Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 7: Distinction of High and Low

   “Time’s up!”

Whether finished or not, all the palace maids stopped their hands at once. Like candidates on the day the imperial exam results are posted, they looked toward Momo Zhang with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

Normally Momo Zhang would have been the one to judge the quality of the embroidery, but with Wu Shulai present, she decisively deferred the authority. With utmost respect she said to him:

“Please, Chief Steward Wu, give your esteemed evaluation.”

“How could I overstep my bounds? You should do it,” Wu Shulai replied with a smile.

“To receive even one or two comments from Chief Steward Wu would be the greatest fortune for these palace maids,” Momo Zhang said ingratiatingly.

“Very well then.” Chief Steward Wu stroked his smooth chin and laughed. “Since there’s nothing urgent at the moment, I’ll take a look.”

Momo Zhang immediately turned to the maids:

“What are you waiting for? Thank Chief Steward Wu at once!”

“Thank you, Chief Steward Wu!”

Wu Shulai raised a hand to quiet their voices, then walked forward with his hands behind his back, appraising each maid’s work one by one.

Though it was called “appraising,” most of the time he merely nodded or shook his head. Only when he reached Jinxiu did he actually speak:

“Hm. Exquisite needlework. Very good.”

Those mere few words were enough to set Jinxiu far above all the previous nods and head-shakes. She couldn’t hide her delight and was just about to seize the chance to exchange a few more words with Wu Shulai when she heard a soft “Oh?” of surprise. Looking up, she saw that Wu Shulai had already passed her and stopped in front of Linglong.

“This is…” Wu Shulai said, visibly astonished.

Jinxiu stole a glance and thought sourly to herself: It’s just a stray cat—what’s so special about it?

Linglong had embroidered a cat peeking out from among foliage. The leaves were sparse, red and white mingling together; a tortoiseshell tabby with vivid stripes poked its head from the undergrowth, its expression adorably naive. Especially the fur on the cat—light and shadow interwoven, shades varying from deep to pale—at first glance it looked utterly alive, as though a real cat had been sewn onto the hoop.

In terms of needle technique alone, it was hardly inferior to the “Haitang in Spring Slumber” pattern in Jinxiu’s hands. Then Linglong turned the handkerchief over with a smile:

“Reporting to Chief Steward Wu, this is double-sided embroidery.”

On the reverse side of the handkerchief was… another cat.

The same peeking out from the bushes, the same innocent and adorable expression—even the fur on its body was identical to the cat on the front.

“Good, good.” Wu Shulai handed the embroidery frame to Momo Zhang. “Take a look—what do you think?”

Momo Zhang squinted at it. Having worked in the embroidery workshop for years, her eye was far sharper than Wu Shulai’s. She immediately noticed that the stitches weren’t fine enough, and there were several places where the colors had gone wrong—clear signs of rushed work. But she pointed out none of it. Instead she smiled and said:

“Since Chief Steward Wu says it’s good, then it must certainly be good.”

Jinxiu’s face grimed at the words. She had only earned one “good,” while Linglong had received two—one from Chief Steward Wu and another from Momo Zhang. And yet it was nothing more than a village stray cat—how exactly was it better than hers?

Wu Shulai did not linger long in front of Linglong. He held high position and great power; he had seen every kind of exquisite thing there was to see. The reason he had said “good” twice was simply because, among this batch of newly entered palace maids, this double-sided embroidery was probably the best…

No.

Wu Shulai stopped in front of Jixiang, staring fixedly at the embroidery in her hands without speaking for a long time.

His silence placed immense pressure on Jixiang. As the seconds ticked by, her breathing grew heavier and heavier. Even her knees began to weaken, as though she might collapse into a kneel before him at any moment.

“This peony is vivid and lifelike, capturing both form and spirit—good, good, good!” When Chief Steward Wu finally spoke again, he uttered three “goods” in a row. Then he delivered his verdict with finality: “In all my years in the palace, I have rarely seen such extraordinary needlework. This deserves first place—truly deserves first place!”

Two “goods” had already made Jinxiu change color. At the third, she scoffed with icy disdain:

“Chief Steward, why don’t you take a look at Wei Yingluo’s embroidery first? I see she’s been the slowest of all—surely hers must be the best!”

Wu Shulai frowned slightly. Momo Zhang caught the shift in his expression and immediately scolded:

“Who permitted you to speak!”

Jinxiu paled and lowered her head.

“No harm done,” Wu Shulai said mildly. “Which one is Wei Yingluo?”

Everyone turned in unison toward Wei Yingluo.

Wu Shulai walked slowly over to her, his expression calm and detached:

“What did you embroider? Let me see.”

“Yes.” Wei Yingluo lifted the overturned embroidery frame. A brilliantly colored picture of a golden pheasant burst into view.

The half-finished golden carp that Jixiang had been working on had, in the span of barely half an incense stick, been transformed by her into a majestic golden-feathered pheasant. The pheasant gazed toward the sun, its long tail feathers spread gracefully behind it, each plume shimmering with golden sunlight. The entire piece radiated wealth and splendor—especially that single vivid stroke of red on the crest, bright as fresh blood, serving as the crowning touch that brought the whole work to life.

And that crowning touch had once been the very flaw.

Only a handful of people present knew the truth: the reason the crest was so vividly blood-red was because real blood had been worked into it. The blood Jixiang had earlier wiped onto the fabric had been cleverly repurposed by Wei Yingluo and turned into that perfect splash of red on the pheasant’s comb.

The others, unaware of the secret, simply admired the technique and the auspicious meaning. Even the ever-critical Momo Zhang, upon seeing the piece, could not help but praise:

“Such ingenious thought, and excellent stitching too. This year’s palace maids are truly full of talent!”

