Outside the capital, the Jinyun Villa had lain idle for seven or eight years. Recently, it welcomed a new master.

Spring rain drizzled endlessly. The half-abandoned residence hidden in the mountain forest hung with two brand-new red lanterns. When the wind blew, a chill pressed in, ghostly and eerie.

From within the inner courtyard came the unbroken cries and pleas of women. Before long, the bed curtains were lifted. Zhao Yuanyu, dripping with sweat, threw on his robe and came out, panting and cursing.

The guards entered silently, dragging down the half-dead women on the couch to be disposed of. Each of those women’s wrists was bound with thick rope, their exposed arms covered with countless bloody marks. Looking closely, their pale faces still retained traces of childishness—clearly they were girls not yet of age [not yet at the hairpin ceremony].

A maid, trembling, came in to change the blood-stained bedding, but was overturned in one sweep by Zhao Yuanyu.

Not long ago, that elusive Immortal Master had sent him newly refined pills, named “Supreme Secret Medicine,” said to have the effect of restoring yang. The price, however, was that Yong Prince’s Manor must cooperate in doing a few small matters.

Zhao Yuanyu agreed without a thought.

After all, at the Flower Banquet he had failed to frame the Crown Prince, losing the first move. He could not afford another mistake. To secure his identity as “one of the heirs to the throne,” curing the hereditary ailment of his descendants had become an urgent matter.

Now that Zhao Yuanyu had taken several pills, he indeed felt some restoration of yang. But each time it barely took effect before abruptly stopping—and it hurt terribly… which left his mood foul, his hands lacking restraint, as though only this way could he vent the impotence and anxiety within his heart.

“Why is there still no trace of that slut Qiu Niang?”

Zhao Yuanyu gulped down two cups of cold tea, his mouth dry and parched, and said, “Where is Chun Niang? Go and summon Chun Niang, at once!”

Chun Niang was another Daoist woman from Hong Xiang Courtyard.

Different from Qiu Niang’s wanton flirtatiousness, Chun Niang dressed neatly and properly in a dark yellow-brown skirt, her appearance plain and clean. At first glance, she even bore some semblance of one outside the mortal world.

She raised her right hand, thumb and forefinger slightly bent, and saluted: “Greetings, Shizi.”

“No need, no need!”

Zhao Yuanyu’s face looked terrible, dark circles under his eyes, yet he forced himself to ask patiently, “Is there any more of the ‘Supreme Secret Medicine’? Send this Shizi more of it—eat a few bottles, and surely there will be great benefit!”

“Shizi must not be impatient. This medicine was refined by the Immortal Master pouring in the painstaking effort of his entire life. The process is exceedingly complex and difficult.”

Chun Niang lowered her eyes and said, “The forty-nine young roosters Shizi sent last month have all been completely refined. Now there is no medicinal guide, and I fear Shizi must wait several months more.”

“So long?!”

Zhao Yuanyu could wait, but his gradually declining ailment could not.

What was more, Royal Uncle had already begun letting Zhao Yan preside over the Flower Banquet. If the Eastern Palace came into favor, what business would there still be for Yong Prince’s Manor?

“Is it not just a few medicinal guides? Outside the capital they are everywhere ownerless—send men to seize them!”

Thinking of something, Zhao Yuanyu’s expression turned sinister and fierce. “Go report to your Immortal Master to focus solely on refining the Supreme Secret Medicine. As for the rest, no need to trouble himself! Do not speak of a few young roosters—even if dragon liver and phoenix marrow were required as the guide, this Shizi can procure them all the same.”

“Next month at the beginning is a Pure Yang day seen but once in ten years, most suitable for refining this medicine. Then this concubine will return to report clearly to the Immortal Master, awaiting Shizi’s good news.”

Chun Niang slightly inclined her head, saluted, and withdrew.

…

Liuying went to the Imperial Pharmacy to fetch some external medicine from Imperial Physician Zhang, then returned to Chongwen Hall, only to see her master emerging from the rear hall with an expression somewhat unnatural. Her originally pale face bore a faint blush, as though restraining annoyance.

“Who has angered Your Highness?”

Liuying looked with some worry toward the half-opened rear hall door, but helplessly, the distance was too far—she could not see clearly.

“It is nothing.”

Zhao Yen leaned against the red-lacquered balustrade, exhaling slowly. Once her emotions had somewhat calmed, she waved her hand and said, “Today’s lesson is done. Let us return to the Eastern Palace.”

The medicine given by Wenren Lin—its origin unknown—at least ensured that when Zhao Yen rode the sedan this time, it was no longer as unbearable as torture.

She quietly tightened her grip on the two medicine bottles hidden in her sleeve, feeling her body light and warm, as though soaking in a pool of most comfortable hot water, all the aches and coldness washed away.

