Chapter 11: A Courtyard of One’s Own

Yin Zhi couldn’t simply pocket the money, so she told Qiaoque she would host a small feast for her half–siblings.

Qiaoque remembered, “The brothers rest on the 5th and 10th day of the month—today’s the 11th, so we should hold it on the 15th?”

Yin Zhi nearly missed that detail—thankfully Qiaoque reminded her. “What do we need to do?” she asked. Qiaoque replied, “It’s too late today. Tomorrow I’ll ask the concubines—they meet often and know how much we’ll need. Or we could go direct to the main kitchen, though I worry Madam Zhao will overcharge us.”

Indeed, even the concubines of a wealthy house enjoyed fine food and drink—and gatherings just to be merry.

True to her word, next morning Qiaoque returned, silver in hand. “They said one tael and eight qian will cover it.”

Yin Zhi raised an eyebrow. “They said at first that one tael and three or four qian would do—but then someone pointed out that Second Brother is at the age when he eats enough meat for five girls.”

“That’s right,” Qiaoque agreed. “A growing boy can bankrupt a father in no time.”

Yin Zhi smiled. “Since we’re the hosts, we must feed our guests well. Make it two taels—extra to make it special.”

Qiaoque stuck out her tongue in relief. “Good thing Qingyan’s gone—otherwise she’d say we’re throwing money away!”

Qingyan’s absence saved Yin Zhi so much trouble. Qiaoque, though a few years older than Yin Zhi, lacked Qingyan’s domineering streak—she was far easier to direct.

Now freshly promoted to second-tier head maid, Qiaoque was eager to prove herself. She dashed to the main kitchen, struck the deal with Madam Zhao, and returned triumphant. “Madam Zhao praised how generous you are. She swore she’d prepare a splendid banquet for us.”

On her way back, Qiaoque went house to house sending notices to the other branches. Her eyes gleamed with anticipation.

Yin Zhi praised, “You’re showing the makings of a fine head maid.”

Qiaoque beamed. “I’ll tailor you a new outfit for the feast—just remind me of my allowance.”

Yin Zhi laughed. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Qiaoque leaned close and confided, “I fear Granny Sun might dock my pay—report me as third-tier instead of second.”

That was pocketing the difference! Yin Zhi was shocked. “They’d really do that?”

Qiaoque nodded. “Don’t mention it. Just keep it between us.”

Yin Zhi promised, “I’ll see you get every copper you’re owed. If anyone cheats you, I’ll take it straight to Mother.”

With that, Qiaoque happily returned to draft Yin Zhi’s new attire. In another world, she might be a middling schoolgirl; here, driven by her hundred-wen monthly wage, she stitched late into the night.

Yin Zhi winced at her effort—even so, Qiaoque cheerfully urged, “Don’t worry, Fourth Miss. Your new dress will be ready by the 15th.”

The technology of this world ran on foot and voice; nothing moved instantly. Yin Zhi had arrived home on the 11th, the Third Madam had ordered a new maid on the 11th, and only by the 13th did Granny Sun arrive with five little candidates.

They were six or seven years old—elementary school age elsewhere.

Yin Zhi asked each to introduce herself, dismissing one who seemed tongue-tied. She quizzed the others on their skills—none could read. Even Qiaoque, she learned, was illiterate. In a mere merchant household’s service staff, literacy was rare. In contrast, the Shens in the capital reportedly even taught their footmen to read.

Faced with such limited choice, Yin Zhi noted one girl who seemed quick and well dressed but pretended to be dull. Only a truly sly child could play that role—but no child could outwit a grown–up consciousness. Yunjuan whispered, “That is Mother Xu’s youngest—she’s angling to serve one of the young masters.”

Suddenly everything clicked: Fourth Miss Yin’s household was a warm hearth compared to her original, but still less coveted than the elder branches. No servant wanted to be assigned to the least prestigious wing, especially a daughter of a concubine recently returned from a year of mourning.

So the girl slumped with relief when passed over. Granny Sun watched, amused.

At first, Yin Zhi had dreamed of testing and vetting, forging an indomitable right-hand maid. But reality offered only these small choices. In the end, she selected a healthy child with calloused palms—signature of a working youngster—whose own father was a coachman, mother without duties, and elder siblings of modest rank.

The little girl’s name was “Third Maid.” Granny Sun suggested, “Fourth Miss, why not give her a new name?”

Everyone knew Yin Zhi’s maids all bore bird names—Qingyan (Azure Swallow), Qiaoque (Skilled Sparrow), Yunjuan (Cloud Oriole). Not exactly human.

But names would soon become habit. Indeed, a year on the mountain had taught her to adapt. She sighed lightly and said, “Call her Kui’er—‘Sunflower’ kui for the brightness toward the sun.”

A fitting, healthy omen.

Granny Sun smiled. “Very good. Kui’er, express your thanks to Fourth Miss.”

Third Maid—now Kui’er—knelt obediently. “Thank you, Fourth Miss.”

Yin Zhi asked, “Will you stay now?”

Granny Sun told Kui’er, “Go pack, inform your parents, and come when you’re ready.”

Kui’er asked, “Shall I bring my bedding?”

Qiaoque interjected, “No need—Fourth Miss has extras here. Leave yours at home.”

“Very well!” Kui’er cheered.

Being born a servant’s child, she would recognize a chance when she saw one—privileged to remain in the courtyard.

Yin Zhi turned to Qiaoque: “Find two lengths of fine fabric for her—have her new outfits made at once.”

The child’s face lit up. Qiaoque fetched some soft brocade and a trailing vine-patterned silk for Kui’er, then instructed her mother, “Tell your mother these are official gowns for service—you are to wear them under my supervision.”

Kui’er clutched the cloth joyfully. “I understand, Elder Sister.”

Fifth-generation servants already dreamed of promotion. Yin Zhi thought with a pang: her own wet nurse was long gone, and now year after year more would come and go.

Yet time and duty had softened her. They all would adapt.

She oversaw Kui’er’s sewing in the months to come, mindful of every stitch—her household, her authority.

And so, with her circle of three maids securely in place, Fourth Miss Yin took her first true breath of domestic peace—and the bright sunflower at her side.