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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   Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 6: Fate in the Palm of the Hand

   …What just happened?

   Everything happened too suddenly. Wuya Qingdai raised her face, the joy still frozen there, only to see two young eunuchs rush forward. Four arms pinned her firmly to the ground. Then the chief eunuch himself removed the embroidered shoe from her right foot, held up the sole for all to see, and presented it before the throne.

Hongli took one glance and sneered coldly. “So the sole was carved into the shape of a lotus.”

Noble Consort Hui beckoned. The chief eunuch hurriedly held the shoe sole up to her. She looked and laughed. “And the sole is filled with fine powder—that’s why it left prints. Quite ingenious, really!”

She was still laughing, but all trace of amusement had vanished from Hongli’s face. He barked sharply:

“Someone—drag her out!”

Only then did Wuya Qingdai snap back to reality. Her knees buckled and she collapsed to the floor. She scrambled forward on hands and knees until she reached the foot of the throne, tears streaming down her face like pear blossoms in rain.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty! This humble subject merely imitated ‘stepping lotus with every step’ to try to win first place! Please forgive me, Your Majesty—forgive me! Noble Consort Your Highness, save this subject! Empress! Empress, please save this subject!”

Hongli and Noble Consort Hui remained expressionless. Only Empress Fucha sighed softly. She turned her head toward Hongli and said:

“Your Majesty, it is not wrong for a candidate to want to stand out and take the lead. If you do not like it, simply bestow the flower and be done with it. To drive her out of the palace like this—how will she ever show her face in public again?”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” Wuya Qingdai struggled free from the two eunuchs’ hands and threw herself pitifully at Hongli’s feet. “This humble daughter entered the palace for selection. If I am driven out, it will bring shame upon my entire family—how could I ever face the world again! I beg you, I beg you, please have mercy on this humble daughter!”

With that, she prostrated herself on the ground, kowtowing so hard her forehead thudded loudly against the floor. Her posture almost exactly mirrored that of Jixiang earlier—only this time, the one who had refused to let Jixiang go was now herself refused mercy by Hongli.

“I have already issued a clear decree: bound-foot girls from the Han Army banners are prohibited from selection. Yet in this round of inspection, those with bound feet number far more than one or two!” Hongli’s voice was icy and detached. “Not only the Han Army banners—even the Wuya clan has adopted this decadent, extravagant and degenerate custom. Pan Yunu was a demonic consort; Xiao Baojuan was a foolish ruler. Are you now imitating her in order to bring chaos to the court? A woman like this, once inside the palace, will surely stir up endless trouble. Not only will I expel her from the palace, I will also have her father punished for violating regulations—to serve as a warning to others!”

“No—no!” Wuya Qingdai tried to argue further, but two strong arms had already reached from behind her. Like iron clamps, they seized her arms and dragged her toward the door.

“No, Your Majesty! No! This humble daughter knows she was wrong! This humble daughter truly knows her mistake!” Wuya Qingdai struggled desperately like livestock being hauled to the slaughterhouse, wailing heart-rendingly. “That’s right—it was that lowly maid! It was that lowly maid who harmed me! It wasn’t me—the idea to apply fragrant powder to the soles of the shoes wasn’t mine… sob!”

Fearing her loud commotion might disturb the imperial presence, a nearby eunuch stretched out a fan-like hand and clamped it firmly over her mouth. Five thick fingers sealed her voice—and with it, her last chance.

“Mmm… mmmph…”

The muffled sobs gradually faded into the distance. On the ground remained only two strings of lotus-flower imprints, proof that a woman named Wuya Qingdai had once been here.

“Someone, clean the floor thoroughly.” Hongli said coldly. “Just looking at it makes me uncomfortable.”

“Yes!” Several palace maids hurried over with brooms.

And so the very last trace of Wuya Qingdai vanished from the palace just like that.

“Oh my… doesn’t that… look like Sister Wuya?”

In the waiting area of the Imperial Garden, the selection girls were still awaiting their names to be called. A few who had just gone in moments earlier had already come out with bestowed flowers. But after Wuya Qingdai went inside, she had not reappeared for a long time. Everyone felt envious and whispered among themselves, privately speculating that Wuya Qingdai must have already caught the Emperor’s eye.

Who could have expected that when the doors opened again, a disheveled woman with hair in wild disarray was dragged out by two eunuchs.

“How could such a crazy-looking woman be Sister Wuya…” someone retorted.

“But she’s clearly wearing Sister Wuya’s clothes…” another pointed out sharply.

Indeed, the disheveled woman was dressed in Wuya Qingdai’s clothing. Not only that—her earlobes and wrists still bore Wuya Qingdai’s jewelry. If there was any difference from before, it was perhaps her feet: a pair of three-inch bound feet dragged along the ground. The beautiful lotus shoes were nowhere to be seen.

“It hurts… it hurts so much…” the disheveled woman cried. The voice was unmistakably Wuya Qingdai’s. “My feet… my feet…”

Without shoes, the tender flesh suffered. Those snow-white, tiny bound feet dragged across the ground, leaving not elegant lotus prints but two trails of blood instead—winding and twisting behind her like two crimson, deformed snakes.

“You lowly bitch—you ruined me!” Wuya Qingdai suddenly let out a blood-curdling scream. “Even as a ghost, I will never let you go!”

The selection girls were so terrified by the scene that they fell deathly silent. For a long while, no one spoke.

Especially the naturally timid Lu Wanwan, who had already pressed herself against Naran Chuxue, clutching the other girl’s sleeve tightly with both hands. Her voice trembled as she asked, “How terrifying… what exactly did she do wrong for His Majesty to punish her like this?”

Naran Chuxue stared at the bloodstains on the ground, lost in thought for a moment before murmuring, “Could it be… because His Majesty didn’t like her shoes?”

“How could that be?” Lu Wanwan covered her small mouth with her hand, asking in surprise. “Step-by-step lotus—how unique and charming. How could His Majesty possibly dislike it?”

“His Majesty’s preferences—how would newcomers like you and me possibly know?” Naran Chuxue said gravely. “But what about that little palace maid? Does she know?”

“You mean that pretty little palace maid from earlier?” Lu Wanwan seemed to have taken quite a liking to her and instinctively spoke up on her behalf. “She’s just a new palace maid like us. If we don’t know something, how could she possibly know?”

“You’re right.” Naran Chuxue also found it unlikely. If even they, the selection girls, didn’t know such a thing, a newly arrived palace maid certainly couldn’t. It was most likely just Wuya Qingdai’s bad luck—she had simply worn a pair of shoes that happened to disgust the Emperor.

But what if that little palace maid knew?

   “If she knew…” Naran Chuxue thought to herself, “then rather than saying Wuya Qingdai placed the shoe in the palm of her hand, it would be more accurate to say she placed her own life in the palm of her hand—to be toyed with and disposed of as she pleased!”

This possibility sent a chill through Naran Chuxue’s heart. She couldn’t help murmuring, “Speaking of which… what was that little palace maid’s name again?”

…

“Yingluo.”

“What’s wrong?” Wei Yingluo paused her needlework, turned her head, and looked toward Jixiang.

Jixiang hesitated, opening her mouth but saying nothing. At that moment, the door of the Embroidery Workshop in the Workshops Department creaked open. A eunuch in green robes stepped over the threshold and entered. Jixiang hurriedly lowered her head and resumed her stitching.

“Chief Steward Wu.” Momo Zhang, who was in charge of instructing the newly arrived palace maids in needlework, quickly went forward to greet him.

Wu Shulai waved his hand, excusing her from the formalities. “I’ve come to take a look at this year’s new palace maids.”

Momo Zhang obediently stepped back behind him. The two of them walked slowly, one in front of the other, passing behind each of the maids in turn.

Ahem! Wu Shulai suddenly gave a light cough.

Though the sound was soft, quite a few maids immediately pricked their fingers or tilted their needles. They quickly resumed their work, but their movements were noticeably faster than before—all in hopes of leaving a good impression of swift, skillful needlework on Wu Shulai.

The only one who remained unhurried and composed, as always, seemed to be Wei Yingluo.

“At least there’s one who’s steady and mature,” Wu Shulai thought with satisfaction. He stood behind Wei Yingluo with his hands behind his back, nodded approvingly, then stepped over to stand behind Jixiang.

“…And some who still need proper discipline.”

Jixiang’s small face flushed bright red. Even though the weather wasn’t hot, sweat had already beaded at her temples. Gritting her teeth, she sped up her stitching—only to jab the needle straight into her own finger. She let out a small pained cry and quickly popped the injured finger into her mouth.

Wu Shulai shook his head behind her and walked away.

After he left, Jixiang stopped embroidering altogether. She simply sat there with her head lowered, staring blankly.

“…What’s wrong?” Wei Yingluo paused her own work, tilted her head to look, then immediately frowned inwardly. Oh no.