Only that place, not treated with medicine, still itched and ached somewhat, though it could still be endured.

Taking advantage of her improved spirits, Zhao Yen thought of serious matters and asked: “The matter of the Flower Banquet, what have you found out?”

Liuying softly tucked a pliant embroidered pillow behind Zhao Yen’s slender waist, adjusting her posture to make her reclining more comfortable, and replied: “Gu Xing has left men watching over there. After retrieving Your Highness last night, Yong Prince’s Shizi secretly left the city in a low-profile carriage, and to this moment has not returned—his movements are exceedingly strange. Gu Xing feared to startle the snake, thus did not follow too closely.”

Zhao Yen furrowed her brows.

“The war has just subsided, refugees fill the lands outside the city. For him to be roaming about at such a time—if it is not a guilty escape, then surely there is some other hidden reason.”

She thought silently: She must send word to Gu Xing, to ensure he follows this lead closely.

Leaving aside that Zhao Yuanyu was one of the greatest suspects in her elder brother’s death—even for the vile scheme he set at the Flower Banquet, he must not be lightly forgiven!

When she returned to the Eastern Palace, Zhao Yen at once saw Liu Ji waiting with folded arms beneath the veranda.

Spring rain dampened the fallen blossoms. A branch of drenched begonia slanted across, just so adorning her swaying pearl hairpin, carrying the charm of a beauty in a meticulous painting.

Unfortunately, this beauty was too bold and tall. Stillness suited her well enough, but at the slightest movement, she shattered the mood of the painted scene completely.

“I heard that Your Highness was unwell yesterday—how are you now?”

Liu Ji pulled up the hindering skirts and strode forward in long steps.

Only then did Zhao Yen remember that she had forgotten her, hastily composing herself: “Much better. And you? Have you finished the matters you were to do?”

Liu Ji glanced at the silently standing Liuying, then said in a low voice: “I have words to say to Your Highness.”

Since it was rare for Liu Ji to be so solemn, Zhao Yen signaled Liuying to wait outside the hall, while she herself followed Liu Ji into the Chongwen Hall.

As soon as the doors closed, Liu Ji tilted her body onto the seat beside the window table and unfolded a portrait.

The man in the portrait had blade-like brows and hawk-like eyes, his lean face as if carved by knife and axe. He wore bristling stubble, his temples and the back of his neck branded with tattoos borne only by convicts, and at his waist were tucked two curved sabers wrapped with torn cloth strips.

One must admit Liu Ji’s painting skill was first-rate. With merely rough black ink lines, she had rendered the man’s long-scarred darkness and oppressive aura vividly.

“This is…”

Zhao Yen lifted the portrait, scrutinizing it carefully, yet in her memory could not call forth such a person.

“Did Liuying ever tell you that His Highness the Crown Prince once showed favor to a man of worth, rescuing from the death prison a felon sentenced to heavy punishment?”

Seeing Zhao Yen dazed, Liu Ji’s long brows knit, displeased: “That little hussy Liuying—how could she keep everything hidden from you!”

Liuying naturally had her own stance. For those living, each had their helplessness.

Gazing at the ferocious man in the portrait who bore the punishment of facial branding, Zhao Yen realized: “So the criminal that Elder Brother rescued—was precisely this man in the portrait?”

Her intuition told her: this journey Liu Ji had made outside the palace, she must have discovered something of great importance.

Zhao Yen laid down the portrait, her expression turning grave, and said earnestly: “Tell me about him, Liu Ji.”

Liu Ji opened a packet of pine nut candy she had bought at the market, tossed two pieces into her mouth, and only then, with her sugar-oiled finger pointing at the portrait, began to speak slowly.

“This man has neither name nor surname. No one knows what crime he committed that landed him in prison, awaiting execution. At that time, His Highness the Crown Prince lacked men by his side, urgently in need of people, and despite everyone’s dissuasion, he pulled this man from the prison, bestowed him the name Qiu Zui, and kept him as a guest in the Crown Prince’s residence. Before I entered the palace, Qiu Zui had already been promoted to the Crown Prince’s close attendant, charged with guarding His Highness’s safety at his side.”

When the Eastern Palace incident occurred and the gates were shut, I heard that Qiu Zui had died. Thinking of it, it made sense—if Qiu Zui were alive, with his skills, it would have been impossible for him not to protect the Crown Prince.”

At this point, Liu Ji’s chewing slowed, falling into memories.

She furrowed her brows, and after a long time finally said: “But yesterday outside the Mingde Hall, I clearly seemed to… see him.”

Yesterday, Liu Ji had taken that secret scroll downstairs, preparing to flee from the spot.

Just as she was mounted on the wall, she saw in the distant corner’s shadow what seemed to be a man, staring coldly this way.

