Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 25: The Chief Embroiderer

How unpredictable the ways of the world can be.

Not long ago she had repeatedly warned and advised Jinxiu not to try every means possible to get close to the palace guards—especially Fucha Fuheng.

Who could have imagined that fate would play such an enormous joke on her?

“Sister Yingluo, who are you looking at?” Jixiang asked softly from beside her.

On the opposite corridor, a group of patrolling palace guards was passing by—six in total. Fucha Fuheng and Qingxi were both among them.

Palace maids who dreamed of climbing high branches to become phoenixes were not limited to Jinxiu alone. But no one dared act on it the way she had. Most only paused in their work, gazing from afar and whispering among themselves: one saying how tall this one was, another commenting how handsome that one looked. By the end of the discussion their faces would flush and their hearts would flutter.

“No one. Let’s go,” Wei Yingluo said, withdrawing her gaze. She smiled at Jixiang. “Come on, let’s head back to the embroidery workshop. I hear the long-time embroiderers are all busy rushing to make everyday robes for the Empress Dowager and the Emperor. And in just one more month it will be the Empress’s birthday. Every palace and workshop are preparing birthday gifts for Her Majesty. Following tradition, our embroidery workshop must present Her Majesty with a phoenix robe—but I wonder who the chief embroiderer will be…”

One hour later, everyone had gathered in the embroidery workshop.

Momo Zhang looked around at the assembled group and spoke slowly and deliberately: “The chief embroiderer will be—”

Every face turned toward her with eager anticipation. Linglong in particular couldn’t help standing on tiptoe, as if doing so might help her stand out from the crowd and catch Momo Zhang’s eye.

Momo Zhang’s gaze was indeed drawn to her for a moment. Linglong’s face lit up with wild joy—but the smile quickly froze. Because that gaze slowly moved away from her and finally settled on Wei Yingluo.

“—Wei Yingluo!”

Momo Zhang announced.

The tiptoes that had been raised came back down to the ground with a thud.

There was a chorus of sighs all around. Linglong held back for a moment, but finally couldn’t restrain herself any longer and asked, “Momo, you always think of Yingluo for every good opportunity—then what about the rest of us?”

Momo Zhang turned her gaze toward her and countered with a question, “Are you saying I’m playing favorites?”

Linglong jumped in fright and hurriedly lowered her head. “I wouldn’t dare…”

“You don’t dare, which is not the same as saying it isn’t true.” Momo Zhang shook her head, then addressed everyone: “Fine then. Whether it’s you or anyone else—if any of you feel it’s unfair, if any of you think your embroidery is better than Yingluo’s, then step forward. I’ll hand the work over to you!”

The women looked at one another.

If it were only a matter of embroidery skill, there were plenty of ambitious ones among them who would have dared to step up and compete. But just two days earlier, Aunt Fang had been expelled from the palace, and even Jinxiu—whose needlework ranked second only in the embroidery workshop—had been sentenced to hard labor in the Laundry Department. On top of that, Wei Yingluo had just received the favor and recognition of Chief Steward Wu. At this very moment, when Wei Yingluo’s momentum was at its peak, who would dare to challenge her?

In the end, no one stepped forward.

Even Wei Yingluo herself felt her limelight had grown too bright. After the day’s embroidery work was finished and she assumed everyone else had already left, she quietly sought out Momo Zhang alone and sighed. “Embroidery requires years of accumulation. How old am I, really? No matter how good my work is, it’s still limited. In the embroidery workshop, among the palace maids—and even including the master artisans brought in from outside—there are countless whose skill surpasses mine… Momo, you’ve been far too kind to me.”

“There is a custom among palace maids: preparations for the birthday ceremonies of the Empress and the Noble Consort are always assigned to newly arrived maids. On that day, when the mistresses are in a good mood, most will receive generous rewards. Even if the work isn’t perfect, they won’t be overly harsh. This is to give you all a little hope, a chance to stand out.” After delivering this official-sounding explanation, Momo Zhang suddenly winked at her. “Besides, that foolish older sister of yours was my most outstanding disciple. Even just for her sake, I’ll look after you a little extra.”

Wei Yingluo felt a surge of emotion. She wanted to say something, but after racking her brain for a long while, she couldn’t find the right words.

“Enough of that. Palace maids don’t go around with long, mournful faces. No matter the circumstances, you must always keep a smiling appearance. Come now.” Momo Zhang smiled. “Give me a smile.”

Wei Yingluo stared at her blankly for a long moment. Then, like an infant just learning to smile, she tentatively lifted the corners of her lips, revealing an immature, somewhat stiff smile.

A smile like that could hardly be called beautiful.

Yet at this moment, it was not a smile meant to please a Noble Lady, nor one designed to disarm an enemy. It was a smile that came from the heart—genuine and sincere.

It was also the first time she had truly smiled since hearing the news of her sister’s death.

A few days later, the materials needed for sewing the phoenix robe arrived at the embroidery workshop.

There were silks and satins in abundance, but what drew the most attention was the box of peacock feather thread in Momo Zhang’s hands.

The feathers looked as though they had just been plucked from a peacock’s tail—vivid and brilliant. But in this palace, everything demanded exquisite refinement, especially items intended as tribute to the Noble Ladies; no expense was spared on labor or materials.

“Peacock feather thread is woven by interlacing peacock feathers with gold and silver thread. Even a highly skilled weaver can only produce one meter per day.” Momo Zhang handed the box to Wei Yingluo with great care and solemnity, instructing her, “You must use it well and be extremely careful not to make any mistakes. There is no extra to replace it.”

Wei Yingluo quickly accepted the box.

