Song Xian was startled—the man was far too heavy. She reached out to push him away, but as soon as her right hand touched his shoulder, her palm met something sticky. It was blood.
She quickly turned to Wan Cui at her side. “Help me hold him up.”
Everyone reacted at once. Uncle Zhang stepped forward, helping to settle the man onto the nearest chair.
Song Xian looked at the unconscious stranger. His features were refined, and from his clothing, he didn’t seem to belong to Yongxing Lane. Still, she asked, “Uncle Zhang, do you recognize him?”
Uncle Zhang studied him briefly, then shook his head quickly. “Never seen him before.”
This man of unknown origin must have been one of those fighting in the alley. But his identity was unclear, and the cause of the conflict was unknown. If they kept him here recklessly, would it implicate the cloth shop?
Song Xian hesitated.
Chen Zhi’an leaned closer, gasping. “Ah—his shoulder is still bleeding!”
Looking again, his sleeve was soaked red, his lips pale, his breathing faint.
“Xian Xian, he’s badly hurt. What should we do?”
*What should they do…*
Song Xian thought for a moment, then turned to Uncle Zhang. “Go fetch a physician.”
Uncle Zhang obeyed at once, hurrying out.
They moved the man into the rear courtyard of the cloth shop and sent a servant to inquire about what had happened outside.
The servant soon returned. “Second Lady, no one knows exactly. It wasn’t hooligans—it looked like soldiers arresting someone.”
Song Xian’s heart sank. Soldiers arresting someone—if this man wasn’t a soldier, then he must have been the one they were after.
Everyone present understood, fear showing on their faces. Harboring a criminal was no small offense.
Chen Zhi’an spoke cautiously. “Xian Xian, better to avoid trouble than invite it.”
Of course, she knew that. But the man had already been carried in, and his wounds were grave. How could she throw him out now?
For now, the soldiers hadn’t pursued them. It seemed there would be no immediate trouble.
Song Xian instructed the servant: “I won’t wait for Uncle Zhang to return. Hide him well. When he wakes, send him away at once. And remember—say nothing of this.”
The servant quickly agreed.
Without lingering, they left Yongxing Lane. Since the lane was a dead end, they had to pass the place of the earlier fight to leave. Fortunately, the crowd had dispersed, and passersby were once again moving through the alley.
Back on the bustling street, Chen Zhi’an noticed the stain on Song Xian’s chest. “Xian Xian, your clothes are marked with his blood.”
Song Xian looked down. She was wearing a dark mist‑gauze dress; unless examined closely, the bloodstains were hard to see.
“I had thought to share a meal with you, but it seems that won’t do today. Go back quickly. I’ll send word once I’ve found a suitable shop and people for you.”
Song Xian thanked her, and the two parted ways.
By the time Song Xian returned to the General’s residence, dusk had already fallen. She and Wan Cui entered through the back gate. She had hoped not to disturb anyone, but outside the front hall of Liuying Pavilion, she unexpectedly encountered Bai Yi. He greeted her as usual. Afraid he might notice the bloodstains on her chest, she hurriedly replied and left.
But Bai Yi’s sharp eyes had indeed caught sight of it. He immediately went to the study to report to Wei Ling, who had just returned.
Wei Ling was surprised. How could she, a woman, have been injured? Yet he still had matters to attend to. He had only come back to fetch something before leaving again. As he walked toward the bookshelf, he asked, “Is it serious?”
“I couldn’t tell, but Madam left in haste. Her steps were steady.”
Wei Ling found the case scroll he sought. “Fetch a physician to examine Madam.”
Before Bai Yi could reply, Wei Ling had already taken the scroll and stepped out. At the doorway, he turned back to add, “And have the physician check her forehead wound as well—see if it has healed properly.”
“Yes!”
By the time Bai Yi led the physician into the rear courtyard, Song Xian had already changed clothes. She was startled for a moment at the doctor’s arrival, then quickly understood. She had meant to refuse, but Bai Yi invoked Wei Ling’s name, so she could only sit and let the physician take her pulse.
After the examination and a few questions, the doctor confirmed there was no danger. Bai Yi then escorted him out.
