After that day, the stewards of the inner court carried out the Old Madam’s orders. All the maids and matrons in the eldest miss’s courtyard were lined up and scolded one by one. Big or small, everyone except Nanny Zhao was beaten with boards, their cries echoing throughout.
The Old Madam declared that since Master Sheng would soon be marrying a new wife, the household could not be so lax as to let the new mistress laugh at them.
The incident in which the young lady was left alone in the garden and fell from a tree must never happen again. Otherwise, useless servants would not merely be beaten—they would be sold off to brokers.
Nanny Zhao understood this was a warning to all. Even with her thick skin, she could not remain. Before dawn, she angrily packed her belongings and left the Sheng residence.
When Master Sheng Xuanhe returned from a night of drinking and woke late, he learned from his old servant that Nanny Zhao had been sent back to the prince’s household by his mother.
The news sobered him instantly. He slapped his thigh in alarm, crying out that his mother had grown muddled—how could she do such a thing, insulting the prince!
He rushed to his mother to complain, hoping for some remedy.
But the Old Madam, watching her son fret like an ant on a hot pan, found him tiresome. Sipping tea brewed with mulberry fruit, she said calmly:
“If the prince blames you, put it on me. Do you think the prince is like you, treating an old servant as heaven itself? If he truly managed his household strictly, Nanny Zhao should have been flogged in the prince’s courtyard for letting the future heir’s bride fall from a tree! If you have nothing else, stop hovering around me. Go.”
Sheng Xuanhe left, chastened, and went to Madam Bai’s quarters to take a few heart‑calming pills.
The old ginger was indeed the spiciest. A few days later, Princess Consort Cining came to visit the Old Madam, bringing fashionable fabrics and boxes of medicinal herbs as gifts.
Madam Qin did not mention Nanny Zhao, chatting instead about household matters.
It was the princess consort who brought it up herself, saying that both she and the prince had been distressed to hear of Sheng Xiangqiao’s fall, so she had come to see her.
As for Nanny Zhao, the princess consort said lightly: the old servant had been troublesome and incompetent, so the prince had ordered her flogged. But her body was weak and could not endure; halfway through the beating she suffered a seizure and died.
Sheng Xiangqiao, sitting nearby, felt her heart tighten at the casual words. She pretended to dab her face with a handkerchief to hide her sharp intake of breath. She knew well: the prince had killed Nanny Zhao not only for her failures, but to silence her—and to serve as a warning. It was a clear message to Sheng Xiangqiao: do not cause trouble in the Sheng household. Her imposture was a matter of grave consequence to the prince. He was ruthless, sparing not even his own people.
Madam Qin frowned. Though Nanny Zhao had indeed behaved improperly, she had expected only a flogging. She had not thought the prince’s household would kill a matron of such standing. Prince Cining, she realized, was far too violent in temper.
Thinking this, Madam Qin continued her polite conversation while glancing toward her granddaughter seated quietly nearby. Since her illness, the girl had grown thin and frail, sitting like a blade of grass, radiating loneliness. Though much of it was her own willful doing, the old lady felt uneasy. She could not help but think: when the Emperor bestowed this marriage, if only she had swallowed her pride and petitioned at court to refuse it…
But alas, there is no medicine for regret. Now her granddaughter had already committed a lapse in virtue, yet the prince’s household had chosen to overlook it, preserving the Sheng family’s reputation. If they tried to break the betrothal now, her granddaughter’s reputation would be ruined.
Ah—one misstep leads to another.
Princess Consort Cining did not stay for the meal and departed before noon. Sheng Xiangqiao remained with her grandmother for a while, presenting her with a newly embroidered headband. Perhaps because she had practiced on the heir’s sachet, this headband—embroidered with longevity peaches and the character for “long life”—was pleasing to the eye, with elegant and restrained colors.
The Old Madam held up a mirror, nodded in satisfaction, and asked her granddaughter: “How is it you now have the patience to do such things, instead of going out to play?”
Sheng Xiangqiao was peeling grapes for her grandmother, filling a teacup with translucent fruit to be eaten with a spoon.
Hearing the question, she said softly: “Granddaughter once thought all girls lived like those in the Sheng household, and it seemed dull. But after going out, I saw there are so many unfortunate people, bound by fate. After being frightened and returning, I feel that even doing nothing at home is quite good.”
The Old Madam thought the girl’s tongue was loose, daring to speak of her wanderings. Yet hearing the sincerity in her tone, she realized it was genuine. The child was right—once one has fallen into the dust of lowly life, one learns to cherish blessings.
If the once‑rebellious Sheng Xiangqiao had now become sensible and considerate, perhaps her misfortune was a blessing in disguise.
With this thought, the old lady grew more determined to hire a governess. At the very least, before entering the prince’s household, her granddaughter must not be faulted for poor upbringing. But since Sheng Xiangqiao had driven away so many tutors before, she decided to consult her first, lest the girl throw another tantrum.
Unexpectedly, when she mentioned it, Sheng Xiangqiao readily agreed:
“Grandmother’s choice must be good. This time I will not be as foolish as before.”
