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Jin Niang was once again awakened by the sharp cries of Granny Hao next door. She covered her ears, just drifting back to sleep, thinking the noise would stop. But as soon as she lowered her hands, she heard sobbing—soft, mournful, and unnervingly clear in the stillness of the night.
She recognized it as the voice of Granny Hao's daughter-in-law.
"New" was hardly the right word for the young woman now; she had been married for nearly three years. When Jin Niang's family moved here three years ago, Granny Hao had even brought over wedding candies.
Yet the reason for the discord between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law was no secret. First, the bride's dowry had been meager. Second, she had only given birth to a girl.
In modern times, dissatisfaction from the in-laws might have been limited to a few muttered complaints—hardly daring to be overt, lest they be accused of favoring sons over daughters. But in this backward ancient era, Granny Hao might even be praised. Why? Because, unlike some families, she hadn't secretly drowned the baby girl.
Ironic. So bitterly ironic.
Just then, the muffled weeping seemed to dissolve into the air, replaced by the rhythmic pounding of rice after the third crow of the rooster.
Jin Niang turned over, trying to close her eyes again, but sleep eluded her. She sat up abruptly, her hand instinctively reaching for a nonexistent light switch before she caught herself with a wry laugh. No electric lights here. She lay back down.
Candles in the Northern Song Dynasty weren't cheap—two hundred coppers for a single one. She couldn't bear to light one now; the family was living hand to mouth.
When she first transmigrated here—finding herself in this world at about half a year or a year old—the Wei family hadn't been so poor. Her father, Wei Xiong, was the second son—neither as clever as his elder brother nor as charming as his younger brother, but broad-shouldered and strong. So he had enlisted in the Regional Army of Hanyang, later even being selected for the Imperial Army, where the pay was generous enough to bring his family along. Jin Niang had even managed to attend school for three years, a luxury her parents had gladly allowed.
But when she was nine, her father's commanding officer died, and with the Imperial Army downsizing, the family of three returned to their hometown in Anlu.
Back then, the Wei family was still comfortably off. With no other skills, Wei Xiong bought a mule cart to ferry passengers or goods for a fee. But as the saying goes, keeping wealth is harder than earning it. Wei Xiong was incapable of keeping secrets—freely sharing every detail of their finances.
Soon, relatives came borrowing money, neighbors dragged him into gambling, and passengers cheated him out of fares. Their savings drained away like water.
When things turned dire—her father even getting framed in a lawsuit after escorting a relative home—Jin Niang insisted they move to Jiangling Prefecture to buy property.
Jiangling was the capital of Jinghu North Circuit. Though it couldn't compare to Hangzhou or Pingjiang in the Liangzhe Circuit, it was still a bustling hub, famed for its "hundred thousand households by day, a forest of masts by night."
More importantly, it was a vital crossroads where ships from north and south converged—especially in the southern riverside district where they lived, known as the "convergence of boats and carriages."
Wei Xiong, afraid of being looked down upon in the city, had wanted to buy property on the outskirts. But Jin Niang pushed for the city center. They couldn't afford a middle- or upper-class house, settling instead for a tiny lower-class dwelling—two rooms, a cramped kitchen, and no courtyard.
Even that cost a hundred and eighty strings of coins. The entire savings amounted to two hundred strings, leaving just ten remaining. Yet her parents still spared three strings to furnish her room: a bed, a narrow wardrobe (now peeling and with a door that wouldn't close), and a table with half a corner broken off.
She hadn't forced her father to spend the money—but if he didn't, relatives and friends would have bled them dry. At least with property, they had something to hold onto.
Three years after settling in Rooster Crow Lane, Jin Niang's mother gave birth to a baby brother, now just three years old. The family of four now worked three jobs: her father driving carts for a string of coins a month (about three to five hundred), her mother working in a tavern's kitchen with the toddler in tow, and Jin Niang herself apprenticing at an embroidery workshop.
Apprentices got no wages for the first three years, only a new set of clothes each year. Jin Niang had been lucky—when she joined, the other apprentices had already trained for a year. But because she could read and paint, the workshop owner counted her apprenticeship as only two years before she could earn wages.
Finally, last year, she began receiving a monthly income, easing the family's burdens—only for her grandfather to pass away. With her uncle bedridden, the funeral fell entirely on her father's shoulders.
By the time the mourning rites ended, the Wei family's hard-earned savings were nearly gone—even Jin Niang's personal savings had been depleted.
Lost in these thoughts, she didn't realize she'd drifted off until a knock at the door roused her. Jin Niang padded to the door, finding her mother standing outside.
The woman wore an olive-green linen undergarment and matching trousers, tied with a dark blue wrap skirt, topped with an indigo-dyed linen robe. A sandalwood-colored ramie scarf wrapped her head.
"Mother," Jin Niang called quickly.
Her mother, Luo Yue, had been born into a poor family in Anlu Prefecture. Fair and delicate-looking, with hands as slender as scallion stalks, she appeared fragile but had a fierce temper. Nicknamed "Jade-Faced Rakshasa" (a demoness from Buddhist mythology), she was infamous for threatening violence and keeping her nails long for scratching. Only recently, she'd nearly hacked a troublesome relative with a kitchen knife.
A stark contrast to her husband, Wei Xiong—a burly, imposing ex-soldier who was, in truth, weak-willed and trusting.
Luo Yue was at odds with relatives, quick to lash out. Yet for all her fierceness, she was fiercely protective of her family. Even now, at twelve, Jin Niang still had breakfast brought to her bedside whenever her mother was home.
