3 Fainting

A gentle breeze drifted in from the window, and amidst the clamor of the crowd, Ying Shi felt a strange sensation stir within her at these words. Yet, caught in a dilemma, she could only nod with a choked sob.

Liang Yun gazed intently at Liang Ji’s coffin, as if weighing something in his mind. After a moment, he suddenly gave an order: “Open the coffin.”

At his command, several household servants wondered if they’d misheard.

Open the coffin?

Open Third Master’s coffin?

That was the Third Master, the family head’s own brother!

Everyone glanced at the coffin, then furtively looked up at the family head, who, moments before, had been overwhelmed with grief for his brother’s death. Yet his expression was so solemn, there could be no jest in it.

The mourning hall quieted instantly. One of the nephews hesitated, clearly disapproving: “Third Uncle’s remains are already damaged. Though they’re kept on ice, the smell… the smell is unpleasant…”

Ying Shi nearly lost her breath at these words. None of this was unfolding as she had imagined; she was so shocked she could barely comprehend it. How had it come to this, that with just a few words, they were actually going to open the coffin?

What of brotherly love? Was it nothing now?

What of the Liang family’s dignity? Was that to be cast aside as well?

With so many eyes watching in and around the hall, were they truly going to gather together to view Liang Ji’s remains?

Only now did Ying Shi realize the gravity of the situation, her limbs weak and shaky. “No… there’s no need…”

She explained to Liang Yun, “It was only my own rashness that made me wish to see him. Now I have paid my respects, and my heart is eased a little. It was only my emotions talking; I should let him rest in peace…”

Perhaps it was all the sorrow she’d endured in her past life, but she had long since mastered the art of weeping at will. Now, as she spoke, tears fell one after another, moving all who saw her to pity.

“Shungong will be buried the day after tomorrow,” Liang Yun said, his face unmoved, though a careful ear might hear the compassion in his voice. “If my brother’s widow wishes to see him one last time, she need not concern herself with propriety.”

His brother’s remains were so mangled that even after being hastily gathered, Liang Yun himself could barely bear to look. But now, seeing this young woman nearly collapse yet striving to stand tall, he withheld the words he’d meant to say.

On reflection, a woman who would defy convention to marry a spirit tablet must possess a certain tenacity. She was not like other women—surely she would not be afraid of a mere corpse.

“Open the coffin,” Liang Yun commanded, his sleeves stirring with the wind as he strove to keep his grief in check.

As the head of the Liang family, his authority was absolute. At his repeated order, the servants exchanged glances and dared not delay further; four men hurried to the coffin to lift the lid.

The corners of the coffin had not been nailed shut to allow ice to be placed inside several times a day. Now, each servant lifted a corner, and together they easily raised the heavy ebony lid.

With a creaking groan, the massive coffin opened, sending a chill through everyone’s teeth. As the lid was raised, Ying Shi felt as if she could already see the ghastly remains within.

Her heart leapt into her throat, and inwardly she cursed Liang Yun for meddling.

How could he dare order the coffin opened?

It had taken over a month to recover the body; calling it a body was generous, for it was more bones than flesh. Not even the gods could tell if it was truly Liang Ji.

But how could she take such a gamble? If, by some twist of fate, the coffin was opened and it was found not to be Liang Ji within, would they not search for him all the sooner?

Would Liang Ji return, and their ill-fated bond be renewed?

This thought made Ying Shi go pale as paper, nearly unable to stand.

She was terrified, and nauseated.

That desperate hopelessness she had known at the end of her previous life—the agony of wave after wave of suffering—now threatened to engulf her again.

Would it all unfold as before, with her calls for help lost in the void?

At this, panic seized her heart. In a final, reckless act, she let her body go limp and her eyes shut, crying out “Shungong!” in agony as she collapsed toward the half-open coffin.

Her fall slammed the coffin lid shut, sealing it tight once more.

This performance, half real and half feigned, had been set up so thoroughly that there was no pulling back. As she relaxed, darkness swam before her eyes.

She thought, surely she was in for a hard fall this time—she only hoped she wouldn’t be seriously injured.

Even if these were not Liang Ji’s remains, whose bones lay in this coffin she could not say. The dead had already been disturbed; best not to let her own blood defile this place.

Yet the pain she expected never came.

As she fell toward the coffin, momentum sent her rolling to one side—only for Liang Yun, quick as lightning, to catch her from behind.

No, he caught her… by the nape of her neck.

It was midday in April.

After her display of grief, a sheen of sweat had formed on her neck, sticky and damp against Liang Yun’s palm.