On the embroidery frame in Jixiang’s hands was a half-finished piece. The workmanship was somewhat lacking, but that couldn’t entirely be blamed on her. Her right hand had previously been stepped on by Wuya Qingdai. Although it had been treated afterward, it was still badly swollen and bruised. She couldn’t ask for leave, so she had no choice but to grit her teeth and keep working through the pain.

But now, a patch of bright red blood had stained the snow-white fabric. It was impossible to tell whether she had just pricked her finger and dripped fresh blood onto it, or whether the old wound had reopened and blood had seeped through the bandage.

Either way, this embroidery piece was ruined.

“What… what should I do…” Jixiang’s voice trembled with tears as she reached out to wipe it.

“Jixiang, don’t—” Wei Yingluo’s warning came too late.

What had been only a small, inconspicuous drop of blood was now smeared by her frantic wiping into a glaring, obvious blotch—impossible to hide or disguise.

Also working at the same embroidery frame were two others: Jinxiu and Jixiang’s fellow villager, Linglong.

Jinxiu caught sight of the scene and, true to form, immediately let a mocking remark slip from her thin lips: “Palace maids need to be clever and quick-witted too. Someone as clumsy as you will sooner or later be driven out of the palace. Stop wasting your energy!”

Linglong, at least, still had some sense of fellow-villager loyalty. She looked at Jixiang with sympathy and said, “What a pity.”

“Linglong!” Jixiang’s eyes reddened. With all the childishness still in her voice, she choked out, “We grew up together since we were little. Help me think of something, please?”

Fellow villager or not, when faced with this kind of trouble, Linglong would rather pretend she had no such connection. She immediately refused: “What can I possibly do? I haven’t even finished my own piece yet!”

Jixiang couldn’t help turning her head to look back. In the embroidery workshop stood a sandalwood table, and on the table was a bronze incense burner carved with beast motifs. A single stick of incense had been inserted into it; by now, half had already burned away. When the remaining half turned to ash, it would be time to submit the embroidered pieces.

“What should I do…” Jixiang murmured. The tears she had been holding back finally spilled over. As they fell, she suddenly felt her hands lighten. She turned around just in time to see Wei Yingluo take her embroidery hoop away and hand over her own in exchange.

Jixiang stared in shock. “You…”

“Wipe your tears dry,” Wei Yingluo said without lifting her head after the exchange. “Don’t let the mama see.”

She moved very quickly; not many people had noticed the switch. Jixiang, Jinxiu, and Linglong exchanged stunned glances for a moment before Linglong was the first to speak, her voice lowered:

“Are you insane? That handkerchief was supposed to have a golden carp embroidered on it. With this bloodstain, there’s no way to save it now! There’s only half an incense stick left—there’s no time to start over!”

Wei Yingluo narrowed her eyes and carefully examined the embroidery in her hands for a moment. Then she picked up needle and thread again and gave the anxious Jixiang a faint smile:

“The peony is just two stitches short. Finish it for me, will you?”

“Yingluo, have you really thought this through?” Linglong couldn’t help asking.

Before Wei Yingluo could answer, Jinxiu let out a scornful laugh:

“Why do you care what she does? She’s just showing off!”

Jixiang stared blankly at the embroidery hoop in her hands. Suddenly she shoved it back toward Yingluo, shaking her head frantically:

“Take it back, take it back! I can’t drag you down with me—quick, give me my own hoop back!”

Wei Yingluo gently raised her right hand to block the returning hoop, then tilted her eyes sideways toward one side.

Following her gaze, Jixiang saw the mama heading in their direction. She immediately fell silent, hurriedly picked up the needle, thread, and hoop in front of her.

Then she froze.

The embroidery on the hoop before her was a peony—nation-shaking in its beauty, vivid and lifelike, missing only the final few stitches.

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   Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 5: The Imperial Selection

   What happened in the Imperial Garden was like a small pebble tossed into the sea: it created a tiny splash, then quickly returned to calm. The important people turned a blind eye—even if they saw it, they wouldn’t care.

There were far more important matters waiting for them to see and attend to.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” In the courtyard of Changchun Palace, the palace maid Ming Yu hurried over, trying hard to catch her breath as she spoke. “The palace audience selection is about to begin soon. You should start preparing!”

The vast courtyard bloomed only with jasmine flowers.

Layer upon layer of pale white petals dotted among deep green leaves. In their midst stood a woman in plain clothing, holding golden shears, attentively trimming the branches.

A breeze passed through, stirring only the rustle of leaves and the steady snip-snip of the shears.

Had she not heard, or had she heard and chosen to ignore it? Ming Yu wasn’t sure. She could only wink anxiously at a graceful palace maid standing nearby.

This maid was also dressed in plain clothes and held a copper watering can. At first glance she seemed utterly unremarkable, like an ordinary new sweeping maid fresh in the palace. In reality, however, she was Erqing—the senior palace maid who personally attended the Empress. Her status and weight among the palace maids were second to none.

So what Ming Yu dared not say, she could say. What Ming Yu dared not do, she could do.

Stepping forward, Erqing spoke softly: “Your Highness?”

Snip. A jasmine branch was severed. The woman in plain clothes turned, holding the flower in her hand. In an instant the entire garden’s spring splendor dimmed before her. The boundless orchids seemed to exist solely to set her off.

Truly a secluded orchid in an empty valley, standing alone and apart from the world.

It was none other than the current Empress, Lady Fucha.

“Today the selection girls are all vying to outshine one another. What is there for me to prepare?” Empress Fucha closed her eyes, lowered her head to gently inhale the fragrance of the jasmine in her hand, and gave a soft smile. “I’d rather stay here and tend to the flowers.”

Truly, one could worry a monkey to death before the emperor himself felt anxious. Ming Yu scratched her head and ears in frustration, like a monkey that couldn’t reach the banana: “How can that be? If Your Highness doesn’t go, won’t you just be handing the opportunity straight to that woman in Chuxiu Palace?!”

“Ming Yu, watch your tongue!” Erqing was like the Monkey King’s taming monk—one displeased glance was enough to make Ming Yu fall silent at once. Then, turning to Empress Fucha with a gentle expression, she continued, “However, Your Highness, the palace audience selection is a major event. You really ought to at least go and take a look. Otherwise, if the Empress Dowager finds out, she will surely blame you again for neglecting palace affairs!”

As the saying goes, once you enter the palace gates it’s as deep as the sea—and so it truly was. In the sea the big fish eat the small; in the palace one head presses down another. The only one who could make Empress Fucha set down her flower shears was the Empress Dowager.

“Sigh.” Empress Fucha rose helplessly, patting the dust from her skirt. “So young and already so nagging. Fine then, let’s go take a look.”

Ming Yu’s face lit up with joy; she practically leaped three feet into the air. “Your Highness! This servant will immediately help you with your dressing and adornment!”

With that she turned and dashed off, vanishing in the blink of an eye, leaving only dust swirling in her wake.

“What a little monkey,” Empress Fucha said helplessly, shaking her head.

“She really is a monkey. And this—” Erqing stepped forward and carefully removed the small jasmine pom-pom tucked beside the Empress’s temple.

The Empress was momentarily startled, then let out a soft, amused laugh.

The venue for the selection was set at Yanhui Pavilion in the Imperial Garden.

Though they called it “dressing and adorning,” in truth it was merely changing into slightly cleaner clothes and washing the soil from her hands with clear water. Yet even appearing completely bare-faced, Empress Fucha still outshone every woman present by several degrees—first because of her beauty, and second because of her position.

However, some people did not place much importance on her position at all.

“Noble Consort Hui has arrived!”

With a loud announcement from the eunuch, a heavily made-up consort entered Yanhui Pavilion with graceful, measured steps, supported by her maids.

Some women should never wear heavy makeup; the thicker the cosmetics, the more vulgar they appear—for example, Empress Fucha.

But some women must wear heavy makeup and dazzling ornaments, with jade pendants clinking and tinkling at every step—like the one standing before them now: Noble Consort Hui. On her ears hung two lustrous Eastern pearls that radiated brilliance; around her wrist coiled a jade bracelet strung with eighteen emerald beads and two tourmalines. Most eye-catching of all was the enormous “big wing” headdress atop her head, shimmering with pearls and jewels, inlaid with silver kingfisher-feather butterflies and ruby peonies—both rendered so lifelike that as she moved, the butterflies seemed to flutter and the peonies to tremble.

On anyone else, so much jewelry would have turned the wearer into nothing more than a walking jewelry stand; people would see only the ornaments and not the person beneath. But Noble Consort Hui was different. With the bearing of a peony—peerlessly magnificent—she forcefully subdued the overwhelming blaze of gems and gold, making them mere accents to her own splendor.

She swayed gracefully forward and performed the squatting curtsy before the Empress. Both her movements and her voice carried an undisguised air of perfunctory courtesy:

“This concubine respectfully greets Your Majesty the Empress. May Your Majesty be in peace and health.”

