It was the twelfth lunar month, and snow was falling from the sky.

In the courtyard, a large cauldron was boiling water; before the snowflakes could land in it, they were already melted by the rising steam.

The snow on the ground had been trampled into slush. Beside the boiler, a door panel was laid across two benches, and on top of it was spread half a pig.

With one swing of her knife, Fan Changyu chopped down a pig’s hind leg. The chopping board shuddered; splinters of bone and bits of meat flew in all directions.

The cleaver in her hand had a wide, thick spine and a jet-black blade—only the tip gleamed bright as snow. Just one look was enough to make one’s heart tremble at its sharpness.

On the chopping board lay two more knives: a splitting knife and a boning knife, both with black-iron bodies and snow-bright edges, clearly part of the same set as the cleaver in her hand.

Today, the Chen family in town had slaughtered their New Year’s pig, inviting neighbors and relatives alike for a lively feast.

Relatives warming themselves around the hearth inside the house cast furtive glances toward Fan Changyu, who was busy in the snowy courtyard, and whispered among themselves:

“Fan Er’s family just finished mourning their dead. Why would the Chen family invite that Fan girl to slaughter pigs?”

[In “Fan Er” (樊二), the “Er” (二) literally means “second.” In traditional Chinese naming or address, it’s common to use numbers like “大 (Da, eldest), 二 (Er, second), 三 (San, third)” to indicate a person’s birth order within the family—especially among siblings or male cousins of the same generation.]

“The Chens and the Fans are close—what’s there to avoid…”

The speaker seemed to remember the tragedy that had befallen the Fan family; their voice unconsciously softened as they glanced outside.

Fine snowflakes drifted down like cotton. In the courtyard, the young woman wielding her knife wore a simple, half-worn plain jacket and skirt. She was tall, with her black hair coiled up, revealing half of a fair, delicate face. Her dark lashes drooped slightly, half-veiling a pair of round almond eyes.

At first glance, she looked like a pitiable young woman who had just lost both parents—gentle, fragile, beautiful beyond compare. After all, when her mother had first come to town with her father years ago, her beauty was so striking that gossiping women secretly claimed she must have come from a brothel. This girl had inherited her mother’s looks, yet the way she raised her knife and split bones—

The loud clang, clang, clang of steel rang out—fierce and savage!

No matter how thick the bone, she never needed to chop twice.

That raw strength—exactly like her father’s!

The one peeking out flinched and hastily drew back, sighing again:

“A poor girl, truly. Fan Er and his wife were killed by mountain bandits, leaving behind only two daughters. The elder brother, Fan Da, has no conscience—he only wants to seize his brother’s property. The sisters’ days are hard! We all thought that once Song Yan passed the juren exam and married Changyu, her life would finally improve. Who would’ve thought that engagement would fall through too? Still, that Fan girl is tough—she followed her father’s trade, slaughtering pigs to support her family, and somehow kept the Fan household standing. The Chen family inviting her here today is at least a bit of help to her business.”

Lin’an Town was neither large nor small. The tale of the Fan couple’s murder had already spread through every alley this past month.

But when a family killed their New Year’s pig, many relatives from neighboring villages would gather to feast, and some still hadn’t heard the story. So the matter was brought up again—retold with sighs and sympathy.

Those unaware of the details were soon moved to pity, lamenting, “Such misfortune.”

Yet someone lowered their voice to a near-whisper:

“But I heard it was the eldest Fan girl who brought ruin to her parents. Look at her strength—no ordinary girl could have that. Even most men couldn’t match her. They say her younger sister was frail and sickly from birth, also cursed by her. The Song family went to have their horoscopes matched and found she was born under the fate of the Heaven-Doomed Lone Star—that’s why they rushed to withdraw the marriage…”

Murmurs grew louder around the hearth—soft, indistinct whispers.

“Truly?”

“Must be! Tell me, where else in ten li around can you find another girl that strong?”

Someone tried to defend the Fan family:

“And how do you know where the Songs had that horoscope read? Fan Er himself had strength like an ox—so what if his daughter takes after him?”

Indeed, that was reasonable.

Everyone could see what it meant when the Song family chose this moment to break the engagement.

As the saying went: ‘When a man rises in rank or wealth, his wife is fated to die.’

Now that Song Yan had passed the juren exam, he was bound to become an official one day.

How could such a man still marry a butcher’s daughter?

· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·︎

The chopping board wasn’t far from the main house.

Fan Changyu, having been forced to overhear every word spoken about her, showed no trace of emotion on her face.

Her parents had been dead for over a month now, and she had long since come to terms with it.

Between her and Song Yan, it was nothing more than a story like Qin Xianglian and Chen Shimei.

[Qin Xianglian and Chen Shimei: a classical Chinese folktale about a virtuous wife and her unfaithful husband who betrays her after achieving success.]

