I first came to the Shen household at twenty years old.
My father had been weak all his life, and when his health worsened suddenly, my mother could no longer shoulder our family’s burdens on her own. She had already been working as a maid in the Shen household, and when Madam Shen heard of our struggles, she offered me work too.
I was deeply grateful. The pay was better than I had ever dreamt and, for the first time, I felt I could actually help hold my family together.
From the very first day, I worked with complete devotion. I scrubbed floors until my knuckles bled, polished silver until it gleamed, and made sure no one in that grand household ever had cause to criticize me.
The Shens had only one child, Shen Weilin. Madam Shen treasured him above all, like a pearl in her hand.
She worried endlessly about his meals, his comfort, even about whether an older servant could care for him with enough precision. Seeing my quick hands and easy manner, she appointed me as his personal attendant.
From that day on, I was responsible for him.
Shen Weilin was unlike anyone I had ever known. He had been born into wealth, but no arrogance clung to him. Always patient, always soft-spoken, his smile had a way of disarming even the most rigid elders.
And toward me, he showed kindness I could never forget.
Whenever delicious food graced the table, he would quietly push half toward me. When schoolwork overwhelmed him, he invited me to sit nearby, guiding my uneducated hands through simple lines of poetry. During New Year festivals, when Madam Shen stuffed me full of dishes, he slipped me bright red envelopes, just enough to make me feel I mattered. Sometimes he asked my mother’s friends to buy me small dresses or hairpins, so that I would feel less like a servant and more like a girl.
To me, he became a light. My imagined savior. My god of gentleness. The one who made the world bright.
A year later, Yan Ming also arrived in the city to work. Strong and broad-shouldered, he took on jobs for the Wang family across the way. The Wangs and Shens were neighbors, so he often came by to see me.
Slowly, inevitably, the three of us grew entangled Shen Weilin, our gentle young master; Yan Ming, loyal and boisterous as thunder; and me, caught between them like the tether of a kite, never quite soaring where I wished.
Yan Ming was always straightforward and full of laughter, rough around the edges yet endlessly resourceful. Shen Weilin had caught us at our little countryside schemes more than once, but rather than scolding us, eventually even he grew intrigued.
One sweltering day, Yan Ming and I caught nearly a whole sack of crickets. We crafted little bamboo cages, placed the chirping insects inside, and dragged them into town to sell. But where others set their cages down in baskets, we invented a trickier way we tied them to the top of tall poles.
Yan Ming called out in his bold voice: "Crickets for sale."
And I joined in with playful mischief: "Ten yuan each. But if you can jump and touch the cage, it’s yours for free."
Children and grown men all crowded around, eager to try. But Yan Ming was tall, and he hoisted the pole even higher, more than a full meter above their heads. Hardly anyone could reach, so, laughing, most ended up paying us willingly.
That day, as fate would play it, Shen Weilin and a few of his classmates happened to stroll out of a bright glass hotel. From inside the tall windows, they saw us. Curiosity lit his otherwise composed features as he came closer.
Without hesitation, he joined our game, formally handing me a crisp ten-yuan note.
Red flooded my cheeks. "Young Master, I can’t take your money. For you, I’ll give it for free."
But he pressed the bill against my palm, eyes unyielding. "Don’t you trust me?"
I shook my head violently of course I trusted him. But this was different. His pride gleamed sharper than I had ever seen before.
That was the first time I glimpsed such a strong desire to win in him. He rolled up his spotless white sleeves, ran a few paces forward, and leapt magnificently. His hand met the cage.
The grin that spread across his face was unlike any I had seen. He turned just enough to wink at me. "Ying, watch closely. Your Young Master will win you a few more."
One after another, he dragged his laughing classmates into the game, each shoving coins into my hand while cheering. By the time the bright evening lamps came on, my fists clutched more money than I had ever held in my life.
And Shen Weilin? He won by far the most. At the end of the night, he pressed the finest bamboo cage into my hands, his gaze lingering just a beat longer than necessary.
"This one," he said softly, "I won for you."
That same night, Yan Ming caught an enormous shimmering carp from the lake and carried it proudly to the Shen household.
