The day Liu spread the rumor, the capital welcomed its first snowfall of the winter. The flakes, like countless ethereal butterfly feathers, drifted down from the gray sky, adorning the entire capital in a world of silver. I crouched quietly in the corridor of the First Lady's Courtyard, sweeping the accumulated snow in front of it with a bamboo broom. Each stroke of the broom against the bluestone slabs made a crisp sound, remarkably clear in the stillness of the snowy day.
Mo Zhu hurried in, clutching a stack of freshly printed storybooks. Few snowflakes clung to her hair, and the snow on the oil-paper wrapping had melted into water stains. "Miss!" her voice, filled with anxiety and anger, shattered the tranquility of the snowy day. "The Liu family has spread the word that your book, 'Jin Xiu Yuan,' incites immorality and theft, and has even instigated the senior scholars of the Hanlin Academy to sign a petition to the emperor!"
Hearing this, my bamboo broom clanged heavily against the bluestone. I hurriedly took the book from Mo Zhu and slowly flipped it open. The words "by Su Jinli" on the title page caught my eye. The scent of fresh ink filled my nostrils, bringing back memories of the bustling scene at the bookstore last month, as readers rushed to buy "Jin Xiu Yuan." The joy and pride I felt then were now shattered by Liu's rumors. My fingertips couldn't help but tremble slightly.
Mo Zhu, with a look of concern, pushed the heater closer to me. The silvery charcoal in the copper stove crackled, and the sparks seemed to speak out for me. "Miss Li and the others got into an argument at the bookstore," Mo Zhu said anxiously. "They're trying to buy out all the new books!"
I was concentrating on placing the newly arrived copy of "Illustrated Explanations of Women's Admonitions" on the bookshelf when the carved wooden door of the Liuli Bookstore clanged. Miss Li, accompanied by a dozen other noble ladies, rushed in like a gust of wind. Snowflakes from their pomegranate-red cloaks fell, forming a small patch of white on the ground. "Sister Su! You're here!" Miss Li called out anxiously. "Someone just said they wanted to burn your storybook!"
Miss Zhang stamped her feet in anger, her fox fur cloak sweeping across the bookshelf, knocking several volumes off the shelves. "That old scholar in the gray robe!" she pointed angrily. "He said your heroine's exposure to public life is unworthy of women!"
I looked in the direction she pointed and saw a crowd gathered by the window. The old scholar in the lead, his goatee quivering with excitement, shouted, "If this book isn't burned, the morals of the world will decline!" He clutched a copy of "Jin Xiu Yuan" tightly in his hand, its pages curled to the point of curling. It was the chapter where my heroine opens her embroidery workshop.
"Old sir, you're wrong." I pushed through the crowd and slowly approached. Snowwater pooled beneath my brocade shoes, soaking the surface. I looked at the old scholar and said calmly, "The heroine in the book earns a living with her own hands, not relying on men, and is self-reliant. How can that be considered 'teaching people to commit adultery and theft'?"
The old scholar's eyes widened, as if he had heard something outrageous. He shouted angrily, "A woman's virtue lies in her lack of talent, let alone showing her face in public to do business! How can this be allowed!"
"Oh?" I calmly picked up the "Analects of Confucius" on the table and slowly opened it. "'Wealth can be sought, even if I have to be a whip-wielding official, I will do it.' Even Confucius supports legitimate livelihoods. Why can't you, old sir, allow women to make a living?" I looked at the old scholar with a firm gaze, and my words revealed an unquestionable confidence.
The old scholar was so angry that he blew his beard and glared, his face flushed red like a ripe tomato. Just then, someone nearby suddenly shouted, "Miss Su is right! I love seeing the heroine earn her own dowry!" It turned out to be Miss Wu who squeezed in with her maid. She was still clutching the newly bought storybook in her hand, and her face was firmly supporting me.
"That's right! Much better than those sour, fake ones!" Miss Zhang slammed a stack of storybooks on the counter and shouted, "Boss, we want all the rest!"
The bookstore erupted in discussion. The gray-robed old scholar was surrounded, his goatee trembling like a leaf in the autumn wind, looking both comical and helpless. I looked at his flushed face, chuckling inwardly. Suddenly, I remembered the box of premium Longjing tea Liu had sent him yesterday. The underlying conspiracy was obvious.
The snow in the prime minister's martial arts arena crunched beneath the young marquis's feet. He was hammering his gilded broadsword against a stone pier, the ruby pendant on the blade trembling with his movements, just like his eyes, now bulging with anger, as if ready to spit fire. "Sister!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the snow. "What right do those old men have to scold you? I'll go shave their beards off!"
"Put it down!" I hurried forward and held down his hand holding the knife. The blade was still stained with lime powder from morning practice, and the cold touch passed through my fingertips. "Can you shave a scholar's beard casually?" I looked at my brother and gently advised.
The young marquis stiffened his neck, his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, his face full of dissatisfaction. "But they bullied you! Yesterday I heard the doorman say someone in the teahouse was calling you 'the whore of the prime minister'!" He suddenly shook off my hand, his broadsword slicing a silver streak in the snow, and he said angrily, "I don't care! If they dare to curse you again, I'll block their mouths with my broadsword!"
The wind from the sword whipped up snow foam that flew towards me, icy and biting. Seeing my brother's eyes red with anger, my thoughts drifted back to a previous life. Back then, he wasn't even as tall as the sword, yet he bravely stood in front of me, shouting to Liu, "Don't bully my sister!" and even secretly slipped me half a snack.
"Ah Che," I gently took the knife from his hand. The cold handle hurt my palm. I pointed to the words "止戈" carved on the back of the knife and said, "Grandfather said that the knife is for protecting people, not for hurting people."
The young marquis' lips trembled slightly, and he suddenly buried his face in my shoulder, his voice tearful, "But I'm afraid they'll kill you again..." He didn't finish, his shoulders trembling. In my previous life, when I was shoved into the bridal sedan, he'd been hiding behind the rockery crying, his shoulders twitching like a wounded animal, a heartbreaking sight.
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