Chapter 10: Mourning’s End, A New Dawn

In the blink of an eye, March had returned and the spring flowers were in bloom. Exactly one year after she had slipped away up the mountain without a sound, Fourth Miss Yin of the Third Branch quietly returned home.

Her first stop was to pay respects to her stepmother, the Third Madam. The Third Madam surveyed her from head to toe and remarked, “You’ve grown quite a bit taller.”

Yin Zhi adopted an honest, humble tone: “I lacked nothing—clothing, food, everything was provided. Aunt Gao took very good care of me.”

Aunt Gao held no high rank in the Third Madam’s eyes; as long as she had done her duties without shame, that was enough. The Third Madam nodded and said, “I will reward her later.”

“All right,” she continued. “Now that you’re back, settle into daily life. Rest for two days, then join your sisters in their lessons. If anything comes up, come tell me.” She summoned her trusted nurse, Granny Sun, and presented Yin Zhi with a pair of beaded hairpins, some treats and fragrant herbs, and several yards of bright, festive fabric.

Yin Zhi knelt and bowed: “Thank you, Mother.”

Then the Third Madam suddenly recalled something: “Oh—and your head maid Qingyan has gone off to the Main Branch.”

Her tone dripped with sarcasm. Surprised, Yin Zhi froze. “What?”

Granny Sun chimed in, “I always suspected that girl was scheming. While you were away, she ingratiated herself to the Main Branch, and they took her on.”

The Main Branch was the household of the old matriarch’s eldest son—a sore point for the Third Madam.

“And so?” Yin Zhi asked cautiously.

The Third Madam waved her hand dismissively: “Never mind. You can’t hold every prized servant. I’ll find you another maid.”

Although the Third Madam seemed displeased, Yin Zhi inwardly rejoiced. She quickly offered comfort: “My teacher says that those without blessings do not belong in a blessed household. It’s her misfortune to leave. You need not be angry.”

A year’s absence had matured her: the Third Madam’s expression softened and she nodded. “You’ve grown up.”

Yin Zhi smiled demurely and added, “Master at Eastern Forest Temple taught me many lessons.”

She resolved that any future changes in her behavior could be explained with, “I’ve grown up” or “My teacher advised me.”

Intrigued, the Third Madam leaned forward. “How is your relationship with your teacher? Surely on Buddha’s birthday you could help secure us a courtyard niche?”

A practical mind, indeed—a merchant family’s daughter-in-law, down-to-earth and shrewd.

Yin Zhi replied earnestly, “I will try, Mother.”

Her composed maturity eased the Third Madam’s irritation over losing Qingyan. Turning to Granny Sun, she asked, “Who shall we put in Fourth Miss’s household?”

“Xiatiao?” Granny Sun ventured.

“Xiatiao is indispensable—her needlework does all my grandmother’s mourning gifts.”

“Lingdang?”

“Lingdang knows my tastes too well. I can’t spare her either.”

Each of the Third Madam’s maids had a specific role; none could be lost lightly. Yin Zhi realized they wanted a reliable steward but were loath to give up a trusted senior maid for a mere concubine’s daughter.

With tact, Yin Zhi suggested, “It needn’t be another senior maid. Though Qiaoque is only four years older than I, she managed my clothes and funds flawlessly on the mountain. I found her quite capable. Why not promote her?”

Sensing Yin Zhi’s insight, the Third Madam brightened. “True—it cannot be left empty.” She told Granny Sun, “Bring me a clever younger girl for Fourth Miss’s household.”

Seizing her chance, Yin Zhi added, “Mother dotes on me—may I choose someone whose company I enjoy?”

“Such impudence!” the Third Madam feigned admonishment but laughed. “Very well—have Granny Sun present a few candidates for you to choose.”

Overjoyed, Yin Zhi knelt once more: “Thank you, Mother!”

But the Third Madam added, “Still—you cannot have no adult in your household…”

Yin Zhi’s heart raced. Her wet nurse had died early, and all her caregivers had been concubines; she disliked the idea of a permanent overseer in her own courtyard.

Fortunately, she had learned from Aunt Gao that the Third Madam’s household was fraught with internal strife—those in power distrusted any outsider permanently placed. With that knowledge, Yin Zhi calmly replied, “I am grown now, and I have Mother. For anything, I can always call on Granny Sun.”

Pleased by her deference, the Third Madam agreed: “Indeed—all you need do is send word to my rooms.”

Turning back to Granny Sun, she said, “You’ll attend to her.”

Granny Sun’s kind eyes betrayed her burden, but she smiled: “It is no trouble.”

Next, Yin Zhi went to pay respects to the old matriarch. Though the matriarch held no blood tie to her, she neither neglected nor mistreated her. Praising her filial devotion, the matriarch said, “Continue to honor your Mother,” meaning the Third Madam.

Yin Zhi forced a polite smile—“honoring Mother” was both encouragement and demand. She knelt and bowed: “Thank you, Grandmother. May you have health and abundant blessings.”

Born a minor daughter in a wealthy family, Yin Zhi thought how fortunate she was: not coddled, yet never mistreated, with all needs well provided.

If only this harmony would last.

Her maids gathered her gifts. She sent Qiaoque back to unpack the fabrics, while she kept Yunjuan at her side. When they reached the courtyard, Qiaoque burst out, “Head Sister Qingyan has really gone—she’s not coming back.”

“Did you see her?” Yin Zhi asked.

“She came just to hand me the keys, then hurried off like a startled chicken.”