Madam Shen’s surprise melted swiftly into delight. She patted my mother’s arm and said with warmth, "Our Ying will never know a bitter day with that sharp boy Yan Ming around."
And in that moment, an unspoken agreement seemed to pass among the elders, between my mother, Madam Shen, and even Yan Ming himself. It was as if my life had already been written, destined to marry Yan Ming.
I lowered my gaze, burning with humiliation. Yan Ming blushed furiously, scratching his head and laughing to cover his nerves.
Then Shen Weilin’s voice slipped through the joy: "Tell me, Ying, do you want to marry him?"
I froze.
But before anyone could react, he chuckled, shaking his head. "You probably don’t even know what marriage means yet."
Madam Shen teased him from the side, "And you do? When will you and Yulan give me a grandchild?"
I stole a glance at him. His expression betrayed nothing smooth, controlled, calm. He lifted the book he carried and lightly flipped a page as though no teasing could touch him.
"Perhaps you should think about how to cook that fish instead," he murmured.
From that day forward, whenever Yan Ming and I went to catch cicadas, fish, or dream up new silly schemes, Shen Weilin began coming along. Sometimes he laughed with us, sometimes he only sat within sight, reading, watching quietly while our world unfolded.
And then, Zhao Yulan returned.
We became four.
One afternoon, the four of us wandered near the town market and happened upon a ragged blind fortune teller. Laughing, Yulan pressed coins into his hand.
"Old sir," she challenged with mischief, "tell us how many couples are hidden among the four of us?"
Yan Ming shaded her face with his jacket against the sun. I stood beside Shen Weilin, our arms brushing without intent.
Hearing her question, Yan Ming did not look my way. His eyes dipped instead toward her for the briefest moment, so vulnerable, so unguarded that I nearly could not bear to see it.
The old man’s cracked voice cut through the air: "Among the four of you, there are two couples."
Yulan threw back her head with laughter. "Well that’s easy. Anyone can say that. Pair us off however you like, and you’ll still sound right."
But the fortune teller shook his head solemnly. "Two couples, yes, but only one has the fate to last. The other shall end in regret." His dry cough lingered like a curse.
His finger lifted, pointing straight toward Yan Ming. "You appear fearless, boy. But within you lack the strength to shoulder what fate demands. Be careful when you are fifty-two."
Then, shifting, his hand turned toward Yulan. "And you, girl. Your heart is too deep, your love too fierce. Such intensity snuffs life too quickly. Pity, pity."
The next instant, he raised his hand again. This time, his gnarled finger wavered dangerously toward me.
But before he could finish, Shen Weilin stepped forward sharply, pressing folded bills into the old man’s hand. "Enough. Take this, and stop troubling us."
Yulan’s smile faded into silence, subdued for once. Yan Ming stepped forward with forced laughter. "We’ll pay, just say no more. Miss, in my village, when someone utters something ill, we spit twice to undo it. Do it now, and it will pass."
Blinking, Yulan tilted her head at him, then laughed softly. "Alright. I’ll believe you."
The old man suddenly pulled out four red strings. "My tongue may be harsh, little ones. To make amends, take these. Let me show you your bonds."
I shook my head urgently at Yan Ming, trying to signal us to leave. But Yulan’s curiosity was insatiable she insisted we each take one.
Four strings, each of us grasping one end.
When he let go, Yulan and Yan Ming’s strings fell to the ground, unconnected.
But between Shen Weilin and me, our strings stretched taut, perfectly bound.
Silence crushed the air.
Horrified, I shoved the thread into Yulan’s hand, stumbling over excuses. "Nonsense. These tricks are common in our village. Don’t take them seriously. Yan Ming, let’s go."
I dragged him forward, refusing to look back. But as we hurried away, the corner of my vision betrayed me behind us, the old man muttered low into Shen Weilin’s ear.
And Weilin’s face the calm mask finally broken turned pale. He lifted his gaze to look at me, something pained and unspeakable flickering in his eyes.
Years later, today, I finally learned the truth of what that fortune teller whispered.
Because at last, I opened Yan Ming’s letter.
The very first line read:
"Ying, the blind man said back then that you and Shen Weilin were the true pair. That Yulan and I could never last. If only we had believed him, maybe everything that followed would have been different."
Chapter 03
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