Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 2: Hundred Birds Skirt

   Three hours earlier.

“One comb to the end, wealth and honor without worry.”

“Two combs to the end, no illness and no anxiety.”

“Three combs to the end, many sons and long life.”

“Comb again to the tip, mutual respect and harmony…”

“Enough.” Wei Yingluo interrupted. “Aunt Jin, look at me right now—do I look like someone who can live in mutual respect and harmony with anyone?”

On the table lay a gilded bronze mirror with floral patterns. Its bright surface clearly reflected the two people in the room.

Wei Yingluo was dressed in grand red wedding robes. Her skin was like light snow brushed by the wind, her cheeks like rouge evenly applied by the sunset. Especially that single dot of vermilion on her lips—vivid and dazzling. Any young man who obtained such a bride would surely be wild with joy.

But which bride would be wrapped, layer upon layer, inside and outside her wedding dress, bound tightly with hemp rope in circle after circle?

It looked less like she was getting married and more like she was about to be thrown into the river as a sacrifice to the Dragon King, in exchange for the peace and abundant harvest of an entire clan or village.

“Aunt Jin,” Wei Yingluo said calmly, “tell me more about things in the palace.”

“At a time like this, why are you still asking about those things?” The middle-aged woman standing behind her sighed. While continuing to comb her hair, she advised, “Wouldn’t it be better to settle down and get married? I’ve inquired for you. Although the groom’s family is only average, he’s an honest man. If I had had a choice back then, I would have preferred to marry someone like that rather than enter the palace as a palace maid, wasting years, watching my beauty fade, until I left the palace having only seen His Majesty once.”

Wei Yingluo was silent for a moment before asking softly, “What kind of person is His Majesty?”

“I don’t know.” Aunt Jin gave a helpless smile. “From beginning to end I was kneeling. I only saw His Majesty’s dragon boots—I didn’t dare lift my head to look at his dragon face.”

“You didn’t see with your eyes, but surely you heard with your ears?” Wei Yingluo said. “Aunt Jin, how do people in the palace describe him? Do you still remember?”

Aunt Jin thought for a moment and smiled. “Anyone who can’t control their mouth never even gets the chance to see His Majesty’s dragon boots. Alright, alright, don’t frown—you’ll get wrinkles. Let me tell you something I saw with my own eyes.”

“Go on,” Wei Yingluo immediately assumed an attentive listening posture. “I’m listening.”

“It was about four years ago. A certain noble lady died,” Aunt Jin said slowly, “because of a skirt…”

As she spoke, the red tiles and green bricks of the Forbidden City gradually rose before Wei Yingluo’s eyes—layer upon layer, just like the ropes binding her body, firmly locking her inside a cage called the rear palace.

   Women came and went, each one either a beauty who could make fish sink and geese fall from the sky, or one who could outshine the moon and put flowers to shame. Each had her own distinctive charm, her own unique allure; anywhere else, any one of them would be a celebrated flower. But gathered here together, they all vied to outshine one another—after all, this was a garden bursting with spring colors, yet there was only one person to admire the blossoms: His Majesty the Emperor.

   However, flowers bloom and flowers wither.

   “Ah!!”

   A sharp scream drew a crowd of onlookers, among them Jin.

   Pushing her way through the people to see, even Jin couldn’t help but cover her mouth with both hands and let out a small, stifled cry.

   Ahead was a well that the palace maids frequently visited to draw water for their mistresses to wash with.

   Now, when someone leaned over the mouth of the well, what met their eyes was the floating corpse of a woman.

   “…Her face has been soaked in well water until it’s swollen and pale white; it’s impossible to recognize what she originally looked like,” Jin said in a low, grave voice. “But I recognize the clothes she’s wearing. That’s a Hundred Birds Facing the Phoenix skirt. The one who died is Noble Lady Yun from the Orchid Pavilion.”

It was clearly a festive day—outside the gates came intermittent sounds of firecrackers and cheerful congratulations—but Wei Yingluo felt a chill creep over her body.

A cold current seemed to ride on Jin’s voice, passing through the woman in the well water, seeping into her very bones.

Wei Yingluo swallowed hard. “Why did she throw herself into the well?”

“It’s because of the skirt she was wearing,” Jin murmured. “That skirt was truly beautiful. Even now I still remember how she looked walking through the Imperial Garden in it—radiant and shimmering, as if the sunlight had gathered upon her body, or perhaps the light was scattering from her…”

She paused, then gave a wry, self-mocking laugh. “But when the Emperor saw it, he flew into a rage. Right in front of everyone, he scolded her until she couldn’t lift her head.”

This answer was somewhat beyond Wei Yingluo’s expectations. She froze for a moment before asking, “The Emperor doesn’t like beautiful women?”

“There isn’t a man in the world who doesn’t like beautiful women,” Jin said, shaking her head. “The Emperor did like her—otherwise he wouldn’t have favored her twice and then promoted this common-born Han girl straight to a noble lady. She was simply too greedy, wanted too much, and went too far.”

