The cold snap came quietly and left the same way. By morning the sky had cleared, the sun hard and bright, turning the snow into something almost painful to look at.
In the courtyard, crabapple branches drooped under the weight of white. Here and there, pale pink buds pushed through — tender, stubborn, impossibly delicate.
Wei Rao stood at the window in her cloak, one hand raised to shade her eyes, watching with a faint smile. Two or three days of sun like this and the ground would be clear. The snow would melt into the soil and leave it moist, easy to plow — a gift to the farmers, whatever anyone tried to say about omens. Even if someone wanted to spread gossip that the snowfall was heaven's punishment on her grandmother's birthday, the fields would tell a different story.
Grandmother no longer cared much for reputation. But there was no harm in shrinking the slander where she could.
"Come freshen up, miss. We're going out of the city today — might as well enjoy the snow while we can."
Bitao and Liuya came in one after the other, one carrying the basin, the other the teapot.
Wei Rao set aside her cloak and sat down at the dressing table.
Today was her grandmother Shou'an Jun's 60th birthday. Wei Rao had already told Bitao to dress her to the nines — like a fairy out of legend. Her grandmother could dismiss fame as meaningless, but appearance was another matter. The women in her household were all poised and well-presented; the granddaughters were held to an even higher standard.
This was the philosophy Shou'an Jun had passed down:
"Women — beautiful or plain — must present themselves well. Not for men, not for the outside world. For themselves. When a woman feels put-together, her mood lifts. When her mood lifts, everything about her brightens. That brightness is the most beautiful thing there is. No amount of expensive powder can hide the wear in eyes that face ugliness every single day. If the heart is not beautiful, the face won't be either, no matter what you put on it.
"There's beauty for the poor and beauty for the rich — what matters is the spirit. Any woman who truly loves beauty will not allow her life to become unbearable. Yes, some are born into the mud. But a woman who loves beauty will find her way out. She will look for a cleaner life, a cleaner self. And when she finds it — how could she not be beautiful?"
This was Shou'an Jun's way. She required it of herself, and she required it of Wei Rao.
Wei Rao took the lesson to heart.
She was naturally striking and made the effort to stay that way. When she was a child, her grandmother had gently discouraged her from visiting too often, worried about appearances. Wei Rao had ignored this — she loved her grandmother and loved riding horses and catching fish on the farm her grandmother had given her. That kind of joy couldn't be bought with powder or reputation.
Still, good spirits were one thing. Good grooming was another.
Bitao and Liuya had both been trained by Shou'an Jun's household. From matching collars and buckles to hair care and skincare, their skills were thorough enough to teach ladies at court.
Even with two skilled hands, a proper dressing took time. Wei Rao sat for half an hour.
The Western mirror — framed in colored gemstones — reflected a face that was, by any measure, exceptional. Her skin needed only a light layer of moisturizing cream. The artistry went into her brows and lips. Her brows had always leaned toward her late father's — bold, straight, a little too fierce. Now they were shaped into two gentle crescents, tips angled slightly upward, which set off her red phoenix eyes perfectly.
Her lips were another matter. Wei Rao saw nothing wrong with them, but her grandmother had once told her plainly: your lips already look like they're asking to be kissed. You're already gorgeous — lips like those make you look like anything but a proper young lady. Once you're married, charm is fine. Before that, show some restraint.
So whenever Wei Rao went out or received guests, Liuya would adjust her lip shape to something more composed.
"Honestly, I prefer your natural lip shape," Liuya said, with a touch of regret.
Wei Rao smiled at her reflection, satisfied. Last time she'd visited her grandmother she'd gotten paint on her sleeve picking at flowers and ended up on the receiving end of a lecture. This time she'd made up her mind: even if a god descended from heaven in the middle of the road to offer her immortality pills, she would not set one foot outside the carriage. She would arrive in front of her grandmother looking exactly as she was supposed to look.
"Let's go."
Liuya stayed behind to pack food. Wei Rao took Bitao and went to the front courtyard to join her grandmother for breakfast.
She timed it well. Old Lady Wei had just finished dressing — a purple jacket, silver-grey hair, her face carrying more age than her years, though she was four years younger than Wei Rao's maternal grandmother.
The two old women had different temperaments, but their feeling for Wei Rao was the same. Wei Rao loved her grandmother's free spirit and respected the other's dignified composure.
"Grandmother, do I look beautiful?" Wei Rao floated into the inner room like a small butterfly, caught up the hem of her skirt, and turned in a circle in front of Old Lady Wei.
It wasn't exactly dignified behavior, but women of Old Lady Wei's generation secretly loved a little showing-off from the young ones.
"Beautiful, beautiful. The most beautiful in all the capital." Old Lady Wei laughed and looked her little granddaughter up and down with eyes full of warmth.
The girl truly was something.
When her second son had died all those years ago — killed in the line of duty, exposing corrupt officials — Old Lady Wei had nearly broken. His wife, the young Zhou woman, had grieved just as hard and kept her composure through the three-year mourning period, caring for their daughter with great devotion. Old Lady Wei had been grateful. Then, three years later, the young Zhou woman had knelt before her and made her calm, quiet request.
Old Lady Wei had felt the disappointment settle like cold water.