Erqing’s face remained expressionless, but Ming Yu was already scowling with anger. With just one word from Empress Fucha, this monkey could have leapt forward and slapped her with a full set of ear-piercing blows—yet Empress Fucha merely smiled and said,

“Rise.”

The word “rise” had scarcely left her lips before Noble Consort Hui had already stood up, walked to the seat at the Empress’s lower side, and sat down. She accepted the teacup a maid offered, took a delicate sip, set it aside, and then turned her attention outward to comment on the selection girls:

“This year’s crop of selection girls is quite good quality. There are even a few who are delicately pretty and pleasing to the eye.”

The Empress’s expression remained calm and even:

“Our Great Qing’s selection of selection girls is naturally different from previous dynasties. We choose girls from distinguished families, virtuous and capable, to serve beside the Emperor. Appearance is of no consequence.”

Noble Consort Hui covered her lips and laughed. That laugh was like a peony in full bloom—nation-shaking beauty, heavenly fragrance. Not only men but even women could not help but be moved by her voluptuous charm:

“Even so, we cannot select a bunch of crooked melons and split dates. Wouldn’t that distress His Majesty when he looks upon them? It would also affect the appearance of the imperial heirs, would it not?”

What seemed like ordinary conversation was in truth laced with hidden blades. All around, people fell deathly silent; the selection girls lowered their heads and stared at the floor, hardly daring to breathe.

Though orchids and peonies each have their own charm, when two flowers vie, one must lose. To everyone’s surprise, Empress Fucha appeared to yield a step. She spoke in a mild and peaceful tone:

“No matter how beautiful the selection girls may be, none can compare to Noble Consort’s peerless splendor that outshines them all.”

Seeing her retreat, Noble Consort Hui grew even more triumphant. A silvery bell-like laugh spilled from her lips as she continued:

“Your Ladyship overpraises me; this concubine is utterly unworthy. But the peony is indeed the king of flowers, the nation’s supreme beauty—not just anyone can claim that title!”

“You—” Ming Yu’s fury flared; she was about to shout “How presumptuous!” when the Empress raised a hand to stop her. Though a million unwillingnesses filled her heart, she could only clench her fists and step back.

“His Majesty arrives!”

A loud announcement cut short their confrontation. Moments later, a tall and strikingly handsome man entered with his hands clasped behind his back. Compared to the others, his attire was closer to Empress Fucha’s—neither wore excessive jewelry. The deep indigo everyday robe gave him an air of crisp simplicity and quiet elegance; the sleeves even carried a faint scent of ink, as though he had come straight from his desk after handling a stack of memorials.

This was none other than the reigning sovereign: His Majesty, Hongli.

“This concubine (this slave) respectfully greets Your Majesty. May Your Majesty be in peace and health.”

“Rise.” Hongli strode quickly to Empress Fucha, reached out to help her up, and a trace of gentleness appeared on his handsome face. “The Empress need not stand on such ceremony.”

The previous greeting had been addressed to everyone; these words were spoken only to her.

Noble Consort Hui stared expressionlessly at their joined hands, a flicker of jealousy passing through her eyes.

Hongli did not notice that fleeting jealousy. To him, this selection of selection girls was little more than a routine duty. He helped Empress Fucha sit, then casually took a seat at the imperial desk himself, one hand propping up his cheek as he gave a negligent order:

“Begin.”

“Yes!” The chief eunuch sang out, “The daughter of Suchuoluo Daojin, Minister of the Court of Judicial Review—Suchuoluo Yuli, fifteen years of age.”

A tall, slender selection girl hurried forward.

Hongli narrowed his eyes and looked at her for a moment before saying,

“The wind is so strong today. It must be quite tiring to stand, isn’t it?”

“N-no, it is not tiring at all,” the selection girl quickly replied.

But her words were met with a light laugh from Noble Consort Hui:

“Indeed, Your Majesty—this one really is too thin. A single gust of wind could blow her away.”

Though Hongli said nothing more, the corners of his mouth curved in a faint smile.

The chief eunuch was an expert at reading faces. Seeing that smile, he immediately declared:

“Bestow a flower.”

A young eunuch promptly stepped forward with a silver tray bearing flowers. The thin, tall selection girl had no choice but to accept one and withdraw.

“Next: the daughter of Gan Tanglin, Director of the Imperial Stables—Gan Ruyu, sixteen years of age.”

A plump candidate, so round she had practically developed into a perfect sphere, stepped forward.

Hongli took one look and immediately burst out laughing. “How many meals a day do you eat?”

Since it was the Emperor asking, she could hardly refuse to answer. The plump candidate blushed deeply and said, “Three meals.”

“More than that,” Hongli said. “At least five, right? Otherwise how could you achieve such a figure? You’re almost catching up to the sumo wrestlers the palace keeps for entertainment.”

The palace no longer needed any more sumo wrestlers—and the inner palace certainly didn’t.

“Bestow the flower!” the chief eunuch immediately announced. “Zhangjia Ruhong, daughter of Zhangjia Sixian, Prefect of Shuntian Prefecture, aged fifteen.”

A candidate with skin as dark as charcoal stepped forward in small, hurried steps.

Already two candidates had been eliminated. The remaining selection girls trembled with nervousness, terrified that Hongli would speak to them next.

“Do you spend every day soaking up the sun slathered in soy sauce?” Yet he spoke again.

The question was so bizarre that the dark-skinned candidate let out a startled “Ah?” before shaking her head blankly. “No… this humble subject has lived deep in the inner chambers and rarely goes out to sun herself…”

“Haha!” Noble Consort Hui laughed aloud. “His Majesty is saying your face is black! Oh my, look closely—there are even spots on it!”

The dark-skinned candidate flushed crimson from the laughter, tears welling in her eyes. After receiving the bestowed flower, she turned and fled. Behind her came the chief eunuch’s announcement:

“Next—Wuya Qingdai, daughter of Wuya Xiongsan, Minister of the Imperial Clan Court, aged seventeen.”

A moment later, a beautiful woman stepped forward.

Unlike her earlier domineering and arrogant demeanor in the Imperial Garden, she now completely restrained her sharpness, presenting to the world only her most beautiful aspect—her way of walking.

Every beauty has her unique charm. Empress Fucha was like an orchid in a secluded valley; Noble Consort Hui was a national peony in full bloom. In terms of facial beauty, Wuya Qingdai could not compare to either of them. However, her gait was exceptionally light, graceful, and elegant. Among ten women walking together, anyone’s eyes would be drawn to her first.

And even if one didn’t notice her walk, they would certainly notice—

“Hm?” Noble Consort Hui suddenly raised an eyebrow. “What’s that on the ground?”

Everyone followed her gaze. Wherever Wuya Qingdai had passed, two long trails of lotus prints had bloomed among the candidates, ending precisely at her feet.

From above came Hongli’s voice: “What’s the matter with your shoes?”

He had indeed noticed…

Wuya Qingdai’s heart leaped with wild joy. Though she tried desperately to suppress it, the delight still showed on her face; even her voice trembled slightly with happiness.

“Your Majesty—this is called ‘stepping lotus with every step.’”

“Is that so?” Hongli gave a short laugh. She couldn’t tell if it was her imagination, but the sound felt cold—almost menacing. The next moment she heard him say icily:

“Take off her shoes. Let Us have a look.”

STORY OF YANXI PALACE CHAPTERS HOME

   Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 4: The Lotus Flower

Wei Yingluo stole a glance in that direction and felt her eyes brighten—as though around the corner a hidden fragrance had drifted near, and a white lotus in the pond had gently bloomed.

It was a selection girl dressed in white, her features pure and lovely, far surpassing the beauties around her. What was most striking was the fragile, tender air she carried in every glance and gesture—like Xi Shi clutching her heart, evoking pity even from other women.

But this was the rear palace. Women who could calmly appreciate another woman’s beauty were as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns—and the selection girl named Wuya Qingdai standing before them was certainly not one of them.

“Lu Wanwan, shut your mouth!” She whipped her head around and glared. “I didn’t ask you!”

The white-clad selection girl shrank her shoulders, seemingly frightened by her. At that moment, a poised and dignified selection girl beside her tugged at her sleeve and whispered in her ear, “Honestly, getting angry with Sister Wuya over a brainless servant isn’t worth it.”

Lu Wanwan opened her mouth, then swallowed the words back down.

“If you’re going to save someone, save them all the way—what’s this half-hearted effort?” Jinxiu muttered under her breath in complaint.

Wei Yingluo glanced at her. At least Lu Wanwan had managed to say one sentence on Jixiang’s behalf. What more could anyone demand from someone who didn’t even dare stand up and speak a single word?

Seeing Lu Wanwan cowed into silence with just one rebuke, Wuya Qingdai felt even more smug. She turned her gaze back to Jixiang. A flash of viciousness passed through her eyes, but her face wore a sweet smile as she said,

“Tsk tsk, a brand-new palace maid—small wonder she has no manners! Since you’ve dirtied my clothes, you can pay for it with that hand of yours!”

