She saw Jiang Manlin again a month later. Manlin's personal maid came to find her. Miss Jiang was dying, the maid said, and wanted only to see her once. It was snowing heavily that day, and the sky was a dull grey. The car was stuck in traffic, so she got out and trudged through the snow to Jiang Manlin's house. Manlin lay in bed, thin as a withered branch, her face ashen. The doctor who had been called said she had taken a deadly poison and there was nothing to be done. The moment Manlin saw her, she reached out and gripped her hand with all her strength. A last flicker of brightness crossed her eyes. "Qingqing, I thought you wouldn't come." She had already vomited a great deal of blood, and it had dried in a red stain across the white sheet. Now she was gasping for breath, tears running down her pale cheeks. "Qingqing, I envy you so much. I envy you so much..." Manlin's other hand was working its way under the pillow. A needle was still taped i...
After that night, when he walked out, she fell gravely ill. Even so, he never came to see her. He had finally given up on her completely, she thought. Fine clothes, fine food, wealth and honor, he had given her all of it. Having come this far, what more could she have the nerve to ask for? Yun'er watched her grow sicker and sicker, until it looked as if an ordinary cold might turn into pneumonia. Now she would not even take her medicine. Frightened, Yun'er had no choice but to go and fetch Jiang Manlin. When Manlin came, even she was startled by how haggard Qingqing looked. "Qingqing, you've gotten so thin." Manlin was the only friend she had ever had in the opera troupe. She was gentle and obedient, and the master's favorite. Qingqing was different. She sang beautifully and memorized lyrics quickly, but she had a stubborn temper and had grown up under the master's beatings and scoldings. Whenever she was punished and came back to find no supper left ...