Chapter 3

Gao Zhao had barely left when Gao Nuan stood by the doorway, peering outside, her brows slightly furrowed as she occasionally glanced back at her little brother. Yu Shensi knew she wished to go to Aunt Gui’s house; she had mentioned it earlier that morning.

After all, writing memorials for others could not be a long-term solution for Gao Zhao—studying was the only true path. Gao Nuan wanted to shoulder the responsibility of supporting the family.

She worried that if she went out, her little brother, still so young, might encounter trouble alone at home. Yet, as he was still ill, it wasn’t convenient to bring him outside; despite the clear skies, the world was snow-covered and bitterly cold—a chill that could not be taken lightly.

Torn by hesitation and anxiety, Yu Shensi, knowing he was presently powerless to help the siblings and resolved not to become a further burden, half-covered himself with the quilt and pretended to sleep.

As expected, Gao Nuan came over and called him softly a couple of times. Receiving no response, she assumed he was asleep. She checked his forehead—no sign of fever—added two more logs to the fire, and slipped out quietly, closing the door behind her.

Tightening her cotton coat, Gao Nuan trudged through the slush to Aunt Gui’s house. The courtyard gate was half open. Sheltered from the wind at the main house entrance, Aunt Gui and her two daughters, along with several neighbors, basked in the sun as they worked on their needlecraft.

As soon as she approached, the women noticed her. One of them muttered, “Here to borrow food again.” Aunt Gui’s elder daughter, Mei, tugged at her mother’s sleeve and whispered, “Don’t lend anything more.” The courtyard was small; Gao Nuan heard everything clearly.

Aunt Gui shot her daughter a look and turned to Gao Nuan. “Nuan, what brings you here? How’s your little brother?”

Aunt Gui was a plump woman, always smiling and approachable, who had helped them a great deal lately.

“He’s much better,” Gao Nuan replied. “The other day I saw you taking embroidery to sell in town, so I was hoping to try my hand at some as well. I wanted to ask for your help.”

“You have things to embroider?” To her knowledge, the siblings had sold nearly everything of value to pay for the boy’s treatment—only the old house remained, too burdensome to move.

“Not yet,” Gao Nuan admitted. “I wanted to try a few stitches first and ask you to see if they’d be marketable.”

Mei muttered something else, so softly this time that Gao Nuan couldn’t catch it, but reading the expressions of the others, she guessed it was mocking.

Aunt Gui clapped her daughter’s arm and waved Gao Nuan over, smiling, “There’s a breeze here. Come sit in the sun and talk.”

Gao Nuan entered. Aunt Gui’s younger daughter, Lian, brought her a small stool from inside, warmly inviting, “Sit here, Nuan.”

Gao Nuan thanked her, her gaze sweeping over the women and girls—some embroidering, others making shoes and clothes for their families. She greeted each one politely; the women responded perfunctorily, the girls barely glanced at her before returning to their work.

Aunt Gui rummaged through her basket and handed over an embroidery frame. “I don’t know how skilled you are, so try stitching a flower of your choice—let me see. If it can be sold, all the better.”

The silk cloth was meant for peach blossoms, but some stitches had gone awry and hadn’t yet been unpicked.

Mei remarked, “The embroidery shops in town are particular; they won’t take just anything. Even if they do, it doesn’t fetch much if the work isn’t good.”

Gao Nuan nodded in acknowledgment.

Lian teased her sister, “Nuan is from the county town herself—she’d know better than you, wouldn’t she?”

Mei retorted, “So what if she’s from town? She’s been sent off to the countryside now, can’t even get enough to eat!” Her voice dropped at the last words.

Lian wrinkled her nose at her sister, then moved her stool close to Gao Nuan and offered comfort. “My sister’s sharp-tongued, don’t take it to heart.”

“I don’t,” Gao Nuan replied; such words were nothing new to her lately. The villagers genuinely pitied their plight, but they were also weary of being asked for food or money so often—no one enjoys constant borrowers.

Selecting her threads and needle, she began to embroider with great focus.

The women chatted about their craft. The older aunt sighed about the difficulty of earning a living. “We strain our eyes to embroider a handkerchief, and after the cost of thread and cloth, we only make a few coins. What a life!”

The younger aunt agreed, “Exactly. Look at my eyes, all ringed with fatigue. I spent days on this belt for just a few coins. But what else can we do? At least it brings in a little money.”

