Luò Wǎn fell into an endless darkness, feeling a sharp pain at her wrist. When she touched it, her fingers met something wet—she had lost her hand at the wrist.
Surprised, she wondered when it had happened without her realizing. Above the well, the light was so bright, like a luminous oil paper, revealing a clear face that was no longer Shěn Jī's but a delicate, sorrowful face staring blankly at her. That was true reluctance, true heartache.
When did the sky turn dark? Why was there a glowing moon above that man's head? Where was she? That man looked so familiar, but why did her heart ache so intensely? For a moment, she didn't know where she was.
The well's opening seemed like a translucent screen, shadows dancing upon it. Gradually, a scene became clearer: a peach blossom grove, where a woman was walking alone deeper into the trees, petals falling like rain behind her, swirling through the air.
Not far away, a clear voice began to sing;
"When will the flowers of spring and the moon of autumn end? How much do we know about the past…?
The chilling part was that the voice was eerily identical to her own, just as crisp and captivating.
Indeed, the voice was exactly like her own, yet it couldn't possibly be her singing. Her body moved uncontrollably, pulling her into that scene.
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In the play she was witnessing, there was a woman in the corner of the stage, hiding her face and crying.
The woman was so delicate, with red handprints on her face as if she had been slapped. Beside her, another beautiful woman with sharp phoenix eyes, shining with a cold light, fiddled with her hair while scolding, "How can you be so clumsy? You can't even manage to comb your hair properly. If you delay the Wang family's banquet, even dying a hundred times won't make up for it."
This was a theater troupe, bustling in the main hall as they moved boxes filled with costumes and props—swords and spears that contained countless historical tales of love, rivalry, and romance, all ready to be portrayed on stage, showcasing the myriads of human experiences.
The opera troupe leader, Fù Dàyá, came over and gently persuaded the angry, pretty woman, "Língguān, why are you upset with this little girl? Come, calm down. She's just a silly kid. I'll have Granny Sun, the best hairdresser here, come and do your hair. I guarantee you'll dazzle everyone at the Li Wángyé Mansion today."
As he spoke, he raised his hand in a fawning manner and slapped the crying woman in the corner hard. Then he scolded, "What are you still doing here? Hurry up and help the others clean up!"
The girl retreated, her small frame huddled into a ball, tears welling in her eyes but unable to fall. Being beaten and scolded had become a daily routine in the troupe, and since she wasn't the star performer, Língguān often took out her frustrations on her. Whenever things went wrong, it was either a slap or a harsh word.
She didn't dare say much and quietly picked up the hairpiece. Today was a significant day for the troupe—Li Wángyé was celebrating his birthday and had specifically requested their performance. This was an unparalleled honor; not only would the rewards be numerous, but anyone who had performed at the Li mansion would benefit from its prestige, ensuring they wouldn't go hungry in the future.
It all depended on Língguān, who was a natural talent for singing. With just a glance from her phoenix eyes on stage, she could captivate an audience. It was thanks to her that such a small troupe had gained fame throughout the city in such a short time.
She watched as the carriage carried the group away, boxes of props already loaded.
Meanwhile, she remained in the courtyard with the mute woman sweeping the floor. The mute woman looked at her with pity; she had never had the chance to perform alongside the troupe, only able to run errands and do small tasks around the large yard.
Her gaze shifted to a small box, and her heart skipped a beat. This was Língguān's favorite rouge. If she discovered it was missing, even though it wasn't her fault, the anger would surely be directed at her when they returned. Today, that would mean she was in for a world of trouble.
She grabbed the rouge and ran outside, determined to catch up to the carriage before it reached the Li mansion.
The girl ran as fast as she could, but no matter how quick she was, she couldn't possibly catch up to the carriage. Once it turned into the crowd, it vanished from sight. Holding the rouge aloft, she could only stand in the street, calling out repeatedly, "Miss! Miss!"
One carriage sped by rapidly, resembling the troupe's vehicle. Taking a deep breath, she reached out to stop it. The horse reared in surprise, but the carriage came to a steady halt right in front of her.
Holding the rouge in one hand, she lifted the curtain with the other and timidly called out, "Miss, I brought the rouge!"
Inside the carriage, a man flirtatiously fanned himself, his eyes falling on her slightly childlike face, tears streaming down like raindrops rolling over the pink edges of a budding lotus flower.
Evoking the ancient poetry that praised a pear blossom in spring rain. He clapped his hands and exclaimed, “Ancient poets praised a pear blossom in the spring rain. I always thought it was an exaggeration, but who would have thought such a girl truly exists in this world?"
Inside the carriage sat a man, his white robe accentuating his round face and star-like eyes. As the girl caught sight of him through the sheer veil, she noticed his arched brows and the crescent shape of his closed lips. For a moment, she was stunned by his demeanor, unable to look away from his captivating gaze.
The man's gaze was so gentle, like a pool of spring water. After carefully examining the girl, he sat up straight and, speaking through the veil, asked, "What is your name?" His voice was deep but carried a firm tone.
Realizing she had stopped the wrong carriage and mistaken the person, the girl felt so embarrassed she nearly wished to faint. The thought of not delivering the rouge to Língguān only heightened her anxiety. She turned to run, but her hand was tightly grasped.
The man spoke each word clearly, "I asked you what your name is. How can you be so rude to me?"
"I am Shū er," the girl replied, not daring to turn back. Her heart raced wildly, but she couldn't refuse the man's question. No man had ever held her hand with such gentleness before.
As the man held her hand, he felt the delicate softness of her skin. From the side, she was already a great beauty, with a vermilion beauty mark between her brows that became even more endearing as her gaze shifted. "What are you going to do?" he asked gently, careful not to frighten her.
"I'm going to deliver the rouge to my young mistress. She's performing at the Li mansion today and forgot to bring it. Do you know the way to the mansion?" Shū er thought to ask for directions.
The man smiled slightly, his lips curling at the corners. "I'm also headed to the mansion. How about we go together? I'll take you there."
Shū er hadn't quite understood what was happening when she found herself already seated inside the carriage. The interior was lined with a whole piece of tiger skin, and she carefully settled into a corner, unsure of what to do next.
The man remained silent, gazing into the distance, but his peripheral vision repeatedly drifted back to her. Shū er—her name was Shū er. She always liked to keep her head down, unaware that when she did, her neck shimmered like polished jade, a smooth radiance that drew the attention of everyone around her, much like exquisite fine jade.
