Shen Gengxu stared at her essay, while scenes from her past flashed before her eyes like a revolving lantern.
When she was born, her name was Shen Changyin. She was the illegitimate daughter of a concubine in a wealthy Jiangnan family. Her mother died early, and she struggled to survive in a ruined temple.
She listened to lessons from outside the clan school windows. She stole cured meat and salted fish drying outside nearby homes to fill her stomach. She used branches and mud as pen and paper.
The eldest legitimate daughter of the main branch was named Shen Liuzhen. From childhood she had been doted upon, but her body was frail, so she seldom went out. Few people had seen her, and she was a mysterious figure.
At thirteen, Shen Changyin borrowed the name "Shen Liuzhen" and went to study under a renowned scholar in the neighboring prefecture, hinting that she was that noble legitimate daughter, concealing her true identity while studying under the great scholar.
Under the name of being that scholar's student, she then went on to study at another academy.
Gradually, she built up a genuine record for herself, slowly washing away the falsehoods. By the time she entered the capital, she no longer needed to use the name Shen Liuzhen.
Fearing discovery by the Jiangnan Shen family, she also did not use her original name, Shen Changyin. Instead, she fabricated the simple name Shen Yu, and in her policy essays she habitually signed herself as Shen Gengxu.
In her life, she had many names. Each name represented a different identity. She changed her name in order to change her identity; she changed her identity because she needed to deceive and conceal.
Except for the three years she studied under the name "Shen Liuzhen," she had always been lowly, always looked down upon.
Whether she was Shen Changyin—the disgrace of her clan—or Shen Yu, the impoverished student, when she spoke, no one paid attention.
When she asked the clan elders for her mother's inheritance, no one responded. When she asked her teachers questions, no one responded. When she submitted her policy essays to officials, hoping for a position as a retainer, no one responded. When she asked her landlady to repair the broken window, no one responded.
In countless areas of her life, she had long grown used to this.
But that absolutely did not include being ignored in a debate.
Is my scholarship inferior to yours? Is my writing style beneath your notice? On what grounds do you refuse to reply to me?
Only in this matter would she never accept being belittled.
On the notice board before her, because the straw-hatted woman had still not replied, other opponents of torture had already posted slips of paper to refute her.
But she did not care about them.
She turned, pushed through the crowd, and hurried toward the outskirts of the city.
The straw-hatted woman wore that hat every day and carried a fishing rod on her back—clearly passionate about fishing. She had even scooped away fish that had originally belonged to her.
She would go find her.
She would stand in front of her, block her sunlight, force her to debate, and defeat her.
On the great embankment outside the capital, willows and reeds flourished in lush abundance. The broad, calm river showed only faint ripples. White waterbirds streaked like horizontal lines across the distant mountains.
The cold spark in Shen Changyin's heart continued to burn.
The old washerwoman was still there, beating clothes with a wooden paddle, splashing pale, soapberry-scented water.
But when Shen Changyin looked over the riverbank, she did not see the straw-hatted woman.
She went to ask the old woman.
The old woman shook her head. "That girl? She did come fishing today."
Shen Changyin pressed, "Then where did she go?"
The old woman suddenly laughed, sincere and warm. "Her bait today was even worse than last time. She couldn't even keep it on the hook. In a fit of anger, she just scattered it into the river to feed the fish."
"She even grabbed a little shovel and tried digging for earthworms by the riverbank. Couldn't find any. Got herself covered in mud. Stormed off in a huff."
A soft laugh escaped.
The flames in Shen Changyin's heart dimmed slightly.
She could not help but smile. Her cold, snow-like features warmed under the early summer sunlight—then she quickly schooled her expression again.
She asked the old woman, "If you see her next time, please tell her that Shen Gengxu still has unfinished grievances with her. Tell her to go to the teahouse."
The old woman nodded, then pulled out a small oil-paper bundle from her clothes and handed it over. "Here. Found two sweet potatoes left from last winter in the cellar. Don't know if they're still good. Mixed them into dough and fried them into pancakes. Have a taste."
Shen Changyin stood there, eyes lowered to the bundle, not moving at first.
