The village was encircled by a stream, as if a maiden’s eyes brimming with spirit. As the rooster’s crow rippled through the village, a young woman squatted by the stream, washing clothes. Her posture accentuated her graceful figure. A wooden mallet rhythmically tapped against the garments laid on the stone, gentle and careful. When she tired, she would pause, using a slender finger to brush back strands of damp hair clinging to her brow and cheeks. Sometimes she would gaze absentmindedly at her reflection in the rippling water, blurred and indistinct.
A faint smile graced her lips. Her family was too poor to afford a bronze mirror, a luxury she considered unnecessary. Though people within a ten-mile radius praised her beauty, she never truly saw it herself. She felt more flattered when someone complimented her son, You Song, for his pretty, auspicious appearance. She exhaled softly, returned to her senses, and resumed pounding the thinning, worn-out clothes. She dared not come during busy hours, especially not with undergarments—she always felt ashamed. Worse still, idle, lecherous men from the village, young and old, would sit shamelessly by the stream, pointing and whispering. The village women, naturally resentful, would curse her behind her back as a fox spirit. If their husbands lingered near the stream, they would sneer and mock her. She sighed softly, noticing a red embroidered bellyband. Perhaps it was indeed burdensome, and the seams had loosened from wear. Compared to her outer garments, the stitching was embarrassingly sparse. She quickly struck it with her mallet, hoping to wash it and hang it indoors soon. She chuckled bitterly to herself—wasn’t it just flesh? She never understood why men always stared. She wished her body were smaller.
Before marriage, this delicate young woman had been a daughter of Muzhi. In Beiliang, there was a saying: “Muzhi women and Tongling men.” It meant that the women of Muzhi were especially graceful and fair-skinned. Even as a girl, she had been a local beauty. As she grew, she married into this village. Unfortunately, she was fated to misfortune—shortly after the wedding, her husband died. The villagers all knew her in-laws died with resentment in their hearts. But since she bore them a grandson, You Song, they at least refrained from cruel words in her presence during their final years. She always felt guilty toward her husband’s family, never uttering a complaint. Even the harshest villagers knew this unfortunate woman had done nothing to wrong the Zhao family. A frail girl who should have married into wealth and comfort had instead endured the burdens of hard labor usually reserved for men. Once, a few rowdy outsiders stole a bellyband hanging on her bamboo pole. For the first time, she flew into a rage, chasing them to the neighboring village, ready to fight to the death. Elderly men from the village, finally unable to bear it, rallied their strong descendants, nearly half the village armed with hoes, to retrieve the item. She remembered sitting on the ground, clutching the bellyband silently, tears streaming down her face without a word.
Since then, she preferred to hang her clothes inside her house to dry, even if it took longer. In time, You Song became her entire world. Fortunately, the fatherless child was dutiful and promising. Even the old scholar, who guarded his private library jealously, allowed the boy to borrow books. Any other child daring to touch those volumes would have their hands beaten raw. The village elders often said she would one day reap the rewards of motherhood.
Now, as she placed each garment into the bamboo basket, she suddenly turned her head and saw a man she never expected. He stood far away, while she held in her hand a simple blue fan-shaped bellyband embroidered with flowers. Her face flushed crimson. Instinctively, she glared fiercely at him. How could he behave so shamelessly? Yesterday, she had thought him perhaps a refined scholar from a noble family. Did he not know the rules of propriety? She had even mistaken him for a cultured gentleman!
The young woman, now furious, saw the sword-bearing man looking awkward, as if trying to explain himself. Yet he wisely chose silence, instead turning his head to allow her to hide the undergarment in the basket. She hesitated slightly. Was the young master blushing? This softened her expression a little. At least he had a sense of shame, unlike those vulgar ruffians who spewed obscenities. But what had brought him to the village? She hastily lifted the basket behind her back. Perhaps the man’s averted gaze gave her courage to face him directly. Though a village woman, she knew the vices of the wealthy. Some rich merchants’ sons were no better than the local hooligans. This young man, who once perched on a mud wall eating candied haws and played with You Song, probably wasn’t a bad person. But if he thought her an easy target for flirtation, she would not hesitate to slap him.
Xu Fengnian slowly turned his head and said calmly, “No matter what happens, when you see You Song, take him back to the village.”
Hoofbeats suddenly shattered the village’s peaceful serenity. Smoke still curled lazily from chimneys, and yellow dogs barked in alarm.
Cavalry from Daomaguan arrived abruptly, their eyes cold as they looked down from the stream’s bank at the mismatched pair. Several lowly loafers, unable to ride, eagerly flattered the tall knight clad in gleaming armor.
“Sir,” one said, “take a look at this beauty. Among the dozens of nearby villages, she’s the finest. We call her Xu Zhi Niang, a widow. Her in-laws are long dead, and she has no one to protect her. We heard she’s never been touched by any man. She’s pure, and sure to please the general!”