She had treated her daughter-in-law well. Her son had treasured the woman while he was alive. The older daughter-in-law — from the Li family — had remarried because her husband had been a drunk who beat her. That was understandable. But what wrong had the younger Zhou woman suffered? Why couldn't she remain a widow for a husband she had loved?
And even if she felt nothing for her dead husband — had she no thought for her daughter? Wei Rao already had a grandmother with an unconventional reputation, and an aunt who had married a wealthy merchant rather than a man of rank. If her own mother remarried, what would people say about Wei Rao?
Old Lady Wei had listed every reason. The young Zhou woman had listened, and still insisted on leaving. She even asked to take her daughter with her.
Old Lady Wei had refused flatly. Wei Rao was the only piece of her son left in this world. She would not hand her to anyone.
When the Zhou woman first left, Old Lady Wei had, for a short time, let some of that anger touch Wei Rao. But the moment she looked at the child's face — that otherworldly, luminous face — the anger dissolved. Afraid that no one else would take proper care of her, Old Lady Wei had moved Wei Rao to her own courtyard and raised her there for four years.
"It just snowed. It's cold. Why aren't you wearing more?" Old Lady Wei drew her granddaughter close and pinched her sleeve with a frown.
"The sun is so good, and I'll be in the carriage the whole time. I won't get cold," Wei Rao said. She really didn't feel it.
Old Lady Wei could not argue with that, so the two of them went to breakfast together.
After the meal, Old Lady Wei signaled Wei Rao not to rush off and gave a look to Aunt Song, who had served her for decades.
Aunt Song went to the inner room and returned carrying a two-foot-long box of red sandalwood.
Old Lady Wei said, "There's a string of prayer beads inside. Years ago, when Master Jingkong — the great monk — came through the capital, I was fortunate enough to ask him to bless them. Today is Shou'an Jun's 60th birthday. I don't have anything finer to send, so take these for me."
The two old women weren't close, but they weren't enemies either. You only got so many 60th birthdays in a life. A proper gift was only right.
Master Jingkong was the most revered monk of the dynasty. For a woman who worshipped as sincerely as Old Lady Wei, these beads were a true treasure.
"Grandmother, please keep them for yourself. Your heart is the real gift — Grandmother will be moved just knowing you thought of her," Wei Rao said quickly.
Old Lady Wei gestured for Bitao to take the box. "This is a matter between the elders. You carry the errand. Don't overthink it."
Wei Rao kept her thoughts to herself. Her maternal grandmother had no interest in gods or Buddhas. She would not treat these beads with any particular reverence — likely tuck them away somewhere and forget them. But her paternal grandmother was kind, and Wei Rao couldn't bring herself to say so and hurt her feelings.
"Actually, Grandmother did want to invite you out to the village. She didn't send a formal post only because she worried the journey would be too tiring for you." Wei Rao wrapped both hands around her grandmother's arm and smiled.
Old Lady Wei gave her a look somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "Who are you trying to coax? Shou'an Jun hasn't entertained outside guests in years. She sees family and that's it."
Wei Rao laughed at being caught. "Well, Grandmother is just too proud to accept a post and risk being refused. That would be the real embarrassment."
Old Lady Wei was about to reply when a young maid hurried in from outside to announce that Lady Guo and Third Miss had arrived to pay their respects.
Guo was the wife of Old Lady Wei's eldest son — the current Lady Cheng'an — and Wei Rao's aunt by marriage.
The two of them glanced at each other. Wei Rao let her distaste show openly. She and Lady Guo's household did not get along.
"Go, go. Get ready to leave. I'll receive them." Old Lady Wei had no desire to let Guo take aim at her little granddaughter while she was standing right there.
Wei Rao knew exactly whose side her grandmother was on.
She leaned in, pressed a kiss to the old lady's cheek, and left a faint lip print behind on purpose. Then she walked out smiling.
"Good morning, Aunt. Good morning, Third Sister."
In the doorway she passed Lady Guo and Wei Chan coming in. She greeted them both with a composed curtsy.
Wei Chan's eyes went straight to the jade pendant at Wei Rao's ear — green as young leaves seen through ice.
Lady Guo's eyes went to the silk. Rich, clearly expensive, clearly a gift from Wei Rao's aunt who had married into merchant wealth.
Wei Rao's father had died exposing corrupt officials. His sacrifice had bought the Cheng'an household a fine name among the people, but not much money. From Old Lady Wei down, the family lived simply. Only Wei Rao — cushioned by a wealthy merchant aunt and a grandmother who received imperial gifts regularly — went about dressed in silk and jade, conspicuous against the household's plain backdrop.
"Snowy roads are difficult," Lady Guo said, loudly enough to carry indoors. "How very filial, going all the way out of the city for Shou'an Jun." The words were aimed past Wei Rao at Old Lady Wei inside — see how she throws herself at that woman's feet, and what do you get for all your love?
"I am only being filial, Aunt," Wei Rao said pleasantly. "The roads are inconvenient, so I'm leaving early. I'll bring back some game from the mountain for you to try."
She smiled and walked on.
Lady Guo's expression soured. She hated this most about Wei Rao — that nothing landed. That shameless composure.
Wei Chan turned to watch Wei Rao move away through the white courtyard, her back straight, unhurried, like a phoenix stepping into snow.
Jealousy and longing mixed uncomfortably in her chest.
She wanted to go out of the city and play. She was so tired of this cramped, joyless mansion.