Chapter 1

Snow fell from the sky in the last month of the lunar year. In the yard, a large pot was boiling water, and the snowflakes melted in the rising steam before they could even touch the water. The snow on the ground had been trampled into slush, turning the yard into a muddy mess. Next to the boiler, a wooden plank was set up on two benches, and on top of it lay half a pig carcass.

Fan Changyu swiftly brought her cleaver down, chopping off one of the pig’s hind legs. The chopping board trembled as bits of bone and meat flew in all directions. The cleaver in her hand had a thick, broad spine, and its entire body was pitch black, except for the blade’s tip, which gleamed as brightly as snow. Just looking at it was enough to make anyone feel uneasy.

On the chopping board beside her lay two more knives: a carving knife and a boning knife. Both had the same black iron bodies and gleaming white edges, clearly part of a set with the cleaver in her hand.

Today, the Chen family in town had slaughtered their New Year pig and invited their neighbors and relatives over for a grand feast. The atmosphere was lively. Guests warming themselves by the fire inside the house glanced out at Fan Changyu, busy in the yard, and began to whisper among themselves.

“Second Fan’s family just finished their mourning rites. Why would the Chen family invite that young girl Changyu to slaughter the pig?”

“The Chen family and Second Fan’s family have always been close. They don’t care about such taboos…” The speaker seemed to remember the tragic fate of the Fan family and trailed off, lowering their voice unconsciously, sneaking another glance outside.

Fine snow fell like cotton, and in the yard, a young woman skillfully wielded a knife as she butchered the pig. She wore a plain, slightly worn cotton jacket and skirt. Her figure was tall and slender, her black hair neatly tied up, revealing half of her pale, delicate profile. Though she appeared slim, her movements were swift and efficient.

Back when Second Fan’s wife arrived in Lin’an Town with him, many eyes were drawn to her. Some jealous women would even secretly curse her, insinuating that she must have come from a brothel, a testament to just how striking her looks were. Both of her daughters inherited her beauty, growing into remarkable young women. The younger one was only five, so it was too early to tell, but the elder daughter had already drawn attention. If it hadn’t been for her engagement to the young man from the Song family since childhood, the Fan family’s door would have been worn out by matchmakers over the years.

Someone sighed, “Second Fan and his wife were killed by bandits, leaving only their two daughters behind. And that heartless Fan Da cares only about seizing his brother’s inheritance. Poor Changyu and her sister have had a tough life! We thought things would get better when Song Yan passed the provincial exams and Changyu could marry into his family. But even that engagement fell through. Still, that girl Changyu is strong. She’s followed in her father’s footsteps, slaughtering pigs to support the family, and has single-handedly propped up the Fan household again. The Chen family inviting her to butcher their pig is their way of supporting her business.”

Upon hearing these details, everyone couldn’t help but sigh. Yet another voice, lowered to a near whisper, said, “I heard that the eldest Fan daughter was the one who brought misfortune, causing the deaths of her parents. Her younger sister has been frail and sickly since birth—also cursed by her, they say. The Song family only called off the engagement after matching their birth charts and discovering that she has the fate of a ‘lone star of calamity.’ That’s why they hurried to break off the marriage.”

The person who had spoken earlier snorted, “And do you know where the Song family went to have those birth charts read?”

The murmurs of pity grew louder. It was clear to everyone that the Song family’s decision to end the engagement at this critical moment was no coincidence. There’s an old saying: Get rich, get promoted, and lose your wife. Song Yan had passed the provincial exams and was destined to become an official. How could he possibly marry the daughter of a butcher?

The place where Fan Changyu was working with the chopping board wasn’t far from the main house, so she had no choice but to overhear the gossip about herself. However, her expression remained unreadable, showing no trace of emotion.

It had already been more than a month since her parents passed, and she had come to terms with it. As for her and Song Yan, their story was nothing more than a low-budget version of the rich girl meeting the “phoenix man.”

Back then, the Song family couldn’t even afford a coffin. Song’s mother and young Song Yan knelt in the street, begging passersby to help buy a simple coffin for her husband’s burial. Their heads bled from bowing to the ground, but no one offered help. Her parents, unable to bear seeing such suffering, had stepped in to buy the coffin and bury him.

