Deep in Xiaobaima Alley stood a modest shopfront with a sign reading *Tongdao Goldsmiths*.
Though Sui Sui could barely read, she knew the place well. She hopped down from her cart and went inside. A clerk greeted her at once.
She opened her bundle, showed him the hairpin, and quickly instructed: “Make another just like this one. But only gold‑plated over silver—the less gold, the better. Just a thin layer, so no one can tell.”
She paid a deposit, then left. At Tongji Hall, she bought two packets of white fungus and goji berries, and at a sewing stall, picked up colorful threads. Finally, she turned down a quiet lane, stopped before a lime‑washed gate, removed her cap, and knocked.
“Who is it?” someone asked.
“It’s me,” she replied.
Soon, a woman in a green jacket opened the door, smiling: “Oh, I was just talking with Cui Qiao about you! You’re back now—doesn’t the prince need you?”
Sui Sui grinned: “He went out today. Otherwise, I couldn’t have slipped away.”
Inside the courtyard stood a frail young woman, thin‑eyed, long‑necked, shoulders sharp beneath a loose blue robe. She leaned against the doorway, called “Sister,” then broke into coughing.
Sui Sui rushed to support her: “The wind at the gate is strong—why come out?” She led her to the couch inside and asked gently: “I haven’t been back for a month. Are you better now?”
Cui Qiao smiled faintly: “Better. Still, you worry for me.”
Sui Sui studied her sunken eyes and sighed: “Did you finish the snow‑pear and white fungus I brought last time?”
Cui Qiao nodded quickly, but the woman serving tea interjected: “She ate it twice, then learned the price and was horrified. Said you worked too hard for your silver, and refused to eat more.”
Sui Sui exclaimed: “Nonsense! Even a thousand‑year ginseng, left unused, would turn to dust—that’s waste. And don’t worry about me. I just wrung a gold hairpin out of the prince. I’ll have a copy made, sell the real one, and the money will feed you for a year.”
Cui Qiao’s face crumpled. She lowered her head, wiping tears, voice trembling: “I know you suffer for me. But this illness… I fear it cannot be cured. If I had any conscience, how could I swallow your sacrifices? Sister, you should stop. Let me live or die as fate decides…” She wrapped a worn gauze kerchief around her thin arm, so little flesh it took only a few turns.
Sui Sui pressed her hand down, forcing cheer: “Don’t talk nonsense! Back in the opera troupe, you saved my life—I owe you. Didn’t the doctor say you looked better last time? Just rest. Leave everything to me.”
To comfort her, Sui Sui spoke at length, painting her life in the prince’s residence as grand and splendid, describing exotic trinkets from Chang’an. She even praised Li Chongjun as the finest man in the realm—though she glanced nervously at the sky, half‑expecting lightning to strike her for lying.
But Cui Qiao did smile again, listening quietly.
By late afternoon, Sui Sui had to leave. Despite her sister’s protests, she left a pouch of silver. She also slipped the woman—Madam Liu, their old neighbor—a piece of silver and the sewing threads, asking her to care for Cui Qiao when she was away.
Madam Liu, who lived by matchmaking, selling silk flowers, and washing clothes, beamed with gratitude, tucked the gifts into her sleeve, and saw Sui Sui out.
Sui Sui rode back in her donkey cart, bought fried sugar cakes on the way, wrapped them in thick paper, changed out of her disguise, and bundled them up for Xiao Yu.
Everything seemed as usual.
But back at the residence, something felt strange.
At the side gate, the guardkeeper Zhang Niang—long since bribed—let her in but spoke hesitantly.
Sui Sui thought Li Chongjun had discovered her absence and asked: “Has His Highness returned?”
Zhang Niang lowered her head, tying the keys back into her kerchief. “Yes.”
“Did he say anything?”
She moved her lips but only said: “Go back to your room first.”
Puzzled, Sui Sui hurried to her courtyard.
Through the passage, she noticed more servants than usual—maids and boys loitering, whispering in groups. When they saw her, they fell silent, some even snickered. Alarmed, she ran. Rounding the screen wall, she found Xiao Yu on the steps, face in her hands.
“Xiao Yu!” she called. The girl jumped up: “Where were you this afternoon?”
“What happened?”
Tears streaked Xiao Yu’s face. She sniffled: “The official from Chang’an came again—this time with an imperial decree…”
Sui Sui froze, thinking of that day’s scandal, fearing the emperor’s wrath. But Xiao Yu’s small face twisted: “His Majesty commands His Highness to return to the capital… to marry.”
“Marry? What marriage?” Sui Sui was stunned.
Xiao Yu burst into tears: “The emperor has chosen a bride for him—a young lady of the Yang clan from Hongnong. Next month, His Highness must depart. What shall we do, sister? The princess consort who will destroy us is coming!”
Now Sui Sui understood. The news struck suddenly. She sat dazed for a long while, yet still opened her bundle, took out the sugar cakes, and shared them with Xiao Yu. “They don’t keep—best eat them fresh.”
Xiao Yu sobbed her way inside.
Sui Sui remained on the steps, stunned, chewing the cakes. The golden crust crackled, the bean paste filling scalded, sweetness flooding her throat. She hadn’t eaten since noon and was famished. Three cakes filled her belly, steadied her. By the time she clapped her hands clean, she already had a plan.