Rebirth

This winter was exceptionally cold.

Frost and snow had broken half a pine tree, and through the open crack of the window, chilly winds brought flurries of snow inside in bursts.

Yingshi pushed the window open with all her might, leaning out eagerly, longing to see farther.

“My lady!”

Hastened footsteps sounded behind her.

Chunlan returned carrying medicine, and upon seeing Yingshi with the window wide open, she rushed over in a few steps and slammed it shut with a loud bang.

“It’s freezing outside! You’re being reckless again!”

Chunlan glanced around; the empty room was devoid of a single soul. She could not help but mutter under her breath, “Where are those two maids? Both ungrateful, eating our bread but serving the front court for reward money!”

To leave the ailing lady alone in her chamber!

Realizing she had said too much, Chunlan hastily stopped herself, but Yingshi had already turned, her clear and lucid gaze falling upon her.

In those tranquil eyes, it seemed nothing could be hidden.

These days, Yingshi slept more than she was awake, but her mind had not yet clouded. The drums and gongs outside, the maidservants scurrying to the front court for rewards—she had heard enough to guess what was happening.

Recalling the day two months ago when Madam Fu arrived, her belly already high and round—what was there left to misunderstand?

In that instant, emotions already decayed to the core, sorrow and pain surged through her again, relentless as ever.

She felt nauseated, as if her very blood had turned putrid along with those feelings.

Yingshi took a deep breath, steadying herself. She did not wish Chunlan to see her sorrow.

Yet in Chunlan’s eyes, her appearance was heartbreaking.

The woman on the sickbed, once radiant as the morning glow, had been tormented into this shadow of herself by the Liang household… How could Chunlan not hate them?

Chunlan’s voice came through gritted teeth: “Madam Fu thinks by bearing more children she’ll be above you, that she can rest easy? Let her dream! That shameless hussy, who melts at the mere sight of a man! How many in this household truly respect her?”

Watching Chunlan’s lips move, Yingshi suddenly covered her mouth, bowing her head in a fit of coughing.

The coughs wracked her frail body. Though she was so weak she could barely sit up, handkerchief after handkerchief was stained, unable to wipe away the crimson blood from her lips.

Chunlan, seeing this, dared not agitate her further. “I just went to cook some pear soup for you, please wait—I’ll bring it right away! They say pear soup soothes the cough. If you drink it, you’ll feel better for sure.”

In the depths of winter, sweat still beaded Yingshi’s temples. Though she was so thin the mattress barely sank beneath her, her cheeks were still flushed.

Her eyes curved in a gentle smile toward Chunlan. “Perhaps I’m stronger today, I don’t feel so unwell anymore.”

“Don’t go. Stay and talk with me. I always feel I’ve wronged you, making you suffer with me, never letting you live a single day of peace…”

Hearing these words, Chunlan could not hold back her tears. “My lady, how is any of this your fault? It’s the Liang family who wronged you! The Third Master’s heartless, and Madam Fu is wicked—she took advantage of your absence, stole the Third Master, took everything that should have belonged to you!”

If not for Chunlan’s outburst, Yingshi might have forgotten—forgotten her own pitiful past.

Her surname was Ruan; her forebears had once been nobles of high rank. But by her generation, the family had fallen.

She was barely born when war descended. Her father died defending the city; her mother followed in widowhood. Only she survived, a two-year-old, raised in the capital by distant kin.

Fortunately, her clan cared for her.

Fortunately, she still had… Liang Ji.

Liang Ji had been her betrothed since before her father’s death. They grew up together as childhood sweethearts.

From her earliest memories, Liang Ji would climb the courtyard wall daily to play with her.

Those were days of innocence and laughter.

Life as a dependant was never easy, but whatever good things Liang Ji had, he would sneak them to Yingshi.

Such childhood bonds were incomparable.

Even as they grew older and Yingshi moved with her uncle and aunt to another province, and their meetings became rare, the seeds of affection had long sprouted in their hearts.

Though separated by over a hundred miles, Liang Ji would ride alone through the night, just to steal a moment with Yingshi.

One hundred and sixty miles—a mere day and night’s journey for the young man on horseback.

When Yingshi turned fifteen, the two families began arranging the wedding, proceeding through the six rites.

The wedding was set for March of the following year—a season of flowers and willows.

Boatloads of betrothal gifts from the Liang family arrived at the Ruan residence; Yingshi’s dowry was sent early to the Liang household.

She would never forget that night.

It was as cold as tonight, snow and frost swirling in the air.

A youth in black climbed the tree outside her window.

His dark eyes stared intently at the girl who opened the window at the sound.

The wind and snow swept in, heavy flakes falling upon her black lashes and hair.

She looked up, beaming with joy at the sight of him, but her cheeks flushed as she scolded, “I told you, we can’t meet before the wedding. If my uncle sees you, he’ll chase you down with a stick!”

The young man grinned with reckless abandon, white teeth flashing. “I’m here to see my bride—who dares chase me away?”