Song’s mother had been overwhelmed with gratitude and was the one who suggested the engagement between her and Song Yan, promising that once he passed his exams, he would marry her, and she would live a life of comfort. Later, the two families became neighbors, and her parents often helped out the widow and her son. Song’s mother was determined to see her son succeed in the imperial exams but couldn’t afford the necessary tuition fees. Before Song Yan was admitted to the county school, many of those fees were covered by her father.

Song Yan didn’t disappoint. He passed the scholar exams a few years ago and, this autumn, succeeded in the provincial exams, earning the rank of juren. Many local gentry rushed to curry favor with him, and even the county magistrate took a liking to him, reportedly considering him as a potential son-in-law.

Song’s mother’s attitude began to subtly change. She seemed to feel that the daughter of a butcher was no longer a suitable match for her newly accomplished son. Her mother noticed this change, too, and began to feel that Song’s mother was no longer as easy to get along with. Fearing they might be seen as pressuring the Song family to repay old favors, her mother suggested calling off the engagement. But Song’s mother adamantly refused, claiming that her family was not so ungrateful as to forget the kindness they had been shown.

Then, after her parents died unexpectedly, rumors started spreading from who knows where—rumors that it was her bad luck that had caused her parents’ deaths.

When Song’s mother came to break off the engagement, she used the same excuse, claiming she had consulted a fortune-teller who said that Song Yan’s and her birth charts were incompatible. If they were to marry, not only would she bring misfortune to Song Yan, but with her parents gone, she would also continue to bring bad luck to Song’s mother.

Thus, Song Yan naturally went along with dissolving the engagement. He managed to escape any accusations of ingratitude, while Fan Changyu became branded as the cursed “lone star of calamity” that everyone now avoided.

Fan Changyu stopped her train of thought and let out a long breath. Enough of this mess. It’s not worth thinking about.

After she finished butchering the pig, she collected her pay without even stepping into the main house to say goodbye. It was the festive season, and people paid attention to auspiciousness. Although the Chen family didn’t mind her handling the pig despite her family’s recent mourning, she was fully aware of the potential discomfort.

The host didn’t insist on her staying and, as she left, handed her a bucket of pig offal. It was a custom in the countryside—after someone slaughtered a pig, aside from paying them, they would also give a piece of pork as an extra gift. Most of the time, it was replaced with pig offal instead.

Before heading home with the pig offal, Fan Changyu made a stop at the pharmacy to pick up two sets of medicine: one for her younger sister and one for the man she had recently saved.

Yesterday, Fan Changyu took on a job to slaughter a pig in the countryside. On her way back, she found a man in the snow, covered in blood, likely attacked by bandits. Since her own parents had been killed by bandits, her heart softened, and she decided to carry the man back with her.

However, none of the town’s clinics dared treat someone so close to death, clearly having one foot in the grave. With no other choice, she couldn’t just leave him on the street, so she brought him home, hoping for a miracle. She asked her neighbor, an old man who had been a veterinarian for over a decade before switching to carpentry, to try to treat him.

As for how well the treatment had worked, Fan Changyu wasn’t sure. For now, at least, the man was still breathing. The prescription she was picking up today was also given by her neighbor.

After collecting the medicine, Fan Changyu headed home. The Fan family’s house was located in the west part of town, in a cramped alley where the houses were packed tightly together. It seemed fate wasn’t on her side that day—just as she entered the alley, she ran into Song’s mother and Song Yan.

Both of them were dressed in freshly made winter clothes of high-quality fabric. Song’s mother even wore gold earrings, and her expression no longer had the grief and humility of the past. She looked rather proud and confident now.

Since Song Yan passed the provincial exams, local gentry and wealthy merchants had showered the Song family with gifts of silver and even houses. Naturally, the Song family was now living a life of luxury.

They say people are judged by their clothes, just as horses are by their saddles. Song Yan, dressed in a dark crow-green long robe embroidered with bamboo leaf patterns, now exuded an air of scholarly elegance and refinement. Gone was the impoverished look of the past, and he now carried the demeanor of a refined gentleman of noble bearing.