Gao Nuan glanced at the two women’s embroidery frames. Their skills and designs were good; surely, the shops in town would pay more than mere pennies. Unsure if they were deliberately complaining, she said nothing.

Aunt Gui added, “You should count yourselves lucky. I go to Zhang’s Embroidery Shop in the county—they pay the best. Last time, Mrs. Lin took a few pieces to a smaller shop; just for a belt, she got several coins less.”

Gao Nuan was familiar with Zhang’s Embroidery Shop, one of the biggest in town. Her mother often took her there—sometimes to buy threads, sometimes to pick out fine pieces. The prices were never cheap.

The kind of belt the younger aunt was making would fetch at least a hundred and fifty coins; the materials cost at most a few dozen, leaving a gap of nearly a hundred coins. Yet the embroideress only got a pittance, with the rest lining the shop's pockets?

She looked at Aunt Gui, who was now instructing a girl beside her and had shifted the conversation to the preparations for the New Year.

Gao Nuan focused on her embroidery. In no time, she had finished a section of peach branch; two blossoms had been stitched by someone else before, and two were her own work. She presented it to Aunt Gui for inspection.

The others craned their necks to look. Lian exclaimed with delight, “Nuan, your embroidery looks so real—as if peach petals had fallen on the silk. The first two were my sister’s, but yours are much finer.”

The others remained silent. Mei, unhappy, insisted, “They’re about the same.”

“No way,” Lian countered. “Compared to Nuan’s, yours look rough and fake. She makes them look like real petals—there’s no comparison.”

Mei’s face flushed with embarrassment as she shot her sister a glare.

Gao Nuan, seeing this, offered a humble reply, “Mei’s embroidery is very good; it’s just that our methods differ.”

“Not at all!” Lian had no intention of sparing her sister, and Gao Nuan, resigned, let the matter drop.

Aunt Gui turned the embroidery over in her hands, running her fingers over the stitches, and smiled, “Nuan, you’re truly skilled. No one in our village can rival your needlework.”

Gao Nuan replied with a smile, “If you don’t mind, I can help with some embroidery.”

“Of course I don’t mind! With your talent, your work will fetch a great price in town. If you’d come to me earlier, you wouldn’t have had to borrow money everywhere.” Aunt Gui’s words stung a little, but Gao Nuan only smiled. She had never considered this before; her mind had been entirely on saving her brother, unable to spare a thought for anything else. She had held out hope that her uncles might show some conscience, but after nearly losing her brother yesterday, she understood at last—the siblings could only rely on themselves from now on.

“Thank you, Auntie. I hadn’t thought of this before, but I’ll be troubling you more in the future.” She confessed she didn’t have even the basic materials for embroidery—one cannot make bricks without straw.

Aunt Gui was forthright, “I’ll prepare everything you need. You just focus on embroidering.” She went inside, returning with a square of silk, and explained her terms, “For everything you sell, apart from the cost of materials, I’ll take a coin as a runner’s fee—the same as with all the other women.”

Gao Nuan agreed readily, “That’s only fair. You’re lending me everything, and even if you charged me two coins, I’d be grateful.”

“You poor girl, with uncles like yours, life is hard enough—I couldn’t bear to take more.” She handed Gao Nuan the piece of silk. “You’re skilled—I’m sure you’ve done much embroidery before. Do as you see fit; as long as it sells, that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you.” After expressing her gratitude, Gao Nuan selected her threads and frame from the basket.

Thinking of her little brother at home, she didn’t linger but soon headed back with the supplies.

No sooner had she left than one of the women remarked, “I never realized the girl was so good at embroidery—I’m envious. Her work is sure to sell well.”

Mei pursed her lips and muttered with a touch of spite, “She never did chores as a child, just practiced embroidery. Of course she’s good.”

The woman knew Mei was simply jealous. Among the village girls, Mei had always been the most skilled, and being surpassed now must have stung. She comforted her, “That’s true, but when it comes to making and cutting clothes or shoes, no one can match you, Mei.”

Only then did Mei look a bit mollified.

Not far from Aunt Gui’s house, Gao Nuan saw a few of the village elders leaving the clan chief’s residence. Judging by their faces, a decision had likely been made. She had been out for some time and, worried her little brother might wander off in her absence, hurried toward the western end of the village.

Yu Shensi had not actually slept. After Gao Nuan left, he got up from bed. He knew, having just recovered, that he couldn’t risk the wind, but staying cooped up would do his health no good either. With the siblings there, he couldn’t argue with them, nor did he want to reason with them, so he waited until they were gone to get some fresh air.

