Chapter Three: Village Women’s Gossip

Anran paid no attention to who had arrived, focusing instead on her breakfast. She had just peeled her egg when Mrs. Luo walked in, accompanied by a woman a few years older than herself.

“Oh, Xier is at home,” the woman remarked.

“She’s just recovered from illness, so I’m keeping her indoors,” Mrs. Luo replied with a smile.

“That’s as it should be. A girl her age ought to be helping with needlework to contribute to the household. Don’t let Xier follow those wild girls from Zhao Qiuyun’s house; have her come to mine and learn stitching with Chun Zhi. If she embroiders handkerchiefs well, she can sell one for a copper coin at Fan the peddler’s,” the woman suggested.

“My Xier is still young.” In the countryside, most women only knew the simplest needlework; few, like Mrs. Luo, could sketch or embroider, and her skill was among the best in the village. She fully understood the implication behind the woman’s words, but had no intention of teaching her craft to outsiders.

“She’s not that young. I remember Xier was born in early October, wasn’t she? After New Year, she’ll be eating as a nine-year-old. My Chun Zhi was earning money with knots at five,” the woman boasted.

“I’ll fetch you some patterns,” Mrs. Luo said, unwilling to argue further. She didn’t mind giving away patterns, but her skills were not to be shared.

A flash of irritation crossed the woman’s face as she sat down opposite Anran. Noticing the half-eaten egg in Anran’s hand, her gaze shifted, and she straightened, craning her neck to peer into the bowl of porridge. “Xier, what’s in this porridge?”

Anran chewed her egg, swallowed, took a sip of porridge, and replied coolly, “Meat.”

The woman swallowed, laughing dryly. “I got up early this morning, now I’m feeling a bit hungry.”

Anran remained unmoved, her expression unchanged. If she was hungry, she could eat at home—no household had spare rations to feed outsiders. She elegantly took another bite of egg.

Seeing Anran ignore her, the woman’s face darkened further. Her eyes darted, then she said directly, “Xier, go bring your aunt a bowl of porridge.”

“Auntie, are you ill too?” Anran, still unfamiliar with this family’s situation, noted the woman’s self-proclaimed title and, not wishing to offend, responded with patience and feigned politeness.

The woman replied irritably, “No.”

“Then if you’re not ill, why do you want to drink my porridge? Even my elder and second brothers haven’t had any yet.” Though Anran was annoyed, she kept her face blank and asked innocently.

The woman was momentarily speechless, about to retort, when Mrs. Luo returned. “Sister Sunflower, here are the patterns you wanted.”

She hadn’t expected Mrs. Luo to return so swiftly; disappointed to have missed out on the porridge, she clicked her tongue. “These patterns do look auspicious.”

“Sister Sunflower, as long as you like them. I have much to do, so I won’t keep you,” Mrs. Luo said, having heard their conversation at the door, politely hinting the visit was over.

“I’ve got plenty to do at home as well.” Sunflower stood and walked out.

Mrs. Luo saw her out, and as soon as they crossed the threshold, Sunflower said, “Chuzi’s mother, if I may say so, Xier isn’t your only daughter. Breakfast with lean meat porridge and eggs must cost a pretty penny. Chuzi’s grown now; you should save more, so he can find a wife in the future. With nothing to your name, who would marry their daughter into your family?”

Hearing this, Anran’s expression darkened, a hint of defiance flashing in her eyes.

Mrs. Luo did not take the bait. “The road’s slippery with snow—take care on your way, Sister Sunflower.”

“I know, I know. You may not like what I say, but I say it for your own good. Xier’s old enough, yet you won’t let her learn needlework, or collect pigweed, or glean wheat—she just eats at home for nothing. She’s not a son who’ll support you in old age. No matter how well you treat her, she’ll marry out and belong to someone else. As the saying goes, daughters are a loss, like water thrown out. You—”

The voice faded into the distance. Anran could no longer hear, nor did she care to. Sunflower never had anything pleasant to say anyway. She curled her lips in a cold smile.

Mrs. Luo returned to find Anran’s expression unsettled. “You’re just a child; don’t take idle words to heart.”

