That day, Palace Madam Cui received a secret order delivered by carrier pigeon: *kill the corpse-collecting palace maid.*
Zong Chuke was a man who never left evidence behind. He had not moved against Jing Wan’er earlier because Zong Huo had just been executed—if a palace maid died immediately afterward, it would draw too much suspicion.
Now, a month had passed. To quietly dispose of Jing Wan’er at this time would make the whole affair vanish without a trace.
Upon receiving the order, Palace Madam Cui’s eyes narrowed. She recalled summoning Jing Wan’er a few days earlier, telling her of the rumor that His Majesty might reopen the Jing family case. Jing Wan’er had replied: *she would only become a corpse.* It seemed she understood her fate all too clearly.
Palace Madam Cui summoned her attendants: “Bring Jing Wan’er, and Qiao’er as well, to me.”
That day, Qiao’er was also assigned—she too was to die, together with Jing Wan’er.
Qiao’er, exhausted from a day’s labor, had already fallen asleep on the communal bed. She was dragged up by one of Madam Liang’s maids, still bleary-eyed and unaware of what was happening.
The maid then pulled back Jing Wan’er’s bedding—only to find it empty.
At midnight, all the palace maids were roused, their faces filled with fear and confusion. The senior maid at Madam Liang’s side stood before the assembled maids, her cold gaze sweeping over them like an unfeeling judge.
Still, Jing Wan’er was nowhere to be found.
“Where is Jing Wan’er?”
The maids’ faces showed only bewilderment—they knew nothing.
The senior maid rushed to report the matter to Palace Madam Cui.
Palace Madam Cui’s eyes were not only deep but icy. She asked: “When was she last seen?”
At last, one maid answered: after the hour of noon.
Noon—nearly three hours had passed since then.
Palace Madam Cui’s cold gaze grew merciless. The maid, terrified, wept and explained that Jing Wan’er usually did not work with them.
Jing Wan’er’s sole duty was to collect corpses.
In the vast courtyard of the servants’ quarters, only Jing Wan’er spent long hours alone. And she was the most hated among the palace maids.
Over five years, Jing Wan’er had made herself into a pariah. She was a misfit. Even in ordinary times, apart from Palace Madam Cui, everyone in the servants’ quarters avoided her. Thus, tonight—who could know where Jing Wan’er had gone?
The senior maid threw a bundle at Palace Madam Cui’s feet: “This was found under that wretch’s bed.”
Inside were a broken brush and a few sheets of paper fluttering in the wind.
Qiao’er’s face drained of all color at the sight.
Palace Madam Cui ordered Qiao’er brought forward, her gaze venomous as a serpent sweeping over the pale face: “You knew of this all along?”
Qiao’er collapsed to the ground like a soul lost, unable to rise again.
After a moment of cold, knife-edged silence, Madam Liang gave her command: “The palace is heavily guarded. Even if she vanished since noon, she could not possibly have left these palace walls.”
For a palace maid to escape the court that sustained her was as difficult as ascending to heaven.
The faces of the servants’ maids hardened. At last, they were united against a runaway slave—Jing Wan’er. She was already condemned, nailed to the pillar of death.
Palace Madam Cui looked over them one by one: “Find Jing Wan’er before dawn.”
Even though the servants’ quarters lay in the most remote corner of the palace, usually ignored, once everyone joined in the hunt for a fugitive maid—and even the Qian Niu Guard would surely be alerted—this maid was already a trapped animal in a cage, with no chance of survival.
The night scenery of the Taiye Pool far surpassed the bright moon outside the palace.
Emperor Zhongzong assigned a eunuch to guide Pei Tan, and even arranged a pleasure barge by the poolside for him.
The eunuch bowed obsequiously: “Lord Pei, if you grow weary, you may rest inside the barge. Refreshments and a bed have been prepared. Should you need anything else, simply command this servant.”
This was the Daming Palace, the most splendid place in Chang’an. Standing at the prow of the barge, gazing at the river breeze and willow banks, Pei Tan knew the scene was truly worth it. His request to remain in the palace to view the Taiye Pool—this decision would be important for his whole life.
Pei Tan reached out and untied the rope. The barge immediately drifted downstream with the current.
The eunuch called: “Lord Pei?”
Pei Tan stood at the prow, drifting farther away: “I wish to look around. You may do as you please.”
Even as he spoke, the barge had already floated far.
The winds of the Taiye Pool stretched for miles; this was far more than the scenery before his eyes. Whether drifting until dawn would carry him to the pool’s end, Pei Tan did not know. He was simply intoxicated by the wind, lost in the moment.
