White funeral banners stood tall and straight, and spirit flowers adorned the eaves.

In Xuanzhou, Anhui, the third branch of the Chen family was quietly holding a funeral. Quiet—because few people were present. Silent—because no one dared make a fuss. Naturally, there were few people. Most of the Chen family had gone to the front courtyard to mourn the passing of the eldest master, the only one in the family who held office in the imperial court.

“Even in death, Madam He had poor timing.” In the rear courtyard, on the outer veranda of the third branch, an old maid cracked pumpkin seeds she’d snuck from the front courtyard, gossiping as she went. “Eldest Master breathed his last the night before, and Madam He closed her eyes yesterday, and the oak coffin Third Master prepared first thing this morning wasn’t even used.”

She jerked her chin toward the southeast corner. “Third Madam put her foot down. Said it’d be outrageous for a concubine’s funeral to outshine that of a court official. Only someone with a head full of iron would allow that.”

The old maid was animated, her eyebrows dancing with each word. Under the clear halo of light, fine arcs of mist sprayed in all directions.

Standing behind a column, He Xianjin quietly turned her face away, dodging the indiscriminate physical assault of gossip.

“So if Madam He had died at a different time,” someone mused, “would she have had a grand funeral?”

“Not just a grand funeral—I heard Third Master even had his own name carved on the tombstone, planning to be buried with Madam He when his time comes.”

The little maid with twin hair loops under the veranda chimed in, cracking seeds as she spoke. “Nanny Zhang really does know everything.”

Flattered, the old maid beamed, her whole body aglow with satisfaction, as if someone had opened her gossip box. “Let me tell you, in that coffin, Madam He was clutching a piece of Hetian jade worth this much.”

She held out her palm.

“Five taels of silver?” the maid guessed.

The old woman smacked her lightly on the head. “No sense at all—fifty taels! That’s a month’s spending money for Third Master.”

“Wow, Madam He really had good fortune.”

Good fortune in dying young—would you want that?

He Xianjin quietly turned her head, adjusting the lacquered box in her hands. Inside, the four porcelain dishes clinked together with a crisp sound.

The old maid turned and saw He Xianjin. Her hand paused mid-crack, then she smoothly plastered on a smile. “Poor dear Jinjie’er—go check on your mother.”

After a beat, she added, “Third Master’s there too. While he’s grieving, it’s the perfect time to settle your own affairs.”

Nanny Zhang glanced around to make sure no one else was listening, then said in a low voice, “Some things don’t wait. Those four maids who used to serve you? They asked me this morning to help them find new placements.”

He Xianjin lowered her head to tidy the lacquered box, then looked up again, her face composed with just the right touch of sorrow and respect. “Thank you, Nanny Zhang, for your kindness.” With that, she carried the box inside without looking back.

A young girl in mourning is always striking—white hemp gauze, delicate white flowers, a nose reddened from crying, eyes slightly swollen, and a slender frame worn thin from months of tending to illness.

Nanny Zhang watched He Xianjin’s retreating figure, eyes narrowing, gaze murky. “You know, Jinjie’er is even more captivating than her mother.” She murmured the words under her breath.

The little maid didn’t catch it. “Huh?”

Nanny Zhang snapped out of it and smiled, shaking her head. “I said, your He Xianjin might have even better fortune.”

Married off by Third Madam to some household, to live as a well-favored concubine. That’s all she could hope for. What else can a woman do? Especially someone like He Xianjin—neither mistress nor servant. She was even worse off than the maids. At least they were formally married, with proper betrothal gifts and ceremonies. If they got angry, they could scold the master of the house. Could a concubine dare to do that?

He Xianjin carried the box into the mourning hall and immediately saw Third Master Chen slumped in front of the coffin.

“You should sit down for a bit,” she said gently. She opened the box and placed four plates of pastries on the square table. “You’ve been kneeling for two days. No food, no sleep. Madam was worried and asked me to bring these from her courtyard.”

At that, Third Master Chen snapped his head up, eyes blazing. “She sent you? Ainiang is dead—what does she want now?”

His face flushed red. He pushed himself up from his knees and swept the plates off the table. “She should stay out of Yi Garden’s affairs!”

The dishes clattered to the floor. They didn’t break, but the pastries were smashed beyond recognition. No longer edible. What a waste.

He Xianjin recalled what Third Madam had said:

“The whole household is mourning the Elder Master. Who dares not attend?”

“So he’s the lovesick one, the Romeo of the family?”

“Your mother’s death wasn’t sudden. She’d been ill for years. Everyone was prepared.”

“If you’re a good child and truly care for Third Master, get him to change clothes, wash his face, and go cry for his brother in the front courtyard.”

She looked again at Third Master Chen, eyes bloodshot. He still had the strength to shout. He could still cry. She quietly placed a small stool behind him. “Third Madam didn’t mean anything by it. She didn’t do anything to me.”

“Please, sit.” Her expression was calm, unreadable. Only her red nose betrayed the grief of losing her mother.

His pain—hers could only be deeper.

He lost a woman. She lost her mother.

In this world, only the two of them were truly mourning.

Third Master Chen’s lips trembled. Tears welled up, and he collapsed onto the stool she’d prepared. “She’s gone.”

He Xianjin nodded. “I was by her side when she passed.”

“She’ll never come back.”

She nodded again. “You can visit her grave during Qingming. If you miss her, you can go and talk to her.”

“I’ll never hold her hand again.”

She nodded. “The dead belong to the earth. Let them rest in peace.”

He paused, then suddenly broke down in sobs. “But I miss her—I miss her so much. No one else ever truly cared for me.”

Grief for the departed never fades easily. The deeper the love, the sharper the ache. When time has passed and you think you’ve moved on, a flower she loved, a dish she favored, or a book she often read—any one of them can pierce your heart anew. That’s when the pain truly hits.

He Xianjin waited patiently for him to calm down.

The incense burned out. The mourning hall quieted.

“Rather than seeing you consumed by grief,” she said softly, “Mother would rather see you live well.”

“To see you eat and sleep properly. You may cry for her—but only for three days. After that, pack away her things. If you wish, seal them up. If not, bury them with her; let them accompany her to the next life.”

“To see you well-fed, with joys to pursue and love to rely on.”

“To see you live freely, unbound by hardship.”

“To see you with children at your knee, enjoying the warmth of family.”

Third Master Chen squinted through his tears. “Did your mother tell you all this?”

“He Xianjin pressed her lips together and nodded gently. They weren’t words Madam He had spoken—only the final wish she held for those she loved most.