Dusk deepened, sunset casting its glow over the grand city of Chang’an, and spilling evenly into the firewood shed at the back of the Pei residence in Yongning Ward.
Pei Xia sat upright on a lotus-head armchair, the blood-red afterglow of the evening sky filtering through the half-shuttered lattice window, falling across the snowy white hem of his robe, and tinting his cold, jade-like face with a trace of worldly brilliance.
Not far before him, Huang Momo, who had been locked in the firewood shed the whole day, lay prostrate on the ground, in utter disarray, weeping bitterly.
“My lord, please discern clearly. Even if this old slave had a hundred times the courage, I would never dare to harm the lady of your house. Besides, I have no past grudge or recent feud with her, and I was sent here by Consort Xian herself. The task went awry, I cannot shirk the blame and will surely be punished… But tell me, my lord, what could I possibly gain from this?”
Slender, pale fingers tapped lightly against the carved rosewood armrest. Pei Xia gazed down, expressionless, at the woman on the ground.
“Yes. What are you trying to gain.”
His tone, faint, sounded both like a question and like a verdict.
Huang Momo froze, lifting her head. When her eyes met those unfathomably dark pupils, cold and devoid of warmth, a shudder ran through her heart.
In the past she had also met this Lord Pei a few times, and he had always borne the bearing of a gentle, refined gentleman. When had she ever seen this side of him—so cold, so sharp, so unsmiling?
But after all, she had come from the palace, and she knew there were people above who would shield her. Quickly she gathered her panic, showing only grievance as she said: “Lord Pei, by these words, are you condemning this old servant already? Then I truly must cry injustice! From the day I entered the residence under Niang Niang’s command, I have given Niang Niang daily fetal-massage with diligence, never once neglecting my duty. If my lord does not believe me, then simply ask the old women and maids who serve in the mistress’s chamber, or ask your lady herself—see whether I have ever been anything but conscientious?”
“If it is that you have believed the words of that ruffian, then all the more am I wronged. Chen Pozi saw it with her own eyes yesterday: the mistress’s fetus truly was in the wrong position, the boy’s shoulders stuck fast, and the mistress had already been with broken waters for a long while. If we did not use labor-inducing medicine, the child would surely have suffocated in the womb! I have delivered births for many years—whether for noble ladies in the palace or for the households of princes and dukes outside—it is always in such cases that inducing medicine is used: bring out the smaller one first, then save the mother.”
At this point Huang Momo truly felt her grievance, and argued hotly: “Anyway, in the birthing room yesterday, everything I did was according to past experience. As for that Chen Pozi’s talk of some ‘little hand,’ forgive me for having long dwelt in the palace and being ignorant—I have never heard of such a thing. All I know is that in the birthing room, one is fighting the King of H*ll for a life, and not a moment can be wasted. Who could say whether that so-called ‘little hand’ had real ability? If she had been useless, would it not have meant gambling with the young master’s life? If she truly had that skill…”
Huang Momo frowned, her voice sinking lower, muttering: “Even then, who could guarantee the mistress and child would have lasted so long? My duty is to deliver. If it goes smoothly and both mother and child are safe, that is best. But in hard labor, one must first save whichever can be saved. I do not believe I have been negligent. Even before Consort Xian herself, I could still claim to have done my utmost… But if my lord insists on believing slanderous tongues, thinking I deliberately meant harm, then send me to the palace’s Office of Punishments, or hand me to the authorities for trial!”
Her defense was resounding, sounding as though she truly suffered great injustice.
Pei Xia’s black eyes narrowed slightly. He said nothing.
But Steward Zuo and Jinglin, who were guarding at the door, exchanged a glance—both felt this Huang Momo did seem rather wronged.
If there was fault to be found, it was only that she had underestimated how much the lord cherished his lady, and had on her own chosen to abandon the greater to save the lesser. That rule might apply in the palaces and noble houses, but it would never do in the Pei residence.
Seeing the man on the high seat remain silent, Huang Momo assumed her defense had convinced him.
Just as she was about to breathe out in relief, the man’s voice sounded again in the shed, cool and clear as a cold spring striking stone: “Since when the cervix was at five fingers you could already see the malposition, why did you wait until six fingers before speaking?”