Seeing her granddaughter so obedient, Madam Qin nodded with satisfaction: “The one I intend to invite is not easily persuaded to enter the Sheng household. I must call in favors. Also, since the servants in your courtyard are unreliable, I have asked Nanny Li to transfer Nanny Dan from our suburban estate. She is steady and diligent, and can help instruct your maids as well.”
Sheng Xiangqiao agreed to everything, thanking her grandmother for the care and effort, then returned to her own courtyard.
No wonder Grandmother wanted to assign new staff—once she entered, she saw the maids and servants all bruised from their punishments, clutching their waists and dragging their legs as they worked.
Ning Yan, who had been absent from duty due to stomach trouble, had also been beaten, though with fewer strokes. Now that Nanny Zhao, the “plague god,” was gone, Ning Yan actually felt relieved.
Still, with the Old Madam’s rules firmly set, she dared not be lazy again. Even with her backside aching, she worked diligently.
That evening, when Sheng Xiangqiao washed her feet, she found the copper basin filled not only with herbal powder but also fresh petals and goat’s milk. After soaking, her feet felt warm and smooth.
Watching Ning Yan kneeling to scrub her feet, Sheng Xiangqiao glanced toward the outer hall where another maid was ironing clothes, and whispered: “Get up, there’s no one else here…”
Ning Yan quickly looked up and lowered her voice: “Miss, please don’t make trouble for me. I dare not slack off anymore. If the Old Madam finds out, I’ll end up like Nanny Zhao—beaten to death. I’m still young, I want to live. Please let me serve properly.”
At the end, Ning Yan broke into sobs.
Sheng Xiangqiao sighed, then pulled out the stolen purse from her bedding—the one she had snatched back from Nanny Zhao’s luggage when pretending to see her off. She handed the silver pouch to the kneeling maid: “Take it. Buy good medicine to heal yourself.”
If she hadn’t fallen from the tree, Ning Yan wouldn’t have been beaten. Though her scheme had been to drive Nanny Zhao away, the woman’s eventual death had far exceeded her expectations.
Prince Cining was too cruel. Sheng Xiangqiao was still too young and had underestimated the ruthlessness of the game. She couldn’t say how long she and Ning Yan—two frail girls caught in a web of intrigue—would survive, with the prince’s shadow looming over them.
This time, she felt guilty toward Ning Yan. Giving her all she had was the only way to make amends. Yet as she passed over the heavy pouch of silver, she couldn’t help but feel reluctant, weighed down by sorrow.
Ning Yan, watching Sheng Xiangqiao hand over the purse with such reluctance, couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. She glared at her and said:
“These coins were given to you by Fourth Young Master to buy treats. You should keep them for yourself.”
After speaking, Ning Yan sighed softly, then carried the foot‑washing basin out. What use was silver? What she needed now was to preserve her life, sincerely pray to the Buddha, and hope for divine protection—so she would not end up like Nanny Zhao, dying miserably in the prince’s household.
After washing her feet, Sheng Xiangqiao lay down on her bed, but she tossed and turned, unable to sleep. At last, she rose, lit a small lamp, and sat within the bed curtains to read a *Classic of Mountains and Seas* she had borrowed from the study. Inside was a map of the realm. Though the markings were vague, she could roughly trace the route to Lingnan.
On paper, it was but a short span, yet in reality, it meant crossing countless mountains and rivers—who knew how many years it would take?
She then picked up the stone rubbing of an inscription that her cousin Cheng Tianfu had copied for her. The unique script was the same she had once traced as a child, holding her father’s brush, stroke after stroke. The sharp hooks bent like a cold moon, the sweeping strokes like extended fists—each line carried memories of the past.
Back then, she was mischievous. After writing each character, she would look up and ask her father if it looked good. He would smile, pinch her nose, and say her writing trembled like a crab’s claws. She would pout and call loudly for her mother: “Come see, Father is teasing me again!”
Her mother would appear, smiling, carrying a dish of medicinal food she had prepared, calling them both to eat.
Scenes she had relived countless times in dreams—yet now, awake, even when she tried to recall them, they blurred like a water‑stained painting. She could no longer remember her parents’ faces. But the sound of her father’s voice telling her not to be afraid when he was taken away, and the cries of her nurse begging for mercy when their household was raided—those echoes haunted her, waking her in the night, unable to rest.
Sheng Xiangqiao drew a deep breath, put away the inscription, and blew out the candle. Just as she lay down, she noticed through the window a glow of lantern light in the western garden, illuminating the flowerbeds.
She let down her hair, pulled on a single robe, and went to the window. By the garden’s light, she saw a tall youth in white, practicing with a staff beneath the moon. The long wooden pole spun with force, whistling through the air. The chrysanthemums were already in disarray, petals scattered by his strikes. It seemed her cousin’s mood had been unsettled these past nights—he had practiced with the staff at midnight for two nights in a row.
Sheng Xiangqiao felt a pang of worry, thinking of the persimmon cakes she had left to dry in the garden.