Xue Baochai sat alone in her pavilion, embroidering a golden phoenix onto silk. Outside, the garden was alive with music and laughter — another of the Dowager Lady Jia gatherings.

She did not join them. She rarely did anymore.

"You are too serious," her mother chided. "A young woman should be enjoying herself."

"Enjoying herself for what?" Baochai asked. Her needle did not pause. "To marry a man who loves someone else? To manage a household that is falling apart? To watch the garden wither?"

Lady Xue had no answer. Her daughter had always been too clever.

Baochai continued her embroidery. The golden phoenix burned on the white silk like a trapped sun. She thought of Daiyu, who was probably weeping in the Bamboo Lodge. She thought of Baoyu, who was probably reciting name poems somewhere and pretending not to care about anything.

She thought of Yuanchun, dead in the palace. Of all the women who had entered the Red Chamber and never truly left.

"We are all locked in the same cage," she murmured. "But some of us refuse to see the bars."