Huang Momo’s face froze—she had not expected Pei Xia to know even this.
That subtle difference—very likely only Chen Pozi in the whole birthing room could have noticed.
So what exactly had Chen Pozi told him? Were there other details she herself had overlooked?
Huang Momo panicked, her eyes darting rapidly over the dark gray floor tiles.
“Why no answer?”
Pei Xia’s gaze swept over the servant woman’s flustered movements, his eyes growing darker.
As for interrogation by torture, he was not ignorant of it—he merely disdained to dirty his own hands with such people’s filthy blood.
“Old slave… old slave…” Huang Momo lowered her head, stammering: “My lord does not know—each woman’s labor is different, the progress of dilation also varies greatly…”
“No need for such talk.”
Pei Xia said: “I only ask you—why did you not say earlier, and only after my wife and Qiao Momo pressed you did you finally admit it?”
Huang Momo’s complexion turned all the paler, cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. “This… this…”
As she strained her mind for an excuse, suddenly from outside came a servant’s report: “My lord, the steward eunuch of Xianling Palace has arrived.”
Like one seeing a lifeline, Huang Momo’s eyes lit up.
Yes—she was a palace person, sent by Consort Xian. Even if she erred, palace law would handle her. It was not for outsiders to punish her privately!
Pei Xia also caught that flash of joy in her eyes.
He said nothing. He simply rose leisurely from the armchair, taking two steps forward.
Hearing the footsteps, Huang Momo lifted her head in trembling fear, and saw the man’s tall, slender figure drenched red by the blood-like glow of sunset, his matchless handsome face expressionless.
Though he said nothing, those indifferent eyes looked down upon her as though at some pitiful, contemptible ant.
In an instant, an unspeakable terror engulfed her. Shaking, she then heard the man’s command: “Gag her, bind her, take her to the front court.”
—
Pei residence, main chambers, bedchamber.
Shen Yujiao was lying on the bed eating bird’s nest with golden threads of jujube. Hearing Bai Ping report that Pei Xia had taken a carriage to the Second Prince’s manor, she swallowed down the mouthful, unable to hide her surprise. “It’s nearly dark already—what matter could be so urgent that he must go now?”
The Second Prince’s manor was not too far, but still three wards away. At this hour, the ward gates might well be closed.
“My lord said nothing, only instructed that my lady should eat well, that he will be home late, and you need not wait up—rest early.” Bai Ping relayed truthfully.
Shen Yujiao answered lightly, “I understand.”
She couldn’t help but think to herself—surely something urgent must have happened, otherwise he wouldn’t have left in such a rush.
But what matter was it, and how thorny? Today was already the fourth day of the month, and in just five days Pei Xia would be sitting for the exam. Her childbirth at this time had already distracted him from his preparations; if something were to happen at court on top of that… Although she believed with Pei Xia’s learning he would surely place high, this crucial period before the spring exam ought to be used to the fullest, to make success even more certain.
“Madam, don’t worry. Since the young master said he would return tonight, he will definitely return.”
Xiaying comforted her, scooping a spoonful of bird’s nest and bringing it to her lips. “Bird’s nest has to be eaten hot—cold, it doesn’t taste good.”
Shen Yujiao absentmindedly opened her mouth. By the time she finished, her stomach already felt uncomfortably full.
Hearing Dongxu outside still bustling about supper, she spoke up: “Just make two simple dishes for the evening meal. I can’t eat much more.”
Since waking, her mouth hadn’t stopped—chicken soup, tonics, bird’s nest porridge, and half a red date cake. Other than once going to the privy with the maids’ support, she had been lying in bed without moving at all.
Qiao Momo had told her that confinement required lying in bed for a month, and if it was not done properly, she would suffer ailments in old age.
Shen Yujiao couldn’t refute that, and with her body still aching, she lay obediently. Only in food did she feel the need to restrain herself; otherwise, after a month, she wouldn’t be stepping out of the room but waddling out like a fattened pig.
Dongxu, having received her instructions, crisply replied “Alright” and went down to work.
Lying idly in bed, Shen Yujiao watched Xiaying poke at the ashes in the incense burner with a silver pick and struck up casual conversation.
