Thus, she finally rid herself of the sullen Mi Rong. Uneasy with apprehension, Zhao Shu returned once again to Lantai in the northwestern part of the residence and was assigned to the servants’ quarters in the western wing of the outer courtyard.
Looking at the row of plain yet tidy servants’ rooms, she could not help but laugh at herself. At any rate, this was far better treatment than being thrown into the woodshed last time.
After Steward Li led her inside, however, she frowned in difficulty.
The room contained one long communal sleeping platform, large enough for over a dozen people. At the moment, though, only two young eunuchs were waiting inside.
Just as during her last visit, the entire Lantai was attended only by these two young eunuchs.
Which meant she would now be eating and sleeping alongside them.
Stealing a cautious glance at the pair, she saw they were only twelve or thirteen years old. Both had kind-looking faces, were about the same height as she was, and still carried the innocence of childhood. They were quiet as well. Whenever Steward Li asked something, they merely answered with a respectful, “Yes,” or nodded obediently.
She had spent more than ten years disguised as a boy and had certainly shared rough lodgings with strangers before. But times were different now. Given her situation, she had to be far more careful.
“Your Noble One?” Steward Li first dismissed the two young eunuchs before waving a hand in front of her. Then, with another round of apologetic words, he said, “This humble servant truly has no choice. The attendants’ clothing is rather coarse, so I hope you’ll bear with it. If there’s anything this servant can help with, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Coming back to herself, Zhao Shu reflected that after more than a month here, she had come to understand Steward Li fairly well. Though stout in body, he was not broad-hearted. He was an exceedingly cautious man who feared getting into trouble.
Seeing the frost-white hair at the old steward’s temples, she thought that, given her unusual status, it was hardly right to keep making others worry on her behalf. She temporarily set aside her own concerns and smiled openly.
“Steward Li, you needn’t worry so much. Back in Zhao, I often came and went through military camps. Besides, on the journey here as a hostage, what hardship have I not endured? Since the master has already spoken, you needn’t trouble yourself arranging separate food and clothing for me anymore. The jar of pickled melon you gave us last time was wonderfully crisp, my younger clan sister liked it very much. If you’re truly concerned, then please spend your efforts looking after her instead.”
Her words were frank and magnanimous. She might as well have said outright that if she ever regained power and returned to Zhao, she would never hold any of this against him.
Steward Li had spent his entire life serving noble families, surviving by reading people’s expressions. It was not as though he had never encountered fallen nobles before. But in the end, he was only a servant, and this was the first time anyone had spoken to him like this.
It was neither flattery nor calculated self-interest. She was simply considering his feelings.
“You honor this old servant too greatly.” Emotion flickered in his eyes as he finally shed the ingratiating mask he usually wore. In a low voice, he said, “Since you put it that way, please rest assured. I will certainly see that Miss Qi Ying is well looked after.”
During this month at the Prince’s residence, Zhao Shu had indeed received much care from him. Seeing his solemn expression now, which strangely resembled her grandfather’s whenever he was troubled, she smiled with heartfelt warmth.
“Having fallen to my present circumstances, there’s no need to keep using such honorifics. If you don’t mind, my childhood name is Changle. You may simply call me Changle.”
This was the childhood name given to her by the late queen, and it had once been her honorary title as well. Some older acquaintances in Luoyi and Handan who knew the truth still privately addressed her that way.
To her surprise, Steward Li froze upon hearing it. After hesitating for a moment, he finally decided to speak. “This childhood name of yours… does the Imperial Grandson know it?”
Zhao Shu’s brows twitched.
Ying Wuji’s childhood name was Changsheng. Even back then, she had thought Changsheng and Changle sounded too much alike. Since she had always assumed they were merely companions for a brief season of youthful amusement before parting ways, she had naturally never told him her own childhood name.
Three years ago, she had called him “Ah Sheng,” while he had only ever addressed her respectfully as “My Lord” or “Young Master.”
Assuming that was what Steward Li meant, she shook her head.
“In that case, this servant still dares not address you that way. The Imperial Grandson once had a younger sister. Her name was Wuyou.”
Seeing the hesitation on his face, as though he wanted to speak yet held himself back, Zhao Shu asked directly, “He now holds such great power. If his younger sister had merely been born of a concubine, she should ordinarily have lived with the mother and elder brother who received their own estate. Yet I’ve never heard anyone in the residence mention her. Was she perhaps betrothed and married off early?”
“Alas… she passed away three years ago.” Having personally witnessed that vicious struggle within the palace, Steward Li merely let out a heavy sigh before warning her, “The Imperial Grandson never speaks of her. Noble one should pretend you never heard a word of what this old servant said today.”
With that, he refused to say another word and hurried away.
Since Steward Li would not speak further, Zhao Shu did not press him. Yet inwardly she found herself pondering in silence. Wuji and Wuyou… Though that Hu woman had been of humble birth and barely spoke Chinese, she had, in naming her children, arrived at much the same idea as Zhao Shu’s own mother.
The difference was that Zhao Shu’s given name had later been changed from Shu (“姝”) to Shu (“殊”) by Zhao Wang and the State Preceptor. As the late queen, her mother had only been able to give her the childhood name Changle.
