The West Garden of the Jing'an Marquisate was filled with lush green bamboo. When the breeze passed, the slender leaves rustled softly.
In the middle of the bamboo sea, a path of blue-gray stones wound its way inward. At the end stood a small courtyard, called "Ru Huai Pavilion."
Ru Huai Pavilion had blue bricks, black tiles, and white walls, like a small Jiangnan residence. Its tranquil simplicity was completely out of place in the Jing'an Marquisate.
Zheng Qian, carrying her cat, entered with her maid Caiyuan, and knocked on the door of Ru Huai Pavilion.
The maid who opened the door looked about seventeen or eighteen, with delicate features and a sweet smile. She bowed to Zheng Qian, then invited her in.
Zheng Qian had been here before and knew this maid was mute. Her mother—the grand lady of the Marquisate—was supposed to manage household affairs and educate her children, yet she hid away here, worshipping Buddha.
For the sake of peace, even the maid she employed was mute.
No wonder the original owner had to fight for everything herself—her father disliked her, her mother was unreliable, and her brother was disabled.
It wasn't easy.
Inside Ru Huai Pavilion, the courtyard held a century-old peach tree, its twisted branches leaning askew. At this season, the crimson blossoms had all fallen, leaving only tiny green fruit dotting the branches.
Zheng Qian entered the main hall.
Ru Huai Pavilion had only two maids and two coarse old housekeepers. Aside from the mute maid, there was one maid who could speak, but she said very little.
"Eldest young lady, Madam still has a moment. Please sit," said the speaking maid tersely, then withdrew.
Zheng Qian held her cat, gently stroking its soft back.
It had been twenty days. Fine soft fur had grown along her cat's back. It was pure white, with a pair of mandarin duck eyes—a breed Zheng Qian loved most.
She stroked it lightly, waiting for her so-called mother.
In ancient China, timekeeping differed from later generations. A maid's "one ke" was not fifteen minutes, but half an hour.
Half an hour made one ke; four ke made one shi, which was two hours.
For example, the common "third ke of noon" in dramas meant twelve o'clock noon.
Zheng Qian sat patiently. After one ke, her mother finally emerged from the Buddhist hall.
Before she even stepped out, Zheng Qian smelled the faint, clear scent of sandalwood—typical of someone who worshipped Buddha.
The person had not arrived, but the scent came first.
Soon the beaded curtain inside lifted with a crisp, pleasant rustle. The grand lady, Madam Pan—the original mother of Zheng Qian—finally appeared.
She was in her forties. Her skin was pale from lack of sun, fine lines creased the corners of her eyes, and her gaze held a trace of coldness.
"You're here," Madam said flatly, without warmth. "How have you been recently?"
"Good," Zheng Qian replied.
"Have you been studying seriously?"
"Yes."
"And your needlework and embroidery, have you kept up?"
"Yes."
"When you are before your grandmother, you must pay daily respects and filial duties without neglect. Obey your wet nurse, treat servants kindly, and do not lose the benevolence of a Marquisate young lady…"
Zheng Qian listened quietly. She felt her biological mother was merely completing a task—seeing her daughter once a month, reciting this speech.
Zheng Qian shouldn't have caused mischief; everyone had their difficulties. But seeing her mother's extreme coldness, she couldn't help but feel mischievous.
She interrupted: "I've been reading the Lotus Sutra and the Shurangama Sutra recently. I don't understand some parts. Mother, could you clarify for me?"
Madam Pan was startled.
"What… what questions do you have?" she asked.
Zheng Qian: "Mother, do you think it is better for a girl to read the Lotus Sutra or the Shurangama Sutra?"
Madam Pan paused briefly.
"The Shurangama Sutra is too complex; I don't quite understand it. The Lotus Sutra says anyone can become Buddha, regardless of wealth or status. If one understands the latter, does it not follow that the former is also clear?" Zheng Qian asked.
Madam Pan adjusted her expression and said: "That is natural. You may read the Lotus Sutra first. But you are still young; you need not read scriptures. Just do good deeds daily."
Zheng Qian nodded.
Madam Pan, afraid she would ask more, said she would continue her own chanting and asked Zheng Qian to leave.
Outside Ru Huai Pavilion, Zheng Qian stood in front of the bamboo grove, lost in thought.
"Eldest young lady, what is it?" Caiyuan asked.
Zheng Qian shook her head.
She did not voice her doubt.
This mother did not seem like a true believer.
True believers were devout.
When Zheng Qian mentioned reading sutras, her mother actually advised against it—that was not the behavior of a believer. A true believer would be pleased someone joined their faith; it meant trust and admiration.
Everyone needs recognition.
Madam Pan telling Zheng Qian not to read probably meant she worried Zheng Qian would ask her about the sutras and she couldn't answer.
The Shurangama Sutra only appeared in the mid-Tang Dynasty. By Zheng Qian's judgment, this era was earlier, so the Shurangama Sutra did not yet exist.
The Lotus Sutra was six or seven hundred years earlier; it should exist.
"This mother, her faith is so crude. She probably only knows the name Lotus Sutra, and hasn't even read it," Zheng Qian thought bitterly.
Then why did she hide in Ru Huai Pavilion? Not for Buddhist worship—what then?
Disheartened because her son was disabled?
If disheartened, shouldn't she worship Buddha more, seeking spiritual solace? Why is worship just an excuse, without even reading basic sutras?
Zheng Qian was puzzled.
She walked back silently.
Caiyuan, thinking she was upset by Madam Pan's cold attitude, advised: "Eldest young lady, don't be sad. Madam has always been like this, for eight years now. Even without her, haven't you endured?"
The original owner was only seventeen.
From the age of nine, the person who should have most protected and cared for her—her mother—abandoned her. Her elder brother, whom she could rely on, became disabled.
Her father and grandmother favored second young lady from the start; without mother and brother, the original owner sought other emotional solace.
Alas, she didn't find it and became a clown in her own life.
Zheng Qian felt sorry for her.
This visit, and the last one to see her mother, left a deep, inexpressible sadness in her heart. It was not her own, but the original owner's.
"Ah, poor child," Zheng Qian sighed.
She had died so young, replaced by Zheng Qian the military physician, never having enjoyed happiness. A lifetime craving care, yet no one loved her.
The only warmth came from her brief encounter with Rui Wang Xiao Zhan. Because she could not reach him, that warmth became her solitary solace in lonely nights, without corrupting her thoughts.
Zheng Qian thought maybe the original owner didn't want to know why her mother was like this.
In her mind, eight years ago, her mother had died along with her elder brother.
Zheng Qian composed herself, thinking no more.
Her mother, whether living or dead, mattered not. She did not intend to stay in this house forever.
Her goal was to survive as a Princess in the capital, move out of the Marquisate, reject the arranged marriage to the Wen family, and live freely.
And if she had money, she could even keep a few obedient young men!