Chapter 6

A-Jiao lived at her uncle’s house and often helped with cooking, but she had never cooked according to her own taste—only whatever Jin-shi told her to make.

Today, with her uncle’s family all out and not expected back until evening, it was a rare day when she could do as she pleased.

She usually spent time reading or doing embroidery, but for lunch, she decided to make honey-glazed stuffed lotus root, a dish she had been craving for a long time.

She had soaked the glutinous rice more than an hour in advance, then cleaned the lotus root thoroughly, cutting off one end before washing it again. She then began stuffing the soaked rice into the lotus root’s hollow chambers. Engrossed in doing something she enjoyed, A-Jiao felt cheerful and unconsciously hummed a Jiangnan folk tune. By the time she finished the tune, she had filled the lotus root and set it aside, moving on to preparing the red sugar, red dates, and honey for cooking.

With everything ready, she sat down to tend the fire, allowing the lotus root to simmer. Just as the sweet scent of honey began wafting from the pot, someone suddenly knocked on the courtyard gate.

Was it someone looking for her uncle?

The firewood in the stove was burning steadily and would last a while. A-Jiao cleared away the scattered kindling near the hearth before dusting off her hands and hurrying to the gate.

Between the two wooden panels of the door was a narrow gap. Peering through it, she saw an elderly woman, about sixty years old, with graying hair, holding a coarse porcelain bowl.

While A-Jiao was still trying to guess her identity, the old woman smiled through the door gap and said, “You must be A-Jiao, right? I’m the grandmother of Zhao Yanping from next door. Just now, the little girl at home was about to cook rice when she told me we’re out. It’s already so late, and I don’t have time to go buy some, so I thickened my skin to come and ask you for a bowl. Don’t worry, as soon as we’ve eaten, I’ll have someone go buy more and return it to you.”

The moment she spoke, A-Jiao recognized her voice. After all, Old Madam Zhao scolded Cui Niang a few times every day.

Zhao Yanping had shown her kindness before, and A-Jiao was grateful. Because of that, she naturally held some respect for his grandmother as well.

She quickly opened the door and invited Old Madam Zhao inside, though she couldn’t help feeling a little reserved. “It’s just a bowl of rice—please go ahead and take it. There’s no need to return it.”

“How could that be? No one’s rice comes from nowhere. If I borrow it, I must return it.”

Though Old Madam Zhao said this, her sharp little eyes seemed to be fixed on A-Jiao, scrutinizing her as if she were picking out merchandise.

Her timing had been just right—A-Jiao had been tending the fire, and the heat from the stove had made her delicate face flush, much like the rosy glow of a woman warmed by wine, lending her an extra touch of allure.

A-Jiao was already breathtakingly beautiful, with fair, delicate skin unmarked by freckles or blemishes. Her almond-shaped eyes were bright and expressive, and her cherry lips were so vibrantly red that they seemed to invite a bite.

Back in the brothel, she had always worn fine silks and satins prepared for her by the madam. But ever since she returned to the Zhu family, her status had plummeted, leaving her with only simple cloth garments to wear.

For most people, fine clothing could enhance their looks, but true beauties looked stunning no matter what they wore. A-Jiao’s slender figure swayed gracefully like a willow, her curves full and soft. Even just standing there, she exuded an irresistible charm.

Old Madam Zhao had come precisely to get a good look at A-Jiao, so she was, of course, taking in every detail.

A-Jiao had generously agreed to lend her rice, but the moment the old woman stepped inside, she kept staring at her, just like the other women who pretended to come and chat with her aunt when, in truth, they only wanted to see what a brothel woman looked like.

A-Jiao disliked being examined this way.

Lowering her gaze, she took Old Madam Zhao’s bowl. “Please wait here. I’ll go to the kitchen and scoop some rice for you.”

“Alright, I’ll thank you in advance,” Old Madam Zhao agreed readily. But as soon as A-Jiao turned away, she followed behind, still scrutinizing her.

As she watched A-Jiao walk, she noticed the girl’s slender waist and, with each step, the full curves of her hips, round as the moon. Old Madam Zhao couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret—this was a woman made for bearing children. What a pity that the brothel madam had likely forced her to drink infertility medicine.

