Entrusting an Orphan

This year has been a bitterly cold winter.

Winter has always been the hardest season for those who are ill. All those who linger between life and death enter a strange realm: since everyone knows there is no hope, visitors tread carefully, offering only the usual platitudes. Both sides know these words are meaningless, yet maintain the ritual exchange.

When Ye Qinglan arrived at the Meng residence, she witnessed precisely such a scene.

Her aunt, Lady Meng, had once been the paragon among noblewomen in the capital—eldest daughter-in-law of the chief secretary’s household, radiant and admired. Yet years of illness had drained her spirit. Her husband favored a concubine, who had borne him several children. Lady Meng’s natal family, the Lin family, had lost both parents, and the estate was now inherited by the son of a secondary wife. Officially, there was contact, but it was mere formality; otherwise, they would not have sent only two old servants to inquire after her at such a critical time, with Lady Lin herself absent.

When Ye Qinglan arrived, the outer hall contained only two ladies of humble birth who had received Lady Meng’s kindness, and a middle-aged nun named Shanhui who often came to discuss Buddhist teachings. She was quietly chanting scripture but stood when she saw Ye Qinglan.

Ye Qinglan greeted them patiently and then, with her two younger sisters, entered the main chamber. Lady Meng’s rooms were divided into three sections: one for guests, one for daily living, and the innermost for sleeping. On the embroidery frame still lay the silk Lady Meng had promised to embroider with a hundred butterflies for Lingbo in autumn—a sight that tugged at the heart.

The bedroom was thick with the scent of medicine.

“Auntie.” Ye Lingbo stepped forward first; she was the middle sister and closest to Lady Meng. Lady Meng struggled to sit up but Lingbo knelt by the bed, grasping her aunt’s hand in silent tears.

“Auntie…” The youngest, Yanyan, began to cry as well. The maids and old women hurried to comfort her. Lady Meng’s old maid, surnamed Lin, had married Lin Jiu, who oversaw the carriages. When Lady Meng managed the household, Lin followed as the steward’s wife, and everyone called her Lady Lin.

“Misses, don’t grieve. The doctor said she’ll recover after the New Year…” Lady Lin quickly tried to console them.

But Lady Meng was emaciated, her hands with bracelets thin as twigs, her face already touched by death. All three sisters had witnessed their own mother’s final moments; even the youngest, Yanyan, who was only seven or eight at the time, had cried in confusion. They could tell Lady Meng’s lamp was nearly extinguished.

Ye Qinglan, ever mature, knew this was not the time for tears. She echoed Lady Lin’s words, “Aunt is ill and too much crying is not good. Lingbo, take Yanyan outside. Nurse Wu, please watch over them so I may speak with Aunt alone.”

Nurse Wu was Meng family’s senior matron, attendant to the old matriarch, now spending her days in Lady Meng’s chamber. Officially, she cared for Lady Meng, but in truth, she was there to keep watch. Lady Meng had been married over ten years without children, but the master’s concubine had borne sons and daughters. Traditionally, children of concubines were counted under the main wife, and dowries passed only to daughters, not sons. The Meng family intended for Lady Meng’s dowry to remain with them.

But the dowry alone was not the crux—the real difficulty lay elsewhere. Lady Meng’s gaze upon Ye Qinglan was gentle and apologetic, and Ye Qinglan’s late arrival spoke volumes.

Lady Meng wished to entrust an orphan.

The concubines of the Meng family were difficult, skilled in manipulation. The master himself was weak-willed. But Lady Meng, a legitimate daughter of the Lin family, possessed a fierce spirit. No one expected her to make such a bold move: in her final months, she adopted a young orphaned girl from her own maternal grandfather’s household, raising her as her own daughter.

Since dowries only pass to daughters, with a daughter, the dowry would not fall to the concubine’s children. But traditions are one thing; reality is another. The Meng household was vast, managed by the old matriarch, the master’s career flourishing, favored concubine Su with both son and daughter. To walk out of the Meng family with that dowry was as hard as climbing the sky.

Thus, Lady Meng did not insist. When everyone had left, she took Ye Qinglan’s hand, shedding tears without mentioning these matters.

“Qinglan, it’s your aunt who has delayed you.”

“Aunt, don’t say that.” Ye Qinglan held her hand earnestly. “Since Mother passed, I’ve cared for my two sisters, alone and helpless. Without Aunt’s constant concern, how could we have grown up safely? I am only grateful to you…”

“You are always so kind, always thinking of others. Your mother has been gone seven years, and I have been ill just as long, unable to care for you. You are strong and gentle; I can only imagine how much hardship you’ve endured. I regret my failing health, unable to help you, and now, at the end, I am still a burden…” Lady Meng wept anew.

