Her kindness was a warmth in the winter of my misery. My mind raced. Wandering alone by myself would surely arouse suspicion. I wasn’t sure how I could think of such mundane things, but something hardened inside me. Grief was a luxury I could ill afford after wallowing in it half the night. If I fell apart now, it would all have been for nothing. I would find a place here and somehow, I would make my way home—whether it took me a year, a decade, or a century.
“Thank you. I’m grateful for your kindness.” I bent from my waist in a graceless bow, as we never stood on such ceremony at home. It seemed to please her as she smiled, motioning for me to follow her.
We walked the rest of the way in silence, past a grove of bamboo trees and across a gray stone bridge that arched over a river, before arriving at the gates of a large estate. A black lacquered plaque was displayed just below the roof of the entrance, gilded with the characters:
金莲府
Golden Lotus Mansion
It was a sprawling estate, a cluster of interlinked halls and spacious courtyards. Red columns held up curved roofs of midnight blue tiles. Lotus flowers floated upon the ponds, their fragrance heady and sweet. I followed the woman through long corridors lit by rosewood lanterns, until we reached a large building. Leaving me by the doorway, she approached a ruddy-faced man and spoke to him. He nodded once, before coming toward me. I stood straighter, instinctively smoothing out the creases in my robe.
“Ah, this is well timed!” he exclaimed. “Our Young Mistress, Lady Meiling, admonished me just last night for not having found her a replacement. Although one wonders why she can’t make do with three attendants,” he muttered, as he fixed me with an appraising stare. “Have you served in a large household before? What are your skills?”
I swallowed hard, thinking of my home. I had not been idle, helping out whenever I could. “Not as large as this one,” I finally ventured. “I would be grateful for any position you can offer. I can cook, clean, play music, and read.” My skills were far from impressive, but my answer seemed to satisfy him.
The next few days were spent learning my tasks, from how to brew Lady Meiling’s tea to her liking, to preparing her favorite almond cakes, and caring for her garments—some adorned with such exquisite embroideries they seemed to quiver beneath my touch. Other duties included polishing the furniture, washing the bedding, and tending to the gardens. I was kept on my feet from dawn till night, maybe because I had no powers to speak of that might have eased my chores.
It was the rules here which chafed more than the labor: dictating the depth of my bows, requiring me to hold my tongue until spoken to, to never sit in my mistress’s presence, to obey her every command without hesitation. Each rule ground my pride a little more into the dirt, widening the gulf between mistress and servant—a constant reminder of the inferiority of my position, and the fact I was no longer home.
These might have stung more, yet my heart was already leaden with grief, my mind sunken with worries far greater than aching feet or palms scraped raw. And in a way, I was glad my days were crammed even with such drudgery, leaving me little time to dwell on my misery.
When the chief steward finally deemed my performance satisfactory, I was assigned to Lady Meiling, along with her other attendants with whom I would be sharing a room. She was supposedly a demanding mistress, but I hoped among the four of us we might suffice. When I arrived with my bag, the other attendants were getting dressed, slipping on willow green robes over their white inner garments. One of the girls helped another tie a yellow sash around her waist. A pretty girl with dimples slid a brass lotus-shaped hairpin into her hair, which all of us were required to wear. They were a lively trio, chattering among themselves with easy familiarity. Despite the misery that weighed on me, a spark kindled in my chest. Perhaps I finally had the opportunity to make the friends I had long wished for.
The girl with the dimples swung toward me. “Are you the new girl? Where are you from?”
“I . . . I . . .” The story Ping’er had helped me concoct flew out of my head. Under the weight of their stare, heat rushed into my cheeks.
The others giggled, their eyes gleaming as rain-washed pebbles. “Jiayi,” one of them called to the girl with the lotus pin. “She seems to have lost her voice.”
Jiayi’s stare raked me, her mouth curling as though seeing something which displeased her. Was it my plain hairstyle or the lack of ornaments dangling from my waist, wrists, and neck? Or was it that I lacked her poise, her assurance of her place in this world? All of which heralded the simple truth that I was an outsider, that I did not belong.