Qiao’er hadn’t been able to go outside. Though she should have felt relieved, instead, a cloud of dread hung over her. She craned her neck, tiptoeing to peer toward the graveyard. Several times, she stepped too close to the palace gate line, only to be shoved back mercilessly by the two guards.
Qiao’er hated those guards bitterly, but could only wander about like a headless fly, her anxiety growing with each passing moment. Then she saw a sudden burst of flame outside the palace gate—so bright it was visible even in daylight. At once, she knew it was palace-made fire oil.
Soon, Jing Wan’er’s figure appeared, calm and unhurried, drawing closer step by step.
Qiao’er’s heart tightened, then eased. For once, Jing Wan’er’s face didn’t seem so hateful.
At the gate, Jing Wan’er presented her waist token again. The guards nodded, and she stepped back inside.
Qiao’er scowled. “Why so long? My legs are numb from standing.”
Jing Wan’er replied evenly: “Long? That was the fastest way to dispose of a body.”
Usually, she would dig a pit and bury it, which took several times longer.
Qiao’er paled again, glaring at her before leading the way back into the palace.
The two reported to Madam Liang. After a few questions, Madam Liang dismissed Jing Wan’er.
Jing Wan’er glanced at Qiao’er, noting the unease in her eyes. She smiled faintly and left. She wasn’t worried—Qiao’er wouldn’t dare reveal the truth. For her own survival, she would keep silent.
Madam Liang fixed her gaze on Qiao’er. “You saw her burn the body yourself? Nothing remained?”
Qiao’er bit her lip, then answered firmly: “I saw it with my own eyes. The flames rose high—nothing was left.”
Madam Liang seemed satisfied. “Good. You did well this time. There will be a reward.”
Joy lit Qiao’er’s face. She kowtowed. “Thank you, Madam.”
Because the mat had been burned along with the corpse, Jing Wan’er returned empty-handed for the first time. She removed her clothes and the waist token, staring at the half-flask of fire oil left in her hand, her eyes thoughtful.
In the dormitory, five or six rough palace maids lived together. All knew that Qiao’er and Jing Wan’er had gone out to dispose of a corpse.
After reporting back, Qiao’er spent two full hours scrubbing herself in the bathhouse. The other maids snickered.
Jing Wan’er had long finished bathing. Half an hour or two hours—it made no difference. No amount of washing would make one’s skin truly fragrant. She sat quietly on her bed, eyes closed, perhaps asleep.
At dusk, Qiao’er returned, carrying a quilt.
“Madam Liang rewarded me with a new quilt,” she said proudly. Remembering how Jing Wan’er had taken her old one, she shot her a venomous glare. She would never touch that damp quilt again.
The other maids crowded around, exclaiming in envy. “This is newly made from the embroidery workshop!”
Madam Liang rarely gave rewards. Even maids who had served her for years had never received one. So everyone was astonished that Qiao’er had been rewarded. She had only accompanied one corpse disposal, yet gained a gift. Jing Wan’er, who did it daily, had never received anything.
All eyes turned toward Jing Wan’er, mocking.
Despised for her work with corpses, Jing Wan’er was shunned, while Qiao’er gained favor.
But Jing Wan’er showed no reaction. She turned to the wall and slept soundly. The others avoided her, which suited her well—her sleeping space was larger, and she could roll over freely at night.
That night, Madam Liang bowed respectfully before a eunuch. “Please rest assured, sir. Everything has been handled.”
For Madam Liang, who usually looked down on her maids, to bow so low meant this eunuch’s status was extraordinary.
The eunuch rasped: “Those involved… the master ordered no survivors. What of the two who handled the body?”
Madam Liang’s eyes flickered. “They did not see the corpse. I guarantee it.”
The eunuch’s voice was cold. “To be safe, you should find a way to deal with them. Two dead maids in the inner palace is nothing.”
Madam Liang bowed again. “I understand.”
The menial servants’ quarters were unlike other places. The work was bitter and exhausting. Even without mistreatment, each year, some maids drowned themselves or took their own lives. Death was not rare elsewhere in the palace. Here, it was even less so. That was why the quarters were chosen to dispose of unwanted maids.
“Others are easy to handle,” Madam Liang said darkly. “But Jing Wan’er is troublesome.”
The eunuch’s voice sharpened. “What trouble?”
Madam Liang leaned close, whispering: “She is the daughter of Jing Zheren. The Jing family was exiled to Hanta. Only she was sent into the palace as a slave.”