Ying Wuji’s Hu-born mother, however, had been different. The son and daughter she bore were evidently of little importance to the royal clan, so even their names had been left entirely to her own choosing.
Thinking about it, Wuyou’s death had likely not been a peaceful one. It was fortunate Steward Li had reminded her. Since she had never told Ying Wuji her childhood name before, she certainly never would in the future.
Changle Wuyou…
The two names were simply too similar. If that madman were ever seized by one of his fits and decided to use her as a sacrifice in place of his sister…
A faint spring breeze of the second month drifted through the corridor outside, carrying away the last lingering fragrance of the winter plum blossoms. Zhao Shu withdrew her thoughts, looked up at the sun still hanging high in the sky at mid-afternoon, and calculated that today was already the third day of the second lunar month. Her mind steadied. Taking a deep breath of the fading plum scent, she reminded herself that she still had time. Better to deal with what lay before her first.
Within half an hour, she had finished tidying the sleeping space beside the window and had also gotten acquainted with the two young eunuchs.
At that moment, the pair were secretly burying a jar of winter-brewed wine beneath a plum tree in the side courtyard.
“This is the brewing method from our southeastern hometown,”
“Cai Pi, don’t blame me. You’re the one who said you’d never tasted it before, so you insisted I make it.”
The side courtyard was shaded by cultivated bamboo. A slanting breeze flowed through the corridors, sending fallen plum blossoms fluttering softly to the ground. In just that short half hour, Zhao Shu had already realized that Cai Song and Cai Pi were both simple-hearted boys. Their ordinary days here were surely peaceful and carefree.
She sat on a stone bench beneath a wide trellis of vines, watching them. “It’s almost time for the evening meal. Is there really nothing you need me to do?”
Cai Song patted the earth back into place and shook his head earnestly. “Steward Li already gave us our instructions. In a little while, Cai Pi will go to the kitchen to fetch the meal box, and I’ll head to the back garden to cut some fresh winter mallow. We’ll fry up an extra egg over the little stove, it’ll taste wonderfully fresh!”
Zhao Shu was rather bewildered. She cautiously probed a little further, and Cai Pi, who was the more perceptive of the two, suddenly leaned close before leaving and whispered, “The master never lived here to begin with. He hasn’t come by for over ten days now. During the day, all we do is a bit of sweeping and tidying. Cai Song is strong and quick with his hands, even by himself, he’s finished with everything in half an hour.”
After saying that, he playfully stuck out his tongue at her before skipping happily off to the kitchen to collect the soup and dishes.
Cai Pi assumed Zhao Shu was simply afraid of hardship and hard work. Little did he know that this casual remark of his would, a few days later, nearly expose her true identity.
***
After two days of settling in, Zhao Shu discovered that despite the vastness of the Lantai, with its four courtyards, eight compounds, and a small tower, the only people who had nothing to do on ordinary days were the three of them.
Cai Pi and Cai Song were both kind-hearted children. Though the age gap between them and Zhao Shu was rather large and they did not have much in common to talk about, sharing meals and sleeping quarters posed no problem. At Steward Li’s request, the two young eunuchs would not let her touch any heavy chores at all. They merely claimed they could barely read and asked her to organize the bamboo slips in the tower whenever she had free time.
This was hardly serving as an attendant.
It was more like she had come here to recuperate.
The only inconvenience was that the disguise paste was difficult to remove at night, and bathing and washing herself posed another problem.
On the morning of the third day, she climbed to the highest floor of the tower and peeled away the disguise paste. Reflected in the enormous bronze floor mirror engraved with taotie and auspicious cloud patterns was her pale face, one that had not seen the sun in a long time. Her face was no bigger than a palm, with delicate, spirited features. Without the disguise, she appeared two degrees younger still.
When she casually tugged at the corners of her lips in a smile, the girl in the mirror seemed to possess enchanting, bright eyes. There remained a trace of the carefree radiance she once had, riding wherever she pleased beneath clear spring skies.
Yet what lingered far more deeply within her eyes was a lifeless gray desolation born of utter hopelessness.
The exotic-style tower had exceptionally wide-open views. It stood upon a small island in the middle of the lake, connected to the inner courtyard only by a single floating wooden walkway.
The window where the study met the bedchamber on the third floor faced that lone floating path directly. Thanks to the tower’s height, one could overlook the entire Lantai at a glance, the scenery of all eight courtyards and every winding path lay spread out below.
The tower also housed an abundance of miscellaneous books, and the shelves were some distance from the spiral staircase. It was therefore the perfect excuse for her to remove the disguise during the day under the pretense of organizing the books and let her skin breathe.
By the fourth day, no one had still come to assign her any tasks. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Zhao Shu quietly accompanied Qi Ying back to her courtyard. The winding trip there and back took nearly an hour and a half, it truly was quite far away.
At Qi Ying’s courtyard, she was finally able to sit and soak properly in a bath. After giving Qi Ying a few instructions, she asked whether Lian Yu had come by even once. When she learned he had not, another layer of disappointment and loneliness settled over her.