“But it was only a skirt…” Wei Yingluo still didn’t quite understand.

“What the Emperor disliked was precisely that skirt,” Jin said gravely. “It was an imitation of the Hundred Birds Facing the Phoenix skirt worn by Princess Anle of the Tang Dynasty—extremely expensive and took a very long time to make. The palace upholds frugality; even Her Majesty the Empress would never have such extravagant clothing made. That’s why the Emperor accused her of wearing bizarre and gaudy attire to curry favor, and on the spot he demoted her rank and reduced her to a palace maid.”

“So that’s how it was…” Wei Yingluo murmured, gaining her first faint understanding of that lofty, supreme sovereign she had never met.

That exalted Emperor liked beautiful women—and at the same time feared beautiful women.

   He did not seem particularly concerned with a woman’s family background or origins; a common-born Han palace maid could still be elevated by him to Noble Lady. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say he actually preferred women like this—women without powerful backing, clean and pure, with only him in their hearts, rather than the interests of an entire clan behind them.

   He did not hate the Hundred Birds Facing the Phoenix skirt itself; he hated what lurked behind it—ambition.

   “One misstep in the palace means eternal damnation. Even to this day, I still don’t know whether Noble Lady Yun threw herself into the well because she couldn’t bear the Emperor’s reprimand and lost her nerve in the moment, or whether someone used the incident as an excuse to send her on her way,” Jin advised once more. “So, Yingluo, you should just marry well and forget about anything to do with the palace—and about your sister…”

“Aunt Jin.” Wei Yingluo suddenly interrupted her, then slowly turned her head.

Her eyes were deep and dark, like two bottomless wells. One glance was enough to make Jin shiver. For a moment, she seemed to be transported back six years—to when she stood beside that other well, cold air and the stench of death drifting out from its mouth, everything blanketed in snow-white desolation.

Right now, Wei Yingluo’s gaze was exactly like that well.

“Did you do the thing I asked you to do before?” Wei Yingluo asked, staring straight at her.

Overwhelmed by that gaze, Jin involuntarily nodded.

“Good.” Wei Yingluo smiled coyishly, retracting the terrifying aura that had emanated from her. In the blink of an eye she was once again a delicate, charming bride-to-be.

Yet a cold sweat broke out across Jin’s back.

She seemed to finally understand why the Wei family had so strongly opposed Wei Yingluo entering the palace.

And now she even felt a twinge of regret for having helped her do that thing.

If a woman like this were to enter the palace…

“Aunt Jin,” Wei Yingluo suddenly said, “you don’t regret doing that thing for me, do you?”

“No, no.” Jin hurriedly denied it, then hesitated for a moment before finally unable to hold back and adding one last piece of advice, “But after what you’ve done… I’m afraid you’ll never be able to return home again…”

Before she could finish, the door creaked open. Wei Qingtai pushed it wide: “The auspicious hour is almost here. Is everything ready?”

“Master,” Jin turned to look at him, words caught in her throat.

“Everything’s ready,” Wei Yingluo suddenly spoke up, cutting off whatever Jin had been about to say next.

In the bronze mirror, the bride—bound tightly with ropes—struggled to her feet. As she turned, her lips drew close to Jin’s ear and she whispered softly:

“The things my mother left for me and my sister—I’ve already put them all inside the wedding-cake boxes. Let Little Qiao’er take them back and eat them.”

Little Qiao’er was Jin’s goddaughter, the apple of her eye, her whole world.

“Miss…” Jin was stunned.

“It’s just a pity that once I leave, who knows when I’ll ever come back. I’m afraid I won’t live to see the day Little Qiao’er gets married.” Wei Yingluo gave a light laugh. “So let me wish her in advance here: may she marry into a good family, live without illness or worry, have many children, and enjoy a long life.”

Among the things their late mother had left for the Wei Yingluo sisters—aside from those that had already been taken away—were a pair of jade bracelets, a qilin pendant necklace, a pair of agate peony earrings, and two pure-gold hairpins.

“Miss…” Jin’s face showed deep emotion.

She was not greedy for wealth; she was only worried about her goddaughter’s future.

The years in the palace had worn away Jin’s youth. The mistress she had once served had never been favored, and so had no power to reward her attendants generously. Jin had saved very little money during those years. When she finally left the palace and returned to her natal family, she discovered that the childhood betrothal arranged for her had long since fallen through—the man had grown tired of waiting and married someone else. By now their child was already as tall as her knee…

Rather than going to someone else’s house as a lowly concubine, she preferred to live alone in peace and quiet. A few years later she had taken in an orphaned girl to raise as her own, pouring all her love and effort into that child. She wanted Little Qiao’er to eat well, dress well, and marry well—and all of that required money…

“To tell you the truth, I’m very envious of Little Qiao’er,” Wei Yingluo lowered her head, her voice growing softer and softer. “If my mother were still alive, if my sister were still alive, they would surely protect me the way you protect Little Qiao’er. They would never truss me up like this and force me, crying, onto the bridal sedan…”

As soon as the words left her mouth, a string of teardrops fell, pattering and shattering on the floor.

