Jinghe Year Fifteen, the seventh day of the fifth month. Clear skies.
Outside the Feng Residence, the stone steps had been swept spotless, and the two lanterns had been fitted with fresh red gauze.
Granny Zhou, who had once taken Fu Niang to the bookshop, had brought the maids out to wait beneath the corridor early that morning. Even Qingluo, usually the most composed of them,
could not resist rising onto her toes today, repeatedly peering toward the end of the street.
Fu Niang stood at the gate, her hands clasped before her, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers, tightening and releasing it, releasing and tightening it again.
Today she wore an apricot red, narrow-sleeved Beizi, its neckline embroidered with pomegranate branches.
Below it was a moon white Eight-Panel Xiang Skirt, with a peace buckle of mutton-fat jade hanging at her waist.
Her hair was arranged in a Hanging-Bun Hairstyle, adorned with two Silver Butterfly Pearl Hairpins.
Her earrings were two tiny southern pearls, making her small face look all the more luminous and white as jade.
She had spent an hour before the mirror choosing this outfit.
Blue was too plain, pale yellow too childish. Only this apricot red would do.
Mother had said she looked best in red.
"Miss, please stop twisting that handkerchief." Qingluo lowered her voice and discreetly tugged her sleeve.
"If you keep twisting it, it will tear."
Fu Niang looked down. Sure enough, the square silk handkerchief in her hands had been crumpled into wrinkles, its corners already fraying.
Blushing, she quickly stuffed it into her sleeve and shot Qingluo a reproachful glance. "You just had to say something."
Qingluo pressed her lips together to hide a smile and said no more.
Just then, the rumble of carriage wheels came from the end