"Sister, look at this."
Ji Xiaohua spread the yellowed letter out on the purple sandalwood desk. Her fingertip tapped on the words "three mu of paddy fields east of the village." "When we were begging door to door with our clay pot, these people weren't nearly this respectful."
Ji Xiaosong leaned against a mother-of-pearl inlaid armrest, her gaze sweeping over the neat, standard script on the letter.
Spring sunlight streamed through the glazed window, spilling onto her crimson palace gown. The nine-tailed phoenix, embroidered with golden thread, trembled faintly with her every breath.
"I remember."
She stroked her seven-month pregnant belly and recalled, "Butcher Zhang's dog chased us until we fell into a muddy ditch. Scholar Li's wife said we were jinxes who'd caused our parents' deaths. Blacksmith Wang…"
Her voice trailed off into the smoke of the Agarwood, where a column of vapor rose languidly from the gilded censer.