“I’m not,” Anran replied. In her previous life, she’d learned to keep her emotions in check. Now, she deliberately let some irritation show, to see how Mrs. Luo would react to her daughter being slighted.

“Don’t say you aren’t—look at that pout, you could hang an oil bottle from it,” Mrs. Luo chided with a glance. “Silly girl, your mother’s not a fool. Would I listen to outsiders and mistreat my own daughter? A daughter is a piece of flesh fallen from her mother’s body—how could I not love you enough?”

Anran lowered her head in silence.

Mistaking her quiet for continued sulking, Mrs. Luo swept the eggshells into the bowl. “Your father often says, sons are raised to bear the family name, so they must be tough. Daughters, though, are only at home for a dozen years or so; they mustn’t be treated poorly. If their own family doesn’t cherish them, how can they expect others to? Only if you raise your daughter with care will her future in-laws value her; let her grow up rough, and they’ll treat her harshly.”

Anran’s brows lifted slightly—these words echoed the modern belief in raising sons with thrift and daughters with plenty.

“What’s wrong with meat in porridge? Or an egg for breakfast?” Mrs. Luo sniffed. “Once your father retires from the army and your brothers make something of themselves, our days will only get better. Then you’ll eat meat and eggs every day.”

Suddenly it became clear to Anran: the family’s poverty wasn’t due to her father’s incompetence, but because he wasn’t earning for the household—soldiers in this era didn’t have the benefits modern ones did.

Mrs. Luo stroked Anran’s hair and smiled. “Your father dotes on you most. He went to town to ask an academy scholar to give you your name: An Yi. The ‘Yi’ means ‘meaning,’ and also ‘satisfaction.’ The scholar said, a girl needn’t seek great wealth or status; it’s enough to live a peaceful, contented life without sorrow or worry.”

Something stirred in Anran’s heart, a hint of warmth coloring her clear eyes, and a faint smile appeared on her lips. She had never known a father’s love in her previous life; perhaps in this one, she might have a loving father. For the first time, she felt a touch of fondness for the man she had yet to meet. And this name was so similar to her modern one—henceforth, she would be An Yi. May she not disappoint such a fine name in this life.

Having soothed her daughter, Mrs. Luo took the bowls to the kitchen to wash.

Propping her chin on one hand, Anran narrowed her eyes—Sunflower’s words had reminded her that needlework could earn money. When Mrs. Luo returned, Anran eagerly said, “Mother, teach me embroidery!”

Mrs. Luo smiled in gentle reproach. “Don’t be so impatient. I was planning to teach you once the weather turned warm.”

“I want to learn now!” Having grown fond of Mrs. Luo and the An brothers in these days, Anran was anxious to earn money and improve their lives.

After considering, Mrs. Luo relented. She brought out a bamboo basket of sewing supplies and a garment. “This is your second brother’s shirt—it’s got a hole. Practice mending it first.”

Anran had never embroidered before in her previous life, but she had performed surgery; if she could stitch wounds, patching a shirt would be easy.

“Mother, how’s this?” She tied a knot, snipped the thread, and handed the shirt to Mrs. Luo.

Mrs. Luo set aside her own embroidery, examined the stitches closely, and nodded in satisfaction. “Needlework takes talent. Chun Zhi’s been learning for three years and isn’t this good. At five, a child knows nothing—making her sew could ruin her hands. Best to wait till seven or eight, when the hands are steadier. There’s no rushing hot tofu.”

“Then teach me embroidery, Mother,” Anran persisted.

“Very well. I’ll teach you the basic stitches first.” Mrs. Luo agreed, showing her two basic techniques before heading to the kitchen to prepare lunch.

Anran took a piece of coarse cloth and practiced diligently.

After lunch, Mrs. Luo tidied up and prepared to go out. Glancing at the deep snow outside, she said, “Xier, you’d best stay home. No need to go to your grandmother’s with me.”

“Alright.” Anran was engrossed in her needlework and happy to stay in. She saw Mrs. Luo off, bolted the door, and hurried back to her room to practice.

—A note: For the flow of the story, from the next chapter, the heroine’s name will be changed to An Yi.