“Though you couldn’t care for us directly, having you in this vast city gave us a sense of security. Please don’t say such gloomy things. When your health is restored, we will depend on your guidance.” Ye Qinglan forced a smile to comfort her.

Only Lady Lin remained in the room, bringing ginseng soup. Ye Qinglan offered to feed Lady Meng, but she refused.

“Don’t waste it. I know I won’t survive this winter.” Lady Meng panted, gazing at Ye Qinglan, unable to voice her request.

Ye Qinglan was no longer young; she would turn twenty-four after the New Year—a shocking age for an unmarried lady in the capital. Most of her peers were already married with children. Though her apricot-shaped face was still smooth as jade and her features strikingly beautiful, she had wasted her best years.

Lady Meng’s heart ached all the more, unable to speak, only shedding tears.

“Qinglan, Qinglan, what will you do in the future…” She wept, holding Ye Qinglan’s hand. “How can I face your mother?”

Ye Qinglan soothed her gently. “Aunt, please don’t worry about these matters now. Just focus on your health. I will look after our little cousin, you can be at ease.”

But mentioning the “little cousin” made Lady Meng even more anxious. Ye Qinglan comforted her, “Aunt, I will find a way…”

“You are so young; how can you contend with them?” Lady Meng gripped her hand, worried.

“When the carriage reaches the mountain, there will be a road. Aunt, just focus on recovery; everything will be resolved.” Ye Qinglan urged her to drink the ginseng soup. “Sleep well, and we will discuss things when you wake.”

Lady Meng’s sleep was restless—a drifting between life and death. Especially in the latter half of the night, she was tormented by nightmares, waking often, muttering in her dreams: “Ahcuo, run quickly, they mean you harm,” or, “Qinglan, I have failed you, ruined your future,” and finally, she called out, “Sister…”

Lady Lin and two maids kept vigil, and Ye Qinglan stayed awake all night, comforting Lady Meng, holding her hand each time she woke and called her name. “Aunt, don’t worry. Qinglan is here.”

By the fourth watch, deep into the night, the entire Meng household was silent. Ye Qinglan still kept vigil in the chamber, not noticing when Ye Lingbo arrived.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Four years younger than Ye Qinglan, Lingbo was mature beyond her years—girls without mothers who grew up in grand estates matured quickly.

Ye Qinglan said nothing, but lifted the covers so Lingbo could sit on the bed, and the sisters leaned against each other, guarding their aunt.

“Where’s Yanyan?” Ye Qinglan always worried about her youngest sister.

“I’m here.” Ye Yanyan, only fourteen, lively as ever, burrowed into the covers, and the three sisters huddled together like nestlings.

Ye Qinglan was accustomed to caring for her sisters, and they felt safest by her side. With their aunt in her final moments, none could sleep in their own rooms, but beside her, each soon nodded off. Yanyan slept first, then Lingbo, head resting on Qinglan’s shoulder, yawning.

Ye Qinglan tucked them in, glanced at Lady Meng on her deathbed, and was startled by a girl behind the curtain.

She was about Yanyan’s age, stunningly beautiful—like a figure in a painting. Her face was delicate, her eyes luminous as autumn water, slender as a willow, her hair loose and unbound, clearly having risen after lying down, standing nervously, watching Ye Qinglan. When she realized she’d been noticed, she instinctively shrank back.

Ye Qinglan smiled at her.

Ye Qinglan was not only beautiful, but gentle and dignified—a born elder sister. The girl couldn’t help but gaze at her, and when Ye Qinglan beckoned, she approached without thinking.

“What is your name?” Ye Qinglan asked her.

The girl remained wary, glancing uneasily at the sleeping Lady Lin and then at Lady Meng.

“I am Ye Qinglan. You may call me Sister, like the others.” Ye Qinglan instructed softly, “Lady Lin and Aunt are asleep, don’t wake them.”

The girl had evidently heard her name.

“My name is Ahcuo,” she whispered politely, “Sister Qinglan.”

Qinglan reached out to touch her and asked, “Are you cold? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I can’t sleep.” Ahcuo looked at her, seeing only gentleness and infinite understanding in her gaze, as if no matter the trouble, Qinglan would find a way. Her eyes reddened. “I’m afraid…”

…

Lady Lin awoke to find dawn approaching, startled. Her first instinct was to check Lady Meng, who was merely unconscious, the illness not worse, which eased her worry. Turning to the bed, she was surprised.

