Chapter 12: she simply left

Though Granny Sun wasn’t thrilled, she didn’t make a fuss—she simply left. Qiaoque let out a huge sigh of relief. Of course she didn’t want her allowance docked, but Granny Sun was Third Madam’s trusted governess, and Qiaoque—a mere child—dared not offend her. Thankfully, Fourth Miss Yin resolved the matter with tears rather than confrontation: Qiaoque kept her rightful second‑tier pay, Yunjuan rose to third tier, and Granny Sun wasn’t angered. Harmony reigned.

Qiaoque looked at her mistress with fresh admiration. In her eyes, Yin Zhi’s growth—all thanks to losing her mother and lessons from the great monk—had swiftly made her mature! After all, Fourth Miss could read and write, whereas Qiaoque couldn’t even recognize large characters. Illiterates naturally feel deference to the educated.

All very encouraging. And since Qiaoque herself lacked Qingyan’s strong will, she welcomed having a decisive mistress: less brainwork for her, more peace of mind. Now that Fourth Miss was up to the task, what straights did Qiaoque have to fear?

Rolling up her sleeves, Qiaoque scampered off to her work. Fourth Miss settled in the main room; Yunjuan brought her a dish of clean mulberries. Yin Zhi popped one into her mouth and called through the lattice door, “Don’t overwork yourself—if you’ve sewn all day, skip the midnight stitches. Just finish the bodice first. You can use last year’s mourning skirt for now…”

“Inappropriate, Miss!” Qiaoque called back. “You’re off mourning now—these older garments must not be worn. The new fabrics Madam granted are fresh. Don’t worry—I’m fast with my needle.”

“Let me help wash your hands,” Yunjuan piped up, eager to be useful.

Because of Fourth Miss’s intervention, not only did Qiaoque keep her second‑tier wage, but Yunjuan was promoted to third tier—with a raise. The two maids were more motivated than ever.

Yin Zhi stuffed another berry into her mouth, gazed out at her small courtyard—hers alone. Three devoted girls worked steadily at their tasks; soon she would have a fourth, a little maid trained from childhood. With that, no one could say she lacked help.

Alone and unseen, she crossed her legs, her satin embroidered slippers bobbling. Pure bliss—she nearly hummed a tune, but held back.

The next morning, Kui’er arrived carrying a small bundle, wearing her new dress of fine Sung-soaked brocade—just the fabric Fourth Miss had given yesterday. The child’s face shone. “My mother stayed up all night to make this, and she’s cutting the other cloth now.”

Good—no foolish parents here. In this household, attendants must look respectable, or the mistress’s face is lost; hence Fourth Miss had granted fine fabrics. Had Kui’er’s parents stolen the cloth, Fourth Miss would have reconsidered keeping her.

A household the size of this one was its own micro–society—ill‑treated attendants did occur. Fourth Miss shook her head, then told Old Nurse Li, “She’s small—please don’t have her do heavy work.” And to Qiaoque: “Watch her at mealtimes—make sure she eats her fill.”

Qiaoque nodded. “One needs strength for labour.”

Yin Zhi: “…That’s not quite what I meant.”

But she let it pass. With three servants and one governess, she was content. In the evening, Qiaoque burned the midnight oil and finished the new gown before the fifteenth. Warding off the last vestiges of mourning, she was ready for a fresh start.

School resumed at the private girls’ academy the next day. In addition to Third Branch’s daughters, cousins from all branches attended—around a dozen girls, ranging in age from six to fourteen. Lessons were tiered by age: reading and writing for the young; embroidery, music, painting for the older; household management for the eldest.

Fourth Miss Yin’s year of mountain retreat showed in her handiwork. When the schoolmistress examined her stitches, she exclaimed, “You’ve improved so much!” She had indeed—daily copying sutras at Donglin Temple, under the abbot’s guidance, plus fewer distractions, had sharpened her skills. Fourth Miss demurely credited the monk: “In the mountains I copied scriptures each day; with his instruction, I made real progress. Does Mistress find it acceptable?”

“Remarkable,” the schoolmistress praised.

Yin Zhi smiled quietly—and sighed with relief.
At last, the original girl’s traces had been completely overwritten. Fourth Miss now studied diligently alongside her peers, offered respectful greetings to Grandmother and Third Madam each morning and night, and seamlessly blended in.

Yet she remained quietly distinct. While her half‑sisters bickered over trivialities, Fourth Miss calmly mediated—only she, the sole adult among children, felt obliged to keep the peace. Slowly, she earned a reputation for reliability: “She’s such a steady one.”

Meanwhile, her courtyard bloomed with the many wildflowers she’d transplanted from the mountain. Sister Eldest admired the blossoms and whispered: “You should pick some and present them to Mother.”

Fourth Miss froze—if Madam delighted in her flowers and matchmaking talk ensued, what marriage might be arranged for her? She managed a discreet “Mm-hmm,” but did nothing. Day by day, she went to school, ate and slept in rhythm. She performed no grand displays of filial piety—after all, once a girl is back from mourning, she simply returns to life anew.

Eldest Sister said in frustration to her wet nurse, “Fourth Miss is like one who can’t understand plain speech!”

“She had an auntie once,” the wet nurse pointed out, “now she has none—but she still has Mother.”

Eldest Sister frowned, “Don’t talk like that.”

And so life settled into its gentle routine, ever onward into the spring.