The autumn wind swept through the courtyard, and a few golden sycamore leaves gently fluttered down from the trees lining the corridor. Their bright colors were dazzling, contrasting sharply with the vermilion pillars and the red gates, making the reds redder and the golds more brilliant.
Looking around, the entire mansion was painted in such rich, vivid hues. Amidst it all were mountain rocks, flowing springs, pavilions, and towers—stillness and motion intertwined, blending grandeur with elegance, a dazzling spectacle.
"Ah..." The woman in red let out a soft cry, quickly withdrawing her hand from under the cloth. A drop of blood had appeared on her index finger.
She put it to her lips and tasted a metallic sweetness. Nearby, the woman in green sleeves, who was drawing lines with wax on another piece of fabric, laughed softly. "This is the fifth time today—you're really careless."
The woman in red frowned but continued sucking her finger, ignoring the green-sleeved woman.
It wasn't that she was careless.
She simply had never done this kind of sewing before—back in the 21st century, she had only mended small tears in clothes occasionally, never made a complete water sleeve. Buying fabric, cutting, sewing... the labor and costs would buy two ready-made pieces online. Who would waste time sewing by hand?
Until she came to the Great Xia dynasty.
Her story was one of misfortune—starting before and continuing after her time travel. A graduate from a prestigious dance academy specializing in Han-Tang dances, she had struggled to get a stage opportunity without needing to compromise herself. Whether she could join the dream dance troupe depended on this one chance.
She was naturally excited and had practiced ten times harder offstage. But...
That day, Beijing's smog reached hazardous levels, and just a street away from the theater, she was hit by a driver who missed the traffic light...
She couldn't remember the accident itself clearly. The last vague image was that familiar yellow and blue taxi screeching to a halt in front of her, the tires grinding sharply against the road.
When she opened her eyes again, she had become the woman in red, a dancer in the mansion of the sharp-tongued Princess of Great Xia.
Two months later, the princess transferred her along with three other dancers and four singers as a gift to her nephew-in-law, Xi Linchuan.
That wasn't a problem—after all, it was still "professional matching," dancing in any mansion was the same. But then...
Within three days of arriving, the steward said, "We don't need so many dancers," and sent her off to do chores.
It was strange—although the mansion had singers and dancers, among the four dancers sent this time, she alone was singled out as unnecessary. Without any explanation, she was sent to sweep the courtyard. A delicate, beautiful girl forced into rough work.
Strange as it was, with her current status, she could only comply. The hardship didn't matter; what hurt most was the dance...
It was her lifelong pursuit, and she still wanted to practice.
Hence, she began sewing her own water sleeves. Fortunately, her companions were all native Great Xia girls skilled in sewing. After copying their patterns and cuts, only the sewing remained for her.
After four or five days, the sleeves were almost finished.
"I heard the Grand General is coming to the mansion tonight," the green-sleeved woman said with a smile. "I wonder if there'll be a call for singing and dancing. We haven't even seen Young Master Xi yet."
The woman in red knew well how eagerly her companion—and the others—wanted to meet Xi Linchuan. She found their bright anticipation surprising; their eyes shone like 21st-century fans meeting idols, not like servants meeting a new master.
"Who knows what kind of person Young Master Xi really is? Be careful—high hopes can lead to great disappointment," she said flatly, dampening the green-sleeved woman's enthusiasm. Just like in modern times, she wasn't interested in idols and felt no excitement for this one.
"Wise and talented, handsome and gallant," the green-sleeved woman replied, full of admiration, then elbowed the other, complaining, "Don't be ungrateful. Many women—even noble daughters—admire Young Master Xi. When he returned from hunting, riding swiftly from the city gate to the mansion in under a quarter-hour, crowds gathered at the gate to catch a glimpse. Yet you live here and act so indifferent."
The woman in red smiled, picked up her needle and thread, continuing to sew her unfinished sleeves while shaking her head: "What does it matter to me? There are many servants here, and I'm not likely to see him. Whether he's here or not makes no difference."
