The sensation of falling, of suddenly losing all purchase beneath her, swept over Ying Yang. Her eyes flew open.
One moment there had been an electronic interface; the next, a round wooden beam festooned with colored ribbons. Ancient, low-pitched chanting lingered in her ears. It took Ying Yang a little while to recover her bearings. She opened her mouth to speak, and something fell from between her lips. Soft cries of alarm rose around her.
She reached up to wipe her mouth and caught a fragrance as her nostrils stirred. Ah, it was a little packet of leaves bound with reeds, scented with osmanthus. Judging from the color of the leaves she had seen outside earlier, it ought to be spring. Had they fumigated the packet with dried osmanthus blossoms?
The fragrance was remarkably pure—sweet and delicate without becoming cloying. It would be wonderful in osmanthus cakes, lotus root stuffed with sticky rice and steeped in osmanthus syrup, osmanthus porridge, osmanthus preserve, or little glutinous-rice balls in fermented sweet rice.
“Yi—ah—”
A barefoot woman in brilliantly colored garments danced with her hair hanging loose, murmuring incantations as she performed the so-called ghost steps.
“Dong. Dong!”
Two women in garments of the same style, though more subdued in color, knelt nearby. Eyes closed, they struck their drums to a measured rhythm.
Before long, the barefoot woman’s steps and the drumbeats grew increasingly urgent. Then both stopped abruptly. In the ensuing stillness, she gave a long, low cry and flung a great handful of aromatics into the bonfire.
Ying Yang rolled over, sat up, and watched the ancient rite with interest. Six times she saw the flames leap high.
The female ritual officiant had not expected Ying Yang to sit up in the middle of the ceremony. She faltered as she turned, and across the bonfire her gaze met the child’s. For an instant, both were equally startled.
The officiant looked away first and resumed the ritual.
System, did you record all of this?
The answer was affirmative. The System explained that although this age was technologically backward, its calculations indicated that she had arrived at a crucial period in the formation and development of an ancient civilization. The material was of considerable value.
You don’t say!
So are there any benefits? Easier Popularity Point gains, perhaps? More generous rewards?
The System said that shortly after her arrival it had detected a superior stationed in the Oort Cloud, only 1.5 light-years from Blue Star. It had submitted an application immediately. In another two months, there should be good news.
Wasn’t a light-year something like nine hundred million-odd li?
Ying Yang fell silent. That world was far too remote to contemplate. Better to attend to herself and the present.
[Novice Mission Two: Successfully publish one video and obtain no fewer than 5 Popularity Points.]
[Requirements: Video duration of at least five minutes; combined likes, comments, and shares exceeding 50; content rating of at least three stars.]
[Mission Reward: New Star Promotion ×1.]
[Additional Reward: Neural Treatment ×3.]
“Eh?”
Hadn’t the System said additional benefits would have to wait for approval from above?
[Basic rewards fall within the System’s own authority.]
“!”
So it really has applied for something even better for me?
I’ll never loudly curse this rotten System for cheating me again. Sob!
[System Notice: The foundation of increasing popularity is satisfying the psychological needs of your audience. Your present popularity is extremely low. The Public Opinion Collection plugin has now been installed. We hope you will make prudent use of this feature and bring new brilliance to your path toward popularity!]
A new feature? Already?
Once the ceremony was finished and she had been carried into a side chamber to change, Ying Yang seized the opportunity to enter the System space. She searched every corner, yet there was not the slightest trace of this supposed Public Opinion Collection plugin.
And the System insisted that installation was complete?
Ah. The familiar System that always falls apart at the crucial moment…
After a brief spell of speechlessness, Ying Yang returned to her body. Otherwise, her mother and the others might decide that the ritual had failed and drag their poor, helpless little girl through another round of exorcisms and prayers. Such ceremonies required fasting!
While her wet nurse wiped her down and changed her clothes, Ying Yang considered the subject of her future videos.
She could certainly film the everyday life of an ancient Gongzhu. But judging by the memories and impressions accumulated over her past three years, that premise would not sustain an audience for long. The lives of ancient aristocrats were an odd mixture of gilded extravagance, rigid etiquette, and primitive amusements. The novelty might attract a few curious viewers, but winning and retaining a large following would require something different.
*Warm and affectionate daily moments between Qin Shi Huang and his daughter?*
Ying Yang thought back—and was startled to discover how vividly she could recall the past. People she had met, words she had heard, things she had done: all returned to her, even the sounds and scents of particular scenes.
Yet with this extraordinary memory, she could count on fewer than ten fingers the occasions when she had been in close company with her own father, the future First Emperor!
Her father visiting, greeting her, listening to her wet nurse’s account of her meals and daily routine, and then having her carried away; or all the children bowing to him together at banquets and gatherings—none of that could reasonably be called heartwarming domestic life. How was it supposed to captivate an audience?
Palace intrigue, on the other hand, was excellent material for attracting viewers.
And she herself was a victim of palace intrigue. That alone would draw attention.
[Publish your first video now?]
No. A tale of palace intrigue in which the victim suffered but never struck back, never delivered a satisfying reversal, was an incomplete tale.
Ying Yang’s gaze settled upon a woman in a dark purplish robe with a curved hem, leisurely enjoying wine and dried meat a short distance away. Her eyes cooled.
That woman was Feng Shi, one of her wet nurses.
Born into a minor aristocratic family, Feng Shi had the most distinguished background of Ying Yang’s three wet nurses. Moreover, her aunt had once served as wet nurse to Xia Furen—Ying Yang’s Ayi, now one of the three senior Furen of the inner palace. On account of this connection, Ying Yang’s mother treated Feng Shi with particular courtesy, and Feng Shi had grown increasingly arrogant.