The old woman pushed it closer. "Hurry. My arm's getting tired."
Shen Changyin accepted it softly, murmured thanks, and sat beside her, watching her wash clothes while nibbling at the sweet potato pancake in small bites.
After finishing, she said, "It's better than last time. Sweeter."
The old woman glanced at her and smiled, deep wrinkles gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Girl, you sure are picky."
"How does a poor child end up with such a fastidious mouth?"
Shen Changyin carefully folded the oil paper into a neat little square, holding it in her hand. Her face reddened slightly. In a small voice, she said, "I won't be poor forever."
"When that time comes, I'll buy you good food. The most expensive. The best."
The old woman laughed. "Then I'll be waiting."
Shen Changyin stayed a while longer. Then she unfolded the oil paper again, folded it into a small paper boat, and set it on the river, watching it drift away with the current.
"I have to go back and study. The imperial examination is this year." She stood and bowed to the old woman. "If you see that straw-hatted woman, please pass on my message."
The old woman gave a brisk slap of her paddle, water splashing. "Got it. Go on now. Study well."
Shen Changyin, in her green robe, gradually walked away.
Soon the vast riverbank was left with only the old washerwoman.
The next day, when Xie Yu arrived, the old woman relayed the message.
Xie Yu froze.
In her mind—stuffed with thoughts of bait mixtures, fishing lines, casting angles—faint traces of policy essays began to surface.
Seeing her slow to react, the old woman reminded her, "Girl, a few days ago, didn't you poke two fish out of a little pit?"
Xie Yu was pulled from her thoughts and nodded, sitting down beside her. "Yes. Fish get washed into that pit easily but can't swim back out. Very convenient."
She added proudly, "The reeds around it are thick. The pit is well hidden. I was the first to discover it."
The old woman sighed deeply and lifted her paddle in exasperation. "First to discover it? Shen found it long ago. Everyone who washes clothes or fishes here knows about that pit."
"Shen's so skinny she's like a reed herself. Poor child—no mother, no money. So young, and her face is pale as snow without a hint of color."
"Us old women felt sorry for her. We pretended not to notice and let her come every few days to gather some fish to take home. At least she'd get some meat."
"You think you're clever, the only one who knows how to catch those fish. She came yesterday—I saw her walking unsteadily."
Xie Yu froze, never having imagined this. "Ah?"
The old woman didn't know about their quarrel at the teahouse. Seeing that Xie Yu wore fine fabric and had a decent temper, she dared to say, "Girl, since you have money, let her off. Don't bully her."
"If she's angry at you, that's normal. People get angry when they're hungry. In a few days when you meet again, don't argue with her. Shen is a good girl. She won't do anything."
Xie Yu was nearly drowned in guilt.
How could she have known Shen Gengxu couldn't afford to eat?
Thinking of that day when she had sent roasted chicken upstairs—only for the other woman not to take a single bite.
At the time, Shen must have thought it was humiliation.
Restless and overwhelmed with remorse, Xie Yu cast her line. The hook snagged in the reeds. No matter how she tugged, she couldn't pull it back. In a fit of frustration, she snapped the line.
Then she suddenly stood up. "This won't do."
"What won't do?" the old woman asked.
Xie Yu shook her head. "Nothing. Please keep washing. I'll be right back."
She set down her rod and gear, grabbed a bucket, and ran along the riverbank until she found a fishing boat.
She waved frantically. The boatwoman poled to shore. "Miss, what do you need?"
Xie Yu lifted her bucket. "Do you have live fish? The kind that won't die easily. Uninjured ones. I'll buy them all."
Before long, the old woman saw her return, bucket full, running toward the reed-hidden pit.
—
The next morning, Shen Changyin woke from hunger, her abdomen aching unbearably.
She lay in bed with her eyes closed, trying to endure it. But the cold, burning pain only intensified.
She rose, though she knew her rice jar was empty, and lifted the lid anyway.
Spotless.
She replaced it, gulped down a large jug of cold water to ease the hunger, then sat at her desk and pulled out a sheet of paper to transcribe the classics from memory.