Song Xian thought little of it. The bloodstains were faint, and she had no wounds. Any excuse would have sufficed. That Wei Ling had arranged for a physician at all was, in its way, not bad.
Once the room was empty, Song Xian noticed a faint fragrance in the air. Looking up, she saw two peony plants in full bloom on the windowsill.
Wan Cui followed her gaze, puzzled. “Madam, when were these placed here? They weren’t here when we left.”
Summoning a maid, they learned the flowers had been delivered at the request of Qin Yixian.
Wan Cui carried one pot closer. “Madam, these blossoms are perfect.”
Indeed, they were. The leaves were lush, the petals vivid, clearly tended with care.
“Shall I move them to the garden?” Wan Cui asked.
Song Xian touched the petals lightly. “Such delicate flowers wouldn’t survive in the garden. Leave them here. This peony variety is rare, of fine quality, and it came from the Princess Royal’s residence. Wan Cui, you must tend them yourself.”
Wan Cui treated the task as if it were a solemn duty, carefully setting the pot back on the sill.
Song Xian looked at the blooms and sighed softly. “Come, let’s go to Yuqing Lodge to give thanks.”
But when they arrived, Qin Yixian was not there—she was dining at Yin’an Hall. They left a message and returned to their own quarters.
Unexpectedly, before bed, Qin Yixian herself came by, speaking with easy familiarity. “Cousin‑in‑law, did you go out today? I came this morning and didn’t see you, so I just left the peonies on your windowsill.”
“Yes, I saw them. Thank you, Cousin Yixian.”
Qin Yixian sat down, laughing. “Why be so polite? I’ll be coming here often to share meals anyway. Just think of the flowers as payment for food.”
Song Xian moved closer and poured her cousin a cup of tea.
“Just now I was dining with Aunt and Uncle. I hardly dared breathe. Later, Aunt kept me talking—otherwise I would have come back sooner.” Qin Yixian sipped her tea. “If I’d known you were going out today, Cousin‑in‑law, I should have joined you.”
“There will be plenty of chances in the future.”
“Mm. Do you like those peonies? If not, I still have others at home.”
Song Xian couldn’t help but laugh. “I do like them. You needn’t trouble yourself further, Cousin.”
Qin Yixian was endlessly talkative. Only when she grew drowsy did she finally leave, but not before arranging to dine with Song Xian the next evening.
The following day at noon, remembering she had told Wei Ling to come back and eat with Qin Yixian, Song Xian sent Wan Cui to the study to remind him. But she learned he hadn’t returned home the previous night.
There was no helping it—so the two women ate together. Fortunately, Qin Yixian’s lively nature made the meal cheerful.
For the next three or four days, Wei Ling did not appear at all. Song Xian no longer cared whether he returned. She wished only to make each day count for two.
That morning, Chen Zhi’an personally brought two young men she had found. They looked sturdy, but when Song Xian questioned them, they trembled so badly she had to decline. She had also finished reviewing the account books of all six shops. Understanding their income and expenses, she immediately decided to sell off the two least profitable ones. Lazy servants were dismissed, leaving only the capable.
Good shops were hard to find, so she would have to wait. Meanwhile, her own quarters were never idle. The couch and small tables were covered with embroidery frames and threads. No matter what happened, she could not abandon her craft.
Her mother had a childhood friend, Aunt Luo, one of Yangzhou’s finest embroiderers, who was renowned for exquisite skill.
When Aunt Luo stayed in Shengjing for a time, Song Xian had studied under her. In the end, she surpassed her teacher—her embroidery unmatched. Yet in Shengjing, embroidery was always considered mere handiwork. Noble young ladies preferred lofty arts—music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Embroidery was dispensable, left to servants or bought outside.
At Marquis Suqing’s residence, her legitimate mother (*) had often criticized her skill. Thus, Song Xian never displayed it openly. In private, she entrusted her pieces to shops to sell quietly. The income was modest, but over the years she had saved some silver.
T/n: Madam Marquis; note that Song Xian is a concubine-born daughter.
Though Shengjing’s women lacked skill, they were willing to pay dearly for fine handkerchiefs and garments. This was Song Xian’s plan for the future: as long as she lived, wherever she went, she would never starve.
Thinking this, her hands moved faster. If she wished to leave, she needed more silver.