The morning sun streamed through the intricate silk curtains that adorned the windows of Li Mei's room, casting a soft, golden glow on the lavish surroundings. The room was a sanctuary of comfort and beauty, filled with exquisite furnishings that reflected her stepfather's status as a respected official. A large, ornate bed with silk drapes dominated the space, and the walls were adorned with delicate paintings of lotus flowers and bamboo, symbols of purity and resilience. In one corner stood a carved wooden vanity, its surface scattered with fine combs and jade hairpins, while a lacquered wardrobe housed an array of beautiful garments. Despite the luxury that surrounded her, the room felt more like a gilded cage than a place of belonging.
Li Mei stirred from her sleep, the remnants of last night's vivid dream lingering in her mind like a faint whisper. The dream had been a strange contrast to her waking life, filled with colors, sounds, and emotions that she seldom allowed herself to feel. In the dream, she was powerful, confident, draped in fine silks, and admired by all. But now, as she sat up and gazed around her opulent room, the reality of her existence settled heavily on her shoulders.
As she rose, her personal maid and closest friend, Yulan, entered the room. Yulan was a petite girl with a lively spirit and a quick smile, her dark hair tied back in a neat braid. She had been with Li Mei since childhood, and their bond was more like that of sisters than mistress and servant.
"Good morning, Miss Li Mei," Yulan greeted cheerfully, carrying a basin of warm water.
"Morning, Yulan," Li Mei replied with a small smile, grateful for the warmth and familiarity of her friend's presence.
Yulan set the basin down and helped Li Mei wash and dress for the day. Though her garments were simple compared to the luxurious silks stored in her wardrobe, Li Mei carried herself with a quiet dignity, a reflection of the upbringing her mother had instilled in her. As Yulan carefully braided Li Mei's long, dark hair, the two girls exchanged small talk, their easy camaraderie a stark contrast to the formality of the household.
Once dressed, Li Mei left her room and made her way to the kitchen, Yulan trailing closely behind. The house was quiet in the early morning, the younger children still asleep in their rooms. Her siblings were the joy of the household—two little boys and a girl, all full of energy and mischief. Li Mei loved them dearly, but their carefree lives often made her feel even more like an outsider. They had been born into a life of stability and comfort, never knowing the fear and hardship their mother had endured.
The kitchen was the heart of the household, where her mother, Madam Zhao, was already at work. Despite her petite frame, Madam Zhao was a force of nature—strong, resilient, and deeply loving in her own way. She moved with swift precision as she prepared the morning meal, her hands skillfully chopping vegetables while a pot of porridge simmered on the stove.
"Good morning, Mother," Li Mei greeted, stepping into the kitchen with Yulan by her side.
Madam Zhao looked up briefly, a faint smile touching her lips. "Good morning, Li Mei. Yulan, help me with the dough," she said, her tone gentle but firm.
Yulan nodded and immediately went to work, her hands deftly kneading the dough on the wooden table. The kitchen was a place of solace for Li Mei, a domain where she could express herself in ways words could not. The shelves were lined with jars of spices, bundles of dried herbs, and neatly stacked cooking utensils. The large wooden table in the center of the room was worn from years of use, its surface marked with countless meals prepared for the family.
As Li Mei and her mother worked side by side, a comfortable silence settled over them. It was in these quiet moments that Li Mei often found herself reflecting on her mother's past—a story of endurance and sacrifice that had shaped both their lives.
Madam Zhao had married young, her first husband a man of wealth and influence. But behind the doors of their grand home, he was a cruel and abusive man, taking out his frustrations on his wife with little regard for the damage he caused. For years, Madam Zhao endured his violence, her spirit slowly withering under the weight of her circumstances. But she held on, not for herself, but for Li Mei, her only child at the time.
When Li Mei's father finally passed away, it was both a relief and a terror. The future was uncertain, and without the protection of her husband, Madam Zhao feared for her daughter's safety and well-being. It was during this time of uncertainty that Zhao Wen entered their lives. A local official with a reputation for fairness and integrity, Zhao Wen was drawn to Madam Zhao's quiet strength and resilience. Their marriage was one born out of mutual respect and eventually, love.
