Qingguo replied, “Don’t worry, Miss. Third Miss has been copying scriptures all along. In three days, when she presents them to the Empress Dowager, Her Majesty will surely punish her severely.”
But Gu Qingjin’s frown did not ease. Stroking her belly, she muttered, “I carry Prince Cheng’s child, yet I am only made a concubine. Why should she marry into the Song family as a proper wife, and even show her face before the Empress Dowager?”
At the thought of the word *concubine*, Gu Qingjin clenched her teeth in fury.
Seeing her agitation, Qingguo tried to soothe her. “Miss, didn’t Madam say that once His Highness ascends the throne, you will have the chance to become Empress? For now, though unpleasant, we must think of the long term.”
Gu Qingjin suddenly said, “If I could win the Empress Dowager’s favor, perhaps I might still be granted the rank of secondary consort.”
Yet since the Empress Dowager had not summoned her, she dared not go rashly.
After much thought, Gu Qingjin decided she must go to Huguo Temple.
“Qingguo, prepare Xuande paper for me. I will copy scriptures too. When the time comes, I’ll expose her and present my own work. With the child in my womb, the Empress Dowager surely won’t blame me.”
She leaned closer and whispered a few instructions into Qingguo’s ear. The maid nodded repeatedly and hurried out.
Meanwhile, Gu Qingzhao dined in the main courtyard before returning to Xiyun Pavilion. In her study, she bent over her scriptures, writing with utmost care. In her past life, she had often copied texts for the Empress Dowager, so she knew exactly which sutras to choose, which script to use, and the proper format. Even the incense burning in her study was the same South Sea agarwood favored by the Empress Dowager when transcribing.
The requirements were strict: Nine lines per page, fifteen characters per line—one finger’s width of margin at top and bottom, half a finger’s space between lines. Any Sanskrit transliterations marked in red with cinnabar ink. No errors, no smudges. If a single mistake appeared, the page was wasted.
At the end of the *xu* hour, Cuiliu brought in tea and pastries. After setting them down, she glanced at the paper and asked casually, “Miss, this paper looks unusual—better than what you usually use.”
Gu Qingzhao carefully laid down her brush, sipped her tea, and answered, “It’s Xuande paper. Grandmother had it sent.”
Cuiliu’s eyes flicked to the inkstone, recognizing the same pine soot ink her mistress always used. Without betraying her thoughts, she quietly withdrew.
After she left, Gu Qingzhao let out a faint hum. The fact that Cuiliu had been allowed into her study today was no accident—she had arranged it. At this moment, someone ought to be carrying word to Gu Qingjin.
She copied scriptures all the way until the third watch of the night, then washed up to rest. Just before bed, Chunlan came in to assist with her ablutions and said, “It seems Fourth Miss is also copying scriptures. The study at Tangliwu has been lit all night. Her maid Qingguo went out this afternoon to buy a Xuande lamp.”
“Qingguo even took care to avoid notice. Luckily, the gatekeeper Madam Wang is from my hometown, so she let this slip.”
Gu Qingzhao was rubbing mink oil into her hands—sent from Liaodong by her uncle’s men. Once applied, her hands were supple and smooth. In her previous life, she had been too frugal to use it, and all that mink oil had ended up benefiting Gu Qingjin.
That day, when she cleared out Gu Qingjin’s storeroom, she donated only the gold and silver. She kept luxuries like mink oil—rare and extravagant.
Hearing Chunlan’s words, Gu Qingzhao pondered for a moment, suspicion forming in her mind. She beckoned Chunlan closer and whispered a few instructions. As Chunlan listened, her lips curved into a smile. “This is clever. To deal with villains, one must use such methods.”
Seeing her smile so brightly, Gu Qingzhao teased, “Look how pretty you are when you smile. You should do it more often. You’re always so stern—those little maids hardly dare breathe when you’re around.”
Each of her maids had their own character.
Chunlan was dark-skinned, skilled in martial arts, and rarely spoke.
Xiahe was pretty, soft-spoken, and meticulous in her work. The youngest, Guizhi, still carried a childlike air, but her quick eyes betrayed a lively wit.
Chunlan pressed her lips into a small smile. “It’s better they fear me. Without discipline, these little maids would think they could reach the heavens.” She added, “I forgot to tell you—Old Madam sent word that you are excused from morning and evening greetings these next few days, so you may focus on copying scriptures.”
