Volume One, Chapter One: Here to Pick You Up

In the bitter depths of winter, thick snow weighed heavily on the tree branches. The firewood buried beneath was soaked through by a night of wind and snow. Wet firewood was far heavier than dry; even a small bundle pressed down so heavily that Jiao Yue could barely keep her back straight. The mountain path was slippery, and with every step, she felt as though she were treading on ice.

Halfway up the mountain, a few nuns gathered together, peering cautiously down the slope. With a sidelong glance, they noticed Jiao Yue carrying firewood—neither offering help nor stepping aside. Used to their manner, she silently took a detour.

One young nun whispered, “Sister Qingyi, there are so many people down there. What are they doing?”

“That’s the honor guard of the Princess of Jingyang Marquis’s residence, coming out of the city to welcome the heir,” replied an older nun. “The whole city is abuzz with talk that the heir will return to the capital soon, and we unexpectedly ran into them.”

Jiao Yue had walked a long way and could go no further. She placed the firewood beside a pavilion at the mountain’s midpoint and tried to steady her breathing. Yet her eyes never glanced downward.

Master Jing had told her that everything below the mountain no longer concerned her. Her dharma name was Jingyue; she was a nun sent by the temple to cultivate, not Xie Jiao Yue, a talented woman from the capital.

The biting wind cut through her lungs.

“Cough…”

That cough was a prelude, sparking a relentless fit that shook her frail shoulders. Each cough seemed to force bile up from deep within. Removing her hand from her lips, she found a bright red blossom of blood blooming in her palm.

Bending down, she washed the blood away with the nearby pure snow, then calmly hoisted the wet firewood back onto her shoulders.

The doctor at the foot of the mountain had said her body was too depleted, worn down by overwork and illness, and she would live no longer than half a year.

Six months—just half a year.

The books said that the blood from one’s heart was redder and more vivid than any other, like the fresh bloom in her palm. They also said that a child’s heart-blood was a gift from the parents, a healing medicine from them.

Perhaps once she coughed up all her heart-blood, she would repay all debts of kindness in this life, and could die with no regrets.

On the rugged mountain path, frost clung to the grasses and trees. The slender, sickly girl carried her bundle of firewood slowly upward. The road stretched long, as if it would never end—even a lifetime might not be enough to reach its end.

...

Xu Huaiyang had returned to the capital, arriving several hours ahead of the main procession. The first thing he did was knock on the door of the Prime Minister’s residence, eager to see the woman he loved most.

Inside, Lord Xie and Madam Xie exchanged glances. After a long pause, Lord Xie looked at him and asked, “The heir just said he wanted to see whom?”

Xu Huaiyang sat with one leg crossed over the other. “Xie Jiao Yue. I intend to marry her. Have her come out to see me.”

His arrogance was not without foundation. His father was the Marquis of Jingyang, his mother the Princess, and his uncle the reigning emperor. Favored by the emperor since childhood, he had always walked with a certain swagger.

Because of his overbearing nature, Xie Jiao Yue had never liked him. But it didn’t matter—they were already husband and wife in practice. She was stubborn and would never marry another. She could only marry him.

Thinking of her temperament, Xu Huaiyang lowered his crossed leg and gently reminded the two who seemed lost in thought, “Father-in-law, mother-in-law, shouldn’t you send someone to invite your daughter to meet me?”

Lord Xie was still stunned for a long while before he asked in disbelief, “You want to marry her?”

Xu Huaiyang frowned. “Is that a problem?”

Lord Xie fell silent for a moment, about to reply, when Madam Xie tugged his sleeve.

“Your Highness, even if you wish to marry her, it must be according to proper rites. You and Jiao Yue are not yet betrothed; meeting now would be improper.”

Xu Huaiyang stroked his chin. “Is it not even allowed to see her from afar?”

“To marry her properly as wife, or to take her as concubine privately? Which is it, Your Highness?”

“Of course wife. She is my only wife.”

“Then I ask Your Highness to observe the rites and customs accordingly,” Madam Xie said respectfully.

Xu Huaiyang considered Jiao Yue’s nature; she was always proper. If he went to see her rashly, she would surely be angry.

He stood up, flicked his sleeve, and said, “Then tell her that I invite her to see the Lantern Festival in seven days, as a friend.”

“Very well.”

After he left, Lord Xie looked at Madam Xie with displeasure.

“Why not tell him the truth?”

“Lord Xie, do you intend to tell him that your daughter is an unruly woman who broke custom by becoming pregnant before marriage?” Madam Xie challenged.

She met his gaze. “If you say that, how will people view our house? How will our unmarried daughter face the world?”

The words “unruly woman” seemed to sting Lord Xie deeply. He angrily swept his sleeve and left.

“I won’t interfere. It’s your responsibility now.”

Madam Xie gritted her teeth. Of course, she would handle it—and carefully.

Three years ago, her most proud and cherished daughter had slapped her hard in the face. Three years later, she would not allow anyone to trample on her honor again.

...

Outside, snow fell softly. The mountain temple was chillingly cold. The biting wind slipped through the door cracks, stirring a series of delicate coughs inside.

A nun in a gray-blue robe pushed open the door, the snowy brightness outside forcing Jiao Yue’s eyes shut. The nun sneered at the woman embroidering handkerchiefs inside.

“Always slacking off. The water in the basin outside has frozen—go heat some water.”

Jiao Yue silently stood and the nun stepped inside, snatching the embroidery basket from her hands.

“How many strips have you embroidered this month?”

Before Jiao Yue could answer, the nun rummaged through the basket and counted aloud, her voice sharp, “Only four?”

Jiao Yue calmly replied, “I spend more time gathering firewood and washing clothes. There’s little time left to embroider.”

Four strips were already the result of her squeezing out precious sleep. Moreover, because oil lamps were expensive, she embroidered only by moonlight at night, and her eyesight was growing blurry.

The nun opened her mouth to say more but then recalled there was someone waiting outside.

“There’s someone to see you. Go meet them quickly, then come back to heat water.”

For a moment, Jiao Yue didn’t know who could be coming. As she approached the door, she immediately saw a familiar elderly woman outside.

“Miss, I’ve come to fetch you.”

Jiao Yue paused, then recognized the woman.

“Nanny Li.”

“Ah, it’s me, child. I’ve come for you.”

Nanny Li looked at the frail girl, dressed in only a thin garment in the dead of winter, and wiped tears from her eyes. This was the golden child she had watched grow, yet now she was left to suffer in such a place.

“Miss, Madam and Fourth Miss are waiting for you down the mountain. Hurry and come with me.”

Jiao Yue froze, her gaze vacant as she looked at the elderly woman.

Snowflakes clung to her lashes, melting into tears that fell silently.

“Nanny, tell them to go back.”

“I know I have no face to see them. I wish to remain in the mountain, with the ancient Buddha and the quiet lamps, to end my days in peace—as the last shred of honor for the Xie family.”

She had only six months left, and all she wanted was to die in solitude, accompanied by the gentle grass and cicada song, rather than return to face the unbearable pain of parting in the presence of those most familiar to her.