Chapter 6: A Year in Shadows

Yin Zhi had not expected things to go so smoothly.

That evening, her stepmother summoned her and said, “Everything’s been arranged. How long do you intend to stay there?”

Yin Zhi’s heart leapt. She replied, “I plan to observe the full year.”

The Third Madam, having sons of her own, did not think much of a concubine’s daughter. If Yin Zhi wanted to mourn for a year, so be it—it would even earn the family some good repute. She agreed: “Have your household pack for you. No need to bring wardrobes for all four seasons—that’s too heavy. Just pack what you need now. When the seasons change, we’ll send more. And decide whom you want to take with you—at your age, you should learn to manage your own affairs.”

Suppressing her excitement behind a blank expression, Yin Zhi replied slowly, “Just… Yunjuan and Aunt Li, please.”

“You mean that little errand girl?” the Third Madam said. “She can’t handle much responsibility—you need at least one senior maid.”

Yin Zhi had already learned from her maids that, in this world, a year of mourning was customary for a concubine’s child. She had planned to leave Qingyan and Qiaoque behind—then, after a year away, returned in a much-changed guise, beyond suspicion. After all, people grow and change. But the Third Madam refused.

So she chose the lesser threat: “Then bring Qiaoque. Qingyan can stay and mind the courtyard.”

The Third Madam approved. Yet Aunt Li, though older, was only a rough-housemaid, not entrusted with real duties. Both Yunjuan and Qiaoque were too young to manage alone. Yin Zhi’s wet nurse had died long ago, and her birth mother—Lady Yan—had once pleaded to care for her but then passed away herself. Now there was no adult left to look after her.

The Third Madam therefore selected another household attendant to accompany her to the Eastern Forest Temple. “Let me think… Ah, Shun’s Hall’s housekeeper Gao is mature and unoccupied. Have her go with you.”

Choosing the one least eager to leave her post, she assigned Gao Madame. Yin Zhi bowed her head. “Thank you, Mother.”

Fortunately, in this world one addresses one’s stepmother as “Mother,” and her father as “Father” or “Dad,” so the titles came easily to her. After all—this was just acting.

She returned to have her things packed. When the maids heard they’d be gone a year, none were enthusiastic. A fortnight away was like a holiday; a year… felt like hardship. But when the master commands, it is not for servants to question. They could not even resign: bound by contract, their lives were the household’s alone.

Yin Zhi sighed with relief. At least she hadn’t been reborn as a maid.

“I’ll need the money chest,” she declared, already assigning roles. “Qingyan stays behind to watch the house. Qiaoque, take the keys.”

The only pleased one was Qingyan—she would not have to go! She could sleep until she pleased, and perhaps even secretly occupy Miss’s lacquered bed while no one else was home.

She passed the key ring to Qiaoque. “Guard that chest carefully. Keep the keys on you. Track every expenditure—I don’t want any confusion later. And be sure to return the keys as soon as we return. I cannot bear to worry otherwise.”

Keys equaled power; she had planted a precaution should Qiaoque ever hypnotize her way to keeping them.

Yin Zhi marveled at the political savvy of girls barely in their teens.

All eyes in the Yin household were on Madam Shen and Shen Ti, newly returned from the capital. To the world, Lady Yan’s passing was little more than a customary gift of condolence. Yet Fourth Miss Yin—clad in coarse mourning, carrying two trunks, accompanied by two maids and two housemaids—quietly set off for the Eastern Forest Temple.

The gatehouse servants watched her board the carriage—a small figure in mourning, shockingly pitiable.

…

Yunjuan sat outside the carriage flap with the coachman; Qiaoque and the housemaids rode in the back. Alone in the carriage, Yin Zhi grinned to herself.

Excellent. A year in the monastery would give her ample time to prepare for her new life. After that, when she returned—no one could blame her for seeming a different person entirely.

The carriage journey to Eastern Forest Temple took half a day.

Lady Yan’s coffin had already been hastily buried elsewhere—such commotion for a concubine was deemed unworthy, especially during Madam Shen’s high-profile homecoming. Now, Yin Zhi carried only her mother’s memorial tablet.