With that, she stomped her foot down hard onto the back of Jixiang’s hand.

A searing pain shot through her. Cold sweat poured from Jixiang like rain; her vision darkened. She couldn’t dodge—she could only lie there on the ground, sobbing and crying out,

“It hurts… it hurts so much! Mercy, my lady! Please have mercy on me!”

Her lady had no intention of showing mercy. Instead, she seemed to find the cries amusing; she actually let out a soft, delighted laugh.

That laughter sent a chill through Jixiang’s heart. For the first time in her life, she truly understood that some people build their happiness on the suffering of others.

“Father… Mother…” In the end she was still just a child. When she was in pain and despair, she couldn’t help calling out to the people closest to her. “Save me… help me… Aunt Fang, Xier, Jinxiu… Yingluo!”

Suddenly, the crushing pain on the back of her hand vanished.

At the same moment, a collective gasp rose all around her.

What had happened…

Jixiang raised her head in confusion, tears blurring her vision. It took several seconds before she could see clearly—and when she did, she couldn’t help but draw in the same shocked breath as everyone else.

Wei Yingluo had somehow knelt down beside her and was now holding one foot in her hand—Wuya Qingdai’s foot.

“Lady Wuya,” Wei Yingluo said with lowered head, her voice respectful, “please lift your honorable foot.”

Wuya Qingdai looked down at her from above, a chilling smile spreading across her face. “A mere little palace maid like you dares to ask me for mercy?”

After saying this, she looked Wei Yingluo up and down. As mentioned before, she had never been a woman capable of appreciating another’s beauty. A flash of jealousy crossed her eyes before she smiled and said:

“Well, that’s not entirely impossible. You come and take her place—how about it?”

“If Little Master wants this servant’s hand, this servant would gladly offer it up with all my heart.” Just when everyone thought Wei Yingluo was doomed, her tone suddenly shifted. “However, today is the day of Little Master’s palace selection—a most auspicious and joyous occasion. It would be improper to add bloodshed and taint Little Master’s good mood and good fortune.”

Wuya Qingdai frowned slightly. From the corner of her eye, she glanced at the other candidates.

She herself was someone who preferred to trip others up in secret, so she naturally assumed everyone else was the same.

Breaking the hands of two little palace maids was a small matter, but she feared someone might report behind her back that she carried the stench of blood on her person—an ill omen of bloodshed and disaster, making her unfit to appear before His Majesty…

Yet simply letting the two of them go felt unsatisfying. So with a cold face she said:

“You certainly have a silver tongue. But now my shoe is dirty, and I’m not happy!”

Wei Yingluo glanced at Jixiang’s hand.

On the back of that plump, fair hand was a dark bruise, branded with the shape of a black lotus. Both petals and center were seeping blood outward.

A chill settled over Wei Yingluo’s heart, yet her expression grew even more respectful and docile. Bowing her head to Wuya Qingdai, she said:

“Little Master is truly ingenious, specially carving the sole of the shoe into the shape of a lotus. It is only a pity that one thing is still missing. This servant ventures to offer her help and relieve Little Master’s burden.”

“Oh?” Wuya Qingdai raised an eyebrow. “And how will you relieve my burden?”

Wei Yingluo untied the sachet at her waist and called out without turning her head:

“Linglong, where is your sachet?”

The palace maid whose name had been called gave a start.

“Give it to me.” As she spoke, Wei Yingluo opened her own sachet and poured the rose-scented powder onto the ground.

Though she had absolutely no desire to step forward at a moment like this, under so many watchful eyes Linglong had no choice but to reluctantly come forward, untie her own sachet, and hand it over.

“Take it.”

Powder of the same color poured together formed a small rose-colored pile on the ground. Wei Yingluo knelt down and lifted both hands in offering:

“Please, Little Master Wuya, raise your foot.”

A soft laugh came from above her head. Then a bloodstained embroidered shoe landed in the center of her clean palms.

Wei Yingluo held Wuya Qingdai’s shoe in both hands. She dipped the empty sachet into the powder and carefully, evenly applied the rose powder to the sole of the shoe, her expression utterly focused, as though she were performing a task of the utmost importance.

“Hm?” Watching her profile, Lu Wanwan let out a small sound of surprise. “Sister Naran, this little palace maid is actually quite pretty.”

The elegant candidate she addressed as “Sister Naran”—the very one who had earlier stopped her from helping Jixiang—was named Naran Chuxue. She gently shook the palace fan in her hand and said coolly:

“So what if she’s pretty? She’s still just a bondservant by birth—a born slave. Her fate is to carry shoes for Sister Wuya.”

“Done.” Wei Yingluo gently set Wuya Qingdai’s foot down and bowed with utmost respect. “Please, Little Master, take a few steps and try it.”

“What exactly are you playing at…” Wuya Qingdai walked a few steps, her face darkening. “If you can’t give me a proper explanation, today I won’t let either of you off. Later on—”

“Ah!” Ignoring Naran Chuxue’s attempt to stop her, Lu Wanwan covered her lips with her fan and chimed in: “Step by step, a lotus blooms—how exquisite! Turn around and look.”

Wuya Qingdai paused in surprise. She turned to look back.

On the bluestone slabs she had just walked across now trailed a winding chain of lotus prints.

At the same moment, Wei Yingluo’s voice sounded beside her ear:

“This servant has read little, but I once heard a storyteller say that the Eastern Hun Marquis, for his most beloved Consort Pan, laid golden lotuses on the ground. Whenever Consort Pan walked upon them, it was as though lotuses sprang up with every step—beautiful beyond words—and thus she enjoyed boundless favor. Today, this humble Yingluo has used a petty trick, pressing rose powder into the sole of the shoe, to wish Little Master that all her wishes come true and that she rises higher with every step!”

Wuya Qingdai glanced at her, then fanned herself and walked back and forth several more times.

One lotus after another bloomed on the bluestone—like white flowers slowly opening in a green lake.

Wuya Qingdai no longer felt any urgency to punish the two little palace maids. All she wanted now was to hurry and let His Majesty see this scene. Any later, who knew whether those vixen-like women might imitate her and scatter rose powder or peony powder all over the floor?

“Alright, alright.” So she waved her hand indifferently and said to Wei Yingluo, who was still kneeling on the ground, “Just for that pathetic, bootlicking look of yours, I’ll spare her life!”

With that, she didn’t linger any longer and hurried away, stepping over the lotus flowers on the ground.

Once she left, there was no more spectacle to watch here. The other selection girls gradually departed one by one. Halfway through, Lu Wanwan turned back and gave Wei Yingluo a kind smile.

Unfortunately, she was standing while Wei Yingluo was kneeling, so Wei Yingluo didn’t see that smile.

Only after the sound of footsteps had faded did Wei Yingluo slowly stand up. She walked over to Jixiang, who was still kneeling on the ground, too afraid to move, and let out a deep sigh. Reaching out, she helped the trembling girl to her feet. “Jixiang, it’s over now.”

“Oh… oh…” Jixiang seemed to still be in shock from what had just happened, responding absently to Wei Yingluo’s words.

“Let me bandage you up simply for now.” Wei Yingluo took out a clean handkerchief and carefully wrapped it around her wound. “I’ll take you to see a doctor later…”

Being treated so gently by her, Jixiang’s heart gradually settled, like duckweed drifting on a lake finally reaching the shore. With tears in her eyes, she replied, “Mm…”

“Jixiang, you really are clumsy!” An untimely voice rang out. It was Jinxiu, who came striding over with her hands on her hips, her thin lips spitting out mocking words. “You almost got all of us in serious trouble!”

“You still have the nerve to say that!” Jixiang puffed out both cheeks. “If you hadn’t pushed me just now, I wouldn’t have made a mistake at all!”

“Enough, enough—stop arguing, both of you!” The senior palace maid scolded them and lectured, “To be retained as palace maids, you all have to pass the broom-holding and embroidery tests. Don’t just rely on your sharp tongues; you need real skill in your hands. Now move!”

Including Wei Yingluo, all the palace maids lowered their heads and replied, “Yes!”

The long line followed behind the senior palace maid, like a school of green fish swimming with the current toward wherever they were meant to go. Halfway along, someone tugged at Wei Yingluo’s sleeve. She turned her head and saw Jixiang glancing around nervously, looking as wary as a little mouse. It was clear the earlier incident had truly frightened her; even now, when she spoke, her voice was lowered several notches, afraid someone might overhear.

“Yingluo!” she said with a childlike innocence and dependence, complaining adorably, “That Wuya clan woman is so awful—how could you help her get selected?”

“Get selected? Her?” Wei Yingluo stopped in her tracks.

Jixiang looked at her in confusion, then followed her gaze.

At some point, they had arrived at the Orchid Courtyard.

Orchids bloomed everywhere, filling the air with rich fragrance, yet Wei Yingluo’s gaze wasn’t on any of the flowers.