Everyone in the Zhao palace knew that the maid who had grown up beside her adored the young master of the Lian family. Zhao Shu had once spared no effort trying to bring them together. Under pressure from both her and the old general, Lian Yu had merely responded with perfunctory indifference. But after everyone had fallen from grace and been sent away as hostages, there had been nothing left in Lian Yu’s eyes except cold ruthlessness. Only Yingying, that foolish girl, still stubbornly clung to her feelings.
As the sun slanted westward toward dusk, Zhao Shu remembered that she was, after all, merely an attendant. She feared that staying away too long would give others an excuse to criticize her. So after eating only a couple of pastries, she hurried back before darkness fell.
Upon returning to the Lantai, she found Cai Pi and Cai Song once again playing cards and cracking melon seeds together, so she went alone to the tower.
Leaning against the western window of the study where the light of the sky and the reflections of the clouds streamed in, she removed her disguise once more, rested her chin on one hand, and absentmindedly watched a solitary pigeon circle back and forth along the lakeshore. Then, at the sound of a clear whistle, it suddenly folded its wings and darted toward the eastern main courtyard.
It was the end of winter, bleak and desolate. Though every step around the lake offered a different view, as twilight gradually dimmed, everything seemed devoid of life, stirring in one’s heart the same vast emptiness.
The young woman by the window clearly possessed the innocent sweetness of youth.
Yet in those eyes lay the desolation and hopelessness of an old man.
It would soon be the third lunar month…
Unwilling to dwell upon the heavy weight in her chest, Zhao Shu stood up, intending to find a book of supernatural tales to distract herself.
But just as she rose to light a lamp, a sudden bolt of agony plunged her vision into darkness. Every meridian in her body felt as though it were being gouged apart by blades. Then an ancient yet all-too-familiar icy chill surged upward from deep within her chest and abdomen.
Her eyes widened in shock. Why had this season’s attack come so much earlier than before?
There was no time to think. She had to find a source of heat within half a ke (about thirty minutes). Otherwise, once her blood froze solid, she would be dead in less than an hour.
But Lantai was enormous. Even if she could make it out of the tower by herself and then avoid Cai Pi and Cai Song long enough to chop firewood and heat bathwater, at least half a ke would already have passed.
This cold, together with the stiffness creeping through her limbs and body, was beyond comparison with ordinary winter chill. If the freezing water poured over her at the stone quarry that day had been suffering worth three parts out of ten, then the poison nurtured within her body for more than ten years was the full ten.
Stumbling out of the study, she collapsed beneath the latticed window from which the entire Lantai could be seen. Tears streamed silently down her face, impossible to hold back.
Apart from her own painful gasps, there was only utter stillness. Not even the sound of birds could be heard.
It was as though she were the only person left in heaven and earth.
In her despair, a thought suddenly flashed through her mind.
She remembered the bathing room on the second floor of the tower. Cai Pi had once mentioned that it was connected to a geothermal spring beneath the earth. Whenever someone wished to use it, they needed only to turn the mechanism hidden within the bronze beast’s head. No servants were required to carry water, making it extremely convenient.
It was simply that the Imperial Grandson had never found the time to enjoy the baths.
With her life hanging by a thread, she could no longer care whether someone might discover her.
Supporting herself against the wooden railing of the spiral staircase, she staggered upward one step at a time toward the second floor. The instant she turned the bronze beast’s head, warm mountain spring water truly began pouring forth.
The cold, like the tongue of a venomous serpent, had already spread gradually to her elbows and knees.
In the dim, unlit bath chamber, the only sound was the endless rush of hot spring water gushing from the bronze beast’s mouth. Summoning the last of her strength, she brushed away the tears on her face, clung to the dark jade wall, and tumbled headfirst into the pool.
…
Inside the secret chamber of the main courtyard,
Cheng Wu was still sighing in puzzlement, unable to understand why his lord had argued so forcefully in court today against destroying Zhou, even provoking His Majesty’s anger and earning himself confinement to the estate.
Ying Wuji listened unhurriedly as Cheng Wu laid out his thoughts.
After removing and reading the secret message tied to the carrier pigeon’s leg, Ying Wuji arched an eyebrow, a rare trace of satisfaction appearing on his face. “Now that fortune has begun to favor me, it is as though Heaven itself is clearing the path before me. My royal uncle’s campaign against Zhou has been settled. And now even the Zhao royal palace has opened another road for me.” He let out a cold snort. “That muddle-headed Zhao Wang, Zhao Jian, has so few heirs. Yet even within Handan, a struggle for the throne has broken out.”
Cheng Wu pondered the implications for a long while before finally sorting through the favorable situation. The moment he turned around, he saw his lord leaving the secret chamber with the carrier pigeon in his arms.
He hurried after him, just about to offer a few flattering words, when the man ahead casually tossed out, “This lord is to remain confined for ten days to reflect on my actions. A perfect opportunity to soak in the baths at Lantai. Lord Shaofu, you should enter the palace to attend His Majesty. Grandfather’s headaches have been acting up more frequently these days.”