His calm brow furrowed ever so slightly.

Suddenly, the whole hall was in an uproar.

“Young Mistress!”

“Oh no! The young mistress has fainted from grief!”

“What are we to do?”

“Hurry, fetch the physician!”

The incense chamber was thrown into chaos as everyone hurried about, some rushing to report the news.

Liang Yun eased Ying Shi to rest against the side of the coffin, and as he withdrew his hand, he surreptitiously wiped away the moisture on his sleeve.

“Everyone out, give her some privacy. Summon the women to tend to her.”

As the others stood in shock, the family head, mindful of propriety, swiftly stepped out of the incense chamber to keep his distance.

…

The commotion in the incense chamber soon reached those outside.

“They say the third young mistress, upon learning that the third master would be buried in a few days, forced her way in despite all attempts to stop her! She clung to his coffin, weeping until she fainted inside…”

The news was quickly passed around.

The women outside listened, their hearts twisting with sorrow, each one overcome with emotion. Normally, they were sticklers for propriety, but now, hearing this, they could only curse fate for its cruelty.

Some who had come to pay their respects with little understanding of the situation were soon informed by those more familiar: “Everyone knows the third young mistress and the third master were childhood sweethearts, almost married. The third master was nearly twenty and, it’s said, never kept a single maid as a concubine, waiting only to wed her. Who could have known he would die, and the third young mistress would marry his spirit tablet instead…”

“There was such a story? I never heard of it!” The crowd was amazed.

Some, moved by the tale, could not hold back tears. “What a cruel heaven! Of all the faithless men in the world, why did it have to be the third master of the Liang family?”

Everyone marveled at the young mistress’s steadfastness.

Unwed, she insisted on marrying into the Liang family as a widow, and now, determined to see him one last time, she wept herself into a faint…

If this was not love, what was?

Outside the chambers, tears glistened in the eyes of both men and women. Even the older ladies wiped their eyes and praised Madam Wei, whose face was drawn with distress: “Madam, you have gained such a fine daughter-in-law. A woman like this is rare indeed!”

“The Ruan family lives up to its noble reputation—their daughter’s conduct puts us all to shame!”

Madam Wei could only return their compliments, though her words were insincere. “After Ji’er’s accident, her willingness to marry into our family is a debt of gratitude we shall never forget. I’m truly grateful. I never had a daughter, but from now on she will be as a daughter to me, and I will see that she never suffers…”

With the air of an anxious mother, she wiped her eyes and personally led the maids inside to tend to her daughter-in-law, drawing further praise.

…

This body was so weary. In her previous life, after learning of Liang Ji’s death, Ying Shi had lived like a walking corpse.

She could neither eat nor sleep, barely clinging to life.

Now, utterly drained, she simply let go, closed her eyes, and drifted into oblivion.

She vaguely recalled being carried into a sedan chair, her face wiped again and again with a handkerchief, and honey water poured into her mouth.

When she finally opened her eyes, night had already fallen.

The door and windows were half open, letting in a faint breeze that ruffled the plain white curtains. What met her eyes was a swath of pure white drapery.

She gently lifted the curtain, catching a glimpse of the inner room lit by lamplight, simple carved bed hangings, and a wood-paneled wardrobe adorned with cloud motifs.

This was the Liang residence, Daylight Brocade Garden.

The place she could never escape, even in her dreams.

Daylight Brocade Garden had been renovated for the marriage of Liang Ji and Ying Shi—a self-contained courtyard within the Liang estate, built for their future together.

Two pavilions had been demolished to make way for it; bright rooms were added to the east and west, and a wing in the center. There was a lotus pond, a study, and a music room.

Once meant as a bridal home, everything had been decorated in festive reds—until joy turned to mourning, and all the bright colors were stripped away, replaced by stark white.

Ying Shi knew every corner of this place—she had been trapped here for eight years in her past life.

Eight years; she could recognize it with her eyes closed.

She sat in silence on the bedside, staring for a long time, unable to fathom why fate had returned her to this moment.

Over and over, she tried to recall how Liang Ji had been saved in her past life, but could only remember that news of his survival from the Heluo region reached them six years later, in autumn.

As to where Liang Ji had wandered, where he had lived those six years, she had no idea.

The lover she once thought worthy of her life’s trust had died in her heart the moment he returned.

She had wept as she buried her feelings—how could she have the energy to care about anything else?

Now, looking back, she felt a wave of regret.

If only she had known more, been more cautious, perhaps she would not be in such a predicament now.

By her calculations, Liang Ji had been missing from the battlefield for over two months.