It's not like cracking an egg in the Yangtze River and expecting the whole country to get egg drop soup.
"Boring! Boring!" the green-sleeved woman complained loudly, then glared and tried again to persuade her, "Don't you want to see Young Master Xi draw his bow and shoot with deadly accuracy? Or watch his sword flash in the light?"
The woman in red involuntarily pictured the scenes but quickly pushed them away. Some things were better left unthought of—especially since her current situation wasn't suitable for daydreaming.
Time-travel heroines usually have male leads protecting them and secondary males comforting them. But she hadn't met any important characters yet and had been sent to do chores, her future cut off. Clearly not the main character's path; better to keep calm.
Her needle stabbed upward then downward; she smiled faintly and cut off the green-sleeved woman's persistence with just the right words: "I'm no longer a dancer, just a servant. Where would I watch him shoot arrows perfectly?"
.
As dusk fell, lanterns lit up one by one throughout the large courtyard, hanging orderly under the corridors. The warm yellow light reflected off the red and black corridors, dignified yet elegant.
In the main hall set for the banquet, music had started. Though guests had yet to arrive, the atmosphere was well established.
In a nearby small courtyard, the woman in red wore her water sleeves—not to dance for guests, but because the full range of instruments was rare, and she wanted to practice dancing along with the music instead of humming by herself.
Luckily, without modern soundproofing, the sounds carried far enough. If this were modern times, the banquet hall door would block the drums and gongs completely.
The zither, qin, bamboo flute, bells, drums, and pipa sounded in harmony—sometimes grand and majestic, sometimes gentle and delicate—perfect for a festive occasion.
She danced freely in the small courtyard; her waist stretched with every turn, water sleeves rising and falling, crimson flowing like a brilliant flame. Under the frosty moonlight, she seemed like a lively fairy from the moon palace, indifferent to all, dancing through the rise and fall of heaven and earth.
Most dances she had heard before; for those unfamiliar, she even improvised her water sleeves' movements. Sweat began to soak through her clothes; her breath grew uneven, exhaustion creeping in, but she smiled and persevered until the music stopped. Wiping her hands, she murmured, "So tiring."
Returning to her room, she lit the remaining half of a red candle and found the water kettle empty. Thirsty from exertion, she went to fetch water from the kitchen.
The music faded in and out as she walked along twisting paths. Stepping to the rhythm, her mood lifted and her pace quickened.
The kitchen always had hot water ready; she filled the kettle and, stepping outside again, noticed the music had disappeared.
Had the banquet ended?
She wasn't in a hurry to return to her room, instead taking a detour to find the green-sleeved woman and the others. Afterwards, she planned to rest for a couple of hours before waking to clean the corridor before dawn.
Turning at a fork not far ahead, she came upon a bamboo grove. The stone path had fewer lanterns; the way grew dark. She slowed down and walked carefully.
Suddenly, a bright light appeared.
At the bamboo grove's edge stood a moon gate with two lanterns shining brightly, casting a large glow that lit the path ahead.
Nearby came familiar birdsong and cheerful voices. Smiling, she quickened her pace but suddenly stopped at a turn.
The other party also stopped.
In the dim night, a fierce gaze swept across her face. The tall figure, outlined by cold moonlight, gave off a strange imposing aura. She was startled, immediately realizing who it was, and stepped aside, bowing slightly: "Young Master."
It was only a casual greeting; she thought he would pass by and she could continue on.
But he stopped in front of her. The night was dim, and she kept her head lowered, unable to see his expression, but a chilling presence came over her. She instinctively stepped back, but felt a tug on her right shoulder.
Her gaze dropped; his boot had stepped on her trailing water sleeve.
He looked down at the sleeve briefly, then raised his head. His dark brows furrowed like ink strokes, and he coldly lifted her chin: "I thought I told you not to be a dancer."