DBB – Chapter 1: Jinchao

It was the depth of winter, and a heavy snowfall had just passed.

Jinchao sat on the heated brick bed by the window, gazing blankly through the wooden lattice at the narrow cobblestone path in the courtyard. On both sides of the path, plum trees stretched their branches freely, their blossoms painting the garden red. In the distance, blue-tiled roofs and green-bricked walls were blanketed in white snow. Sunlight reflected off the snowy ground, and the damp chill seeped into the house, making the atmosphere feel even colder.

The clothes Jinchao wore were of an outdated style from previous years. Perhaps they had been washed too many times, as even the embroidered crabapple flowers had noticeably faded. She leaned her head against the window, the orange glow of the sunlight casting a soft halo on her pale face. Yet her cheeks were gaunt, her eye sockets slightly sunken—her frailty was unmistakable.

Once, she had been the legitimate daughter of the Gu family in Shi’an, renowned for her beauty. But now, plagued by illness and burdened with years of melancholy, she had long lost the brilliance of her youth.

Shiye entered carrying a basin of hot water, only to find Jinchao staring out the window. She approached, bowed slightly, and said in a low voice,
“My Lady, you mustn’t tire yourself. Your body is weak; you need to rest. Shall I close the window for you?”

“My Lady?” Seeing no response, Shiye hesitated and asked again before glancing out the window herself.

Outside stood a wintersweet tree, its leaves long fallen, with pale yellow-green buds scattered across its branches—only a few had begun to bloom. Further away, willows and banyan trees were covered in a thick layer of snow, leaving everything looking white. There was nothing particularly captivating about the scene, yet the Third Madam watched it so intently.

Jinchao looked outside with disappointment. Spring had not yet arrived, and she feared she would not live to see it.

Shiye sighed inwardly. That wintersweet tree had been planted years ago by the eldest young master himself.

Her nose stung as she whispered,
“My Lady… are you waiting for the Seventh Young Master? Please don’t. The Seventh Young Master is in the front hall, accompanying the Thirteenth Young Master in entertaining guests.”

Jinchao lowered her gaze and said softly,
“In name, I am his mother. Do not bring this up again… Besides, I am not waiting for him.”

Shiye was always careless with her words, unlike Wansu, who was more thoughtful. But she was loyal—otherwise, she would have left when Jinchao lost her authority.

Lowering her head, Shiye choked back her emotions.
“Yes, My Lady.” She finished wiping Jinchao down, then carried the basin out of the room.

The curtain fell, and the heavy scent of sandalwood filled the air.

Jinchao had once loved fragrances—not the solemn incense used for worship but the delicate floral scents. In her youth, she had been bright and radiant, carrying a subtle fragrance, believing that someone would love her for it. She had spent so many years foolishly clinging to that thought, growing ill with sorrow…

Even after all this time, she had never truly forgotten.

Jinchao let out a barely audible sigh and raised her eyes toward the sunlight. A distant memory surfaced—the first time she had met Chen Xuanqing.

It had been in her third uncle’s study. He wore a deep-green robe embroidered with bamboo leaves, his posture tall and elegant as he sat quietly in a curved wooden chair, holding a book in his slender fingers. He had glanced at her briefly and said calmly,
“If the Gu family’s young lady thinks I am a scoundrel, feel free to call out.”

Gu Jinchao had been both embarrassed and furious, so much so that she had bitten his hand before fleeing.

She had bitten him so hard that a shallow scar remained on his left hand ever since. Afraid that others would hear and come to investigate, he had not even cried out in pain. All she remembered was the slight furrow of his brows and the warmth of his strong hands.

At that time, she was in the budding stage of love, and that encounter had made her heart waver. Yet he found her insufferable, telling others that the Gu family’s young lady was arrogant, reckless, and utterly lacking in manners.

By nineteen, she was still unmarried, while he had already wed a virtuous woman chosen long ago.

By then, Jinchao should have accepted reality and moved on. But fate played cruel tricks—she could never forget the scar on his hand. Later, when Chen Xuanqing’s father lost his first wife, she defied her grandmother’s wishes and became his father’s concubine—just to be able to see him every day.

