Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 176: The Golden Scissors

   “By the grace of the Empress Dowager’s benevolent decree, thou, Concubine Rong of the Hezhuo clan, hast conducted thyself with propriety and grace, displayed gentle virtue and exemplary conduct, served with utmost diligence and caution in attendance upon the Empress Dowager’s residence, fulfilled thy inner duties without fault, and long adhered faithfully to the admonitions of the female historians. Now, in accordance with the gracious command of the Empress Dowager, thou art hereby promoted and enfeoffed as Consort Rong. So it is decreed.”

In Baoyue Tower, Li Yu read out the imperial edict.

Chenbi, together with a group of palace servants, knelt in front. “We thank His Majesty for his great grace.”

Li Yu did not dare let this newly favored noble lady remain kneeling for long. With a quick wave of his hand, the eunuchs filed in carrying the ceremonial court robes, necklace, and other regalia befitting a consort.

Li Yu smiled obsequiously. “Your Ladyship Concubine Rong, His Majesty has already appointed Grand Scholar Yin Jishan and Grand Secretary of the Cabinet Maila Xun as chief and deputy envoys. Once Your Ladyship has fully recovered, the formal ceremony will be held. Please rest and recuperate in peace.”

“Very well.” Chenbi replied indifferently. She didn’t even glance at the court robes or necklace before gesturing for the palace maids to put them away.

“This woman really is extraordinary,” Li Yu thought, observing coldly. “Things that others can only dream of, she doesn’t care about in the slightest…”

Li Yu considered himself well-versed in reading people, yet he had never encountered anyone like her. Everyone has desires; everyone wants something. What did Consort Rong seek? What did she desire? He could not see through her at all.

Watching Li Yu leave, Chenbi glanced out the window: “Yizhu, where has he gone?”

On the corridor, Fuheng halted his steps.

From this vantage point, looking into the distance, he could see a corner of Changchun Palace’s upturned eaves. A bird circled above it, then suddenly folded its wings and landed, its slender toes perching delicately on the tile.

Everything about Changchun Palace filled him with nostalgia—whether it was his sister, or Yingluo…

Suddenly, a clear chime of bells rang out on the quiet corridor. He turned his head, then quickly lowered it again.

A pair of jade feet adorned with ankle bells passed before his eyes. Unintentionally, a handkerchief dropped from her sleeve. Embroidered on the handkerchief was a pair of dragonflies nestled close together—exceptionally distinctive.

Chenbi bent down to pick up the handkerchief, then turned her head with a start: “Oh! Lord Fucha!”

“Your Ladyship Consort Rong.” As an outer-court official, Fuheng’s demeanor at this moment was impeccable—polite yet maintaining a clear sense of distance.

“You traveled thousands of miles to escort me all the way to the capital, and you even saved my life. I’ve never properly thanked you.” Chenbi’s eyes were full of innocent sincerity.

“No need for thanks. It was only my duty.” Fuheng replied.

“Thanks to you, I’m living very well now. Both His Majesty and Consort-Ling take good care of me.” Chenbi held out the handkerchief for him to see. “Look—this is the pattern Consort-Ling taught me to embroider. She has one exactly like it. I loved it so much, but no matter how I begged, she wouldn’t give it to me—so I had to embroider a matching one myself.”

Seeing that Fuheng’s gaze lingered on the handkerchief for a long time, she tilted her head. “What is it? Is this embroidery pattern… something special?”

“It is the seventh piece from Han Ximeng’s Embroidered Album of Famous Song and Yuan Paintings. Women usually embroider flowers and plants; this design is truly unusual, which is why it caught my attention.” Fuheng slowly withdrew his gaze and said expressionlessly, “It is getting late. I must leave the palace. Farewell.”

Chenbi smiled brightly as she watched his retreating figure, her thoughts drifting back to that day on the journey to the capital.

—Neigh!

   With a long whinny from the horse, Chenbi tumbled from its back. The horse plunged over the cliff, and she was about to follow.

   A hand suddenly reached out from the side and yanked her back up from the edge of the abyss.

   Who was it?

   “Lord Fucha!” someone nearby shouted. “Are you all right?”

   The maids surrounded her protectively. Through the gaps between them, Chenbi’s gaze remained fixed on that Lord Fucha. First he ordered someone to prepare another horse for her and personally inspected it. Then his expression suddenly changed. He returned to the cliff edge and began searching everywhere.

   Finally, he let out a breath of relief, bent down, and picked up an old sachet.

   Because her eyes had never left him, Chenbi clearly saw the pattern on the sachet—a pair of dragonflies nestled lovingly together.