The knight, a minor official in Daomaguan, examined the young woman from head to toe and nodded in satisfaction. He thought to himself, *Why hadn’t he heard of this wildflower in Liuxi Village before? If only he had known earlier, he wouldn’t have missed the chance!*
But now, any attempt to secretly abduct her would be nearly impossible. The night before, Han Xiaowei had summoned a few trusted men for a secret meeting. The senior officer, Huangfu, was visiting Daomaguan, and it wouldn’t do to have no women to warm his bed. Han claimed he wouldn’t insult the general with common prostitutes from the brothels. Yet everyone knew the two most popular courtesans from the best brothel were secretly kept in a private house by Han, hidden from his wife. He was unwilling to offer them, but dared not give the general inferior women, fearing they would become a weapon for his rival, the vice-commander. Thus, the plan was hatched: find two clean, innocent village girls, supposedly hired with gold to serve in Daomaguan. Everyone knew the real meaning—*abduction*. Afterward, a few coins would be tossed to silence them.
When the bigwigs speak, the underlings run. The two girls found the previous night were rejected by Han. One was said to be so plain that even in a brothel, she wouldn’t earn a few silver coins. The other was pretty and still a virgin, but Han dismissed her for being too emotional. He ordered her taken to his private home, nearly making his subordinates choke with frustration. At dawn, realizing time was running out, one of the men suggested seeking help from the town’s ruffians, trying their luck in the surrounding villages. And indeed, they had stumbled upon this beauty—this young widow standing by the stream with a basket in hand. At first glance, she wasn’t striking, but the more one looked, the more alluring she became. As the scholars would say, her skin was like snow, delicate enough to burst. Her waist, her bosom—both were unmatched. The corporal swallowed hard, knowing this mission would not be in vain.
He tossed a bag of coins to the lowlifes, then leaned down and asked softly, “We need a reason. Daomaguan soldiers are known for loving the people, not troubling them.”
An impish rogue grinned slyly, “No problem, sir. This Xu Zhi Niang often goes to town to buy scraps of silk, which she uses to sew sachets to sell at the market. Just say the general’s wife in Daomaguan wants her to sew for the household.”
The corporal’s eyes lit up. He gave the rogue an approving pat on the shoulder. “Not bad. You’ve got some brains. What’s your name? If this goes well, follow me, and I’ll make sure you live well in Daomaguan. Just mention my name, and no one will dare charge you a copper!”
The rogue, Zhang Shun, nearly trembled with excitement. “My name is Zhang Shun, but you can call me Shunzi!”
Seeing the corporal nod toward the stream, Zhang Shun cleared his throat and glared at the woman he had long lusted after. *You think you’re so high and mighty? I can’t have you, but I’ll make sure you lose your purity. You rejected every wealthy suitor who came knocking, all for the sake of your so-called virtue. I’ll see you defiled by a great general, and then I’ll have my turn. Maybe I’ll even become the general’s sworn brother-in-pleasure!*
He shouted, “Xu Qing! The general’s wife in Daomaguan wants you to sew for her. The reward is—”
The corporal whispered, “Twenty taels.”
Zhang Shun eagerly added, “Twenty taels! You couldn’t earn that in a year! Hurry and go with the officer! Do you want to offend the general’s wife?!”
Trying to sound calm, he added, “I’ll take your basket home for you.”
The mounted corporal frowned slightly, knowing Zhang Shun’s dirty thoughts. But he said nothing. He knew that to keep his men loyal, they needed rewards. Authority alone wouldn’t suffice.
It was then that Xu Fengnian learned her name: *Xu Qing*.
Yet in this cruel world, was the name *Qing*—meaning purity—not too heavy a burden?
Xu Qing bit her lip. The stream behind her was only knee-deep. Could it even drown her? She shook her head. “I won’t go!”
The corporal and his men remained expressionless, expecting this answer. How could a lonely widow hope to resist a dozen armored riders and the might of Daomaguan?
Zhang Shun roared, “Xu Qing! Don’t refuse honor when it’s offered! Do you want me to knock you out and drag you to Daomaguan?!”
Xu Qing raised her arm, gripping the solid wooden mallet used for washing clothes.
The riders laughed at the woman’s stubbornness.
Zhang Shun, furious at her defiance, rolled up his sleeve and strode toward the stream, ready to teach her a lesson. He wouldn’t strike hard—just enough to touch her.
“Mom, don’t go!”
A child, his face covered in dust from countless falls, finally appeared. This mischievous but loving boy, weeping, shook his head desperately. Poor children grew up too fast.
Zhang Shun sneered, “Xu Qing! Don’t forget you have a son. If you defy these officers, they may forgive you, but I won’t. I’ll make friends with your boy.”
He rushed at the child. How could a six- or seven-year-old fight a grown ruffian? The boy bit Zhang Shun’s arm, drawing blood. Enraged, Zhang Shun tightened his grip around the child’s neck, threatening to strangle him.
Still, Xu Qing did not cry. She turned, set down the basket, wiped her tears, and faced them calmly.
“I’ll go.”
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