almonds from her coat for the youngest.

“Next time, don’t buy snacks. Just come home sooner.”

“Alright.” Gao Nuan stroked his head gently. “And you mustn’t wait at the village entrance again. The night wind is cold—you’ll get sick.”

“The jacket you made is thick—I’m not cold, and my hands are warm!” Gripping their hands, his little palms were hot, making their own hands seem icy.

Back home, the brazier was burning, the room warm. On the brazier sat an earthen pot, the scent of ginger filling the air. The youngest, worried they might catch cold on the journey, had boiled ginger tea in advance to warm them.

Looking at their tiny, thoughtful brother, they felt both comforted and a little sorrowful.

After returning from town, the siblings waited for their uncle’s family to visit and reunite. They waited as snow fell, then as the new year approached. Several families had finished their ancestral offerings and rituals, but even on New Year's Eve, their uncle’s family had not come.