Su Jinli's funeral began amidst the morning mist of late spring. The bronze lions at the gate of the Prime Minister's residence were polished to a shine, their white silk ribbons drooping in the wind, shimmering against the hundreds of white lanterns hanging from the eaves. Even before daybreak, a continuous stream of carriages and horses filled the capital. Officials in official boots, wealthy merchants in brocade robes, storytellers with bookcases, and even embroidery girls carrying rouge baskets, all came to bid farewell. Boss Wang from Bookshop Street and his apprentices carried a three-meter-long mourning couplet, inscribed in gold powder: "Storybooks will be passed down through the ages, a remarkable woman unparalleled." The embroiderers from Rouge Alley held their newly crafted "Suxin Paper," vowing to let the elegant fragrance of the paper carry Madam Su on her final journey. Even Zhang, the sugar painter from West Market, suspended his business, crouching in a corner of the Prime Minister's residence, weeping silently, clutching an unfinished sugar phoenix.
Inside the mourning hall, the scent of sandalwood and candlelight mingled in a solemn atmosphere. Xiao Yue'er, dressed in plain white mourning clothes, knelt before the spirit tablet, clutching a brocade handkerchief embroidered with the lotus pattern Su Jinli had taught her. On the altar before her lay Su Jinli's final storybook manuscript. On the yellowed pages, her dying handwriting still bore the words: "See you at the sugar painting stall in the next life." The words, powerful yet trembling, evoked the strength and gentleness of her life.
"Grandma," Xiaoyue muttered to herself as she faced the memorial tablet, her fingertips lightly brushing over the words. "Look, the bookshop has already printed 'The Story of Jinli,' and the storytellers on the street corner are all telling your story." She remembered last night, while sorting through her manuscripts, she had found half a piece of bamboo stick with sugar painting stuck between the pages. It still bore traces of sugar stains from fifty years ago. "My granddaughter has written a new story for you. It's about you snatching sugar paintings on the street, about you overturning teacups and scolding away evil slaves. I want everyone in the world to know what a remarkable woman you are."
Nian Li stood behind her daughter, the silver hairpin on her plain dress swaying slightly with her body. She gazed at her mother's smiling portrait on the memorial tablet, remembering yesterday, while sorting through her mother's belongings in the study, she'd come across her mother's reading notes from her youth. Written in cinnabar on the title page were the words, "Women should be like reeds, resilient and strong." At that time, her mother had just been reborn, secretly studying despite Liu's persecution. Those words, blurred by time, remained etched in her heart like a brand. "Mother," she said, her voice choking with sobs, "I still use the abacus you taught me. You said, 'Women can also calculate the accounts of life.' I've taken note."
Su Heng was wearing a brand new black python robe, and the jade belt buckle at his waist hurt his heart. He clutched the toy sword that had been with him all his life. The red tassel on the scabbard had long faded to gray, but he had polished it with wax over and over again. In front of the mourning hall, young officials were whispering about Su Jinli's legend. He heard her called "the daughter of the prime minister and a master of storytelling", and suddenly remembered that when he was young, he followed his sister in the garden to practice sword. His sister thought his posture was ugly, snatched the scabbard and hit him on the head: "Xiao Heng, be as straight as a sword, don't learn the crooked tricks of Liu." Now the sword is still there, but his sister is gone. He turned around abruptly, wiped his eyes fiercely with his sleeve, and said to the guests who came to mourn in a gruff voice: "My sister has lived a more open life than anyone else!"
Su Qingyao stood to the right of the memorial tablet, clutching a mother-of-pearl rouge box. The lid opened and closed, revealing the vibrant shade "Drunken Clouds." She recalled how she and Su Jinli had been in the garden last month, trying out new colors. Her sister had said she wanted a "Sunset Return," reminiscent of the sunsets they had witnessed in Jiangnan. Now the rouge was ready, but her sister could no longer see it. "Jinli," she raised an eyebrow at the memorial tablet, her tone still dripping with her usual arrogance, "I've memorized all your 'beauty tips.' Your new 'Jinli Red' is selling like hotcakes, a hundred times better than the rouge Liu used back then." As she spoke, a tear dripped onto the rouge box, spreading a small blush.
In the months following the funeral, the clamor of the prime minister's residence gradually subsided into silent longing. Xiaoyue'er meticulously edited Su Jinli's manuscripts and, with the help of a bookshop assistant, printed them into a book. The title, "The Story of Jinli: From the Prime Minister's Daughter to a Legendary Storyteller," was written in Su Jinli's favorite thin gold script. The title page featured a portrait of her—drawn by Nianli from memory. The woman in the painting, with her eyebrows curved, clutched a candy-painted phoenix. The book was an instant hit, with young women across the capital eagerly circulating it, imitating Su Jinli's dashing demeanor. Even teahouse storytellers created new stories about "Madam Su's clever battle with her stepmother."
"Mother, look!" Nianli placed the newly published storybook in front of the coffin, and her fingertips ran across the word "Jinli" on the cover. "Xiaoyueer wrote you like a heroine in the storybook. Even the Queen sent someone to buy the book." She remembered that someone came from the palace yesterday and said that after reading the book, the Queen specially set up a poetry club in the Imperial Garden, allowing the ladies to freely come up with topics and no longer be bound by the rules of the boudoir.
Su Heng polished the toy sword to a shine and hung it in the most conspicuous place in the study. Whenever his grandchildren asked about it out of curiosity, he would pat his chest, take out the sword and wave it: "See? This is your great-aunt's favorite sword back then! When she was sixteen, she used this scabbard to beat back the evil young man from the Wang family at her coming-of-age banquet and even overturned the teacup of the old woman Liu!" The children's eyes widened in fear, but he smiled like a child, with pride in the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Later, he simply set up an "Aunt's Lecture Hall" in the martial arts field of the Prime Minister's Mansion, specifically to tell the children the story of Su Jinli. When he got excited, he would always slam the sword to the ground: "Remember! Be like your great-aunt, be brave and responsible!"
Su Qingyao hung a portrait of Su Jinli prominently in her rouge shop. The woman in the painting wore a pomegranate-red dress, a gardenia in her hair, and played with a candy painting. She refined the color "Zui Liuxia" into "Jinli Red," using rose honey, Su Jinli's favorite color. The rouge box was inscribed with the words "Live Your True Self." When a young woman came to buy rouge and asked curiously, she raised an eyebrow and smiled, "This color is so much like the spark of fire that swept through the hem of your Madam Su's skirt when she overturned the teacup." Gradually, "Jinli Red" became a new favorite among the boudoirs of the capital, and the women who wore it seemed to embody Su Jinli's boldness.
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