Chapter 5: The Weight of Silver, The Price of Blood

Master Yin the Third’s visit to Yin Zhi was, in fact, driven entirely by Madam Shen and Shen Ti. With Lady Yan gone, he felt some grief, but his sister’s homecoming—and her son’s visit—were of greater importance. He had devoted all his energy to ensuring nothing went amiss in their hospitality, afraid they might be slighted.

Since everything had gone smoothly, and knowing his wife would meet her sister alone, he returned to his chambers early to inquire after his wife’s impressions.

The Third Madam scoffed, “My sister didn’t even respond to me. Stop imagining things. We have no legitimate daughter, so you offer a concubine’s daughter as company—how do you dare? The Shen boy is their precious grandson. Aren’t you afraid my sister might lose face before my mother-in-law and husband?”

Master Yin understood perfectly that it had been a hopeless fantasy. Disappointed though he was, it was hardly unexpected.

At that moment, a servant announced, “Young Master Shen went in person to the Fourth Young Lady’s courtyard to pay his respects—and brought gifts.”

In a big household, news travels fast. And Shen Ti had been perfectly proper in seeking out the Fourth Young Lady. Naturally, the servants reported this to the Third Madam.

“Ah!” she exclaimed. “He must have moved my sister’s heart for Fourth Miss. Honestly, Xīgē’er is still a child—why burden him further?”

Master Yin’s face brightened. “She is his own niece. Of course she’s concerned.”

An aunt’s sympathy for her niece was only natural. If an aunt could show such care, how could a father be any less?

He meant to ask after Yin Zhi himself: “How is she doing?”

“She was reported once this morning—much better than yesterday,” the Third Madam replied. “This afternoon she woke and even wished to greet us, but I was with the children in your sister’s quarters and missed her. The maids say she’s almost fully recovered. I suspect she was simply frightened at first. A couple more doses of medicine to calm her nerves, and she’ll be fine.”

Hearing this, Master Yin remembered Lady Yan’s long illness. As the saying goes, long sickness breeds no dutiful children—especially when the patient is only a concubine. Any affection she once enjoyed had long since faded at her bedside.

Madam Shen’s sending Shen Ti to visit had unexpectedly stirred in him the last remnants of paternal tenderness. He sighed and straightened his robe. “I’ll go see Fourth Miss myself.”

He entered Yin Zhi’s courtyard and saw that her two senior maids were waiting outside.

Frowning, he asked, “Why aren’t you inside attending her?”

Embarrassed, Qingyan dabbed her eyes. “Miss misses her mother and asked to be alone. We dared not disobey, so we have Yunjuan inside keeping watch. But if she calls, we’ll go at once.”

Tears welled in Master Yin’s eyes. “Her mother just died. You must be more vigilant. If she cries out, soothe her.”

“Yes, Master,” Qingyan hurriedly promised.

“Go call her,” he instructed.

Qingyan, putting fear aside, hurried in to announce him.

A girl of Yin Zhi’s age was still off-limits to her father in the inner chambers. He waited in the main hall.

Rarely visiting his daughter’s rooms, he glanced about. The paintings on the walls and the vases on the side table were all in order—the Third Madam and the servants had not neglected her. Yet everything felt so ordinary. Though not inappropriate, nothing shone. The best he could say was that the room was adequate.

He sighed softly.

Inside, Yin Zhi—who had been lying back thinking of her next move—was startled when Qingyan announced “Father is here” and sprang to her feet.

Her first reaction was to imagine her real father in her original world—sharing the same room, seeing each other every day. Of course she was nervous.

She steadied herself, then reminded herself this was a different world. Notice—her father would not enter. He stood outside, waiting for a maid’s announcement.

Different. Totally different.

As Qingyan helped adjust her mourning robes, Yin Zhi had made up her mind. A little girl who had just lost her birth mother could act any way she liked—cry, wail, act dizzy, even feign fainting. She had already shown a fever from fright; she could certainly use more theatrical grief now.

Resolved, she followed Qingyan through the inner door, lowering her head.

Master Yin, standing with hands behind his back, turned when he heard her approach. He saw his fourth daughter walking out slowly, head bowed.

She looked so pitiful.

A pang of fatherly sorrow struck him. “Zhī’er,” he called gently.

Yin Zhi lifted her head, glancing at the man before her.

He was handsome—little wonder, given the father and favored concubine mother she never knew. It made sense.

She whispered, “Father,” then bowed her head again, not bothering with a formal curtsy. She hadn’t yet met her stepmother today, let alone practiced the proper greeting. Better to seem dazed than to bow awkwardly.

Her act worked perfectly. The once obedient, sweet Fourth Miss now seemed wooden and stunned—sure to tug at any father’s heart.

Master Yin sighed and stroked her hair. “These past days, your aunt’s visitation has occupied the household’s affairs. Your grandfather entrusted me with everything. I could not leave my duties until today.”