The once-proud yet foolish legitimate daughter of the Gu family became a laughingstock.

After her marriage into the Chen family, each time she saw Chen Xuanqing and Yu Wanxue’s intimacy, she felt an unbearable pain. She could not stand the way he held Yu Wanxue’s hand at sunset, nor the way he smiled tenderly as he painted her face in a spring-lit studio.

Blinded by jealousy, she mistreated Yu Wanxue. As the legitimate wife of the Chen family, Jinchao had absolute authority, and her orders could not be defied.

One winter, Yu Wanxue was punished for a minor mistake—made to kneel in the freezing ancestral hall and copy Buddhist scriptures. Too frail to endure, she suffered a miscarriage.

Jinchao defended herself before the matriarch, claiming she had not known Yu Wanxue was pregnant and that punishment was necessary for any wrongdoing. The matriarch merely instructed Yu Wanxue to rest and not dwell on it too much.

From that moment on, Chen Xuanqing’s attitude toward Jinchao changed.

By then, she had taken charge of the household and was far more composed than her younger self. Yet, no matter how much she had matured, she was still ensnared by emotions. Anytime Chen Xuanqing showed even the slightest kindness, she couldn’t help but waver.

Raised by her grandmother, Jinchao had been bolder than other women, less constrained by etiquette. But she never dared to cross a line—she knew that Chen Xuanqing could never truly love her.

Still, her heart ached for him. She wrote him a letter, tactfully rejecting his advances.

But somehow, that letter fell into the hands of the matriarch—only its contents had been altered. The handwriting was hers, the envelope was hers, even the scent of lilies she always used was unmistakable.

The contents of the letter, though subtle, undeniably hinted at her deep affections for Chen Xuanqing. As Jinchao read the altered words, her face turned deathly pale. With just a slight modification, the meaning had been completely twisted.

From that moment on, Gu Jinchao was stripped of her authority in the household and cast into the secluded courtyard. Her father no longer acknowledged her, her younger brother treated her with indifference, and not a single person in the Gu family stood by her.

Her father’s new concubine had sneered,
“If Gu Jinchao had any shame, she would have hanged herself by now. What’s the point of shamelessly clinging to life?”

Her suffering only deepened. In such an environment, she gradually developed patience, gaining a new perspective on life. She let go of past grudges, realizing that love and hate were nothing more than fleeting illusions.

Not a single person in the Gu family was willing to stand by her—they despised her for disgracing the family’s name. In their eyes, she was nothing but a shameful stain, and they secretly wished she would perish elsewhere, so they would no longer have to bear the humiliation.

According to the words of her father’s newly favored concubine, “If Gu Jinchao had any sense of shame, she should have hanged herself with a white silk ribbon from the beam. What’s the point of shamelessly clinging to life?”

Jinchao’s life soon fell into extreme hardship. She became utterly disheartened. Yet, in such an environment, she gradually honed her resilience and patience, coming to understand truths she had never comprehended before. The grudges of many years, the entanglement of love and hate, all seemed trivial in the end.

Love? It was nothing more than an illusion.

She had never been foolish—she had simply failed to see through things clearly.

Half a year later, Jinchao’s grandmother passed away. When she received the news, she was in the courtyard trimming the branches of the wintergreen. Her hand faltered, and she nearly cut off a cluster of red berries.

That day, she collapsed in grief before the funeral altar. From then on, her spirit seemed to wither, and she rapidly lost weight.

Later, as her health continued to deteriorate—and as she was, after all, the birth mother of the Thirteenth Young Master—her circumstances improved somewhat. Chen Xuanqing eventually moved her out of the damp, neglected courtyard and allowed her to live once more with the dignity befitting the wife of a Chen family noblewoman.

Jinchao looked at her own fingers. She felt that there was nothing left to hold onto. Everything she had once cherished had been destroyed. There was no hope left, no motivation to continue living.

In truth, if she counted carefully, she was only thirty-seven years old.

Yet Chen Xuanqing was still in his prime, and as he aged, he had only grown more composed and dignified. He was at the peak of his life as a man, while she had already withered.