As the Third Madam had said, Qingyan had climbed to a higher branch; Yin Zhi felt a thrill of relief—one source of constraint was gone.

Turning to Qiaoque, she announced, “Mother has agreed to promote you. You will succeed Qingyan as head maid, and we will add a little maid.”

Qiaoque’s eyes lit up. “Does my allowance increase, too, on par with Qingyan’s?”

Remembering, Yin Zhi smiled. “I will confirm with Granny Sun. If you do the head maid’s work, you shall have the head maid’s pay.”

Over the year, Qiaoque had witnessed Yin Zhi’s transformation: once guided by aunt and Qingyan, now she made her own decisions—and the monks praised her wisdom.

Yin Zhi instructed, “Keep the keys yourselves, and inventory these fabrics.”

Qiaoque beamed. “It’s spring—I’ll sew you several new outfits.”

“Now that mourning is over,” Yin Zhi said, “fresh clothes are fitting.”

Qiaoque rushed off, Yunjuan joined in, and even Aunt Li swept the courtyard. With Qingyan gone, the household numbered just three servants—and only Yin Zhi was fully adult. She rolled up her sleeves and set about her own tasks.

Glancing out the window at the lush courtyard and sun-drenched blossoms, she felt at last a real sense of ownership: This place is mine.

She smiled softly, exhaling in contentment. Here, I will live well.

That afternoon, her sisters tumbled in, chattering with delight. Master Yin had three sons and five daughters; among the girls, Yin Zhi was the fourth eldest.

In local custom, children “age” at the turn of the year: Eldest Sister was now twelve, Second Sister ten, Third Sister and Yin Zhi both nine, and Fifth Sister only six.

Third Sister tugged her sleeve: “If you’d come back a few days ago, you’d’ve caught my birthday!”

With no biological daughters of her own, the Third Madam’s stepdaughters had birthdays spanning three different concubines’ lineages—Third Sister’s in March, Yin Zhi’s in May. She had just missed it.

The sisters added news: “Big Brother left for the Shens’ in the capital to study.”

“And Fourth Brother from the Main Branch, too,” Third Sister chimed.

“Also Second Brother from the Second Branch,” Second Sister piped in, their voices overlapping in excited confabulation. Free from their father’s stern presence and stepmother’s watch, they felt at ease with one another.

All were pretty little girls, eager to recite the past year’s household events. Yin Zhi’s heart melted; she called to Yunjuan, “See what food we have—bring it all out!”

Eldest Sister teased, “A year away, and you’re so generous now!”

Second Sister laughed, “You never shared before—now you feast!”

A flicker of memory reminded Yin Zhi that the original would indeed hoard food—perfect: she could play the role naturally.

Her eyes curved into a smile. “I just missed you all—so I’m being generous.”

The girls giggled, then Fifth Sister said, “Second Aunt Zhou is expecting again—I wonder if it’s a brother or sister.”

A sharp sense of time’s forward march welled up in Yin Zhi. Nobody now remembered poor Lady Yan—her own birth mother gone, she just an impersonator in a borrowed body.

Master Yin would certainly take a new concubine, bear more children. That was how this world worked.

But for now, there were sweet treats on the table, and the sisters dug in without reserve.

Eldest Sister sighed, “The Shens are a scholarly family—studying at their home must be far superior to here. If only my brothers could pass the county exams.”

Third Sister protested, “Big Brother and Second Brother never studied as well as the Main Branch heir; they may struggle.”

Second Sister grumbled, “Enough gloom!”

Even at their age, they understood that a brother’s degree could raise the entire household’s fortunes.

Yin Zhi hesitated: “So many of you lodging at another family’s home—is that proper?”

Eldest Sister replied matter-of-factly, “They are our in-laws—what’s the problem?”

Yin Zhi realized: in this world, “family” spanned entire clans. Relatives lodging under one roof, borrowing education, even freeloading during harvest—all perfectly normal.

The Yins had the means to send their own funds; they were simply tapping the Shens’ superior resources. That was the point of marriage alliances: binding two clans, shared favors, mutual support—not mere personal marriage of the bride.

Watching her lovely sisters, Yin Zhi sighed softly. Like her, none would ever choose their own marriages: their futures would rest in the hands of family alliances.

That evening, Master Yin returned. Remembering his wife’s note, he asked as she changed clothes, “Has Fourth Miss been brought in?”

The Third Madam handed him a robe. “She’s back—she ate well on the mountain, and she’s grown a good deal.”

“At that age,” he said, “one grows fast.” He pointed to a maid and said, “Tell Fourth Miss I have returned. Ask her to come to my study.”

Yin Zhi, who had waited anxiously for his summons, hurried in and knelt: “Greetings, Father.”

A parent who provides one’s livelihood is truly a parent. She had rehearsed those words all year—this was no mere formality.

Master Yin smiled warmly, “You’ve grown.”

Yin Zhi replied earnestly, “All thanks to Mother’s care. On the mountain, I lacked nothing—everything was provided, and I felt very secure.”

A father’s greatest wish is a household at peace—wives, sisters, daughters, concubines all in harmony. Praising his wife only cost him a word and pleased the whole house.

Master Yin stroked his beard and nodded. Then he called, “Bring me five taels of silver for Fourth Miss.”

Turning back to her, he added, “You honored your birth mother well; now be devoted to your Mother. A year away, you’ve grown distant from your siblings. Use this silver to host a small feast—let everyone celebrate, and return home in joy.”

And with that, a father’s deep understanding and the tangible reward followed in perfect accord.