Lost in thought, she barely noticed when A-Jiao stepped into the kitchen.

Standing at the doorway, Old Madam Zhao sniffed the air and glanced toward the lidded pot, smiling as she asked, “That smells wonderful. What delicious dish are you cooking, A-Jiao?”

A-Jiao glanced toward the entrance, scooped a full bowl of rice, and then turned back to explain, “There was a leftover piece of lotus root at home, and it was about to go bad. So I made honey-glazed stuffed lotus root.”

Old Madam Zhao narrowed her eyes with a knowing smile. “Oh, you even know how to make stuffed lotus root? My, A-Jiao, you are quite skilled.”

But in her heart, she thought: This girl may have been pitifully mistreated by her aunt, but she’s certainly crafty. She waited until the Zhu family was out before making such an elaborate treat.

Lotus root was common, but glutinous rice, honey, and red sugar were all costly luxuries. Most families only made such dishes during festivals or banquets, yet A-Jiao had a refined palate and had found the perfect excuse, claiming the lotus root was about to spoil.

In the time it took to borrow a bowl of rice, Old Madam Zhao believed she had already gotten a sense of A-Jiao’s character.

She was undeniably beautiful. If she managed to bring her over, she might be able to lure her grandson’s heart away from that flirtatious boy. But in other aspects, she would have to keep a close watch—this A-Jiao was both cunning and wasteful, far more extravagant than Cui Niang.

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“Madam, you saw Sister A-Jiao, didn’t you? Well? Isn’t she as beautiful as a celestial maiden?”

The moment Old Madam Zhao returned, Cui Niang eagerly ran up to ask.

Old Madam Zhao snorted, handed her the bowl of rice, and said, “Compared to you, she certainly is a heavenly beauty.”

Cui Niang pouted. “Listen to you—are you saying you’ve seen someone even more beautiful than Sister A-Jiao?” To Cui Niang, no one could compare to A-Jiao.

Upon hearing her words, Old Madam Zhao’s expression suddenly darkened.

She thought of her eldest daughter-in-law, Liu-shi, and her little granddaughter, Xiangyun.

Liu-shi had come from a poor family and had never been pampered in a place like Huayue Brothel, so she was tanned and perhaps not as stunning as A-Jiao. But she had still been the most beautiful and charming girl in the surrounding villages. When she came of age, a long line of men had vied to marry her. It was only thanks to Old Madam Zhao’s eldest son, who had enough skill and cleverness, that Liu-shi had been sweet-talked into marrying into their family.

That year, a great famine struck, and families everywhere struggled to survive. A wealthy landowner approached Old Madam Zhao, saying he wished to take Liu-shi as his second wife. If she could make it happen, he would give her a generous betrothal gift.

Old Madam Zhao had asked Liu-shi’s opinion. Liu-shi did not want to remarry, but she also feared her two children would suffer. For the sake of Yanping and Xiangyun, she agreed. Old Madam Zhao truly hadn’t forced her, but the villagers, jealous of the wealth she gained from the arrangement, gossiped and slandered her, claiming she had coerced her daughter-in-law.

At the time, her grandson had still been young—perhaps he had believed the rumors. Ever since then, he had never smiled at her again.

Then there was her granddaughter, Xiangyun. She had inherited the best features of both her parents and had been a little beauty from a young age. When she grew up, she might not have lost to A-Jiao in looks. But Xiangyun had an even harsher fate—at least A-Jiao had made it back. Her Xiangyun, however, had been sold off by her heartless second son and his wife. To this day, there wasn’t a single word of news about her.

The memories stirred by Cui Niang filled Old Madam Zhao with sorrow, and she retreated to her room alone, barely touching her lunch.

After resting for an afternoon, Old Madam Zhao pulled herself together again.

She had suffered too much and shed too many tears in her lifetime—if she kept dwelling on the past, how was she supposed to go on?

She sent Cui Niang next door to return the rice.

Truthfully, she had no intention of returning it. After all, back in the day, Jin-shi had nearly driven her to her grave—taking advantage of her for a bowl of rice could be considered interest.