At that moment, a ray of sunlight slanted into the box. What lay inside no longer seemed like mere fabric, but rather priceless jewels, refracting a dazzling array of multicolored light—dreamlike and illusory, like a mirage shimmering on the sea.

Everyone was captivated by its beauty.

Then, an untimely voice broke the spell.

“What happens if a mistake is made?”

The speaker was hidden among the crowd and had deliberately pinched their voice. Though Wei Yingluo immediately looked in the direction of the sound, she couldn’t identify who it was.

Momo Zhang’s expression darkened instantly. In the palace, nothing was more taboo than speaking such ominous words. She snapped sharply, “Who was that? Step forward!”

She called out three times, but still no one dared to come forward.

Seeing this, Momo Zhang scoffed with icy disdain. “This is a tribute to be presented to Her Majesty the Empress. If even the slightest error occurs, we will all lose our heads together!”

Some believed her words; others did not.

But whatever thoughts were in the others’ hearts, Wei Yingluo paid them no mind.

She cared only about the opportunity right in front of her.

“I cannot take the initiative to approach Fucha Fuheng. Too many eyes are watching him, and too many are watching me. Being too forward would only give others a handle against me.” At the embroidery frame, Wei Yingluo picked up a strand of peacock feather thread from the box and toyed with it, thinking to herself, “For now, the best plan is to start with the people around him… No doubt that’s what Momo was thinking when she assigned this task to me. If I do it well, naturally I’ll leave an impression with his sister—the Empress.”

How many people’s steady rise to prominence began with nothing more than leaving behind a single favorable impression?

   Wei Yingluo concentrated fully on her embroidery. She became so absorbed that she lost all track of time. Only when someone shook her shoulder did she turn her head. Outside the window, night had already fallen. Jixiang stood beside her holding an oil lamp, a hint of complaint in her voice: “Sister Yingluo, I’ve called you three times already, and you completely ignored me.”

“Sorry, I got too caught up in the stitching.” Wei Yingluo smiled, then raised a hand to rub her sore, stinging eyes.

“It’s pitch dark and you didn’t even light a lamp—do you not want your eyes anymore?” Jixiang set the oil lamp down in front of her. The flame illuminated the box of peacock feather threads, making them shimmer and sparkle. The light forcefully drove back the surrounding darkness, turning the area around Wei Yingluo as bright as daylight. Even Jixiang—who usually had eyes only for food—couldn’t help but be drawn in by the sight. It took her quite a while to snap out of it. Turning to Wei Yingluo, she said, “Aren’t you hungry? Let’s go eat together.”

Wei Yingluo’s stomach had long been growling, but she smiled and replied, “No, I’m not hungry yet. Why don’t you just bring me back something simple? I’ll eat later.”

One should never harbor thoughts of harming others, but one must always guard against being harmed. That untimely remark earlier today had made her realize someone was jealous of her.

Jealousy was like a knife—no one knew when it might strike from behind.

Wei Yingluo suspected someone might tamper with the phoenix-feather threads—perhaps secretly take a few strands. Such precious materials, once missing even a little, had no substitutes.

The best defense, therefore, was to use up the threads before the other party could act: finish the phoenix robe, complete it, and deliver it into Momo Zhang’s hands.

“You… you’re not planning to keep working, are you?” Jixiang frowned. Her gaze shifted to the peacock feather threads, and the earlier delight vanished, replaced by a trace of disgust. “Finishing this phoenix robe will take at least a month. Working at this pace every day—are you trying to kill yourself? Here’s what we’ll do: you go eat first, and I’ll help you embroider for a while!”

Though her intentions were good, Wei Yingluo didn’t dare hand the work over to her. After all, this was the same person capable of turning a phoenix into a barnyard chicken…

“There are only two choices: either let me help you embroider, or come eat with me!” Jixiang shook Wei Yingluo by the shoulders, half domineering and half coquettish. “It’s only the time it takes to burn half an incense stick. Come on, come on!”

“Fine, fine, alright!” Unable to withstand the pestering, Wei Yingluo finally gave in and stood up to leave with her.

Tonight’s meal was exceptionally generous: pumpkin porridge cooked sweet and delicious, refreshing cold cucumber salad, and braised rice-noodle pork—rich but not greasy. Unfortunately, Wei Yingluo’s mind was still on the embroidery workshop. She picked at a few dishes, wolfed down two or three mouthfuls of rice, set her chopsticks down, and said, “I’m full. I’ll head back first.”

“So fast?” Jixiang’s mouth was still stuffed with rice-noodle pork. She stared at the barely touched dishes on the table and mumbled indistinctly, “What a waste… Wait for me! I’ll finish right away!”

Wei Yingluo hurried back toward the embroidery workshop.

Thinking back carefully, that earlier remark had certainly not been casual or meaningless.

“What would happen if something went wrong?”

What would happen if someone deliberately caused her to make a mistake?

   “The kitchen rarely makes rice-noodle pork, and I still have half a plate left uneaten. Hey, why are you in such a rush? The stuff isn’t going to fly away…” Jixiang’s complaints suddenly caught in her throat. She stood frozen at the embroidery workshop doorway, gaping in shock through Wei Yingluo’s shoulder at the scene inside.

Chaos reigned in the embroidery room. Embroidery frames, fabrics, and even the phoenix robe had been carelessly thrown onto the floor. Wei Yingluo stepped forward quickly. On the phoenix robe, which had only just begun to take shape, several large holes had been deliberately cut—dark, gaping mouths that seemed to mock her, as if intent on swallowing her, and her future, whole.

“…This is bad!” Wei Yingluo’s expression changed abruptly. She rushed toward the box that held the phoenix-feather threads.

The candlestick was still in its original place. The box was still in its original place. The lid was open—and inside was pitch black. Nothing remained.

Peacock Feather Thread… Gone

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