In contrast, Fan Changyu had just come from slaughtering a pig at the Chen family’s house. She had a leather satchel slung over her back, holding her butcher knives, her patched-up old jacket spattered with blood from her work. One hand carried the medicine, and the other held a wooden bucket filled with pig offal. She cut a rather bedraggled figure.

Song’s mother, without a word, subtly lifted a handkerchief to fan the air in front of her nose. Her hands, too, now bore gold rings—a sign of their newfound wealth.

The alley was narrow, and neither mother nor son spoke a word. Fan Changyu didn’t offer them more than a glance, either. She simply carried on as though she hadn’t seen them, calling out, “Watch your step,” as she walked past with her bucket of pig offal.

Unfortunately, just as they brushed past each other, the edge of the bucket scraped against Song Yan’s pristine new robe, leaving a large wet stain of bloodied water on the fabric.

Song’s mother turned pale with anger, staring at Fan Changyu’s retreating figure. “That blind girl! This fabric is Hangzhou silk!” she cried, distressed.

Song Yan’s expression remained unreadable. He merely said, “Mother, let it go.”

His mother, still fuming, grumbled, “Fine. In a few days, we’ll be leaving this miserable place for good!”

–

Just as Fan Changyu reached her doorstep, a five-year-old little “snowball” burst out from the neighbor’s house, having heard her approach. “Sister, you’re back!” she cried, arms wide open, grinning with a gap-toothed smile.

Fan Changyu grabbed her younger sister, Fan Changning, by the collar. “Don’t touch me. I’m dirty,” she said.

Obediently, Fan Changning stopped in her tracks, noticing the many items her elder sister was carrying. She quickly took the medicine package from her hands to help.

The neighbor’s auntie came out upon hearing the commotion and, seeing Fan Changyu, greeted her with a smile. “Changyu, you’re back.”

“Yes,” Fan Changyu replied, before pulling a palm-leaf-skewered piece of liver from the bucket of pig offal and handing it over. “Uncle likes this kind of thing. Fry it up as a snack for him to go with his wine.”

The uncle was a carpenter. During the day, he’d be out making furniture for people or selling vine and bamboo baskets at the market, only returning in the evening.

The auntie accepted it with a smile, not standing on ceremony. “Thank you,” she said. Then, she added, “The young man you brought back last night has woken up.”

Fan Changyu paused in surprise. “I’ll go check on him in a bit,” she said.

After her parents passed away, it was just Fan Changyu and her younger sister left at home, so it wouldn’t have been appropriate to let a strange man stay in their house. When she brought the injured man to the neighbor uncle for treatment last night, she also borrowed a room next door to temporarily house him.

Little Changning looked up and said, “That big brother is so pretty!”

Pretty?

Fan Changyu couldn’t help but laugh. She patted the little bun of hair on her sister’s head. “You don’t describe men as ‘pretty.'”

But when she had found the man, his face had been covered with dried, blackened blood, making him unrecognizable. By the time she carried him back, it was already evening, and she was too busy seeking treatment to bother cleaning his face. So, she really had no idea what the man looked like.

When she went next door and saw the man lying in bed, Fan Changyu finally understood why Changning had called him “pretty.”

The room was dimly lit by an oil lamp on the table, casting a soft glow over the small space. The man lay there quietly, and his now-clean face, pale and refined, was strikingly handsome.

He looked quite young, likely around twenty years old. His frame was lean but not fragile. Perhaps due to the excessive blood loss, he had fallen asleep again, his long lashes casting a fan-shaped shadow under his eyelids in the lamplight. His nose was high and straight, and even in his sleep, his dry, thin lips were tightly pressed together, giving him an air of stubbornness.

That handsome face, paired with his battered body, was like a pine tree, its branches broken by the harsh winter frost and snow, yet still standing tall and proud. Or like an unpolished jade, wrapped in stone, chiselled with countless wounds. It evoked a sense of pity in anyone who looked at him.

Whether it was the flickering light or her prolonged gaze, his lashes fluttered, and slowly, he opened his eyes.