“Yingshi, I’m leaving with the capital’s forces to reclaim Heluo. Don’t worry, I’ll be back before the wedding. I’ll win honor and a title for you, just like my father and brothers.”

Yingshi was upset that day—upset he was leaving on campaign before their wedding, upset she wasn’t his first priority.

She turned away, refusing to speak, until the boy, cheeks blue from cold, coaxed and promised her endlessly.

He feared that, during his absence, she might anger and accept another.

He feared that, should things change at the front and he failed to return, she would marry someone else.

“In any case, wait for me. You must wait for me.”

He rambled on, instructing her about every little thing, as if trying to foresee every outcome.

But he never anticipated the one where he could not return—

Liang Ji left, and no letters ever arrived.

As the wedding day neared, still there was no word.

The bride-to-be knelt before the Bodhisattva night and day, copying sutras until her eyes ached.

But the prayers were in vain. She waited half a year—through winter into summer.

And in the end, she waited only for news of Liang Ji’s death in battle.

They said he was pierced by a thousand arrows, his body hung upon the city wall, pecked by eagles, then cast into the wilderness.

How her heart broke at the news! From that moment on, she could neither eat nor sleep.

She spent her days and nights awake, weeping.

Later, she heard that Liang Ji’s remains had been brought home.

He had promised to return and marry her. If he would not come, then she would go to him.

Not even the end of the world could stop her from marrying Liang Ji.

Even if he had become nothing but a lonely ghost.

...

On the second day of the fourth month, third year of the Chengping era, she arrived in the capital and married carrying Liang Ji’s spirit tablet.

From that day, she shed her finery and faithfully kept widowhood for her late husband.

One year, two, three—her days in the Liang household passed quietly.

She thought her life would continue in this calm, that she would gradually move beyond the pain of losing her beloved.

She planned—after a few more years, once the Liang family had children of suitable age, the elders would agree to adopt one for Liang Ji as his heir.

She could watch over the child and live out her days in peace.

But who could have foreseen that, after six long years, news would suddenly arrive from beyond the capital—Liang Ji had been found.

It turned out that when Liang Ji led troops to retake Heluo, he fell into an ambush. In desperation, he leapt on horseback into the swift river and was rescued, gravely injured.

Liang Ji had lost his memory, remembering nothing.

When his memory returned, he recalled his past and rushed home—

But he returned with a wife and children.

*

Back then, the world praised Yingshi for her steadfast love, wept for their marriage separated by death. Yet in just six short years, they turned and mocked Yingshi as foolishly sentimental, as the cause of her own suffering.

They said she clung to the position of the main wife, a resentful woman thrust between a perfect couple.

Yes, yes—it was her own naivety, taking the words of youth as a promise.

Her own foolishness, her own willingness to marry in.

Liang Ji was not at fault. Neither was Madam Fu.

In the end, the blame lay with herself.

After Liang Ji’s return, every single day was agony for Yingshi.

Her dignity was shattered before this pair. Every time they appeared, it was as if they stripped and whipped her in public.

Yingshi had pride too—she had considered leaving.

But looking back, from the day she married in, she had already severed her way out with her own hands!

The Liang clan, a great aristocratic house, had risen to the pinnacle of power.

And she? What was left behind her...

Yingshi only wished to live—with dignity.

She put aside her pride and begged many for help, but all would rather destroy ten temples than break a single marriage; none would help her or let her go free.

Every night, she woke from dreams in tears, her pillow soaked. Later, she could neither eat nor sleep.

Countless nights, she wept for bringing shame to the Ruan family. How could they have such a disgraceful descendant?

All her resentment and pain became a blade, torturing her day and night.

No bright sun could drive away the cold that seeped from her bones. Not even the hottest coals could warm her withering body.

Her once-healthy frame wasted away, and only upon the brink of death did Yingshi realize—she was suddenly afraid.

She felt an unbearable unwillingness… She did not want to die.

She was still so young…

Why—why should those who break faith and betray enjoy high rank, a beloved wife, children at their knees,

While those loyal to love and promise become nothing but dust, forgotten by all?

...

She could endure no longer.

She did not know when exactly she died—only that it was upon a cold and lonely afternoon.

After her death, she became like a drifting cloud,

Floating above the Liang estate, gazing down upon her own funeral.

In her last two years alive, she had been cut off from the world, trapped within a tiny courtyard.

Few outsiders even knew of this original wife of Liang Ji.

Yet in death, her funeral was grand.

Officials from across the capital, the Liang family’s lackeys, all attended.

She watched them, some genuine, some feigning tears, weeping before her spirit tablet.

She wandered among these familiar faces, even saw Liang Ji himself, returned from his travels.

Past love and hate—she felt nothing now.

Light flickered, golden flowers swirled.

She did not know when, but suddenly she opened her eyes, head splitting with pain, to see white mourning banners fluttering, smoke and incense swirling.

Everywhere she looked, a sea of mourners in white.

Funeral music mingled with wailing, the suona blended with heavy incense.

Yingshi instinctively tried to rise, but heard someone call her from behind.

She turned in a daze—and saw the face she could never forget, even in dreams.