But she worried that Jin-shi might take it out on A-Jiao over this, and then she’d be causing trouble for a kind-hearted girl.

Say what you will, A-Jiao had lent her the rice without hesitation. That proved she had a good heart, even if she was a little shrewd.

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The next day was the fifteenth of August—the Mid-Autumn Festival. The yamen was closed for the holiday, and Zhao Yanping could rest at home for two days.

Old Madam Zhao had been holding back a certain thought, waiting for the right moment. As evening approached, she had Cui Niang move the dining table to the backyard, where she set out soup and mooncakes. Calling her grandson over, the two sat together, eating while admiring the moon.

Scholarly folks had many refined ways of appreciating the moon. But Old Madam Zhao, who barely recognized a few characters, only knew one thing—the Mid-Autumn moon was full and bright. She couldn’t come up with any poetic remarks beyond that.

She turned to look at her grandson.

Zhao Yanping hadn’t even touched the mooncakes. In front of him sat a jar of wine, which he poured and drank from in silence. There wasn’t a trace of festive spirit on his face.

“Are you thinking of your mother or your sister?” Old Madam Zhao suddenly asked.

His hand, poised to pour more wine, paused for a moment. He glanced at her.

Ever since his mother remarried and his sister had “gone missing,” Old Madam Zhao had been careful never to bring them up, fearing it would only stir up his pain and resentment. Tonight was the first time in years that she had spoken of them.

She snatched the wine jar from him, poured herself half a bowl, and downed it in one go.

Zhao Yanping frowned. Seeing that she was about to pour herself another, he swiftly took the jar away, lowering his gaze as he said, “This wine is strong. You should drink less.”

Old Madam Zhao took a bite of mooncake, wanting to say many things, but in the end, she swallowed those old, painful memories along with the overly sweet pastry.

After finishing her mooncake, she took a sip of bitter melon soup, wiped her mouth, and said, “You refuse to take a wife and won’t tell me why. I’m getting old and can’t control you anymore. But you’re not young anymore, either. You might be happy living alone, but there’s gossip out there—some people are even saying you have some strange illness and can’t perform as a man.”

Zhao Yanping remained unfazed. Calmly, he reassured her, “I’m in perfect health. Those are just rumors. You don’t need to pay them any mind.”

Old Madam Zhao’s eyes widened. “How can I not mind? I raised you with so much effort—hearing people slander you feels worse than being cursed at myself!”

Zhao Yanping suspected she was about to pressure him into marriage again, so he stayed silent.

She gave him a glare and then lowered her voice. “A few days ago, I went out and saw Zhu Chang’s niece, A-Jiao. That girl is truly stunning. I’ve been thinking—she’s been unable to marry and keeps suffering under her aunt’s hand. It’s quite pitiful. Since you don’t want to take a wife, why not let me bring her in as your concubine? That way, we help her out, and it clears up those nasty rumors about you. What do you think?”

Zhao Yanping frowned. “Didn’t you say Zhu Chang was determined to find her a respectable match?”

Old Madam Zhao scoffed. “Zhu Chang dreams too big. His niece was once a courtesan and can’t bear children anymore. Other than being a concubine, where else could she go? Small households take concubines to have heirs, but she can’t even do that. Only rich, lecherous men would be interested in her—but she refuses to marry into such a family.”

Hearing this, she really did seem to have a bleak future. No wonder she had nearly taken her own life that night.

Zhao Yanping remained silent.

Seeing a chance, Old Madam Zhao pressed on. “Our family isn’t wealthy, but as long as she serves you well, I promise not to beat or scold her. You wouldn’t mistreat her either, right? Bringing her in would be saving her from misery. Maybe this good deed will even bring your sister some fortune.”

Zhao Yanping didn’t like her using his sister as leverage. His face darkened. “Do as you wish. Just don’t mention Xiangyun.”

With that, he rose and strode off toward the east wing.

Old Madam Zhao watched his broad back disappear, feeling both pleased and bitter.

That ungrateful brat—who was she scheming all this for, if not him?