Last February, in the early spring, Chen Xuanqing took a concubine.

Jinchao sat and waited for the new concubine to come pay her respects. She looked at Yu Wanxue, then at the young girl kneeling before her—so fresh and delicate, like a newly sprouted scallion.

Her heart was as still as water.

After so many years of entanglement, she had long since seen through Chen Xuanqing.

So, she simply smiled and nodded, slipping the jade bracelet from her own wrist and personally placing it on the concubine’s. The young woman’s fair, slender wrist gleamed like frost.

Chen Xuanqing seemed worried that she would harm his beloved concubine. He instinctively took a step forward—but then hesitated and stopped.

Jinchao caught the frown between his brows, the undeniable disgust in his expression.

She smiled as she withdrew her hand.

She was merely lamenting how time had discarded her. She had once been just as beautiful, but now her features were gaunt, her once-radiant charm entirely faded.

There was no need for him to be so tense.

Without love, there was no hate.

She had long since lost any strong emotions toward him.

Shiye entered again, bringing in a heated brazier to warm the cold room. As she placed it down, Jinchao heard the distant singing of opera, lively and festive. She asked,
“What is happening in the estate? Why is it so noisy?”

Shiye replied,
“The Thirteenth Young Master is getting married—to the legitimate daughter of the Liu family from Baodi. The Seventh Young Master dotes on his younger brother, so the wedding is being held with great extravagance.”

Liner is getting married.

For a moment, Jinchao felt as if she were in a daze.

Chen Xuanlin was the child she had given birth to in her second year in the Chen household. He was sixteen now.

From the time he was six years old, he had never stepped foot into her room. She had only seen him from afar during New Year’s celebrations and other major occasions.

He had grown into a handsome young man—one who bore a slight resemblance to her own older brother.

Her own child had become so estranged from her, treating her like an enemy.

The ones who had raised him must have taught him from a young age to stay away from his mother.

Back when Liner was little, Jinchao had been preoccupied with household affairs, so she had entrusted him to the matriarch to be raised. Naturally, their bond had never been strong.

The warmth of the brazier spread through the room, yet suddenly, Jinchao felt cold.

The blankets were warm, but the chill she felt came from deep within her bones.

Slowly, Jinchao closed her eyes.

She had never thought of blaming anyone.

Should she blame Chen Xuanqing for being heartless? For being calculative? It all seemed so foolish now.

If there was anyone to blame, it was herself—for failing to see the truth clearly.

But what did it matter now?

She might as well close her eyes and drift into sleep—slowly, peacefully, ending this wretched existence.

The lively opera music continued to echo in the background. Gradually, the singing blended into her dreams, weaving itself into a surreal vision.

“In the midst of chaos, spring’s longing is hard to dispel,
Suddenly, sorrow and yearning fill my heart…
I sought to be blessed with a lovely daughter,
To find a noble match, a pair of immortal lovers—
Only to throw away my youth in vain.

Who can see my sleeping soul?
Hesitant, bound by convention,
I dream in secrecy, drifting with the flow of spring,
My heart, restless, has nowhere to confide.

Tormented, abandoned,
This ruined life—only Heaven can answer me.”

(Lyrics from The Peony Pavilion《牡丹亭》).¹

1. The Peony Pavilion (牡丹亭) is a famous Chinese opera written by Tang Xianzu (汤显祖) in the Ming Dynasty(1598). It is one of the most renowned Kunqu operas, often compared to Shakespeare’s works in its literary and theatrical significance.
   
   The story follows Du Liniang, the daughter of a high-ranking official, who dreams of a romantic encounter in a beautiful garden. In her dream, she falls in love with a young scholar, Liu Mengmei. However, upon waking, she becomes lovesick, yearning for the love that only existed in her dream. Her longing becomes so intense that she withers away and dies.
   
   However, the power of love transcends death. Her soul later reunites with Liu Mengmei, who recognizes her from his own dreams. Through a mix of fate, devotion, and supernatural elements, she is miraculously resurrected, and they eventually marry, overcoming societal and family obstacles. ↩︎