Luo Yue saw her daughter yawning and added, "Eat your breakfast quickly and get to work. We've been delayed for several days because of the funeral."
"I know, Mother," Jin Niang replied, taking her breakfast—a boiled egg and a fried dough cake. The vendor sold them at the entrance of their alley for one coin each, round and crispy, deliciously fragrant. Normally, Luo Yue wouldn't buy such things for breakfast, settling instead for watered-down rice porridge and a side of pickles. But after returning from the funeral and keeping vigil for seven days, the whole family was exhausted, so this was a rare treat.
Luo Yue watched her daughter eat happily, sighing inwardly. Jin Niang's looks and figure bore no resemblance to her own. If only she ate less and became slimmer—she was already twelve, and next year at thirteen, she'd be of marriageable age. Yet she looked round and soft like a glutinous rice ball.
Indeed, Jin Niang was of medium height, with a full figure, a round face, delicate arched brows, thin lips, chubby arms like segments of lotus root, and a pair of prominent ears. Only her almond-shaped eyes were exceptionally lovely, paired with dimples that added a touch of sweet charm.
In the Tang Dynasty, her appearance might have been passable, but in the Song Dynasty, where frail and slender beauty was prized, she wasn't considered attractive. Still, Jin Niang didn't care. For a poor girl, being too beautiful wasn't necessarily a good thing.
After breakfast, she took two strings of coins from under her pillow and handed one to Luo Yue. "Mother, since you've had a fight with the owner of that local tavern, it's best not to go back. Here's a string of cash for household needs."
Luo Yue quickly refused, "Child, I still have money. I don't need yours. You've already given us so much this past year. Take it back!"
"Mother," Jin Niang insisted, stuffing it into her sleeve. "Just take it. You handle all our meals, and autumn is coming. Little brother still doesn't have warm clothes. Two liang of cotton cost seventy-six coins, and a padded jacket needs four to five hundred coins' worth. The whole outfit would cost five hundred coins."
Clothing in the Northern Song wasn't cheap. Cotton wasn't widely cultivated yet, so the poor often wore hemp-stuffed robes. Jin Niang had only gotten a proper cotton jacket two years ago when the embroidery workshop issued one. But her little brother still wore a worn-out hand-me-down with blackened padding from their third aunt.
Luo Yue accepted it shamefully, muttering, "We've failed you as parents."
Jin Niang hesitated, then pulled Luo Yue to sit down. "Mother, I plan to go to Bianliang with Mistress Chen."
"Bianliang?" Luo Yue immediately rejected the idea. "What would a young girl like you do so far away?"
Jin Niang explained, "Last year, Mistress Chen from Shu Embroidery Studio made a wedding dress for the magistrate's daughter, who married into the capital. The relatives there praised it, and now the magistrate's sister-in-law wants Mistress Chen to work for her daughters, who are approaching their hair-pinning ceremony. Mistress Chen is taking four of us to the capital, and she chose me. I didn't want to leave you, but if I don't go, I'll never earn much, even if I embroider until I go blind."
Embroidery valued experience. Working for a high-ranking family would boost her future wages.
But Luo Yue worried, "Those wealthy households aren't easy. You'll be of marriageable age soon. Going so far will delay that. At least now you're free. If you become a servant, subject to beatings and scoldings—I can't bear it!"
Jin Niang knew she had to convince her mother first. "The government forbids selling people as bonded servants now. We're not being sold—just hired for three years. After that, I'll be free. They wouldn't dare mistreat hired workers."
The Northern Song had both bonded and hired servants, but most were hired. The Song abolished the "lowly" status, so even servants were called "maids." Hired workers were registered commoners with household registration.
Seeing her mother still hesitate, Jin Niang pressed on, "Besides, even officials' sons marry based on dowries, not status. I'm not a beauty, and without a dowry, I'd struggle to marry well. Even if I did, I'd end up like Auntie Hao's daughter-in-law, despised. Mistress Chen promised us one guan a month, but because I can draw, they'll give me an extra liang of silver. That household isn't ordinary—they're a high-ranking official's family. The rewards will be better than my current seven hundred coins at Shu Embroidery Studio."
At the studio, she only did assigned work, earning little. One guan was a thousand coins, and a liang was twelve hundred fifty.
Luo Yue recalled her husband's pay—thirty guan a year as a Regional Army soldier, fifty as an imperial guard. If he'd stayed, their daughter wouldn't need to work as a maid.
She held Jin Niang's hand, reluctant. "It's still not much. How do we know Mistress Chen won't trick you and sell you off?"
Jin Niang teared up but stood firm. "I have another hope. The imperial Embroidery Academy recruits skilled embroiderers every few years. If I'm lucky, I could earn two guan monthly and even make clothes for the emperor and empress. Look at Mistress Chen—she studied there and now earns ten guan monthly, ten times my pay, maybe more."
"And look at our home—just two rooms. Little brother can sleep with you now, but not forever."
Without long-term plans, troubles loom close.
In the Northern Song, middling households had assets of a thousand guan. Jin Niang didn't seek great wealth, just a comfortable life. Staying together was nice, but without money, they'd all suffer.
Finally, her mother nodded. "You're too trusting. I'll meet Mistress Chen and the studio manager first."
Jin Niang let out a relieved sigh. She saw them as her real parents and refused to let them live in poverty.
For her family's sake, she would push forward.
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