When their talk turned to Lin Little Hand having returned to Yonghe Hall that morning, with Doctor Lin still on standby in the guest quarters, Shen Yujiao casually asked about the two midwives: “I vaguely recall that in the latter half yesterday it was only Old Chen Pozi with me, I never saw Huang Momo. Where is she now? Has she already returned to the palace?”
Xiaying’s hand paused mid-motion, nearly tipping over the incense burner.
Shen Yujiao looked at her in surprise. “What is it?”
“N-nothing.” Xiaying faltered, lowering her voice. “As for Huang Momo… where she is, this servant isn’t too clear.”
Shen Yujiao frowned. “Xiaying, come here.”
“Ah?”
Though uneasy, Xiaying obediently walked to the bedside.
Seeing the tips of her ears flushed bright red, Shen Yujiao’s frown deepened. “You’re lying.”
Xiaying was startled, denying hastily: “This servant did not!”
“Since childhood you’ve served by my side. Whenever you lie, your ears turn red.” Shen Yujiao gave a light snort. “Go find a mirror and look at how red they are.”
Xiaying instantly wilted like a punctured goatskin raft, lowering her head in shame. “Madam, this servant… this servant didn’t mean to deceive you.”
Shen Yujiao looked at her, puzzled. “I only asked where Huang Momo was—what’s there to hide?”
Though Qiao Momo had strictly forbidden the close maids from speaking of unlucky matters before their mistress, for fear of disturbing her recovery, Xiaying was the least skilled liar among them.
Now, faced with her lady’s clear and piercing gaze, she could not hold out. Fidgeting with her fingers, she whispered: “This servant only heard from others… they said yesterday Huang Momo was stabbed once by that Young Lord Xie. When they dragged her out, they happened to run into our young master. Afterwards, the young master locked her in the woodshed for a night, and just now… just now had her tied up in a sack and taken to the Second Prince’s manor.”
“What?” Shen Yujiao exclaimed in shock. The wound below her tore with pain, and she hissed in a sharp breath.
“Madam, please be careful.” Xiaying hurried to support her, full of regret. She had known she shouldn’t have said it. “Don’t worry, the young master surely had his reasons. You need only take care of your confinement—the matters outside are not for you to fret over.”
Shen Yujiao’s face went pale from pain. Leaning against the bolster, she took a long while to recover before furrowing her brows, her expression grave: “You said Young Lord Xie stabbed Huang Momo? And the young master not only didn’t blame him, but locked her in the woodshed?”
And today, even had her bound up and sent to the Second Prince’s residence?
Her instincts told her—something was amiss.
Xiaying herself did not know the whole truth. She cautiously guessed: “Perhaps because Huang Momo wanted to give you labor-inducing medicine, disregarding your safety, the young master bore resentment—that’s why he bound her?”
As for that Young Lord Xie yesterday…
Though he claimed to be an old acquaintance of the young master, the way he had worried over their lady yesterday was no less—perhaps even more—than the young master himself.
Xiaying dared not speculate further. She only watched her mistress’s face nervously, softening her voice: “Madam, please, think of your health first. Don’t trouble yourself. If Qiao Momo knew I spoke of this, she’d surely punish me…”
Shen Yujiao finally came back to herself and looked at Xiaying. “If you don’t want me to brood, then tell me clearly what really happened yesterday. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Momo what you said today.”
With no other choice, Xiaying recounted all she had seen and heard the day before.
When Shen Yujiao learned that Xie Wuling had stormed into the birthing room with a dagger, even threatening several times to kill if her life couldn’t be saved, her heart was thrown into a turmoil of mixed feelings.
At that time she must have fainted from pain, or perhaps been too dazed to notice anything outside. She only knew that when her senses returned, it was Pei Xia by her side, gripping her hand firmly, telling her not to be afraid—that the doctor would be there very soon.
Later, the physician indeed arrived, and she safely delivered the child—mother and son both unharmed.
Never had she imagined that all of this had been the result of Xie Wuling’s insistence—
No matter when, he always put her first.
Even though he had cherished, loved, and looked forward to this child as well, when it came to choosing, she was forever his first choice.
Unknowingly, her mind drifted again to his cries outside the courtyard that afternoon.