The three Ye sisters were huddled together asleep—a scene she remembered well. Seven years ago, when Ye Lady passed, she accompanied her mistress to the funeral, and the sisters slept like this, nestling together like orphaned chicks, a sight to touch even the hardest heart.

But now, after seven years, there was one more.

Lady Meng’s adopted daughter, the quiet and solitary beauty Ahcuo, at some point had nestled among the Ye sisters, curled in Qinglan’s arms, sleeping peacefully.

—

A grand funeral was held for Lady Meng.

Though she bore no children, as the legitimate wife, her funeral was magnificent—this was not merely her final rite but a matter of the Meng family’s reputation.

The mourning lasted half a month, stirring the capital, ending in silence after the grandeur faded. Once Lady Meng was sent to the mountain, the crucial matter arrived: as a daughter of the Lin family, she brought a substantial dowry, which only increased in value over the years. Lady Lin, ever capable, locked it away after her mistress passed, awaiting the day for the three families to gather and decide its fate.

The Lin family was the maternal side, now headed by the son of a different mother. Naturally, both Lin husband and wife attended. The Meng family was the husband’s household; Lady Meng had no children, only the adopted Ahcuo, who, at fifteen, could not appear at the meeting.

The hall was filled with both Meng and Lin families. Lady Lin held the key, sitting in a side chamber, worriedly watching Ahcuo, who sat quietly, hands folded, eyes downcast, unmoved by the commotion next door.

“They’re discussing madam’s dowry list…” Lady Lin whispered, frowning. “Miss, we should go out, we can't let them decide alone.”

Ahcuo shook her head.

“What are you waiting for, miss…” Lady Lin grew anxious. “If you wait too long, the dowry will be gone.”

Ahcuo said nothing, eyes fixed on the window. The arguments next door seemed not to reach her. Snow fell thickly in the courtyard—a bitter winter, even the plum trees seemed frozen, no buds visible.

A sparrow hopped on the snow, scratching for food—how could it find anything in such cold?

But the sparrow soon flew away.

The courtyard door had opened.

Through the swirling snow, the Meng family’s servant announced loudly, “Miss Ye, Second Miss, Third Miss have arrived, requesting to see Second Miss Meng.”

Though the main branch had only a son and daughter from the concubine, the visitors specifically asked to see Ahcuo as “Second Miss Meng.” Lady Lin was overjoyed, and looking toward the gate, saw Ye Qinglan and her two sisters arriving, cloaked in fox fur.

—

In the capital, it was rare for unmarried ladies to show themselves, not only Ye Lingbo, Yanyan, and Ahcuo, but even Ye Qinglan, as the eldest, could not sit in the main hall without being challenged by Concubine Su. “The Lin family’s customs are peculiar—unmarried girls sitting with the elders, what logic is that?”

Ye Qinglan remained calm.

“My father is at court today, unable to attend. My mother and Aunt were cousins. When my mother passed, Aunt handled our funeral. Now Aunt has gone, I must come. Please forgive me, Grand Lady.” She glanced at Concubine Su, “Besides, I don’t see why a concubine should discuss the legitimate wife’s dowry. Uncle, what do you say?”

—

The Lin family had divided late; the main and second branches lived together. Lady Meng and Ye Qinglan’s mother were cousins, and with no male heirs, their line merged. Calling Lin the uncle was proper. Lin, seeing Qinglan’s support, hurriedly agreed, “Yes, my niece is right.”

“Aunt’s husband,” Ye Qinglan turned to Meng.

Meng could only smile awkwardly, casting a warning glance at Concubine Su, though Qinglan expected nothing, merely sought to temper Su’s arrogance.

But Concubine Su would not yield. Having entered the household early, she had endured hardship, witnessed Lady Meng’s grandeur, and served her for a time. Though now favored with children, she could not forget her admiration for the legitimate wife, and so coveted the dowry. Being glanced at by Meng, instead of withdrawing, she appealed to the Grand Matriarch, “Grandmother…”

“Miss Ye,” the Grand Matriarch’s face was calm, unreadable, her tone advisory, “You are a young lady of noble character. Matters of inheritance are tedious; even I find them tiresome. Why trouble yourself for another’s sake?”

“Entrusted, one must fulfill the duty,” Ye Qinglan replied evenly. “I cannot shirk my promise. Please forgive me.”

The Grand Matriarch sighed.

“You are the niece of our departed daughter-in-law, but she has children here. The dowry should follow her daughters: one share for the concubine’s daughter, one for the adopted daughter. Is that fair?” she asked.

Concubine Su was pleased at first, hearing her daughter would get a share, but not so when she heard the adopted daughter would as well. “That adopted girl is from her own family, not even in our genealogy. How can she equal my Yun Cui? No, she cannot share!”

