That day.
The weather was very cold.
The monk's robe was not thick enough, worn for many years, covered in grime.
Dared not wash it,
If washed, it might fall apart.
Sometimes, filth could also serve as a warming shell.
A nun with beautiful eyes, face veiled, hunched over as she worked.
She repeatedly pounded the medicine in her hands, hammer after hammer after hammer, pounding until the medicine turned to bits and powder, then poured it out and continued pounding.
The room was very dark.
Beautiful eyes were of no use here.
She mechanically repeated the medicine pounding.
She had forgotten that she once had a beautiful embroidered bed, beautiful embroidered shoes, traveled by sedan chair, ate exquisite meals daily, had parents, brothers and sisters. That life was too wonderful, like a dream.
Suddenly one day, she was sent to Shangqiu Convent.
She was terrified, angry, rebellious.
So her face was disfigured.
Then she was thrown here to work.
Day after day.
Day after day.
She gradually forgot her past, forgot who she was, forgot why she was alive. She only knew she was a medicine slave, the lowest of medicine slaves.
She mechanically pounded the medicine, exhausted, almost crushing her hand. She felt some pain but didn't cry. Crying would lead to beatings.
She heard commotion outside but didn't move.
Continued pounding medicine.
She smelled thick smoke but didn't move.
Continued pounding medicine.
She heard the door open, saw strangers, her mouth opened slightly but no sound came out.
Continued pounding medicine.
Someone dragged her away. She saw many others being taken away too.
Some in tattered clothes, some in luxurious garments.
Some whose sight made her tremble.
Shangqiu Convent had a strict hierarchy.
But now all were being equally taken away.
She saw the blue sky.
Saw the clouds.
Saw the Buddha.
He wore white robes, rode a white horse, like a true Buddha descending. He raised his sword and slew the evil demons blocking the way, while speaking of compassion.
He shouted to save people while killing others.
The fact that she and her children could sit here keeping vigil, that she could still claim benefits as the widow of a judicial official, was already a case of him showing leniency and sparing them.
That was because Jiang Er hadn't moved against them.
When Jiang Er did take action, Shangqiu Convent was left without a blade of grass.
It was said that when the Buddha statues burned, they burned especially well, with crackling flames.
Because it was so shocking, more people came to pay respects, unable to resist asking Madam Yu for news and sharing gossip.
The youngest daughter, Mi'er, had fallen asleep.
Xiu'er and Mian'er also looked bewildered.
When they had walked with Mrs. Jiang, they had also noticed Jiang Mianmian.
Their circumstances were actually quite similar.
But they were treated like servants.
Jiang Mianmian, however, was at ease, like a princess. Though her father was also a pardoned rebel from the countryside, she wasn't awkward at all, but confident and natural. When receiving gifts from others, she wasn't shy, showed happiness without appearing fawning, accepted them as if it were only natural.
At this moment, they realized that Jiang Mianmian truly deserved her status.
Because Jiang Mianmian's father would raze Shangqiu Convent for her sake.
When rumors arose, Jiang Mianmian's mother came out to refute them, while her father directly eliminated the source of the rumors.
You speak one idle word about me, I'll exterminate your entire clan.
While their father would beat them bloody over a casual remark from his wife.
It was good that he was dead.
He deserved to die.
At this moment, the Jiang Er everyone was talking about returned home.
He took a bath.
Jiang Changtian liked cleanliness. Things could be old, but not dirty.
Being old was an external state, being dirty was a mental state.
After bathing, he changed into clean clothes.
He had also washed his hair.
Sister Xia helped him dry it for a long while, and when it was almost dry, she tied it up.
He wanted to cook tonight.
Back in Kan'er Village, he often cooked.
Although it had been a while, he wasn't out of practice.
Jiang Mianmian watched her father wearing white clothes and a white hat, chopping vegetables, while her mother kneaded dough. They were having noodles again tonight.
Jiang Mianmian's little head popped up between the two from time to time.
She had grown taller; her head could now reach above the stove.
"Dad, I like fried lard bits, fry some lard bits and add sugar," Jiang Mianmian requested.
"Alright, go wait outside, I'm worried you'll get burned."
In the kitchen, her mother also wore a white apron as she kneaded dough.
"Wearing white really does get dirty easily. Your daughter insists on wearing white in the kitchen, saying it looks clean to others. Where did she get all these notions from? She must take after you."
"It's good that she takes after me. Girls should be clean and tidy."