The next morning, after breakfast, Gu Qingzhao did not go to the main hall. Alone at her desk, she sat with her gaze lowered, staring blankly at the blue bricks beneath her feet.
When Chunlan pushed open the door, Gu Qingzhao startled, then relaxed once she saw who it was.
“What’s wrong, Miss? You seem distracted.” Chunlan lifted the lid of the incense burner and dropped in a small piece of spice.
Gu Qingzhao asked, “How much silver do we have on hand?”
In her previous life, her younger brother had been murdered a month later. But another calamity had struck as well—the cold wave arrived early. A month later, a sudden heavy snow fell, and the capital’s temperature plunged lower than any year before. It wasn’t just the common folk who suffered—even the Gu family’s estates had grain left unharvested. For a wealthy household like theirs, losing one year’s harvest did not affect daily life. But for the tenant farmers, it was disastrous. They could not pay rent, nor could they fill their stomachs.
She remembered that in her past life, her aunt refused to reduce the rent. The tenants crowded before the Duke’s residence, begging for mercy. In the end, Grandmother intervened, waived the rent, and distributed grain.
The farther north one went, the worse the disaster became. In her past life, Prince Liao’s garrison in Liaodong lost more men to freezing and starvation than to battle. Having died once, she knew how precious survival was. This time, no matter what, she would protect Liaodong’s soldiers.
Hearing her question, Chunlan replied, “There are over five thousand taels in silver notes, a few hundred taels in gold, and more than a hundred taels in loose silver.”
Gu Qingzhao leaned back in her chair, fingers tightly entwined. Five thousand taels—enough to stockpile supplies in advance, perhaps even open a shop in the capital to earn more silver. But if she meant to safeguard the Liaodong army, it was far from sufficient.
Two days later would be the first of the eighth month. The snow had fallen on the twenty-ninth. By calculation, only twenty-eight days remained—time was tight.
And such matters could not be rashly reported to the court. First, the court would not believe her. Second, rebirth was beyond comprehension. Who could say whether this life’s weather would mirror the last? News of national upheaval—how could she dare to speak it aloud? She could only prepare in secret. Yet the silver was still lacking.
From the bottom drawer of her desk, Gu Qingzhao took out a simple black jade pendant. In her past life, she had used this token to save Qin Jingming’s life. Perhaps, in this life, it could serve her again. All afternoon she mulled over the matter while copying scriptures. Distracted, she even wrote two characters wrong.
At last she gave up writing and sat in a daze. By evening, she ordered paper and ink set out once more and began drafting letters to Liaodong.
In the letters, she claimed to know a sage who foresaw a cold wave in the north a month hence. She urged that grain be harvested early, that nearby prefectures’ grain and winter goods be purchased without delay.
Fearing her uncle would not believe, Gu Qingzhao emphasized at the end: such warnings are better heeded than ignored. She wrote three letters in succession and sent them to Prince Liao’s residence in the capital. There, General Zhang would use military channels to deliver them to Liaodong. If her uncle and cousin trusted his word, the pressure in Liaodong a month later might be eased.
Early the next morning, after breakfast, Gu Qingzhao went to Cihui Hall. When she arrived, Grandmother had not yet come out; she heard Third Aunt, Xiao Hongshuang, inside, helping Grandmother rise.
In the main hall, Madam Chen, the eldest madam, was speaking with Xiao Tingyun. Eldest Uncle Gu Yuanbai had also returned, smiling as he teased little Gu Yannian. Seated together were the two young ladies of the eldest branch—Eldest Miss Gu Qingyan and Second Miss Gu Qinglan.
Gu Qingzhao greeted the elders respectfully, then sat down beside Gu Qinglan.
“Didn’t Grandmother excuse you from morning and evening greetings? Yet here you are, fawning for favor,” Gu Qinglan said with her usual sharp tongue, her voice lowered in deference to the elders present.
Gu Qingzhao cast her a disdainful glance. “If you’ve got the courage, say it louder.”
She ignored her after that, turning instead to address her uncle: “Uncle, I’ve been reading many books on celestial phenomena lately. This year seems to be turning cold early. Shouldn’t we have the grain from our estates brought in ahead of time?”