The Hands of a Servant

Chapter 5: The Hands of a Servant

Dawn was barely breaking when the dark-haired girl began to organize her corner. With meticulous movements, she folded her coarse linen blanket and placed it carefully at one end of the mat. Around her, the rest of the girls were already awake, preparing for the start of their duties.

Beside her, the golden-haired girl remained lying down, her lashes still heavy with sleep. She murmured in a drowsy voice:

—Sister… I hate my chores.

It was not an empty complaint. The golden-haired girl’s hands were proof of her misery. Cracked and reddened, her skin revealed the long hours spent in icy water, scrubbing fabrics with harsh soap until her knuckles ached.

—I hate it so much… —she repeated, her gaze lost at the doorway where other girls passed on their way to the kitchen.

That morning, eight of them stayed inside the house. They didn’t have to go out; their tasks were indoors. The dark-haired girl rose with her usual quickness and left the room in silence. Her destination was the kitchen.

The air in the hallway was cool, carrying the scent of freshly brewed tea and the faint trace of incense burned the night before. When she reached the kitchen, she tied her hair back with a ribbon made of old cloth and rolled up her sleeves. Her clothing, simple and unadorned, bore a discreet white knot at the neck — a symbol marking her status. She was not a courtesan, nor a distinguished apprentice. She was, in truth, just another servant.

The kitchen was an austere space, with dark wooden shelves and utensils worn by constant use. The large central table was filled with leftovers from the previous night’s meal: porcelain bowls streaked with broth, trays with duck bones, and small heaps of dried rice stuck to the rims of plates.

She began her work in silence. The cold water bit at her hands as she rinsed the dishes with precise movements. Some mornings, when banquets were held in the house, lower-ranking courtesans helped with the cleaning, but that day had been calm. There hadn’t been many guests, so the apprentice servants handled the heavy work.

Soon after, the sound of firm footsteps echoed through the kitchen.

The māmā had entered.

Her sharp gaze swept across the room as she supervised the working girls. Behind her, four new figures joined the task.

They were newly arrived girls. Their strange accent and way of walking set them apart immediately. But more than that, it was their eyes that truly drew attention.

Among them, two stood out above the rest.

The first had black hair, but unlike the straight uniform style that predominated in the house, hers fell in soft waves, like ripples swaying in the wind.

The second had short, unruly hair. She could not have been more than ten years old, yet her posture and expression made her seem older than her body betrayed.

The dark-haired girl watched them from the corner of her eye. She didn’t pay much attention to the other two, for they were not particularly striking. But those two… their presence carried a special weight.

Even so, she said nothing.

She continued washing the dishes in silence, with the same precision and calm as always.

But in her mind, the image of the two newcomers was engraved.

And though she did not know it yet, that day would mark the beginning of something that would change her fate.

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(Page 23 of The Book of Courtesans, Chapter 5 — “Ink in the Sleeve”

Signed by Shī Yuán)

> I hide my pen beneath my cloak,

lest some fool wish to read my art.

I do not write for fame or gold,

I write only to keep from falling apart.

Sometimes my letters bleed through my hands,