What she was looking at was a well.

Jixiang shivered. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but even from such a distance, she could feel a chill drifting out from the mouth of the well—bone-piercingly cold, like the night wind sweeping over a field of scattered graves.

…Perhaps what was truly cold wasn’t the well, but the look in Wei Yingluo’s eyes at that moment.

“…Whether she gets selected or eliminated in the end, only Heaven knows.” Wei Yingluo smiled slightly. That smile melted away the icy darkness in her eyes. She took Jixiang’s hand and continued walking forward. “By the way, Jixiang, when you were crying and calling out to me just now, you reminded me a lot of how I used to be.”

“Hm?” Jixiang was taken aback.

“I used to be just like you—always getting into trouble, unable to handle it myself, so I’d cry and call for my older sister.” Wei Yingluo spoke with her back to Jixiang. “And every time, she would come to save me.”

“Your sister sounds wonderful.” Jixiang replied innocently. “I’m so envious that you had a sister like that.”

“No—it’s me who envies you.” Wei Yingluo’s voice grew softer and softer. “When you call for me, I’ll respond to you. But my sister… she’ll never respond to me again.”

The figure in front of her looked desolate and lonely, like a leaf withered in winter—reluctant in every way, yet helplessly parting from the tree that had once nurtured it.

Just looking at such a back made Jixiang’s heart ache. Unable to hold back, she tightly gripped that cold hand, wanting to warm it, to warm that heart.

“It’s alright now. I’ll stay with you.” Jixiang said softly. “I’ll stay with you… Sister Yingluo.”

STORY OF YANXI PALACE CHAPTERS HOME

   Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 3: Entering the Palace

   Entering the palace—some people rejoice, others dread it.

   Not every family is willing to send their own daughter into the palace to chase after that illusory, uncertain future.

   When there’s a policy from above, there are countermeasures from below. Some people falsely claim that their daughter has fallen ill, fearing the illness might be passed to a Noble Lady, and thus voluntarily forfeit their eligibility to enter the palace. Although this is illegal, as long as they grease the right palms and, most importantly, no one reports it, the authorities above will turn a blind eye.

But when someone like Wei Yingluo makes the matter public on the streets, the Banner Captain of the Bordered Yellow Banner has no choice but to intervene.

“Speak!” the Banner Captain barked sternly. “What exactly is going on here?”

“This… this…” For the moment, Wei Qingtai couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation.

“Let me explain it instead.” A soft, gentle female voice rose from behind Wei Qingtai.

Wei Yingluo, still bound with ropes and finding it difficult to walk, simply crawled on her knees to the front of the Banner Captain. She lifted her face—her blood-smeared features only made her pair of clear, bright eyes stand out even more strikingly.

“Sir Banner Captain, I am Wei Yingluo, one of this year’s candidates for palace maid.” Her expression was calm, her words clear and measured. “My father loves me too much and is unwilling to send me into the palace, so he spread word outside that I had lost my mind, then forced me into a distant marriage…”

“Enough!” The Banner Captain didn’t want to hear any more. He already felt like a laughingstock amid the pointing and whispering of the onlookers. Who was to blame for this? He glared fiercely at the man he considered the root of it all—Wei Qingtai—his voice cold and murderous. “All girls born into the Three Upper Banners’ bondservant households under the Imperial Household Department must be candidates for palace service. If any of them privately marry or are betrothed, let alone you and me—even the Lieutenant-General and the Company Commander will all be held accountable! Have you eaten the heart of a bear and the gall of a leopard to be so daring?!”

“I… I…” Wei Qingtai stammered for a long while before slowly bending his knees and kneeling down. He kowtowed heavily to the ground. “A thousand wrongs, ten thousand wrongs—all of it is my fault alone…”

The matter had already escalated to this point. He could only shoulder all the blame himself to avoid implicating the entire clan. Besides, if he didn’t take responsibility now, the clan members would later pin every crime on him anyway—and they would do it far more ruthlessly, ensuring he had no chance to turn around and accuse anyone else…

“Pity the hearts of parents all over the world.” Suddenly Wei Yingluo let out a soft sigh. She knelt down beside Wei Qingtai, kowtowing as well. The blood from her forehead stained the green bricks on the ground as she pleaded, “My father does not wish me to enter the palace and become a white-haired palace maid, and I do not wish my father to be punished because of me. Please, in consideration of the deep bond between father and daughter, spare him this once. I will definitely enter the palace on time.”

The word “filial piety” has, since ancient times, been the most moving thing in people’s hearts.

Immediately someone sighed, “What a filial daughter. Sir, please forgive them this time.”

“Yes, pity the hearts of parents everywhere.”

“I have a daughter of my own—I can’t even bear to let her marry far away, let alone enter the palace. Once she steps through those gates, it’s like entering an ocean too deep to cross; seeing her again in this lifetime would be nearly impossible.”

The Banner Captain glanced at Wei Yingluo with a complicated expression.

Her words had given everyone a way out. Wei Qingtai was not a criminal—he was simply a father with deep love for his daughter. And he himself was not negligent; instead, he could now take advantage of the public sentiment, play the role of a wise and benevolent official, and win praise.

“Very well.” The Banner Captain slowly nodded. “In consideration of so many common people pleading for you, this official will forgive you this once. You must not be foolish again—do you understand?”

“This humble one understands.” Wei Qingtai kowtowed again. He had no choice but to understand; he had to understand. To show his repentance, he would even have to personally escort Wei Yingluo into the palace.

“Father, I’m sorry.”

Wei Qingtai turned his head and saw Wei Yingluo looking at him with resolute eyes. She repeated the same words she had said earlier at the charity hall: “Your daughter must enter the palace.”

At this point, what else could Wei Qingtai do? Furious and helpless, he snapped, “Go then! Go ahead! Live or die—it’s up to you. I wash my hands of it. I’m never interfering again!”

In his heart he could only curse the cruel heavens: why did the Banner Captain have to pass by this exact street at this exact moment?

   But had the Banner Captain really just happened to pass by?

   In the crowded throng of people, in the very direction from which the Banner Captain had appeared, a middle-aged woman raised her hand to press down the bamboo hat on her head. A black gauze veil hung from the brim, concealing her face. Otherwise, if Wei Qingtai had seen her features, he would surely have demanded: “Aunt Jin, why are you here?”

In this world, there are not many true coincidences. Many “coincidences,” when traced back later, turn out to be entirely man-made.

“Miss, as you instructed, I’ve brought the Banner Captain of the Bordered Yellow Banner here.” Jin looked toward Wei Yingluo through the light gauze veil and sighed softly in her heart. I hope what I’m doing isn’t harming you. I hope you can truly achieve what you wish for, and not follow in your sister’s footsteps…

She shed the bright red wedding robes and changed into the plain green attire of a palace maid. On the second day of the second month in the sixth year of Qianlong’s reign, Wei Yingluo walked together with a group of new palace maids through the Imperial Garden, which was in full, splendid bloom.

Most of the palace maids were fifteen or sixteen years old—the age when one is most innocent and curious about the world. They kept looking left and right, drawn by a peony blossom here, a pink butterfly there. Only Wei Yingluo kept her gaze straight ahead, cold and indifferent to everything around her.

She even found herself thinking: Are the flowers blooming so beautifully because they’ve drunk my sister’s blood?

“What are you all chattering about like sparrows?” The senior palace maid leading them couldn’t stand their twittering anymore and scoffed with a sneer. “This is the Forbidden City—the most exalted place under Heaven. Do you think you’re allowed to gawk and babble as you please? Hurry up and move!”

Wei Yingluo was about to follow when a maid beside her tugged at her sleeve. Though the girl lowered her voice somewhat, it was still loud enough for the nearby little maids to hear: “Quick, look over there!”

Wei Yingluo couldn’t help frowning. She felt the other girl was being far too restless. The senior maid had just warned them not to look around or talk carelessly, yet this one immediately caused such a commotion—and not just by herself; she was dragging everyone else down with her…

Right. She remembered this girl’s name seemed to be Jinxiu.

The name suited her perfectly: a sharp, delicate oval face, a slender waist that could be encircled with one hand, an air of seductive charm from head to toe—truly worthy of the gorgeous name “Jinxiu.”

Following the sound, the little maids all turned to look. Deep among the peach blossoms, several selection girl (candidate consorts) were approaching, parting flowers and brushing aside willow branches. Each one was lovely in appearance, more enchanting than the blossoms themselves. They lightly fanned themselves with small silk fans, and a fragrant breeze drifted near and far—jasmine mingled with rose—delightful to the senses.

A round-faced little maid blinked her big eyes. “Sister Jinxiu, who are they? Fairies?”

The words were spoken with perfect childish innocence, and the girl herself looked like a child. Wei Yingluo remembered she was the youngest among them—only fourteen—and her name was Jixiang.