Wrapped in his quilt, he sat in the sun by the doorway. The spot was sheltered and warm. As his body relaxed, his thoughts turned to the future.

In this world, where all trades are looked down upon and only scholarship is exalted, if the siblings wished to avoid being bullied, expose their father’s misdeeds, and seek justice for themselves and their mother, there was but one way—study, take the imperial examinations, and seek official positions.

But the cost of education and the exams was enormous. Even if Gao Nuan took up embroidery and Gao Zhao earned a little extra as a licentiate, it would still fall far short of what was needed. Besides, Gao Zhao also needed to study; they couldn’t place all the weight on Gao Nuan’s shoulders. Others struggled to support one scholar with a whole family—how could Gao Nuan, just a young woman in this feudal era, support herself and two brothers through the exams? It was pure fantasy.

The Gao family had originally managed to support Gao Mingjin’s studies thanks to many internal and external resources, most importantly a steady income from their businesses.

Now, the three siblings were not only young but also in mourning, which prevented them from doing many things. Especially since Gao Zhao was now of age and had to maintain good conduct—any hint of misconduct would harm his prospects at the exams.

As these thoughts swirled in his mind, the body, still frail from illness, soon succumbed to the gentle warmth of the sun, and he dozed off where he sat.

When Gao Nuan returned and pushed open the gate, she saw her brother lying at the threshold and cried out in alarm, “Yang’er—!” She rushed over.

Startled from his dream, Yu Shensi scrambled upright just as Gao Nuan reached him, gripping his arms and anxiously asking if he was feeling unwell again. Only after his explanation did she relax. She settled beside him in the sun and took out the silk and threads she’d borrowed from Aunt Gui to begin her embroidery.

Unable to help, and unwilling to spend each day merely eating and sleeping, Yu Shensi tugged her sleeve, pleading, “Big Sister, will you teach me to read?” Life stretched ahead—they couldn’t just drift along. He needed to get back on track, and quickly.

Gao Nuan looked at him with amusement. “You want to study?”

“Yes! If I can read, I can help you and big brother.”

She patted his head affectionately, moved by his earnestness and unable to suppress a pang of sorrow.

Gao Zhao had begun his studies at this age; had it not been for their misfortune, her little brother would have started school next year too.

Now, their mother was gone, their father neglectful, their uncles harsh. As the eldest sister, she ought to shoulder the responsibility of raising her younger brother, but she could barely feed him, nearly letting him starve—how could she even think of his education? Guilt welled up in her heart.

Seeing his bright spirit and eagerness, she did not want to dampen his enthusiasm. “Alright. I’ll start teaching you with the Thousand Character Classic.”

Yu Shensi nodded eagerly, climbed up, and brought her a stick to write with.

On the ground before him, Gao Nuan carefully wrote the characters “Heaven, Earth, Dark, Yellow.” Her handwriting lacked the delicate beauty expected of a girl’s—it was sharp and forceful, reflecting the strength and resolve beneath her gentle exterior.

She guided him in reading the characters, and Yu Shensi, playing the part of the little pupil, recited earnestly, “Heaven, Earth, Dark, Yellow.”

He hadn’t been a student for years. In his past life, just as he was about to be admitted to university, he was diagnosed with a fatal illness—never even stepping through the university gates, a lasting regret.

This life, he would begin again with “Heaven, Earth, Dark, Yellow,” and climb anew.

After repeating the characters several times, Gao Nuan shuffled the order, testing him. At first, Yu Shensi pretended to pause and think, but soon he could answer without hesitation. As she wrote with the stick, he kept up, recalling each word flawlessly.

Surprised by his quick memory, Gao Nuan wiped the words away and wrote them again, asking for their names.

“Earth!” Yu Shensi answered with confidence.

She erased it and wrote the other three in random order; he recognized them all.

Pleased, she praised him and explained the meaning of the four characters, then taught him the next four—“Universe, Vast, Desolate”—explaining each in detail. At last, she wrote all eight on the ground for him to practice, while she turned to her embroidery, thinking of the patterns favored by the ladies and young misses in town come spring.

Yu Shensi picked up the stick and tried to write the characters himself. The results were crooked and shaky—not for lack of trying, but because his body was still weak from illness, his arms lacking strength, and his age working against him. It was only natural.