“Uncle,” Ye Qinglan called Lin.

Lin began, “Let me be fair—” but Concubine Su interrupted, “By rights, the maternal uncle has authority. If Yun Cui and Uncle split the dowry, that makes sense. But how can it go to outsiders? Uncle, do you agree?”

This silenced Lin, and no matter how Qinglan looked at him, he wouldn’t speak.

Ye Qinglan glanced at Meng, who avoided her gaze. She knew she stood alone today, but had anticipated it. She calmly sipped her tea.

“Auntie speaks sense, but I must remind her of another rule. Since Yun Cui recognizes my aunt as her legitimate mother, by custom, she must observe three years’ mourning. Yun Cui is seventeen, just at the age for the Flower Banquet. If she observes three years, she’ll be twenty, risking her prospects.”

Concubine Su was stymied, and looked to Meng for help.

Ye Qinglan continued.

“Of course, I’ve heard that Uncle and Concubine Su have a deep bond. It’s been decided that after Aunt’s passing, Concubine Su will be elevated to the main wife, making her equal. Then Yun Cui need only wear mourning, not observe it, and may attend the Flower Banquet. But in that case, she would lose the right to Aunt’s dowry.”

Concubine Su protested, “Does that mean the adopted girl need not observe mourning?”

“Ahcuo is only fifteen, dependent and inexperienced. Aunt intended to keep her a few years, teach her well, then let her attend the Flower Banquet. I’ve asked her; she’s willing to observe three years’ mourning for Aunt. I wonder if Yun Cui is willing as well.” Ye Qinglan countered every argument with logic and custom.

Her reasoning was flawless; neither Meng nor Lin could address the Flower Banquet, leaving only the Grand Matriarch, who watched Qinglan with a complex expression, and after she finished, sighed deeply.

“According to you, how should it be handled?” she asked.

“Since you ask, and Aunt entrusted me, I have a suggestion.” Ye Qinglan spoke unhurriedly. “Though Aunt’s dowry is considerable, the Meng family values more than wealth. Moreover, accepting it means three years’ mourning—Yun Cui’s youth would be wasted. My suggestion: let all step back. The dowry no longer passes to daughters, but is split between husband’s and father’s families. Ten shares: two to Yun Cui, as a Flower Banquet gift, without requiring mourning. One to Uncle, as compensation for helping care for Ahcuo. The remaining seven to Ahcuo as dowry—she attends the Flower Banquet as usual, but after the betrothal, observes three years’ mourning before marriage. This preserves both custom and reputation; no one can say the Meng family lacks a mourning daughter, which would disgrace the master. Grand Matriarch, what do you think?”

Concubine Su understood little beyond her daughter receiving only two shares, and was dissatisfied, about to protest, but the Grand Matriarch sternly rebuked her, “Do you really wish Yun Cui to observe three years’ mourning? Two shares are enough; be quiet.”

Concubine Su had to hold her tongue. Lin was also unhappy, “Why do I get only one?”

“If Uncle is willing to take Ahcuo into his household, cover her Flower Banquet expenses—clothes, jewelry, cosmetics, banquets—and let her attend with Lin’s invitation, then two shares would be justified…”

Lin was astonished; he knew the cost was no small matter and had always been wary of his dignified niece. He could only laugh, “I have no such leisure.”

“In that case, let it be settled.” Ye Qinglan was unsurprised by his response, and spoke coolly.

“Wait,” Concubine Su interjected, “If so, Ahcuo is not a Meng family member; she cannot attend the Flower Banquet with our invitation, and Ye Miss should bear all costs.”

Ye Qinglan pressed her lips together.

She was always the most proper of noble ladies, never showing emotion. This, for her, was anger.

“Ahcuo is Aunt’s adopted daughter. Whether she is a Meng family member is not for Concubine Su to decide.” She looked to the Grand Matriarch, “Madam, it’s said that more children bring prosperity, and a thriving house. Ahcuo is intelligent and kind, and your protection today will be repaid in future. For you, it’s a small gesture; for Ahcuo, it’s a lifeline. Please consider carefully.”

The Grand Matriarch was silent for a long time.

She seemed to ponder, then slowly said, “If she can refrain from attending the Flower Banquet this year, let Yun Cui have a year…”

Ye Qinglan smiled, not bitterly, but as if she saw through everything.

“In that case, Ahcuo will come home with me. I will arrange all expenses and invitations. Uncle will act as witness; I will serve as guarantor. Let today’s agreement be written and settled, and I will take Ahcuo home tonight.”