Chapter 4: The Long Day Slumbers Amidst the Waning Radiance; The Night Holds No Dreams Beneath the Fading Moonlight

Sunlight traced shadows, falling upon the desk like a painting. Every scroll bore no ink stains, yet every sheet held a delicate image. Sitting before the desk, Guan Yin repeatedly inked her brush, careful not to let a single drop spill onto the rice paper as thin as a cicada’s wing.

With the combined income of Guan Yin and Liu Jiao’an, buying such paper was out of the question. Those who requested her work would send it, but the supply was scarce, and Guan Yin had already wasted two sheets—almost reaching her limit.

Not far away, Liu Jiao’an sat picking at her nails with her pinky, stitching needle by needle. “Once the tea on the mountain is picked, though not much, if we sell it to the tea merchants, it should barely cover household expenses.”

“As long as the green hills remain, there’s no fear of running out of firewood. So long as all three of us stay well, there’s nothing we can’t overcome.”

Guan Yin understood well the truth in the saying that green mountains and clear waters are as valuable as mountains of gold and silver.

After a few days together, Guan Yin had come to realize that Liu Jiao’an was undoubtedly a lady from a wealthy family—just as the original woman had been.

“If I can’t finish the writing, should I send Sanheng back first?”

“If possible, wait another two or three days.” Since she had come, Guan Yin did not want to leave things as they were, yet she could not simply wait idly, relying on Liu Jiao’an alone. The three of them would starve otherwise.

Having long mastered needlework in the boudoir, Liu Jiao’an’s hands moved nimbly as her mind and lips spoke of plans. “Later, I’ll take these out to sell. Just a few days ago, someone wanted this embroidery—said he was a schoolteacher.”

Though Guan Yin had never done needlework herself, she had been to museums. The fine stitches could never be worth so little silver coins. Likely, Liu Jiao’an had not ventured far enough to those streets crowded with wealthy aristocrats.

Without knowing the full story, Guan Yin had read many tales and could guess that Liu Jiao’an’s reluctance to roam was tied to the intrigues among noble families. Now was not the time to ask directly; she simply watched quietly, pondering her own solutions.

“All right, rest more for now. Don’t think too much... Life must go on.”

There was a steadiness and warmth in Liu Jiao’an’s manner, as if they would never fade. Every movement betrayed a strong family tradition, and Liu Jiao’an was truly a remarkable person.

Yet such a remarkable woman seemed to fulfill the expectations of a refined lady under the old feudal order—so why, then, had she chosen to leave her family and live at the foot of the mountain, beside this small tea field?

This matter must be connected to her—meaning the original “Master Guan.”

Two birds dashed beneath the eaves by the window, their calls waking the morning and stirring Guan Yin from her daze.

Of course, Guan Yin had not been idle these past days. She had found drafts of the original woman’s writing in the cabinet and copied them onto the fine paper... With so many inconsistencies, wouldn’t Liu Jiao’an suspect her true identity?

---

“Master?” Sanheng called out, but Guan Yin seemed lost in concentration, repeatedly inking her brush.

After several unanswered calls, Sanheng looked over. On the paper, a neat but unattractive character “Guan” had been written.

“Guan”? Isn’t that Master’s surname? Sanheng wondered why he had written it there—he always used the name “Yin Yunshan” outside.

Sanheng didn’t know Master’s full name and assumed it was “Yin Yun.” He had heard that people had different names besides their given and courtesy names, but scratching his somewhat itchy head, he tried to dismiss his embarrassment.

“Sanheng?” Guan Yin finally came back to herself, seeing Sanheng standing before her, scratching his head with a hesitant expression, unsure whether to ask or say something. “Sanheng, did you call me just now?”

“Ah, Master...” Sanheng chose his words carefully. “Madam doesn’t want me to tell you, but lately, someone has been competing with Madam for business.”

“How do they compete?”

To compete, they must have similar quality, right? Guan Yin was puzzled; with Liu Jiao’an’s skill, how many could match her in this rural mountain area?

“Madam’s embroidery is exquisite, but it takes time.” Sanheng felt this was unfair to Madam, speaking with bitterness as if wanting to bite off a piece of those rivals. “So those who produce shoddy work sell theirs cheaper.”

“And Madam’s work...?”

“Many don’t know the difference,” Sanheng sighed deeply and ground his teeth. “Madam often makes a display piece, then patches up a nearly finished one when needed. How could that compete with those cheaply mass-produced products?”

“Moreover...”

His eyes reddened as he spoke. Sanheng wanted to defend Madam but had no one to share his frustration with.

Those who understood would understand; those who did not might be convinced—but the most troublesome were those who pretended to know or feigned ignorance after understanding.

“All right, Sanheng, don’t be angry.” Guan Yin understood why many customers wouldn’t speak up for Liu Jiao’an.

Competition was inevitable and only drove down the price of her embroidery. Cheaper was better—no one wanted to be taken advantage of, and no one cared to consider the sellers’ plight.

“Master... Madam fears you would worry, so she won’t let me tell you.”

---

Liu Jiao’an feared burdening “Master Guan” with more pressure. Guan Yin understood but did not know how to comfort Sanheng.

“Creak.”

The small gate in the fence nearby opened. Both knew Liu Jiao’an had returned.

Guan Yin finally put down the brush tube, warmed by a day’s use though yet unpolished, and stood. “Madam...”

“Not bad, but that schoolteacher who promised to come today hasn’t shown up.”

Both master and servant understood Liu Jiao’an’s worry.

If she could secure this order, she wouldn’t have to worry for a long time—teachers might not be wealthy, but they were reliable.

Yet the teacher had failed to keep his appointment, and hope began to fade.

“Master, I could also go out and be a schoolteacher.”

“No!” Liu Jiao’an’s refusal was firm. “Have you forgotten...?”

“I...”

At the moment their eyes met, neither knew what the other was thinking. Liu Jiao’an frowned but softened her tone. “It’s my fault—I forgot your illness hasn’t healed.”

“But about teaching... you can’t do that.”

Why not? Guan Yin wanted to say she had been a teacher before coming here! But what of the original woman? Was her role truly as simple as writing essays?

Judging by Liu Jiao’an’s reaction, Guan Yin knew the matter was far more complicated than it appeared.