Though her ink was cheap, under her brush it flowed like the finest inkstick. Elegant regular script poured out, character by character. Her writing sped up, strokes growing rougher.
Gradually, her script turned sharp and forceful—lean and decisive.
A sudden stab of pain pierced her belly. She muffled a groan. Her brush tip slipped, leaving a large blot of ink.
She collapsed over the desk, cold sweat covering her brow. After a long while, she straightened.
She had checked the riverbank yesterday. The pit had been empty.
Perhaps no fish had been washed in these days. Or perhaps the straw-hatted woman had scooped them away again.
If it was the latter, then today would likely be empty too. She should not go and waste precious strength.
She covered her eyes with her arm until the pressure hurt, then slowly rose.
Taking the fishing pole from the corner of the room, she walked toward the city outskirts.
On the emerald embankment, her steps were unsteady. From time to time she had to plant the pole to steady herself.
The sun felt like a punishment, melting everything in her vision.
If… she meant, if there were still no fish today, she would go find the old woman. Maybe she could get another piece of cake.
At that moment, the roasted chicken she had refused at the teahouse floated into her mind.
She found it laughable. Even with no strength left in her body, she could still lift the corners of her mouth.
What dignity does a poor woman have?
She reached the pit, pushed aside the thick reeds—
—and froze.
More than a dozen live fish swam densely in the small pool.
For a moment, she thought she was mistaken. That it was a hallucination.
After a long while, she slowly crouched and dipped her hand into the water.
A passing fish darted away agilely, its tail brushing lightly against her fingers.
She immediately came to her senses, scooped the fish into her net, and placed them into her straw basket.
Then she headed back into the city.
First, she put two fish into a pot, lit the fire, and began to boil them. Then she took the largest fish to her landlady's house and exchanged it for half a bowl of rice.
When she returned, she poured the rice into water, added a bit of salt, and cooked a pot of half-done fish porridge.
As she ate, she almost burst into tears.
Only then did a question suddenly occur to her.
How could there be so many fish?
It had not even been a full day since she checked yesterday. How could so many fish have appeared?
Had someone put them there? But the trampled reeds were slowly recovering; there were no new traces of footsteps.
Her fingertip lightly tapped the rim of her bowl. She decided to go look again tomorrow.
The next day, as she passed the teahouse, she discovered that the straw-hatted woman had posted a new round of replies. The writing was long and detailed, and the tone far more sincere.
And outside the capital, the little pool was once again filled with fish.
The person who released them seemed to realize she could not eat that many. This time there were only five fish—but they were more expensive sea bass.
Who was putting the fish there?
Shen Changyin did not know.
But she was not the sort of person who would feel overwhelming gratitude over such small favors.
Whether nobles or wealthy merchants—those who were already rich often scattered alms that meant little to them but meant a great deal to the poor, all in hopes of receiving profound gratitude in return.
But how could such charity compare to the sweet potato cake the hardworking old washerwoman handed her?
How could those possibly be the same?
If she were so easily overwhelmed with gratitude, that would be foolish.
Even so, she scooped up the sea bass and left.
Hunger always taught people to be practical.
The third day. The fourth day.
The debate at the notice board continued. The pool was still filled with fish every day.
Shen Changyin ate part of the fish herself and took the rest to small street shops to sell, exchanging them for money and saving it.
By the fifth day, the debate at the notice board became intense again.
The straw-hatted woman's careful and sincere wording from a few days ago had vanished amid countless rebuttals, replaced once more by her former sharpness.
And Shen Changyin decided she would catch the person who kept releasing fish.
She had asked the old washerwoman, who refused to say who it was. But she could guess—it was likely that straw-hatted woman.
She wanted to see her and ask what she was trying to do.
So on the sixth day, before dawn, she waited by the riverbank for her to arrive.
She held a worn book with frayed edges, reciting while keeping her eyes fixed on the reeds around the pool. The sky slowly brightened. In the distance, fisherwomen began to launch their boats, calling out as they pushed off with their poles.
Shen Changyin waited quietly.
