Don't You Know? The Green is Plump and the Red is Lean
The lintel of the Sheng mansion is not high, yet its courtyards run deep. Just as dawn breaks, servants are already shuttling between the various chambers, their steps light and hurried, like pieces in a silent game of chess.
In the eastern wing of the main house, the patriarch Sheng Hong is adjusting his cap before a mirror, his brow habitually furrowed as he calculates his duties at the magistrate's office today and whose chamber he should rest in tonight. His primary wife, Wang Ruofu, sits before her vanity, having her maid pick out a pure gold hairpin to slide into her hair. The corners of her mouth are set with the stern dignity of the mistress of the house, yet her mind wanders to a letter sent from her maiden home. Meanwhile, in the western courtyard, Concubine Lin has already ordered her servants to stew ginseng soup. She stands before a bronze mirror, practicing a perfectly calibrated, delicate smile—for she knows better than anyone which way the wind blows within these estate walls.
In Shou'an Hall, the Old Madam reclines on a soft daybed, letting Minglan massage her legs. Her granddaughter is as quiet as a shadow, yet as the Old Madam looks at the girl, she knows that half of the cleverness of this generation of the Sheng family has found its home in this motherless child.
Separated by a decorative flower wall, several daughters are grooming themselves in their respective courtyards. Hualan is dignified, Molan is reserved, and Rulan is outspoken, their laughter drifting over the walls. At the mouth of the alley outside the wall, the second young master of the Marquis of Ningyuan's estate rides past on horseback, and the young duke of the Duke of Qi's estate happens to lift the carriage curtain—the stories of this household have never been confined just to what happens within its gates.
Broad daylight arrives, and the grand gates of the Sheng mansion creak open. Some are about to leave, and others are just about to enter.
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