The eunuch’s eyes gleamed. He sneered. “Since she was sent into the palace, she belongs to the palace. Her life and death are decided here. What trouble can that be?”
Madam Liang paused, her eyes flickering. “In that case, I will see it done.”
At dawn, Jing Wan’er opened her eyes and flexed her wrist. Dragging such a heavy corpse all day yesterday had strained her muscles and bones. She sat up and saw that the other beds in the dormitory were already empty. Unlike her, the other palace maids spent their days washing clothes or doing heavier chores, working from morning until dusk.
Perhaps this was why they despised Jing Wan’er. They dared not touch corpses as she did, yet they resented her for being spared the daily toil. Always wanting every advantage, their faces grew mean with envy.
Jing Wan’er stretched lazily, climbed down from her bed, and walked into the courtyard. Watching the sun rise, she thought: today was the wedding of the Minister’s son.
The eldest legitimate son of Minister Su, Su Shouyue, was marrying Cui Linglan, a young lady of the Cui clan’s collateral branch—the “Pearl of Shengjing.” To marry into the Cui family was a matter so prestigious that people craned their necks in envy.
From early morning, guests thronged the Su residence. Shengjing’s customs were open; on such joyous days, even common folk could enter to drink a cup of wine, and the hosts would never drive them away.
Su Shouyue himself was said to be a refined gentleman, admired even in troubled times. Rumor had it that once, he had been caught in a scandal, meeting a Jing family daughter in secret after she climbed the wall at midnight. That incident had made his name resound throughout Shengjing overnight.
A blue sedan chair stopped at the Su family gate, flanked by two attendants in red guard uniforms. When the chair halted, the attendants lifted the curtain. Out stepped a man in plain robes, his complexion unnaturally pale, his right hand wrapped in a white silk cloth. He looked like a frail scholar, holding a brocade box in his hand, his expression as subdued as his attire.
At the sight of him, the Su household servants at the gate changed their faces.
He wore no official robes, bore no insignia, yet as he approached the gate, the servants instantly bowed their heads, trembling: “Young Master Pei.”
One attendant snapped coldly, “My lord was just promoted to Minister of Judicial Review. What ‘Young Master’?”
These days, only idle sons without office were called “Young Master.”
The servants quickly corrected themselves, terrified: “Yes—Lord Pei, greetings.”
Pei Tan carried the brocade box and stepped slowly across the Su family threshold, his two attendants following with rigid composure.
The servants whispered urgently: “Quick, inform the master—tell him Pei Tan has arrived.”
The name alone struck fear, like flood or beast. The Su family was instantly on guard.
When Minister Su heard it, his face hardened, all joy wiped clean. His wife reacted even more sharply, spitting on the ground: “Pfah! On such a happy day, what ill-omened star comes here?”
Minister Su gave her a look. “I’ll go greet him. You’d better avoid him.”
Avoidance was the only way—no one wished to see Pei Tan. The Madam swept her sleeves and retreated into the inner hall.
In the front courtyard, guests filled the seats. Minister Su asked after Pei Tan and was shown, with fearful glances, to the banquet hall. There sat Lord Pei in the most conspicuous place, cheerfully raising a jug of wine.
Minister Su shivered inwardly, then hurried over. As Pei Tan turned his head, Minister Su forced a smile onto his wrinkled face. “Ah, Lord Pei… such an honored guest, forgive me for not welcoming you sooner.”
Pei Tan narrowed his eyes, watching Minister Su’s strained cheer. He gave a faint smile and gestured to his attendant. The man immediately held the brocade box before Minister Su’s face.
Minister Su froze.
Pei Tan spoke softly: “A small gift, no great courtesy. Congratulations on your son’s marriage.”
Minister Su forced his stiff face into another smile, uglier than a grimace. “This is… how could Lord Pei trouble himself so?”
He accepted the box. It was light—he could not guess what lay inside. Quickly, he handed it to a servant, then raised a cup of wine. “Many thanks for attending my son’s wedding, Lord Pei. My son is truly blessed.”
Blessed? More like cursed, thought those nearby, smirking at the misfortune.
Pei Tan drank with him, his face still calm. “Since it is a wedding, the host must be busy. Let Minister Su attend to others. Leave me here.”
Leave this grim figure alone? Minister Su felt his heart falter at the thought. He forced another smile. “Perhaps… I could find two attendants—no, two fine beauties—to pour wine for Lord Pei?”
Pei Tan’s gaze swept him coolly. His voice was even fainter: “On your son’s wedding day, to bring beauties for me—would that be proper?”