Chen Danyan was startled by her younger sister’s sudden return. She had countless questions to ask, but the girl who threw herself into her arms was drenched, as if pulled straight from the river.
“In this heavy rain—!” Chen Danyan scolded, pulling her quickly inside. “Prepare hot water, boil ginger soup, fetch medicine to drive out the chill.”
The maids and attendants bustled about. Chen Danzhu said nothing, letting her sister lead her in, leaving a trail of rainwater across the corridor.
The Chen family’s gates closed. Outside, the night rain fell on, while inside, lamps flickered and servants hurried, a strange kind of peace settling in.
After a steaming bath, Chen Danzhu was wrapped and brought out by two maids. Chen Danyan dried her hair and watched closely as she drank the ginger soup and medicine.
When Chen Danzhu was born, Chen Danyan was ten. Their mother died in childbirth, and Chen Danyan had raised her sister as both elder sister and mother.
“If you wanted to come back, you should have chosen your time,” Chen Danyan chided. “What difference would it make to wait until the rain stopped?”
Chen Danzhu sipped the bitter medicine silently.
“Ah Zhu, you’re fifteen now, no longer a child.” Chen Danyan’s voice softened, but carried the weight of recent grief—especially the death of their brother, a crushing blow to their father and the family. “Father is old and frail. With Danyang gone, you mustn’t add to his worries.”
Chen Danzhu lifted her gaze. “Sister, where are you going tomorrow?”
The sudden question caught Chen Danyan off guard. “To see your brother-in-law—” She stopped herself, meeting her sister’s dark, searching eyes. “I’m going home. He isn’t there, but there are matters at the house. I can’t stay here long.”
What matters could the Li household have? Li Liang’s parents were in the countryside, likely already under his protection. His residence in the capital was empty. He and Chen Danyan had been married for five years, with no children—only one miscarriage, after which she had been nursing her health. There were concubines, but Li Liang, busy with military duties, had no heirs from them either.
Chen Danyan felt guilty, drinking endless tonics, praying at temples. Li Liang always reassured her, saying he didn’t mind, that there was no rush.
Chen Danzhu’s lips curved in a bitter smile. He wasn’t in a rush for her child—because he already had a son, with another woman.
Her gaze fell on her sister’s slender waist. In truth, Chen Danyan was three months pregnant. She had traveled to see Li Liang in secret, hiding it from their father. The journey exhausted her, and when she collapsed, the physician revealed her condition. But before she could rejoice, death awaited.
“Ah Liang, I have a child—we have a child!” Chen Danyan had cried from where she was hung at the city gate.
Below, Li Liang laughed. “Then you won’t die alone. The child will accompany you.” He drew his bow and shot. The arrow struck her.
“Prince Wu, I have aided you in killing the traitor’s daughter.”
That was the truth—not the tale later spread of Li Liang’s rage for a beauty. Chen Danzhu had not been hidden at Tao Temple, nor sheltered by servants. She had run to the city gate, and she had seen it with her own eyes. So even though no one told her the truth of her brother Chen Danyang’s death, she could guess. Li Liang must have had a hand in it. Only with Chen Danyang gone could he seize full control of the northern army.
“Ah Zhu?” Chen Danyan waved a hand before her sister’s eyes, uneasy. “What’s wrong?”
Chen Danzhu returned to herself. “Sister, don’t go back tomorrow. Stay here a few more days.” She embraced Chen Danyan, pressing against her heartbeat, carefully avoiding her belly. “I’ve missed you.”
Chen Danyan’s heart melted, though sorrow weighed heavily. For Chen Danzhu, this was the first time facing the death of kin. When their mother died, she had been only a newborn.
Chen Danyan held her close, soothing her. “Ah Zhu, don’t be afraid…”
A maid lifted the curtain, whispering, “Young Lady.” She stopped when she saw Chen Danzhu present.
“What is it?” Chen Danyan asked.
The maid, Xiao Die, hesitated, excitement betraying her. “Do we need to pack for tomorrow’s return?”
Chen Danyan understood, her own expression flickering with excitement. “No need. We’ll be back in a few days.” She smiled at Chen Danzhu. “Don’t worry, I’ll come back to keep you company.”
Chen Danzhu watched Xiao Die retreat. She understood too—Xiao Die had stolen their father’s military token. That was the true purpose of her sister’s return. She lowered her eyes. “All right.”
Chen Danyan gently gathered her hair back. “Tonight, I’ll sleep beside you.”
Chen Danzhu nodded obediently, rose to her feet, and followed her sister inside, hand in hand. The maids had already lit calming incense and laid out soft bedding.
“Lie down first,” said Chen Danyan. “I’ll go arrange things with the girls.”
