Chapter 10

It was already late into the night. Ran Nannan was still sitting at the edge of the bed, her fingers gently kneading her calves. The standing meditation and gait training she did today had been especially intense—her legs still ached. But it was a good kind of ache, like spring branches swelling ever so slightly after a rain, filled with a quiet, inexplicable satisfaction.

She tilted her head slightly and caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror.

Long hair cascaded down her shoulders, the strands at her temples still damp from washing. The white nightdress accentuated her delicate shoulders and a waist so slender it seemed it could be held in one hand. But this wasn’t the body she had once been trained to maintain at the Qinghong Courtesan House, meant to please others—it was a strength she had carved out, step by step, for herself.

She smiled faintly at the mirror.

The next morning, she rose even earlier than usual. As always, she drank safflower water first, then practiced her gait. Rise onto the toes, lower the foot, turn the body, tilt the head—each movement was drawn out deliberately, as though she were sculpting something with care.

By the end, she simply played a gentle guqin melody and walked slowly around the room. The hem of her dress brushed against her bare feet, bringing a touch of coolness.

She trained like this for three days straight. Wherever she walked, she moved as lightly as a breeze. Even her mother, catching sight of her by chance, couldn’t help but remark, “Nannan, have you changed the way you walk? You seem different lately.”

She merely smiled, saying nothing more.

That afternoon, the sun was warm and gentle. She lounged on the sofa, idly putting her phone aside, when suddenly an old memory surfaced in her mind.

In her past life, there had been one time when an old matron at the Qinghong Courtesan House, struck by a whim, brought out a small gilded porcelain jar. Inside was a facial cream she had crafted herself, said to be a “secret beauty formula of the house.” Whoever used it, the matron claimed, would appear more radiant than the other girls.

Ran Nannan had been young then. She only remembered how the cream felt cool on the skin, and how her complexion looked noticeably brighter the next day. Later, when the Lady Dowager of the Cheng household took a liking to her and asked for the recipe, the old matron finally revealed that the cream was made with finely sifted flower pollen, a drop of beeswax, and two drops of fresh lotus dew—together, they produced a balm both nourishing and light.

She sat there stunned.

She still remembered the recipe—each step, each word—clearly and vividly in her mind.

That very afternoon, she couldn’t help herself and went to the traditional pharmacy near her home. It was an old, reputable shop, with a wooden sign in the window that read “Hundred-Year Spring.” Behind the counter sat an elderly gentleman with silver hair, glasses perched on his nose, absorbed in a yellowed medical text.

She softly asked, “Excuse me, do you have freshly dried lotus stamens, white atractylodes powder, and safflower filaments?”

The old man looked up and studied her face carefully. He didn’t seem surprised, merely set his book down and asked, “Young lady, are you making facial cream?”

“Mmm. I want to try recreating a beauty balm.”

The old man chuckled, revealing tea-stained teeth. “Rare these days to see young girls following the old formulas. Alright—everything’s in the back. The lotus stamens are from this June. Sit tight, I’ll fetch them.”

Soon, she was leaving with a few delicate paper packets—one pale yellow, one pure white.

Back home, she carefully laid everything out on the table. Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting a glow over the fine powders she spread onto a bamboo tray. A faint fragrance drifted up—barely there, but unmistakably floral.

Following her memory, she first ground the lotus and safflower filaments even finer, sifting them twice before gently tipping them into a porcelain bowl. Then she melted beeswax over steam, added a touch of pure water, and slowly stirred the mixture until it turned the color of pale cream.

Once the balm cooled, it looked like a pool of soft, smooth frost.

She dipped a fingertip into it and applied a little to the back of her hand. The texture was exquisite—melting into her skin almost instantly, leaving a soft glow behind.

Ran Nannan lowered her head and gently inhaled. There was no heavy, cloying perfume—just a hint of subtle lotus.

A quiet joy bubbled up in her chest.

That night, she couldn’t resist. After washing her face, she took a bit of the balm and spread it lightly over her cheeks.

The cream softened at the warmth of her skin, gliding on with a silky smoothness. When she lifted her head to the mirror, she saw her complexion glisten faintly, as though nourished from within.

Looking closer, her skin seemed just a shade fairer than before.

She stared at her reflection, heart skipping a beat.

If… if she could perfect this balm, make it even finer, even gentler—couldn’t she help others like herself, those whose lives had once been defined by appearances? Couldn’t she offer something to girls who relied on expensive skincare just to feel halfway confident—give them a real alternative?

The thought made her lips slowly curl upward in a quiet, determined smile.

She had been born with a face valuable enough to win favor in the Zhou household. But now, she was going to become someone who could shape her own fate.

That night, she slept deeply.

In her dream, she once again walked down the long stone corridor, red lanterns lit on either side, casting shadows that once made her uneasy. But now, she was no longer afraid.

Ahead, a young man in a pale robe stood waiting. His eyes were warm and full of gentle sorrow.

“If there’s a next life,” he said, “you shouldn’t have to go through all this.”

This time, she smiled softly. Her voice was gentle, yet firm.

“This time, I’m living for myself.”