This book is being rewritten under a new title: A Lingering Trace of Longing.
The afternoon incense warmer coaxed the jasmine fragrance into lazy swirls. Yue Ru chewed on her brush handle as she stared at the first page of Admonitions for Women. Suddenly, she dipped her brush in rouge, mixed it with rose dew in the inkstone, and swept it across the rice paper, writing a “bloody letter in cinnabar”: “Cui Qiao, grind the ink quickly. I’m going to copy this with a fragrance. It’s called ‘a beauty adding fragrance to the study’!”
When Madam Yun opened the door to check on her, Yue Ru was sitting primly as she copied the scripture. But when her mother came closer for a better look, the fresh ink on Admonitions for Women turned out to be written backward. Held up to the light, it revealed a sour little poem: “A thousand sails pass by on the Bian River, yet none will ferry a man in love. If only I could have Gu Lang’s regard, I’d gladly drink the poison of the red-crowned crane.”
I cried so much at the ending.