Chapter 3

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The purse, painstakingly crafted through the night, was embroidered with peonies—delicate, vivid, with gradual color transitions and fine stitches. Even the most skilled embroideresses in the county could scarcely compare. Unlike Jiang Mo, who delighted in flaunting his talents, Jiang Yun kept his culinary skills and needlework to himself—gifts taught by his mother, which he cherished as one of the few lingering ties to her memory.

By the time he finished the purse, the night was deep, and a gentle rain had begun to fall outside. Jiang Yun, uneasy and bewildered, wrapped himself as tightly as possible within a heap of straw.

Liu Guihua treated him poorly, granting him only a thin quilt that offered little warmth. He had to sleep on a thick bed of dried grass to keep out the cold. Though his winter clothes appeared substantial, they were stuffed with nothing but reed and willow catkins, merely offering the illusion of warmth to outsiders. This way, Liu Guihua both saved money and won praise from others.

Listening to the wind howling outside, Jiang Yun curled himself into a ball, hugging his knees. He had no energy to contemplate his future, thinking only of how to fill his stomach at the next meal.

With bamboo shoots sprouting after the rain, he planned to sneak up the mountain the next day to dig some and sell them in town. The first shoots of the year, rare mountain delicacies, were especially prized by townsfolk and would fetch a good price.

In a few days, it would be his mother's anniversary. Her dying wish had been to be buried in Peach Blossom Village. She had passed away in early spring, just as the peach trees were entering full bloom.

Jiang Yun had been very young then. When his mother died, his father hadn’t shed a single tear. It was left to Jiang Yun alone to fetch relatives from his maternal family. They couldn't afford a coffin; her body was wrapped in a straw mat. At seven, Jiang Yun, dressed in coarse mourning white, had followed the funeral procession, wailing at the very end.

She was laid to rest on Peach Blossom Mountain, where a sea of flowers stretched to the horizon, dropping petals and soon bearing fruit beneath distant green hills.

He needed to dig up bamboo shoots to exchange for copper coins so he could buy incense and offerings.

With plans for the next day in mind, he drifted into sleep. The broken window of the woodshed let in the chill wind; Jiang Yun covered himself with all the straw he could find, adding another layer beneath the thin quilt. Crammed tightly in the grass pile, he closed his eyes, but sleep was uneasy.

His dreams were troubled. At one moment, he dreamed Liu Guihua beat him to death. He woke, gasping, his back soaked in sweat. When he closed his eyes again, he dreamed of someone thrashing in a river, surrounded by indifferent onlookers.

Jiang Yun ran up and begged them to help, but it was as if they could not see him—until his translucent hand passed straight through the chest of a silent young man watching the drowning boy.

A distant rooster’s crow roused him from these phantasmagoric dreams.

The eastern sky was paling outside the window; birds called in the forest. The mountains, shrouded in mist after the rain, seemed like an otherworldly paradise.

Jiang Yun did not know what a paradise was—he had only heard Jiang Mo mention it in passing.

Curious, he once asked, “Brother Mo, what is this paradise you spoke of?”

Jiang Mo ignored him, instinctively hiding his book behind his back. “What’s it to you? You can’t even read.”

His thoughts returning to the present, Jiang Yun hurried to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He fetched a bundle of firewood from the woodshed, struck a spark, and fed the kindling into the stove, adding some dry twigs until the fire roared.

First, he boiled water in the large iron pot. When it was bubbling, he ladled some out to wash his face. The rest he used to cook a porridge of mixed grains.

The porridge was always more water than rice, and each time, Jiang Mo and Liu Guihua got the grains, leaving only the broth for Jiang Yun. He would secretly drink an extra bowl while in the kitchen.

In the big pot, he steamed dark wheat buns for his father, Jiang Shunde, who worked in town and needed to bring three with him each day.

Once everything was ready, Liu Guihua and Jiang Mo would rise only after the sun was up. Liu Guihua headed straight for the kitchen, not bothering to clean her teeth with willow twigs, and simply picked up a bowl and drank.

Her son watched from behind, eyes full of disdain. “Mother, next time clean your teeth first with a twig before you eat.”

Liu Guihua belched loudly. “Those things hurt my teeth. Anyway, I never get sick, do I?”

Only after they finished eating could Jiang Yun have his bowl of broth and whatever pickles were left on the plate.

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Jiang Mo dragged him into the house, shut the door tightly, and stretched out his hand. “Where’s the thing I told you to make?”

Jiang Yun took out the purse embroidered with peonies from his chest. Its meaning was more than clear.

Jiang Mo snatched the purse, grabbing Jiang Yun’s hand. “Keep this matter to yourself, or I’ll tell everyone you made it. Let’s see who they believe—you or me!”

Jiang Yun winced in pain, holding back tears, shrinking away. Of course he knew this was a token of affection. He didn’t nod directly, but quietly bargained, “I—I haven’t slept all night. Could you tell your mother I can skip the fields today?”

Jiang Mo frowned, eyeing him with impatience. “Wait here. I’ll go now. Really, you’re lazy to the bone.”

Having achieved his aim, Jiang Yun breathed a sigh of relief, wiped his tears, and, carrying his small basket, slipped quietly up the mountain.

The rain-drenched mountain exuded the scent of grass and earth. Mist drifted through the bamboo groves. The ground underfoot was soft and damp. Just as he entered the woods, he spotted a couple of bamboo shoots poking through the earth. Eyes bright with delight, he hurried over, basket and hoe in hand.