   It was only much later, after she entered the palace, that she learned from Wei Yingluo: that pattern was the seventh piece from Han Ximeng’s Embroidered Album of Famous Song and Yuan Paintings.

   Fuheng’s figure disappeared at the end of the corridor, and her recollection ended there as well. Chenbi lowered her head, gave the handkerchief in her hand a half-smiling, enigmatic look, then tucked it away again and headed toward Yanxi Palace.

Today was the day Ming Yu would complete her service and leave the palace.

   As soon as Chenbi arrived, she saw the table covered with boxes of all sizes. She casually lifted one lid and found twelve flat hairpins inside—some of jadeite, some of fine jade, some of agarwood, some of tortoiseshell inlaid with gemstones. They were used for styling the Manchu banner head; when inserted to hold the hair in place, they would gleam with the subtle luster of jade and gold.

She opened another box: twelve hairpins of varying lengths. The long ones were gilt-silver kingfisher-feather ear-pick hairpins inlaid with rubies; the short ones were coral branches dotted with clusters of red beans. Long and short, in the shapes of flowers or fish, each one beautifully distinct.

Chenbi went through the boxes one by one, eyes wide with amazement: “All of these are for Ming Yu?”

Wei Yingluo smiled and nodded.

“Such extravagance.” Chenbi picked up a plum-blossom hairpin, held it playfully in front of her face, and laughed. “You’re going to scare the Soulun family out of their wits.”

Wei Yingluo: “Ming Yu’s family background is humble. I have to stand up for her and give her support.”

Chenbi gazed steadily at Yingluo: “You really treat her so well.”

“She treats me well too.” Wei Yingluo looked around. “Today is the day she leaves the palace—why hasn’t she come out yet?”

A palace maid hurried to reply: “Sister Ming Yu said she wants to dress up properly and make herself look beautiful before setting off.”

Wei Yingluo laughed softly. “Go hurry her again.”

The maid: “Yes, ma’am.”

But Chenbi set down the hairpin in her hand and said to Wei Yingluo: “Waiting here is so boring. Let’s go find her together.”

Thinking that time was getting late, and besides the dowry items on the table, she still had many final instructions and words of advice to give Ming Yu, Wei Yingluo stopped waiting. She stood up and headed toward Ming Yu’s room.

Along the way, Chenbi chattered away like a cheerful magpie: “I love the broken-branch flower patterns on wedding dresses the most—they’re so interesting and pretty. You’ve really put your whole heart into Ming Yu’s marriage.”

Though the wedding dress was beautiful, in Wei Yingluo’s eyes, the most beautiful thing was the bride wearing it. She said with considerable pride, “On the day she marries, our Ming Yu will surely be the most beautiful bride of all.”

The two arrived at Ming Yu’s door. Wei Yingluo raised her hand and knocked: “Ming Yu.”

There was no response for a long time.

Wei Yingluo knocked again, her smile slowly fading from her face: “Ming Yu, are you in there? Ming Yu!”

“Yingluo…” Chenbi looked toward her with some worry.

Wei Yingluo was even more anxious inside than she was. Gritting her teeth, she ordered: “Someone—break the door open!”

Xiaoquanzi brought people over. Together they counted—one, two, three—and slammed against the door with all their strength until it burst open.

Pushing Xiaoquanzi aside, Wei Yingluo rushed in several steps, then froze stock-still.

Ming Yu lay face-up on the bed. Her hair had been combed neatly and smoothly; at her temples, a little jasmine oil had been applied, making her black hair shine even more like dark clouds. Around her neck was the silver circle Yingluo had once given her; on her wrist was a lustrous jade bracelet. And on her body was the wedding dress with broken-branch flower embroidery—every flower, every leaf, every single stitch the product of Wei Yingluo’s own painstaking effort.

“Ming Yu…” Wei Yingluo staggered forward.

Ming Yu had been so considerate. Perhaps to fulfill one last wish for Wei Yingluo, even though she had not wanted to, she had still put on the wedding dress, applied the hair oil, and dressed herself up as a bride—just so that Wei Yingluo could see her… one final time…

“Ming Yu…” Wei Yingluo’s legs gave way; she dropped to her knees beside the bed. Tears fell in large drops. “Why…”

A pair of golden scissors was embedded in Ming Yu’s chest.

Fresh blood had poured out, dyeing the wedding dress a grotesque, demonic red. Wei Yingluo did not dare check for breath at her nose, did not even dare feel for a pulse. In a trembling voice she cried out loudly: “Imperial physician… call the imperial physician, quick! Hurry—hurry!”

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