Chapter 5

Yu Mian stared at the plate, blushing.

It smelled so good.

The tray held chopsticks and disposable gloves. She looked utterly starving, yet held herself back from grabbing with her hands — without gloves she’d dirty her sleeves, but she didn’t know how to put them on, so she could only gaze at the tray mournfully.

Pei Songxi pushed open the window. Outside the rain was pouring down, the fresh scent of earth drifting in on the wind.

She had the feeling she’d made a small mess for herself.

“Give it here.”

Yu Mian tilted her head up, a tiny red chili flake stuck to the tip of her nose, looking faintly ridiculous, eyes shining up at her.

Pei Songxi said nothing more. She simply dragged a chair over, sat down beside her, rolled up her pajama sleeves, and peeled a few prawns for her.

Yu Mian blinked, not daring to speak, just watching her.

Pei Songxi paused mid-motion and met her dazed stare. “Eat.”

The little head bobbed vigorously. She picked up her chopsticks and dug into the tender prawn meat, and before long the whole plate was demolished, a tall pile of red shells stacked beside the tray. She turned her head and licked her lips, still wanting more.

So all those times she ate so little — it wasn’t that she didn’t want to eat.

Pei Songxi pulled the service bell, and a servant soon came to clear the dishes.

The spicy fragrance in the room gradually faded; the rain showed no sign of stopping.

Yu Mian was getting sleepy too. Like a little cat gorged on food, she propped her hands on the table, chin resting on them, fighting to stay awake.

Time ticked by.

Outside, the rain murmured on and on — a quiet, tranquil autumn night.

…

Swish — the curtains drew open, and sunlight poured in.

Yu Mian rubbed her eyes at the sound of Auntie Zhang’s voice. “Up you get, little one.”

She sat up slowly.

This was her own room.

Auntie Zhang made her bed, then watched her struggle into her trousers — half heartache, half amusement. “Come here, let Auntie do it. Not like that — like this. See these two holes? Feet in first, then pull up.”

Yu Mian frowned, gravely serious. “Okay. I’ll practice again.”

Auntie Zhang wanted to sigh again.

Such a small child, and the sir had her look after her… why hadn’t he assigned someone to care for her full-time? She was still so little. Perhaps… perhaps it was because the Eldest Miss didn’t like the child.

Yu Mian started working her little shoes onto her feet, clumsy but managing — autumn shoes were thin and easy to put on.

Once Auntie Zhang showed her, she learned right away.

By the time Yu Mian made her slow way down the stairs, holding the railing, breakfast was already underway.

Pei Zhiyuan sat at the table, carrying on again. “I don’t like eggs!”

“Sweetheart,” Ding Mei coaxed good-naturedly, “eggs are good for you. Look, Mama and Auntie are both eating eggs, see?”

Pei Zhiyuan looked around the table, cheeks puffed, stubbornly refusing.

Ding Mei gave up. “Songxi, say something to him.”

Pei Songxi, called upon, spoke slowly. “Pei Zhiyuan. You’re a big boy now. No fussing.”

Pei Zhiyuan drew out his voice, aggrieved. “Auntie… fine. I’ll listen to Auntie.”

Ding Mei didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Honestly, you might as well be your auntie’s son. So obedient to her!”

Pei Songxi didn’t respond. Seeing Yu Mian arrive, she poured a glass of milk and set it beside her.

She ate slowly and methodically, speaking to no one, looking at no one. Pei Zhiyuan wanted to act spoiled with his auntie, but his reverence for her outweighed his affection, and with her looking so cool he didn’t dare fuss; before long he’d dragged Ding Mei off outside.

Only then did Yu Mian come to the table and sit down.

Seeing how wary she was of Pei Zhiyuan, Auntie Zhang sighed inwardly, lifted her onto the chair, and said, “You eat here. Auntie has work to do. Be good, no fussing, understand?”

Yu Mian nodded. “Of course!”

She looked up at the glass of milk on the table and asked Pei Songxi in a small voice, “Auntie Pei, may I drink this?”

Pei Songxi gave a faint “mm,” her hands never pausing as she peeled a boiled egg, slow and graceful, like a scene from a beautiful painting.

But the next second, that white, tender egg leapt out of the lovely painting and into her bowl.

Yu Mian looked up, her voice soft and sweet, eyes bright with delighted laughter. “For me?”

“Mm.”

Yay!

Yesterday’s secret was shrimp-flavored; today’s secret was egg-flavored!

At breakfast she drank a glass of milk and ate two boiled eggs, her little belly round and full. She couldn’t help rubbing it.

When she looked up, Pei Songxi had already left.

She hopped down from the table and hurried after her.

She’d barely taken a few running steps when her right foot caught on a stool and she pitched forward, seemingly knocking her teeth.

Pei Songxi sighed helplessly, doubled back a few steps, and held out a finger. “Come on.”

Yu Mian still only dared to hold the very tips of her fingers. She picked herself up off the floor, clutching that finger in a daze, yet trusting her with all her heart.

It was a strange kind of instinct.

Pei Songxi went up to the balcony to sun herself and water the flowers and plants.

Yu Mian gathered her courage to talk to her. “What flower is this?”

“Gardenia.”

“And this one?”

“Anthurium.”

Her voice was so lovely.

She liked talking to her.

“Auntie Pei?”

“Mm?”

Yu Mian called again, “Auntie Pei?”

Pei Songxi set down the watering can. Sunlight gilded her with a faint glow, her cool expression softening a little. “Don’t want to go down yet?”

“Don’t want to go down.”

A child’s world was a secret garden to adults — their words always strange and scattered, one sentence here, the next gone.

Pei Songxi asked nothing more. When she finished watering, she said, “Go back to your room.”

Yu Mian blinked at her and didn’t move.

Pei Songxi paid her no more mind and walked down on her own, stopping only when she reached a door at the end of the third-floor corridor. “You may not come in.”

Yu Mian nodded.

She pulled the door shut behind her.

Children were curious, playful, restless — she told herself the girl wouldn’t be able to wait outside and would wander off on her own.

Pei Songxi entered the Small Buddha Hall.

A gilded Buddha statue, an incense burner, Prayer Cushions gone yellowed and worn with age. The gray-blue curtains were thick; even the noon sun couldn’t pierce them. This place was always hushed and still.

Her mother had been a Buddhist, and this Buddha Hall was her legacy — as were the Red Sandalwood Prayer Beads on her wrist.

Pei Songxi had never believed in Buddha. But after her mother died, once she was grown, she often came here anyway, standing a while — sometimes ten-odd minutes, sometimes hours.

Today she stayed a long time.

When she pushed the door open and came out, the child was gone, just as she’d expected.

Pei Songxi lowered her eyes faintly. She had barely taken a step when someone hugged her leg.

The little girl sat on the floor, bleary with sleep, clinging to her trouser leg and refusing to let go. “Auntie Pei…”

Pei Songxi startled. “Why are you still here?”

Her voice was low, almost a murmur to herself. Yu Mian didn’t catch it — a child overcome with sleep could doze off anywhere.

She was still hugging her trouser leg and about to topple over onto the floor; Pei Songxi quickly steadied her small shoulders.

She sighed softly and picked her up.

Such a tiny little bundle.

She carried her back to her room and, just as she had the night before when she’d carried her back after midnight, lifted the quilt and tucked her in.

Yu Mian was probably a little warm; in her sleep she kicked at the covers, and Pei Songxi pressed them down. “No kicking. Tuck in your little quilt.”

The child obediently stilled and quieted, drifting into sweet sleep.

Pei Songxi stepped out, glancing back once as she softly pulled the door closed.