He dug carefully, worried he might break them. Finally, he loosened the earth bit by bit, pulling up the spring shoots still encased in their husks.

Only when he tossed them into his own basket did he feel a bit more at ease.

These days, everyone was busy with spring planting; only he ventured up the mountain alone, so he didn’t worry about anyone competing for the shoots.

He had just finished filling his basket when he spotted two people not far off. Jiang Yun froze. One of them addressed the other as “brother.” The young man looked just of age, dressed in a pale blue scholar’s robe, gazing at the younger boy beside him with fond affection.

The younger boy was also striking—fair-skinned, with a touch of rouge, clearly someone pampered and cherished.

Just as Jiang Yun noticed them, they saw him as well.

He pressed his lips together, quickly lowering his head, nervously twisting his fingers. He was not good with people; even when he met someone, he never knew what to say. He wanted to slip away.

But after a few steps, he was startled by a sudden cry from the other side. He looked up to see the younger boy had twisted his ankle badly and was now sitting on the ground, refusing to move. He didn’t cry, but his stubbornness was clear.

The scholar beside him was flustered, trying to comfort his brother but not knowing what to do.

Jiang Yun hesitated, biting his lip, but finally overcame his fear of strangers and walked over quietly. “It seems you’ve sprained it. If you don’t mind, I can take a look.”

The two brothers were both startled by the sudden appearance of this frail youth, but the scholar quickly composed himself. “Thank you. Please, would you have a look for my brother?”

Jiang Yun nodded, eyes downcast, and squatted to examine the boy’s ankle. There was no obvious deformity, only a bit of swelling and redness.

He and the older brother helped the boy to his feet. “Try walking a few steps.”

The boy’s face turned pale with pain, but he obeyed and found that while it hurt, he could still walk.

Jiang Yun slung his basket over his back and before leaving, said softly, “The bone isn’t broken, just a strained tendon. Apply some medicine and rest for two months, and you’ll be fine. If you’re worried, you can find the doctor at the east end of the village.”

With that, he prepared to leave, but the younger boy hurried after him, enduring the pain. “Wait—you haven’t told me your name. How can I thank you otherwise?”

Thanks… Jiang Yun was unfamiliar with this word. He had helped others before, but they usually just thanked him and hurried away.

He shook his head. “No, no need. It was nothing.”

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The boy with the twisted ankle blocked his path. “My father always says that even a drop of kindness should be repaid with a flood. Even if you won’t accept thanks, at least tell me your name so we can be friends.”

Jiang Yun paused. All his life, because he was quiet, he played alone. When people spoke of the Jiang family, they only mentioned Jiang Mo.

He silently repeated the word “friend” to himself, his nose suddenly stinging with emotion. He blurted out, “I—I’m Jiang Yun of the Jiang family in the west end of the village.”

The boy was surprised. “But everyone says the Jiang family only has one son, Jiang Mo…” Realizing his words, he quickly covered his mouth.

Perhaps his remark was tactless, but Jiang Yun felt nothing. For years, people had only cared about Jiang Mo—handsome, literate, and well-liked.

Unexpectedly, the boy’s tone changed as he rolled his eyes. “That explains it. The day we moved in, he brought a group of girls and boys to peek at my brother at the door, refusing to leave. Acting all shy and proper, pretending to be so well-mannered!”

Well-mannered, yet brazenly flirting with men?

The boy grew more indignant as he spoke, while his older brother sighed and patted his head. “Enough. If you don’t like him, just ignore him. But don’t speak ill of others behind their backs.”

The boy pouted, grumbling, “Got it.”

His brother, still ten paces away from Jiang Yun, bowed formally. “I am Liu Jinyan, and this is my brother, Liu Yu. Thank you for your help today. We owe you a favor. If you ever need assistance, come find us. We’ve just moved in across the river.”

Jiang Yun grew flustered. He’d heard much talk lately about the newly arrived Liu family—descended from officials, with the old master well-respected as a scholar. Not just local families hoping for a favor in their sons’ education, even the village head treated the Lius with utmost respect.

He’d also heard that the Liu family’s grandson had already passed the county exams and was preparing for the provincial ones. If he succeeded, he’d be a scholar-official.

Such a family, and he’d run into them by chance in the mountains.

Jiang Yun grew even more anxious, waving his hands. “It was—it was nothing.”

But Liu Yu slung an arm over his shoulders, cheerfully declaring, “You helped me, so I owe you. I can’t stand that Jiang Mo of yours, but you I like. Why don’t we become sworn brothers today, and pay respects to Lord Guan together!”

He hadn’t finished, when Liu Jinyan rapped him on the head. “Lord Guan, really? What do you know? Hurry home and call the doctor.”

Since Liu Yu had trouble walking, Jiang Yun helped him home.

Jiang Yun looked at his basket full of bamboo shoots, worried they might be stolen if left behind.

Unexpectedly, Liu Jinyan stooped and slung the basket over his own back. “It’s nothing. This weighs less than my books.”

Though he looked the part of a frail scholar, he bore the heavy basket with ease and spoke with gentle courtesy. Compared to other youths in the village, he seemed like a young lord descended from the heavens.

Jiang Yun caught himself, startled by his own reckless daydreams. If anyone ever learned what he was thinking, he’d be called shameless.

He quickly ducked his head, focusing all his attention on supporting Liu Yu.