Their servants had arranged everything in advance; upon arrival, a host monk would welcome them. Temples frequently housed lay guests, and Eastern Forest Temple was famed across a hundred-mile radius. Wealthy families commissioned it for rites and ceremonies, hence its many guest quarters and shrines.

Yin Zhi was shown to a small courtyard. Though simple compared to her home estate, it was spotlessly clean—and this was no pleasure retreat, after all.

The welcoming brother introduced himself: “I am Brother Chunyuan. Should you need anything, Miss, I am at your service.”

Chunyuan’s eyes were bright and practical—more worldly than incense-laden. Clearing her throat, Yin Zhi called out, “Qiaoque.”

This had been prearranged. Generosity greased the wheels, but she dared not seem too direct. Feigning innocence, she asked, “Now that we’re here, should we prepare offerings so that the monks will recite the sutras for Mother more earnestly?”

Both Qingyan and Qiaoque eagerly agreed and had already prepared small gift pouches.

Qiaoque produced the pre-made silken sachet. Though the Third Madam had appointed Gao Madame, Yin Zhi barely knew her; she let her stand aside and addressed Brother Chunyuan directly. “Master, this is a token of our gratitude—please accept it. When you recite sutras for my mother, I beg you repeat them twice as many times as usual. I would be deeply thankful.”

Chunyuan swiftly tucked the pouch inside his sleeve, eyes shining with sincerity. “Amitābha. Among all virtues, filial piety is foremost. You may rest assured: with a truly sincere heart, your wishes will be granted.”

Rituals and chants would naturally be properly conducted—but above all, Yin Zhi wanted her year here to go smoothly.

The copper coins in the pouch were heavy. She felt her sincerity had been accepted.

Bowing her head and covering her face with her sleeve, she pretended to choke back tears. “Thank you.”

Once Chunyuan departed, Gao Madame complained, “Next time, you should consult me first.”

Gao Madame—officially the High Family’s housekeeper—served the Third Madam’s chamber. Though in attendance to Master Yin, her own prospects remained fair. Yet she had no other duties and now found herself with one. Though not glamorous, it beat idleness. Work meant wages; without it, one subsisted on meager rations. So everyone clamored for assignments.

This assignment was to last a year—no small matter—but with little chance of advancement; once Miss returned, the household’s dynamics would revert. Gao Madame never intended to invest too much. So long as no crises arose, she would consider her duty done.

Seeing Fourth Miss was not easily handled, however, she resolved to keep a careful eye.

Yin Zhi did not fear her—Gao Madame was a stranger, after all. It was the familiar faces she needed to watch.

She said calmly, “Small sums—hardly worth discussing. I can decide such matters myself. Don’t exhaust yourself; only involve yourself in major issues.”

First impressions mattered. Gao Madame’s attempt at influence failed, and she forced a strained smile. “I’ll supervise the preparations.”

Swiftly claiming the side room, she masked her chagrin.

Qiaoque, amazed, whispered to Yin Zhi, “Miss, you’re very deft.”

Yin Zhi seized the moment. “Remember, I have no mother now. You must never treat me as before.”

Qiaoque nodded firmly. “Yes, Miss. You’re right.”

Gao Madame called from inside; Yin Zhi hurried in to assist.

In this era, respectable households required everything—clothes, utensils, bedding, even chamber pots—to be brought from home. It was utterly burdensome.

Yin Zhi first sat in the side room with tea, overseeing Gao Madame, Aunt Li, Qiaoque, Yunjuan, and two strong temple porters as they laid out her bedding and arranged her trunks.

When all was ready, the male servants and porters bade farewell.

Gao Madame informed her, “Every month, funds and supplies will arrive from home. You need not worry. I will take charge.”

Yin Zhi nodded. “When money arrives, give it to Qiaoque. Any items, I leave to you, Mother. Each person is responsible for what they manage—should anything be missing, you must account for it.”

After two failed attempts at influence, Gao Madame gave up. A year’s tenure was mere endurance; once they returned, Miss would be herself again, and Madame would return to idle life.

Resolved to serve out the year without further fuss, Gao Madame bowed slightly. “Yes.”

And so began Yin Zhi’s year of mourning—her period of repose and transformation.