Plum Blossoms in the Marquis's Household

When the old madam brought home the girl with a plum-blossom birthmark on her calf, I thought I had gained a playmate.

She always wore a sly smile when teasing the cats, like a cat caught stealing fish.

The night Mother sent over a contraceptive draught, she tipped back her head and drank it all. Her neck was slender and stubborn.

It wasn't until she disappeared that I realized the sunlight in the courtyard had left with her.

The day we met again in Jiangnan, the child in her arms giggled as he shook a rattle drum. His features were uncannily like the unfinished portrait on my desk.

At the post station, the moment her mother rushed over to claim her, I clutched her wrist tight. "You won't get away again."