Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 32: The Needle

   “Lord Fucha, you’ve arrived! Quick, this way please, this way—His Majesty has been waiting for you for a long time!”

Fucha Fuheng stepped into the study of Yangxin Hall with a puzzled expression.

“What’s gotten into Li Yu today?” He glanced back at the grand doors and asked curiously. “He’s never this enthusiastic normally…”

Eunuchs were like the bricks and tiles of the Forbidden City—they all belonged to the Emperor.

Especially a high-ranking eunuch like Li Yu, who knew full well that all his favor and status came from the Emperor alone. He only needed to please His Majesty; he had no need—and was especially wary—of currying favor with outside ministers.

For him to suddenly act so out of character and be this warm toward him made Fucha Fuheng feel thoroughly uneasy.

“You’re here, so he doesn’t have to be beaten with the board.” Hongli remained bent over his memorials, not even raising his head. “I told him to find someone, and after several months he still hadn’t found them. Truly a useless servant.”

Fucha Fuheng grew even more curious.

“Your Majesty, who exactly are you looking for?” Fucha Fuheng asked. It was rare enough that this Emperor would show interest in anything outside of state memorials—let alone a person. A man or a woman? Someone inside the palace or outside?

“Never mind, let’s not talk about her.” Hongli suddenly tossed the memorial in his hand over. “Take a look at this.”

Fucha Fuheng caught it, lowered his eyes, and immediately frowned. “This is… Zhong Yongtan’s impeachment memorial accusing the Commander of the Infantry, E Shan, of accepting ten thousand taels of silver in bribes…”

“Not just E Shan.” Hongli crossed his hands in front of his lips. “He also lodged a complaint against Zhang Tingyu! Haven’t you noticed anything?”

“Zhong Yongtan is a disciple of Lord Ertai.” Fucha Fuheng was extremely sharp; he instantly grasped the deeper meaning in the memorial and smiled. “So this impeachment memorial is actually Ertai declaring war on Zhang Tingyu. And they still want to borrow Your Majesty’s knife to do it!”

Hongli gave a series of cold laughs.

“These two men were important ministers of the previous emperor, which is why We have tolerated them time and again. But what have they done?” Hongli said in a deep, heavy voice. “Last year Liu Tongxun impeached Zhang Tingyu, claiming that the Zhang and Yao families of Tongcheng occupy half the roster of the gentry. We thought he was exaggerating at the time, but now it seems his words were extremely apt! As for Ertai, his second son Eshi remarried almost immediately after his first wife’s death—taking the daughter of Grand Secretary Gao Bin as his new wife, thereby becoming in-laws with Noble Consort Gao. Tell Us—what exactly is he plotting!”

His voice grew louder and louder, like sudden thunder rolling across a thousand miles—clear proof that his true anger had been roused.

When an emperor grows furious, blood flows for a thousand li.

“Emperor, you are anxious, this servant understands,” Fucha Fuheng hurriedly soothed him. “But right now the Han officials mostly attach themselves to Zhang Tingyu, while the Manchu officials lean toward Ertai. Not only the high-ranking court ministers—even the provincial governors and viceroys are choosing sides! To move against Ertai and Zhang Tingyu, we must wait patiently for the right moment.”

“We have waited long enough!” Hongli suddenly stood up. The motion was so forceful that he accidentally knocked over the teacup on the table. A bowl of Biluochun tea splashed across his robes. He seemed completely unaware of it and only spoke coldly to Fucha Fuheng: “To catch bandits, first catch the king. We will summon Prince Yi, the Prince of Yi, Grand Secretaries Ertai and Zhang Tingyu, Xu Ben, and Minister Neqin to appear together for a public trial. First we take Eshan’s head! Fuheng, you will arrange this matter!”

One was the sovereign, the other his subject.

Though he had intended to remonstrate, since the Emperor had already made his decision, Fucha Fuheng—as a minister—could only clasp his hands and reply: “Yes, Your Majesty!”

After venting his pent-up frustration, Hongli’s chest heaved for a few moments. Once the blazing heat in his heart subsided, he gradually felt a chill. He looked down at his ordinary robe now soaked with tea and frowned. Raising his voice, he called: “Li Yu!”

“This slave is here.” Li Yu pushed the door open and entered. Seeing the large wet patch on the Emperor’s clothes, he was greatly startled. He immediately beckoned outward; several young eunuchs came running in, then ran out again. Moments later they returned carrying a tray on which lay a bright yellow ordinary robe.

Li Yu personally lifted the garment and helped Hongli change into it.

Hongli spread his arms, accepting the service as a matter of course—until suddenly his brows furrowed. He raised one hand to cover his neck.

When that hand slowly came away again, a single drop of blood glistened in his palm.

Li Yu’s face visibly drained of color. His legs buckled and he nearly collapsed to his knees: “Your… Your Majesty…”

Fucha Fuheng was also startled. He stepped forward in three strides to stand protectively in front of Hongli, his eyes sweeping the room with sharp vigilance—as though searching every chair, every table leg, every crack in the wall, every possible hiding place for the audacious assassin who had dared to strike at the Emperor.

“There is no assassin,” Hongli’s voice came from behind him. “It is this…”

Fucha Fuheng turned around. Hongli had already pulled off the newly donned robe. Between his fingers—fingers that always carried the faint fragrance of ink and brush—he held a slender silver needle. He stared at the needle tip, still glistening with a bead of blood, and his voice gradually turned icy: “The Workshops are truly growing bold.”

The killing intent in his words was unmistakable to anyone who heard it.