Old Master Song had been a poor scholar who had spent decades taking the imperial exams without success. When he died of illness, the Song family could not even afford a coffin. Song’s mother had taken Song Yan to kneel in the street, kowtowing to passersby and begging for help to buy a thin coffin for her husband’s burial. Her forehead had been bloodied, yet no one lent a hand—until her own parents, moved by pity, stepped forward and paid for the coffin and the burial.

Song’s mother had wept in gratitude, saying she could never repay such kindness, and on her own initiative proposed to betroth Fan Changyu to Song Yan, promising that once Song Yan achieved scholarly success, he would marry her into the family to enjoy a life of peace and comfort.

Compared to a family of scholars, butchering was indeed a lowly trade. Yet her parents, seeing Song’s mother’s sincerity and Song Yan’s diligence and good conduct, believed they were forming a good bond and finding a fine match for their daughter—so they agreed.

Later, the two families became neighbors. Her parents often lent help to that widow and orphan pair. Song’s mother was determined that her son must succeed in the examinations, but she couldn’t even

afford the entrance fees (shuxiu). Before Song Yan was admitted to the county school, those fees had always been fronted by her father.

Song Yan did not disappoint. A few years ago, he had already earned the title of xiucai (licentiate scholar), and this autumn, he passed the juren (provincial exam). Many local gentry scrambled to curry favor with him; even the county magistrate favored him greatly, and rumor had it that he intended to take Song Yan as a son-in-law.

Song’s mother’s attitude began to change subtly. She now seemed to feel that the daughter of a butcher was no longer worthy of her juren son.

Her mother sensed that Song’s mother was no longer as easy to get along with as before. Fearing that she might think they were clinging to her out of gratitude, she proposed annulling the engagement. But Song’s mother vehemently refused, saying the Song family were not the sort to forget kindness and abandon virtue.

Then her parents died suddenly, murdered by bandits. Soon after, some rumor spread—that her fate was cursed, that she had brought misfortune upon her parents and killed them.

When Song’s mother came to withdraw the engagement, she used that very excuse. She claimed that a fortune-teller had read the birth charts and found their bazi incompatible; if they were to marry, not only would Song Yan suffer harm, but with her parents already gone, she would also bring misfortune upon Song’s mother herself.

Thus, Song Yan naturally dissolved the engagement, his reputation untainted by ingratitude, while only Fan Changyu was left branded as a “Heaven-Doomed Lone Star” whom everyone avoided.

Fan Changyu stopped her thoughts there and exhaled a heavy breath.

A pile of vexing memories—better not to dwell on them.

After finishing the butchering and collecting her payment, she did not even step into the host’s main hall before taking her leave. During the New Year season, people valued auspiciousness; although the Chen family did not mind her coming to slaughter pigs despite her recent bereavement, she herself knew better.

The hosts did not insist on keeping her, but before she left, they gave her a bucket of pig offal.

It was an unwritten rule in the countryside: when one hired a butcher to slaughter a pig, besides paying wages, one also had to gift a piece of pork—but most of the time, that “gift” was replaced with pig offal.

Before heading home with the offal, Fan Changyu first stopped by the pharmacy to fetch two packets of medicine—one for her younger sister, and one for the man she had saved.

Yesterday, she had taken a job to slaughter pigs in the countryside. On her way back, she had found a man lying in the snow, covered in blood—he looked as though he had been attacked by bandits.

Because her own parents had also died at the hands of bandits, Fan Changyu had felt a pang of pity and carried the man back herself.

Yet none of the town’s medical halls dared to take in someone who already had one foot in the underworld. She couldn’t simply leave him on the street either, so she could only take a desperate chance—bringing him home and asking her neighbor, an uncle who had once worked as a veterinarian for over ten years before turning to carpentry, to try treating him.

How well the treatment had gone, Fan Changyu didn’t know. For now, at least, he was still breathing.

The prescription for the medicine had also been written by that neighbor.

Once she got the medicine, Fan Changyu started home.

The Fan residence was located in a narrow residential alley on the west side of town, where houses stood crowded wall to wall.

The alley was damp and dim; moss grew along the walls. The houses on both sides were old, their plaster mottled and their wooden doors and windows decayed, exuding a faint stench of rot.

As fate would have it, just as Fan Changyu stepped into the alley, she ran into the Song mother and son coming toward her.

Both were dressed in newly made winter clothes of fine material. Song’s mother wore golden earrings, her expression no longer the least bit sorrowful or submissive as in the past—she now carried herself with a touch of pride.

· ─ ·✶· ─ ·

After Song Yan passed the juren examination, gentry and merchants alike had come bearing silver and even houses as gifts. The Song family was now basking in its newfound glory.

They said, “Clothes make the man, just as the saddle makes the horse.”