For the first time in years, Madam Zhao found peace and security in her new life. Zhao Wen treated her with kindness and respect, and he accepted Li Mei as his own. But despite the comfort and stability her stepfather provided, Li Mei could never shake the feeling that she was living in someone else's world—a world where she didn't truly belong.
Her younger siblings, born of this new union, knew nothing of the hardship their mother had endured. Their laughter filled the house with a joy that sometimes felt foreign to Li Mei. She loved them deeply, but there were moments when their carefree lives only deepened her sense of alienation.
As they worked, the rhythmic sound of chopping and the bubbling of the porridge filled the air. Yulan moved about the kitchen with practiced ease, her presence a constant source of support for Li Mei. The simplicity of the task allowed Li Mei's mind to wander, but she quickly reined it back, focusing on the job at hand. She had no time for daydreams, not when there was so much to be done.
Zhao Wen entered the kitchen as they were setting the table. His presence was commanding, despite the plainness of his attire. He was a man of few words, his authority and status as a local official reflected in his stern demeanor and the respect he commanded within their household. While he had never been unkind to Li Mei, there was a distance between them, a barrier that neither had been able to cross.
"Good morning, Father," Li Mei said with a respectful bow.
"Morning," he responded gruffly, taking his seat at the table.
Madam Zhao served him first, placing a bowl of steaming porridge and a plate of freshly made flatbread before him. Li Mei watched as her stepfather ate in silence, her own meal untouched as she waited for him to finish. There was a part of her that longed for a deeper connection with him, to feel truly part of the family he had created with her mother. But another part of her knew that it was unlikely to happen. Zhao Wen had married her mother out of love and respect, but Li Mei was a reminder of the life her mother had lived before him—a life filled with pain and suffering.
As they ate, the kitchen was filled with the quiet sounds of clinking bowls and the occasional slurp of porridge. There was no conversation, just the unspoken understanding that each of them had their roles to play, their own burdens to bear. For Li Mei, it was a reminder that no matter how much she wished for something more, her place was here, at least for now.
After breakfast, Zhao Wen left for his duties in town, and Li Mei and her mother, along with Yulan, set about cleaning the kitchen and preparing for the rest of the day. There were vegetables to chop, rice to sort, and meat to prepare for the evening meal. Each task was performed with the same care and precision as always, the rhythm of their work a small comfort in the monotony of daily life.
Yet, as Li Mei moved through the familiar routine, she couldn't help but think about the dream she had the night before. The image of the grand teahouse, the vibrant market, and the people who admired her for her skills—it was a vision that refused to fade. It was a glimpse of a life so different from the one she lived now, a life that seemed almost impossible but was undeniably alluring.
By mid-morning, the kitchen was spotless, the ingredients for dinner neatly arranged on the counter. Madam Zhao, noticing Li Mei's restlessness, finally spoke up. "You should go to the market," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "We're running low on ginger, and you could use some fresh air."
Li Mei nodded, grateful for the suggestion. The market was a place of life and energy, a stark contrast to the quiet, controlled environment of their home. It was one of the few places where she felt a sense of freedom, where she could immerse herself in the sights and sounds of the bustling town.
Before leaving, Li Mei carefully selected a veil from her wardrobe—a finely woven piece of silk that matched her simple but elegant attire. The veil was not just a fashion statement but a symbol of her status as the daughter of an official. It offered her a sense of privacy and anonymity in the crowded streets, a way to shield herself from prying eyes and unwanted attention.
With the veil draped gracefully over her head, partially covering her face, Li Mei took a small basket and a pouch of coins, then headed out into the streets of Jiaxing, with Yulan by her side. The market was already alive with activity, the air filled with the clamor of vendors hawking their wares and the mingled scents of spices, fresh produce, and roasted meats.