He had already been rescued by his future wife.

Perhaps the two had long since married.

What was she to do?

She couldn’t possibly repeat her former fate—waiting for them to return and trample her dignity once more.

Ying Shi sighed heavily.

“When did you wake? Why didn’t you call for me?” Someone entered, carrying a candlestick, having heard her sigh.

Ying Shi paused, startled by the familiar voice.

She turned and saw, to her astonishment, the small, thin figure of Gui Niang—dead for two years.

Of course—at this time, Gui Niang was still alive.

Still healthy and alive.

“What’s this? You don’t answer when I speak. Did something trouble you today?”

Gui Niang had been Ying Shi’s mother’s maid, given as part of her dowry, and had followed her to the Ruan family estate as a child.

When Ying Shi was born, Gui Niang was assigned to care for her.

Her parents died young, and the old servants they left behind had passed on one after another, leaving only Gui Niang.

While Gui Niang lived, Ying Shi had never truly suffered any injustice—Gui Niang always stood up for her, fought for her, and worried over her.

Even when Ying Shi insisted on marrying into the Liang family, Gui Niang quietly took care of everything for her.

But Gui Niang never knew how much her cherished young mistress would suffer once she was gone…

Ying Shi dared not even blink, afraid that if she did, the figure before her would vanish. Afraid that if she blinked, tears would fall.

She felt her past misfortune was her own doing—her foolishness had turned the hair of the one who loved her most white with worry, had worn out her body.

Gui Niang never had a day’s peace while alive. Even as she lay dying, she saw Liang Ji return with a new bride.

She remembered how, on that day, Gui Niang had gripped her hand, begged her to leave the Liang family, and died with regrets.

Ying Shi quietly wiped away the tears from her eyes. “I dreamed you were angry with me—resentful, upset, leaving me behind and going off alone.”

Gui Niang was both amused and exasperated. “Just a dream—crying over that? I raised you; I may scold you, but I’d never leave you behind for real. You insisted on coming here, so I packed our things and came with you, didn’t I?”

That brought back memories: in her past life, she and Gui Niang had been sulking at this time.

Gui Niang had tried to stop her from marrying, but she’d insisted, making Gui Niang so angry she refused to speak to her, and they’d gone days without a word.

Ying Shi, stubborn as always, ignored Gui Niang in return, avoiding her every day.

So they’d traveled from Chen Commandery to the capital, barely speaking, even for several days after entering the Liang estate.

The two maids who accompanied them had been caught in the middle, unsure whom to side with.

But now, after Ying Shi’s sudden collapse, Gui Niang had forgotten all past grievances in her worry.

“You’re a new bride, not even acquainted with everyone yet, why throw yourself into the mourning and fall ill? Must you make me worry for you…”

Ying Shi listened to Gui Niang’s gentle chiding as if in another world.

When she finished, Ying Shi replied, “You don’t have to worry. I was foolish before, thinking only of Liang Ji. From now on, I’ll be smarter—I won’t do thankless things again. I won’t cry anymore. I’ll eat and sleep well and take care of myself; that’s what matters most.”

“Sweet words again, trying to placate me!” Gui Niang’s smile lines betrayed her true feelings, even as she pretended to scold.

Just then, laughter rang out from outside.

Chunlan, leading the young Xiangyao, poked her head into the inner room, giggling behind her hand.

They laughed to see mistress and maid reconciled—they wouldn’t have to be caught in the middle any longer.

Ying Shi, moved by their honest joy, found herself smiling as well.

Gui Niang pretended to reach for a feather duster to swat them. “You’re all a pack of little scamps! The whole courtyard’s watching us, mourning outside, and you two laugh so loud you want the world to hear?”

Ying Shi quickly reached out to stop her. “Don’t hit them, don’t hit them.”

“People outside might not know, but after your shout, the whole household will by morning!”

Though many served in Daylight Brocade Garden, only Gui Niang, Xiangyao, and Chunlan had come with her from Chen Commandery.

Chunlan was the same age as Ying Shi; Xiangyao was two years younger.

In her past life, the four of them had come to the capital together, but after eight years, only Chunlan remained in the once-bustling courtyard.

Gui Niang died on the eighteenth of the seventh month in the sixth year of Chengping.

Xiangyao died even earlier, they said, at the end of that year.

She was younger than Ying Shi by two years and had already found her lost family, but Ying Shi never learned how she died.

Separated by distance and chaos, she couldn’t even discover a single useful detail.

This time, things would be different.

Girls, I owe you all a lifetime.

This time, you will live in comfort and luxury, and grow old in peace.