Chen Danzhu sat on the bed, knees drawn up, and nodded. As soon as her sister left, she slipped down, sat at the desk, and quickly wrote a few medicinal names on paper. Summoning a maid, she said, “Go to the pharmacy and fetch these herbs. I’ve learned a new recipe—wrapped and placed under the pillow, it soothes the mind.”
The Chen household, with Grand Tutor Chen’s old war wounds and lingering ailments, had long maintained its own pharmacy and physicians. The maid returned within moments, the herbs were common and wrapped neatly in a fresh cloth.
Chen Danyan reentered, now dressed in loose robes. Seeing the bundle, she asked curiously, “What’s this?”
Chen Danzhu dismissed the maid, held the packet to her sister’s nose. “Smell it, Sister. Isn’t it fragrant? It’s a new formula I found—calming.”
Girls often liked to make sachets; Chen Danyan herself had done so as a child. She smiled, inhaled. “It’s nice. Come, let’s sleep—it’s late.”
Chen Danzhu murmured assent, rose from the vanity, and slipped a slender silver hairpin into her sleeve.
The sisters lay down. The maids extinguished the lamps and withdrew. With heavy thoughts, neither spoke. Pretending to sleep, they lay still. Soon, lulled by the herbal scent, Chen Danyan drifted off. Chen Danzhu opened her eyes, sat up, and steadied her breath.
She drew out the silver pin and swiftly pierced the back of her sister’s neck. In sleep, Chen Danyan’s brow furrowed, then her head tilted, her face relaxing into stillness.
Chen Danzhu loosened her sister’s robe. Beneath, Chen Danyan wore a tight traveling garb, a small embroidered pouch bound at her waist. Chen Danzhu reached in—her fingers closed on something. She held it up to the dim lamplight: the military token. She exhaled softly, stepped over her sister, placed the herbs into the incense burner, glanced once more at the sleeping figure, then donned her cloak and left.
The rain still poured. The steward, barely settled to rest, was summoned again. “Second Young Lady?” He stared in surprise at the drenched girl, now clad in a rain cape and a straw hat. “You can’t mean—you’re going back to Tao Temple now?”
Chen Danzhu nodded. “Yes. Please arrange ten guards.”
The steward clutched his head. “Second Young Lady, this—let me wake the Master.”
“I’m not here to see Father,” Chen Danzhu said coldly. “I only came because Sister returned. I’ve seen her. Now I go back to the mountain.”
Such a willful child. The steward sighed, thinking of the young master—his heart twisted with grief.
“Elder Sister said Brother-in-law will avenge our brother,” Chen Danzhu added.
The steward sighed again. Her grief for her brother had driven her half-mad. He no longer argued, only said gently, “Very well. I’ll have men escort you. Better take a carriage—the rain is too heavy.”
Chen Danzhu agreed without protest. Guards were quickly assembled. The household never truly slept; sentries were always on duty.
“But Miss Ah Tian is resting,” the steward said. “Shall I wake her?”
Chen Danzhu shook her head, displeased. “No. I don’t like Ah Tian anymore. Don’t let her follow me. Don’t assign me new maids either. There are enough on the mountain. Too many people—too noisy.”
The steward marveled—Ah Tian had angered her? But the girl’s temper was mercurial. He dared not ask further, only nodded.
Chen Danzhu boarded the carriage, then turned back. “Tomorrow, have the physician examine Sister. She seemed unwell tonight, coughing.”
The steward bowed. “Rest assured. I’ll see to it.”
Ah, with the young master gone, the eldest daughter must be protected at all costs.
“Second Young Lady, drink more ginger soup on the mountain,” he urged.
Chen Danzhu gave a brief sound of assent, then fell silent. Cloaked guards surrounded the carriage as it sped through the rain toward the city gate.
Inside, Chen Danzhu watched her home recede. Ah Tian would not follow, nor discover her absence. The pin and herbs would keep her sister unconscious for two days. She would not notice the missing token. The physician would confirm her pregnancy. When Chen Danyan awoke, she would think Father had taken the token. Perhaps she would try again to steal it, or confess—but Father would never yield it, and knowing of her pregnancy, he would never let her leave.
By the time they realized the truth, it would be too late—enough time for Chen Danzhu to act. Yes—she had never intended to stop her sister, nor to tell Father. Seizing the token alone could not avert the coming nightmare. To end the nightmare, she must strike at its heart.
The carriage passed through the gate. Behind lay the lamplight; ahead, only darkness. Danzhu lifted the curtain and called out.
The guards turned.
She raised the token. “By Grand Tutor’s secret order—ride at once to Tangyi.”
This time, she would go in her sister’s stead to meet Li Liang.