Again, the name suited her perfectly: like a cheerful New Year’s painting of a chubby baby, just looking at her made people feel festive and happy.

“Those are the selection girl who passed the preliminary selection and are preparing for the palace audience selection,” Linglong said with open envy, her eyes practically reaching out like hands to strip the others of their clothes and jewelry—hairpins, earrings—and put them all on herself.

“Such beautiful clothes,” Jixiang said, equally full of longing, though her envy was completely different from Linglong’s. She looked like a little neighbor girl gazing wistfully at the candied hawthorn stick in your hand. “If only I could wear such pretty clothes too.”

Jinxiu gave a scornful laugh at that. “Those are all daughters of distinguished families. The moment they enter the palace, they become mistresses. People like us—even if we pass the examinations—can only be palace maids who serve them. You—”

She jabbed her elbow into Jixiang’s side. “—stop daydreaming!”

“Watch out!” Wei Yingluo’s warning came too late.

Jixiang was already small and frail; it took both her hands just to lift the wooden bucket used for cleaning, and she carried it with great effort, swaying even while standing still. Now, with Jinxiu knocking against her already sore and weak elbow, the bucket immediately slipped from her grasp. With a splash, it hit the ground, and the dirty water inside flew out like spilled ink, splattering across the hem of one of the selection girl’s skirts.

Jixiang was terrified. She rushed forward and dropped to her knees at the woman’s feet. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’ll wipe it clean for you right now…”

Slap!

A sharp slap sent Jixiang sprawling to the ground; she rolled once, her whole body stained black with dirty water, looking like a pitiful stray dog.

“You filthy slave!” The selection girl’s face was livid with rage. “This Xiangyun gauze was specially purchased from Jiangnan for today’s palace audience selection! Now that you’ve dirtied it, what am I supposed to wear to see the Emperor?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… This slave really didn’t mean to…” Jixiang crawled forward, sobbing, fumbling desperately to pull out a clean handkerchief. “This slave will wipe it for you… This slave will clean it right away…”

“Get away!” With a look of utter disgust, the selection girl kicked out hard and fast—kicking not like a person at all, but as if booting a filthy stray dog—straight toward Jixiang’s face.

Jixiang let out a miserable cry and rolled away. Then, crawling back on hands and knees, nose bleeding freely, she kowtowed frantically like pounding garlic. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

“Hmph!” The selection girl glanced at the senior palace maid. “Do you think I should let her off?”

Although they hadn’t known each other long, people still have hearts of flesh. Seeing Jixiang in such a pitiful state, quite a few of the palace maids showed traces of pity on their faces. Yet they remained as silent as cicadas in winter, not daring to speak up for her for fear of being implicated themselves. At this moment, hearing the selection girl’s words, they all looked toward the senior palace maid with hopeful eyes, hoping she might say a few words on Jixiang’s behalf.

But Wei Yingluo knew that was impossible.

Even they themselves didn’t dare speak for Jixiang—how could a worldly, experienced old hand like the senior palace maid possibly offend a selection girl who might one day become a consort, just for the sake of an ordinary little palace maid?

Sure enough, the senior palace maid smiled obsequiously and said, “Lady Wuya, these girls are all newly arrived palace maids—stupid as pigs. You may beat or scold them as you please. Please, whatever you do, don’t anger yourself and harm your own health!”

Upon hearing this, some of the palace maids looked disappointed, others glared in silent fury, but every mouth clamped even tighter. They were all clever people—if even the senior palace maid didn’t dare act, they certainly wouldn’t either.

At a time like this, the only ones who might possibly speak up for Jixiang were other selection girls of equal standing.

“Sister Wuya,” a timid voice suddenly rang out, “she didn’t do it on purpose. Please just let her go.”

…There really was a selection girl willing to speak up for Jixiang.

Wei Yingluo stole a glance in that direction and felt her eyes brighten—as though around the corner a hidden fragrance had drifted near, and a white lotus in the pond had gently bloomed.

It was a selection girl dressed in white, her features pure and lovely, far surpassing the beauties around her. What was most striking was the fragile, tender air she carried in every glance and gesture—like Xi Shi clutching her heart, evoking pity even from other women.

But this was the rear palace. Women who could calmly appreciate another woman’s beauty were as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns—and the selection girl named Wuya Qingdai standing before them was certainly not one of them.

“Lu Wanwan, shut your mouth!” She whipped her head around and glared. “I didn’t ask you!”

The white-clad selection girl shrank her shoulders, seemingly frightened by her. At that moment, a poised and dignified selection girl beside her tugged at her sleeve and whispered in her ear, “Honestly, getting angry with Sister Wuya over a brainless servant isn’t worth it.”

Lu Wanwan opened her mouth, then swallowed the words back down.

“If you’re going to save someone, save them all the way—what’s this half-hearted effort?” Jinxiu muttered under her breath in complaint.

Wei Yingluo glanced at her. At least Lu Wanwan had managed to say one sentence on Jixiang’s behalf. What more could anyone demand from someone who didn’t even dare stand up and speak a single word?

Seeing Lu Wanwan cowed into silence with just one rebuke, Wuya Qingdai felt even more smug. She turned her gaze back to Jixiang. A flash of viciousness passed through her eyes, but her face wore a sweet smile as she said,

“Tsk tsk, a brand-new palace maid—small wonder she has no manners! Since you’ve dirtied my clothes, you can pay for it with that hand of yours!”

With that, she stomped her foot down hard onto the back of Jixiang’s hand.

A searing pain shot through her. Cold sweat poured from Jixiang like rain; her vision darkened. She couldn’t dodge—she could only lie there on the ground, sobbing and crying out,

“It hurts… it hurts so much! Mercy, my lady! Please have mercy on me!”

Her lady had no intention of showing mercy. Instead, she seemed to find the cries amusing; she actually let out a soft, delighted laugh.

That laughter sent a chill through Jixiang’s heart. For the first time in her life, she truly understood that some people build their happiness on the suffering of others.

“Father… Mother…” In the end she was still just a child. When she was in pain and despair, she couldn’t help calling out to the people closest to her. “Save me… help me… Aunt Fang, Xier, Jinxiu… Yingluo!”

Suddenly, the crushing pain on the back of her hand vanished.

At the same moment, a collective gasp rose all around her.

What had happened…

Jixiang raised her head in confusion, tears blurring her vision. It took several seconds before she could see clearly—and when she did, she couldn’t help but draw in the same shocked breath as everyone else.

Wei Yingluo had somehow knelt down beside her and was now holding one foot in her hand—Wuya Qingdai’s foot.

“Lady Wuya,” Wei Yingluo said with lowered head, her voice respectful, “please lift your honorable foot.”

Wuya Qingdai looked down at her from above, a chilling smile spreading across her face. “A mere little palace maid like you dares to ask me for mercy?”

After saying this, she looked Wei Yingluo up and down. As mentioned before, she had never been a woman capable of appreciating another’s beauty. A flash of jealousy crossed her eyes before she smiled and said:

“Well, that’s not entirely impossible. You come and take her place—how about it?”

“If Little Master wants this servant’s hand, this servant would gladly offer it up with all my heart.” Just when everyone thought Wei Yingluo was doomed, her tone suddenly shifted. “However, today is the day of Little Master’s palace selection—a most auspicious and joyous occasion. It would be improper to add bloodshed and taint Little Master’s good mood and good fortune.”

Wuya Qingdai frowned slightly. From the corner of her eye, she glanced at the other candidates.

She herself was someone who preferred to trip others up in secret, so she naturally assumed everyone else was the same.

Breaking the hands of two little palace maids was a small matter, but she feared someone might report behind her back that she carried the stench of blood on her person—an ill omen of bloodshed and disaster, making her unfit to appear before His Majesty…

Yet simply letting the two of them go felt unsatisfying. So with a cold face she said:

“You certainly have a silver tongue. But now my shoe is dirty, and I’m not happy!”

Wei Yingluo glanced at Jixiang’s hand.

On the back of that plump, fair hand was a dark bruise, branded with the shape of a black lotus. Both petals and center were seeping blood outward.

A chill settled over Wei Yingluo’s heart, yet her expression grew even more respectful and docile. Bowing her head to Wuya Qingdai, she said:

“Little Master is truly ingenious, specially carving the sole of the shoe into the shape of a lotus. It is only a pity that one thing is still missing. This servant ventures to offer her help and relieve Little Master’s burden.”

“Oh?” Wuya Qingdai raised an eyebrow. “And how will you relieve my burden?”

Wei Yingluo untied the sachet at her waist and called out without turning her head:

“Linglong, where is your sachet?”

The palace maid whose name had been called gave a start.

“Give it to me.” As she spoke, Wei Yingluo opened her own sachet and poured the rose-scented powder onto the ground.

Though she had absolutely no desire to step forward at a moment like this, under so many watchful eyes Linglong had no choice but to reluctantly come forward, untie her own sachet, and hand it over.

“Take it.”

