Chapter 1: The Woman of Ancient Grace

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2016.

Early spring.

A gentle, unending rain fell, as if a maiden in her boudoir awaited her wedding day—unhurried, persistent, never ceasing.

Occasionally, a light breeze would stir the tree leaves, making them rustle softly.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

Donkey hooves splashed through one muddy puddle after another, treading forward through the mire.

A waxed paper umbrella hovered above her, and she wore a simple, dark green, ancient-style Han dress.

A woman's figure sat swaying atop a black donkey.

She tilted the oilskin umbrella slightly, looking up at the sky, thick with mist and entirely devoid of sunlight. Her tightly closed lips parted just a little.

Hers was a face of striking features, delicate and fair as the finest jade, unadorned yet beautiful as if descended from the heavens—an ethereal beauty.

Yet on that face, a rare trace of melancholy lingered, stirring a gentle pity in those who beheld her.

She sighed soundlessly, lowering her gaze to the muddy road ahead.

Before her lay a tiny village of just a few dozen households. The stone stele at the entrance she had just passed bore the inscription: “Zhao Family Village.”

Zhao Family Village nestled at the foot of the mountains—in truth, at the base of mountains within mountains.

Encircled on all sides, isolated by its terrain, it seemed entirely cut off from the world.

If not for this rain, today's scenery would surely be as lovely as any other day.

Li Siyu thought so as she rode her black donkey, swaying gently along the muddy path into the village.

“Siyu, you’re back?”

Several middle-aged women in coarse cloth, also under oilskin umbrellas, passed by, their faces warm with simple, honest smiles.

Li Siyu returned the greeting with a smile, “Yes, Aunt Zhang. Where are you off to?”

“Oh, didn’t you hear? Old Li passed away yesterday. We’re going over to help out today,” Aunt Zhang replied, her face sorrowful as she paused. “Ah, life is so fleeting. One moment here, the next—gone. Just the other day, I was still having dinner with the two of them. Tsk, tsk.”

“Who would have thought it?” someone else chimed in helplessly. “She seemed fine, and then suddenly, she’s gone. If both had left together, perhaps it would be better. But this way, one’s left behind to suffer.”

“That’s true,” Li Siyu murmured, lowering her gaze as if deep in thought, offering no further comment.

Aunt Zhao, noticing the shadow on her face, chose not to linger in idle talk. “Oh, Siyu, I made some rice cakes today. I’ll have my son bring them over to you.”

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“You’d best head home quickly. Who knows how long this rain will last? Don’t stay out and get wet.”

Li Siyu nodded and continued on her way atop the black donkey.

Once she had gone some distance, Aunt Zhang turned back to watch her retreating figure, wanting to say more, but in the end, she only sighed.

“What a fine girl… How did she end up with that lazy good-for-nothing?”

“Don’t say that. When Old Zhang was alive, he was a great benefactor to our village. If not for his family, we’d never have survived that disaster years ago.”

“Old Zhang was a good man, no doubt about it. But his son… sigh, the little bit of savings he left were squandered away, and more than that, I hear the son ran up huge debts. I even heard Siyu was the one who paid it all back.”

“I heard his son ran into trouble working in the city, that people spread rumors about him? And that he… he got some kind of Jade Jade Syndrome?”

“No, that’s called depression. They make it sound so strange—supposedly, once you get it, you stop talking, keep to yourself, always saying you want to die, to leave this world. If you ask me, he just needs more work in the fields.”

“Really? Sigh, Old Zhang must have done something wrong in a past life to end up with a son like that. Poor Siyu, what a pity.”

“Exactly—wasn’t it Siyu who paid for repairs to the old houses in the village? She even brings meals to the elderly. Where could you find another girl as good as her?”

The women walked on under their umbrellas, their regretful expressions deepening, tinged with helpless resentment and discontent.

…

Swaying gently atop the black donkey, Li Siyu gazed at the familiar road ahead, her thoughts drifting.

The spring rain pattered on her oilskin umbrella.

Her brows knit slightly, emotions flickering in her eyes.

She was no sheltered maiden; she could see the pity in those women’s eyes as she passed.

To outsiders, it seemed a great shame she had married Zhang Hao.

After all, Zhang Hao was useless, afflicted with depression, and spent his days shut indoors, drinking.

But she had never regretted her choice, nor ever thought of leaving him.

Years ago, Old Master Zhang—Zhang Hao’s father—saved not just the entire village but her family as well. He was their great benefactor.

Before he died, Old Master Zhang had asked her, with his own lips, to look after his only son.

She had agreed, and in that moment, her fate was sealed.

For that alone, she would never leave Zhang Hao, nor be swayed by others.

It was her destiny, her debt to the Zhang family and to Zhang Hao.

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At this thought, the sorrow on her face faded a little.

Clang.

Just then, the bell hanging from the black donkey’s neck rang out, pulling her from her reverie.

She lifted her head slightly, gazing at the old, somewhat dilapidated courtyard before her, radiating an ancient aura.

The two stone lions at the entrance were overgrown with moss, their surfaces dulled, untended for who knows how many years.

The plaque above the main gate had long since lost its paint to wind and rain, its surface now etched with countless cracks.

This was a three-entry courtyard—the largest in Zhao Family Village.

It was also the place where she would spend the rest of her days.

“We’re here…” she whispered, her tone calm and unwavering.

As if stating something ordinary, yet unalterable.

She dismounted, led the black donkey up the steps, and raised her pale, jade-like arm to push open the main gate.

With one hand she guided the donkey, with the other she closed the door behind her.

Li Siyu stepped over the threshold and entered the courtyard.

The rockery, the lawn, the lush trees of memory…

Now, the rockery was gone, the grass grown wild past her ankles, and those once flourishing trees were withered, nearly dead.

Li Siyu sighed soundlessly, umbrella in hand, leading her donkey onward.

She entered the second courtyard.

The scene was much the same: overgrown grass, withered trees.

Her feet pressed the mossy stones, and her brows knit as her eyes swept over the grass, where empty bottles—beer, spirits, even foreign liquor—were half-hidden.

There were also food wrappers and broken household items scattered about.

“Hoo… haa… hoo… haa…”

From up ahead, from the main house with both doors open, came the steady rhythm of snoring.

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