Chapter Ten: Longing for Wealth to Heal

Song Ci sat before the dressing table, looking utterly dejected, sighing repeatedly.

She had heard before that women of a certain age, or those who had given birth, might suffer from incontinence, but she’d always thought that day was a long way off for her. And yet—here she was.

Oh, the humiliation!

Song Ci pressed her hands to her face, mortified to the point of wishing she were dead.

The senior maids Hongyou and Hongju exchanged glances, then looked to Madam Gong. What was troubling the Lady Dowager?

A flicker of something unreadable passed through Madam Gong’s eyes. She opened the jewelry box and smiled. “Madam, shall we pick out some jewelry for today? Perhaps something festive?”

Jewelry?

Song Ci lowered her hands and looked at the layered boxes being opened, the dazzling brilliance of the gems nearly blinding her.

Real antique jewelry, crafted by true masters, with the finest materials and exquisite skill—these were no ordinary trinkets.

All of these treasures belonged to her?

Song Ci swallowed, feeling oddly comforted.

“Madam, I think this ruby hairpin with magpies and blooming branches is especially auspicious,” said Sister Lian, the maid in charge of her hair, holding up a hairpin and comparing it to her head. “Let me do a falling-horse chignon for you—this pin will be perfect.”

Song Ci was tempted. “Will it look good?”

“Of course, madam! You’re the most distinguished lady in the household, radiating nobility. If you don’t look good, who could?” Hongzao, the sweetest-tongued of the four main maids, chimed in with a cheerful smile.

“That’s right, it’s both beautiful and joyful. With great celebrations in the household, you wearing it will add to the happiness.”

“Indeed, indeed.”

The maids and old attendants chimed in, their voices full of flattery and pleasant words.

Sure enough, Song Ci’s heart blossomed with delight, and she was just about to say something, but her gaze fell on her dry, thinning, silvery hair. Her smile faded, and her expression grew dim.

Everyone watched her face, and seeing her like this, their hearts skipped a beat. Had they said something wrong?

Song Ci sighed. “At my age, what’s the point in doing some elaborate chignon? Just do my hair as usual in a low bun and give me a forehead band.”

This had always been the original lady’s daily style—like the old matriarchs in Dream of the Red Chamber.

At her age, this was all she could aspire to.

She cast a covetous glance at the overflowing jewelry box—she desperately wanted to wear all those things, but alas, they were out of reach for her!

Oh, so unfair—it made her want to cry.

“Madam, we still have wigs—it’s no trouble at all! Leave it to me,” Sister Lian said, beaming.

A wig?

Song Ci hesitated, then forced a laugh. “Let’s not. It wouldn’t look right.” A Lady Dowager had to maintain her dignity, after all.

What did she mean by “wouldn’t look right”?

The others were baffled.

“Mother, are you up? Let me help you dress,” called the Lady of the House, unable to sit still outside. She came around the screen, entering the room to find everyone uncharacteristically silent. A chill ran down her spine—what now?

She hurried over to Song Ci, lowered her voice, and bent close to ask, “Mother, what’s the matter? Are you feeling unwell? Should I call the imperial physician?”

Song Ci shook her head. Could she admit that her discomfort came from feeling her age so keenly?

“Then, Mother, whatever you want, just say the word and I’ll see it’s done.”

Song Ci looked at her through the bronze mirror and replied in a melancholy tone, “I want lots and lots of money. Do you have any?”

Money was the only thing that could soothe the wounds in her soul.

The Lady of the House was speechless.

Money? What kind of request was that?