If Feng Shi’s only faults had been laziness and a fondness for comfort, Ying Yang would not have hated her. These wet nurses had left their own young children behind to nourish and raise her, and she was grateful for that sacrifice.
Feng Shi’s true offense was that she cared nothing for Ying Yang’s health.
Because they nursed royal offspring, wet nurses received excellent food. Outside the palace, even minor aristocrats could not expect meat every day. Inside, the wet nurses were served meat every few days as a matter of course.
And Xia Bazi was a mother who adored her daughter and had money to spare. Believing that a healthy wet nurse would produce healthy milk, she made certain that the women could eat meat daily. She even indulged Feng Shi’s desire for wine.
Fine silks upon her body, fish and meat upon her table—what had Feng Shi given in return?
She disliked bathing or wiping herself clean, leaving Ying Yang with sores in her mouth and bouts of diarrhea. She nursed the child immediately after drinking, once nearly smothering her. From infancy she fed Ying Yang milk contaminated with alcohol; sometimes, to silence the crying child, she secretly gave her wine outright.
The result was stunted development and neurological poisoning. Ying Yang was often drowsy, sluggish, and drenched in sweat. With the harm accumulating year after year, she had reached the age of three without being able to speak.
If Ying Yang could have lodged a complaint, Xia Bazi would have leapt up in fury, summoned the palace authorities, and demanded that Feng Shi and the others be seized, imprisoned in the Baoshi, tortured, and executed.
The trouble lay in those words: and the others.
Ying Yang sighed soundlessly.
Qin was a state in which collective liability reached into every corner of life. Relatives, neighbors, members of the same groups of five or ten households, colleagues, recommenders, and those they recommended—all could be implicated together.
If Feng Shi’s mistreatment of Ying Yang came to light, Feng Shi herself would undoubtedly meet a miserable end. But others would not escape punishment either. That was precisely why her behavior had grown ever bolder without anyone daring to report her.
Servants were people too. They feared punishment.
“Why does Gongzhu sigh? Is something troubling you?”
Ying Yang tilted her head toward the speaker, a maid whose hair was arranged in two little buns. Her name was Liao, though everyone called her A-Liao. Her face was somewhat oval, like a duck’s egg.
Ying Yang liked how thoughtful A-Liao was in her work and felt closer to her than to most of the other attendants. Noticing this, Xia Bazi had promoted A-Liao to be her daughter’s senior maid.
“Hah!”
Feng Shi, drinking rice wine from a golden cup, did not even lift her head as she sneered.
“What troubles could a fool possibly have? You’re a little brat still smelling of milk, yet you put on the airs of a grown woman. What a joke!”
Though Feng Shi did no work and disliked the ill-omened, supposedly witless Gongzhu, she could not bear to see anyone else rise to prominence in the child’s household. She had long resented the young maid A-Liao.
She warned her, “Before your betters, do not say what should not be said, and do not do what should not be done. Offend a taboo, and you can wait for the thorn-ghosts to come for you!”
A-Liao stiffened. Fear rose in her eyes.
Threatening someone’s life right in front of me!
Anger blazed in Ying Yang’s eyes.
Feng Shi noticed her expression, and her heart gave a small, involuntary leap. The next instant, rage surged up inside her. She set her golden cup down with a sharp smack and reached toward Ying Yang with a cold laugh.
“A wet nurse is a mother too! How can Gongzhu be so disrespectful to her wet nurse at such a tender age? Hmph! It’s these little sluts around her who have led her astray!”
Just then, a loud, resonant announcement rang out:
“Dawang approaches—!”
Every face changed. All movement ceased at once as the attendants hastily straightened their garments and prepared to receive their sovereign.
My First Emperor dad is coming!
An idea flashed through Ying Yang’s mind. She seized A-Liao’s sleeve and refused to let go.
Another wet nurse, Rui Shi, who until now had remained as silent and inconspicuous as a shadow, finally spoke.
“A-Liao, attend Gongzhu for a moment. I must change my clothes.”
Ying Yang had already changed once and needed no further attention, but Feng Shi and Rui Shi had not yet replaced the garments creased and permeated with smoke from the ceremony.
For someone of Qin Wang’s station, the herald did not wait until he crossed the threshold before announcing his arrival. Depending on the circumstances, a messenger might run ahead from at least a li away, giving everyone time to prepare and avoid any breach of etiquette.
While both wet nurses were absent, Ying Yang caught A-Liao’s hand and positioned her so they faced the same direction. Then she began writing characters upon the maid’s palm.
You. Jin. Luo. Fu.
Chu.
Her body was slow and unresponsive, and the seal-script forms of luo and chu were relatively complicated. She had only managed to trace the characters once before both wet nurses returned, fully changed.
How were they so fast?!
Ying Yang gave A-Liao’s hand one final, desperate squeeze, trying to convey her earnest hopes through her eyes.
But A-Liao’s expression remained hesitant and uncertain.
Ying Yang’s heart sank.
Filled with grief and indignation, she was brought before her father to pay her respects.
“Ah, ah.”
Slowly, Ying Yang shook off her wet nurse’s hand. She was determined to bow under her own power.
“My child…”
Xia Bazi began to speak, but Ying Zheng waved a hand to indicate that it did not matter.
The two of them sat in the place of honor, watching their daughter’s movements proceed in awkward, halting stages…
And then she pitched forward and fell flat on her face.
The instant her chin struck the woven mat, Ying Yang was stunned—and rather aggrieved.
[Damn it! A tiger fallen onto the plain gets bullied by dogs! I, a magnificent culinary adventurer who once roamed the earth and soared through the skies, have lived to see the day when I’m less capable than a sloth!]
Ying Zheng’s expression changed subtly.
Author’s Note
The little one has forgotten something very important. (Looks up at the sky.)
Translator’s Note: