Chapter 3: Feigning Illness, Jiao'an Remains Oblivious; Encountering Disaster, Guan Yin Wonders at the Strange Turn of Fate

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“Are you feeling any better, Husband?” With fingers slender as scallions and nails bright as the moon, the woman who had been his wife sat down and began counting the morning’s earnings. “You know my embroidery is only so-so, and ordinarily we depend on your writing to make a living... These past two days, I have barely earned enough to buy food for tomorrow.”

The moment Guan Yin arrived, the household had already fallen into deficit, yet she had no idea what she could do. Sitting upright, she felt the hand braced against the writing desk tremble of its own accord.

“Wife, this cold of mine...”

“I know. In the end, I am the one who has dragged you down.”

Guan Yin knew there had to be some story behind all this. Her hands were not those of someone raised in pampered comfort, yet the woman before her still carried an inextinguishable trace of pride in every gesture. She must have been born to a wealthy family.

“Madam, why do the two of you keep talking about who has dragged down whom?” San Heng happened to enter with a bowl of water, his gaze moving from one of them to the other. “Madam, Husband, this is all because...”

But Guan Yin saw the woman shaking her head repeatedly, signaling San Heng not to continue. Beneath her lowered brows, tears glimmered in her eyes, only to be stubbornly held back by sheer force of will.

“At this point, what use is there in speaking of blame?”

Clearly, there was blame. A fine, aching tenderness rose unbidden in Guan Yin’s heart.

Girls born in an age such as this—what use was there in resentment, and what use was there in letting it go? And how had the original Guan, a girl who had somehow been allowed to study and write, ended up in such a plight?

There were too many mysteries surrounding the two of them. Guan Yin was not noble enough to disregard them. For the moment, she could not truly step into the role of “Husband Guan,” nor did she know what she could do.

What Guan Yin truly worried about was how to leave, and how to avoid being branded as a demon-possessed monster and dying miserably in this unfamiliar world.

“Cough, cough!” She suddenly could not stop herself from coughing. Covering her mouth, she coughed until she could scarcely catch her breath, so much so that she began to wonder whether she would even survive this cold. “Cough, cough, cough, cough... cough!”

“Those events years ago damaged your health, and now you are neglecting yourself again because you are worried about me.”

Why could she not be like those people in the novels who crossed into another world and somehow knew all about the past—who were even given some sort of cheat, with knowledge of how the plot would unfold? Guan Yin could feel the anxiety the woman before her was trying to suppress, yet she did not even know what she herself could do.

“That’s right, Husband. Madam is always worried about you... You ought to take better care of yourself too.”

Guan Yin had no idea what she should say. Make some declaration? Swear an oath? The room fell silent around them, and the quiet became awkward.

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At last, the woman’s sorrowful gaze moved away from Guan Yin and settled on San Heng, who stood nearby.

“San Heng, go and rest for a while. I have something to say to your Husband.”

At her words, San Heng left the room, though not before turning back to pull the door nearly closed.

But once San Heng was gone, the woman did not hurry to speak. Instead, she took two steps away from Guan Yin and stopped beside the writing desk, leaning sideways against its corner. Her eyes slowly focused on the blank sheet of white paper bearing only a few scattered ink marks. Her brows drew together slightly, and she reached out to turn over the page beneath it...

“Madam!”

The woman did not know what lay underneath, but Guan Yin knew perfectly well what she had written there while San Heng watched her expectantly. She cursed the fact that she had once practiced calligraphy as a child. She had thought she had long since returned that skill to her teacher, yet the instant her fingers closed around the brush, the old sensation had come rushing back.

Which meant the woman should be able to read the words on the page.

Sure enough, at Guan Yin’s cry, the woman’s fingers trembled just before touching the edge of the paper. Slowly, they curled back. She drew her hand to her chest and turned around.

“You have been acting strangely today. If you are still feeling unwell, do not delay.”

“Have San Heng accompany us to the physician and let him examine you. It will only be worse if you allow it to drag on.”

Was seeing a doctor really so simple here? Guan Yin knew only that the older generation either avoided physicians out of fear, or worried that the moment they sought treatment, their money would flow away like water.

“It is nothing serious, but I...”

“The physician told me. He said you might temporarily forget certain things.”

So the original wife already knew. Guan Yin finally let out a breath of relief. At least during this “temporary” period, she would not need to worry about pretending to be someone utterly foreign to her.

“Do you still remember who pushed you into the water?”

The woman’s words struck like thunder.

There had been an incident in which she fell into the water? Why had San Heng said nothing?

Had San Heng been involved and deliberately concealed it? Or was this so-called wife merely testing her? Guan Yin suddenly understood what it meant for a character in a novel not to survive three days.

“Do you think it might have something to do with those people from back then?”

She had known this would not be some simple, tranquil tale of farming and trade. Guan Yin regretted having read novels mindlessly all those years. Resting was one thing, but she should have learned some schemes and stratagems from those authors. At least then, she might have lasted a few more days.

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By now, the woman’s face was less than half an arm’s length from Guan Yin’s. Unable to bear her sudden closeness, Guan Yin shifted backward slightly.

“I don’t remember.”

The woman froze at her words. Sitting upright, she reached out as though to pat Guan Yin on the shoulder, then withdrew her hand halfway there.

“How much do you remember? Do you still remember me and San Heng? Do you remember how we met, and how we came here?”

Guan Yin said nothing. The woman understood the evasion in her eyes, and moisture gathered in her already bright eyes.

“You remember nothing at all? It does not matter if you remember nothing. Perhaps, having let go of the past, you can begin again... But will they let you go?”

Not wanting Guan Yin to see her reddened eyes, the woman turned her head away. She hoped the breeze slipping in through the window would dry the tears on her cheeks, but they only gathered more thickly, swirling into a single drop at the tip of her chin until she had no choice but to raise a hand and wipe it away.

When her gaze returned, it happened to fall upon the dazzling white sheet of paper. Sunlight streaming in through the window shone across it, and the hand resting beneath her chin slipped at once to her chest.

“I am Jiao’an. You must remember that from now on.”

“I am the youngest daughter of the Liu family. Jiao’an.”

Liu Jiao’an’s shoulders began to tremble even more violently. Guan Yin did not know what those words meant to her, but she still reached out, wanting to offer some comfort.

Before Guan Yin’s hand could touch her, however, Liu Jiao’an rose.

“Rest slowly. If you ever remember again, whatever you wish to do, I will accompany you.”

“As for this story, if you cannot continue writing it, there is no need to hurry... My heartless father would not truly let me starve to death. At worst, at worst...”

At worst, what? Guan Yin desperately wanted to know. The story behind Liu Jiao’an’s unfinished words might well be the key to breaking this deadlock.

“At worst, I will marry. I will marry the man he wants me to marry.”

She pushed open the door, and at last the wind fulfilled Liu Jiao’an’s wish, scattering the flush and tear tracks from her face. But Guan Yin knew that behind those words—“I will marry”—lay far more suffering than Liu Jiao’an could say aloud.