“Jiaojiao,” he called, “just let me see once, just once will do.”
And yet, even that single glance—she could not grant him.
“Ah, madam, why are you crying?” Xiaying panicked, quickly taking out a handkerchief to wipe her tears, her voice tinged with pleading. “Please don’t cry—the doctor said you must not grieve.”
Shen Yujiao took two deep breaths, forcing down the sour swelling in her eyes, though her voice still carried a faint sob: “I’m fine…”
Seeing her reddened eyes and sorrowful brows, Xiaying thought, how could this be “fine”? She slapped her own mouth lightly. “All my fault—this wicked tongue! I shouldn’t have told you all this, just needlessly making you weep.”
“Truly, I’m fine.”
Shen Yujiao shook her head, then collapsed wearily against the bolster, closing her eyes. “Go, let me rest a while.”
“Madam…” Xiaying whispered, wanting to comfort her further, but seeing her turned inward, at last she fell silent, saluted, and withdrew quietly.
The footsteps faded. The bedchamber fell into silence, only the thin spirals of plum-scented smoke curling from the gilt incense burner, spreading their faint fragrance.
Shen Yujiao lifted a hand, brushed away the chill damp at the corner of her eyes, and gave a bitter smile.
How strange—that giving birth to a child should make her so sentimental, weeping at the slightest thing.
No crying, she ordered herself inwardly. Last year, when a dagger was held to her throat, she had not cried; when fleeing with blistered feet, she had not cried; when begging half-starved with Ping’an in tow, she had not cried. And now, clothed in silks, attended by maids on all sides—what cause had she to cry?
Covering her eyes, she admonished herself again and again.
She did not know how long had passed before the tears finally subsided. Lowering her hand, her faintly reddened eyes stared blankly at the stitched paper-crane begonia blossoms embroidered on the canopy above.
Xie Wuling’s kindness—this lifetime she could never repay.
If there were another life…
But—was there another life? A hint of confusion welled in her gaze.
Within the plum-scented canopy, silence reigned. No one answered her.
Gradually, heavy fatigue overcame her. Shen Yujiao had no strength left to ponder what strangeness lay behind Huang Momo, and she sank once more into slumber.
In a half-dream, half-wake, it seemed someone sat by her bed, gently brushing her cheek.
She mumbled something, and the fingers at her face stilled.
After a long moment, a faint warmth brushed her lips.
“Yuniang, you are mine.”
The voice was airy, as if from a dream.
—
The next day, spring shone bright. At the residence of Princess Jinhua, blossoms and willows were lush, orioles sang, swallows danced.
Yet Princess Shouan had no mind to admire it. Watching her aunt cradling a pure-white Linqing lion cat, serenely teasing it, Shouan could hold back no longer: “Aunt, you must think of something! Yesterday my mother sent gifts to the Pei residence, and was supposed to bring Huang Momo back to the palace—but Pei Shouzhen actually sent her off in the night… no, escorted her under guard to my brother’s estate! Huang Momo must have been exposed, otherwise how would he dare treat my mother’s person so?”
“Yes, if she hadn’t been exposed, that Shen woman would never have given birth so smoothly…” Falling into panic, Princess Shouan muttered, “What now? If Huang Momo gives me away, Pei Shouzhen will surely hate me to death… Aunt, dear Aunt, stop playing with the cat, help me think of something! It was you who told me this was the best opportunity, but now—look what’s become of it…”
Princess Shouan was on the verge of tears. After all, she was only a girl in her teens, raised within the palace carefree, cherished by her father, doted on by her mother and elder brother. She had never suffered hardship, never tasted setback—
The only disappointment in her life was being unable to marry the man she desired.
She still remembered—before she even reached her hairpin age, the first time she read Pei Xia’s Soul of the Plum, she had been stunned with admiration. Reading further through his poems and essays, she thought him peerless, as though no one else in the world could possess such dazzling brilliance, words like pearls and jade flowing from his brush.
Without ever meeting him, she had already fallen for his writings. And when she learned he was a handsome young gentleman with a reputation for integrity, her heart stirred all the more—so much so that in dreams she saw herself with him, sharing books and tea, a couple blessed by the immortals.