   Fucha Fuheng felt a pang of reluctance and tried to persuade him: “This was merely a moment of carelessness on the part of the Workshops, not an intentional attempt on Your Majesty’s life…”

Before he could finish, Li Yu had already crawled to Hongli’s feet and was kowtowing frantically like pounding garlic: “Your Majesty, forgive me! Your Majesty, forgive me! For the slaves of the Workshops to commit such an inconceivable blunder shows how negligent they are in their duties. Worst of all, they have injured the dragon body—this is a crime beyond pardon! I beg Your Majesty to issue an edict allowing this slave to thoroughly investigate the matter. All those involved must be severely punished without mercy!”

Bang!

The doors of the embroidery workshop were suddenly flung open.

A large group of people surged in, led by Wu Shulai. Every face was suffused with murderous intent.

“Who is it?” Wu Shulai swept his gaze around the room. The cold cruelty in his eyes was like that of a butcher selecting lambs for slaughter.

The newcomers meant trouble. Every palace maid in the embroidery workshop stopped what she was doing and stared at Wu Shulai in fearful unease. Whenever his gaze lingered even slightly longer on any one person’s face, that person felt as though an invisible hand had seized her by the throat—her face turning ashen, almost unable to breathe.

“…It’s her.” Momo Zhang helplessly extended one finger.

Everyone followed the direction of that finger…

It was Linglong’s face, pale and tinged with a sickly bluish-white.

“Take her!” Wu Shulai raised his hand with a sharp wave. The two eunuchs behind him immediately lunged forward.

“No—no—let me go!” Realizing that if they seized her she would almost certainly die, Linglong began struggling desperately. Her body twisted like a snake, knocking over countless tables and embroidery frames along the way as she wailed and cried, “What crime have I committed? Why are you arresting me? Chief Steward Wu, you can’t do this—you have to give me a reason!”

“A reason?” Wu Shulai laughed in anger. “We entrusted you with making the Emperor’s everyday robe, and through sheer carelessness you left a silver needle in the collar! Do you know what that means? One small oversight like that could be construed as an attempt at regicide—high treason—and every single one of us would lose our heads!”

“Silver needle? What silver needle? I don’t know anything about it! Wait…” Linglong’s eyes were dazed at first, but suddenly something clicked. She whipped her head around and stared into the crowd behind her.

Among the anxious, uneasy onlookers, only one person remained perfectly composed.

As if she had foreseen this exact scene all along, she stood there with a faint smile, watching events unfold with keen interest.

“It’s you!” Linglong cried out in fear and fury. “It’s you—Wei Yingluo!”

In that instant, she felt like a pitiful insect caught in a meticulously woven spider’s web—the more she struggled, the more tightly she became ensnared.

“Chief Steward Wu, that garment wasn’t made by me—it was made by Wei Yingluo!” By now the situation had spiraled beyond any hope of concealment. Linglong shouted desperately toward Wu Shulai, “She was the careless one—no, she deliberately left that needle in the robe just to frame me!”

Wu Shulai frowned and turned his gaze toward Wei Yingluo.

Compared to the trembling little palace maids around her, she did indeed appear far too calm and unruffled.

“Stop spouting nonsense!” Momo Zhang, standing at his side, suddenly barked. “You personally delivered that everyday robe to me and personally told me it was your work. How can you now claim it was Yingluo’s? Don’t try to drag innocent people down with you just to save your own skin!”

“Momo Zhang, you…” Linglong’s eyes nearly split with rage.

At last she understood—she had fallen into a conspiracy.

   Others might be excused for not knowing, but Momo Zhang?

   To her eyes, embroidery was as distinctive as handwriting—each person’s work carried unmistakable traces.

There was no way she could have failed to recognize that the dragon on the robe had actually been embroidered by Wei Yingluo. Yet she had said nothing, simply accepted the garment, and then presented it as Linglong’s handiwork.

“You’re all in this together!” Linglong let out a hysterical scream at Wei Yingluo, nearly breaking free of the eunuchs’ grip to lunge at her.

How could the eunuchs allow such a scene in front of Chief Steward Wu? They immediately tightened their hold, slamming her face-down onto the ground—one cheek pressed hard against the floor, the other turned toward the crowd. With one bloodshot eye, Linglong glared fixedly at Wei Yingluo.

“Look, she’s at it again,” Wei Yingluo said, looking down at her from above. Her voice was utterly calm, as though she had rehearsed these very words long in advance. “First she tries to drag me down to save herself. Now she’s dragging Momo Zhang into it. By the time she reaches the Emperor’s presence, who knows—she might even accuse you, Chief Steward Wu, of failing to properly inspect the imperial everyday robe and demand you be punished as an accomplice!”

The moment those words left Wei Yingluo’s mouth, Linglong’s vision darkened; she nearly fainted.

Even if she had still had a slim chance of survival before, Wei Yingluo’s statement had just severed it completely.

Wu Shulai now stared at her with open suspicion and disgust. Coldly he said, “Such a vicious, treacherous thing cannot be allowed to remain. Take her away!”

All along the way, Linglong reached out desperately, grasping at anything she could—pillars, chair legs, even people’s legs. Her closest friend among the maids kicked her hand away and shrank back. Everyone else did the same, retreating like the tide pulling away from shore.

“Help! Save me!” Linglong wept bitterly, her voice cracking like a cuckoo crying blood. “I’m innocent!”

Behind her, Wei Yingluo watched her departure with a smile, then slowly tightened her grip on the handkerchief in her hand.

It was a handkerchief with a faint, lingering stain at one corner.

The stain was a mottled red-brown, like blood that had dried in the wind.

That was… Jixiang’s birthday gift.

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