Suddenly she heard something splash into the water. She instinctively looked up and saw a large splash in the middle of the river, ripples spreading outward.
She immediately turned back toward the pool and saw a straw-hatted figure darting through the reeds, hurrying away.
She gave chase—but the woman ran far too fast. In the blink of an eye, she had disappeared into the woods by the river.
Shen Changyin rushed into the forest, scanning in all directions. She could not see a shadow, not even footprints.
After searching once more with no result, she turned and left.
Hidden up in a tree, Xie Yu listened to the retreating footsteps and let out a long breath of relief.
When she had arrived that morning, she had immediately seen the thin figure in green robes, holding a book. Though she could not see her face, she instantly knew it was that "Shen Gengxu."
This woman had probably come to catch her.
Why?
Was she still angry about the stolen fish? That did not make sense—Xie Yu had returned fish these past days, and Shen had taken them every day.
Then was she angry about the policy essays?
Had Xie Yu mocked her too harshly today?
Whatever the reason, Xie Yu had no intention of being caught. She had asked the boatwoman that when they reached mid-river, she should toss down a large stone.
While Shen Gengxu's attention was drawn to the splash, Xie Yu dumped the fish into the pool and ran for it.
What she had not expected was that although Shen looked thin and frail, she did not seem sick at all—she ran surprisingly fast.
Xie Yu had to sprint wildly, finally scrambling up into a tree to hide before she managed to shake her off.
When the footsteps faded completely, she tilted her head and saw only the departing back of a woman in green robes. At last, she relaxed fully.
Leaning her head against the tree trunk, she laughed sincerely.
—
Outside the dream, Xie Yu lay on the bed with her eyes closed and suddenly let out a soft laugh.
Shen Changyin, sitting beside her, immediately set down the documents in her hand—only to realize that Xie Yu was merely dreaming, not waking.
The smile on her face was relaxed and genuine. It must have been a beautiful dream.
Shen Changyin sighed, faint red threads visible in her eyes.
Xie Yu had been asleep for a day and a half.
She had sent people to watch the palace and confirmed that the empress was also asleep. Only that news gave her some comfort—proof that it was not the empress harming Xie Yu, but merely the effects of the Three-Day Intoxication.
She touched Xie Yu's forehead and looked at her gently curved brows and closed eyes.
You look so happy, little Xie. Is it a good dream?
Am I in it?
She sighed again and whispered, "Rest well."
Then she picked up the documents once more.
But by the third day, spies from the palace brought news: the empress had awakened.
Little Xie had not.
Shen Changyin's heart tightened. She immediately summoned Physician Zhang.
Physician Zhang sat by the bed and conducted a more thorough examination, then shook her head at Shen Changyin. "Just like before—her pulse is completely normal."
"Is it possible she simply drank more, so the effects are stronger?"
Physician Zhang suggested waiting a bit longer.
But in Shen Changyin's mind, a long-buried memory suddenly resurfaced.
In her previous life, she had once heard people in the streets discussing the Third Princess's strange illness.
At that time, the Third Princess was already a renowned general. Everyone knew she was young and strong, so news of her illness spread quickly, astonishing all.
Her new landlady had once sworn that the Third Princess was not truly sick, but that it was a destined calamity.
Because a distant relative of hers had once worked briefly as a servant in the princess's residence. The rumor was that before falling ill, the Third Princess had been in excellent health, with no signs of impending sickness.
Then one night she went to sleep as usual—and did not wake the next morning. She slept for more than ten days before opening her eyes. From then on, she was plagued by illness after illness, never free from suffering.
At this point, the landlady had even made several gestures of prayer, saying that people must revere the spirits and the divine—otherwise they would end up like the Third Princess, seemingly powerful yet unable to escape the calamities written in their fate.
Back then, Shen Changyin had dismissed it.
Now, those words echoed relentlessly in her mind.
Was it that illness?
Was it that calamity?
She grasped Xie Yu's hand. Her face remained calm, but beneath the covers, both her hands trembled.
Wasn't it supposed to happen three years later?
Weren't they supposed to still have three years?
How could it be now…
—
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