Yet Pei Xia already had a fiancée. And she had seen that fiancée at a banquet: a beauty, yes, but by no means outstanding among the noblewomen of Chang’an.
How could such a woman be worthy of Pei Shouzhen? Truly, a rare celestial flower thrust into a coarse clay vase—wasted!
But though she was a princess, she could not stoop to stealing another’s husband. So she could only swallow her bitterness and watch Pei Shouzhen marry Shen Yujiao.
She thought herself resigned—until news of Shen Yujiao’s death rekindled her hope. And then—her own mother dashed cold water on it.
Who knew her aunt would then approach her, saying: childbirth is a matter of life and death, a heaven-sent chance. If the midwife exerted a little art, it could be done so quietly and cleanly that Shen would vacate the main wife’s seat…
A woman dying in childbirth is hardly unusual; when others hear of it, at most they sigh, “Bad luck, what a pity,” and won’t suspect anything amiss.
Who would have thought — after planning and scheming a thousand ways — that Shen Yujiao’s luck would turn out so good!
“Aunt, say something!” Princess Shouan was almost in tears from panic.
“Look at you—such a spiritless thing.” Princess Jinhua, languid, stroked the cat in her lap and lazily lifted one eyelid. “Over such a small matter and you’re all in a flap?”
Shouan was silenced for a moment, biting her reddened lip. “Aunt, you don’t know how much my brother cherishes Pei Shouzhen. My royal mother is strict and cannot tolerate a speck of dirt. If they find out I’m behind this… I… I’ll be ruined!”
“Would they kill you, then, and make Pei Shouzhen apologize to them?” When Shouan fell quiet, the princess chuckled, amused. “They won’t kill you—what are you fretting for?”
“But… they will punish me severely!” Shouan clutched her handkerchief, brows drawn. “And Pei Shouzhen will hate me—loathe me.”
Nothing pains Shouan more than the idea of being despised by the one she loves.
Hearing this, the long-princess snorted inwardly but showed no trace on her face, answering coolly: “In this world, the dead’s mouths are the strictest.”
Shouan blinked in surprise. “Aunt?”
The princess beckoned with a finger stained with rouge. After a whispering conference, she patted Shouan’s hand and smiled: “Don’t worry, little Shouan. A bit of blood on your hands—what does that make you? A proper Sima family daughter-in-law.”
“Go, then. I’ll be waiting for your good news.”
Watching the slim, pretty figure fade into the March sunlight, the princess’s smile faded; she tilted her head to the drifting white cloud at the horizon and murmured, “Quite the luck, indeed.”
—
At dusk, tired birds returned home, the sunset poured molten gold.
A hurried footfall broke the study’s quiet. “My lord — bad news!”
The man in the blue robe paused with brush in hand, then slowly lifted his eyelids. “Clamorous—what a lack of decorum.”
Jinglin looked embarrassed, made a bow, then hurried forward and lowered his voice. “Just now the Second Prince’s attendant Qingrong sent word… it says — it says Huang Momo is dead.”
The air seemed to still. The gentleman’s brows, sharp and handsome, remained composed. “Hm.”
Just that? Jinglin wondered—had his lord not heard clearly?
He added cautiously, “My lord, Huang Momo is dead… She entered the Office of Punishment not long ago and bit her tongue to commit suicide.”
This time the man at the desk reacted differently. He fixed his gaze on the tip of the vermilion brush and murmured to himself, “Bit her tongue to die, huh.”
That should hurt.
But certainly not as much as what Yuniang felt in childbirth.
It worked out well for her, then.
The vermilion-brush tip touched the paper; a simple red stroke, bright as blood, then a few more strokes and it became a vividly lifelike, elegant plum blossom.
Jinglin watched as his lord painted the blossom, and only then did he put down the vermilion brush.
“Change into plain clothes and prepare fifty taels of silver.” Two long, knuckled fingers rubbed the bridge of his brow. Pei Shouzhen leaned back in his chair; his voice was calm and steady: “Take it to Huang Momo’s family outside the palace. Say this is compensation from the court; tell them to accept the money and leave Chang’an quickly. Above all, do not make trouble at the magistrate’s office.”
Jinglin was puzzled and wanted to ask more, but saw his lord set his hand down and cast a cold look: “Go, now.”