Jing Wan’er parted the weeds before her face. Her cheeks were smeared thickly with mud from the pool’s bottom. In the night, she sought both to hide her tracks and to find a way out of the palace.
She had received a carrier pigeon’s message today—half an hour earlier than the one sent to Palace Madam Cui.
Though no one yet knew of Jing Wan’er’s act of cutting human skin, there are no walls without cracks. Even if it had not been exposed, it did not mean she could continue living safely.
From the letter Zichan’er sent her today, she learned that Pei Tan had begun to act. His movements could only be tied to the Minister’s residence—and that meant Zong Huo had escaped.
Jing Wan’er knew this day would come. Once Zong Huo left Chang’an, she would be silenced. She had only enough time to flee from the servants’ quarters immediately—no careful preparations could be made. Panting, she realized she was now in the deepest part of the palace. She could not think of fleeing toward the gates; instead, she turned inward, deeper into the palace.
This might confuse and delay Palace Madam Cui and the palace guards for a time.
But after that—what then? In the heavily guarded palace, catching a maid was as easy as catching a fly. She had no real chance of escape.
Yet even so, Jing Wan’er had to run. The instinct to survive could not be abandoned. She pushed aside the weeds and saw the shimmering river. For a moment, she was entranced by the tranquil waters, then suddenly realized the name of the river before her: Taiye Pool.
This was the most famous pool of the Daming Palace.
Unconsciously, she stepped out of the grass and walked toward the bank.
The Taiye Pool stretched for miles. Not every inch was guarded by the Qian Niu Guard. Where she now stood, there was only the gentle scenery beneath the clear night sky—no guards in sight. It gave her a sense of safety, though she knew it was only temporary. She could not remember, in five years within the palace, ever feeling such peace. Even if she were captured by Palace Madam Cui tonight, at least what she had set out to do was already accomplished.
Zong Huo’s escape was certain. That meant the father and son’s death was also certain.
For this outcome, Jing Wan’er was content.
Many things in this world—such as the exile of the Jing family—were beyond her power to change. But if, before her death, she could drag the Zong father and son down with her, then her life as a daughter of the Jing clan would not have been in vain.
As Jing Wan’er breathed deeply in relief, a pleasure barge drifted silently across the Taiye Pool. It floated with the wind, as if its helmsman moved without care for destination.
When Jing Wan’er saw the barge, she was startled.
In the moonlit beauty, there stood a man at the prow, his robe sleeves wide as wings. The wind billowed his sleeves, making him seem like an exiled immortal from heaven, beautiful to the point of unreality.
Jing Wan’er stared at the man until the barge drew close enough. Then she saw clearly—he was indeed a mortal man, not the god she had imagined.
At that moment, Jing Wan’er seemed to come to her senses. In the next instant, she leapt into the rushing river.
Pei Tan’s pleasure barge was drifting closer to the shore. He frowned slightly—just now, he thought he had glimpsed a figure by the bank, but in the next second, it vanished. He did not notice the dark shadow in the water, slowly approaching his barge.
The mud smeared on Jing Wan’er’s face was washed away as she plunged into the pool. Her movements in the water were like those of a nimble black fish. She saw the figure at the prow of the boat, drawing nearer and nearer.
Pei Tan’s face was revealed fully under the moonlight.
With her final leap, Jing Wan’er used the cover of shadows to slip beneath the barge. Her hands clutched the underside of the vessel.
The barge was built with lavish craftsmanship, meant for princes and consorts to enjoy. Jing Wan’er quickly discerned its structure. She swam toward the stern, where the inner cabins were located—there she could climb aboard and hide inside. Once her plan was set, she carefully approached the stern. Seeing no eyes upon her, she slowly raised her head from the water. Her lips curved faintly—the first time she believed that heaven never completely blocks a person’s path.
Jing Wan’er climbed aboard from the stern, convinced she had made no sound at all. But she did not know that, at the very moment she swam beneath the boat, the figure standing at the prow had vanished. She managed to reach the barge, quietly opened the cabin door, and confirmed it was dark and empty. She slipped inside and gently closed the door.
In the darkness, she exhaled softly. The tension that had gripped her all night seemed finally to ease. She brushed back her wet hair and heard the sound of water dripping onto the floor. Then she felt a chill at her neck—colder than the pool water itself. As she instinctively reached to touch it, she realized what the coldness was.
Her body froze completely.
A dagger pressed silently against her throat. A low, icy breath brushed her ear: “Who are you?”