As soon as Shen Zhizhi opened her eyes, she transformed from the desk where she was lying on her back in the ancient book restoration room to the most unpopular concubine in the Shangshu Mansion.
The original owner had just been pushed into a lake in late autumn by his sister-in-law and did not survive. What was left to her was a courtyard full of sweet-scented osmanthus, a loyal maid, several boxes of old books handwritten by her biological mother, and a body that suffered from cold illness and had pain in the bones every rainy day.
My aunt is kind and gentle in front of her, but she cheats behind her back. My aunt is laughing at her older sister in front of her, and she is scheming behind her back. In the whole house, no one took this concubine seriously.
Shen Zhizhi didn't intend to stay and fight for anything.
She gathered the sweet-scented osmanthus flowers that had fallen in the yard and learned to make cakes. She used charcoal sticks to write down the instances of deprivation in one stroke.
She was waiting, waiting for her body to be well, for her money to be saved, for the right moment to take Wan Tao with her, and walk out of the red door of Shangshu Mansion without looking back.
A small courtyard on the outskirts of the city, an osmanthus tree, a cat, and endless books.
That was her original plan.
But the bunch of dew-stained sweet-scented osmanthus flowers on the bluestone board at the base of the back wall would appear every now and then.
