Chapter 3

It was already deep into the night.

The rear courtyard of the Zhou residence was unnaturally silent. Occasionally, the wind stirred the branches, casting dappled shadows that danced across the ground. The moon slipped in and out of the clouds, like a cold, indifferent eye watching the walled compound from above.

Inside the room, only a single slender red candle flickered quietly. The flame burned steadily. From the sandalwood burner, a trail of sweet-smelling smoke curled through the air. The scent, said to calm the spirit and steady the breath, had been specially prepared by the old maid—just as the Cheng residence preferred it.

Ran Nannan sat still before her dressing table. In the bronze mirror, her reflection stared back at her—delicate brows, striking features, lips tinted light red. A soft gold hairpin adorned her hair, with a red jade pendant swaying gently beneath it. Behind her, the old maid carefully smoothed out her long hair, untangling it with the gentle care one would give a precious porcelain artifact.

“Tomorrow is the big day,” the maid said softly, her tone carrying unconcealed satisfaction. “Just endure a little longer, Miss. Once you’re in the Cheng household, someone will surely cherish you.”

Ran Nannan gazed at her reflection, expression blank. After a long while, she murmured a faint “Mm.”

The old maid smiled, picking up a silver brush, dipping it lightly in powder, and gently patting it on Nannan’s neck and behind her ears—places that easily revealed a flush. Once applied, her skin looked even more pale and lustrous.

“The Cheng maids are picky,” the old maid whispered. “This way, you’ll look soft and delicate.”

Ran Nannan didn’t respond. She only saw the face in the mirror growing more and more unfamiliar—white as fine jade, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

The incense in the burner had burned down completely. The fine ash fell onto the copper plate with the softest of sounds. The night grew even quieter, as if even the insects outside dared not make noise.

At last, the maid laid down the brush, gently pressed a cloth to Nannan’s temples, and adjusted the position of the hairpin. The red jade dangling from it caught the candlelight and shimmered faintly.

“All done,” the maid exhaled softly. “You should rest now. Tomorrow you must rise early.”

Ran Nannan nodded slightly, her voice barely audible: “Alright.”

The maid glanced at her again, seemingly wanting to say more, but in the end only reminded her, “Don’t toss and turn tonight. Don’t mess up your hair.” Then she led the maids out.

The door closed with a soft click, letting in a trace of cool air. Ran Nannan sat alone before the bronze mirror for a long, long time. The red candle had nearly burned out. Wax dripped along its side, trembling on the edge.

She slowly raised her hand and touched her face—cold and smooth, like porcelain. She suddenly murmured, her voice echoing in the empty room: “If I hadn’t been born like this, would I have been able to…”

She couldn’t finish the sentence.

Her eyes stung. She blinked hard, refusing to let tears fall. She knew crying would ruin the makeup. If the maid saw tomorrow, she’d scold her for being ungrateful.

She sat still, waiting until the candle burned completely out and darkness swallowed her whole.

No one knew how long had passed before she slowly stood, barefoot, and walked to the door. She gently pushed it open.

Several small lanterns lit the courtyard, casting a faint light over a stone path. The wind carried a moist chill that brushed her feet, sending a sudden shiver up her spine.

She walked slowly along the covered corridor. The night was so quiet that even her breathing seemed loud. She reached the moon gate and turned toward the path leading to the back alley. Perhaps, she thought, she could slip into the night and run far, far away.

But before she got close, she stopped.

Two guards stood beneath the corridor, swords at their waists. A lantern sat at their feet, casting light on the fine patterns etched into their scabbards. At the sound of footsteps, they looked up in unison, their expressions respectful—but firm.

“Second Miss, the night air is damp. Best return to your room to rest.”

A chill gripped Ran Nannan’s heart. She glanced at them, but said nothing. Slowly, she turned around and walked back. The stone beneath her feet was cold as ice, but her soles were numb—she couldn’t feel a thing.

The door closed behind her with a soft “click.” That sound, in that moment, felt colder than the night wind.

She leaned against the door and slowly slid to the floor, burying her head in her arms, letting the tears flow silently.

No one knew how long she cried before she finally stood again, returning to sit in front of the bronze mirror. The hairpin was still in place. The red jade pendant swayed gently—just like a drop of blood.