Jinxiu was burning with resentment. She had deliberately steered Chief Steward Wu toward Wei Yingluo—not so that she would receive special favor from the Noble Lady. Her thin lips parted; she was just about to step forward and make an accusation when Linglong beside her suddenly grabbed her arm.

“What are you—” Jinxiu began, but before she could finish, a little palace maid not far away suddenly spoke up:

“Chief Steward! Wei Yingluo is cheating on someone else’s behalf!”

The words fell like a thunderclap. The entire embroidery workshop fell deathly silent.

…

Mountains have their heights, waters their depths—people are always competing for superiority. Palace maids were no different, and neither were the candidates.

“Naran Chuxue, daughter of Vice Minister Nalan Yongshou, aged sixteen!”

Meanwhile, in the Yanhui Pavilion of the Imperial Garden, the selection process continued.

“Speaking of which, that little palace maid… what was her name again?” Naran Chuxue paused in thought. Then she told herself, “Now is not the time to be thinking about that. Naran Chuxue—it’s your turn.”

She collected her somewhat scattered thoughts, lowered her eyes obediently, and walked forward to stand before Hongli. With a graceful curtsy, she said, “This humble daughter, Naran Chuxue, pays respects to Your Majesty.”

Perhaps his mood had been soured by the earlier incident, for Hongli’s expression was extremely cold at this moment, tinged with a faint trace of impatience. He stared at Naran Chuxue without speaking. That silence pressed down like dark clouds, causing everyone in the hall to hold their breath.

“What’s the matter with your ears?” Hongli suddenly asked.

Everyone’s hearts trembled in fear. He had asked a similar question earlier: “What’s the matter with your feet?”

After that, Wuya Qingdai had met with disaster. Even now, long streaks of her blood still remained on the stone steps outside the door; palace servants were hurriedly rinsing them away with clear water, lest the sun grow strong later and attract flies and insects.

Naran Chuxue naturally sensed that the atmosphere was wrong. It would be a lie to say she wasn’t afraid, but she was different from others—the more critical the moment, the calmer she became.

“In reply to Your Majesty,” she stood poised and composed in place, answering, “My father, Ama, has always said that for a woman to wear three earrings in one ear and step into flower-pot shoes is a rule handed down by our ancestors. To abandon it one day and imitate the Han women by wearing only one earring per ear would be to forget our ancestors.”

The selection girls entered in groups of five. Four others had come in with her for selection. As soon as she spoke, three of them unconsciously lowered their heads, while the fourth couldn’t help but raise her hand to touch her own earlobe—where only a single earring dangled.

Among the five, only Naran Chuxue wore three precious earrings in one ear. Red, blue, and white gleamed together, making her stand out at a single glance.

Earlier someone had asked her why she dressed this way; she had only smiled without answering. It turned out she wasn’t refusing to answer—she was waiting for the right occasion, the right person, to give her reply.

“Well said!” Hongli was indeed greatly pleased. He slapped his hand on the table. “The Great Qing has been in the Central Plains for many years, and the old Manchu customs are gradually fading. I told them to study Han literature and understand Confucian rites, but I never told them to forget who they are!”

With that, he nodded toward the chief eunuch.

The chief eunuch understood immediately and announced in a loud voice: “Retain her token!”

Naran Chuxue curtsied again, her posture as elegant and composed as ever—neither arrogant nor restless, neither elated nor anxious, carrying a calm self-possession.

“Lu Wanwan, daughter of Lu Shilong, Deputy Minister of the Court of the Imperial Entertainments, aged sixteen!”

With Naran Chuxue shining like a pearl before her, Lu Wanwan suddenly appeared rather small and ordinary by comparison.

She was too timid, too nervous—so much so that for a moment she even forgot how to walk properly. She advanced toward the throne step by awkward step, moving her arms and legs in unison. Before she could even lift her head to reveal the stunning beauty that could captivate time itself, Hongli had already let out a soft chuckle.

“I still have memorials to review,” Hongli said as he rose. “I’ll be going now.”

“Your Majesty!” Empress Fucha quickly spoke up. “What about here?”

Hongli stretched lazily, walking past Lu Wanwan with an absent-minded air and tossing out a single sentence: “Empress, you handle it. I trust your judgment!”

With that, he strode away without looking back, leaving everyone exchanging bewildered glances.

Noble Consort Hui lazily raised her hand toward the side; a maid immediately supported her as she rose. “Since His Majesty has left, it seems there’s nothing worth watching. This consort will take her leave first.”

Without waiting for the Empress to respond, she gracefully departed.

Empress Fucha let out a soft sigh and turned toward Lu Wanwan with a gentle, kindly expression.

She carried with her the natural dignity of one fit to be mother to the realm. Especially her gaze—so warm it was like a mother looking upon her own children. Under such a gaze, Lu Wanwan let out a long breath and gradually calmed down.

The change in her expression fell into Naran Chuxue’s eyes, and a thought rose unbidden in her mind: She is not my rival…

Lu Wanwan possessed the foremost beauty among all the selection girls, yet she had no idea how to make use of her greatest advantage—instead letting opportunity slip right past her. Moreover, she was timid by nature, like a dodder vine, always seeking a great tree to cling to for shelter from wind and rain.

She never considered where this place was.

This was the rear palace.

To rely too heavily on one person was to hand one’s own fate entirely into their hands.

“She is not my opponent… Then who would be my true opponent?”

As Naran Chuxue thought of this, a figure in cyan suddenly appeared in her mind’s eye.

Cyan—the color of the new palace maid’s attire.

“Why would I think of her?” Naran Chuxue couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, saying to herself in her heart, “I am a selected selection girl who has left her name on the board, while she is merely a lowly palace maid. She doesn’t even have the qualification to stand on equal footing with me—how could she possibly have the chance to compete with me for superiority?”

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