Song Yan now wore a dark crow-blue long robe embroidered with bamboo-leaf patterns; he carried the air of a refined scholar, elegant and aloof, no longer the impoverished youth of before—now looking every bit the distinguished young gentleman.

Fan Changyu, meanwhile, had just come back from butchering pigs at the Chen household. A leather satchel carrying her slaughtering knives was strapped to her back; the patched, old jacket she wore was spattered with blood from her work. One hand held a packet of medicine, the other gripped a wooden bucket filled with pig offal—her appearance was indeed rather disheveled.

Song’s mother, without a word, discreetly stepped aside and raised her handkerchief to fan at her nose. Even her fingers now glittered with a gold ring.

Truly, she had become wealthy.

The alley was narrow. Neither mother nor son spoke; Fan Changyu didn’t spare them so much as a glance. She acted as though she hadn’t seen them at all, lifted her bucket, and strode straight past.

“Mind your step—” she said offhandedly as she walked by.

In that instant, the bucket brushed against Song Yan’s new robe. A smear of bloody water from the bucket’s rim instantly stained the fine fabric with a large blotch.

Song’s mother, watching Fan Changyu’s back recede, turned livid.

She shouted, “You blind girl! Do you know what that fabric is? It’s Hangzhou silk!”

Song Yan’s eyes betrayed no emotion. He merely said, “Mother, let it be.”

Song’s mother, her face clouded with irritation, muttered, “Hmph, fine. In a few days, we’ll be moving away from this wretched place anyway!”

· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

When Fan Changyu reached her doorstep, a little snow-white dumpling of a girl—barely five years old—came darting out from the neighbor’s house at the sound of her steps.

“Sis! You’re back!”

The little one was as delicate as carved jade, utterly adorable. She stretched her small arms to hug her sister, smiling wide—and revealing a missing tooth.

Fan Changyu caught her younger sister by the collar with one hand.

“Don’t touch me, my clothes are filthy.”

Xiao Changning obediently halted her steps. Seeing her elder sister carrying so many things, she hurried to take the medicine packet from her hands.

Her almond-shaped eyes were much like her sister’s, though rounder at the corners due to her young age. Her cheeks were plump and rosy, like those of a porcelain doll.

The neighboring old lady came out upon hearing the commotion. Seeing Fan Changyu, she greeted her with a smile.

“Changyu’s back.”

The neighbors were an elderly couple. The husband’s surname was Zhao—a carpenter by trade. During the day, he went out to build furniture for others or to sell rattan and bamboo baskets at the market, returning only at night.

The two households were close. Whenever Fan Changyu had to leave home, she would entrust her little sister to the old lady next door, not daring to leave the child alone.

She responded with a quick “Mm,” then pulled out a piece of pig liver strung with palm leaves from the bucket.

“Uncle Zhao likes this sort of thing. Please fry it up and make him a dish to go with his wine.”

The old lady accepted it with a smile, unceremonious as ever.

“Then I’ll take it. Oh—and that young man you carried back last night has woken up.”

Fan Changyu froze for a moment.

“I’ll go take a look in a bit.”

After her parents’ deaths, only she and her younger sister remained at home. It wasn’t proper to let a strange man stay under the same roof. So, after bringing the man to Uncle Zhao for treatment the night before, she had also borrowed one of their rooms to house him temporarily.

Xiao Changning tilted her head upward.

“That big brother is so pretty!”

“Pretty?”

Fan Changyu couldn’t help laughing and reached out to ruffle her little sister’s hair.

“How can you use pretty to describe a man?”

But indeed—when she had found him, the man’s face had been so caked in dried, blackened blood that not a single feature could be discerned. She had carried him home near dusk and, in her haste to get him treated, hadn’t had time to wipe his face clean.

She truly had no idea what he looked like.

After changing out of her bloodstained clothes, Fan Changyu headed next door.

Winter dusk always came early; before the you hour (around 5 p.m.) had even passed, the sky had already sunk into darkness.

When Fan Changyu stepped into the room, the light inside was dim—only the faint outline of a figure rising and falling beneath the quilt could be seen upon the bed.

The air in the room was thick with an indescribable blend of smells—herbal medicine, blood, and sweat all mingled into one heavy, suffocating scent.

The weather was bitterly cold. Uncle Zhao and Aunt Zhao, perhaps fearing that the man wouldn’t make it through the night, had lit a charcoal brazier in the room. The rising heat only intensified the odor.

But Fan Changyu, who was long accustomed to the stench of pigpens when catching hogs, was not particularly bothered. She merely furrowed her brow as she stepped inside, then went over to the table to light the oil lamp.

A warm orange glow blossomed, illuminating the small, cramped space.

When Fan Changyu turned back toward the bed and saw the man’s face clearly for the first time, she froze for a moment.

Now she finally understood why Changning had called him “pretty.”