She suddenly wanted to laugh, but what came out was a hoarse sob.

Later, she curled up at the head of the bed, sleepiness creeping in bit by bit. She closed her eyes. Darkness surged like a tide and swallowed her whole.

In her dream, she was walking down a long corridor again. Red lanterns hung on both sides, one after another, lighting her path—and casting her long shadow behind her, thin and lonely against the stone floor.

At the end of the corridor stood a young man in a green robe.

He watched her quietly. His gaze was cool, but held an indescribable tenderness. Moonlight fell on his shoulders, gilding him in soft silver.

He approached and reached out, gently wiping away the tears on her face.

“Ran Nannan,” he called her name, his voice low and rough—like wind rustling through bamboo, with a faint tremble.

She opened her eyes wide and tried to reach for him. But before she could touch him, he began to fade—like smoke.

Panicked, she tried to chase after him. But something had tightly gripped her ankles.

She looked down.

Countless pale hands reached up from the cracks in the stone floor, clutching at her skirt and ankles, pulling her down.

“No… don’t…” she cried out, struggling.

But the hands multiplied, their strength terrifying. They dragged her deeper and deeper into the cold gaps. Just before she was completely swallowed by darkness, she saw the boy still standing in the distance, brows slightly furrowed, eyes filled with sorrow.

“In the next life,” he whispered, “you won’t have to live like this.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks in the dream. She tried to speak, but no sound came.

When she jolted awake, dawn had already broken.

She gasped for breath like someone pulled from deep water. Her hair was soaked, clinging to her neck like icy vines. She touched her face—she couldn’t tell if it was sweat or tears.

Outside, she heard the maid giving orders:
“Hurry, bring the fine gauze robe with gold embroidery! The Cheng family will be here soon. If we delay the hour, Master Zhou will throw a fit!”

The maids bustled in and out, footsteps light and urgent. Ran Nannan slowly sat up, letting them dress her and arrange her hair. The hairpin was once again set in place. The red jade pendant brushed against her neck—so cold it made her shiver.

The old maid adjusted her belt while whispering, “Miss, today is your first time entering the Cheng household. Don’t let your nerves show. Just smile nicely, and the Lord will be pleased.”

Ran Nannan looked at the person in the mirror. Still heartbreakingly beautiful, with a faint trace of moisture in her eyes that made her look even more delicate.

She suddenly felt it was all absurd.

This version of herself—painstakingly polished like a porcelain doll—flawless, smooth, but entirely lifeless.

The old maid whispered in her ear:
“Nannan, this is your blessing.”

Blessing.

She slowly closed her eyes. Her fingers curled tightly, nails digging into her palm until pain bloomed.

Not long after, the sound of drums and firecrackers filled the courtyard. The Cheng family’s bridal sedan had arrived.

The old maid took her hand, her voice soft but firm:
“Come now.”

Ran Nannan followed, step by step, out of the courtyard. The morning sun had just risen, casting warm light that bathed her figure in a golden glow.

A maid from the Cheng residence stood in front of the sedan, squinting as she examined Nannan carefully—like appraising a treasure just delivered. After a long while, she finally smiled, clearly pleased:
“What a beauty—delicate waist and graceful shoulders.”

Master Zhou stood to the side, smiling obsequiously:
“My humble daughter is nothing special. Please forgive her shortcomings.”

The Cheng maid waved him off, her smile unchanged:
“Master Zhou needn’t worry. With a girl like this, how could our Lord not be pleased?”

At her signal, a maid stepped forward and gently helped Ran Nannan toward the sedan.

She lifted her foot and stepped over the red-painted threshold. Her skirt brushed against the ground, leaving behind a faint trail. As the curtain fell, the light outside instantly dimmed.

She was surrounded by fragrance and soft cushions, as if she were back in that endless corridor from her dream.

The sedan lifted, swaying gently as it moved forward. The noise of the firecrackers and voices faded into the distance. Only the pounding of her heart echoed louder and louder, as if it would split her chest.

Ran Nannan closed her eyes. A single tear slid silently down her cheek.

In the next life, she whispered silently in her heart, her voice lighter than a breath.

In the next life—may it not be like this.