When the door closed behind the doctor, Shao sat back in his chair. The exhilaration of having reached safety drained away and suddenly he felt deeply exhausted again. Sparrow looked at him as if she could sense it too.

“Get back into bed, Young Master,” she said.

Shao sighed and climbed under the blanket. “Where is Lian?”

“Still sleeping. And you should be too.”

“That housekeeper, Sparrow. I think she’s my brother’s mistress. What do you think?”

But his voice was indistinct, slurring with fatigue. He was asleep by the time the question left his lips and didn’t hear Sparrow’s soft reply.

“She may be more than that, Young Master.”

IN HIS DREAM, life had been a misery since the day of the wedding. No matter how hard Shao tried to please them, to carry out their every wish, they could not be won over, any of them. They were kinder to their own servants. Surely, not all in-laws were like this. Life had become unbearable. Now it was time to escape. Outside, rain streamed down from the roofs of the houses around the courtyard. Shao hurried to the far end of the kitchen garden and opened the back door, stepped out into the lane. In the dark, a waiting figure stood, a wide and loving smile on her face. She held out a cloak to fend off the rain. Together they made their escape, running through the water-slick streets of the town, arm in arm, until a familiar red lantern hanging above familiar double doors told them they were home. Really home.

When Shao woke up, it was morning. He was shivering but it was from a memory of the dream, of making his way through cold, windy streets in rain-soaked garments. The room was warm and there were clean clothes folded on the table beside him. His brother’s clothes.

Shao crossed the courtyard to the central hall where the sound of voices led him to the dining room. He greeted Lian, who was nearly finished with her breakfast and chatting with Mrs. Deng. As soon as he entered, Mrs. Deng stood up and bowed, indicating the chair beside Lian.

“Please, sir,” she murmured, then vanished through the door. She returned with a tray and set down a large bowl of congee and a smaller bowl of hot soy milk. The condiments were already on the table, pickled vegetables, shredded pork, and salted duck egg.

He waved her to sit down. “Don’t interrupt your breakfast.” He tried hard not to stare at her, at the fine silky hair that hung over her shoulder in a single loose braid, her complexion as smooth and glowing as a child’s. Her every small movement as graceful as the flight of swallows in the evening sky.