Hearing this, Yin Zhi didn’t bother to wonder whether Lady Yan had seen her husband before she died. Too much effort.

With many women in the household, affection is always divided thinly. With many children, parental love is stretched equally. And a concubine’s daughter? Even less certain of genuine love—at best, a special favor.

Her real mother had been only a concubine—at most, lightly cherished. That was not true parental love.

Seeing his daughter offering no response, still numb in grief—hardly at the “mostly recovered” stage the Third Madam claimed—he felt a twinge of guilt.

After a moment, he spoke softly, “I plan to hold rites for your mother at the Eastern Forest Temple, so she may rest in peace. You’re young—you need not go yourself. You can stay here and recite sutras for her…”

Before he could finish, Yin Zhi suddenly knelt with a thud: “I will go!”

Like someone who just dozed off and found a pillow at their head.

Yin Zhi had been thinking her mourning period would be the perfect cover to settle in. Now being sent to the temple? Even better.

She knelt without hesitation—acting, not meaning it.

Moreover, she would live off the family’s care. Kneeling once to show thanks was a small price.

“Tearfully” she added, “‘Father… not only will I go, but I also wish—I wish…” She paused, struggling for words, panting like someone on the verge of crying. Then: “to recite sutras and pray blessings for Mother… yes, I will recite sutras at the temple to pray for her. She was my birth mother—I will guard mourning for her.”

Master Yin hesitated. “Your filial piety is admirable, but you are still so young. The monastery is austere…”

Yin Zhi grabbed his robe. “I also want to pray for Grandfather, for Father and Mother, and for Fourth Aunt. May everyone be healthy and their lives as enduring as the Southern Mountains.”

A child who thought of so many loved ones moved him. “Good child,” he said, touched. “All right. I will arrange it. Rise now.”

Qingyan, quick to notice, helped Yin Zhi to her feet.

She dabbed her sleeve at imagined tears.

O great!

Later, Master Yin reported to the Third Madam that he would hold a memorial rite for Lady Yan and take Yin Zhi to the Eastern Forest Temple to recite sutras on behalf of the family.

“She truly is a filial child,” he said, moved. “Please make the arrangements.”

The Third Madam heard of this and could not help a wry smile. Lady Yan had been ill for years—hardly a moment’s thought had been given to her. Now that she was dead, everyone suddenly felt sympathy?

She shrugged. “Since she’s so filial, have her serve the full mourning period there.”

In this era of the Da Mu dynasty, when the dynasty was founded a year of mourning for a mother or legal sister was stipulated—but the practice had long since become nominal. In reality, nobody enforced it.

Now that a concubine had died, only her own child would observe mourning, and usually only three or six months before people offered a polite word, “She knows gratitude.”

Master Yin hesitated. “She is still so young…”

The Third Madam’s remark had been casual, not meant seriously. “Do as you wish.”

But Master Yin truly considered it. Lady Yan’s death had indeed frightened Yin Zhi—she had fainted and run a high fever. In superstitious times, people believed in ghosts and spirits. Some might think Yin Zhi was beset by unclean forces. Children were already vulnerable to early death.

Taking his sister-in-law’s words at face value, he nevertheless resolved: “Very well. She’s been feverish these two days; I worry her mother’s spirit is reluctant to leave and tries to take her with it. Better to entrust her soul to Buddha—protected by Buddhist light, her mother’s lingering attachments will fade.”

He added, “Arrange for a trustworthy person to accompany her.”

The Third Madam thought, Shouldn’t have opened my mouth. But it was done.

The next day, Master Yin went to visit his sister. At last they could converse privately—she was, apart from her children, the closest blood relation he had. Though they corresponded by letter and exchanged gifts at holidays, seeing each other again moved Madam Shen to tears.

Master Yin’s own eyes glistened too.

They chatted about many things, and at the edges of their conversation, she mentioned Yin Zhi.

“You even sent Xīgē’er to see her yesterday,” Master Yin said, voice choked with emotion. “I thought: that is truly a devoted aunt. Though separated by distance, it matters not.”

Madam Shen dabbed her eyes. “Of course. We’ve both been through this ourselves. You should be more caring to that child.”

Madam Shen and Master Yin had both lost their mothers at a young age. Yet as a father, his bond with a concubine’s daughter did not run as deeply as her maternal bond. Madam Shen had felt every trial under her stepmother’s thumb. So she truly pitied the bereft niece.

Master Yin said, “Naturally—she is my own daughter. A good child indeed. She herself asked to go to the Eastern Forest Temple to mourn and pray. I’ve already asked your sister-in-law to make arrangements. Early this morning, I had someone prepare everything.”

Madam Shen remembered Shen Ti’s similarly admiring words about his cousin and praised, “Truly a good child.”

What followed was the Third Madam’s responsibility. As aunt, she had done her part; she could not meddle further in her sister-in-law’s family affairs. Yin Zhi remained, in Madam Shen’s mind, a gentle, filial, pitiable niece—leaving only a tender impression on her heart.