Tong Jiaying found the days of recuperation utterly tedious. Not only was the diet here extremely bland when one fell ill, but they also favored “starving” you, claiming it was beneficial for recovery.
No wonder during her first few days here, she ate almost nothing, and the imperial physician said nothing about it. Only now did Tong Jiaying realize belatedly that she had been too feverish in those early days and had inadvertently stumbled onto the path of “starvation therapy.”
“Master, the Neiwufu has sent over several bolts of cloud-patterned brocade and light-colored patterned gauze fabric by imperial command. How would you like to use them?” Shuangyu could clearly see Tong Jiaying’s boredom. After all, her mistress had first wrapped herself in a white fox fur cloak this morning to stand beneath the pear tree, admiring the pear blossoms for the duration of a cup of tea.
After returning, she had then spent a long while leaning against the window on the kang by the window, gazing out at the pear blossoms.
However, going out again today was out of the question. The imperial physician had come again the night before last. Originally thinking her mistress’s illness was nearly recovered, she had instead suffered a high fever that refused to break, nearly causing convulsions. Allowing her mistress to stand under the pear tree for a while this morning was already pushing the limit.
Tong Jiaying also knew that she had confidently believed she would recover within seven days. Unfortunately, today was already the tenth day. Not only had she not recovered, but she had also nearly had her soul scattered once more.
Fortunately, she had met the Original Host. It turned out her soul had been inside the body all these days, just unwilling to emerge. This recent high fever had forced her out, and she had recounted the story of her unfortunate life, lived for others.
Tong Jiaying’s own half-baked knowledge of the Qing dynasty had been greatly enriched by the Original Host’s supplementary explanations.
When the Original Host left, she said that how to live from now on was up to Tong Jiaying herself—whether to raise the future Emperor Yongzheng, whether to promote the future Consort De—all were her own decisions. She needn’t feel she had stolen her body; the Original Host had given it up willingly, abandoned it. Since Tong Jiaying had entered it, that was fate.
Since that was the case, this body now completely belonged to her.
As for the Original Host, she was going to be reincarnated.
Tong Jiaying enthusiastically grasped the intangible hand of the Original Host—she wanted to go home! She wanted to ask if there was a way? But in the blink of an eye, the Original Host vanished without a trace.
Her path home was thus severed.
Tong Jiaying grieved for a while, but the Original Host’s words had also lightened her psychological burden. Before coming to the Qing dynasty, she was just an ordinary university graduate. Through a friend’s introduction, she had found a decent job, planning to work hard for a few years to save some money, then return to her small, remote hometown to live her dream of a pastoral life—”picking chrysanthemums by the eastern fence, leisurely gazing at the southern mountains.”
Her “pastoral dream” had not yet been realized when she arrived here.
But she had felt guilty before. Although she didn’t know the reason for crossing over here, occupying the Original Host’s body had always made her somewhat uneasy, as if she owed the Original Host something.
Now that the Original Host had spoken like this and told the story of her life, it was clear she truly did not wish to live another life here. In her own words, she could neither refuse her parents nor refuse Kangxi. Thus, her entire life was spent struggling to survive in the crevices between the Tong family, Kangxi, and the Grand Empress Dowager—truly agonizing. In the end, no one remembered her kindness; it was all like drawing water with a bamboo basket or the monkey trying to scoop the moon from the water. She did not want to live such a life again.
Tong Jiaying felt both glad for the Original Host’s choice and sad for herself, having to become a concubine in this feudal era. She wished she could be like the Original Host!
“What colors?” Tong Jiaying’s thoughts were pulled back by Shuangyu’s words. She no longer suffered from headaches, but after the high fever, her body was weak. She felt that if she fell ill again, she would become the frail and sickly ‘Sister Daiyu.’
In the Qing imperial palace, the clothing of Imperial Consorts was mostly in deep colors like stone blue, sapphire blue, red, and purple, which conveyed solemnity and elegance. However, Tong Jiaying didn’t like them. She was only in her twenties, an age when she found vibrant colors beautiful. Even pink, which she disliked as a child, now seemed irresistibly cute.
It was true that at a certain age, one would come to love pink.
Shuangyu said, “The Emperor knows that you don’t like those dark colors, so he specifically instructed the Neiwufu to send over elegant and fresh shades like changrong, gardenia, Yangfei, and apple green.” It was clear that the master held a special place in The Emperor’s heart. Not only did he visit her personally every few days, but he also remembered her preferences in detail.
Tong Jiaying carefully recalled the colors Shuangyu mentioned, but she couldn’t match any of them in her mind except for apple green. As for the others, she truly had no idea. She had watched period dramas, but who would bother remembering the clothing from them? She wasn’t a Hanfu enthusiast.
Speaking of Hanfu, she loved the clothing from the Tang and Song dynasties the most. However, she couldn’t wear them now and had to settle for shapeless, straight-cut outfits. In her ten or so days in the Qing palace, she hadn’t seen any of the elaborate Qing-style clothing from the dramas she watched.
The tall and imposing “dalachi” headdress, which had a heightening effect, didn’t exist yet. Most hairstyles now were coiled braids or the small “liangba” style. However, according to Shuangyu, the small “liangba” was mostly worn on formal occasions. For now, coiled braids and simple hairstyles were still the norm.
“Take them to the seamstress to make clothes, but tell her I want a few outfits with wide cuffs and elegant sleeve trims,” Tong Jiaying said. There wasn’t much room for modification in the current clothing styles, and as for waist-cinching, she decided to forget about it. She didn’t care much for horse-hoof sleeves or narrow cuffs, preferring loose and wide ones instead.
Shuangyu agreed and added, “The Neiwufu has also sent over the summer jewelry allowance. Would you like to take a look?” She said this to distract her master from her wandering thoughts.
“Yes,” Tong Jiaying replied without hesitation. In the past, she couldn’t afford real jewelry, but now, seeing these items, her eyes couldn’t hide her delight. The craftsmen in the Neiwufu were highly skilled. A few days ago, Kangxi had gifted her a set of Go. When she opened it, she found the board made of Hetian black jade, its color as deep as black lacquer, while one set of pieces was made of Hetian white jade and the other of rich purple jadeite. She loved it at first sight and immediately played a game of “Gomoku” with Shuangyu.
Shuangyu quickly brought over all the jewelry boxes the Neiwufu had just delivered. Inside a black lacquer mother-of-pearl inlaid long box were four gold-inlaid jade and kingfisher feather hairpins, with the center of each flower petal adorned with a brilliantly lustrous ruby.
Tong Jiaying, like someone who had never seen the world, couldn’t take her eyes off the beautiful jewelry. However, among them was a particularly special phoenix hairpin, adorned with an Eastern Pearl that clearly should not have been for her use.
Upon counting, she realized the number of pearls far exceeded the seven she was entitled to.
“Shuangyu, pack this carefully and have Feng Yuan deliver it to The Emperor,” Tong Jiaying said. Was she being framed? She was still ill. There was a saying, “Strike while the iron is hot,” but who could hate her so much as to strike a fatal blow while she was sick?
The moment Shuangyu opened the box, her face turned pale—this was a phoenix hairpin of the Empress’s standard.