“Qiu…”

Liu Ji’s heart leapt. Stepping down on the crooked-neck jujube tree outside the wall, she slid down with a swish. But in that brief instant of distraction, the man at the corner had vanished.

“Mingde Hall?”

Zhao Yen was silent. The people and matters involved intertwined like a spiderweb, and at the center of the web of threads stood those words: “Mingde Hall.”

During the two months Zhao Yan spent at Mingde Hall last year, what exactly had happened?

The thread broken by Shen Jingming’s death seemed now to extend into another hidden offshoot.

Zhao Yen unconsciously held her breath and asked: “Are you certain the one you saw yesterday was this Qiu Zui?”

Liu Ji nodded. “I did not see his face, but his figure and the sabers at his waist could not be mistaken. Eight or nine chances out of ten, it was him.”

Zhao Yen pondered for a moment, then carefully rolled up the portrait. “I will have someone investigate this man’s whereabouts. Once there is news, I will inform you.”

As she tried to tuck the portrait into her wide sleeve, by accident she also knocked out a small white jade medicine box.

The box rolled across the carpet, spun once, and came to rest at Liu Ji’s feet.

“What is this?” Liu Ji reached out to pick it up.

Zhao Yen’s lashes trembled. She hastily picked it up first, nearly biting her tongue as she said, “Nothing—merely some peppermint oil from the Imperial Medical Bureau, for refreshing the mind.”

Liu Ji stared blankly at the hurriedly departing back of the “young boy.”

“Peppermint oil is peppermint oil—what is there to blush about?”

…

When she returned to her sleeping chambers, Zhao Yen stared at that small medicine box for a long while, finally, with embarrassment, tucking it back into her sleeve.

After settling all the necessary matters, it was already evening with the lanterns lit.

Because Zhao Yen was at a special time, she could not take baths. Liuying prepared several tubs of hot water and a few clean towels for her, so she could wipe her body clean.

Once she had finished wiping and rewrapped her chest, Zhao Yen remembered one matter yet undone. She pressed her lips together, and feigning naturalness, instructed: “The rest of the clothing, I will dress myself. You may leave first.”

Liuying nodded, gathering Zhao Yen’s changed garments and monthly cloths, taking them away to be cleaned.

Once Liuying had gone, Zhao Yen quickly pulled out the small medicine box she had hidden earlier. Bearing the discomfort, she picked out a dose.

It was her first time applying such medicine, and to accept it calmly was, truth be told, somewhat difficult. There was still some hidden pain inside, but she dared not probe within. She only groped to smear a circle around the outside, then hastily rinsed her hands, washed, and dressed neatly once more.

Zhao Yen sat slumped on the small couch, thinking in despair: The talk of the pleasures between man and woman, of soul-stirring ecstasy, is all lies.

Never again would she do such a thing—embarrassing enough in the moment, and troublesome afterward besides.

Once her mood had steadied somewhat, she put on her outer robe and pushed open the door of the cleansing room to step out.

“Your Highness! His Highness Prince Su has come, and is waiting inside the sleeping hall.”

Li Fu came hurrying over, nervous. “Should you… perhaps go hide over at Liu Ji’s place?”

Zhao Yen was startled, then slowly shook her head.

Wenren Lin already knew she was of female form; to use “bestowing favor upon Liu Ji” as a shield again would no longer make sense.

“You wait at a distance, and do not let anyone else approach the sleeping hall.”

After giving Li Fu these instructions, Zhao Yen drew a deep breath, placed her hand on the doors of the sleeping hall, and gently pushed them open.

Bright lamplight rushed out to meet her. Wenren Lin was seated in the center of the light, leaning over the desk, leafing through the essay she had not yet finished transcribing.

Lifting his eyes and seeing her frozen at the doorway, Wenren Lin suddenly smiled, warm as the melting of spring snow.

“Why does Your Highness bear such a…”

He paused, searching for a fitting word. “…such a look as though about to meet death unflinching?”

The tips of Zhao Yen’s hair still carried faint dampness, her spring shirt was thin. She stared at the leisurely Wenren Lin for a long moment before softly saying: “It is nearly time for bed…”

The corner of Wenren Lin’s eyes lifted slightly, puzzled at her half-sentence.

So Zhao Yen swallowed her throat dryly and spoke more plainly: “I… am going to sleep.”

Wenren Lin straightened, answering with a low “En¹“En” (嗯) is a Chinese interjection. It’s not a word with a literal meaning, but more of a vocal sound that shows acknowledgment..”

“Your Highness, be at ease—it will not take long.”

He stepped forward slowly, long arm reaching past Zhao Yen’s ear to gently close the hall doors behind her. “Once the inspection is done, this prince will leave.

Footnotes

• 1
  “En” (嗯) is a Chinese interjection. It’s not a word with a literal meaning, but more of a vocal sound that shows acknowledgment.