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墨書 Inktalez
She did not immediately strike, merely casting a faint glance my way. That gaze was colder than the wind outside, laced with a subtle mockery, as if to say, "Look at you, struggling is futile; you will ultimately return to this cage."
The next day was the ancestral worship ceremony, and the household was in a flurry of activity, the air thick with sandalwood and solemnity.
I was but a bystander, standing in a secluded corner, watching my stepmother and Sister Liang Yulan busily prepare at the main altar. The brocade of their garments shimmered brightly, starkly contrasting with my plain attire.
Today, Liang Yulan looked particularly radiant, her eyes sparkling with mirth as she held a meticulously arranged platter of offerings. As she glided past me, a faint, unfamiliar fragrance wafted through the air—her signature special rouge, said to induce sluggishness in the blood and stir irritation in the heart.
As she approached my side, whether by design or due to an unsteady step, she suddenly lurched toward me.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, and the platter slipped from her hands, shattering the jade-carved cabbage. The pastries and fruits scattered across the ground, rolling to my feet.
My stepmother's expression shifted dramatically, her sharp voice slicing through the tranquility of the hall: "Liang Liuliu! You have such audacity! How dare you disrupt the ancestral offerings?! Do you know what a grave sin this is?"
Before I could react, Liang Yulan clutched her chest, her eyes welling with tears of grievance: "Sister Liu Liu, how could you...?" Her half-finished words were more venomous than outright accusations.
The servants around us fell silent as if frozen in fear. Su Mama, my wet nurse standing beside my stepmother, cast me a worried glance, her expression complicated.
I knew this was a trap; they would not miss any opportunity to undermine me, especially when they deemed me "unruly."
A surge of intense anger—feeling wronged and suppressed—flared up within me. Yet reason told me that arguing back at this moment would only worsen my situation.
I lowered my gaze, took a deep breath, and suppressed the turmoil within my heart.
I knelt down, facing the chaos around me, my voice calm and clear: "Mother, please do not be angry. There were many people earlier, and I was bowing my head to silently recite the Diamond Sutra for our ancestors, unaware of my surroundings..." I paused and took out a piece of paper from my sleeve.
It was an ordinary sheet of rice paper, marked with a few faint tea stains. I had lightly dabbed it with tea while in the ancestral hall when no one was paying attention, copying the scripture.
"This is the Diamond Sutra that I transcribed earlier as a show of sincerity before the ancestral rites. Although it has been stained in places by tea, the characters are still legible." I unfolded the paper and handed it to the matron beside my mother.
The matron hesitated for a moment before accepting the paper.
Liang Yulan's expression changed, seemingly caught off guard by my action.
My mother took the paper and examined it closely under the dim candlelight of the ancestral hall. The characters, though blurred by tea stains, could still be recognized as the opening lines of the Diamond Sutra, written with a fluid hand that clearly indicated it was not hastily done.
My "photographic memory" was not only evident in what I observed on the streets but also in my familiarity with scriptures and texts. Moreover, this particular Diamond Sutra was my mother's favorite to recite during her lifetime.
My mother's expression shifted between anger and surprise; she had not expected me to present such evidence proving that I was indeed engaged in "serious matters" rather than acting out of disrespect.
Finally, she snorted coldly and tossed the paper back to me. "I'll let this go this time. But if you act so carelessly again, watch your skin!" The matter ended there, but I was still punished to kneel for an hour for being "insufficiently careful."
After the punishment ended, I dragged my sore legs back to my own courtyard. The humiliation in my heart had not dissipated; instead, it grew heavier.
I walked alone into my mother's former room, which remained the only place in Liang Residence that still held a trace of warmth in my memories.
The room had been neglected for years and carried a musty scent. The only item that shone with a faint glow was the zitan wood vanity box on the dressing table, often polished by Su Mama.
This is the only heirloom left to me by my mother.
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