Chapter Five-Before the Plum Blossoms Fall
762 Words
The early winter wind in Lamzhou pierced to the bone. The white plum blossoms had not yet fully bloomed before the chill wind tore them apart. In the old courtyard of the late Madam, the rosewood door—locked for over ten years—was suddenly opened.
The creaking of its hinges sounded like weeping.
Trạm Dư stepped inside. His gaze swept over each item, all still veiled with silk cloth, untouched by dust. Someone had clearly cared for this place in silence all these years, though no one had ever spoken of it. His steps were heavy as he approached the document cabinet where Lady Phó had once kept all her journals and letters.
He opened the bottom drawer.
A shard of broken jade.
A sealed letter wrapped in oil paper, bearing the red crest of a phoenix.
And a family genealogy—one name had been deliberately cut out.
Trạm Dư’s eyes darkened. His hand trembled as he whispered:
“So… what exactly did the Phó family try to hide back then?”
In another chamber, Nhược Mai had not yet gone to bed. She sat beneath the lamp, long black hair cascading down her shoulder, holding a half-finished painting. The ink was still wet, depicting the delicate fall of a plum blossom.
Outside, the wind howled past the window slats, carrying the northern frost.
She suddenly remembered what her mother once said:
“When the plum trees bloom, the truth will come to light. Trust no one… not even the one beside you.”
At Từ Minh Pavilion—the archive of all letters and records within the General’s manor—Lục Tô Yến secretly ordered her maid to sneak in under the cover of night.
That maid, A Hồng, had once served under a dismissed servant. It was A Hồng who helped Tô Yến approach the truths that had been buried years ago.
She searched through the old correspondence. Hidden between the pages of a book titled “The General’s Border Chronicles – Year Six,” she found a short letter. The faded writing still legible:
“…That child must not remain in the manor. If they discover whose blood it carries, none will dare let it live.”
Lục Tô Yến clenched the letter, her eyes burning with rage:
“Not only was my mother disgraced, but even you—Phó Nhược Mai—are unworthy of being loved.”
In the days that followed, Nhược Mai changed.
She spoke less. She stopped attending banquets in the General’s hall. She remained within her courtyard, not mourning—but resolute. Every time her eyes wandered to the garden, they carried a cold stillness… as if she had already seen through everything.
Only Trạm Dư understood:
She was waiting.
Waiting for the day the entire manor would be swept into a storm…
A storm she was ready to walk into herself.
Elsewhere in the manor—one of the first secondary couples appeared.
She was a quiet servant girl named Liễu Vân, who had served in the study since childhood. Reserved and meticulous, she never spoke a word of the house’s affairs. But there was one person she often watched from afar—Mộ Cẩn Du, the adopted son of the Imperial Censor. Now a visiting scholar, he had been invited to teach the young ladies of the household.
Cẩn Du was refined, scholarly, with a talent for poetry and music.
One afternoon, passing through the plum garden, he heard a mournful flute melody and paused. He quietly followed the sound—and found Liễu Vân playing under a plum tree, unaware of his approach.
When their eyes met, time stilled.
He gently asked, “Is that the melody of Lament of Chang’an you’re playing?”
Startled, she lowered her gaze. “I… only learned it from my mother.”
Cẩn Du nodded—but something stirred in his heart.
It was the beginning of a fragile connection between two seemingly unrelated souls. One, a celebrated scholar. The other, a nameless maid. Yet their eyes… carried the same sorrow.
That evening, Trạm Dư returned from the secluded estate, where he had uncovered the true origins of someone’s bloodline. He stopped before Nhược Mai’s courtyard gate—but did not enter.
Something vague stirred in his chest.
Not pain.
Not love.
But… a foreboding of loss.
He whispered into the wind:
“If the day comes when you choose to leave, I will not stop you… But I vow—I will send you off with my very life.”
- Writer