Jin let out a long, deep sigh. She knew she had been moved, though she wasn’t sure whether it was that single tear or Wei Yingluo’s words that had touched her.

And so she no longer regretted helping Wei Yingluo do that thing.

“Miss.” A maid came over carrying a wooden tray. Jin picked up the red bridal veil from the tray and gently placed it over Wei Yingluo’s phoenix crown. With deep meaning in her voice she said, “Don’t cry anymore. You… will surely get what you wish for.”

With those words, beneath the red veil, lips painted vermilion curved upward in a smile that looked very much like certain victory.

“The auspicious hour has arrived—lift the sedan!”

One hour later, the wedding procession passed through Changping Street. Teahouses lined both sides, and people on the upper floors abandoned their melon seeds and tea to lean over the railings and stare down, watching the long line of crimson wedding procession slowly advance amid the crackling explosions of firecrackers.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

A pedestrian standing relatively close to the bridal sedan couldn’t help but frown in confusion: “What’s that sound? Thump, thump, thump…”

It wasn’t his imagination. After he spoke, the person beside him also said, “You heard it too? I heard it—thump, thump, thump, some weird noise… it seems to be coming from inside the sedan chair?”

The stranger something is, the more it draws eyes. More and more passersby crowded over. A few particularly bold ruffians even pushed through the throng and reached out to shove open the sedan door.

“What are you doing?” Wei Qingtai’s face turned livid with rage. He strode over with the household servants to drive the intruder away. “Get lost, get lost! Where did this vagrant come from, daring to barge into the bride’s sedan chair? Believe me, I’ll drag you to the authorities!”

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The strange sounds kept coming from behind him. Wei Qingtai couldn’t help but turn his head, lowering his voice toward the person inside the sedan: “What the hell are you up to?”

The thumping paused for a moment, then came a far louder crash than before—BOOM!

The sedan door was suddenly smashed open from the inside, and a bride bound hand and foot tumbled out.

“Ah!”

“Blood—so much blood!”

“Mama, there’s so much blood on her head!”

Blood, of course.

Wei Yingluo slowly raised her head. Fresh blood streamed continuously down her forehead, staining that delicate, peach-blossom face. Those thumping sounds had been her slamming against the door. With what? Her body was trussed up tightly, hands tied behind her back—so naturally, she could only use her forehead.

Even if it meant splitting her head open and bleeding like a ghost, she had no regrets.

The timing was about right.

Ever since she had been forced into the sedan, Wei Yingluo had been silently counting the time. Half an hour after departure, they were on Hongyan Street. One full hour, they were on Changping Street…

At this hour, at this place, Jin should already have brought the people here.

Her gaze swept across the crowd and finally settled in one direction.

While her eyes were searching the surroundings, the murmurs and discussions around her never stopped.

“Oh my, look—she’s still tied up with ropes!”

“What a sin. Who treats a daughter like this?”

“This isn’t marrying off a daughter—this looks more like selling one!”

“What selling? Don’t talk nonsense. The sedan was just too bumpy and she knocked her head, that’s all.” Wei Qingtai’s face was ashen. While desperately trying to calm the situation, he waved urgently at the groom. “What are you standing there gawking for? Hurry up and help her up!”

The groom, with a red embroidered ball hanging on his chest, hurriedly dismounted. Just as he reached to lift Wei Yingluo, she turned her head and barked at him fiercely:

“Do you know that our Wei family are bondservants of the Imperial Household Department? My name is still on the palace maid selection roster! If you force a marriage on a candidate palace maid, not only will your own head roll—you’ll drag your entire family down with you!”

The groom was terrified. He immediately let go, letting Wei Yingluo fall back to the ground. He didn’t try to help her again; instead he retreated several steps as if avoiding a venomous snake or scorpion, then looked toward Wei Qingtai in panic: “What’s going on? Didn’t you say she had been removed from the list?”

Wei Qingtai shot Wei Yingluo a vicious glare, then racked his brains for an explanation:

“Look at how deranged and crazy she looks—of course she was removed…”

From behind came a soft chuckle, followed by Wei Yingluo’s gentle voice:

“Lord Banner Captain, do I really look like a madwoman to you?”

Banner Captain?

Wei Qingtai was stunned. He watched as the crowd in front parted to both sides, and the Banner Captain of the Bordered Yellow Banner—the official in charge of overseeing the palace maid selections—strode forward with an icy expression.

“Wei Qingtai!” His face was cold as frost as he pointed at Wei Yingluo. “What exactly is going on here?”

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