Powder of the same color poured together formed a small rose-colored pile on the ground. Wei Yingluo knelt down and lifted both hands in offering:

“Please, Little Master Wuya, raise your foot.”

A soft laugh came from above her head. Then a bloodstained embroidered shoe landed in the center of her clean palms.

Wei Yingluo held Wuya Qingdai’s shoe in both hands. She dipped the empty sachet into the powder and carefully, evenly applied the rose powder to the sole of the shoe, her expression utterly focused, as though she were performing a task of the utmost importance.

“Hm?” Watching her profile, Lu Wanwan let out a small sound of surprise. “Sister Naran, this little palace maid is actually quite pretty.”

The elegant candidate she addressed as “Sister Naran”—the very one who had earlier stopped her from helping Jixiang—was named Naran Chuxue. She gently shook the palace fan in her hand and said coolly:

“So what if she’s pretty? She’s still just a bondservant by birth—a born slave. Her fate is to carry shoes for Sister Wuya.”

“Done.” Wei Yingluo gently set Wuya Qingdai’s foot down and bowed with utmost respect. “Please, Little Master, take a few steps and try it.”

“What exactly are you playing at…” Wuya Qingdai walked a few steps, her face darkening. “If you can’t give me a proper explanation, today I won’t let either of you off. Later on—”

“Ah!” Ignoring Naran Chuxue’s attempt to stop her, Lu Wanwan covered her lips with her fan and chimed in: “Step by step, a lotus blooms—how exquisite! Turn around and look.”

Wuya Qingdai paused in surprise. She turned to look back.

On the bluestone slabs she had just walked across now trailed a winding chain of lotus prints.

At the same moment, Wei Yingluo’s voice sounded beside her ear:

“This servant has read little, but I once heard a storyteller say that the Eastern Hun Marquis, for his most beloved Consort Pan, laid golden lotuses on the ground. Whenever Consort Pan walked upon them, it was as though lotuses sprang up with every step—beautiful beyond words—and thus she enjoyed boundless favor. Today, this humble Yingluo has used a petty trick, pressing rose powder into the sole of the shoe, to wish Little Master that all her wishes come true and that she rises higher with every step!”

Wuya Qingdai glanced at her, then fanned herself and walked back and forth several more times.

One lotus after another bloomed on the bluestone—like white flowers slowly opening in a green lake.

Wuya Qingdai no longer felt any urgency to punish the two little palace maids. All she wanted now was to hurry and let His Majesty see this scene. Any later, who knew whether those vixen-like women might imitate her and scatter rose powder or peony powder all over the floor?

“Alright, alright.” So she waved her hand indifferently and said to Wei Yingluo, who was still kneeling on the ground, “Just for that pathetic, bootlicking look of yours, I’ll spare her life!”

With that, she didn’t linger any longer and hurried away, stepping over the lotus flowers on the ground.

Once she left, there was no more spectacle to watch here. The other selection girls gradually departed one by one. Halfway through, Lu Wanwan turned back and gave Wei Yingluo a kind smile.

Unfortunately, she was standing while Wei Yingluo was kneeling, so Wei Yingluo didn’t see that smile.

Only after the sound of footsteps had faded did Wei Yingluo slowly stand up. She walked over to Jixiang, who was still kneeling on the ground, too afraid to move, and let out a deep sigh. Reaching out, she helped the trembling girl to her feet. “Jixiang, it’s over now.”

“Oh… oh…” Jixiang seemed to still be in shock from what had just happened, responding absently to Wei Yingluo’s words.

“Let me bandage you up simply for now.” Wei Yingluo took out a clean handkerchief and carefully wrapped it around her wound. “I’ll take you to see a doctor later…”

Being treated so gently by her, Jixiang’s heart gradually settled, like duckweed drifting on a lake finally reaching the shore. With tears in her eyes, she replied, “Mm…”

“Jixiang, you really are clumsy!” An untimely voice rang out. It was Jinxiu, who came striding over with her hands on her hips, her thin lips spitting out mocking words. “You almost got all of us in serious trouble!”

“You still have the nerve to say that!” Jixiang puffed out both cheeks. “If you hadn’t pushed me just now, I wouldn’t have made a mistake at all!”

“Enough, enough—stop arguing, both of you!” The senior palace maid scolded them and lectured, “To be retained as palace maids, you all have to pass the broom-holding and embroidery tests. Don’t just rely on your sharp tongues; you need real skill in your hands. Now move!”

Including Wei Yingluo, all the palace maids lowered their heads and replied, “Yes!”

The long line followed behind the senior palace maid, like a school of green fish swimming with the current toward wherever they were meant to go. Halfway along, someone tugged at Wei Yingluo’s sleeve. She turned her head and saw Jixiang glancing around nervously, looking as wary as a little mouse. It was clear the earlier incident had truly frightened her; even now, when she spoke, her voice was lowered several notches, afraid someone might overhear.

“Yingluo!” she said with a childlike innocence and dependence, complaining adorably, “That Wuya clan woman is so awful—how could you help her get selected?”

“Get selected? Her?” Wei Yingluo stopped in her tracks.

Jixiang looked at her in confusion, then followed her gaze.

At some point, they had arrived at the Orchid Courtyard.

Orchids bloomed everywhere, filling the air with rich fragrance, yet Wei Yingluo’s gaze wasn’t on any of the flowers.

What she was looking at was a well.

Jixiang shivered. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but even from such a distance, she could feel a chill drifting out from the mouth of the well—bone-piercingly cold, like the night wind sweeping over a field of scattered graves.

…Perhaps what was truly cold wasn’t the well, but the look in Wei Yingluo’s eyes at that moment.

“…Whether she gets selected or eliminated in the end, only Heaven knows.” Wei Yingluo smiled slightly. That smile melted away the icy darkness in her eyes. She took Jixiang’s hand and continued walking forward. “By the way, Jixiang, when you were crying and calling out to me just now, you reminded me a lot of how I used to be.”

“Hm?” Jixiang was taken aback.

“I used to be just like you—always getting into trouble, unable to handle it myself, so I’d cry and call for my older sister.” Wei Yingluo spoke with her back to Jixiang. “And every time, she would come to save me.”

“Your sister sounds wonderful.” Jixiang replied innocently. “I’m so envious that you had a sister like that.”

“No—it’s me who envies you.” Wei Yingluo’s voice grew softer and softer. “When you call for me, I’ll respond to you. But my sister… she’ll never respond to me again.”

The figure in front of her looked desolate and lonely, like a leaf withered in winter—reluctant in every way, yet helplessly parting from the tree that had once nurtured it.

Just looking at such a back made Jixiang’s heart ache. Unable to hold back, she tightly gripped that cold hand, wanting to warm it, to warm that heart.

“It’s alright now. I’ll stay with you.” Jixiang said softly. “I’ll stay with you… Sister Yingluo.”

STORY OF YANXI PALACE CHAPTERS HOME

   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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   Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 1: Splitting the Coffin

The door of the charity mortuary was pushed open, and a paper lantern was thrust in from outside.

The lantern brought with it a pair of feet.

Looking closely at those bow shoes—delicately curved like three-inch lotuses, white soles embroidered with twin lotus flowers—they walked slowly among the rows of coffins, pausing here and there, until finally stopping in front of a thin, shabby one.

“Look at what kind of people are here,” came a choked voice. “Strangers who died far from home, paupers with no money for burial, murdered prostitutes… Sister, how could you and I meet again in a place like this?”

Life as thin as paper—so even in death, there was not even a decent thick coffin.

The dilapidated charity mortuary held row after row of drafty, thin coffins. Still, better than nothing—better than just a straw mat, at least this way the body wouldn’t be eaten by insects and rats before burial.

“They all say you don’t deserve to be buried in the ancestral grave, that you can only lie here with these people.” A pallid hand rested on the coffin lid, gently tracing it for a moment before murmuring, “I don’t believe what they say, sister. I want you to tell me the truth yourself…”

Bang!

Chaotic footsteps approached from afar, and then the mortuary door was violently shoved open.

What met their eyes was a raised axe.

“Yingluo! Stop!” a middle-aged man cried out in alarm.

Bang!

The axe came down without hesitation, cleaving open the coffin in front of her.

“You—what are you doing?!” The middle-aged man stood stunned for a long moment before his lips trembled. “This… this is your sister’s coffin…”

A woman in white stood with her back to him, back to everyone.

She casually let the axe fall from her hand, then bent down and carefully lifted the person inside the coffin, supporting her.

“First they told me my sister died of illness, then they said she did something shameful in the palace and killed herself because she couldn’t face anyone… Look.” She slowly turned around and gave everyone a faint, eerie smile.

The woman from the coffin now rested against her shoulder. Around her neck was faintly visible the mark of a pair of black butterflies.

Only upon closer inspection did she realize they were bruises left by two large hands. The spread-open hands resembled a pair of black wings, silently proclaiming a death named murder.

