A soft summer breeze rustled through the towering camphor trees that shaded the Jia family's courtyard mansion. Dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, playing on the stone paths and flowering vines that climbed lazily along the walls. Birds chirped, cicadas sang, and somewhere in the back, the old tortoiseshell cat rolled over in its favorite sunny spot.
Jia Lan lay sprawled on a long rattan recliner, her hair neatly pinned up with a peach blossom comb, a shallow porcelain bowl of iced lychee cubes in one hand and a fan in the other. Her dress was pale lilac muslin, light and breathable, fluttering faintly in the breeze. With one leg crossed and one slipper hanging lazily off her toe, she looked like a picture of summer nobility.
"Lan Lan," her mother, Lin Shunhua, called gently from under the veranda, where she sat embroidering beneath the hanging wisteria. "You've been out here for hours."
"That's because this is the only place where the breeze behaves," Jia Lan answered dramatically. "Inside feels like I'm being slow-roasted."
"Even roasted, you'd still act like a little empress," Lin Shunhua said, shaking her head with a smile.
From behind the morning paper, her father, Jia Chenghai, made a noise of agreement. "She certainly eats and naps like one."
"You're both ganging up on me," Jia Lan sniffed, though a playful smile tugged at her lips. "I'm a working woman now. I deserve peace."
Jia Chenghai lowered the paper. "Speaking of work, that boy from the Youth Arts Bureau dropped by yesterday with a folio. Said you left it on your desk."
"Oh no," Jia Lan groaned, sitting up slightly. "That must've been Wang Fei. He's too diligent. I only forgot it because Aunt Zhang distracted me with her gossip."
Lin Shunhua laughed softly. "That tea lady could make a market trader blush."
"It was about a celebrity who married a state artist after a secret engagement. Scandalous," Jia Lan said with exaggerated flair.
Her parents exchanged amused glances. The rhythm of life in the Jia family mansion was unlike that of most households in the capital. Surrounded by vines and ivy, old stone, and silence broken only by nature's hum, their home was a hidden world in a bustling city. A courtyard mansion with deep eaves, carved lattice doors, and well-tended koi ponds—the legacy of a family that had served the nation in more than one generation.
Both sets of grandparents were still alive and well, living with dignity in adjacent wings of the large property. The elder Jias, former military aristocrats, still played chess in the garden on certain afternoons. The maternal grandparents, retired professors, cultivated rare orchids in the back greenhouse.
In the Jia household, intellect and discipline had long walked hand in hand with refinement and quiet power.
---
Across town, however, the story was different.
A cramped, two-room housing unit buzzed with a broken fan and clattering enamel bowls. The air was thick with humidity and the sharp tang of boiled bitter melon.
Liu Fenfang dropped the cooking spoon with a loud clatter. "Boiled vegetables again."
"What else do you want?" Shen Yimin said quietly, wiping sweat from his brow. "There's barely anything in the ration shop. I had to argue just to get this."
"Everyone else seems to have more," she snapped, folding her arms. "We work just as hard. Why are we stuck in this dump while others—"
She paused.
This morning, she'd overheard the neighbours again. The landlady had been bragging loudly about her niece's god-cousin's friend—"That one from the Jia family. You know, the one in the old mansion near East Lotus Street. The beauty who works for the Youth Arts Bureau."
Liu Fenfang hadn't seen the girl. But she'd heard about her now. Several times.
"A Jia girl?" she had asked.
"Oh, yes! Jia Lan. Everyone says she's like a painting come to life. The director adores her—she's always getting praised, getting chances. And her home? That's not a house, it's a palace. Real pre-revolution mansion."
The words had lingered like vinegar on Liu Fenfang's tongue.
Now, as she stared down at the unappetizing pot on their barely working stove, bitterness bubbled again.
"She's probably never even seen bitter melon," she muttered under her breath.
Shen Yimin didn't reply. He had nothing to offer, no rebuttal. He knew the name Jia Lan. He remembered the family—vaguely—from his own village childhood. The Jias had long since moved to the city, but their reputation lingered. Their grandfather had been a war hero, their family dignified and respected.
He'd never met Jia Lan. But somehow, in this city of millions, it already felt like she was a mirror he didn't want to look into.
---
Meanwhile, in the cool of the Jia mansion's shaded drawing room, Jia Lan was teaching her younger cousin how to paint with watercolors.
"Always start with water. Let the page breathe before you bring in color," she explained, guiding the brush gently.
"Jie, you make it look so easy," the boy whispered, eyes wide.
She smiled. "That's because I cheat. Years of experience."
From the courtyard came the sound of the old grandfather clock striking five. Lin Shunhua stepped in with a tray of osmanthus tea and almond biscuits.
"Take a break," she said softly. "You've earned it."
Jia Lan stretched and yawned delicately. "Mother, I swear—between your desserts and Auntie Li's daily snack gifts, I'll grow too round for my qipao."
"Better round than ragged," her grandmother's voice floated from the hallway. The elderly matron entered with a book in hand and a knowing smile. "And don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
Jia Lan beamed. She was surrounded by love, comfort, and elegance. But she didn't take it for granted. She understood the fragility of such moments—how fleeting peace could be if not fiercely cherished.
---
In a public housing stairwell, Liu Fenfang trudged up the dimly lit stairs, sweat clinging to her back, a ration bag sagging in her hand. Someone passed her by humming, carrying chilled mung bean jelly.
Her gaze followed the sound, and again, she thought of that girl—Jia Lan.
She imagined her reclining beneath silk curtains, sipping chilled plum wine, laughing in some elegant office full of admiration and praise.
She gritted her teeth.
"One day," she thought, "I'll have all that too. No matter what it takes."
But little did she know, that world was further away than she could reach. Not because Jia Lan had blocked the path—but because they were never meant to walk the same one.