“Have you all seen it?” The woman in white—Wei Yingluo—embraced the woman in the coffin and smiled at the crowd, as if she had finally uncovered the truth and wished she could announce it to the entire world at once, wished she could immediately clear her sister’s name for all to hear. “Look at the handprints on her neck. Tell me—how exactly is a person supposed to strangle herself to death?”

No one could answer her question.

No one even dared to meet their eyes.

Two faces that were almost identical.

Wei Yingluo and Wei Yingning—because of their exquisite beauty and lotus-pure grace—were known as the Twin Lotuses of the Wei clan.

Now one lotus was dead, one lived. The one in the coffin, somehow still retaining almost all of her former loveliness even in death—perhaps thanks to some miraculous elixir she had taken while alive—wore the same clothes she had on when she left the palace. She leaned softly and weakly against her younger sister’s shoulder, wearing that half-smile that made her look almost alive.

Yet the living one had eyes like a corpse. Her pitch-black and stark-white pupils stared so intently that everyone felt a chill crawl over their skin.

“Could it be that a vengeful ghost took possession of her sister’s body to demand justice?” More than one person secretly thought so.

“Father.” Wei Yingluo’s gaze swept across the crowd and finally settled on the middle-aged man’s face. The smile disappeared from her lips. “Who is the murderer who killed my sister?”

“It’s…” The middle-aged man seemed about to say something, but after a brief hesitation he gritted his teeth and said, “What murderer? She committed suicide!”

At that moment the others finally came back to their senses and began talking over one another.

“That’s right, she killed herself.”

“A woman expelled from the palace, unchaste and unclean—if she didn’t kill herself, would the whole clan have to suffer disgrace along with her?”

“She died well, died well!”

“Your elder sister had no virtue, and this younger one isn’t much better—daring to split open a coffin like this. Wei Qingtai, what a fine job you’ve done raising them!”

Hearing this, the middle-aged man—Wei Qingtai—stiffened. He hurriedly stepped forward to Wei Yingluo, raised his hand, and slapped her hard across the face.

“It’s all my fault—I failed to discipline them properly!” After the slap, he groveled toward the crowd while simultaneously slapping the back of Wei Yingluo’s head. “Hurry up and kneel! Kowtow and apologize to all your uncles and elders!”

When she didn’t react, he slapped the back of her head again, harder. “Kneel!”

But Wei Yingluo stood rigid like a stalk of bamboo, refusing to bend, refusing to kneel, simply standing there motionless.

“Kneel!” Under so many watching eyes, Wei Qingtai felt his face burning with humiliation. In a rage he lifted his foot and kicked the back of her knee. “Are you deaf?”

Wei Yingluo was kicked down to her knees, but she quickly climbed back up.

“Father, all you know how to do is make me kneel.” One hand braced against the ground, the other supporting her sister, she slowly rose. Jet-black hair fell down both sides of her face, hiding her expression at that moment. Only her voice came out, cold as a winter spring. “But do you know? I knelt to Wei Ruhua, and she still stole the hairpin Mother left me before she died. I knelt to Wei Xuedong, and he still disregarded that we are cousins and tried to touch me inappropriately… It was my sister who got the hairpin back for me. It was my sister who drove Wei Xuedong away…”

“…It’s just a hairpin, isn’t it?” Wei Qingtai frowned. “Gold-plated, worth almost nothing. No need to ruin your cousinly relationship over something so trivial. And Xuedong… he was only joking. Your sister took it too seriously and even broke his head open.”

“…So you knew all along.” Wei Yingluo slowly turned her face toward him. On that face—pure and lotus-like—were a pair of wet, tear-filled eyes. The teardrops hung trembling at the tips of her lashes, like dew on flower petals, heartbreakingly beautiful. “You knew everything, yet you still wanted me and my sister to kneel and apologize to them.”

The one who was robbed was her.

   The one forced to kowtow and apologize was still her.

   The one who was molested was her.

   The one forced to kowtow and apologize was still her.

   “I did it all for your own good,” Wei Qingtai said stiffly. “Do we really have to make a big deal out of such a small matter…”

A small matter?

“No, the only one who’s ever been good to me is my sister!” Wei Yingluo sneered coldly, cutting him off. “Let me tell you—I’ve been waiting for my sister to come back all this time. Before she entered the palace, she promised me that she would definitely return. She said she would take me away from this Wei family, away from you, to a new place, to start a new life, so that I would never again have to kneel to anyone for no reason…”

“The palace is a place where you have to kneel at any moment, anywhere!” This time it was Wei Qingtai who interrupted her.

The imperial palace.

   Once you enter the palace gates, it’s like stepping into an abyss as deep as the sea. Just as mountains have their heights and waters their depths, the women in the palace are divided into those who stand and those who kneel.

   The Wei family was hardly some grand noble clan—just a bondservant household. No matter how peerlessly beautiful his sister was, once she entered the palace she could only begin by serving others—which is to say, she began by kowtowing to others.

   “Kowtowing to someone is still kowtowing. Might as well choose just one person and only ever kowtow to him.”

That “him”—was it a man… or was it a “her”?

Two different worlds inside and outside the palace. Wei Yingluo had no idea what her sister’s circumstances were inside the palace, nor did she know to whom her sister had chosen to kowtow. She only knew that her sister had entered in the season of warm spring and blooming flowers, and had returned cold as ice.

And along with her came the black handprint around her neck.

The owner of that handprint… who exactly was it?

   “…I’m going to enter the palace.” Wei Yingluo closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, there was an unyielding determination in her gaze. “Since you won’t tell me who the murderer is, fine. I’ll go into the palace myself and find out the truth, clear as day!”

“Nonsense!” Wei Qingtai was so furious his beard trembled. “Are you determined to follow in your sister’s footsteps and meet the same end?”

Wei Yingluo reflexively glanced at the shoulder she was leaning against—her sister.

From childhood, her sister had always been smarter, more resourceful, and braver than her.

By comparison, she had only ever been the little shadow who hid behind her sister, always needing her protection.

If even her sister could not survive in the palace, then what about her? Could she possibly live to the end, uncover the truth… and ultimately avenge her sister?

“…Enough. This matter ends here.” Wei Qingtai softened his tone somewhat and reached out toward Wei Yingning, who was resting against Wei Yingluo’s shoulder. “Let your sister rest in peace.”

Rest in peace?

   Just as Wei Qingtai’s hand was about to touch her, a sudden, piercing scream erupted inside the mourning hall—shrill, bone-deep, as if someone had plunged a knife into their chest and brutally ripped it out.

   “Aaaah—”

Several members of the Wei clan felt their scalps go numb. They instinctively raised their hands to cover their ears, terrified that if they didn’t, blood would pour into their heads along with that scream.

Wei Qingtai, being closest, stumbled back several steps in fright. Then he stared at Wei Yingluo, who had let out that long, terrible wail, and stammered:

“Y-you… what’s wrong with you now?”

“Rest in peace? She can’t rest in peace…” Wei Yingluo clutched her sister’s ice-cold body—already beginning to give off the faint stench of decay. Her voice was hoarse after the scream, and she wept as she spoke. “Sister can’t rest in peace… and neither can I…”

In front of everyone, she cried and screamed, repeating the same words over and over.

“I’m going into the palace.” Wei Yingluo sobbed and shouted. “I must take revenge… so she can rest in peace… so I can rest in peace.”

Since they were twin lotus flowers growing from the same stem, they were born together and should die together.

You have already departed. Even though I still breathe, I am nothing more than a walking corpse slowly rotting away.

Only when you are finally at peace can I too find peace.

“Madness, pure madness! Rather than letting you enter the palace in this deranged state and bring disaster upon the whole clan, it would be better to…” An elderly member of the Wei clan stepped close to Wei Qingtai, covered his mouth with his hand, and whispered something into his ear.

Wei Qingtai’s expression was complicated. After listening to the end, he finally let out a soft sigh and nodded gently.

Immediately afterward, several figures arrived beside Wei Yingluo.

She raised her head and looked at them somewhat blankly. “What do you want to do?”

Several large hands reached toward her at the same time.

Several days later.

A wine flag fluttered in the wind. Fresh white liquor was poured into new cups, accompanied by several small plates of appetizers. One person was drinking alone when he suddenly said, “Whose family is marrying off a daughter down there?”

Several drinkers leaned half against the railing, looking down at the street from above. On the long street, a grand red wedding procession slowly advanced amid the crackling of firecrackers.

Atop a tall, sturdy horse sat a groom beaming with pride.

Behind him followed a small flower sedan chair.

A gust of wind lifted the curtain. One of the drinkers let out a surprised sound and raised his hand to rub his eyes.

“What’s wrong? Wind in your eyes?” the person next to him asked.

“Probably drank too much—seeing things.” The drinker lowered his hand, looking a bit dazed. “Just now when the curtain blew open a little, I saw the bride… she was tied up with five-flowered rope.”

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